“Which is maybe why it’s a curse. The Curse of Talents!”

  “And this Nolan Naga has to handle it,” Apoca said grimly. “While courting me.”

  “Someone has to handle it,” Vinia said sensibly. “We can’t have every baby delivered with the same talent. Things would get dull in a hurry.”

  “So do you two have anything to say to me?” the woman inquired tiredly.

  Oops! They had forgotten her in the throes of their revelation. But Apoca had a notion. “If the talents are all the same, conjuring pies, maybe you can convince your boy to conjure something other than cow flops. See if you can get him to fetch an apple pie.”

  The woman looked extremely doubtful, but she grasped desperately at the faint hope. “Bobby,” she said carefully to the baby. “Fetch a nice apple pie.”

  The boy looked at her. Then a pie appeared in his hands.

  Victory! They had not only verified the curse, they had maybe solved the woman’s problem of sh*t. Why would the baby bother with manure when he could have apple pie?

  “Thank you,” the woman sighed, vastly relieved.

  “You are welcome,” Apoca said, and hastily retreated.

  Back by themselves, as they walked toward the Lips section, they found their relief short-lived. “That’s an awful curse,” Vinia said. “But maybe it’s limited to those three.”

  “Maybe. Check your paths to see if there are any others.”

  The girl checked. “Oh no! There are paths going every which way.”

  “Which likely means that every new baby here has the same talent. We just didn’t know it because it takes a while for a talent to manifest.”

  “That’s a disaster! Xanth has always had all different talents, or at least variations. Whose fault is it?”

  “Baby talents are Dwarf Demon business. Nobody messes with a capital-D Demon of any type.”

  “Nobody except Squid.” Squid was the alien land cuttlefish who thought of herself as a girl, who had somehow managed to nab the horrendously powerful Demon Chaos as her boyfriend and saved the universe. Apoca suspected there was quite a story there.

  “Nobody else,” Apoca said. “But you know, your paths might lead us there to that Demon, if we were foolish enough to try it.”

  “They might, not that we’d ever be that foolish.”

  “Better to leave it with Nolan.”

  Vinia glanced at her. “Do we think he’s smart enough to handle it on his own?”

  Apoca frowned. “He’s a man. He’s bound to bungle it.”

  They laughed. It was a standard joke in the feminist community.

  Then they sobered. “Do you think a challenge as great as this one is bound to be, should be left to a man?” Vinia asked.

  “With all the women of Thanx and maybe Xanth, too, hostage to his success?”

  They looked at each other and shuddered in unison. “We maybe do have to do it ourselves,” Vinia said.

  Apoca sighed. “Nolan wants to woo me. He had better be one handsome lout.”

  They laughed again, but it was a weak one. Apoca really did want to find a suitable man before she got much older, but the fact that one liked her look was no guarantee that he was the right one.

  “Maybe you should check him out in the magic mirror.”

  Now, why hadn’t she thought of that herself? She hardly needed to guess at the naga prince’s appearance; the mirror would show her. Not that how he looked was really that important. It was character she sought, and a decent magic talent. “I’d better.” Not that even this would prove anything that mattered. Maybe she was overly cynical about men, having fought them so long.

  Then it came to her. She didn’t have to commit to the man in order to accompany him on his mission, which did require competent performance. She could phrase it as a trial association, by the end of which she would decide whether to consent to his suit. That would provide her time to properly assess his character.

  Because though many marriages were made when little hearts flew between two people, that was not always the case. Apoca was too complicated a person to be defined by such a signal. She needed to really know a man before she decided.

  Reassured, she walked on.

  They did visit the magic mirror that Thanx had obtained from Prince Ion, who used it to stay in touch with his parents and was happy to share once Vinia had pointed out the advantages of regular communications. Vinia was already being wifely to him, and it made him a better person. Men of any age required proper management. The looking glass was useful for searching out lost folk, exploring one’s suppressed emotions, and for communication with the dignitaries of other kingdoms. “Hello, Mirror,” she said.

  “Hello, Queen Apoca,” it replied. “And Vinia.” For the girl was standing beside her. “What brings you to consult with me?”

  “Prince Nolan Naga is coming to court me. Is he a suitable prospect?” It wasn’t what she had meant to ask; she must be more nervous than she thought.

  “Yes.”

  Just like that? She did not fully trust this, but it was useless to argue a case with the mirror. “Show him to me.”

  The picture appeared in the mirror. It showed a man exactly her own age with startling plaid hair and eyes. Yet, apart from that, he was reasonably handsome. Then it changed to his serpent form, with plaid scales. Then to his fish form, also with plaid scales. “Oh my,” she breathed.

  “Your hair is turning plaid,” Vinia said.

  “It does that when my reactions are mixed. I didn’t realize he was a shape-changer, though of course as a naga he would be, at least to the extent of his ancestral components. He actually is handsome.”

  “He sure is,” the girl agreed. Her dawning maidenhood made her interested in appearances, though she was of course completely committed to young Magician Prince Ion.

  Apoca had one more question for the mirror. “Why does he want to court me?”

  “He likes your plaid hair. His mother has plaid panties, which compelled the attention of his father, so plaid is in his makeup.”

  “But that’s ridiculous! He doesn’t even know me.”

  The mirror was silent; she had not asked it a question. Anyway it generally limited any person to three answers, and she had used hers up. Was Nolan suitable, what did he look like, and why was he courting her.

  “Thank you, Mirror,” she said, suppressing her unjustified annoyance.

  “You are welcome, Queen Apoca.” The mirror went blank.

  “So I guess we are committed,” Vinia said.

  “To the mission, yes,” Apoca agreed. “Not to the man, for me. Actually, it’s not something you need to do.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Why? You know it could be dangerous.”

  “Three reasons. First I’m your friend, and I want to support you in danger as well as in safety, and I can choose the safest paths. Second, the job really needs doing, and I know I can help. Third, the paths indicate I should; they become sour the moment I think about turning away. Fourth, I was the protagonist for the last adventure, which led me to you, and I guess I’m not quite used to being a background character again, so if you’re the protagonist now, I want to stick with you to maybe halfway share the feeling of it. Does that make any sense?”

  Apoca just hugged her, pleased with her support regardless of the number of her reasons. “What else do your paths indicate?”

  Vinia looked. “We need more people, to make it safer and get the right things done.”

  “Now, how do mere colored paths show a thing like that? It’s not a direction, it’s a concept.”

  The girl smiled. “When I thought about going ahead as we are, the path I am on dimmed a little. When I thought about adding someone, it brightened.”

  “So it seems that your talent is maturing as you grow, and you are getting better at interpreting its nuances. It’s not just direction but quality.”

  “I guess. I am getting more comfortable with it as time passes.”

  Apoca nodded. “A Quest, which is really what this is, normally requires one protagonist plus about five supportive Companions. Nolan Naga and I may share protagonism, and you can be a Companion, so there are several slots available. There must be a way leading to a good additional Companion. Go for it.”

  The girl set off, following the invisible path. This led, surprisingly, to the haunted house that several Mundanian ghosts had refurbished, making it look every bit as haunted as it was. And to Ghorgeous Ghost, whom Vinia had helped by enabling her to solve the mystery of her own murder so that not only was justice served but she and her ghost friends had been freed to come to Thanx. She remained as stunningly beautiful as she had been the day she died, except that features like her hair, eyes, and figure were now changeable. Apoca knew that Vinia envied the woman’s appearance, though she was becoming increasingly esthetic herself.

  “It’s good to see you, Vinia,” Ghorgeous exclaimed mentally so that it seemed almost like verbal speech. At the moment her tresses were sky blue, with a smattering of tiny white clouds. “You too, Queen Apoca. What brings you to our humble neck of the whoods?” She tended to add ghostly h’s to stray words.

  “My paths led me to you, just as they did last year,” Vinia explained. “We must go on a maybe dangerous Quest, and we need Companions who can help.”

  Ghorgeous made a ghostly laugh. “I doubt I qualify. I’m dead. Remember? If you get stuck in a bog, I can’t pull you out. You need someone solid.”

  “The paths don’t lie. We need you.”

  “There are ways you might help,” Apoca said. “If I got stuck in a bog, you could fly to tell Vinia so she could organize a rescue. Actually, you could fly ahead to spy out the terrain and warn us about the bog so we wouldn’t run afoul of it.”

  “Um, maybe so,” the ghost agreed thoughtfully.

  “And you could wrap around me to make me look different,” Vinia said. “In case we encountered brute men who wanted to catch me for I can’t imagine what. Maybe like an ogress.”

  Apoca exchanged an adult look with Ghorgeous. The girl plainly had half a notion what brute men do, maybe even three-quarters. She was verging on teen-pretty. Some men preferred that to adult comely and weren’t fastidious about age. She might indeed need protection.

  “I could facilitate some illusion,” the ghost agreed. “And maybe spook a foe into retreating. That might even be fun.” She expanded into a fearsome figure with glinting gimlet eyes and horrendously long fangs.

  There was most of a pause. “So?” Vinia prompted.

  “Unless you have other commitments,” Apoca said. “This may be quite a distracting adventure and take some time.”

  The ghost decided as she reverted to normal. “Actually I’m bhored out of my ghourd. We have refurbished the house, and others know we’re harmless. We even have children’s nights for spooky stories. All ghood clean fun, but I have a frustrated taste for nhaughty adventure. This could represent a nice break. I will join your Quest.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Vinia exclaimed, hugging her by making a loop of her arms around the place where Ghorgeous hovered.

  Apoca suspected that this would be the first Quest with a ghost Companion. But why not? Ghorgeous was a good person, regardless.

  She glanced at the baton. It seemed resigned. So did Nimbus, who had stayed out of the dialogue.

  “There’s another path,” Vinia announced.

  “Follow it,” Apoca said. This might even be the first Quest wherein they selected Companions in advance, rather than letting them accumulate naturally. Nolan Naga might be surprised to discover what he was walking into.

  This one led to the slum section of a neighboring kingdom. There were no border guards or other defenses because nobody cared about the rabble here.

  “Uh-oh,” Ghorgeous murmured. “This looks to be heading toward Phun Ghent.”

  Apoca shuddered but did not comment. Maybe it was orienting on someone else.

  “Who?” Vinia asked.

  “Phun Ghent,” Ghorgeous repeated. “Pun Gent to you. It’s a medium-length story. We ghosts know it well, because it involves a witch and a pariah, things we relate to. No need to bhore you with it.”

  Vinia came to a stop on the invisible path, and the others had to pause also, as they did not know where it was leading. “There’s something weird about this. The path is turning yellow. That means doubt. But it flashed green when you mentioned Pun Gent, so that is where it leads. I think we’d better figure it out before we get in trouble.”

  “Good thinking,” Apoca agreed. “Give her the background story, Ghorgeous.”

  “It is this,” the ghost said. “Ghent was an ordinary man, very nice and polite, with the talent of killing wheeds. Folk traded him favors for his service in clearing out the wheeds in their yards. He was handsome, and girls were interested in him. He had a bright fhuture.”

  “But something happened,” Vinia said wisely.

  “Yes. It was a shame. He got mixed up about an address and didn’t know he had the wrong house. There was a six-sided yard solidly clogged with witch grass. So he focused, and in an hour cleared it out to the last nhoxious blade. The yard was nhothing but bare dirt, ready for something better to be planted. The witch grass would never come back. That was part of his talent. When he abolished a wheed, it stayed ghone. He had done a good job.”

  “So what went wrong?”

  “Then the witch returned. Her name was Craft. She had carefully cultivated that garden for her own purposes, as there are special magic properties in that particular grass that are essential to assorted potions. That’s why it is named as it is; witches depend on it.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Exactly. Witch Craft was furious. She thought he had dhone it on purpose to spite her. So she phunished him with a nhoxious hex.”

  “The yard!” Vinia exclaimed. “Six-sided. A hexagon.”

  “Yes, she specialized in hexes. Others call them curses. She was as good at her specialty as he was in his. All because of a misunderstanding.”

  “What was the curse?”

  “To speak only in phuns, until he finds the phundit who could tell him how to stop it. Since then he has become a pariah, because his presence gives others phundigestion and they can’t stand the stench of it. His life is a shamble, and his future is past.”

  “Punish,” Vinia said, working it out. “Pun-ish. With puns.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And the path is taking us to him, to have him join our Quest.”

  “So it seems,” Apoca said.

  “But why would we need him? How could endless puns possibly help the mission?”

  “That is the question of the hour.”

  “Your paths,” Ghorgeous said. “Can they show you the way to answering that qhuestion?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Think about our doing the mission with Pun Gent,” Apoca suggested. “See what lights up. Then think about doing it without him. Something else is bound to show. Then tell us what the difference is between them. That may clarify it.”

  The girl concentrated. “Without him”—she shuddered—“the paths are black. That means doom.”

  “Ouch,” Apoca and the ghost said, almost together. The mission could not be accomplished without the punster?

  “With him”—she looked half surprised—“right into the pundemic zone.”

  The pundemic zone. That was a huge region that had formed when puns had multiplied uncontrollably following the unpun plague. They had had to bring puns out of storage to replace them, and it had gone too far. They had averted pundemonium only by magically wafting them into a largely unsettled region, where they festered on their own. Nobody went there voluntarily, except maybe criminals who knew they would not be pursued there. It had become a no sane man’s land.

  “And there we have our answer,” Apoca said. “We need the punster to navigate the pundemic without losing his mind.”

  “Or ours,” Vinia said, making a face of distaste.

  “Because the satisfaction of the Qhuest must be there,” Ghorgeous said.

  The three of them shuddered in unison. This was bound to be bad. Nimbus and the baton remained silent, but it was clear with barely a trace of cloudy that they were not much thrilled either.

  Yet it seemed it had to be done. They nerved themselves and moved grimly onward.

  Soon they reached Gent’s house. It looked like an ordinary run-down hovel, except that there were no weeds. Apoca suspected that even the local rabble avoided the occupant. He must be a lonely man. She had a notion how that was, because of her position and her double talent. That latter was one of the things that she and Vinia had in common, though their talents were completely different; they would always be fast friends.

  “This is the place,” Vinia said.

  Apoca knocked on the door. In half a moment a handsome young man opened it. “Watt mae eye dew four yew?” he inquired politely.

  He was speaking in homophones! That might be considered a form of punning. If that was the worst of it, they could handle it.

  “You are Pun Gent?” Apoca asked, making quite sure.

  “Aye AM.” That was AM as in PM, hardly even a homophone.

  “I am Apoca of the Lips tribe, with my friends Vinia, Ghorgeous Ghost, and Nimbus Nickelpede. We have come to invite you to join us in an important Quest.”

  He frowned. “Ewe cant bee serial.”

  And some words were simply wrong. It seemed the curse prevented him from using the right words, one way or another, even when it had to stretch credulity.

  “I am serious,” she said firmly. “I know that you suffer from a witch’s curse and can’t speak sensibly. But can you nod or shake your head as I talk?”

  He nodded, looking relieved. Effective communication had to be an issue with him.