Piers Anthony - The Dastard (Xanth Novels)

The Dastard walked toward his next nexus, pondering what had passed. That Ann Arky woman had been a strange one, coming from Mundania, claiming to be a princess, coming on to him so suddenlyit was as though she had become a different person. He did not trust what he did not understand, and she had been beyond understanding. So he had abolished her entry to Xanth, and that had fixed that. But he had more than a tinge of regret, because of her marvelous peep-hole bosom. A normal girl with that configuration could have been a lot of fun. So he did not feel as good about that particular unhappening as usual. If she had changed less suddenly, been less pushy, he well might have had a fine time with her. Maybe he had made a mistake, but it was too late to change it back. Sometimes he wished he could unhappen an unhappening.

Fortunately there was another nexus not far away. Maybe that one would make up for the last. What he really wanted was a lovely princess to marry, but that was bound to be complicated. Princesses were in much demand. If he unhappened her meeting with whoever else she might marry, she might just meet someone else, so he would gain nothing. He could unhappen that meeting too, but unless it was quite recent, there would only be yet another other man. Still, he would be willing to make the effort, if he found a suitable princess.

Meanwhile the girl, Becka, walked beside him. She had turned taciturn since her fall, not saying much of a word. That was all right; he needed to be rid of her anyway, unless he found a way to get around her dragon-enforced No with regard to showing anything interesting. He still didn't understand why the Good Magician had sent her to him, and he wanted to figure that out before he ditched her.

They came to a centaur village. The feeling of nexus was stronger; it must be here. Would he get to unhappen a centaur event? That would be a pleasure. They thought they were such superior creatures, when they were really only crossbreeds.

He followed his awareness into the village. There were stalls and storage bins and shelters. Centaurs were getting their hooves shod, and practicing their archery, and studying books. They wore no clothing other than quiver harnesses or head kerchiefs, and the females were spectacular, being generally better endowed than straight human women. But there was something different about these centaurs.

He paused to watch several of them playing a game with a ball and an elevated basket. The object seemed to be to throw the ball through the basket. It would be easier to do if they just set the basket down within easy reach, and wasted less time bouncing it on the ground and getting in each other's way. Maybe they hadn't realized that.

They're all black, Becka said.

That was it. They were Blackwave centaurs, dark as the Blackwave humans in their human sections, and with vertical black stripes across their equine sections. Well, why not? They could have any colors or patterns they wanted to. Centaurs came in all types; he just hadn't encountered this particular variety before. Meanwhile it was really interesting watching some of the females playing their game; they bounced almost as much as the ball did.

But this wasn't his nexus. He managed to pull his eyes away from the female players; the eyeballs made slight sucking sounds as they came free. He walked on. Becka accompanied him without comment. Her kind didn't approve of centaur apparel.

They came to a wall. It was blank, except for a single spot. A centaur stood looking at the spot with a magnifying glass.

What are you doing? the Dastard inquired.

The centaur looked at him. As he did so, the spot on the wall faded out, leaving the surface blank. How do you do? he asked.

Centaurs tended to be unduly polite. Fine. Who are you?

I am Kress. And you?

I am the Dastard. What's with that wall?

My talent is to make a spot on the wall. Until this morning I thought it was worthless. But I happened to be carrying this magnifying glass that I found yesterday, and looked at the spot with it, and discovered that it's really a tiny picture. So I am studying it.

This was slightly more interesting. Let me see it.

Kress gave him the magnifying glass, and formed a new spot on the wall. The Dastard oriented on the spot. Lo, it was indeed a tiny picture. It showed a disreputable-looking man meeting a lovely green-haired princess wearing a green gown.

Becka peered over his shoulder. Why that's you, Dastard. But I don't recognize the princess. Which is odd, because I know them all, being one myself.

What? the Dastard asked, startled.

Nothing. I misspoke.

What do you see? Kress asked.

It's meand a lovely princess, the Dastard said, amazed. But I never met her.

My pictures today have all been of me, Kress said. With my friends.

Take a look, the Dastard said, returning the magnifying glass.

The centaur looked. Why you are correct. This is you, and a human princess. But she is too old or too young.

Old?

The green dress and green hair and blue eyes. Princess Ivy is like that. But she is thirty-one years old, while this girl looks a decade younger. So it might be her daughter, Princess Melodyexcept that she is only four years old. So this must be someone else.

That's my conclusion, Becka said. That is not Ivy. But it could be Melodyas she will be in seventeen years.

How can you possibly tell something like that? the Dastard asked her.

Immediately the girl withdrew. I'm guessing, of course. The facial linesmaybe I am mistaken.

I wonder, Kress said. I was unable to understand these pictures before, but now it occurs to me that they are not pictures of the past or presentbut of the future. I will be with my friendsand perhaps you will be with that mysterious princess.

In seventeen years? I can't wait that long!

Actually, you seem to be your present age, in the picture, Kress said. So there must be some other princess who is that age now, whom you will encounter. Soon, I should think.

This notion fascinated the Dastard. He would soon meet a beautiful princess? This was what he longed for!

This is amazing, Kress said. Until this morning I thought my talent was useless. Now I discover that not only is it a picture rather than a spot, it's a picture of the near future of the person closest to the wall when I make it. Instead of being pointless, my talent is actually extremely powerful. Imagine being able to see the near future! To anticipate bad events and avoid them. The prospects are mind boggling.

The Dastard had to agree. Not only was this a suitable nexus that could yield him great satisfaction, he could eliminate the knowledge of others that he was about to meet a princess. He could keep his future private until it happened.

Becka looked at him cannily. You're going to do it, aren't you, she said.

Yes, of course. The Dastard slid into limbo and traveled back to the day before. He tracked the centaur as he trotted outside the village. He saw Kress spy a flash beside the path, and pause to pick up the magnifying glass. He slid back to a short time before that, and slid into full reality. He picked up the magnifying glass, set it on a rock, and smashed it to tiny sparkles with a stone. It was gone beyond recovery.