Dor woke fairly well refreshed. Evidently Grundy had located a suitable balm, for the scraped skin was largely healed. His head was pillowed on something soft; after a moment he realized it was Irene's lap. Irene was asleep with her back against an ash tree, and a fine coating of ashes now powdered her hair. She was lovely in that unconscious pose.
He seemed to be wearing new clothing, too. They must have located a flannel plant, or maybe Irene had grown one from seed. As he considered that, he heard a faint bleat in the distance and was sure; newly shorn flannel plants did protest for a while. He decided not to dwell on how she might have measured or fitted him for the clothing she had made. Obviously she was not entirely naive about such things. In fact, Irene was shaping up as a pretty competent girl Dor sat up. Immediately Irene woke. "Well, someone had to keep you from thrashing about in the sand until you healed," she said, embarrassed.
He had liked her better without the explanation. "Thank you. I'm better now."
Chet and Smash had gathered red and blue berries from colorberry bushes and tapped a winekeg tree for liquid. They got pleasantly high on breakfast while they discussed the exigencies of the day. "I don't think we had better try to walk by that Wyverns' nest," Chet said. "But our most feasible alternative carries a penalty."
"The curse," Grundy said.
"Beware the air," Smash agreed.
Dor scratched his head. "What are you talking about?"
"The salve," Chet explained. "To walk on clouds."
"I don't want to perform some dastardly deed," Irene said. "But I don't want to get chewed up by Wyverns either."
Now a shape loomed on the ocean horizon. "What's that?" Dor asked the sea.
"A big sea serpent," the water answered. "She comes by here every morning to clean off the beaches."
Now Dor noticed how clean this beach was. The sand gleamed as whitely as bone.
"I think our decision has just been made for us," Chet said. "Let's risk the curse and walk the vapors."
"But the clouds are way out of reach," Irene protested.
"Light a fire," Grundy said. "We can walk up the smoke."
"That ought to work," Chet agreed.
Hurriedly they gathered dry wood from the interior of the island while Irene grew a flame-vine. Soon the vine was blazing, and they set the wood about it, forming a bonfire. Several fine bons puffed into the sky, looking like burning bones; then smoke billowed up, roiling its way slantwise to the west. It seemed thick enough; but was it high enough?
The sea monster was looming close, attracted by the fire. "Let's move it!" Grundy cried. "Where's the salve?"
Dor produced the salve, and the golem smeared it on his little feet.
Then he made a running leap for the smoke--and flipped over and rolled on the ground. "Lift me up to the top of it," he cried, unhurt.
"I need to get it firmly under me, I think."
Smash lifted him up. Yes, the ogre was definitely taller than he had been at the start of their trip.
Now the golem found his footing. "Hey--it's hot!" he cried, dancing. He ran up the column--but the smoke was moving, making his footing uncertain, and in a moment he stumbled, fell--and plummeted through the smoke toward the ground.
Smash caught him before he struck. The golem disappeared entirely inside the ogre's brute hand. "Small fall," Smash commented.
"How about putting it on his hands, too?" Irene asked.
Dor did so, dabbing it on the golem with the tip of his little finger.
They put Grundy up again. This time when the golem stumbled, he was able to catch himself by grabbing handfuls of smoke. "Come on up," he cried. "The vapor's fine!"
The sea monster was almost upon them. The others put salve on their hands and feet and scrambled onto the smoke. Chet, with four feet, balanced on the shifting surface fairly handily, but Smash, Irene, and Dor had trouble. Finally they scrambled on hands and feet, getting from the hot lower smoke to the cooler higher smoke.
This was less dense, but the footing remained adequate.
The surface was spongy, to Dor's sensation, like a soft balloon that was constantly changing its shape. The smoke seemed solid to their soles and palms, but it remained gaseous in nature, with its own whorls and eddies. They could not stand still on it. Dor had to keep shifting his weight to maintain balance. It was a challenge--and became fun.
Now the sea monster arrived. She sniffed the beach, then followed her nose up to the smoke and the creatures on it. The wind was extending the smoke on an almost level course at this elevation, not quite beyond reach of the monster. The creature spied Irene up there, did a double take, then snapped at the girl--who screamed and jumped off the smoke.
For an instant Dor saw her there in midair, as if she were frozen, her shriek descending with her. He knew he could not reach her or help her. The fool girl!
Then a loop of rope snagged her and drew her back to the smoke.
Chet had saved his rope, the one used to draw Dor up from the hole, and now had used it to rescue Irene from her folly. Dor's heart dropped back into place.
The sea monster, deprived of her morsel, emitted an angry honk and lunged again. But this time Irene had the wit to scramble away, and the huge snout bit into the smoke and passed through it harmlessly. The teeth made an audible clash as they closed on nothing.
However, the passage of the monster's head through the smoke disturbed the column, and Dor and Smash were caught on the side nearer the fire. They could not rejoin the others until the column mended itself.
Now the monster concentrated on the two of them, since they were closest to the ground. They could not move off the smoke, so she had a good shot at them. Her huge ugly snout oriented on Dor and lunged forward.
Dor had had enough of monsters. He danced aside and whipped out his magic sword. The weapon moved dazzlingly in his hand, slicing through the soft tissue of the monster's left nostril. The creature honked with pain and rage.
"oooo, that's not ladylike!" Grundy called from upsmoke.
"Depends on the lady," Irene remarked.
Now the sea monster opened her ponderous and mottled jaws and advanced agape. Dor had to retreat, for the mouth was too big for him to handle; it could take him in with one chomp. The monsters of the ocean grew larger than those of the lakes!
But, stepping back, he stumbled over a fresh roil of smoke and sat down hard--on nothing solid. His seat passed right through, and he had to snatch madly with both hands to save himself. He was caught as if in a tub, supported only by his feet and hands.
The monster hissed in glee and moved in to take him in, bottom first. But Smash stepped into her mouth, hamfists bashing into the giant teeth with loud clashing sounds, knocking chips from them.
Startled, the monster paused, mouth still open. The ogre stomped on her tongue and jumped back to the smoke.
By the time Dor had regained his feet, the monster had retreated, and Smash was bellowing some rhyming imprecation at her. But the monster was not one of the shy little creatures of the inland lakes that gobbled careless swimmers; she was a denizen of the larger puddle. She had been balked, not defeated; she was really angry now.
The monster honked. "I have not yet begun to bite!" Grundy translated. She cast about for some better way to get at the smokeborne morsels--and spied the fire on the beach.
The monster was not stupid for her kind. The tiny wheels rotated almost visibly in her huge ugly head as she contemplated the blaze.
Then she dropped her head down, gathered herself, and with her flippers swept a huge wash of water onto the beach.
The fire hissed and sent up a violent protest of steam, then ignominiously capitulated and died. The smoke stopped billowing up.
Dor and his friends were left standing on dissipating smoke. Soon they would be left with no visible means of support.
The remaining cloud of smoke coalesced somewhat as it shrank.
Dor and Smash rejoined the other three. Now all were balancing on a diffusi
ng mass; soon they would fall into the ocean, where the sea monster slavered eagerly.
"Well, do something!" Irene screamed at Dor.
Dor's performance under pressure had been spotty. Now his brain percolated more efficiently. "We must make more smoke," he said.
"Irene, do you have any more flammable plants in your bag?"
"Just some torchflowers," she replied. "I lost so many good seeds to the eclectic eel! But where can I grow them? They need solid ground."
"Smear magic salve on the roots," Dor told her. "Let a torch grow in this smoke."
Her mouth opened in a cute 0 of surprise. "That just might work!" She took out a seed, smeared it in the salve Dor held out, and ordered it to grow.
It worked. The torch developed and matured, guttering into flame and smoke. The wind carried the smoke west in a thin, dark brown stream.
Irene looked at it with dismay. "I expected it to spread out more.
It will take a balancing act to walk on that!"
"In addition to which," Chet said, "the smoke in which the torch is rooted is rapidly dwindling. When it falls into the ocean--"
"We'll have to root it in its own smoke," Dor said. "Then it will never fall."
"Can't," she protested. "The smoke won't curl down, and anyway it's always moving; the thing would go into a tailspin."
"It also smacks of paradox," Chet said. "This is a problematical concept when magic is involved; nevertheless--"
"Better do something," Grundy warned. "That sea monster's waiting open-mouthed beneath this cloud."
"Have you another torch-seed?" Dor asked.
"Yes, one more," Irene said. "But I don't see--"
"Grow it in smoke from this one. Then we'll play leapfrog."
"Are you sure that makes sense?"
"No."
She proceeded. Soon the second torch was blazing, rooted in the smoke of the first, and its own trail of smoke ran above and parallel to the first. "But we still can't balance on those thin lines," Chet said.
"Yes, we can. Put one foot on each."
Dubiously, Chet tried it. It worked; he was able to brace against the two columns, careful not to fall between them, and walk slowly forward. Irene followed, more awkwardly, for the twin columns were at slightly different elevations and varied in separation.
There was a honking chuckle from below. Irene colored. "That monster is looking up my skirt!" she exclaimed, furious.
"Don't worry," Grundy said. "It's a female monster."
"You can be sure your legs are the first it will chomp If it gets the chance," Dor snapped. He had little patience with her vanity at this moment.
Smash went out on the columns next, balancing easily; the ogre was not nearly as clumsy as he looked.
"Go on, Grundy," Dor said. "I'll move the first torch."
"How can you move it?" the golem demanded. "You can't balance on one column."
"I'll manage somehow," Dor said, though this was a complication he hadn't worked out. Once the first torch was moved, there would be no smoke from it for him to walk on.
"You're so busy trying to be a hero, you're going to wind up monster food," Grundy said. "Where is Xanth, If you go the way of King Trent?"
"I don't know," Dor admitted. "Maybe the Zombie Master will discover he likes politics after all."
"That dourpuss? Ha!"
"But those torches have to be moved."
"I'll move them," Grundy said. "I'm small enough to walk on one column. You go ahead."
Dor hesitated, but saw no better alternative. "Very well. But be careful."
Dor straddled the two columns. This felt more precarious than it had looked, but was far better than dropping to the water and monster below. When he had progressed a fair distance, he braced himself and looked back.
Grundy was laboring at the first torch. But the thing was about as big as the golem, and was firmly rooted in the remaining cloud of smoke from the erstwhile beach fire; the tiny man could not get it loose. The sea monster, perceiving the problem, was bracing herself for one good snap at the whole situation.
"Grundy, get out of there!" Dor cried. "Leave the torch!"
Too late. The monster's head launched forward as her flippers thrust the body out of the water. Grundy cried out with terror and leaped straight up as the snout intersected the cloud.
The monster's teeth closed on the torch--and the golem landed on the massive snout. The saucer-eyes peered cross-eyed at Grundy, who was no bigger than a mote that might irritate one of those orbs, while smoke from the torch drifted from the great nostrils. The effect was anomalous, since no sea monster had natural fire. Fire was the perquisite of dragons.
Then the sea monster's body sank back into the ocean. Grundy scrambled up along the wispy trail of smoke from the nostrils and managed to recover his perch on the original smoke cloud. But the torch was gone.
"Run up the other column!" Dor shouted. "Save yourself!"
For a moment Grundy stood looking down at the monster. "I blew it," he said. "I ruined it all."
"We'll figure out something!" Dor cried, realizing that everything could fall apart right here if every person did not keep scrambling.
"Get over here now."
Numbly the golem obeyed, walking along the widening but thinning column. Dor saw that their problems were still mounting, for the smoke that supported the second torch was now dissipating. Soon the second column, too, would be lost.
"Chet!" Dor called. "Smear salve on your rope and hook it over one smoke column. Tie yourself to the ends and grab the others!"
"You have the salve," the centaur reminded him.
"Catch it!" Dor cried. He hefted the small jar in his right hand, made a mental prayer to the guiding spirit of Xanth, and hurled the jar toward the centaur.
The tiny missile arched through the air. Had his aim been good?
At first its course seemed too high; then it seemed to drop too rapidly; then it became clear the missile was off to the side. He had indeed missed; the jar was passing well beyond Chet's reach. Dor, too, had blown his chance.
Then Chet's rope flung out, and the loop closed neatly about the jar. The centaur, expert in the manner of his kind, had lassoed it.
Dor's relief was so great he almost sat down--which would have been suicidal.
"But this rope's not long enough," Chet said, analyzing the job he had to do with it.
"Have Irene grow it longer," Dor called.
"I can only grow live plants," she protested.
"Those vine-ropes live a long time," Dor replied. "They can root after months of separation from their parent-plants, even when they look dead. Try it." But as he spoke, he remembered that the rope had spoken to him when it came for him down the hole. That meant that it was indeed dead.
Dubiously, Irene tried it. "Grow," she called.
They all waited tensely. Then the rope grew. One end of it had been dormant; it must have been the other end that had been dead.
Once more Dor's relief was overwhelming. They were skirting about as close to the brink of disaster as they could without falling in.
Once the rope started, it grew beautifully. Not only did it lengthen, it branched, becoming a full-fledged rope-vine. Soon Chet had enough to weave into a large basket. He smeared magic salve all over it and suspended it from the smoke column. Chet himself got into it, and Irene joined him, then Smash. It was a big basket, and strong; it had to be, to support both centaur and ogre. The two massive creatures clapped each other's hands together in victory; they liked each other.
Now the second torch lost footing and started to fall. Dor charged back along the two columns, dived down, reached out, and grabbed it. But his balance on one column was precarious. He windmilled his arms, but could not quite regain equilibrium.
Then another loop of rope flung out. Dor was caught under the arms just as he slipped off the column.
Chet hauled him in as he fell, so that he described an arc toward the water. The sea monster pursued him
eagerly. Dor's feet barely brushed the waves; then he swung up on the far side of the arc.
"Sword!" Grundy cried, perched on smoke far above.
Dazedly, Dor transferred the torch to his left hand and drew his sword. Now he swung back toward the grinning head of the monster.
Chet heaved, lifting Dor up a body length. As a result, instead of swinging into the opening mouth, he smacked into the upper lip, just below the flaring nostrils. Dor shoved his feet forward, mashing that lip against the upper teeth. Then he stabbed forward with the sword, spearing the tender left nostril. "How's that feel, garlic-snoot?" he asked.
The snoot blasted out an angry gale of breath that was indeed redolent of garlic and worse. Creatures with the most objectionable qualities were often the ones with the most sensitive feelings about them. Dor was blown back out over the ocean, steam rising as Chet hauled him up.
But now the smoke supporting the rope and basket was dissipating. Soon they would all fall--and the monster was well aware of this fact. All the pinpricks and taps on teeth and snout she had suffered would be avenged. She hung back for the moment, avoiding Dor's sword, awaiting the inevitable with hungry eagerness.
"The smoke!" Grundy cried.
Dor realized that the torch he held was pouring its smoke up slantingly. The breeze had diminished allowing a steeper angle. "Yes! Use this smoke to support the rope!" he ordered.
Chet, catching on, rocked the rope-basket and set it swinging. As the smoke angled up, the basket swung across to intersect it. But that caused Dor to swing also, moving his torch and its smoke.
"Grow a beanpole!" he told Irene.
"Gotcha," Irene said. Soon another seed was sprouting: a bean in the form of a pole. Smash wedged this into the basket and bent it down so that Dor could reach the far tip. Dor grabbed it and hung on. Now the pole held him at an angle below the basket. Chet and Smash managed to rotate the whole contraption so that Dor was upwind from them. The smoke poured up and across, passing just under the basket, buoying it up, each wrinkle in the smoke snagging on the woven vines. The rising smoke simply carried the basket up with it.
The sea monster caught on that the situation had changed. It charged forward, snapping at Dor--but Dor was now just out of its reach. Slowly and uncertainly the whole party slid upward, buoyed by the smoke from the torch. The arrangement seemed too fantastic and tenuous to operate even with magic, but somehow it did.