proper way to denature it. There had to be something obscure that would be obvious the moment she thought of it. Because that was the way everyone knew the Good Magician's challenges were. He didn't want just anybody barging in to pester him with Questions, so he made it difficult to reach him, but he did play fair, by his definition. By anyone else's definition he was a grouchy gnome, of course, but nobody else's definition counted for much here. So what was there? Her fine new mind focused, exploring possibilities and bypaths at a rapid rate. What was obscure but obvious? There wasn't anything special in the landscape; no evidence of doors to underground bypasses or such. In fact, the only thing even a quarter way remarkable was the marking pen she had found.
Ha! That was surely it! Things did not just lie around the Good Magician's premises everything was here for a reason. So this had to be the key.
She brought out the pen. It was just a garden-variety marker, somewhat used but still serviceable. How could this ever help her?
Her good mind focused on the problem. Assuming that this was the key, how would it operate? It was a pen, a marker, a—a Magic Marker? To mark the com-bat? That seemed unlikely, because the bat would destroy her lovely, beautiful but not phenomenally muscular or armored body before she got close enough to do that. A pen was made mainly for writing—
For writing. Suppose she wrote something with it something that would help her? Like GO AWAY COM-BAT?
She fished in her purse and found a little notepad. She took the cap off the marker pen and wrote GO AWAY COMBAT. .
Nothing happened. But of course, she hadn't tested it yet. She took half a step toward the moat—and the bat zoomed up before her, threateningly. She hastily canceled the rest of her step and retreated, and the bat zoomed away.
Obviously that wasn't it. But maybe she just hadn't found the right way to use it. How else would a magic marker work? She couldn't think of anything much, despite her superior mind.
She glanced at Nimby, but he remained carefully neutral. And she wasn't about to ask for his help anyway.
“Um, if you want to take a nap or something—” No, he didn't sleep, he claimed. “Maybe play a mental game that entertains you? I hate to bore you with my indecisions.”
Nimby nodded, and went into a state of repose. She wondered what a donkey-headed dragon had to think about. At some point she would ask him. But now she had other business.
She crossed out her message—and there was a tiny shimmer around her. She looked around, afraid that a quake monster might be approaching to shake her up, but all was normal. So it must have been an indication of magic. Crossing out the message had canceled it, and that had had magical effect. If only she knew what it was.
She focused her mind once more. Why was she having so much trouble with what should be a simple matter?
Somehow it seemed that even her old, dull self would have figured it out by now.
Then a dim bulb flashed over her head. Maybe this challenge was geared to her regular self. Maybe the Good Magician didn't realize that she was now much smarter. Or maybe he realized, but didn't care. So he had set her a simple challenge, and she was being too intellectual about it.
“So let's try it the dull old-fashioned way,” she said.
She turned a page on the pad and wrote COM-BAT. Then she crossed out the c and wrote w. And felt the trace tingle of magic. Had it worked?
She stepped forward—and there was a small furry creature standing barely knee-high to her. It was a wombat. It tried to bar her way, but she simply stepped around it and proceeded. She had done it! She had used the magic marker to change the name, converting the deadly creature to a harmless one. The key had been in naming it, and changing the name. Obvious—to a nonintellectual person.
She
Ha! That was surely it! Things did not just lie around the Good Magician's premises everything was here for a reason. So this had to be the key.
She brought out the pen. It was just a garden-variety marker, somewhat used but still serviceable. How could this ever help her?
Her good mind focused on the problem. Assuming that this was the key, how would it operate? It was a pen, a marker, a—a Magic Marker? To mark the com-bat? That seemed unlikely, because the bat would destroy her lovely, beautiful but not phenomenally muscular or armored body before she got close enough to do that. A pen was made mainly for writing—
For writing. Suppose she wrote something with it something that would help her? Like GO AWAY COM-BAT?
She fished in her purse and found a little notepad. She took the cap off the marker pen and wrote GO AWAY COMBAT. .
Nothing happened. But of course, she hadn't tested it yet. She took half a step toward the moat—and the bat zoomed up before her, threateningly. She hastily canceled the rest of her step and retreated, and the bat zoomed away.
Obviously that wasn't it. But maybe she just hadn't found the right way to use it. How else would a magic marker work? She couldn't think of anything much, despite her superior mind.
She glanced at Nimby, but he remained carefully neutral. And she wasn't about to ask for his help anyway.
“Um, if you want to take a nap or something—” No, he didn't sleep, he claimed. “Maybe play a mental game that entertains you? I hate to bore you with my indecisions.”
Nimby nodded, and went into a state of repose. She wondered what a donkey-headed dragon had to think about. At some point she would ask him. But now she had other business.
She crossed out her message—and there was a tiny shimmer around her. She looked around, afraid that a quake monster might be approaching to shake her up, but all was normal. So it must have been an indication of magic. Crossing out the message had canceled it, and that had had magical effect. If only she knew what it was.
She focused her mind once more. Why was she having so much trouble with what should be a simple matter?
Somehow it seemed that even her old, dull self would have figured it out by now.
Then a dim bulb flashed over her head. Maybe this challenge was geared to her regular self. Maybe the Good Magician didn't realize that she was now much smarter. Or maybe he realized, but didn't care. So he had set her a simple challenge, and she was being too intellectual about it.
“So let's try it the dull old-fashioned way,” she said.
She turned a page on the pad and wrote COM-BAT. Then she crossed out the c and wrote w. And felt the trace tingle of magic. Had it worked?
She stepped forward—and there was a small furry creature standing barely knee-high to her. It was a wombat. It tried to bar her way, but she simply stepped around it and proceeded. She had done it! She had used the magic marker to change the name, converting the deadly creature to a harmless one. The key had been in naming it, and changing the name. Obvious—to a nonintellectual person.
She
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