Chapter X
.09248757329100039385038457204811028750347043857348103701744412.
Slider the Umpire wrinkled his mutated nose, readjusted his mask, and wondered vaguely why there was a long string of numbers running through his head.
There was no logical explanation for them; that was certain. He had simply been walking through the darkness at the head of his umpire legion, leading the search into the Vuebegonian Mines of Murphy, when a sort of computer screen-type thing clicked on in his brain and numbers began scrolling across his brain. Slider had no idea what the numbers could mean, in fact, he had no idea what the numbers even signified. Umpires had not been bred to be mathematicians. But he knew they were numbers, and he knew that they were not supposed to be there.
Shrugging his shoulders, he set off down the tunnel at a faster pace, baring his teeth at the First Base umpire, his second-in-command.
"Keep them moving," he growled, because he felt he had to growl at something. Slider enjoyed growling.
The First Base nodded, hissed, and bellowed something at the umpire legions in back of him. There was a scuffle of cleats, and the pace picked up, a deep tramp, tramp, tramp echoing ominously throughout the Mines. They had to find the Seed of the Master Turnip as quickly as possible, or Lord Vader would have a nasty surprise waiting for them when they got back.
But there were still numbers scrolling through Slider's head, row after row of them, in no particular order. Unnerved, he picked up his pace a bit more.
Then, quite unexpectedly, a vision of a tiny, white-haired, red-eyed man flashed across his eyes. The man was hunched in a very small space between a wall and something metal, and his hands were stained with blue ink. Slider was very startled. What was a little old man doing in the middle of the Mines of Murphy? He wondered if he was hallucinating.
But then the voice came, a tiny, withered voice in his head, cracking like frosty leaves underfoot. It sounded as though it had not been used in a long time.
Oh dear, the voice said. My, oh my, the paper's disappeared. My Pi calculations! But...what's this...there's a picture in front of me.good gracious!
Slider growled furiously. Lightyears away, Shnibbidy Bob Joe smiled in delighted amazement at the strange things he was witnessing through his arithmetic paper. Life was certainly getting interesting.
************
"The secret to this-all of this-is irrationality. Without irrationality to distract the laws of nature, no one is able to travel between dimensions. And obviously, that is the function of the Root Vegetables: they are grown with some Irrationality Fertilizer, which makes them capable of opening a Tunnel of Irrationality between times. That is Vader's secret. The real secret, however, is how exactly Vader makes his fertilizer. What could possibly be so irrational as to impart irrationality onto anything it touches? And how could it be condensed into a fertilizer?"
"You-you mean you don't know, Beatrice?"
"Odie, I'm not omniscient. I have no view into the mind of the Dark Lord. He is the greatest of us all, you know. The first and greatest."
"But evil. An evil genius."
"Yes."
"But if he's a genius, how do we hope to thwart him with this pathetic lot?"
Britney let out a heavy sigh and stopped listening. The Ancients were talking again, but none of it made any sense to her. She had watched the video, but she really didn't care about the quest. She was only sticking around because of the one person who didn't want her to stick around, otherwise she would be back with her flock of Loser Sirens. So sad, so sad.
The bark of the willow branch was very rough on her feet. It was not the most comfortable perch she had ever spent the night on. Bitterly she wished that Odysseus had let them stay on the ship, but he had ordered everyone ashore on the grounds that the Idiomox might return at any time and they would be safer on land. She was thus resigned to sleeping in a tree, or rather, trying to sleep, watching the man with the sword she was so madly in love with. So sad, so sad.
The hours were growing longer as the night grew older. Odysseus and Beatrice hadn't slept a wink, either, but all the others in the party were fast asleep. Including Aragorn. At least his being asleep meant she got to stare at him without anyone whacking her over the head. For heaven's sake, she had only known them a day, and they were already whacking her. Now that was courtesy if she had ever seen it. She wondered if it would do to start crying, just so someone would notice how bored she was. Probably not; everyone seemed to sleep like rocks, except for Aragorn, who seemed to have a subconscious sensor that warned him when she approached.
Maybe Aragorn would keep her company. She would make him fall in love with her, if it was the last thing she did! Who cared that she was only three-quarters human? The rest of the idiotic crew obviously didn't, although they were delusional if they though she was worth their time. She was premium, she was, and Aragorn was the only man handsome enough to equal her.
She wondered why everyone else seemed to like Beatrice. He was okay, but he wasn't Aragorn.
Aragorn. Aragorn. She would just have to chase him, hang around him til he noticed her.
Now she knew what to do! She would wake him up with a quiet song, just to remind him that she was there, and very, very lonely. Maybe he would be so grateful he'd start to like her a little. As a Siren, singing was her specialty.
She wondered why she'd been placed in the Union of Loser Sirens.
Stealthily she flapped down from the tree and waddled over to Aragorn on her avian legs, kicking up dead leaves and branches as she went. Aragorn grunted and rolled over as she approached, muttering something about pie. She sat down by his head, listening for a moment as a nonsensical string of numbers came jumbling out of his mouth. Then she cleared her throat importantly, took a deep breath, and prepared to work her magic on the handsome man.
"Fa la LAAAAAA!!!!" she sang by way of introduction. She ran a quick inventory of all the songs she knew, still holding the "la." Which was the most enchanting?
Then, abruptly, Aragorn sat bolt upright and yelled, flinging covers everywhere.
For a moment he sat, wide-eyed and drenched with sweat, as though he was paralyzed with fear. Then, ever so slowly, he turned his head and shot a blood-freezing glare at Britney; with an alarmed squawk she recoiled and hopped backward several feet. Aragorn's hand clenched into a fist over an invisible neck, and he bared his teeth furiously.
"How many times," he growled, "have we told you not to sing in front of us? You'll kill us all! Blast it, my horse sings better than you!"
Britney's obligatory sobs were drowned out by the sudden rush of sweet, angelic singing that arose from the thicket of olive trees farther up the slope. A brilliant white radiance flooded the clearing, causing all of the Walkers and the crew to stir and mutter in their sleep. Closer the light drew, and closer, until the thunder of hoofbeats could be heard over the singing, and a shining golden muzzle appeared through the haze. Aragorn's eyes bugged rather unbecomingly.
"And that horse," he said slowly, "sings better than my horse."
Tremendously nettled, so nettled in fact that she forgot to fake-cry, Britney listened to the singer's heavenly voice as it stirred the sleeping troops. The words were in a language she did not know, but somehow they imparted a great feeling of peace and harmony (except of course to Britney, whose thoughts were currently running along the lines of kill! Kill!):
Y rhin ail y rhin d cwen, d cwen,
Amn na ath tsan cy y rhin, d cwen Thet ail, d cwen, anie sa rhin ail sa iaridan Asa Ed.
Y rhin ail y rhin, d cwen, d cwen Amn echa ath'il tsan arn dyne iatsa ail then Don na-mir astath cy y tsanan rhin?
Iall astian cy echa:*
And then a second voice, deeper, male, with a queer sort of whinnying note to it:
I am Mister Ed!
All of a sudden the entire crew of the Flying Walkman was sitting up in their squashy purple sleeping bags, staring at the singing light and the golden horse just beginning to come into focus. Britney was rooted to the spot, petrified, as the horse wheeled unexpectedly around and began to canter in slow motion towards her. What kind of unearthly thing was going on here? A horse was a horse, of course, of course, and no one could talk to a horse, of course! Horses didn't sing. Where was the justice?
But then, a few feet away, the horse stopped abruptly, tossing its magnificent cream-colored mane with a cheerful whinny. And then, a bright figure swung gracefully off the horse's back; it was a woman, on closer inspection, clad entirely in white, with long dark hair spilling down to her waist and a silver splint on her right arm. She patted the golden horse on the neck, walked forward.and stepped suddenly out of the bright haze, heading straight for Aragorn's sleeping bag.
Now Britney could see her clearly. It was a woman, abnormally tall, with snappy gray eyes and-strangely enough-pointy ears, the tips of which poked up through her masses of hair. Britney ground her perfectly whitened teeth. All of a sudden everyone was staring at the stranger, including the crew. They were supposed to worship her! Not abnormally tall people with deformed ears who came riding unexpectedly into camp on-singing?-horses. Still more nettling was Aragorn, who was staring raptly at the newcomer, almost as though she wasn't a stranger to him at all. Britney's claws were beginning to scrape the ground in a vaguely threatening way. She didn't like stuck-up competition.
Then,
"Arwen, pardon my Black Speech, but how the hell did you get here?" Aragorn was staring at the lady with a mixture of joy and disbelief. "Don't tell me you-"
"Yep," the lady responded. Her voice was mid-range and sort of husky, extremely annoying to Britney. "I found a carrot. Me dad always said not to go wandering around in the forest, or I was a sure to meet a sticky end, and by Elbereth he was right. For once. Dumb rabbit food."
The lady reached into her white dress-apparently it had pockets that Britney couldn't see-and pulled out a small withered carrot. She tossed it onto the ground in front of Aragorn, who continued staring up at her in a decidedly golden-retriever-ish manner.
"How'd-how'd you get to Greece, then? Instead of getting stuck with a bunch of lost crusaders, like I did?"
"You think I know? You think I care? I landed at your campsite; you complaining?"
"Of course not!" Aragorn stood up hastily, and Britney turned around to mutter a few swear words so awful that Earthlings could not even conceive of them, no matter how they tried (so don't bother). When she turned around again, Aragorn was pulling the newcomer behind a tree, oblivious to the fascinated stares of the crew, who found this sort of thing immensely amusing. There was a distinct noise, and suddenly the crew began muttering about technical details like a crowd at an intense Pakrian Mind Surfing match.
They had, after all, spent years on the high seas with nothing to do but read romance novels.
After a couple minutes the two emerged from behind the tree again, grinning sheepishly and waving at the gawking crew. Several of the crewmen turned rather red as the lady waved at them, making Britney even angrier. Not only was the newcomer stealing the man, she was stealing all the men.
Kill, kill, said the little wicked voice inside her head.
"Kill the she-Elf," hissed SOS-180, then, "Oh, hello, mistress, it certainly is good to see you here! How may I help you?"
Beatrice, however, was staring at the woman with neither awe (the crew) nor blind adoration (Aragorn). In fact, he was looking rather excited, and hopeful, and looking not at her face but at the silver splint on her arm.
"Pardon me for ruining the moment," he said after a minute, "but were you singing in High Whelkish a minute ago?"
"High Whelkish?" The lady turned around and glanced at Beatrice incredulously. "What do you mean, High Whelkish? I was speaking in Elvish; learn your cultural anthropology."
"Many pardons," Beatrice dipped his head respectfully, although he was looking more excited by the second. "So I would be right then in assuming that you are an Elf?"
"Yes, er."
"Beatrice," Beatrice prompted.
The lady raised her eyebrows but didn't comment further.
"Right. Beatrice. Yes, I am an Elf. Wish I wasn't. All the other Elves are so blasted boring."
The smile on Beatrice's face grew slowly into a grin.
"And how, if I may ask, did you break your arm?" He nodded at the splint.
"That?" Arwen looked down and wrinkled her nose. "Oh. I was really bored, so I challenged a passing Ringwraith to a thumb war."
"And?"
"I won by a mile."
"And?"
"I don't think the wraith was too happy about it."
"Ah!" Beatrice sat up a little straighter. He looked as if he was on the verge of leaping to his feet. "And you frequently do things like challenging demons of Mordor to thumb-wrestling tournaments?"
"Does she do crazy things frequently?" Aragorn cut in. "Man, you're telling me. You don't know how many times she's scared me to death: horse racing, leaping off cliffs with a rope attached to her waist, going over the Falls of Rauros in a barrel, Troll Bowling.I could go on for years. She's broken her neck twice, you know; hasn't died yet."
He glanced reprovingly at the lady, who smiled innocently back. Then he wrapped one arm around her waist and bent down again-Britney ground her teeth-
And fortunately, for both Britney and the author's sanity, as she is still trying to figure out why she had to throw romance into the story, as she cannot write it worth you-know-what, Beatrice leapt to his feet and began energetically pumping the lady's hand.
"Welcome, welcome!" he practically shouted. "So pleased to have you here! Ladies and gentlemen-" Here he turned to the large group of people in sleeping bags behind him-"I am proud to introduce the seventh whole member of the Nine and Three Quarters, er."
"Arwen Evenstar," the lady prompted, "but you can call me Bob."
"Arwen Evenstar!" Beatrice finished. "I think we'll call you Arwen, unless you'd strongly prefer the other. All right, ma'am, welcome to the crazy gang."
Arwen raised her eyebrows again.
"The Nine and Three Quarters," Aragorn said helpfully. "You must be the Reckless Elf-Maid mentioned in the poem. We're going on a quest, see to find these things-Root Vegetables-"
"Leave it for the morning." Beatrice waved away the explanation. "I'll show her the History of the Universe PBS special. Now, I think we all need to get some sleep, if we're to make any progress tomorrow-"
"Yes, let's get some sleep," Aragorn and Arwen said simultaneously.
Britney was tempted to start singing one of her favorite tragic rejection songs, but as she opened her mouth she noticed Princess Leia watching her intently, her hand resting on a hefty rock beside her sleeping back. Meeting Britney's gaze, she grimaced, muttered, "Don't," and patted the rock meaningfully.
Not only did nobody love her anymore; nobody even liked her. Why was she chosen to be the outcast of this group? It wasn't fair! She was beautiful! She was unusual! She could sing, blast it!"
But no one was paying any attention to her.
"Sleep, you two," Beatrice said sternly. "We need to be up very, very early tomorrow, since we've lost a day en route to the Cyclops's Island. It'll be all aboard the Walkman around six, just so you know."
"Okay," Aragorn and Arwen said simultaneously.
"Everyone," Beatrice yelled. "Back to sleep!"
Instantly every head in the house was down on their sleeping bag, and a couple dozen fake snores rent the air at the same time. Beatrice scowled, snorted, and did a peculiar levitation trick which ended somehow with him tucked back in his sleeping bag, though it was rather impossible to follow the rest.
Britney scowled and fluttered back up into the lower branches of the willow. She sniffed loudly and tucked her head under her wing, furious at the world in general and Arwen in particular, as she had stolen Aragorn from Beatrice and now had the nerve to accept a sleeping bag when by rights of seniority Britney should have had it. Why couldn't Arwen try sleeping in a tree for a night?
At that instant, a Giant Mediterranean Symphonic Mosquito flew directly into her head, knocking her completely unconscious and thus out of the tree. At least she was also out of her misery.
**************
The next day had passed without event, as far as Britney was concerned.
They had risen and clambered aboard the Flying Walkman early as promised, everyone but Odysseus and Beatrice yawning and complaining vehemently about the ungodly hour. Beatrice had snapped, Odysseus had been cheerfully adamant, and despite all the groaning breakfast was prepared for all (only slightly undercooked). Then the Walkman had set off onto the open sea, and it was all blue waves and sky after that.
Sometime near midday Beatrice had taken Arwen in to see the History of the Universe PBS special, and she had come out looking tremendously enthused and begging Beatrice to let her wrestle the Cyclops. Beatrice was trying to explain why it was impossible to take on the Cyclops single-handedly, the rest of the crew was staring at Arwen, and Britney was dutifully grinding her teeth while doing some research in the romance novels. She hissed at Arwen every time she walked by, but each time Arwen only smiled cordially and hissed back, so she wasn't getting anywhere with that tactic.
And now the sun was setting, and Beatrice was grinding her teeth even harder and researching more desperately. Evenings were going to be annoying times from now on, she guessed.
In the prow of the boat stood Aragorn and Arwen, looking out westward towards the immense expanse of open sea before them with starry eyes. Aragorn had his arms around Arwen's waist, and Arwen was leaning far out over the railing with her arms spread out to either side like some kind of bizarre bird-wannabe. Arwen seemed to be putting a lot of trust in Aragorn to hold her up, since her toes were just barely touching the deck. Aragorn was muttering something into Arwen's unnatural pointy ear, which, fortunately for all concerned, Britney was too far away to catch.
As Britney sat and ground her teeth (she wondered how long it would take before all the enamel wore off her molars) a snippet of mysterious song floated past on the breeze. Britney didn't recognize it, being from the ancient past; on Earth it is commonly attributed to Celine Dion, although it was in truth written by Professor D.C. Shnarble of Vuebegon Interplanetary University. This is not known by many Earth people, however, as Earth people have a tendency to stubbornly refuse to see the truth, even when it is bouncing six inches in front of them doing the Macerana.
This particular beautiful song is among the best-known of D.C. Shnarble's works, although certainly not the only example of fine composing under his name. He is the composer of symphonies innumerable, and in addition is accredited with having written the longest known gong solo in classical music (2 hours, 17 minutes. Because of this rather extraordinary length of time, the piece is usually labeled, Gong Solo-Dennis Flynn on programs, rather then by its proper name, Shnarble's Symphony in Ursa Major.)
Incidentally, Dennis Flynn is the only widely recognized gong soloist in the entire universe.
But anyway, Dennis Flynn, the Symphony in Ursa Major, and gong solos do not enter this story until much, much later. Right now, all my dear reader needs to know about is the "Celine Dion" song.
Britney (who of course hadn't had anything to with the last three paragraphs) was watching the touching romantic scene grimly, trying to ignore the music invading her head.
"Near, Far, Wherever you are-"
Aragorn had begun singing along, although almost too quietly to hear-
"I believe that the heart will-WHOOPS!"
There was a shriek and a loud splash, and then Aragorn was bending anxiously over the side of the boat. There was no longer any sign of Arwen.
"Arwen?" he called, "Arwen? You okay?"
There was a bit more splashing, and a gurgle.
Then,
"Yes, of course I'm okay! I went over Rauros Falls in a barrel, remember? Say, that was fun! You think you could drop me from the crow's nest next time."
Britney turned away, snickering, and waddled off towards the galley ladder. By the time Aragorn managed to haul a dripping Arwen back on deck, she was safely out of sight, hidden among mountains of beef sirloin and potatoes. Although she had a feeling the indignity wouldn't keep the two apart for long, their enchanted evening was spoiled, and that was enough to make Britney's day.
.09248757329100039385038457204811028750347043857348103701744412.
Slider the Umpire wrinkled his mutated nose, readjusted his mask, and wondered vaguely why there was a long string of numbers running through his head.
There was no logical explanation for them; that was certain. He had simply been walking through the darkness at the head of his umpire legion, leading the search into the Vuebegonian Mines of Murphy, when a sort of computer screen-type thing clicked on in his brain and numbers began scrolling across his brain. Slider had no idea what the numbers could mean, in fact, he had no idea what the numbers even signified. Umpires had not been bred to be mathematicians. But he knew they were numbers, and he knew that they were not supposed to be there.
Shrugging his shoulders, he set off down the tunnel at a faster pace, baring his teeth at the First Base umpire, his second-in-command.
"Keep them moving," he growled, because he felt he had to growl at something. Slider enjoyed growling.
The First Base nodded, hissed, and bellowed something at the umpire legions in back of him. There was a scuffle of cleats, and the pace picked up, a deep tramp, tramp, tramp echoing ominously throughout the Mines. They had to find the Seed of the Master Turnip as quickly as possible, or Lord Vader would have a nasty surprise waiting for them when they got back.
But there were still numbers scrolling through Slider's head, row after row of them, in no particular order. Unnerved, he picked up his pace a bit more.
Then, quite unexpectedly, a vision of a tiny, white-haired, red-eyed man flashed across his eyes. The man was hunched in a very small space between a wall and something metal, and his hands were stained with blue ink. Slider was very startled. What was a little old man doing in the middle of the Mines of Murphy? He wondered if he was hallucinating.
But then the voice came, a tiny, withered voice in his head, cracking like frosty leaves underfoot. It sounded as though it had not been used in a long time.
Oh dear, the voice said. My, oh my, the paper's disappeared. My Pi calculations! But...what's this...there's a picture in front of me.good gracious!
Slider growled furiously. Lightyears away, Shnibbidy Bob Joe smiled in delighted amazement at the strange things he was witnessing through his arithmetic paper. Life was certainly getting interesting.
************
"The secret to this-all of this-is irrationality. Without irrationality to distract the laws of nature, no one is able to travel between dimensions. And obviously, that is the function of the Root Vegetables: they are grown with some Irrationality Fertilizer, which makes them capable of opening a Tunnel of Irrationality between times. That is Vader's secret. The real secret, however, is how exactly Vader makes his fertilizer. What could possibly be so irrational as to impart irrationality onto anything it touches? And how could it be condensed into a fertilizer?"
"You-you mean you don't know, Beatrice?"
"Odie, I'm not omniscient. I have no view into the mind of the Dark Lord. He is the greatest of us all, you know. The first and greatest."
"But evil. An evil genius."
"Yes."
"But if he's a genius, how do we hope to thwart him with this pathetic lot?"
Britney let out a heavy sigh and stopped listening. The Ancients were talking again, but none of it made any sense to her. She had watched the video, but she really didn't care about the quest. She was only sticking around because of the one person who didn't want her to stick around, otherwise she would be back with her flock of Loser Sirens. So sad, so sad.
The bark of the willow branch was very rough on her feet. It was not the most comfortable perch she had ever spent the night on. Bitterly she wished that Odysseus had let them stay on the ship, but he had ordered everyone ashore on the grounds that the Idiomox might return at any time and they would be safer on land. She was thus resigned to sleeping in a tree, or rather, trying to sleep, watching the man with the sword she was so madly in love with. So sad, so sad.
The hours were growing longer as the night grew older. Odysseus and Beatrice hadn't slept a wink, either, but all the others in the party were fast asleep. Including Aragorn. At least his being asleep meant she got to stare at him without anyone whacking her over the head. For heaven's sake, she had only known them a day, and they were already whacking her. Now that was courtesy if she had ever seen it. She wondered if it would do to start crying, just so someone would notice how bored she was. Probably not; everyone seemed to sleep like rocks, except for Aragorn, who seemed to have a subconscious sensor that warned him when she approached.
Maybe Aragorn would keep her company. She would make him fall in love with her, if it was the last thing she did! Who cared that she was only three-quarters human? The rest of the idiotic crew obviously didn't, although they were delusional if they though she was worth their time. She was premium, she was, and Aragorn was the only man handsome enough to equal her.
She wondered why everyone else seemed to like Beatrice. He was okay, but he wasn't Aragorn.
Aragorn. Aragorn. She would just have to chase him, hang around him til he noticed her.
Now she knew what to do! She would wake him up with a quiet song, just to remind him that she was there, and very, very lonely. Maybe he would be so grateful he'd start to like her a little. As a Siren, singing was her specialty.
She wondered why she'd been placed in the Union of Loser Sirens.
Stealthily she flapped down from the tree and waddled over to Aragorn on her avian legs, kicking up dead leaves and branches as she went. Aragorn grunted and rolled over as she approached, muttering something about pie. She sat down by his head, listening for a moment as a nonsensical string of numbers came jumbling out of his mouth. Then she cleared her throat importantly, took a deep breath, and prepared to work her magic on the handsome man.
"Fa la LAAAAAA!!!!" she sang by way of introduction. She ran a quick inventory of all the songs she knew, still holding the "la." Which was the most enchanting?
Then, abruptly, Aragorn sat bolt upright and yelled, flinging covers everywhere.
For a moment he sat, wide-eyed and drenched with sweat, as though he was paralyzed with fear. Then, ever so slowly, he turned his head and shot a blood-freezing glare at Britney; with an alarmed squawk she recoiled and hopped backward several feet. Aragorn's hand clenched into a fist over an invisible neck, and he bared his teeth furiously.
"How many times," he growled, "have we told you not to sing in front of us? You'll kill us all! Blast it, my horse sings better than you!"
Britney's obligatory sobs were drowned out by the sudden rush of sweet, angelic singing that arose from the thicket of olive trees farther up the slope. A brilliant white radiance flooded the clearing, causing all of the Walkers and the crew to stir and mutter in their sleep. Closer the light drew, and closer, until the thunder of hoofbeats could be heard over the singing, and a shining golden muzzle appeared through the haze. Aragorn's eyes bugged rather unbecomingly.
"And that horse," he said slowly, "sings better than my horse."
Tremendously nettled, so nettled in fact that she forgot to fake-cry, Britney listened to the singer's heavenly voice as it stirred the sleeping troops. The words were in a language she did not know, but somehow they imparted a great feeling of peace and harmony (except of course to Britney, whose thoughts were currently running along the lines of kill! Kill!):
Y rhin ail y rhin d cwen, d cwen,
Amn na ath tsan cy y rhin, d cwen Thet ail, d cwen, anie sa rhin ail sa iaridan Asa Ed.
Y rhin ail y rhin, d cwen, d cwen Amn echa ath'il tsan arn dyne iatsa ail then Don na-mir astath cy y tsanan rhin?
Iall astian cy echa:*
And then a second voice, deeper, male, with a queer sort of whinnying note to it:
I am Mister Ed!
All of a sudden the entire crew of the Flying Walkman was sitting up in their squashy purple sleeping bags, staring at the singing light and the golden horse just beginning to come into focus. Britney was rooted to the spot, petrified, as the horse wheeled unexpectedly around and began to canter in slow motion towards her. What kind of unearthly thing was going on here? A horse was a horse, of course, of course, and no one could talk to a horse, of course! Horses didn't sing. Where was the justice?
But then, a few feet away, the horse stopped abruptly, tossing its magnificent cream-colored mane with a cheerful whinny. And then, a bright figure swung gracefully off the horse's back; it was a woman, on closer inspection, clad entirely in white, with long dark hair spilling down to her waist and a silver splint on her right arm. She patted the golden horse on the neck, walked forward.and stepped suddenly out of the bright haze, heading straight for Aragorn's sleeping bag.
Now Britney could see her clearly. It was a woman, abnormally tall, with snappy gray eyes and-strangely enough-pointy ears, the tips of which poked up through her masses of hair. Britney ground her perfectly whitened teeth. All of a sudden everyone was staring at the stranger, including the crew. They were supposed to worship her! Not abnormally tall people with deformed ears who came riding unexpectedly into camp on-singing?-horses. Still more nettling was Aragorn, who was staring raptly at the newcomer, almost as though she wasn't a stranger to him at all. Britney's claws were beginning to scrape the ground in a vaguely threatening way. She didn't like stuck-up competition.
Then,
"Arwen, pardon my Black Speech, but how the hell did you get here?" Aragorn was staring at the lady with a mixture of joy and disbelief. "Don't tell me you-"
"Yep," the lady responded. Her voice was mid-range and sort of husky, extremely annoying to Britney. "I found a carrot. Me dad always said not to go wandering around in the forest, or I was a sure to meet a sticky end, and by Elbereth he was right. For once. Dumb rabbit food."
The lady reached into her white dress-apparently it had pockets that Britney couldn't see-and pulled out a small withered carrot. She tossed it onto the ground in front of Aragorn, who continued staring up at her in a decidedly golden-retriever-ish manner.
"How'd-how'd you get to Greece, then? Instead of getting stuck with a bunch of lost crusaders, like I did?"
"You think I know? You think I care? I landed at your campsite; you complaining?"
"Of course not!" Aragorn stood up hastily, and Britney turned around to mutter a few swear words so awful that Earthlings could not even conceive of them, no matter how they tried (so don't bother). When she turned around again, Aragorn was pulling the newcomer behind a tree, oblivious to the fascinated stares of the crew, who found this sort of thing immensely amusing. There was a distinct noise, and suddenly the crew began muttering about technical details like a crowd at an intense Pakrian Mind Surfing match.
They had, after all, spent years on the high seas with nothing to do but read romance novels.
After a couple minutes the two emerged from behind the tree again, grinning sheepishly and waving at the gawking crew. Several of the crewmen turned rather red as the lady waved at them, making Britney even angrier. Not only was the newcomer stealing the man, she was stealing all the men.
Kill, kill, said the little wicked voice inside her head.
"Kill the she-Elf," hissed SOS-180, then, "Oh, hello, mistress, it certainly is good to see you here! How may I help you?"
Beatrice, however, was staring at the woman with neither awe (the crew) nor blind adoration (Aragorn). In fact, he was looking rather excited, and hopeful, and looking not at her face but at the silver splint on her arm.
"Pardon me for ruining the moment," he said after a minute, "but were you singing in High Whelkish a minute ago?"
"High Whelkish?" The lady turned around and glanced at Beatrice incredulously. "What do you mean, High Whelkish? I was speaking in Elvish; learn your cultural anthropology."
"Many pardons," Beatrice dipped his head respectfully, although he was looking more excited by the second. "So I would be right then in assuming that you are an Elf?"
"Yes, er."
"Beatrice," Beatrice prompted.
The lady raised her eyebrows but didn't comment further.
"Right. Beatrice. Yes, I am an Elf. Wish I wasn't. All the other Elves are so blasted boring."
The smile on Beatrice's face grew slowly into a grin.
"And how, if I may ask, did you break your arm?" He nodded at the splint.
"That?" Arwen looked down and wrinkled her nose. "Oh. I was really bored, so I challenged a passing Ringwraith to a thumb war."
"And?"
"I won by a mile."
"And?"
"I don't think the wraith was too happy about it."
"Ah!" Beatrice sat up a little straighter. He looked as if he was on the verge of leaping to his feet. "And you frequently do things like challenging demons of Mordor to thumb-wrestling tournaments?"
"Does she do crazy things frequently?" Aragorn cut in. "Man, you're telling me. You don't know how many times she's scared me to death: horse racing, leaping off cliffs with a rope attached to her waist, going over the Falls of Rauros in a barrel, Troll Bowling.I could go on for years. She's broken her neck twice, you know; hasn't died yet."
He glanced reprovingly at the lady, who smiled innocently back. Then he wrapped one arm around her waist and bent down again-Britney ground her teeth-
And fortunately, for both Britney and the author's sanity, as she is still trying to figure out why she had to throw romance into the story, as she cannot write it worth you-know-what, Beatrice leapt to his feet and began energetically pumping the lady's hand.
"Welcome, welcome!" he practically shouted. "So pleased to have you here! Ladies and gentlemen-" Here he turned to the large group of people in sleeping bags behind him-"I am proud to introduce the seventh whole member of the Nine and Three Quarters, er."
"Arwen Evenstar," the lady prompted, "but you can call me Bob."
"Arwen Evenstar!" Beatrice finished. "I think we'll call you Arwen, unless you'd strongly prefer the other. All right, ma'am, welcome to the crazy gang."
Arwen raised her eyebrows again.
"The Nine and Three Quarters," Aragorn said helpfully. "You must be the Reckless Elf-Maid mentioned in the poem. We're going on a quest, see to find these things-Root Vegetables-"
"Leave it for the morning." Beatrice waved away the explanation. "I'll show her the History of the Universe PBS special. Now, I think we all need to get some sleep, if we're to make any progress tomorrow-"
"Yes, let's get some sleep," Aragorn and Arwen said simultaneously.
Britney was tempted to start singing one of her favorite tragic rejection songs, but as she opened her mouth she noticed Princess Leia watching her intently, her hand resting on a hefty rock beside her sleeping back. Meeting Britney's gaze, she grimaced, muttered, "Don't," and patted the rock meaningfully.
Not only did nobody love her anymore; nobody even liked her. Why was she chosen to be the outcast of this group? It wasn't fair! She was beautiful! She was unusual! She could sing, blast it!"
But no one was paying any attention to her.
"Sleep, you two," Beatrice said sternly. "We need to be up very, very early tomorrow, since we've lost a day en route to the Cyclops's Island. It'll be all aboard the Walkman around six, just so you know."
"Okay," Aragorn and Arwen said simultaneously.
"Everyone," Beatrice yelled. "Back to sleep!"
Instantly every head in the house was down on their sleeping bag, and a couple dozen fake snores rent the air at the same time. Beatrice scowled, snorted, and did a peculiar levitation trick which ended somehow with him tucked back in his sleeping bag, though it was rather impossible to follow the rest.
Britney scowled and fluttered back up into the lower branches of the willow. She sniffed loudly and tucked her head under her wing, furious at the world in general and Arwen in particular, as she had stolen Aragorn from Beatrice and now had the nerve to accept a sleeping bag when by rights of seniority Britney should have had it. Why couldn't Arwen try sleeping in a tree for a night?
At that instant, a Giant Mediterranean Symphonic Mosquito flew directly into her head, knocking her completely unconscious and thus out of the tree. At least she was also out of her misery.
**************
The next day had passed without event, as far as Britney was concerned.
They had risen and clambered aboard the Flying Walkman early as promised, everyone but Odysseus and Beatrice yawning and complaining vehemently about the ungodly hour. Beatrice had snapped, Odysseus had been cheerfully adamant, and despite all the groaning breakfast was prepared for all (only slightly undercooked). Then the Walkman had set off onto the open sea, and it was all blue waves and sky after that.
Sometime near midday Beatrice had taken Arwen in to see the History of the Universe PBS special, and she had come out looking tremendously enthused and begging Beatrice to let her wrestle the Cyclops. Beatrice was trying to explain why it was impossible to take on the Cyclops single-handedly, the rest of the crew was staring at Arwen, and Britney was dutifully grinding her teeth while doing some research in the romance novels. She hissed at Arwen every time she walked by, but each time Arwen only smiled cordially and hissed back, so she wasn't getting anywhere with that tactic.
And now the sun was setting, and Beatrice was grinding her teeth even harder and researching more desperately. Evenings were going to be annoying times from now on, she guessed.
In the prow of the boat stood Aragorn and Arwen, looking out westward towards the immense expanse of open sea before them with starry eyes. Aragorn had his arms around Arwen's waist, and Arwen was leaning far out over the railing with her arms spread out to either side like some kind of bizarre bird-wannabe. Arwen seemed to be putting a lot of trust in Aragorn to hold her up, since her toes were just barely touching the deck. Aragorn was muttering something into Arwen's unnatural pointy ear, which, fortunately for all concerned, Britney was too far away to catch.
As Britney sat and ground her teeth (she wondered how long it would take before all the enamel wore off her molars) a snippet of mysterious song floated past on the breeze. Britney didn't recognize it, being from the ancient past; on Earth it is commonly attributed to Celine Dion, although it was in truth written by Professor D.C. Shnarble of Vuebegon Interplanetary University. This is not known by many Earth people, however, as Earth people have a tendency to stubbornly refuse to see the truth, even when it is bouncing six inches in front of them doing the Macerana.
This particular beautiful song is among the best-known of D.C. Shnarble's works, although certainly not the only example of fine composing under his name. He is the composer of symphonies innumerable, and in addition is accredited with having written the longest known gong solo in classical music (2 hours, 17 minutes. Because of this rather extraordinary length of time, the piece is usually labeled, Gong Solo-Dennis Flynn on programs, rather then by its proper name, Shnarble's Symphony in Ursa Major.)
Incidentally, Dennis Flynn is the only widely recognized gong soloist in the entire universe.
But anyway, Dennis Flynn, the Symphony in Ursa Major, and gong solos do not enter this story until much, much later. Right now, all my dear reader needs to know about is the "Celine Dion" song.
Britney (who of course hadn't had anything to with the last three paragraphs) was watching the touching romantic scene grimly, trying to ignore the music invading her head.
"Near, Far, Wherever you are-"
Aragorn had begun singing along, although almost too quietly to hear-
"I believe that the heart will-WHOOPS!"
There was a shriek and a loud splash, and then Aragorn was bending anxiously over the side of the boat. There was no longer any sign of Arwen.
"Arwen?" he called, "Arwen? You okay?"
There was a bit more splashing, and a gurgle.
Then,
"Yes, of course I'm okay! I went over Rauros Falls in a barrel, remember? Say, that was fun! You think you could drop me from the crow's nest next time."
Britney turned away, snickering, and waddled off towards the galley ladder. By the time Aragorn managed to haul a dripping Arwen back on deck, she was safely out of sight, hidden among mountains of beef sirloin and potatoes. Although she had a feeling the indignity wouldn't keep the two apart for long, their enchanted evening was spoiled, and that was enough to make Britney's day.
