"What can we do?" Rhythm asked.
Which meant it was up to Sim. He sorted through his farther memory files, and found The Little Prince. His name was Dolin, and he was eight years old. Circumstantial evidence indicated that he might know the answer. But there was a problem: Dolin did not exist.
Sim squawked, letting them know that he had a notion. Out of kindness he did not tell them the problem. He asked them to wait while he made a brief side excursion. Then he took off for Castle Roogna.
He was of course familiar with the exact layout of the castle. He landed quietly and invisibly on the roof, walked to the edge, poked his head over, and peered into the window of Princess Ida's chamber. "Squawk," he peeped.
"Why hello, Sim," Ida said, recognizing his voice. "What brings you back here already?"
"Squawk," he explained.
"What, alone? Without the princesses? In private?"
"Squawk," he agreed.
"As you wish." She angled her head so that Ptero swung into view.
He oriented on it, and felt himself shrinking. In a moment he spread his wings and flew toward the little planet. As he moved, it expanded, and a figure came from it to meet him. It was his junior self, summoned by his approach.
They met, and circled. He regretted that he could not explain, but he was sure the other would understand that there was excellent reason.
He parted, and he flew on toward Ptero. Soon he landed, and looked around. He was in the place his other self had departed from, because that was the nature of the exchange. Unfortunately that was not precisely where he needed to be. Worse, he wasn't sure exactly where he did need to be. Which meant he would have to look.
He sifted through his memory again. Ptero was where every person or creature who had ever existed, or who would exist, or who might have existed, existed. Prince Dolin was one of the mights. Sim had met him only briefly, and learned that his life was limited to youth. That meant he was always a child, never party to the nefarious human Adult Conspiracy. This fell within the territory covered by the Sea Hag, who was as unpopular on this world as on the other. Sim strongly suspected that she had been responsible for the abrupt shortening of Dolin's life. Since the Hag didn't much care about boys, there had to be special reason and that reason might be that he represented a threat to her. That threat was what Sim needed to know.
Sim's own territory overlapped that of Prince Dolin by about four years. His range went far beyond Dolin's in the To direction, but only four years into it in the From direction. He had been four when he met Dolin, and had not at that time recognized his possible significance.
One problem was that to meet the prince again, he would have to go to his age four territory. His powers of body and mind would be accordingly diminished. But there was no help for it; he had to talk to Prince Dolin. He alone might have the answer.
He spread his wings and flew toward From. He remained invisible, which meant that he did not have to explain to anyone what he was up to. That was just as well, because the number of people aware of their mission was already over the limit of secrecy.
As he flew he grew younger. As he approached age five he saw a thick cloud covering the landscape. That wouldn't do; it would make him visible by outlining his shape.
He glided down below it, but the trees reached up to intersect it. He had to land. Fortunately he was almost there. He found a glade and settled to the ground.
He moved on, afoot. But he was unfamiliar with the local terrain, and he didn't know exactly where Dolin would be. This could take forever, and he couldn't afford to lose much time. He would have to inquire.
He saw a man walking briskly along, coming toward him. But as the man approached, Sim began to feel stiff. His joints hurt. How could he be so suddenly ill? He was normally a supremely healthy bird.
"Who are you?" he asked the man.
Unfortunately the man did not understand squawk talk. He looked around, and saw nothing, because Sim remained invisible. "Where are you?" he asked.
Sim didn't answer; he was too uncomfortable.
"Well, wherever you are, don't get too close to me," the man said. "I am Arthur Itis, and my talent makes people's joints stiff."
That explained it! Sim remained silent, and Arthur walked on. Soon the stiffness faded, and Sim was able to move freely again. He resumed walking, and encountered an ogress.
Should he inquire again? He couldn't make himself visible; it was the princesses' magic. How would an ogress react? He was now, at age five, smaller than the ogress; he didn't want her to smash him with a hamfist. But he didn't have time to dither, for all that time was geography here; he had to find The Little Prince.
"Hello, ogress," he squawked.
She paused and looked around. "With all due respect, I have to confess I do not perceive you," she said.
Sim was taken aback. This was an ogress? "I am not visible at the moment," he said. "Is this a problem?"
"Not for me, obviously, but I should think it would be for you. What manner of creature are you, if I may be so bold as to inquire?"
This couldn't be an ogress! "I am a big bird. I am looking for Prince Dolin."
"He is not far distant, but you will have to pass through a comic strip. In that direction." She pointed a ham finger.
"Thank you," he squawked. But he couldn't just go on. "You seem uncommonly well spoken for your species."
She burst into unogrish tears. "I so much want to be properly stupid, but I haven't found the secret. Do you think it's my name?"
It must be something! "Perhaps. What is your name?"
"P. R. Ogress. I want to fall behind, but somehow I keep getting ahead."
"Yes, I think it is your name. It spells progress, so you can't help getting ahead. Maybe if you could find another name you could achieve greater stupidity."
"Now why didn't I think of that? I'll try it."
"See, you're getting duller already."
He went on to the comic strip. This would be awful; they always were. Could he avoid it? He looked to the left, but that was an impassable thicket of thorns, and the clouds remained too low to allow him to fly over it. It was awful being landbound!
He looked to the right, and saw a ferocious fire. He knew it would be impossible to put it out, because it was an extension of a Xanth fire: its past and its future. He had learned that some Mundane fires had managed to cross over into Xanth, where dragons had eagerly amplified them. That was one of the nasty things about Mundania: Sometimes it exported its problems to Xanth. At any rate, there was no passage there.
Sim firmed his beak and plunged into the comic strip. He regretted it immediately. There was an awful engine sound above, and a wedgeshaped object caromed off a cloud. A shower of coins came down. What weirdness was this?
He ducked a roll of bills and collided with a soft body. It was a young woman of ordinary aspect: hair, shirt, skirt, slippers. "I beg your pardon," she said politely, as she brushed money out of her hair. "I didn't see you."
"My fault," Sim squawked. "I'm invisible." He spread a wing to fend off another flurry of bills.
"Oh. How do you do? I'm Lacky." She spat out a small coin. She seemed to have no trouble understanding him.
He decided that the truth wouldn't hurt here, as they were in the same predicament. "I am Sim, a big bird. I am trying to get across the comic strip, but this falling money is interfering."
"That's from the plane," she said. "It does its banking in the clouds." She ducked as the flying plane banked off another cloud, shaving off a curl of vapor, which coalesced into another wad of bills.
"The cloud bank," Sim agreed. He was becoming temporarily visible, because of a coating of money.
"Yes. I suppose I will have to make it go away."
"You can do that? Who are you?"
"I am Lacky, daughter of Lacuna and Vernon. My talent is to write things true, briefly." She brought out a pencil and a pad of notepaper.
"Briefly?" he asked as she scribbled. He remembered that Lacuna's
talent was to change the print in books, or make print appear elsewhere.
Children didn't often have talents similar to those of their parents, but sometimes it happened.
"It doesn't last very long. That's why I had hoped the plane would pass on its own." She finished her written sentence. "There." She held up the pad.
The plane abruptly banked off one more cloud and flew away. The way was clear. "Thank you," Sim squawked.
"We had better hurry," Lacky said. "But I have lost my bearings. Which way is the other side?"
"I'm not sure," Sim squawked, for the money was now swirling into fog, confusing the scene.
"That way," a big ant said, pointing with an antenna.
"Thank you," Lacky said. She and Sim plowed on in that direction.
And promptly emerged--on the side they had just left.
"That ant deceived us!" Sim squawked, annoyed.
"Oh, now I recognize its type," Lacky said. "It's an onym. It says the opposite of what it means."
"Ant Onym at your service," the ant agreed from inside the comic strip. "Suckers!"
They plunged back into the strip. But the plane was already returning. Lacky was right about the brevity of her writing. It was not for the ages. They were soon plowing through a blizzard of flying money.
Lacky stumbled into a bush with small round flat berries. She stared at it. "Maybe our luck has turned. Is this what it looks like?"
"It looks like a mint plant," Sim squawked.
"Yes--a manage mint. If we eat its fruit, we'll have authority."
"Authority?"
"Over whatever is near. Better than my writing, because it lasts longer. So we can tell the awful puns to get stifled--"
"And can get on across," Sim finished gladly.
They each took hold of a mint and pulled. But instead of coming loose, the mints clung to their branches. In a moment the bush changed shape and assumed the form of a little man. "What are you cretins doing?" he demanded angrily.
Oops. "We thought you were a mint," Lacky said.
"Well I'm not. I'm an Imp. My name is Each, and I mean what I say. Now get you gone before I put you on trial."
Sim assembled the terms. "Imp Each Ment," he squawked.
"Meant?"
"He meant what he said."
Lacky groaned. "I've got to get out of here!"
"So do I." They plowed on.
They found two paths going in the right direction. Neat signboards identified them, but the words had been smeared out except for the first letters: P and S. They paused, uncertain which one to take.
"Maybe we should each try one path," Lacky suggested. "And see which one is better. They seem to be parallel, so we can compare notes as we walk,"
"I agree. My name begins with S, so I'll take the S Path." He set off along it, while she took the other.
Sim felt suddenly lighter as he stepped on the path, as though he had shed a burden. He looked across, and saw that Lacky's path was leading her into a tangle tree. Too bad for her; he was just glad that the tree wasn't along his path.
Then he almost ran into the needle cactus that was along his path. He halted just barely in time, with a squawk. The only reason it hadn't fired a barrage of needles at him was that it hadn't seen him. Yet.
"Almost got you, bird brain, didn't it!" Lacky called, laughing.
She had seen the cactus, and not warned him? She didn't care if he got hurt? This was psychopathic behavior.
Then something clicked in his mind. His own behavior was sociopathic. He was being extremely antisocial by not warning her of the danger he saw along her path. The S sign might be for Socio-Path, and the P sign could be for Psycho-Path. The paths were destroying their consciences!
"Get off the path!" he squawked, jumping off his own. Immediately the burden returned: the burden of conscience.
"Why should I?" Lacky asked, obviously indifferent to his fate.
"Because there's a tangle tree ahead."
She looked, and saw that it was so. She leaped off just as the first tentacle was reaching for her.
Then, recovering her own conscience, she was horrified. "I was acting like a jerk!" she said.
"It's the path--the Psycho--Path," he squawked. "Not your fault. Mine was similar."
"The path! I should have known that the comic strip wouldn't give us any easy ways out. How awful."
"We had better stay off any other paths we find here."
"Yes! The puns here aren't necessarily funny."
"We'll be more careful now," Sim squawked.
There was a fierce buzzing. "That sounds like bees," Lacky said nervously.
"I'm a bird. I can snap bees out of the air."
"Not if they're wood-bees or could-bees or worse."
The buzzing things came into sight. They were little horns. "Worse, I fear," Sim squawked. "Those look like hornets."
"Yes--and maybe that's good." She grabbed one from the air, put its small end to her mouth, and blew. A net flew out.
"That may help," Sim squawked, gratified. "The nets may clear a path ahead of us."
"Yes." She grabbed another, and blew its net ahead. All manner of dire puns cringed back, not wanting to get netted. They followed, and soon emerged on the other side.
"Thank you," Sim squawked. "I don't think I could have made it through alone."
"Me neither," Lacky agreed. "I was going to visit a friend, but lost my way, and had to risk the comic strip. But I had forgotten how awful they can be."
"When I return, I'll fly across," Sim squawked. "It's always worse than you think possible."
She nodded. "Well, I think this is farewell, invisible bird. May you succeed in your mission."
"Thank you," Sim squawked. "I hope your visit goes well."
"I hope so too. I don't even know my friend."
Sim paused. "How can you have a friend you don't know?"
She looked embarrassed. "I--am lonely. So I wrote that I would find my best friend soon, hoping that though my writing comes true only briefly, the message would remain, and it would happen. But I got lost in the comic strip, and that may have cost me too much time, and my friend may no longer be there."
Sim's fine mind clicked over some coincidental thoughts. "Is it possible that you would meet a temporary friend--in the comic strip?"
"Yes, that's another interpretation. I--" She paused, astonished. "I met you! You helped me get through. And now we're separating."
"We don't have to separate right away," Sim said. "I am about to go to another realm. But perhaps I can help you find a more permanent friend."
"That would be nice. Maybe I can help you in return, so that we can exchange services, as is the custom. What are you looking for?"
"Prince Dolin, who should be somewhere in this area. Do you happen to know him?"
"Yes I do; I can take you right to him. The poor boy is limited to a range of nine years." She led the way across the new terrain.
"So I understand. But I don't know what shortened his life." He followed.
"He doesn't like to speak of it. I think it was traumatic."
"I hope he will speak of it to me. We have a serious crisis back on Xanth that he may be able to alleviate."
"Xanth? I had the impression that you were native to Ptero."
"I am, in the sense that we all are. But I have a temporary mission on Xanth."
"Oh, you are one of the real-be's instead of the might-be's."
"Yes." But Sim did not care to discuss this further, lest he betray the secret, though theoretically it didn't matter here on Ptero. So he changed the subject. "This friend you seek--is it of a particular gender?"
"No, either will do."
"Is it of a particular species?"
"No, any will do."
"Then perhaps I have a candidate. How do you feel about Mundane dogs?"
"Mundane?" Her tone suggested that this wasn't good.
"They really can't be faulted for their origin."
"I supp
ose that's right. I understand some Mundanes are reasonably good folk. We don't see many here."
"I have encountered a good-natured dog who is looking for a home. I think he would remain longer than briefly, because he has nowhere else to go. He seems to be hopelessly lost in Xanth."
"I suppose I could consider him," she said doubtfully.
"And I think very lonely."
"Lonely," she echoed, relating.
"Try writing three words: BOSS BLACK LABRADOR."
She wrote them. In a moment the dog appeared, with his sign. He approached and gazed wistfully at her as she read the message.
She melted. "Oh, you poor thing!" she said, getting down to hug him. "You are welcome in my home!"
Boss wagged his tail and licked her face. It seemed she had found her friend.
They walked on, now a threesome. But there was a problem: Sim arrived at his blanked year. "I can't go there," he squawked.
"Oh, that's right--you real-be's have your missing time. The time in your lives when you are in Xanth."
"Yes. If the prince died there, then I will be unable to interview him about it."
"Where is your line?"
"Right here," Sim squawked. For there before him was the line that marked the missing section of his existence on Ptero, extending six months before and after his life on Xanth.
"There's no line for me. But Prince Dolin lives a little farther on. Maybe he's on the other side."
"I hope so. I believe his end was masked by my missing year, but that was a year ago, so maybe I can reach it now." Things could be tricky around a person's missing year, in part because the missing section wasn't constant; it kept moving To. "We'll have to cross together, or we'll lose our association."
"Yes." Lacky extended an arm. "Give me something to hold onto."
Sim extended an invisible wing. When she felt the feathers of its tip, she took gentle hold. Then they stepped across. To Sim it was just like taking a single step over a painted line. But suddenly he felt a size smaller: he was now four years old.
"Wheee!" Lacky exclaimed. "You zoomed me right across your year. I'm younger without seeming to have traveled the distance." She checked herself. "I was twenty-one; now I'm twenty."
"And I am four," Sim squawked. "I hope I can cope."
"Boss and I will help you. After all, you brought us together." Then she looked around. "Boss! I lost him!"