GOLEM IN THE GEARS - XANTH 09

Chapter 1. Quest

Grundy Golem stretched and bounced off his

cushion. He looked at himself in the mirror, not totally

pleased. He stood the height of a normal man's spread-

fingered hand, and that was fine for sleeping on a cushion

but not all that great when it came to making an impression

on the Land of Xanth.

It was a nice new day. Almost, he was able to forget

that he was the least significant of living creatures. When

he had been a true golem fashioned of wood and rag he

had longed to be a real living thing, supposing that he

would be satisfied if only he could become flesh. At last

he had won that goal and for a time he had believed that

he was happy. But slowly the truth had sunk in: he was

still only a handsbreadth greater than nothing.

No one took him seriously. They thought he had a

smart mouth because he liked insulting people; actually

it was because he was trying desperately to cover over

his deepening awareness of his own inadequacy. When

he used his talent of language to make some other person

or creature feel low, he felt a little higher himself—for a

moment. But now he knew that this was a false device,

and that his mouth had mainly brought him the contempt

of others. He wished he could undo that damage and make

2                  Golem in the Gear*

of himself a genuinely worthwhile and respected person—

but he didn't know how.

Meanwhile, he was hungry. That was a consequence

of being real: he had to eat. It hadn't been that way when

he had been a true golem. Then he had suffered no hunger,

pain, or calls of nature. But he liked it better this way,

he decided, because he also felt living pleasures.

And living miseries...

He slid down the banister and scrambled out the win-

dow that was normally left open for him. He landed in a

clump of toadstools that had sprung up overnight, knock-

ing several over. Unfortunately, a small toad had been

sitting on one.

"Clumsy oaf!" the toad croaked, righting himself.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Listen, frogface," Grundy retorted. "This is my path!

You have no business here."

"I was on a toadstool, as I have a perfect right to be,"

the toad protested. "You just came barging through!"

The creature had a case, but Grundy didn't care. His

irritation with the situation—and with all ot Xanth—

caused him to react in the familiar way that he wished he

didn't. "Know what I think of that? I'll bash all these

stinky things to smithereens!" And he grabbed up a stick

and laid about him, knocking over toadstools right and

left. Grundy was no giant, but they stood only about knee-

high to him, and were easy to dispatch.

"Help!" the toad croaked. "Berserker on the loose!"

Suddenly there was a stirring throughout the weedy

region beside the castle wall. Toads appeared, hopping in

toward the summons—small ones at first, then larger ones,

and finally one huge one.

Grundy realized he was in trouble. He tried to scramble

up to the window, but the monster toad opened his pon-

Golem in the Gears                  3

derous maw and speared the golem with his tongue. The

tongue was sticky; Grundy could not get free. The toad

retracted it and hauled Grundy in.

"Eat him! Eat him!" the massed toads cried. "Teach

him to leave toadstools alone!"

Grundy clutched at a half-buried rock, managing to

halt his progress toward the maw. But now the little toads

hopped on him, pounding him with their feet, and one of

them wet on him.

Disgusted as well as frightened, he grabbed that toad

and heaved it into the maw of the giant toad. The maw

closed. The tongue released Grundy and snapped back

home. Evidently the giant toad didn't mind what he ate.

But the little toads minded. "Get that monster!" they

croaked, and snapped at him with their tongues. They

couldn't do him much damage singly, but as a group

they might. He tried to dodge the snapping tongues, but

there were too many.

In addition, the giant toad was catching on that it hadn't

eaten the whole thing. It reoriented on him.

Then Grundy spied a hypnogourd. That might help!

He ran to it and dived behind it, so that its peephole was

facing away from him and toward the toads. As the giant

toad opened its maw and lined up its terrible tongue,

Grundy shoved the gourd around so that the peephole

bore directly on it.

The big toad looked—and froze. Its gaze had been

trapped by the gourd.

"So there, filth-tongue!" he cried. "Now you're stuck!"

But the little toads weren't stuck. They averted their

gazes and came leaping at him. One landed on his head,

bearing it down. Grundy shook the creature off, but in

the process caught a glimpse of the peephole himself.

Suddenly he found himself inside the gourd. He was

4                   Oolem in the Gears

standing amidst giant wooden gears. The huge toad was

there too, and had a leg caught between two of them. The

gears were drawing it slowly but inevitably between them,

crushing it.

"Halp!" it cried. "I'm gonna croak!"

"Well, you were gonna eat me!" Grundy retorted. But

he didn't like this; it was too ugly a demise.

He tried to pry the toad out, but the gears were too

strong. Then he saw a small, loose gear. He picked it up

and jammed it next to the toad's leg. As the two turning

gears ground together, the loose one was crunched. In a

moment the moving ones shuddered to a stop.

Now a huge stallion appeared, virtually snorting fire.

His hide was midnight black, and his eyes glinted blacker.

"I should have known!" the Night Stallion snorted. "A

golem in the gears!" There was a subtle flicker.

Then Grundy and the giant toad were back in the real

world, out of the gourd. Grundy realized that they had

been ejected. The big toad's leg was whole, but it seemed

to have lost its appetite.

Grundy realized that he had suffered the ultimate

indignity: he had been rejected by the hypnogourd! No

one had any use for him!

He scrambled again for the window, and this time made

it. Fouled with the sticky spittle of the giant and the wet-

ting of the midget, he fell inside. What a mess!

But worse than the ignominy of his present condition

was his realization that he was of so little account that

even a toad could humiliate him. It wasn't just a matter

of size; it was an almost total lack of respect. He was a

nobody, socially as well as physically.

What use was it to be a living creature, if he was of

absolutely no consequence?

He found a bucket of wash water left over from yes-

Golem in the Gears                  5

terday's scrubbing of a floor, and labored to get himself

clean. While he worked, he came to a conclusion, an

answer to his question.

It was no use to live without respect. But what could

he do about it? He was what he was, an insignificant

creature.

As he ran across the room, he heard stifled sobbing.

He paused, for now he also cared about others. He was

seldom able to show it in ways they appreciated, but he

did care. He looked about and discovered that it was a

plant—a small green stem that looked rather wilted.

Grundy's magic talent was the ability to converse with

other living things, so he talked to the plant.

"What's the matter with you, greenface?"

"I'm w-wilting!" the plant responded.

"I can see that, potroot. Why?"

"Because Ivy forgot to w-water me," the plant blub-

bered. "She's so wrapped up with her mischief that—"

It tried to squeeze out another tear, but could not; it had

no water left.

Grundy went to the bathroom, climbed up on the sink

and grabbed the damp sponge there. He hauled this down,

dragged it across the floor, and to the plant. Then he

hefted it up and squeezed it in a bear hug, so that water

dribbled into the pot.

"Oh, thank you!" the plant exclaimed as it drank in

the moisture. "How can I ever repay you?"

Grundy was as selfish as the next creature, but he

didn't see any way the plant could do anything for him,

so he elected to be generous. "Always glad to help a fellow

creature," he said. "I'll tell Ivy to give you a good water-

ing. What's she doing that's so distracting?"

"I'm not supposed to tell..." the plant demurred.

6                  Golem in the Gears

Now Grundy saw what the plant could do for him.

"Didn't I just do you a favor, wiltleaf?"

The plant sighed. "Don't tell I told. Ivy's a terror when

she gets mad."

Grundy well knew that! Ivy was eight years old and a

full Sorceress; no one crossed her without regretting it.

"I won't tell."

"She's teaching Dolph to be a bird, so he can fly out

and look for Stanley."

Grundy pursed his tiny lips. That was mischief indeed!

Dolph was her little brother, three years old and a Magi-

cian who could change to any living form instantly. Cer-

tainly he could become a bird and fly away—but just as

certainly that would be disaster, because, if he didn't

promptly get lost, he would get eaten by some airborne

predator. This had to be stopped!

But Grundy had promised not to tell. He had broken

promises before, but he was trying to steer a straighter

course. Also, if he told on Ivy, he would be in immediate

and serious trouble. He had to find some private way to

stop this.

He went through the motions of breakfast, but found

no answer to his problem. He saw Ivy going to Dolph's

room and knew he had to act—without admitting what

he knew. So he pretended to encounter her accidentally,

intercepting her in the hall. "Whatcha up to, kid?"

"Go away, you little snoop," she said amiably.

"All right—I'll play with Dolph instead."

"Don't you dare!" she said with moderate fury. "I'm

playing with him."

"We can both play with him," Grundy suggested. To

that she was unable to demur, because she didn't want

to give away her secret by being too insistent.

Dolph was up and dressed and ready to play. He was

Golem in the Gears                   7

a handsome little boy with curly brown hair and a big

smile. "See—I'm a bird!" he exclaimed, and suddenly he

was a bird, a pretty red and green one.

"Ixnay," Ivy whispered, but Dolph was already chang-

ing back, pleased with his accomplishment.

"Can I go out and fly now?" he asked.

"Why would you want to fly?" Grundy inquired as if

innocently.

"He doesn't," Ivy said quickly.

But Dolph was already answering. "I'm going to catch

a dragon!" he said proudly.

"No, he isn't!" Ivy cried.

"That's very good, Dolph," Grundy said. "What dragon

will you catch?"

"No dragon!" Ivy cried.

"Stanley Steamer," Dolph said. "He's lost."

Grundy turned to Ivy as if surprised. "What's he talking

about? You know he's not allowed to go out alone."

"I told you not to snoop!" Ivy said furiously. "It's none

of your business!"

"But you can't send Dolph out! If anything happened

to him, your father would ask the walls of Castle Roogna

who put him up to it, and then your mother would—"

Ivy put both hands protectively against her backside,

knowing where her mother's wrath would strike. "But

I've got to rescue Stanley!" she wailed. "He's my pet

dragon!"

"But nobody even knows where he is," Grundy pointed

out. "Or even whether he's—" He had to break off,

because it would not be smart to utter the dread conjec-

ture in Ivy's presence. Stanley had disappeared when a

monster-banish spell had accidentally caught him. Of

course he wasn't a monster; he was a pet, but the spell

had not distinguished one type of dragon from another.

8                  Golem in the Gears

Naturally Ivy had pestered Good Magician Humfrey about

Stanley's whereabouts, but there were so many dragons

in Xanth that Humfrey's spells had not been able to isolate

Stanley. Or so Humfrey claimed. Humfrey was younger

than he once hadbeen, and probably his magic wasn't up

to snuff, but he wouldn't admit that.

"Somehow I'll find him," Ivy said resolutely. "He's my

dragon."

There was some justice in that claim, l^obody could

hold a dragon unless that dragon wanted to be held, and

it had been friendship that held Stanley. Ivy had perceived

him as her friend and her pet, and her enormous and subtle

magic had made him so. Grundy was sure Stanley would

have returned to her, had he been able. The fact that he

had not returned strongly suggested that he was dead.

And Ivy would not give up the search. Grundy knew

her well enough to accept that. Yet if she were not dis-

suaded, both she and her family might in the end suffer

much greater distress than the loss of one little dragon—

such as the loss of a little brother. Ivy was a Sorceress,

but she was also a child; she lacked adult judgment.

Grundy could neither tell on her nor allow her to pro-

ceed with this foolish project. What was he to do?

It occurred to him that there was a noble way out of

this dilemma—a way that just might bring him some of

the esteem he craved. "I'll find him for you," he said.

Ivy clapped her hands in the way that little girls had.

"You will? Oh, thank you, Grundy! I take back half the

mean things I've said about you!"

Half? Well, half a loaf was evidently all he rated. "But

while I'm doing it, you mustn't do anything yourself," he

cautioned. "That could mess it up."

"Oh, I won't, I won't!" she agreed. "Not until you

bring him back."

Golem in the Gears                  9

In this manner Grundy found himself committed to a

Quest he strongly suspected was futile. But what else

could he have done? Ivy needed her dragon back, and he

needed to be a hero.

Grundy had no idea how to proceed, so he did what

anyone in that situation would do: he went to ask the

Good Magician. He caught a ride with a passing thesaurus

who was going that way. The thesaurus was a very ancient

breed of reptile who had picked up an enormous vocab-

ulary during its centuries of life; it made for an interesting

dialogue while they traveled. However, it had the annoy-

ing habit of never using a single term where several similar

ones could be squeezed in. For example, when Grundy

inquired where it was going, it swished its heavy tail and

replied: "I am departing, leaving, removing, embarking,

going, traveling for distant, remote, faraway, separated

regions, zones, areas, territories, districts." By the time

they reached the Good Magician's castle, Grundy was

glad to bid it farewell, adieu, good-bye, and good rid-

dance.

Now Grundy stood before the Good Magician's castle.

Each time he had approached it over the years, it had

looked different from the outside, but very little changed

inside. This time it was suspiciously ordinary: a circular

moat, gray stone walls, scattered motley turrets, and a

general air of indifference to external things. Grundy knew

this was illusory; Humfrey was the Magician of infor-

mation, and though he was young now, he generally did

know what was going on. He didn't like to be bothered

about inconsequentials, so he established barriers to

intrusions, on the theory that only folk with sufficiently

important concerns would navigate them.

Well, Grundy had a concern and he knew he had to

10

Golem in the Gears

Golem in the Gears

11

get past three obstacles to win entry. What he didn't know

was what they were or how to nullify them. He would

simply have to move ahead and do what he had to.

He stepped up to the edge of the moat. The water lay

there, rippling at him. Naturally there was no way for him

to cross; the drawbridge was up. Well, he would simply

have to swim.

Swim? First he had better check out the moat mon-

sters!

"Hey, snootface!" he called. Moat monsters were

always varieties of water serpents and vain about their

appearance.

There was no response. Well, he could handle that.

"Say, grass," he said to the verdant bank. "Where's the

monster?"

"On vacation, ragbrain," the grass replied.

Grundy was surprised. "No moat monster on duty?

You mean I can safely swim across?"

"Fat chance, stringfellow," the grass replied. "You'd

get eaten up before you got five strokes."

"But if there's no monster—"

The grass rustled in the breeze. "Suit yourself, wood-

nose."

Grundy didn't trust this. "How can I get eaten, if there's

no monster?"

But the grass had been ruffled. "Find out for yourself,

clayface." Obviously it had some notion of his origin,

though he was no longer composed of string, rag, wood

or clay. He didn't really appreciate its attitude, perhaps

because it was so like his own.

Something was definitely amiss. He bent to poke a

finger in the water, but an anticipatory rustle across the

lawn alerted him. So he plucked a blade of grass, evoking

a strenuous protest from the bank, and poked it in the

water.

In a moment it dissolved into sludge. This mote was

filled with acid!

Some obstacle! If he had tried to swim in that...!

He scrounged for a small stick, and poked that in the

moat. It dissolved more slowly, being dead and more solid.

He located a pebble and tried that, and it didn't dissolve

at all.

Now he knew that the acid only affected animate mate-

rial. Unfortunately, he was animate. He would have to

use some sort of boat to cross, to keep his flesh clear of

the liquid.

He searched the premises, looking for a boat. Naturally

there was none. He heard a popping noise and discovered

a popcorn plant, but that didn't help. He took a kernel of

the corn on general principles, however; one never could

tell when something might be useful in some obscure way.

Then he found a giant snail shell. The snail had long

since passed away, but its hollow shell was beautiful,

gleaming iridescently. But what use was an empty snail

shell?

Suddenly he had a notion. He took hold of the shell

and dragged it toward the moat. This was a job, as it

weighed more than he did; he could have crawled inside

the thing! But that just might be what he needed.

He shoved it to the moat and nudged it in. It floated

with the hollow aperture up, and it did not dissolve. He

pressed down on it, but it contained a lot more volume

of air than he could displace; he could not push it below

the surface of the liquid. Good enough again!

Grundy hauled the shell back on shore, then made

another tour, locating several long twigs of wood. He

brought them back, set them inside the shell, and launched

12

Golem in the Gears

it again. Then he climbed in himself, carefully. It sup-

ported his weight. Now he was floating!

He took a twig and used it to pole off from the bank.

He settled himself as comfortably as he could inside the

shell and used a flattened twig to paddle the craft. He had

a snailboat!

Before long, his wooden paddle dissolved, and he had

to use another. He had to paddle carefully, so as not to

splash any of the acid on himself. Progress was slow, but

the moat was not broad; he judged he would make it safely

across if he didn't panic. Just as long as no monster

appeared at this stage!

No monster appeared. Monsters didn't like acid any

better than living golems did. An armored serpent might

withstand the corrosion, but how would it protect its eyes

and mouth?

In due course he nudged his way to a landing inside

the moat, and stepped carefully to shore. One hurdle down.

He stood and looked about. He was on a fairly narrow

beach between the moat and the wall. The beach curved

around the island that was the castle. The wall was ver-

tical and fashioned of flat, polished stone; he could see

his reflection in it, but he couldn't catch so much as a

fingerhold for climbing. He would have to walk around

until he came to a suitable entrance.

He walked—and soon encountered a large animal. It

was a unicorn! There were very few of them in Xanth;

they seemed to prefer to range in other pastures. This

one was a fairly disreputable-looking creature with a burr-

tangled mane and a gnarled horn. It snorted as it spied

him and pawed at the sand with a forehoof.

"Hi there, warp-horn," Grundy said in equine language

with his usual politeness. "Why don't you clean up that

stinking coat?"

Golem in the Gean                13

"I'll clean up the sand with you, you midget blot," the

unicorn replied with unprovoked bad humor.

Oops—this was evidently another obstacle. "I don't

suppose you'd care to let -me pass, so I can go on into

the castle," Grundy said.

"I don't suppose you'd care to take a bath in the moat,"

the unicorn replied in the same tone.

Grundy made as if to scoot under the creature, for

there was no room to pass on the side. The unicorn made

as if to spear anything that tried that route. It was obvious

that he could not get by; the animal was set to prevent

it.

The golem stood back and considered. How could he

pass a creature who was determined to prevent it and had

the ability to enforce the restriction? There had to be a

way.

He had a notion. He turned and walked away. He could

circle the castle in either direction, and reach the entrance

either way. The unicorn did not pursue him, perhaps too

stupid to realize what he was doing.

Grundy walked three-quarters of the way around the

castle—and stopped. There was the unicorn, facing the

other way, horn lowered wamingly. Obviously it had

backed up to the entrance place, used that wider region

to turn, and had come to block this route too. It wasn't

stupid after all; it had known that it couldn't protect the

entrance by chasing the golem around the castle.

Well, maybe he could trick it into letting down its guard.

Or make it so mad it miscalculated. Grundy had a rare

touch with insults, when he put his beady little mind to

it. "Say, founderfoot, did they put you out here so you

won't stink up the inside of the castle?"

"No, they put me out here so you wouldn't stink it

up," the unicorn replied.

Golem in the Gears                 15

14                 Golem in the Gears

Hm. This might be more of a challenge than he had

thought. But Grundy tried again. "Did you get that hom

caught in a hole in the ground? No self-respecting creature

would carry a broken spear like that!"

"Did you get that body caught in a shrinking violet?"

the unicorn responded. "No self-respecting midget would

use it."

"Listen, knot-mane, I'm a golem\" Grundy exclaimed.

"I'm supposed to be this size."

"I doubt it. That body is way too small for that mouth."

Grundy swelled up to his full diminutive height, ready

to spew forth a devastating torrent of abuse—and realized

that the unicorn was winning the contest. It was the one

that was supposed to be getting mad!

He would have to try some other tack. Well, if he

couldn't beat it, maybe he could join it. "What do you

want most in all Xanth?" he inquired.

"To get rid of pesky golems so I can resume my snooze."

"Apart from that," Grundy said unevenly.

The unicorn considered. "Well, I do get hungry, and

meals are far apart. I'd sure like a nice snack of something

good."

That was more promising. But Grundy wasn't sure how

he could provide such a snack. "If you let me into the

castle, maybe I could get you some nice hay or some-

thing," he suggested.

"If I let you into the castle, maybe I'll get my hide

tanned before I'm ready to leave it," the unicorn said.

"Maybe I could get you a snack without going in,"

Grundy said.

"I'd be glad to have a snack without you going in," the

creature agreed.

Somehow that didn't sound promising. Grundy stared

across the moat, where the grass was green and the brush

was leafy. Surely there was plenty there to distract the

unicorn—but the unicorn couldn't cross to it, and Grundy

himself would not be able to carry enough across in the

snailboat to last for more than one mouthful at a time.

He spied a tall green plant that sported several tassles.

That jogged his memory. Maybe there was a way!

"What kind of a plant are you?" he called in plant

language. The unicorn couldn't understand that, of course,

so it didn't know what he was doing.

"I am a popcorn plant," the plant replied proudly. "I

have the best popcorn on the bank!"

Grundy turned to the unicorn. "Unicorns don't like

popcorn, do they?"

"Of course they don't," the creature agreed, its mouth

watering.

Aha! He remembered correctly. Unicorns liked all kinds

of corns, because they were magically related.

He returned his attention to the popcorn. "You don't

look like much to me," he sneered in plant language.

The plant huffed up and turned color. "I'm the top

pop!" it proclaimed. "My kernels pop harder than any-

one's!"

"They do not!" Grundy retorted. "I bet they fizzle!"

"Fizzle!" the plant snapped, outraged. Its ears turned

an angry red. "I'll pop off so hard you'll think it's an

explosion!"

"I think it's a fake!" Grundy said.

The plant's corns became so hot that the tassles browned

and shriveled, and the leaves around its ears split apart.

The kernels popped with the heat, first a few, then many,

until it did indeed resemble an explosion. Popcorn puffs

flew out in every direction, a number of them arcing over

the moat and peppering the castle wall.

16                 Golem in the Gears

"Popcorn!" the unicorn exclaimed, eagerly snatching

up the fallen pieces.

"But unicorns don't like popcorn," Grundy reminded

it.

"Get out of here, golem!" the creature cried angrily.

"As you wish." Grundy retreated to the unicorn's rear,

toward the gate, and the creature was so distracted by

the delicious popcorn puffs that it didn't notice. Grundy

moved on up to the gate and through it without further

opposition. He was inside the castle!

"Very clever, you little morsel," a voice growled.

Grundy looked, startled. He was in a moderately sized

court with a dirt floor, and before him stood an ant lion.

The monster could snap him up in a moment, if it wanted

to.

"I'm just trying to get in to see the Good Magician on

important business," the golem said nervously.

"Indeed." The ant lion yawned, showing its enormous

feline teeth. It was playing cat-and-mouse with him,

knowing that its six insect legs could overtake him any-

time. "I doubt you are smart enough to rate any of his

time."

"Sure I am!" Grundy retorted hotly. "I'm just not big

enough to get by all you monsters."

"I will make you a deal," the ant lion said, stretching

languorously. "Prove you are smart and I will let you

pass."

It was up to something. But Grundy realized he had

nothing to lose; he was already in its power. "How do I

do that?"

"You play me three games of lines and boxes," the ant

lion said. "If you can defeat me, I'll let you enter. If you

lose, I'll consume you. That's very fair, isn't it?"

Golem in the Gears                 17

Grundy swallowed. He was not entirely pleased with

the terms. "Suppose we tie?"

"Then I will let you enter anyway. I can be magnani-

mous to an intellectual equal. To make it even easier for

you, I will even grant you the first move each time."

Grundy still didn't like this. But he was aware of two

things: first, he really had no choice, as he could not

otherwise get in to see the Good Magician, and second,

he was a pretty good player of lines and boxes. He could

probably win. "I agree," he said.

"Excellent!" the ant lion said heartily. It leaped sud-

denly into the air and came down with its six legs straight.

It was a fairly massive creature, so each leg sank into the

dirt as it landed. It stepped out of its tracks, and six neat

depressions remained. Then it jumped again, this time

landing a little to the side. The three right legs landed in

the dents left by the three left legs before, and the three

left legs made three new dents.

The monster stepped carefully back. There before it

was a neat pattern of nine dents, forming a large square

with one dent in the center. "There is the board," it

announced.

"That's only enough for four boxes!" Grundy pro-

tested.

The ant lion extended a claw and contemplated it. "So?"

Grundy decided not to protest further. A small game

was the same as a big one in principle, after all, and he

did have the first move. He stepped up and scratched a

line with his foot between a comer dent and the center

dent on his side.

The ant lion reached across and scraped another line,

from Grundy's center dot to the other corner dot. One

side of the figure was complete.

Grundy drew a line from a near comer up to connect

18                 Golem in the Gear*

to the middle dot on that side. The ant lion made another,

completing that side. Grundy drew one along the side

closest to the ant lion, and the ant lion completed this one

also. Then they each put a line in the fourth side. Now

the figure was a large box—and Grundy realized he was

in trouble.

He had no choice now but to draw a line from the

center dot to one of the sides. That would set things up

for his opponent to complete a box with his line, and then

use his extra turn to complete another box, and so on

through the figure, winning. He had been trapped into a

game he couldn't win.

"Move—or forfeit," the ant lion said with satisfaction.

Grundy sighed and moved. Whereupon the ant lion did

exactly as expected, filling in all four boxes and marking

his neat letter A's in each. Grundy had lost badly.

Golem in the Gears                 19

you the advantage of the first move every time, and I am

a creature of my word."

"But—"

The monster extended another claw and studied it sig-

nificantly. Grundy realized that he had to accept this gen-

erosity.

What was he to do? The advantage clearly lay with

the second player—and that advantage was going to get

him consumed by the monster!

Then Grundy remembered something. There just might

be a way! He had not played such small games before,

but the principle should hold. The key was in the fact that

a player did not have to complete a box if he did not want

to, provided he was able to make some other move instead.

That seemed like a losing strategy, so it was seldom

employed, but it had its points. He would use it here.

They started the second game of their appointed three.

Grundy started exactly as he had before, and the ant lion

continued as before. They completed two sides of the

outer square. Then Grundy made his surprise move: he

drew a line to the center.

20

Golem in the Gears

Golem in the Gears

21

its bonus line in the opposite side, to avoid giving Grundy

a similar gift. Grundy filled in the last free spot. Now the

diagram looked like this:

to fill in the last available free space. It didn't matter which

player took the box and the bonus line; that extra line

shifted the advantage to the first player. The configuration

now was this:

A

G

The ant lion got ready to draw his line—and paused.

There was nowhere he could move, without setting Grundy

up for three boxes and victory. "I'll be cursed!" it

exclaimed. "You set me up!"

"Merely playing the game to win," Grundy replied

modestly.

With imperfect grace, the ant lion drew a line at the

edge, and Grundy filled in the rest, marking G's in three

boxes.

G    G

G    A

The score stood at one victory each. The ant lion was

very thoughtful as they commenced the deciding game.

This one started as the others had, but when Grundy

offered the sacrifice box, the other declined it, choosing

instead to continue around the rim. Now Grundy was

nervous; could this force the win back to the ant lion?

Then Grundy saw the other side of the key. He moved

in and took the first box himself, and used his bonus line

The ant lion stared at it for a long time. Finally it

shrugged, and filled in a line. Grundy filled in the remain-

ing three boxes.

"I learned something today," the ant lion said philo-

sophically. "The ploy of the proffered box, which is dis-

aster whether accepted or declined. I congratulate you,

Golem; you have proved yourself to be smart enough to

pass." And the monster stood aside and allowed Grundy

to enter the castle.

Grundy's little knees were weak. In retrospect he real-

ized that the Good Magician had surely known about the

way to reverse the game, so that it represented a fair test

of ingenuity. But how close he had come to failing the

test!

Now he walked through another gate, and there was

the veiled Gorgon. "What kept you, Grundy?" she inquired

solicitously.

Grundy didn't have it in him to make a smart reply. "I

just want to see the Magician."

"By all means. But be careful; he's grumpy today."

She ushered him into the Good Magician's office.

Humfrey was perched on his high stool, poring over a

monstrous tome. That was par for the course. He was

22

Golem in the Gears

Golem in th« Gears

23

now about twelve years old, physically, having recovered

that far from the overdose of Youth Elixir he had suffered

five years before.

"Magician, I need advice on—" Grundy began.

"Go away," Humfrey grumped.

"I just want to—"

"One year's service—in advance."

This was of course standard procedure for the Good

Magician. But Grundy had been shaken by the experience

with the ant lion, and his natural manner of expressing

himself surged to the fore. "Listen, you rejuvenated freak!

You're such an idiot you've missed the obvious for five

years! You can be any age you want to, anytime. I can

give you back a century of your life, with one sentence.

Then you'll owe me a hundred Answers!"

This got the Good Magician's full attention. "Prove it."

"All you have to do is dunk a stick of reverse-wood

in a cup of Youth Elixir. Then it will—"

"Become Age Elixir!" Humfrey finished, amazed.

"Now why didn't / think of that?"

"Because you're an—"

"I heard. Very well, Golem—you've earned your

Answer. Ask your Question."

"I've earned all the Answers I want!" Grundy

exclaimed.

"No. You have done me one service that I may exploit

to my satisfaction. How many years I use it for does not

relate; it is your year that counts. Ask."

Grundy realized that the Good Magician, like the ant

lion, was a creature of no compromise. At least he had

what he wanted.

"How can I find and rescue Stanley Steamer?"

"Oho! You're doing something about that!" Humfrey

glanced at his open book. "It says you must ride the

Monster Under the Bed to the Ivory Tower."

"You mean you had it open to the place all the time?"

Grundy demanded indignantly.

"Is that another Question?"

Grundy ground his teeth. The Good Magician didn't

give anything away for nothing, unless the visitor was a

Magician. "At least tell me where the Ivory Tower is!"

"Do you want to pay your year's service before or

after I give you that Answer?"

"You gnomish cheapskate!" Grundy raged. "I just gave

you back your age, hardly a minute ago!"

Humfrey's lips quirked. "And what have you done for

me lately, Golem?"

Grundy stormed out of the room. The Good Magician

hardly noticed; he was back poring over his tome.

Chapter 2. Snortimer

Back at Castle Roogna, Grundy remained dis-

gruntled. He had belatedly realized that the Good Magi-

cian hadn't even told him that Stanley Steamer was at

the Ivory Tower; he had just said to ride the monster there.

Who could guess what complications would manifest at

that point? On the other hand, Humfrey also hadn't said

that the Quest was useless. He might not know for sure

24

Golem in the Gear*

Golem in the Gears

25

whether Stanley was alive, but at least he had enabled

Grundy to find out.

First he had to explain things to Ivy. He suspected that

would not be easy—and he was correct.

"You want to take Snortimer?!" she demanded indig-

nantly. "He's my monster!"

"But all you do is ignore him or tease him," Grundy

pointed out.

"That's beside the point," she said, assuming her Little

Lady manner. "He belongs under my bed, nowhere else."

"But the Good Magician says I have to ride the Monster

Under the Bed to the Ivory Tower, and he's the only

Monster Under the Bed I know well enough to ask."

"The Ivory Tower?" she asked with a mercurial shift

of mood. "That's where Rapunzel lives!"

Grundy hadn't thought of that. Rapunzel was Ivy's

pun-pal, who sent her periodic boxes of puns in exchange

for the mundane scraps Ivy sent; It had always seemed

to Grundy that Ivy had much the best of the bargain, and

he wondered why Rapunzel continued with the arrange-

ment. But what could Rapunzel have to do with the miss-

ing dragon? Surely she would have notified Ivy if Stanley

had turned up there!

But he decided it was better not to raise such issues

with Ivy; no good could come of it. "Do you want Stanley

back or don't you?" Grundy demanded gruffly.

"Oh, pooh!" she said. "Go do it, then. But if anything

happens to Snortimer, I'll never forgive you!"

So Grundy went to talk to Snortimer, the Monster Under

Ivy's Bed. Such monsters were an interesting species,

because only children and credulous folk could see them

at all; normal adults didn't even believe in them. Since

Grundy was small, he had no trouble perceiving the mon-

ster—and because he was small, he had always stayed

well out of reach. Now, with some trepidation, he

approached Snortimer's lair.

"Snortimer," he called from a safe distance.

Something twitched in the dusky recesses beneath the

bunk.

"Snortimer, I know you understand me," Grundy called.

"I'm speaking your language. Come out from under there;

I need your help."

A big, hairy hand poked out from the deep shadow, as

if questing for something to grab. That was of course the

speciality of the species: grabbing children's ankles. Some

mean children would dangle their feet down and snatch

them away just before getting grabbed, but most children

were properly terrified.

"Listen, Snortimer, I have a Quest. I need your help."

At last the monster spoke. "Why should I help you?"

" 'Cause the Good Magician says I have to ride you to

the Ivory Tower to rescue Stanley."

Snortimer considered. "It'll cost you, golem."

Grundy sighed. He should have known that nothing

about this Quest would be easy. "What will it cost?"

"I want romance."

"What?"

"I've been eight years under this bed, grabbing at Ivy's

ankles and hiding from her mother. The same old grind,

day after day. There must be more to life than this!"

"But that's what Monsters Under the Bed do!" Grundy

protested. "They have no other purpose than to grab at

children's ankles and hide from parents."

"Then why am I supposed to help you?"

Snortimer had a point. Obviously there was more to

such a monster's life than ankles. "Um,just what do you

mean by romance?"

"I don't know. But I'll know it when I find it."

26

Golem in the Gears

Golem in the Gears

27

"Why don't you just crawl off to another bed and find

a, uh, female of your species, and—?"

"That isn't how it's done. No Bed Monster shares ter-

ritory. I have to find someone who isn't yet committed

to a bed."

"Where would that be?"

The big ugly hand made a gesture of ignorance. "I have

no idea. I suppose I just have to travel about until some-

where I find her."

"Well, I plan to travel," Grundy said. "If you will be

my steed, you'd get to cover quite a bit of the country."

"Sounds good," Snoitimer agreed. "I'll be your steed—

but only till I find romance."

Grundy realized that that could get him stranded some-

where far away, perhaps in the midst of Uncommitted

Monster Country. But half a loaf was better than none.

"Agreed. Let's start right away. Come on out of there."

"I can't," Snortimer said.

"But you said—"

"I said I'd be your steed; I didn't say I'd do the impos-

sible. I can't come out until dark."

"But I was planning on traveling in the daytime!"

"Not with me, you're not! Light would destroy me

instantly. Why do you think we Bed Monsters never climb

up on top of the bed to grab at ankles? We're confined

to the deepest shadows." He pondered a moment. "Which

is unfortunate. There's a lot more than ankles up there."

"Why don't you go up and grab when the lights are

out?"

The hand spread in a what-can-you-do? gesture.

"Against the rules. There has to be some limitation, or

all the Bed Monsters would take over the uppersides and

put the children underneath. We can't bother anything we

can't grab when the light's on."

"But you can travel from your bed, at night?"

"Some. As long as I don't bother anyone."

"I see. But why don't you go out and look for romance

at night, on your own, then?"

"I wouldn't dare do it alone! Suppose I got trapped by

a sudden light, and couldn't make it back to my bed before

dawn?"

"What happens if you get caught away from your bed?"

"Extinction!" Snortimer replied with deepest dread.

"But then how can you be my steed and travel to the

farthest reaches of Xanth in quest of romance?"

"I hadn't thought of that," the monster said.

Baffled, Grundy returned to Ivy. He explained the

problem. "But there must be a way," he concluded, "or

the Good Magician wouldn't have told me to do it."

"I'll ask Hugo," she said. She had evidently become

reconciled to the temporary loss of her monster. Grundy

suspected that little girls didn't really like having their

ankles grabbed when they went to bed, whatever they

might say to the contrary. "C'mon."

They went to the Magic Mirror and Ivy summoned

Hugo, the Good Magician's son. Hugo was becoming a

halfway handsome boy of thirteen. He listened to the

problem and, at Ivy's urging, came up with the solution:

"He'll just have to take the bed along."

Ivy turned to Grundy. "See? Easy as pie. Just take—"

Then she did a doubletake. "Hey, that's my bed!"

"We all have to make sacrifices," Grundy said, sup-

pressing an obnoxious smile.

But Ivy surprised him with another change of attitude.

"Oh, I was tired of that bed anyway! You can take it with

you. I'll sleep on cushions. They're comfortabler."

Grundy doubted that, but did not see fit to argue. Per-

haps, for Ivy, it would become true.

28

Golem in the Gears

Golem in the Gears

29

He returned to Snortimer. "Problem solved," he

announced. "We'll just take the bed along."

"How?" the monster asked.

Good question! Obviously if Snortimer were to be his

steed, he couldn't also carry a bed, assuming he could

move it at all. But Ivy had disappeared on some other

errand, and Grundy knew he couldn't make Hugo answer

questions the way Ivy could, if only because the boy was

usually rather stupid. He would have to figure out some-

thing on his own.

"I think we'll have to get help," Grundy said. This was

certainly becoming complicated!

"Let me know when you do," Snortimer said. "Mean-

while I'll snooze." In a moment there was the sound of

snoring from the shadow.

Grundy wandered around Castle Roogna, trying to

decide on a suitable person to ask for help. It had to be

someone big and strong enough to carry the bed, and

stupid enough not to ask why. Someone like Smash Ogre.

But Smash was married now, and his wife Tandy kept

him on a short leash; no hope there.

Well, maybe someone not stupid, but not important,

either. Someone who had nothing better to do than carry

beds around the countryside. Who would that be?

Suddenly he had a bright answer. He knew just the

person!

Thus it was that he came to talk with Ivy's other grand-

father, Bink. Bink had little to do with the activities of

Castle Roogna and every month, when his wife Chame-

leon got smart and ugly, he tended to make excursions

around Xanth on his own. Maybe he'd be willing to take

a bed along.

"Why not?" Bink inquired amiably. He was about sixty

years old now, but still hearty, and a pretty solid man.

"But even a small bed would get heavy soon enough; I'll

ask my friend Chester to help."

"But I'm not sure we should make a big production of

this," Grundy said. "I was thinking of a quiet Quest."

Bink looked at him, smiling. "If I know my grand-

daughter, she's into mischief, and if I know you, you're

trying to keep her out of it—and you're not allowed to

tell."

"Something like that," Grundy agreed uncomfortably.

"Well, then, we won't tell. No one will miss us any-

way."

"You're very understanding, sir," Grundy said. Bink

might not seem like much, but he was a former King of

Xanth, which meant he had Magician-class magic, though

that wasn't evident. It seemed to Grundy that he had once

known more about it, but he seemed to have forgotten.

"It's been a long time since Chester and I have had a

decent adventure," Bink said.

That evening Bink and Chester showed up at the Cas-

tle. "Our wives aren't too keen on this," Bink confessed.

"They're letting us go, but only for two weeks. That means

one week out and one week back. Do you think you can

complete your Quest in that time?"

"I hope so," Grundy said. He had no idea how long it

would take to reach the Ivory Tower, especially since he

didn't know where it was. "I haven't had a lot of expe-

rience with Quests, you know."

"Well, let's get on with it," Bink said. He carried a

hefty coil of rope. Chester waited outside, while Bink

marched in and upstairs, Grundy on his shoulder.

It seemed to Grundy that someone should have shown

up to inquire what in Xanth they were doing, such as

Ivy's mother Irene, who normally had supersensitive

30

Golem in the Gears

GoSem in the Gears

31

hearing and curiosity to match. But luckily no one was

disturbed, and they reached Ivy's room undetected.

Ivy was awake, of course, though in her nightie. She

almost flew to Bulk's arms. "Ooo, Grandpa Bink, how

exciting!" she exclaimed. "Are you going to steal my bed

now?"

"That's right, sweetie," Bink agreed. And methodically

he opened the largest window wide, tied his rope to the

bed, and lifted it up.

Snortimer scooted away, startled. "Not so fast, mon-

ster!" Grundy said, dropping down. "You're my steed,

remember?"

It was dark in the room, so he really couldn't see Snor-

timer very well, but the monster seemed to consist of five

or six big hairy arms and hands and nothing else. Some-

what diffidently, Grundy climbed aboard, and found a

fairly comfortable seat at the juncture of the arms. Snor-

timer was not a large monster, for he had to fit under the

small bed, but he was a good size for Grundy.

Bink heaved the bed out through the window and let

it down with the rope. It swung and bumped against the

stones of the wall, generating an awfiil clatter, but still no

one seemed to notice. What phenomenal luck!

When the bed scraped its way to the base, Chester

Centaur caught hold of it with his powerful arms and set

it on his back. They had rigged a harness for him so that

he could carry it without having to use his hands, and its

weight was no problem at all for him.

They bade farewell to Ivy, who remained thrilled at

this secret adventure and perhaps a little jealous that she

wasn't going along, but she knew as well as they did that

there was no way her mother would let her get involved

in something like this. And of course it was for the best

of causes: the rescue of Stanley Steamer.

They went down and out, still without stirring up any

commotion in the castle, and rejoined Chester. Quietly

they walked away from the wall and crossed the moat

and entered the main orchard. The trees rustled their

branches, wondering what was going on, but did not inter-

fere.

They wended their way on through the darkness,

unspeaking. Grundy was able to see very little, but Snor-

timer had no trouble. The monster was of course a crea-

ture of the dark, completely at home in it. Grundy began

to appreciate the wisdom of selecting a steed like this,

though he remained uncertain whether the Good Magi-

cian's advice was good for the long term. He still had no

idea where to find the Ivory Tower.

They came to a spot in the forest that Chester knew,

where several great trees clustered to form a leafy bower.

They stopped. "We can talk here," Chester said. "No one

will overhear us. Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know," Grundy confessed. "I'm supposed to

go to the Ivory Tower, but the Good Magician didn't tell

me where it is. If one of you happens to know—"

"Not me," Chester said, and Bink agreed.

Grundy sighed. "I suppose we'll just have to search

for it. I can ask the plants and things as we go along."

"The Good Magician must have had a reason to have

you ride the Bed Monster," Bink said. "Maybe you had

better just give the monster its head and see where it takes

you."

"I suppose so. "Then Grundy thought of something else.

"I thought no adults could see the monster, or believe in it."

"We haven't seen it yet," Chester growled. "It's dark."

"But people become more childlike as they grow older,"

Bink said. "Maybe there comes a time when they believe

in that particular monster again."

32                 Golem in the Gears

"Okay, Snortimer," Grundy said. "Go where you have

a mind, and let's see if it's the Ivory Tower."

"I have no idea where to go either," Snortimer pro-

tested. Grundy could understand him perfectly, but the

others could not speak the language, so couldn't partic-

ipate.

"Isn't that great!" Grundy exclaimed. "Four of us

here—and not one of us has any notion how to proceed!"

"Perhaps we should ask someone, then," Bink sug-

gested mildly.

"Who would possibly know?" Grundy demanded dis-

piritedly.

"The female Gap Dragon," Chester suggested. "At least

she has a motive to find Stanley."

"But she would gobble us up in a moment!" Grundy

protested.

"Not if you presented our case clearly," Bink said. "I'm

sure it will work out."

The man was certainly a fool! But Chester agreed with

him, and Grundy was dependent on them to carry the

bed. He had no choice. "I guess that's what we'll do,

then," he agreed reluctantly.

"First let's get a good night's sleep," Bink said. "We'll

have some heavy traveling coming up."

"But we have to travel by night!" Grundy protested.

"That's true," Bink agreed. "I had forgotten. Well, let's

get a good night and day's sleep, and be fresh for tomor-

row night."

Grundy chafed at the delay. Then he remembered Stella

Steamer, the lady Gap Dragon, and decided that delay

was no bad thing. What a bad beginning for this Quest!

Grundy worried that someone from Castle Roogna

would discover them, as they were not very far from it,

Golem in the Gears                 33

but still their luck held. That was gratifying, of course,

yet still he felt out of sorts. This was supposed to be his

Quest, but the others seemed to be running things pretty

much their way. He was still just a golem, the least con-

sequential of creatures.

The following evening, well-rested, they started off.

Grundy rode Snortimer, and had to admit that the monster

got around quite well. The only problem was the wan

moonlight; Snortimer would not venture into even that

dim illumination, and plowed through the densest brush

to avoid it. Since the magic path tended to be open, quite

a lot of it was moonlighted, so Grundy spent half his time

off the path. However, Snortimer's big hairy hands grasped

the brush with sure grips and seemed unbothered by even

the thickest tangles, and soon Grundy stopped being con-

cerned.

After an hour or so, they came to a surprise: a detour.

A dark sign blocked the path. Grundy approached it until

he was able to make out the print, even in the shadow.

It said:

"CONSTRUCTION: D-Tails @ Shopping Centaur."

"That's odd," Bink remarked. "I hadn't heard about

work on the magic paths."

"Well, we might as well go leam the details," Chester

said. "They seem to be at a good place."

He was a centaur; naturally he saw nothing odd about

the location. But Grundy didn't like this.

They took the indicated side trail. They had been pro-

ceeding north, toward the Gap Chasm; the detour took

them east. The path seemed all right, but Grundy remained

uneasy. He had never heard of a magic path being closed

off for construction.

34                Gdem hi the Gears

Soon they came to the shopping centaur. This turned

out to be not a place but a creature: a lady centaur carrying

a huge shopping bag. She carried a lamp, which made

Snortimer scurry to cover in the shadow off-trail, so that

Grundy did not hear her dialogue with Bink and Chester.

In a moment she continued on her way, and Grundy

was able to rejoin the others. "She says the tails belong

to the Bulls and Bears, and to be careful," Bink said.

"The Bulls always go up, while the Bears go down, and

it can get violent."

"What are Bulls and Bears?" Grundy asked.

"Mundane animals. Some must have strayed." Bink

evidently wasn't worried.

They moved on. The detour continued roughly east,

evincing no intention of turning north. Grundy's discom-

fort increased. He wasn't eager to encounter the Gap

Dragoness, but this eastward drift was only wasting time

and effort.

As the first wan light of dawn threatened ahead of

them, Snortimer got nervous, and they had to make camp.

They found an open field, and Chester pitched the bed

there, and the Bed Monster scooted under it just before

the light brightened.

Chester and Bink went foraging for food. Grundy, tired,

simply lay down on the bed and slept. That aspect was

very convenient; he would always have a comfortable

place to retire.