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"Not so," Chex said. "The happier it is, the worse Fracto will feel, because that's his nemesis: the joy of
others. If he is faced with a happy scene he can't rain out, he will flee in high dudgeon."
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The stallion was amazed. "Mare, I think you are correct! Reverse psychology! But we are not equipped
to make a happy dream."
"Maybe I can think of one," Chex said. "I am a happy person, normally."
"And the sets," the stallion continued. "Every scene has to be recorded with the proper background, with
talented models. We don't have happy ones."
"But you must have scraps and snippets cut from prior dreams that weren't nasty enough for your
purpose," she said eagerly. "If those were collected together, there might be an almost-nice effect. You
could use up all those wasted bits!"
"Perhaps," he agreed uncertainly. "But the time-"
"It shouldn't take much time just to assemble them," she argued. "They've already been made; they just
need to be tied together. The real challenge is the main sequence. Something so sickeningly sweet that
Fracto will be revolted."
"Our models could not manage anything like that," the stallion said. "It would make them be revolted!"
"But could they pantomime?" she asked. "If Grundy and I spoke the words?"
"Say!" the golem said, getting interested.
"Possibly," the stallion agreed reluctantly.
"Very well. Collect your sets and models, and I'll try to come up with a suitable narrative."
The stallion seemed bemused. "Do it," he said to Mare Nectaris, and shimmered out of view.
The dream sequence abruptly ended, and Chex found herself standing with Grundy, otherwise alone by
the lake of cheese. The minions of the night were doing their part; now she had to come through with
her part.
What kind of a dream could she make, which she and Grundy could narrate, that the horrendous actors
of the gourd could pantomime? Her mind was blank.
"Grundy, you must have a notion," she said. "You've talked with creatures all over Xanth. What's the
most sickeningly sweet story you ever heard?"
"That was your courtship of Cheiron Centaur," he said promptly.
She refrained from flicking him hard with her tail. They were not as heavy here on the moon, for some
magical reason, and she was afraid that if she made him lighter he would fly into the air, and she would
have to take off after him, and Fracto would get them both. That wasn't worth the effort, especially since
it was now getting dark and it would be hard to see their way. Anyway, it was probably his notion of a
compliment.
"Aside from that," she said.
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"Probably the tale of the Princess and the dragon," he said. "The bird that told me that one swore he had
seen it happen himself, but I'm not sure."
"Why not?" she asked innocently.
"Because he was a lyrebird."
This time she did flick him. Fortunately he hung on to her mane, and did not fly off into Fracto's waiting
storm.
"Tell me the tale," she said grimly. She knew that she could not afford to be overly choosy at this point.
"There was a lovely Princess who met a strange handsome foreign Prince," he began. She listened
attentively, until the conclusion. "And so they lived happily ever after."
"I think you're right," she said at the end. "That's so nice a tale it will drive Fracto right up the wall and
into distraction. But we'll have to fit him into it, so that he identifies."
"But he'll just rain on it!" the golem protested.
"No, the beauty of a dream is that a person has to dream it its way, not his own way. Otherwise no one
would even tolerate a bad dream. He will be there, but unable to rain on the proceedings."
Grundy nodded appreciatively. "You have a diseased mind."
"Thank you. Now we must rehearse our parts, so that when the Night Stallion gets his act together, we
are ready to animate the dream. I will take the female parts, and you the male parts. Remember, don't
overact; what we want is verisimilitude."
"What?"
"Plausibility. I thought you knew all words in all languages."
"I do. I wasn't sure you did."
Again she refrained from flicking him. All centaurs had competent vocabulary, as he knew. "Perhaps
you confused me with a certain demoness who has trouble getting her words straight."
"No, you're not as pretty as D. Metria."
What an effort to keep her tail still! "And not half as mischievous, either," she agreed. "Now remember:
this will be a narrated play, in essence. The stallion will provide the actors, but we must speak their parts
because there is no time for rehearsal and we don't want to have to do it more than once. Some dreams
are like that, so there is precedent. We can ad-lib, but we have to stay with the general story line. Can
you play it straight, for once?"
"Look, Chex,! can do it if I want to!" he said, annoyed. "I know you have to do this to get to Cheiron
and save your foal. I may have an offspring of my own some day!"
"Yes, of course," she agreed quickly. "I apologize, Grundy."
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"Thank you." He seemed surprised; evidently he did not receive many apologies. "Now let's see just
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