distant scrap- ing or brushing sound. He jumped up and looked—and was dismayed. A beachcomber was coming down the beach. This was a giant comb with enormous teeth, advancing across the sand, combing out all debris. Behind it the sand was level and clean; the debris piled up in front of it, to be moved to some dumping site. Obviously the bed would be dumped along with the rest of the trash.
Desperately Grundy looked around. He remembered seeing something that might—yes! There was a small pumpkin growing at the fringe. He dashed across to it, used a sharp shell-fragment to saw it free of its vine, and shoved with all his might. The pumpkin weighed more than he did, but the beach was slightly inclined, and he was able to start it rolling just as the beachcomber arrived.
The comb caught the pumpkin and tumbled it around. The pumpkin burst, getting its innards all over the comb's teeth. That was exactly what Grundy had hoped for.
The teeth absorbed the juices of the pumpkin. Then the magic of the pumpkin acted on them. They were pumped up, swelling like balloons. In moments, the comb ground to a halt, unable to push its own fat teeth through the sand. The bed had been saved, again.
When evening came, they moved the bed to safety under a mys-tree, where any intruder would have great difficulty figuring things out. Grundy continued to imitate the calls and pleas of the dummy-damsel, though he had some private reservations about seeking the aid of a mon- ster that preferred to feed on this sort of prey.
Next day, about noon, the Monster of the Sea arrived. First a ripple developed in the water, then a wake; finally a grotesque head poked up. The Monster had a flexible pink snout, bulging nostrils, cauliflower ears and two enormous ivory tusks. His eyes seemed beady, but as he came closer Grundy realized that they were more like bloodshot saucers; it was the size of the creature that made them seem small.
Grundy glanced down and discovered that his knees hadn't changed to jelly; they merely felt that way. Did he really want to continue this mission? "That's the ugliest puss I've ever seen!" he breathed.
The Monster honked. Grundy jumped; naturally he understood the honk, and what it signified was this: "And you're the least significant twerp I've ever seen!"
Those big, convoluted ears were good at hearing! "I'm on a Quest," Grundy replied defensively in honky.
"Aren't we all!" the Monster agreed.
"You? What's your Quest?"
"I liberate damsels in distress." The Monster waded through the shallow surf toward the dummy. He had huge flippers and a serpentine tail, and he was even bigger than he had seemed. Strings of seaweed were festooned across his scales. He smelled of ill fish.
"Um, about that particular damsel—" Grundy began.
"Be with you in a moment, mini-pint," the Monster honked as he heaved himself out of the water and hauled
his blubbery body somewhat awkwardly across the sand. "First things first."
"But you see that's not really a—"
"I came to liberate her, and liberate her I shall!"
"She's a dummy. She—"
"Don't call any damsel a dummy!" the Monster chided him, continuing forward.
"But this one is really a—" Grundy said.
The Monster halted abruptly, eyes on the dummy. "That's no damsel!" he honked.
"It's a dummy, dummy!" Grundy exclaimed. "I've been trying to tell you!"
"A mock-damsel!" the Monster honked, amazed. "Who would do a thing like that?"
"Well, you see—"
"Here I swam half the length of Xanth at top velocity to reach the poor damsel before she expired, and all for nothing?"
"What good would it have done her, anyway?" Grundy exclaimed. "She'd be as well off dying of exposure, as being gobbled by you!"
"What?" the Monster honked, perplexed.
"Why euphemize? You may call it liberation, but it's their lives and your hunger you are liberating!"
"My dear insignificant golem!" the Monster honked. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"It's true, isn't it? You consume only damsels in dis-
Desperately Grundy looked around. He remembered seeing something that might—yes! There was a small pumpkin growing at the fringe. He dashed across to it, used a sharp shell-fragment to saw it free of its vine, and shoved with all his might. The pumpkin weighed more than he did, but the beach was slightly inclined, and he was able to start it rolling just as the beachcomber arrived.
The comb caught the pumpkin and tumbled it around. The pumpkin burst, getting its innards all over the comb's teeth. That was exactly what Grundy had hoped for.
The teeth absorbed the juices of the pumpkin. Then the magic of the pumpkin acted on them. They were pumped up, swelling like balloons. In moments, the comb ground to a halt, unable to push its own fat teeth through the sand. The bed had been saved, again.
When evening came, they moved the bed to safety under a mys-tree, where any intruder would have great difficulty figuring things out. Grundy continued to imitate the calls and pleas of the dummy-damsel, though he had some private reservations about seeking the aid of a mon- ster that preferred to feed on this sort of prey.
Next day, about noon, the Monster of the Sea arrived. First a ripple developed in the water, then a wake; finally a grotesque head poked up. The Monster had a flexible pink snout, bulging nostrils, cauliflower ears and two enormous ivory tusks. His eyes seemed beady, but as he came closer Grundy realized that they were more like bloodshot saucers; it was the size of the creature that made them seem small.
Grundy glanced down and discovered that his knees hadn't changed to jelly; they merely felt that way. Did he really want to continue this mission? "That's the ugliest puss I've ever seen!" he breathed.
The Monster honked. Grundy jumped; naturally he understood the honk, and what it signified was this: "And you're the least significant twerp I've ever seen!"
Those big, convoluted ears were good at hearing! "I'm on a Quest," Grundy replied defensively in honky.
"Aren't we all!" the Monster agreed.
"You? What's your Quest?"
"I liberate damsels in distress." The Monster waded through the shallow surf toward the dummy. He had huge flippers and a serpentine tail, and he was even bigger than he had seemed. Strings of seaweed were festooned across his scales. He smelled of ill fish.
"Um, about that particular damsel—" Grundy began.
"Be with you in a moment, mini-pint," the Monster honked as he heaved himself out of the water and hauled
his blubbery body somewhat awkwardly across the sand. "First things first."
"But you see that's not really a—"
"I came to liberate her, and liberate her I shall!"
"She's a dummy. She—"
"Don't call any damsel a dummy!" the Monster chided him, continuing forward.
"But this one is really a—" Grundy said.
The Monster halted abruptly, eyes on the dummy. "That's no damsel!" he honked.
"It's a dummy, dummy!" Grundy exclaimed. "I've been trying to tell you!"
"A mock-damsel!" the Monster honked, amazed. "Who would do a thing like that?"
"Well, you see—"
"Here I swam half the length of Xanth at top velocity to reach the poor damsel before she expired, and all for nothing?"
"What good would it have done her, anyway?" Grundy exclaimed. "She'd be as well off dying of exposure, as being gobbled by you!"
"What?" the Monster honked, perplexed.
"Why euphemize? You may call it liberation, but it's their lives and your hunger you are liberating!"
"My dear insignificant golem!" the Monster honked. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"It's true, isn't it? You consume only damsels in dis-
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