Board Stiff (Xanth) by Piers Anthony Page B

Tiara ran with him, lifting him so that he was light on his feet. They made excellent time. Ease and Astrid followed, falling behind despite their best efforts. That hair really did make a difference!
    They reached the village, ran through it, and came to the fort. It was dilapidated but sturdy, and fairly small, but there was a fair amount of space in the central court. “I can do this,” Pewter said as they entered.
    Tiara let go of him—and floated up over the fort. Quickly she reached up and wrapped a hank of her hair in her hand so that it no longer radiated. That cut down the flotation, and she sank slowly back to the ground.
    Pewter climbed to the highest turret, which was barely a second story, and stood gazing around. He gestured. “Firewall is up,” he announced. “Now get the puns inside.”
    Mitch had continued organizing, and had half a slew of pun people hurrying to the fort, accompanied by others carrying valued puns. One woman had a small potted pas-tree loaded with sweet breads; another carried a basket of acting rolls, with the rolls posturing grandly as if on stage. Another carried a basket of corn ears, many of them alertly listening, and yet another, musical beets playing a thumping melody. They all crowded into the little fort.
    Sparks jumped as they crossed into it. “It’s the firewall,” Pewter explained. “It won’t hurt you, it just needs to be sure there’s none of the virus on you.”
    Soon the fort was crowded with people and puns. The last ones just in time; after them the fire rose high, sizzling, as the virus touched it.
    They stood and gazed out the front gate and narrow windows of the fort as the crackling continued. The virus surrounded the fort, trying to get in, but the firewall blocked it. Every time the plague tried, the wall of fire burned it up. After a while it stopped trying, but they knew it was still lurking out there, just waiting for some avenue inside, or for a pun to try to leave the fort. They were prisoners.
    “Oh, my hair!” Tiara wailed. Indeed, it was tugging every which way, completely unruly; people were noticing.
    “Pewter’s whole attention is taken up maintaining the firewall,” Astrid said. “He can’t pacify your hair without risking a break that could be disastrous.”
    “Of course. I’m not complaining.” But she looked miserable.
    “It’s interesting hair,” Mitch said. “And you really helped get Pewter here in time.”
    Tiara melted, appreciating the insight. “But you wouldn’t want to be close to it.”
    “Why not? It’s a challenge.” He took a double handful of it and put his face in it. “Makes me feel light-headed.”
    Well, now, Kandy thought. Maybe Mitch and Tiara would get along.
    “You shouldn’t grab her hair like that,” Ease said.
    “You’re right,” Mitch said, embarrassed. “I got carried away, as it were. I was over-familiar. I apologize, Tiara.”
    “Oh, there’s no need,” she said.
    “In fact I’d better make it a gourd-style apology.”
    “A what?”
    Kandy knew what that was, but evidently Tiara didn’t, having been isolated so long.
    “Like this.” Mitch took her carefully in his arms and gently kissed her. “Do you accept?”
    Tiara was plainly stunned. “I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. “What has a kiss to do with it?”
    “Then I must try again,” Mitch said. He kissed her more emphatically. “Now do you accept?”
    She gazed at him, amazed. “I don’t--”
    “So I must try again.” This time he kissed her so thoroughly that little hearts flew out. “Do you accept now?”
    Kandy prompted Ease. “Say yes,” he called.
    “Yes,” Tiara said faintly. “But what--?”
    “That was a gourd style apology,” Mitch said. “They are never declined.”
    “I can see why,” Tiara said dazedly.
    “It is a social convention that originated in the dream realm of the gourd,” Mitch said. “Then it got loose in the waking realm. Folk seem to like it.”
    “I wonder why,”