Chapter 1. Nightmare

Tandy tried to sleep, but it was difficult The

demon had never actually entered her private bedroom, but

she was afraid that one night he would. This night she was

alone; therefore she worried.

Her father Crombie was a rough soldier who had no

truck with demons. But he was away most of the time,

guarding the King at Castle Roogna. Crombie was fun

when he was home, but that was rare. He claimed to hate

women, but had married a nymph, and tolerated no inter-

ference by other males. Tandy remained a child in his eyes;

his hand would have hovered ominously near his sword if

he even suspected any demon was bothering her. If only he

were here.

Her mother Jewel was on a late mission, planting orange

sapphires in a stratum near the surface. It was a long way

away, so she rode the Diggle-worm, who could tunnel

through rock without leaving a hole. They would be back

after midnight. That meant several more hours, and Tandy

was afraid.

She turned over, wrapped the candy-striped sheet about

her in an uncomfortable tangle, and put the pink pillow

over her head. It didn't help; she still feared the demon.

His name was Fiant, and he could dematerialize at will.

That meant he could walk through walls.

The more Tandy thought about that, the less she trusted

the walls of her room. She was afraid that any unwatched

wall would permit the demon to pass through. She rolled

over, sat up, and peered at the walls. No demon.

2 Ogre, Ogre

She had met Fiant only a few Weeks ago, by accident.

She had been playing with some large, round, blue rubies,

rejects from her mother's barrel—rubies were supposed to

be red—and one had rolled down a passage near the de-

mons' rum works. She had run right into a rum wrap a

demon was using, tearing it so that it became a bum wrap.

She had been afraid the demon would be angry, but instead

he had simply looked at her with a half-secret half-smile—

and that had been worse. Thereafter that demon had shown

up with disturbing frequency, always looking at her as if

something demoniacally special was on his mind. She was

not so naive as to be in doubt about the nature of his

thought. A nymph would have been flattered—but Tandy

was human. She sought no demon lover.

Tandy got up and went to the mirror. The magic lantern

brightened as she approached, so that she could see herself.

She was nineteen years old, but she looked like a child in

her nightie and lady-slippers, her brown tresses mussed

from constant squirming, her blue eyes peering out wor-

riedly. She wished she looked more like her mother—but of

course no human person could match the pretty faces and

fantastic figures of nymphs. That was what nymphdom

was all about—to attract men like Crombie who judged the

distaff to be good for only one thing. Nymphs were good

for that thing. Human girls could be good for it, too, but

they really had to work at it; they fouled it up by assigning

far more meaning to it than the nymphs did, so were

unable to proceed with sheer delighted abandon. They were

cursed by their awareness of consequence.

She peered more closely at herself, brushing her tresses

back with her hands, rearranging her nightie, standing

straighten She was no child, whatever her famer might

choose to think. Yet she was not exactly buxom, either.

Her human heritage had given her a good mind and a soul,

at the expense of voluptuousness. She had a cute face, with

a pert, upturned nose and full lips, she decided, but not

enough of the rest of it. She couldn't make it as a nymph.

The demon Fiant obviously thought she would do, how-

ever. Maybe he didn't realize that her human component

made her less of a good thing. Maybe he was slumming,

looking for an intriguing change of pace from the dusky

demonesses who could assume any form they chose, even

Ogre, Ogre 3

animal forms. It was said that sometimes they would

change to animal form in the middle of the act of—but no

human girl was supposed to be able to imagine anything

like that. Tandy couldn't change form, in or out of bed,

and certainly she didn't want any demon's attention. If

only she could convince him of that!

There was nothing to do but try to sleep again. The de-

mon would come or he wouldn't; since she had no control

over that, there was no sense worrying.

She lay down amidst the mess her bed had become and

worried. She closed her eyes and remained still, as if sleep-

ing, but remained tensely awake. Maybe after a while her

body would be fooled into relaxing.

There was a flicker at the far wan. Tandy spied it

through almost-closed eyes and kept her small body frozen.

It was the demon; he really had come.

In a moment Fiant solidified inside the room. He was

large, muscular, and fat, with squat horns sprouting from

his forehead and a short, unkempt beard that made him

look like a goat. His hind feet were hooflike, and he had a

medium-length tail at his posterior, barbed at the tip. There

Was a dusky ambience about him that would have betrayed

his demonic nature, no matter what form he took. His eyes

were like smoky quartz shielding an internal lava flow,

emitting a dull red light that brightened when his attention

warmed to something. By diabolic standards, he was hand-

some enough, and many a nymph would have been deli-

riously happy to be in Tandy's place.

Tandy hoped Fiant would go away, after perceiving her

alseep and disordered, but knew he wouldn't. He found her

attractive, or at least available, and refused to be repulsed

by her negative response. Demons expected rejections; they

thrived on them. It was said that, given a choice between

rape and seduction, they would always choose the rape.

The females, too. Of course, it was impossible to rape that

kind; she would simply dematerialize if she didn't like it

Which might be another explanation for Fiant's interest in

Tandy; she couldn't dematerialize. Rape was possible.

Maybe if she were positive, welcoming him, that would

turn him off. He was obviously tired of willing females.

But Tandy couldn't bring herself to try that particular

ploy. If it didn't work, where would she be?

4 Ogre, Ogro

Fiant approached the bed, grinning evilly. Tandy kept

her eyes screwed almost shut What would she do if he

touched her? She was sure that screaming and fighting

would only encourage him and make his eyes glow with

preternatural lust—but what else was there?

Fiant paused, looming over her, his paunch protruding,

the light from his eyes spearing down through slits. "Ah,

you lovely little morsel," he murmured, a wisp of smoke

curling from his mouth as he spoke. "Be thrilled, you soft,

human flesh. Your demon lover is here at last! Let me see

more of you." And he snatched the sheet away.

Tandy hurled the pillow at him and bounced off the

bed, her terror converting to anger. "Get out of here, foul

spiriti" she screamed.

"Ah, the tender morsel wakes, cries welcome! Delight-

ful!" The demon strode toward her, the blue tip of his

forked tongue rasping over his thin lips. His tail flicked

similarly.

Tandy backed away, her terror/anger intensifying. "I

loathe you! Go away!"

"Presently," Fiant said, his tail stiffening as it elevated.

"Hone your passion to its height, honey, for I will possess

its depth." He reached for her, his horns brightening in the

reflected glare of his eyes.

Desperate, Tandy wreaked her ultimate. She threw a

tantrum. Her body stiffened, her face turned red, her eyes

clenched shut, and she hurled that tantrum right at the

demon's fat chest.

It struck with explosive impact. The demon sundered

into fragments, his feet, hands, and head flying outward.

His tail landed on the bed and lay twitching like a be-

headed snake.

Tandy chewed her trembling lip. She really hadn't

wanted to do that; her tantrums were devastating, and she

wasn't supposed to throw them. Now she had destroyed the

demon, and there would be hell to pay. How could she

answer to hell for murder?

The pieces of the demon dissolved into smoke. The

cloud coalesced—and Fiant formed again, intact. He

looked dazed. "Oh, that kiss was a beauty," he said, and

staggered through the walL

Tandy relaxed. Fiant wasn't dead after all, but he was

Ogre, Ogre 5

gone. She had the best of both situations. Or did she? He

surely would not stay gone—and now they both knew her

tantrums would not stop him. She had only postponed

her problem.

Nevertheless, now she was able to sleep. She knew there

would be no more trouble this night, and her mother would

be home the next few nights. Fiant, for all his boldness

when he had his victim isolated, stayed clear when a re-

sponsible person was in the neighborhood.

Next day Tandy tried to talk to her mother, though she

was pretty sure it wouldn't help. "Mother, you know that

demon Fiant, who works at the rum refinery? He—"

"Oh, yes, the demons are such nice people," Jewel said,

smelling of mildly toasted sulfur. That was her magic: her

odor reflected her mood. "Especially Beauregard, doing his

research paper—"

"Which he has been working on since before I was bom.

He's a nice demon, yes. But Fiant is another kind. He—"

"They never make any trouble for me when I have to set

gems in their caves. The demons are such good neighbors."

The sulfur was getting stronger, beginning to crinkle the

nose; Jewel didn't like to hear criticisms. »

"Most are. Mother." Naturally the demons didn't bother

Jewel; without her, there would be no gems to find, and

the demons were partial to such trinkets. "But this one's

different. He—"

"Everyone's different, of course, dear. That's what

makes Xanth so interesting." Now she smelled of freshly

blooming orange roses.

"Maybe different isn't quite what I mean. He comes to

my room at night—"

"Oh, he wouldn't do that! That wouldn't be right." The

wrongness of such a thing showed in the smell of an over-

ripe medicine ball; even immature medicine balls smelled

unpleasantly of illness, and aging intensified the effect

"But he did\ Last night—"

"You must have dreamed it, dear," Jewel said firmly.

And the aroma of carrion of a moderately sated dragon

showed how distasteful any such notion was to Jewel.

"Sometimes those nightmares carry irresponsible dreams."

Tandy saw that her mother did not want to become

aware of the truth. Jewel had been a nymph and retained

6 Ogre, Ogre

many of her nymphal qualities despite the burden of expe-

rience that marriage and motherhood had imposed on her.

She had no real understanding of evil. To her, all people

and all creatures were basically good neighbors, including

demons. And in truth, the demons had been tolerably well

behaved, until Fiant had taken his interest in Tandy.

Her father Crombie would understand, though. Crombie

was not only human, he was a man of war. Well did he

understand the ways of males. But he hardly ever had time

off, and she had no way to advise him of her situation, so

he couldn't help now.

As she thought of her father, Tandy abruptly realized

that Jewel could not afford to lose her faith in people, be-

cause then she would have to question Crombie's fidelity.

That could only disrupt her life. Evidently Jewel's thoughts

were to some extent parallel to Tandy's because now there

was the disturbing odor of a burning field of wild oats.

So Tandy couldn't actually talk to her mother about this.

It would have to be her father, in private. That meant she

had to get to him, since he would not be home in time to

deal with the demon. It was said that no man could stand

against a demon in combat, but Crombie was more than a

man: he was her father. She had to reach him.

That was a problem in itself. Tandy had never been to

Castle Roogna. She had never even been to the surface of

Xanth. She would be lost in an instant if she ever left the

caves. In fact, she was afraid to try. How could she travel

all the way to her father's place of employment, alone? She

had no good answer.

The demon did not come the following night. The night-

mares visited instead. Every time she slept, they trotted in,

rearing over her bed, hooves flashing, ears fiat back, snort-

ing the scary vapors that were the bad dreams they bore.

She woke in justified terror, and they were gone—only to

return as she slept again. That was the way of such beasts.

Finally she became so desperate she threw a tantrum at

one of them. The tantrum struck it on the flank. The mare

squealed with startled pain, her hindsection collapsing, and

her companions fled.

Tandy was instantly sorry, as she generally was after

throwing a tantrum; she knew the dark horse was only

doing its duty and should not be punished. Tandy woke

Ogre, Ogre 7

completely, tears in her eyes, determined to help the ani-

mal—but of course it was gone. It was almost impossible to

catch a nightmare while awake.

She checked where the mare had stood. The floor was

scuffled there, and there were a few drops of blood. Tandy

hoped the mare had made it safely home; it would be sev-

eral nights before this one was fit for dream-duty again. It

was a terrible thing to lash out at an innocent creature like

that, no matter how bothersome it might be, and Tandy

resolved not to do that again.

Next time she slept, she watched for the nightmares,

trying to identify the one she had hurt. But they were a

long time in coming, as if they were now afraid of her, and

she could hardly blame them for that. But at last they

came, for they were compelled to do their job even when it

was dangerous to them. Timidly they approached with

their burdens of dreams, and these now related to the

harming of equines. They were making her pay for her

crime! But she never saw the hurt one, and that made her

feel increasingly guilty. She was sure that particular night-

mare was forever wary of her, and would not come again.

Maybe it was lying in a stall wherever such creatures went

by day, suffering. If only she had held her temper!

It was the job of nightmares to carry the unpleasant

dreams that sleepers were scheduled to have, just as it was

Jewel's job to place the gems people were destined to find.

Since the dreams were ugly, they could not be trusted to

voluntary participation. Thus nightmares had a bad reputa-

tion, in contrast with the invisible daymares who brought in

pleasant daydreams. People tried to avoid nightmares, and

this made the horses' job more difficult. Tandy wasn't sure

what would happen if the bad dreams did not get delivered,

but was sure there would be trouble. It was generally best

not to interfere with the natural order. She wondered idly

what dreams the nightmares themselves had when they

slept.

A few days later, when Tandy was settling down, the

demon Fiant came again. He walked right through the

wall, a lascivious grin on his face. "Open up, cutie; I'm

here to fulfill your fondest fancies and delve into your deep-

est desires." His tail was standing straight up, quivering.

For a moment Tandy froze, unable even to speak. She

8 . Ogre, Ogre

had been bothered by this creature before; now she was

terrified. Staring-eyed, she watched his confident ap-

proach.

Fiant stood over her, as before, his eyes glowing like red

stars. "Lie back, spread out, make yourself comfy," he

gloated. "I shall exercise your extreme expectations." He

reached for her with a long-nailed diabolic hand.

Tandy screamed.

This night, Jewel was home; she rushed in to discover

what was the matter. But the demon marched calmly out

through the wall before Jewel arrived, and Tandy had to

blame her scream on the nightmares. That provided her

with a fresh burden of guilt, for of course the mares were

innocent.

Tandy knew she had to do something. Plant was getting

bolder, and soon he would catch her alone—and that would

be worse than any nightmare. He had proved he could sur-

vive one of her tantrums, so Tandy had no protection. She

would have to go to her father Crombie—soon. But how?

Then she had an inspiration. Why not catch a nightmare

and ride her to Castle Roogna? The creature would surely

know the way, as the mares had the addresses of all people

who slept.

But there were problems. Tandy had no experience rid-

ing horses; she had sometimes ridden the Diggle behind her

mother, traveling to the far reaches of Xanth to place em-

eralds and opals and diamonds, but this was different. The

Diggle moved slowly and evenly, phasing through the rock

as long as someone made a tune it liked. The nightmares,

she was sure, moved swiftly and unevenly. How could she

catch one—and how could she hold on?

Tandy was an agile girl. She had climbed all over the

caverns, swinging across chasms on rope-vines, squeezing

through tiny crevices—good thing she was small!—

swimming the chill river channels, running fleetly across

sloping rockslides, throwing chunks at the occasional gob-

lins who pursued her. If a nightmare got close enough, she

was confident she could leap onto its back and hang on to

its flowing mane. It would not be a comfortable ride, but

she could manage. So all she really had to worry about was

the first step—catching her mare.

The problem was, the nightmares came only during a

Ogre, Ogre 9

person's sleep. She might pretend sleep, but she doubted

she would fool them—and if she grabbed one while awake,

it would surely dissipate like demon-smoke, leaving her

with nothing but a fading memory. Nightmares were, after

all, a type of demon; they could dematerialize in much the

way Fiant did. That was how they passed through walls to

reach the most secure sleepers. In fact, she suspected they

became material only in the presence of a sleeper.

She would have to ride the nightmare in her sleep. Only

that would keep it material, or enable her to dematerialize

with it.

Tandy set about her task with determination. It was not

that she relished the prospect of such a ride, but that she

knew what would happen to her at the hands—or what-

ever—of the demon if she did not ride. She set up a bolster

on two chairs, and practiced on it, pretending it was the

back of a horse. She lay on her bed, then abruptly bounced

off it and leaped astride the bolster, - grabbing a tassle

where the mane should be and squeezing with her legs.

Over and over she did this, drilling the procedure into her-

self until it became fast and automatic. She got tired and

her legs got sore, but she kept on, until she could do it in

her sleep—she hoped.

This took several days. She practiced mostly when her

mother was out setting jewels, so that there would be no

awkward questions. The demon did not bother her by day,

fortunately, so she was able to snatch some sleep then, too.

When she was satisfied, and also when she dared delay

no longer, because of Fiant's boldness and her mother's up-

coming overnight journey to set diamonds in a big kimber-

lite pipe—a complex job—she acted.

She wrote a note to her mother, explaining that she had

gone to visit her father and not to worry. Nymphs tended

not to worry much anyway, so it should be all right. She

gathered some sleeping pills from the recesses where they

slept, put them in her pockets, and lay down. One pill was

normally good for several hours before it woke, and she

had several; they should keep her in their joint sleep all

night.

But as the power of the pills took then- magic effect on

her body, drawing her into their slumber, Tandy had an

alarming thought: suppose no nightmares came tonight?

10

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

II

Suppose Fiant came instead—and she was locked in slum-

ber, unable to resist him? That thought disturbed her so

much that the first nightmare rushed to attend to her the

moment she slept.

Tandy saw the creature clearly in her dream: a

midnight-colored equine with faintly glowing eyes—there

was the demon stigma!—set amidst a flaring forelock. The

mane was glossy black, and the tail dark ebony; even the

hooves were dusky. Yet she was a handsome animal, with

fine features and good musculature. The black ears perked

forward, the black nostrils flared, and the dark neck

arched splendidly. Tandy knew this was an excellent repre-

sentative of the species.

"I'm asleep," she reminded herself. "This is a dream."

Indeed it was. A bad dream, full of deep undertow currents

and grotesque surgings and fear and shame and horror,

making her miserable. But she fought it back, nerved herself,

and leaped for the dark horse.

She made it. Her tedious rehearsals had served her well.

She landed on the nightmare's back, clutched the sleek

mane, and clasped its powerful body with her legs.

For an instant the mare stood still, too surprised to

move. Tandy knew that feeling. Then the creature took

off. She galloped through the wall as if it were nothing—

and indeed it felt like nothing, for they had dematerialized.

The power of the nightmare extended to her rider, just as

the sleeping power of the pills extended to their wearer.

Tandy remained asleep, in the dream-state, fastened to her

steed.

The ride was a terror. Walls shot by like shadows, and

open spaces like daylight, as the mare galloped headlong

and tailshort. Tandy hung on to the mane, though the

strands of it cut cruelly into her hands, because she was

afraid to let go. How hard would she fall, where would she

be, if she lost purchase now? This was a worse dream than

any before—and the sleeping pills prevented her from wak-

ing.

They were already far away from her mother's neat

apartment. They cruised through rock and caverns, water

and fire, and the lairs of large and small monsters. They

galloped across the table where'six demons were playing

poker, and the demons paused a moment as if experiencing

some chill doubt without quite seeing the nightmare. They

zoomed by a secret conclave of goblins planning foul play,

and these, too, hesitated momentarily as the ambience of

bad visions touched them. The nightmare plowed through

the deepest recess, where the Brain Coral stored the living

artifacts of Xanth, and the artifacts stirred restlessly, too,

not knowing what moved them. Tandy realized that when a

nightmare passed a waking creature, she caused a brief bad

thought. Only in sleep did those thoughts have full potency.

Now Tandy had another problem. She had to guide this

steed—and she didn't know how. If she had known how,

she still wouldn't have known the way to Castle Roogna.

Why hadn't she thought of this before?

Well, this was a dream, and it didn't have to make sense.

"Take me to Castle Roognal" she cried. "Then I'll let you

go!"

The nightmare neighed and changed course. Was that all

there was to it? It occurred to Tandy that the steed was as

frightened as Tandy herself was. Such horses weren't

meant for riding! So maybe the mare would cooperate, just

to be rid of her rider.

They burst out of the caverns and onto the upper surface

of Xanth. Tandy was used to strange things in dreams, but

was nevertheless awed. Her eyes were open—at least they

seemed to be, though this could be merely part of the

dream—and she saw the vastness of the surface night.

There were spreading trees and huge empty spaces and riv-

ers without cave-canyons, and above was a monstrous ceil-

ing full of pinpoints of light in great patches. She realized

that these were stars, which her father had told her

about—and she had thought he was making it up, just as

he made up tales of the heroic deeds of the men of legend-

ary Xanth's past—and that where there were none was be-

cause of clouds. Clouds were like the vapor surrounding

waterfalls, loosed to ascend to the heavens. Turn a cloud

loose, and naturally it did whatever it wanted.

Then from behind, a cloud came a much larger light,

surely the fabled sun, the golden ball that tracked across

the sky, always in one direction. No, not the sun, for that

chose to travel, for reasons of its own, only during the day.

12

Ogre, Ogre

Jewel had told her that, though Tandy wasn't sure Jewel

herself had ever seen the sun. When Tandy had asked her

father whether it was true, Crombie had just laughed,

which she took to be affirmation of the orb's diurnal dispo-

sition. Of course things didn't need sensible reasons for

what they did. Maybe the sun was merely afraid of the

dark, so stayed clear of night

No, this must be the moon, which was an object of simi-

lar size but dimmer because it was made of green cheese

that didn't glow so well. Evidently, high-flying dragons had

eaten most of it, for only a crescent remained, the merest

rind. Still, it was impressive.

The mare pounded on. Tandy's hands grew numb, but

her hold was firm. Her body was bruised and chafed by

the bouncing; she would be sore for daysl But at least she

was getting there. Her bad dream slipped into oblivion for

a while, as dreams tended to, fading in and out as me run

continued.

Abruptly she woke. A dark castle loomed in the fading

moonlight. They had arrivedl

Barely in time, too, for now dawn was looming behind

them. The nightmare could not enter the light of day. In

fact, the mare was already fading out, for regardless of .

dawn, it was no longer bound when Tandy left the dream-

state. The sleeping pills must have finished their nap, and

Tandy had finished hers with them. No—the stones were

mostly gone; they must have bounced out one at a time in

the course of the rough ride, and now only one was left,

not enough to do the job.

In a moment the mare vanished entirely, freed by cir-

cumstance, and Tandy found herself sprawled on the

ground, battered and wide-eyed.

She was stiff and sore and tired. It had not been a rest-

ful sleep at all. Her legs felt swollen and numb from thigh

to ankle. Her hair was plastered to her scalp with the cold

sweat of nocturnal fear. It had been a horrendous ordeal.

But at least she was in sight of her destination.

She got painfully to her feet and staggered toward the

edifice as the blinding sun hefted itself ambitiously above

the trees. The Land of Xanth brightened about her, and the

creatures of day began to stir. Dew sparkled. It was all

strangely pretty.

Ogre, Ogre 13

But as she came to the moat and saw that there was the

stirring of some awful creature within it, orienting on her,

she had a horrible revelation. She knew what Castle

Roogna looked like, from descriptions her father had made.

He had told her wonderful stories about it, from the time

she was a baby onward, about the orchard with its cherry-

bomb trees, bearing cherries a person dared not eat, and

shoes of all types growing on shoe trees, and all manner of

other wonders too exaggerated to be believed. Only an idiot

or a hopeless visionary would believe in the Land of Xanth,

anyway! Yet she almost knew the individual monsters of

the moat by name, and the same for the guardian zombies

who rested in the graveyard, awaiting the day when Xanth

needed defense. She knew the spires and turrets and all,

and the ghosts who dwelt within them. She had a marvel-

ously detailed mental map of Castle Roogna—and this pres-

ent castle did not conform.

This was the wrong castle.

Oh, woe! Tandy stood in dull, defeated amazement. All

her effort, her last vestige of strength and hope, and her

deviously laid plans to reach her father lay in ruins. What

was she to do now? She was lost in Xanth, without food or

water, so tired she could hardly move, with no way to re-

turn home. What would her mother think?

Something stirred within the castle. The drawbridge low-

ered, coming to rest across the small moat. A lovely woman

walked out of the castle, subduing the reaching monster

with a trifling gesture of her hand, her voluminous robe

blowing in the morning breeze. She saw Tandy and came

toward her—and Tandy ,saw with a new shock of horror

that the woman had no face. Her hood contained a writh-

ing mass of snakes, and emptiness where human features

should have been. Surely the nightmare had saved the

worst dream for last!

"Dear child," the faceless woman said. "Come with me.

We have been expecting you."

Tandy stood frozen, unable even to muster the energy

for a tantrum. What horrors lay within this dread castle?

"It is all right," the snake-headed woman said reassur-

ingly. "We consider that your phenomenal effort in catch-

ing and riding the nightmare constitutes sufficient chal-

14 Os1'®' "S""®

lenge to reach this castle. You will not be subject to the

usual riddles of admission." ,

They were going to take her inside! Tandy tried to run,

but her strength was gone. She was a spunky girl, but she

had been through too much this night. She fainted.

Chapter 2. Smash Ogre

Smash tromped through the blackboard jungle

of Xanth, looking at the pictures on the blackboards be-

cause, like all his kind, he couldn't read the words. He was

in a hurry because the foul weather he was enjoying

showed signs of abating, and he wanted to get where be

was going before it did. When he encountered a fallen

beech tree across the path, he simply hurled it out of the

way, letting the beech-sand fall in a minor sandstorm.

When he discovered that an errant river had jumped its

channel and was washing out the path and threatening to

clean the grunge off his feet and make his toenails visible

for the first time in weeks, he grabbed that stream by its

tail and flexed it so hard that it splatted right back into its

proper channel and lay there quivering and bubbling in

fear. When an omery bullhorn blocked the way, threaten-

ing to ram its horn most awkwardly into the posterior of

anyone who distracted it. Smash did more than that. He

picked it up by the hom and blew a horrendous blast that

nearly turned the creature inside out. Never again would

that bullhorn bother travelers on that path; it had been

cowed.

This sort of thing was routine for Smash, for he was the

most powerful and stupid of all Xanth's vaguely manlike

creatures. The ground trembled nervously when he

tromped, and the most ferocious monsters thought it pru-

dent to catch errands elsewhere until he was gone. Natu-

rally the errands fled with indecent haste, wanting no part

of this. In fact, no creature with any wit at all wanted any

part of this. For Smash was an ogre.

16

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

17

He was twice the height of an ordinary man, was broad

in proportion, and his knots of hairy muscles stood out like

the boles of tormented old trees. Some creatures might

have considered him ugly, but these were the less imagina-

tive individuals. Smash was not ugly; he was horrendous.

By no stretch of imagination could any ogre be considered

less than grotesque, and Smash was an appalling specimen

of the breed. There had not been a more revolting creature

on this path since a basilisk had crossed it

Yet Smash, like most powerfully ugly creatures, had a

rather sweet interior, hidden deep inside where it would

not embarrass him. He had been raised among human

beings, had gone on an adventure with Prince Dor and

Princess Irene, and had made friends with centaurs. He

had, in short, been somewhat civilized by his environment,

incredible as this might seem. Most people believed that no

ogre was dvilizable, and that was certainly the safest belief

to hold.

Yet Smash was no ordinary ogre. This meant that he

usually did not strike without some faint reason and that

his natural passion for violence had been somewhat stifled.

This was a sad condition for an ogre, yet he had borne up

moderately well. Now he had a mission.

The bad weather cleared. The clouds drew their curtains

aside to let lovely shafts of sunlight slant down, making the

air sparkle prettily. Birds shook out their feathers and

trilled joyfully. Everything was turning clean and pleasant.

Smash snorted with disgust. How could he travel in this?

He would have to camp for the afternoon and night and

hope the morrow was a worse day.

He was hungry, for it took huge and wasteful quantities

of energy to sustain an ogre in proper arrogance. He cast

about for something edible and massive enough to sustain

him, such as a dead dragon or a vat of spoiling applesauce

or a mossy rock-candy boulder, but found nothing. This

region had already been scavenged out.

Then he heard the squawk of a contented griffin and he

sniffed the aroma of delicious pie. The perceptions of ogres

were a-cute rather than a-ugly, oddly; though the griffin

was some distance away, Smash located it precisely by

sound and odor. He tromped toward it. This must be the

creature that had cleaned out all the edibles of this region.

The griffin had captured a monstrous shoefly pie. The

winged shoes had been cooked to a turn, the juices of their

fine leather suffusing the pie, which massed about as

much as the griffin. This was an ideal meal for an ogre.

Smash marched up, not bothering to employ any stealth.

The griffin whirled, half spreading its wings, issuing a

warning squawk. Nobody in his right mind interfered with

a feeding griffin, except a sufficiently large and hungry

dragon.

But Smash was not in his right mind. No ogre ever was.

There was simply not enough mind there to be right. "Me

give he three, leave sight of me," he said. All ogres spoke

only in inane rhyme and lacked facility with pronouns,

which they took to be edible roots. But ogres generally

made themselves plain enough, in their brutish fashion.

The griffin had not had prior experience with an ogre.

That was its fortune. There were very few ogres in these

parts. The griffin opened its eagle beak wide and screeched

a warning challenge.

Smash's bluff had been called. That was unfortunate,

because no ogre was smart enough to bluff. With dimwit-

ted joy, he rose to the prospect of mayhem. "One," he said,

counting off on his smallest hamfinger. The griffin didn't

move.

"Two." After a brief search, he found another finger.

The griffin had had enough of this. It gave a raucous

battle cry and charged, which was just as well, for Smash

had lost count This sort of intellectual exercise was horren-

dously difficult for his kind; his. head hurt and his fingers

felt numb. But now he was released from the necessity of

counting all the way to three, and that was a great relief.

He grabbed the griffin by its bird beak and lion's tail,

whirled it around, and hurled it out over the forest in a

cloud of small feathers and fur. The griffin, startled by

this reception, spread its wings, oriented, circled, decided

the event must have been a fluke, and started to come in

for another engagement. Ogres did not have a monopoly on

stupidity!

Smash faced the lion-bodied bird. "Scram, hami" he bel-

lowed.

The blast of the bellow tore out half a dozen pinfeathers

and two flight feathers, and sent the griffin spinning out of

18 Ogre, Ogre

control. The creature righted itself again, but this time de-

cided to seek its fortune elsewhere. Thus did it finally do

something halfway smart, yielding the stupidity title to the

ogre.

Smash took a flying leap into the center of the shoefly

pie. Leatherlike pastry crust flew up. The ogre grabbed a

big handful of the delicious mess and stuffed it into his

maw. He slurped noisily on a boot, chewed the tongue in

half, and masticated on a pleasantly tough heel. Oh, it was

good! He grabbed two more handfuls, crunching soles and

sucking on laces and spitting the metal eyelets out like

seeds. Soon all the pie was gone. He burped up a few metal

nails, well satisfied.

After gorging, he went to a stream and slurped a few

gallons of shivering cool water. As he lifted his head, he

heard a faint call. "Help! Help!"

Smash looked about, his ears rotating like those of the

animal he was, to orient on the sound. It came from a

nearby brambleberry bush. He parted the foliage with one

gross finger and peered in. There was a tiny manlike crea-

ture. "Help, please!" it cried.

Ogres had excellent eyesight, but this person was so

small that Smash had to focus carefully to see him. Her. It

was naked and had—well, it was a tiny female imp. "Who

you?" he inquired politely, his breath almost knocking her

down.

"I'm Quieta the Imp," she cried, rearranging her hair,

which his breath had violently disarrayed. "Oh, ogre,

ogre—my father's trapped and will surely perish if not res-

cued soon. Please, I beseech you most prettily, help him

escape, and I will reward you in my fashion."

Smash did not care one way or another about imps; they

were too small to eat; anyway, be was for the moment full.

This one was hardly more massive than one of his fingers.

He did, however, like rewards. "Okay, dokay," he agreed.

"My name's Quieta, not Dokay," she said primly. She

led him to a spot under a soapstone boulder. It was, of

course, a very clean place, and the soap had been carved

into interesting formations. There was her father-imp,

caught in an alligator clamp. The alligator's jaws were

slowly chewing off his little leg.

19

Ogre, Ogre

"This is my father Ortant," Quieta said, introducing

them. "This is big ugly ogre."

"Pleased to meet you, Bigugly Ogre," Imp Ortant said as

politely as the pain in his leg permitted.

Smash reached down, but his hamfingers were far too

big and clumsy to pry open the tiny clamp. "Queer ear," he

told the imps, and obediently both covered their minuscule

ears with minature hands.

Smash let out a small roar. The alligator clamp yiped

and let go, scrambling back to the farthest reach of its

anchor-chain, where it cowered. The imp was free.

"Oh, thank you, thank you so much, ogrel" Quieta ex-

claimed. "Here is your reward." She held out a tiny disk.

Smash accepted it, balancing it on the tip of one finger,

his gross brow furrowing like a newly plowed field.

"It's a disposable reflector," Quieta explained proudly.

Then, seeing that he did not comprehend: "A mirror, made

from a film of soap-bubble. That's what we imps do. We

make pretty, iridescent bubbles for the fairies, and lenses

for sunbeams, and sparkles for the morning dew. Each

item works only once, so we are constantly busy, I can tell

you. We call it planned obsolescence. So now you have a

nice little mirror. But remember—you can use it only one

time."

Smash tucked the mirror into his bag, vaguely disap-

pointed. Somehow, for no good reason, he had expected

more.

"Well, you saved my father only once," Quieta said de-

fensively. "He's not very big, either. It's a perfect mirror,

you know."

Smash nodded, realizing that small creatures gave small

rewards. He wasn't quite sure what use the mirror would

be to him, since ogres did not look at their own ugly faces

very much, because their reflections tended to break mir-

rors and curdle the surfaces of calm lakes; in any event,

this mirror was far too small and frail to sustain his image.

Since it could be used only once, he would save it for an

important occasion. Then he tromped to a pillow bush,

pounded it almost flat and lumpy, and snored himself to

sleep while the jungle trembled.

Ogre, Ogre

20

The weather was unconscionably fair the next day, but

Smash tromped on regardless until he reached the castle of

the Good Magician Humfrey. It was- not particularly im-

posing. There was a small moat he could wade through,

and an outer wall he could bash through—practically an

open invitation.

But Smash had learned at Castle Roogna that it was best

to be polite around Magicians, and not to bash too care-

lessly into someone's castle. So he opened his bag of belong-

ings and donned his finest apparel: an orange jacket and

steely gauntlets, given to him four years ago by the cen-

taurs of Centaur Isle. The jacket was invulnerable to pene-

tration by a weapon, and the gauntlets protected his ham-

fists from the consequence of their own power. He had not

worn these things before because he didn't want them to

get dirty. They were special.

Now, properly dressed, he cupped his mug and bellowed

politely: "Some creep asleep?" Just in case the Good Magi-

cian wasn't up yet.

There was no response. Smash tried again. "Me Smash.

Me bash." That was letting the Magician know, delicately,

that he was coming in.

Still no answer. It seemed Humfrey was not paying at-

tention. Having exhausted his knowledge of the require-

ments of human etiquette as he understood them. Smash

proceeded to act. He waded into the water of the moat with

a great and satisfying splash. Washing was un-ogrish, but

splashing wasn't. In a moment the spume dimmed the sun-

light and caused the entire castle to shine with moisture.

A sea monster swam to intercept him. Mostly that kind

did not frequent rivers or moats, but the Good Magician

had an affinity for the unusual. "Hi, fly," Smash said affa-

bly, removing a gauntlet and raising a hairy hamfist in

greeting. He generally got along all right with monsters, if

they were ugly enough.

The monster stared cross-eyed for a moment at the huge

fist under its snout, noting the calluses, scars, and bama-

clelike encrustations of gristle. Then the creature turned

tail and swam hastily away. Smash's greetings sometimes

affected other creatures like that; he wasn't sure why.

He redonned the gauntlet and forged on out of the moat,

reaching a brief embankment from which th" wall rose. He

Ogre, Ogre 21

lifted one gauntleted hamfist to bash a convenient hole—•

and spied something on the stone. It was a small lizard,

dingy blah in color, with medium sandpaper skin, ineffi-

cient legs, a truncated tail, and a pungent smell. Its mean

little head swiveled around to fix on the ogre.

Smash's gauntleted hand snapped out, covering the liz-

ard, blocking its head off from view. Ogres were stupid but

not suicidal. This little monster was no ordinary lizard; it

was a basilisk! Its direct glance was fatal, even to an ogre.

What was he to do? Soon the creature's poisonous body

would corrode the metal of the gauntlet, and Smash would

be in trouble. He couldn't remain this way!

He remembered that Prince Dor had had a problem with

a basilisk that was a cockatrice. Dor had sent news of a

baleful henatrice, and the cock-lizard had hurried off at a

swift crawl to find her. But Smash had no such resource;

he didn't know where a hen might be, and realized that this

one might even be a henatrice. It was hard to look closely

enough to ascertain the sexual status of such a creature

without getting one's eyeballs stoned. And if he had hap-

pened to know where a basilisk of the opposite sex might

be, how could he tell that news to this one? He didn't speak

the language. For that he needed the assistance of his

friend Grundy the Golem, who could speak any language

at all.

Then he remembered the imp's disposable reflector. He

fished in his bag with his left mitt and, after several

clumsy tries, brought it out. He stuck it to the tip of his

gauntleted finger and poked it toward the region where the

basilisk's head should be.

Carefully he withdrew his right hand, averting his gaze.

This was delicate work! If he aimed the mirror wrong, or if

it fell off his finger, or if the basilisk didn't look—

There was a plop on the ground at his feet. Oh, no! The

mirror had fallen! Dismayed, he looked.

The basilisk lay stunned. It had seen its own reflection

in the mirror and suffered the natural consequence. It

would recover after a while—but by then Smash would be

out of its range.

The mirror had not dropped. It had shattered under the

impact of the basilisk's glare. But it had done its job. Quieta's

little reward had proved worthwhile.

Smash scooped out a handful of dirt and dumped it over

the body of the basilisk so that he would not accidentally

look at it. As long as that mound was intact, he would

know he was safe.

Now he hefted his right fist and smashed it into the

stone wall. Sand fragments flew outward from the impact

with satisfying force. This was sheer joy; only when exer-

cising the prerogative of his name did Smash feel truly

happy. Smashi Smash! Smashi Dust filled the air, and a

pile of rubble formed about him as the hole deepened.

Soon he was inside the castle. There was a second wall,

an arm's reach inside the first. Oh, goody! This one was a

lattice of bars, not nearly as substantial as the first, but

much better than nothing.

For variety. Smash used his left fist this time. After all,

it needed fun and exercise, too. He smashed it into the

bars.

The fist stopped short. Oooh, ouch! Only the gauntlet

preserved it from injury, but it still smarted. This was

much tougher stuff than stone or metall

Smash took hold of the bars with both hands and

heaved. His power should have launched the entire wall

toward the clouds, but there was nary a budge. This was

the strongest stuff he had encountered!

Smash paused to consider. What material could resist the

might of an ogre?

Thinking was hard for his kind. His skull heated up un-

comfortably, causing the resident fleas to jump off with

hot feet. But in due course he concluded that there was

only one thing as tough as an ogre, and that was another

ogre. He peered at the bars. Sure enough—these were

ogres' bones, lashed together with ogres' sinews. No wonder

he had found them impervious!

This was a formidable barrier. He could not bash

blithely through it—nor would he wish to, for the bones of

ogres were sacred to ogres. Little else was.

Smash pondered some more. His brain was already

sweating from the prior effort; now there was a scorched

smell as the fur of his head grew hot. Ogres were creatures

of action, not cerebration! But again his valiant and painful

effort was rewarded; he rammed through a notion.

"Oh, ogres' bones," he said. "Me know zones of deep,

deep ground where can't be found."

The wall of bones quivered. All bad ogres craved inde-

cent burial after death; it was one of their occasional links

with the species of man. The best interment was in a gar-

bage dump or toxic landfill for the disposal of poisonous

plants and animals, but ordinary ground would do if prop-

erly cursed and tromped down sufficiently hard.

"Me pound in mound with round of sound," Smash con-

tinued, arguing his case with extraordinary eloquence.

That did it. The wall collapsed into an expectant pile.

Smash picked up a bone, set it endwise against the ground,

and, with a single blow of his gaundeted fist, drove it so

deep in the earth that it disappeared. He took another and

did the same. "Me flail he nail," he grunted, invoking an

ogrish ritual of disposal. He was nailing the ground.

Soon all the bones were gone. "Me fling he string," he

said, poking the tendons down after the bones with his fin-

ger and scooping dirt over the holes. Then he stomped the

mound, his big flat feet making the entire region reverber-

ate boomingly. Stray stones fell from the walls of the castle,

and the monster of the moat fled to the deepest muck.

At last it was time for the concluding benediction. "Bone

dark as ink, me think he stink!" he roared, and there was a

final swirl of dust and grit. The site had been cursed, and

the burial was done.

But now a new hazard manifested. This was a kind of

linear fountain, the orange liquid shooting up high and fall-

ing back to flow into a channel like a small moat. It was

rather pretty—but when Smash started to push through it,

he drew back his hand with a grunt. That was not water—

it was firewater!

He tried to walk around it, but the ring of fire sur-

rounded the inner castle. He tried to jump over, but the

flames leaped gleefully higher than he could, licking up to

toast his fur. Ogres could not be hurt by much, but they

did feel pain when burned. This was awkward.

He tried to pound out a tunnel under the fire, but the

water flowed immediately into it and roasted him some

more. It danced with flickering delight, with evilly glitter-

ing eyes forming within its substance, winking, mocking

24 Ogre, Ogre .;

him, and fingers of flame elevating in obscene gestures. ^

This was in fact a firewater elemental, one of the most

formidable of spirits.

Smash pondered again. The effort gave him a splitting

headache. He held his face together with his two paws, t

forcing the split back together, squeezing his skull until the

bone fused firm, and hurried back to the moat to soak his

head. |

The cool shock of water not only got his head back to-

gether, it gave him an idea. Ideas were rare things for

ogres, and not too valuable. But this one seemed good. Wa-

ter not only cooled heads, it quenched fire. Maybe he could

use the moat to break through the wall of fire.

He formed his paw into a flipper and scooped a splash

through the hole in the outer wall toward the firewall. The

splash scored—but the fire did not abate. It leaped higher,

crackling mirthfully. He scooped again, wetting the whole

region, but with no better effect The firewall danced un-

harmed, mocking him with foul-smelling noises.

Ogres were slow to anger, because they lacked the wit to

know when they were being insulted. But Smash was get-

ting there. He scooped harder, his paw moving like a crude

paddle, hurling a steady stream of moatwater at the wall.

Still the fire danced, though the water flooded the region.

Smash labored yet harder, feeling the exhilaration of chal-

lenge and violence, until the level of the moat lowered and

the entire cavity between the outer wall and the firewall

surged with muddy fluid. The sea monster's tail was ex-

posed by the draining water; it hastily squiggled deeper.

Still the fire danced, humming a hymn of victory; it could

not be quenched. Water was as much its element as fire. It

merely flickered on the surface, spreading wider, reaching

toward Smash. Was there no way to defeat it?

"Hoool" Smash exclaimed, frustrated. But the blast of ;

his breath only made the flame bow concavely and leap yet |

higher. It liked hot air as well as cool water, j

Smash couldn't think of anything better to do, so he kept

shoveling water. The flood level rose and backwater

coursed out through the gap. Smash tried to dam it up with

rubble, but the level was too high. The fire still flickered

merrily on the surface, humming a tune about an old

flame.

Ogre, Ogre 25

Then the ogre had one more smart notion, a prohibi-

tively rare occurrence for his kind. He dived forward,

spread his arms, and swam under the fire. It couldn't reach

him below the moatwater. He came up beyond it, the last

hurdle navigated.

"Ccurrssess!" the firewater hissed furiously, and flick-

ered out.

Now Smash stood within a cluttered room. Books over-

flowed shelves and piled up on the floor. Bottles and boxes

perched everywhere, interspersed with assorted statuettes

and amulets and papers. In the middle of it all, like an-

other item of clutter, hunched over a similarly crowded

wooden desk, was a little gnome of a man. Smash recog-

nized him—the Good Magician Humfrey, the man who

knew everything.

Humfrey glanced up from his tome. "Don't drip on my

books, Smash," he said.

Smash fidgeted, trying not to drip on the books. There

was hardly room for him to stand upright, and hardly a

spot without a book, volume, or tome. He started to drip on

an amulet, but it crackled ominously and he edged away.

"Me no stir. Magician sir," he mumbled, wondering how

the Good Magician knew his name. Smash knew of Hum-

frey by description and reputation, but this was the first

time the two had met.

"Well, out with it, ogre," the Magician snapped irritably.

"What's your Question?"

Now Smash felt more awkward than ever. The truth

was, he did not know what to ask. He had thought his life

would be complete when he achieved his full growth, but

somehow he found it Wasn't. Something was missing—and

he didn't know what. Yet he could not rest until the miss-

ing element was satisfied. So he had tromped to see the

Good Magician, because that was what creatures with

seemingly insoluble problems did—but he lacked the intel-

lect to formulate the Question. He had hoped to work it out

during the journey; but, with typical ogrish wit, he had for-

gotten all about it until this moment. There was no getting

around it; there were some few occasions when an ogre was

too stupid for his own good. "No know," he confessed,

standing on one of his own feet.

Humfrey scowled. He was a very old gnome, and it was

26 O^fe, Ogre

quite a scowl. "You came here to serve a year's service for

an Answer—and you don't have a Question?"

Smash had a Question, he was sure; he just didn't know

how to formulate it. So he stood silent, dripping on stray

artifacts, like the unsmart oaf he was.

Humfrey sighed. "Even if you asked it, it wouldn't be

the right Question," he said. "People are forever asking the

wrong Questions, and wasting their efforts. I remember not

long ago a girl came to ask how to change her nature. Cha-

meleon, her name was, except she wasn't called that then.

Her nature was just fine; it was her attitude that needed

changing." He shook his head.

As it happened. Smash knew Chameleon. She was

Prince Dor's mother, and she changed constantly from

smart to stupid and from beautiful to ugly. Humfrey was

right: her nature was just fine. Smash liked to talk with

her when she was down at his own level of idiocy, and to

look at her when she was at his level of ugliness. But the

two never came together, unfortunately. Still, she was a

fairly nice person, considering that she was human.

"Very well," Humfrey said in a not-very-well voice. "We

are about to have a first: an Answer without a Question.

Are you sure you wish to pay the fee?"

Smash wasn't sure, but did not know how to formulate

that uncertainty, either. So he just nodded afBrmatively,

his shaggy face scaring a cuckoo bird that had been about

to signal the hour. The bird signaled the hour with a terri-

fied dropping instead of a song, and retreated into its

cubby.

"So be it," the Magician said, shrugging. "You will dis-

cover what you need among the Ancestral Ogres." Then he

got up and marched to the door. "Come on; my effaced

wife will see about your service."

Numbly, Smash followed. Now he had his Answer—and

he didn't understand it.

They went downstairs—apparently, somehow, in a man-

ner that might have been intelligible to a creature of

greater wit, Smash had gotten upstairs in the process of

swimming under the firewall and emerging in the Good

Magician's study—where Humfrey's wife awaited them.

This was the lovely, faceless Gorgon—faceless because if

her face were allowed to show, it would turn men instantly

Ogre, Ogre 27

to stone. Even faceless, she was said to have a somewhat

petrifying effect. "Here he is," Humfrey said, as if deliver-

ing a bag of bad apples.

The Gorgon looked Smash up and down—or seemed to.

Several of the little serpents that substituted for her hair

hissed. "He certainly looks like an ogre," she remarked. "Is

he housebroken?"

"Of course he's not housebroken!" Humfrey snapped.

"He dripped all over my studyl Where's the girl?"

"Tandy!" the Gorgon called.

A small girl appeared, rather pretty in a human way,

with brown tresses and blue eyes and a spunky, tumed-up

nose. "Yes'm?"

"Tandy, you have completed your year's service this

date," the Gorgon said. "Now you will have your Answer."

The little girl's eyes brightened like noontime patches of

clear sky. She squiggled with excitement. "Oh, thank you,

Gorgon. I'm almost sorry to leave, but I really should re-

turn home. My mother is getting tired of only seeing me in

the magic mirror. What is my Answer?"

The Gorgon nudged Humfrey, her voluptuous body rip-

pling as she moved. "The Answer, spouse."

"Oh. Yes," the Good Magician agreed, as if this had not

before occurred to him. He cleared his throat, considering.

"Also say, what me pay," Smash said, not realizing that

he was interrupting an important cogitation.

"The two of you travel together," Humfrey said.

Smash stared down at the tiny girl, and Tandy stared up

at the hulking ogre. Each was more dismayed than the

other. The ogre stood two and a half times the height of the

girl, and that was the least of the contrast between them.

"But I didn't ask—" Tandy protested.

"What me task?" Smash said simultaneously. Had he

been more alert, he might have thought to marvel that even

this overlapping response rhymed.

The Gorgon seemed to smile. "Sometimes my husband's

pronouncements need a little interpretation," she said. "He

knows so much more than the rest of us, he fails to make

proper allowance for our ignorance." She pinched Hum-

frey's cheek in a remarkably familiar manner. "He means

this: the two of you. Smash and Tandy, are to travel

through the wilds of Xanth together, fending off hazards

28

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

29

together. That is the ogre's service in lieu of a year's labor

at this castle—protecting his companion. It is also the girl's

Answer, for which she has already paid."

"That's exactly what I said," Humfrey grumped.

"You certainly did, dear," the Gorgon agreed, planting a

faceless loss on the top of his head.

"But it doesn't make sense!" Tandy protested.

"It doesn't have to make sense," the Gorgon explained.

"It's an Answer."

Oh. Now Smash understood, as far as he was able.

"May I go back to my tome?" the Good Magician asked

petulantly.

"Why, of course you may," the Gorgon replied gra-

ciously, patting his backside as he turned. The Good Magi-

cian climbed back up toward his study. Smash knew the

man had lost valuable working time, but somehow the Ma-

gician did not seem unhappy. Naturally the nuances of hu-

man interrelations were beyond the comprehension of a

mere ogre.

The Gorgon returned her attention to them. "He's such a

darling," she remarked. "I really don't know how he sur-

vived a century without me." She focused, seemingly, on

Tandy. "And you might, if you would, do me a favor on

the way," the Gorgon said. "I used to live on an island near

the Magic Dust Village, which I think is right on your

route to Lake Ogre-Chobee. I fear I caused some mischief

for that village in my youth; I know I am not welcome

there. But my sister the Siren remains in the area, and if

you would convey my greetings to her—"

"But how can I travel with an ogre?" Tandy protested.

"That's not an Answer; that's a punishment 1 He'll gobble

me up the first time he gets hungryl"

"Not necessarily so," the Gorgon demurred. "Smash is

no ordinary ogre. He's honest and halfway civilized. He

will perform his service correctly, to the best of his limited

understanding. He will not permit any harm to come to

you. In fact, you could hardly have a better guardian while

traversing the jungles of Xanth."

"But how does this solve my problem, even if I'm not

gobbled up?" Tandy persisted. Smash saw that her spunky

nose was a correct indication of her character; she had a

fighting spirit despite her inadequate size. "Traveling won't

solve a thing! There's nowhere I can go to—"

The Gorgon touched the girl's lips with a forefinger.

"Let your problem be private for now, dear. Just accept my

assurance. If my husband says traveling will solve your

problem, then traveling will solve it. Humfrey knew an

ogre would be coming here at this time, and knew you

needed that sort of protection, since you have so little fa-

miliarity with the outside world. Believe me, it will turn

out for the best."

"But I don't have anywhere to go!"

"Yes, but Smash does. He is seeking the Ancestral

Ogres."

"A whole tribe of ogres? I'm absolutely doomed!"

The Gorgon's expression was facelessly reproving. "Nat-

urally you do not have to follow the advice you paid for,

dear. But the Good Magician Humfrey really does know

best."

"I think he's getting old," Tandy said rebelliously.

"Maybe he doesn't know as much as he used to."

"He likes to claim that he's forgotten more than he ever

knew," the Gorgon said. "Perhaps that is so. But do not

underestimate him. And don't misjudge this ogre."

Tandy pouted. "Oh, all right! I'll go with the monster.

But if he gobbles me up, you'll be responsible! I'll never

speak to you again."

"I accept the responsibility," the Gorgon agreed. "Now

Smash is hungry." She turned to him. "Come to the

kitchen, ogre, for a peck or two of raw potatoes. They

haven't been cleaned, and some have worms; you'll like

them."

"You're joking!" Tandy said. Then she looked again at

Smash, who was licking his chops. "You're not joking!"

"Well spoke; no joke," Smash agreed, hoping there

would also be a few barrels of dirty dishwater to glug down

with the potatoes. Tandy grimaced.

Chapter 3. Eye Queue

They traveled together, but it was no pleasure

for either. Smash had to take tiny slow steps to enable the

girl to keep up, and Tandy made it plain she considered

the ogre to be a monstrous lout. She refused to let him

carry her, as he could readily have done; despite the Gor-

gon's assurances, she was afraid of getting gobbled. She

seemed to have a thing about monsters, and male monsters

in particular; she hated them. So they wended their tedious

way south toward Lake Ogre-Chobee—a journey that

should have taken Smash alone a single day, but promised

to take several days with Tandy. The Good Magician had

certainly come up with a bad chore in lieu of his year's

service for an Answer! And Smash still didn't know what

Question had been answered.

The scenery was varied. At first they crossed rolling

hills; it took some time for Tandy to get the hang of walk-

ing on a hill that rolled, and she took several tumbles. For-

tunately, the hills were covered with soft, green turf, so

that the girl could roll with the punches, head over feet

without much damage. Smash did note, as a point of disin-

terest, that his companion was not the child she seemed.

She was very small even for her kind, but in the course of

her tumbles she displayed well-formed limbs and torso. She

was a little woman, complete in every small detail. Smash

knew about such details because he had once traveled to

Mundania with Prince Dor and Princess Irene, and that

girl Irene had somehow managed to show off every salient

feature of her sex in the course of the adventure, all the

while protesting that she wanted no one to see. Tandy had

30

Ogre, Ogre 31

less of each, but was definitely of a similar overall configu-

ration. And her exposures, it seemed, were genuinely unin-

tentional, rather than artful. She evidently had no notion of

what to wear on such a trip. In fact, she seemed amazingly

ignorant of Xanth terrain. It was as if she had never been

here before—which, of course, was nonsense. Every citizen

of Xanth had lived in Xanth, as had even the zombies and

ghosts, who no longer lived, but remained active.

After they passed the rolling hills they came to a more

stable area, where a tangle tree held sway. Tanglers were

like dragons and ogres in this respect: no sensible creature

tangled voluntarily with one. Smash didn't even think

about it; he just stepped around it, letting it sway alone.

But Tandy walked straight down the neat, clear path

that always led to such trees, innocently sniffing the pleas-

ant fragrance of the evil plant. She was almost within its

quiveringly hungry embrace before Smash realized that she

really didn't know what it was.

Smash dived for the girl, trying to snatch her out of the

grasp of the twitching tentacles. "No gol" he bellowed.

Tandy saw him. "Eeek! The monster's going to gobble

me!" she cried. But it was Smash she meant, not the real

menace. She scooted on inside the canopy of the dread

tree.

With a gleeful swish, the hanging tentacles pounced.

Five of them caught her legs, arms, and head. The girl was

hauled up and carried toward the slavering wooden orifice

in the base of the trunk. She screamed foolishly, as was her

kind's wont in such circumstances.

Smash took only a moment to assess the situation.

Thought with his brain was tedious and fatiguing and none

too effective, but thought with his muscles was swift and

sure. He saw Tandy in midair, wearing a pretty red print

dress and matching red slippers; tentacles were grabbing at

these, assuming them to be edible portions. One tentacle

was tugging at her hair, dislodging the red ribbon in it. In a

moment the tree would realize that the red was only the

wrapping, and would tear that away and get down to seri-

ous business.

Smash could handle a small tangler; he was, after all, an

ogre. But this was a big tangler. It had a hundred or more

pythonlike tentacles, and a personality to match its

32 Ogre, Ogre

strength. There was no way to negotiate or to reason with

it; Smash had to fight.

The ogre charged in. That wasn't hard; tanglers wanted

creatures to enter their turf. It was the getting out again

that was difficult. He grabbed the mass of tentacles that

had wrapped around the terrified and struggling girl. "Tree

let be," he grunted, hauling the works back away from the

sap-drooling orifice.

Now, tanglers were ferocious, but not unduly stupid.

This tree was full-sized—but so was the ogre. Very few

things cared to cross an ogre. The tree hesitated, and its

coils about the girl loosened.

Then the tree decided that it could, after all, handle this

challenge and gain a respectable meal in the bargain. It

attacked Smash with its remaining tentacles.

Smash had been wary of this, but was stuck for it. He

grabbed a tentacle in each hand and yanked—but the ma-

terial was flexible and stretchable, and moved with him.

He lacked the leverage to rip the tentacles out. Meanwhile,

Tandy was being carried back to the orifice, trailing torn

swatches of red cloth.

Smash tried a new tactic: he squeezed. Now the tree

keened in vegetable pain as its two tentacles were con-

stricted into jelly, dripped and spurted juice, and finally

were lopped off. But the thing expected to take some

losses, and it could always grow new tentacles; Tandy was

almost at the glistening maw. A limber fiber tongue was

tasting the red fabric. By the dme Smash could truncate all

the tentacles, the girl would be long digested.

Smash hurled himself at the orifice. He smashed his

gauntleted fists into it, breaking off the wooden teeth. Sap

splashed, burning his fur where it struck. The tree roared

with a sound like sundering timber, but the tentacles kept

coming.

The ogre braced himself before the orifice, blocking the

entry of the girl. She banged into him before the tree real-

ized this, and he was able to grab a couple more tentacles

and pinch them off. Now the tree could not consume her

until it dealt with him—and he was turning out to be

tougher than it had anticipated. In fact, he was turning out

tougher than he had anticipated; he had thought the tree

had the advantage, but he was faring pretty well.

Ogre, Ogre 33

It was a bad thing in Xanth when a predator misjudged

its foe. The tree was now in trouble, but had to fight on.

As new tentacles converged. Smash caught them, twisted

several together, and tied their tips into a great raveled

knot that he shoved into the orifice in the trunk. The maw

closed automatically, squirting digestive sap—and the tree

suffered a most unpleasant surprise. The keening of agony

magnified piercingly.

During this distraction. Smash unwrapped the girl,

squeezing each tentacle until it let go. Soon Tandy stood on

the ground, disheveled, shaken, but intact. "So—go,"

Smash said, catching other questing tentacles to clear her

escape.

The girl scooted out. She might be small and ignorant,

but she didn't freeze long in a crisis! Now Smash retreated

cautiously, glaring at hovering tentacles to discourage re-

newed attack. But the tree had had enough; the ogre had

defeated it. There was no further aggression.

Smash stepped out, privately surprised. How was it he

had been able to foil a tangler this size? He concentrated,

with effort, and managed to come to a conclusion; he had

grown since the last time he had tangled with a tangler.

Before, he would not have been strong enough to handle it;

now, with his larger mass and the gauntlets, he had the ad-

vantage. His self-image had not kept pace with his physical

condition. He knew his father Crunch could have handled

this tree; he, Smash, was now as powerful as that.

Tandy was waiting for him down the path. She was

sadly bedraggled, her dress in tatters, and bruises on her

body, but her spirit remained spunky. "I guess I have to

apologize to you. Smash," she said. "I thought—never

mind what I thought. You risked your life to save me from

my folly. I was being childish; you were mature."

"Sure—mature," Smash agreed, uncertain what she was

getting at. People did not apologize to ogres, so he had no

basis for comprehension.

"Well, next time you tell me 'no go,' I'll pay better at-

tention," she concluded.

He shrugged amenably. That would make things easier.

The day was getting on, and they were tired. Battling

tangle trees tended to have that effect. Smash -located a

muffin bush with a number of fresh ripe muffins, and

34

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

35

used his finger to punch a hole in a lime-soda tree so they

could drink. Then he found a deserted harpy nest in a tree,

long since weathered out, so that the filth and smell were

gone. He harvested a blanket from a blanket bush and used

it to line the nest. This was for Tandy to sleep in. It took

her some time to catch on, but as darkness loomed across

the land in the grim way it had in the wilderness, and the

nocturnal noises began, she was glad enough to clamber to

it scad curl up in it. He noted that she was good at climb-

ing, though she hardly seemed to know what a tree was.

He settled down below, on guard.

Tandy did not sleep immediately. Curled in her nest, she

talked. Apparently this was a human trait. "You know,

Smash, I've never been out on the surface of Xanth on foot

before. I was raised in the caverns, and then I rode a night-

mare to the Good Magician's castle. That was an accident;

I really wanted to go to Castle Roogna to see my father,

Crombie. But dawn came too soon, and I was out of sleep-

ing pills, and—well, I sort of had to ask a Question so as to

have a nice place to stay until I figured out what to do. I

spent a whole year working inside the castle; I never even

set foot beyond the moat, because I was afraid a certain

party would be lurking for me. So it's not surprising I don't

know about things like rolling hills and tangle trees."

That explained a lot. Smash realized he would have to

watch her more closely, to be sure she did not walk into a

lethal trap. The Magician's rationale for having her travel

with him was making more sense. She certainly could not

safely travel alone.

"I'm sorry I distrusted you. Smash," she continued in

her talkative way. "You see, I was raised near demons, and

in some ways you resemble a demon. Big and strong and

dusky. I was prejudiced."

Smash grunted noncommittally. He had not met many

demons, but doubted they could powder rock in the man-

ner of ogres.

"I certainly have a lot to learn, don't I?" she continued

ruefully. "I thought trees were sweet plants and ogres were

bad brutes, and now I know they aren't."

Oops. "Ogre. No—grrr!" Smash exclaimed emphatically.

Tandy was quick to catch on; she had the ready intelli-

gence of her kind. "You mean I shouldn't trust all ogres?

That they really do gobble people?"

"Ogres prone to crunch bone," Smash agreed.

"But you didn't—I— mean—" she grew doubtful.

"Smash work hard, girl to guard."

"Oh, you mean because the Good Magician charged you

with my protection," she said, relieved. "Your service for

your Answer. So ogres do gobble people and crunch bones,

but they also honor their obligations."

Smash didn't follow all of the vocabulary, but it sounded

about right, so he grunted assent.

"Very well. Smash," she concluded. "I'll trust you, but

will be wary of all other ogres. And all other things of

Xanth, too, especially if they seem too nice to be true."

That was indeed best. They lapsed into sleep.

No one bothered them in the night. After all, the night-

mares had to be wary of Tandy, after she had ridden one

of them, and he wasn't sure whether the mares knew how

to climb trees. As for himself—it was always the best pol-

icy to let a sleeping ogre lie.

They breakfasted on sugar sand and cocoa-nut milk.

Tandy had never before- drunk cocoa and was intrigued by

the novelty. She was also amazed by the way Smash liter-

ally shoveled the sugar into his mouth, hardly pausing to

chew, and crunched up whole cocoa-nuts, husks and all.

"You really are a monster," she said, half admiringly, and

Smash grunted agreement, pleased.

Then they resumed their trek south, encountering only

routine creatures. A toady was hopping north, looking for

some important person to advise; when told that Castle

Roogna was many days of hopping distant, it contorted its

broad and warty mouth into a scowl. "I hope I don't croak

before I get there," it said, and moved on. Croaking, it

seemed, was bad form for toadies.

Then there was the quack, with a wide bill and webbed

feet and a bag of special magic medicines. He was, he ex-

plained, looking for a suitable practice, where his marvel-

ous remedies would be properly appreciated. Meanwhile,

did they happen to knew where Pete was? Pete was a bog,

very good for delving. Since Pete wasn't north, where

36 Ogre, Ogre

Tandy and Smash had come from, and probably wasn't

south, where the Magic Dust Village was supposed to be,

and wasn't west, where the quack had come from, it had to

be east, by elimination. The quack coughed and, his mind

jogged by the term, deposited some genuine fresh birdlime

on the ground. Flies instantly materialized, having a taste

for lime, and Smash and Tandy moved on.

By noon they were in rougher territory. Sweaters

swarmed about them, causing them to perspire, until

Smash got fed up and issued a bellowing roar that blew

them all away. Unfortunately, it also blew the leaves off

the nearest trees, and several more tatters from Tandy's

dress.

Then they encountered a region of curse-burrs—little

balls of irritation that clung tenaciously to any portion of

the body they encountered. Smash's face lit up in a horren-

dous smile. "Me remember here!" he cried. "Me whelped

near."

"You were born here? Amidst these awful burrs?"

Tandy smiled ruefully. "I should have known."

Smash laughed. It sounded like a rockslide in a canyon.

"Me sire Crunch, best of bunch." He looked avidly about,

whelphood memories filtering back into his thick skull. Lat-

er, his family had moved to the vicinity of Castle Roogna,

because his lovely mother, whose hair was like nettles and

whose face would make a zombie blush, had felt their cub

should have some slight exposure to civilization. Crunch,

the slave of love, had acceded to this un-ogrish notion; who

could resist the blandishments of such a mushface as

Smash's mother?

"Oh, this is awful!" Tandy protested. "These burrs are

getting in my hair." It seemed human girls were sensitive

to that sort of thing.

"Could be worse," Smash said helpfully. "She make

curse."

"Curse?" she asked blankly.

Smash demonstrated. "Burr—grrr!" he growled. A burr

dropped lifelessly off his gross nose.

"I don't think I can make such rhymes," Tandy said.

Then a burr stuck her finger. "Get away, you awful

thing!" she exploded.

The burr dropped off. Tandy looked at it, comprehend-

Ogre, Ogre 37

ing. She was certainly intelligent! "Oh, I see. You just have

to curse them away!"

Even so, it was not easy, for Tandy had been raised as a

nice girl and did not know many curses. They hurried out

of the burr region.

Now they came to a dead forest. The trees stood gaunt,

petrified in place. "I'd like to know how that happened,"

Tandy remarked. Smash knew, but it was a long story in-

volving the romantic meeting of his parents, and it was

hard for him to formulate it properly, so he let it go..

In the afternoon they came to a region of brambles.

These were aggressive plants with glistening spikes. Smash

could wade through them imperviously, for his skin was so

tough he hardly felt the few thorns they dared to stick him

with. It was quite another matter for Tandy, who had deli-

cate and sweet-smelling skin, the kind that was made to be

tormented by thorns.

There were neatly cleared paths through the brambles

that Tandy was inclined to use, but Smash cautioned her

against this. "Lion, ant, between plant."

Her small brow wrinkled. "I don't see anything."

Then an ant-lion appeared. It had the head of a lion and

the body of an ant, and massed about as much as the girl

did; it was, of course, ten times as ferocious as anything a

nice girl could imagine. It roared when it spied her, strid-

ing forward aggressively.

Smash roared back. The ant-lion hastily reversed course;

it had been so distracted by the luscious prey that it had

not before seen the unluscious guardian. But Smash knew

that soon many more would arrive and would swarm over

the intruders. This was no safe place, even for the likes of

himself.

"Now I understand," Tandy said, turning pale. "Smash,

let's get out of here!"

But already there were rustlings behind them. The ant-

lions had surrounded them. There would be no easy escape.

"Me know path, avoid ant wrath," Smash said, looking

upward. How fortunate that he had been raised in this vi-

cinity, so that useful details of geography were coming

back to his slow memory!

"Oh, I couldn't swing from branch to branch through the

38 Ogre, Ogre

trees the way I'm sure you can," Tandy said, "I'm agile,

but not that agile. I'd be sure to fall."

But the ant-lions were closing in, a full pride of them.

Smash had to pick Tandy up to get her out of their reach.

Thus burdened, he was unable to fight effectively. Realiz-

ing this, the ants grew bolder, closing in, growling and

snapping. The situation was getting awkward.

Then Smash spied what he was looking for—the aereal

path. "Take care. Go there," he said, boosting the girl up

by her pert bottom.

"But it's sidewise!" she protested, peering at the path

with dismay. "I'd fall offi"

"Stand tall. No fall," he insisted.

Tandy obviously didn't believe him. But an ant-lion

leaped for her, jaws gaping, large front pincers snapping,

so she reached up to grab for the high path.

Suddenly she landed on it—sidewise. "I'm level!" she

cried, amazed. "The world has turned!" She stood up, or

rather sidewise, her body parallel to the ground.

Smash didn't worry about it. He knew the properties of

the path, having played on it as a cub. It was always

level—to the person on it. He was now far too massive to

use it himself, since the aereal path was getting old and brit-

tle, but he didn't need to. He was now unencumbered, free to

deal with the lions his own way.

The lions, angered at the escape of the lesser prey,

pounced on the greater prey. That was foolish of them.

Smash emitted a battle bellow that tore their whiskers back

and clogged then- pincers with debris, then began stomp-

ing and pounding. Lions yowled as the gauntleted fists con-

nected, and screeched as the hairy feet found flesh. Then

Smash picked up two ants by their narrow waists and

hurled them into the nettles. He took a moment to rip a

small hemlock tree out of the ground, shaking the locks

from its hem, and bit off its top, forming a fair club from

the remaining trunk. Soon the path was clear; the ant-lions,

like the tangle tree, had learned new respect for ogres.

"You're really quite something. Smash!" Tandy called,

clapping her hands. "You're a real terror when you get

worked up. I'll bet there's nothing more formidable than an

angry ogre!" She had an excellent view of the proceedings

Ogre, Ogre 39

from the elevated path, dodging when an ant flew past.

Ant-lions did not normally fly; this was a consequence of

being hurled out of the way. Ants were now stuck in a

number of the jungle trees.

"Me know who," Smash grunted, pleased. "Ogres two."

She laughed. "That figures. The only thing tougher than

one ogre is two ogres." She was now standing inverted, her

brown tresses hanging naturally about her shoulders as if

she were upright. She looked about, from her vantage.

"The ants aren't gone, just backed oif. Smash," she re-

ported. "Can you come up here?"

Smash shook his head no. But he wasn't worried. He

could use the ant paths. If the ants wanted a little more

ogre-type fun, he would gladly accommodate them.

They proceeded south, Tandy tilting with the orientation

of the aereal path, sometimes upright, sometimes not, en-

joying the experience. "There is nothing much in the cav-

erns like this!" she commented.

Smash tromped along the ant highways, tearing through

nettles when he needed to change paths. Soon the nettles

and ants were left behind, but the high path continued, so

Tandy stayed on it. Smash knew it terminated at the Magic

Dust Village, and since they had to pass there anyway, this

was convenient. According to Castle Roogna information,

the Magic Dusters had once had a population problem, not

being able to hold on to their males, so they had con-

structed the skyway to encourage immigration. Now there

were plenty of people at the village, so the path didn't mat-

ter, but no one had bothered to take it down. Smash and

Tandy made excellent progress.

Now they passed a region of hanging vines. They were

twined, almost braided, like queues, and seemed to have

eyes looking out from their recesses. Smash distrusted un-

familiar things in general and dangling vines in particular,

so he avoided the Eye Queues. They could be harmless, or

they could be bloodsuckers. This was beyond the region of

his cubhood familiarity, and anyway, things could have

changed in the interim. One could never take magic for

granted.

He also kept an eye on Tandy, above, to make sure she

did not brush against any vines. As a result, he didn't pay

40 Ogre, Ogre

close enough attention to his big feet—and stumbled over a

minor boulder that was damming a streamlet, much to the

streamlet's annoyance.

The boulder dam shattered, of course; it was only stone.

The streamlet gladly flowed through, with a burble of

thanks to its deliverer. But Smash suffered a momentary

loss of balance, his feet sinking into the sodden riverbed,

and he lurched headlong into a hanging vine.

The thing wrapped disgustingly around his head. He

snatched at it, but already it was sinking into his fur and

his flesh and hurting terribly when he tried to scrape it

loose. Since an ogre's course was generally that of most

resistance. Smash put both hands to his scalp and

scraped—and the burgeoning agony made him reel.

"Stop, Smash, stop!" Tandy screamed from above.

"You'll rip off your head!"

Smash stopped. "I concur. There is no sense in that."

Tandy stared down at him. "What did you say?"

"I said there is no sense in mortifying my flesh, since

the queue does not appear to have seriously incapacitated

me."

"Smash—you're not rhyming!"

"Why—so I am not!" he agreed, startled. "That must be

the curse of the Eye Queue; it has disrupted my natural

mechanism of communication."

"It's done more than that!" Tandy exclaimed. "Smash,

you sound smart!"

"That must be a fallacious impression. No ogre is unduly

intelligent."

"Well, you sure sound smart!" she insisted. "That Eye

Queue, as you call it, must have added some brains to your

head."

• "That seems reasonable," he agreed, after cogitating mo-

mentarily without effort. "The effect manifested concur-

rently with my contact with that object. Probability sug-

gests a causal connection. This, of course, is much worse

than any purely physical attack would have been; it has

temporarily un-ogred me. I must expunge it from my sys-

tem!"

"Oh, no, don't do that," she protested. "It's sort of inter-

esting, really. I don't mind you being smart. Smash. It's

much easier to talk with you."

Ogre, Ogre 41

"In any event, I seem unable for the moment to deacti-

vate it," Smash said. "It seems I must tolerate this curse for

the time being. But I assure you I shall be alert for an

antidote."

"Okay," she said. "If that's the way you feel."

"Indubitably."

They went on—and now Smash noted things that hadn't

interested him before. He saw how erosion had caused rifts

in the land, and how the forest stratified itself, with light-

indifferent vegetation and fungi at the nether levels and

bright, broad leaves above to catch the descending light of

the sun. The entire jungle was a cohesive unit, functioning

compatibly with its environment. All over Xanth, things

were integrating—in his new awareness. How blind he had

been to the wonders of magic, all his life!

As dusk closed, the aereal path descended to the ground,

and they arrived at the Magic Dust Village. A troll came

forth to meet them. "Ogre, do you come in peace or may-

hem?" the creature inquired, standing poised for flight

while other villagers hastily manned the fortifications and

cleared children and the aged from the region.

"In peace!" Tandy said quickly. "I am Tandy; this is

Smash, who is protecting me from monsters."

The troll's eyes gaped. This was an unusual expression,

even for this type of creature. "Protecting you from—?"

"Yes."

"Now, we have no prejudice against monsters here," the

troll said, scratching his long and homy nose with a discol-

ored claw. "I'm a monster myself, and some of my best

friends are monsters. But only a fool trusts an ogre."

"Well, I'm a fool," Tandy said. "This ogre fought a tan-

gle tree to save me."

"Are you sure you aren't a kidnap victim? You certainly

do look good enough to eat."

Smash did not appreciate the implication, which would

have passed him by had he not suffered the curse of the

Eye Queue vine. "My father is Crunch, the vegetarian

ogre," he said gruffly. "My family has not kidnapped any-

one in years."

The troll looked at him, startled. "You certainly don't

sound like an ogre! Did the Transformer-King transform

you to this shape?"

42 Ogre, Ogre

"I was whelped an ogre!" Smash insisted, the first traces

of roar coming into his voice.

Then the troll made a connection. "Ah, yes. Crunch

married a curse-fiend actress. You have human lineage;

that must account for your language."

"It must," Smash agreed drolly. He found he didn't care

to advertise his misadventure with the vine. He would be

laughed out of the village if its inhabitants learned he was

intelligent. "But I should advise you, purely in the interest

of amity, that I have been known to take exception to the

appellation 'half-breed.' I am a true ogre." He picked up a

nearby knot of green wood and squeezed it in one hand.

The green juice dripped as the wood pulped, until at last

there was a pool of green on the ground and the knot had

become a lump of coal.

"Yes, indeed," the troll agreed hastily. "No one here

would think of using that term. Welcome to our table for

supper; you are surely hungry."

"We are only passing through," Tandy said. "We're

going to Lake Ogre-Chobee."

"You can't get there from here," the troll said. "The Re-

gion of Madness intervenes."

"Madness?" Tandy asked, alarmed.

"From the airborne magic dust we process. Magic is

very potent here, and too much of it leads to alarming ef-

fects. You will have to go around."

They did not argue the case. Smash's inordinate intelli-

gence, coupled with his memories of this region, corrobor-

ated the information; he knew it would be impossible for

him to protect Tandy in the Region of Madness. There

were tales of the constellations of the night coming to life,

and of reality changing dangerously. In Xanth, things were

mostly what they seemed to be, so that illusion was often

reality. But illusion could be taken too far in the height-

ened magic of the Madness. Smash was now too smart to

risk it.

They joined the villagers' supper. Creatures of every

type came forth to feed, all well behaved: elves, gnomes,

goblins, a manticore, fauns, nymphs, fairies, human beings,

centaurs, griffins, and assorted other creatures. The hostess

was the troll's mate, Trolla. "It is much easier to arrive

than to depart," she explained as she served up helpings of

Ogre, Ogre 43

smashed potatoes and poured out goblets of mead. "We

have never had opportunity to construct an exit ramp, and

our work mining the source of magic is important, so we

stay. You may choose to remain also: we labor hard, but it

is by no means a bad life."

Smash exchanged a glance with Tandy, since it occurred

to him that this might be the sort of situation she was look-

ing for. But she was negative. "We have a message from

the sister of a neighbor of yours. We must get on and de-

liver it."

"A neighbor?" Trolla asked.

"She is called the Siren."

There was a sudden hush.

"You know," Tandy said. "The sister of the Gorgon."

"You are friend to the Gorgon?" Trolla asked coldly.

"I hardly know her," Smash said quickly, remembering

that this village had suffered at the Gorgon's hands—or

rather, her face, having had all the men turned to stone.

Fortunately, that mischief had been undone at the time of

the loss of magic, when all Xanth had become as drear as

Mundania, briefly. Numerous spells had been aborted in

that period, changing Xanth in ways that were still unrav-

eling. "I had to see Good Magician Humfrey, and she's his

wife. She asked us to say hello to the Siren."

"Oh, I see." Trolla relaxed, and the others followed her

example. There were murmurs of amazement and awe.

"The Good Magician's wife! And she turned him to

stone?"

"Not anywhere we could see," Tandy said, then blushed.

"Uh, that is—"

Trolla smiled. "He's probably too old for such enchant-

ment anyway, so the sight of her merely stiffens his spine,

or whatever." She gulped a goblet of mead. "The Siren no

longer lures people, since a smart centaur broke her magic

dulcimer. She is not a bad neighbor, but we really don't

associate with her."

They finished their repast, Smash happily consuming all

the refuse left after the others were done. The villagers set

them up with rooms for the night. Smash knew these were

honest, well-meaning folk, so he didn't worry about Tan-

dy's safety here.

As he lay on his pile of straw. Smash thought about the

place of the Magic Dust Village in the scheme of Xanth.

Stray references to it bubbled to the surface of his mem-

ory—things he had heard at different times in his life and

thought nothing of, since ogres thought nothing of every-

thing. From these suddenly assimilating fragments he was

now able to piece together the role of this village, geologi-

cally. Here it was that the magic dust welled to the surface

from the mysterious depths. The villagers pulverized it and

employed a captive roc-bird to flap its wings and waft huge

clouds of the dust into the air, where it caused madness

close by, technicolor hailstorms farther distant, and magic

for the rest of Xanth as it diluted to natural background

intensity. If the villagers did not perform this service, the

magic dust would tend to clump, and the magic would be

unevenly distributed, causing all manner of problems.

Certainly the Magic Dusters believed all this, and la-

bored most diligently to facilitate the proper and even

spreading of the dust. Yet Smash's Eye Queue-infected

brain obnoxiously conjured caveats, questioning the reali-

ties the villagers lived by.

If the magic really came from the dust, it should endure

as long as the dust did, fading only slowly as the dust wore

out. Yet at the Time of No Magic, all Xanth had been

rendered Mundane instantly. That had happened just be-

fore Smash himself had been whelped, but his parents had

told him all about it. They had considered it rather ro-

mantic, perhaps even a signal of their love. Crunch had lost

his great strength in that time, but other creatures had been

affected far more, and many had died. Then the magic

had returned, as suddenly as it had departed, and Xanth

had been as it was before. There had been no great move-

ments of dust then, no dust storms. That suggested that the

magic of Xanth was independent of the dust.

The dust came from below, and if it brought the magic,

the nether regions must be more magical than the surface.

Tandy had lived below, yet she seemed normal. She did not

even appear to have a magic talent. So how could the magic

be concentrated below?

But Smash decided not to raise these questions openly,

as they would only make things awkward for the villagers.

And perhaps the belief of the Dusters was right and his

vine-sponsored objections were wrong. After all, what

could a Queue of Eyes understand of the basic nature of

Xanth?

His thought turned to a bypath. A magic talent—that

must be what Tandy was questing for! He, as an ogre, was

fortunate; ogres had strength as their talent. When Smash

had gone to Mundania, outside the magic, ambience of

Xanth, he had lost his strength and his rhyme, distress-

ingly. Now he had lost his rhymes and his naivete, but not

his strength.

Was the infliction of the curse of the Eye Queue really

so bad? There were indeed pleasures in the insights this

artificial intelligence afforded him. Yet ogres were sup-

posed to be stupid; he felt sadly out of place.

Smash decided to keep quiet, most of the time, and let

Tandy do the talking. He might no longer be a proper ogre

in outlook, but at least he could seem like an ogre. If he

generated an illusion of continuing stupidity, perhaps in

time he would achieve it again. Certainly this was worth

the hope. Meanwhile, his shame would remain mostly se-

cret.

Ogre, Ogre 47

Chapter 4. Catastrophe

In the morning they walked along an old ground-

bound path to the small lake that contained the Siren's

isle. It was pretty country, with few immediate hazards,

and so Smash found it dull, while Tandy liked it very well.

The Siren turned out to be a mature mermaid who had

probably been stunning in her youth and was not too far

from it even now. She evidently survived by fishing and

seemed satisfied with her lot, or more correctly, her pond.

"We bring greetings from your sister the Gorgon,"

Tandy called as they crossed the path over the water to the

island.

Immediately the mermaid was interested. She emerged

from the water and changed to human form—her fish-tail

simply split into two well-formed legs—and came to meet

them, still changing. She had been nude in the water, but it

hardly mattered since she was a fish below the waist. But

as she dried, the scales that had covered her tail converted

to a scale-sequin dress that nudged up to cover the upper

portion of her torso. For a reason that had never been clear

to Smash, it was all right for a mermaid to show her

breasts, but not all right for a human woman to do the

same. The finny part of her flukes became small shoes. It

was minor but convenient magic; after all, Smash thought,

she might otherwise get cold feet. "My sister!" she ex-

claimed, her newly covered bosom heaving. "How is she

doing?"

"Well, she's married to the Good Magician Humfrey—"

"Oh, yes, I had news of thati But how is she recently?"

"Recently?" Tandy's brow furrowed.

46

Smash caught on to the nature of the Siren's question.

"She wants to know whether the Gorgon is pregnant," he

murmured.

Tandy was startled. "Oh—I don't know about that. I

don't think so. But she does seem happy, and so does the

Magician."

The Siren frowned. "I'm so glad she found hers. I wish I

had found mine." And Smash now perceived, from this

dose range and the magnification of his interpretive intel-

lect, that the Siren was not happy at all. She bad lost her

compelling magic twenty years ago and had very little left

Such things had not before been concerns of Smash's.

Ogres hardly cared about the nuances of the lifestyles of

nymphal creatures. Now, thanks to the curse of the Eye

Queue, Smash felt the Siren's problem, and felt the need to

alleviate it. "We are going to Lake Ogre-Chobee. Perhaps if

you went there, you would find yours."

The Siren brightened. "That's possible."

"But we are having trouble finding the way," he said.

"The Madness intercedes."

"It's a nuisance," the' Siren agreed. "But there are ways

around it"

"We would like to know of one."

"Well, there's the catapult. Yet you have to pay the cat's

price."

"What is the cat's price?" Tandy asked warily. "If it's a

kind of demon, we might not like it."

"It likes catnip—and that's not easy to get"

"Smash could get it," Tandy said brightly. "He fought a

tangle tree and a pride of ant-lions."

"Well, he's an ogre," the Siren agreed matter-of-factly.

"That sort of thing is routine for them."

"Why don't you come with us and show us where the

catnip is?" Tandy suggested. "Then we can all go to the

catapult and on to Lake Ogre-Chobee."

The Siren considered. "I admit I don't seem to be ac-

complishing much here. I never thought I'd travel with an

ogrel" She faced Smash. "Are you tame? I've beard some

bad things about ogres—"

"They're all true!" Smash agreed. "Ogres are the worst

brutes on two legs. But I was raised in the environs of

Castle Roogna, so am relatively civilized."

48 Ogre, Ogre

"He's really very nice, when you get to know him,"

Tandy said. "He doesn't crunch the bones of friends."

"I'll risk it," the Siren decided. "I'll lead you to the cat-

nip." She adjusted her dress, packed a few fish for nibbling

on the way, and set oft, leading them east of the lake.

The catnip grew in a section of the jungle separated by a

fiercely flowing stream. They had to use a narrow catwalk

past a cataract that was guarded by a catamount. "Don't

fall into the water," the Siren warned. "It's a catalyst that

will give you catarrh, catatonia, and catalepsy."

"I don't understand," Tandy said nervously. "Is that

bad?"

"A catalyst is a substance that facilitates change," Smash

explained, drawing on his new Eye Queue intellect. "In the

case of our living flesh, this is likely to mean deterioration

and decay such as catarrh, which is severe mflammation

inside the nose, catatonia, which is stupor, and catalepsy,

which is loss of motion and speechlessness. We had better

stay out of this water; it is unlikely to be healthy."

"Yes, unlikely," Tandy agreed faintly. "But the cata-

mount is on the catwalk! It will throw us off."

"Oh, I wouldn't be concerned about that," Smash said.

He strode out on the catwalk. It dipped and swayed under

his mass, but he had the sure balance of his primitive kind

and proceeded with confidence.

"No violence!" Tandy pleaded.

The catamount was a large reddish feline with long

whiskers and big paws. It snarled and stalked toward

Smash, its tail swishing back and forth.

No violence?

A fright would have been fun, but Smash realized now

that the girls would worry, so he used his intellect to pon-

der on a peaceful option. What about the one he had used

on the moat-monster at the Good Magician's castle? "I

want to show you something, kitty," he said. He leaned

forward and held out his right hand. The catamount paused

distrustfully.

Smash carefully closed his gauntleted hamflngers into a

huge, gleaming fist. Shafts of sunlight struck down to elicit

new gleams as Smash slowly rotated his fist. It was amaz-

ing how each shaft knew exactly where to go!

Smash nudged this metallic hamfist under the cata-

Ogre, Ogre 49

mount's nose. "Now kitty," he said quietly, "if you do not

vacate this path expeditiously, you are apt to have a closer

encounter with this extremity. Does this eventuality meet

with your approval?"

The feline's ears twitched as if it suffered indigestion; it

seemed to have a problem with the vocabulary. It consid-

ered the extremity. The fist sent another barrage of glints

of reflected sunlight out, seeming to grow larger. The ogre

stood perfectly balanced and at ease, muscles bulging only

slightly, fur lying almost unruffled. After a moment, snarl-

ing ungraciously, the catamount decided not to dispute the

path this time. It backed away.

Well, well. Smash thought. His bluff had worked—now

that he had the wit to bluff. Of course, it would have been

fun to hurl the catamount into the water below and see

what happened to it, but that pleasure was not to be, this

time.

A catbird sailed down out of the sky. It had the body of

a crow and the head of a cat. "Meow!" it scolded the cata-

mount, and issued a resounding catcall. Then it wheeled on

Smash, claws extended cat-as-catch-can.

The ogre's mitt moved swiftly. The hamfingers caught

the catbird, who screeched piteously. Smash brought it

down, pulled out one large tailfeather, and lofted the crea-

ture away. The catbird flew awkwardly, its rudder mal-

functioning. The fight had been taken out of it, along with

much of the flight

A catfish protested from below. It lifted its cat-head

from the flowing water and yowled. Its voice had a nasal

quality; the creature did indeed seem to be suffering from

catarrh and perhaps catalepsy, though probably it had built

up a certain immunity to the curses of the water. Smash

hurled the feather down into its mouth. The catfish choked

and sneezed, disappearing.

Now Smash, Tandy, and the Siren crossed without imped-

iment. "Sometimes it's really handy having an ogre

along," Tandy remarked. She seemed to have swung from

absolute distrust to absolute support, and Smash was not

displeased.

The path led through a field of cattails growing in cat-

sup where cattle grazed, fattening up in case some cata-

clysm came. It terminated at a catacomb. "The catnip

50

Ogre, Ogre

grows in there," the Siren said, pointing to the teeth of the

comb that barred the entrance. "But it's dangerous to en-

ter, because if the cataclysm comes, the cattle will

stampede into it."

"Then I will go alone," Smash said. He brushed the

comb aside and marched on down. The way soon became

dark, but ogres had good night vision, so he wasn't much

bothered.

"Don't invite catastrophe!" the Siren called after him.

"I certainly hope not," Smash called back, though in

truth he wouldn't have minded a little of that to make

things interesting. "I will be pusillanimously careful."

Deep inside the cave, he found a garden of pleasantly

scented, mintlike plants with felinely furry leaves. Each

had a spike of blue flowers. These must be the catnips.

Smash took hold of one and pulled it up by the roots,

being uncertain which part of the plant he needed, and

stuffed it into his bag. The flowers nipped at him, but

lacked the power even to be annoying. He grabbed and

crammed more plants, until he felt he had enough.

He turned to depart—and spied a dimly glowing object

It was set in the cave wall beside the exit, framed in stone

set with yellow cat's-eye gems. It was a furry hump with a

tail descending from it: evidently the posterior of some sort

of feline. A pussy-willow? No, too large for that. Smash

recalled reference to one of the barbarian customs of the

Mundanes, in which they killed animals and mounted their

heads on walls. That was stupid—perfectly edible heads

going to waste! Someone must have done the same for this

cat's rear.

Smash considered, then decided to take the trophy along.

It certainly wasn't doing any good here in the dark. Per-

haps the girls would like to see it. Smash realized that it

was a measure of the degradation foisted on him by the

Eye Queue that he even thought of showing something in-

teresting to others, but he was stuck with it.

He reached out to grab the stone frame. The cats-eyes

blinked wamingly. The thing was firmly set, so he applied

force. The frame ripped out of the wall—and the roof col-

lapsed.

Puzzled, Smash put one fist up over his head. The rock

fell on this and cracked apart, piling up on either side.

Ogre, Ogre 51

Smash climbed up through the rubble, toting his bag of

plants, but was unable to bring the posterior-trophy. In a

moment he reached daylight.

"Oh, you're all right!" Tandy cried. "I was so afraid—"

"Rockfalls can't hurt ogres," Smash said. "I tried to take

a trophy, but the roof fell in." He dusted himself off.

"A trophy?" Tandy asked blankly.

"The rear end of some kind of cat, mounted in the wall."

"That was the catastrophe!" the Siren cried. "I told you

not to invite it!"

Catastrophe—a trophy of the rear of a cat. Now Smash

understood. He had not properly applied his new intelli-

gence, and had done considerable damage to the catnip

garden as a result. He would try to be more careful in the

future. As long as he was cursed with intellect, he might as

well use it.

"I had better clear the rocks out of the garden," Smash

said. This, too, was an un-ogrish sentiment, but the Eye

Queue and the presence of the girls seemed to have that

effect on him.

"No, don't bother," the Siren said. "You wouldn't know

how to set it right. The caterpillar will take care of that

after we leave. It likes to push rocks around."

They crossed the catwalk past the cataract again and

proceeded to the catapult. This was a feline creature the

size of a small sphinx, crouched in a clearing. Its tail ex-

panded into a kind of netting at the end, large enough for a

boulder to rest on. There was a basket nearby, just that

size.

The Siren approached the catapult. "Will you hurl us to

Lake Ogre-Chobee, please?" she asked. "We have some

catnip for you."

The cat brightened. It nodded its whiskered head. They

laid the catnip plants down before it, then moved the bas-

ket to the expanded tail. The three of them climbed in and

drew the wicker lid over, enclosing themselves.

The cat sniffed the catnip. Its tail stiffened ecstatically.

Then it nipped the catnip. As the potent stuff took effect,

the tail suddenly sprang up, carrying the basket along. Sud-

denly the party of three was flying.

They looked out between the slats. Xanth was cruising

by beneath them, all green and blue and yellow. There

52 Ogre, Ogre

were scattered, low-hanging clouds around them, white be-

low, all other colors above, where they couldn't be seen

from the ground. Some were rainclouds, shaped like pools,

brimming with water. Stray birds were taking baths in

them, and flying fish were taking breathers there, too. The

basket clipped the edge of oae of these rainclouds and tore

a hole in it; the water poured out in a horrendous leak.

There was an angry uproar from below as the unscheduled

deluge splashed on the forest. But this was the Region of

Madness anyway; no one would be able to prove the differ-

ence.

Now it occurred to Smash to wonder about their descent.

They had risen smoothly enough, but the fall might be less

comfortable.

Then some sort of material popped out of the lid of the

basket. It spread into a huge canopy that caught the air

magically and held back the basket. The descent became

slow, and they landed by the shore of Lake Ogre-Chobee.

They opened the basket and stepped out. "That was

funi" Tandy exclaimed girlishly. "But how will the cata-

pult get its basket back?"

An orange creature hurried up, vaguely catlike. "I'll take

that," it said.

"Who are you?" Tandy asked.

"I am the agent of this region. It is my job to see that

things get where they belong. The catapult has a contract

for the return of its baskets."

"Oh. Then you had better take it. But I don't know how

you'll be able to carry that big basket through that thick

jungle, or past the Region of Madness."

"No problem. I'm half mad already." The orange agent

picked up the basket and trotted north. The vegetation

wilted and died in the creature's vicinity, making a clear

path.

"Oh—that's its magic talent," Tandy said. "Agent Or-

ange kills plants."

They turned to Lake Ogre-Chobee. It was a fine blue

expanse of water with a whirlpool in the center. "Don't go

there," the Siren cautioned. "The curse-fiends live there."

"What is wrong with the curse-fiends?" Smash asked.

"My mother was one."

The Siren turned her gaze on him, startled. "Oh—I un-

Ogre, Ogre 53

derstood you were an ogre. The/curse-fiends are of human

derivation. I didn't mean to—"

"My mother is an actress. She had to play the part of an

ogress in an adaptation of Prince Charming, a Mundane

tale. Naturally she was the ingenue."

"Naturally," the Siren agreed faintly.

"But my father Crunch happened onto the set, inno-

cently looking for bones to crunch, and spied her and was

instantly smitten by her horribleness and carried her away.

Naturally she married him."

"Yes, of course," the Siren agreed, looking wan. "I am

jealous of her fortune. I'm of human derivation myself."

"The curse-fiends fired off a great curse that killed a

huge forest," Smash continued. "But my parents escaped

the curse by becoming vegetarians. Most ogres crunch

bones, so this confused the curse and caused it to misfire."

"You were raised in a non-bone-crunching home!"

Tandy exclaimed.

"I'm still an ogre," he said defensively.

"I'm glad it worked out so well," the Siren said. "But I

think it would be wise to avoid the curse-fiends. They

might not appreciate your position."

"I suppose so," Smash admitted. "But they are excellent

actors. No one ever confused my mother for a human

being."

"I'm sure they didn't," the Siren agreed. "I saw one of

the curse-fiends' plays once. It was very well done. But it

can be awkward associating with someone who throws a

curse when aggravated."

Smash laughed. "It certainly can be! I acted un-ogrish

once, letting a wyvem back me off from an emerald I had

found—"

"My mother set that emerald in place!" Tandy ex-

claimed.

"And my mother threw a curse at me," he continued. "It

scorched the ground at my feet and knocked me on my

head. I never let any monster back me off again!"

"That was cruel," Tandy said. "She shouldn't have

cursed you."

"Cruel? Of course not. It was ogre love, the only kind

our kind understands. She cursed my father once, and it

54

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

55

was two days before he recovered, and the smile never left

his face."

"Well, I don't know," Tandy said, and she seemed un-

usually sober. Did she have some connection to the curse-

fiends? Smash filed the notion for future reference.

They walked around a portion of Lake Ogre-Chobee,

trying not to attract attention. There were no ogres in evi-

dence, and no traces of their presence—no broken-off trees

or fragmented boulders or flat-stomped ground.

There seemed to be no threats, either; the entire lake

was girded, as far as they could see, by a pleasant little

beach, and the water was clear and free of monsters. Evi-

dently the curse-fiends had driven away anything danger-

ous.

"Look at the noses!" Tandy cried, pointing across the

water. Smash looked. There were scores of nostrils swim-

ming in pairs toward the shore, making little waves. As

they drew near, he saw that the nostrils were the visible

tips of more extensive snouts, which continued on into long

reptilian bodies.

"Oh—the chobees," the Siren said, relaxing. "They're

mostly harmless. Chobees aren't related to other kinds of

bees; they don't sting. Once in a while one strays up to my

lake."

"But what big teeth they have!" Tandy said.

"They're imitation, teeth, soft as pillows."

A chobee scrambled out onto the beach. It had short, fat,

green legs and a green corrugated skin. The Siren petted it

on the head, and the chobee grinned. She touched one of

its teeth, and the tooth bent like rubber, snapping back into

place when released.

But Smash had a nagging doubt. "I remember something

my father said about the chobees. Most of them are inno-

cent, but some—"

"Oh, yes, that's right," the Siren agreed. "A few, a very

few, have real teeth. Those kind are dangerous."

"Let's stay away from the bad ones, then," Tandy said.

"What do they look like?"

"I don't know," the Siren admitted.

"They look just like the nice ones," Smash said slowly,

dredging his memory.

"But then any of these could be a bad one," Tandy said,

alarmed.

"True," Smash agreed. "Unless the curse-fiends got rid

of them."

"How could the curse-fiends tell the difference, if we

can't?" Tandy asked.

"If a chobee eats a curse-fiend, it's probably a bad one,"

the Siren said, smiling obscurely.

"Do we need to tell the chobees apart the same way?"

Tandy asked worriedly.

The Siren laughed musically. Her voice was only a

shadow of what it must have been when she had her luring

magic, but it remained evocative. "Of course not, dear.

Let's avoid them all." That seemed easy enough to do, as

the three of them could walk faster than the reptiles could.

Soon the chobees gave up the chase and nosed back into

the water, where they buzzed away toward the deeper por-

tions of the lake. Tandy watched the wakes their nostrils

left with relief.

At one point the lake become irregular, branching out

into a satellite lake that was especially pretty. A partial

causeway crossed the narrow connection between the large

and small lakes. "I'll wade across!" Smash said, delighting

in the chance to indulge in some splashing.

"I don't know," Tandy said. "The nice paths can be dan-

gerous." She had learned from her experience with the tan-

gler and the ant-lions; now she distrusted all the easy ways.

"I 'will explore the water," the Siren said. "I will be able

to tell very quickly whether there are dangerous water

creatures near. Besides, I'm hungry; I need to catch some

fish." She slid into the small lake, her legs converting to

the sleekly scaled tail, her dress fading out.

"If you find a monster, send it my way," Smash called.

"I'm hungry, too!"

She smiled and dived below-the surface, a bare-breasted

memymph swimming with marvelous facility. In a mo-

ment her head popped up, tresses glistening. "No monsters

here!" she called. "Not even any chobees. I believe that

causeway is safe; I find no pitfalls there."

That was all Smash needed. "Too bad," he muttered. He

waded in, sending a huge splay of water to either side.

56 Ogre, Ogre

But Tandy remained hesitant. "I think I'll just walk

around it," she said.

"Good enough!" Smash agreed, and forged on into

deeper water. The causeway dropped lower, 'but never

deeper than chest height on him. He conjectured that it

might have been constructed by the curse-fiends to prevent

large sea monsters from passing; they preferred deep water

and avoided shallows. Maybe the smaller lake had been de-

veloped as a resort region. This suggested that there could

be monsters in Lake Ogre-Chobee; they just happened to be

elsewhere at the moment. Maybe they represented an addi-

tional protection for the fiends, converting the whole of the

large lake into a kind of moat. It really didn't matter, since

he had no business with the curse-fiends. After all, they

had not let his mother go willingly to marry his father. She

had had no further contact with her people after she had

taken up with Crunch the Ogre, and it occurred to Smash

that this could not have made her feel good. So his attitude

toward the fiends was guarded; he would not try to avoid

them, but neither would he try to seek them out. Neutrality

was the watchword. He had never thought this out be-

fore—but he had not suffered the curse of the Eye Queue

before, either. He still hoped to find some way to be rid of

it, as these frequent efforts of thought were not conducive

to proper ogrish behavior.

He glanced across the water of the little lake. Tandy was

picking her way along the beach, looking very small. He

felt un-ogrishly protective toward her—but, of course, this

was his service to the Good Magician. Ogres were gross

and violent, but they kept their word. Also, the Eye Queue

curse lent him an additional perception of the virtue of an

ethical standard. It was a bit like physical strength; the

ideal was to be strong in all respects, ethical as well as

physical. And Tandy certainly needed protection. Besides

which, she was a nice girl. He wondered what she was

looking for in life and how it related to his journey to seek

the Ancestral Ogres. Had old Magician Humfrey finally

lost his magic, and had to foist Tandy off on an ogre m

lieu of a genuine Answer? Smash hoped not, but he had to

entertain the possibility. Suppose there was in fact no An-

swer for Tandy—or for himself?

Smash had no ready answer for that, even with his un-

Ogre, Ogre 57

wanted new intelligence, so had to let the thought lapse.

But it was disquieting. High intelligence, it seemed, posed

as many questions as it answered; being smart was not nec-

essarily any solution to life's problems. It was much easier

to be strong and stupid, bashing things out of the way with-

out concern for the consequences. Disquiet was no proper

feeling for an ogre.

Now he got down in the water and splashed with all

limbs. This was proper ogre fun! The spray went up in a

great cloud, surrounding the sun and causing its light to

fragment into a magic halo. The whole effect was so lovely

that he continued splashing violently until pleasantly

winded. When he stopped, he discovered that the water

level of the small lake had dropped substantially, and the

sun was hastening across the sky to get out of the way,

severely dimmed by all the water that had splashed on it.

But his thorough washing did not clear the Eye Queue

from the fur of his head. Somehow the Queue had sunk

into his brain, and the braided Eyes were providing him

new visions of many kinds. It would be hard indeed to get

those Eyes out again.

At last he waded out at the far side. The Siren swam up,

converted her tail to legs, and joined him on the warm

beach. "You made quite a splash. Smash," she said. "Had I

not known better, I would have supposed a thunderstorm

was forming."

"That good!" he agreed, well satisfied. Of course it

wasn't all good; he was now unconscionably clean. But a

few good rolls in the dirt would take care of that.

"That bad," the Siren said with a smile.

He studied her as she gleamed wetly, her scale-suit

creeping up to cover the fullness of her front. She seemed

, to be turning younger, though this might be inconsequential

i ^ illusion. "I think the^swim was good for you, too, Siren.

You look splendid." Privately, he was amazed at his words;

she did look splendid, and her affinity to the voluptuous Gor-

gon was increasingly evident, but no ordinary ogre would

have noticed, let alone complimented her in the fashion of

a human being. The curse of the Queue was still spreading!

"I do feel better," she agreed. "But it's not just the swim.

It's the companionship. I have lived alone for too long; now

58 Ogre, Ogre Ogre, Ogre 59

that I have company, however temporarily, my youth and

health are returning."

So that explained it! People of human stock had need

for the association of other people. This was one of the

ways in which ogres differed from human beings. Ogres

needed nobody, not even other ogres. Except to marry.

He looked again at the Siren. Her nymphlike beauty

would have dazzled a man and led him to thoughts of

moonlight and gallivanting. Smash, however, was an ogre;

full breasts and smoothly fleshed limbs appealed to him

only aesthetically—-and even that was a mere product of

the Eye Queue. An uncursed ogre would simply have be-

come hungry at the sight of such flesh.

Which reminded him—he needed something to eat. He

checked around for edibles and spied some ripe banana

peppers. He stuffed handfuls of them into his mouth.

Something nagged him as he chewed. Flesh—female—

hunger—ah, now he had it. A girl in danger of being eaten.

"Where's Tandy?" he asked.

"I haven't seen her, Smash," the Siren said, her fair

brow furrowing. "She should be here by now, shouldn't

she? We had better go look for her, in case—well, let's just

see. I'll swim; you check the beach."

"Agreed." Smash crammed another double fistful of

peppers into his face and started around the beach, con-

cerned. He blamed himself now for his selfish carelessness.

He knew that Tandy was unfamiliar with the surface of

Xanth, liable to fall into the simplest trap. If something

had happened to her—

"I find nothing here," the Siren called from the water.

"Maybe she went off the beach for a matter of hygiene."

Good notion. Smash checked the tangled vines beyond

the beach—and there, in due course, he found Tandy. "Hi-

hol" he called to her, waving a hamhand.

Tandy did not respond. She was kneeling on the turf,

looking at something. "Are you all right?" Smash asked,

worry building up like a sudden storm. But the girl neither

moved nor answered.

The Siren came out of the water, dripping and changing

in the effective way she had, and joined Smash. "Oh—

she's fallen prey to a hypnogourd."

A hypnogourd. Smash remembered encountering that

fruit before. Anyone who peeked in the peephole of such a

gourd remained mesmerized until some third party broke

the connection. Naturally Tandy had not been aware of

this. So she had peeked, being girlishly curious—and re-

mained frozen there.

Gently, the Siren removed the gourd, breaking the con-

nection. Tandy blinked and shook her head. But her eyes

did not quite focus. Her features coalesced into an expres-

sion of vacant, continuing horror.

"Hey, come out of it, dear," the Siren said. "The bad

vision is over. It ended when you lost contact with the

gourd. Everything's all right."

Yet the girl seemed numb. The Siren shook her, but still

Tandy did not respond.

"Maybe it's like the Eye Queue," Smash said. "It stays in

the mind until removed."

"The gourds aren't usually that way," the Siren said,

perplexed. "Of course, I have not had much personal expe-

rience with them, since I have lived alone; there's no one to

break the trance for me, so I have stayed clear. But I met a

man once, a Mundane, back when I was able to lure men

with my music. He said the gourds were like computer

games—that seems to be something he knew about in Mun-

dania, one of their forms of magic—only more compelling.

He said some people got hooked worse than others."

"Tandy was raised in the caves. She has no experience

with most of Xanth. She must be susceptible. Whatever she

saw in there maintains its grip on her mind."

"That must be it. Usually people have no memory of

what they see inside, but maybe that varies also. That same

Mundane spoke of acidheads, which I think are creatures

whose heads—well, I can't quite visualize that. But it

seems they suffered flashbacks of their mad dreams after

their heads were back in normal shape. Maybe Tandy is—"

"I'll go into that gourd and destroy whatever is bothering

her," Smash said. "Then she'll be free."

"Smash, you may not have your body in there! I have

never looked into a gourd, but I don't think the same rules

apply as those we know. You could get caught there, too. It

could be catastrophe."

60 Ogre, Ogre

"I will be more careful to avoid that trophy, this time,"

Smash said with an ogrish grimace. He applied his eye to

the peephole.

He was in a world of black and white. He stood before a

black wooden door set in a white house. There was no

sound at all, and the air was chill. Faintly ominous vibra-

tions wafted in from the near distance. There was the dif-

fuse odor of spoiling carrion.

Smash licked bis lips. Carrion always made him hungry.

But he did not trust this situation. Tandy was not here, of

course, and he saw nothing that could account for her con-

dition. Nothing to frighten or horrify a person. He decided

to leave.

However, he perceived no way out. He had arrived full-

formed within this scene; there was no obvious exit. He

was locked into this vision—unless he had entered through

this door and turned about to face it without realizing, and

could depart through it. Doors generally did lead from one

place to another.

He took hold of the black metal doorknob. The thing

zapped him with a small bolt of lightning. He tried to let

go, but his hand was locked on. He wore no gauntlets; evi-

dently he had left them behind. The electric pain pulsed

through his fingers, locking the muscles clenched with its

special magic. There was a wash of pain, literally; his black

hand was now glowing with red color, in stark contrast

with the monochrome of the rest of the scene.

Smash yanked hard on the knob. The entire door ripped

off its hinges. The pain stopped, the red color faded, his

fingers relaxed at last, and he hurled the door away behind

him.

Before him was a long, blank hall penetrating the som-

ber house. From the depths of it came a horrendous groan.

This did not seem to be the way out; he was sure he had

not walked any great distance inside the gourd. But it did

seem pleasant enough, and was the only way that offered.

Smash stepped inside.

A chill draft rustled the fur on his legs. The odor of

putrefaction intensified. The floor shuddered as it took his

weight. There was another groan.

Smash strode forward, impatient to get out of this inter-

estingly drear but pointless place, worried about Tandy. He

Ogre, Ogre 61

needed to consult with the Siren, to work out some strategy

by which he might find whatever had scared Tandy and

deal with it. Otherwise he would have felt free to enjoy the

further entertainments of this house. Had he realized what

kind of scene was inside the gourd, he would have entered

it years ago.

Something flickered before him. Smash squinted, and

saw it was a ghost. "You trapped, too?" he asked sympa-

thetically, and walked through it.

The ghost made an angry moan and flickered to his

frontside again. "Boooooo!" it booooooed.

Smash paused. Was this creature trying to tell bun some-

thing? He had known very few ghosts, as they did not ordi-

narily associate with vgres. There were several at Castle

Roogna, attending to routine hauntings. "Do I know you?"

he asked. "Do we have any mutual acquaintances?"

"Yoowwelll" the ghost yowded, its hollow eyes flashing

darkness,

"I'd help you if I could, but I'm lost myself," Smash said

apologetically, and brushed on through it again. The ghost,

disgusted for some obscure reason, faded away.

The passage narrowed. This was no illusion; the walls

were closing on either side, squeezing together. Smash

didn't like to be crowded, so he put one hamhand on each

wall and pushed outward, exerting ogre force. Something

snapped; then the walls slid apart and lay tilted at slightly

odd angles. It would probably be a long time before they

tried to push another ogre around!

At the end of the hall was a rickety staircase leading up.

Smash pressed one hairy bare foot on the lowest step and

shoved down, testing it. The step bowed and squeaked pit-

eously, but supported his weight. Smash took another

step—and suddenly the entire stairway began to move,

carrying him upward. Magic stairs! What would this enjoy-

able place think of next?

The stairs accelerated. Faster and faster they went, mak-

ing the dank air breeze past Smash's face. At the top of the

flight they ended abruptly, and he went sailing out into

blank space.

Ogres liked lots of violent things, hut were not phenome-

nally partial to falling. However, they weren't unduly con-

cerned about it, either. Smash stiffened his legs. In a mo-

62 Ogre, Ogre

ment he landed on hard concrete. Naturally it fractured

under the impact of his feet. He stepped out of the nibble

and looked about.

He seemed to be in some sort of deep well, or oubliette.

The circular wall narrowed above, making climbing out

difficult. Then a shape appeared in silhouette, holding a

big stone over its head. The figure had horns and looked

like a demon. Smash was not especially partial to demons,

but he greeted this one courteously enough. "Up yours,

devil!" he called.

The demon dropped the stone down the well. Smash saw

the dark shape looming, but had no room to step out of the

way.

Then light flared. Smash blinked. It was broad daylight

in the forest of Xanth. "Are you all right?" the Siren asked.

"I didn't dare let you stay out too long."

"I am all right," Smash said. "How is Tandy?"

"Unchanged, I'm afraid. Smash, I don't think you can

destroy what is bothering her, because the horror is now in

her mind. We could smash the gourd and it still wouldn't

help her."

Smash considered. His skull no longer heated up when

he did that. "I believe you are correct. I saw nothing really

alarming in there. Perhaps I should go into the gourd with

her and show her that it's not so bad."

The Siren frowned. "I suspect ogres have different defi-

nitions of bad. Just what happened in there?"

"Only a haunted house. Shocking doorknob. Ghost.

Squeezing walls—I suppose those could have been awk-

ward for a human person. Moving stairs. A demon drop-

ping a rock down a well."

"Why would a demon do that?"

"I don't know. I happened to be below at the time.

Maybe it didn't like my greeting."

Tandy stirred. Her eyes swung loosely about. Her lips

pursed flaccidly. She looked disturbingly like a ghost. "No,

no house, no demon. A graveyard . . ." She lapsed into

staring, her mouth beginning to drool.

"Evidently you had separate visions," the Siren said, us-

ing a puff from a puffball growing nearby to clean up the

girl's face. "That complicates it."

Ogre, Ogre 63

"Maybe if we go in together, we'll share a vision,"

Smash conjectured.

"But there is only one peephole."

Smash poked his littlest hamfinger into the rind of the

gourd. "Two, now."

"You ogres are so practical!"

They set the gourd before Tandy, who immediately

peered into the first peephole. Then Smash squatted so that

he could peer into the second.

He was back in the well. The rock was plunging at his

head. Hastily he raised a fist, since he didn't want a head-

ache. The rock shattered on the fist, falling around him in

the form of fragments, pebbles, and gravel. So much for

that. If the demon would just drop a few more stones

down. Smash would soon have this well filled up with rub-

ble and could step out.

But the demon did not reappear. Too bad. Smash looked

around the gloom. Tandy was not with him. He was in the

same vision he had left, picking it up in the same moment

he had left it He was using a different peephole, but that

didn't seem to matter. Probably Tandy was back in her

original vision, at the same point it had been interrupted,

getting scared by whatever had scared her before. It

seemed the gourd programmed each vision separately.

However, it was all the same gourd. Tandy had to be

somewhere in here, and he intended to find her, rescue her

from her horror, and smash that horror into a quivering

pulp so it wouldn't bother her again. All he had to do was

make a sufficient search.

He took hold of a stone in the wall of the well and

yanked it out. Three more stones fell out with it. Smash

took another; this time five more fell. This old well was not

well constructed! He stood on these and drew out more

stones. The well filled in beneath him steadily, and before

long he was back at the surface. There was no sign what-

soever of the demon who had dropped the first rock on

him. That was just as well, for Smash might have treated

that demon a trifle unkindly, perhaps snapping its tail like

a rubber band and launching the creature on a flight to the

moon. The least that demon could have done was to stay

around long enough to drop a few more useful boulders

down the well.

64 Ogre, Ogre

Now he stood in a chamber surrounded by doors. He

heard a faint, despairing scream. Tandy!

He went to the nearest door and grasped the knob. It

shocked him, so he ripped the door out of its socket and

threw it away. The room inside was a bare chamber: a

false lead. He tried the next door, got shocked again, and

ripped it out, too. Another bare chamber. He went to the

third door—and it didn't shock him. The doors were leam-

ingi He opened this one gently. But it led only to another

decoy chamber.

Finally he opened one that showed an outdoor walk. He

hurried down this, hurdling a square that he recognized as

a covered pitfall—ogres naturally knew about such things,

having had centuries of ancestral experience avoiding such

traps set for them by foolish men—and emerged into a

windy graveyard.

Battered gravestones were all around, marking sunken

graves. Some stones tilted forward precariously, as if trying

to peer into the cavities they demarked. It occurred to

Smash that the buried bodies might have climbed out and

gone elsewhere, accounting for the sunkenness of the

graves and the suspicions of the headstones, but this was

not his concern.

The odor of carrion was stronger out here. Maybe some

of the corpses had not been buried deep enough. A wind

came up, cutting around the stone edges with dismal howl-

ing. Smash breathed deeply, appreciating it, then concen-

trated on the business at hand. Tandy!" he called. "Where

are you?" For she had said she was in a graveyard, and this

must be the place.

He heard a faint sobbing. Carefully he traced down the

source. It was slow work, because the sound was carried by

the wind, and the wind curved around the gravestones in

cold blue streams, searching out the best edges for making

moaning tunes. But at last he found the huddled figure,

cowering behind a white stone crypt.

"Tandy!" he repeated. "It's I. Smash, the tame ogre. Let

me take you away from all this."

She looked up, pale with fright, as if hardly daring to

recognize him. Her mouth opened, but only drool came

out.

He reached out to take her arm, to help her to her feet.

Ogre, Ogre 65

But she was as limp as a rag doll and would not rise. She

just continued sobbing. She seemed little different from her

Xanth self. Something was missing.

Smash considered. For once he was thankful for the Eye

Queue, because now he could ponder without pain. What

would account for the girl's lethargy and misery? He had

thought it was fear, but now that he was here, she should

have no further cause for that. It was as if she had lost

something vital, like eyesight or—

Or her soul. Suddenly Smash remembered how vulnera-

ble souls could be, and knew that if anyone were likely to

blunder into a soul-hazardous situation, Tandy was the one.

She knew so little of the ways of Xanth! No wonder she

was desolate and empty.

"Your soul, Tandy," he said, holding her so that she had

to look into his face. "Where is it?"

Listlessly she nodded toward the crypt. Smash saw that

it had a heavy, tight stone door. Scrape marks on the dank

ground indicated it had recently been opened. She must

have gone inside, perhaps trying to escape the graveyard—

and had been ejected without her soul.

"I will recover it," he said.

Now she bestirred herself enough to react. "No, no," she

moaned. "I am lost. Save yourself."

"I agreed to protect you," he reminded her. "I shall do

it." He set her gently aside and addressed the crypt. The

door had no handle, but he knew how to deal with that. He

elevated his huge bare fist and smashed it brutally forward

into the stone.

Ouch! Without his gauntlets, his hands were more

tender. He could not safely apply his full force. But his

blow had accomplished its purpose; the stone door had

cracked marginally and jogged a smidgen outward. He ap-

plied his homy fingernails and hauled the door unwillingly

open.

A dark hole faced him. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a

white outline. It was the skeleton of a man. It reached for

him with bone-fingers.

Smash realized where the bodies in the sunken graves

had gone. They had been recruited for guard duty and

were walking about this crypt. But he was not in the mood

for nuisance. He grabbed the skeleton by the bones of its

arm and hauled it violently out of the crypt. The thing

flew through the air and landed as a jumble of bones. The

ogre proceeded on into the hole.

Other skeletons appeared, clustering about him, then-

connections rattling. Smash treated them as he had the

first, disconnecting their foot-bones from their leg-bones

and other bones, causing the bonepile to grow rapidly. Soon

the remaining skeletons reconsidered, not wishing to have

him roll their bones, and left him alone.

• Deep in the ground the ogre came to a dark coffin. The

smell was mouth-wateringly awful; something really rotten

was in there. Was Tandy's soul in there, too? He picked up

the box and shook it.

"All right, all right\" a muffled voice came from the

coffin. "You made your point, ogre. You aren't afraid of

anything. What do you want?"

"Give back Tandy's soul," Smash said grimly.

"I can't do that, ogre," the box protested. "We made a

deal. Her freedom for her soul. I let her out of this world; I

keep her soul. That's the way we deal here; souls are the

currency of this medium."

"The Siren let her out by removing the gourd," Smash

argued. "She never had to pay."

"Coincidence. I permitted it, once the deal was struck.

The negotiation is sealed."

Smash had lived and thought like an ogre a lot longer

than he had lived and thought intelligently. Now he re-

verted to convenient old habits. He roared, picked up the

coffin, and hurled it against the wall. The box fell to the

floor, somewhat sprung, and several ceiling stones 'dropped

on it. Nauseating goo dribbled from a crack in it. Dirt

sifted down from the chamber wall to smooth the outlines.

"Maybe further negotiation is possible after all," the

voice from the coffin said, somewhat shaken. "Would you

consider trading souls?"

Smash readied his hamfist again. "Wait!" the voice

cried, alarmed. It evidently wasn't used to dealing with real

brutes. "I merely collect souls; I don't have the authority to

give them back. If you want the girl's soul now, your only

option is to trade."

The ogre considered. He might smash the coffin and its

occupant to pieces, but that would not necessarily recover

the soul. If Tandy's soul were in there, it could get hurt in

the battering. So maybe it was better to bargain. "Trade

what?"

"Another soul, of course. How about yours?"

This box thought he was a typically stupid ogre. "No."

"Well, someone else's. What about that buxom mature

nymph out in Xanth, with the sometime fish-tail? She

probably has a luscious, bouncy, juicy soul."

Smash considered again. He decided, with an un-ogrish

precision of ethics, that he could not make any commit-

ments on behalf of the Siren. "Not her soul. And not

mine."

"Then the girl's soul must remain."

Smash got another whiff of the stench from the coffin

and knew that Tandy's soul could not be allowed to rot

there. He still did not consider the deal by which the coffin

had gotten Tandy's soul to be valid. He stooped to pick up

the battered coffin again.

"Wait!" the voice cried. "There is one other option. You

could accede to a lien."

The ogre paused. "Explain."

"A lien is a claim on the property of another as security

for a debt," the coffin explained. "A lien on your soul

would mean that you agree to replace the girl's soul with

another soul—and if you don't, then your own soul is for-

feit. But you keep your soul in the interim, or most of it."

It did seem to make sense. "How long an interim?"

"Shall we say thirty days?"

"Six months," Smash said. "You think I'm stupid?"

"I did think that," the coffin confessed. "After all, you

are an ogre, and it is well known that the brains of ogres

are mostly in their muscles. In fact, their brains are mostly

muscles."

"Not true," Smash said. "An ogre's skull is filled with

bone, not muscle."

"I stand corrected. My skull is filled with necrosis. How

about sixty days?"

"Four months."

"Split the difference: ninety days."

"Okay," Smash agreed. "But I don't agree you are enti-

tled to keep any soul, just because you tricked an innocent

girl into trading it off for nothing."

"Are you sure you're an ogre? You don't sound like

one."

"I'm an ogre," Smash affirmed. "Would you like me to

throw you around some more to prove it?"

"That won't be necessary," the coffin said quickly. "If

you disagree with the assessment, you must deal with the

boss: the Night Stallion. He makes decisions of policy."

"The Dark Horse?"

"Close enough; some do call him that. He governs the

herd of nightmares."

It began to fall into place. "This is where the nightmares

live? By day, when they're not out delivering bad dreams

to sleepers?"

"Exactly. All the bad dreams are generated here in the

gourd, from the raw material of people's fundamental

fears—loss, pain, death, shame, and the unknown. The

Stallion decides where the dreams go, and the mares take

them there. Your girlfriend abused a mare, so it took a lien

on her soul, and when she came here, that lien was called

due. So her soul is forfeit, and now we have it, and only

the Night Stallion can change that. Why don't we set you

up for an appointment with the Stallion, and you can settle

this directly with him?"

"An appointment? When?"

"Well, he has a full calendar. Bad dreams aren't light

fancies, you know. There's a lot of evil in the world that

needs recognition. It's a lot of work to craft each dream

correctly and designate it for exactly the right person at the

right time. So the Stallion is quite busy. The first opening

is six months hence."

"But my lien expires in three months!"

"You're smarter than the average ogre, for sure! You

might force an earlier audience, but you'd have to find the

Stallion first. He certainly won't come to you within three

months. I really wouldn't recommend the effort of locating

him."

Smash considered again. It seemed to him that this cof-

fin protested too profusely. Something was being concealed

here. Time for the ogre act again. "Perhaps so," he said.

"There is therefore no point in restraining my natural incli-

nation for violence." He picked up a rock and crumpled it

to chips and sand with one hand. He eyed the coffin.

"But I'm sure you can find him!" the box said quickly.

"All you have to do is seek the path of most resistance.

That's all I can tell you, honest!"

Smash decided that he had gotten as much as he could

from the coffin. "Good enough. Give me the girl's soul,

and I'll leave my three-month lien and meet the Stallion

when I find him."

"Do you think a soul is something you can just carry in

your hand?" the coffin demanded derisively.

"Yes," Smash said. He contemplated his hand, slowly

closing it into a brutishly ugly fist that hovered menacingly

over the coffin.

"Quite," the coffin agreed nervously, sweating another

blob of stinking goo. The soul floated up, a luminescent

globe that passed right through the wood. Smash cupped it

carefully in his hand and tromped from the gloomy cham-

ber. Neither coffin nor skeletons opposed him.

Tandy sat where she had been, the picture of hopeless

girlish misery. "Here is your soul," Smash said, and held

out the glowing globe.

Unbelievingly, she reached for it. The globe expanded at

her touch, becoming a ghost-shape that quickly overlapped

her body and merged. For an instant her entire body

glowed, right through the tattered red dress; then she was

her normal self. "Oh, Smash, you did it!" she exclaimed. "I

love you! You recovered my soul from that awful corpse!"

"I promised to protect you," he said gruffly.

"How can I reward you?" She was actually pinching her-

self, amazed by her restoration. Smash, too, was amazed;

he had not before appreciated how much difference a per-

son's soul made.

^ "No reward," he insisted. "It's part of my job, my ser-

vice for my Answer."

She considered. "Yes, I suppose. But how ever did you

do it? I thought there was no way—"

"I had to indulge my natural propensities slightly," he

admitted, glancing at the pile of bones he had made. The

bones shuddered and settled lower, eager to avoid his atten-

tion.

"Oh. I guess you were more terrible than the skeletons

were," she said.

"Naturally. That. is the nature of ogres. We're worse

70 Ogre, Ogre

than anything." Smash thought it best not to inform her of

the actual nature of his deal. "Let's get out of here."

"Oh, yes! But how?"

That was another problem. He could bash through walls,

but the force holding Tandy and himself inside the gourd

was intangible. "I think we'll have to wait for the Siren to

free us. All she has to do is move the gourd so we can't

look into it any more, but she doesn't know when we'll be

finished in here."

"Oh, I don't want to stay another minute in this horrible

place! If I had known what would happen when I peeked

into that funny little hole—"

"It's not a bad place, this," Smash said, trying to cheer

her. "It can even be fun."

"Fun? In this awful graveyard?"

"Like this." Smash had spied a skeleton poking around a

grave, perhaps looking for a new convert. He sneaked up

behind it. Ogres didn't have to shake the earth when they

walked; they did it because they enjoyed it. "B0001" he

bellowed.

The skeleton leaped right out of its foot-bones and stum-

bled away, terrified. Tandy had to smile. "You're pretty

scary, all right, Smash," she agreed.

They settled down against a large gravestone. Tandy

huddled within the protection of the ogre's huge, hairy

arm. It was the only place the poor little girl felt safe in

this region.

Chapter 5. Prints of Wails

I he Siren greeted them anxiously as they woke

to the outer afternoon of Xanth. "I gave you an hour

this time, Smash; I just didn't dare wait longer," she said.

"Are you all right?"

"I have my soul back!" Tandy said brightly. "Smash got

it for me!"

The Siren had been looking her age, for her human stock

caused her to be less than immortal. Now relief was visibly

restoring her youthfulness. "That's wonderful, dear," she

said, hugging her. Then, looking at Smash, the Siren sob-

ered again. "But usually souls can't be recovered without

hell to pay—ah, that is, some sort of quid pro quo. Are you

sure—"

"I've got mine," Smash said jovially. "Such as it is. Ogres

do have souls, don't they?"

"As far as I know, only people of human derivation have

souls," the Siren said. "But all of those do, even if their

human ancestor was many generations ago, and so we

three qualify. I'm sure yours is as good as any, Smash, and

perhaps better than some."

"It must be stronger and stupider, anyway," he said.

"I'm so glad it's all right," the Siren said, seeming not

entirely convinced. She evidently suspected something, but

chose not to make an issue of it at this time. Older females

tended to be less innocent than young ones, he realized, but

also more discreet.

They considered their situation. There seemed to be no

ogres and no merfolk at Lake Ogre-Chobee, despite its

name.

71

72 Ogre, Ogre

"Now I remember," Smash said. "The curse-fiends

drove the ogres away. They migrated north to the Ogre-

fen-Ogre Fen. I don't know why I didn't think of that be-

fore!"

"Because you weren't cursed by the Eye Queue before,

silly," Tandy said. "You weren't very smart. But that's all

right; we'll just go up to the Ogre Fen and find your tribe."

"But that's the entire length of Xanth!" the Siren pro-

tested. "Who knows what horrors lie along the way?"

"Yes, fun," Smash said.

"Funny, the Good Magician didn't remind you about the

ogres' change of residence," the Siren said. "Well, there's

certainly not much doing here. I would like to travel with

you a little longer, if I may, at least until I find a lake

inhabited by merfolk."

"Sure, come along, we like your company," Tandy said

immediately, and Smash shrugged. It really made little dif-

ference to him. He was partially preoccupied by his prob-

lem with the lien on his soul. He would soon have to find a

pretext to go back into the gourd to search for the Night

Stallion and fight for his soul.

"But first, let's abolish this menace once and for all,"

the Siren said. She picked up the hypnogourd and lifted it

high overhead, throwing it violently to the ground.

"No!" Smash cried. But before he could move, the gourd

had smashed to earth. It fragmented into pinkish pulp,

black seeds, and translucent juice. There was no sign of the

world he and Tandy had toured within it; the magic was

gone.

The ogre stood staring at the ruin. Now, how could he

return to that world to settle his account? Somehow he

knew his lien had not been abated by the destruction of the

gourd; his avenue to that world had merely been closed. It

would take time to manifest, but he knew he was in very

bad trouble.

"Is something wrong?" the Siren asked. "Did you leave

something in there?"

"It doesn't matter," Smash said brusquely. After all, she

had meant well, and there was nothing to be done now. No

point in upsetting the girls, no matter how privately satisfy-

ing it might have been to rant and rave and stomp, ogre-

Ogre, Ogre 73

style, until the whole forest and lake trembled and roiled

with reaction to the violence.

They trekked north through the variegated jungle and

tundra and intemperate zones of Xanth. Most of the local

flora and fauna left the party alone, wisely not wishing to

antagonize an ogre. Upon occasion, some gnarled old bull-

spruce would paw the earth with a branch-hoof and poke a

limb-hom into the way, but a short, sharp blow with

Smash's gauntleted fist taught such trees manners. Progress

was good.

They were just considering where to spend the night

, when they heard something. There was a thin, barely audi-

ble screaming, and a cacophony of ugly pantings, breath-

ings, and raspings. "Something unpleasant is going on," the

Siren said.

"I'll investigate," Smash said, glad for the chance for a

little relaxing violence. He tromped toward the commotion.

A crowd of multilegged things was chasing a little fairy

lass, who seemed to have hurt one of her gossamer wings.

She was running this way and that, but wherever she went,

creatures like squished caterpillars with tentacles moved to

block the way, dribbling hungry drool. The fairy was

screaming with fright and horror, and the pursuers were

reveling in her discomfort, playing cruelly with her before

closing for the kill.

"What's this?" Smash demanded.

One of the creatures turned toward him, though it was

hard to tell which side was its front. "Stay out of what does

not concern you, trashface," it said insolently.

Now, Smash normally did not involve himself in what

did not concern him, but his recent experience with Tandy

in the gourd had sensitized him to the plight of small,

pretty females in distress. Also, he did not like being told to

stay out, despite the compliment to his face. Therefore he

reacted with polite force. "Get out of here, you ghastly par-

ody."

"Oho! the ghastly cried. "So the dumb brute needs a les-

son, too!"

Immediately the creatures oriented on Smash. From a

distance they were repulsive; from up close, they were

worse. They launched purple spittle at him, belched ob-

74 Ogre, Ogre

scenely all over their bodies, and scratched at him with

dirty claws. But several still chased the hapless fairy lass.

Smash became moderately perturbed. Now it seemed the

reputation of ogres was on the line. He picked up a ghastly.

It defecated on his paw. He heaved it into the forest. It

scurried back. He pounded another into the ground—but it

merely squished flat, then rebounded. He tore one apart,

but it just stretched impossibly, and snapped back to its

normal shapelessness when he let go, leaving a slug of

smelly slime on his fingers.

Now the fairy screamed louder. The ghastlies had almost

caught her. Smash had to act quickly or he would be too

late to help her. But what would stop these creatures?

- Fortunately, his new intelligence assisted. If throwing,

pounding, and stretching didn't work, maybe tying would.

He grabbed two ghastlies and squeezed and squished them

together, tying a knot in their infinitely stretchable limbs.

Then he tied in a third, and a fourth, and a fifth. Soon he

had a huge ball of tied ghastlies, since they kept coming

stupidly at him. Their rebounding and stretching didn't do

them much good; it merely tightened the knots. In due

course, all the ghastlies were balled together, spitting, hiss-

ing, scratching, and pooping on each other constantly.

Smash dropped the ball, wiped himself off on some

towel-leaves, and checked on the fairy. She was as fright-

ened of him as she had been of the ghastlies. He did not

chase her; he had only wanted to make sure she was not

too badly hurt.

When the fairy saw him stop, she stopped. She was a tiny

thing, hardly half the height of Tandy, a nude girl form

with sparldingly mussed hair and thin, iridescent wings

with scenic patterns. "You aren't chasing me, ogre?"

"No. Go your way in peace, fairy."

"But why did you tie all the ghastlies in a knot, if you

didn't want to gobble me up?"

"To help you escape."

She had difficulty assimilating this. "I thought you were

an ogre, but you neither sound nor act like one."

"We all have our off days," Smash said apologetically.

Tandy and the Siren arrived. "He's a gentle ogre," the

Siren explained. "He helps the helpless." She introduced

the three of them.

Ogre, Ogre

75

"I'm John," the fairy said. Then, before they could react,

she continued. "I know, I know it's not a proper name for

the like of me, but my father was away when I was born,

and the message got garbled, and I was stuck with it. So

now I'm on a quest for my proper name. But I got tossed

by a gust and hurt my wing, and then the ghastlies—"

"Why don't you travel with us?" Tandy asked. "Until

your wing gets better. Monsters don't bother us much. We

have one of our own." She gripped Smash's dangling ham-

hand possessively.

John considered, evidently uncertain about traveling

with a monster. Then the ball of ghastlies began working

loose, and she decided. "Yes, I will go with you. It should

take only a day or so for my wing to mend."

Smash did not comment. He had not asked for any com-

panions, but Tandy had been forced on him, and she had a

propensity for inviting others. Perhaps it was because

Xanth was so new to her that she felt the company of oth-

ers who were more familiar with it would improve things.

Maybe she was right; the Siren had certainly helped them

get out of the gourd.. It didn't really matter; Smash could

travel with three as well as with one.

Now night came. Smash foraged for food and found a

patch of spaghetti just ripening near a spice tree. He har-

vested several great handfuls, shook the spice on them, and

proffered this for their repast. The girls seemed a trifle

doubtful at first, but all were hungry, and soon they were

consuming the delicious, slippery stuff, ogre-style, by the

handful and slurpful. Then they found a basket palm with

enough stout hanging baskets for all, and spent a reasona-

bly comfortable night.

But before they slept, the Siren questioned John about

the kind of name she was looking for. "Why don't you just

take any name you like and use it?"

"Oh, I couldn't," John said. "I can answer only to the

name I was given. Since I was given the wrong one, I must

keep it until I recover the right one."

"How can you be sure there is a right one? If your father

was misinformed—"

"Oh, no, he knew who I was. He sent back a good name,

but somehow it got lost, and the wrong name arrived in-

stead. By the time he got home, it was too late to fix it."

Smash understood the Siren's perplexity. He, like her,

had not been aware that names were so intricately tagged.

"Does that mean that someone else got your name?" the

Siren asked.

"Of course. Some male fairy got my name, and must be

as unhappy with it as I am with his. But if I find him, we

can exchange them. Then everything will be just fine."

"I see," the Siren said. "I hope you find him soon."

In the morning they breakfasted on honeydew that had

formed on the leaves of the basket tree, then resumed the

trek north. John buzzed her healing wing every so often,

and the pattern on it seemed to come alive in a three-

dimensional image, like flowers blooming, but she. could

not yet fly. She had to be content to walk. She was a

cheery little thing, good company, and full of cute anec-

dotes about life among the fairies. It seemed the Fairy

Kingdom was a large one, with many principalities and in-

terstate commerce between groups, and internecine trade

wars.

They started to climb. None of them was familiar with

this section of Xanth, which was east of the Region of

Madness, so they merely proceeded directly north. With

luck, it wouldn't be too bad.

But it was bad. The mountain became so steep it was

impossible to climb normally. They could not go around it,

because the sides of the channel they traveled had risen

even more steeply. They had either to proceed forward or

to retreat all the way to the base and try another approach.

None was willing to retreat.

Smash used his gauntleted fists to break out sections of

rock, making crude steps for the others. Fortunately, the

really steep part was not extensive, and by noon they stood

at the top.

It was a lake, hardly on the scale of Ogre-Chobee but

impressive enough, brimful with sparkling water. "This

must be an old volcano," John said. "I have flown over

similar ones, though not this big. We must beware; water

dragons like such lakes, especially if they are hot on the

bottom."

Smash grimaced. He didn't like water dragons, because

they tended to be too much for an honest ogre to handle.

But he saw no sign of such a creature here. No droppings,

no piles of bones, no discarded old scales or teeth.

"What are those?" Tandy inquired, pointing.

There were marks on the surface of the water. They

were roughly circular indentations, with smaller indenta-

tions on one side of each large one. "They look like prints,"

the Siren said. "As if some creature walked on the water.

Is that possible?"

Smash put one foot on the water. It sank through. The

ripples moved across the prints, erasing them. "Not possi-

ble," he decided.

Still, they decided to stay clear of the water until they

knew more about it. Seemingly minor mysteries could be

hazardous to their health in Xanth. They walked around

the west side of the lake, following one of those suspi-

ciously convenient paths because there was no other route

between the deep water and the climike outer face of the

mountain.

But as they bore north, following the curve of the cone,

they encountered an outcropping of spongy rock.

"Magma," Smash conjectured, forcing another subterra-

nean memory to the surface, slightly heated.

"I don't care who it is, it's in our way," Tandy com-

plained. Indeed, the rock blotted out the path, forcing them

to attempt a hazardous scramble.

"I shall remove it," Smash decided. He readied his

hamfist and pounded one good pound on the magma.

The rock responded with a deafening reverberation.

They all clapped their hands over their ears while the

mountain shook and the lake made waves.

Finally the awful noise died away. "That magma comes

loud!" the Siren said.

"Magma cum laude," the ogre agreed, not hearing well

yet.

"It sure is some sound," Tandy said, looking dizzy. The

fairy agreed.

They decided they didn't like the sound of it, and would

try the other side of the lake, where the way might be quieter.

As they walked the path back, an awful moan slid across

the water. "What is that?" Tandy demanded anxiously.

"The wailing of whatever made the prints," the Siren

conjectured.

78

Ogre, Ogre

"Oh. So these are the prints of wails."

"Close enough." The Siren grimaced. "I hope we don't

meet the wail, though. I've had some experience with mu-

sic on water, and this makes me nervous."

"Yes, you ought to know," Tandy agreed. "My father

said you could bring any man to you from afar, if he heard

you."

"Yes, when I had my magic," she said sadly. "Those

days are gone, and perhaps it is just as well, but I do get

lonely."

They approached the east side of the lake. But here they

encountered more trouble. An ugly head lifted on a serpen-

tine neck. It was not exactly a dragon's head, and not ex-

actly a sea monster's head, but it had affinities with both.

It was not large as monster heads went, but it hissed vi-

ciously enough.

Smash was tired of being balked. He did not mess with

this minor monster; he reached out with one hand and

caught the neck between gauntleted thumb and forefinger.

Immediately another head appeared, similar to the first

and just as aggressive. Smash caught this one in his other

glove.

Then a third came. This was getting awkward! Had he

stumbled onto a whole nest of serpents? Hastily Smash

smashed the first two heads together, crushing both, and

reached for the third.

"They all connecti" the Siren exclaimed. "It's a many-

headed serpent!"

Indeed it was! Four more heads rose up, making seven

in all. Smash crushed two more, but had to move quickly to

prevent the remaining three from burying their fangs in his

limbs. He rose to the need, however, by catching one under

his feet and the last two in his hands. In a moment all had

been crushed, and he relaxed.

"Smash, look out!" Tandy cried. "More heads!"

Apparently a couple of the ones he had dealt with had

not been completely destroyed, and had revived. This was

unusual; things seldom recovered from the impact of ogre

force. He grabbed these—and discovered they sprouted

from the same neck. Their junction formed a neat Y. He

was sure he hadn't encountered this configuration before.

"More heads!" Tandy screamed.

Ogre, Ogre 79

"Now there were six more, in three pairs. New heads

were growing from the old ones!

"It's a hydra!" the Siren cried. "Each lost head generates

two more! You can never get ahead of it!"

"I've got too many heads of it!" Smash muttered, step-

ping back. The hydra was generating a small forest of hiss-

ing heads, each lunging and snapping at anything in range.

Two were squaring off at each other.

"You can't kill a hydra," the Siren continued. "Its es-

sence is immortal. It draws its strength from the water."

"Then I shall remove the water," Smash said. "It will be

easy to bash a hole in this rim and let the lake out."

"Oh, please don't do that!" the Siren protested. "I'm a

creature of water, and I hate to see it mistreated. You

would ruin a perfectly lovely lake, and drown many inno-

cent creatures below, and kill many innocent lake denizens.

There is an entire ecology in any such body—"

Was the mermaid becoming the conscience of the group?

Smash hesitated.

"That's true," John admitted. "Pretty lakes should be left

alone. Most of them have much more good than evil in

them."

Smash looked at Tandy. "I agree," she said. "We don't

want to harm others, and this water is nice."

The ogre shrugged. He didn't want trouble with his

friends. As he thought about it, with his amplified Eye

Queue intelligence—which remained a nuisance—he real-

ized they were right. Wanton destruction could only beget a

deterioration of the environment of Xanth, and that would,

in the long run, damage the prospects of ogres. "No harm

to others," he agreed gruffly. If any other ogres ever heard

of this, he would be in trouble! Imagine not destroying

something!

"Oh, I could kiss you," Tandy said. "But I can't reach

you."

Smash chuckled. "Good thing. Now we'll have to swim

across the lake. Do all of you know how to swim?"

"Oh, I couldn't swim," John said. "My wings would

break."

"Maybe you can fly now," the Siren suggested.

"Maybe." The fairy tried, buzzing her pretty wings,

making the flower-pattern blossoms again. She seemed to

80 Ogre, Ogre

lighten as the downdraft of air dusted dirt out from the

ridge, but she did not quite take off. Then she jumped. A

gust of wind passed at that moment, carrying her out over

the rim. She agitated her wings furiously, but could not

sustain elevation and began to fall.

Smash reached out and caught her before she crashed

into the rocky slope. She screamed, then realized he was

helping her, not attacking her. He set her carefully back on

the ledge, where she stood panting prettily and quivering

with reaction.

"Not yet, it seems," the Siren said. "But you might sit on

Smash's back while he swims."

"I suppose," the fairy agreed faintly. Her little bare

bosom was heaving. It occurred to Smash that the loss of

the ability to fly might be quite disturbing to a creature

whose natural mode of travel was flight. He might react

similarly if he lost his ogre strength.

They entered the water. Tandy could swim well enough,

and, of course, the Siren converted to mermaid form and

was completely at home. John perched nervously on

Smash's head and was so light he hardly felt her weight.

He began stroking across the lake, careful not to splash

enough to cause trouble, despite his pleasure in splashing.

Some sacrifices were necessary when one traveled in com-

pany.

The Siren led the way, easily outdistancing the others.

That creature certainly could swim; she was in her ele-

ment.

Then something loomed from the north. It was huge and

dark, like a low-flying thundercloud, scooting across the

water. Simultaneously the awful wailing came again, and

now Smash realized it came from the cloud-thing. There

was also a pattering drumbeat punctuating the wails.

The Siren paused in place. "I don't like this," she said.

"That thing is trotting on the surface of the water; I feel

the vibrations of its footfalls. And it's headed for us. I

could outdistance it, I think; but Tandy can't, and Smash

can't do much without imperiling John. We had better get

out of the water."

"It's coming too fast," John said. "It will catch us before

we get back to shore."

She was right. The monster loomed rapidly onward, cast-

Ogre, Ogre 81

ing a dark shadow. It was not actually a cloud, but was

composed of gray-blue foam, with a number of holes

through which the wailing passed, and hundreds of little feet

that touched the water. When it moved to one side, they

saw the prints left on the surface, just like the ones they

had seen before. The prints of wails.

"Oh, we are doomed!" John cried. "Save yourself,

Smash; dive under the water, hide from it!"

An ogre hide from a monster? Little did the fairy grasp

the magnitude of the insult she had innocently rendered.

"No," Smash said. "I'll fight it."

"It's too big to fight!"

"It probably smothers its prey by surrounding it," Tandy

said. She was being practical. She seemed much less afraid

of things since having 'discovered the ultimate nature of

fear inside the gourd. Monsters were only monsters, when

one's soul was intact. "You can't fight fog or jelly."

Smash realized she was probably right. These assorted

girls were making more sense than he would have thought

before he came to know them. In the water, with a delicate

and flightless fairy on his head, he could not fight effi-

ciently anyway—and if there was nothing really solid to

punch out, his fists would be of little use.' It galled him to

concede that there were monsters that an ogre couldn't

handle, but in this case it seemed to be so. Curse this Eye

Queue that made him see reason!

"I'll lead it away!" the Siren cried. She was hovering in

the water, her powerful tail elevating her body, so that it

was as if she stood only waist-deep. She would have been a

considerable sight, that way, for a human male. It seemed

to Smash that she should have no trouble attracting a mer-

man, at such time as she found one. "You swim on across

the lake," the Siren continued. She set off toward the west,

moving with amazing velocity. She was like a bird in flight

across the surface of the lake.

When she was a fair distance away, she paused and be-

gan to sing. She had a beautiful voice, with an eerie qual-

ity, a little like the wailing of the monster. Perhaps she was

deliberately imitating it.

The monster paused. Then it rotated grandly and ran

toward the Siren, its little feet striking the water without

splashing, leaving the prints. That mystery had been

82 Ogre, Ogre

solved, though Smash did not understand how the prints

remained after the wailing monster moved on. But, of

course, the effects of magic did not need any explanation.

Once the monster had cleared the area, lured away by

the Siren, Smash and Tandy swam on across. It was a fair

distance, and Tandy tired, slowing them; it seemed there

were not many lakes this big in the underworld. Finally

Smash told her to grab hold of one of his feet so he could

tow her. The truth was, he was getting tired himself; he

would have preferred to wade, but the water was far too

deep for that. It would have been un-ogrish to confess any

weakness, however.

They made it safely to the north lip. They drew them-

selves out and rested, hoping the Siren was all right.

Soon she appeared, swimming deep below the surface.

Her tail gave her a tremendous forward thrust, and she

was a thing of genuine beauty as she slid through the wa-

ter, her hair streaming back like bright seaweed, her body

as sleek and glossy as that of a healthy fish. Then she came

up, her head bursting the surface, her hands rising auto-

matically to brush back her wet tresses, mermaidlike. "My,

that was interesting!" she said, flipping out of the water to

sit on the rim, her tail hidden in the water, so that now she

most resembled a healthy nymph.

"The monster was friendly?" Tandy asked doubtfully.

"No, it tried to consume me. But it couldn't reach below

the water because its magic prints keep it above. It tried to

lure me close, but I'm an experienced hand at luring crea-

tures, and was too careful to be taken in."

"Then you were in real danger!" Tandy was now very

sensitive to danger from monsters that lured their victims,

whether by an easy access path or a convenient peephole.

"No danger for me," the Siren said, flinging her damp

hair out as she changed to human legs and climbed the rest

of the way from the water. "Few creatures can catch my

kind in our element. Not that there are many quite like

me; most merfolk can't make legs. That's my human heri-

tage. Of course, my sister the Gorgon never was able to

make a tail; it was her face that changed. Magical heredity

is funny stuff! But I talked briefly with the monster. He

considers himself a whale."

"A whale of a what?" Smash asked.

Ogre, Ogre

83

"Just a whale."

"Isn't that a Mundane monster?" John asked. It was gen-

erally known in Xanth that the worst monsters were Mun-

dane, as were the worst people.

"Yes. But this one claims some whales migrated to

Xanth, grew legs so they could cross to inland waters, and

then kept the legs for lake-running. Some find small lakes;

they're puddle-jumpers. Some find pools of rum; they're

rum-runners. He says he's of the first water, a royal mon-

ster, a Prince of his kind."

"A Prince of Whales," Tandy said. "Is he really?"

"I don't think so. That's why he wails."

"Life is hard all over," Smash said without much sympa-

thy. "Let's get down off this mountain."

Indeed, the sun was losing strength and starting to fall,

as it did each day, never learning to conserve its energy so

that it could stay aloft longer. They needed to get to a com-

fortable place before night. Fortunately, the slope on this

side was not as steep, so they were able to slide down it

fairly readily.

As they neared the northern base, where the forest re-

sumed, a nymph came out to meet them. She was a deli-

cate brown in color, with green hair fringed with red. Her

torso, though slender and full in the manner of her kind,

was gently corrugated like the bark of a young tree, and

her toes were rootlike. She approached Tandy, who was the

most human of the group. "Please—do you know where

Castle Roogna is?"

"I tried to reach Castle Roogna a year ago," Tandy said.

"But I got lost. I think Smash knows, though."

"Oh, I wouldn't ask an ogre!" the nymph exclaimed.

"He's a halfway tame ogre," Tandy assured her. "He

doesn't eat many nymphs."

Smash was getting used to these slights. He waited pa-

tiently for the nymph to gain confidence, then answered

her question as well as he could. "I have been to Castle

Roogna. But I'm not going there at the moment, and the

way is difficult. It is roughly west of here."

"I'll find it somehow," the nymph said. "I've got to." She

faced west.

"Now wait," Tandy protested, as Smash had suspected

she would. The girl had sympathy enough to overflow all

84

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogra

85

Xanth! "You can't get there alone! You could easily get

lost or gobbled up. Why don't you travel with us until we

find someone else who is going there?"

"But you're going north!" the nymph protested.

"Yes. But we travel safely, because of Smash." Tandy

indicated him again. "Nobody bothers an ogre."

"There is that," the nymph agreed. "I don't want to

bother him myself." She considered, seeming somewhat

tired. "I could help you find food and water. I'm good at

that sort of thing. I'm a hamadryad."

"Oh, a tree-nymph!" the Siren exclaimed. "I should have

realized. What are you doing out of your tree?"

"It's a short story. Let me find you a place to eat and

rest, and I will tell it."

The dryad kept her promise. Soon they were ensconced in

a glade beside a large eggplant whose ripe eggs had been

hard-boiled by the sun. Nearby was a sodapond that spar-

kled effervescently. They sat in a circle cracking open

eggs, using the shells to dip out sodawater. Proper introduc-

tions were made, and the dryad turned out to be named

Fireoak, after her tree.

She was, despite her seeming youth, over a century old.

All her life had been spent with her fireoak tree, which

had sprouted from a fireacom the year she came into

being. She had grown with it, as hamadryads did, protect-

ing it and being protected by it. Then a human village had

set up nearby, and villagers had come out to cut down the

tree to build a firehouse, Fireoak made fine fire-resistant

wood, the dryad explained; its own appearance of burning

was related to Saint Elmo's fire, an illusion of burning that

made it stand out beautifully and discouraged predatory

bugs except for fireants. In vain had the dryad protested

that the cutting of the oak would kill both it and her; the

villagers wanted the wood. So she had taken advantage of

the full moon that night to weave a lunatic fringe that

shrouded the tree, hiding it from them. .But that would last

only a few days; when the moon shrank to a crescent, so

would the fringe, betraying the tree's location. She had to

accomplish her mission before then.

"But how can a trip to Castle Roogna help?" John

asked. "They use wood there, too, don't they?"

"The King is there!" Fireoak replied. "I understand he is

an environmentalist. He protects special trees."

"It is true," Smash agreed. "He protects rare monsters,

too." Now for the first time he realized the probable basis

for King Trent's tolerance of an ogre family near Castle

Roogna: they were rare wilderness specimens. "He always

looks for the solution of least ecological damage."

The dryad looked at him curiously. "You certainly don't

talk like an ogre!"

"He blundered into an Eye Queue vine," Tandy ex-

plained. "It cursed him with smartness."

"How are you able to survive away from your tree?" the

Siren asked. "I thought no hamadryad could leave for more

than a moment."

"That's what I thought," Fireoak said. "But when death

threatened my tree, desperation gave me extraordinary

strength. For my tree I can do what I must. I feel terribly

insecure, however. My soul is the tree."

Tandy and Smash jumped. The analogy was too close for

comfort. It was no easy thing to be separated from one's

soul.

"I know the feeling," the Siren said. "I lived all my life

in one lake. But I suddenly realized that it had become

a desolate place for a lone mermaid. So I am looking for a

better lake. But I do miss my original lake, for it contains

all my life's experience, and I wonder whether it misses

me, too."

"How will you know the new lake won't be desolate for

you, too?" Fireoak asked.

"It won't be if it has the right merman in it."

The dryad blushed, her face for an instant showing the

color of the fire of her tree. "Oh."

"You're a hundred years old—and you have no experi-

ence with men?" Tandy asked.

"Well, I'm a dryad," Fireoak said defensively. "We just

don't have much to do with men—only with trees."

"What sort of experience have you had?" the Siren asked

Tandy.

"A demon—he—I'd rather not discuss it." It was Tan-

dy's turn to blush. "Anyway, my father is a man."

"Most fathers are," the Siren said.

86 Ogre, Ogre

"Mine isn't!" Smash protested. "My father is an ogre."

She ignored that. "I inherited my legs from my father,

my tail from my mother. She was not a true woman, but he

was a true man."

"You mean human men really do have, uh, dealings

with mermaids?" Tandy asked.

"Human men have dealings with any maid they can

catch," the Siren said with a wry smile. "I understand my

mother wasn't hard to catch; my father was a very hand-

some man. But he had to leave when my sister the Gorgon

was born."

After a pause, Fireoak resumed her story. "So if I can

just talk to the King and get him to save my tree, every-

thing will be all right."

"What about the other trees?" John asked.

Fireoak looked blank. "Other trees?"

"The other ones the villagers are cutting down. Maybe

they don't have dryads to speak for them, but they don't

deserve destruction."

"I never thought of that," Fireoak said. "I suppose I

should put in a word at Castle Roogna for them, too. It

would be no bad thing to lobby for the trees."

They found good locations in the trees and settled down

for the night. Smash spread himself out on the glade

ground; no one would bother him. His head was near the

liquidly flowing trunk of a water oak Fireoak had chosen;

he overheard the hamadryad's muted sobbing. Evidently

her separation from her beloved home tree was harder on

her than she showed by day, and the threat to that tree was

no distant concern. Smash hoped he could find a way to

help her. If he had to, he could go and stand guard over

her tree himself. But he didn't know how long that would

take. He didn't want to delay his own mission too long, lest

the time for the Good Magician's Answer should run out.

There was also the matter of the gourd-coffin's lien on his

soul; anything he had to do, he had better get done within

three months. Already he felt not quite up to snuff, as if

part of his soul had been leached away, taking some of his

strength with it.

Next day the five of them marched north. The land lev-

eled out, but hazards remained. Tandy blundered into a

Ogre, Ogre 87

chokecherry bush, and Smash had to rip the entire plant

out of the ground before its vines stopped choking her. Far-

ther along they encountered a power plant, whose branches

swelled out into strange angular configurations and

hummed with power; woe betide the creature who blun-

dered into that!

Around midday they discovered a lovely vegetable tree,

on whose branches grew cabbages, beans, carrots, tomatoes,

and turnips, all in fine states of ripeness. Here were all the

ingredients for an excellent salad! But as Smash ap-

proached it, Tandy grew nervous. "I smell a rat," she said,

sniffing the air. "There are big rats down in the caves

where I live; I know their odor well. They always mean

trouble."

Smash sniffed. Sure enough, there was the faint aroma

of rats. What were they doing here?

"I smell it, too," John said. "I hate rats. But where are

they?"

The Siren was walking around the tree. "Somewhere in

or near the vegetable tree," she announced. "I fear this

plant is not entirely what it appears."

Fireoak approached it. "Let me check. I'm good with

trees." She was showing no sign of the agony of her separa-

tion from her tree, but Smash knew it remained. Her night

in a tree must have restored her somewhat, though of

course it wasn't her tree.

The hamadryad stood close to the vegetable tree. Slowly

she touched a leaf. "This is a normal leaf," she said. Then

she touched a potato—and one of its eyes blinked. "Get

away from here!" Fireoak screamed. "It's a rat!"

Then the fruits and vegetables exploded into action.

Each one sprouted legs, tail, and snout and dropped to the

ground. A major swarm of rats had camouflaged itself by

masquerading as vegetables, luring the unwary into con-

^ct—but the smell had given them away. Once a rat, al-

ways a rat, by the smell of it.

The Siren, Tandy, and John scurried back in time to

avoid the first surge of the rat-race. But Fireoak stood too

close. The beasties swarmed around her, biting at her legs,

causing her to trip and fall.

Smash leaped across, swooping down with one hand to

lift the hamadryad clear of the ground. Several rats came

88 Ogre, Ogre

up with her, chewing savagely at her barklike skin. She

screamed and tried to brush them off, but they clung tena-

ciously and bit at her hands.

Smash shook her, but hesitated to do it vigorously

enough to fling away the rats, lest it hurt her. As it was,

bits of bark and leaf were flying off. Smash had to pinch

the rats off one by one, and their claws and teeth left

scratches on the 'dryad's body. By the time the last was

gone, she was in an awful state, oozing sap from several

scrapes. The swarm of rats surrounded Smash and tried to

bite his feet and climb his hairy legs.

Smash stomped ferociously, shaking the glade and crush-

ing several rats with each stomp. But there were hundreds

of the little monsters, coming at him from every direction,

moving rapidly. They threatened to get on him no matter

how fast he stomped. He didn't dare set the dryad down,

lest the same fate befall her. His great strength hardly

availed against these relatively puny enemies.

"Get away from him!" Tandy screamed from a safe dis-

tance. "Leave him alone, you rats!" She seemed really an-

gry. It was almost as if she were trying to defend him from

the enemy; that, of course, was a ludicrous reversal of their

situation, yet it touched him oddly.

Smash stomped away from the tree, but the rats stayed

with him. In order to run he would have to do two things:

move the dryad back and forth as his arms pumped and

flee a known danger. The one seemed physically hazardous

to another person, while the other was emotionally distaste-

ful. So he moved slowly, stamping, while the rats began

climbing his legs.

Then Tandy's arm shot out as if hurling a rock. Her face

was red, her teeth bared, her body rigid, as if she were in a

state of absolute fury—but there was no rock in her hand.

She was throwing nothing.

Something exploded at Smash's feet. He was knocked

off them, barely catching his balance. All around him the

rats turned belly-up, stunned.

He stared at the carnage, standing still because his legs

were numb. He set down the hamadryad, who stepped

daintily over the bodies. "What happened?"

Tandy sounded abashed. "I threw a tantrum."

Smash left the twitching rats and went to join her. His

Ogre, Ogre 89

feet felt as if they were nothing but bones, with the flesh

melted off, though this was not the case. "That's a spell?"

"That's bad temper, my talent," she said, eyes downcast.

"When I get mad, I throw a tantrum. Sometimes it does a

lot of damage. I'm sorry; I should have controlled my emo-

tion."

"Sorry?" Smash said, bewildered, looking back at the

rum of the rat-swarm. "That's a wonderful talent!"

"Oh, sure," she replied with irony.

"My mother had a similar talent. Of course, she was a

curse-fiend; they all throw curses."

. "Maybe I have curse-fiend ancestry," Tandy said sourly.

"My father Crombie came from a long line of soldiers, and

they do get around quite a bit."

Now the others came up. "You did that, Tandy?" Fire-

oak asked. "You saved me a lot of misery! If Smash had

put me down amidst those awful rats, or if they had

climbed up him and gotten to me, as they were trying to—"

She winced, feeling her wounds. She was obviously in

considerable discomfort.

"That's an extremely useful talent for the jungles of

Xanth," the Siren said.

"You really think so?" Tandy asked, brightening. "I al-

ways understood it wasn't nice to be destructive."

"It isn't?" Smash asked, surprised.

Then they all laughed. "Sometimes perhaps it is," the

Siren concluded.

They found some genuine vegetables for lunch, then re-

sumed the march. But soon they heard a ferocious snuf-

fling and snorting ahead, low to the ground. "Oh, that

might be a dragon with a cold," John said worriedly. "I

can't say I really like dragons; they're too hot."

"I will go see," Smash said. He discovered he was rather

enjoying this journey. Violence was a natural part of his na-

ture—but now he had people to protect, so there was a

certain added justification to it. It was more meaningful to

bash a dragon to save a collection of pretty little lasses than

it was to do it merely for its own sake. The Eye Queue

caused him to ponder the meaning of the things he did,

and so it helped to have at least a little meaning present. At

such time as he got free of the curse, he could forget about

these inconvenient considerations.

90 Ogre, Ogre

He rounded a brush-bush and faced the snorting mon-

ster, hamfists at the ready—and paused, dismayed.

It was no dragon. It was a small oink, with a squared-off

snout and a curled-up tail. But it snorted like a huge fire-

breathing monster.

Smash sighed. He picked up the oink by the tail and

tossed it into the brush. "All clear," he called.

The others appeared. "It's gone?" Tandy asked. "But we

didn't hear any battle."

"It was only a short snort," the ogre said, disgusted. He

had so looked forward to a good fight!

"Another person might have represented it as the most

tremendous of dragons," the Siren said.

"Why?"

"To make it seem he had done a most valiant deed."

"Why do that?" Smash asked, perplexed.

She smiled. "Obviously you don't suffer from that syn-

drome."

"I suffer from the Eye Queue curse."

"Cheer up. Smash," Tandy said. "We're bound to en-

counter a real dragon sometime."

"Yes," the ogre agreed, cheering as directed. After all,

the thing to do with disappointments was to rise above

them. The Eye Queue told him that.

"Speaking of dragons," John said, "there is a story that

circulates among fairies about dragons and their parts, and

I've always wondered whether it was true."

"I've met some dragons," Smash said. "What's the

story?"

"That if a dragon's ear is taken off, you can listen to it

and hear wondrous things."

Smash scratched his head. Several fleas jumped off,

startled. Since his skull no longer heated much when he

tried to think, the fleas had no natural control. "I never

tried that."

"It must be sort of hard to get a dragon's ear," Tandy

remarked. "I doubt they part with them willingly."

Fireoak considered. "There are stories the mockingbirds

tell, to mock the ignorant. They would nest in my tree

sometimes and talk of marvelous things, and I never knew

how much to believe. One did once mention such a quality

of a dragon's ear. It said the ear would twitch when any-

Ogre, Ogre 91

thing of interest to the holder was spoken anywhere, so one

would know to listen. But often the news was not pleasant,

for dragons have ears for bad news. And as Tandy says,

dragons' ears are very hard for normal people to come by."

"Next dragon I slay, I will save an ear," Smash said,

intrigued.

They continued north till dusk, with only minor adven-

tures, avoiding tangle trees, clinging vines, and strangler

figs, scaring off tiger lilies and dogwood, and ignoring the

trickly illusions spawned by assorted other plants. Swarms

of biting bugs converged, but Smash blew them away in his

usual fashion with selected roars. By nightfall the party

was close to something significant, but Smash couldn't re-

member what.

They located a forest of black, blue, and white ash trees

whose shedding ashes covered the forest floor. Any recent

footprints showed; and, because each color of tree spread

its ashes at a different hour, it was possible to know how

recently any creature had passed. White prints were the

most recent, blue prints were older and somehow more in-

tricate, with maplike traceries on them, and black prints

dated from the night. Some ashes had been hauled, but no

dragons or other dangerous creatures had been here in the

past few hours.

Amidst this forest was a handsome cottonwood that pro-

vided cotton for beds for them all. "I always thought camp-

ing out would be uncomfortable," Tandy remarked. "But

this is getting to be fun. Now if only I knew where I was

going!"

"You don't know?" the Siren asked, surprised.

"Good Magician Humfrey answered my Question by

telling me to travel with Smash," Tandy said. "So I'm trav-

eling. It's a pretty good trip, and I'm learning a lot and

meeting nice new people, but that's not my Answer. Smash

is looking for the Ancestral Ogres, but I doubt that's what

I'm looking for."

"I understand the Good Magician is getting old," the Si-

ren said.

"He's pretty old," Tandy agreed. "But he knows an aw-

ful lot, and your sister the Gorgon is making him young

again."

"She would," the Siren said. "I am jealous of her power

92 Ogre, Ogre

over men. In my heyday I used to summon men to my isle,

but she always took them away, and, of course, they never

looked at other women after she was through with them."

Because they had turned to stone. Smash knew. The fact

was, the Gorgon had been as lonely as the Siren, despite

her devastating power. The Gorgon had been smitten by

the first man who could nullify her talent. Magician Hum-

frey, so she had gone to him with a Question: would i he

marry her? He had made her serve a year as housemaid

and guardian in his castle before giving her his Answer: he

would. Evidently that was the sort of man it required to

capture the heart of the Gorgon. Smash understood that

their wedding, officiated by Prince Dor when he was tem-

porary King, had been the most remarkable occasion of the

year, attended by all the best monsters. Smash's father

Crunch had been there, and Tandy's mother Jewel. By all

accounts, the marriage was a reasonably happy one, consid-

ering the special nature of its parties.

"I wonder what it is like to be with a man?" Fireoak

said, in a half-wistful question. Her injuries of the day had

fatigued her greatly, perhaps making her depressed. Evi-

dently their conversation of the preceding night had re-

mained on her mind.

"My friends always told me men were difficult to get

along with," John said. "A girl can't live with them, and

she can't live without them."

"Well, I've tried living without," the Siren said. "I'm

ready to try with. Good and ready! At least it shouldn't be

dull. First pool I find with an available merman, watch

out!"

"Poor merman!" the fairy said.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll deserve whatever I give him. I don't

think he'll have cause to complain, any more than Magi-

dan Humfrey has with my sister. We draw on similar

lore."

"All girls do. But it seems terribly original to each inno-

cent man." There was general laughing agreement.

"You speak as if no man is here," Tandy said, sounding

faintly aggrieved.

"There's a man here, listening to our secrets?" Fireoak

cried, alarmed.

"Smash."

Ogre, Ogre 93

There was another general titter. "Don't be silly," John

said. "He's an ogre."

"Can't an ogre also be a man?"

The tittering subsided. "Yes, of course, dear," the Siren

said reassuringly. "And a good one, too. We take Smash

too much for granted. None of us could travel freely here

without his formidable protection. We ought to thank him,

instead of imposing on him."

Smash lay still. He had not intended to feign sleep, but

thought it best not to join in this conversation. It was inter-

esting enough without his participation. He had not known

about this conspiracy of the females of Xanth, but now he

could remember how he had seen it in action when Prin-

cess Irene snared Prince Dor, and even when his mother

pacified his father. It did seem that the distaff knew things

that the males did not and used them cleverly to achieve

their desires.

"What's a lady ogre like?" Tandy asked.

"One passed my tree once," Fireoak said. "She was huge

and hairy and had a face like a bowl of overcooked mush

someone had sat on. I never saw anything so ugly in all my

life."

"Well, she was an ogress," the Siren said. "They have

different standards of beauty. You can bet they know what

bull-ogres like, though! I suppose an ogre wants a wife who

can knock down her own trees for firewood—no offense,

Fireoak—and kill her own griffins for stew so he doesn't

have to interrupt his dragon hunting for trifles."

They laughed again, and their chatter meandered across

other femalish subjects, recipes, prettifying spells, jungle

gossip, and such, until they all drifted off to sleep. But the

images they had conjured enchanted Smash's imagination.

An ogress who could knock down her own trees and slay

her own griffins—what an ideal mate! And a face like

squashed mush—what sheerest beauty! How wonderful it

would be to encounter such a creature!

But the only ogress he had met was his mother—who

wasn't really an ogress, but a curse-fiend acting the part.

She acted very well, but when she forgot her makeup, her

face no longer looked like mush. Smash had always pre-

tended not to notice how distressingly fair her face and

form became in those unguarded moments, so as not to em-

94 Ogre, Ogre

barrass her. The truth was, had his mother the actress chosen

to pass among females like these Smash now traveled with,

she could have done so without causing alarm. And, of

course, as soon as she prepared herself, she was the com-

pleat ogress again, as brutish and mean as any ogre could

ask for. Certainly his father Crunch loved her and would

move mountains for her, despite her secret shame of an

un-ogrish origin. One of those mountains had been moved

to rest near their home so that she could climb it and look

out across Xanth when the mood took her.

At last Smash slept. He still wasn't used to doing so

much thinking, and it tired him despite the amplification

the Eye Queue provided. He had never had to work things

out so rationally before, or to see the interrelationships

among diverse things. Well, one day he would win free of

the curse and be a true brute of an ogre again. He slept.

Chapter 6. Dire Strait

Next morning they came up against the barrier

Smash had been unable to remember. It was a huge crevice

in the earth, a valley so deep and steep that they shrank

back from it. It extended east and west; there seemed to

be no end to it, no way around.

"How can we go north?" Tandy asked plaintively. "This

awful cleft is impossible!"

"Now I remember it," Smash said. "It crosses all of

Xanth. Down near Castle Roogna there are magic bridges."

"Castle Roogna?" Fireoak asked. She looked wan, as if

she had not been eating well, though she had been provided

with all she wanted. Smash suspected her absence from her

beloved tree was like an ordinary person's need for water.

She would have to return to it soon, or die. She was suffer-

ing from deprivation of soul, and would soon become as

Tandy had been within the gourd, if not helped. Her rat

wounds only aggravated the condition, hastening the pro-

cess.

"That's right," Tandy said brightly. "If this crack passes

near Castle Roogna, you can follow it there! Your problem

is solved."

"Yes, solved," the hamadryad agreed wanly.

Now the Siren noticed her condition. "Dear, are you

well?"

"As well as I can be," the dryad replied gamely. "The

rest of you must go on across the chasm; I will find my

own way to Castle Roogna."

"I think you have been away from your tree too long,"

the Siren said. "You had better return to it, to restore your

95

96

Ogre, Ogre

strength, before attempting the long trip to Castle Roogna."

"But there is not time!" Fireoak protested. "The moon is

waning, night by night; soon the lunatic fringe will sunder,

and my tree will be exposed."

"Yet if you perish on the way to see the King, you can

do your tree no good," the Siren pointed out.

"It is indeed a dire strait," the dryad agreed, sinking to

the ground.

The Siren looked at Smash. "Where is your tree, dear?"

she asked Fireoak.

"North of the chasm. I had forgotten about—"

"But how did you cross?"

"A firebird helped me. Because I am associated with a

fireoak. But the bird is long gone now."

"I think we must nevertheless cross over soon and return

you to your tree," the Siren said. Again she looked mean-

ingfully at Smash.

"We will go with you, to guard your tree," Smash said,

catching on.

Tandy clapped her hands. "Oh, how wonderful to think

of that. Smash! We can help her!"

Smash said nothing. The Siren had really thought of it,

but he was amenable. They couldn't let Fireoak perish

from neglect—and she surely would, otherwise. They could

certainly guard her tree from harm; no one would come

near an ogre.

But first they had to get to the tree—and that meant

crossing the chasm—in a hurry. How were they going to do

that?

"You chipped steps in the prints-of-wails mountain,"

Tandy suggested.

"But that was slow," the Siren said. "It could take sev-

eral days. We must cross today."

They stared into the chasm, baffled. There seemed to be

no way to cross it rapidly—yet they had to, somehow. For

now all could see how the hamadryad was failing. Fireoak's

surface had turned from lightly corrugated skin to deeply

serrated bark, from young nymph to old tree trunk. Her

green hair was wilting, and the tinge of red was turning

black. Her fire would soon be out.

"There must be a path," John said. "If we just spread

out and look, surely we'll find it."

Ogre, Ogre 97

That was a positive idea. They commenced their search

for the path.

There was the sound of galloping hooves from the west.

The group ran back together, and Smash faced the sound,

ready for whatever might come.

Two centaurs appeared, moving rapidly. One was male,

the other female. Centaurs could be good news or bad, de-

pending. Smash was conscious of his orange jacket and

steel gauntlets, gifts of the centaurs of Centaur Isle, but

knew that there could be rogue centaurs in this wilderness.

What were these two doing here?

Then Smash recognized them. "Chetl Chem!" he ex-

claimed.

The two drew up, panting, a light sheen of sweat on

their human and equine portions. Smash embraced each in

turn, then turned to make introductions. "These are friends

of mine from the Castle Roogna region." He faced the

other way. "And these are friends of mine from all over

Xanth."

"Smash!" the filly centaur exclaimed. "What happened

to your rhymes?"

"I'm cursed with intelligence, among other things."

"Yes, I can see the other things," Chet said, contemplat-

ing the assorted females. "I never knew you were inter-

ested."

"We sort of imposed on him," Tandy said.

"Yes, Smash is impose-able," Chem agreed. She was

young, so lacked the imposing proportions of her mother;

the last time Smash had seen her, she had been playing

children's galloping games. In another year or so she would

be looking for a mate. He wondered why she was not still

in centaur-schooling, as her mother was very strict about

education. "We came here to do the same."

"The same?" Smash asked. "We're traveling north."

"Yes," Chem said. "Good Magician Humfrey told me

where to intercept you. You see, I'm doing a thesis on the

geography of uncharted Xanth, completing my education,

but my folks won't let me travel alone through that region,

so—"

"And so I escorted my little sister this far," Chet fin-

ished. He was a handsome centaur, with noble features, a

fine coat, and excellent muscles on both his human and

98 Ogre, Ogre

equine portions. But a purple scar marred his left shoulder,

where a wyvem had once bitten him, causing serious ill-

ness. "I know she'll be safe with you. Smash. You're a big

ogre now."

"Safe? We're about to try to cross this gulf!" Smash pro-

tested. "And we don't know how."

"Oh, yes. The Gap Chasm. I brought you a rope." Chet

presented a neat coil. "Humfrey said you would need it."

"A rope!" Suddenly their way down into the chasm was

clear. Centaur rope was always strong enough for its pur-

pose.

"I'll help get you down," Chet said. "But I'm not sup-

posed to go myself. I have to return immediately to Castle

Roogna with a message or two. What's the message?"

Smash's curse of intelligence enabled him to catch on.

"A village is about to cut down a fireoak tree for timber.

The tree's hamadryad will die. The King must save the

tree."

"I'll tell him," Chet agreed. "Where is it?"

Smash turned to Fireoak, who sat listlessly on the

ground. "Where is your tree?"

The hamadryad made a feeble motion with her hand.

"This is no good," Chet said. "Chem, let's use your

map."

The filly walked over to Fireoak. "Show me on my pic-

ture," she said.

An image formed between them. It was a contour map of

the Land of Xanth, a long peninsula with the Gap Chasm

across its center and the ocean around it. "Show me where

the tree is," Chem repeated.

Fireoak looked, slowly orienting on the scene. "There,"

she said, pointing to a region near the northern rim of the

Gap.

Chem nodded. "There is a human village there, just set-

ting up. That's already on my chart." She looked at her

brother. "Got it, Chet?"

"Got it, Chem," the male centaur replied. "You always

do make the scene. Smash, the moment you're down in the

Gap, I'll gallop back and tell the King. I'm sure he'll han-

dle the business about the tree. But it will take me a couple

days to get there, so you'll have to protect the tree until

Ogre, Ogre 99

then." He glanced about. "Was there any other message? It

seems there should be more than one."

The people looked around at each other. Finally Tandy

said, "I'd like to send a greeting to my father Crombie, if

that's all right."

Chet tapped his head, making a mental note. "One greet-

ing to Crombie from daughter. Got it." He looked more

carefully at Tandy. "He always bragged he had a cute

daughter. I see he was correct."

Tandy blushed. She hadn't known her father had said

that about her.

They tied the rope to the trunk of a steelwood tree.

Chem insisted on going down first. "That will prove the

rope is safe," she explained. "Even Smash doesn't weigh

more than I do." Of course she was correct, for though her

human portion was girlishly slender, her equine portion

was as solid as a horse.

She backed down, her four hooves bracing against the

steep side of the chasm. The rope looped once about her

small human waist, just below her moderate bosom, and

she used her hands to give herself slack by stages. When

she got down to where the slope leveled out enough to en-

able her to stand, she released the rope.

The Siren went down next, having less trouble because

she had so much less mass. Then Tandy, followed by the

fairy, who fluttered her wings to make herself even lighter

than she was. Smash then made a harness out of the end of

the rope, set Fireoak in it, and stood on the brink to lower

her carefully to Chem's waiting arms.

Finally Smash himself descended, merely applying one

gauntlet to the rope and sliding rapidly down. Chet undid

the upper end from the steelwood tree and dropped it into

the chasm. They would need the rope again on the north

slope.

"I'm on my way with one and a half messages," Chet

called, and galloped off. "Remember: two days."

The slope continued to level, until they stood at the base.

Here grass grew, but no trees. It was pleasant enough, and

the north slope was visible a short distance away. They

walked across, studying the rise for the most suitable place

to ascend.

100 Ogre, Ogre

It certainly wasn't good for climbing with a party of

girls. The ground sloped gently up to a comer; from there

the cliff went almost straight up a dizzying height, beyond

the reach of the rope, even if there were any place or way

to anchor it.

"We must do what-we started to do before," the Siren

said. "Spread out and look for a suitable place to climb."

"I believe there are paths here and there," Chem said. "I

don't have them on my map, because few people remember

the Gap Chasm; it has an enduring forget-spell on it. But

there has been enough travel in Xanth so that people have

to have crossed it, and not just at the magic bridges."

"A forget-spell," the Siren said. "How interesting. That

accounts for Fireoak's forgetting it. And I'm sure Smash

has been here before, too. I hope that's the extent of the

spell."

"What do you mean?" Tandy asked.

"Oh, I'm just a worrier over nothing."

"I don't think so," Tandy said. "If there's any danger,

you should warn us."

The Siren sighed. "You're right. Yet if there is danger

here, it's too late for us to avoid it, since we're already

here. It's only that once I heard something about a big

dragon in a chasm—and this is a chasm. It would be hard

to escape a monster here. But of course that's far-fetched."

"Let's look for good hiding places, too," Tandy said.

"Just in case."

"Just in case," John agreed, overhearing. "Oh, suddenly

I don't really like this place!"

"So we must try to get out of this chasm as fast as we

can," Smash said, though the prospect of danger did not

bother him. There really had not been much violence on

this journey.

Chem trotted east, while Smash lumbered west, since

these were the two fastest movers of the group. The girl,

Siren, and fairy spread out in between. They left the ha-

madryad in the shade of a bush, since she was now too

weak to walk.

The cliff face changed, sloping at different angles and

different heights, but Smash found nothing that would

really help. It looked as if he would have to bash out a

stairway of sorts, tedious as that would be. But could he

Ogre, Ogre 101

get the party up that way within two days, let alone in time

to save the hamadryad and her tree?

There was a commotion to the east. Chem was galloping

back, her lovely brown hair-mane flinging out, tail swish-

ing nervously. "Dragon! Dragon!" she cried breathlessly.

The Siren's concern had been justified! "I'll stop it,"

Smash said enthusiastically, charging east.

"No! It's big. It's the Gap Dragon!"

Now Smash remembered. The Gap Dragon ranged the

Gap Chasm, trapping and consuming any creatures foolish

enough to stray here. The forget-spell had deceived him

again. The monster really profited from that spell, since no

one remembered the danger. But it was coming back to

him now. This was a formidable menace.

The Siren, Tandy, and John were running west. Behind

them whomped the monster. It was long and low, with a

triple pair of stubby legs. Its scales were metallic, glistening

in the sunlight, and clouds of steam puffed out of its nos-

trils. Its body was the thickness of a good-sized tree trunk,

but exceedingly limber. It moved by elevating one section

and whomping it forward, then following through with an-

other, because its legs were too short for true running. But

the clumsy-seeming mechanism sufficed for considerable

velocity. In a moment the Gap Dragon would overtake the

Siren.

Smash lumbered to the fray. He stood much taller than

the dragon, but it reached much longer than he. Thus they

did not come together with a satisfying crash. The dragon

scooted right under Smash, intent on the nymphlike morsel

before it.

The ogre screeched to a stop, literally, his calloused

hamfeet churning up mounds of rubble. He bent forward

and grabbed the dragon's tail as it slid westward. He lifted

it up, holding it tightly in both hands. This would halt the

monster!

Alas, he had underestimated the dragon. The creature

whomped onward. The tail lost its slack—but such was the

mass and impetus of the monster that it wrenched the ogre

into a somersault. He flipped right over, hanging on to that

tail, and landed with a whomp of his own on his back—on

the dragon's tail.

But Smash's own mass was not inconsiderable. The

102

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

103

shock of his landing traveled along the body of the dragon

in a ripple. When the ripple passed a set of legs, they were

wrenched momentarily off the ground; when it arrived at

the head, the mouth snapped violently. The jaws, reaching

close to the desperately fleeing Siren, fell short.

Now Smash had the Gap Dragon's baleful attention. The

dragon let out a yowl of discomfort and whipped its head

around. Its tail, pinned under the ogre, thrashed about, so

that Smash had trouble regaining his feet.

The dragon's neck curved in a sharp U-tum, bonelessly

supple. The head traveled smoothly back along the length

of the body. The monster hardly needed its legs for this

sort of maneuver. In a moment the spreading jaws were at

Smash's own head, ready to take it in.

The ogre, still flat on his back, stabbed upward with a

gauntleted fist. The jaws closed on it, but the fist continued

inexorably, punching past the slurp-wet tongue and into the

back of the throat. The dragon's head was so large that

Smash's whole arm was engulfed—but that strike in the

throat caused the monster to gag, and the jaws parted

again. Smash recovered his arm before it got chomped.

The ogre sat up, but remained in the midst of the coils

of the dragon. The two grotesque heads of ogre and dragon

faced each other, snout to snout. Smash realized that this

time he had gotten himself into an encounter whose out-

come he could not know. The Gap Dragon was his match.

Delightful! For the first time since attaining his full

strength, Smash could test his ultimate. But at the moment

they were all tangled up in an ineffective configuration,

unable to fight decisively.

Smash made a face, bulging his eyes and stretching his

mouth wide open. "Yyrwil!" he yyrwiled.

The Gap Dragon made a face back, wrinkling up its

snout horrendously and crossing its eyes so far that the

pupils exchanged places. "Rrooarw!" it rrooarwed.

Smash made a worse face, swallowing his nose and part

of his low forehead. "Ggrummf!" he ggrummffed.

The dragon went him one better, perhaps two better,

swallowing its snout up past the ears and partway down its

neck. "Ssstth!" it ssstthed.

The monster was outdoing him. Petulantly, Smash bit j

into a rock and spit out a stream of graveL The dragon's :

teeth were pointed, so it could not match that. Instead, it

hoisted a petard of steam at him, the greasy ball of vapor

curling the hairs of his face and clogging his nostrils.

So much for the niceties. Now the real action com-

menced. Smash threw himself into the sheer joy of combat,

the fundamental delight of every true ogre. It had been

some time since he had crunched bones in earnest. Of

course, this dragon was mostly boneless, but the principle

remained.

He punched the dragon in the snoat. This sort of punch

could put a fist-sized hole in an ironwood tree, but the

dragon merely gave way before the force of it and was only

slightly bloodied. Then the dragon struck back, snapping

sidewise at Smash's arm. That sort of bite could lop a

mouthful of flesh from a behemoth, but the gauntlet ex-

tended back far enough to catch the edge of the bite and

strike sparks from the teeth.

Then Smash boxed the dragon's right ear with his left

fist—and the ear squirted right off the skull and flew out

of sight. The dragon winced; that smarted! But the monster

hardly needed that ear, and came back with a blast of

steam that cooked the outer layer of the ogre's head.

Smash's thick skull stopped the heat from penetrating to

the Eye Queue-corrupted brain—more was the pity, he

thought.

So much for the second exchange of amenities. Smash

had had slightly the better of it this time, but the fight was

only warming up. Now the pace intensified.

Smash took hold of the dragon's upper jaw with one

hand, the lower jaw with another, and slowly forced the

two apart. The dragon resisted, and its jaw muscles were

mighty, well leveraged, and experienced, but it could not

directly withstand the full brute force of a concentrating

ogre. Slowly the jaws separated.

The dragon whipped its body about. In a moment the

sinuous length of it was wrapped about the ogre's torso,

engulfing him anew. While Smash forced open the jaws,

the dragon tightened its coils, constricting him.

All this was in slow motion, yet it was a race. Would

Smash rip the head apart first, or would the dragon

squeeze the juice out of him? The answer was uncertain.

Smash was having trouble breathing; he was beginning to

lose strength. It seemed to him that this should not be hap-

pening, or at least not this fast. But the dragon's jaws were

now quite far apart, and should soon break.

Neither ogre nor dragon would give. They remained,

their strength in balance. The jaws were on the verge of

breaking, the torso on the verge of smothering. Who would

succumb first? It occurred to Smash that he might break

open the dragon's jaw, but be unable to extricate himself

from its convulsed coils and smother because he couldn't

breathe. Or the dragon might crush him—but suffer a bro-

ken jaw in Smash's dying effort. Both could lose this en-

counter.

In the good old days before the Eye Queue vine had

fallen on him. Smash would not have wasted tedious

thought on such a thing; he would merely have bashed on

through, to kill and/or be killed, hardly caring which. Now

he was cursed with the notion of meaning. To what point

was this violence if neither participant survived?

It was discomfiting and un-ogrish, but Smash found he

had to change his tactic. This one had little promise of

success, since it would not free him from the serpent's toils.

He was in a dire strait, and bulling ahead would only

worsen it.

He drew the dragon's head forward, toward his own

face. The dragon thought this meant Smash was weaken-

ing, and went forward eagerly. In a moment, the dragon

believed, it could chomp the ogre's face off. Its breath

steamed out, its woodsmoke fragrance toasting Smash's

skin. He tried to sneeze, but was unable to inhale because

of the constriction in which he was held.

Sure of victory now, the dragon cranked its jaws margin-

ally closer together and lunged. Smash deflected the thrust

as much as he could and jerked his head to the side. The

dragon's head plunged down as Smash's hands let go—and

the huge wedge-teeth chomped savagely on the uppermost

coil. This was a device Smash had used on the tangle tree

with good effect.

It took the Gap Dragon a moment to catch on. Mean-

while, it chewed. It surely felt the bite, but did not yet

realize that this was its own doing, or that its teeth had not

contacted ogre flesh. It took a while for the difference in

taste to register. The dragon wrenched its supposed prey

upward, driving the teeth in deeper. The coil loosened, giv-

ing Smash half a gasp of breath.

Then at last the dragon realized what it was doing. Its

jaws began to open, to free itself from its own bite and to

emit a honk of sheer pain and frustration—but Smash's

two gauntleted hamhands came down on either side of it,

clasping the snout, pressing it firmly closed on the meat.

The jaw muscles were weaker this way; the dragon could

not release its bite. Still, the ogre could not use his hands

for further attack, for the moment he let go, the jaws

would open. It was another position of stalemate.

Blood welled out around the dragon's lower fangs and

dripped off its chin, coating Smash's gauntlet. The fluid

was a deep purple hue, thick and gooey, smelling of ashes

and carrion. It probably had caustic properties, but the

gauntlet protected Smash's flesh, as it had when he held

the basilisk. The centaur gifts were serving him well.

Now it was the dragon's turn to scheme. Dragons were

not the brightest creatures of Xanth; but, as with ogres,

their brains were largely in their muscles, and they were

cunning fighters. The dragon knew it could get nowhere

unless it freed itself from its own bite, and knew that its

own coils anchored the ogre in place so that he could put

his clamp on that bite. By and by, it realized that if it

released the ogre, the ogre would lack anchorage and could

then be thrown off. So the dragon began laboriously uncoil-

ing.

Smash held on, gasping more deeply as the constriction

abated. His strategy was getting him free—but it would

free the dragon, too. This fight was a long way from over!

At last the coils were gone. The dragon wrenched its

forward section away—and Smash's lower hand slipped on

the blood coating it, and he lost his hold.

Now they faced each other again, the dragon with blood-

ied jaw and little jets of purple goo spurting from the deep

fang-holes in its body, the ogre panting heavily from sore

ribs. On the surface Smash had had the better of this

round, but inside he doubted it. His rib cage was made of

ogre's bones; nevertheless, it was hurting. Something had

been bent if not broken. He was no longer in top fighting

condition.

The dragon evidently had found the ogre to be stiffer

106 Ogre, Ogre

competition than anticipated. It made a feint at Smash, and

Smash raised a fist. Then the dragon dived abruptly back,

as if fleeing. Suspicious, Smash paused—then saw that the

dragon was going after Fireoak the Hamadryad, who was

still lying helplessly on the ground.

This was very bad form. It suggested that Smash was no

longer worth noticing as an opponent. His temper heated

and bent toward the snapping point.

Chem Centaur leaped to Fireoak's defense, intercepting

the dragon before Smash reoriented. She reared, her fore-

hooves flashing in the air, striking at the dragon's snout.

But she could not hope to balk such a monster for long.

The Siren and John were running up to help, but Smash

knew they could only get themselves in trouble.

He grabbed the dragon's tail again, this time bracing

himself firmly against the rocky ground so as not to be

flipped over. The moving body took up the slack again

with a heavy shock that transmitted straight to the ogre's

braced feet. The feet plowed into the ground, throwing up

wakes of dirt and stones, then driving down deeper. When

the dragon finally halted, Smash was braced knee-deep at

an angle in the ground. He was strong, but the dragon had

mass that mere strength couldn't halt instantly.

The dragon's nose had stopped a short distance from the

hamadryad. Infuriated at this balk, the creature turned

again, lunging at the ogre.

Smash exploded out of the ground, kicking dirt in the

dragon's snoot. He reached for the jaws, but this time the

dragon was wise enough to keep its mouth shut; it wanted

no more prying open! It drove at the ogre with sealed jaws,

trying to knock him down before taking a bite.

Smash boxed at the head, denting the metal scales here

and there and rebloodying the smashed ear-socket, but

could do no real damage. The dragon weaved and bobbed,

presenting a tricky target, while gathering itself for some

devastating strike.

The ogre looked toward the assembled girls. "Get away

from here!" he bellowed. He wanted no more distractions

from the main event; one of them was sure to get inciden-

tally gobbled by the dragon.

From the other side Tandy called, "I've found a ledge!

Ogre, Ogre 107

It's out of reach of the dragon! We can use the rope to

climb to it while Smash destroys the dragon!"

She had boundless confidence in his prowess! Smash

knew he was in the toughest encounter of his life. But he

could proceed with greater confidence the moment he

knew the girls were safe. He looked where Tandy pointed

and saw the ledge, about halfway up the steep slope. There

was a pining tree on it, its mournful branches drooping

greenly, the sad needles hanging down. They would be able

to loop the rope about the trunk of this tree and haul them-

selves up to it.

Then the dragon, taking advantage of Smash's distrac-

tion, leaped at him. The ogre ducked, throwing up a fist in

his standard defensive ploy, but the dragon's mass bore him

down. The huge metal claws of the foremost set of feet

raked at his belly, attempting to dismember him. Smash

had to fall on his back to avoid them—and the weight of

the dragon landed on him. Now the stubby legs reached out

on either side, the claws clutching the earth, anchoring the

long body. Smash was pinned.

He tried to get up, but lacked leverage. He reached out

to grab a leg, but the dragon cunningly moved it out of

reach. Meanwhile, the sinuous body was moving elsewhere

along its line, bringing another set of legs to bear. These

would soon attack the pinned ogre. It would be easy for

these free claws to spear through his flesh repeatedly, and

sooner or later they would puncture a vital organ.

But Smash had resources of his own. He reached up to

embrace the serpentine segment. He was just able to com-

plet the circuit, his fingers linking above it. Now he had

his leverage. He squeezed.

Ogres were notorious for several things: the manner in

which their teeth crunched bones into toothpicks, the way

their fists pulverized rocks, and the power of their battle

embrace. A rock-maple tree would have gasped under the

pressure Smash now applied. So did the Gap Dragon. It let

out a steam-whistle of anguish.

But its body was flexible and compressible. When it had

been squeezed down to half its original diameter, Smash

could force it no farther without taking a new grip—and

the moment he released his present one, the body would

108 Ogre, Ogre

spring out again. His compression was not enough. The

dragon was in pain, but still able to function; now it was

again bringing its other claws into play. That would be

trouble, for the outsides of Smash's arms were exposed.

They could be clawed to pieces.

He drew on another weapon—his teeth. They did not

compare with those of the dragon, but they were formid-

able enough in their own fashion. He pretended the under-

belly before him was a huge, tasty bone and started in.

The first chomp netted him only a mouthful of scales.

He spit them out and bit again. This time he reached the

underlayer of reptilian skin, still pretty tough, but no

match for an ogre's teeth. He ripped out a section, exposing

the muscular layer beneath. He sank his teeth into that.

Again the monster whistled with pain. It struggled to

draw back—but Smash's embrace held it firm. The com-

pression made it worse; the ogre's teeth could take in twice

as much actual flesh with each bite.

The dragon's claws ripped out of the ground. It humped

its midsection, lifting Smash into the air. The huge head

swung around, blasting forth steam. Now the ogre had to

let go, for the back of his neck could not withstand much

steam-cooking. He dropped off, spitting out a muscle. It

would have been nice to chew the thing up and swallow it,

but he needed his teeth clear for business, not pleasure.

The dragon was doubly bloodied now, yet still full of

fight. It snorted a voluminous and slightly blood-flecked

cloud of steam, charged Smash—and sheered off at the

last moment, leaving the ogre smiting air with his fists.

The serpentine torso whizzed by faster and faster, until the

tail struck with a hard crack against Smash's chest.

It was quite a smack. Smash was rocked back. But his

orange centaur jacket was made to protect him from physi-

cal attack and it withstood the lash of the sharp tail. Other-

wise Smash could have been badly gashed, or even cut in

half. The tail, at its extremity. Was long and thin, like a

whip, with edges like a feathered blade. Smash wanted no

more of that.

He spied a boulder half buried in the ground. He ripped

it from its mooring and hurled it at the dragon. The dragon

dodged, but Smash threw another, and a third. Eventually

he was bound to score, and the dragon knew it.

Ogre, Ogre 109

The dragon ducked behind a small ridge of rock and

disappeared. Smash lobbed a boulder at it without effect.

Cautiously he moved up and peered behind the ridge—and

found nothing. The dragon was gone.

He bent to study the ground. Ah—there was a hole

slanting down—a tunnel the diameter of the dragon. The

monster had fled underground!

He dislodged a larger boulder and rolled it to cover the

hole. That would seal in the' dragon, at least until Tandy

and the others could vacate the Gap Chasm. It was too bad

he hadn't been able to finish the fight, but it had been an

excellent one, and such ironies did occur in the wilds of

Xanth.

Then two sets of claws came down from behind him.

The dragon had emerged from another hole and ambushed

him from the rear! That was what came of getting careless

in the enemy's home territory.

Smash tried to turn, but the claws landed on his shoulder

and hauled him backward to the opening jaws. This time

he could not attack those jaws with his hands; he could not

reach them. He was abruptly doomed.

Tandy appeared beside the boulder. "Look out, Smash!"

she cried unnecessarily.

"Get away from here!" Smash shouted as he felt the

dragon's steam on the back of his neck.

But Tandy's face was all twisted up in terror or horror

or anger; her eyes were squeezed almost shut, and her body

was stiff. She paid no attention to him. Then her arm

moved as she threw something invisible. Smash, realizing

» her intent almost too late, dropped to his knees, though the

talons dug cruelly into his shoulder.

The tantrum brushed over his head, making his fur

stand on end. The dragon caught the full brunt of it in the

snoot and froze in place, half a jet of steam stuck in one

nostril.

Smash turned and stood. The Gap Dragon's eyes were

glazed. The monster had been stunned by the tantrum.

"Quick, run!" Tandy cried. "It won't hold that dragon

long!"

Run? That was hardly the way of an ogre! "You run; I

shall bind the dragon."

no

Ogre, Ogre

"You lunkhead!" she protested. "Nothing will hold it

long!"

Smash picked up the dragon's whiplike tail. He threaded

the tip of it into the smash-ruined ear, through the head,

and out the other ear, drawing a length of it through. Then

he used a finger to poke a hole in the boulder, and a sec-

ond hole angling in to meet the first inside the stone. He

passed the tail tip in one hole and out the other, exactly as

if this were another dragon-head. Then he fashioned an

ogre hangknot and tied the tail to itself. "Now I'll go," he

said, satisfied.

They walked to the cliff face. Behind them the Gap

Dragon revived. It shook its head to clear itself of confu-

sion—and discovered it was tied. It tried to draw back—

and the tail pulled taut against the boulder.

"A little puzzle for the dragon," Smash explained. Pri-

vately, he was nettled because he had had to have help to

nullify the monster; that was not an ogre's way. But the

infernal common sense foisted on him by the Eye Queue

reminded him that without an ogre the girls would have

very little chance to survive and the hamadryad's tree

would be cut down. So he beat down his stupid pride and

proceeded to the next challenge.

Chem, John, Fireoak, and the Siren rested on the ledge.

The rope dangled down carelessly.

"All right, girls, it's over," Tandy called. "Ready for us

to come up?"

No one answered. It was as if they were asleep.

"Hey, wake up!" Tandy cried, irritated. "We have to be

on our way, and there's a long climb ahead!"

The Siren stirred. "What does it matter?" she asked dole-

fully.

Smash and Tandy exchanged glances, one cute girl

glance for one brute ogre glance. What was this?

"Are you all right. Siren?" Smash called.

The Siren got to her feet, standing precariously near the

edge of the ledge. "I'm so sad," she said, wiping a tear,

"Life has no joy."

"No joy?" Tandy asked, bewildered. "Smash tied the

'dragon. We can go on now. That's wonderful!"

"That's nothing," the Siren said. "I will end it all." And

she stepped off the ledge.

Ogre, Ogre 111

Tandy screamed. Smash leaped to catch the Siren. For-

tunately, she was coming right toward him; all he had to do

was intercept her fall and swing her about and set her

safely on her feet.

"She tried to kill herself!" Tandy cried, appalled.

Something was definitely wrong. Smash looked up at the

pining tree. The other three sat drooping, like the tree it-

self.

Then he caught on. "The pining tree! It makes people

pine!"

"Oh, no!" Tandy lamented. "They've been there too

long, getting sadder and sadder. Now they're suicidal!"

"We must get them down from there," Smash said.

The Siren stirred. "Oh, my—I was so sad!"

"You were near the pining tree," Tandy informed her.

"We didn't realize what it did."

The Siren mopped up her tear-stained face. "So that was

it! That's a crying shame."

"I'll climb up and carry them down," Smash said.

"Then you'll get sad," Tandy said. "We don't need a sui-

cidal ogre failing on our heads."

"It does take a while for full effect," the Siren said.

"The longer I sat, the sadder I got. It didn't strike all at

once."

"That's our answer," Tandy said. "I'll go up and push

people off the ledge, and Smash can catch them. Quickly,

before I get too sad myself."

"What about Chem?" the Siren asked. "She's too heavy

for Smash to catch safely."

"We'll have to lower her on the rope."

They decided to try it. Tandy climbed the rope, picked

up the weeping John, and threw her down. Smash caught

the fairy with one hand, avoiding contact with her delicate

wings. Then Tandy pushed Fireoak on the ledge. Finally

she tied the end of the rope about the centaur's waist,

passed the rope behind the tree, and forced her to back

down while Smash played out the other end of the rope

gradually. It was slow, but it worked.

Except for one thing. Tandy remained beside the tree,

since the rope was now taken up by the centaur, and the

tree was getting to her. She wandered precariously near the

edge, her tears flowing. Then she stepped off.

112 Ogre, Ogre

If Smash moved to catch her, he would let Chem fall. If

he did not—

He figured it out physically before solving it mentally.

He held the rope in his right hand while jumping and reach-

ing out with his left hand. He caught Tandy by her small

waist and drew her in to his furry body without letting

Chem slip.

Tandy buried her face in his pelt and cried with aban-

don. He knew it was only the effect of the pining tree, but

he felt sorry for her misery. All he could do was hold her.

"That was a nice maneuver, Smash," the Siren said,

coming up to take the girl from his arm.

"I couldn't let her fall," he said gruffly.

"Of course you couldn't." But the Siren seemed thought-

ful. It was as if she understood something he didn't.

Now they were all down and safe—but unfortunately at

the bottom of the Gap Chasm. The Gap Dragon was still

twitching, trying to discover a way to free itself without

pulling out either its brains or its tail. Which was more

important wasn't clear.

John revived. "Oh, my, that was awful!" she exclaimed.

"Now I feel so much better, I could just fly!" And she took

off, flying in a loop.

"Well, she can get out of the chasm," the Siren said.

Smash looked at the fairy, and at the dragon, and at the

pining tree. There was a small ironwood tree splitting the

difference between the pining tree and the top of the cliff

wall. He had an idea. "John, can you fly to the top of the

chasm carrying the rope?"

The fairy looked at the rope. "Way too heavy for me."

"Could you catch it and hold it if I hurl the end up to

you?"

She inspected it again. "Maybe, if I had something to

anchor me," she said doubtfully. "I'm not very strong."

"That ironwood tree."

"I could try."

Smash tied an end of the rope to a rock, then hurled the

rock up past the ironwood tree. John flew up and held the

rope at the tree. Now Smash walked over to the Gap

Dragon, which was still trying to free itself from the boul-

der without hurting its head or its tail in the process.

Smash knocked it on the head with a fist, and it quieted

Ogre, Ogre 113

down; the dragon was no longer in fighting condition and

couldn't roll with the punch.

Smash untied the tail, disconnected it from the boulder,

unthreaded the head, and tied the tip of the tail to the

nether end of the rope. Then he dragged the inert dragon

to the base of the chasm wall and placed its tail so that it

reached well up toward the top.

"Now drop that stone." he called.

The fairy did so. The rock pulled the slack rope up and

around the ironwood trunk. When it began to draw on the

dragon's tail, the weight of the rope wasn't enough. The

fairy flew down and sat on the rock, adding weight, and it

dropped down farther. Finally Smash was able to jump and

catch hold of it.

John flew back to the ground while Smash hauled the

dragon up by the tail. But soon the weight was too much;

instead of hauling the dragon up. Smash found himself

dangling. This was a matter of mass, not strength.

"We can solve that," Chem said, shaking off her re-

maining melancholy. She had received a worse dose of pin-

ing than the others, perhaps because of her size and be-

cause she had been closest to the tree. "Use the boulder for

ballast."

Smash rolled the boulder over. He hooked a toe in the

hole he had punched in it, then drew on the rope again.

This anchorage enabled him to drag the dragon farther up

the slope. When it got to the point where both ogre and

boulder were dangling in the air, Chem added her consid-

erable weight to the effort by balancing on the boulder and

clinging to Smash. "I'll bet you've never been hugged like

this before," she remarked.

Smash pondered that while he hauled on the rope, trying

to get the dragon up. Actually, he had embraced his friend

Chet, her older brother, and Amolde the Archivist, the

middle-aged centaur who was now in charge of liaisons

with Mundania. But those had been males, and his recent

company had attuned him somewhat more to the differ-

ence of females. Chem was not of his species, of course,

but she was clinging to him with extraordinary constriction

because it was hard for her human arms to support her

equine body. She was pleasant to be close to; her present

hug was almost like that of an ogress.

Ogre, Ogre

All these girls were pleasant to be close to, he realized as

the Eye Queue curse enabled him to think the matter

through. Each had her separate female fashion, sort of

rounded and soft, structured for holding. But it seemed

best not to let them know that he noticed. They allowed

themselves to get close to him only because they regarded

him as a woolly monster who had no perception of their

nonedible attributes.

He hauled on the rope, bringing the dragon up another

notch. Now Smash was approaching the limit of his

strength, for the dragon was a heavy monster and there

was a long way to haul. When the job got near the end,

ogre, boulder, and centaur were all getting light; any more

and they would be swinging in the air.

But at last it was done. Now the Gap Dragon was sus-

pended by its tail from the ironwood tree, its snout just

touching the level ground at the base of the chasm. Smash

climbed the rope to the tree, caught the trailing tip of the

dragon's tail, and knotted it about the tree. Then, clinging

to the tree, he untied the rope and flung it upward over the

tip of the cliff. He had had the foresight to leave Chem

and the boulder anchoring the rope at ground level before

doing this.

John flew up and caught the rope. She dragged the end

to a tree beyond the chasm and tied it firmly with a fairy

knot. Smash climbed the rest of the way up and stood at

last on the northern side of the Gap Chasm. Now they had

their escape route.

"Climb the dragon, climb the rope," he called down. His

voice echoboomed back and forth across the chasm, but

finally settled down to the bottom, where they could hear

it. ••

Tandy came up, placing her feet carefully against the

dragon's metal scales, which tended to fold outward be-

cause of its inverted position, making the footing better.

The Siren followed, not quite as agile.

Chem and Fireoak were more of a problem. The centaur'

had let herself down readily enough, but lacked the muscle

either to climb the dragon vertically or to haul herself up

along the rope to the top. And the hamadryad was too

weak even to make the attempt.

Smash could handle that. He slid down the rope and

Ogre, Ogre 115

dragon, picked up the dryad, and carried her to the top.

Then he returned for the centaur. He had her hold on to

him again, circling her arms about his waist while he

hauled himself up by hands and feet. Progress was slow,

for her hooves could not grip the 'dragon's scales comfort-

ably, but eventually they made it to the ironwood tree.

At this point the nature of the problem changed. The

rope went straight up to the overhanging lip, and Smash

doubted Chem could hold on to him while he climbed that.

Also, he was tiring, and might be unable to haul himself

and her up, using only his arms. So he parked her,

wedged between the ironwood trunk and the cliff, while he

rested and considered.

But he was not provided much time for either. The Gap

Dragon, quiescent until now, stirred. It was a tough ani-

mal, and even a punch in the head by the fist of an ogre

could not put it to sleep indefinitely. It twisted about,

trying to discover what was happening.

"I think you had better climb back up your rope now,"

Chem said.

"Tie the end about your waist; I will draw you up from

above."

"I will make a harness," she decided. She looped the

rope around her body in various places. "This way I can

defend myself."

Smash clambered up the taut rope while the dragon

thrashed about with increasing vigor. As Smash crossed the

cliff lip, he saw the dragon's head mining back up along

its body, toward the centaur filly. That could certainly be

trouble!

Atop the cliff, Smash took hold of the rope and drew it

up. The weight was great, but the rope was magically

strong. He had to brace carefully, lest he be pulled back

over the cliff. Again he was reminded that strength alone

was not sufficient; anchorage was at times more impor-

tant. He solved the problem by looping the rope about his

own waist so that he could not be drawn away from the

tree and could exert his full force.

. John was hovering near the lip. "That dragon has spot-

ted Chem," she announced with alarm. "It's reaching up. I

don't know whether it can . . ."

Smash kept on hauling. He could go only so fast, since

116 Ogre, Ogre

he had to take a fresh grip each time and tense for the

renewed effort. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but

he was tiring more rapidly. What had become of his ogre

endurance?

"Yes, the dragon can reach her," John reported. "It's

lunging, snapping. She's fending it off neatly with her

hooves, but she's swinging around without much leverage.

She can't really hurt it. It's trying again—you'd better lift

her up higher, Smash!"

Smash was trying, but now his best efforts yielded only

small, slow gains. His giant ogre muscles were solidifying

with fatigue.

"Now the dragon is trying to climb its own tail, to get

higher, so it can chomp the rope apart or something," the

fairy said. "This time she won't be able to stop it. Pull her

up quickly!"

But try as he might, Smash could not. The rope began to

slip through his exhausted hands.

The Siren leaped up. "I have a knife!" she cried. "I'll go

down and cut off the dragon's tail so it wiB drop to the

bottom of the chasm, out of reach!"

"No!" Tandy protested. "You'll have no way to get up

again!"

"I'll do it!" John said. "Quick—give me the knife!"

The Siren gave her the knife. The fairy dropped out of

sight beyond the ledge. Smash tried to rouse himself to re-

sume hauling on the rope, but his body was frozen into a

deathlike rigor. He could only listen.

The Siren lay on the bank, her head over the cliff, look-

ing down. "The dragon's head is almost there," she re-

ported. "John is down near the tree. She's afraid of that

monster; I can tell by the way she skirts it. But she's ap-

proaching the tied tail. Now she's sawing on it with the

knife. She's not very strong, and those scales are tough.

The dragon doesn't see her; it's orienting on Chem. Oops—

now it sees John. That knife is beginning to hurt it as she

digs through the scales. It's slow work! The dragon is turn-

ing its head about, opening its jaws. Chem is slipping down

farther. She's kicking at the dragon's neck with her fore-

feet, trying to distract it. Now she's throwing dirt at it from

the chasm wall. John is still sawing at the tail. I think she's

r

Ogre, Ogre 117

down to real flesh now. The dragon is really angry. It's

blasting out steam—Oh!" She paused, horrified.

"What happened?" Tandy demanded, her face pale with

strain.

"The steam—John—" The Siren took a ragged breath.

"The steam shriveled her wings, both of them. They're just

tatters. John's clinging to the tree trunk. Still sawing at the

tail. What awful courage she has! She must be in excruciat-

^ ing pain."

The fairy had lost her newly recovered wings and was

suffering terribly—because of Smash's failure. In an agony

of remorse, he forced strength through his frozen muscles

and hauled again on the rope. Now it came up, its burden

seeming lighter, and soon the centaur was over the lip of

the chasm and scrambling to safety. But what of John?

"There goes the dragon!" the Siren cried. "She did it!

She cut through the tail! There's dragon blood all over her

and she's lost the knife, but the dragon's bouncing down

the slope in a cloud of dust and steam. Now the monster's

rolling at the base. It's galumphing away!"

"What of John?" Tandy cried.

"She's sitting there by the ironwood tree. Her eyes are

closed. I don't think she quite comprehends what has hap-

pened. Her wings—"

Tandy was fashioning the rope into a smaller harness.

"Lower this to her. We'll draw her up!"

Smash merely stood where he was, listening. His brief

surge of strength had been exhausted; now he could do

nothing. He felt ashamed for his weakness and the horrible

consequence of it, but had no further resource. John had

thought she would be safe in the company of an ogre!

Chem drew the fairy up. Smash saw John huddled in the

harness. Her once-lovely wings, with the blossoming flower

patterns, were now melted amorphous husks, useless for

flying. Would they ever grow back? It seemed unlikely.

"Well, we crossed the chasm," Tandy said. She was not

happy. None of them was. One of their number had lost

her invaluable wings, another was too wasted to stand, and

Smash was too tired to move. If this was typical of the

hazards they faced, traversing central Xanth, how would

they ever make it the rest of the way?

118

Ogre, Ogre

"Well, now," a new voice declared.

Smash turned his head dully to view the speaker. It was

a gnarled, ugly goblin—at the head of a fair-sized troop of

goblins.

Goblins hated people of any type. The strait had become

yet more dire.

Chapter 7. Lunatic Fringe

If you fight, we'll shove you all over the brink

without your rope," the goblin leader said. He was a

stunted black creature about John's height, with a huge

head, hands, and feet. His short limbs seemed twisted, as if

the bones had been broken and reset many times, and his

face was similarly uneven, with one eye squinting, the

other round, the nose bulbous, and the mouth crooked. By

goblin standards, he was handsome.

The goblins spread out to surround the party. They

peered at the ogre, centaur, hamadryad, fairy. Siren, and

girl as if all were supreme curiosities. "You crossed the

Gap?" the leader asked.

Tandy took it upon herself to answer. "What right have

you to question us? I know your kind from the caves. You

don't have any useful business with civilized folk."

The leader considered her. "Whom do you know in the

caves, girl-thing?"

"Everybody who is anybody," she retorted. "The de-

mons, the Diggle-worm, the Brain Coral—"

The leader seemed fazed. "Who are you?"

"I am Tandy, daughter of Crombie the Soldier and Jewel

the Nymph. You know who sets out those black opals you

goblins steal to give to your goblin girls! My mother, that's

who. Without her there wouldn't be any gems of any kind

to find anywhere."

There was a muttering commotion. "You have adequate

connections," the goblin leader grudged. "Very well, we

won't eat you. You may go, girl-thing."

"What of my friends?" Tandy asked suspiciously.

119

120 Ogre, Ogre

"They have no such connections. Their mothers don't

plant gems in the rocks. We'll cook them tonight."

"Oh, no, you won't! My friends go with me!"

"If that's the way you want it," the goblin said indiffer-

ently.

"That's the way I want it." *

"Come this way, then. You'll all go in the pot together."

"That's not what I meant!" Tandy cried.

"It isn't?" The goblin seemed surprised. "You said you

wanted to be with your friends."

"But not in the pot!"

The goblin shook his head in confusion. "Females

change their minds a lot. Exactly what do you want?"

"I want us all to continue our trip north through Xanth,"

Tandy said, enunciating clearly. "I can't do it alone. I don't

know anything about surface Xanth. I need the ogre to pro-

tect me. If he weren't worn out from fighting the Gap

Dragon and hauling us all up out of the Gap, he'd be

cramming all of you into the pot!"

"Nonsense. Ogres don't use pots."

Tandy huffed herself up into the resemblance of a tan-

trum. But before she completed the process, a goblin lieu-

tenant sidled up to whisper in the leader's ear. The leader

nodded. "Maybe so," he agreed. He turned back to Tandy.

"You are five females, guarded by the tired ogre?"

"Yes," Tandy agreed guardedly. '

"How many others has he eaten?"

"None!" Tandy responded indignantly. "He doesn't eat

friends!"

"He can't be much of an ogre, then."

"He beat up the Gap Dragon!"

The goblin considered. "There is that." He came to a

decision. "My name is Gorbage Goblin. I control this sec-

tion of the Rim. But I have a daughter, and we are exoga-

mous."

"What?" Tandy asked, bewildered.

"Exogamous, twit. Girls must marry outside their home

tribes. But there is no contiguous goblin tribe; we are apart

from the main nation of goblins. The dragons extended

their territory recently, cutting us off." He scowled. "The

other goblins keep forgetting us, the slugbrains. I don't

Irnnw whv."

Ogre, Ogre 121

Smash knew why. It was the forget-spell laid on the Gap

Chasm. These goblins lived too close to it, so suffered a

peripheral effect.

"So my daughter Goldy Goblin must cross to another

tribe," Gorbage grumbled. "But travel beyond our territory

is now hazardous to the health. She needs a guard."

Tandy's face lighted with eventual comprehension. "You

want us to take your daughter with us?"

"To the next goblin tribe, north of here. Beyond the

dragons, in the midst of the five forbidden regions, near

the firewall. Yes."

Five forbidden regions? Firewall? Smash wondered

about that. It didn't sound like the sort of territory to take

five or six delicate girls through.

"You will let us go if we do that?" Tandy asked.

"You and the ogre."

Tandy's face set. She was a very stubborn girl at times.

"All of us."

The goblin leader wavered. "That's a lot to ask. We

haven't had fresh meat in several days."

"I don't care if you never have fresh meat again!" the

girl flared. "You can cook up zombies if you get hungry. I

want all my friends."

"It's only one daughter you're taking north, after all."

"Remember the feminine wiles," the Siren murmured.

Tandy considered. "The ogre can't do all the guarding,"

she said reasonably. "When he fights off a big dragon or a

tangle tree or something, he gets tired. Then he has to rest,

and someone else stands guard, like the centaur. If we

cross a lake, the Siren scouts it out first. We never know

whose skill will be useful." She paused, then with an effort

turned on extra charm, "it you really want your daughter

to travel safely—"

Gorbage capitulated with bad grace. "Oh, very well. All

of you go. It's a bad deal for me, but Goldy will slaughter

me if I don't get her matched soon. She's a cussheaded lass,

like all her kind."

Smash was amazed. Tandy had, with a little timely ad-

vice from the Siren, talked them out of disaster and gotten

them all free passage through goblin-infested territory. Al-

ready his own strength was filtering 'back; all he needed

122

Ogre, Ogre

was a little rest. But there was no longer any need for Vio-

lence.

Goldy Goblin turned out to be a petite, amazingly pretty

lass. The goblin females were as lovely as the goblin males

were ugly. "Thank you so much for taking me," she said

politely. "Is there anything I can do in return?"

Tandy had the grace to take this seriously. "We have to

stop by a fireoak tree in this vicinity. If you could show us

the best route to it—"

"Certainly. There's only one fireoak hereabouts, with a

resident hamadryad nymph—" Goldy paused, spying Fire-

oak. "Isn't that she?"

"Yes. She's trying to save her tree. We must get her back

to it as soon as possible."

"I know the way. But the path to it goes by a hypno-

gourd patch. So you have to be careful."

"I don't want to go near the gourds!" Tandy cried, horri-

fied.

But Smash remembered his contact with the coffin in-

side the other gourd. Was it possible that—? "I want a

gourd," he said.

The Siren was perplexed. "Why would you want a terri-

ble thing like that?"

"Something I may have forgotten in there."

The Siren frowned but dropped the subject.

They trekked on. Smash carrying the hamadryad. He

tried not to show it, but his strength had returned only par-

tially. Fireoak was light, the kind of burden he could nor-

mally balance on his little finger without effort, but now

he had to control his breathing, lest he pant so loudly he

call attention to himself. He would be no help at all if they

happened on another dragon. Maybe he just needed a good

meal and a night's sleep. Yet it had never before taken him

so long to recover from exertion. He suspected something

was wrong, but he didn't "know what.

They came to the region of hypnogourds. The vines

sprawled abundantly, and gourds were all about. Smash

stared at them, half mesmerized. He had thought his soul

lost when the Siren smashed the other gourd—but was it

possible that the gourd had been a mere window on the

otherworld reality? His Eye Queue was crazy enough to

Ogre, Ogre 123

think this was so. Could he use another gourd to return to

that world and fight for his soul?

He felt small hands on his arm. "What is it. Smash?"

Tandy asked. "I'm deathly afraid of those things, but you

seem fascinated. What's with you and those awful gourds?"

He answered, not fully conscious of his situation. "I

must go fight the Night Stallion."

"A Dark Horse?"

"The ruler of the nightmares. He has a lien on my soul."

"Oh, no! Is that how you rescued my soul?"

Smash snapped out of it. He hadn't meant to say any-

thing about the lien to Tandy. "I'm gibbering. Ignore it."

"So that's why you wanted another gourd," the Siren said.

"You had unfinished business there! I didn't realize . . ."

Now the goblin girl approached. "The ogre's been into a

gourd? I've seen that happen before. Some people escape

unscathed; some lose their souls; some get only halfway

free. We lost a lot of goblins before we caught on. Now we

use those gourds as punishment. Thieves are set at a peep-

hole for an hour; they usually escape with a bad scare and

never thieve again. Murderers are set there for a day; they

often lose their souls. It varies; some people are cleverer

than others, and some luckier. The lien is like a delayed

sentence; a month or two and it's all over."

"A lien!" the Siren said. "How long for you. Smash?"

"Three months," he replied glumly.

"And you said nothing!" she cried indignantly. "What

kind of a creature are you?" But she answered herself im-

mediately. "A self-sacrificing one. Smash, you should have

told us."

"Yes," Tandy agreed faintly. "I never realized—"

"How can a person nullify such a lien?" the Siren asked,

getting practical.

"He has to go back in and fight," Goldy said. "If he

doesn't, he just gets weaker, bit by bit, as the Stallion calls

in the soul. It's too late to fight, once the lien is due. He

has to do it early, while he has most of his strength."

"But a person can redeem himself if he goes in early?"

the Siren asked.

"Sometimes," the goblin girl said. "Maybe one out of

ten. One of our old goblins is supposed to have done it a

124 Ogre, Ogre

long time ago in his youth. We're not sure we believe him.

He mumbles about trials of fear and pain and pride and

such-like, making no sense at all. But it is theoretically pos-

sible to win."

"So that's why Smash has gotten so weak," the Siren

said. "He was using his strength as if he had plenty to

spare, but he has an illness of the soul."

"I know about that," Fireoak breathed.

"I didn't know!" Tandy said, clouding up. "Oh, it's all

my fault! I never would have taken my soul back if—"

"I didn't know, either," the Siren said, calming her. "But

I should have suspected. Maybe I did suspect; I just didn't

pursue the thought fast enough. I forgot that Smash is no

longer a simple-minded ogre; he has the devious Eye

Queue contamination, making him react more like human

folk."

"The curse of human intellect, replacing the primeval

beastly innocence," Tandy agreed. "I, too, should have re-

alized—"

"Tandy, we've got to help Smash destroy that lien!"

"Yes!" Tandy agreed emphatically. "We can't leave him

to the law of the lien."

Smash almost smiled, despite the seriousness of the situa-

tion. During his travels with Prince Dor, he had encoun-

tered the law of the loin; was this related?

"I'll help," Goldy said.

The Siren frowned. "What is your interest? Your tribe was

going to eat us all."

"How can I get to another goblin tribe if I don't have a

strong ogre to clear the way? I do know a little bit about

the matter."

"I suppose you do have a practical interest," the Siren

agreed. "We all need the ogre, until we find our own indi-

vidual situations. What do you know about the gourds that

might help?"

"Our people have reported details of the gourd geogra-

phy. It's the same for every gourd; they're all identical

inside. But each person enters at a different place, and it's

possible to get lost. So it is best to carry a line of string to

mark the way."

"But a person is out the moment his contact with the

peephole is broken! How can he get lost?"

Ogre, Ogre

125

"It's not that sort of lost," Goldy said. "There's a lot of

territory in there, and some pretty strange effects. Some

talk of graves, others of mirrors. A person always returns

to the spot he left, and the time he left, no matter how long

he's been away from it; a break in the sequence is only an

interruption, not a change. If he's lost in gourdland, he's

still lost when he returns there, even if he's been a long

time out of his gourd. He doesn't know where he's going

because he doesn't know where he's been. But if he strings

the string, it'll mark where he's been, and he'll know the

moment he crosses his trail. And that's the secret."

Smash was getting quite interested. He had been out of

his gourd for some time, but apparently could still return.

"What secret?"

"The Night Stallion is always in the last place a person

looks, in the gourd," the goblin girl explained. "So all you

have to do to reach him is always look in a new place—

never in a place you've been before; that's a waste of time

and effort. You are apt to get caught in an endless loop,

and then you are really lost. You may never find him if

you rehash your old route."

"You do know something about it!" Tandy agreed. "But

suppose Smash threads the maze, finds the Night Stal-

lion—and is too weak to fight him?"

"Oh, it's not that sort of strength he needs," the goblin

girl said. "We've had physically strong goblins go in, and

physically weak ones, and the weak ones do just as well.

All kinds lose in the gourd. Physical strength may even be

a liability. Destroying the facilities does not destroy the

commitment. Only defeating the Stallion does that, on the

Stallion's own terms."

"What are the Stallion's terms?"

Goldy shrugged. "No one knows. Our one surviving gob-

lin refuses to tell, assuming he knows. He just sort of turns

a little grayer. I think there is no way to find out except to

face the creature."

"I think we have enough to go on," Tandy said. "Let's

take a gourd along. We have to get to the fireoak tree be-

fore the lunatic-fringe-spell gives out." She went to harvest

a gourd, her concern for Smash overriding her fear of the

thing.

126

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

127

"I think the peephole is a lunatic fringe," the Siren mut-

tered.

They moved on. Smash pondered what the goblin girl

had said. If physical strength was not important in the

struggle with the Night Stallion, why was it important to

join this contest early, before weakness progressed too far?

Was that a contradiction or merely a confusion? He con-

cluded that it was the latter. There was weakness of the

body and of the spirit; both might fade together, but they

were not identical. Smash was physically weak now be-

cause he had overextended himself; otherwise it should

have taken him three months to fade. His soul had proba-

bly suffered relatively little so far. But if he waited till the

end of the lien term to meet the Stallion, then his soul

would be weak, and he would lose the nonphysical contest.

Yes, that seemed to make sense.Things didn't have to make

sense, with magic, but it helped.

They arrived at a pleasant glade. Within it was a crazy

sort of shimmer that made Smash feel a little crazy himself;

he turned his eyes away.

"My tree!" the hamadryad cried, suddenly reviving.

Smash set her down. "Where?"

"There! Behind the lunatic fringe!" She seemed to grow

stronger instant by instant and in a moment pranced into

the glade. Her body wavered and vanished.

"I guess the spell is still holding," Tandy said. She fol-

lowed Fireoak, carrying the gourd, and disappeared simi-

larly. The others went the same route.

When Smash contacted the fringe, he felt a momentary

surge of dizziness; then he was through. There before him

was the tree, a medium-large fireoak, its leaves blazing in

the late afternoon sunlight. The hamadryad was hugging its

trunk in ecstasy, her body almost indistinguishable from it,

and her color was returning. She had rejoined her soul. The

tree, too, seemed to be glowing, and leaves that had been

wilting were now forging back into health. Evidently it had

missed her also. There was something very touching about

the love of nymph and tree for each other.

Tandy approached him, her blue eyes soulful. "Smash, if

I had known—" She choked up. She shoved the gourd at

him.

"We'll let you go into it until the lunatic fringe fades and

the people attack this tree," the Siren said. "Maybe you'll

have time to conquer the Night Stallion and regain your

full strength." She produced a ball of string that the ha-

madryad must have had stored in her tree. "Use this so you

won't get lost in there,"

"But first eat something," Chem said, bringing an arm-

ful of fruits. "And get a night's sleep."

"No. I want to settle this now," Smash said.

"Oh, please do at least eat something 1" Tandy pleaded.

"You can eat a lot in a hurry."

True words—and he was hungry. Ogres were usually

hungry. So he crammed a bushel of whole fruits into his

mouth and gulped them down, ogre-fashion, and drank a

long pull of water from the spring at the base of the tree.

As the sun dropped down behind the forest, singeing the

distant tips of trees. Smash took leave of the six females as

if setting out on a long and hazardous trek. Then he settled

down against the trunk of the tree, put the gourd in his lap,

and applied his right eye to the peephole.

Instantly he was back in the gourd world. He stood be-

fore the crypt, having just gotten up from his snooze.

Tandy was not there; for a moment he had feared that she

would be locked into this adventure with him, since she

had been here before, but of course she was free now.

A chill wind cut around the stonework, ruffling his fur.

The landscape was bleak: all gravestones and dying weeds

and dismal dark sky. "Beautiful!" he exclaimed. "I would

like to stay here forever."

Then his Eye Queue, in its annoying fashion, forced him

to amend his statement mentally. He would like to stay

here forever after he rescued his soul from the lien and

regained his full strength and saved the hamadryad's tree

and had gotten Tandy and all the others to wherever they

were going and found his Answer from the Good Magi-

cian. After these details, then this paradise of the gourd

would be a nice retirement spot.

He had been afraid he would find himself somewhere

else and be unable, after all, to pursue his quest to its close.

Despite what the goblin girl had said, this was a different

gourd, and might not know where his adventure in the last

128 Ogre, Ogre

gourd had ended. Now he was reassured, and confident

that he could locate the Night Stallion and abate the lien.

After all, he was an ogre, wasn't he?

He held his ball of string, since he had willed it to ac-

company him, but again he had forgotten to bring his

gauntlets or orange jacket. He backtracked to the back of

the haunted house and anchored one end of the string to a

post, then crossed the graveyard to the far gate, letting the

string unravel behind. It was a good-sized ball, so he was

confident he would have plenty to mark his way.

A skeleton came out to see what was going on; Smash

made a horrendous face at it, and the thing fled so fast its

bones rattled. Yes, the bone-folk remembered him here!

Beyond the gate was a broad, bleak, open plain illumi-

nated by ghastly, pale white moonlight. Black, ugly clouds

scudded horrendously across the dismal sky, forming dark

picture-shapes that resembled trolls, goblins, and ogres.

Naturally the other creatures were fleeing before the ogre-

shapes. Smash was delighted; this was an even better scene

than the last! Whoever had set up this gourd world had had

ogre tastes in mind.

Where should he go now? It was not his purpose to dally

amidst the delights of the terrain, but to locate the Night

Stallion. Yet he knew that he would have to cover a lot of

territory before he reached the last place to look. So he had

better move rapidly anywhere, getting the ground covered.

He tromped forth, straight across the beautifully barren

plain. The cracked ground shuddered pleasantly under the

impact of his feet. He was regaining his strength. Yet now

he knew, thanks to the goblin girl, that physical strength

was not necessarily what it took to prevail here. He had

used it to cow the voice in the coffin, forcing it to release

Tandy's soul—but had suffered the compromise of his own

soul. Probably the coffin had given him nothing that had

not already been allocated; he had fooled himself, thinking

an ogre's power would scare the dead. The curse of the Eye

Queue was making him see uncomfortable truths!

Yet perhaps he should not take this revelation on faith,

either. He could go back and rattle the coffin some more,

and determine just how much it feared his violence. After

all, the skeletons now fled from him. No—that was a

temptation to be avoided, for it would cause him to back-

Ogre, Ogre 129

track his own trail, the one thing he needed to avoid doing.

Smash continued resolutely forward.

Black dots appeared on the bleak horizon. Quickly they

expanded, racing toward him on beating hooves. The night-

mares! This was where they stayed by day—here, where

night was eternal.

The mares were handsome animals, absolutely black,

with flaring manes, flying tails, and darkly glowing eyes.

Their limbs were sleekly muscular, and they moved with

the velocity of thought. In moments they surrounded him,

galloping around him in a circle, squealing wamingly.

They did not want him going the way he was going. But

since the Night Stallion did not seem to be among them, he

had to proceed.

Smash ignored their warning. He tromped onward—and

their circle stayed with him despite his speed. Experimen-

tally he dodged to one side, and the circle remained cen-

tered on him. He leaped, and the circle leaped with him.

Just as he had thought, these were magical creatures, ori-

enting magically; the feet of a dream-horse had no essential

connection with the ground. Prince Dor had once men-

tioned escaping the nightmares by sleeping on a cloud, be-

yond their reach, but probably Prince Dor had not had any

bad dreams scheduled that night. The mares could go any-

where, and Smash could not escape their circle by running.

Not that he wantd to. He liked these fine, healthy ani-

mals. They were an ogre's type of creature. He remem-

bered how one of them had given Tandy a ride to the Good

Magician's castle—which had perhaps been a better desti-

nation for her than the one she had sought. The Good Magi-

cian had provided Tandy a home for a year, and a solution

to her problem—maybe. Her father Crombie, the soldier at

Castle Roogna, might not have been much help. Smash

knew the man casually. Crombie was getting old, no longer

the fighter he used to be. He was also a woman hater who

might not have taken his daughter's problem seriously. But

if he had taken it seriously—what could he have done,

without leaving his post at Castle Roogna?

And the nightmares—one had helped Tandy travel, but

then had put in for a lien on her soul, causing her awful

grief. Some help that had been! Maybe these nightmares

needed to feel the weight of an ogre's displeasure.

130 Ogre, Ogre

Still he did not know enough to act. What was Tandy's

problem that the Magician had answered? She had never

quite said. Did it relate to that nightmare lien on her soul?

But she had incurred that lien in order to reach the Good

Magician. That hardly seemed profitable. Also, she had not

been aware of the lien, so she would not have put a Ques-

tion about it.

How would traveling with an ogre abate her problem?

Had it been the Magician's intent that Smash redeem that

girl's lost soul with his own? That was possible—but his

understanding of the Magician's mode of operations argued

against it. Humfrey did not need to fool people about the

nature of their payments for their Answers. He should not

pretend the service was merely protection duty when, in

fact, it was soul substitution. So that, too, remained an

enigma.

So far, Tandy had recruited fellow travelers with aban-

don, and now there were six females in the party. That was

probably as unlikely a group as existed at the moment in

Xanth. Normally such maidens fled ogres, and for good

reason—ogres consumed such morsels. Were it not for

Smash's commitment not to indulge his natural appetites

because of the service he owed the Good Magician—

He shook his head, flinging loose a few angry fleas. No,

he could not be sure of his motive there. His father Crunch

was a vegetarian ogre, married to a female of human deri-

vation, so Smash had been raised in an atypical ogre home.

His folks had been permitted to associate with the people

of Castle Roogna as long as they honored human customs.

Smash himself had not operated under the restriction of

oath or of human taste—but had always known he would

be banished from human company if he ever reverted to

the wild state. Anyone who made trouble for King Trent

ran the risk of being transformed to a toad or a stinkbug,

for Trent was the great transformer. It had been easy to

conform. So Smash had not actually crunched many hu-

man bones, and had carried away no delicious human

maidens. Perhaps he had been missing something vital—

but he remained unwilling to gamble that one good meal

would be more satisfying than the human friendships he

had maintained. So perhaps it was more than the Good

Magician's service that protected Tandy and the others.

Ogre, Ogre 131

Ogres weren't supposed to need companionship, but the

curse of the Eye Queue showed him that he was, to that

extent, atypical of his kind. Like the Siren, he now knew

he would be lonely alone.

Smash suddenly realized that the ring of mares was only

half the diameter it had been. While he tromped forward,

thinking his slew of un-ogrish thoughts, they had been con-

stricting their loop. Soon they would be almost within reach

of him.

And if they closed on him all the way—what then?

Mere horses could hardly hurt an ogre. Each weighed

about as much as he did, but they were only mares, with

the foreparts of sea horses and the rear parts of centaurs.

They were basically pretty and gentle. True, their ears

were flat back against their skulls, and their manes flared

like dangerous spikes, their tails flicked like weapons, their

teeth showed white in the moonlight, and their eyes stared

slantwise at him as if he were prey instead of monster—but

he knew he could throw any of them far out across the

plain, if he chose, when he had his normal ogre strength.

Why should they want to come within his reach?

In a moment he had the answer. These were standard

nightmares, used to carry bad dreams to their proper dream-

ers. They had not been cursed with the Eye Queue; they

had no super-equine intelligence. They were giving him the

standard treatment, crowding him, trying to scare him—

Smash burst out laughing. Imagine anything scaring an

ogre!

The mares broke ranks, startled. This was not S. 0. P.

The victim was not supposed to laugh. What was wrong?

Smash was sorry. "I didn't mean to mess up your act,

mares," he said apologetically. "Circle me again, and I'll

pretend to be frightened. I don't want you to get in trouble

with your Stallion. In fact, I'd like to meet him myself. I

don't suppose you could take me to him?"

Still the mares milled about. Their formation was in a

shambles. They were not here to play a game, but to ter-

rify. Since that had failed, they had other business to at-

tend to. After all, night had been drawing nigh when he

entered the gourd. The group began breaking up. Probably

they would be all over Xanth within the next hour, bearing

their burdensome dreams.

132

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

133

"Wait!" Smash cried. "Which of you gave Tandy a

.ride?"

One mare hesitated, as if trying to remember. "A year

ago," Smash said. "A small human girl, brown hair, throws

tantrums."

The black ears perked forward. The mare remembered!

"She sends her thanks," Smash said. "You really helped

her."

The mare nickered, seeming interested. Did these crea-

tures really care about the welfare of those on whom they

visited the bad dreams? Yet his Eye Queue warned him

that it was not safe to judge any creature by his or her job.

Some ogres did not crunch bones; some mares might not

hate girls.

"Did you mean to destroy her?" he asked. "By taking a

lien on her soul?"

The mare's head lifted back, nostrils flaring.

"You didn't know?" Smash asked. "When she wandered

into the gourd, the coffin-creep stole her soul, on the pre-

text she owed it for the ride."

The mare snorted. She hadn't known. That made Smash

feel better. Life was a jungle inside the gourd as well as in

Xanth, with creatures and things grasping whatever they

could get from the unwary. But some were innocent.

"She might visit here again," he continued. "You might

see her following my string." He pointed to the line he had

laid out behind him. "If you like, you could give her an-

other ride and sort of explain things to her. It would help

her catch up to me quickly. But no more liens!"

The mare snorted and pawed the ground. She was not

interested in giving rides.

"Maybe I can make a deal with you," Smash said. "I

don't want Tandy getting in trouble in here." Not at the

risk of her soul, certainly! "Is there anything I can do for

you, outside?"

The mare considered. Then she brightened. She licked

her lips.

"Something to eat?" Smash asked, and the mare nodded.

"Something nice?" She agreed again. "Rock candy?" She

neighed nay.

Smash played the guessing game, but could not quite

come up with the correct item. All the other mares had

departed, and this one was fidgeting; he could not hold her

longer. "Well, if I find it, maybe I'll know it," Smash said.

"Maybe Tandy will know, and bring it with her, if she

comes. You keep in touch, okay?"

The nightmare nodded, then turned and trotted off. No

doubt she was going to pick up her load of unpleasant

dreams for delivery to her clientele of sleepers. Maybe

some of them were his friends at the fireoak tree. "Good

luck!" Smash called after her, and she flicked her tail in

acknowledgment.

Alone again, he wondered whether he had been foolish.

What business did he have with nightmares? What would a

nightmare want from a person, that the mare could not

pick up for herself on her rounds? He was an ogre who

loved violence and horror, and he was here on a personal

mission. Yet somehow he felt it was best to get along with

any creature he could; perhaps something would come of

it.

This confounded Eye Queue! Not only did it set him to

trying un-ogrish things, it rendered him confused about the

meaning of these things and full of uncomfortable self-

doubt. What a curse it was!

He faced resolutely forward and resumed his tromping.

He saw something new on the horizon and proceeded to-

ward it. Soon it manifested as a building—no, as a castle—

no, larger yet, an entire city, enclosed by a forbidding wall.

As he drew close, he discovered the city was solid gold.

Every part of it scintillated in the moonlight, shades of

deep yellow. But when he drew closer yet, he found that it

was not gold but brass—just as shiny, but not nearly as

precious. Still it was a marvel.

The outer wall was unbroken, riveted metal, gleaming at

every angle. The front gate was the same, so large it

dwarfed even Smash's monstrous proportions. This was the

sort of city giants would inhabit!

Smash considered that. The little knobs of the haunted

house had shocked him; how much worse would this one

be? He was not at all sure he could rip this door from its

moorings; it was big and strong, and he was now relatively

weak. This was not a situation he liked to admit, but he

was no longer properly stupid about such things.

He pondered, drawing on the full curse of the Eye

134 Ogre, Ogre

Queue. What he needed was insulation—something to pro-

tect him from shock. But there was nothing near; the city

wall rose out of sand. He might use his orange jacket—but

he was not wearing it, here in the gourd. All he had was

the string, and that wasn't suitable.

No help for it. He would have to touch the metal. Ac-

tually, there might be a metal floor inside that he would

have to walk on; if he were going to get shocked, it would

happen with every step. Might as well find out now. He

extended a hamfinger and touched the knob.

There was no shock. He grasped and turned the knob. It

clicked, and the door swung inward. It wasn't lockedl

There was a bright metal hall leading from the gate into

the city. Smash walked down it, half expecting the door to

slam shut behind him. It did not. He continued through the

hall, his bare, furry soles thumping on the cool metal.

He emerged into an open court with a paving of brass,

the moonlight bearing down preternaturally. All was silent.

No creatures roamed the city.

"Ho!" Smash bellowed, loud enough to disturb the dead,

as seemed appropriate in this realm.

No dead were disturbed. If they heard, they were ignor-

ing him. The city seemed to be empty. There was an eerie

quality to this that Smash liked. But he wondered who had

made this city and where those people had gone. It seemed

like far too interesting a place to desert. If ogres built cit-

ies, this was the sort of city they would build. But of

course no ogre was smart enough to build a single building,

let alone a city, certainly not a lovely city of brass.

He tromped through it, his big, flat feet generating a

muted booming on the metal street. Brass buildings rose on

either side, their walls making blank brass faces at precise

right angles to the street. He looked up and saw that the

tops were squared off, too. There were no windows or

doors. Of course that didn't matter to the average ogre; he

could always bash out any windows when and where he

wanted. All was mirror-shiny; he could see his appalling

reflection in every surface that faced him. Brass ogres

paced him to either side, and another walked upside down

under the street.

Smash remembered the story his father Crunch had told

of entering a sleeping city and discovering the lovely mush-

Ogre, Ogre }35

faced ogress who had become Smash's mother. This city of

brass was pleasantly reminiscent of that. Was there an

ogress here for him? That was an exciting prospect, though

he hoped she wasn't made of brass.

He traversed the city, but found no entrance to any

building. If an ogress was sleeping here, she was locked

away where he couldn't reach her. Smash banged on a

wall, making it reverberate; but though the sound boomed

pleasantly throughout the city, no one stirred. He punched

harder, trying to break a hole in the wall. It was no good;

he was too weak, the brass was too strong, and he lacked

his protective gauntlets. His fist smarted, so he stuck it in

his mouth.

Smash was beginning to be bothered. Before there had

been halfway interesting things like walking skeletons, elec-

trified doors, and nightmares. Now there was just brass.

What could he accomplish here?

He invoked the curse of the Eye Queue yet again and

did some solid thinking. So far, each little adventure within

the gourd had been a kind of riddle; he had to overcome

some barrier or beat some sort of threat before he could

continue to the next event. So it was probably not enough

just to enter this empty city and depart; that might not

count. He had to solve the riddle, thus narrowing the op-

tions, reducing the remaining places for the Night Stallion

to hide. Straight physical action did not seem to be the re-

quirement here. What, then, was?

There must be a nonphysical way to deal with this im-

passive place, perhaps to bring it to life so it could be con-

quered. Maybe a magical spell. But Smash did not know

any spells, and somehow this city seemed too alien to be

magical. What else, then?

He paced the streets, still unreeling his string, careful

never to cross his own path. And, in a little private square

directly under the moon, he discovered a pedestal. Signifi-

cant things were usually mounted on pedestals directly un-

der the moon, he remembered. So he marched up to it and

looked.

He was disappointed. There was only a brass button

there. Nothing to do except to press it: There might be

serious consequences, but no self-respecting ogre worried

about that sort of thing. He turned his big hamthumb down

136 Ogre, Ogre

and mashed the button. With luck, all hell would break

loose.

As it happened, luck was with him. Most of hell broke

loose.

There was a pleasantly deafening klaxon alarm noise

that filled all this limited universe with vibrations. Then

the metal buildings began shifting about, moving along the

floor of the city, squeezing the streets and the court. In a

moment there would be no place remaining for him to

stand.

This was more like it! At first Smash planned to brace

himself and halt the encroaching buildings by brute ogre

strength. But he lacked his full power now, and anyway, it

was better to use his brain. Perhaps the Eye Queue was

gradually subverting him, causing him to endorse its na-

ture; already it seemed like less of a curse, and he knew—-

because, ironically, of the intelligence it provided him—

that this was a significant signal of corruption. Mental

power tended to corrupt, and absolute intelligence tended

to corrupt absolutely, until the victim eschewed violence

entirely in favor of smart solutions to stupid problems.

Smash hoped he could fight off the curse before it ever

ruined him to that extent! If he stopped being stupid, bru-

tal, and violent, he would no longer be a true ogre.

Nevertheless, the expedience of the moment forced him

to utilize his mind. He knew that a block that moved one

way had to leave a space behind it, unless it happened to

be expanding rapidly. He zipped between buildings, emerg-

ing from the narrowing aisle just before the two clanged

together. Sure enough, there was a new space where a

building had stood. It was perfectly smooth brass except for

a cubic hole where the center of the building had been.

Probably that was the anchoring place, like part of a lock

mechanism; a heavy bolt would drop down from the build-

ing to wedge in that hole and keep the building from slid-

ing about when it wasn't supposed to. When he had pressed

the brass button, the lock bolts had lifted, freeing the build-

ings. Buildings, like clouds, bashed about all over the place

when given the freedom to do so. The klaxon had sounded

to warn all crushable parties that motion was commencing,

so they could either get out of the way or pick their favor-

ite saiiishin^-snot. It all made a sort of violent sense, his

Ogre, Ogre 137

Eye Queue informed him. He liked this city better than

ever.

Now the building blocks were bouncing back, converging

on him. Smash moved again, avoiding what could be a

crushing experience. He found himself in a new open

space, with another anchorage slot.

But the blocks were moving more quickly now, as if get-

ting warmed up. Because they were big, he needed a cer-

tain amount of time to run between them. If they speeded

up much more, he would not have time to clear before they

clanged. That could be awkward.

"Well, brain, what do you say to this?" he asked chal-

lengingly. "Can you outsmart two buildings that plan to

catch me and squish me flat?"

His vine-corrupted brain, thus challenged, rose to the oc-

casion. "Get in the pit," it told him.

Smash thought this was crazy. But already the brass was

moving, sounding off with its tune of compression, and he

had to act. He leaped into the pit as the blank metal face of

the building charged him.

Too late, it occurred to him, or to his Eye Queue—it

became difficult at times to distinguish ogre-mind from

vine-mind—that he could be crushed when the bolt

dropped down to anchor the building. But that should hap-

pen only when the building was finished traveling and

wanted to settle down for a rest. He would try to be out by

then. If he failed—well, squishing was an ogrish kind of

demise.

It was dark there as the metal underbody of the building

slid across. He felt slightly claustrophobic—another weak-

ness of intelligence, since a true ogre never worried about

danger or consequence. What would happen if the building

did not move off?

Then light flashed down from above. Smash blinked and

discovered that the center of the building was hollow, glow-

ing from the inner walls. He had found his way inside!

He scrambled up and stood on the floor, still holding his

ball of string. The building was still moving, but there was

no way it could crush him now. The building floor covered

everything except the square where the anchorage hole

would be when it lay at anchor, so he could simply ride

along with it.

138

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

139

He looked about—and spied an army of brass men and

women, each individual fully formed, complete with brass

facial features, hair, and clothing—the men fully clothed,

the women less so. But they were statues, erected on plat-

forms that, like the floor, moved with the building. Noth-

ing here was of interest to an ogre. He knew brass wasn't

good to eat.

Then he spied another brass button.

Well, why not? Maybe this one would make the building

stop moving. Of course, if this one stopped and the other

buildings did not, there would be a horrendous crash.

Smash jammed his thumb down on the button.

Instantly the brass statues animated. The metal people

spied the ogre and converged on him. And Smash—

Found himself leaning against the fireoak tree. Tandy

stood before him, holding the gourd. She had broken his

line of vision to the peephole. "Are you all right, Smash?"

she asked with her cute concern.

"Certainly!" he grumped. "Why did you interrupt me? It

was just getting interesting." .

"The lunatic fringe is tearing," she said worriedly. "The

human villagers are in the area and will soon discover the

tree."

"Well, bring me back when they do," Smash said. "I

have metal men to fight inside."

"Metal men?"

"And women. Solid brass."

"Oh," she said, uncomprehending. "Remember, you're in

there to fight for your soul. I worry about you. Smash."

He guffawed. "You worry about me! You're human; I'm

an ogre!"

"Yes," she agreed, but her face remained drawn. "I

know what it's like in there. You put your soul in peril for

me. I can't forget that. Smash."

"You don't like it in there," he pointed out. "I do. And I

agreed to protect you. This is merely another aspect." He

took the gourd back and applied his eye to the peephole.

The brass people were converging, exactly where they

had been when he left. They seemed not even to be aware

of his brief absence. The building was moving, too—but it

had not moved in the interim. His Eye Queue-cursed brain

found all this interesting, but Smash had no time for that

nonsense at the moment. The brassies were almost on him.

The first one struck at him. The man was only half

Smash's height, but the metal made him solid. Smash hauled

him up by the brassard and threw him aside. Smash still

lacked the strength to do real damage, but at least he could

fight weakly. In his strength he would have hurled the

brass man right through the brass wall of the building.

A female grabbed at him. Smash hooked a forefinger

into her brassiere and hauled her up to his eye level. "Why

are you attacking me?" he asked, curious rather than an-

gry.

"We're only following our program," she said, kicking at

him with a pretty brass foot.

"But if you fight me, I shall have to fight you," he

pointed out. "And I happen to be a monster."

"Don't try to reason with me, you big hunk of flesh; I'm

too brassy for that." She swung at him with a metal fist.

But he was holding her at his arm's length, so she could

not reach him.

Something was knocking at his knee. Smash looked

down. A man was striking at him with his brass knuckles.

Smash dropped the brass girl on the brass man's brass hat,

and the two crashed to the floor in a shower of brass tacks.

They cried out with the sound of brass winds.

Now a half-dozen brassies were grabbing at Smash's legs,

and he lacked the strength to throw them all off at once.

So he reached down to pluck them off one at a time—

He was under the tree again. He saw the problem imme-

diately. Half a dozen brassies—no, these were men and

women of the human village—were converging on the tree,

bearing wicked-looking axes. The hamadryad was scream-

ing.

Smash had no patience with this. He stood up, towering

over the villagers, ogre-fashion. He roared a fine ogre roar.

The villagers turned and fled. They didn't know Smash

was short of strength at the moment. Otherwise they could

have attacked him and perhaps put him in difficulty, in

the same way the brassies were doing in the gourd. He had

replaced the illusion of the lunatic fringe with the illusion

of his own formidability.

The hamadryad dropped from her tree, her hair glowing

like fire, catching him about the neck. She was now a vi-

140

Ogre, Ogre

brant, healthy creature. "You great big wonderful brute of

a creature!" she exclaimed, kissing his furry ear. Smash

was oddly moved; as the centaur had noted, ogres were

seldom embraced or kissed by nymphs.

He handed the hamadryad back into her tree, then set-

tled down for another session in the gourd. None of them

had anywhere to go until the King got the news and acted

to protect the tree permanently, and he wanted to wrap up

this gourd business.

"Wake me at need," he said, noting that the shimmer of

the lunatic fringe was now almost gone. If trees had ogres to

protect them instead of cute but helpless hamadryads, very

few trees would be destroyed. Of course, ogres themselves

were prime destroyers of trees, using them to make tooth-

picks and such, so he was in no position to criticize. He

applied his left eye to the peephole this time, giving his

right orb a rest.

He stood in an alley between buildings. What was this?

The sequence was supposed to pick up exactly where it had

left off. What had gone wrong?

The two buildings slid toward him, forcing him to scoot

out of the way. Smash emerged into a new space—and saw

his line of string. He was about to cross his own path! But

he couldn't retreat; the buildings were clanging behind him.

Still, his cursed Eye Queue wouldn't let him leave well

enough alone. It wanted to know why the gourd scene had

slipped a notch. Was the gourd getting old, beginning to

rot, breaking down its system? He didn't want to be

trapped in a rotting gourd.

The buildings separated, starting to converge on a new

spot. The alley reopened, the string he had just set out run-

ning down its length—and stopping.

Smash ran to the end of it. The string had been severed

cleanly; it ended at the point he had re-entered the vision.

But as the buildings separated. Smash saw another cut

end of string. That must be where he had been before, just

a little distance away. He had jumped no farther than he

could have bounded by foot. But he hadn't jumped physi-

cally; he had left the scene, then returned to it slightly dis-

placed. Why?

The buildings reversed course and closed on him again.

They certainly wasted no time pondering questions! Smash

Ogre, Ogre 141

ran back, his mind working. And suddenly it came to

him—he had switched eyes! His left eye was a little apart

from his right eye—and though that distance was small in

the real world of Xanth, it was larger in the tiny world of

the gourd. So there had been a shift, and a break in his

string.

Well, that had freed him of the brass folk. But Smash

couldn't accept that. He didn't want to escape, he wanted

to win, to conquer this setting and go on to the next, know-

ing he had narrowed the Night Stallion's options. He

wanted to do his job right, leaving no possible loophole for

the loss of his soul. So he had to go back to the place he

had left off, and resume there.

He followed his prior line, dragging his new line behind

him. He found the square pit as the building moved off it,

and he got down into it. The building swung back, and the

interior light came on. Smash climbed out and ran to the

end of his string.

The brass folk saw him and came charging in. Smash

tied the two ends of string together, making his line com-

plete, then stood as half a dozen people grabbed him. This

was where he had left off; now it was all right.

He resumed plucking individual brass folk off. One of

them was the girl in the brassiere. "You again?" he in-

quired, holding her up by one finger, as he had done be-

fore. It was really the best place, since she was flailing all

her limbs wildly. "Do I have to drop you again?"

"Don't you dare drop me again!" she flashed, her brass

surface glinting with ire. She took an angry breath—which

almost dislodged her, for she had a full brassiere and his

purchase on it was slight. "I have a dent and three

scratches from the last time, you monster!" She pointed at

her arms. "There's a scratch. There's another. But I won't

show you the dent."

"Well, you did kick at me," Smash said reasonably, won-

dering where the dent was.

"I told you! We have to—"

Then he was back in Xanth again. Smash saw the prob-

lem immediately; a cockatrice was approaching the tree.

The baby basilisk had evidently been recently hatched and

was wandering aimlessly—but remained deadly dangerous.

"Put me down, you lunk!"

142 Ogre, Ogre

Startled, Smash looked at the source of the voice. He

was still holding the brass girl, dangling by her brassiere

hooked on his finger. She had been brought out of the

gourd with him!

Hastily Smash set her down, carefully so she would not

dent. He had a more immediate matter to attend to. How

could he get rid of the cockatrice?

"Oh, look," the brass girl said. "What a cute chickl" She

stepped over to the terrible infant, reaching down.

"Don't touch it!" the Siren cried. "Don't even look at it!"

Too late. The brass girl picked up the baby monster.

"Oh, aren't you a sweet one," she cooed, turning it in her

hand so she could look it in the snoot.

"No!" several voices cried.

Again they were too late. The brass girl stared deeply

into the monster's baleful eyes. "Oh, I wish I could keep

you for my very own pet, along with my other pets," she

said, touching her pert nose to its hideous schnozzle. "I

don't have anything like you in my collection."

The chick hissed and bit—but its tiny teeth were ineffec-

tive against the brass. "Oh, how nice," the girl said. "You

like me, don't you!"

Apparently the little monster's powers were harmless

against the metal girl. She was already harder than stone.

"Uh, miss—" the Siren said.

"I'm called Biyght," the brass girl said. "Of Building

Four, in the City of Brass. Who are you?"

"I'm called the Siren," the Siren said. "Biythe, we would

appreciate it if—"

"Biyght," the girl corrected her brassily.

"Sorry. I misheard. Biyght. If you would—"

"But I think I like Biythe better. This place is so much

softer than I'm used to. So you can use that, Sim."

"Siren. Two syllables."

"That's all right. I prefer one syllable, Sim."

"You can change names at will?" John asked incredu-

lously.

"Of course. All brassies can. Can't you?"

"No," the fairy said enviously.

"Biythe, that animal—" the Siren broke in. "It's deadly

to us. So if you would—"

Ogre, Ogre 143

Smash had been looking around to see if there were any

other dangers. At this point his eye fell on the gourd—and

even from a distance his consciousness was drawn into the

peephole, and he was back among the brassies. This time

he stood within the building, but apart from the crowd, and

his string had been interrupted again. He was using his

right eye.

The brass folk spied him and charged. This was getting

pointless. "Wait!" he bellowed.

They paused, taken aback. "Why?" one inquired.

"Because I accidentally took one of your number out of

the gourd, and if anything happens to me, she'll be forever

stranded there."

They were appalled, almost galvanized. "That would be

a fate worse than death!" one cried. "That would be—" He

paused, balking at the awful concept.

"That would be—life," another brass man whispered.

There was a sudden hush of dread.

"Yes," Smash agreed cruelly. "So I have to fetch her

back. And I will. But you'll have to help me."

"Anything," the man said, his brass face tarnishing.

"Tell me how to get out of here, on my own."

"That's easy. Take the ship."

"The ship? But there's no water here!"

Several brassies smiled metallically. "It's not that kind of

ship. It's the Luna-fringe-shuttle. You catch it at the Luna

triptych building."

"Show me to it," Smash said.

They showed him to a brass door that opened to the out-

side. "You can't miss it," they assured him. "It's the biggest

block in the city."

Smash thanked them and stepped out. The buildings

were still moving, but now he had the experience and

confidence to travel by their retreating sides, avoiding colli-

sions. He glanced back at the building he had left and saw

the number 4 inscribed on the side, but there was no sign

of the door he had exited by. Apparently it was a one-way

door that didn't exist from this side.

Soon he spied a building twice the size of the others.

That had to be the one. He ducked into an anchor hole as

the building approached, and m a moment was inside.

144 Ogre, Ogre

There was the fringe-shuttle, like a monstrous arrowhead

standing on its tail. It had a porthole in the side big enough

to admit him, so he climbed in.

He found himself in a tight cockpit that the cock seemed

to have vacated. There was only one place to sit comfort-

ably, a kind of padded chair before a panel full of dinguses.

So he sat there, knowing he could bash the dinguses out of

the way if they bothered him. There was another brass but-

ton on the panel, and he punched it with his thumb.

The porthole clanged closed. A wheel spun itself about.

Air hissed. Straps rose up from the chair and wrapped

themselves around his body. A magic mirror lit up before

his face. An alarm klaxon sounded. The ship shuddered,

then launched upward like a shot from a catapult, punching

through the roof.

In moments the mirror showed clouds falling away

ahead. Then the moon came into view, growing larger and

brighter each moment. It was now a half-circle. Of

course—that was why the lunatic fringe no longer

shrouded the fireoak tree—not enough moon left to sustain

it. But the half that remained seemed solid enough, except

for the round holes in it. Of course, cheese did have holes;

that was its nature.

Now it occurred to him that the brassies might have mis-

construed his request. They had shown him the way out of

the City of Brass—but not out of the gourd. Well, nothing

to do now but carry this through. Maybe the ship could get

him back to the fireoak tree.

He didn't really want to go to the moon, though the view

of all that fresh cheese made him hungry. After all, it had

been at least an hour since he had eaten that bushel of

fruit. So he checked the panel before him and found a cou-

ple of projecting brass sticks. He grabbed them, wiggling

them about.

The moon veered out of the mirror-picture, and Smash

was flung about in his chair as if tossed by a storm. For-

tunately, the straps held him pretty much in place. He let

go of the sticks—and after a moment the moon swung back

into view. Evidently he had messed up the ship's program.

His Eye Queue curse caused him to ponder this, and he

concluded that the sticks controlled the ship. When they

were not in use, the ship sailed where it wanted, which was

Ogre, Ogre 145

evidently a hole in the cheese of the moon. Maybe this

Luna shuttle was the mechanism by which the moon's

cheese was brought to Xanth, though he wasn't sure what

use metal people would have for cheese.

Smash took hold of the sticks again and wiggled more

cautiously. Ogres were clumsy only when it suited them to

be so; they could perform delicate tasks when no one was

watching. The moon danced about but did not leave the

screen. He experimented some more, and soon was able to

steer the ship where he wanted and to make it go at any

speed he wanted.

Fine—now he would take it back to Xanth and land be-

side the fireoak tree. Then he could turn it over to Biythe

Brassie so she could fly back to her city and building.

Then blips appeared on the screen. They were shaped

like little curse-burrs and were hurtling toward him. What

did they want?

Then flashes of light came near him. The ship shook.

The screen flared red for a moment, as if it had been

knocked half silly. Smash understood this sort of thing. It

was like getting knocked in the snoot by a fist and having

stars and planets fly out from one's head. The entire night

sky was filled with the stars flung out from people's heads

in the course of prior fights, but Smash didn't care to have

his own lights punched out. The thing to do was to hit back

and destroy the enemy.

He checked the panel again, enjoying the prospect of a

new type of violence. There was a big button he hadn't

noticed before. Naturally he thumbed it.

A flash of light shot toward the blips, evidently from his

own ship. It was throwing its sort of rocks when he told it

to. Very well, in this strange gourd world, he could accept

the notion of a fist made of light. But it wasn't aimed well,

and missed the blips. It lanced on to blast a chunk of

cheese out of the moon. Grated cheese puffed out into

space in a diffuse cloud, where some of the blips went

after it; no doubt they were hungry, too.

Smash pressed the button again, sending out another fist

of light. This one missed both blips and moon. But he was

getting the feel of it; he had to have his target in the very

center of the mirror, where there was a faint intersection of

lines like the center of a spider web. Funny place for a

146 Ogre, Ogre

spider to work; maybe it had been trying to catch stray

stars or blips or bits of blasted cheese.

To center the target, he had to work the two sticks in a

coordinated fashion. He did so, after glancing nervously

about to make quite sure no one was near to see him being

so well coordinated. Of course, it took more than strength

to balance his whole body on a single hamfinger or to

smash a rock into a particular grade of gravel with one

blow, but that was an ogre secret. It was fashionable to

appear clumsy.

When he had a blip centered, he pushed the button with

his big left toe so he wouldn't have to stop maneuvering.

This time his aim was good; the beam speared out and

struck the blip, which exploded with lovely violence and

pretty colors.

This was fun! Not as much fun as physical bashing

would be, but excellent vicarious mayhem. Ogres could ap-

preciate beauty, too—the splendor of bursting bodies or of

blips flying apart, forming intricate and changing patterns

in the sky. He oriented on another blip, but it took evasive

action.

Meanwhile, all the other blips were nearer, and their

light-fists were striking closer. He had to dodge them, and

that interfered with his own strikes.

Well, he was not an ogre for nothing! He licked his

chops, worked his sticks, looped about, oriented, fired,

dodged, and oriented again. Two more blips exploded beau-

tifully.

Then the fight intensified. But Smash loved combat of

any kind and was good at it; he didn't have to use physical

fists. He almost liked this form of fighting better, because

it was less familiar and therefore more of a challenge. He

knocked out blip after blip, and after a while the remaining

blips turned tail and fled past the moon. He had won the

battle of the Luna fringe!

He was tempted to pursue the blips, so as to continue the

pleasure of the fight a little longer, but realized that if he

wiped them all out at this time, they would not have a

chance to regenerate and return for future battles. Better

to let them go, for the sake of more fun on future days.

Also, he had other business.

Ogre, Ogre

147

He turned the ship about and headed for Xanth_which

resembled a small disk from this vantage, like a greenish

pie. That made him hungry again. Well, he would be care-

ful not to miss it. He accelerated, zooming happily onward.

Chapter 8. Dragon's Ear

He was back in Xanth. "Smash, something else is

coming!" Tandy cried.

"That's all right," he said. "I've won another battle. I

feel stronger." And he did; he knew he was winning the

gourd campaign, getting closer to the Night Stallion, and

recovering physical strength in the process. It had been in

large part his former hopelessness that had weakened him.

He had believed his soul was doomed, until learning that

he could fight for it in another gourd.

Biythe Brassie was still here. Now he wondered—how

had she been carried out with him, when he had not been

physically in the gourd?

His Eye Queue curse provided him with the answer to a

question any normal ogre would not even have thought of.

Biythe was here in spirit, just as he had been inside the

gourd in spirit. It was very hard to tell such spirit from

reality, but each person knew his own reality and was not

fooled. No doubt Biythe Spirit's real body remained in the

gourd, in a trance-state; since the brassies spent much of

their time as statues anyway, waiting for someone to come

push their button, no one had noticed the difference. Or

rather, they had noticed, and been alarmed because she re-

mained a statue while they were animate. So they knew

that her vital element, her soul, was elsewhere. Yes, it all

made sense. Everything in Xanth made sense, once a per-

son penetrated the seeming nonsense that masked it. Differ-

ent things made different sorts of sense for different peo-

ple.

He would have to take the brass girl back. His curse not

148

Ogre, Ogre 149

only forced intelligence on him, it forced un-ogrish moral

awareness. At the moment he wasn't even certain that such

awareness was a bad thing, inconvenient as it might be

when there was mayhem to be wreaked.

But the tree-chopping attack party was coming again.

Smash oriented on the group as it galloped just beyond

view. The villagers must have gotten reinforcements. The

individuals were larger than basilisks—evidently Biythe

had deposited the chickatrice safely elsewhere—but smaller

than sphinxes. They were hoofed. In fact—

"That's my brother!" Chem exclaimed. "Now I recog-

nize his hoofbeat. But there's something with him—not a

centaur."

Smash braced himself for what could be a complicated

situation. If some monster were riding herd on his friend

Chet . . .

They hove into view. "Holey cow!" the Siren breathed.

That was exactly what it was—a cow as full of holes as

any big cheese. She had holes in her body every which way

through which daylight showed. She was worse than the

moon! A big one was in her head, about where her brain

should have been; evidently that didn't impede her much.

Even her horns and tail had little holes. Her legs were so

holey they seemed ready to collapse, yet she functioned

perfectly well.

In fact, she carried two human riders who braced their

hands and feet in her holes. She was a big cow, and her

gait was bumpy, so these handholds and footholds were es-

sential.

Now Smash recognized the riders. "Dor! Irene!" he cried

happily.

"Prince Dor?" the Siren asked. "And his fiancee?"

"Yes, they are taking forever about working up to mar-

riage," Chem murmured with a certain equine snideness.

"It's been four years now . . ."

"And Grundy the Golem!" Smash added, spying the tiny

figure perched on the back of the centaur. "All my

friends!"

"We're your friends, too," Tandy said, nettled.

The party drew abreast of the fireoak tree. "What's

this?" the golem cried. "Snow White and the Seven

Dwarves?"

Ogre, Ogre 151

Ogre, Ogre

150

Smash stood among the damsels, towering over them,

not comprehending the reference. But the Eye Queue curse

soon clarified it, obnoxiously. Some of the Mundane set-

tlers in Xanth had a story by that title, and, compared with

Smash the Ogre, the seven females were dwarvishly short,

as was even Chem the Centaur.

"It seems you have a way with women. Smash," Prince

Dor said, dismounting from the holey cow and coming to

greet him. "What's your secret?"

"I only agreed not to eat them," Smash said.

"To think how much simpler my life would have been if

I had known that," Dor said. "I thought girls had to be

courted."

"You never courted me!" Princess Irene exclaimed. She

was a striking beauty by human standards, nineteen years

old. The other girls all took jealously deep breaths, watch-

ing her. "I courted you! But you never would marry me."

"You never would set the date!" Dor retorted.

Her mouth opened in a pretty 0 of indignation. "You

never set the date! I've been trying to—"

"They've been fighting about the date since before there

was anything to date," Grundy remarked. "He doesn't even

know what color her panties are."

"I don't think she knows herself," Dor retorted.

"I do, too!" Irene flashed. "They're—" She paused, then

hiked up her skirt to look. "Green."

"It's only a pretext to show oS her legs," Smash ex-

plained to the others.

"So I see," Tandy said enviously.

"And her panties," John said. She, like Fireoak, the Si-

ren, and Chem, didn't wear panties, so couldn't show them

off. Biythe's panties were copper-bottoms.

"You creatures are getting too smart," Irene complained.

Then she did a double take, turning to Smash. "What hap-

pened to your rhymes?"

"I got cursed by the vine," the ogre explained. "It de-

prived me of both rhyme and stupidity in one swell foop."

"In a foop? Oh, you poor thing," she said sympatheti-

cally.

"Now that incorrigible ogre charm is working on Irene,

too," Prince Dor muttered.

"Of course it is, idiot," she retorted. "All women have a

secret passion for ogres." She turned to Smash. "Now you

had better introduce us all."

Smash did so with dispatch. "Tandy, Siren, John, Fire-

oak, Chem, Goldy, and Biythe—these are Dor, Irene,

Grundy, and Chet, and vice versa."

"Moooo!" lowed the holey cow, each 0 with a big round

hole in it.

"And the Holey Cow," Smash amended. Satisfied, the

bovine swished her tattered tail and began to graze. The

cropped grass fell out the holes in her neck as fast as she

swallowed it, but she didn't seem to mind.

"I delivered your message," Chet said. "King Trent has

declared this tree a protected species, and all the other

trees in sight of it, and sent Prince Dor to inform the vil-

lage. There will be no more trouble about that."

"Oh, wonderful!" the hamadryad cried. "I'm so happy!"

She danced a little jig in air, hanging by one hand from a

branch. The tree's leaves seemed to catch fire, harmlessly.

Both nymph and tree were fully recovered from the indis-

position of their recent separation. "I could just kiss the

King!"

"Kiss me instead," Dor said. "I'm the messenger."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Irene flashed, taking him firmly by

the ear.

"Kiss me instead of Dor," Chet offered. "There's no

shrew guarding me."

The hamadryad dropped from her branch, flung her

arms about the centaur, and kissed him. "Maybe I have

been missing something," she commented. "But I don't

think there are any males of my species."

"You could take up with one of the woodland fauns,"

Princess Irene suggested. "You do have pretty hair." The

hamadryad's hair, under its red fringe, was green—as was

Irene's hair.

"I'll consider it," Fireoak agreed.

"How did you gather such a bevy?" Prince Dor asked

Smash. "They certainly seem affectionate, unlike some I

have known." He moved with agility to avoid Irene's swift

kick.

"I just picked them up along the way," the ogre said.

"Each has her mission. John needs her correct name, the

Siren needs a better lake—"

152 Ogre, Ogre

"They all need men," the golem put in.

"I need to go home," Biythe said.

"Oh. I'll take you there now." Smash reached for the

gourd.

"She's from a hypnogourd?" Princess Irene asked. "This

should be interesting. I always wondered what was inside

one of those things."

Smash hooked his finger into Biythe's brassiere and

lifted her high.

"Well, that's one way to pick up a girl," Dor remarked.

"I'll have to try that sometime."

"Won't work," Irene said. "I don't wear a—"

"Not even a green one?" Tandy asked, brightening.

Smash looked into the gourd's peephole.

The two of them were in the brass spaceship, descending

rapidly toward Xanth.

"Oh!" Biythe exclaimed, terrified. She flung her brass

arms about Smash. "I'll fall! I'll fall! Save me, ogre!"

"But I have to bring it down to return to your building,"

Smash said. He was having difficulty because there was

hardly room for two. He grabbed for a control stick, jerked

it around—and the brass girl jumped.

"What are you doing with my knee?" she cried.

Oh. Smash saw now that he had hold of the wrong thing.

But it was almost impossible to operate the controls with

her limbs in the way. The ship veered crazily, which set

Biythe off again. Her nerves certainly were not made of

steel! The more she kicked and screamed, the worse the

ship spun, and the more frightened she became. They were

now plunging precipitously toward ground.

Then they were back under the fireoak tree. "We

thought you had enough time to drop her off," Tandy said.

Then she paused, frowning.

Biythe was wrapped around Smash, her metal arms hug-

ging his neck desperately, her legs clasping his side. He

had firm hold of one of her knees.

"I think we interrupted something," Princess Irene re-

marked sardonically.

Biythe's complexion converted from brass to copper.

Smash suspected his own was doing much the same, as his

Eye Queue now made him conscious of un-ogrish propri-

Ogre, Ogre 153

eties. The two disengaged, and Smash set the brass girl

down on the ground, where she sat and sobbed brass tears.

"We were crashing," Smash explained lamely.

"Oh—Mundane slang," Chet said. "But I think she

wasn't quite ready for it."

"It's really no business of ours what you call it," Grundy

said, smirking.

"Oh, don't be cruel!" the Siren said. "This poor girl is

terrified, and we know Smash wouldn't hurt her. Some-

thing is wrong in the gourd."

In due course they worked it out. Smash would have to

return to the brass building first, then come back for

Biythe, who, it seemed, was afraid of interplanetary

heights.

But now dawn was coming, and other business was

pressing. They had to inform the local village of the pro-

tected status of the tree and its environs, and then Chet

and his party had to return to Castle Roogna. In addition,

Biythe was no longer so eager to jump into the gourd, with

or without the ogre. If she went alone, she might find her-

self crashing in the ship, and have no way to get back out-

side, since she was not an outside creature. It would be

better to send her back later, once things were more settled.

"Oh," Chet said. "Almost forgot. I gave Tandy's message

to Crombie, and he made a pointing—that's his talent, you

know, pointing out things—and he concluded that if you

went north, you'd face great danger and lose three things

of value. But when he did a pointing back where you came

from, there was something else you'd lose that was even

more important. He couldn't figure out what any of the

things were, but thought you'd better be advised. He says

you're a spunky girl who will probably win through in the

manner of your kind."

Tandy laughed. "That's my father, all right! He hates

women, and he knows I'm growing up, so he's starting to

hate me, too. But I'm glad to have his advice."

"What's back at your home that's worse than the jungle

of Xanth?" Chet asked. '

Tandy remembered the demon Fiant. "Never mind. I'm

not going home until that danger is nullified. I'll just take

my chances with the three things I'll lose in the jungle."

154 Ogre, Ogre

But she found the message disquieting. She had no things

to lose—but she knew her father never made a mistake

when he pointed something out.

Princess Irene's talent was growing plants. She grew a

fine, big, mixed-fruit bush, and they dined on red, green,

blue, yellow, and black berries, all juicy and luscious.

Smash had always liked Irene, because no one remained

hungry in her presence, and she did have excellent legs.

Not that an ogre should notice, of course—yet it was hard

not to imagine how delicious such firmly fleshed limbs

would taste.

"Uh, before you go," the Siren said. "I understand you

have a way with the inanimate, Prince Dor."

"Whatever gave you that idiotic notion, fish-tail?" a rock

beside the Prince inquired. The Siren was sitting next to a

bucket of water and was soaking her tail; she got uncom-

fortable when she spent too long out of the water.

"I picked up something, and I think it may be magical,"

the Siren continued. "But I'm not sure in what way, and

don't want to experiment foolishly." She brought out a be-

draggled, half-metallic thing.

"What are you?" Prince Dor asked the thing.

"I am the Gap Dragon's Ear," it answered. "The con-

founded ogre bashed me off the dragon's head."

Smash was surprised. "How did you get that?"

"I picked it up during the fight, then forgot about it,

What with the pining tree and all," the Siren explained.

"The Gap Chasm does have a forgetful property," Irene

said. "I understand that's Dor's fault."

"But the Gap's been forgotten for centuries, hasn't it?"

the Siren asked. "We can only remember it now because

we're st'ill quite close to it; we'll forget it again when we go

on north. How can Dor possibly be responsible?"

"Oh, he gets around," Irene said, giving the Prince a

dark look. "He's been places none of us would believe. He

even used to live with Millie, the sex-appeal maid."

"She was my governess when I was a child!" Dor pro-

tested. "Besides, she was eight hundred years old."

"And looked seventeen," Irene retorted. "You weren't

conscious of that?"

Dor concentrated on the Ear. "What is your property?"

he asked it.

Ogre, Ogre 155

"I hear anything relevant," it said. "I twitch when my

possessor should listen. That's how the Gap Dragon always

knew when prey was in the Gap. I heard it for him."

"Well, the Gap Dragon still has one ear to hear with,"

Dor said. "How can we hear what you hear?"

"Just listen to me, dummyi" the Ear said. "What else do

you do with an ear?"

"That's a mighty impolite item," Tandy said, bothered.

"Can we test it?" the Siren asked. "Before you go,

Prince Dor?"

"Oh, let me try," John said. She seemed much recov-

ered, though her wings remained nubs. It would be long

before she flew again, if ever.

The Siren gave her the Ear. John held it to her own tiny

ear. She listened intently, her face showing puzzlement.

"It's a rushing sound, maybe like water flowing," she re-

ported. "Is that relevant?"

"Well, I didn't twitch," the Ear grumped. "You take

your chances when there's nothing much on."

"How is that rushing noise relevant?" Dor asked the Ear.

"Obvious, stupid," the Ear said. "That's the sound of the

waterfall where the fairy she wants is staying."

"It is?" John demanded, so excited that her wing-stubs

fluttered. "The one with my name?"

"That's what I said, twerp."

"Do you tolerate insults from the inanimate?" the Siren

asked the Prince.

"Only stupid things insult others gratuitously," Dor said.

"That's for sure, you moron," the rock agreed. Then it

reconsidered. "Hey—"

The Siren laughed. "Now I understand. You have to

consider the source."

Prince Dor smiled. "You resemble your sister. Of course,

I've never seen her face."

"The rest will do," the Siren said, flattered. "Do only

smart people compliment others gratuitously?"

"Perhaps," he agreed. "Or observant ones. But I do ob-

tain much useful information from the inanimate. Now we

must go talk with the villagers and head back to Castle

Roogna. It has been nice to meet all of you, and I hope you

all find what you wish."

There was a chorus of thank-yous. Prince Dor and

156 Ogre, Ogre

Princess Irene remounted the holey cow. Chet kissed Chem

good-bye, and Grundy the Golem scrambled onto his back.

"Get moving, horsetail!" Then Grundy paused thought-

fully, exactly as the rock had. They moved off toward the

village.

"Dor will make a fine King one day," the Siren re-

marked.

"But Irene will run the show," Chem said. "I know them

well."

"No harm in that," the Siren said, and the other girls

laughed, agreeing.

"We'd better get started north," Tandy said. "Now that

the tree is safe."

"How can I ever thank you?" Fireoak exclaimed. "You

saved my life, my tree's life. Same thing."

"Some things are simply worth doing for themselves,

dear," the Siren said. "I learned that when Chem's father

Chester destroyed my dulcimer, so I couldn't lure men any

more." Her sunshine hair clouded momentarily.

"My father did that?" Chem asked, surprised. "I didn't

know!"

"It stopped me from being a menace to navigation," the

Siren said. "I was doing a lot of damage, uncaringly. It was

a necessary thing. Likewise it was necessary to save the

fireoak tree."

"Yes," Chem agreed. But she seemed shaken.

They bade farewell to the hamadryad, promising to visit

her any time any of them happened to be in the vicinity,

and started north.

At first they passed through normal Xanth country-

side—carnivorous grasses, teakettle serpents whose hisses

were worse than their fires, poisonous springs, tangle trees,

sundry spells, and the usual ravines, mountains, river rap-

ids, slow and quicksand bogs, illusions, and a few normally

foul-mouthed harpies, but nothing serious occurred. They

foraged along the way for edible things and took turns lis-

tening to the Gap Dragon's Ear, though it was not twitch-

ing; this became more helpful as they gradually learned to

interpret it. The Siren heard a kind of splashing, as of

someone swimming. She took this to be the merman she

wanted to find. Goldy heard the sounds of a goblin settle-

Ogre, Ogre 157

ment in operation: where she was going. Smash heard the

rhyming grunts of ogres. Biythe, persuaded to try it,

jumped as the Ear twitched in her hands, and she actually

heard herself mentioned. The brassies missed her and

feared the ogre had betrayed their trust. "I must go back!"

she cried. "As soon as I recover enough of my courage. My

nerves aren't iron, you know."

But when Chem tried it, her face sobered. "It must be

out of order. All I get is a faint buzzing."

The Siren took back the Ear. "That's funny. I get the

buzzing, too, now."

They passed the Ear around. Everyone heard the same

thing, and it twitched for none of them.

Smash applied his Eye Queue curse to the Ear. "Either it

is malfunctioning," he decided, "or the buzzing is somehow

relevant to all of us, without being specific to any of us. No

one is talking about us, no one is lurking for us, so it is just

something we should know about."

"Let's assume it's not malfunctioning," Tandy said. "The

last thing we need is a glitching Ear, especially when my

father says there is danger ahead. So we'd better watch out

for something that buzzes. It seems to be getting louder as

we go."

Indeed it was. Now there were variations in it, louder

buzzes in front of background ones, an elevating and lower-

ing of pitch. It was, in fact, a whole collection of buzzes,

sounding three-dimensional, as some pitches became louder

and clearer, while others faded back and some faded out

entirely. What did it mean?

They came across a wall made from paper. It traveled

roughly east/west and reached up to the top level of the

trees, too high for Smash to surmount. It was opaque; he

could not see through it at all.

However, a wall of paper could hardly impede an ogre.

He readied a good punch.

"Careful!" John cried. "That looks like—"

Smash's fist punched through the wall. The paper sepa-

rated readily, but glued itself to his arm.

"Flypaper," the fairy concluded.

Smash tried to pull the sticky stuff off, but it stuck to

his other hand when he touched it. The more he worked at

158

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

159

it, the more places it adhered to. Soon he was covered with

the stuff.

"Slow down. Smash," Chem said. "I'm sure hot water

will clean that off. I saw a hotspring a short distance

back."

She took him to the hotspring and washed him off, and

it did clean him up. Her hands were efficient yet gentle;

Smash discovered he liked having a female attend to him

this way. But of course he couldn't admit it; he was an

ogre. "Next time use a stick to poke through that paper,"

the centaur advised.

But when they returned to the wall, they found the oth-

ers had already thought of that. They had poked and

peeled a hole big enough for anyone to pass through. "But

there's one thing," Tandy warned. "There are swarms of

flies over there."

So that was what the Ear had warned them of. They

were going to pass through a region of flies.

That didn't bother Smash; he normally ignored flies.

Biythe was also unworried; no fly could sting brass. But

Tandy, Chem, Goldy, John, and the Siren were concerned.

They didn't want stinging flies raising welts on their pretty

skins. "If only we had some repellent," Tandy said. "In the

caves there are some substances that drive them off—"

"Some repellent bushes do grow in these parts," Goldy

said. "Let me look." She scouted about and soon located

one. "The only problem is, they smell awful." She held out

the leaves she had plucked.

She had not overstated the case. The stench was appall-

ing. No wonder the flies stayed clear of it!

They discussed the matter and decided it was better to

stink than to suffer too great a detour in their route north.

They held their breath and rubbed the foul leaves over

their bodies. Then, reeking of repellent, they stepped

through the rent in the flypaper and proceeded north.

There was a sound behind them. Marching along the pa-

per wall was a monstrous fly in coveralls, toting a cart. It

stopped at the rent, unrolled a big patch of paper, and set it

in place, sealing it over with stickum. Then the flypaper

hanger moved on to the east, following the wall.

"We're sealed in," Tandy muttered.

A dense swarm of stingflies spotted them and zoomed

in—only to bank off in dismay as the awful odor smote it.

Good enough; Smash's nose was already acclimating or get-

ting deadened to the smell, which wasn't much worse than

that of another ogre, after all.

They walked on, watching the flies. There were many

varieties, and some were beautiful with brightly colored,

patterned wings and furry bodies. John became very quiet;

obviously she missed her own patterned wings. There were

deerflies and horseflies and dragonflies, looking like

winged miniatures of their species; the deerflies nibbled

blades of grass, the horseflies kicked up their heels as they

galloped, and the dragonflies even jetted small lances of

fire. At one spot there was music; fiddler flies were play-

ing for damselflies to dance. It seemed to be a real fly ball.

This became a pleasant trip, since there seemed to be no

dangerous creatures here; the flies had driven them all

away. But then the sky clouded and rain fell. It was a light

fall—but it washed away their repellent. Suddenly they

were in trouble, having failed to take immediate shelter.

The first flies to discover this were sweat-gnats. Soon a

cloud of them hovered about each person except Biythe,

causing everyone to sweat uncomfortably. Smash inhaled

deeply and blew the gnats away, but as soon as the turbu-

lence ebbed, they were back worse than ever. Other flies

saw the clouds and, in turn, converged. Some of these were

itchers, causing intolerable itches; others were bleeders,

causing blood to flow from painless bites. But the worst, as

it turned out, were the fly-bys, because they flew by, ob-

served, and carried the news of new prey to all corners of

the Kingdom of the Flies. After that, the very sky was dark-

ened by the mass of the converging swarms. There seemed

to be no effective way to fight them, for there were far

too many to swat or shoo away.

Then the swarms drew off a little, and a pair of shoe-

flies marched up. A formation of bowflies sent a fly arrow

shooting in the direction Smash's party was supposed to go.

It seemed better to obey, rather than fight, for there were

sawflies and hammerflies and screwdriverflies that could

be most awkward to fend off.

They marched, and the swarms paced them, buzzing out

160 Ogre, Ogre

a tune that sounded like a requiem. Smash had not imag-

ined that so many flies existed in Xanth. They coated the

trees, they popped out of myriad holes in the ground, they

formed clouds in the sky that rained droppings.

The party arrived at a palace fashioned of flypaper

coated with fly ash. Here, surrounded by a cluster of fawn-

ing damselflies, perched the Lord of the Flies—a huge, de-

monic figure with multiple-faceted eyes. He was reading

the flyleaf of a book titled The Sting by Wasp.

"Bzzzzzz?" the Fly Lord inquired, looking up with sev-

eral facets.

The query seemed to be directed at Smash, but he did

not comprehend fly talk. He grunted noncommittally.

"Bzzzzzz!" the Fly repeated angrily.

Smash had an idea. He lifted the Gap Dragon's Ear to

his own. Maybe that would provide a translation.

All he heard was the roaring and hissing of dragons. No

help there.

The Fly buzzed again, angry light glinting from quite a

number of facets. Giant guardflies swarmed up to grab the

Ear. "Don't fight them, Smash!" Tandy cried, alarmed.

The ogre didn't like it, but realized they could all be

bitten and stung to death if he made trouble. It was the

curse of the Eye Queue again, making him react intelli-

gently. HeJet the flies take the Ear.

They dragged it to the Fly Lord, who cocked his head in

order to listen to it. And the Ear twitched, almost knocking

the Fly off his perch. "Bzzzzzz!" he buzzed angrily, and

there was a flutter of alarm among the damselflies. It

seemed the Lord had used very strong language. But he got

back up to listen. "Bzzzzzz!" and the guardflies hovered in

military readiness. "BZZZZZZ!" and the surrounding

swarms retreated.

The Fly Lord angled a few facets at Smash, as if pon-

dering a suitable action. Then he buzzed out another com-

mand. Instantly the guardflies closed on Smash's party

again, and the bowflies fired off another arrow pointing

the way.

"I don't know whether the Gap Dragon's Ear has pro-

vided us with doom or reprieve," Chem said. "But we'd

better go along."

Ogre, Ogre

They went along. The arrows pointed them to the east.

Soon they arrived at the flypaper wall. At this point a

squadron of big spearflies charged, threatening to run ev-

ery member of the party through.

They got the message. They all plunged through the

wall. They got terribly stuck-up with flypaper, but the flies

let them be. It seemed they had been banished from Fly-

land.

They staggered around, looking for another hotspring for

washing. But before they found one, a small flying dragon

spied them. It winged rapidly east.

"I fear this is dragon country," the Siren said. "Look at

the dragonclaw marks on the trees."

Smash saw that all the trees were marked, and the

scratches were definitely those of dragons. The largest and

deepest scrapes were also the highest; the biggest monsters

set the most imposing signatures. "We had better move," he

said. In his present state he could not adequately protect

this party against a pack of dragons, annoying as it was to

admit that fact even privately.

But they couldn't move very well, tangled in flypaper. It

was collecting dirt and leaves and stray bugs, making each

member of the party resemble a harpy dipped in glue.

Long before they found a hotspring, they heard the heavy

tread of the feet of a land dragon.

"You know what?" the Siren said angrily. "The flies of-

fered us up to the dragons!"

"And the Ear, too," John cried, spying the Gap Dragon's

Ear on the ground.

"That's to frame us," Goldy said. "The dragons will

think we killed one of their number, and they'll really

chomp us."

Smash braced himself. "I'll try to hold them off."

"You haven't yet recovered enough strength," the Siren

said. "And many big dragons are coming. Don't try to

fight." She took the Ear from John and listened to it. It

twitched in her hand. "Someone's talking about us! An

ogre, a centaur, and five nymphs."

"That won't do us much good if the dragons eat us,"

Tandy muttered.

"What's it like to be eaten?" Biythe asked. Clothed in

162 Ogre, Ogre

paper, she looked just like the others, with hardly any of

her metal showing.

"That's right—you have had even less experience in reg-

ular Xanth than I have," Tandy said. "But I doubt you'll

ever be eaten. Your body is brass."

"Well, everything is brass where I come from," Biythe

replied. "My pet bird is brass, my sheep is brass, even my

ass is brass. That's the way it is in the City of Brass. What

does that have to do with being eaten?"

"Monsters don't eat brass here," Tandy explained.

"I can't be eaten?" Biythe asked, sounding disappointed.

"Oh, you could try," John said. "When the first dragon

comes, you could volunteer to be the first eaten. But I

think you alone among us are secure from that fate."

"I wonder," the brassie said thoughtfully.

Already the first dragon was arriving. It was a huge

eight-legged land rover, snorting smoke. Smash strode for-

ward to meet it, knowing it would have been too much for

him even when he had his full strength. It wasn't the drag-

on's size so much as its heat; it could roast him long before

he hurt it. But the dragon would attack regardless of

whether he fought, and it was an ogre's way to fight.

Maybe he could hurl some boulders at it and score a lucky

conk on its noggin.

Then Biythe ran past him, intercepting the dragon. The

dragon exhaled, bathing her in flame, but brief heat could

not hurt her. She continued right on up to its huge snout.

"Eat me first, dragon!" she cried.

The dragon did not squat on ceremony. It opened its

monstrous jaws and took her in in one bite.

And broke half a dozen teeth on her hard metal.

Biythe frowned amidst the smoke and piled fragments of

teeth. "You can do better than that, dragon!" she urged

indignantly.

The dragon tried again—and broke six more teeth.

"Come on, creature!" Biythe taunted. "Show your mettle

on my metal. I've received worse dents just from being

dropped—but I won't say where."

Now several more dragons arrived. They paused, curious

about the holdup. Another snatched Biythe away, crunch-

ing down hard on her body—and it, too, lost six teeth.

Ogre, Ogre 163

The brass girl was insulted. "Is that all there is to it?

What kind of experience is that? Here I visit this great big,

soft, slushy, living world at great inconvenience, and you

monsters aren't doing a thing!"

Abashed, the dragons stared at her. She still looked like

a clothed flesh person. Finally a third one tried—and lost

its quota of teeth.

"If you dumb dragons can't eat one little girl when she's

cooperating, what good are you?" Biythe demanded, dis-

gusted. She shook tooth fragments off her body, marched

up to one of the largest monsters, and yanked at a whisker.

"You—eat me or else!"

The dragon exhaled a horrendous belch of flame. It

burned Biythe's remaining flypaper to ashes, but didn't

hurt her. Seeing that, the monster backed off, dismayed. If

a thing couldn't be chomped or scorched, it couldn't be

handled.

"You know, I think we have had a stroke of luck," the

Siren said. "The dragons naturally assume we are all like

that."

"Luck?" John asked. "Biythe knows what she's doing!

She knows she needs us to get her back to her world. She's

helping us get out of a fix."

Smash's Eye Queue operated. "Maybe we can benefit

further. We need a nice, steady stream of steam to melt off

the flypaper."

"A steam bath," the Siren agreed. "But very gentle."

Biythe tried it. She approached a big steam-turbine

dragon. "Bathe me, monster, or I'll make you eat me," she

said imperiously.

Cowed, the dragon obeyed. It jetted out a wash of rich

white steam and vapor. In a moment the brass girl stood

shining clean, well polished, the fly ash all sogged off.

"Now my friends," Biythe ordered. "A little lower on

the heat; they're tougher than I am and don't need so

much."

She was playing it cool! Nervously the others stood in

place while the dragon sent forth a cooler blast. Smash and

the girls stepped into it. The vapor was as hot as John

could stand, but since she had already lost her wings, it

164

Ogre, Ogre

didn't hurt her. The others had no trouble. All the flypaper

was steamed off.

Smash also became aware that his .fleas were gone.

Now that he thought about it, he realized that he hadn't

been scratching since entering the Kingdom of the Flies.

Those fly-repellent leaves must have driven off the fleas,

too!

Now a dragon approached with an elf on a leash. "Do

any of you freaks speak human?" the elf asked.

Smash exchanged glances with the others. Biythe

Brassie had been speaking to these monsters all along, and

they had understood. Didn't this elf know that? Better to

play it stupid. "Me freak, some speak," he said, emulating

his former ogre mode.

The elf considered him. The little man's expression ran a

brief gamut from fear of a monster to contempt for the

monster's wit. "What are you doing here with these six

females?"

"Me anticipate girls taste great," Smash said, slurping

his tongue over his chops.

Again the fearful contempt. "I know ogres eat people.

But what are you doing here in Dragonland?"

Smash scratched his hairy head as if confused. "Me crit-

icize buzzing flies."

"Oh. They booted you." The elf made crude growls at

his dragon, and Smash realized he was translating, much as

Grundy the Golem did for the King of Xanth. Maybe

Biythe had gotten through to the dragons mainly by force

of personality.

The dragon growled back. "You'll have to check in with

the Dragon Lady."

"Dragon Lady not afraidy?" Smash asked stupidly.

The elf sneered. "Of the like of you? Hardly. Come on

now, ignoramus."

Ignoramus? Smash smiled inwardly. Not while he re-

mained cursed with the Eye Queue! But he shuffled be-

hind the dragon, gesturing the girls to follow.

The Siren fell in beside Smash as they walked. "I've

been listening to the Ear," she murmured. "The voice that

talked about us before was the elf's; the Dragon Lady

Ogre, Ogre 165

knows about us already. Now the Ear is roaring like a ter-

rible storm. I don't know what that means."

"Maybe we have to get to that storm," Smash whispered.

Then the elf turned, hearing him talk, and the conversation

had to end.

They came to a huge tent fashioned of dragonet. Inside

the net was the Dragon Lady—a scintillatingly regal Queen

of her species. She reclined, half supine, in her huge nest

of glittering diamonds; whenever she twitched, the precious

• stones turned up new facets, like the eyes of the Lord of

the Flies, reflecting spots of light dazzlingly. She switched

her barbed, blue tail about restlessly, growling, and arched

her bright red neck. It was really quite impressive. She had

been reading a book of Monster Comics, and seemed not

too pleased to be interrupted.

"Her Majesty the Illustrious Dragon Lady demands fur-

ther information, oaf," the elf said, becoming imperious in

the reflected glory of his mistress.

Oaf, eh? Smash played stupider than ever. "Me slow, no

know," he mumbled.

"Is it true you are impossible to eat?"

Smash held out a gauntleted fist. The Dragon Lady

reached delicately forward with her snout and took a care-

ful nip. The metal balked her gold-tinted teeth, and she

quickly desisted. She growled.

"If you aren't edible, what use are you. Her Majesty

wants to know?" the elf demanded.

"What a question!" Tandy cried indignantly. "People-

creatures rule Xanth!"

"Dragon-creatures rule Xanth," the elf retorted. "Drag-

ons tolerate other creatures only as prey." Nonetheless, the

Dragon Lady's growl was muted. Smash suspected that she

was not eager to incite a war with the Transformer-King of

the human folk.

In response to another growl from his mistress, the elf

turned again to Smash. "What are we to do with you?" he

demanded.

Smash shrugged. "Me only distrust place where me

rust." Actually, neither his stainless steel gauntlets nor

Biythe's brass rusted; water was more likely to cause trou-

ble with the fires of the dragons. But he was mindful of

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Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

167

the Ear's storm-signal; if he could trick the Dragon Lady

into casting them into the storm, their chances should be

better than they were here.

"Metal—rust," the elf mused as the Dragon Lady

growled. "True, our iron-scaled dragons do have a problem

in inclement weather." He glanced suspiciously at Smash.

"I don't suppose you could be fooling us?"

"Me ghoul, big fool," Smash said amiably.

"Obviously," the elf agreed with open contempt.

So the Dragon Lady ordered the inedible party dumped

into the Region of Air, since the Region of Water did not

border Dragonland. An abrupt demarcation established the

border; the near side was green turf and trees, the far side

a mass of roiling stormcloud. Smash didn't like this, for he

knew the others could not endure as much punishment as

he could. But now they were committed, and it did seem

better than staying among the dragons. They took the pre-

caution of roping themselves together with Chem's rope so

that no one would blow away.

They stepped across the line. Instantly they were in the

heart of the wind, choking on dust. It was a dust storm, not

a rainstorm! The flying sand cut cruelly into their skins.

Smash picked up several girls and hunched his gross body

over them, protecting them somewhat as he staggered for-

ward. Then he tripped, for he could not see his own flat

feet in this blinding sand, and fell and rolled, holding him-

self rigid so as not to crush the girls.

He fetched up in a valley formed in the lee of a boulder.

Chem thumped to a stop beside them. Here the sand by-

passed the party, mostly, and it was possible for each per-

son to pry open an eye or two. Thanks to the rope, all were

present, though battered.

"What do we do now?" Tandy asked, frightened.

The Siren sat up and put the Ear to her ear. "Nothing

here," she reported. "But maybe the noise of this sand-

storm is drowning it out."

Smash took the Ear and listened. "I hear the brass space-

ship," he said.

Biythe took it. "I hear my own folk! They're playing the

brass band! I must be ready to go home!"

"Are you sure?" the Siren asked.

"Yes, I think I am now," the brass girl said. "I have

experienced enough of your world to know I like mine bet-

ter. You are all nice enough people, but you just aren't

brass."

"All too true," the Siren agreed. "We must find another

gourd so Smash can take you back. We might all prefer

your world at this moment."

"Maybe that's the silence you heard," Tandy said. "A

gourd."

"No, there's lots of noise in the gourd," Smash said. "It's

an ogrishly fun place."

"Let's find that gourd!" Biythe exclaimed. She was

hardly bothered by the sand; she was merely homesick.

"Not until this storm dies down," the Siren said firmly.

"Gourds don't grow in this weather."

"But this is the Region of Air; the wind will never die,"

Biythe protested.

Chem nodded agreement. "I have, as you know, been

mapping the inner wilds of Xanth; that's why I'm here. My

preliminary research, augmented by certain references

along the way, suggests that there are five major elemental

regions in Unknown Xanth: those of Air, Earth, Fire, Wa-

ter, and the Void. This certainly seems to be Air—and

probably the storm never stops here. Well just have to

plow on out of it."

"I can plow!" Biythe said eagerly. She milled her brass

hands and began tunneling through the mounded sand. In

moments she had started a tunnel.

"Good idea!" Tandy exclaimed. "I'll help!" She shook

sand out of her hair and fell in behind the brass girl, scoop-

ing the sand farther back. Soon the others were helping,

too, for as the tunnel progressed, the sand had longer to go

before it cleared.

Finally they were all doing it, in a line, with Smash at

the tail end packing the sand into a lengthening passage

behind. Progress was slow but relatively comfortable. Peri-

odically •Biythe would tunnel to the surface to verify that

the storm was still there. When they came to a sheltering

cliff, they emerged and made better time on the surface.

The landscape was bleak: all sand and more sand. There

were dunes and valleys, but no vegetation and no water.

168

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

169

The wind was indefatigable. It howled and roared and

whistled. It formed clouds and swirls and funnels, doing its

peculiar sculpture in the sky. Every so often a funnel

would swoop in near the cliff, trying to suck them into its

circular maw, but it could not maintain itself so close to the

stone. Smash was aware that this must be a great frustra-

tion to the funnels, which were rather like ogres in their

way—all violence and brainlessness.

Then they came to another demarcation. As they

stepped across it, the winds abruptly ceased. The air

cleared miraculously. But this was no improvement, for the

violence of the air was replaced by the violence of the land.

The ground shuddered, and not by any ogre's tread. It was

an earthquake!

"Oh, I don't like this!" Chem said. "I've always been

accustomed to the firmness of ground beneath my hooves."

Smash glanced at her. The centaur girl was standing

with her forelegs braced awkwardly in different directions,

her brown coat dulled by the recent sand-scouring, her tail

all atremble, and her human breasts dancing rather appeal-

ingly. "Maybe the ground is firmer farther north," he sug-

gested.

They turned north—and encountered an active volcano.

Red-hot lava boiled out of it and flowed down the slope

toward them. "Oh, this is worse yet!" Chem complained,

slapping at a spark that landed in her pretty tail. She was

really shaken; this was just not her type of terrain.

The Siren listened to the Gap Dragon's Ear again.

"Say!" she said. "The sounds differ, depending on which

way I face!" She rotated, listening intently. "To the north,

it's a horrendous crashing; that's the volcano we see. I can

hear the sound as I see it belch. To the south, it's the roar-

ing of winds. We've already been there. To the west, a sus-

tained rumble—the main part of the earthquake. To the

east—" She smiled beautifically. "A lovely, quiet, still si-

lence."

"Graves are silent," Tandy said with a shudder.

"Better a graveyard than this," Chem said. "We can

walk on through a cemetery."

"Sometimes," Tandy agreed.

They turned east. The ground shifted constantly beneath

them as if trying to prevent progress, but they were deter-

mined to get free of this region.

As the sun set tiredly beyond the volcano, fortunately

not landing inside it, they reached another demarcation of

zones. Just beyond it was a patch of hypnogourds. The si-

lence was not of the grave, but of a garden area.

"I never thought I'd be glad to see a patch of those,"

Tandy said grimly. /

"This is where we spend the night," the Siren said.

"While we're at it, let's find out whether those gourds are

edible."

"Save one! Save one!" Biythe cried.

"Of course, dear. Try this one." The Siren handed the

brass girl a nice big gourd.

Biythe hesitated, then looked into the peephole. She

looked back up. "There's nothing there," she said.

"Nothing there?" It had not occurred to Smash that any

of the gourds could be inoperative. He took the gourd from

Biythe and looked in.

And found himself in the spaceship, spinning toward the

ground. Hastily he grabbed the controls and tilted it back

to equilibrium. Without the brass girl entangling him, he

could manage just fine.

In moments he brought the ship back to the City of

Brass and to the launching building. He managed to turn it

around and land fairly neatly. Then he got out and made

his way through the moving buildings to the one where

Biythe lived. Number Four, following his string back. He

wondered idly whether he had left a trail of string strewn

all over the sky, near the moon. He had lost that string in

Xanth, but retained it here. Good enough.

The brassies clustered around him. "Where is Biyght?"

they demanded. "We're rehearsing with our brass band,

and we need her."

"Biythe. She changed her name. She'll be back as soon

as I can fetch her. She heard you practicing, and said she

would come back very soon. I had to find my way back

here, because spaceships scare her."

"Of course; we are afraid of heights. We dent when we

fall too far. Biyght already had a dent in her—"

"Don't speak of that to a stranger!" a brass girl told the

male brassie.

170

Ogre, Ogre

"So give me some time," Smash said, "and I'll return

her. Now I know how to do it."

They were not quite satisfied with this, but let him be.

Smash settled down in a niche that moved with the wall,

and snoozed.

Chapter 9. Gourmet (zoyrd

He woke in Xanth, where Tandy had taken away

the gourd. "I never know how long to give you," she

said. "I'm very nervous about leaving you in there." She

lifted the Gap Dragon's Ear. "I kept listening in this, and

when it got pretty quiet, I thought maybe it was time to

bring you out. I wasn't sure it was you I was -listening to,

but since your health is relevant to mine—"

Smash took the Ear. He heard a guttural voice, saying,

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, pass this fist or take a fall,"

followed by a tinkling crash.

"It's not quiet now," Smash reported. "Sounds like me

talking."

She smiled. "Talk all you want. Smash. You're my main-

stay in this strange surface world. I do worry when you're

gone."

Smash put his huge, hairy paw over her tiny human

hand. "I appreciate that, Tandy. I know it would be bad

for you if you got stranded alone in wilderness Xanth. But

I am learning to handle things in the gourd, and I am get-

ting stronger."

"I hope so," she said. "We all do need you, and not just

for protection from monsters. Chem says there seems to be

a mountain range to the north that we can't scale; the drag-

ons are to the east, and the air storm to the south. So we'll

have to veer west, back through the Region of Earth—and

that volcano is still spewing hot lava."

"We shall just have to wait till the lava stops," Smash

said.

"Yes. But we don't know how long that will be—and it

172

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Ogre, Ogre

173

will have to cool so we can walk over it. I guess we're here

in the melon patch for a while yet."

"So be it," Smash said. He released her hand, lest the

inordinate weight of his own damage it. "Did you say these

gourds are edible?"

"Oh, yes, certainly. You can eat all you want. We're all

full; they're very good, just so long as you don't look in the

peephole. Funny thing is, there's no sign of any world in

there, no graveyard or anything." She handed him a gourd,

peephole averted.

Smash took a huge bite. It was indeed good, very sweet

and seedy and juicy. It did seem strange that something

that could affect his consciousness could also be such good

eating—but, of course, that was the nature of things other

than gourds. A dragon could be a terrible enemy—but was

also pretty good eating, once conquered.

"That gourd I just looked into—" Smash said between

gulps. "Why didn't it return Biythe when she looked?"

"We discussed that while you were out," Tandy said. She

was the only one of the girls who remained awake; the

others were sleeping, including the brass girl. Smash won-

dered briefly why a person made of metal needed to sleep,

then realized this was no more remarkable than a person of

metal becoming animate at the punch of a button. "We

concluded that she is merely a representation, like you

when you're in the gourd. So she can't cross through by her-

self; she has to be taken by one of us. Then her pretend-

body will vanish here, just as yours vanishes there."

"Makes sense," Smash agreed, consuming another gourd

m a few bites. "Did she disappear when I took her aboard

the Luna shuttle ship?" "

"Yes. You remained, holding nothing. Then she reap-

peared when we took the gourd away, hugging you—"

"There was no room in that cockpit," Smash explained.

"I understand," she said, somewhat distantly.

"I'm out of the ship now, and back in her building.

There won't be any trouble this time."

"That's nice. But please rest before you go back in

there," Tandy said. "There is time, while we wait for the

lava to stop. And—"

Smash glanced at her. She was mostly a silhouette in the

wan moonlight, rather pretty in her pensiveness. "Yes?"

She shrugged. 'Take care of yourself, Smash."

"Ogres do," he said, cracking a smile. It seemed to him

that she had meant to say something more. But, of course,

girls changed their minds readily, especially small girls,

whose minds were small. Or whatever.

When he was comfortably stuffed, Smash stretched out

among the gourds and slept. Tandy settled against his furry

forearm and slept, too. He was aware of her despite his

unconsciousness, and found he rather liked her cute little

company. He was becoming distressingly un-ogrish at

times; he would have to correct that.

As dawn brightened, the lava dulled. The volcano was

quiescent. The Siren listened to the Ear and reported si-

lence, which she took to mean that they should wait for

further cooling. Periodically she tossed damp fragments of

gourd on the nearest hardening lava flow; as long as it sizzled

and steamed, the time was not yet right.

"Are you ready to go home, Biythe?" Smash asked the

brass girl, knowing the answer. "I'm back in the building."

"Good and ready, ogre," she agreed with alacrity. She

turned to the others. "No offense to you folk; I like you.

But I don't understand this wide-open land. It's so much

more secure in a brass building."

"I'm sure it is, dear," the Siren said, embracing her.

"Maybe in due course the rest of us will find our own brass

buildings."

"And the way you have to sleep here, instead of getting

turned off by a button—that's strange."

"All creatures are strange in their own fashion," Chem

said. "And we want to thank you for what you did with the

dragons. You may have saved our hides."

"I took no risk," Biythe said. But she flushed copper,

pleased.

Then Smash picked Biythe up by her brassiere. "And

keep your hand off her knee!" Tandy warned.

Everyone laughed, and he looked into a delicious-

seeming gourd.

This time it worked. They were both in the brass build-

ing.

The brassies spied them and clustered around. There was

174 Ogre, Ogre

a flurry of welcomings. Biythe was certainly glad to be

home.

"Now if you folk can tell me some other way out of

here, I will depart," Smash said. "I don't want the space-

ship; there must be some land route."

"Oh, there is!" Biythe said eagerly. "I'll show you."

"Haven't you had enough of me?" Smash asked.

"I feel I owe it to you to help you on your way," she said

defensively. "I'll show you the way to the paper world."

"As you wish," Smash agreed. "But you helped us con-

siderably, what with the tunneling and such."

Her face clouded, turning leaden. "The dragons wouldn't

eat me!"

Smash did not argue the point. Evidently the brass girl

had more than one motive for her scene with the dragons.

Biythe led him out a concealed door, into a smaller

chamber. Smash had to hunch over to fit in this one. Then

the room jerked and moved, causing him to bump into a

wall. 'This is an elevator," Biythe explained. "It leads to

the paper works, but it takes a little while."

"I'll wait," Smash said, squatting down and leaning into

a corner so he would not be bumped around too much."

Biythe sat on one of his knees. "Smash—"

He suffered deja vu. His Eye Queue insisted on run-

ning down the relevance immediately, instead of allowing it

to be the pleasant mystery nature intended. Tandy had ad-

dressed him in much the same way last night. "Yes?"

"I wanted to talk to you a moment, alone," she confessed.

"That's why I volunteered to show you the way. There's

something you should know."

"Where your dent is?"

"I can't show you that; your knee's in the way. It's some-

thing else."

"You know something about the Night Stallion?" he

asked, interested.

"No, not that," she said. "It's about Xanth."

"Oh."

"Smash, I'm not part of your world. But maybe I see

something you don't. Those girls like you."

"And I like them," he admitted, voicing the un-ogrish

sentiment with a certain embarrassment. How was be ever

Ogre, Ogre 175

going to find his Answer in life if he kept losing his iden-

tity? "They're nice people. So are you."

Again she coppered. "I like them, too. I never knew

flesh people before. But that's not what I mean. They—

they're not just friends to you. It's hard for me to say, be-

cause my own heart's made of brass. They're female;

you're male. So—"

"So I protect them," Smash agreed. "Because females

aren't very good at surviving by themselves. I'll help as

long as they are with me and need protection."

"That, too. But it's more than that. Tandy, especially—"

"Yes, she needs a lot of protection. She hardly knows

more of Xanth than you do, and she's not made of metal."

The brass girl seemed frustrated, but she kept smiling.

Her little teeth were brass, too. "We talked, some, while

you were in the gourd—that's funny, to think of my whole

world as a gourd!—and Tandy told us why she left home. I

may be violating a confidence, but I really think you ought

to know."

"Know what?" Smash asked. His Eye Queue informed

him he was missing something significant; that was an an-

noying part of the curse. A true ogre wouldn't have wor-

ried!"

"Why she left home. You see, there was this yemon,

named Fiant, who was looking for a wife. Well, not a wife,

exactly—you know."

"A playmate?"

"You could call it that. But Tandy didn't want to play. I

gather a demon is like an ifrit, not nice at all. She refused

to oblige him. But he pursued her and tried to rape her—"

"What is that?" Smash asked.

"Rape? You actually don't know?"

"I'm not made of brass," he reminded her. "There's lots

I don't know. There is a kind of plant in Xanth by that

name that girls shy, away from—"

She sighed. "The Siren's right. You are hopelessly naTve.

Maybe all males worth knowing are. But, of course, that's

why females exist; someone has to know what's what.

Look, Smash—do you know the way of a man with a

woman?" Her brass face was more coppery than ever, and

he realized this was an awkward subject for her.

176 Ogre, Ogre

"Of course not," he reassured her. "I'm an ogre."

"Well, the way of an ogre with an ogress?"

"Certainly." What was she getting at?

She paused. "I'm not sure we're communicating. Maybe

you'd better tell me what is the way of an ogre with an

ogress."

"He chases her down, screaming, catches her by a rope

of hair, hauls her up by one leg, bashes her head against a

tree a few times, throws her down, sets a boulder on her

face so she can't get away, then—"

"Tint's rape!" Biythe cried, appalled.

"That's fun," he countered. "Ogresses expect it, and give

back little ogres. It's the ogre mode of love."

"Well, it isn't the human mode of love."

"I know. Human beings are so gentle, it's a wonder they

even know what they're doing. Prince Dor and Princess

Irene have taken four years trying to get around to it. Now,

if they had a little more ogre heritage, four seconds might be

enough to—"

"Ah . . . yes," she agreed. "Well, this demon tried to—

to make ogre love to Tandy—"

"Oh, now I understand! Tandy wouldn't like that!"

"True. She's no ogress. So she left her home and sought

help. And the Good Magician told her to travel with you.

That way the demon can't get her."

"Sure. If she wants that demon smashed, I'll do it. That's

my name."

"That's not exactly what she wants. You see, she does

want to marry—someone other than the demon. And she

has a lot to offer the right male. So she hopes to find a

suitable husband on this journey. But—"

"That's wonderful!" Smash said in the best un-ogrish tra-

dition. "Maybe we'll find a nice human man, just right for

her."

"You didn't wait for my but. Smash."

"Your butt?" he asked, looking at her brass posterior.

"Where your dent is?"

"But, B U T," she clarified. "As in however."

"However has a dent?"

She paused briefly. "Forget the dent. However she likes

you."

Ogre, Ogre 177

"Certainly, and I like her. So I will help her find herself

a man."

"I don't think you understand, Smash. She may not want

to go with her ideal human man, if she finds him, if she

likes you too well first."

He chortled. "Nobody likes an ogre too well!"

The brass girl shook her head doubtfully. "I'm not sure.

You are no ordinary ogre, they inform me. For one thing,

they told me you're much smarter than most of your kind."

"That's because of the curse of the Eye Queue. Once I

get rid of that, I'll be blissfully stupid again. Just like any

other ogre. Maybe more so."

"There is that," Biythe agreed. "I don't think Tandy

would like you to be just like any other ogre."

The room stopped moving, after a jolt that bounced her

off his knee. "Well, here we are at the paper world," she

said.

The elevator opened onto a literal world of paper.

Green-colored fragments of paper served for a lawn; brown

and green paper columns were trees; a flat paper sun hung

in the painted blue sky. At least this world had color, in

contrast with the monochrome of most of the rest of the

gourd.

"This is as far as I go," Biythe said as Smash stepped

out. "If it's any comfort, I think that in some ways you're

still pretty stupid, even with the Eye Queue."

"Thank you," Smash said, flattered.

" 'Bye, ogre." The door closed and she was gone. Smash

turned to the new adventure that surely awaited him.

Paper was everywhere. Smash saw a bird; idly he caught

it out of the air in a paw, not to hurt it but to look at it,

because it seemed strange. It turned out to be strange in-

deed; it, too, was made of paper, the wings corrugated, the

body a cylinder of paper, the beak a stiffened, painted trian-

gle of cardboard. He let it go and it flew away, peeping

with the rasp of stiff paper.

Curious, he caught a bug. It was only an intricate convo-

lution of paper, brightly painted. When he released it, the

paper reconvoluted and the bug buzzed away. There were

butterflies, also of paper. The bushes and stones and pud-

dles were all colored paper. It seemed harmless enough.

178

Ogre, Ogre

Then a little paper machine charged up. Smash had seen

machines during a visit to Mundania and didn't like them;

they were ornery mechanical things. This one was way too

small to bother him seriously, but it did bother him lightly.

It fired a paper spitball at him.

The spitball stung his knee. Smash smiled. The minia-

ture machine had a name printed on its side: TANK. It

was cute.

The ogre stomped on. The tank followed, firing another

damp paper ball. It stung Smash on the rump. He frowned.

The humor was wearing thin. He didn't care to have a dent

to match that of the brass girl.

He turned to warn the tank away—and its third shot

plastered his nose.

That did it. Smash lifted one brute foot and stomped

the obnoxious machine flat. It was only paper; it collapsed

readily. But an unexpended spitball stuck to the ogre's toe.

Smash tromped on, seeking whatever challenge this sec-

tion offered. But now three more of the paper tanks arrived.

Burp—burp—burp! Their spitballs spit in a volley at the

ogre, sticking to his belly like a line of damp buttons. He

stamped all three paper vehicles flat.

Yet more tanks arrived, and these were larger. Their

spitballs stung harder, and one just missed his eye. Smash

had to shield his face with one hand while he stomped

them.

He heard something behind. A tank was chewing up his

line of string! That would prevent him from knowing when

he crossed his own trail, and he could get lost. He strode

back and picked up the tank, looking closely at it.

The thing burped a huge splat of a spitball at him that

plugged a nostril. Smash sneezed—and the tank was blown

into a flat sheet of paper. Words were printed on it: GET

WITH IT, DOPE.

Funny—Smash had never learned how to read. No ogre

was smart enough for literacy. But he grasped this message

perfectly. This must be another facet of the curse of the

Eye Queue. He pretended he did not fathom the words.

He turned again—and saw a much bigger paper tank

charging down on him. He grabbed the tip of the card-

board cannon and pinched it closed just as the machine

Ogre, Ogre 179

fired. The backpressure blew up the tank in a shower of

confetti.

But more, and yet larger, tanks were coming. This re-

gion seemed to have an inexhaustible supply! Smash cast

about for some way to stop them once and for all.

He had an idea. He bent to scoop through the paper-turf

ground. Sure enough, it turned to regular dirt below, with

rocks. He found a couple of nice quartz chunks and bashed

them together to make sparks. Soon he struck a fire. The

paper grass burned readily.

The tanks charged into the blaze—and quickly caught

fire themselves. Their magazines blew up in violent sprays

of spit. Colored bits of paper flew up in clouds, containing

pictures and ads for products and all the other crazy things

magazines filled their pages with. Soon all the tanks were

ashes.

Smash tromped on. A paper tiger charged from the pa-

per jungle, snarling and leaping. Smash caught it by the tail

and shook it into limp paper, the black and orange colors

running. He dipped this into a fringe of the fire and used

the resulting torch to discourage other paper animals. They

faded back before his bright-burning tiger, and he pro-

ceeded unhampered. Apparently there was nothing quite so

fearful as a burning tiger. If this had been a battle, he had

won it.

Now he came to a house of cards. Smash knew what

cards were; he had seen Prince Dor and Princess Irene

playing games with them at Castle Roogna, instead of get-

ting down to basics the way ogres would. Sometimes they

had constructed elaborate structures from the cards. This

was such a structure—but it was huge. Each card was the

height of Smash himself, with suit markings as big as his

head and almost as ugly.

He paused to consider these. At the near side was the

nine of hearts. He knew what hearts were: the symbol of

love. This reminded him irrelevantly of what the brass girl

had told him about Tandy. Could it be true that the tiny

human girl liked him more than was proper, considering

that ogres weren't supposed to be liked at all? If so, what

was his responsibility? Should he growl at her, to discourage

her? That did seem best.

180 Ogre, Ogre

He entered the house of cards, careful not to jostle it.

These structures collapsed very readily, and after all, this

might be the way out of the paper land. He felt he was

making good progress through the worlds of the gourd, and

he wanted to go on to the last station and meet the Dark

Horse.

The inner wall showed the two of clubs. Clubs were, of

course, the ogre's favorite suit. There was nothing like a

good, heavy club for refreshing violence! Then there was

the jack of diamonds, symbolizing the wealth of dragons.

His curse of intellect made symbolism quite clear now. He

remembered how many of the bright little stones the

Dragon Lady had had; this was probably her card. Then

there was the two of spades, with its shovel symbol. The

suit of farmers.

In the center of the house of cards was the joker. It de-

picted a handsomely brutish ogre with legs that trailed into

smoke. Of course! Smash pushed against it, assuming it to

be his door to the next world—and the whole structure col-

lapsed.

The cards were not heavy, of course, .and in a moment

Smash's head poked above the wreckage. He looked about.

The scene had changed. The paper was gone. The

painted sky and cardboard trees existed no longer. Now

there was a broad and sandy plain, like that of the night-

mares' realm, except that this one was in daylight, with the

sun beating down hotly.

He spied an object in the desert. It glinted prettily, but

not like a diamond. Curious, Smash stomped over to it. It

was a greenish bottle, half buried in the sand, fancily

corked. He found himself attracted to it; a bottle like that,

its base properly broken off, could make a fine weapon.

He picked it up. Inside the bottle was a hazy motion, as

of slowly swirling mist. The cork had a glossy metallic seal

with a word embossed: FOOL.

Well, that was the nature of ogres. He was thirsty in this

heat; maybe the stun in the bottle was good to drink.

Smash ripped off the seal and used his teeth to pop the

cork. After all, he was uncertain how long it would be be-

fore he came across anything potable, here in the gourd.

But mainly, his action was his Eye Queue's fault; because

of it, he was curious.

Ogre, Ogre

181

As the cork blasted free, vapor surged out of the bottle.

It swelled out voluminously. Too bad—this was neither edi-

ble nor potable, and it smelled of sulfur. Smash sneezed.

The vapor formed a big greenish cloud, swirling about

but not dissipating into the air. In a moment, two muscular

arms projected from it, and the remainder formed into the

head and upper torso of a gaseous man-creature about

Smash's own size.

"Who in the gourd are you?" Smash inquired.

"Ho, ho, ho!" the creature boomed. "I be the ifrit of the

bottle. Thou has freed me; as thy reward, I shall suffer

thee to choose in what manner thou shalt die."

"Oh, one of those," Smash said, unimpressed. "A bottle

imp." He now recognized, in retrospect, this creature as the

figure on the joker card. He had taken it to be an ogre,

but, of course, ogres had hairy legs and big flat feet, rather

than trailing smoke.

"Dost thou mock me, thou excrescence of excrement?"

the ifrit demanded, swelling angrily. "Beware, lest I squish

thee into a nonentitious cube and make bouillon soup of

thee!"

"Look, ifrit, I don't have time for this nonsense," Smash

said, though the mention of the bouillon cube made him

hungry. He had squished a bull into a bouillon cube once

and made soup with it; he could use some of that now! "I

just want to find the Night Stallion and vacate the lien on

my soul. If you aren't going to help, get out of my way."

"Surely I shall destroy thee!" the ifrit raged, turning

dusky purple. He reached for the ogre's throat with huge

and taloned hands.

Smash grabbed the ifrit's limbs, knotted them together in

much the way he had tied the extremities of the ghastlies,

and jammed the creature headfirst back into the green bot-

tle. "Oaf! Infidel!" the ifrit screamed, his words somewhat

distorted since his mouth was squeezed through the bottle's

neck. "What accursed mischief be this?"

"I warned you," Smash said, using a forefinger to tamp

more of the ifrit into the container. "Don't mess with ogres.

They have no sense of humor."

Struggle as he might, the ifrit could not prevail against

Smash's power. "Ooo, ouch!" the voice came muffled

182

Ogre, Ogre

from the glass. "OooOOoo!" For Smash's finger had

rammed into the creature's gasous posterior.

Then a hand came back out of the bottle. It waved a

white flag.

Smash knew that meant surrender. "Why should I pay

attention to you?" he asked.

"Mmph of mum genuine free wish," the voice cried

from the depths of the bottle.

That sounded promising. "But I don't need a wish about

how I will die."

"Mmmph oomph!"

"Okay, ifrit. Give me one positive wish." Smash re-

moved his finger.

The ifrit surged backward out of the bottle. "What is

they wish, 0 horrendous one?" he asked, nibbing his rear.

"I want to know the way to the next world."

"I was about to send thee there!" the ifrit exclaimed,

aggrieved.

"The next gourd scene. How do I get there?"

"Oh." The ifrit considered. "The closest be the mirror

world. But that be no place for the like of thee. Thy very

visage would shatter that scene."

This creature was trying to lull him with flattery! 'Tell

me anyway."

"On thy fool head be it." The ifrit made a dramatic

gesture. There was a blinding flash. "Thou wilt be-sorree!"

the creature's voice came, fading away with descending

pitch as if retreating at nearly the speed of sound.

Smash pawed his eyes, and gradually sight filtered back.

He stood among a horrendous assortment of ogres. Some

were much larger than he, some much smaller; some were

obesely fat, some emaciatedly thin; some had ballooning

heads and squat feet, others the other way around.

"What's this?" he asked, scratching his head, though it

had no fleas now.

"This . . . this . . . this . . . this," the other ogres

chorused in diminishing echo, each scratching his head.

The Eye Queue needed only that much data to formu-

late an educated hypothesis. "Mirrors!"

"Ors . . . ors . . . ors . . . ors," the echoes agreed.

Smash walked among the mirrors, seeing himself pacing

himself in multiple guises. The hall was straight, but after a

Ogre, Ogre 183

while the images repeated. Suspicious, he used a horny fin-

gernail to scratch a corner of one mirror, then walked far-

ther down the hall, checking corners. Sure enough, he

came across another mirror with a scratch on it, just where

he had made his mark. It was the same one, surely. This

hall was an endless reflection, like two mirrors facing each

other. One of those endless loops he had been warned

about. In fact, now he saw three lines of string: he had

been retracing his course. He was trapped.

The ifrit had been right. This was no place for the like

of him. Already he was hungrier, and there no food here.

How could he get out?

He could smash through a mirror and through the wall

behind it, of course—but would that accomplish anything?

There were situations in which blind force was called for—

but other situations, his Eye Queue curse reminded him

obnoxiously, called for subtler negotiation. The trick was to

tell them apart. One could not conquer a mirror by break-

ing it; one could only forfeit the game.

Smash stared into the scratched mirror, and his distorted

image stared back. The image was almost as ugly as he

was, but the distortion hampered it, making it less repulsive

than it should have been. Probably that was why it was

snarling.

He turned and contemplated the three strands of string

on the floor. He saw where the first one started: it came

from another mirror. So he had entered here through a

mirror. Surely that was also the way to leave. If he found

some means to make another blinding flash, would he be

able to step through, as before? But he had no flash-

material.

Then he remembered what he had beard in the Gap

Dragon's Ear. Could that relate? It had sounded like his

voice, talking about a mirror. He decided to try it.

He positioned himself squarely before the mirror. He el-

evated his hamfist. "Mirror, mirror on the wall," he in-

toned, imitating his own voice as well as he could. "Pass

this fist or take a fall." Then he punched forward.

His fist smashed through the glass and into the wall be-

hind it. The mirror tinkled in pieces to the floor.

Smash leaned forward to peer through the hole in the

wall. It opened on another hall of mirrors. Sure enough,

184 Ogre, Ogre

there was no escape there; he was caught among the mir-

rors until he found the proper way out.

He tromped to the next mirror. He raised his fist again

and spoke his rhyme. The he punched through, with the

same result.

This did not seem to be working. But it was the only

clue he had. Maybe when the other mirrors saw what was

happening, they would capitulate. After all, this technique

had been effective with the shocking doorknobs. The inani-

mate tended to be stupid, as Prince Dor had shown, but it

did eventually leam what was good for it.

The change happened sooner than anticipated. His fist

did not strike the third mirror; it passed through without

resistance. His arm and body followed it, and he did a slow

fall through the aperture.

He rolled on something soft and sat up. He sniffed. He

looked. He salivated.

He sat on a huge bed of cake, replete with vanilla icing.

Pastries and sweets were all about him, piled high: dough-

nuts, strudel, eclairs, tarts, cookies, creampuffs, ginger-

bread, and more intricate pastries.

Smash had been growing hungry before; it had been well

over an hour since he had last filled up. Now he was rav-

enous. But again the damned curse of the Eye Queue made

him pause. The purpose of these worlds inside the gourd

seemed to be to make him unhappy. This food did not fit

that purpose—unless there were something Wrong with it

Could it be poisoned? Poison did not bother ogres much,

but was best avoided.

One way to find out. Smash scooped up a glob of floor

and crammed it in his big mouth. The cake was excellent.

Then he got up and explored the region, keeping himself

busy while waiting for the poison to act. He had not eaten

enough to cause real damage to the gross gut of an ogre,

but if he felt discomfort, he would take warning.

He was in a large chamber completely filled with the

pastries. There was no apparent exit. He punched experi-

mentally through a wall of fruitcake, but the stuff seemed

to have no end. He suspected he could punch forever and

only tear up more cake. There appeared to be no reason-

able limit to the worlds that fit inside the gourd. How, then,

was he to escape this place?

Ogre, Ogre 185

His stomach suffered nothing but the ravages of increas-

ing hunger, so he concluded the food was not poisoned.

Still he hesitated. There had to be some trap, something to

make him hurt. If not poison, what? There seemed to be no

threat, no spitball-shooting tanks, no ifrit, not even starva-

tion from delay.

Well, suppose he fell to and ate his fill? Where would he

be? Still here, with no way out. If he remained long

enough, stuffing himself at will, he would lose his soul by

default in three months. No point in that.

Yet, no sense in going hungry. He grabbed a bunk of

angelcake and gulped it down. He felt angelic. That was no

mood for an ogre! He chomped some devilsfood, and felt

devilish. That was more like it. He gulped some dream pie,

and dreamed of smiting the Night Stallion and recovering

the lien on his soul.

Wait. He forced himself to stop eating, lest he sink im-

mediately into the easy slough of indulgence. Better to

keep hungry and alert, his cursed taskmaster of an Eye

Queue told him. What did the Eye Queue care about hun-

ger? It didn't have to eat! But he went along with it for the

moment, knowing it would give him no peace otherwise.

He would reward himself only for making progress in solv-

ing this particular riddle. That was discipline no ordinary

ogre could master, infuriating as it was.

Still, time was passing, and he had no idea how to pro-

ceed. There had to be something. After all, it wasn't as if

he could simply eat his way out of here.

That thought made him pause. Why not eat out? Chew a

hole in the wall until he ran out of edibles—which would

be another world.

No. There would be too much cake for even an ogre to

eat. Unless he knew exactly where a weak spot was—

Weak spot Surely so. Something that differed from the

rest of this stuff.

Smash started a survey course of eating, looking for the

difference. All of it was excellent. A master pastry chef

had baked this chamber.

Then he encountered a vein of licorice. That was one

confection Smash didn't like; it reminded him of manure.

True, some ogres could eat and like manure, but that just

wasn't Smash's own taste. Naturally he avoided this vein.

186 Ogre, Ogre

Then his accursed, annoying, and objectionable Eye

Queue began percolating again. The Eyes of the vine saw

entirely too much, especially what wasn't necessarily there.

Manure. What would leave manure in the form of a con-

fection?

Answer: some creature in charge of a chamber of con-

fections. The Night Stallion, perhaps. When the Stallion

departed, he would leave his token of contempt. Big brown

balls of sweet manure.

What exit would the Stallion use? How could that exit be

found?

Answer: the trail of manure would show the way.

Horses hardly cared where they left it, since it was behind

them. They left it carelessly, thoughtlessly, often on the

run.

Smash started digging out the licorice. But when he did,

the foul stuff melted into other cake, transforming it into

licorice, too. That obscured the trail. He had to do some-

thing about that.

He cast about, but came up with only the least pleasant

solution. He would have to eat it. That was the only way to

get rid of it. To consume the manure of the Stallion.

Fortunately, ogres didn't have much pride about what

they ate. He nerved himself and bit in. The licorice-cake

was awful, truly feculent, but he gulped it down anyway.

Now his gorge was rising violently inside him. Ogres

were supposed never to get sick, no matter how rotten the

stuff they ate. But this was manure! He ate on.

Smash came to a round hole in the material of the cham-

ber. The dung had led him to it—since this was the exit the

Stallion had taken. Smash scrambled through the passage,

knowing that if he could just choke down his revolted, re-

volting stomach a little longer, he would win this contest,

too.

He came to a drop-off and tumbled out, spinning and

turning in air. Now he was falling through darkness.

That last jolt of weightlessness was too much. His stom-

ach burst its constraints and heaved its awful contents vio-

lently out. The reaction sent him zooming backward

through space. Smash puked, it seemed, for eons, and

worked up a velocity to rival that of the brass spaceship.

He hoped he didn't get lost in space beyond the stars.

Chapter 10. Fond Wand

He was retching into the gourd patch. Apparent-

ly he had jetted himself right out of the gourd! Chem

was using the hardened rind of an empty gourd to scoop

the vomit away, making room for more as it flowed volu-

minously from Smash's mouth.

As he realized where he was, his sickness abated. He

looked about.

The girls were in a sorry state. All five of them were

spattered. "We decided to get you out of the gourd before it

got worse," Tandy said apologetically. "What happened?"

"I ate a lot of horse—er, manure," Smash said. "Instead

of cake and pastry."

"Ogres do have unusual tastes," John remarked.

Smash chuckled weakly. "Where's some decent food? I

don't want to eat any more gourds, and I'm going to be

hungry as soon as I feel better."

"There'll be food at Goblinland," Goldy Goblin said.

"How far is that?"

Chem produced her map. "As I make it, we're close.

From what Goldy tells me, the main tribe of goblins is not

far from here, as the dragon flies. Just a few hours' walk,

except that there's a mountain in the way, so we have to

go around—across the Earth works. That complicates it.

But I think the lava is cool enough now. We had better get

over it before more comes."

"Like hot vomit," Goldy muttered.

Smash looked at the conic mountain. It steamed a little,

but was generally quiescent. "Yes—let's cross quickly."

They started across. Goldy knew a little foot-cooling

187

188

Ogre, Ogre

spell used by goblins and taught it to them. It wasn't real

magic, but rather an accommodation to the local landscape.

Smash's Eye Queue was cynical, suspecting that any bene-

fit from the spell was simply illusion, the belief in cooler

feet. Yet his feet did feel cooler.

They had to skirt the volcano's eastern slope. The cone

rumbled, annoyed, but was in its off-phase and could not

mount any real action.

The ground, however, was rested. It had energy to ex-

pend. It shook, making their travel difficult. The shaking

became more violent, causing the hardened lava to craze,

to crack, to break up, and to form fissures, exposing the

red-hot rock down below.

"Hurry!" Chem cried, her hooves dancing on the shift-

ing rocks. Smash remembered that insecure footing made

her nervous. Now it made him nervous, too.

"Oh, I wish I coold fly again!" John cried, terrified. She

stumbled and started to fall into a widening crack.

Chem caught her. "Get on my back," she directed. The

fairy scrambled gratefully aboard.

The ground shook again. A fragment turned under the

Siren's foot, and she went down. Smash caught her, lifted

her high, and saw that her ankle was twisted. He would

have to carry her.

Now the volcano rumbled again. It might be in its off-

phase, but it wasn't entirely helpless. A new fissure opened

in its side, and bright red lava welled out, like fresh blood.

It spilled down toward them, shifting channels to orient ac-

curately.

"It's coming for us!" Tandy cried, alarmed. "This land

doesn't like us!"

Smash looked northeast. The goblin territory was far

across the treacherously shifting rocks. Already the lava

plain was humping like a slow ocean swell, as if trying to

break free of its cool crust. Smash knew that if much more

fragmentation occurred, they would all fall through that

crust into the liquid lava below.

"Too farl" Tandy cried despairingly. "We can't make

it!"

"North!" Chem said. "It's better to the north!"

They scrambled north, though that horizon looked like a

wall of fire. The lava crust broke into big plates that, in

Ogre, Ogre

189

turn, fragmented into platelets that slowly subsided under

the weight of the party. Red lava squeezed up around the

edges and leaked out onto the surface. Meanwhile, the

fresh lava from the fissure flowed down to join the turbu-

lent plain, further melting the platelets. There was now no

retreat.

"Spread out!" Goldy cried. "Not too much weight on

any one plate!"

They did it. The goblin girl was the most agile, so she

led the way, finding the best plates and the best crossing

places. Tandy followed, glancing nervously back at Smash

as if afraid he would be too clumsy. She did care for him;

it was obvious, now that Biythe had given him the hint.

But that was hardly worth worrying about at this moment.

They might all soon perish.

Next in line was Chem, carrying John on her back, her

hooves handling the maneuvering well. Then came Smash,

holding the Siren in his arms. Her feet had converted back

to the tail; evidently that alleviated the pain in her ankle.

However, her tail form was also her bare-top form, and the

sight of all that juggling flesh made him ravenous again.

He hoped he never got so hungry that he forgot these were

his friends.

The edges of the plates depressed alarmingly as they

took Smash's weight, for it was concentrated in a smaller

area than was the centaur's. Once a plate broke under his

weight, becoming two saucers, and he had to scramble, dip-

ping a toe in red lava; it hurt terribly, but he ran on.

"Your toe!" the Siren exclaimed. "It's scorched!"

"Better that than falling in," he grunted.

"In case we don't make it," she said, "I'd better tell you

now. You're a lot of creature. Smash."

"Ogres are big," he agreed. "You're a fair morsel of

creature yourself." Indeed, she had continued to grow more

youthful, and was now a sight to madden men. Or so he

judged, from his alien viewpoint.

"You're more than I think you know. You could have

been where you're going by now if you hadn't let the rest

of us impose."

"No. I agreed to take Tandy along, and the rest of you

have helped. I'm not sure I could have handled the dragons

alone, or gotten out of the gourd."

190 Ogre, Ogre

"You never would have gotten into the gourd alone," she

pointed out. "Then you could have avoided the dragons.

Would another ogre have taken Tandy along?"

He laughed. He did that a lot since the advent of the

Eye Queue, for things he wouldn't have noticed before now

evinced humorous aspects. "Another ogre would have eaten

the bunch of you!"

"I rest my case."

"Rest your tail, too, while you're at it. If I fall into the

lava, you'll have to walk alone."

It was her turn to laugh, somewhat faintly. "Or swim,"

she said, looking down at the lava cracks.

Now they were at the border. The wall of fire balked

them. Goldy stood on the plate nearest it, daunted. "I don't

know how much fire there is," she said. "Goblin legend

suggests the wall is thin, but—"

"We can't stay here," Tandy said. "I'll find out." And

she took a breath and plunged into the fire.

The others stood on separate plates, appalled. Then Tan-

dy's voice came back: "It's all right! Come on through!"

Smash closed his eyes and plunged toward her voice.

The flame singed his fur and the flowing hair of the mer-

maid; then he was on firm ground, coughing.

He stood on a burned-out field. Wisps of smoke rose

from lingering blazes, but mostly the ashes were cool. Far-

ther to the north a forest fire raged, however, and periodi-

cally the wind shifted, bringing choking smoke and sprin-

kling new ashes. To the west there seemed to be a lake of

fire, sending up occasional mushroom-shaped masses of

smoke. To the east there was something like a flashing

field of fire, with intermittent columns of flame.

Chem and John landed beside Smash. The fairy was

busy slapping out smolders in the centaur's mane. "This is

an improvement, but not much of one," Chem said. "Let's

get off this burn!"

"I second the motion," Tandy agreed. She, too, had suf-

fered during the crossing; parts of her brown hair had been .

scorched black. Goldy appeared, in similar condition. None

of the girls was as pretty as she bad been.

They moved east, paralleling the thin wall of fire. This

was the Region of Fire, but since fire had to have some-

thing to bum, they were safe for the moment.

Ogre, Ogre 191

Then a column of white fire erupted just ahead of them.

The heat of it drove them back—only to be heated again

by another column to the side.

"Gas," the Siren said. "It puffs up from fumaroles, then

ignites and burns out. Can we tell where the next ones will

be?"

They watched for a few moments. "Only where they've

been," Chem said. "The pattern of eruption and ignition

seems completely random."

"That means well get scorched," the Siren said. "Unless

we go around."

But there was no way around, for the forest fire was

north and the lava flows were beyond the firewall to the

south.

Also, new foliage was sprouting through the ashes on

which they stood, emerging cracklingly dry; it would catch

fire and bum off again very soon. It seemed the ashes

were very rich fertilizer, but there was very little water for

the plants, so they grew dehydrated. Here in the Region of

Fire, there was no long escape from fire.

"How can we get through?" Tandy asked despairingly.

Smash put his Eye Queue curse to work yet again. He

was amazed at how much he seemed to need it, now that

he had it, when he had never needed it before, as if intelli-

gence were addictive; it kept generating new uses for itself.

He was also amazed at what his stupid bonemuscle ogre

brain could do when boosted by the Queue and cudgeled by

necessity. "Go only where they've been," he said."

The others didn't understand, so be showed the way.

"Follow me!" .He watched for a dying column, then

stepped near it as it flickered out. There would be a little

while before it built up enough new gas to fire again. He

waited in the diminishing shimmer of heat, watching the

other columns. When another died, next to his own, he

stepped into its vacated spot.

The other members of the party followed him. "I'll as-

sume this is wit instead of luck," the Siren murmured.

Smash was still carrying her, though now she had switched

back to legs and dress, in case he had to set her down.

As they moved to the third fumarole, the first fired

again. These flares did not dawdle long! Now they were in

the middle of the columns, unable to escape unscathed. But

192

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

193

Smash stepped forward again into another dying flame,

panting in the stink of it, yet surviving unbumed.

In this manner the party made its precarious and un-

comfortable way through the fires, and came at last to the

east firewall. They plunged through—and found them-

selves in the pleasant, rocky region of the goblins.

"What a relief!" Tandy exclaimed. "Nothing could be

worse than that, except maybe what's inside a gourd."

"You haven't met the local goblins yet," Goldy muttered.

There was a small stream paralleling the wall, cool and

clean. They all drank deeply, catching up from their long

engagement with the heat. Then they washed themselves

off and tended to their injuries. The Siren bound her ankle

with a bolt of gauze from a gauze-bush, and Tandy tended

to Smash's scorched toe.

"Goldy will find her husband here," Smash said as she

worked. "Soon we may find a human husband for you."

He hoped he was doing the right thing, bringing the matter

into the open.

She looked up at him sharply. "Who squealed?" she de-

manded.

"Biythe said you were looking for—"

"What does she know?" Tandy asked.

Smash shrugged awkwardly. This wasn't working out

very well. "Not much, perhaps."

"When the time comes. I'll make my own decision."

Smash could not argue with that. Maybe the brass girl had

been mistaken. Biythe's heart, as she had noted, was brass,

and perhaps she was not properly attuned to the hearts

made of flesh. But Smash had a nagging feeling that

wasn't it. These females seemed to have a common aware-

ness of each other's nature that males lacked. Maybe it was

just that they were all interested in only one thing. "Any-

way, we'll deliver Goldy soon."

They found no food, so they walked on along the river,

which curved eastward, north of the mountain range that

separated this land from that of the dragons. The goblins

had to be somewhere along here, perhaps occupying the

mountains themselves. Goblins did tend to favor dark holes

and deep recesses; few were seen in open Xanth, though

Smash understood that in historical times the goblins had

dominated the land. It seemed they had become less ugly

and violent over the centuries, and this led inevitably to a

diminution of their power. He had heard that some isolated

goblin tribes had become so peaceful and handsome that

they could hardly be distinguished from gnomes. That

would be like ogres becoming like small giants—

astonishing and faintly disgusting.

The river broadened and turned shallow, finally petering

out into a big dull bog. Brightly colored fins poked up

from the muck, and nostrils surmounting large teeth

quested through it. Obviously the main portions of these

creatures were hidden beneath the surface. It did not seem

wise to set foot within that bog. Especially not with a sore

toe.

They skirted it, walking along the slope at the base of

the mountain range. The day was getting late, and Smash

was dangerously hungry. Where were the goblins?

Then the goblins appeared. An army of a hundred or so

swarmed around the party. "What are you creeps doing

here?" the goblin chief demanded with typical goblin cour-

tesy.

Goldy stepped forward. "I am Goldy Goblin, daughter

of the leader of the Gap Chasm Goblins, Gorbage," she

announced regally.

"Never heard of them," the chief snapped. "Get out of

our territory, pasteface."

"What?" Goldy was taken aback. She was very fair for a

goblin, but it wasn't merely the name that put her at a loss.

"I said get out, or we'll cook you for supper."

"But I came here to get marriedl" she protested.

The goblin chief swung backhanded, catching the side of

her head and knocking her down. "Not here you don't, for-

eign stranger slut." He turned away, and the goblin troops

began to move off.

But Tandy acted. She was furious. "How dare you treat

Goldy like that?" she demanded. "She came all the way

here at great personal risk to get married to one of your

worthless louts, and you—you—"

The goblin chief swung his hand at her as he had at

Goldy, but Tandy moved faster. She made a hurling ges-

ture in the air, with her face red and her eyes squinched

almost shut. The goblin flipped feet over ears and landed,

stunned, on the ground. She had thrown a tantrum at him.

194

Ogre, Ogre

Smash sighed. He knew the rules of interspecies deal-

ings. How goblins treated one another was their own busi-

ness; that was why these goblins had left Smash and the

rest of his party alone. Their personal interplay was rough,

but they were not looking for trouble with ogres or centaurs

or human folk. Unlike the prior goblin tribe, this one

honored the conventions. But now Tandy had interfered,

and that made her fair game.

The goblin lieutenants closed on her immediately—and

Tandy, like an expended fumarole, had no second tantrum

to throw in self-defense. But Chem, John, and the Siren

closed about her. "You dare to attack human folk?" the

Siren demanded. She was limping on her bad ankle but was

ferocious in her wrath.

"You folk aren't human," a goblin lieutenant said.

"You're centaur, fairy, and memymph—and this other

looks to be part nymph, too, and she attacked our leader.

Her life is forfeit, by the rules of the jungle."

Smash had not chosen this conflict, but now he had to

intervene. "These three with me," he grunted, in his stress

reverting to his natural ogre mode. He indicated Tandy

with a hamfinger. "She, too, me do."

The lieutenant considered. Evidently the goblins were

hierarchically organized, and with the chief out of order, the.

lieutenant had discretionary power. Goblins were tough to

bluff or back off, once aroused, especially when they had

the advantage of numbers. Still, this goblin hesitated. Three

or four females were one thing; an ogre was another. A

hundred determined goblins could probably overcome one

ogre, but many of them would be smashed to pulp in the

process, and many more would find then- heads embedded

in the trunks of trees, and a few would find themselves

flying so high they might get stuck on the moon. Most of

the rest would be less fortunate. So this goblin negotiated,

while others hauled their unconscious leader away.

"This one must be punished." the lieutenant said. "If our

chief dies, she must die. So it is written in the verbal cove-

nant: an eyeball for an eyeball, a gizzard for a gizzard."

Smash knew how to negotiate with goblins. It was

merely a matter of speaking their language. He formed a

huge and gleaming metal fist. "She die, me vie."

The lieutenant understood him perfectly, but was in a

Ogre, Ogre 195

difficult situation. It looked as if there would have to be a

fight.

Then the goblin chief stirred, perhaps because he was

uncomfortable being dragged by the ears over the rough

ground. He was recovering consciousness.

"He isn't dead," the lieutenant said, relieved. That wid-

ened his selection of options. "But still she must be pun-

ished. We shall isolate her on an island."

Isolation? That didn't seem too bad. Nevertheless, Smash

didn't trust it. "Me scratch," he said, scratching his flealess

head stupidly. "Where catch?"

The goblin studied him, evidently assessing Smash's

depth of stupidity. "The island sinks," he said. "You may

rescue her if you choose. But there are unpleasant things in

the bog."

Smash knew that. He didn't want to see Tandy put on a

sinking island in that bog. Yet he did not have his full

strength, and hunger was diminishing him further, and that

meant he could not afford to indulge in combat with the

goblins at this time. In addition, his Eye Queue reminded

him snidely, Tandy had attacked the goblin chief, and so

made herself liable to the goblins' judgment. The goblins, if

not exactly right, were also not exactly wrong.

The goblin lieutenant seemed to understand the struggle

going on in the ogre's mind. Goblins and ogres differed

from one another in size and intelligence, but were similar

in personality. Both sides preferred to avoid the mayhem

that would result if they fought. "We will give you a fair

chance to rescue her."

"Me dance," Smash said ironically, tapping the ground

with one foot, so that the terrain shuddered. "What

chance?"

"A magic wand." The lieutenant signaled, and a goblin

brought an elegant black wand.

"Me no fond of magic wand," Smash said dubiously. He

continued to use the ogre rhymes, having concluded that

stupidity, or the appearance of it, might be a net asset.

"All you have to do is figure out how to use it," the

goblin said. "Then you can draw on its magic to help the

girl. We don't know its secret, but do know it is magic. We

will help you figure it out, if you wish."

That was a considerable riski He bad to figure out the

196

Ogre, Ogre

operative mechanism of a wand that had so baffled the

goblins that they were willing to help him use it to defeat

their decree of punishment. They would have spent days,

months, or years on it; he might have minutes. What

chance would a smart man have, let alone a stupid ogre?

What person of even ordinary intelligence would agree to

such a deal?

Why would the goblins risk such a device in the hands of

a stranger, anyway? Suppose he did figure out the opera-

tion of the wand by some blind luck? He could be twice as

dangerous to them as he already was.

Ah, but there was the answer. An ogre was stupid, al-

most by definition. He could be far more readily conned

out of his advantage than could a smart person. Also, the

activated wand might be dangerous, acting against the user.

Of course they would help him solve its secret; if it de-

stroyed the user, no loss! Only an absolutely, idiotically,

calamitously stupid or desperate creature would take that

risk.

John sidled up to Smash. "Goblins are cunning

wretches," she whispered. "We fairies have had some deal-

ings with them, I think they mistreated Goldy deliberately,

to get you into this picklement."

"I'm sure of it," Goldy agreed. A bruise was showing on

her cheek, but she seemed otherwise all right. "My own

tribe is that way. My father threatened to eat you all, when

he doesn't even like ogre or centaur meat, just to force you

to take me here."

"It does seem to be an effective ploy," Smash whispered

back. "But we would have taken you anyway, had we

known you."

If brass girls could blush copper, goblin girls blushed tan.

"You mean you folk like me?"

"Certainly we do!" Tandy agreed. "And you helped us

cross the lava plates, leading the way. And you told us a

tremendous lot about the hypnogourds, so that Smash

knows how to save his soul."

"Well, goblins aren't too popular with other creatures,"

Goldy said, wiping an eye.

"Nor with their own kind, it seems," Tandy said.

"Because the chief hit me? Think nothing of it. Goblin

Ogre, Ogre

197

men are just a little bit like ogres in that respect. It makes

them think they run things."

"Ogres aren't too popular with other creatures, either,"

Smash said. "They beat up their wenches, too."

"This lesson in comparative romance is fascinating,"

John said. "Still, we're in trouble."

"Pick Tandy up and run out of here," Goldy advised.

"That's the only way to deal with our kind."

But Smash knew that the other girls would pay the pen-

alty for that. He had fallen into the goblins' trap; he would

have to climb out of it. His one advantage was that he was,.

thanks to the curse of the Eye Queue, considerably smarter

than the goblins thought. "Me try to spy," he told the lieu-

tenant

"Very well, ogre," the lieutenant said smugly. "Take the

wand, experiment with it, while we place her on the is-

land."

Goblins grabbed Tandy and hustled her into a small

wooden boat. She struggled, but they moved her along any-

way. She sent a betrayed look back at Smash, evidently

feeling with part of her mind that he should fight, and he

felt like a betrayer indeed. But he had the welfare of the

entire party in mind, so he had to act with un-ogrish delibera-

tion. This grated, but had to be. If the wand didn't work,

he would charge through the bog and rescue her, regardless

of the fins. Even if the fins proved to be too much for him,

he should be able to toss her to the safe bank before going

under.

They dumped her on an islet that seemed to be mostly

reeds. As her weight settled on it, the structure hissed and

bubbled from below, and slowly lowered toward the liquid

muck surface. A purple fin cruised in and circled the

pneumatically descending isle.

Smash concentrated on the wand while goblins and girls

watched silently. He waved it in a circle, bobbed it up and

down, poked it at imaginary balloons in the air, and shook

it. Nothing happened. "Go, schmoe!" he ordered it, but it

ignored even that command. He bent it between his hands;

it flexed, then sprang back into shape. It was supple and

well made, but evinced no magic property.

Meanwhile, Tandy's isle continued to sink. The purple

198

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

199

fin cruised in tighter circles. Tandy stood in the spongy

center, terrified.

But he couldn't watch her. He had to concentrate on the

Wand. It was evident that his random motions weren't

being successful. What was the key?

Eye Queue, find the clue! he thought emphatically. It

was high time he got some use from this curse when it

really counted.

The Queue went to work. It considered mental riddles a

challenge. It even enjoyed thinking.

Assume the wand was activated by motion, because that

was the nature of wands. They were made to wave about.

Assume that trial-and-error motion wouldn't do the trick,

because the goblins would have tried everything. Assume

that the key was nevertheless simple, so that the wand

could be readily used in an emergency. What motion was

both simple and subtle?

A signature-key, he decided. A particular motion no one

would guess, perhaps attuned to a particular person. But

how could he guess its nature?

Tandy's isle was almost down to muck level, and the

circling fin was almost within her reach, or vice versa.

Smash could not afford to ponder much longer!

"Goblin man, help if can," Smash called. After all, the

goblins wanted to know the secret, too.

"All we know, ogre, is that it worked for the crone we

stole it from," the lieutenant replied. "She would point it at

a person or thing, and the object would levitate. That is,

rise." The goblin thought Smash would not know the mean-

ing of the more complicated term. "But when we tried it—

nothing."

Levitation. That would certainly help Tandy 1 But he

needed to get it started in a hurry.

"Crone so smart, how she start?"

"She looped it in a series of loops," the goblin said. "But

when we made the same loops, nothing happened."

Tandy's feet were now disappearing into the muck. Only

the submerged mass of the isle balked the fin—for now.

"Give poop. What loop?" Smash demanded.

"Like this." The goblin described a partial circle with a

tuck in it.

"That looks like a G," John remarked. Apparently fair-

ies were literate, too.

G. A letter of the human alphabet? Suddenly Smash's

intellect pounced. What was a signature except a series of

letters? A written name? John's own case illustrated the

importance of a name; her entire mission was simply to

locate her correct one. One could not choose just any name,

because only the right one had power. This should apply

for wands as well as for fairies, here in Xanth. Maybe it

was different inside the gourd, where names could be

changed at will. "What name of dame?"

"Grungy Grool," the goblin answered. "She was a

witch."

A witch with the initials G G. Suppose the wand tuned

in to the signature of its holder? Smash described a big,

careful S.

Nothing happened. Holding his disappointment in check,

he described a matching 0. Smash Ogre—his initials.

Still nothing. The wand remained quiescent in his ham-

hand. What now?

Tandy screamed. Her isle was giving way, and she was

toppling into the muck.

Smash aimed the wand like an arrow, ready to hurl it at

the fin.

Tandy's fall stopped midway. She hung suspended at an

angle above the bog, right where Smash was pointing.

"The wand is working!" John cried, amazed and grati-

fied.

Slowly Smash tilted the wand up. Tandy floated, re-

maining in its power. Of course the activated wand had not

moved in his hand before; that wasn't the. way it worked.

Be had to move it—to make some other object respond.

"I'm flying!" Tandy cried.

"He made it work!" the goblin lieutenant exclaimed.

Smash guided Tandy carefully to land and .set her down.

Her feet were muddy and she was panting with reaction,

but she was otherwise unharmed. He knew a spunky little

girl like her would rebound quickly.

The goblin lieutenant rushed up. "Give me that wand,

ogre!"

"Don't do it!" John cried.

200 Ogre, Ogre

But Smash, ever the stupid ogre, blithely handed over

the wand. "It is goblin property," he murmured, forgetting

to rhyme.

The goblin snatched the wand, pointed it at Smash, and

lifted it. Smash did not rise into the air. The wand was not

attuned to the goblin. It remained useless to anyone else,

exactly as it had been when taken from its witch-owner.

Smash had suspected this would be the case.

"But you made it work!" the goblin protested angrily.

"And you tried to turn it against him!" Goldy cried.

"Do you call that goblin honor?"

"Well, he's just a stupid ogre," the goblin muttered.

"What does he know?"

"I'll tell you what he knows!" Goldy flashed. "He's a lot

smarter than—"

"Me smart, at heart," Smash said, interrupting her.

Goldy paused, then exchanged a glance of understanding

with him. "Smarter than the average ogre," she concluded.

The goblin lieutenant formed a crafty expression, too

subtle for the average ogre to fathom. "Very well, ogre.

Teach her how to work the wand, if it's not a fluke." He

gave the wand to Goldy.

So the goblins figured to get the secret from her. Smash

understood perfectly. But he smiled vacuously. "Happily,

me teach she."

"Me?" Goldy asked, surprised. "Smash, you don't really

want to—"

Smash put his huge mitt on her hand. "You have a mind

of your own, chiefs daughter," he murmured. "Use it."

Gently he moved her hand, making the wand ascribe the

letters G G, her initials. Then he stepped back.

"I don't understand," Goldy said, gesturing with the

wand.

Three goblins sailed into the air as the moving wand

pointed at them.

"She's got it!" the goblin lieutenant exclaimed. "Good

enough! Give it here, girl!" He advanced on her.

Goldy pointed the wand at him and lifted it. He rose up

to treetop height. "Give what where, dolt?" she inquired

sweetly.

The lieutenant scrambled with hands and feet, but

Ogre, Ogre 201

merely made gestures in the air. "Get me down, wretch!"

he screamed.

She waved the wand carelessly, causing him to careen in

a high circle. "Do what, who?"

"Youll pay for this, you bi—" The goblin broke off as

he was pitched, upside down, just clear of the bog. A blue

fin cut across and began circling under his nose.

"Smash," Goldy said sweetly, "why don't you and your

friends have a good meal while I try to get the hang of this

wand? I might need some advice, to prevent me from acci-

dentally hurting someone." And the goblin lieutenant spun

crazily, just missing a tree.

"Feed them! Feed them!" the goblin cried. "This crazy

sl—young lady goblin will be the death of me!"

"I might, at that, if I don't learn to manage this thing

better," Goldy agreed innocently. The wand quivered in

her hand, and the goblin did a bone-rattling shake in the

air, almost dropping to within reach of the slavering blue

fin.

The goblins hastily brought out food. Smash stuffed

himself in excellent ogre fashion on strawberry-flavored

cavern mushrooms and curdled sea-cow milk while the

goblin girl experimented with the wand, lifting first one

goblin, then another.

"Let someone else try it!" a goblin suggested craftily.

Goldy glanced at Smash, who nodded. Then she handed

the wand to the first taker.

The wand went dead again. Several goblins tried it, with-

out result. It occurred to Smash that if one of them should

have the inititals G G, as was hardly beyond the reach of

coincidence, the wand might work—but that never hap-

pened. Probably it was not only the key, but the particular

person signing it. Another G G goblin would have to make

his own G G signature. That was a pretty sophisticated

instrument 1

"Give me that," Goldy said, taking it back. It still

worked for her. Once the wand was keyed to a particular

person, it stayed that way. Since the goblins were illiterate,

they never would catch on to the mechanism, most likely.

The meal concluded. Smash rubbed his belly and let out

a resounding belch that blew the leaves off the nearest

bush.

202 Ogre, Ogre

"Well, I can't say it hasn't been fun," Goldy said, offer-

ing the wand back to Smash.

Smash refused it, wordlessly.

"You mean I can keep it?" she asked, amazed.

"Keep it," the Siren said. "I think you will have no trou-

ble getting a suitable husband here now. Probably a chief.

Whatever you choose."

Goldy considered, contemplating the wand. "There is

that. Power is a language we goblins understand somewhat

too well." She faced Smash again. "Ogre, I don't know what

to say. No goblin would have done this for you."

"He's no ordinary ogre," Tandy said, giving Smash's

arm a squeeze. "Keep the wand. Use it well."

"I will," Goldy agreed, and there seemed to be an un-

goblinish tear in her eye. "If any of you folk ever have need

of goblin assistance—"

"Just in getting out of here," Chem said. "Any informa-

tion on the geography to the north would be appreciated."

Goldy gestured toward the lieutenant with the wand.

"Information?"

Hastily the goblins acquainted Chem with what they knew

of the reaches to the north, which wasn't much.

Well fed, the party set out as dusk fell, following the bog

to the river, and the river until it petered out. They camped

near the firewall, snacldng on some leftover mushroom tid-

bits Goldy had arranged to have packed. They would have

to cross the Region of Fire again to get where they were

going, as the goblins had assured them that it went right up

to the land of the griffins, which beasts were hostile to

travelers.

"That was a generous thing you did, Smash," the Siren

said. "You could so readily have kept the wand, especially

after they tried to trick you out of it and use it against

you."

"Goldy had better use for it," Smash said. "Why should

an ogre crave more power?"

"One thing I don't understand," John said. "You say you

were victimized by the Eye Queue vine. That makes you

smarter than an ordinary ogre, whose skull is filled with

bone."

"Correct," Smash agreed uncomfortably.

"But that does not account for your generosity, does it?

Ogre, Ogre

203

You have let the rest of us impose on you, and you did

something really nice for Goldy, and I don't think another

ogre would, not even a smart one. Goblins are like ogres,

only smaller and smarter, and they don't do anything for

anybody."

Smash scratched his head. Still no fleas. "Maybe I got

confused."

"Maybe so," the fairy replied thoughtfully. Tandy and

Chem and the Siren nodded, smiling with that certain fe-

male knowingness that was so annoying.

Chapter 1L Heat Wave

Jmash's Eye Queue would not leave well enough

alone; that was its most annoying trait. He greeted the next

morning with doubts. "How do we know the griffins are

unfriendly?" he asked. "Can we trust the information of

the goblins? We do know the fire is dangerous, on the other

hand."

"We certainly do!" John agreed. "My wings will never

grow back if I keep singeing them! But griffins are pretty

violent creatures and they do eat people."

"Let's travel near the firewall," the Siren suggested.

"That way we can cross over and risk the fire if the grif-

fins turn out to be too ferocious."

They did that. But soon the bog closed in, squeezing

them against the firewall. The colored fins paced them ea-

gerly.

Chem halted. "I think we have to make a decision," she

said as she updated her map-image.

"I'll check the other side," Smash said, setting down the

Siren. He stepped across the firewall.

He was at the edge of the fumaroles, amidst fresh ashes.

Not far north the forest fire continued to rage. There was

no safe passage here!

He saw a shape in the ashes. Curious, he uncovered it. It

was the burned-out remnant of a large tree trunk, still

smoldering. The fall of ashes had smothered it before it

finished its own burning. Smash wondered when a tree of

this size ever had a chance to grow here. Maybe it had

fallen across the firewall from the other side.

Then he bad a notion. He put his gloved hamhands on

204

Ogre, Ogra 205

the charred log and heaved it back through the firewall.

Then he stepped through himself. "A boat," he announced.

"A boat!" Tandy exclaimed, delighted. "Of course!"

They went to work with a will, scraping out ashes and

burned-out fragments and splinters. Then they launched

the dugout craft in the muck. Smash ripped out a sapling

to use as a pole so he could shove their boat forward. He

remembered traveling similarly with Prince Dor. But this

was more challenging, because now he had responsibility

for the party.

The colored fins crowded in as the craft slid through the

bog. At length Smash became annoyed, and used the tip of

his pole to poke at the nearest fin. There was a chomp, and

the pole abruptly shortened.

Angry, Smash reached out with a gauntleted hand and

caught hold of the offending fin. He heaved it out of the

water.

The creature turned out to be flshlike, with strong

flukes and sharp teeth. "What are you?" Smash demanded,

shaking it. The thing was heavy, but Smash had over half

his ogre strength back now and was able; to control his cap-

tive.

"I'm a loan shark, idiot!" the fish responded, and Smash

did not have the wit, until his Eye Queue jogged him

snidely later, to marvel that a fish spoke human language.

"Want to borrow anything? Prompt service, easy terms."

"Don't do it!" John cried. "You borrow from one of

them, it'll take an arm and a leg in return. That's how they

live."

"You have already borrowed part of my pole," Smash

told the shark. "I figure you owe me. I'll take a fin and a

fluke."

"That's not the way it works!" the shark protested. "No

one skins sharks!"

"There is always a first time," Smash said. He had a

fundamental understanding of this kind of dealing. He put

his other hand on the thing's tail and began to pull.

The shark struggled and grunted, but could not free it-

self. "What do you want?" it screamed.

"I want to get out of this bog," Smash said.

"I'll get you out!" The shark was quite accommodating,

now that it was in a bad position. "Just let me go!"

206

Ogre, Ogre

"Don't trust it any farther than you can throw it," John

advised.

Smash was not about to. He used one finger to poke a

hole in the shark's green fin and passed Chem's rope

through it. Then he heaved the creature forward. It landed

with a dull muddy splash before the dugout, the rope pull-

ing taut. "That's as far as I can throw it," Smash said.

The shark tried to swim away, but as it moved, it hauled

the boat along behind. It was not trustworthy, but it seemed

to be seaworthy. Or bogworthy.

"Now you can swim anywhere you want to, Sharky,"

Smash called to it. "But I'll loose the rope only when we

reach the north edge of this bog."

"Help! Help me, brothersi" the shark called to the other

fins that circled near.

"Are you helpless?" one called back. "In that case, I'll be

happy to tear you apart."

"Sharks never help each other," John remarked. "That's

why they don't rule Xanth."

"Ogres don't help each other, either," Smash said. "The

same for most dragons." And he realized that he had suf-

fered another fundamental revelation about the nature of

power. Human beings helped each other, and thus had be-

come a power in Xanth far beyond anything that could be

accounted for by their size or individual magic.

Meanwhile, the loan shark got the message. It was living

on borrowed time, unless it moved. It thrust north, and the

bog fairly whizzed by. Soon they were at the north bank.

They climbed out, and Smash unthreaded the rope. The

shark vanished instantly. No one sympathized with it; it

had for once been treated as it treated others.

But now the griffins came. Probably another shark had

snitched, so the griffins had been alert for the party's ar-

rival. Since the creatures probably intended no good,

Smash stepped quickly across the firewall for a peek at

that situation. He found himself in the middle of the forest

fire. No hope therel

The great bird-headed, lion-bodied creatures lined up, in-

specting the motley group. The monsters were the color of

shoe polish. Then they charged.

Smash reacted automatically. He swung his pole, knock-

ing the first griffin back. Then he dived across the fire-

Ogre, Ogre 207

wall, ripped a burning sapling out of the ground, dived

back, and hurled the flaming mass at the remaining grif-

fins. The sapling was of firewood, which burned even

when green; in a moment the wing feathers of the griffins

were burning.

The monsters squawked and hurled themselves into the

bog to douse the flames. The colored fins of the sharks

clustered close. "You're using our muck!" a shark cried.

"You owe us a wing and a paw!"

The griffins did not take kindly to this solicitation. A

battle erupted. Muck, feathers, and pieces of fin flew out-

ward, and the mud boiled.

Smash and the girls walked northwestward, following the

curve of the firewall, leaving the violence behind. The

landscape was turning nicer, with occasional fruit and nut

trees, so they could feed as they traveled.

The Siren, rested by her tour in the boat and periodic

dippings of her tail, found she could walk now. That light-

ened Smash's burden.

There were birds here, flitting among the trees, picking

at the trunks, scratching into the ground. The farther the

party went, the more there were. Now and then, flocks

darkened the sky. Not only were they becoming more nu-

merous, they were getting larger.

Then a flight of really large birds arrived—the fabulous

rocs. These birds were so big they could pick up a medium-

sized dragon and fly with it. Was their intent friendly or

hostile?

A talking parrot dropped down. "Ho, strangers!" it

hailed them "What melodies bring you to Birdland?"

Smash looked at the parrot. It was all green and red,

with a downcurving beak. "We only seek to pass through,"

he said. "We are going north."

"You are going west," the bird said.

So they were; the gradually curving firewall had turned

them about They reoriented, bearing north.

"Welcome to pass through Birdland," the parrot said.

"There will be a twenty per cent poll tax. One of your

number will have to stay here."

"That isn't fair!" Tandy protested. "Each of us has her

own business."

"We are not concerned with fairness," the poll replied,

208

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

209

while the horrendously huge rocs drifted lower, their enor-

mous talons dangling. "We are concerned with need. We

need people to cultivate our property so there will be more

seeds for us to eat. So we hold a reasonable share of those

who pass."

"A share—for slavery?" Tandy demanded, her spunky

spirit showing again.

"Call it what you will. One of you will stay—or all will

stay. The tax will be paid." And the rocs dropped lower

yet. "Poll your number to determine the one."

Smash knew it would be useless to fight. He might break

the claws of one roc, but another would carry away the

girls. The big birds had too much power. "We'll see," he

said.

Tandy turned on him. "We'll seel You mean you'll go

along with this abomination?"

"We don't have much choice," Smash said, his Eye

Queue once again dominating his better ogre nature. "We'll

just have to cross this land, then decide who will remain."

"You traitor!" Tandy flared. "You coward!"

The Siren tried to pacify her, but Tandy moved away,

her face red and body stiff, and hurled an invisible tan-

trum at Smash. It struck him on the chest, and its impact

was devastating. Smash staggered back, the wind knocked

out of him. No wonder the goblin chief had fallen; those

tantrums were potent!

His head gradually cleared. Smash found himself sitting

down, little clouds of confusion dissipating. Tandy was be-

side him, hugging him as well as she could with her small

arms. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Smash. I shouldn't have done that!

I know you're only trying to be reasonable."

"Ogres aren't reasonable," he muttered.

"It's just that—one of us—how can we ever callously

throw one to the wolves? To the birds, I mean. It just isn't

right!"

"I don't know," he said. "We'll have to work it out."

"I wish we had the wand," she said.

The Siren came to them. "We do have the Ear," she

reminded them.

"There is that," Tandy agreed. "Let me hear it." She

took the Gap Dragon's Ear and listened carefully. "Silent,"

she reported.

Smash took it from her and listened. For him, too, it was

silent. Chem had no better result. "I fear it has gone

dead—or we have no future," she said. "Nowhere to go."

John was the last to listen. Her face brightened. "I hear

something!" she exclaimed. "Singing—fairies singing. There

must be fairies nearby!"

"Well, that's what you're looking for," the Siren said.

"Let's see if they're within Birdland. Maybe we can get

some advice on how to proceed."

There seemed to be nothing better to do. Smash lurched

to his feet, amazed at the potency of Tandy's tantrum; he

still felt weak. An ogress could hardly have hit him harder!

Yet more than that, he marveled at her quick reversal of

mood. She had been almost savagely impetuous—then hu-

manly sorry. Too bad, he mused, she hadn't been bom an

ogress. That tantrum—it also reminded him a bit of one of

his mother's curses.

He shook his head. Foolish fantasy was pointless. He had

to clear his reeling noggin, and get moving, and find

Tandy a good human-type husband so the demon wouldn't

bother her any more. Good Magician Humfrey must have

known that there would be a suitable man for her some-

where in this wilderness, a man she would never encounter

unless she traveled here. Since Smash was passing this way

anyway, it had been easy enough to take her along. The

truth was, she was nice enough company, tiny and temper-

amental as she was. He had not had much company like

that before and was becoming acclimated to it. He knew

this was un-ogrish; maybe such ridiculous feelings would

pass when he got rid of the Eye Queue curse.

They proceeded on, following John, who used the Ear to

orient on the fairies. The rocs paced them; they would not

be able to depart Birdland without paying their poll toll.

One body . . .

Actually, Smash might have a way around that. If he

went back into the gourd and fought the Night Stallion and

lost, his soul would be forfeit pretty soon, and there would

be no point in proceeding north. So in that event, he might

as well stay here himself. The only problem was, how

Would the others survive without him? He had no confi-

dence that they were beyond the worst of the dangers of

central Xanth.

210 Ogre, Ogro

As they continued, they saw more and more birds. Some

were brightly plumed, some drab; some large, some small;

some ferocious of aspect with huge and knifelike beaks,

some meek with soft little feathers. There were bright blue-

birds, dull blackbirds, and brightly dull spotted birds. There

were fat round robins and thin pour-beakers.

They went on. There were ruffled grouse, angrily com-

plaining about things, godwits making profane jokes, sand-

pipers playing little fifes on the beach, black rails lying in

parallel rows on the ground, oven birds doing the morning

baking, mourning doves sobbing uncontrollably, goshawks

staring with amazement, a crane hauling up loads of

stones, and several big old red barn owls filled with hay.

Nearby were grazing cowbirds and cattle egrets, and a cat-

bird was stalking a titmouse, tail swishing.

"Birds are funny folk," the Siren murmured. "I never

realized there was so much variety."

In due course they came to the palace of the Kingbird.

"Better bow good and low," the parrot advised. "His High-

ness the Bird of a Feather, the ruler of Xanth, First on the

Pecking Order, doesn't appreciate disrespect from inferi-

ors."

"Ruler of Xanth!" Chem cried. "What about the cen-

taurs?"

"What about King Trent?" Tandy asked.

"Who?" the parrot asked.

"The human ruler of Xanth, in Castle Roogna."

"Never heard of him. The Kinglpird governs."

Smash realized that to the birds, the bird species domi-

nated Xanth. To the goblins, the goblins governed. The

same was probably true for the dragons, griffins, flies, and

other species. And who could say they were wrong? Each

species honored its own leaders. Smash, an ogre, was quite

ready to be objective about the matter. When in Birdland,

do as the birdbrains did.

He bowed to the Kingbird, as he would have done to the

human King of Xanth. To each his own mark of honor.

The Kingbird was reading a tome titled Avion Artifacts

by Omith O'Logy, and had no interest in the visitors. Soon

Smash's party was on its way again.

They came to a large field filled with pretty flowers.

"These are our birdseed plants," the parrot explained. "We

Ogre, Ogro 211

have wormfarms and fishfarms and funnybonefarms, and

make periodic excursions to Flyland for game, but the bulk

of our food comes from fields like this. We are not apt at

cultivation—birdshot doesn't seem to do well for us—so we

draw on the abilities of lesser creatures like yourselves."

Indeed, Smash saw assorted creatures toiling in the field.

There were a few goblins, an elf, a brownie, a gremlin, a

nixie, and a sprite. They were obviously slaves, yet they

seemed cheerful and healthy enough, acclimated to their

lot.

Then Smash had a notion. "John, listen to the Ear

again."

The fairy did so. "The waterfall noise almost drowns it

out, but I think I hear the fairies close by." She oriented on

the sound, going in the direction it got louder, the others

following. They rounded a gentle hill, descended into a

waterfall-fed gully, and came across the fairies.

They were mending feathers. It seemed some of the

birds were too impatient to wait for new feathers to grow,

so they had the damaged ones repaired. Only fairies could

do such delicate work. Each had a little table with tiny

tools, so that the intricate work could be done. And most of

them had damaged wings.

"The birds—" Tandy said, appalled. "They crippled the

fairies so they can't fly away!"

"Not so," the parrot said. "We do not mutilate our work-

ers, because then they get depressed and do a poor job.

Rather, we offer sanctuary for those who are dissatisfied

elsewhere. Most of these fairies were cast out of Fairy-

land."

Tandy was suspicious. She approached the nearest work-

ing fairy. "Is this true?" she asked. "Do you like it here?"

The fairy was a male, finely featured in the manner of

his kind. He paused, looking up from his feather. "Oh, it's

a living," he said. "Since I lost my wings, I couldn't make

it in Fairyland. So I have to settle for what I can get. No

monsters attack me here, no one teases me for my wing

handicap, there's plenty of food, and the work is not ar-

duous. I'd rather be flying, of course—but let's be realistic.

Ill never fly again."

Smash saw one fairy down the line with undamaged

212

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

213

wings. "What about him?" he asked. "Why doesn't he fly

away?"

The fairy frowned. "He has a private complaint. Don't

bother him."

But Smash was in pursuit of his notion. "Would it relate

to his name?"

"Look," the fairy said, "we aren't trying to aggravate

your condition, so why do you bother us? Leave him

alone."

John had caught on. "Oh, Smash—I'm afraid to ask!"

"I'm an insensitive ogre," Smash said. "I'll ask." He

tromped over to the fairy in question. "Me claim he name,"

he said in his stupid fashion.

The fairy naturally assumed the ogre was as dull as he

was supposed to be. It was all right to tell secrets to stupid

folk, because they didn't know enough to laugh. "I am

called Joan," he said. "Now go away, monster."

Smash dropped his pretense. "That must be as embar-

rassing for you as intelligence is for an ogre," he said.

Joan's eyes widened and his wings trembled, causing the

cloud pattern on them to roil. "Yes," he agreed.

Smash signaled to John. Diffidently, she approached.

"Here is the one who got your name, or one letter of it,"

Smash said. "Trade him your H for his A, and both of you

will be restored."

The two fairies looked at each other. "Joan?" John

asked. "John?" Joan asked.

"I suspect the two of you are the same age, and took

delivery of your names by the same carrier," Smash said.

"Probably the Paste Orifice; it always gums things up. You

should compare notes."

Joan reached out and took John's hand. Smash was no

proper judge of fairy appearance, but it seemed to him that

Joan was quite a handsome young male of his kind, and

John was certainly pretty, except for her lost wings. Here

in Birdland that particular injury did not count for much.

The two of them seemed almost to glow as their hands

touched.

Chem and Tandy and the Siren had joined Smash.

"What is that?" Tandy asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Chem said. "I've read of this effect, but never

hoped to see it It's the glow of love at first touch."

"Then—" Smash said, in a burst of realization that he

had suppressed until this moment. "They were destined for

each other. That's why their names were confused. To

bring them eventually together."

"Yes!" the centaur agreed. "I think John—I suppose it's

Joan now—will be staying here in Birdland."

So the fairy's solution was the group's solution! One of

their number would remain—happily. How neatly it had

worked out. But of course that was the way of destiny,

which was never the coincidence it seemed.

They made their acknowledgments of parting and left

their fairy friend to her happy fate. The birds, satisfied, let

them go.

Their best route north, the parrot assured them, was

through the Water Wing. There were very few monsters

there, and the distance to the northern border of Xanth was

not great.

They agreed to that route. They had already encountered

more than enough monsters, and since the birds assured

them there were no fires or earthquakes in the Water

Wing, the trek should be easy enough. Besides, the Ear had

the sound of rainfall, which suggested their immediate fu-

ture.

John/Joan hurried up as they were about to cross the

border. "Here is a heat wave," she said. "My fiance had it for

when he left Birdland, but now he won't be needing it. Just

unwrap it when the time comes."

"Thank you," Smash said. He took the heat wave. It

seemed to be a wire curved in the shape of a wave, and

was sealed in a transparent envelope.

The girls hugged their friend good-bye, and Smash

extended his littlest hamfinger so the fairy could shake

hands with him Then they stepped across the border,

braced for anything.

Anything was what they got. They were in a drench-

pour. Not for nothing was this called the Water Wing by

the birds! There was ground underfoot, but it was hard to

see because of the ceaseless blast of rain.

Chem brought out her rope, and they tied themselves

together again—centaur, Tandy, Siren, and ogre, sloshing

north in a sloppy line. Smash had to breathe in through bis

214 Ogre, Ogre

clenched teeth to strain, the water out. Fortunately, the wa-

ter was not cold; this was a little like swimming.

After an hour, they slogged uphill. The rain thinned as

they climbed, but the air also cooled, so they did not gain

much comfort. In due course the water turned to sleet, and

then to snow.

The poor girls were turning blue with cold. It was time

for the heat wave. Smash unwrapped the wire. Immedi-

ately heat radiated out, suffusing the immediate region,

bringing comfort to each of them. The fairy's present had

been well considered, for all that it had been an accident of

circumstance.

Slowly the snow stopped falling, but the climb continued.

This was a mountain they were on, blanketed with snow.

By nightfall they still had not crested it, and had to camp

on the slope.

They were all hungry, and Smash was ravenous, so he

gave the Siren the heat wave and headed out into the snow

to forage. He found some flavored icicles in a crevice-cave

and chased a snow rabbit, but couldn't catch it. So he

headed back with the icicles; they were only a token, but

somewhat better than nothing. They would have to do.

It was colder out here then he had figured. His breath

fogged out before him, and the fog iced over and coated

him, making rum a creature of ice. His feet turned numb,

and his fingers, too. He hardly knew where his nose

stopped and the ice began; when he snorted, icicles flew

out like arrows.

Now he slowed, feeling lethargic. Wind came up, cutting

into his flesh, buffeting him about so that he stumbled. He

dropped cumbersomely to the ground, his fall cushioned by

the snow. He intended to get up, as it was now far downhill

to their camp, but it was more comfortable just to lie there

for a little longer. His Eye Queue cried warning, but after

a while that, too, faded out, and Smash slept.

He dreamed he saw Tandy's father, the soldier Crombie,

whirling around in his fashion and pointing his finger. The

finger stopped, pointing north. But what was it pointing to?

Smash remembered Crombie had said Tandy would lose

three things; that must be where it would happen.

Then Smash was being hauled awake. That was much

less comfortable than drifting to sleep bad been. His ex-

Ogre, Ogre 215

tremities hurt, burning like fire and freezing like ice simul-

taneously; his head felt like thawed carrion, and his belly

Was roasting as if he were mounted on a spit over a fire.

He groaned horrendously, because that was what ogres did

when roasted on a spit over a fire.

"He's alive!" a voice cried joyfully.

As Smash recovered more fully, he learned what had

happened. He had frozen on the slope. Alarmed at his fail-

ure to return, the girls bad organized a search party and

located him. He was as stiff as ice, because that was what

he had become. They had feared him dead, but had put the

heat wave on his belly and thawed him. Ogres, it seemed,

were freeze-storable.

Now that he was awake, it was time to sleep. They set-

tled down around the heat wave, Tandy choosing to rest

her head against Smash's furry forearm. Ah, well, that was

harmless, probably. "I'm glad we got you thawed,

monster," she murmured. "I'm not letting you out alone

again!"

"Ogres do get into trouble," he agreed. It was strange to

imagine anyone watching out for him, and stranger yet to

imagine that he might need this attention, but it seemed he

did, on occasion.

In the night there was a horrendous roar. Smash, dream-

ing again—he tended to do that when asleep—thought it

was an ogress and smiled a huge grimace. But the three

girls bolted up, terrified.

"Wake up, Smash!" Tandy whispered urgently. "A

monster's coming!"

But Smash, in a dream-daze, hardly stirred. He had no

fear of the most horrendous ogress.

The monster stamped near, eyes glowing, teeth gleam-

ing, breath fogging out in dank, cold clouds. It was pure

white, and every hair seemed to be an icicle.

"Smash!" Tandy hissed. "It's an abom—abom—an awful

Snowman! Help!"

The Snowman looked over them, as pale as a snowstorm.

It reached out to grab the nearest edible thing. The girls

cowered behind Smash, who was mostly covered by a nice

snow blanket, so that little of him showed. This snow was

not nearly as cold as that of the rest of the mountain, be-

cause this was near the heat wave; he was comfortable

216 Ogre, Ogre

enough. But it deceived the Snowman, who -caught hold of

Smash's nose and yanked.

Ouch! Suddenly Smash woke up all the way. A truly

ogrish rage shook him. He reached up one huge, hairy arm

and grabbed the snow monster by the throat.

The Snowman was amazed. He had never encountered a

worse monster than himself before. He had not known any-

thing like that existed. He did not know how to deal with

this situation.

Fortunately, Smash knew how to deal with it. He stood

up, not letting go, and shook the hapless monster.

"Growrl" he growled, and dropped the creature on top of

the heat wave.

There was a bubbling and hissing as the Snowman's pos-

terior converted from ice to steam in one foop. The mon-

ster sailed into the ah- and shot out of there like a gust from

a gale. Smash didn't bother to pursue; he knew better than

to stray from the vicinity of the heat wave again. He was

no Snowmani

"It will be a long time before that creature bothers trav-

elers again," Chem remarked with private satisfaction.

"Yes, we have adverse monster on our side," Tandy said,

patting Smash's knee. She seemed to like the notion.

Smash was just glad he had enough of his strength back

to handle such things as snow monsters. But soon he would

have to meet the Night Stallion and put it all on the line.

He had better get the girls beyond these dangerous wilder-

ness regions of Xanth first, just in case.

Once more they settled down to sleep, grouping closely

around the heat wave. By morning it had melted them

deep into the snow, so that they were in a cylindrical well.

There seemed to be no bottom to this layer of snow; was

the whole mountain made of it? That could be, since this

was the Water Wing, and snow was solidified water.

Smash bashed out a ramp to the surface, and the party

resumed the trek. They were all hungry now, but had to be

satisfied with mouthfuls of snow.

As they entered the icy ridge of the mountain, the sun

melted the remaining clouds and bore down hard on the

snow. The snow began to melt. Smash put the heat wave

back in its envelope, but soon they were sloshing through

slush anyway.

Ogre, Ogre 217

Then the slush turned to water, and the slope became a

river flowing over ice. They tried to keep to their feet, but

the entire mountain seemed to be dissolving. The treacher-

ous surface gave way beneath them and washed them all

helplessly along in the torrent.

Chem seemed to be able to handle herself satisfactorily

in the water; and, of course, the Siren assumed her mer-

maid form and swam like a fish. But Tandy was in trouble

because of the sheer rush of water. She could swim well

enough in level water, but this was a cataract.

Smash tried to swim to her, but got bogged down him-

self. He was not really a strong swimmer; he normally

waded or whomped through water. But right now he was

not at full strength and had been frozen and thawed. This

water was becoming too deep and violent for him.

Too much indeed! Smash gulped for air—and got water

instead. He coughed and gasped and sucked in a replace-

ment lungful—only to fill up the rest of the way with wa-

ter.

This was awful! He clawed at his throat, trying foolishly

to clear the water while his body struggled for air. But it

was no good. The torrent was all about him, finding excel-

lent purchase against his brute body, and he could not

breathe.

The agony of suffocation became unbearable. Then

something snapped, like the lid of his head, and half his

consciousness departed. Smash gave himself up for lost.

But it seemed to him that it had been more comfortable to

be frozen than to be drowned.

Then he was calm, accepting the inevitable. It was, after

all, halfway pleasant doing without air. Maybe this wasn't

really worse than freezing. He drifted with the slowing cur-

rent, relieved, feeling like loose seaweed. How nice just to

float forever free.

Then something was tugging fretfully at him. It was the

mermaid. She wrapped her arms about one of his and

threshed violently with her tail, drawing him forward. But

his mass was too much for her. Progress slowed; she needed

air herself, with all this exertion. She let him go, and Smash

sank blissfully to the depths while she shot up toward the

surface.

Slowly he became aware of more tugging, this time on

218 Ogre, Ogre

both arms. He tried to shake himself free, but his arms did

not respond. He watched himself being drawn upward

from the gloom to the light. There seemed to be two fig-

ures drawing him, one on each arm, each with a fish-tail—

but maybe he was seeing double.

Smash was not sure how long or far he was dragged;

time was compressed or dilated for him. But he became

aware that he was on a sandy beach, with a nightmare

tromping her hooves on his back. He was mistaken. It was

a filly centaur; Chem was treading the water out of his

body. The experience was almost as bad as vomiting out all

the Stallion manure, after that sequence in the gourd. Al-

most.

In due course Smash recovered enough to sit up. He

coughed another bucket or two of water out of his lungs.

"You rescued me," he accused the Siren.

"I tried," she said. "But you were too heavy—until Mor-

ris helped."

"Morris?"

"Hi, monster!" someone called from the water.

It was a triton. Now Smash understood why there had

seemed to be two merfolk hauling him along. The Siren

and Morris the Merman.

"We lost the Ear and the heat wave, but we saved you,"

the Siren said. "And Chem rescued Tandy."

Now Smash saw Tandy, who was lying face-down on the

sand. The centaur was now kneading her back, using hands

instead of hooves. "You breathed water, too?" Smash

asked.

Tandy raised her head. "Ungh," she agreed squishily.

"Did you—float?"

"When I sank," he answered. "If that's what dying is

like, it's not bad."

"Let's not talk about death," Chem said. "This is too

nice a place for that. I'm already upset about losing the

Ear."

"Not more upset about that than I am with me for losing

the heat wave," the Siren said.

"Maybe you should have thrown Smash and me back

and saved the magic items," Tandy said, forcing a watery

smile.

"It was fated that we lose them," Smash said, remember-

Ogre, Ogre

219

ing his dream. "Soldier Crombie said Tandy would lose

three things, and our loss is her loss."

"That's true!" Tandy agreed. "But what's the third

thing?"

Smash shrugged. "We don't have any third thing to lose.

Maybe two covers it."

"No, my father always points things out right. We've lost

something else, I'm sure. We just don't know what it is."

"Maybe one of you should stay and look for the lost

items," the merman said. He was a sturdy male of middle

age, roughly handsome. It was evident that he could not

make legs and walk on land the way the Siren could- he

Was a full triton. '

"Maybe one of us should," the Siren said thoughtfully.

After that, it feU naturally into place. This was a pleas-

ant^ region on the fringe of the Water Wing, where the

drainage from the snow mountain became a lake that

spread into the mainstream wilderness of Xanth. There was

a colony of merfolk here, mostly older, scant of maids. It

looked very promising for the Siren.

Chapter 12. Visible Void

The three of them—Smash, Tandy, and Chem—

proceeded north to the border of the Void, the last of

the special regions of central Xanth. "There is great sig-

nificance to these five elemental regions," Chem said.

"Historically, the five elements—Air, Earth, Fire, Water,

and the Void—have always been mainstays of magic. So it

is fitting that they be represented in central Xanth, and I'm

extremely gratified to get them on my map."

"These have been good adventures," Smash agreed. "But

just what is the Void? The other elements make sense, but

I can't place that one."

"I don't know," the centaur admitted. "But I'm eager to

find out. I don't think this region has ever been mapped

before by anyone."

"Now is certainly the time," Tandy said. "I hope it's not

as extreme as the others were."

Chem brought out her rope. "Let's not gamble on that! I

should have tied us when the snow mountain turned to

slush, but it happened so fast—"

They linked themselves together as they approached the

line. It was abrupt. On the near side the pleasant terrain of

the merfolk's lake spread southward. On the far side was

nothing they could perceive.

"I'm the lightest," Tandy said. "I'll go first. Pull me

back if I fall into a hole." She smoothed back her slightly

scorched and tangled brown hair and stepped across the

formidable line.

Smash and Chem waited. The rope kept playing out,

220

Ogre, Ogre 221

slowly; obviously Tandy was walking, not falling, and not

in any trouble. "Is it all right, Tandy?" the centaur called

rhetorically.

There was no answer. The rope continued to move. "Can

you hear me? Please answer," Chem called, her brow

wrinkling.

Now the slack went taut. Chem stood her ground, refus-

ing to be drawn across the line. Smash tried to peer into the

Void, but could see nothing except a vague swirl of fog,

from this side.

"I think I'd better pull her back," Chem said, swishing

her brown tail nervously. It, too, was somewhat bedraggled

as a result of then" recent adventures. "I'm not sure any-

thing is wrong; maybe she just doesn't hear me."

Chem hauled. There was resistance. She hesitated, not

wanting to apply unreasonable force. "What do you think,

Smash?"

Smash put his Eye Queue to work, but it seemed slug-

gish this time. His logic was fuzzy, his perception confused.

"I don't—seem to have much of an opinion," he confessed.

She glanced back at him, surprised. "No opinion? You,

with your un-ogrish intelligence? Surely you jesti"

"It best me jest," Smash agreed amicably.

She peered closely at him. "Smash—what happened to

your Eye Queue? I don't see the stigma on your head."

Smash touched the fur of his scalp. It was smooth; there

was no trace of roughness. "No on; it gone," he said.

"Oh, no! It must have been washed out when you

nearly drowned! That's the third thing we've lost—your

intelligence. That certainly affects Tandy's prospects here.

You're back to being stupid!"

Smash was appalled. Just when he needed intelligence,

he had lost it! What would he do now in a crisis?

The centaur was similarly concerned, but she had an an-

swer. "We'll have to use my intelligence for us both,

Smash. Are you willing to follow my lead, at least until we

get through the Void?"

That seemed to make sense to Smash. "She lead, me

accede."

"I'll try to haul her back." Chem drew harder on the

rope, and, of course, she had the mass to do it. Suddenly it

222 Ogre, Ogre

went slack, and the loose end of it slid back across the line.

"Oh, awful!" the centaur exclaimed, dismayed. She

switched her tail violently in vexation. "We've lost her!"

"Oh, awful," Smash echoed, since his originality had dis-

sipated with his intellect. What had happened to Tandy?

"I think I'd better step partway across so I can look

without committing myself," she decided. "You stay on this

side—and don't let me cross all the way. After a minute, if

I don't back out, you haul me out, slowly. Agreed?"

"Me agree, assuredly," he said. He was furious at the

Eye Queue for deserting him in his hour of need. Of course

he had intended to get rid of the curse—but not just yet.

Not at the brink of the Void. Now he was liable to do

something ogrishly idiotic, and cost his friends their lives.

Even his rhyming seemed ludicrous now; what was the

point in it? Not until the curse of the Eye Queue had de-

scended on him had he appreciated how stupid a typical

ogre seemed—just a hulking brute, too dull to do more

than smash things. Indeed, his very name.

The centaur poked her forepart cautiously through the

border. It disappeared into the swirl. Smash felt very much

alone, though her hindquarters remained with him. He

marveled that a human girl as smart and pretty as Tandy

could have any interest in him, even as an animal friend. It

must have been the Eye Queue that appealed to her, the

intelligence manifesting in the oddest of hosts, the sheer

anomaly of the bone-headed genius. Her interest would dis-

sipate the moment she discovered what had happened.

That, of course, was best; it would free her full attention

for her ideal human-type man, whoever and wherever he

might be. Yet Smash remained disquieted.

The fact was, he. realized now, the curse had had its

positive aspect. Like the curse of the moon that human

females labored under—one of the things that distinguished

them from nymphs—it was awkward and inconvenient,

but carried the potential for an entirely new horizon. Fe-

males could regenerate their kind; the Eye Queue enabled a

person to grasp far broader aspects of reality. Now, having

experienced such aspects, he would be returned to his for-

mer ignorance.

A minute had passed and gone some distance beyond,

and Chem had not backed out. In fact, she was trying to

Ogre, Ogra 223

proceed the rest of the way across the line. Smash knew he

had to stop that; even if he was now too stupid to perceive

the danger in committing oneself to a potential course-of-

no-retum, he remembered the centaur's orders. "Me take

up slack, haul she back," he said, inwardly condemning his

ogrish crudity of expression. He might be stupid; did he

have to advertise it so blatantly?

That started another chain of thought. Part of the

vaunted dullness of ogres was not because of the fact, but

because they insisted on the distinguishing characteristic of

expression. He could have said, "Because my friend the

filly centaur, a decent and intelligent person with a useful

magic graphological talent, may be in difficulty, I am re-

quired to exert myself according to her expressed wish and

draw her gently but firmly back across the demarcation

between territories. Then we shall consider how best to pro-

ceed." Instead, he had spouted the idiotic ditty in the ludi-

crous manner of his kind. Surely the Eye Queue vine had

been as much of a curse in its untimely departure as in its

arrival!

There was resistance. Either Chem didn't want to come

back, or something was hauling her forward. Smash drew

harder on the rope, but the centaur braced forward, fight-

ing it. Something was definitely amiss. Even an idiot could

tell thati Smash was tempted to give one monstrous tug on

the rope and haul her back head over tail, as an ordinary

ogre would, but several things restrained him. First, her

mass was similar to his own; he might lose his footing and

yank himself across the line, in the wrong direction. Sec-

ond, the rope was bound about her humanoid waist, which

was delicately narrow; too harsh a force could hurt her.

Third, he was not at full strength, so he might not be able to

move her effectively even if properly anchored.

Then the rope went slack. Chem, too, was proceeding

unfettered into the Void.

Smash dived for her disappearing rump, his ogrish ac-

tion preceding his inadequate thought. He was too late. She

crossed the line. Only her tail flicked back momentarily, as

if flicking free a fly.

Smash caught the tail and worked his way along it, hand

over hand. Her forward impetus hauled him right up to the

224 Ogre, Ogre

line; then he got his balance, dug -his toes in, and brought

the centaur and himself to a halt.

Now he exerted what remained of his power and drew

her back. It sufficed; slowly her rump reappeared. When

he got her hind legs across, he shifted his grip carefully,

picked up her two feet, and wheelbarrowed her backward.

She could not effectively resist, with her feet off the

ground.

At last he got her all the way across. She was intact.

That relieved one concern. "Tell why she untie," he

grunted, not letting her go.

Chem seemed dazed, but soon reorganized herself. "It's

not what you think, Smash. It's beautiful in the Void! All

mist and fog and soft meadows, and herds of centaurs

grazing—"

Smash might be stupid, but not that stupid. "She still in

daze. Centaurs no graze."

Her eyes rounded, startled. "Why, that's right! Sea cows

graze. Water-horses graze. Black sheep graze. Centaurs eat

in human fashion. What am I thinking of?"

Perhaps she had seen a herd of grazing animals and

jumped to a conclusion. But that was of little moment at

the moment. "That is dandy. Where is Tandy?"

"Oh, Tandy! I didn't see her." Chem was chagrined. "I

crossed the line to seek her and was so distracted by the

beauty of the region that I forgot my mission. I'm not

usually that flighty!"

True enough. Chem was a filly with all four hooves on

the ground. She was less aggressive than her father Chester

and less imperious than her mother Cherie, but still had

qualities of determination and stability that were to be

commended. It was entirely unlike her to act in an impetu-

ous or thoughtless manner.

Now something else occurred to Smash. There were var-

ious kinds of magic springs in Xanth that trapped the un-

wary. Some caused a person to fall in love with the first

creature of the opposite sex he or she saw; that was how

the species of centaur had originated. Some caused a per-

son to turn into a fish. Some healed a person's wounds

instantly and cleanly, as if they had never been. Had the

group encountered one of those before, John the Fairy

Ogre, Ogre

225

would have been able to restore her lost wings. And some

springs caused a person to forget.

"She get wet, she forget?" he asked, wishing he could

voice his concern more eloquently. Damn his bonehead!

"Wet?" Chem was perplexed. "Oh—you mean as in a

lethe-spring? No, I didn't forget in that fashion, as you can

see, and I'm sure Tandy didn't. For one thing, there was no

spring nearby, certainly not within range of the rope. It's

something else. It's just such lovely land, so pleasant and

peaceful, I simply had to explore it. Nothing else seemed

important, somehow. I knew that farther in there would be

even more wonder, and—" She paused. "And I just

couldn't step back. I realize that was very foolish of me.

But I'm sure that place is safe. No monsters or natural

hazards, I mean."

Smash remained doubtful. Tandy was gone, and Chem

had almost been gone. It had been no simple distraction of

mind that kept her there; she had untied her safety rope

and resisted his pullback with all her might. Yet she

seemed to be in full possession of her faculties now.

Tandy must have been similarly seduced. She now was

wary of the easy paths leading to tanglers and ant-lion

lairs, but would not have experienced this particular in-

ducement. Instead of being an easy access path to a pleas-

ant retreat, this was an entire landscape that lured one in.

Was that why it was called the Void—because no one ever

returned from it, so that nothing was known about it?

If that were so, how could they leave Tandy to its merci-

less mercy? She needed to be rescued immediatelyl

"As I see it," Chem said, "we shall have to go in and

look for Tandy and try to bring her out. We risk getting

trapped ourselves—not, I think, by some monster, but by

the sheer delight of the region. We won't want to leave."

She flicked her tail, perturbed. "I realize this is a lot to ask

of you now. Smash, but do you have any opinion?"

How ironic! If the curse had stayed with him just a little

longer, he could have marshaled its formidable power and

expressed an eloquently cogent and relevant thought that

might completely clarify their troubled course. Something

like: "Chem, I suggest you employ your three-dimensional

holographic map-projection to chart the Void as we explore

226 Ogre, Ogre

it, so that not only will we be able to orient more specifi-

cally on Tandy's most likely course, we shall also have no

difficulty finding our way out again." But the curse had

left him, so that he had become too stupid to think of that,

let alone express it. All that actually came out was, "Make

map, leave trap."

"Map? Trap?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "I do

want to chart the Void, as I do everything, but I don't see

how—"

Sure enough, he had not gotten through. He tried again.

"Find way, no stay."

"Use my magic map to find our way out?" She bright-

ened. "Of course! We can't get lost if I keep it current. I'll

mark a dotted line; then we can follow it back if there is

any problem. That's a very good idea, Smash." She said it

comfortingly, as one would to a dull child. And, of course,

intellectually, that was what he was. What he had been

when infected by the weed of smartness was of no present

relevance; he had to accept the reality, depressing as it now

seemed. He was not, and never would be, inherently intelli-

gent. He was, after all, an ogre.

That would definitely solve one problem, he thought.

Tandy might have taken a certain girlish fancy to him—

but it had been the enhancement of his intellect provided

by the Eye Queue that appealed to her. Now that he was

back to normal, she would properly regard him as the ani-

mal he was. That was certainly best—though, somehow, he

was too stupid to appreciate the nicety of it fully. He had,

in fact, been somewhat puffed up by her attention, unde-

served as it was, and had rather enjoyed her company, the

flattery of her uncritical nearness. He did not relish the

prospect of going his way alone again. But of course he

had no choice. An ogre went the ogre's way.

"Let's try it," Chem said, coiling her rope. "Let's keep

each other in sight, and call out any special things we see.

Our object is to locate Tandy and then to bring us all out

on the north side of the Void. Do you agree?"

"Good stratagem, centaur femme," he agreed inanely.

She smiled briefly, and he saw how nervous she was.

She was afraid of what they were about to encounter in the

Void, pleasant though it seemed. She knew their perspec-

Ogre, Ogre ?27

fives would change the moment they crossed the line, and

that they might never return. "Wish us luck, monster."

"Luck, Chem, pro tern," he said.

They stepped across the line together.

Chem had been correct. The landscape was even,

slightly sloping down ahead, with low-hanging clouds cruis-

ing by. The ground was covered with lush turf that seemed

innocent and bad a fragrant odor, with pretty little flowers

speckled through it. Certainly there was no obvious danger.

And that, he feared, was the most obvious danger of all.

Now Chem generated her magic map. The image ap-

peared in the air by her head. But this time it expanded

enormously, rapidly overlapping the terrain they stood on,

so that the features of the Land of Xanth in image passed

by them both. Mountains, lakes, and the Gap Chasm—

apparently her map was not affected by the forget-spell on

the Gap, an item of possible significance—rushed by them.

Then trees and streams became large enough to be seen

individually, and even occasional animals, frozen as re-

corded yet seeming to move because of the expansion of

the map. "Hey, it's not supposed to do that!" she protested.

"It's turning life-size!"

Obviously the map was careering out of control. Smash

wondered why that should happen here. If only he had his

Eye Queue back, he would be able to realize that this was

surely no coincidence, and that it related in some funda-

mental way to the ultimate nature of the Void. He might

even conjecture that the things of the mind, whether ani-

mated in the form of a map or remaining inchoate, had

considerable impact on the landscape of the Void. Perhaps

the interaction between the two created a region of ani-

mated imagination that could be a lot of fun, but might

also pose considerable threats to sanity if it got out of con-

trol. Perhaps no purely physical menace lurked within the

Void, but rather, the state of mental chaos that might pre-

vail when no aspects of physical reality intruded upon or

limited the generation of fanciful imagery. But naturally a

mere stupid ogre could in no way appreciate the tiniest

portion of such a complex conjecture, so Smash was obli-

vious. He hoped this foolish oblivion would not have seri-

ous consequences. Ignorance was not necessarily bliss, as

any smart creature would know.

228 Ogre, Ogre

Chem, confused by her map's misbehavior, turned it off.

Then she tried it again, concentrating intently. This time it

expanded from its point source, then contracted to pinpoint

size, gyrating wildly, until it steadied down around the size

she wanted it. She was learning new control, and this was

just as well, for lack of discipline might be extraordinarily

troublesome here.

"See, there are the grazing centaurs," Chem said, point-

ing ahead.

Smash looked. He saw a tribe of grazing ogres. Again, if

only he had retained the curse of intelligence, he might

have comprehended that another highly significant aspect

of this region was manifesting. Chem perceived one non-

sensical thing, and he perceived another. That suggested

that the preconceptions of the viewer defined in large part

what that viewer saw; there was not necessarily any objec-

tive standard here. Reality, literally, was something else. In

this case, perhaps, a herd of irrelevant creatures was graz-

ing, neither centaurs nor ogres.

If this were so, he might have continued his thought,

how could they be certain that anything they saw here was

not a kind of illusion? Tandy could be lost in a world of

altered realities and not realize it. Since Chem and Smash

also were in altered states of perception, the problem of

locating Tandy might be immensely more complicated than

anticipated. But he, a dull ogre, would merely blunder on,

heedless of such potential complications.

"Something funny here," Chem said. "We know cen-

taurs don't graze."

"It seem a dream," Smash said, trying vainly to formu-

late the concept he knew he could not master without the

curse of intellect.

"Illusion!" Chem exclaimed. "Of course! We're seeing

other creatures that only look like centaurs." She was

smart, as all centaurs were; she caught on quickly.

'" But she didn't have it all yet. "Me no see centaur she,"

he said clumsily.

"You see something else? Not centaurs?" Again her

brow furrowed. "What do you see, Smash?"

Smash tapped his own chest.

"Oh, you see ogres. Yes, I suppose that makes sense. I

Ogre, Ogre 229

see my kind, you see yours. But how can we see what is

really there?"

This was far too much for him to figure out. If only he

had his Eye Queue back, he might be able to formulate a

reversal of perspective that would cancel out the mind-

generated changes and leave only the undisturbed truth.

Perhaps a kind of cross-reference grid, contrasting Chem's

perceptions with his own, eliminating the differences. She

saw centaurs, he saw ogres—obviously each saw his own

kind, so that was suspect. Both saw a number of individu-

als, so there the perceptions aligned and were probably ac-

curate. Both saw the creatures grazing, which suggested

they were, in fact, grazing animals, equine, caprine, bovine,

or other. Further comparison on an organized basis, per-

haps mapping the distinctions on a variant of Chem's

magic map, would in due course yield a close approxima-

tion of the truth, whatever it might be.

Of course, it might be that there was nothing. That even

their points of agreement were merely common fancies, so

that the composite image would be that illusion that was

mutually compatible. It just might be, were the fundamen-

tal truth penetrated, that what remained in the Void was—

nothing. The absence of all physical reality. Creatures

thought, therefore they existed—yet perhaps even their

thinking was largely illusion. So maybe the thinkers them-

selves did not exist—and the moment they realized this,

they ceased to exist. The Void was—void.

But without his mental curse he wouldn't see any of

that, and perhaps this was just as well. If he were going to

imagine anything, he should start with the Eye Queue vine!

But he would have to use it cautiously, lest the full power

of his enhanced intellect succeed only in abolishing himself.

He needed to preserve the illusion of existence long enough

to rescue Tandy and get them out of the Void, so that their

seeming reality became actual. "Me need clue to find Eye

Queue," he said regretfully.

Chem took him literally, which was natural enough,

since she knew he now lacked the wit to speak figuratively.

"You think there are Eye Queue vines growing around

here? Maybe I can locate them on my map."

She concentrated, and the suspended map brightened.

Parts of it became greener than others. "I can't usually

place items I haven't actually seen," she murmured. "But

sometimes I can interpolate, extrapolate from experience

and intuition. I think there could be such vines—here." She

pointed to one spot on her map, and a marker-glow ap-

peared there. "Though they may be imaginary, just ordi-

nary plants that we happen to see as Eye Queues."

Smash was too stupid to appreciate the distinction. He

set off in the direction indicated by the map. The centaur

followed, keeping the map near him so he could refer to it

at need. In short order he was there—and there they were,

the dangling, braided eyeball vines, each waiting to curse

some blundering creature with its intelligence and percep-

tion.

He grabbed one and set it on his head. It writhed and

sank in immediately. How far had he sunk, to inflict so

eagerly this curse upon himself!

His intelligence expanded, much as the centaur's map

had. Now he grasped many of the same notions he had

wished to grasp before. He saw one critical flaw in the

technique of using a cross-reference grid to establish real-

ity: turned on his own present curse of intelligence, it

would probably reveal his smartness to be illusion. Since

Smash needed that intelligence to rescue Tandy, he elected

not to pursue that course. It would be better to use the

devices of perspective to locate Tandy first, then explore

their unreal mechanisms when the loss of such mechanisms

no longer mattered. It would also be wise not to ponder the

intricacies of his own personal existence.

What would be the best way to find her? If her foot-

prints glowed, it would be easy to track her. But he was

now far too smart to believe that anything so coincidentally

convenient could exist.

The centaur, however, might be deceivable. "I suspect

there could be some visible evidence of the passage of out-

siders," he remarked. "We carry foreign germs, alien sub-

stances from other magic regions. There could be interac-

tions, perhaps a small display of illumination—"

"Smash!" she exclaimed. "It worked! You're smart

again!"

"Yes, I thought it might."

"But it's illusion. The Eye Queue is only imaginary!

How can it have a real effect?"

"What can affect the senses can also affect the mind,"

Smash explained. She had seemed so smart a moment ago.

Now, from the lofty vantage of his restored intelligence,

she seemed a bit slow. Certainly it was stupid of her to

attempt to explain away his mental power, for that would

put them right back in the morass of incompetence. He had

to persuade her—before she persuaded him. "In Xanth,

things are mostly what they seem to be. For example,

Queen Iris's illusions of light enable her to see in the dark;

her illusion of distant vision enables her to see people who

are otherwise too far away. Here in the Void, in contrast,

things are what they seem not to be. It is possible to finesse

these appearances to our advantage, and to generate reali-

ties that serve our interests. Do you perceive the foot-

prints?"

She looked, dismayed by his confusing logic. "I—do,"

she said, surprised. "Mine are disks, yours are paw-prints.

Mine glow light brown, like my hide; yours glow black, like

yours." She looked up. "Am I making any sense at all?

How can a print glow black?"

"What other color befits an ogre?" he asked. He did not

see the prints, but did not remark on that "Now we must

cast about for Tandy's prints." He cracked the briefest

smile. "And hope they do not wail."

"Yes, of course," she agreed. "They must originate

where we crossed the line: that's the place to intercept

them." She started back—and paused. "That's funny."

"What's funny?" Smash was aware that the Void was

tricky and potentially dangerous. If Chem began to catch

on to its ultimate nature, he would have to divert her in a

hurry. Their very existence could depend on it.

"I seem to be up against a wall. It's intangible, but it

balks me."

A wall. That was all right; that was a physical obstacle,

not an intellectual one, therefore much less dangerous.

Much better to wrestle that sort of thing. Smash moved to

join her—and came up against the wall himself. It was in-

visible, as she had suggested, but as he groped at it he be-

gan to discern its rough stones. It seemed to be fashioned of

232 Ogre, Ogre

ogre-resistant stuff, or maybe his weakened condition pre-

vented him from demolishing it properly. Odd.

His Eye Queue had another thought, however. If things

in the Void were not what they seemed to be, perhaps this

was true of the wall. It might not exist at all; if he could

succeed in disbelieving in it, he could walk through it. Yet

if he succeeded in abolishing a wall this tangible by mental

effort, what then of the other things of the Void, such as

the Eye Queue? He might do best not to disbelieve.

"What do you perceive?" Chem asked.

"A firm stone wall," he said, deciding. "I fear we shall

find it difficult to depart the Void." He had thought that

intellectual dissolution, or the vacating of reality, might

cause the demise of intruders into the Void; perhaps it was,

after all, a more physical barrier. He would have to keep

his mind open so as not to be trapped by illusions about

these illusions.

"There must be a way," she said with a certain false

confidence. She suspected, as he did, that they could be in

worse trouble right now than they had been when the Gap

Dragon charged them or the volcano's lava flows began

breaking up under them. Mental and emotional equilibrium

was as important now as physical agility had been then.

"Our first job is to catch up with Tandy; then we can tack-

le the problem of departure."

At least she had her priorities in order. "Certainly, We

can intercept her footprints by proceeding sidewise. We

now have a notion why she did not return. This wall must

be pervious from the edge of the Void, impervious from the

interior. A little like a one-way path through the forest."

"Yes. I always liked those "one-way paths. I don't like

this wall quite as well." Chem proceeded sidewise, follow-

ing the wall. She did not see it or really feel it, yet it balked

her effectively. Meanwhile, Smash did not see the glowing

footprints, but knew they would lead the two of them to

Tandy. There seemed to be more substance to these illu-

sions than was true elsewhere. The illusions of Queen Iris

seemed very real, but one could walk right through them.

The illusions of the Void seemed unreal, yet prevented

penetration. Would they really all dissipate at such time as

he allowed himself to fathom the real nature of the Void?

Ogre, Ogre 233

If nothing truly existed here, how could there be a wall to

block escape? He kept skirting the dangerous thoughts!

Soon Chem spied Tandy's footprints—bright red, she an-

nounced. The prints were headed north, deeper into the

Void.

They followed this new trail. Smash checked every so

often and discovered that the invisible wall paced them.

Any time he tried to step south, he could not. He could

only go north, or slide east or west. This disturbed him

more than it might have when he was ogrishly stupid. He

did not like traveling a one-way channel; this was too much

like the route into the lair of a hungry dragon. The mo-

ment he caught up to Tandy, he would find a way to go

back out of .the Void. Maybe he could break a hole in the

wall with a few hard ogre blows of his fist.

Yet again his Eye Queue, slanted across with an alter-

nate thought. Suppose the Void were like a big funnel, al-

lowing people to slide pleasantly toward its center and bar-

ring them from climbing out? Then the wall would not

necessarily be a wall at all, merely the outer rim of that

funnel. To smash it apart could be to break up the very

ground that supported them, and send them plunging in a

rockslide down into the deeper depth. No percentage there!

How could he arrange to escape the trap and take his

friends with him? If no one had escaped before to give

warning, that was a bad auspice for their own chances!

Well, he intended to be the first to emerge to tell the tale.

Could he locate a big bird, a roc, and get carried out by

air? Smash doubted it. He distrusted air travel, having had

a number of uncomfortable experiences with it, and he cer-

tainly distrusted birds as big as rocs. What did rocs eat,

anyway?

What else was there? Then he came up with a notion he

thought would work in the Void. This would use the proper-

ties of the Void against the Void itself, rather than fighting

those properties. He would try it—when the time came.

"There's something ahead," Chem said. "I don't know

what it is yet."

In a moment they caught up to it. It was an ogress—the

beefiest, fiercest, hairiest, ugliest monster he had ever seen,

with a face so mushy it was almost sickening. Lovely!

"What's another centaur doing here?" Chem asked.

234 Ogre, Ogre Ogre, Ogre 235

Instantly the Eye Queue analyzed the significance of her

observation. "That is another anonymous creature. We had

better proceed cautiously."

"Oh, I see what you mean! Do you think it could be a

monster?" The centaur, delicately, did not voice the ob-

vious fear—that the monster could have consumed Tandy.

After all, it stood astride her tracks.

"Perhaps we should approach it from opposite sides,

each ready to help the other in case it should attack." He

wasn't fully satisfied with this decision, but the thought of

harm to Tandy made the matter urgent.

"Yes," Chem agreed nervously. "As I become acclimated

to this region, I like it less. Maybe one of us can draw near

her and the other can hide, ready to act. We can't assume a.

sleek centaur filly like that is hostile."

Nor could they afford to assume the ugly ogress was not

hostile! They had to be ready for anything. "You hide; I

will approach in friendly fashion."

The centaur proceeded quietly to the west, and in a mo-

ment disappeared. Smash gave her time to get properly set-

tled, then stomped gently toward the stranger. "Hoi" he

called.

The hideous, wonderful ogress snapped about, spying

him. "Who you?" she grunted dulcetly, her voice like the

scratching of harpies' talons on dirty slate.

Smash, aware that she was not what she seemed, was

cautious. Names had a certain power in Xanth, and he was

already below strength; it was best to remain anonymous,

at least until he was sure of the nature of this creature. "I

am an inquiring stranger," he replied.

She tromped right up to him and stood snout to snout, in

the delightful way of an ogress. "Me gon' stir he monster,"

she husked in the fascinatingly unsubtle mode of her ap-

parent kind, and she clinked him in the puss with one

hairy paw.

The blow lacked physical force, but Smash did a polite

backflip as if knocked heels over head. What a romantic

come-on! He remembered how his mother knocked his fa-

ther about and stepped on his face, showing her intimidat-

ing love. How similar this ogre-she was!

Yet his Eye Queue cautioned caution, as was its wont.

This was not a real ogress; she might just be roughing him

up for a meal. She might not be nearly as friendly as she

seemed. So he did not reciprocate by smashing her vio-

lently into a tree. Besides, there was no suitable tree handy.

He used un-ogrish eloquence instead. "This is a remark-

ably friendly greeting for a stranger."

"No much danger," she said. "He nice stranger." And

she gave him a friendly kick.

Smash was becoming much intrigued. He was sure this

was no ogress, but she was one interesting person! Maybe

he should hit her back. He raised his hamfist.

Then a third party appeared. This was another ogress.

"Don't hit her. Smash!" she cried. "I just realized—"

"Smash?" the first ogress repeated questioningly. She

seemed amazed.

"We must all describe exactly what we see," the second

ogress said. She, too, was no true ogress, for her speech did

not conform—unless she bad blundered into some Eye

Queue vines—but that hardly seemed likely. "You first,

Smash."

Confused by this development, he obliged. "I see two at-

tractively brutal ogresses, each with a face mushier than

the other, each hunched so that her handpaws reach almost

down to her hindpaws. One is brown, the other red."

"And I see two centaurs," the second ogress said. "A

black stallion and a red mare."

Oho! That would be Chem, seeing her own kind. Once

she had separated from him, her own perceptions had

taken over, so that she saw him falsely.

"I see a handsome black human man and a pretty brown

human girl," the first ogress said.

"Then you are Tandy!" Chem exclaimed.

"Tandy!" Smash repeated, amazed.

"Of course I'm Tandy!" Tandy agreed. "I always was.

But why are you two dressed up like human people?"

"We each perceive our own kind," Chem explained.

"Each person instinctively generates his or her own reality

from the Void. Come—take hands and perhaps we can

break through to reality."

They took hands—and slowly the alternate images dissi-

pated, and Smash saw Chem in her ruffled brown coat and

Tandy in her tattered red dress.

"You were awful handsome as a man," Tandy said

236

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

237

sadly. "All garbed in black, like a dusky king, with silver

gloves." Smash realized that his orange jacket had become

so dirty it was now almost indistinguishable from his natu-

ral fur. "But why did you fall down when I tried to shake

your hand?"

The Eye Queue provided the insight to cause him em-

barrassment. "I misunderstood your intent," he confessed.

"I thought you were being friendly."

"I was being friendly!" she exclaimed indignantly. "You

were the first human being I was able to get close to in this

funny place. I thought you might know some way out. I

can't seem to go back myself; I bang into an invisible hedge

or something. So I wanted to be very positive, and not scare

you away. After all you might have been lost too."

"Yes, of course," Smash agreed weakly.

"But you acted as if I'd hit you, or somethingi" she con-

tinued indignantly.

"This is the way ogres show affection," Chem explained.

Tandy laughed. "Affection! That's how human beings

fight!"

Smash was silent, horribly embarrassed.

But Tandy would not let it go. "You big oaf! I'll show

you how human beings express affection!" And she

grabbed Smash's arm, pulling him toward her with small

human violence. Bemused, he yielded, until his head was

down near hers.

Tandy threw her arms around his furry neck and

planted a firm, long, hot-blooded kiss on his mouth, mov-

ing her lips against his.

Smash was so surprised he sat down. Tandy followed

him, still pressing close, locking his head to hers. He fell

all the way back on the ground, but she stayed with him,

her brown hair flopping forward to cover his wildly staring

eyes as she drove home the rest of the kiss.

At last she released him, as she needed a breath. "What

do you think of that, ogre?"

Smash lay where she had thrown him, unable to make

sense of the experience.

"He's overwhelmed," Chem said. "You gave him an aw-

fully stiff dose for his first such contact."

"Well, I've wanted to do it for a long time," Tandy said.

"He's been too stupid to catch on."

'Tandy, he's an ogre! They don't understand human

romance. You know that."

"He's an ogre with Eye Queue. He can darned well

learn."

"I'm afraid you're being unrealistic," the centaur said,

talking as if Smash were not present. Perhaps that was the

case, mentally. "You're a spunky, pretty human girl. He's a

hulking jungle brute. You can't afford to get emotionally

involved with a creature like that. He just isn't your type."

"And just what is my type?" Tandy flared defiantly. "A

damned demon intent on rape? Smash is the nicest male

creature I've met in Xanth!"

"How many male creatures have you met in Xanth?" the

centaur inquired.

Tandy was silent. Of course her experience had been

quite limited.

Smash at last essayed a remark. "You could visit a hu-

man village—"

"Shut up, ogre," Tandy snapped, "or I'll kiss you again!"

Smash shut up. She was not bluffing; she could do it.

She still had her arms looped around his neck, since she lay

half astride him, holding him down, as it were.

"You have to be realistic," Chem said. "The Good Magi-

cian sent you out with Smash so the ogre could protect you

while you searched for a husband. What good will it do you

to find the destined man, as John and the Siren and maybe

Goldy did, if you foolishly waste your love on an inappro-

priate object? You would be undermining the very thing

you seek."

"Oh, phooey!" Tandy exclaimed. "You're right, centaur,

I know you're right, centaurs are always right—but oh, it

hurts!" A couple of hot raindrops fell on Smash's nose,

burning him with an acid other than physical. She was

crying, and he found that even more confusing than the

kiss. "Ever since he rescued me from the gourd and got me

back my soul—"

"I'm not denying he's a good creature," Chem said. "I'm

just saying, realistically—"

• Tandy turned ferociously on Smash. "You monster! Why

couldn't you have been a man?"

"Because I'm an ogre," he said.

238 Ogre, Ogre

She wrenched one arm clear of him and made as if to

strike his face. But her hand did not touch him.

The Void spun about him, dimming. Smash realized she

had hit him with another tantrum. That, ironically, was

more like ogre love. Why couldn't she have been an ogress?

An ogress. Now, his mind shaken by the double

whammy of kiss and tantrum. Smash floated, half con-

scious, and realized what he had been missing. An ogress!

He, like every member of his party, could not exist alone.

He needed a mate. That was what had brought bun to

Good Magician Humfrey's castle. That had been his un-

asked Question. How could he find his ideal mate? Hum-

frey had known.

And of course there would be ogresses at the Ogre-fen-

Ogre Fen. That was why the Good Magician had sent him

to seek the Ancestral Ogres. He would be able to select one

who was right for him, knock her about in ogre fashion,

and live in brutal happiness ever after, exactly as his par-

ents had. It all did make sense.

He drifted slowly to earth as the horrendous impact of

the tantrum eased. "Now I understand—" he began.

"I warned you, oaf," Tandy said. She leaned over and

plastered another big kiss on him.

Smash was so dazed that he almost grasped the nature of

the kiss, this time. Perhaps it was the effect of the Void,

making things seem other than they were. It was as if she

were punching him in the snoot—and with that perception

she became much more alluring.

Then she broke, and the odd perspective ended. She be-

came a girl again, all soft and pretty and nice and wholly

inappropriate for romance. It was too bad.

"Oh, what's the use," Tandy said. "I'm a fool and I

know it. Come on, people; we have to get out of this

place."

"That may not be readily accomplished," Chem said.

"We can travel in deeper, or edge sideways, but we can't

back out. I'm sure it's like a whirlpool, drawing us ever

inward. What we shall find in the center, I hesitate to con-

jecture."

"Oblivion," Tandy said tightly. She, too, had caught on.

"A maw," Smash said, climbing unsteadily to his feet.

Ogre, Ogre 239

"This land is carnivorous. It gives us respite only because it

doesn't need to consume us instantly. It has herds of graz-

ing creatures to eat first. When it gets hungry, it will take

us."

"I fear that is so," the centaur agreed. "Yet there must

be some way for smart or creative people to escape it.

There is so much illusion here, maybe we could fool it."

"So far, ifs been fooling us, not we it," Tandy said. "Un-

less we can wish away that wall—"

But Smash's Eye Queue had been cogitating on this

problem, and now it regurgitated a notion—the one he had

flirted with before. "If we could escape into another world,

one with different rules—"

"Such as what?" Chem asked, interested. "Have you got

something on your hairy mind?"

"The hypnogourd."

"I don't like the gourd!" Tandy said instantly.

"And the fact is, even if we all entered the gourd, our

bodies would remain right here," the centaur pointed out.

"The gourd is a trap itself—but if we did get out of it, we'd

still be in the Void. A trap within a trap."

"But the nightmares can go anywhere," Smash said.

"Even to Mundania—and back."

"That's true," Tandy agreed. "They can go right through

walls, and I think some can run on water. So I suppose

they could run through the Void, and out again. They're

not ordinary mares. But they're very hard to catch and

hard to ride, and the cost—" She smiled ruefully. "I hap-

pen to know."

"They would help us if the Night Stallion told them to,"

Smash said.

"Oh, I forgot!" Tandy exclaimed. "You still have to

fight the Night Stallion! You sacrificed your soul for me—"

She clouded up. "Oh, Smash, I owe you so much!"

The centaur nodded thoughtfully. "Smash placed his

soul in jeopardy for you, Tandy. I can appreciate how that

would affect you. But I'm not sure you interpret your debt

correctly."

"I was locked into that horror, deprived of my soul!"

Tandy said. "I had no hope at all. The lights had gone out

on my horizon. Then he came and fought the bones and

240 Ogre, Ogre

smashed things about and brought out my soul, and I lived

again. I owe my everything to him. I should give back my

soul—"

"No!" Smash cried, knowing that she could endure no

worse horror than the loss of her soul again. "I promised to

protect you, and I should have protected you from the

gourd, instead of splashing in the lake. I'll fight this

through myself."

Chem shook her head. "I do see the problem—for each

of you. I wish I perceived the answers as clearly."

"I have to meet the Stallion anyway," Smash said. "So

when I have conquered him, I'll ask him for some mares."

"That's so crazy it just might work!" Chem said. "But

there's one detail you may have overlooked. We have no

hypnogourds here."

"We'll use your map again," he said.

The centaur considered. "I must admit it worked for

your Eye Queue replacement vine, and our situation is des-

perate enough so that anything's worth trying. But—"

"Replacement?" Tandy demanded.

"Chem will explain it to you while I'm in the gourd,"

Smash said. "Right now, let's use the map to locate a gourd

patch."

The centaur projected her map and settled on a likely

place for gourds while Tandy watched skeptically. Then the

party went there, though the way took them deeper into the

Void.

And there they were—several nice fat hypnogourds with

ripe peepholes. Smash settled himself by the largest. "You

girls get some rest," he advised. "This may take a while.

Remember, I have to locate the Stallion first, then fight

him, then round up the mares."

Tandy grabbed his hamhand in her two delicate little

hands. "Oh, Smash—I wish I could help you, but I'm terri-

fied to go into a gourd—"

"Don't go in a gourd!" Smash exclaimed. "Just stay close

so you don't get walled off from me and can't bring me out

in an emergency," he said gruffly.

"I will! I will!" Tandy's eyes were tear-bright. "Oh,

Smash, are you strong enough? I shouldn't have hit you

with that tantrum—•"

Ogre, Ogra 241

"I like your tantrums. You just rest, and wait for the

nightmares, by whatever route they come."

"I know I'll see nightmares," she said wanly.

Smash glanced at Chem. "Keep an eye on her," he said,

disengaging his hand from Tandy's.

"I will," the centaur agreed.

Then Smash put his eye to the peephole.

Ogre, Ogre

243

Chapter 13. Souls Alive

He found himself emerging from the cakewalk

onto a vast empty stage. He landed gently. There was no

vomit. There was a new scene.

The floor was metal-hard and highly polished; his feet

left smudge marks where they touched. The air was half lit

by a glow that seemed inherent. There was nothing else.

Smash peered about. It occurred to him that if the Night

Stallion were here, he could spend a long time looking, as

this place seemed infinitely extensive. He had to narrow its

compass, somehow.

Well, he knew how to do that. He started tromping, un-

reeling his string behind him. He would crisscross this re-

gion for as long and as far as it took him.

Smash advanced. The string became a long line, disap-

pearing in the distance behind. It divided the plain into two

sections.

This could take even more time than he had judged, he

realized. Since the girls were waiting outside the gourd in

the Void and would not be able to go in search of food or

water, he wanted to get on with it quickly. So he needed

some way to speed things up.

He cudgeled his Eye Queue again. How could he most

efficiently locate a creature that didn't want to be located?

Answer: what about following its trail?

He applied his eye to the floor. Now that he concen-

trated, he saw the hoofprints. They crossed his projected

line, coming from the right rear and proceeding to the left

front. There would be- no problem following that!

But his curse, in its annoying fashion, caused him to

242

question the simplicity of this procedure. The hoofprints

were suspiciously convenient, crossing his line just at the

point he thought to look, almost as if they were intended to

be seen. He knew that tracking a creature was not neces-

sarily simple, even when the prints were clear. The trail

could meander aimlessly, looping about, getting lost in bad

terrain. It could become dangerous if the quarry knew it

was being tracked—and the Dark Horse surely did know.

There could be tricks and ambushes.

No, there was no sense playing the game of the Night

Stallion. The trail was not to be trusted. It was something

set up to delude an ordinary ogre. Better to force the Stal-

lion to play Smash's game—and if the Horse did not know

of Smash's hidden asset of intelligence, that could be a

counter ambush. A smart ogre was quite different from a

stupid one.

Smash stomped on, following his straight line, halving

the territory. This should also restrict the range of the Stal-

lion, since it could not go any place Smash had already

looked—as he understood the rules of this quest—and

therefore could not cross the line.

Yet the territory still seemed to be infinitely large. He

might tromp forever and never come to the far side. For

that matter, he hadn't started at the near side, either; he

had simply appeared within the range and begun there. He

also realized that halving the total territory did not neces-

sarily cut the area remaining to be searched. Half of infin-

ity remained infinity. Also, unless he knew which half the

Stallion was in, he had gained nothing; he could spend all

his time searching in the wrong half, his failure guaran-

teed.

Smash pondered. His Eye Queue was really straining

now, and probably the eyeballs of it were getting hot in

their effort to see the way through infinity. One thing he

had to say for the curse: it certainly tried to help him. It

never really opposed its will to his own; it sought instead to

call his attention to new aspects of any situation encoun-

tered, and to provide more effective ways of dealing with

problems. He had discovered how useful that was when he

had tried to function without its aid. Now he needed it

again. How could he figure out a sure, fast way to pro-

ceed?

244

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

245

The vine came up with a notion. '•

Smash put the ball of string into his mouth and bit it in

half. He now had two balls, each smaller than the first but

magically complete. He took the first and rolled it violently

forward.

The ball zoomed straight on, unrolling, leaving its

straight line of string. Since it had an infinite length, it

would proceed to the infinite end of the plain. Infinity

could be compassed by infinity; even an ordinary ogre

might grasp that! This process would complete the halving

of the Stalliorfs range.

Now Smash set his ear to the floor and listened. Yes—

his keen ogre hearing heard a faint hoofbeat in the dis-

tance, to the forward right. The Stallion was up there

somewhere, moving clear of the rolling string. Now Smash

had the creature partially located. He had done something

unexpected, forced bis opponent to react, and gained a

small advantage.

Smash bit the remaining ball in half and shaped the

halves into new balls. He hurled one to the east, establish-

ing a pie-section configuration that trapped the Stallion in-

side. Then he listened again, determining in what quadrant

the creature lurked, and pitched another half-ball in a

curve. This wound grandly around behind the Stallion's es-

timated location, cutting off its retreat. For, though Smash

had not tromped personally wherever the string went, the

string remained his agent and surely counted. He was using

a sort of leverage, and the Horse could not cross his demar-

cation, lest the animal break its own rule of being only in

the last place Smash looked.

He put his ear to the floor again. The beat of hooves had

ceased. The Stallion had either gotten away or stopped run-

ning. Since the former meant a loss for Smash, he did the

expedient thing and decided on the latter. He had at last

confined his target!

Smash stomped into the string-defined quadrant. If the

Stallion were here, as he had to be, he would soon be

found.

In due course Smash spied a blotch on the horizon. He

stomped closer, alert for some ruse. The blotch grew as he

approached it, in the manner that distant objects did, since

they did not like to appear small from up close. It took the

form of an animal, perhaps a lion. A lion? Smash didn't

want that! He refused to have a mundane monster foisted

off on him in lieu of his object. "If it's a lion, it's a Stal-

lion!" he muttered—and of course as he said it, it was true.

A single, timely word could make a big difference.

It was a huge, standing, wingless horse, midnight black

of hide, with eyes that glinted black, too. This was surely

the Night Stallion—the creature he had come to settle

with, the ruler of the nightmare world.

Smash stomped to a halt before the creature. He stood

taller than it, but the animal was more massive. "I am

Smash the Ogre," he said. "Who are you?" For it was best

to be quite certain, in a case like this.

The creature merely stood there. Now Smash saw that

there was a plaque set up at its forefeet, and the plaque

said: TROJAN.

"Well, Trojan Horse," Smash said, "I have come to re-

deem the lien on my soul."

He had expected the animal to charge and attack, but it

did not move or respond. It might as well have been a

statue.

"How do I do this?" Smash demanded.

Still no response. Evidently the creature was sulking, an-

gry because he had caught it.

Smash peered more closely at the Stallion. It certainly

seemed frozen! He tromped forward and put out a ham-

hand to touch it.

The body was metal-cold and hard. It was indeed a

statue.

Had he, after all, located the wrong thing? That would

mean he had been deceived by a decoy and would have to

do his search all over again. Smash didn't like this notion, so

he rejected it.

He looked at the floor. Behind the statue were

hoofprints. The thing might be frozen now, but it had not

always been. Probably its present stasis was merely another

device to interfere with Smash's quest. This was one de-

vious beast!

Well, there was one way to take care of that. He stood

before the Stallion and hoisted a hamfist. "Deal with me,

animal, or I will break you into junk."

246 Ogre, Ogre

The midnight orbs seemed to glitter ominously. Trojan

did not like being threatened!

Smash found himself alone, on a lofty, windy, rainswept

pinnacle.

He looked around. The top ledge was just about big

enough for him to stretch out on, but almost featureless.

The flat, slick rock terminated abruptly at the edge, plung-

ing straight down to a smashing ocean far below. There

were no plants, no food, no structures of any kind—just

the tug of the wind and the roar of the ocean beneath.

The Night Stallion had done this, of course. It had

spelled him to this desolate confinement, getting rid of

him. So much for fair combat.

The storm swirled closer. Storms really liked to get a

person stranded in a situation like this! A bolt of lightning

crackled down, striking the pinnacle. A section of rock

peeled off in a shower of sparks and collapsed, falling with

seeming slowness to the distant water.

Smash stood at the steaming brink and watched the tiny

splash. The rock had been a fair chunk, massive, yet from

this vantage it looked like a pebble.

This was a really nice vacation spot for an ogre. But he

didn't want a vacation; he wanted to fight Trojan. How

could he get back into the action?

Now his perch was too small to stretch out on. About a

quarter of it had fallen. The wind intensified, taking hold

of his fur, trying to move him off. He wanted to travel, but

not precisely this way! What kind of a splash would he

make?

Rain splatted in passing sheets, making the surface dou-

bly slick. The water coursed around his feet, digging under

his caUoused toes, trying to pry him from the rock so that

he would be carried with it as it flowed over the brink in a

troubled waterfall. Such a drop did not hurt water, but his

own flesh might be less fortunate.

A huge wave surged forward, below, taking dead aim at

the base of the rock column. The wave smashed in—and

the entire column trembled. More layers of stone peeled

and fell. For a moment Smash thought the whole thing was

coming down, but about half of it withstood the violence

Ogre, Ogre 247

and held its form. However, it was obvious that this perch

would not endure much longer.

Smash considered. If he stood here, the column would

soon collapse, dropping him into the ravenous ocean. He

was an ogre, true, but he lacked his full strength; he would

probably be crushed between the tumbling rocks in the wa-

ter. If he tried to climb down, much of the same thing would

happen; the column would collapse before he got below.

Ogres were tough, but the forces of nature operating here

were overwhelming; he had no realistic chance.

He saw that the ocean waves developed only as they got

close to the tower. His Eye Queue concluded that this

meant the water was much deeper away from this struc-

ture, because deep water didn't like to rouse itself from its

stillness. That meant that region was safe to plunge into.

Good enough. He hated to leave this pleasant spire, but

discretion urged the move. He leaped off the brink, sailing

out in a clumsy swan dive toward the deep water.

Then he remembered he couldn't swim very well. In a

calm lake he was all right; in a raging torrent he tended to

drown.

He eyed the looming ocean, surging deep and dark. It

was no mere torrent; it was an elemental monster. He had

no chance at all. Too bad.

He faced the horse-statue. There was no tower, no

ocean. It had all been a magic vision. A test, perhaps, or a

warning. Obviously he had wiped out. He felt weak; he

must have lost a chunk of his soul.

But now he knew how it worked. The Night Stallion did

not fight physically; the creature simply threw turbulent

visions at him, the way Tandy threw tantrums and curse-

fiends threw curses. The ocean tower had been sort of fun.

So were those tantrums, he realized; when Tandy hit him

with one of them . . . But that was nothing to speculate

on right now.

"Try it again, horseface!" he grunted. "I still want my

soul back."

The Stallion's dark eyes flashed malignantly.

And Smash stood in the center of a den of Mundane

lions—real lions this time, not stal-lion or ant-lions. He felt

248

Ogre, Ogre

abruptly weaker; this must be a Mundane scene, beyond

the region of magic, so that his magic strength was gone.

The lions snarled like mammalian dragons, lashed their

tufted yellow tails, and stalked him. There were six of

them: a male, four females, and a cub. The females

seemed to be the most aggressive. They began sniffing

him, trying to determine how dangerous he might be and

how edible.

Ordinarily, Smash would have liked nothing better than

to mix with a new crowd of monsters in sublime mayhem.

Ogres lived for the joy of bloody battle. But two things

militated against his natural inclination—his Eye Queue

and his weakness. According to the pusillanimous counsel

of the first, it was best to avoid combat when the outcome

was uncertain; and according to the second, the outcome

was highly uncertain. He would do better, his cowardly

intelligence informed him, to flee immediately.

But two things were wrong with that course. There was

no place to flee to, because he was in a walled arena with

wire mesh over the top, so he could not escape, and the

lions had him surrounded anyway. He would have to fight,

unless he could bluff them.

He tried the bluff. He raised his hamfists, though they

were unprotected by his centaur gauntlets, and bellowed

defiance. This was a stance that would frighten almost any

creature of Xanth.

But the lions were not creatures of Xanth. They were

from Missouri, Mundania. They had to be shown. They

pounced.

Ordinarily, Smash would have been able to mince the

mere six monsters with so many blows of fists, feet, and

head. But with his strength reduced to Mundane normal,

all he could handle was one. While he was pulping that

one, the other five were chomping him.

In a moment they had bitten through the hamstring ten-

dons of his arms and legs, making his hamhands and ham-

feet useless. They chomped through the nerve channel of

his neck, making his head slightly less functional than be-

fore. He was now mostly helpless. He could feel, but could

not move.

Then they gnawed at him, taking their time, one female

on each extremity, the male clawing out his belly for the

Ogre, Ogre 249

tasty guts. The pulped cub roused itself enough to com-

mence work on Smash's nose, biting off small bites so as not

to choke on its meal. It hurt horribly as the monsters chewed

off his hands and feet and delved for his kidneys, and it

, wasn't much fun when the cub scooped out an eyeball, but

Smash didn't scream. Noise seemed pointless at this point.

Anyway, it was hard to scream properly when his tongue

was gone and his lungs were being chewed out. He knew

that when the beasts got to his vital organs, sensation would

end, so he waited.

But the lions were sated before then, for Smash was a

lot of creature. They left him, delimbed and eviscerated,

and piled themselves up for a family snooze. Now the flies

appeared, settling in swarms, and every bite was a new ag-

ony. The sun shone down through the mesh, cooking him,

blazing into his other eye, which paralysis prevented him

from closing. Soon he was agonizingly blind. But he still

felt the flies crawling up his nose, looking for new places

to bite and lay their maggots. It was going, he knew, to be

an exceedingly long haul.

How had he gotten himself into this fix? By challenging

the Night Stallion to recover his soul and to obtain help to

rescue Tandy and Chem from the Void. Was it worth it?

No, because he had not succeeded. Would he try it again?

Yes, because he still wanted to help his friends, no matter

how much pain came.

He was back before Trojan, whole of limb and gut and

eye. It had been another test case, and obviously he had

lost that one, too. He should have found some way to de-

stroy the lions, instead of letting them destroy him. But it

seemed he still had most of his soul, and perhaps the third

trial would enable him to win the rest of it back.

"I'm still game, master of nightmares," he informed the

somber statue.

Again the eyes flashed cruelly. This creature of night

had no sympathy and no mercy!

Smash was standing at the base of a mountain of rocks.

"Help!" someone cried. It sounded like Tandy.

How had she gotten here? Had she disobeyed his instruc-

tion and entered the gourd, following his string to locate

250

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

251

him? Foolish girl! Smash looked about, but found no one.

"Help!" she cried again. "I'm under the mountain!"

Smash was horrified. He had to get her out! There was

no passage, so he started lifting and hurling away the boul-

ders. He had most of his strength now, despite his prior

losses, so this was easy enough.

But there were many boulders, and somehow Tandy's

voice always came from under the highest remaining pile.

Smash was making progress leveling the mountain, but still

had far to go. He was thing.

Gradually the pile of rocks behind him loomed higher

than the pile before, but the cries continued to come from

beneath. How had she gotten herself in so deep? He no

longer had the strength to hurl the boulders away, but had to

carry them with great effort. Then he could no longer lift

them, and had to roll them.

At last the mountain had been moved, and the ground

was level. But now the voice came from deep below. This

was, in fact, a pit the size of an inverted mountain, filled

with more boulders—and Tandy was at the bottom.

His body was numb with fatigue. It was a labor just to

move himself now. In this respect his agony was worse

than it had been in the lions' den, for there all he had to do

was lie still and wait. Now he had to cudgel his reluctant

muscles to perform, inflicting the torture of exertion on

himself. But he kept going, for the job remained to be

done. He shoved and heaved and slowly rolled the boulders

out.

The deeper he got, the worse the chore became, for now

he had to shove the boulders up out of the deepening pit.

Still her voice cried despairingly from below. Smash stag-

gered. A boulder slipped from his falling grasp and rolled

down to the lowest point. He lumbered after it, hearing her

faint sobs. She seemed to be fading as fast as he was!

But his strength had been exhausted. He could no longer

move the boulder far enough, strain as he might. Still

trying, he collapsed, and the big stone rolled over him.

Again he faced the Night Stallion, his strength miracu-

lously restored. He realized that Tandy had never been

there in the vision, only her voice, used to goad him into an

impossible effort.

"I'm still going to save my soul and my friends," Smash

said, though he dreaded whatever the Dark Horse would

throw at him next. Tandy might not have been literally

below that mountain of rocks, but his success in these en-

de'avors had a direct bearing on her fate, so it was the same

thing. "Trojan, do your worst."

The evil eyes flashed horrendously, darkening the entire

area.

Smash was in a compound with assorted other creatures.

It was a miserable place, stinking of poverty, doom, and

despair. Jets of bright fire shot from cracks in the ground,

preventing escape. Harpies and other carrion birds wheeled

above, watching for food.

"Slop time!" a guard called, and dumped a pail of gar-

bage into the compound. A gnome, an elf, and a wyvem

pounced on the foul refuse. But before they got more than

a few stinking scraps, the harpies swooped down in a

squadron and snatched it all away, leaving only a pile of

defecation in its place. The prisoners squabbled among

themselves in angry frustration. Smash saw that all were

emaciated; they had not been getting enough food. Small

wonder, with those harpies hovering!

What was to be his torture this time? For Smash realized

now that these scenes were supposed to be extremely un-

pleasant, even for an ogre; each was awful in a different

way. As he considered, the sun moved rapidly across the

pale sky, as if time were accelerating, for normally nothing

could prevail on the sun to hurry its pace one bit. Smash's

hunger accelerated, too; it took a lot of food to maintain a

healthy ogre.

"Slops!" the guard called, and dumped the pail. There

was another scramble, but the wyvem wasn't in it. That

noble little dragon was now too far gone to scramble. In

any event, the harpies got most of the slop again. Smash

felt a pang; even garbage looked good now, and he had

gotten none. Of course he wouldn't touch anything a harpy

had been near, anyway; they spoiled ten times as much as

they ate, coating their discards with poisonous refuse. Har-

pies were the world's dirtiest birds; in fact, real birds re-

fused to associate with these witch-headed monsters.

The wyvern belched out a feeble wisp of fire and col-

252

Ogre, Ogre

lapsed. Smash crossed over to it, moved by un-ogrish com-

passion. "Anything I can do for you?" he asked. After all,

it took one monster to understand another. But the wyvem

merely expired.

Immediately the other prisoners converged, working up

what slaver they could; dragon meat was a lot better than

starvation. Affronted by the notion of such a fine fighting

animal being consumed so indelicately. Smash hefted a fist,

ready to defend the body. But the vultures descended in a

swarm, gouging the corpse to pieces from every side so

swiftly that Smash could do nothing; in moments, nothing

but bones was left. His efforts, perhaps pointless from the

beginning, had been wasted. Smash returned to his place.

The sun plopped behind a distant mountain, throwing up

a small shower of debris that colored the clouds briefly in

that vicinity. It really ought, he thought, to be more careful

where it landedl The stars blinked on, some more alertly

than others. The nocturnal heavens spun by, making short

work of the night.

By morning Smash was ravenous. So were his surviving

companions. They eyed one another covertly, judging when

one or the other might be unable to defend himself from

consumption. When the guard came with the slops, the

gnome stumbled forward. "FoodI Food!" he croaked.

The guard paused, eying the gnome cynically. "Are you

ready to pay?"

"I'll pay! I'll pay!" the gnome agreed with uncomfort-

ably guilty eagerness.

The guard reached through the bars of fire and into the

gnome's body. He hauled out the gnome's struggling soul,

an emaciated and bedraggled thing that slowly coalesced

into a pallid sphere. The guard inspected it briefly to make

certain it was all there, then crammed it indifferently into

a dirty bag. Then he set the pail of slop down and waved

the hovering harpies away. They screamed epithets of pro-

test, but obeyed. One, however, so far lost control of herself

as to loop down close to the tantalizing garbage. The

guard's eyes glinted darkly, and the harpy screeched in i

sudden terror and pumped back into the dingy sky, drop-

ping several greasy feathers in her haste. Smash wondered

what it was that had so cowed her, for harpies had little

Ogre, Ogre 253

respect for anything and the guard was an ordinary human

being, or reasonable facsimile thereof.

The gnome plunged his head into the bucket and greed-

ily slurped the glop. He guzzled spoiled milk, gulped apple

and onion peels, and crunched on eggshells and coffee

grounds in a paroxysm of satiation. He had his food now;

he had paid for it.

The guard turned to gaze at Smash. There was a malig-

nant glitter in the man's eye. Smash realized that he was,

in fact, an aspect of the Night Stallion, on his rounds col-

lecting more souls.

Now Smash understood the nature of this trial. He re-

solved not to purchase his sustenance at that price. If he

lost his soul here, he lost it everywhere, and would not be

able to help Chem and Tandy escape. But he knew that

this would be the most difficult contest yet; each time the

Stallion came. Smash would be hungrier, and the pail of

slops would lure him more strongly. How could he be sure

he would hold out when starvation melted his muscles and

deprived him of willpower? This was not a single effort to

be made and settled one way or the other; this was a

dragging-out siege against his hunger—and the hunger of

an ogre was more terrible than his strength.

The sun shoved rapidly across the welkin, looking some-

what undernourished and irritated itself. It kicked innocent

clouds out of the way, burning one, so that the cloud lost

continence and watered on the ground below. It was an evil

day, and Smash's hunger intensified. He had to escape be-

fore he succumbed.

He got up, dusted off his bedraggled and filthy hide,

and approached the burning barrier. These jete were unlike

those of the firewall in Xanth or the jets of the Region of

Fire, for they were thicker and hotter than the first and

steadier than the second. But perhaps he could cross them.

Certainly he had to try.

He held his breath, closed his eyes and charged across

the barrier of flames. After all, he had done this in the real

world; he could survive a little additional scorching.

He felt the sudden, searing heat. His fur curled and friz-

zled. This was worse than he had anticipated; his hunger-

weakened body was more sensitive to pain, not less. Then

254

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

255

the fire passed. He screeched to a halt on singed toes and

opened his clenched eyelids.

He was in the prison chamber, the bars of flame behind

him. He had blackened stripes along his fur, and his skin

smarted—but it seemed he had gotten turned about. What

a mistake!

He turned, gulped more air, screwed his orbs shut again,

and leaped through the burning bars. Again the pain flared

awfully. This time he knew he hadn't turned; he had been

in midair as he crossed the flame.

But as he unscrewed his vision, blinking away the smoke

from his own eyelashes, he found himself still in the cell.

Apparently it was not all that easy to escape. He had to go

by the rules of the scene.

Nevertheless, he readied himself for a third try, because

an ogre never knew when to quit. But as he oriented on the

bars, he saw the guard standing just beyond them, with a

glittering gaze. Suddenly he did know when to quit; he

turned about and went back to his original spot in the com-

pound and squatted there like a good prisoner. He didn't

want to go near the Dark Horse until this struggle was

over.

The sun plunged. Another poor creature yielded his vital

soul to the Stallion in payment for food. Two mo're per-

ished of starvation. Smash's firewounds festered,- and his

fur fell out in stripes. His belly swelled as. his limbs shri-

veled. He became too weak to stand; he sat cross-legged,

head hanging forward, contemplating the tendons that

showed in high relief on his thighs where the hair had

fallen out. He did not ask for food, though he was now

being consumed by his own hunger. He knew the price.

Slowly, while the days and nights raced across the sky,

he starved. He realized, as he sank into the final stupor,

that when he died, the Stallion would have his •squl any-

way. Somehow he had misplayed this one, too.

Once more he stood before-the Stallion statue. Still he

had some of his soul, and would not yield. Apparently

there was a limit to how much of a soul could be taken 'as

penalty for each loss, and ogres were omery creatures. "I'll

fight for my soul as long as any of it remains to fight for,"

Smash declared. "Bring on your next horror, equine."

The eyes glinted. Then the Night Stallion moved, coming

alive. "You have fought well, ogre," it said, speaking with-

out difficulty through its horse's mouth. "You have won

every challenge."

This was completely unexpected. "But I died each

' time!"

"Without ever deviating from your purpose. You were

subjected to the challenge of fear, but you evinced no

fear—"

"Well, ogres don't know what that is," Smash said.

"And to the challenge of pain, but you did not capitu-

late—"

"Ogres don't know how," Smash admitted.

"And to the challenge of fatigue—"

"How could I stop when I thought my friend was

caught?"

"And to the challenge of hunger."

"That was a bad one," Smash acknowledged. "But the

price was too high." His Eye Queue curse had made him

aware of the significance of the price; otherwise he almost

certainly would have succumbed.

"And so you blundered through, allowing nothing to

sway you, and thus vacated the lien on four-fifths of your

soul. Only one more test remains—but on this one depends

all that you have gained so far. You will win your whole

soul here—or lose it."

"Send me to that test," Smash said resolutely.

The Stallion's eyes flickered intensely, but the scene did

not change. "Why did you accept the lien on your soul?"

the creature asked.

Smash's Eye Queue warned him that the eye-flicker

meant he had been projected to another vision and was

being tested. Since the scene had not changed, this must be

a different sort of test from the others. Beware!

"To save the soul of my friend, whom I had promised to

protect," Smash said carefully. "I thought you knew that. It

was your minion of the coffin who cheated her out of it."

"What kind of fool would place the welfare of another

before his own?" the Horse demanded, ignoring Smash's

remark.

Smash shrugged, embarrassed. "I never claimed to be

other than a fooL Ogres are very strong .and very stupid."

256

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

257

The Stallion snorted. "If you expect me to believe your

implication, you think I'm a fool! I know most ogres are

stupid, but you are not. Why is that?"

Unfortunately, ogres were not much given to lying; it

was part of their stupidity. Smash had been directly asked;

he would have to answer. "I am cursed with the Eye

Queue. The vine makes me much smarter than I should be

and imbues me with aspects of conscience, aesthetic aware-

ness, and human sensitivity. I would, rid myself of it it I

could, but I need the intelligence in order to help my

friends."

"Fool!" the Stallion roared. "The Eye •Que'ue curse is an

illusion!" .'

"Everything in the gourd and in the Void is illusion of

one sort or another," Smash countered. "Much of Xanth is

illusion, and perhaps Mundania, too; It might be that if we

could only see the ultimate reality, Xanth itself would not

exist. But while I exist in it, or think I do, I will honor the

rules of illusion as I do those of reality, and draw on the

powers my illusory Eye Queue provides as I do on those

my real ogre strength provides."

The Stallion paused. "That was not precisely what I

meant, but perhaps it is a sufficient answer. Obviously

your own intelligence is no illusion. But were you not

aware that the effect of the Eye Queue vine is temporary?

That it wears off in a few hours at most,' and in many

cases provides, not true intelligence, but a vain illusion of it

that causes the recipient to make a genuine 'fool of himself,

the laughingstock of all who perceive his self-delusion?"

Smash realized that the creature was indeed testing him

another way—and an intellectual test was most treacherous

for an ogre. "I was not aware of that," he admitted. "Per-

haps my companions were too kind to think of me in that

way. But I believe my intelligence is real, for it has helped

me solve many problems no ordinary ogre could handle,

and has broadened my horizons immeasurably. If this be

illusion, it is tolerable. Certainly it lasted me many days

without fading. Perhaps it works better on ogres, who can _

hardly be rendered more foolish than they naturally are."

"You are quite correct. You are no ordinary ogre and

you are smart enough to give me a considerable challenge.

Most creatures who place their souls in peril 'do so for far

less charitable reasons. But, of course, you are only half-

ogre."

Naturally the Lord of Nightmares knew all about him!

Smash refused to lose his temper, for that surely was what

the Stallion wanted. Lose temper, lose soul! "I am what I

am. An ogre."

The Stallion nodded as if discovering a weakness in

Smash's armor. He was up to something; Smash could tell

by the way he swished his tail in the absence of flies. "An

ogre with the wit and conscience of a man. One who makes

the Eye Queue vine work beyond its capacities, and makes

it work again even when the vine itself is illusory. One who

maintains a loyalty to his responsibilities and associates that

others would fain define as entirely human."

"I also made the gourd work in the Void, when it was

illusory," Smash pointed out. "If you seek to undermine my

enhanced intelligence by pointing out that it has no basis,

you must also concede that your testing of me has no ba-

sis."

"That was not precisely my thrust. Similar situations

may have differing interpretations." He snorted, clearing

his long throat. "You have mastered the four challenges

without fault and are now entitled to assume the role of

Master of Challenges. I shall retire from the office; you

shall be the Night Ogre."

"The Night Ogre?" Smash, despite the Eye Queue, was

having trouble grasping this.

"You will send the bad images out with your night

ogresses and collect the souls of those who yield them. You

will be Master of the Gourd. The powers of the night will

be yours."

"I don't want the powers of the night!" Smash protested.

"I just want to rescue my friends."

"With the powers of the night, you can save them," the

Stallion pointed out. "You will be able to direct your night

creatures to bear them sleeping from the Void to the safety

of the ordinary Xanth jungle."

But Smash's Eye Queue, illusory though it might be, in-

terfered with this promising solution. "Would I get to re-

turn to the world of the day myself?"

"The Master of Night has no need to visit the day!"

"So you are prisoner of the night yourself," Smash said.

258 Ogre, Ogre

"You may capture the souls of others, but your own is hos-

tage."

"I can go to the day!" the Stallion protested.

Again the Eye Queue looked' the. horse's gift in the

mouth. It was full of dragon's teeth. "Only if you collect

enough souls to pay your way. How many does it take for

an hour of day? A dozen? A hundred?"

"There is another way," the Stallion said uncomfortably.

"Surely so. If you arrange a replacement for yourself,"

Smash said. "Someone steadfast enough to do the job ac-

cording to the rules, no matter how unpleasant or painful

or tedious it becomes. Someone whom power does not cor-

rupt."

The Dark Horse was silent.

"Why is it necessary to send bad dreams to people?"

Smash asked. "Is this only a means to jog them from their

souls?"

"It has a loftier rationale than that," the Stallion replied

somewhat stiffly. "If no one ever suffered the pangs of

conscience or regret, evil would prosper without hindrance

and eventually take over the world. Evil can be the sweet

sugar of the soul, temptingly pleasant in small doses, but

inevitably corrupting. The bad dreams are the realizations

of the consequence of evil, a timely warning that all think-

ing creatures require. The nightmares guard constantly

against spiritual degradation—that same corruption you

have withstood. Take the position, ogre; you have earned

it."

"I wish I could help you," Smash said. "But my life is

outside the gourd, in the jungles of Xanth. I am a simple

forest creature. I must help my friends survive the wilder-

ness in my own fashion, and not aspire to be more than

any ogre was ever destined to be."

The Stallion's eyes dimmed. "You have navigated the fi-

nal challenge. You have avoided the ultimate temptation of

power. You are free to return to Xanth with your soul in-

tact. The lien is voided."

Suddenly Smash felt completely strong again, his soul

restored. "But I need help," he said. "I must borrow three

of your nightmares to carry my party out of the Void."

"Nightmares are not beasts of burden!" the Stallion pro-

tested, scraping the ground with a forehoof. It seemed this

Ogre, Ogre

259

creature, if not actually piqued by Smash's refusal to take

over the proffered office, was still less cooperative than

he might have been. When one scorned an offer of any

nature, one had to bear the penalty.

"The nightmares alone can travel anywhere, even out of

-the Void," Smash said, knowing he had to find some way

to gain the assistance he needed. "Only they can help us."

"They could if they chose to," the Horse agreed. "But

their fee is half a soul for each person carried."

"Half my soul!" Smash exclaimed. "I don't have enough

for three!"

"Half a sou], not necessarily your own. But it is true you

do not have enough. Nightmare rides come steep."

Smash realized that he was right back in the dilemma he

thought he had escaped. He had placed his soul in jeopardy

to rescue Tandy from the gourd; now he would have to do

it again to rescue Tandy and Chem from the Void. But if

he rescued both, he himself would be lost, for the Eye

Queue informed him that two halves of a soul amounted to

the whole soul.

Of course, he could rescue only Tandy, the one he had

agreed to protect. But he could not see his way clear to

leave Chem in the Void. She was a nice creature with a

worthy mission. She did not deserve to be deserted. And he

had more or less agreed to protect her, too, when her

brother Chet had delivered her to him at the brink of the

Gap Chasm. "I will pay the price," he said, thinking of the

gnome begging for slops.

"Do you realize that you could rescue them and retain

your soul by becoming the Master of Night?" the Stallion

asked.

"I fear I must go to hell in my own fashion," Smash said

regretfully. The Horse obviously thought him a smart fool,

and his Eye Queue heartily endorsed the sentiment, but

somehow his fundamental ogre nature shied away from the

responsibility for damning others. Better to be one of the

damned.

"Even in sacrifice, you are ogrishly stupid," the Stallion

remarked with disgust. "You are obviously unfit for duty

here."

"Agreed," Smash agreed.

"Go negotiate directly with the mares," the Horse

260 Ogre, Ogre

snorted. "I'll have no part of this." His eyes flared with

their black light.

Then Smash found himself on the plain of the mares.

The dark herd charged toward him, circling him in mo-

ments, as was their wont. Then they recognized him and

hesitated.

"I need two of you to carry my friends to safety," he

said. "I know the price."

"Naaaay!" one cried. Smash recognized her as the one

he had tried to befriend, the one who had carried Tandy to

the Good Magician's castle. That had been involuntary,

without a fee—until the coffin had claimed a double fee

retroactively. Obviously none of that payment had gone to

the mare; it had been a gyp deal all around. But she cer-

tainly knew how to carry a person. He was sorry he had

not been able to figure out what she wanted from Xanth.

"I must rescue Tandy and Chem," Smash said. "I will

pay the fee. Who will make the deal?"

Two other mares volunteered. Smash wasn't sure what

use they would have for the halves of his soul, but that was

not much of his business. Maybe half souls were bartering

currency within the gourd, accounting for status in the

nightmare hierarchy. "S.O.D.," he said, cautioned by his

Eye Queue. "Soul on Delivery."

They nodded, agreeing. "Can you find them?" he asked.

When they nodded naaay, he realized he would have to go

with them, at least to where the girls were. "Well, we'd

better introduce ourselves," he said. "I am Smash the Ogre.

How shall I know the two of you?"

One of the two struck the ground with a forehoof. She

left a circular impression in the dirt, with little ridges, dark

spots, and pockmarks. Smash peered at it closely, struck by

a nagging familiarity. Where had he seen a configuration

like that before? Then he grasped it; this was like a map of

the moon, with the pocks like the cheese holes. One of the

dark areas was highlighted, and he saw that there was let-

tering on it: MARE CRISIUM.

"So you're the mare Crisium," he said, making the' con-

nection. "Mind if I call you Crisis?"

She shrugged acquiescently. Smash turned to the other.

"And who are you?"

Ogre, Ogre 261

The other stomped a forehoof. Her moon-map was high-

lighted in another place: MARE VAPORUM.

"And you're the mare Vaporum," he said. "I'll call you

Vapor."

The befriended mare now came forward, nickering, of-

fering to carry him. "But I have no soul left over to pay

you," he protested. "Besides, you're far too small to handle

a monster like me."

She walked under him—and suddenly he found that he

had shrunk or she had grown, for now he was riding her

comfortably. It seemed nightmares had no firmly fixed

size.

"Then tell me your name, too," he said. "You are doing

me an unpaid favor, and I want to know you, in case I

should ever be able to repay it. I never did discover what

you wanted from Xanth, you know."

She stamped her hoof. He leaned down over her shoul-

der, hanging on to her slick black mane that flowed like a

waterfall, until he was able to read her map. It was high-

lighted at a large patch labeled: MARE IMBRIUM.

"You I will call hnbri," he decided. "Because I don't

know what your name means."

The three mares galloped across the plain, leaving the

herd behind. Little maps of the moon formed the trail

wherever their feet touched. It made him hungry to think

about it. Too bad the maps weren't real, with genuine

cheese! .

Soon they passed through a greenish wall and out into

the Void. It was the rind of the gourd, Smash realized.

They were large and the gourd was small—but somehow it

all related. He kept trying to forget that size and mass

hardly mattered when magic was involved.

They looped once around—and there was the brute ogre,

staring into the gourd's peephole. Until this moment,

Smash had not quite realized that his body had not accom-

panied him inside. He had known it, of course, but never

truly realized it. Even his Eye Queue had never come to

grips with the seeming paradox of being in two places at

the same time.

Then he spied Tandy and Chem. They were asleep; it

was night, of course, the only time the nightmares could go

abroad.

362 Ogre, Ogre

"We'll have to wake them," Smash said, then paused.

"No—a person has to be asleep to ride a nightmare; I re-

member now. Or disembodied, like me. I'm really asleep,

too. I'll put them on you asleep." He dismounted and went

to pick Tandy up.

But his hands passed right through her. He had no phys-

ical substance.

He pondered. "I'll have to wake myself up," he decided.

"Since my soul is forfeit anyway, I should be able to stay

near the nightmares. They aren't going to depart before

they get their payment." It was a rather painful kind of

security, however.

He went to his body. What a hulking, brutish thing it

was! The black fur was shaggy in some places, unkempt in

others, and singed from his experiences with the firewall in

yet others. The hamhands and hamfeet were huge and

clumsy-looking. The face was simultaneously gravelly and

mushy. No self-respecting creature would be attracted to

the physical appearance of an ogre—and, of course, the

monster's intellect was even worse. He was doing Tandy a

favor by removing himself from her picture.

"Come on, ogre, you have work to do," he grunted, put-

ting out a paw to shake his shoulder. But his hand passed

through himself, too, and the body ignored him, exactly

like the stupid thing it was.

"Enough of this nonsense, idioti" he rasped. He put a

hamflnger over the peephole. He might be insubstantial in

this form, but he was visible. The finger cut oS the view.

The effect was similar to the removal of the gourd.

Suddenly Smash was back in his body, awake. The phan-

tom self had vanished. It existed only when he peered into

the gourd, when his mental self was apart from his physi-

cal self.

The three mares stood watching him warily. Ordinarily,

they would have fled the presence of a waking person, but

they realized that this was a special situation. He was about

to become one of them.

"All right," he said quietly, so as not to wake the girls.

"I'll set one girl on each of you volunteers. You carry them

north, beyond the Void, and set them down safely. Then

you split my soul between you. Fair enough?"

The two mares nodded. Smash went to lift Chem, gently.

Ogre, Ogre 263

She weighed as much as he, but he had his full strength

now and could readily handle her mass. He set her on Cri-

sis. Chem was bigger than the mare, but again the fit was

right, and the sleeping centaur straddled Crisis comfort-

ably.

He lifted Tandy next. She was so small he could have

raised her with one finger, as he had Biythe Brassie, but

he used both hands. With infinite care he set her on Vapor.

Then he mounted his own mare, Imbri, who had come

without the promise of payment. Again the fit was right;

anybody could ride any nightmare, if the mare permitted

it. "I wish I knew what you want from Xanth," he mur-

mured. Then he remembered that this was irrelevant; he

would not be returning to Xanth anyway, so could not

fetch her anything.

They moved on through the Void, traveling north. This

was the easy part, descending into the depths of the funnel,

and Smash saw that the center of the Void was a black

hole from which nothing returned, not even light. This the

mares skirted; there were, after all, limits.

They galloped as swiftly as thought itself, the mares as

dark as the awful dreams they fostered. Smash now had a

fair understanding of the origin and rationale of those

dreams; he did not envy the Dark Horse his job. If it was

bad to experience the dreams, how much worse was it to

manufacture them! The Stallion had the burden of the vi-

sion of evil for the whole world on his mind; no wonder he

wanted to retire! What use was infinite power when it

could be used only negatively?

They climbed the far slope of the funnel, leaving the

brink of the dread black hole behind, unobstructed by the

invisible wall, in whatever manner it existed. In another

moment they were out of the Void and into the night of

normal Xanth.

Smash felt a horrible weight departing his shoulders. He

had saved them; he had gotten them out of the Void at

last! How wonderful this normal Xanthian jungle seemed!

He looked eagerly at it, knowing he could not stay, that his

soul was now forfeit. The mares had delivered, and it was

now his turn. Perhaps he would be allowed to visit this

region on occasion, in bodiless form, just to renew the

264

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

265

awareness of what he had lost, and to see how his friends

were doing.

They halted safely beyond the line. Smash dismounted

and lifted Chem to the ground, where she continued sleep-

ing, feet curled under her, head lolling. She was a pretty

creature of her kind, not as well developed as she would be

at full maturity, but with a nice coat and delicate human

features. He was glad he had saved her from the Void.

Someday she would browbeat some male centaur into hap-

piness, exactly as her mother had done. Centaurs were

strong-willed creatures, but well worth knowing. "Farewell,

friend," he murmured. "I have seen you safely through the

worst of Xanth. I hope you are satisfied with your map."

Then he lifted Tandy. She was so small and delicate-

seeming in her sleep! Her brown hair fell about her face in

disarray, partly framing and partly concealing her features.

He deeply regretted his inability to see her through her ad-

venture. But he had made a commitment to the Good Ma-

gician Humfrey, and he was honoring that commitment in

the only fashion he knew. He had seen Tandy through dan-

ger, and trusted she could do all right now on her own. She

had fitted a lot of practical experience into this journey!

In a moment, he knew, he would not care about her at

all, for caring was impossible without a soul. But in this

instant he did care. He remembered how she had kissed

him, and he liked the memory. Human ways were not ogre

ways, of course, but perhaps they had a certain merit

Through her he had gleaned some faint inkling of an alter-

nate way of life, where violence was secondary to feeling.

It was no life for an ogre, of course—but somehow he

could not resist returning the favor of that kiss now. He

brought her to his face and touched her precious little lips

with his own big crude ones.

Tandy woke instantly. The two mares jumped away,

afraid of being seen by a waking person not of their do-

main. But they did not flee entirely, held by the incipient

promise of his soul.

"Oh, Smash!" Tandy cried. "You're back! I was so wor-

ried, you stayed in the gourd so long, and Chem said she

thought you weren't ready to be roused yet—"

Now he was in trouble. Yet he was obscurely glad. It

was better to explain things to her so that she would not

think he had deserted her. "You are free of the Void,

Tandy. But I must leave you."

"Oh, no. Smash!" she protested. "Don't ever leave me!"

This was becoming rapidly more difficult. Separating

from her was somewhat like departing the Void—subtly

' awkward. "The mares who carried you out of the Void, in

your sleep—they have to be paid."

Her brow furrowed, in the cute way it had. "Paid how?"

He was afraid she wouldn't like this. But ogres weren't

much for prevarication, even in a good cause. "My soul."

She screamed.

Chem bolted awake, snatching up the rope, and the

mares retreated farther, switching their tails nervously.

"What's the matter?"

"Smash sold his soul to free us!" Tandy cried, pointing

an accusing finger at the ogre.

"He can't do that!" the centaur protested. "He went to

the gourd to win back his soul!"

"It was the only way," Smash said. He gestured to the

two mares. "I think it is time." He looked behind him, lo-

cating Imbri. "And if you will kindly carry my body back

into the Void afterward, so it won't get in anyone's way out

here—"

The three mares came forward. Tandy screamed again

and threw her arms about Smash's neck. "No! No! Take

my soul instead!"

The mares paused, uncertain of the proprieties. They

meant no harm; they were only doing their job.

Tandy disengaged herself and dropped to the ground.

Her dander was up. "My soul's almost as good as his, isn't

it?" she said to the mares. "Take it and let him go." She

advanced on Crisis. "I can't let him be taken. I love him!"

She surely did, for this was the most extreme sacrifice

she could make. She was deathly afraid of the interior of

the gourd. Smash understood this perfectly; that was why

he couldn't let her go there. But if she refused to let him

go in peace, what was he to do?

Chem interceded. "Just exactly what was the deal you

made, Smash?"

"Half my soul for each person carried from the Void."

"But three were carried, weren't they?" the centaur

266

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre. Ogre

267

asked, her fine human mind percolating as the fog of sleep

dissipated. "That would mean one and a half souls."

"I am returning with the mares," Smash said. "I don't

count. Imbri carried me as a favor; she's the one who car-

ried Tandy to the Good Magician's castle a year ago. She's

a good creature."

"I know she is!" Tandy agreed. "But—"

"Imbri?" Chem asked. "Is that an equine name?"

"Mare Imbrium," he clarified. "The nightmares come

out only at night, so they never see the sun. They identify

with places on the moon."

"Mare Imbrium," she repeated. "The Sea of Rains.

Surely the raining of our tears."

So that was what the name meant; the education of the

centaur had clarified it. Certainly it was appropriate! Imbri

was reigning over, or reining in, the rain of tears. But it

could be said in her favor that she had not done anything

to cause those tears. She had charged no soul.

"Not my tears!" Tandy protested tearfully. "Smash, I

won't let you go!"

"I have to go," Smash said gently. "Ogres aren't very

pretty and they aren't very smart, but they do do what they

agree to do. I agreed to see the two of you safely through

the hazards of Xanth, and I agreed to parcel my soul be-

tween the two mares who delivered you from the Void."

"You have no right to sacrifice yourself again for us!"

Chem cried. "Anyway, it won't work; we'll perish alone in

the wilderness of northern Xanth."

"Well, it seemed better to get you to Xanth instead of

the Void," Smash said awkwardly. Somehow the right he

thought he was doing seemed less right, now. "Near the

edge of Xanth the magic begins to fade, so it's less danger-

ous."

"Ha!" Tandy exclaimed. "I've heard the Mundane mon-

sters are worse than the Xanth ones!"

"It may be less dangerous only if you accompany us,"

Chem said. She considered briefly. "But a deal's a deal;

the mares must be paid."

"I'll pay them!" Tandy offered.

"No!" Smash cried. "The gourd is not for the like of

you! It is better for the like of me."

"I don't think so," Chem said. "We have all had enough

of the gourd, regardless of whether we've been inside it.

But there are three of us. We can pay the mares and retain

half a soul each. Three fares, so Smash can be free, too."

"But neither of you has to give any part of her soul for

me!" Smash objected.

"You were doing it for us," the centaur said. "We can

get along on half souls if we're careful. I understand they

regenerate in time."

"Yes," Tandy said, grasping this notion as if being saved

from drowning. "Each person can pay her own way." She

turned to the nearest mare, who happened to be Crisis.

"Take half my soul," she said.

Chem faced the second, Imbri. "Take half of mine."

The mare of Rains hesitated, for she had not expected to

be rewarded, and she had not carried Chem.

"Take it!" the centaur insisted.

The mares, glad to have the matter resolved, galloped

past their respective donors. Smash saw two souls attenuate

between girls and mares; then each one tore in half, and

the mares were gone.

Smash was left standing by the third mare. Vapor. He

realized that he could not do less—and of course Vapor

was supposed to have a half soul. In fact, she had been

promised half of his. Now she would get it, though she had

not carried him. "Take half of mine," he said.

Vapor charged him. There was a wrenching and tearing;

then he stood reeling. Something awfully precious had been

taken from him—but not all of it.

Then he saw the two girls standing similarly bemused,

and he knew that something even more precious had been

salvaged.

Chapter 14. Ogre Fun

In the morning they woke, having suffered no

bad dreams. The nightmares were not about to venture

near them now, for that might give them the opportunity to

change their minds about their souls. Also, what dreams

could they be served, worse than what they had already

experienced?

Xanth was lovely. The green trees glistened in the fading

dew, and flowers opened. White clouds formed lazy pat-

terns around the sun, daring it to bum them off, but it

ignored their taunts. The air was fragrant. Mainly, it was a

joy to be alive and free. Much more joy than it had been

before Smash discovered that such things were by no

means guaranteed. He had died in a great dark ocean, un-

der the teeth of lions, under a rock he was too fatigued to

move, and of starvation in prison. He had won back his |

soul, then given it up again. Now he was here with half his I

soul and he really appreciated what he had. |

For some time they compared notes, each person need-

ing reassurance because of the lingering ache of separated

souls. But gradually they acclimated, finding that half a

soul was indeed much better than none.

Smash tested his strength—and found it at half-level. He

had to use both hands instead of one to crush a rock to

sand. Until the other half of his soul regenerated, he would

be only half an ogre in that respect. But this, too, seemed a

reasonable price to pay for his freedom.

"I think it is time for me to go my own way," Chem said

at last. "I think I have had about as much of this sort of

adventure as I can handle. I have it all mapped; my survey

268

Ogre, Ogre 269

is done. Now I need to organize the data and try to make

sense of it."

"Magic doesn't have to make sense," Smash said rhetori-

cally.

"But where will you go?" Tandy asked.

The centaur filly generated her map, with all of north-

ern Xanth clearly laid out, their travel route neatly marked

in a dotted line. "It is safe for my kind around the fringes

of Xanth," she said. "Centaurs have traded all along the

coasts. I'll trot west to the isthmus, then south to Castle

Roogna. I'll have no trouble at all." Her projected route

dotted its way down the length of northern Xanth confi-

dently. She seemed to have forgotten her protestation of

last night about how they would perish without Smash's

protection, and Smash did not remind her of it. Obviously

it had been his welfare, not her own, she had been con-

cerned with.

"I suppose that's best," Tandy said reluctantly. "I really

liked the company of all you other creatures, but your mis-

sions are not my mission. Just remember, you're not as

strong as you should be."

"That's one reason I want to get on home," Chem said.

"I'd recommend the same for both of you, but I know

your destiny differs from mine. You have to go on to the

Ogre-fen-Ogre Fen, Smash, and take what you find there,

though I personally feel that's a mistake."

"Me make mistake?" Smash asked. The things of the

Void had faded in the night, since they had left it, and now

he found it easier to revert to his normal mode of speech.

There was no hypnogourd and no Eye Queue vine, so he

was not smart any more.

"Smash, you're half human," Chem said. "If you would

only give your human side a chance—"

"Me no man, me ogre clan," he said firmly. That faith

had brought him through the horrors of the gourd.

She sighed. "So you must be what you must be, and do

what you must do. Tandy—" Chem shook her head. "I

can't advise you. I hope you get what you want, somehow."

The two girls embraced tearfully. Then the centaur trot-

ted away to the west, her pretty brown tail flying at half-

mast as if reflecting the depressed state of her soul.

"I'm as foolish as you are," Tandy said, drying her eyes,

270

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

271

so that the blue emerged again like little patches of sky.

"Let's get on to the Fen before night, Smash."

They moved on. Smash, now so near his destination,

found himself strangely uneasy. The Good Magician had

told him he would find what he needed among the Ances-

tral Ogres; Humfrey had not said what that would be, or

whether Smash would like it.

Suppose he didn't like what he needed? Suppose he

hated it? Suppose it meant the denial of all that he had

experienced on this journey with the seven girls? The Eye

Queue had been a curse, and surely he was well rid of

it—yet there had been a certain covert satisfaction in ex-

pressing himself as lucidly as any human being could. Fa-

cility of expression was power, too, just as was strength of

muscle. The gourd had been a horror—yet that, too, had

had its fine moments of exhilarating violence and deep rev-

elation. These things were, of course, peripheral, no con-

cern of a true ogre—but he had felt something fundamen-

tally good in them.

He struggled through his annoying stupidity as he

tromped on toward the Ogre Fen. Exactly what had made

his journey so rewarding, despite its nuisances and prob-

lems? Not the violence, for he could have that any time by

challenging stray dragons. Not the intelligence, for that was

no part of an ogre's heritage. Not the exploration of the

central mysteries of Xanth, for ogres were not very curious

about geography. What, then?

As the day faded and the sun hurried down to the hori-

zon so as not to be caught by night. Smash finally broke

through to a conclusion. It wasn't a very original one, for

ogres weren't very original creatures, but it would do. He

had valued the camaraderie. The seven girls had needed

him, and had treated him like a person. His long associa-

tion with the human beings and centaurs of Castle Roogna

had acclimated him to company, but this time he had had

the wit to appreciate it more fully, because of the Eye

Queue curse. Now he was cursed with the memory of what

could not be again. Camaraderie was not the ogre way.

At dusk they reached the dismal fringe of the Ogre-fen-

Ogre Fen. The swampy marsh stretched out to the east and

north as far as the eyeball could peer, riddled with green

gators and brown possums and other half-fanciful denizens.

Were the Ancestral Ogres also here?

"Look!" Tandy cried, pointing.

Smash looked. There were three ironwood trees braided

together. That was a sure signal of the presence of ogres,

since no other creature could do such a thing.

"I guess you'll get what you want tomorrow," Tandy

said. "You'll meet your tribe." She seemed sad.

"Yes, me agree," he said, somehow not as overjoyed as

he thought he should be. His mission was about to termi-

nate; that was what he wanted, wasn't it?

He twisted a coppertree into the semblance of a shelter

for her and spread a large leaf from a table tree over it. In

the heyday of his strength he could have done better, but

this would have to do for tonight. But it didn't matter;

Tandy didn't use it. She curled up against his furry shoul-

der and slept.

What was her destiny? he wondered before he crashed

into his own heavy slumber. He now understood that she

was looking for a human husband and was destined to find

one on this journey—but time was running out for her, too.

He hoped whoever she found would be a good man who

would appreciate her spunky qualities and not be bothered

by her tantrum-talent. Smash himself rather liked her tan-

trums; they were a little like ogre love taps. Perhaps his

first inkling of liking for her had been when she threw a

tantrum at him. She wasn't really a bad-tempered girl; she

just tended to get overly excited under extreme stress.

There had been some of that on this journey!

Too bad, he thought again, that she couldn't have been

an ogress. But, of course, ogresses didn't have magic tricks

like tantrums, or cute little ways of expressing them-

selves—like kissing.

He shook his head. He was getting un-ogrishly maudlin 1

What could an ogre know of the refined raptures of human

love? Of the caring that went beyond the hungers of the

moment? Of the joy and sacrifice of helping the loved one

regardless of the cost to oneself? Certainly not himself!

Yet there was something about this foolish, passionate,

determined girl-human creature. She was so small she was

hardly a good morsel for a meal, yet she was precious be-

272

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

273

yond the comprehension of his dim ogre wit. She had shown

cunning and courage in catching and riding a nightmare to

escape her amorous demon, and other excellent qualities had

.manifested since. He would miss her when she found her

proper situation and left him, as had the other girls.

He thought to kiss her again, but the last time he had

tried that, she had awakened instantly and things had got-

ten complicated. He wanted her to complete her sleep in

peace this time, so he desisted. He had no business kissing

a human girl anyway—or kissing anything, for that matter.

A 'drop of rain spattered on her forehead. No, not rain,

for the night was calm and the nightmare of Rains was

nowhere near. It was a tear, similar to the ones she had

dropped on him when she had so angrily demonstrated how

human beings expressed affection. A tear from his own

eye. And this was strange, because no true ogre cried. Per-

haps it was her own tear, recycled through his system, re-

turning to her.

Carefully he wiped away the moisture with a hamfinger.

He had no right to soil her pretty little brow with such

contamination. She deserved much better. Better than an

ogre.

The tromp of enormous, clumsy feet woke them in the

morning. The ogres were coming!

Hastily Smash and Tandy got up. Smash felt a smidgen

stronger; perhaps his soul had grown back a little while he

slept. But he was nowhere near full strength yet. Knowing

the nature of his kind, he worried some about that.

The Ogres of the Fen arrived. Small creatures scurried

for cover, and trees angled their leaves away. No one

wanted trouble with ogres! There were eight of them—

three brutish males and five females.

Smash gazed at the ogresses in 'dim wonder. Two were

grizzled old crones, one was a stout cub, and two were ma-

ture creatures of his own generation. Huge and shaggy.

with muddy fur, reeking of sweat, and with faces whose

smiles would stun zombies and whose frowns would bum

wood, they were the most repulsive brutes imaginable.

Smash was entranced.

"Who he?" the biggest of the males demanded. His voice

was mainly a growl, unintelligible to ordinary folk; Smash

could understand him because he was another ogre. Smash

himself was unusual in that he could speak comprehensi-

bly; most ogres could communicate verbally only with other

ogres,

Suddenly Smash was fed up with the rhyming conven-

tion. What good was it, when no one who counted could

understand it anyway? "I am Smash, son of Crunch. I

come to seek my satisfaction among the Ancestral Ogres,

as it is destined."

"Half-breed!" the other ogre exclaimed. "No need!" For

Smash's ability to talk unrhymed betrayed his mixed par-

entage.

Smash had never liked being called a half-breed, but he

could not honestly refute it. "My mother is a curse-fiend,"

he admitted. "But my father is an ogre, and so am I."

One of the crones spoke up, wise beyond her years.

"Curse-fien", human bein'," she croaked.

"Half man!" the big male ogre grunted. "We ban!"

"Might fight," the child ogress said, eyes lighting.

It was true. An ogre could establish his place in a tribe by

fighting for it. The male grunted eagerly. "He, me!" He

naturally wanted to be the first to chastise the presump-

tuous half-breed.

"What are they saying?" Tandy asked, alarmed by the

increasingly aggressive stances of the Fen Ogres.

It occurred to Smash that she would not approve of a

physical fight. "They merely seek some ogre fun," he ex-

plained, not telling her that this was apt to be roughly simi-

lar to the fun the lions of the den had had with him. "Fun

in the Fen."

She was not fooled. "What ogres call fun, I call may-

hem! Smash, you can't afford any trouble; you're only at

half-strength."

There was that. Fighting was fun, but getting beaten to a

pulp was not as much fun as winning. If anything hap-

pened to him here, Tandy would be in trouble, for these

ogres were not halfway civilized, as Smash himself was. It

was galling, but he would have to pass up this opportunity.

"No comment," he said.

The ogres goggled incredulously. "Not hot?" the male

ogre demanded, his hamfists shuddering with eagerness to

pulverize.

274 Ogre, Ogre

Smash turned away. "I think what I want is elsewhere

after all," he told Tandy. "Let's get away from here." He

tried to keep the urgency suppressed; this could get diffi-

cult in a moment. At least he was not caged in, the way he

had been with the lions.

The male made a huge jump, landing directly before

Smash. He poked a hamfinger at Smash's soiled orange

centaur jacket. "What got?" he demanded. This was not

curiosity but insult; any creature in clothing was considered

effete, too weak to survive in the jungle.

Smash raged inwardly at the implication, but had to

avoid trouble. He stepped around the ogre and went on

north, toward the Fen.

But again the male leaped in front of him. He pointed at

Smash's steel gauntlets, making a crudely elaborate gesture

of pulling dainty feminine gloves on his own hairy meat

hooks. The humor of ogres was necessarily crude, but it

was effective on its level. Smash paused.

"Me swat he snot!" the ogre chortled, aiming a wood-

sundering blow at Smash's head. Smash lifted a gleaming

fist of his own, defensively.

"No!" Tandy screamed.

Again Smash had to avoid conflict. He ducked under

the blow in a gesture that completely surprised the ogre

and continued north, inwardly seething. It simply wasn't an

ogre's way to accept such taunts and duck away from a

fight.

Now one of the mature females barred his way. Her hair

was like the tentacular mass of a quarrelsome tangle tree

that had just lost a battle with a giant spider web. Her face

made the bubbling mud of the Fen seem like a clear mir-

ror. Her limbs were so gnarled she might readily pass for a

dead shagtree riddled by the droppings of a flock of har-

pies with indigestion. Smash had never before encountered

such a luscious mass of flesh.

"He cute, cheroot," she said.

That was a considerable come-on for an ogress. Since

there were more females than males in this tribe, there was

obviously a place for Smash here, if he wanted it. Good

Magician Humfrey had evidently known this, and known

that Smash needed to settle down with a good female of his

own kind. What the aging Magician had overlooked was

Ogre, Ogre 275

the fact that Smash would arrive at half-strength, and that

Tandy would not yet have found her own situation. Thus

Smash could not afford to accept the offer, however

grossly tempting it might be, because he could not fight

well and could not afford to leave Tandy to the ogres' mer-

' cies. For a female went only to the winner of a fight be-

tween males. So once again he avoided interaction and con-

tinued on. north.

Then the male ogre bad an inspiration of genius for his

kind. "Me eat complete," he said, and grabbed for Tandy.

Smash's gauntleted fist shot forward and up, catching

the ogre smack in the snoot. The gauntlet made Smash's

fist harder than otherwise and increased the effect of its

impact. The creature rocked back, spitting out a yellow

tooth. "Delight!" he cried. "He fight!"

"No!" Tandy yelled again, despairingly. She knew as

well as Smash did that it was too late. Smash had struck

the ogre, and that committed him.

Quickly the other ogres circled him. Tandy scooted to a

beerbarrel tree, getting out of the way.

Smash had never before fought another ogre and wasn't

quite sure how to proceed. Were there conventions? Did

they take turns striking each other? Was anything barred?

The ogre gave him no chance to consider. He charged,

his right fist swinging in a windmill motion, back and up

and forward and down, aimed for Smash's head. Smash

wished he had the Eye Queue so that he could analyze the

meaning of this approach. But dull as he was now, he sim-

ply had to asisume that it meant anything went.

Smash dodged, ducked down, caught the ogre's feet, and

jerked them up to head height. Naturally the ogre flipped

back, his head smacking into the ground with a hollow

boom like thunder, denting a hole and shaking the bushes

in the neighborhood. The watching ogres nodded; it was a

good enough counter, starting things off. But Smash knew

that he had substituted guile for force, to a certain extent,

finding a maneuver that did not require his full strength;

he could not proceed indefinitely this way.

The ogre bounced off his head, somersaulted backward,

and twisted to his big, flat feet He roared a roar that

spooked a flock of buzzards from a buzzard bush and sent

low clouds scudding hastily away. He charged forward

276 Ogre, Ogre

again, grabbing for Smash with both heavy arms. But

Smash knew better than to wait for an ogre hug. His or-

ange jacket would protect him from most of its crushing

force, but he would not be able to initiate much himself.

He jumped high, stomping gently on the ogre's ugly head

in passing.

The stomp drove the ogre a small distance into the

ground. It was the first motion of the figure called the Nail.

The ogre had to extricate his feet one by one, leaving deep

prints. Now he was really angry. He turned, fists swinging.

Smash parried with one arm, using a technique he had

picked up at Castle Roogna, then sent his gauntleted fist

smashing into the ogre's gross mid-gut. It was like hitting

well-seasoned ironwood, in both places; his parrying arm

was bruised, and his striking fist felt as if it had been

clubbed. This ogre was stupid, so that his ploys were ob-

vious and easily avoided, but he was also tough. Smash had

held his own so far only because he was less stupid and had

the protection of his centaur clothing. If jacket and gaunt-

lets failed him—

The ogre caught Smash's parrying arm in a grip of iron

or steel and hauled him forward. Smash parried again by

placing his free fist against the ogre's snoot and shoving.

But he quickly became aware of his liability of half-

strength; the other ogre could readily outmuscle him.

Worse, the ogre also became aware of this. "Freak

weak," he grunted, and lifted Smash into the air. Smash

twisted trying to free himself, but could not. Now he was in

for it!

The ogre jammed him down on his feet, so hard it was

Smash's turn to sink into the ground. He shot a terrible

punch at Smash's chest—but now the jacket did protect

Smash from most of the effect. Centaur clothing was de-

signed to be impervious to all stones, arrows, pikes, teeth,

claws, and other weapons; an ogre's fist was, of course,

more than it was designed to withstand, but the jacket was

much better than nothing. Meanwhile, Smash countered

with another strike to the ogre's face, beautifying it by

knocking out another tooth. He had good defense and good

offense, thanks to "the centaurs—but otherwise he re-

mained treacherously weak.

The ogre windmilled his fist again, this time holding

Ogre, Ogre • 277

Smash in place so that he could not escape the blow. The

fist sledgehammered down on the top of his head, driving

Smash another notch lower. He tried to parry but could

not; the ogre countered his counter. Another hammer blow

landed on his noggin, driving him down yet more. This was

the Nail again—and this time Smash was the Nail.

"Don't hurt him!" Tandy screamed, coming down from

her tree. "Eat me if you must, but let Smash be!"

"No!" Smash cried, knee-deep in the ground. "Run,

Tandy! Ogres don't honor deals about food!"

"You mean he'll destroy you anyway, after—?"

"Yes! Flee while you can, while they're watching me!"

"I can't do that!" she protested. Then she screamed, for

the child ogress, larger than Tandy, had pounced on her.

Tandy threw a tantrum. Once more her eyes swelled up,

her face turned purple, and her hair stood out from her

head. The tantrum struck the little ogre, who fell, senseless,

to the ground. Tandy retreated to her tree, for it took her

some time to recharge a tantrum. She was now as helpless

as Smash.

The ogre had paused, watching this byplay. The typical

ogre was too stupid to pay attention to two things at once;

he could not watch Tandy while pounding Smash. Smash,

similarly, had been too dull to try to extricate himself while

watching Tandy, so had not taken advantage of his oppor-

tunity. Now the ogre resumed his effort, completing the

figure of the Nail. Smash had somehow left his arms by his

sides, and now they, too, were caught in the ground,

pinned. He knew he would never have allowed himself to

get into this situation if he had retained his Eye Queue!

Almost any fool would have known better.

Knocks on the head were not ordinarily harmful to

ogres, because there was very little of importance in an

ogre skull except bone. But the repeated impacts did serve

to jog loose a few stray thoughts, flighty fancies not nor-

mally discovered in such territory. Why had Tandy tried so

foolishly to help him? It would have made far more sense

for her to flee, and she was smart enough to have seen

that. Of course her loyalty was commendable—but was

largely wasted on an ogre. As it was, both would perish.

How did that jibe with the Good Magician's Answers? Two

people dead . . .

278 Ogre, Ogre

One answer was that the Magician had grown too old to

practice magic any more, had lost his accuracy of proph-

ecy, and had unwittingly sent them both to their doom. It

was also possible that the Magician was aware of his inade-

quacy and had sent them to the wilds of interior Xanth in

order to avoid giving real Answers. He could have sus-

pected, in his cunning senility, that they would never re-

turn to charge rum with malpractice.

No, Smash remained unwilling to believe that of Hum-

frey. The man might be old, but the Gorgon had invigo-

rated him somewhat, and he still might know what he was

doing. Smash hoped so.

Soon the ogre had him waist-deep in the ground, and

Smash could not retaliate. He lacked the strength. Yet if he

had not yielded up half his soul, someone would have had

to remain in the Void, and that might not have been much

of an improvement over the present situation.

Still the blows descended, until he was chest-deep, and

finally neck-deep. Then the ogre began to tire. Instead of

using his fist, he gave his big homy feet a turn. He

stomped on Smash's head until it, too, was buried in the

packed dirt.

The figure of the Nail was complete. Smash had been

driven, like a stake, full-length into the ground. He was

helpless.

Satisfied with his victory, the ogre stomped toward the

beerbarrel tree where Tandy hid. Smash heard her scream

in terror; then he heard a fist crash into the trunk of the

tree. He heard beer swish out from the punctured barrel

and smelled its fumes as it coursed across the ground to-

ward him. He was in a dent in the ground formed by the

ogre's pounding; he would soon be drowned in beer, if he

didn't manage to drink it all, and Tandy would be dipped

in beer and eaten by the victor.

Then he heard the patter of Tandy's feet coming toward

him. She was still being foolish; she would be much easier

to catch here. The earth about his face became moist as the

beer sank in, and he heard it splashing when her feet

struck it. He hoped her pretty red slippers didn't get soiled.

Meanwhile, the ground shuddered as the other ogre

tromped after her, enjoying the chase.

Then she was over Smash, scraping out the ground about

Ogre, Ogra 279

his head with her feeble little human hands, uncovering his

buried eyes. Foaming beer from the tree swirled down,

blearing his vision but softening the dirt somewhat so she

could better excavate. But this was useless; she could never

hope to extricate him herself, and already the ogre was

looming over her, amused at the futility of her effort.

"Smash!" she cried. "Take my half soul!"

In Smash's dim, beer-sotted mind, something added up.

One half plus one half equaled something very much like

one. Two half souls together—

He saw her half soul dropping toward him, a hemisphere

like a half-eaten apple, bisected with fair precision. Then it

struck his head, bounced, and sank in, as the Eye Queue

had done. He became internally conscious of it as it spread

through him. It was a small, sweet, pretty, innocent but

spunky fillet of soul, exactly the kind that belonged to a

girl like her. Yet as it descended and joined with his big,

brutish, homely, leathery ogre half soul, it merged to make

a satisfying whole.

At this point, in the Night Stallion horror visions, this

would have been the end. But here in real life, with a full

soul pieced together, it just might be the beginning. Smash

felt his strength returning.

The ogre lifted Tandy into the air by her brown tresses.

He slavered. Smash's sunken orbs perceived it all from

their beer-sodden pit in the ground.

The girl tried to throw a tantrum, but she was mostly out

of the makings. She was terrified rather than angry, her

tantrum-energy had recently been expended, and she bad

no soul. Her effort only made the ogre blink. He opened

his ponderous and mottled jaw and swung her toward his

broken teeth.

Smash flexed. He had a full soul, of sorts, now; his

Strength was back. The ground buckled about him. One

hamhand rose up like the extremity of a zombie emerging

from a long-undisturbed grave, dripping beer-sodden dirt.

It caught the hairy ankle of the ogre.

Smash lifted. He was well anchored in the ground, so all

he needed was power. He had it. The ogre rose into the air,

surprised. But he did not let Tandy go. He continued to

bring her to his salivating maw. First things first, after all.

Smash brought the foot belonging to the ankle he held to

280

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

281

his own mouth. He opened his own dirt-marbled jaws.

They closed on the ogre's horny toes. They crunched, hard.

Folklore had it that ogres were invulnerable to pain be-

cause they were too tough and stupid to feel it. Folklore

was in error. The ogre bellowed out a blast of pain that

shook the welkin, making the sun vibrate in place and

three clouds dump their water incontinently. He dropped

Tandy. Smash caught her with his other hand, after ripping

it free of the ground with a spray of dirt that was like a

small explosion. He set her gently down. "Find shelter," he

murmured. "It could become uncomfortable in this vicin-

ity."

She nodded mutely, then scooted away.

Smash spit out three toes, watching them bounce across

the dirt. He waved the ogre in the air. "Shall we begin,

toadsnoot?" he inquired politely.

The ogre was no coward. No ogre was, since an ogre's

brain was too obtuse to allow room for the circuitry of fear.

He was ready to begin.

The battle of ogre vs. ogre was the most savage encoun-

ter known in Xanth. The very land about them seemed to

tense expectantly, aware that when this was over, nothing

would be the same. Perhaps nothing would be, period. The

landscape of Xanth was dotted with the imposing remnants

of ancient ogre fights—water-filled calderas, stands of

petrified trees, mountains of rubble, and similar artifacts.

The ogre began without imagination, naturally enough.

He drove a hamfist down on Smash's head. This time

Smash met it with his open jaws. The fist disappeared into

his mouth, and his teeth crunched on the scarred wrist.

Again the ogre bellowed, and the sun shook in its orbit

and the clouds soaked indecorously. One downpour spilled

onto the sun itself, causing an awful sizzle.

The ogre wrenched his arm up—and popped Smash

right out of the ground in the process, for naturally Smash

had not let go. Beer-mud flew outward and rained down

on the watching ogres, who snapped at the blobs automati-

cally.

. The ogre slammed his two fists together hard. Since one

fist was inside Smash's mouth, this meant Smash's head

was getting doubly boxed. Vapor shot out of his ears. He

spit out the fist, since he was unable to chew it properly,

and freed his head.

Now the two combatants faced each other, two hulking

monsters, the one covered with dirt and reeking of beer,

the other minus two teeth and three toes. Both were an-

gry—and the anger of ogres was similar to that of volcan-

oes, tornadoes, avalanches, or other natural calamities—apt

to destroy the neighborhood indiscriminately.

"You called me half-breed," Smash said, driving a

gauntleted fist into the other's shoulder. This time the blow

had ogre force; the ogre was hurled sidewise into the trunk

of a small rock-maple tree. The tree snapped off, its top

section crashing down on the ogre's ugly head.

He shrugged it off, not even noticing the distraction.

"He go me toe," he said, naming his own grievance, though

unable to count beyond one. He fired his own fist at

Smash's shoulder. The blow hurled Smash sidewise into a

rock-candy boulder. The boulder shattered, and sugar

cubes flew out and descended like hailstones around them.

"You tried to eat my friend," Smash said, kicking the

ogre in the rear. The kick sent the monster sailing up in a

high arc, his posterior smoking. Then, to make sure the

ogre understood. Smash repeated it in ogrish: "He ea' me

she."

The ogre landed bottom-first in the Fen, and the water

bubbled and steamed about him. He picked himself up by

hauling with one hamhand on the shaggy nape of his neck,

then stomped the bog so that the mud flew outward like

debris from a meteoric impact and ripped a medium-sized

hickory tree from its mooring on an islet. The tree came

loose with an anguished "Hick!" and hicked again as the

ogre smashed, it down across Smash's head, breaking it

asunder. Smash felt sorry for the ruined tree, probably be-

cause of the influence of the sweet girl's half soul he had

borrowed.

The two ogres faced each other again, having now

wanned up. There was a scurrying and fluttering in the sur-

rounding jungle as the creatures of the wild who had re-

mained before now fled the scene of impending violence.

There were also ripples in the swamp and the beat of drag-

ons' wings, all departing hastily. None of them wanted any

part of this!

282

Ogre, Ogre

Now that Smash had his full strength and had interacted

with the other ogre, it was his judgment that he was the

stronger of the two and the smarter. He believed he could

beat this monster—and it was necessary that he do it to

protect Tandy. But a lot of battle remained before the issue

would be resolved.

Smash leaned forward, threw his arms around the ogre,

picked him up, and charged toward the dense, hard walls

of a big walnut tree. The ogre's head rammed right

through the wood and was buried inside the wall-trunk, his

body dangling outside.

Then there was a chomping sound. The ogre was chew-

ing his way out, despite his missing teeth. Soon his snout

broke through the far side of the wall, then chomped to the

left and right-He spit out wall-nuts as he went, and they

formed little walls around the tree where they fell. Then

the tree crashed to the ground, its trunk severed. The ogre

returned to the fray.

He ripped a medium rosewood tree from the ground and

hurled it at Smash. Smash threw up a fist to block it, but

the trunk splintered and showered him with splinter-roses.

Smash, in turn, swung a fist through a sandalwood

trunk, severing it. He grabbed the loose part and hurled it

at the ogre, who blocked it. This time there was a shower

of sandals and other footwear.

The ogre took hold of a fat yew tree, twisting it around

and around though it bleated like a female sheep, until the

trunk separated from the stump. "Me screw with yew," he

grunted, ramming the twisted trunk at Smash's face.

"That is un-ogrammatical," Smash said. "Ogres always

say he or she, not you." But he ripped off a trunk of syca-

more and used it to counter the thrust. "Syc 'em!" he cried,

bashing at the yew. "Syc 'em more!" he cried, bashing

again. And because this was the nature of that tree, it

sycked 'em more.

Both trunks shattered. Trunks were really better for con-

taining things than for fighting. Some trunks were used for

trumpeting. Still, these were the most convenient things to

use for this battle.

The ogre tromped into the deeper forest to the south,

where larger trees grew. He chopped with both fists at a

big redwood trunk. Smash stomped to a bigger bluewood

Ogre, Ogre

283

and began knocking chips out of it with his own fists. Soon

both trees came crashing down, and each ogre picked one

up.

The other ogre was the first to swing. Smash ducked,

and the redwood whistled over his head and cracked into a

sturdy beech tree. The encounter was horrendous. The red

was knocked right out of the redwood, and the sand flew

from the beech. A cloud of red-dyed sand formed, making

a brief but baleful sandstorm that swirled away in a series

of diminishing funnels, coating the other trees.

Now Smash swung his bluewood. The ogre ducked be-

hind a butternut tree. The trunk clobbered the tree. Blue

dye flew out, and butter squished out. Blue butter de-

scended in a gooky mass, coating everything the red sand

had missed, including a small pasture of milkweed plants.

Blue buttermilk formed. All the spectator ogres turned

from dry red to dripping blue. It did improve their appear-

ance. Anything was better than the natural hue of an ogre.

The ogre bent to rip out a boxwood tree. This time

Smash was faster. He sliced off a section of trunk from a

cork tree and rammed that at the exposed posterior. The

cork shoved the ogre right into the box, where he was stuck.

bottom-up, corked.

Now the ogre was really angry. He bellowed so hard the

box exploded and the cork shot up toward the sun with a

loud Bronx cheer. When it hit the sun it detonated, and a.

foul cloud eclipsed the orb, turning a clear day to the

smoggiest night ever to clog the noses of the jungle. Crea-

tures began coughing and choking all around, and a num-

ber of plants wilted as the stench spread out like goo.

In the cloying darkness, the ogre retreated. He had had

enough of Smash's full strength. But Smash was not

through with him. He pursued, following the ogre into the

deepest jungle by the sound of his tromping.

Something struck Smash's arm, temporarily numbing it.

It was an ironwood bar. In the dark the ogre had harvested

another tree and had hurled it from ambush. Some might

consider this to be a cowardly act, but ogres did not know

the meaning of cowardice, so it must have been some other

kind of act. Ogres did comprehend cunning, so perhaps

that was it.

Smash picked up the bar, started to twist it into a harm-

284 Ogre, Ogre

less knot, reconsidered and started to hurl it violently back,

reconsidered again, and hung on to it. It would make a

decent spear.

He listened, trying to locate the ogre. He heard the

sproing! as another ironwood sapling was harvested. He

charged that spot—and tripped over a fallen log. Naturally

the log splintered into a storm of toothpicks that shot out

like shrapnel, making pincushions of the surrounding vege-

tation. Smash lost his balance. He windmilled an arm and a

leg. . •

Now the ogre knew Smash's location more accurately.

The other spear eame whistling at him as if it had not a

care in the world and caught his outflung foot. That

smarted! Smash rolled back, got his feet properly under

him, limped, and struck back where his keen ogre hearing

indicated the other ogre was.

Unfortunately, he had not realized that dirt remained in

his ears, from the time he was spiked into the ground. His

blow was countered, being off target, and the other bar

clonked him on the side of the head.

This turned out to be a serendipitous blessing, for the

clonk knocked out most of the dirt. Now he could hear

properly! He reoriented and swung hard and accurately at

the other—and missed, for the other was retreating.

The smog was beginning to clear. Smash pressed for-

ward, striking repeatedly at the dim shape before him. The

counterings grew fewer and weaker as the enemy retreated.

Smash accelerated—and the figure ducked aside, put out a

foot—and Smash tripped over it and stumbled headlong

into a drop-off.

In midair he realized he had been tricked. The ogre, fa-

miliar with the terrain while Smash was not, had led him

to the cliff. Smash should have been more suspicious of the

sudden, seeming weakness of his opponent. But of course,

without his Eye Queue, he was no smarter than any other

ogre.

He landed on a bed of sharp gravel. Something yiped.

Great yellow eyes opened. A jet of flame illuminated the

area. Smash got a clear view of his situation.

Oops! He had fallen directly into a dragon's nest! This

was the lair of a big surface dragon, open to the day be-

cause such a monster feared nothing, not even ogres. The

Ogre, Ogre 285

dragon wasn't here at the moment, but its five cubs were.

In a moment all of them were up and alert. They were

large cubs, almost ready to depart the nest and start con-

suming people for themselves. They were all as massive as

Smash, with coppery snouts, green metal neck scales, and

manes of silvery steel. Their teeth glinted like stars, and

their tongues slurped about hungrily. As the light returned,

all recognized him as an enemy and as prey. What a trap

this was!

The ogre looked over the brink of the pit. "Ho ho ho

ho!" he roared thunderously, causing the nearby trees to

shake. "Me screw he blue!" For Smash stood on blue dia-

monds that made up the nest, which he had taken for

gravel. All dragons liked diamonds; they were pretty and

hard and highly resistant to heat. Because dragons hoarded

diamonds, the stones assumed unreasonable value, being

very rare elsewhere. Smash understood this extended even

to Mundania, though he wasn't sure how the dragons man-

aged to collect the stones from there.

Dragons were not much for ceremony. All five pounced,

blasting out little jets of flame that incinerated the vegeta-

tion around the nest and heated the diamonds at Smash's

feet, forcing him to jump.

Smash, angry at himself for his stupidity in falling into

this mess—imagine being outwitted by a dull ogre!—

reacted with inordinate, i.e., ogrish, fury. He just wasn't in

the mood to mess with little dragons!

He put out his two gauntleted hands and snatched the

first dragon out of the air. He whipped it about and used it

to strike the second in mid-pounce. Both dragons were

knocked instantly senseless. Weight for weight, no dragon

was a match for an ogre; only the advantage of size put the

big dragons ahead, and these lacked that.

Smash hurled both dragons at the other ogre, who stood

gloating, and grabbed for two more. In a moment both of

these were dragging, and the dragging dragons were hurled

up to drape about the ogre.

The fifth dragon, meanwhile, had fastened its jaws on

Smash's legs. They were pretty good jaws, with diamond-

hard teeth; they were beginning to hurt. Smash plunged his

fist down with such force that the skull caved in. He

ripped the body away and hurled it, too, at the other ogre.

286

Ogre, Ogre

The smog had largely cleared, perhaps abetted by the

breeze from Smash's own activity. Now an immense

shadow fell across them. Smash looked up. It was the

mother dragon, so huge her landbound bulk blocked off

the light of the sun" Not all big dragons were confined to

Dragonlandl It would take a whole tribe of ogres to fend

her off—and the tribe of the Ogre-Fen Ogres would cer-

tainly not do that. Smash had been tricked into this nest

because the other ogre knew it would be the end of him.

But Smash, having cursed the darkness of his witless-

ness, now suffered a flashback of dull genius. "Heee!" he

cried, pointing a hamfinger at the other ogre.

The dragoness looked. There stood the ogre, in mid-

gloat, with the five limp, little dragon cubs draped around

his body like so much apparel. He had been so pleased with

his success in framing Smash that he had not thought to

clear the debris from himself. The liability of the true ogre

had betrayed him—his inability to concentrate on more

than one thing at a time. Naturally the dragoness assumed

that he was the guilty creature.

With a roar so horrendous that it petrified the local trees

and caused a layer of rock on the cliff to shiver into dust,

several diamonds to craze and crack; and a blast of fire

that would have vaporized trees and cliff face, had the one

not just been converted from wood to stone and the other

not just powdered out, she went for the guilty ogre.

The ogre was dim, but not that dim, especially as a re-

fracted wash of fire frizzled his fur. While the dragoness

inhaled and oriented for a more accurate second shot, he

flung off the little dragons and dived into the nest-pit,

landing snoot-first in the diamonds. The contrast was con-

siderable—the sheer beauty of the stones versus the sheer

ugliness of the ogre. It looked as if he were trying to eat

them.

Smash hardly paused for thought. At the moment, the

dragoness was a greater threat to his health than the ogre.

He wrestled a boulder out of the pit wall and heaved it up

at the dragoness, while the other ogre struggled to his feet,

shedding white, red, green, blue, and polka-dot diamonds.

The dragoness turned, snapped at the boulder, found it in-

edible, and spit it out

Smash realized that the other ogre had disappeared. He

Ogre, Ogre 287

checked, and saw a foot in a hole. The boulder he had

thrown had blocked a passage, and the ogre was crawling

down it, leaving Smash to face the fire alone. Smash didn't

appreciate that, so he grabbed the foot and hauled the ogre

back and out. Several more diamonds dropped from crev-

ices on the creature's hide—black,, yellow, purple, plaid,

and candy-striped. In a moment Smash had the ogre in the

air, swinging him around by the feet in a circle.

The dragoness was pumping up for a real burnout blast.

Such an exhalation could incinerate both ogres in a single

foop. She opened her maw, letting the first wisps of super-

heated steam emerge, and her belly rumbled with the gath-

ering holocaust.

Smash let go of the ogre, hurling him directly into the

gaping maw, headfirst.

The dragon choked on her own blocked fire, for the

ogre's body was just the right size to plug her gullet. The

ogre's feet, protruding slightly from the mouth, kicked mad-

ly. Then the ogre's broken teeth started working as he

chewed his way out. The dragoness looked startled, un-

certain how to deal with this complication.

Smash wasn't sure how this contest would turn out. The

dragoness' fire was bottled, and her own teeth could not

quite get purchase on the ogre in her throat, but she did

have a lot of power and might be able to clear the ogre by

either coughing him out or swallowing him the rest of the

way. On the other hand, the ogre could chew quite a dis-

tance in a short time. Smash decided to depart the premises

with judicious dispatch.

But where could he go? If he scrambled out of the nest,

the dragoness might chase after him, and he would be

more like a sitting duck than a running ogre, in the open.

If he remained—

"Hssst!" someone called. "Here!"

Smash looked. A little humanoid nymph stood within

the hole left by the boulder.

"I was raised in the underworld," she said. "I know tun-

nels. Cornel"

Smash looked back at the dragoness, who was swelling

with stifled pressure, and at the kicking ogre in her throat.

The former was about to fire the latter out like a missile.

He had sympathy for neither and was fed up with the

288 Ogre, Ogre

whole business. What did he want with ogres anyway? They

were dull creatures who crunched the bones of human folk.

Human folk. "Tandy!" he cried. "I must save her from

the ogres!"

The nymph was disgusted. "Idiot!" she cried. "I am

Tandy!"

'Smash peered closely at her. The nymph had brown

hair, blue eyes, and a spunky, upturned little nose. She was

indeed Tandy. Odd that he hadn't recognized her! Yet who

would have expected a nymph to turn out to be a person!

"Now get in here, you oaf!" she commanded. "Before

that monster pops her cork!"

He followed Tandy into the tunnel. She led him along a

curving route, deep down into the ground. The air here

turned cool, the wall clammy. "The dragon mines here for

'diamonds that my mother leaves," she explained. "There

would be terrible disruption in Xanth if it weren't for her

' work. The dragons would go on a rampage if their dia-

monds ran out, and so would the other creatures if they

couldn't get their own particular stones. It certainly is nice

to know my mother has been here! Of course, that could

have been a long time ago. There might even be an aper-

ture to my home netherworld here, though probably she

rode the Diggle and left no passage behind."

Smash just followed, more concerned about escaping the

dragon than about the girl's idle commentary.

There was a sound behind them, like a giant spike being

fired violently into bedrock. The dragoness had no doubt

disgorged the ogre from her craw and now was ready to

pursue the two of them here. Though the diameter of the

tunnel was not great, dragons were long, sinuous creatures,

particularly the wingless landbound ones, who could move

efficiently through small apertures. Or she could simply

send a blast of flame along, frying them. Worse yet, she

might do both, pursuing until she got close, then doing

some fiery target practice.

"Oh, I'm sure there's a way down, somewhere near,"

Tandy fussed. "The wall here is shallow; I can tell by the

way it resonates. I've had a lot of experience with this type

of formation. See—there's a fossil." She indicated a glow-

ing thing that resembled the skeleton of a fish, but it squig-

gled out of sight before Smash could examine it closely.

Ogre, Ogre 289

Fossils were like that, he knew; they preferred to hide from

discovery. They were like zombies, except that they didn't

generally travel about much; they just rested for eons. He

had no idea what their purpose in life or death might be.

"But I can't find a hole!" Tandy finished, frustrated.

Smash knew they had to get out of this particular pas-

sage in a hurry. He aimed his fist and smashed a hole in

the wall. A new chamber opened up. He dropped through,

carefully lifting Tandy down.

"That's right!" she exclaimed. "I forgot about your ogre

strength! It's handy at times."

A rush of fire flowed along the tunnel they had quitted.

They had gotten out just in time!

"This is it!" Tandy cried. "The netherworld! I haven't

been in this section before, but I recognize the general con-

figuration. A few days' walk, and I'm home!" Then she

reconsidered. "No, there isn't any direct connection. The—

what's that thing that cuts Xanth in half? I can't remem-

ber—"

"The Gap Chasm," Smash said, dredging it out of his

own fading memory. In his ogre personality, he was too

stupid to forget things as readily as Tandy could.

"Yes. That. That would cut off this section from the

section I live in, I think. Still—"

She led him through a dark labyrinth, until the sounds of

the enraged dragon faded. They finally stood on a ledge

near cool water. "She'll never find us here. It would douse

her fire."

"I hope you'll be able to find our way out. I'm lost."

Ogres didn't care one way or the other about the depths of

the earth, but did like to be able to get around to forage for

food and violence.

"When the time is right," she said. "Maybe never."

"But what of our missions?" Smash demanded.

"What missions?" she asked innocently.

Then Smash remembered. She no longer cared about

seeking fulfillment. She had given up her soul.

Chapter 15. Point of View

But in a moment he realized this was not seri-

ous. "I have your half soul," he said. "Take it back." He

put his huge paw on his head and drew out the fillet. It

adhered to his own soul, with which it had temporarily

merged; evidently the two souls liked each other, different

as they were. At last her soul rested in his palm.

Then he moved the faintly luminous hemisphere to her

head and patted it in. The soul dissolved, flowing back into

her. "Oh, that feels so good!" she exclaimed. "Now I know

how much I missed my soul, even the half of it!"

Smash, back to his own half soul, suddenly felt tired. He

sank down on the rock where he was resting. It was dark

here, but he didn't mind; it was easy to rest in this place.

Tandy sank down beside him. "I think my soul feels

lonely," she said. "It was half, and then it was whole with

yours, and now it's half again, with maybe the better half

missing."

"Yours is the better half," he said. "It's cute and spunky

and sensitive, while mine is gross and stupid."

"But strong and loyal," she said. "They complement

each other. A full person needs strength and sensitivity."

"An ogre doesn't." But now he wondered.

She found his hamhand with her own. "Okay, Smash, I

remember our missions now. I wanted to find a good hus-

band, and you—"

"Wanted a good wife," Smash finished. "I didn't know

it, but the Good Magician evidently did. So he sent me

where I could find one. But somehow the notion of sharing

Ogre, Ogre 29T

the rest of my life with an ogress no longer appeals. I don't

know why."

"Because true ogres and ogresses are brutes," she said.

"You really aren't that kind, Smash."

"Perhaps I wasn't when I had the Eye Queue curse. But

when I lost it, I reverted to my natural state."

"Are you sure your natural state is brutish?"

"I was raised to be able to smash ironwood trees with

single blows of my homy fist," he said. "To wrestle my

weight in 'dragons and pulverize them. To squeeze purple

bouillon juice from purple wood with my bare hands. To

chew rocks into sand. To—"

"That's impressive. Smash. And I've seen you do some

of those things. But are you sure you aren't confusing

strength with brutishness? You have always been very gen-

tle with me."

"You are special," he said, experiencing a surge of unfa-

miliar feeling.

"Chem told me something she~ learned from a Mundane

scholar. Chem and I talked a lot while you were in the

gourd, there in the Void, because we didn't know for sure

whether we would ever get free of that place. The scholar's

name was Ichabod, and he knew this little poem about a

Mundane monster resembling a tiger lily, only this one is ^

supposed to be an animal instead of a plant."

"I have fought tiger lilies," he said. "Even their roots

have claws. They're worse than dandy-lions."

"She couldn't remember the poem, exactly. So we played

with it, applying it to you. 'Ogre, ogre, burning bright—'"

"Ogre's don't bum!"

"They do when they're stepping across the firewall," she

said, "trying to fetch a boat so the rest of us can navigate

past the loan sharks. That's what reminded Chem of the

poem, she said. The flaming ogre. Anyway, the poem tells

how they go through the jungle in the night, the fiery

ogres, and are fearfully awful."

"Yes," Smash said, becoming pleased with the image.

"We had a good laugh. You aren't fearful at all, to us.

You're a big, wonderful, blundering ball of fur, and we

wouldn't trade you for anything."

"No matter how brightly I bum," Smash agreed ruefully.

292

Ogre, Ogra

Ogre, Ogre

293

He changed the subject. "How were you able to function

without your soul? When you lost it before, you were coma-

tose."

"Partly, before, it was the shock of loss," she said. "This

time I gave it away; I was braced, experienced."

"That shouldn't make much difference," he protested.

"A soul is a soul, and when you lose it—"

"It does make a difference. What a girl gives away may

make her feel good, while if the same thing is taken by

force, it can destroy her."

"But without a soul—" /

'True. That's only an analogy. I suppose I was thinking

more of love."

He remembered how the demon had tried to rape her.

Suddenly he hated that demon. "Yes, you need someone to

protect you. But we found no man along the route, and

now we are beyond the Good Magician's assignment with-

out an Answer for either of us."

"I'm not so sure," she said.

"We're drifting from the subject. How did you survive,

soulless? Your half soul made me strong enough to beat

another ogre; you had to have been so weak you would

collapse. Yet you didn't."

"Well, I'm half nymph," she said.

"Half nymph? You did seem like a nymph when—"

"I always thought of myself as human, just as you al-

ways thought of yourself as ogre. But my mother is Jewel

the Nymph. So by heredity I'm as much nymph as girl."

"What's the difference?" He knew there was a differ-

ence, but found himself unable to define it.

"Nymphs are eternally young and beautiful and usually

none too bright. They are unable to say no to a male for

anything. My mother is an exception; she had to be smart

and reliable to handle her job. She remains very pretty,

prettier than I am. But she's not as smart as I am."

"You are young and beautiful," Smash said. "But so is

Princess Irene, and she's a human girl."

"Yes. So that isn't definitive. Human girls in the flush

of their young prime do approach nymphs in appearance,

and have a number of nymphal qualities that men find

appealing. But Irene will age, while true nymphs won't,

She loves, while nymphs can't love."

"Can't love?" Smash was learning more than he had ever

expected to about nymphs.

"Well, my mother does love. But as I said, she's a very

special nymph. And my father Crombie used a love-spell

on her. So that doesn't count."

"But some human people don't love, so that is not defini-

tive, either."

'True. It can be very hard to distinguish a nymph from

a thoughtless human girl. But one thing is definitive.

Nymphs don't have souls."

"You have a soul! I am absolutely certain of that! It's a

very nice little soul, too."

He could feel her smile in the dark. Her body relaxed,

and she squeezed his paw. "Thank you. I rather like it my-

self. I have a soul because I'm half human. Just as you do,

for the same reason."

"I never thought of that!" Smash said. "It never oc-

curred to me that other ogres wouldn't have souls."

"They're brutes because they have no souls. Their

strength is all magic."

"I suppose so. My mother was a variety of human, so I

inherited my soul from her."

"And it gave you strength to make up for what you lost

by being only half ogre."

"Agreed. That answers a mystery I was never aware of

before. But you still haven't explained how you—"

"Functioned without a soul. Yes. It was simply a matter

of how I thought of it. You see, human beings have always

had souls; they have no experience living without them.

Other creatures never had souls, so they have learned to

cope. My mother copes quite well, though I suppose some

of my father's soul has rubbed off on her." Tandy sighed.

"She's such a good person, she certainly deserves a soul.

But she is a nymph, and I am half nymph. So I can func-

tion without a soul. All I had to do, once I realized that,

was to think of myself as a nymph. It made a fundamental

difference."

"But I think of myself as an ogre—yet I have a soul."

"Maybe you should try thinking of yourself as a man,

Smash." Her hand tightened on his.

"A man?" he asked blankly. "I'm an ogre!"

"And I'm a girl. But when I had to, I became a nymph.

294

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Ogre, Ogre

295

So I was able to operate without sinking into the sort of

slough I did before, in the gourd. I was able to follow your

fight, and to step in when I needed to."

"A man!" he repeated incredulously.

"Please, Smash. I'm a half-breed, like you. Like a lot of

the creatures of Xanth. I won't laugh at you."

"It's impossible! How could I ever be a man?"

"Smash, you don't talk like an ogre any more. You're

not stupid like an ogre any more."

"The Eye Queue—"

"That vine faded a long time ago. Smash! And the one

you got in the Void—that never existed at all. It was sheer

illusion. Yet it made you smart again. Did you ever con-

sider how that could be?"

It was his turn to smile in the dark. "I was careful not to

think that one through, Tandy. It would have deprived me

of the very intelligence that enabled me to indulge in that

chain of thought, paradoxically."

"You believe in paradox?"

"It is an intriguing concept. I would say it is impossible

in Mundania, but possible in Xanth. I really must explore

the implications further, when I have leisure."

"I have another hypothesis," she said. "The Eye Queue

was illusion, but your intelligence was not."

"Isn't that a contradiction? It's illogical to attribute an

effect as significant as intelligence to an illusion."

"It certainly is. That's why I didn't do it. Smash, I don't

think you needed the Eye Queue vine at all, ever. Not the

illusory one or the original one. You always had the intelli-

gence. Because you're half human, and human beings are

smart."

"But I was never smart until the Eye Queue made me

so."

"You were smart enough to fool everyone into thinking

you were ogrishly stupid! Smash, Chem told me about the

Eye Queue vine. Its effect wears off in hours. Sometimes

its effect is only in self-perception. It makes creatures

think they're smart when they aren't, and they make colos-

sal fools of themselves without knowing it. Like people get-

ting drunk on the spillage from a beerbarrel tree, thinking

they're being great company when actually they are dis-

gusting clowns. My father used to tell me about that; he

said he'd made a clown of himself more than once. Only

it's worse with the vine."

"Was I doing that?" Smash asked, mortified.

"No! You really -were smart! And it didn't wear off, un-

til you lost the vine in the flood. And it came back the

moment you got a new vine, even though you only imag-

ined it. Doesn't that suggest something to you. Smash?"

He pondered. "It confirms that magic is marvelous and

not entirely logical."

"Or that you became smart only when you thought you

ought to be smart. Maybe the Eye Queue showed you how,

the first time. After that you could do it any time you

wanted to. Or when you forgot to be stupid."

"But I'm not smart now," he protested.

"You should listen to yourself. Smash! You've been dis-

coursing on the nuances of paradox and you've been talk-

ing in a literate fashion."

"Why, so I have," he agreed, surprised. "I forgot I had

lost the Eye Queue."

"Precisely. So where does your intelligence come from

now, ogre?"

"It must be from my human half, as you surmise. Like

my soul. I just never invoked it before, because—"

"Because you thought of yourself as an ogre, until you

saw what ogres really were like and started turning off

them. Now you are sliding toward your human heritage."

"You see it far more dearly than I do!"

"Because I'm more objective. I see you from the outside.

I appreciate your human qualities. And I think the Good

Magician Humfrey did, too. He's old, but he's still savvy. I

ought to know; I cleaned up his castle for a year."

"It didn't looked cleaned up to me. I could hardly find a

place to stand."

"You should have seen it before I cleaned it up!" But

she laughed. "Actually, I didn't touch his private den; even

the Gorgon leaves that alone. If anyone ever cleaned up in

there, no one would know where all his spells and books

and things were. He's had a century or so to leam their

locations. But the rest of the castle needs to be kept in

order, and they felt the Gorgon shouldn't have to do it,

since she's married to him now, so I did it. I cleaned off the

magic mirrors and things; some of them bad pretty smart

296 Ogra, Ogre

mouths, too! It wasn't bad. And in that year I came to

understand that behind the seeming absent-mindedness of

Humfrey there lies a remarkably alert mind. He just

doesn't like to show it. He knew all about you, for example,

before you approached the castle. He had you marked a

year in advance on his calendar, right to the day and hour

of your arrival. He watched every step of your progress.

He chortled when you came up against those ogre bones;

he'd gone to a lot of work to get those set up. That man

knows everything he wants to know. That's why he keeps

the Gorgon in thrall, instead of she him; she is in complete

awe of his knowledge."

"And I thought he was asleepi" Smash said ruefully.

"Everyone does. But he's the Magician of Information,

one of the most powerful men in Xanth. He knows every-

thing worth knowing. So he surely knew how much of a

mind you had and crafted his Answer accordingly. Now we

know he was correct."

"But our missions—neither is complete! He didn't know

we would fail, did he?"

She considered, then asked, "Smash, why did you fight

the other ogre?"

"He annoyed me. He insulted me."

"But you tried to avoid trouble."

"Because I was at half-strength and knew I'd lose."

"But then you slugged him. You knocked out a tooth."

"He was going to eat you. I couldn't allow that."

"Why not? It's what ogres do."

"I had agreed to protect you!"

"Did you think of that when you struck him?"

"No," Smash admitted. "I popped him instantly. There

was no time for thought."

"So there was some other reason you reacted."

"You're my friend!"

"Do ogres have friends?"

He considered again. "No. I'm the only ogre who ever

had friends—and they were mostly human friends. Most

ogres don't even like other ogres."

"Unsurprising," she said. "So, to protect me, twice you

risked your soul."

"Yes, of course." He wasn't certain of the point of her

comment.

Ogre, Ogre 297

"Would any true ogre have done that?"

"No true ogre. Of course, since ogres don't have souls,

they would never be faced with the choice. But still, if they

did have souls, they wouldn't—"

"Smash, doesn't it seem, even to you, that you have more

human qualities than ogre qualities?"

"In this circumstance, perhaps. But in the jungle, alone,

it would be otherwise."

"Why did you leave the jungle, then?"

"I was dissatisfied. As I said before, I must have needed

a wife, only I didn't know it then."

"And you could have had a nice brute of an ogress, with

a face whose full glare would have made the moon rot, if

you'd reacted more like an ogre. Are you sorry you blew

it?"

Smash laughed, becoming more conscious of her hand

on his. "No."

"Do ogres laugh?"

"Only maliciously."

"So you've thrown away the Answer you worked so hard

for, you think. Are you going back to the lonely jungle

now?"

Strangely, that also did not appeal. The life he had been

satisfied with before seemed inadequate now. "What choice

do I have?"

"Why not try being a man? It's all in your viewpoint, I

think. The people at Castle Roogna would accept you, I'm

sure. They already do. Prince Dor treated you as an

equal."

"He treats everybody as an equal." But Smash won-

dered. Would Prince Dor have been the same with any of

the Ogre-Fen Ogres? This seemed questionable.

Then something else occurred to him. "You say I was

able to make the illusory Eye Queue vine work in the Void

because I always did have human intelligence, so there was

no paradox?"

"That's what I say," she said smugly.

"Then what about the gourd?"

"The gourd?" she asked family.

"That was illusory, too, in the Void, and it had noth-

ing to do with my human nature, yet it also worked."

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Ogre, Ogre

299

"Yes, it did," she agreed. "Oh, Smash, I never thought

of thati But that means—"

"That illusion was real in the Void. That what we

thought was there really was there, once we thought it,

such as gourds and glowing footprints. So there is no proof

I'm smart without the vine."

"But—but—" She began to sniffle.

Smash sighed. He hated to see her unhappy. "Neverthe-

less, I admit to being smart enough now to find the flaws

in your logic, which, paradoxically, proves your case to

that extent. Probably we're both right. I have human

intelligence, and the Void makes illusion real." He paused,

yet again aware of her hand on his. What a sweet little

hand it wasi "I have never in my life thought of myself as

a man. I don't know what it could accomplish, but at least

it might be a diversion while we wait for the dragoness to

stop searching for us."

Her sniffles abated magically. "It might be more than

that. Smash," she said, sounding excited.

Smash concentrated. He imagined the way men were:

small and not very hairy and rather weak, but very smart.

They used clothing because their natural fur didn't cover

the essentials. They plucked shoes from shoe trees and

socks from hose vines. He had a jacket and gloves; that

was a start. They lived in houses, because wild creatures

could otherwise attack them in their sleep. They tended to

congregate in villages, liking one another's company. They

were, in fact, social creatures, seldom alone.

He imagined himself joining that company, walking like

a man instead of tromping like an ogre. Resting on a bed

instead of on the trunk of a tree. Eating delicately, one bite

at a time, chewing it sedately, instead of ripping raw flesh,

crunching bones, and using sheer muscle to cram in what-

ever didn't conveniently fit in his mouth. Shaking hands

instead of knocking for a loop. But the whole exercise was

ridiculous, because he knew he would always be a huge,

hairy, homely monster.

"It isn't working," he said with relief. "I just can't imag-

ine myself as—"

She set her other hand on his gross arm. Now he felt the

touch of her soul, her half soul, for he was attuned to it

after borrowing it. There seemed to be a current of soul

traveling along his arm between her two tiny hands. He

had rescued that soul from the gourd, and it had helped

rescue him from the ogres.

He also remembered how quick she had always been in

his defense. How she had kissed him. How she had stayed

with him, even when he went among the ogres, even when

she lacked her souL Suddenly he wanted very much to

please her.

And he began to get the point of view. He felt himself

shrinking, refining, turning polite and smart.

Suddenly it opened out His mind expanded to take in all

of Xanth, as it had when he first felt the curse of the Eye

Queue. This time it was no curse; it was self-realization. He

had become a man.

Tandy's hands remained on his arm and hand. Now he

turned to her in the dark. His eyes saw nothing, but his

mind more than made up the difference.

Tandy was a woman. She was beautiful in her special

fashion. She was smart. She was nice. She was loyal. She

had a wonderful soul.

And he—with the perspective of a man he saw her dif-

ferently. With the mind of a man he analyzed it. She had

been a companion, and he realized now how important that

had become to him. Ogres didn't need companions, but

men did. The six other girls had been companions, too, and

he had liked them, but Tandy was more.

"I don't want to go back to the jungle alone," he mur-

mured. His voice had lost much of the ogre guttural qual-

ity.

"I never thought you belonged there. Smash." Oh, how

sweet she sounded 1

"I want—" But the enormity of the notion balked Tiim.

It didn't balk Tandy, however. "Smash, I told you before

that I loved you."

"I have human perception at the moment," he said. "I

must caution you not to make statements that are subject to

misinterpretation."

"Misinterpretation, hell!" she flashed. "I knew my mind

long before you knew yours."

"Well, you must admit that an ogre and a nymph—"

300

Ogre, Ogre

Ogre, Ogre

301

"Or a man and a woman—"

"Half-breeds," he said, half bitterly. "Like the centaurs,

harpies, merfolk, fauns—"

"And what's wrong with half-breeds?" she flared. "In

Xanth, any species can mate with any other it wants to,

and some of the offspring are fine people. What's wrong

with Chem the Centaur? With the Siren?"

"Nothing," he said, impressed by her vehemence. Mo-

ment by moment, as she talked and his manhood infil-

trated the farthest reaches of his awareness, he was warm-

ing to her nature. She was small, but she was an awful lot

of smalL

"And the three-quarter breeds, almost identical to the

humans, like Goldy Goblin and Biythe Brassie and John

the Fairy—"

"And Fireoak the Hamadryad, whose soul is the tree,"

he finished. "All good people." But he wondered passingly

why, since nymphs were so nearly human, they didn't have

souls. Obviously there was more to learn about the matter.

"Consider Xanth," she continued hotly. "Divided into

myriad Kingdoms of people and animals and in-betweens.

We met the Lord of the Flies and the Prince of Whales and

the Dragon Lady and the Kingdoms of the goblins, birds,

griffins—"

"And the Ancestral Ogres of the Fen," he said. "All of

which believe they dominate Xanth."

"Yes." She took a breath. "How can Xanth be prevented

from fragmenting entirely, except by interaction and cross-

breeding? Smash, I think the very future of Xanth depends

on the half-breeds and quarter-breeds, the people like us

who share two or more views. In Mundania, no species

breeds with another—and look at Mundania! According to

my father's stories—"

"Awful," he agreed. "Mundania has no magic."

"So their species just keep drifting farther apart, maldng

that land more dreary year by year. Xanth is different;

Xanth can reunify. Smash, we owe it to Xanth to—"

"Now I understand what men object to in women,"

Smash said.

She was startled. "What?"

"They talk too much."

"It's to fill in for inactive men!" she flared.

Oh. He turned farther toward her in the dark, and she

met him halfway. This time there was no confusion at all

about the kiss. It was a small swatch of heaven.

At last they broke. "Ogre, ogre," she murmured breath-

lessly. "You certainly are a man now."

"You're right. The Good Magician knew," he said, cud-

dling her close to him. In the dark she did not seem tiny;

she seemed just right. As with riding the nightmares, things

were always compatible. He had known Tandy was very

feminine; now this quality assumed phenomenal new im-

portance. "He sent me to the ogres—to find you."

"And he sent me to find you—the one creature rough

enough to drive off the demon I fled, while still being gen-

tle enough for me to love."

Love. Smash mulled that concept over. "I cried for you

last night," he confessed.

"Silly," she teased him. "Ogres don't cry."

"Because I thought I would lose you. I did not know that

I loved you."

She melted. "Oh, Smash! You said it!"

He said it again. "I love you. That's why I fought for

you. That's why I bargained my soul for you."

She laughed, again teasingly. "I don't think you know

what love is."

He stiffened. "I don't?"

"But I'll show you."

"Show me," he said dubiously.

She showed him. There was no violence, no knocking of

heads against trees, no screaming or stomping. Yet it was

the most amazing and rewarding experience he had ever

had. By the time it was done. Smash knew he never

wanted to be anything but a man and never wanted any

woman but her.

They found another way out of the netherworld, avoid-

ing the lurking dragon, and trekked south along the east

coast of Xanth. Smash, by the light of day, was smaller

than he had been, and less hairy, and hardly ugly at all.

But he didn't really mind giving up his previous assets,

because the acquisition of Tandy more than made up for

302 Ogre, Ogre

them. She sewed him a pair of shorts, because men wore

them, and he did rather resemble a man now.

They traveled quietly, avoiding trouble. When this

threatened to rankle his suppressed ogre nature, Tandy

would take his hand, and smile up at him, and the rankle

dissipated.

The trip took several days, but that didn't matter, be-

cause it was sheer joy. Smash hardly noticed the routine

Xanth hazards, since most of his attention was on Tandy.

Somehow the hazards seemed diminished, anyway, for

news had spread among the griffins, birds, dragons, gob-

lins, and flies that Tandy's companion was best left alone,

even if he didn't look like much. It seemed that a certain

ogre of the Fen had staggered out of the jungle with a

headache, and though he had not given any details, it was

evident that he had been roughly treated by the stranger he

had fought. Even the crossing of the Gap, which Smash

had almost forgotten until he encountered it again, was

without event. The Gap Dragon, reputed to have a sore

tail, stayed clear.

At length, they drew near the entrance to Tandy's home

region. The route was through a chasm guarded by a tangle

tree. It was a big, aggressive tree, and Smash knew he

could not overcome it. So he drew on his human intelli-

gence and harvested a number of hypnogourds, intending

to roll them down to the tree. If it made the mistake of

looking in a single peephole—

But as they carried two gourds from the patch, a cloud

of smoke formed-before them. This coalesced into a dusky

demon.

"Well, my little human beauty," the demon said to

Tandy, switching his barbed tail about. "You were lost, but

now are found. I shall have my will of you forthwith." He

advanced on her, grinning lasciviously.

Tandy screamed and dropped her gourd, which shat-

tered on the ground. "Fianti"

So this was the demon who sought to rape her! Smash

set his own gourd down carefully and stepped forward.

"Depart, foul spirit!" he ordered.

The demon ignored him, addressing Tandy instead. "Ah,

you seem more luscious than ever, girl-creature! It will be

long before I tire of you."

Ogre, Ogre 303

Tandy backed away. Smash saw that she was too fright-

ened even to throw a tantrum. The demon had come upon

her so suddenly she had not been able to brace emotionally

for the assault.

Smash interposed himself between demon and girl. "De-

sist, Fiant," he said.

The fat demon put out a band and shoved him. Smash

tripped on a stone and tumbled to the ground ignomi-

niously. The demon stepped on his stomach and advanced

on Tandy. "Pucker up, cutie; your time has come at last."

Smash was becoming perturbed. Tandy might believe in

crossbreeding as the hope of Xanth, but she had not chosen

to do it with the demon. As she had explained, there was a

considerable difference between what was given voluntar-

ily and what was forced. Smash scrambled to his feet and

hurried after Fiant, catching him on the shoulder.

The demon swung about almost carelessly, delivering a

brain-rattling slap across Smash's cheek. Smash fell back

again, reeling.

Now Fiant shot out a hand and caught Tandy by the

hair. She screamed, but could not pull away.

Smash charged back into the fray—only to be met with

a careless straight-arm that nearly staved in his teeth. Now

the demon deigned to notice him, momentarily. "Get lost,

lout, or I'll hurt you."

What was this? Fiant seemed to be stronger than Smash!

The demon drew Tandy in to him by the hair, reaching

with the clawed fingers of his other hand to rip off her

blouse.

Smash charged again, fists swinging. He caught the de-

mon on his pointed ear.

This time Fiant became annoyed. "You seem to be a

slow learner, creep." He loosed the girl, spun about, and

struck Smash with a lightning-fast one-two combination

punch on chin and stomach. Smash went down, head fog-

ging, gasping for breath. "No man can stand against a de-

mon," Fiant said arrogantly, and turned again to Tandy.

But the brief respite had given her a chance to work up

some spunk. She dived for Smash. "Take my soul!" she

cried, and he felt its wonderful enhancement infusing him,

He had forgotten how weak he was with only half a soul.

Then she was yanked away by the hair. Fiant held her

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305

up, her feet dangling. "No more Mr. Nice Guy," he said.

"Off with your skirt." On the trip down, Tandy had re-

made the tatters of her red dress into a good skirt, and

completed her wardrobe and Smash's by sewing material

from cloth bushes.

Smash leaped up and tackled the demon. Now he had

his strength! But Fiant poked two fingers at his eyes. Pain-

fully blinded. Smash fell to the ground again. He had a full

soul again; why couldn't he prevail?

It was Tandy who came up with the answer. "Smash,

you're too much of a man now!" she cried from her dan-

gle. "Too gentle and polite. Try thinking of yourself as an

ogre!"

It was true. Smash had spent several days becoming

manishly civilized. As Fiant had said, no man was a match

for a demon.

But an ogre, now . . .

Smash thought of himself as an ogre. It wasn't hard. He

had spent his life indulging in just such thinking; the old

thought patterns were strong. He visualized the ground

trembling at his stomp, trees being ripped from their moor-

ings, boulders being crushed to sand by single blows of

horny fists.

Hair sprouted on his arms. Muscles bulged horrendously.

His height jumped. His orange jacket, which hung on him

loosely, abruptly became tight. His shorts split apart and

fell off. His hands swelled into hams. His bruised eyeballs

popped into awful ogre orbs. Ogre, ogre . . .

Smash put one hamfinger to the ground and lifted his

whole body into the air, then he flipped neatly to his rock-

calloused feet He roared—and the leaves of the nearest

trees swirled away. So, unfortunately, did Tandy's clothes,

such as remained; they were not constructed for hurricane

winds.

She swung in dainty nudity by her hair. "Go get him,

ogre!" she cried, and kicked the demon on the nose.

Fiant looked at Smash—and gaped. Suddenly he faced a

monster far worse than himself. He dropped the girl and

turned to flee.

Smash bent down, hooked his fingers in the turf, and

yanked. The turf came toward him in a rug, dumping the

demon on his homs. Smash took one tromp forward and

launched a mighty kick at Fiant's elevated rump. The kick

should have propelled the demon well toward the sun.

But Smash's foot passed right through Fiant. Smash,

thrown off balance by the missed kick, did a backward flip

and whomped on his head. That hardly mattered to an

ogre, but it gave the demon a chance to get organized.

Fiant realized that the ogre could not really hurt him,

thanks to his ability to dematerialize at will. This restored

his courage marvelously. Bullies always got brave when the

odds were loaded on their side. He got up, strode toward

Smash, and punched him in the gut. It was a good, hard

blow—but now Smash shrugged it off as the trifle it was

and countered with a sweep of his arm that was so swift

and fierce it caused a contrail behind it.

But this blow, too, passed through the demon without

effect.

"He's dematerializing!" Tandy cried. "You can't hit

him!" »

Unconvinced, Smash plunged his fist at the demon's

head from above. This blow should have driven the demon

halfway into the ground. Instead, it passed the entire length

of Piant's body without impediment and struck the bare

rock beneath, where the rug of turf had been removed. The

rock cracked apart and powdered into sand, naturally.

Then Smash rammed a straight punch at Fiant's belly—

and only succeeded in sundering the tree behind him.

Smash was tearing up the landscape to no avail.

But the demon could hit Smash, by rematerializing his

fists just before they struck. The blows didn't really hurt,

but Smash was annoyed. How could he pulverize a creature

who could not be hit back?

He tried to grab Fiant. This worked slightly better. The

demon's body was as diffuse as smoke to his touch, but

Smash's spread hamhands had more purchase, and he was

able to guide the smoke as long as he handled it carefully.

Unfortunately, the demon's fists remained material, and

they now beat a brutal tattoo on Smash's face. His nose and

eyes were hurting anew.

"Use your mind. Smash!" Tandy called.

Smash held the demon in place, enduring the facial bat-

tering while he put his natural Eye Queue intellect to work

What would deal with such a demon once and for all? It

would not be enough merely to drive Fiant off; he had to

fix it so the demon could never again bother Tandy. If

Tandy had a notion how he should proceed, why hadn't she

simply screamed it out?

Because if the demon heard, he would act to negate it.

Smash had to do whatever it was by surprise.

He glanced at Tandy—and saw her sitting on the gourd

he had carried. Suddenly he understood.

He snapped at the demon's fists, using his big ogre teeth.

"Oh, no, you don't, monster!" Fiant exclaimed. "You can't

get me that way!" Sure enough, he punched Smash on the

tongue, and when Smash's teeth closed on the fist, it dema-

terialized and withdrew unhurt.

But meanwhile, Smash was carrying the demon toward

the gourd. When he got there, he slowly tilted Fiant down

toward the peephole Tandy had been sitting on. The demon

was about to face the gourd. If Fiant saw it too soon, he

would strike it and shatter it, ruining the ploy.

Fiant, intent on punching Smash's snout into a pulp, did

not spy the gourd until he was abruptly face to face with it.

"No!" he cried, realizing what it was. He jammed his eyes

closed so he could not look, and dematerialized.

"Yes!" Smash grunted. He shoved the demon headfirst

at the gourd/Because Fiant was dematerialized, he passed

right through the peephole, headfirst. Suddenly Smash re-

membered the bottle ifrit inside this same gourd. Wasn't

the gourd another kind of container? "You want to force

your way into something? This is a good place." Smash fed

the rest of the demon through, arms, torso, legs, and feet,

until all of him was gone.

"Let him find his way out of thatV Tandy cried jubi-

lantly. "Oh, this really serves him right!"

Smash put his ear to the peephole. He heard a faint,

angry neighing, as of an aroused stallion, and a startled

scream. It seemed the demon could not dematerialize very

effectively in a world where everything was already imma-

terial. Then the beat of hooves faded away in the internal

distance.

Smash smiled. As Tandy had suggested, it would be long

before the demon found his way out of that situation!

He drew forth Tandy's fillet of soul and handed it back

to her. Suddenly he felt his full strength return, and saw

Tandy brightening similarly. Their two half souls had been

returned!

Smash realized what it was. The nightmares had made a

fair exchange for the two halves of Fiant.

Smash straightened up, keeping his eye averted from the

peephole. He squinted at Tandy, perceiving her disheveled

but pert nudity. "Ogre confess, like she dress," he said.

"Oh, you're a sight for sore eyes yourself!" Tandy said in

nurselike fashion, wiping Smash's battered face. "And sore

nose, too! But do you know something? I love you just as

much in the ogre view."

He kissed her then, using his sore lips, not caring what

point of view it might be. Love was, after all, blind,