“I mean like putting you on to Demesne, who had a crush on you.”

  He seemed taken aback. “If she had one then, she has it now. Demons don’t change their biases. It was nevertheless a pleasure teaching her. She was a sensible lass and an apt learner.”

  “That’s my thought,” Metria said. “She is all the things that I am not. So why don’t you follow up on her? You’re about ready to retire anyway.”

  Grossclout shook his head, bemused. “Out of the mouths of babies and sluts.”

  Vinia wished she had half an inkling how this was going. Was he interested in Demesne, or was he utterly disgusted?

  “Your opinion, Vinia,” Grossclout asked. “Would Demesne be interested in my company today?”

  Would she? “I don’t know. She’s about to be queen of the feminist Queendom of Thanx.”

  “Perhaps we should talk. Contact her.”

  Maybe that was best. “Demesne,” Vinia said to the ring. The name had been in play before, but this time it was for contact.

  “Yes, Vinia,” the Demoness answered after a moment.

  “I-I have Demon Professor Grossclout here.”

  “Grossclout!” Demesne sounded like a trapped schoolgirl. That was surprising, considering her prior competence.

  He spoke. “It has been suggested that I retire and join you in your forming Queendom of Thanx.”

  “Join me! You?”

  “As your consort. Does that interest you?”

  “My consort!” Demesne echoed faintly, a dawning blush coloring her voice. “I never dreamed—”

  “Demons don’t dream.”

  She rallied. “Some do. I do. I’m dreaming now, technically. But still—”

  Grossclout looked impatiently at Vinia. “You, innocent. Should I go there?”

  Vinia desperately focused. The Demoness wanted a prince. Grossclout was more than qualified. Demesne had crushed on him before, but thought he was beyond her reach. Now he was within reach, but she hardly believed it. Just as Vinia herself had discovered Prince Magician Ion to be within her reach, amazingly. And there was the answer. “Yes!”

  Neither party protested.

  “Then I will join her at the concourse of suitors. Inform your companions.” He vanished.

  “Oh!” Demesne said happily and clicked off.

  “Well, now,” Metria said. “I think I helped.”

  “You certainly did!” Vinia agreed and hugged her. “You did the decent thing.”

  “I did, didn’t I,” Metria agreed, pleased. “Sherlock’s right. It does feel good.”

  It was time to return to the carpet with the good news. Their Quest was now complete.

  Yet Vinia still had a faint nagging doubt. Was this too easy?

  Chapter 7

  No Thanx

  It was predawn, the landscape just beginning to fight off the gloom of night. They had been napping during the dark flight. Metria had stayed with them awhile, then departed, satisfied that she had done her bit of good, still digesting the implications. It was time for them to start stirring.

  The carpet approached the entrance to the cave that housed Dragoman’s lair. They were almost there, their mission complete. Then Vinia thought of something. “Um—”

  Hilda laughed. “Out with it, girl. If confidence were visible, you’d be invisible. Yet you’re the protagonist. Everything connected to you is important.”

  “Fate must love shy folk,” Ion said. “Just as I do.”

  They were teasing her. She liked it. “It’s that we’ve had a several days’ long flight, and while I know the potty capacity is limitless, the stuff is in there. If it got accidentally kicked over—”

  “There’d be a mountain of bleep in a confined space, a stench to rival a stink horn,” Furioso said, laughing. “And you’re right. We should empty it before we go inside any caves, just to be safe.”

  “I’ll do it,” Vinia said.

  “With four virile princes aboard? You’ll need help digging the hole, which must be big enough to hold it all. In fact, we can do it, so that you need not soil your ladylike hands.” He glanced at the two other princes, who nodded. Ion didn’t count, for this.

  “But royals aren’t supposed to do menial work,” she protested.

  “Neither are ladies.”

  “I’m not a lady! I’m a servant girl.”

  “A tourist who joined our party,” Hilda said. “A different thing.”

  “Shall we hold a vote?” Furioso asked rhetorically. “All in favor of Vinia being considered a lady say aye.”

  “Aye!” the others said together, all seven of them.

  Vinia wasn’t sure how much of this was teasing, or how to react.

  It was Georgia who came to her rescue. “Technically you’re servant class, as is everyone who is not royal, but we have all come to know you and respect you and to us, you’re a lady. We regard you as equal to us, regardless of societal standards. If you have work to do, we want to help you.” She glanced at Sherlock and Cedar, who nodded. “So we’ll do it together.”

  Vinia was unable to argue with that.

  Benny brought the carpet to land on the level ground outside the cave. Cedar heaved himself to his four feet and went to pick up the potty. He carried it off the carpet. Sherlock went to the cloth tool bag Hilda had sewn, opened it, and drew out a spade his size. Then another, Furioso’s size. The two followed the centaur to the outside. Vinia had to hurry to catch up. Georgia came with her. They walked across the deeply shadowed terrain, passing plants and minipools of water.

  Cedar stopped at a sandy spot. “This should do.”

  Sherlock and Furioso went to work with a will, digging a hole in the sand. Soon they had a fair-sized pit, a black hole because of the morning gloom. Vinia realized that the spades were magic, excavating many times the amount normal spades would have. The twins would not have stored garden-variety tools.

  “That should do,” Cedar said. He lifted the potty out over the rim and turned it over. Slop poured out, like a giant sewer hose turned on, splashing messily into the depth. The smell came with it. The brown stream kept coming, filling the pit until it threatened to flood. Furioso had to leap back to avoid being splashed, dropping his spade. It was amazing how much had been put into that potty in a short time. Unless maybe this was not the first time it had been used.

  Fortunately, the potty emptied just before the pit overflowed. Maybe the spades had known. Sherlock started spading loose dirt over, to bury the slop.

  Vinia went to the small spade and picked it up, determined to do her part. And felt her hands hurting. She had run afoul of stinging nettles. She dropped the spade.

  “Oh, get them off you quickly, before they dig in,” Georgia said. She used her own hands to dip water from a nearby pool and poured it over Vinia’s hands, washing off the nettles. That helped.

  But the stinging continued in one place. The nettles had gotten under the ring. Vinia had to yank it off so that she could plunge her hand into the pool, clearing the remaining nettles. In about one and a half moments the pain faded. The nettles had not had time to dig in.

  Meanwhile Furioso had recovered his spade and gone back to work on the pit filling. Soon he and Sherlock had the ground modestly mounded, covering the slop. The odor was reluctantly thinning. They were done.

  The five of them returned to the carpet. It lifted and glided into the cave.

  “Oh!” Vinia said.

  “What is it?” Georgia asked.

  “I lost the ring! I was distracted by the nettles, and it must have dropped to the ground or into the pool.”

  “I don’t think the carpet can turn around here in the tunnel,” Georgia said. “But it’s still too dark to find it readily. We can return for it when there is full daylight. It should be right there.”

  “I hope so,” Vinia said weakly. She felt somehow naked without the ring. It had zeroed in on key people and had brought good luck. Now there could be a backlash.

  “You’re back!” It was Chloe, the telepath, speaking to Vinia in her head. “Did things work out well?”

  “We have the princes!” Vinia replied. “Four of them here—well, one’s a princess—and two to come.”

  “That’s wonderful. We can’t wait to meet them. I will tell Dragoman.”

  They landed in the main cave, before the dragon. They filed off the carpet.

  “Chloe says you got the princes,” Dragoman said, aloud, with his buttressing telepathy.

  “Yes. With two to come.”

  “One to come,” Demon Grossclout said, appearing beside them, glower and all.

  “Grossclout!” Dragoman said, amazed. “Don’t you have Demon classes to teach? Terrorizing the novices?”

  “I am retiring, to be with Demesne, if she’ll have me.” He glanced at Vinia’s bare finger and frowned without comment. He knew the qualities of the ring. Vinia felt guilty for losing it.

  “I will see to the last of the princes now, to make the roster complete,” Ion said. “I must set up the local portal.”

  Vinia joined him, as she had to for more than one reason, and they walked to a side exit and out to the flower fields, while Hilda handled the remaining introductions.

  It did not take long. Ion set the portal up on a little stand, like a flat picture. And Vinia suffered another horrible qualm. “The ring! I’m not wearing it.”

  “I know. But in this case, we don’t need it, fortunately. The local portal can orient on the distant one, being within its orientation field.”

  “Oh,” she said, relieved, though she hardly understood what he said.

  Ion brought out the cup with the elixir, dipped another ring, spoke the necessary words, then poked his finger through, making a beckoning gesture to the bees beyond. It was weird, seeing his finger disappear, but Vinia knew it was routine. Soon a solitary bee buzzed through, Drover Drone. “Hello, Ion!” he buzzed. “Hello, Vinia.” The effect of the communication elixir remained; they understood him perfectly.

  “Tell Queen BeeAttitude that the return connection has been established,” Ion said.

  “Forthwith.” Drover flew back through the portal. In barely two and a half moments he emerged again. Evidently the queen had been in close touch, eager to verify the portal and the precious flowers beyond. “Get clear.”

  They stood back as a line of worker bees zoomed through, like miniature bombers in a Mundane formation. They headed immediately for the Honeysuckles, orienting by smell. That was the rest of the verification: the invaluable flowers.

  “We’re done here,” Ion said with satisfaction. “Drover, it is time for you to meet your princess.”

  “I am all aflutter,” the drone buzzed. “Where is she?”

  “We’re going there now. She will be one of six princesses of different species. We still need to verify that all of you are compatible matches.”

  “You may perch on my head, if you wish,” Vinia said, suspecting Drover would be uncomfortable flying through the tunnels.

  “Thank you, lady.” He flew across to land neatly on her hair.

  There it was again. She was considered a lady. Vinia couldn’t help feeling pleased, though she knew nothing had really changed.

  They returned to the cave. “Ah. The roster is complete,” Dragoman said. “Line up before the crystals, and I will release the princesses.” He glanced at Vinia. “Line up with them, lady, so the drone does not have to sit on the floor at risk of getting stepped on. I’m pretty sure Beetrix will not confuse you for Drover.” There was a murmur of laughter. It was a fair tension reliever.

  They went to the crystal chamber. There were the six crystals, like giant gems. Vinia helped Ion to a chair by the side so that he could sit in comfort to witness the proceedings. Hilda stood beside him. She had his little flying carpet, if he needed to move around while Vinia was helping the bees.

  The princes and Georgia lined up, and Vinia went to stand beside the goblin. “Hello again, Drover,” Georgia said. “I hope we both get what we came for.”

  “Amen,” the drone buzzed, the wind from his wings blowing Vinia’s hair.

  “Ready, Chloe?” Dragoman asked.

  “We are all more than ready,” the centaur filly replied in an all-person broadcast, mentally flicking her tail. “This is a phenomenal occasion.”

  The dragon breathed out a plume of white smoke. It suffused the cave, surrounding the crystals, smelling faintly of menthol. The crystals evaporated, dissolving into the smoke, which coursed on up through a vent in the ceiling. In almost a moment the six princesses stood there in their beauty, or rather five princesses standing and one buzzing in place.

  They gazed jointly at the princes and Georgia. The princes and Georgia gazed at the princesses. A little heart flew up. Scintillating lines extended from it to the two who had first connected. Elga Elf and Cedar Centaur.

  What?

  Vinia saw that she was hardly alone in her confusion. What was happening here? Those two were not supposed to be a couple.

  Cedar stepped forward and extended a hand to Elga. She accepted it, then sat on it. She was a scant two feet tall; his human portion was a generous six feet, and of course there was a lot more of him behind. She was like a doll on his hand, but both seemed perfectly at ease with the situation. Love was blinding them to the anomaly of it. He lifted her up and brought her to his face. They kissed, and another little heart flew up, confirming the diagnosis.

  The hearts never lied. The elf and the centaur were in instant and permanent love. But how could this be? They were grossly mismatched, their species not even close to each other.

  “We will require an accommodation spell to do much more, my love,” Elga murmured. It was apparent that she did want to do it, whatever it was.

  “Prince Ion has one,” Vinia said before her brain caught up with her mouth.

  “Thank you,” Cedar said. He walked across to Ion, who wordlessly handed them a vial. Elga took it, holding it carefully. This was what made it possible as well as desirable. They trotted on out of the chamber, seeking suitable privacy for business that had become abruptly urgent.

  Another heart appeared. This one connected Sherlock and Hula. “That’s an immense relief,” he said as he went to her. They kissed but did not depart. They were technically elf and human, but close enough to have no problem.

  “I love you,” Hula said. “But I want more.”

  Oops. So there was a problem.

  “Understood. I am happy to have the share of you I can manage. I look forward to watching you dance, and of course we will converse.”

  “We will dance and converse,” she agreed.

  Which seemed like an odd kind of connection, Vinia thought. But if they were satisfied, it would do. Problem solved.

  “I understand you have been a king,” Hula said. “That means you have had a lot of experience and possess competent background knowledge. In sum, a mind.”

  “I do.”

  “I want that, too.”

  A third heart appeared. This one connected Drover and Beetrix. There was a general relief as she flew across to join him on Vinia’s hair. Another proper match.

  “Let’s go fly among the flowers,” Beetrix buzzed.

  “We’ll do more than fly,” he buzzed back.

  “First you must catch me.” She flew off, going for the smoke exit, her path a flirtatious curve, and he followed. Their nuptials would be in midair. To others such a liaison might only feel like flying: with them it was literal.

  Then a fourth heart, connecting Grossclout and Demesne. Their long-stifled interest in each other was finally working out, since he was no longer the professor and she no longer the student. She was to be the Queen of Thanx, and he her consort. That was a new and surely challenging relationship. They came together and kissed, then stood, concerned about the remaining matches.

  A fifth heart connected Goblette with Georgia. They kissed. They were a couple. Vinia knew that both were vastly relieved, after the disapproval they had experienced by other goblins. They understood each other.

  That left Furioso Fee and Chloe Centaur. “I mean absolutely no disrespect, filly, but my inclination is not for you or your telepathy,” he said.

  “Ditto here,” she agreed. “It seems we both have been jilted.”

  “But there needs to be a sixth couple, or the terms of the deal have not been met.”

  Then both looked at Vinia. Uh-oh. She was expected to come up with an amazing solution to an insoluble problem. Because she was the protagonist, and the one with the lucky ring.

  The ring! In the rush of events she had lost track of that problem. She no longer wore it, and the bad luck had struck. It was her fault.

  “No, it’s not your fault,” Chloe said, reading her mind. “Merely an awkward coincidence.”

  “Then whose fault is it?” Vinia retorted. “San Andrea’s?” She was referring to a notorious Mundane artifact that took the blame for enormous mischief. Whole buildings were said to shake when it was active.

  “Sometimes things just happen. We must not allow them to overcome us. There will be an answer.”

  Which Vinia was somehow obliged to provide. She had lost the ring; she had to make up for its damage.

  She looked wildly around. The others were looking at her. Grossclout was locked into a fixed glower. No inspiration there.

  Benny lifted his hand. She looked at him. He tossed her his thinking cap.

  Well, why not? If there were an answer, that might be the way to catch it, like a bee in midair.

  Vinia put the cap on. And the idea exploded in her head, followed by another. She ripped the cap off before any more could strike and tossed it back to Benny.

  “Furioso,” she said. “Your problem has been that no elf has been woman enough for you, physically or emotionally.” Yet again she wished she knew exactly what the details were.