Free The Dastard by Piers Anthony Page A

so I decided to make the best of it and I kept going and didn't know where I was so I just found this path and I guess I'll wander forever and ever until maybe I get somewhere or maybe not, and--”
    “Thank you,” Becka said, cutting her off. It was evident that she really was disorganized, and needed some help. “What about the bubble?”
    “The bubble?” Ann glanced up, and saw another just fading out. “Oh, yes. I keep losing my thoughts, and in Mundania they really were lost beyond recovery, unless someone happened, to catch them and remind me, but that didn't always happen, and sometimes I could look for weeks and never find them again, and it was just so frustrating, and--”
    “The bubble,” Becka said again.
    “Oh, yes. When I got into this magic land, what's-its-name, Xanadu, my lost thoughts just started to pop out in these speech balloons, like a comic strip or something, and it's been really distracting, in fact I don't know what to make of it. So I just traipse along, hoping to get somewhere, and I'm not even sure where I should look.” She raised her hand to brush away a disorganized strand of hair. In the process, she interrupted the Dastard's line of sight to her bosom.
    “Look,” he echoed blankly. Then his wits returned. “So you're not a princess.”
    Ann burst out laughing. “Princess? You think I'm a princess? That's really weird, because I am a princess!”
    Now Becka's jaw dropped. “You are?”
    “Of course. A very disorganized one, of course. Maybe it doesn't count here in Xanthus, but back home where I'm lost from--you don't happen to know the way back, do you? I got lost, and I really don't know how to find my way anywhere.”
    Ann had dropped her arm, exposing her cleavage again, and the Dastard's eyeballs were locking in again. If they had their way, they might pop out of his head and right into the woman's frontal valley and be lost amidst the mountains. “Let me help you with your buttons,” Becka said, and reached out to get the woman's shirt correctly fastened.
    That restored the Dastard. Becka had been tempted to let him remain locked in, but realized that if she was supposed to help him, she had better do it. Besides, that constantly heaving cleavage annoyed her.
    “What kind of thoughts do you lose?” the Dastard asked.
    “Oh, anything,” Ann said. “My friends tell me I'd lose the--the--” But she had lost the thought.
    However, a bubble had formed, and in it was a picture of a messy tub piled with dishes. “The kitchen sink?” Becka asked.
    “Yes, that's it! I'd lose the kitchen sink if I could. And sometimes at home I almost did, because I never got the dishes done on time, and, and--”
    This time her balloon showed a tall stack of dishes. As she floundered, the stack tilted, then fell over. The dishes crashed, breaking, sending fragments of broken china in all directions. Some shards flew right out of the balloon, landing with little plinks on the ground.
    “And you're really a princess?” the Dastard asked.
    “Of course I am! You don't think any normal person could be this fouled up, do you? I must find my way to the palace, or whatever, so I can rest my maidenly feet for a while and eat some cake.”
    “Kiss me,” the Dastard said. He wasn't much for the social graces.
    “Why of course.” Ann turned to him and planted her lips on his. She kissed him so hard and long that it was a wonder either of them could breathe. Becka was disgusted, but also fascinated; this was one strange and oddly aggressive female.
    The Dastard seemed to be coming to a similar conclusion. He pulled his face away. “Maybe this is premature,” he gasped.
    “No, you seem like a fine young man,” Ann Arky said. “Let's signal the stork a few times.” She hauled him in again.
    “Let's discuss this first,” he said. Becka almost had sympathy for him. Ann seemed to be getting less disorganized by the moment, now that she had oriented on the man.
    “No need, you luscious