"That seems best," Goody agreed with a controlled voice.

"I can tell you how to find her," the peeve said in Hannah's voice.

Goody was so on edge that he took the bait. "How?"

"Look in the gourd, idiot. If she's alive, she's dreaming of you, ha ha."

Goody and Hannah split a glance. The obnoxious bird just might have something.

They found a live gourd plant growing in one of the few untrampled sections of the sh.o.r.e of Mountain Lake. "Now this has to be careful," Hannah said. "Suppose I watch you and break the connection every hour? That way you won't get stuck forever, and can take rest and food breaks. It might be a long search."

"Yes." He lay down beside the gourd, propped himself comfortable, and peered into its peephole.

He found himself standing before a haunted human house. He had heard of this; it was one of the gourd's standard entry points. He could get anywhere from here, once he found the way. But where would she be?

He wasn't partial to haunts, but if there was any chance she was there-maybe having entered via the same portal-he had to check. So he braced himself and marched up to the rickety door. He lifted its cob-webbed knocker and let it fall, once. Somehow he was able to reach it though the house was obviously sized for human dreams.

There was no response. Well, he had tried the polite thing. Now he took the handle, which was at head height on him, and turned.

Zap! He got a shock. But the door opened and he saw inside the gloomy edifice.

"Oooo!" It was a ghost making its eerie noise as it fled. Of course. But since Goody knew these were all bad dreams, having no physical reality, he took them in stride.

He entered the house and explored it, setting off all manner of ugly things. The most insidious was a can of eyeb.a.l.l.s staring out at him. He lifted it out of his way, and it sent some kind of signal through his hand and body. "I can do anything!" he exclaimed. He knew this was a trick of the eye can, but it did give him confidence. He proceeded on through the house with improved efficiency.

There was no sign of Gwenny. But he had only begun. He pa.s.sed on out of the house and came to a graveyard. He walked across it, and skeletons hauled themselves out of the graves and converged spookily on him.

"I'm looking for Gwenny Goblin," he said. "Have any of you seen her?"

The skeletons were taken aback. Screams and fear they could handle, but not a straightforward practical question. They pa.s.sed an eyeless glance around. Then one came forward. "I saw a note signed by a goblin," it said.

"Where?"

"I don't remember. My head is empty."

Oh. Of course. But it was useful information. "Thank you."

The skeletons retreated into their graves, and Goody went on to the next setting. This was a desolate wasteland resembling a trash heap. Odd items were strewn everywhere. But it did not seem that they had been thrown away, because each was carefully labeled. Could the goblin note be here?

He investigated the nearest. This was a large curved sword labeled CUTLa.s.s. Well, he had heard of that; barbarians used them.

Then he saw that there was small print under the note. "For use only against women."

Goody recoiled. What a vile notion! Then he smelled the pun: cutla.s.s.

He checked the next. This was a small section of cloth with print all over it. CANTEEN = ADOLESCENT CAN. FEE-MAIL = ADDITIONAL LETTER COST. FAST FOOD = RUN TO CATCH IT. SOFTWEAR = VERY SOFT CLOTHING.

Goody shook his head. These were nothing but bad puns!

Then he saw the label: PUNTIES. Panties made up of puns. He had been handling panties without realizing. Why hadn't he freaked out? Maybe because they weren't the same when not filled by fee-mail, correction, female flesh.

The next was a picture of a rowdy-looking man. But as Goody approached it, something struck his knee. It was a wad of spit. He tried to brush it off, but was. .h.i.t by another. They were coming from the picture! The face was spitting at him. Ugh.

Then he saw the label: SPITTING IMAGE. Double-ugh.

Now he came to a harpy sitting on a perch. She was nipping toenails off with her teeth. She was unclothed, of course, but unlike centaur fillies, harpies were not very attractive bare.

"h.e.l.lo, harpie," he said politely.

She glanced at him. "What's it to you, goblin?" she screeched. "Can't you see I'm pruning?"

That set him back. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Birds preen, mammals groom, crossbreeds prune, dumbbell." She returned to her nipping.

He let her be and investigated the next: a small furry creature. "h.e.l.lo," he said cautiously.

It paused to study him. "You're a really handsome goblin."

Goody was set back again. "Oh, I don't think so. I'm quite ordinary. But if you don't mind telling me, what are you?"

For answer, the creature held up its tag: LITTLE WHITE LIE.

This was becoming wearing. Everything here seemed to be a bad pun.

Then he saw two young men walking toward him. Maybe they would be able to help. "h.e.l.lo," he called. And felt a kind of wrenching, as if he was no longer quite there.

"What have we here," the man on the right said.

"I believe it is a lost goblin," the other said.

"Well, as the pro-tagonist it surely is up to me to deal with him."

"Aw, you never let me do anything. How can I ever get beyond being the amateur-tagonist if I can't deal with things?"

"Perhaps you have a point. Very well, you may take over the viewpoint for this one." He held it out.

The amateur-tagonist smiled, accepting it. Immediately the realm was seen through his eyes and no one else's. It was a glorious feeling. He leaned down to address the goblin. "You may be feeling a little strange right now," he said. "That is because while you may have been the main character in your own story, you are now in our story, so have been relegated to secondary status. Probably you should leave now."

"I agree," the surprisingly polite goblin said. "Just where is this?"

"This is Pungatory, where bad puns are stored until there is use for them," Amateur explained patiently.

The goblin seemed not wholly surprised. "No wonder I was encountering so many! How can I best depart this site?"

Amateur pointed. "Cross the com-plain until you reach the doors. Be sure to exit through the one saying DO NOT LINGER."

"Thank you," the goblin said, and set off across the plain.

Once he was away from the tagonists, Goody's awareness settled back on him, and he felt in charge of his life again. That was weird, losing it like that! It was as though he had briefly become part of someone else's story.

"You're hurting my surface with your big feet," the ground beneath him said.

"I beg your pardon," Goody said. Was King Dor somewhere in the vicinity, causing the inanimate to talk?

"And your voice grates," the ground said.

Then Goody got it: this was the com-plain. A plain that grumbled. Part of Pungatory.

Then came an animal that really gave the plain reason to object: a galloping bull. Goody was alarmed as it headed right for him, but then it stopped. "Would you like to have your fortune told?" it inquired.

A bull telling fortunes? Where was the awful pun? But he didn't want to rile the beast. "Perhaps. Who are you?"

"I am Ptero Bull, from the planet of Ptero, of course." Then Goody got it: the name sounded like "terrible." "I read Ptero cards and tell fortunes." Which sounded like tarot cards.

That might be useful. "Can you tell me whether I will find my love?"

"Certainly." The bull produced cards with pictures and laid them out on the sand, not seeming to have any problem handling them with his hoofs. This was after all the dream realm. "Yes, you will. But you may not keep her. There will be a key choice, and you may choose wrong. That's as close as I can define it, because telling you more might cause you to change it and invalidate the reading."

There always seemed to be a fudge factor. Still, it was good news. "Thank you."

"By the way, if you prefer to avoid all these bad puns, walk in the lee of the pun shield there." The bull waved a hoof at a wall Goody hadn't seen before. "That was erected to protect the sanity of the innocent, and you certainly seem innocent."

"Thank you." Goody quickly walked to the wall. But he had a problem: which was the lee side?

Fortunately a young human woman was standing beside it. "Please, miss-which is the lee side?"

"This is," she said.

"Thank you." Then he saw that objects were piled up along that side of the wall, and not on the other. Was he being misled?

He decided to think just a bit outside the box. "I am Goody Goblin."

"I am Lee Human."

And this was her side of the wall. "Nice meeting you, Lee." He moved to the other side.

There was a frustrated roar from the ma.s.sed puns as he walked, as they tried in vain to get past the wall and blast his sanity. He was afraid it would fall and leave him to their horrible mercy, but it managed to hold.

At last he reached the edge of the site. There was a wall, inset with two doors. One said DO NOT LINGER, and the other said DO NOT ENTER. He was supposed to exit through the first. He put his hand on its k.n.o.b.

He paused. Had the tagonists told him right? This was the region of stored puns; was this a devious pun? He couldn't fathom it, but neither did he trust it. Maybe the secret was that he couldn't enter, because he was already here; he would be exiting regardless which door he used.

He wasn't at all sure of his logic, but since his purpose was to find Gwenny, if she were here, he needed to check every possible place she might be, not just the one approved for visitors. He moved to the second door, turned the k.n.o.b, and exited through it.

He was in an endless pasture with fine gra.s.s growing thickly. To the right was a nice stall, similar to those used by centaurs. To the left was another stall. And another, and another. It appeared to be an endless line of stalls at the edge of the endless pasture.

He considered. This did not seem to be a scary or punnish setting. So what was it? Was Gwenny likely to be here, or at least a message from her?

He stepped into the nearest stable. Suddenly he saw a huge horse standing in it. It was male, midnight black of hide and eye and tail. This was surely the dreaded Night Stallion!

But it did not seem to be quite real. For one thing, it took no notice of him, though he was standing close before it. Was it a statue?

He walked up and put his hand on the stallion's right front knee, which was what he could comfortably reach. He didn't quite touch it; his hand sank in slightly, encountering obscure resistance.

This was weird. It was as if he didn't belong here, so didn't properly register. That could be why the door said DO NOT ENTER: it meant it literally, like the NO MAN'S LAND gate. Still, he wasn't sure, so he explored further.

The next stall looked empty until he entered it. Then, suddenly, it was partly occupied. The horse was leaving it, or frozen in the act, with only the tail inside. The rest was in the pasture.

Goody considered, then walked back to the first stall. There was the horse inside, as before. This time he walked on to the next stall behind the horse. Sure enough, the horse was just entering it. This was Trojan's recent past.

Now he saw a sign with two words: PASTURE and FUTURE, with arrows pointing opposite directions. The past and the future, of course. He had taken the pasture for a mere grazing place, and not realized that the other direction represented things to come. So, bit by bit, it was coming clear. He had always to be wary of puns and alternate explanations.

How far did this go? Goody hurried on to the next stall, and found the horse farther away. Now that was interesting: the faster Goody went, the more time he seemed to cover. Could he reach the end of it, and maybe discover what it all meant?

He ran through the next stall, and the next. The horse retreated farther, faster, but somehow not out of sight. The stables became a blur.

Then he came to the end. He stood before a great ancient Mundane city. Trojan was there. From somewhere came words, or at least that was how Goody heard them.

"You lost, Trojan. Therefore your status as a Demon is revoked, and you are confined to the Realm of Dreams until you are able to purchase your freedom with the souls you collect. Only then will you be eligible to court the fair Helen of Troy again."

That was all. Apparently the scenes covered only spot samples of the Night Stallion's history. Before this it had been outside the dream realm, so was not represented here.

This was nevertheless phenomenal information.

Goody walked back to the next stable, set some time after that significant event. He had heard of the Demons, who were to regular demons like Metria as the whole of Xanth was to a grain of sand. They were said to be aloof, arrogant, and so powerful that the whole of the magic of the Land of Xanth was merely the trace radiation from the surface of the Demon Xanth. Their whole attention was taken by constant little contests with each other for status, making bets on the most trivial things. Evidently Trojan had been a Demon, and lost a contest, and his penalty was to run the gourd world.

But what was this business about Helen? Trojan had a girlfriend? She must have been quite pretty, because there were lovely creatures galore in the dream realm he should otherwise have taken. Of course that was long ago; she would be an old hag by now, if she survived at all. A long lost love. So why was he still collecting souls?

Goody came to the next stable. It was empty, but there on the floor was a scroll. He picked it up and read it.

O, Trojan, I am so sorry you got banished! Know that I still love you, and will love you for eternity, though I dare not let my husband or lover find out. I beg of you, answer me if you can.

Helen Well, that confirmed their secret love. But it had to have faded long since.

He walked to the next stable. There was another scroll.

Dearest Trojan, I was so glad to hear from you! Yes, I was serious about eternity. I have a potion to keep me young and beautiful forever. By the time you fetch enough souls to win your reprieve, the other men in my life will have aged and died and dissolved into dust. Now tell me again how you love me.

Helen Well, now! That explained a lot. Maybe she was still around somewhere.

The scrolls continued through the stables, later becoming flat envelopes. The final one, in the present stable-Goody had missed it before, because it had been hidden by the body of the horse-had a return address of Troy, New York, Mundania. So she was still Helen of Troy. It expressed joy that Trojan had finally collected enough souls, and agreed to meet him on the honey side of the moon for their honeymoon. Goody appreciated why; the near side of the moon was no longer milk and honey, because the honey had soured and the milk turned to moldy green cheese from constantly gazing on the dreariness of Mundania and the horrendous puns of Xanth.

As Goody set the letter down, there was a little flash. He cast about, searching for its origin. He spied a floating eyeball. It was a spy eye, hovering above the letter. Someone was spying on Trojan's love life. Who could it be?