Chapter 6: SOUFFLÉ SERPENT

Sesame Serpent watched as Umlaut checked the pile of letters. There was one addressed to Queen Irene. She should be right here in Castle Roogna. That was the sensible one to deliver next.

"Unfortunately, she is away today," Princess Ida said. "Queenly duties, you know; a person's time is not necessarily her own. You will have to wait until tomorrow. But I'm sure there is room for you here in the castle for the day and night."

"But we're not royal," Umlaut protested. "We're just—us. Nobody special." He was right about that, Sesame thought, though somewhat klutzy in other ways.

"Every person is special in some way," the princess reassured him. "I will see to it immediately." She departed.

Umlaut checked with Sammy and Sesame. Sammy had been here before and wasn't concerned. Sesame herself did not feel at home in a castle, especially after her long stay in the dungeon, and she indicated that.

"Maybe you could stay in the moat," Umlaut suggested. "You could emulate a moat monster."

She liked that idea. It was an easy emulation, as she was more at home in the water than on land.

The three little princesses appeared, cute enough to eat. Not that Sesame would, of course; that would be a breach of guestly protocol. "Oh, goody!" Princess Melody exclaimed, clapping her little hands.

"You're staying the night," Princess Harmony added, playing half a note on her harmonica.

"We'll have lots of fun with you," Princess Rhythm concluded, bonking a single bonk on her drum.

Sesame saw Umlaut try to exchange a wary glance with his companions, but a princess intercepted it and diverted it to the ceiling. The three were little bundles of mischief. Staying at Castle Roogna no longer seemed like such a good idea, but the princesses were not about to let them get away.

"We were about to go out to the moat," Umlaut said desperately.

Little Melody clapped her hands again. "Goody! You can meet Soufflé!"

Sesame froze: She was wary of male serpents. They had forgotten that the moat was occupied.

"Right this way," little Harmony chimed in.

"He should love you," little Rhythm concluded, glancing at Sesame.

Now what were they to do? Sesame tried to think of something suitably clever to get them out of this, as the trio of princesses hustled them along through the hall, but her mind was numb. She turned a pleading look on Umlaut. He had to say something but probably could think of nothing but the truth. Sure enough, desperately, he tried that.

"Wait! We have a problem with this! Two or three problems, in fact."

"We love problems," Melody said.

"We love double problems better," Harmony agreed.

"We love triple problems best of all," Rhythm finished.

It certainly was difficult to turn them off. "We don't want to meet Soufflé," Umlaut said. "Yet."

"But he's a nice serpent," Melody said.

"The nicest," Harmony agreed.

"He baby-sits us," Rhythm explained.

A moat monster baby-sat children? That was a new one. Sesame managed to exchange a glance with Umlaut, indicating that she remained wary. It might be that Soufflé had a side that children did not see. How could that be explained to children without violating the dread human Adult Conspiracy? Umlaut seemed to be only barely conversant with it himself, being at borderline age, but Sesame knew enough to be assured that the princesses were way too young for any smell of it. Naturally, being human children, they neither understood nor accepted the restrictions.

Umlaut tried, in his sweetly clumsy fashion. "A—another serpent chased Sesame, and she didn't like that."

"We chase each other all the time," Melody said. "It's called tag. It's fun "

"This wasn't exactly a game chase. She had to hide."

"Maybe it was hide-and-seek," Harmony said. "That's fun too."

"This wasn't fun. She was afraid he would—would do something to her." What a struggle! Sesame was glad for the moment that she didn't have to try to handle it.

They looked at him. "Is there something we don't understand?" Melody asked.

"Maybe. She just doesn't want to meet him."

"There's only one thing that makes someone fudge like that," Harmony said grimly.

Sesame did not like the sound of this. "So maybe we'll stay inside after all," Umlaut said hopelessly. He really wasn't very good at this.

"And that is the Adult Conspiracy," Rhythm concluded triumphantly.

They had caught on. Now the blubber was in the blaze. "We'd better leave now," Umlaut said.

"Oh, no you don't," Melody said.

"You're going to tell us exactly what—" Harmony added.

"Exactly what?" Princess Ida inquired. She had returned just barely on the edge of the nick of time. Sesame wondered whether that was really coincidence; adult human women seemed to have ways of knowing things.

"Oh, nothing," Rhythm said innocently. Little halos appeared over all three heads.

"That's nice," Princess Ida said, hardly fooled. She turned to the visitors. "Let me show you to your room."

Their room was upstairs, and very nice. There was a huge tub big enough for Sesame to curl up in so she could sleep in water after all, and a lovely sandbox for Sammy. There was a fine soft bed for Umlaut; humans did seem to prefer such things, being sort of bony and angular. But the most remarkable thing was a huge tapestry on the main wall, showing a detailed picture of the Land of Xanth. It was so well done that the scene seemed almost real.

Princess Ida saw them looking. "I hope you don't mind sharing the room with the Magic Tapestry," she said. "It is harmless and can be entertaining if you like to look around or review history."

"History?" Umlaut asked blankly. Sesame shared his blankness.

"The Magic Tapestry shows anything you wish it to, if you are qualified to see it. For example, you could view your own past experiences."

"We could?" He was astonished, as was Sesame.

"I will demonstrate." She glanced at the tapestry, and the picture shifted to show Sesame slithering rapidly o'er hill and dale, carrying Umlaut, following Sammy Cat. When they reached the castle, it showed them meeting the three little princesses, then Princess Ida herself. Sesame was amazed.

"This is amazing," Umlaut said, voicing her thought.

"Merely magic," Princess Ida said. "I will come for you when it is time for supper." She departed, leaving them to the wonders of the tapestry.

"If she thought this would fascinate us, she was right," Umlaut said. "What shall we watch?"

Sammy had a notion. He tried to convey it by gestures, but Umlaut was unable to figure it out. Sesame understood him, of course, but that was because she wasn't human and didn't have the human physical or mental limitations. "Can you make it orient yourself?"

The cat concentrated. The scene shifted. There was a young male serpent slithering contentedly along.

"Who is that?"

Sammy bounded to the window and pointed down toward the moat.

"Soufflé? But this is a young serpent. I haven't met Soufflé, but he must be much older."

But soon Sammy clarified that: This was Soufflé when young, several centuries ago, and he hadn't changed much since. Sesame marveled at that, because serpents did age, though they remained suitably sinuous.

"Centuries ago?" Umlaut asked, dumbfounded. "He can't be that old!"

Sesame was of course interested. This was a way she could learn about Soufflé without having to meet him. She might be able to judge whether it was safe.

They settled down and watched. Gradually Sesame seemed to be getting into the scene, like an invisible observer, and she knew the others were also. The tapestry had that effect; maybe it was part of its magic.

Soufflé slithered along without a care in the world other than finding a new puddle to splash in. He was near great Lake Ogre Chobee, where the ogres and chobees coexisted at the fringe of land and water. He was steering clear of both, because a chobee might have a vicious chomp and an ogre could squeeze juice from a stone with just one ham-hand.

He heard a human cry. That interested him, so he slithered toward the sound. Soon he came to a remarkable scene. The ground was sooty and smoldering, with licks of fire interspersed by jets of steam and roiling clouds of smoke. In fact it looked like hell.

A man ran by. He was the one who had screamed. He was naked and barefooted, wincing as he ran over hot coals. But he couldn't pause to avoid them, because a pack of werewolves was chasing him. They were huge and slavering, their teeth gleaming white, their eyes gleaming red. Their paws seemed to have no trouble with the burning ground. They were gaining on the fleeing man, and he knew it; his terrified glances back showed them coming ever closer. Soon they would have him.

Soufflé slithered into a crevice, concealing himself. He wanted to understand what was going on before he got involved. He could handle a werewolf or two, but not a whole pack. He watched as they charged by.

Then it got worse: The ground rose into a ridge, and the ridge ended in a cliff. Beyond it was a dusky lowland that might offer an escape, but it was too far below to risk. The man sheered away, terrified anew.

The werewolves' teeth snapped at the man's heels. Now they had him cornered. He was caught between them and the cliff.

Teeth nipped his bare butt. The man screamed again and leaped off the cliff, his scream descending with him. The wolves milled about at the brink, frustrated. He had gotten away after all.

The fall was surely enough to kill him, but somehow it didn't. He bounced on a rocky ledge, fell again, bounced again, and finally landed in a heap at the base. Was he dead? No, not quite; a finger stirred, then a toe.

Soufflé slithered down the cliff, bracing against its numerous cracks and crevices, following the more precipitous route of the man. Perhaps he would be able to help.

But this gloomy region was not empty. Shapes loomed horribly. They were zombies! Not nice sanitary ones, but awful rotters with sagging eyeballs and dripping goo. The stench was appalling.

The man dragged himself up and staggered onward. The zombies followed, reaching for him. He tried to run but could not move much faster than they did. He was barely staying ahead of their slimy fingers.

Soufflé followed, staying mostly behind cover, observing. He still wasn't quite sure what was going on.

The zombies were just about to catch the man. But he came across a steep upward rocky slope. He scrambled up it, just managing to elude the grasping hands. The zombies could not mount the slope; their own goo defeated them, causing them to slide down as fast as they climbed up. The man had won freedom again, somehow.

But now a new threat appeared: grotesque shapes in the sky. "There he is!" one screeched. They were harpies—gross half-human birds. "There's Slander! Get him!"

Slander? What kind of a name was that? Soufflé slithered on, watching and listening, trying to keep under cover so that the dreadful harpies would not spy him. How could the poor man escape these dirty birds?

Slander tried. He ducked under the cover of spreading trees so that the harpies could not dive-bomb him. But some of them flew low, under the foliage, and came at him from the sides. "Corner him! Corner him!" they screeched. "We've got him now!"

Almost. Slander spied another drop-off. He lunged for it and hurled himself into a heaving sea. The waves rose up to slap his face and try to drown him, but somehow he bobbled to the surface, surviving.

Soufflé slithered quietly down the slope and into the water, still watching. The end had to be near.

There was a roiling in the water, as of something huge stirring in the depths. Slander saw it and tried to swim for shore, but the current sucked him back toward the roiling. He could not escape. Meanwhile the harpies circled overhead, and both the wolves and zombies were making their way down toward the sea, just in case. The deck was really stacked against the fugitive. (It wasn't clear how the top floor of a ship could be stacked, but the saying had to come from somewhere.)

The only possible escape seemed to be to reach a tiny isle set in the sea, where a lovely maiden with large eyes, small ankles, and flowing hair watched anxiously. She lifted a delicate hand to beckon. The man struggled toward that isle.

A tentacle reached out of the water, followed by three more. It looked like gross seaweed but had more animation. Soon a veritable garden of them sprouted from the waves and oriented on the thrashing man.

Soufflé recognized it now: It was a kraken, one of the most fearsome sea monsters. The floundering man was absolutely done for. There was little or no way he could reach the isle before the monster caught him.

The maiden, seeing this, heaved her fetching bosom and screamed. It was an excellent scream, resounding across the waves and echoing from the rocks and cliffs. Even the wolves, zombies, and harpies paused to savor it with admiration. Only the kraken ignored it, having more important business at hand.

Soufflé slid into the water and swam toward the man. He wasn't all that partial to human folk and didn't even know this one, but something about this scenario bothered him. Maybe it was the evident alarm of the maiden. He had always been intrigued by damsels in distress, even the human variety. He reached the man, then placed himself between him and the oncoming kraken. "Back off!" he hissed in serpentine.

The kraken lifted an eyeball on a stalk and looked at him. "Who the bleep are you?" It spoke in Tentacular, but Soufflé could understand that well enough. After all, the various sea monsters needed to have some means of communication with each other, so that they did not intrude on each other's territories unless they meant to.

"I am Soufflé Serpent."

"And I am Krakatoa Kraken."

"I am sorry to know you," Soufflé hissed politely. "Now go away, or we will tangle."

"We certainly will!" the kraken agreed. "You have no business here."

"I am making it my business to save this wretch from a horrible fate."

"Horrible fate!" the tentacles signaled. "You have no idea what's happening."

"Be that as it may, I am taking him out of here. Now back off or I will chomp you."

"You can't chomp me!" The kraken threw a few dozen tentacles at him.

So Soufflé chomped off a few half dozen of them. "I warned you."

"Oooo, that smarts!" the kraken signaled. It backed off, somewhat to Soufflé’s surprise. Normally krakens liked nothing better than a good tangle.

Soufflé returned to the man, who was still thrashing aimlessly. He made a niche in his body under him and bore the man up and along. He swam to the small island in the sea, where the werewolves and zombies could not reach, and deposited the man there.

"Stop your interference!" a harpy screeched, diving at Soufflé. He ducked his head, avoiding her. But then three more dived. He reversed coils and knocked them out of the air with a well-placed tail sweep. They tumbled heads under tails, screeching indignantly. After that they kept their distance.

Now at last he could tend to the oddly named Slander, the man all these monsters were chasing. He was sitting on the shore, looking quizzically at Soufflé. So was the screaming maiden, who was now standing beside him. That was another surprise. Gratitude, despair, curiosity—such emotions were understandable. But quizzical? Something was reasonably odd here.

Then the man spoke. "I see you don't understand, serpent," he said. "So before we curse you, I will try to make you understand. Curses are generally better when their rationales are grasped."

Curse? The oddity was ballooning.

"Here is the situation: We are curse friends (known by the uninitiated as curse fiends—what a difference an omitted letter makes!) and actors in rehearsal for a new play."

A play! Soufflé remembered that the curse fiends did put on plays and set great store by them. No wonder the maiden was so pretty: She was an actress.

"This one is entitled Just Deserts and features a human version of a cri-tic named Slander who throughout his life took inordinate delight in tormenting those whose creativity, industry, and talent far exceeded his own. He read books, viewed plays, and absorbed illusion shows with the express purpose of destroying the reputations, artistry, and livelihood of those devising and presenting them. If there were no legitimate criticisms to make, he invented them. After all, in his mind the end justified the means, and the end was to ruin anything remotely artistic or popular.

"As it happened, he had a girlfriend who had been under the delusion that she could change him for the better. Thus she tolerated his unkindnesses without response in kind. But finally his incessant carping and condemnation was too much for her, and she swallowed the expiration label on a jar of log jam and expired.

"Thus Slander's life. What concerns us is his afterlife. When he died he found himself in a hell crafted by all those he had maligned in life. Now the desks were turned, and the oppressor became the victim. He was harried mercilessly from sight to site. When he finally straggled to the isle where his dead beloved was stranded, and begged for her help, she would cruelly shove him back into the sea. Thus she repaid him in kind, laughing hilariously as the monsters tore him apart," He paused while the lady demonstrated with lift of her lovely leg, a push of her tender toes, and a hilarious laugh. "Then the scenario would start again with a fresh cast of monsters. Only when the critic suffered as much as he had made others suffer would he finally be freed to expire in peace. That was bound to take some time."

The man eyed Soufflé directly. "What you blundered into, in your dull reptilian way, was a dress rehearsal. You have ruined it, and we shall have to start over. We take strong exception to such interference. Accordingly, I shall now roundly curse you, covering both your routine and your prospective romantic existence, and we shall then drive you out of our set. You must exist in your own hell, not intruding on ours. Do you understand?"

It seemed pointless to try to argue, even if he could have had a human voice. He had tried to help, and his ignorance had resulted in the opposite. He knew that curse fiends were not the forgiving type. So he nodded his head.

"We hereby curse you to serve an endless life of drudgery and servitude until you find your one true love—who will avoid or reject you." The man made a gesture with his hands, and the woman made a similar gesture, somewhat like throwing. Something invisible but powerful struck Soufflé across the snout. Suddenly he was filled with terror. He knew it was the curse, but that didn't help.

He slithered into the sea and swam as rapidly as he could away from the land. The kraken pursued him in the water, the harpies harried him from the air, and the werewolves and zombies raced along the shore to prevent him from seeking land. Worst of all, he could hear the woman laughing at him, her vibrant voice packed with ridicule and contempt. What an ignominious retreat—exactly as they had intended.

Soufflé dived deep down into the cold darkness beneath. Only the kraken could follow him there, but it couldn't keep up because it had lost some half tentacles. So he escaped.

But he didn't escape the curse. He found himself impelled to seek the most lowly of employments, which was that of moat monster. Moats were not at all like the open sea. They were shallow and narrow and went around in circles, and often they were dirty, because castle sewage tended to leak into them. No self-respecting monster would perform such onerous duty unless bribed or ensorceled to do so. Bribes were no good for Soufflé, because he had to serve without recompense, and anyway he didn't like the taste of human babies. And he was, of course, ensorceled by the curse. So he sought the job others avoided, and in the course of time served at every castle that was respectable in Xanth, and some that weren't. Castle Roogna was dull during its defunct days, but then Rose of Roogna came, and she was a delight. Good Magician Humfrey and his several serial wives were interesting, and the nameless castle in the sky was fascinating. Later Castle Roogna was occupied again, with the sound of little feet on the floors and little splashes in the moat. They even let him baby-sit princesses on occasion. So though it was technically a curse, this aspect no longer bothered him much. Of course he would like to swim in the deep deep deeps of the sea again sometime, but he couldn't go there until the curse abated.

Which left the romantic aspect. For centuries he had not even seen a lady serpent, and of course which of them would even associate with a lowly moat monster? So his chances of ever finding true love, or even passable acquaintance, were remote. Unless he somehow abridged the curse—and how could he do that? So Soufflé endured and made the best of it. The best was tolerable, on better days.

There was actually one advantage to the curse, which it took him some time to fathom: He wasn't aging. He was in a kind of stasis, unable to grow old, because fading out would release him from his chore. So he seemed like the same young monster he had been at the outset, except for the increasing gravity of demeanor his long experience brought him. If the curse ended, he would resume aging, but it would be worth it, because he would finally be able to return to the seas and to find love. He dreamed of that.

The scene stopped with Soufflé snoozing in the moat. Sesame realized that the Magic Tapestry had brought the sequence up to the present, so there was no more historical animation.

Umlaut looked at Sesame and saw the tear in her eye and a little heart floating just above her snout. She had gotten a bit too much involved with Soufflé’s history and now was embarrassingly smitten by him. "You must be the one," he told her. "At least, maybe you can be if you want to be. If there's a way to abate the curse. There seems to be no need to fear Soufflé; he is evidently a very nice serpent, unfairly condemned for doing what he thought was right."

Those were her sentiments exactly.

"Let's go down and meet him," Umlaut said.

They went down and out. But as they approached the moat, Sesame hung back. She didn't want to; it was the curse, making her avoid Soufflé.

"That's confirmation," Umlaut said. "You're the one. You can't approach him. But I can. Shall I tell him?"

Regretfully, she nodded and retreated back to their room. She would watch their encounter on the Magic Tapestry. She slithered quickly there and fixed her gaze on the scene.

Umlaut and Sammy went out on the drawbridge. Soufflé emerged from his snooze and came to sniff noses with Sammy. They had evidently met before.

"Uh, I am Umlaut," Umlaut said. "I have an, er, message for you." She didn't actually hear him but could tell what he was saying from the awkward way his mouth moved. "We have just seen your life history on the Magic Tapestry and know how you were cursed long ago. We think it was too great a punishment for too small an offense; you were only trying to do a decent thing."

Soufflé nodded appreciatively. It was obvious that he understood every word, even if he couldn't speak in human dialect. He was like Sesame in that respect; many animals learned human talk as a second language.

"Traveling with me is a lady serpent named Sesame, with a talent of emulation similar to mine. She has been wary of male serpents, having had a bad experience, but now feels she knows you. She came to meet you, but the curse prevented her." Umlaut paused for the significance of that to sink in. "I think she is the one for you. That's why the curse stops her. But maybe we can find a way to end the curse. Then—"

Soufflé nodded gratefully. He did understand. Then he sank slowly into the water, leaving only a little red heart floating where his head disappeared. Umlaut had done a good job, for a human being, and Sesame really appreciated it.

Umlaut and Sammy returned to their room to rejoin Sesame. "This is a remarkable romance," Umlaut said. "You can't meet each other, but you both understand." Indeed, Sesame was still gazing at the tapestry's image of Soufflé’s heart floating on the moat water.

Later Princess Ida came to escort them to dinner. This was a fancy affair, enlivened not only by the three little princesses but also by two eleven-year-old cousins, the princesses Dawn and Eve, and their mother Electra. While the three little princesses were full of fun and mischief, the two older ones were more subtly mischievous. Dawn had flame red hair and green eyes, wore a bright dress, and could tell anything about any living thing, while Eve had black hair and eyes, wore a dark dress, and could tell anything about any inanimate thing. Sesame privately judged that by the time they reached the Adult Conspiracy—maybe even before then—they would be dangerous.

Sammy and Sesame had a table to themselves. It seemed that animals didn't generally eat in the royal dining hall, but as special guests these were allowed. The story about Sesame and Soufflé had gotten around—little princesses had very sharp ears—and there was some sympathy.

As the meal finished, young Princesses Dawn and Eve quietly approached Umlaut. "You're an interesting person," Dawn said. "You're not living."

"I'm not living here," Umlaut said, startled by the statement.

"And you're not dead," Eve said. "So neither of us knows about you."

They were serious. "I don't understand."

"Neither do we," Dawn said as they moved on.

Odd indeed. But then Sammy and Sesame rejoined him, pretending that they hadn't overheard, and the matter evidently escaped his mind.

That evening while the others watched the Magic Tapestry—they were interested in the activities of cats and serpents around Xanth— Umlaut read the letter to Queen Irene. He moved his lips as he read silently, so Sesame picked it up.

Dear Queen Irene,

Happy birthday to you next week on the 15th of Apull.

Irene has always been a special name to me because one of my daughter's names is Irene. She is not a queen; however, in another country across the ocean she would be a princess. In this part of Mundania, she simply is a wife and mother of two beautiful girls, Jordyn and Jenny—like our friend Jenny Elf. Irene is what we call a homemaker. Oh, yes, she is also learning a discipline of self-defense called karate. This is in case she meets any tangle trees or ogres. She thinks being a mother makes her too old to scream prettily or fling her hair about, but she can still deliver a good swift kick where it will do the most good.

Did you know Irene means "peace"? At least it does here.

Having said all that, I had better introduce myself. My name is Arjayess and I was banished to Mundania many years ago. I have written to Breanna of the Black Wave and Jenny Elf. I am hoping to become friends with more Xanthians because I believe that is my original home. My talent is visions of people, places, and events in Xanth. My other talent, like yours, is growing plants. Although there is no actual magic in Mundania except my visions (and rainbows), surrounding myself with growing and flowering things brings much happiness to me.

I wish there were a way for us to meet. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could exchange seeds from our worlds? I hope to write again before you and Dor must fade away.

Arjayess

Again, this seemed ordinary human business. Sesame did not see anything here that either incited rage or solved the problem of the Red Spot. It was way out of date, of course, and they were not delivering the letters in the order they had been written. But regard-less of their order, what was the secret of these letters?

Next morning Queen Irene and King Dor returned from their trip and held an audience for their visitors. Sesame expected a serious occasion, but that was ruined by the voices. It seemed that the king’s magic talent was making the inanimate talk, and talk it did, of impertinently.

"Look at this!" a floor tile said. "A little cat and a big snake."

"So the snake brought its meal along," a wallboard retorted.

"If you bits of fuel for the fireplace are quite through," Queen Irene said sternly, "we shall proceed."

The tile and board were silent. Evidently they understood the threat.

Queen Irene glanced imperiously at Umlaut. "I understand you have something for me?"

"Uh, yes, Your Majesty," he said, flustered. This was, after all, human royalty; Sesame would have reacted similarly in the presence of a king snake. He gave her the letter.

She glanced at it, evidently absorbing it in a moment. "She has a daughter named Irene and a granddaughter named Jenny," she remarked to King Dor.

"That's nice," he said amiably.

Queen Irene glanced at Sammy. "And how is the real Jenny Elf doing?" she inquired. "I gather marriage becomes her, as does being a princess."

Sammy nodded.

She looked at Sesame. "And it seems you have a curse to alleviate. Unfortunately we can't help you there. Curses generally have to be abated by those who make them."

Sesame nodded. The queen had a somewhat daunting presence and did not seem to be inviting much of a dialogue.

"I could make the figures in the tapestry talk to you, if that would help," King Dor suggested, "but I doubt that the answer to that curse is there. The tapestry merely shows what, not what might be."

Sesame nodded; that was her conclusion also.

"Probably the Demon Xanth could null the curse, if he wanted to," Dor continued. "But he seldom has much interest in mortal affairs."

"Except his own affair with a mortal," the throne remarked wickedly. Several tiles snickered.

Irene's gaze returned to Umlaut. "For whom is your next letter?"

He evidently hadn't thought about that. He wasn't much for looking ahead. "Uh, I'm trying to make them close to each other." He fumbled with the packet, exhibiting his typical human awkwardness. It dropped to the floor and the letters spread out. One flopped over so that its name was down.

"Princess Ivy," a floor tile said, reading it.

"Our daughter," Queen Irene said. "How nice. But she is not at Castle Roogna at the moment. That's why we are baby-sitting the three little princesses."

He seemed to be committed. "Uh, where is she?" he asked as he clumsily gathered up the letters.

"Why, she and Grey are visiting his parents at the Isle of Cats. That is, however, not the easiest site to reach."

Sammy took off. If Umlaut was awkward, Sammy was impetuous. That was why it was surely best to have a sensible serpent with their party. "I guess we're going there anyway," Umlaut said as he lurched after the cat. "Thank you, Your Majesty!" His foot skidded on the floor and he almost went down. Fortunately Sesame, anticipating this clumsiness, steadied him with her body.

"Welcome," Queen Irene said. The faintest of smiles hovered near her lips, as if she found something amusing. She would have made a fine serpent.

"Good riddance, oaf!" another tile said.

Then they were on their way from the throne room and on out of the castle. For some reason Sesame felt out of sorts, though this mischief had not been her doing. She would try to see that the awkward human man made it through his mission without hurting himself. He was after all a pretty decent sort, for a human, and he had helped her escape the zombie dungeon.