just made use of this for our benefit.”
Perceiving that they were not, after all, in danger, Irene regained confidence. “Let go of me!” she snapped at Dor, as if he had been the one doing the grabbing.
The ribbonfish seemed interminably long; the raft slid and slid.
Then Dor realized that the monster’s head had looked down under the water and come up to follow its tail; the creature was running them through again. The land was coming closer.
At last the land arrived. The ribbonfish tired of the game and dumped them off with a jarring splash. The rushes had just enough power left to propel them to the beach; then they expired, and the raft began to sink.
The sun was well down toward the horizon, racing to cut off their day before they could travel anywhere further. Soon the golden orb would be quenched again. “From here we go by foot, I think,” Chet remarked. “We will not achieve Centaur Isle this day.”
“We can get closer, though,” Dor said. “I’ve had enough of boats for now anyway.” The others agreed.
First they paused to forage for some food. Wild fruitcakes were ripe and a water chestnut provided potable water; Irene did not have to expend any of her diminished store of seeds. In fact, she found a few new ones here.
Suddenly something jumped from behind a tree and charged directly at Dor. He whipped out his magic sword without thinking and the creature stopped short, spun about, and ran away. It was all hair and legs and glower.
“What was that?” Dor asked, shaking.
“That’s a jump-at-a-body,” the nearest stone said.
“What’s a jump-at-a-body?” Irene asked.
“I don’t have to answer you,” the stone retorted. “You can’t take me for granite.”
“Answer her,” Dor told it.
“Aw, okay. It’s what you just saw.”
“That’s not much help,” Irene said.
“You aren’t much yourself, doll,” it said. “I’ve seen a better complexion on mottled serpentine.”
Bedraggled and disheveled from the ocean run, Irene was hardly at her best. But her vanity had been pricked. “I can choke you with weeds, mineral.”
“Yeah, greenie? Just try it!”
“Weeds-grow!” she directed, pointing to the rock. Immediately the weeds around it sprouted vigorously.
“Weed’s the best that ever was!” the weeds exclaimed. Startled, Dor looked closely, for his talent did not extend to living things. He found that some sand caught in the plants had actually done the talking.
“Oh, for schist sake!” the rock said. “She’s doing it!”
“Tell me what a jump-at-a-body is,” Irene insisted.
The rock was almost hidden by vegetation. “All right, all right, doll! Just clear these junky plants out of my face.”
“Stop growing,” Irene told the weeds, and they stopped with a frustrated rustle. She tramped them down around the rock.
“You do have pretty legs,” the rock said. “And that’s not all.”
Irene, straddling the rock, leaped away. “Just answer my question.”
“They just jump out and scare people and run away,” the rock said. “They’re harmless. They came across from Mundania not long ago, when the Mundanes stopped believing in them, and don’t have the courage to do anything bad.”
“Thank you,” Irene said, gratified by her victory over the ornery stone.
“I think the grass needs more tramping down,” the rock suggested.
“Not while I’m wearing a skirt.”
They finished their repast and trekked on south. Very little remained of the day, but they wanted to find a decent place to camp for the night. Dor questioned other rocks to make sure nothing dangerous remained in the vicinity; this did seem to be a safe island. Perhaps their luck had turned, and they would reach their destination without further ill event.
But as dusk closed, they came to the southern border of the island.
There was a narrow channel separating it from the next island in the chain.
“Maybe we’d better camp here for the night,” Dor said. “This island seems safe; we don’t know what’s on the next one.”
“Also, I’m tired,” Irene said.
They settled in for the night, protected by a palisade formed of asparagus spears grown for the occasion. The jump-at-a-bones kept charging the stockade and fleeing it harmlessly.
Chet and Smash, being the most massive individuals, lay at the outside edges of the small enclosure. Grundy needed so little room he didn’t matter. Dor and Irene were squeezed into the center. But now she had room enough and time to settle herself without quite touching him. Ah, well.
“You know, that rock was right,” Dor said. “You do have nice legs. And that’s not all.”
“Go to sleep,” she said, not displeased.
In the morning a large roundish object floated in the channel. Dor didn’t like the look of it. They would have to swim past it to reach the next island. “Is it animal or plant?” he asked.
“No plant,” Irene said. She had a feel for this sort of thing, since it related to her magic.
“I’ll talk to it,” Grundy said. His talent applied to anything living.
He made a complex series of whistles and almost inaudible grunts.
Much of his communication was opaque to others, since some animals and most plants used inhuman mechanisms. In a moment he announced: “It’s a sea nettle. A plantlike animal. This channel is its territory, and it will sting to death anyone who intrudes.”
“How fast can it swim?” Irene asked.
“Fast enough,”’ Grundy said. “It doesn’t look like much, but it can certainly perform. We could separate, crossing in two parties; that way it could only get half of us, maybe.”
“Perhaps you had better leave the thinking to those better equipped for it,” Chet said.
“We have to get it out of there or nullify it,” Dor said. “I’ll try to lead it away, using my talent.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll start my stunflower,” Irene said.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” But Dor couldn’t blame her; he had had success before in tricking monsters with his talent, but it depended on the nature and intelligence of the monster. He hadn’t tried it on the water dragon, knowing that effort would be wasted.
This sea nettle was a largely unknown quantity. It certainly didn’t look smart.
He concentrated on the water near the nettle. “Can you do imitations?” he asked it. The inanimate often thought it had talent of this nature, and the less talent it had, the more vain it was about it. Once, years ago, he had caused water to imitate his own voice, leading a triton a merry chase.
“No,” the water said.
Oh. “Well, repeat after me: ‘Sea nettle, you are a big blob of blubber.”’
“Huh?” the water asked.
He would have to encounter a stupid quantity of water! Some water was volatile in its wit, with cleverness flowing freely; some just lay there in puddles. “Blob of blubber!” he repeated.
“You’re another!” the water retorted.
“Now say it to the sea nettle.”
“You’re another!” the water said to the sea nettle.
The others of Dor’s party smiled. Irene’s plant was growing nicely.
“No!” Dor snapped, his temper shortening. “Blob of blubber.”
“No blob of blubber!” the water snapped.
The sea nettle’s spines wiggled. “It says thank you,” Grundy reported.
This was hopeless. In bad temper, Dor desisted.
“The flower is almost ready,” Irene said. “It’s a bit like the Gorgon; it can’t stun you if you don’t look at it. So we’d better all line up with our backs to it-and don’t look back. There’ll be no returning this way; once a plant like this matures, I can’t stop it.”
