The Color Of Her Panties Part 11

"Over behind that bush," he said, pointing.

So Ida went behind the bush. Then something happened. "Eeeek! " she screamed in the manner the centaur had prescribed for maidens, which was how he cla.s.sified her.

She marched angrily back to the path, where the goblin stoically waited.

"That bush tickled me!" she said.

"Naturally. It's a tickleberry bus.h.!.+"

"But I asked you the worst place to go. You were supposed to lie," she said indignantly.

"I did lie," he replied. "The worst place is that gooseberry bush over there."

Ida thought about that, and decided that the goblin had after all been true to his nature. "Then what's the worse path of these two?" she asked, indicating the fork.

The goblin considered. "That's hard to answer."

"Why? All you have to do is lie about the better path."

"But they are equally bad."

That meant equally good. "Very well, I withdraw the question. Get lost, snot-head."

The goblin, evidently charmed by her courtesy, resumed his walk down the path.

So her idea had worked out. Often they did. But probably she owed most of whatever success she achieved to Cerebral's apt instruction. She had had the idea that he would be the best possible instructor when she first saw him, and that had been amply vindicated. In ordinary words, that meant he had been good.

She set off down the right path, because she didn't want to take the wrong path. She had confidence that it would take her where she was going.

Indeed, it took her to a quaint little old cottage, just as dusk threatened to overtake her. Maybe there would be a sweet little old housewife inside who had a room to spare for the night and a warm pot of stew on the hearth.

Ida knocked on the door. It opened, and there was the grandmotherly woman. "Why, I was hoping for a nice young traveler to use my spare room tonight," the woman said. "Come in, dear, and have some warm stew."

Ida came in, gratefully. "Your house was in just the right place," she said. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to sleep out in the forest."

"Are you a quiet sleeper?"

"No, I toss and turn all night. I'm hyperactive." That was the centaur's word for her restlessness.

"Wonderful!"

It turned out that the old woman's old husband had gone on a trip to the market, and would be back with a basket of beans on the morrow.

Meanwhile the house was quiet, and the old woman wasn't used to that.

She wanted to be able to hear that there was someone else in the house with her, especially when it was dark.

After supper they sat by the fire and exchanged news.

Fortunately the old woman never left her house and yard, and Ida had never been away from her home vicinity before, so neither of them had very much news to exchange.

Ida was tired and the old woman never stayed up late, so they both went to their rooms to sleep, contented.

But as Ida changed into her nightdress and lay down, she suffered a qualm. Qualms were clamlike thoughts that lay at the watery bottom of consciousness and only showed up when the water got very quiet and clear, as happened when a person was trying to drift off to sleep.

Suppose, the qualm inquired, all was not quite as it seemed? Could the nice little old woman have some unnice secret she wasn't telling that would make mischief for her guest? Ida didn't like that notion, but couldn't quite expunge it. (Expunge, in human terms, meant to get rid of something. Sometimes she mopped up spilled milk with an old expunge). She was concerned about what the darkness might reveal.

Sure enough, the moment she blew out the candle a ghost loomed up.

"Hoooo!" it cried airily, flapping its sheet tails.

Ida squirmed down under the covers. "It's only meeee," she replied apologetically.

The ghost seemed embarra.s.sed. "I beg your pardon! I mistook you for the dirty old man."

"Dirty?"

"He never washes his feet. They get the sheets all messed up. I can't stand to see sheets abused. So I haunt him." The ghost reflected for a moment, before the mirror. "How are your feet?"

"My feet are clean," Ida said. She poked a foot out from under the sheets. "Maidens are supposed to have dainty feet, so I try to conform."

The ghost examined them. "You're right. Those are very clean, dainty, maidenly feet. When will the dirty old man be back?"

"Tomorrow, I think."

"Then until tomorrow-" The ghost faded out.

Relieved, Ida settled down to sleep. She was so glad it had turned out to be a nice ghost.

In the morning she mentioned the matter to the old woman. "Did you know you have a ghost?"

"A ghost? I thought it was a hussy! He's a dirty old man, you know."

"Yes. His feet get the sheets dirty, and the ghost doesn't like that."

"Well, I'll make him wash his feet!" the old woman said. "I don't like dirty sheets either."

After a nice breakfast of beans porridge, Ida resumed her walk along the path. She wondered what she would have encountered along the other path. She was almost tempted to go back and take the other one, just to find out, but restrained herself. After all, the sooner she found the Good Magician's castle, the sooner she would know her destiny. She hoped it was a nice one, for she was a nice girl.

The path did not lead directly to the castle, however. It led to a dragon's lair. Ida almost stepped into it before she realized.

She backed away. As a general rule, dragons' lairs were not good places to be, for those who were not of the dragon persuasion. Now she would have to return to take the other path, though it was a rather long walk.

At least she would satisfy her curiosity about it.

Then the shadow of a dragon fell, and after it the dragon himself. He had coincidentally cut off Ida's escape. "Well, now," the dragon said.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dragoman Dragon. What have we here?"

"Nothing but a delicate maiden," Ida replied truthfully.

"And do you know what I do with delicate maidens?"

Ida had a notion, because of her memories of the dragons who had poached nymphs from Nymph Valley. But she knew that her magic bracelet would protect her from harm. "I think you shall have to let this one go, for you cannot harm me."

The dragon squinted down at her. "Oh? Why not?"

"Because I have a charm that guards me."

"You are surely most charming," Dragoman agreed.

"But as it happens, I collect winsome maidens."

"No, I didn't say that I was charming, though that may be true. I meant that I wear an amulet."

"Hm." The dragon considered. "That does require some interpretation. May I see it?"

"Certainly." Ida removed the bracelet and handed it to the dragon.

Dragoman inspected it closely. "You are correct. This charm is effective against all comers. No creature can harm she who wears this."

"Yes, so I was informed. May I have it back, now, please?"

The dragon puffed a small puff of smoke. "There is something I feel constrained to clarify for you. You are not wearing the charm now, so I may do what I wish with you. If I return the charm to you, I will not be able to harm you. Somehow I doubt that my interests would be well served by giving you back your charm."

Ida realized that she had made a mistake. But she had an idea how to proceed. "It is true that I am unprotected now. But I was protected when you asked for the charm.

This means that it was protecting me from you. If you now were to harm me, that would mean that it failed to protect me. That would be what my centaur tutor would call a paradox. A paradox is not a good thing.

Dragoman puffed more smoke, pondering. "I enjoy problems in logic," he admitted. "I shall have to think about this."

"Certainly. May I have my bracelet back while you ponder?

"As you wish." The dragon handed it back to her, distracted by the intellectual problem.

"Thank you." Ida placed the bracelet firmly back on her wrist.

After a moment Dragoman came to a conclusion. "I think you are correct you would not have been able to give me the bracelet had I intended to harm you. Since I have no harmful intent, there was no problem, and no paradox.

"That's nice," Ida agreed.

The dragon reached out and grabbed her. "However, I never did tell you what it is I do with delicate maidens."

"Eeeek!" Ida screamed, for that seemed appropriate at this stage.

Dragoman picked her up. "So nice of you to inquire. I collect them. I take very good care of them; in fact I keep them perfectly preserved.

So, you see, I intend no harm to you, and your bracelet has no need to be concerned."

He spread his wings and lofted the two of them into the air.

He took her to a crystalline cave. It was beautiful. All around it were giant crystals, and in each crystal was a lovely young woman, frozen still, looking exactly like a life-sized doll.

"But I don't want to be preserved in stone!" Ida protested.

"You don't have a choice," Dragoman said.

"I don't?"

"You don't. You are destined to be preserved in all your prettiness until someone happens to rescue you. With luck it will be a prince, but it's as likely to be n.o.body of interest. Now change into your nicest raiment."

"What?"

"Raiment is clothing."

"I knew that. It's the kind of term centaurs use. What I meant was an exclamation of indignity. Why should I cooperate with you?"

"Because you are less likely to be rescued if you look like half-chewed dragon bait."

Ida considered that, and realized he was correct. So she changed into her best dress, the blue chiffon, and donned her display sandals so that her dainty clean feet showed.

Meanwhile the dragon was fretting. "I'm going to have to enlarge this chamber," he said. "It is getting too crowded. I'll just have to stack you in the shed, for now, until the renovation is complete."

"The shed!" Ida exclaimed. "Don't I deserve better than that? "

"Of course you do," he said consolingly. "And I promise I'll move you to a better place, the moment I can."

She was not as satisfied by this as perhaps she should have been. But since she didn't have much choice, she did not complain. Anyway, she noticed that the shed wasn't really a shed, but a shed door leading out to what looked like a nice garden. At least she would have a nice view there. She brushed out her hair, and was ready.

"Ah, you look divine," the dragon said. "Step right up here on this pedestal, please."

Ida stepped, resigned to her maidenly fate.

Dragoman breathed a cloud of thick vapor at her. It coalesced, encasing her, and suddenly everything changed.

Dragoman was gone, and a voluptuous merwoman wearing legs was yelling at her. "Get out!"

What had happened? Where was the dragon? Ida shook her head, confused.

Then someone charged in from the side, picked her up, and carried her out of the shed before its door swung closed.

The second person, who turned out to be a big young woman, set her down.

"What's your name?" the merwoman demanded.

Name? She had never had a name. None of the Fauns, Nymphs, otterbees, or monsters had names. Only Cerebral Centaur and Dragoman Dragon. "I don't know," she said, having difficulty speaking.

"Well, let's just call you Ida, then," the woman said.