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 physically; he had left the scene, then returned to it slightly displaced. Why?
The buildings reversed course and closed on him again. They certainly wasted no time pondering questions! Smash 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, knowing 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 complete, 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 inquired, holding her up by one finger, as he had done before. 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, wondering where the dent was.
'I told you! We have to-'
Then he was back in Xanth again. Smash saw the problem 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!'
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 chick!' 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 ineffective 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 incredulously.
'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-'
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 outside. '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 collisions. 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.
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 comfortably, 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 button 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 misconstrued 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.
