Fire Sail

By Piers Anthony

The New York Times–bestselling series continues with this pun-tastic epic quest and far-flung fantasy adventure.
 
Lydell, a shy, naive man of twenty-one, and world-weary grandmother Grania could not be more different. But when their paths cross on the way to beseech the Good Magician to add some excitement to their extraordinarily dull lives, the one thing they have in common is about to get them more than they bargained for . . .
 
Lydell and Grania’s exceptional integrity makes them valuable to the Good Magician. He promises to fulfill their hearts’ desires on the condition they pilot a fireboat to its new proprietors, whoever—and wherever—they may be.
 
Along with an obnoxious bird and a robot dogfish as shipmates, they unfurl their sail of flame and cruise through the skies of Xanth, guided by cryptic clues. Picking up a crew of future children along the way, Lydell and Grania must plan a royal wedding, detonate an F-Bomb, evade illusion dragons, rescue Jack and Jill, find a princess for a werewolf prince, and face their greatest fears—all while remaining true to their compulsively honest selves.

Fire Sail is the 42nd book in the Xanth series, but you may enjoy reading the series in any order.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Release date: Nov 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781504058735

Piers Anthony

Piers Anthony is one of the world’s most popular fantasy writers, and a New York Times–bestselling author twenty-one times over. His Xanth novels have been read and loved by millions of readers around the world, and he daily receives letters from his devoted fans. In addition to the Xanth series, Anthony is the author of many other bestselling works. He lives in Inverness, Florida.

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FIRE SAIL

A Xanth Novel

Piers Anthony

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Chapter 1

Spraints

Lydell spied the rest stop along the enchanted path that led near the Good Magician’s Castle. There was a man with a band saw working nearby, clearing more of the area; the saw was playing lively music while it cut the wood. Dell was relieved; it had been a long walk and he was tired. He hurried to the shelter, ready to collapse on a bed of hay.

Well hello, lad, a woman’s voice said.

He stopped, startled. Uh, I thought it was empty. I didn’t mean to barge in on you.

Oh, come on in, she said. I’m glad to have the company. I hate eating alone. I’m Grania, Nia for short.

Now he saw that she was an older woman, heavyset with dark brown hair and eyes. I’m Lydell, Dell for short. I’m—I’m coming to see the Good Magician, if I can get in.

Past the three challenges, she agreed. Have some apple pie; I harvested it hardly half an hour ago. It’s still warm. She handed him a slice.

Oh, thanks. But is there enough left for you?

If I get hungry, I’ll go pick another one. Sit down. Eat.

He sat down and ate. It was a small thing, but he appreciated not having to forage for himself this late in the day. He didn’t have much judgment about pies, and often got poor ones. This one was excellent. Uh, are you traveling the opposite way?

Yes, but I’m heading for the same place, the Good Magician. I don’t need to bore you with the dull details.

He smiled. I’m boring. I like dull details. He took another bite of pie.

She eyed him cannily. And you don’t have to carry the conversation when your mouth’s full and the other person’s talking. She laughed as he cringed, embarrassed. Dell, I’m a grandmother. I saw my son your age, and then my grandson. I know how it is. You’re shy.

Sort of, he agreed, his awkwardness easing in the face of her understanding.

It will pass. Let’s compare talents, since those largely define folk. Mine is making two spots on the wall, sort of like eyes. She focused, and two glowing eyes appeared on the wall behind her. It’s not much but it’s what I have.

Mine is changing the color, texture, or taste of things. He focused, and the pupils of the eyes became bright blue.

Wonderful! she said.

Well, it’s not much either. I can’t make things, just change some of their qualities, and it doesn’t last longer than until I change something else.

It will do. Well, now that we know each other, you may hearken to the dullness of my life, so you know it is safe to share the dullness of yours. She handed him another slice of pie, as he had just finished the first.

Uh, thanks again.

I wasn’t always dull. We lived near Electri City, where the folk are full of energy and grow power plants for a living. I was the prettiest girl in my village, so naturally I married the handsomest lout, who was eager to summon the storks, who soon got the messages, and we had three goodlooking children. I was satisfied with that number, and saw no reason to signal any more storks. She grimaced. Bad mistake. It turned out that he liked signaling for its own sake, even when the storks no longer paid attention. Who would have guessed? So when I balked, he got a mistress. Then I had the housework, and the children, and the dull neighbors; he had her. I suspect he had the better bargain. Our marriage had become a shell, worse inside than outside. Now I’m wise too late; I’d have been better off to humor him so he wouldn’t stray. And now he’s dead, maybe from overexertion with her, and our children and grandchildren have families of their own. They have no use for me; I rubbed too many the wrong way by not respecting their outlooks. So I want to do something to redeem my largely wasted prior effort, something worthwhile, for the rest of my life. Maybe find a project some good people are doing that I can contribute to, to help make it a success. That’s what brings me to see the Good Magician. I’m sure he’ll have an answer for me, if I can make it through the challenges and get to see him. Of course there’s the year’s service or equivalent he requires for an answer, but that will be worth it if my life has meaning.

Yeah, he agreed, chewing on the second slice.

"So what do you want, Dell? Something similar?"

Yes. I’m not handsome, or smart, or bold. I’m just pretty much nothing. Nobody notices me, and that’s okay because I’m hardly worth noticing. I’ve had a lot of time to myself, and gotten fairly practical with ordinary things, like stones, materials, and stray pieces of wood, practicing my talent on them, making them look and feel different. But what’s the point? Nobody cares. I’ve had time to figure out obscure magic effects that work in both Xanth and Mundania, like perspective and equal and opposite reaction, but nobody’s interested. I’d like to find a decent life, doing some decent thing, preferably with a pretty girl in it with me. One who actually finds me interesting. He felt himself blushing, because he had never expressed that ambition openly before. There was something about her that evoked his naked feeling.

She caught that. And you feel you don’t deserve that much.

Yes, he confessed.

Let me tell you something about pretty girls, she said. Because I was one, and I remember. They may look good on the outside, but not so much on the inside, like my marriage. I don’t mean they’re bad-hearted, but they may be sort of empty, as I was. As a girl I would not have cared about your talent or your thoughts, but now that I’m old and experienced, I do. I can see that you do have things to recommend you. The best girl for you may be one who looks better inside than outside.

You mean naked?

Nia laughed. No. Naked is still the outside. I mean in the mind, the heart. External beauty fades in time—don’t I know it!—but internal beauty lasts for life. Looks are important, because they’re the first thing you see, but they certainly aren’t everything. She smiled reminiscently. There are exceptions. I once knew a hand kerchief. He was the chief of people who looked like hands made of silk or cotton. He was a decent chap, but his look was simply too far out for me.

But if all I can see is the—the outside—how else can I judge?

Well, you have to take a bit of time to get to know her. That’s something that does not come readily to the young, but it’s smart to learn. Then ask yourself if you would still like her if she were not pretty. Be guided by that.

Are you sure? he asked uncertainly. I really like pretty girls, at least to look at from a distance.

A distance?

If I got too close, they would flash their panties at me, and when I came to, they would be gone.

You freaked out!

Yes. I can’t help it. Panties freak me out.

You’re a young man. Even older men can freak out. It’s the special magic of panties. It protects girls from molestation.

Yes. So I’ve never gotten really close to a pretty girl.

This about that: my husband’s mistress wasn’t nearly as pretty as I was. But she paid him close attention, as if he were the most wonderful man in Xanth. She made him feel important, and she was a bleep of a lot better in bed. He wasn’t the smartest of men, but he did relate to that. Men do.

Dell caught on to something. You—you are paying me close attention, Nia. You don’t interrupt me, and you respond perfectly to anything I say, even when it’s nothing much. You take me seriously, you’re interested, and you’re sharing yourself just as if I were your equal. You make me feel almost important, at least in those moments.

She laughed again. Did I mention that I got wise late? I am treating you with the respect every person deserves. If I’d considered my husband’s needs before my own, or even parallel to mine, he’d never have left me, emotionally.

And you never flash your panties at me, so I can actually have a conversation with you.

I’ll let you in on another secret: part of the reason I don’t flash you is that I’m old enough so my panties probably wouldn’t work on you. There’s a significant difference between young and old panties. I don’t want to risk that failure. I already feel older than I like.

Oh, he said, not knowing what else to say.

If you find a young woman who isn’t pretty, but who acts sensible, being more than a shell, give her more serious attention. She just might be worth your while.

But no young woman ever gave me the time of day.

No pretty one, perhaps. But did you ever consider the others?

Dell was chagrined. The dull ones? I never did.

Here is another female secret: the dull girls have feelings too. Some of them will give you a lot more than the pretty ones will, because they’re realistic enough to know that there’s more to a boy than his looks, and they’re quite ready to settle for what they can get. It’s vastly better than nothing.

But if I were with a dull girl, and a pretty one smiled at me, I’d go to her.

Maybe not, if you asked yourself that question.

Would I still like her if she were not pretty? he repeated thoughtfully. I’ve seen pretty ones who were stuck up, now that I think of it. I wouldn’t like them, if I were not blinded, sometimes literally, by their appearance.

That’s it. Your lesson for the day. Ponder it in the background of your mind. Maybe you’ll get smart earlier in life than I did.

Aren’t you, well, betraying your gender by telling me these things? Women have secrets they shouldn’t reveal, just the way men aren’t supposed to let women know how they, well—

How they try to get girls into bed.

Yeah.

She considered. I hadn’t thought of it that way. But you know it’s not really Us against Them between the genders. We’re all human beings, except for those of us who aren’t. I suppose it’s that you listen so well, and I know you will profit from my advice if you want to. I just have to share things with you. I’m really on the side of the innocent versus the manipulators, whatever the gender. You must be getting fed up.

No! You’re teaching me so much about life. I’m happy to hear anything you say.

Grania sighed. I wish my son and grandson had felt that way. Very well, here’s one more: if a pretty girl ever comes on to you, don’t just dissolve into goo. Keep in mind that she probably has a reason, and it’s not that your manliness is sweeping her off her feet. She’ll be wanting something you may not want to give. So find out what it is before you let her take you.

No pretty girl ever came on to me.

So be suspicious when one does. Much of the mischief men do is because lovely women lead them on.

I will remember, he promised.

This is mainly idle curiosity, so you don’t have to answer. I don’t much believe in coincidence, such as our meeting here and getting along so well together though we are quite dissimilar. What made you come here at this time?

Well, it was just sort of a coincidence despite what you say. This traveling minstrel, Cool Hand Lute, came to our village, and of course we all turned out to listen to her, because things are dull and she was lovely and sang so well as she played her lute.

Cool Hand Lute!

It’s sort of a pun. She had very cool hands, and she could chill something by grasping it. Her lute was ice cold. He smiled. An amorous lout tried to get hold of her, and she put her hand on his wrist and chilled him to the bone. Ice flaked off him as he stumbled away. It was funny. After that, no one tried to bother her. Anyway, she seemed to single me out, amazingly, and I was mesmerized by her attention. She was devastatingly beautiful up close, and her clothing wasn’t snug. He hesitated, then said it. I don’t think she even wore a bra. I almost freaked out. She asked me what my ambition was, and I was tongue-tied. Then she touched my hand, and that was the oddest thing of all, because it didn’t freeze me or even cool me, it just made me suddenly want to be all that I could possibly be, as soon as I could. Which seemed impossible, because I’m really nothing. So I came to ask the Good Magician. Because a woman led me on. Can you believe that?

Yes.

Yes? It’s so foolish.

Because Cool Hand Lute came to our village too, and singled me out, and touched me, and here I am.

He stared at her. You too? But you’re not a naive boy!

Indeed I am not, and truth is, I sort of resented her blazing sex appeal. It was her touch, Grania said. It gave us both the desire to fulfill our ambitions immediately, whatever they might be.

We were sent here? he asked, bemused.

So it would seem. So it wasn’t coincidence. Maybe it was just the minstrel’s mischief.

Wow, he said, awed in retrospect.

She stretched. Now it’s about time for us to turn in. If you want to go wash up in the pond, I promise not to look. Then you can take that other pile of hay for the night.

Dell realized that he was being managed, but it didn’t bother him because it made things easier. It was what grandmothers did. Okay.

Nia lay on her pile of hay and rolled over, hiding her face. Dell knew he could trust her to remain that way and not peek. It really didn’t matter, but he appreciated it.

He went out to the pond, stripped, set his clothing aside, and waded into the water. He paused, letting the water settle to a still surface, looking at his face in the reflection. That was another kind of magic: water pretending that what was above it was also below it. A nice illusion. And of course illusion was terrific magic, used by many, many creatures and plants and things.

So what did he look like? He had nondescript brown hair, brown eyes, and a forgettable face. No muscles to speak of. He was a nothing.

He dropped down and splashed, washing himself. He felt an odd kind of freedom, knowing that he was naked and there was a woman who wasn’t watching. So she was old; it still counted. He was being uncharacteristically bold, in his feeble fashion. Maybe it was just his wet (rather than dry) sense of humor, here in the water.

He emerged and shook himself dry, then put his clothes back on. His imaginary boldness faded.

I’m clean, he said as he reentered the shelter.

That’s nice. Nia lifted her head and opened her eyes. Now it’s my turn.

Uh, right. He lay on his mound of hay, closed his eyes, and put down his face. Would he have found it as easy not to peek if she had been a young thing? He hoped so, but doubted it. As she had said, there was a huge difference between young and old women. He would have been awfully tempted.

He felt something in the hay under his head. A piece of paper? What was it doing here?

Soon Nia returned. All done. You didn’t look.

Of course I didn’t look, he said. But were his motives as clean as that implied?

I know. I watched you. But you never promised not to.

It was implied. I was doing what you did, honoring privacy.

So you did. I appreciate that. I thought you’d be curious, even though I’m no nymph.

I—I guess I was curious. But it wouldn’t have been fair to look, especially after you didn’t look at me.

You believe in fairness?

Yes. And in keeping my word, expressed or implied. Sometimes that gets me in trouble.

I know exactly how that it is. They call it compulsive honesty.

Yeah. This was another subject he found awkward, because others regarded it as a fault in him. You too?

Me too, she agreed. I learned too late, as I said, not to push my honesty in people’s faces. The social graces require finesse rather than candor. I could be meaner than a four-headed cactus in a drought, and I alienated people. So you should describe me as mature rather than fat, and I would describe you as lean rather than gawky, and we’ll get along for the brief time we associate.

Dell had to smile. She did have a way with awkward concepts. I’ve already made people mad without meaning to. I wish I could have you in my head to say ‘uh-uh!’ when I’m about to rub someone the wrong way.

And I wish you could lend me your youthful vigor when I need it. But we’re both stuck with what we are, physically and mentally. She paused half a moment, thinking. There’s a place called Pair O Dice City, where everything is a game of chance. The houses are made of cards that might collapse at any time. I’ve never been there, but it occurs to me that life is like that. It’s one big game of chance, and some of us have better luck than others.

Yeah.

So even if we could trade our qualities, it probably wouldn’t make much difference. Still, just in case there is any relevance, you might picture a little copy of me in your head, who can whisper uh-uh when you know it’s called for.

Now he laughed. And you can picture a bit of me in your body, so that when you need a little extra energy, there it is. Maybe we can help each other even after we separate.

She nodded, smiling. Why not? Next subject: What did you find?

A piece of paper, I think, he said, remembering it. He brought it up to his face in the gloom. There’s writing on it. A message, I think.

Maybe someone dropped it and lost it. What does it say?

He squinted at it. It says ‘Riddle.’

Well, read it.

Like me you are a spraint on the riverbank, understand and your halfway there. He looked up. What’s a spraint?

Nia laughed. Otter poop.

I’m poop?

Maybe it means you aren’t important, just as a turd by a river isn’t.

Maybe it does, he agreed. I’m halfway where?

Nia shook her head. I can understand the two of us being spraints, that is supremely unimportant folk. We are. But I don’t see why understanding that makes us halfway anywhere. I suspect it’s nonsense.

Dell peered at it again. Your, he said. The note says ‘your.’ Is that right? Shouldn’t it be ‘you’re’?

Maybe whoever wrote it down was careless. It might even have been a joke message, forgotten when the joke was done. Maybe we should just forget it.

I guess, he agreed, pocketing the paper.

They settled down on their beds of hay. Well, now.

Now? he asked sleepily.

I found a paper of my own, under the hay.

Another lost note!

Perhaps. Let me see. She peered closely at it. It’s a poem, she said, surprised. Titled ‘Evil Whispers.’ No capitals in the main text. That’s weird. But it does rhyme.

Well, read it, he said, echoing her tone.

Nia cleared her throat and read aloud.

follow me now, through this world of dreams

listen closely to the mournful screams

each dark corner, just around each bend

shadows of evil, each step closer to the end

I’ve led you astray, so many nights long past

trembling and weak, hiding in the shadows I cast

so follow me now, but hide me well my dear

look not into my eyes, for

I think the end of it is missing, Dell said. What is in its eyes?

We should be able to guess it, Nia said. But I just can’t think of the obvious continuation, as if magically balked. That spooks me.

That’s the way I feel when I’m alone at night, Dell said, shuddering. Spooky.

Me too, though I never cared to show it. It’s not becoming in a person my age.

You know, these two papers we found seem relevant, he said. As if they are not coincidences, but messages to us. Mysteries to tease us. Does that make sense?

It may, she said thoughtfully. The Good Magician might have seen us coming, as it were, and left them for us to find.

But why? We’re just—

Just spraints, she finished. And nervous about what we face.

So why should he bother?

This may be laughable. But is it possible we are more important than we think?

I’d be embarrassed even to think that.

So would I. So they must have been lost by travelers. So let’s forget it and go to sleep.

Unless that minstrel, Cool Hand Lute, left them where she knew we would find them.

Now that’s an idea! Maybe she’ll laugh her cool hand off when we actually show to bother the Good Magician.

Yeah, he agreed, embarrassed for what was bound to happen.

Now it’s overtime to sleep. Good night.

Dell fidgeted. I—I don’t know if I should say this, but—

What? she asked a little too politely. She was plainly tired and growing impatient with him, and struggling not to show it.

Those messages. They make me even more nervous than I was before. Could—

Spit it out, she said with suppressed ire.

Could I sleep closer to you? Maybe even hold your hand? He was blushing furiously in the dark, expecting her derision for his childishness.

She laughed. I thought you’d never ask. I feel it too. Come on over.

Relief flooded through him. She had not ridiculed him! In fact she supported his feeling. Thank you, he breathed as he picked up his bundle of hay and brought it to her side of the shelter. He lay down on it.

"Thank you, she said, taking his hand. It’s okay for young folk to be nervous. Older folk are supposed to know better. So for the record, I am comforting you."

She was implying that she needed this reassurance as much as he did. He wasn’t sure whether that was true, but was phenomenally grateful for the support. No one before had made him feel as much at ease in such a short time as she had. Certainly not his real grandmother. You are, he agreed.

They slept. He dreamed of seeing spots of otter dung along a riverbank, and of being afraid of them. He woke, found her hand still holding his, and was reassured. After that his dreams were easier.

In the morning they took turns with natural functions, harvested more pies, then set off for the Good Magician’s Castle, which was on a separate path.

But there was an obstruction, or rather, construction. Large ants were busily working on a highway that crossed the path. It was guarded by enormous GI ants who looked too ferocious to challenge. They were supervised by belligerent Tyr Ants with noncommissioned Sarge ants marshaling the aggressive Milit Ants troops. Some were adult, Long P Ants while others were younger, Short P Ants, and some quite young, Inf Ants. Ten Ants were settling in at decimal intervals. Mut Ants initiated new ideas and methods of construction, but Err Ants made repeated mistakes. Some were even Tru Ants constantly going astray, while Devi Ants flatly refused to follow orders.

Dell looked at Nia, and she looked back at him. Both of them were taken aback. Meanwhile, a squadron of Milit Ants was heading for them.

I believe these are Domin Ants. But this is an enchanted path, Nia murmured. They can’t actually hurt us.

That helps.

The Tyr Ant arrived. Dell faced it. Please, sir. We are just travelers heading for the Good Magician’s Castle. We don’t want to interrupt your work, which we can see is formidable, but are uncertain how to pass without doing that.

The ant wiggled its antennae. Then it set out across the construction site. They followed at a respectful distance. Soon they came to the other side. Thank you, Nia said.

The Tyr Ant departed.

They let us through, Dell breathed, relieved.

All it took was treating them with due respect, Nia said. Not everybody does.

They walked on. They came to a minor building with a large impressive facade that made it look far more formidable than it was. A sign said LIE BRARY. CHECK OUT HIGH-QUALITY LIES, USE, RETURN.

Thanks, no thanks, Dell said. They walked on by.

Soon they spied it, nestled within its moat, with the moat monster on guard. Its turrets reached toward the sky, where a high flat blade scraped out clouds: a sky scraper. The path led right to the drawbridge, which was down. It looked almost as if there were spraints on the moat bank.

I see them too, Nia said. She took his hand briefly and squeezed it. Here’s a wicked notion we rejected before, that maybe makes more sense by the light of day: Could the Good Magician have seen us coming, and planted those notes for us to find?

He realized that she was repeating this for the benefit of the Good Magician, who might be listening, now that they were on his property. So he played along. Why? It makes no more sense than it did last night. We’re just spraints on the riverbank.

And nervous about our own shadows. You’re right. It still doesn’t make sense to me either. We’re probably just seeing what’s on our minds.

Poop. Confusion. Do we have dirty ignorant minds?

Maybe so.

There was no response from the castle. That didn’t mean the Magician wasn’t listening. So maybe their little recital wasn’t wasted. Maybe. Still, it was a huge assumption to think that they mattered at all to him. They were spraints!

And yet those messages hadn’t come from nowhere. Each indicated some serious thought and feeling. Was it safe to assume that they were meaningless?

Dell looked at the path leading so invitingly down. We just walk right in?

It can’t be that easy, Nia said. I have heard from many who tried to visit the Good Magician. Few of them ever got in; the triple challenges were too severe.

And I don’t expect to make it, he said seriously. But I have to try.

Yes, same here. I would rather fail here than not try at all.

So they were decided. Do we go together, or separately? He hoped she would elect to do it together, because he felt far more competent in her presence.

Nia shrugged. Should we try it together and see what happens?

Well, I guess we can find out. Dell was relieved again. Yes, he much preferred company. He strode along the path. She paced him.

Chapter 2

Challenges

Dell found himself in some kind of chamber. It was long and not too wide, with wooden benches along the sides, and windows behind the seats. A number of people were sitting on the benches, looking bored, and others were standing and holding on to handles that descended from the ceiling.

Then the chamber started to move, with a lurch. Dell grabbed a hanging handle so as not to stumble. He saw lights moving beyond the windows. No, the lights were stationary; it was the room that was moving. It was a vehicle of some sort!

Grania was nowhere in view. That meant that the Challenges were supposed to be individual. Okay. She must be in some other scene, or maybe another moving chamber. He was on his own.

A seated woman crossed her legs. They were nice legs, and—

Dell discovered himself hanging by the strap. He must have blanked out momentarily and lost his balance. He glanced back at the legs. They were bare, and—

A jolt snapped him alert. What was happening?

He looked out of the nearer line of windows and saw lights whizzing by. The chamber was moving rapidly now, and he didn’t remember it accelerating. There were signs outside, facing the—he realized that it was something he had heard about, in Mundania: a subway train. One sign said CLOTHING, the letters stretched along beside the platform along the tracks so that they could be read as the train zoomed past.

What was he doing on a Mundane subway?

Then he put it together. This wasn’t really Mundania, and it wasn’t a real train. It was a Challenge! He had to get past it, and past two more Challenges, before he could enter the Good Magician’s Castle.

Where was the train going? Surely not where he wanted to go. Probably it zoomed along in an endless loop. His problem was to get safely off it, and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t just stop to let him exit.

He looked around the interior again. Now he saw something he had somehow missed before. There were men and women standing and sitting, all perfectly ordinary. Except that they wore no trousers. Just briefs and—

Another jolt shook him out of it. Now he knew what was happening: he was seeing the women’s panties, and freaking out. He had to stop looking!

The woman across from him started to uncross her legs. Dell’s eyes started to travel of their own accord.

Uh-uh. It was Nia’s voice in his head.

That froze him. His eyes lifted like reluctant anvils to fix unfocused on her face instead of her revealed panties. He felt dizzy, but he did not freak out. Thanks, Nia, he murmured.

Obviously he had to get out of this train; it wasn’t going anywhere he wanted. But how? That was the challenge, especially since he couldn’t even look at the women without losing his mind.

He closed his eyes to prevent mind-bending distractions and thought. He didn’t know much about Challenges, but understood that there was always a way through them, if a person could just figure it out. There were usually hints, and things that could be used. The Challenges weren’t so much tests of courage or knowledge, as of practical application. Of on-the-spot understanding.

He wasn’t going to figure much out if he couldn’t look around to see what hints there were, and he couldn’t look because all around him were women showing their panties. He had to get them out of those panties! Um, wrong direction. Get them into more covering clothing. Which really wouldn’t happen until he solved the puzzle. That was another loop.

He opened his eyes and cranked them around to the nearest window, the only safe place to look. There was the lighted CLOTHING sign again, indicating that the train had already completed at least one loop. He was wasting time. Was there a limit, or could he remain here indefinitely, until he starved to death on the traveling train?

Clothing. As if that related.

Then a bulb flashed over his head. Maybe it did relate! That clothing store should have pants and skirts: exactly what was needed. If only he could get at it.

And how could he do that? There must be a hint, if only he could find it. He would have to look around, somehow.

He let go of the strap and faced the interior of the car. He looked at the ceiling. Nothing there. He lowered his gaze.

Uh-uh.

Right. He kept his gaze locked above waist level. Now he saw the people, male and female, all perfectly ordinary, except that they lacked pants. He was the only one with pants on. None of them were looking back at him. He realized that they were really mock-ups, props for the setting; he was the only live actor in this play.

He walked along the length of the car, keeping his eyes high. He came to the end if it, where there was a closed door to another car, one that was rocking savagely around. He opened the door and stepped into the chamber that connected the two cars. Now he saw that they were both rocking violently, as he stood on the screen-like section between them; it was only his perspective that made the other one seem worse than the one he was on. At least there were no distracting bare legs or whatever here. Through the holes in the screen he could see the rapidly passing trestles of the train tracks below the floor. Both cars were zooming over those tracks, and irregularities in the connections were responsible for the constant rocking. The irregularities weren’t rocking; it was the interaction between them and the train. Was that a workable analogy for the human condition, reacting violently to things that didn’t care? He was not enough of a philosopher to know.

He spied a box marked EMERGENCY—Break Glass. He lifted its glass lid, not caring to actually break it since it was not an emergency, and saw several metallic rods or bolts. One was marked Fan C. Another was Lightening, another Enlightening. What were they for? He had always been intrigued by the nature of objects, and these ones surely had immediate relevance.

He drew out the Fan C rod and squeezed its handle. Suddenly it opened out into a really fancy fan. Okay, if it got hot here he would use it to fan himself. He tucked it under his belt for the moment.

There was a Flashlight labeled Heavy. That made sense; heavy went together with light. He took it and put it in a pocket.

He touched the Enlightening bolt. Suddenly his mind sharpened. He was enlightened! Now he saw a good use for the other bolt.

He picked up the Lightening Bolt and squeezed its handle. It became light in his hand. He drew it out of the box and touched it to the floor of the train.

Nothing happened. But his new enlightenment gave him a reason: he had not broken the glass, so it did not consider this an emergency. But it was not the one at risk of washing out of the Challenge; he was. So he lifted the rod and smashed it down on the glass lid, shattering it. Then he touched the floor again.

The train got light and lifted off the tracks. He felt it and saw it through the floor screen. It was still moving, because of the magic of inertia, but no longer had the stabilizing connection to the tracks. It still had mass, because he wasn’t floating; his feet remained firmly on the floor. Would it crash?

That sobered him. What had he done?

Alarmed, he went back into the car. The people still stood and sat there,