The Source of Magic

A centaur is an ass-front and rear," Grundy said sullenly. "It depends on whether you are defining it intellectually or physically."

"I think I will squeeze your big loud mouth into a small silent ball," Chester said, reaching for the golem.

"You can't do that, muleface!" Grundy protested. I'm on the dwarf's business!"

Chester paused, seeing the Good Magician stir. "Whose business?"

"This midget's business!" Grundy said, gesturing back at Humfrey with a single stiffened finger.

Chester looked at Humfrey, feigning perplexity. "Sir, how is it you accept such insults from a creature who works for you?"

"Oops," the golem muttered, discovering the trap. "I thought he was asleep."

"The golem has no personal reality," Humfrey said. "Therefore his words carry no personal onus. One might as well get angry at a lump of clay."

"That's telling him, imp," Grundy agreed. But he seemed chastened.

"Let's get on with our quest," Bink suggested as the Good Magician closed his eyes again. Privately he wondered how it was that an unreal construct, the golem, could be in fee to the Magician. Grundy must have asked a Question, and had an Answer-but what could have motivated this magical entity to seek such information?

Then Bink had a minor inspiration as they trekked south. "Crombie, someone or something has been trying to eliminate me. I think that's why the dragon came after us. Can you point out where that enemy is?"

"Squawk!" Crombie agreed. He whirled, and the Good Magician wobbled on his back but did not wake up. When the wing stabilized, it pointed-the same direction as it had for the source of magic.

"It seems," Chester said gravely, "that it is your mission your enemy opposes. Does that affect your attitude?"

"Yes," Bink said. "It makes me twice as determined as before." Though he remembered that the sword had attacked him before he set out on this quest. Had his enemy anticipated him? That would be grim news indeed, implying more than ordinary strategy or magic. "Let's get on with it."

Near the Magician's castle the terrain was fairly quiet, but as they penetrated the wilderness it changed. High brush grew up, obscuring the view, and as they passed it there was a static discharge from the foliage that made hair and fur and feathers and string stand out eerily from their bodies. Overlooking this brush was an antenna, orienting unerringly on the party; Bink had never gotten close enough to one of these things to discover exactly what it was, and did not propose to start now. Why did these antennae watch so closely, yet take no action?

Sweat gnats came, making them all miserable until Humfrey woke, brought out a tiny vial, and opened it. Vapor emerged and spread, engulfing the gnats-then it suddenly sucked back Into its bottle, carrying the gnats with it. "Misty was due for feeding anyway," the Good Magician explained, putting away the vial. He offered no further explanation, and no one had the nerve to inquire. Again Humfrey slept.

"Must be nice, being a Magician," Chester said. "He's got the answer to all his problems, in one bottle or another."

"Must be acquisitions from prior fees," Bink agreed.

Then they blundered into a patch of curse-burrs. The things were all over their legs, itching incessantly. There was only one way to get rid of such a burr; it had to be banished by a curse. The problem was, no particular curse could be used twice in a day; each had to be different

Humfrey was not pleased to be awakened yet again. This time it seemed he had no solution in a vial. "By the beard of my Great-Uncle Humbug, begone!" the Good Magician said, and the burr he addressed fell off, stunned. "By the snout of a sick sea serpent, begone!" And another dropped.

Chester was more direct, for several burrs were tangled in his beautiful tail. "To the grave with you, prickleface! I'll stomp you flat as a nickelpede's nickel! Out, out, damned burr!" And three burrs fell, overwhelmed.

"Leave me," Bink said, envying the imagination of the others. "Go itch a dragon!" And his burrs too started falling, though not so readily as those conked by the harder-hitting curses of the others. Bink just didn't have the touch.

Crombie, however, was in trouble. Griffins were not native to this particular region of Xanth, and the burrs evidently did not comprehend his squawks. Then the golem started translating, and they fell in droves. "By the bloody mouths of a field of wild snapdragons, drop your ugly purple posteriors into the nearest stinking privy, sidewise! If your faces were flowers, you'd poison the whole garden! Jam your peppery pink rootlets up your-" The golem paused, amazed. "Is that possible? I don't think I can translate it" But the curse burrs comprehended, and suddenly the griffin's bright feathers were free of them. No one could curse like a soldier!

Still, it was impossible to avoid all the burrs in this area, and by the time they escaped it their curses had become extremely farfetched. Sometimes two or even three curses had to be expended to make a single burr let go.

By this time they were hungry. There was nothing like a good bout of cursing to work up an appetite. "You know this area," Chester said to the Magician before he could fall asleep again. "Where is there something to eat?"

"Don't bother me with details," Humfrey snapped. "I brought my own food-as you would have done too, had you had proper foresight" He opened another vial. This time the vapor emerged to coalesce into a layered cake, complete with icing. The Magician took this from the air, broke out a perfect wedge-shaped slice, and ate that while the remainder of the cake dissolved, misted, and flowed back into its bottle.

"I realize we were remiss in not packing food for the journey," Bink said. "You don't suppose you might share some of that, this one time?"

"Why should I suppose anything like that?" Humfrey inquired curiously.

"Well, we are hungry, and it would facilitate-"

The Magician burped. "Go find your own slop, freeloader," the golem translated.

It occurred to Bink that the Good Magician was not as congenial a companion as the Evil Magician had been, the last time he had braved the wilderness of Xanth. But he well knew that appearances could be deceptive.

Crombie squawked. "Birdbeak says there should be some fruit trees around. He'll point them out." And the griffin did his thing, pointing the direction.

In a moment they spied a giant fruit cup. The plant was the shape of an open bowl, filled to overflowing with assorted fruits. The party ran joyfully up to it-and, startled, the fruits erupted upward, filling the air with color.

"Oh, no-they're winged fruits!" Bink exclaimed. "We should have sneaked up on them. Why didn't you warn us, Crombie?"

"You didn't ask, fathead," the golem retorted.

"Catch them!" Chester cried, jumping and reaching high to snatch an apple out of the air. Bink, half-dislodged, hastily dismounted.

A ripe peach hovered for a moment, getting its bearings. Bink leaped at it, catching it in one hand. The wings fluttered frantically as it tried to escape, then gave up. They were leaves, green and ordinary, adapted to this special purpose. He stripped them off ruthlessly so his food could not escape, and went after the next.

He tripped over something and fell flat, missing a bobbing pomegranate. Angrily be looked at the obstacle that had thwarted him. It was another of the ubiquitous mounds of fresh earth. This time he got up and stomped it absolutely flat. Then he dashed on after more fruit

Soon he had a small collection of fruits: apple, peach, plum, two pears (of course), several grapes, and one banana. The last, flying on monstrous vulture-like wing-leaves, had given him a terrible struggle, but it was delicious. Bink did not feel entirely easy out consuming such fruit, because it seemed too much like living creatures, but he knew the wings were merely a magic adaptation to enable the plants to spread their seeds more widely. Fruit was supposed to lie eaten; it wasn't really conscious or feeling. Or was it, Bink put that thought from his mind and looked about. They were on the verge of a forest of standing deadwood. Humfrey came awake. "I suffer misgivings," he volunteered. "I don't want to have to waste my magic ferreting out what killed those trees. We'd better go around."

"What's the good of being a Magician if you don't use your magic?" Chester demanded testily.

"I must conserve my magic rigorously for emergency use," Humfrey said. "These are mere nuisances we have faced so far, not worthy of my talent"

"You tell 'em, twerp," the golem agreed.

Chester looked unconvinced, but retained too much respect for the Magician to make further issue of it. "It's getting on in the afternoon," he remarked. "Where's a good place to spend the night?"

Crombie stopped and whirled so vigorously he almost dislodged his riders. "Hmph!" Humfrey exclaimed, and the golem dutifully translated: "You blundering aviary feline! Get your catty feet on the ground!"

The griffin's head rotated entirely around until the deadly eyes and beak pointed back. "Squawk!" Crombie said with authority. The golem did not translate, but seemed cowed. Crombie completed his maneuver and pointed in a slightly new direction.

"That's not far off the track; well go there," Chester decided, and no one contradicted him.

Their route skirted the dead forest, and this was fortuitous because there were few other hazards here. Whatever had killed the forest had also wiped out most of the magic associated with it, good and evil. Yet Bink developed a mounting curiosity about the huge trees they spied to the side. There were no marks upon them, and the grass beneath was luxuriant because of the new light let down. This suggested that the soil had not been poisoned by any monster. Indeed, a few new young shoots were rising, beginning the long task of restoring the forest Something had struck and killed and departed without any other trace of its presence.

To distract himself from the annoyance of the unanswerable riddle, Bink addressed the golem. "Grundy, if you care to relate it-what was your Question to the Magician?"

"Me?" the golem asked, amazed. "You have interest in me?'

"Of course I do," Bink said. "You're a-" He had been about to say "person" but remembered that the golem was technically not a person. "An entity," he finished somewhat lamely. "You have consciousness, feelings-"

"No, no feelings," Grundy said. "I am just a construct of string and clay and wood, animated by magic. I perform as directed, without interest or emotion."

Without interest or emotion? That hardly seemed true. "You seemed to experience a personal involvement just now, when I expressed interest in you."

"Did I? It must have been a routine emulation of human reaction. I have to perform such emulations in the course of my translation service."

Bink was not convinced, but did not challenge this. "If you have no personal interest in human affairs, why did you come to the Good Magician? What did you ask him?"

"I asked him how I could become real," the golem said.

"But you are real! You're here, aren't you?"

"Take away the spell that made me, and I'd be nothing but a minor pile of junk. I want to be real the way you are real. Real without magic."

Real without magic. It made sense after all. Bink remembered how he himself had suffered, as a youth, thinking he had no magic talent. This was the other face of the problem: the creature who had no reality apart from magic. "And what was the Answer?"

"Care."

"What?"

"Care, dumbbell."

"Care?"

"Care."

"That's all?"

"All"

"All the Answer?"

"All the Answer, stupid."

"And for that you serve a year's labor?"

"You think you have a monopoly on stupidity?"

Bink turned to the Good Magician, who seemed to have caught up on his sleep but remained blithely silent. "How can you justify charging such a fee for such an Answer?"

"I don't have to," Humfrey said. "No one is required to come to the grasping old gnome for information."

"But anyone who pays a fee is entitled to a decent Answer," Bink said, troubled.

"The golem has a decent Answer. He doesn't have a decent comprehension."

"Well, neither do I!" Bink said. "Nobody could make sense of that Answer!"

The Magician shrugged. "Maybe he asked the wrong Question."

Bink turned to Chester's human portion. "Do you call that a fair Answer?"

"Yes," the centaur said.

"I mean that one word 'care'? Nothing else, for a whole year's service?"

"Yes."

"You think it's worth it?" Bink was having trouble getting through.

"Yes."

"You'd be satisfied with that Answer for your Question?"

Chester considered. "I don't think that Answer relates."

"So you wouldn't be satisfied!"

"No, I'd be satisfied if that were my Answer. I just don't believe it is. I am not a golem, you see."

Bink shook his head in wonder. "I guess I'm part golem, then. I don't think it's enough."

"You're no golem," Grundy said. "You aren't smart enough."

Some diplomacy! But Bink tried again. "Chester, can you explain that Answer to us?"

"No, I don't understand it either."

"But you said-"

"I said I thought it was a fair Answer. Were I a golem, I would surely appreciate its reference. Its relevance. This is certainly more likely than the notion that the Good Magician would fail to deliver in full measure."

Bink remembered how Humfrey had told the manticora that he had a soul-in such a manner that the creature was satisfied emotionally as well as intellectually. It was a convincing argument. There must be some reason for the obscurity of the Answer for the golem.

But oh, what frustration until that reason became clear!

Near dusk they spied a house. Crombie's talent indicated that this was their residence for the night.

The only problem was the size of it. The door was ten feet tall.

"That is the domicile of a giant-or an ogre," Humfrey said, frowning.

"An ogre!" Bink repeated. "We can't stay there!"

"He'd have us all in his pot in a moment, and the fire high," Chester agreed. "Ogres consider human flesh a delicacy."

Crombie squawked. "The idiot claims his fool talent is never mistaken," Grundy reported.

"Yes, but remember what his talent doesn't cover!" Bink said. "We asked for a good place to spend the night; we didn't specify that it had to be safe."

"I daresay a big pot of hot water is as comfortable a place to relax as any," Chester agreed. "Until it becomes too hot. Then the bath becomes-"

"I suppose I'll have to expend some of my valuable magic," Humfrey complained. "It's too late to go wandering through the woods in search of alternate lodging." He brought out yet another little stoppered bottle and pulled out the cork. It was an ornery cork, as corks tended to be, and gave way only grudgingly, so that the process took some time.

"Uh, isn't that a demon container?" Bink asked, thinking he recognized the style. Some bottles were solider than others, and more carefully crafted, with magical symbols inscribed. "Shouldn't you-?"

The Magician paused. "Umph."

"He says he was just about to, nitwit," the golem said. "Believe it if you will."

The Magician scraped a pentacle in the dirt, sat the ^bottle in it, and uttered an indecipherable incantation. The cork popped out and the smoky demon issued, coalescing into the bespectacled entity Bink recognized as Beauregard.

The educated demon didn't even wait for the question. "You routed me out for this, old man? Of course it's safe; that ogre's a vegetarian. It's your mission that's unsafe."

"I didn't ask you about the mission!" Humfrey snapped. "I know it's unsafe! That's why I'm along."

"It is not like you to indulge in such foolishness, especially at the expense of your personal comfort," Beauregard continued, pushing his spectacles back along his nose with one finger. "Are you losing your marbles at last? Getting senile? Or merely attempting to go out in a blaze of ignominy?"

"Begone, infernal spirit! I will summon you when I need your useless conjectures."

Beauregard shook his head sadly, then dissipated back into the bottle.

"That's another feeling spirit," Bink said, uneasy. "Do you have to coop him up like that, in such a little bottle?"

"No one can coop a demon," the Magician said shortly. "Besides, his term of service is not yet up."

At times it was hard to follow the man's logic! "But you had him when I first met you, more than a year ago."

"He had a complex Question."

"A demon of information, who answers the questions you get paid fees for, has to pay you for Answers?"

Humfrey did not respond. Bink heard a faint booming laughter, and realized after a moment that it was coming from the demon's bottle. Something was certainly funny here, but not humorous.

"We'd better move in before it gets dark," Chester said, eyeing the ogre's door somewhat dubiously.

Bink would have liked to explore the matter of the demon further, but the centaur had a point.

They stepped up to the door. It was a massive portal formed of whole tree trunks of hewn ironwood, scraped clean of bark and bound together by several severed predator vines. Bink marveled at this; unrusted iron-wood could be harvested only from freshly felled trees, and not even a magic axe could cut those very well. And what monster could blithely appropriate the deadly vines for this purpose? The vines normally used their constrictive power to crush their prey, and they were killingly strong.

Chester knocked resoundingly. There was a pause while the metallic echoes faded. Then slow thuds approached from inside. The door wrenched open with such violence that the ironwood hinges grew hot and the suction of air drew the centaur forward a pace. Light burst out blindingly, and the ogre stood there in terrible silhouette. It stood twice Bink's height, dwarfing even the monstrous door, and its body was thick in proportion. The limbs carried knots of muscles like the gnarly boles of trees. "Ungh!" it boomed.

"He says what the hell is this bad smell?" the golem translated.

"Bad smell!" Chester cried. "He's the one who smells!"

It was true. The ogre seemed not to believe in washing or in cleansing magic. Dirt was caked on his flesh, and he reeked of rotting vegetation. "But we don't want to spend the night outside," Bink cautioned.

Crombie squawked. "Birdbeak says let's get on with it, slowpokes."

"Birdbeak would," Chester grumbled.

The ogre grunted. "Stoneface says that's what he's sniffin', a putrid griffin."

The griffin stood tall and angry, half-spreading his brilliant wings as he squawked. "How'd you like that problem corrected by amputation of your schnozzle?" Grundy translated.

The ogre swelled up even more massively than before. He growled. "Me grind you head to make me bread," the golem said.

Then there was a medley of squawks and growls, with the golem happily carrying both parts of the dialogue.

"Come outside and repeat that, numbskull!"

"Come into me house, you beaked mouse. Me break you bone upon me dome."

"You'd break your dome just trying to think!" Crombie squawked.

"Do all ogres speak in rhyming couplets?" Bink asked when there was a pause to replenish the reservoirs of invective. "Or is that just the golem's invention?"

"That little twit not have wit," the golem said, then reacted angrily. "Who's a twit, you frog-faced sh-"

"Ogres vary, as do other creatures," Humfrey cut in smoothly. "This one does seem friendly."

"Friendly!" Bink exclaimed.

"For an ogre. We'd better go on in."

"Me test you mettle in me kettle!" the ogre growled via the golem. But the griffin nudged on in, and the ogre gave grudging way.

The interior was close and gloomy, as befitted the abode of a monster. The blinding light that had manifested when the door first opened was gone; evidently the proprietor had charged up a new torch for the occasion, and it had already burned out. Dank straw was matted on the floor, stocked cordwood lined the walls, and a cauldron bubbled like volcanic mud over a fire blazing in a pit in the center of the room. There seemed to be, however, no piles of bones. That, at least, was encouraging. Bink had never before heard of a vegetarian ogre, but the demon Beauregard surely knew his business.

Bink, realizing that the constant threats were mostly bluffs, found himself embarrassed to be imposing on the good-natured (for an ogre) monster. "What is your name?" he inquired.

"You lunch; me crunch."

Apparently the brute had not understood. "My name's Bink; what's your name?"

"Me have hunch you not know crunch." The ogre dipped a hairy, grimy mitt into the boiling cauldron, fished about, grabbed, withdrew a gooey fistful, plunked it into a gnarly wooden bowl which he shoved at Bink. "Drink, Bink."

"He means his name is Crunch," Chester said, catching on. "He's offering you something to eat. He doesn't distinguish between meals; all food is 'lunch.'"

"Oh. Uh-thank you, Crunch," Bink said awkwardly. You lunch; me Crunch-now it made sense. An offer of food, an answer to a question, rather than a threat. He accepted the glop. The ogre served the others similarly; his huge paw seemed immune to the heat

Bink looked at his portion dubiously. The stuff was too thick to pool, too thin to pick up, and despite its bubbling heat it hardly seemed dead yet. It was a deep-purple hue, with green excrescences. It smelled rather good, actually, though there was a scalded fly floating in it.

Chester sniffed his serving appreciatively. "Why this is purple bouillon with green nutwood-a phenomenal delicacy! But it requires a magic process to extract the bouillon juice, and only a nutty green elf can procure nutwood. How did you come by this?"

The ogre smiled. The effect was horrendous, even in the gloom. "Me have elf, work for pelf," the golem translated. Then Crunch lifted a log from his stack and held it over the cauldron. He twisted one hand on each end-and the wood screwed up like a wet towel. A thin stream of purple liquid fell from it into the cauldron. When the log was dry, the ogre casually ripped it into its component cords and tossed it into the fire, where it flared up eagerly. Well, that was one way to burn cordwood.

Bink had never before witnessed such a feat of brute strength. Rather than comment, he fished out the fly, dipped a finger into his cooling pudding, brought out a creamy glob and put it gingerly to his mouth. It was delicious. "This is the best food I ever ate!" he exclaimed, amazed.

"You say that, Bink. You think it stink," Crunch growled, flattered.

Crombie squawked as he sampled his bowl. "You may stink; this is great," the golem translated.

Crunch, highly pleased by the double compliment, served himself a glob by dumping a bubbling fistful directly into his gaping maw. He licked off his fingers, then took another glob. As the others finished their helpings, the ogre served them more with the same hand. No one saw fit to protest; after all, what magic germs could survive that heat?

After the repast, they settled on the straw for the evening. The others seemed satisfied to sleep, but Bink was bothered by something. In a moment he identified it: "Crunch, among our kind we offer some return service for hospitality. What can we do for you to repay this fine meal and lodging?"

"Say, that's right," Chester agreed. "You need some wood chopped or something?"

"That no good. Have plenty wood," the ogre grunted. He smashed one fist down on a log, and it splintered into quivering fragments. He obviously needed no help there.

Crombie squawked. "Birdbeak says he can point out where anything is. What do you want, stoneface?"

"Want sleep, you creep," Crunch mumbled.

"Not until we do you some service," Bink insisted.

"Take heed, no need!" Crunch closed one fist on a handful of straw, squeezed, and when he let go the straw had fused into one spindly stick. The ogre used this to pick at his gross teeth.

Chester argued caution for once. "We can't force a service on him he doesn't want."

"Maybe he doesn't know he wants it," Bink said. "We must honor the code."

"You sure are a stubborn lout," Grundy said, for once speaking for himself. "Why stir up trouble?"

"It's a matter of principle," Bink said uncertainly. "Crombie, can you point out where the thing Crunch desires is?"

The griffin squawked affirmatively, spun about, stirred up the straw, and pointed. At the Good Magician Humfrey, nodding in the corner, one piece of straw straddling his head.

"Forget it," Humfrey snapped sleepily. "I am not available for consumption."

"But he's a vegetarian!" Bink reminded him. "It can't be that he wants to eat you. Maybe he wants to ask you a Question."

"Not for one measly night's lodging! He'd have to serve me for a year."

"Me have no question, no suggestion," the ogre grunted.

"It does seem we're forcing something unwanted on our host," Chester said, surprisingly diplomatic. That log-twisting and straw-squeezing and wood-splintering had evidently impressed the centaur profoundly. The ogre was clearly the strongest creature this party had encountered.

"There is something Crunch wants, even if he doesn't know it himself," Bink said. "It is our duty to locate it for him." No one argued, though he was sure they all wished he would drop the subject. "Crombie, maybe it isn't the Magician he wants, but something on the Magician. Exactly where did you point?"

Crombie squawked with tired resignation. He pointed again. Bink lined up his own finger, tracing the point. "There!" he said. "Something in his crotch." Then he paused, abashed. "Uh, his jacket, maybe."

But the Magician, tired, had fallen asleep. His only answer was a snore.

"Oh, come on!" Grundy said. "I'll check it out." And he scrambled up on the Magician, climbing inside his jacket.

"I don't think-" Bink began, startled by this audacity.

"That's your problem," the golem said from inside the jacket. "It must be-this." He emerged, clasping a vial in both arms. For him it was a heavy weight.

"That's the demon-bottle!" Chester said. "Don't fool with-"

But Grundy was already prying out the cork.

Bink dived for him, but as usual was too late. The cork was not ornery this time; it popped off cleanly as Bink grabbed the bottle.

"Now you've done it!" Chester exclaimed. "If Humfrey wakes-"

Bink was left holding the bottle as the demon coalesced, unbound by any magic inscription or incantation. "Some-some-somebody make a-a-" Bink stammered.

Beauregard firmed, standing with a huge tome tucked under one arm. He peered at Bink beneath his spectacles. "A pentacle?" the demon finished. "I think not."

"What have I done?" Bink moaned.

Beauregard waved negligently with his free hand. "You have done nothing, Bink. It was the foolish golem."

"But I set him in motion!"

"Perhaps. But do not be concerned. Rather consider yourself as the instrument of fate. Know that neither the bottle nor the pentacle constrained me; I but honored these conventions to please the Magician, to whom I owed professional courtesy. The agreement was that I should serve in this capacity of reserve-informant until circumstances should free me, by the ordinary rules of demon control. That chance has now occurred, as it was fated. A genuinely bound demon would have escaped, so I am free to go. I thank you for that accident, and now I depart." He began to fade.

"Wait!" Bink cried. "At least answer this nice ogre's Question!"

Beauregard firmed again. "He has no Question. He only wants to sleep. Ogres need plenty of rest, or they lose their meanness."

"But Crombie's talent indicated-"

"Oh, that. Technically there is something, but it is not a conscious desire."

"It will do," Bink said. He had not realized that ogres could have unconscious desires. "Tell us what it is, before you go."

"He wants to know whether he should take a wife," the demon said.

The ogre growled. "What kind of life, if me have wife?" the golem said.

"Now that's interesting," Beauregard said. "A golem, serving fee for an Answer he can not comprehend."

"Who could make sense of a one-word Answer?" Grundy demanded.

"Only a real creature," Beauregard replied. "That's the point-he's not real," Bink said. "He wants to know how to become real."

Beauregard turned to the centaur. "And you want to know your talent. I could tell you, of course, but you would then be in fee to me, and neither of us would want that."

"Why don't you just answer the ogre's question and go?" Bink asked, not quite trusting this too-knowledgeable freed demon.

"I can not do that directly, Bink. I am a demon; he would not accept my answer, rational though it would be. He is of an irrational species, like yourself; you must answer him."

"Me! I-" Bink broke off, not wanting to comment on his present problem with Chameleon.

"I spoke in the plural," Beauregard said, a bit condescendingly. "You and Chester and Crombie should discuss your relations with your respective females, and the consensus will provide the ogre with the perspective he needs." He considered. "In fact, in that context, my own comment might become relevant" And he settled down on the straw with them.

There was a silence. "Uh, how did you-that is, there is a lady ogre-uh, ogress in mind?" Bink asked Crunch.

The ogre responded with a volley of growls, snorts, and gnashings of yellow teeth. It was all the golem could do to keep up the translation, but Grundy rose to the occasion and spouted at the height of his form:

"One lovely bleak morning during thunderstorm warning me wandered far out beyond hail of a shout. Me was in a good mood just looking for food. No creature stirred this far from home; no dragon, no monster, not even a gnome. Me entered a forest huge and tall; the trees were so big me seemed small. The way was so tangled no walker could pass, but it opened like magic a lovely crevasse, with nickelpedes and more delights, and stagnant water rich with blights, and me tramped up to a hidden castle with shroud for flag and scalp for tassel. The wind blew by it with lovely moans, and all the timbers were giant bones. At entrance slept little dragon called Puk, guarding what left myself awestruck: a fountain packed with purple mud, spouting gouts of bright-red blood. Me stared so long me stood in doze, and me mouth watered so hard it drooled on me toes. But me knew such enchantment would be complete the moment me yielded and started to eat Me wanted to see what further treasure offered itself for the hero's pleasure. And in the center in a grimy sack lay a wonderful ogress stretched on a rack. She had hair like nettles, skin like mush, and she face would make a zombie blush."

"She breath reeked of carrion, wonderfully foul, and she stench was so strong me wanted to howl. Me thought me sick with worm in gut, but knew it was love for that splendid slut. Me smashed she in face with hairy fist, which is ogre way of making tryst Then me picked she up by she left leg and dragged she away, me golden egg. Then whole castle come awake: goblin and troll and green mandrake. They celebrated the union of hero and cute by pelting we with rotten fruit. But on way out we tripped a spell that sounded alarm where evil fiends dwell. They had put castle to sleep for a hundred years, those fiends who hated ogres' rears. They fired a spell of such terrible might we had to flee it in a fright. Me dodged it every way me could, but it caught we good in midst of wood. As it struck me cried 'Me crunch no bone!' and it thought we ogres both had flown. It dissipated in such mighty flash the whole near forest was rendered trash. Now me crunch no bones lest fiends of lake learn they curse have make mistake. Me not want them throw another curse maybe like first and maybe worse. Me love lies stunned within the wood, sleeping away she maidenhood. But one thing now gives me pause: she never did make much applause. All me want to know is this: should me leave or fetch the miss?"

The others sat in silence for a time following this remarkable recital. At last Crombie squawked. "That was a considerable adventure and romance," Grundy said for him. "While I can appreciate the fetching qualities of your lady friend, I must say from my own experience that all females are infernal creatures whose primary purpose in life is to deceive, entrap, and make miserable the males. Therefore-"

The ogre's grunt interrupted the griffin in mid-squawk. "Hee hee hee, hee hee hee!" Grundy translated, interrupting himself. "Me fetch she instantly!" Chester smiled. "Despite my friend's recommendation, I must offer a note of caution. No matter how badly the filly nags the stallion, and how unreasonable she normally seems, there comes a time when she births her first foal. Then the dam no longer has much interest in-"

"She no nag? That is snag," Crunch growled, disappointed.

"But in due course," Bink said, "she is bound to return to normal, often with extremely cutting wit. In any event, I should think some nagging is better than no nagging. So why not rouse your beauty and give her a proper chance? She may make your life completely miserable."

The ogre's eyes lighted like torches.

"I must concur," Beauregard said. "This conversation has been a most intriguing insight into the condition of human, animal, and ogre emotions. What is nagging to humans is applause to ogres. This will do nicely to conclude my dissertation."

"Your what?" Bink asked.

"My doctoral thesis on the fallibilities of intelligent life on the surface of Xanth," Beauregard explained. "I sought information from the human Magician Humfrey, and he assured me that a term of service in his bottle would provide me the insights I required, since a person's nature may best be gauged through the questions he considers most vital. This has indeed been the case, and I am now virtually assured of my degree. That will qualify me to form permanent liaison with my chosen demoness, who would seem to be worth the effort This causes me to experience a certain demoniac exhilaration. Therefore I present you each with a small token gleaned from my researches."

The demon turned to Chester. "I prefer not to inform you of your magic talent directly, for the reason given above, but will provide a hint: it reflects the suppressed aspect of your character. Because you, like most centaurs, have disbelieved in magic among your kind, whole aspects of your personality have been driven as it were underground. When you are able to expiate this conditioning, your talent will manifest naturally. Do not waste a year of your life for the Answer of the Good Magician; just allow yourself more self-expression."

He turned to Crombie. "You can not escape your fate in this manner. When you return from this quest-if you return-Sabrina will trap you into an unhappy marriage unless you arrange for a more suitable commitment elsewhere before you see her. Therefore enjoy yourself now; have your last fling and do not be concerned for the morrow, for it will be worse than today. Yet marriage is not after all, for you, a fate worse than death; you will know that when you do face death."

He left the crestfallen griffin and oriented on the golem. "The meaning of the Magician's Answer to you is this: people care; inanimate objects do not. Only when you experience genuine feelings that pre-empt your logic will you be real. You can achieve this height only if you work at it-but beware, for the emotions of living things are in many cases extremely uncomfortable."

He turned to Crunch. "I say to you, ogre: go fetch your lady. She sounds like a worthy companion for you, in every respect a truly horrendous bitch." And Crunch was so moved he almost blushed.

Beauregard turned to Bink. "I have never been able to fathom your magic, but I feel its operation now. It is extremely strong-but that which you seek is infinitely stronger. If you persist, you run the risk of being destroyed, and of destroying those things you hold most dear. Yet you will persist, and so I extend my condolence. Until we meet again-" He faded out.

The members of the remaining circle exchanged glances. "Let's go to sleep," Chester said. That seemed like the best idea of the evening.

Chapter 6

Magic Dust

In the morning they thanked the ogre and continued on their quest, while Crunch tramped eagerly into the dead forest to rouse his beautiful bride: her with the hair like nettles and skin like mush.

They had new material for thought. Now they knew the cause of the death of the trees-but what of the evil fiends who dwelt in the lake and possessed such devastating curses? Were there Magicians among them, and was the source of magic near them?

Magician Humfrey was particularly thoughtful. Ether he had not been entirely asleep during the evening session, or he had drawn on his informational magic to ascertain the situation. He had to know that the demon Beauregard was gone. "What magic," he murmured, "could devastate an entire living forest by the dissipation of a single curse? Why have I not known of this before?"

"You never thought to look," Chester said undiplomatically.

"We're looking now," Bink pointed out. "Magic should be stronger near the source."

Crombie squawked. "Strong magic is one thing. Magician-class curses are another. Let me get another line on it." And he did his act once more.

They were headed in the right direction. The terrain seemed ordinary; large trees glowered at the trespassers while small ones shied away as well as they were able. Fruit flies buzzed about: berries, cherries, and grapefruits hovered as if in search of another salad bowl. Tempting paths appeared through tangled reaches, which the party avoided as a matter of course. In Xanth, the easy course was seldom best! There was a dragon run, with scorch marks on the trees to show the dragon's territorial limits. The safest place to be, when pursued by a dragon, was a few paces within another dragon's marked demesnes; any poaching would lead to a settlement between dragons.

But soon the way became more difficult. Brambles with glistening points and ugly dispositions closed off large sections, and a pride of ant lions patrolled others. A copse of stinkweeds surrounded the most direct remaining route, and they were of a particularly large and potent breed. The party tried to pass through them, but the stench became so intense that even the ogre might have hesitated. They retreated, gasping.

They contemplated the alternatives: brambles and ant lions. Bink tried to clear a path through the plants with his sword, but every time he made a cut, several more branches closed in, threatening his body. These were exceptionally alert brambles, and the sheen on their points suggested poison. Bink backed off. Once again he was up against the possibility that his talent might protect him while letting his friends die.

He approached the ant-lion section. The lion-headed ants had beaten out good highways throughout, and ruthlessly eliminated all hazards in their way. All hazards except the ant lions themselves.

Bink's sword might dispatch one lion, and Chester's arrows and hooves could handle two or three more, and as a griffin Crombie could take on as many as four-but the creatures would attack a dozen at a time without fear or mercy. Again, Bink himself would probably emerge intact, by some incredible fluke-but what of the others?

He turned back-and his eyes wandered skyward, he saw a path through the trees. The tops of the trees.

He rubbed his eyes. A path in air? Yet why not? With magic, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time, all things were possible. The question was, could men and half-men walk on it? And if they could, where did it lead?

Still, it seemed to be the most promising route. If he rode Chester, his talent would not let them get on the airy path unless it would support them both. The griffin, Magician, and golem weighed much less, so they would be safe if they followed. "I think I see a way," Bink said.

They tried it. They located a place where the magic path looped down within reach of the ground, and Crombie whirled and pointed to discover whether there was any danger along this limited-access highway. There was not. They climbed aboard and followed it up high into the trees. The strange thing about it was that the path was always level, no matter how it looped. The forest turned crazy circles about it, however. At times the sun was underfoot, and at times to one side, while the trees assumed varying angles. Bink, curious, reached out to touch the foliage of one tree whose trunk reached up into the ground above; it was solid. Of course he knew that he was the one who was upside down; the path established its own orientation. Looking back, he could see the griffin marching at a different tilt, and knew that to griffin, Magician, and golem the centaur was the tilted one. Intriguing magic, but harmless. So far.

Meanwhile, he enjoyed the convenience and the view. The path led through the forest, generally high above the ground, and this new view of things was refreshing. Slants of sunlight crossed it, and gently hued columns of mist. It was neither man's-eye nor bird's-eye, but an intermediate and unique perspective. The path passed safely above the ant-lion range, yet below the flying-predator range. Bink observed several small flying dragons, a harpy, and a distant roc, but none flew near the path.

The plants, too, were unusually passive. Constrictor tentacles dangled in the vicinity of the path, but never on it, and no branches reached across to block it. Obviously this path was charmed, and that was suspicious; the best paths were almost by definition the worst ones. Bink remembered how easy it had been to penetrate the forest around Castle Roogna, back when it had been derelict, and how hard it had been to escape it. What were they walking into now?

Crombie's talent said there was no danger in the direction the path went-but Crombie's talent could be too literal. To Bink, anything that might delay the completion of his quest was a threat. One simply could not afford to trust strange magic. He'd better ask the Good Magician.

"Of course it's safe, Bink," Humfrey said with irritation. "Do you suppose I would be riding it otherwise?"

Bink hadn't even asked the question yet! The Magician retained his special talent, though his grumpy refusal to use it for the convenience of the party made his company seem at times to be worth little more than that of a harpy. What point was there in having a Magician along, if he never used his magic to facilitate things? Even the Evil Magician had freely pitched in when danger threatened to-

"That is the point, Bink," Humfrey said. "There is no present danger. When the situation changes, I will expend my carefully hoarded magic. You are young, yet; you dissipate your resources heedlessly, and get into scrapes you should have avoided."

Served him right for letting his thoughts flow carelessly! Bink shut up, mentally, and rode on. In due course the path wound down to a pleasant little village, with houses thatched with hay and daubed with colored muds, and neat walkways connecting places of interest.

"Do you notice," Chester said, "there is no magic in the local construction? Only mundane materials."

"That's right," Bink said, surprised. "If we're approaching the source of magic, on a magic path, shouldn't there be more magic rather than less?" He turned to the griffin. "Crombie, are you sure this is-?"

Crombie squawked. "Birdbeak is sure this is the right direction," the golem said. "But the village may be a mere item on the way, not the destination itself."

A grizzled old harpy flapped out to meet the party as it reached the foot of the path. All of them braced for trouble, for harpies were notorious. But this one, though suitably hideous, was clean and unaggressive. "Welcome, travelers," she said without even bothering to insult them. A most restrained harpy!

"Uh, thanks," Bink said. "We're looking for-a place to spend the night. We don't mean any mischief." He had never heard of a harpy acting polite, so remained on guard, hand over sword.

"You shall have it," she agreed. "You are all males?"

"Yes," Bink said uneasily. "We are on a quest for the source of magic. Your village appears to lie near this. We-"

"Five males," the harpy said. "What a bonanza!"

"We're not interested in your females," Chester said with some of his normal belligerence.

Crombie squawked. "Not their minds, anyway," the golem translated.

Chester's lip curled with almost equine facility. Bink had to speak at once, before another quarrel brewed. "We shall be happy to do some chore for you, in return for food and safe lodging overnight. Then tomorrow, if you have information about magic-"

"You will have to discuss that with Trolla," the harpy said. "This way, please." And she flapped off, muttering once more: "Men!" with hideous excitement.

"Then again, you may have a point," Chester murmured to Crombie. "If we have fallen into a nest of harpies…"

"We may be best advised to get on that aerial path and go back the way we came," Bink finished, glancing back.

But the path was gone. They could not escape that way.

Trolla turned out to be-a female troll. She was almost as ugly as the harpy, but she too was amazingly polite. "I realize you are uneasy, you handsome male visitors," Trolla said. "And you have reason to be. But not because of any of the residents of this village. Allow me to serve you supper, while I explain our situation."

Bink exchanged glances with the others. Both centaur and griffin looked distinctly uncomfortable, but the Good Magician seemed to have no concern.

Trolla clapped her horny hands, and several wood-nymphs came in, bearing platters. Their hair was green, their skin brown, their lips and fingernails red: like flowering trees. But their outlines were human; each was a pert, lithe, full-breasted bare beauty. Each eyed Bink and Humfrey with more than casual interest. "Hunger" might be a better term. The food was virtually mundane: vegetables and fruits harvested locally, and small dragon steaks. Milkweed pods provided the liquid; it was good milk, but in no way special.

"You may have noted we have used no magic in the preparation of this meal," Trolla said. "We use as little magic as possible here, because there is more magic here than anywhere else on the surface of Xanth. I realize that may not make much sense to you-"

"Quite sensible," Humfrey said, chomping into another steak.

Trolla focused on him. "You must be a Magician, sir."

"Umph." He seemed to be more interested in his food than in her discussion. Bink knew that was deceptive. Humfrey paid close attention to all things magic.

"If you are-if any of you have strong magic-I must caution you to be extremely careful in exerting it," she said. "Please do not misunderstand; this is no threat. We do not want you to feel at all uncomfortable here. It is simply that all magic-well, permit me to make a small demonstration." She clapped her hands, and a nymph entered, as buxom and bare as the others. "Bring a small firefly," Trolla said.

In a moment the nymph returned with the firefly. It was very small-the kind that generated hardly more than a spark, harmless. It squatted on the table, rather pretty with its folded flame-hued wings and insulated legs. "Now observe what happens when I frighten it," Trolla said.

She rapped the table with a hooflike knuckle. The firefly jumped up, startled, and generated its momentary fire. A burst of light and heat emanated from it, and a ball of smoke roiled up toward the ceiling. A spot on the table a handsbreadth in diameter was charred. The firefly itself had disappeared. "It burned itself up!" Chester exclaimed. "It did not mean to," Trolla said. "This was a normal Xanth firefly, not acclimatized to this region. Here near the source its magic is multiplied a hundredfold. Thus its little spark became a self-immolating fireball. Until you males become acclimatized, I urge you not to practice your magic in this village. We value your presence, and do not wish you to suffer any mishaps."

Bink looked to Humfrey, but the Good Magician continued eating. "Uh, none of us have inflammatory magic," Bink said, realizing that it was up to him to respond for their party. Yet he wondered: what would his talent do if anything threatened? What it might intend to be a mere "coincidental!" amelioration might become much worse. "But it would be best if-if nothing seemed to threaten our welfare."

"There is, unfortunately, a most extreme threat to your welfare," Trolla said gravely. "Because you are males. You must have noticed we have no males in this village."

"We noticed," Bink agreed. "Your nymphs seem quite intrigued by us." Indeed, the nymphs were hovering so close that Bink's elbows tended to bump their soft midriffs as he ate.

"Our problem is this," Trolla continued. "A siren has been luring away our males. Originally we were a normal human village, except for our unique and critical task. Then the siren came and deprived us of our men. Because our job could not be neglected, we undertook at great personal risk the construction of the charmed access route you arrived on, so as to encourage immigration. But the new men, too, were soon taken away from us. We extended our search to non-human people; this was how I myself came here, with my husband the troll. But the awful drain continued; I was soon a widow-and not by the proper route."

Bink felt sudden alarm. Some female trolls ate their husbands. It was said that the only thing a troll was afraid of was his wife-with excellent reason. Was this predaceous female looking for another husband?

"Our village now is composed of every type of intelligent female," Trolla continued. "And a number of supporting animals. The magic access route transports only intelligent creatures, but some animals drift in through the jungle. But the siren-this is what I meant by the danger to you. Once you hear her call, you will disappear into the forest and never return. We would spare you this if we could, but we are helpless unless we resort to unconscionable measures."

"What would those be?" Bink asked nervously. "We might deafen you so you could not hear her," Trolla explained. "Or geld you, so that you would not react to-"

"Why don't some of you females go out and slay the siren?" Chester asked. "Meaning no offense, madam, but you could probably handle it."

"The siren I would gladly tear apart and consume in bleeding chunks," Trolla said. "But I can not pass the tangle tree. The siren has made a deal with the tangler; the tree lets the males through to her, but grabs the females."

"Then you need to eliminate the tangle tree," Bink said. "With magic as strong here as you've shown, it should be a fairly simple chore. A few fireflies, or some pineapple bombs-"

"This is no ordinary tangle tree," Trolla said. "We have tried to destroy it, but though it is outside our village, it has absorbed enough extra magic to foil our efforts. We are, after all, only females-and the men will not fight it when they are in thrall to the siren."

Bink took a deep breath. "I believe this is the service we can render, in return for your hospitality. Tomorrow we shall slay the tangler."

Trolla merely shook her head sadly. "It is kind of you to think so," she said. "But the siren will not permit it."

The siren did not know about Bink's talent. Since both siren and tangle tree were magical entities, his magic would protect him against them. Somehow. But considering the possible complications of the enhanced potency of magic here, he would do best to tackle the tree alone. He didn't want his friends being hurt by the backlash. Maybe he could sneak out at night and do it, while the others slept.

Crombie squawked. "What is the village employment, crone?" the golem translated.

"We are situated atop the source-lode of magic," Trolla said. "This is the origin of the magic of Xanth. The dust is highly charged with magic, and were it allowed to accumulate, most of the rest of Xanth would slowly become mundane, while the village would develop a fatal concentration. Thus we must spread the dust about, maintaining a reasonable equilibrium." She looked about. "We seem to have completed our repast. Allow me to show you our operations."

"Umph," Humfrey agreed. Now Bink was sure the Magician was only feigning disinterest, as was his fashion; the conclusion of their quest was at hand! Yet Bink found himself disappointed; he had expected more challenge to the acquisition of this knowledge than this.

Trolla showed them to a large central building fashioned of mundane stone. Inside, it was one huge gravel pit, where small female elves, gnomes, and fairies dug and scraped out sand with their little picks and scoops. They loaded it into wheeled wagons drawn by female centaurs, a manticora, and a small sphinx. Bink's skin prickled when he approached the sand; strong magic was associated with it, no doubt of that! Yet this was the first time he had encountered indeterminate magic. That sand performed no magic of its own, and cast no spells; it merely was magic, waiting for direction. Bink was not quite sure he could believe that.

The sand was hauled to another structure, where three huge hephalumphs tramped it constantly into dust. The hephalumphs were animals, normally wild creatures of the wilderness, but these were evidently tame and well cared for, and seemed happy. Then a captive roc-bird blew the dust into the air, employing great sweeps of her monstrous wings. So powerful was this forced draft that small tornadoes formed in the turbulence.

"The Technicolor hailstorms!" Bink exclaimed. "Fallout from this operation!"

"Exactly," Trolla agreed. "We try to feed the dust high into the sky so that it will ride the upper currents all over Xanth before it falls, but localized storms bring it down prematurely. The region immediately downwind of us is untenable for intelligent life; the concentration of airborne dust disrupts the local ecology and leads to madness. Thus there are risks associated with our operation-but we must continue. We should be pleased if you males would remain here, encouraging our females-but we know you must flee before the siren calls. Unfortunately our access route is one-way; we have been too busy recently to construct a departure ramp. You can escape only through the Region of Madness. Yet this is preferable to the siren. We shall help you all we can, but-"

"Not until we render our service," Bink said. "We have assorted talents, and should be able to handle this." But privately he was uneasy; he found it hard to believe that they should prevail where all other men had failed. And he wondered again why the source of the magic of Xanth had remained unknown all these centuries, if the people of this village had known about it all along. Maybe the fact that no one ever seemed to leave this village and live-or maybe the magic dust fogged up other magic, so that things like magic mirrors could not focus on this area. There were probably a lot of secrets in the Land of Xanth that remained to be discovered

"We shall have a gathering this evening," Trolla said. "Some of our younger girls have never seen a male, and deserve this chance. You will meet everyone, and we shall plan how we can best help you to escape the siren. So far, no way has been found to block off her sound from the males, though we females can not hear it. We can, with your permission, confine you in cages so that you can not respond to-"

"No!" Bink and Chester said together, and Crombie squawked.

"You are true males, always ready for a challenge," Trolla said with sad approval. "In any event, we would have to let you out sometime, and then the siren would get you, so cages are no solution. We need to be rid of the siren!" Her face, for a moment, assumed the aspect of savage hate that was normal to trolls. But then she softened. "I will show you to your lodging, and call for you again, at dusk. Please be courteous to our villagers; your presence here is a considerable event, and the girls are untrained in social decorum."

When they were alone, Bink addressed the Magician. "Something is funny here. Will you use your magic to fathom the true situation?"

"Do I have to do everything?" Humfrey grumped.

"Listen, you dwarfish gnome!" Chester snapped. "We've been working our tails off, while you just loaf along."

Humfrey was unruffled. "Anytime you wish to have your payment for your efforts-"

Bink decided he had better intercede, though he had considerable sympathy for the centaur's position. He had not realized there would be so many problems in leadership! "We seem to be at our objective, the source of magic. But it has been too easy, and the villagers are too accommodating. Only you can tell us whether we have in fact completed our quest, or whether we have walked into a man-consuming trap. Surely this is the occasion to employ your magic, if you would be so generous."

Oh, all right," Humfrey said ungraciously. "You don't deserve it after the way you loosed Beauregard, but I'll still take a look."

The Magician drew out a mirror. "Mirror, mirror in my hand, are you the finest in the land?"

The mirror clouded, turning deep red. "Oh, stop blushing!" Humfrey snapped. "I was only testing."

Bink remembered a mirror like this. It answered only in pictures, and somewhat circuitously; a too-direct question about a too-delicate matter could crack it up.

"Are you aware of the source of the magic of Xanth?" the Magician asked.

A picture of a baby appeared, smiling. That evidently meant "Yes."

"Can you tell me the location of that source?" Aside to the others he murmured: "This is the crucial point. At home, the mirror never could reveal this information, but here with stronger magic-"

The baby smiled again. Humfrey echoed that smile, anticipating victory. "Will you tell me that location?"

Again the cherubic smile. Bink felt his pulse pounding. He realized the Magician was approaching the subject with extreme caution. The mirror took each question literally, and did not volunteer anything; this circuitous approach insured that the mirror would not be overwhelmed by too abrupt a challenge. "Please show that location on your screen." The mirror went dark.

"Oops," Bink murmured. "Is it broken?"

The mirror brightened. A crying baby appeared. "It tells you no," Humfrey snapped. "Kindly allow me to continue my investigation." He returned to the mirror. "Are you showing me a scene of underground?"

The baby smiled.

"In short, you verify that the source of magic is not in this village we are presently sitting in?" A big question mark appeared. "You are saying the source of magic is in this village?" the Good Magician asked sharply.

The question mark returned. "Hm, a problem of resolution here," Humfrey muttered. "The mirror can't choose between truths. Anybody have another approach?"

"It's a matter of perspective," Chester said. "If the magic dust is the source, there may be more than one cache of it. More likely, a channel of it, welling up from the depths. Thus the source has a multiple definition, depending on whether you are thinking of the source on the surface, or the source of the source."

"Now there is a creature with a disciplined mind," Humfrey said approvingly. "If only he would discipline it more often instead of quarreling with the soldier." He faced the mirror. "Is the centaur's analysis correct?"

The baby smiled.

"Now," the Magician continued. "Are you aware of the motivation of these villagers?" When he received the smile, he asked: "Do they mean well by us?" The smile confirmed it. Bink felt relief. "And Trolla spoke the truth about the curse of the siren?" Another smile.

Humfrey looked up. "Now it gets difficult," he said, seeming pleased. Bink realized that this man, too, enjoyed a challenge. The magic ability the Good Magician had held in reserve was now being used, and it was good magic. "So far we have merely been confirming what we already knew. Now we must venture into the unknown." He returned to the mirror. "Are you able to tell us how to deal with the villagers' problem?"

The cherub smiled. "Unusually responsive," Humfrey remarked, aside. "The local magic-enhancement is indeed multiplying the mirror's power. We have a major research tool, now, rather than a minor one." He returned once more to the mirror. "How-"

"Are you males ready?" Trolla inquired from the door.

They jumped. Bink was about to explain, then saw Humfrey's quick negative nod. The mirror had disappeared. The Good Magician did not want to reveal the secret of his magic to these villagers. Not just yet

Well, they had gleaned a lot already, and could resume the use of the mirror when convenient "That's a pretty dress," Bink said to Trolla. This was no lie; the dress was very pretty, though she remained a female troll. Evidently a festive occasion was in the making. They followed her out

The center circle of the village had been transformed, nonmagically. A genuine wood bonfire blazed, sending sparks and smoke up to the sky. It was dusk, and the stars were beginning to show. It was as if the sparks went up into the sky to become those stars-and perhaps, Bink thought, the potent magic of this region made that so. The stars had to get up there somehow, didn't they?

The females of the village were lovely in their party apparel. There were many more young ones than had been evident before, and now that their work shift was over they were eager and more than eager to mingle with the strange guests. Bink was surrounded by nymphs, sprites, and human maids, while Humfrey was mobbed by fairies, lady elves, and minionettes. Three fetching centaur fillies attended Chester. A pair of griffin cows eyed Crombie, but they hardly had a chance with this transformed woman-hater. They were, after all, animals. There was even a female golem for Grundy.

Yet how sad the remaining females looked-the manticora, the sphinx, and the harpies. They had no males to cater to. "Uh, girls-I'm a married man," Bink protested as his covey pressed in.

"She will never know," a buxom blue-maned lass informed him. "We need you more than she does." And she planted a firm kiss on his left eye-the only part of him she could reach, because of the density of other girls."

"Yes, no man leaves this village, except at the call of the singing bitch," a furry beauty added. "It is our duty to hold you here, to save your life. Wouldn't your wife rather have you used than dead?"

Awkward question! How would Chameleon feel about that? In her lovely, stupid phase she would be hurt, confused, and forgiving; in her ugly, smart phase she would comprehend the situation and be realistic. So she would accept what had to be accepted, and certainly would not want him to die. Still, he had no wish or intent to indulge himself with any of these-

Something distracted him. It was a faint, eerie, but somehow most intriguing sound.

He tried to listen, but the clamor of the girls almost drowned it out "Please, I want to hear-there is a melody-"

"It is the siren!" a fairy screamed. "Sing, girls, sing! Drown out the bitch!"

They sang, loudly, passionately, and tunelessly. I Still, that insidious melody penetrated, the single clear theme cutting through the nearby cacophony, compelling Bink to respond. He started toward it.

Immediately the girls restrained him. They flung their arms about him, dragging him back and down, burying him in their exposed softness. Bink collapsed in a tangle of arms, legs, breasts, and assorted other aspects of distaff anatomy he didn't bother to define.

The girls meant well-but the siren's call was not to be denied. Bink fought, and caught glimpses of other thrashing mounds where his male companions fought similarly. Bink was stronger than any of the nymphs, for they were delicate, shapely things; he did not want to hurt any of them. Yet he had to free himself of their near-suffocating embrace. He heaved them off his body, cuffing their hands loose, shoving wherever his hands made contact. There were eeeks and cries and giggles, depending on the type of contact he made; then he was on his feet, charging forward.

Chester and Crombie and the Magician closed in about him, all riveted to that compelling sound. "No, no!" Trolla cried despairingly behind them. "It is death you seek! Are you civilized males or are you mindless things?"

That bothered Bink, What did he want with a magical temptress? Yet still he could not resist the siren. Her lure had an unearthly quality that caught at the very root of his masculinity, beneath the center of his intelligence. He was male, therefore he responded.

"Let them go, they are lost," Trolla said despairingly. "We tried, as we have always tried-and failed."

Though he was in thrall to the siren, Bink felt simultaneous sympathy for Trolla and the girls. They offered life and love, yet were doomed to be rejected; their positive orientation could not compete with the negative compulsion of the siren. The villagers suffered as horrible a damnation as the men! Was it because they were nice girls, making only promises they could keep, while the siren had no such limit?

Crombie squawked. "As all females always fail," Grundy translated, responding to Trolla's despair. "Though why any of us should bother with this bitch-female call-" The griffin shrugged his wings and charged on.

Did even the golem feel it? He must, for he was not protesting.

They ran down a path that opened magically before them. It was a perfect path, exactly the kind that usually led to something huge, predatory, and stationary, like a tangle tree. But of course this particular tangler would not attack them, because they were males in thrall to the siren. She would dispatch them, in her own fashion.

And what might that fashion be? Bink wondered. He could not quite imagine it, but the prospect was wrenchingly exciting. "What a way to go!" he breathed.

The tree came into sight It was monstrous, even for its kind. Its dangling tentacles were as thick as the legs of a man, and extremely long and limber. Its tempting fragrance surrounded it like an evening gown, making it seem thoroughly desirable. Gentle music emanated from its foliage, no siren call, but nice: the kind of music that made a person want to lie down and listen and relax.

But no veteran of the wilderness of Xanth could be fooled for an instant. This was one of the most deadly life forms available. Even a dragon would not venture near a tangle tree!

The path passed right under it, where the curtain of tentacles parted neatly and the soft sward grew. But elsewhere around the fringe was a developing cone of bleaching bones, the remainders of the tree's past victims. Shapely female bones, Bink suspected, and felt another twinge of guilt

Yet the siren still called, and they followed. They tunneled down to single file, for the path beneath the tree was narrow. Chester galloped first, then Crombie, for their forms were fastest; Bink and the Magician followed as well as they could. There had not been occasion to mount the steeds for faster travel. Chester paused under the awful tree, and the tentacles quivered with suppressed eagerness but did not grab. So it was true: the siren's song nullified the tangle reflex! The distant music was stronger now, and more compelling: the very essence of female allure. The nymphs of the village had been pretty and sweet, but the siren's promise was vital; it was as if the sex appeal of all womankind had been distilled and concentrated and-

Ahead of Bink, the griffin suddenly halted. "Squawk!" Crombie exclaimed. "What am I doing here?" the golem translated, coming up behind, surprisingly fleet on his feet, considering his size. "The siren is nothing but a damned conniving female out for my blood!"

Literally true, but the others ignored him. Of course the siren was a conniving female, the ultimate one! What difference did that make? The call had to be honored!

The woman-hater, however, decided to be difficult. "She's trying to trap me!" he squawked. "All women are traps! Death to them all!" And he pecked viciously at the nearest thing available-which happened to be the slender extremity of a tentacle.

In a small bird, such a peck would have been a nuisance. Crombie, however, was a griffin. His beak was sword-sharp, powerful as a vise, a weapon capable of severing a man's leg at the ankle with a single bite. The tentacle, in this case, was the diameter of an ankle, and the chomp severed it cleanly. The separated end dropped to the ground, twitching and writhing like a headless green snake.

For a moment the whole tree froze in shock. No one took a bite out of a tangler! The truncated upper section of the tentacle welled dark ooze as it thrashed about as if looking for its extremity. The gentle background music soured.

"I think the truce has been broken," Bink said. But he didn't really care, for the song of the siren continued, drawing him on to better things. "Move on, Crombie; you're blocking my way."

But the soldier remained unreasonable. "Squawk! Squawk! Squawk!" he exclaimed, and before Grundy could translate, he nipped off another tentacle, then a third.

The tangle tree shuddered. Then, furious, it reacted. Its music became a deafening blare of outrage, and its tentacles grabbed for the griffin-and the centaur, man, and Magician.

"Now you've done it, birdbrain!" Chester screamed over the noise. He grabbed the first tentacle that touched him and wrung it between his two hands the way the ogre had wrung out the log. Tough as the tentacles were when grabbing, they had little resistance to cutting or compression, and this one was squished into uselessness in a moment.

Suddenly the lure of the siren was drowned out by the rage of the tree, and they were in a fight for their lives. Bink drew his sword and slashed at the tentacles that swept toward him, cutting them off. Beside him Crombie pecked and scratched viciously, all four feet operating. Long cuts appeared in the tentacles he touched, and green goo welled out. But more tentacles kept coming in, from all sides, for this was the very center of the tree's power.

Chester backed up to the trunk and operated his bow. He fired arrow after arrow through the thick upper reaches of the tentacles, paralyzing them. But-

"No, Chester!" Bink cried. "Get away from-" Too late. The tree's huge maw opened in the trunk, the bark-lips lapping forward to engulf the centaur's handsome posterior.

Bink leaped to help his friend. But a tentacle caught his ankle, tripping him. All he could do was yell: "Kick, Chester, kick!" Then he was buried in tentacles, as firm and rounded and pneumatic as the limbs of the village girls, but not nearly as nice. His sword arm was immobilized; all he could do was bite, ineffectively. That green goo tasted awful!

Chester kicked. The kick of a centaur was a potent thing. His head and shoulders went down, counterbalancing his rear, and all the power of his extraordinary body thrust through his two hind hooves. They connected inside the maw of the tree, against the wooden throat, and the ground shook with the double impact. A few old bones were dislodged from the upper foliage to rattle down to the ground. But the wooden mouth held. Sap juices flowed, commencing the digestion of the centaur's excellent flesh. Chester's instinct would have been sound for any ordinary tree, using the inert trunk as protection for his valuable but vulnerable rear, but it was disaster here.

Chester kicked again, and again, violently. Even this predator-tree could not withstand much of this punishment. Normally its prey was unconscious or helpless by the time it reached the consumption stage, not awake and kicking. Slowly, reluctantly, the bark gave way, and the centaur dragged free. His once-beautiful flank was discolored by the saliva sap, and one hoof had been chipped by the force of its contact with the wood, but at least he was alive. Now he drew his sword and strode forward to help Bink, who was not-so-slowly suffocating in the embrace of the tentacles.

Meanwhile Magician Humfrey had problems of his own. He was trying to unstopper one of his little vials, but the tentacles were wrapping about him faster than the stopper was coming loose. The tree was overwhelming them all!

Crombie had clawed and bit his way to the fringe. Suddenly he broke out. "I'm free, you vegetable monster!" he squawked exultantly. "I'll bet you're another female, too!" He was really uncorking his worst insult! The golem had gotten aboard again, so was available for instant translation. "You can't catch me!"

Indeed the tree could not, for it was rooted. Crombie spread his wings and flew up and away, escaping it.

Yet what of the others? As if enraged even further at the loss, the tree concentrated savagely on the remaining prey. Pythons of tentacles whipped about limbs and bodies, squeezing tight. Chester was trying to help Bink, but dared not slash too closely with his sword lest he slice some of Bink along with a tentacle. Bink, now closest to the trunk, found himself being dragged headfirst toward the dread orifice.

Humfrey finally got his bottle open. Smoke issued forth, expanding and coalescing into-a spiced cheesecake.

"Curses!" the Magician cried. "Wrong vial!"

Chester kicked at the cheesecake. It slid across the turf and into the slavering maw of the tree. The bark-lips closed about it. He could hardly have made a nicer shot had he been trying for it.

The tree choked. There was a paroxysm of wooden coughing, followed by a sylvan sneeze. Gross hunks of cheese flew out of the orifice.

"The spice on that one is a bit strong," Humfrey muttered as he scrambled for another vial.

Now Bink's head was at the maw. The bark was writhing, trying to get the taste of spiced cheese out. This monster liked fresh meat, not processed dairy products. Sap coursed down and dripped from tooth-like knots, cleaning out the maw. In a moment it would be ready for Bink.

Chester was still trying to help, but three tentacles had wrapped around his sword arm, and more looped his other extremities. Even his great strength could not avail against the massed might of the tree. "And the cowardly soldier ran out on us!" he grunted as he fought. "If I ever get my hands on him-" He wrung out another tentacle before his free arm was pinioned.

Humfrey got another vial open. The vapor emerged-and formed into a flying vampire bat. The creature took one look at its environs, squeaked in terror, swore off blood, and flapped away. A single tentacle took one casual swing at it and knocked it out of the air. The tree was really getting on top of the situation.

The last of the cheese cleared. The orifice reopened for business, and Bink was the client. He saw the rows of ingrown knots that served as the monster's teeth, and the flowing saliva sap. Fibers like miniature tentacles extended inward from the mouth-walls, ready to absorb the juices of the prey. Suddenly he realized: the tangler was related to the carnivorous grass that grew in patches in the wilderness! Add a trunk and tentacles to such a patch-

Humfrey got another vial open. This time a basilisk formed, flapping its little wings as it glared balefully about. Bink closed his eyes to avoid its direct gaze, and Chester did the same. The tree shivered and tried to draw away. There was no creature in all the Land of Xanth who cared to meet the gaze of this little lizard-cock!

Bink heard the flapping as the basilisk flew right into the tangler's mouth-and stopped. But nothing happened. Cautiously Bink opened one eye. The tree was still alive. The basilisk had not destroyed it at a glance.

"Oh-a mock basilisk," Bink said, disappointed.

"I have a good remedy for tanglers somewhere," Humfrey insisted, still sifting through his vials. Whenever a tentacle encroached too closely he stunned it with a magic gesture. Bink had not known such gestures existed-but of course he was not a Magician of Information. "They're all mixed up-"

The tentacles shoved Bink into the mouth. The odor of carrion became strong. Helpless, he stared into his doom.

"Squawk!" sounded from beyond the tree. "Charge!"

Crombie had returned! But what could he do, alone?

Now there was a sound as of the rush of many feet The tangle tree shuddered. The odor of smoke and scorching vegetation drifted in. Bink saw, from the corner of his eye, orange light flaring up, as if a forest fire raged.

Torches! Crombie had marshaled the females of the magic-dust village, and they were attacking the tree with blazing brands, singeing the tentacles. What a brave effort!

Now the tangler had to defend itself from attack by a superior force. It dropped Bink, freeing its tentacles for other action. Bink saw a pretty nymph get grabbed, and heard her scream as she was hauled into the air, her torch dropping.

"Squawk! Squawk!" Crombie directed, and other females rushed to the captive's rescue, forming a screen of fire. More tentacles got scorched, and the nymph dropped.

Bink recovered his sword and resumed hacking, from inside the curtain of tentacles. Now that the tree was concentrating on the outside menace, it was vulnerable to the inside one. With every stroke Bink lopped off another green branch, gradually denuding the tree of its deadly limbs.

"Squawk!" Crombie cried. "Get outside!" the golem translated.

That made sense. If the tree should refocus on the interior, Bink, Chester, and Humfrey would be in trouble again. Better to get out while they could!

In a moment they stood beside the griffin. "Squawk!" Crombie exclaimed. "Let's finish off this monster!" Grundy cried for him.

The ladies went to it with a will. There were about fifty of them, ringing the tree, pushing in with their fires, scorching back every tentacle that attacked. They could have conquered the tree anytime, instead of letting it balk them all these years-had they had the masculine drive and command. Ironic that Crombie the woman-hater should be the organizing catalyst!

Yet perhaps this was fitting. Crombie's paranoia about the motives of women had caused him to resist the siren, finally breaking her spell. Now he was using these females in the manner a soldier understood: as fodder for a battle. They might not have responded as well to a "nicer" man. Maybe they needed one who held them in contempt, who was willing to brutalize them for his purpose.

The tree was shriveling, half its awful limbs amputated or paralyzed. It would take time to kill it, but the victory now seemed certain. Thanks to Crombie, and the brave, self-sacrificing villagers.

"You know, I could get to respect women like these," Crombie murmured as he paused from his exertions to watch the wrap-up proceed. Actually it was squawk-and-translation, but Bink was so used to it now that it made little difference. "They obey orders well, and fight damn near as well as a man, allowing for-" He paused in mid-squawk, listening.

Then Bink heard the siren's call again, no longer drowned out by the battle. Oh, no! He tried to resist it-and could not. The siren had recovered her thrall.

Bink started walking toward that sound. His companions joined him, silently. The villagers, intent on their successful campaign, did not see them depart

Chapter 7

Deadly Distaffs

The sound of the battle faded behind. The males, Crombie included, moved on down the path, lured by the siren's song. The unearthly quality was stronger now, thrilling Bink's inner fiber. He knew the siren meant death, more certainly than the tangle tree-but what a satisfying death it would be!

It was a good path; nothing interfered with their progress. Soon they arrived at the shore of a small lake. In that lake were two tiny islands, like the tips of mountains mostly hidden beneath the surface. The path led over the water to one of these islands. This was the source of the music of the siren.

They started on the path. Bink thought Crombie might balk again, and in his heart hoped he would while fearing that that hope would be fulfilled, but the griffin did not. Apparently his resistance to females had been compromised by the spirit and sacrifice of the village women, and he could no longer master sufficient suspicion. Indeed, he was the first on the water-path, the water depressing slightly under his claws but supporting his weight. The Magician was second, Bink third, and-

There was an angry bleat from the side, A small creature came charging along the small beach. It was four-legged and woolly, like a sheep, with broad curly horns that circled entirely around its head. Evidently the path crossed this creature's territory, and the animal was taking action.

Chester, in the thing's path, paused. "A battering ram," he remarked, recognizing the species. "Not subject to the siren's call because it is a mere animal. No use to reason with it."

A battering ram! Bink paused, his curiosity momentarily overriding the lure of the siren. He had heard of such creatures, and of their relatives the hydraulic rams, but never encountered one before. As he understood it, they existed only to batter, and they loved it. If there were a door to be broken down, or a castle to be breached, such a ram was invaluable. At other times, they were a nuisance, because they never stopped beating their heads against obstacles.

Chester was far larger than the ram-but it had cut him off from the siren's path. Chester dodged it once, nimbly, but the ram screeched to a halt-a neat trick in sand, even with magic-and whirled to recharge. Chester would have been battered in the rear, had he tried to ignore it-and his rear was his proudest feature, despite the recent staining from the tangler's sap-much handsomer than his face. So he whirled to face the ram, and dodged its charge again.

But there was no end to this. The ram would happily go on forever, screeching up more mounds of sand with each miss, but Chester had a siren call to answer. The ram had to be stopped, somehow.

Bink wondered: his talent could have had a part in saving him from the tangler, as it had used the motives and magic of others freely. Was the ram another device to stop him from reaching the siren? In that case, he should be rooting for the ram, not Chester.

Chester, no dummy, maneuvered between charges until he was directly in front of a large tree. He never took his eye of! the ram, lest it catch him by surprise. Next charge would fire the ram right into the trunk that Chester had oriented on peripherally, with luck knocking the animal silly. Or at least starting the process, because it took a lot of knocking to knock a battering ram silly. These creatures were pretty silly to begin with.

Then Bink recognized the variety of tree. "Not that one, Chester!" he cried. "That's a-"

Too late. Why was he always too late? It was getting quite annoying! The ram charged, Chester danced aside, there was a flutelike trill of music, and the ram plowed headfirst into the tree. Such was the force of impact, all out of proportion to the animal's size, that the entire tree vibrated violently.

"pineapple tree," Bink finished belatedly.

Now the fruits were falling: huge golden pineapples, quite ripe. As each hit the ground, it exploded savagely. That was how this tree reproduced: the detonating fruit sent shrapnel-seeds far across the landscape, where each could generate, with luck and magic, a new pineapple tree. But it was hardly safe to stand too near this process.

One pineapple struck the battering ram on the rump. The ram bleated and spun to face it, rear-scorched and bruised, but of course that was futile. Other fruits were exploding all around. One dropped just before the ram. With a snort of challenge the animal leaped boldly forth to intercept it, catching it squarely on the horns. The resulting concussion really did knock the ram silly; it staggered off, bleating happily.

Meanwhile Chester was doing a truly intricate dance of avoidance, trying to keep his flowing tail and sleek equine haunches out of mischief. He could avoid the pineapples falling to left, right, and front, but those behind were problematical. One dropped almost on his tail; in fact it brushed the elevated top. Chester, in a remarkable maneuver, whipped his entire hind-section out of the way-but in the process brought his head into the location vacated by the tail.

The pineapple exploded. Chester caught the blast right under his chin. His head was engulfed in flame and smoke; then the refuse cleared and he stood there, dazed.

Bink found himself unable to run back along the path, despite his concern for his friend. This was partly because the continuing summons of the siren allowed him to pause but not to withdraw, and partly because the path over the water was one-way. It was firm while he proceeded forward, but was mere water when he tried to go back. The lake was small, but seemed very deep, and he hesitated to trust himself to its reaches. Bad magic tended to lurk in the depths. So he could only watch and call. "Chester! Are you all right?"

The centaur stood there, slowly shaking his head. The explosion had not done much harm to Chester's facial appearance, since that had always been homely, but Bink was concerned about the centaur's fine mind. Had the pineapple damaged his brain?

"Chester! Can you hear me?" Then, as Chester ignored him, Bink understood the problem. The blast had deafened him!

Bink waved his hands violently, and finally Chester took note. "Speak louder-I can't hear you!" Then the centaur realized it himself. "I'm deaf! I can't hear anything!"

At least he seemed to be all right, otherwise. Bink, relieved of much of his anxiety, felt himself again overwhelmed by the continuing call of the siren. He beckoned.

"The hell with the siren!" Chester called. "I can't hear her now. It's stupid to go to her. She means death."

Crombie had been briefly freed of the compulsion, back at the tangle tree, but had been recaptured by the siren. Now Chester had been freed by the intercession of the battering ram. It must be the operation of Bink's talent! But Bink himself was still hooked. He turned about and proceeded toward the island. Crombie and the Good Magician were almost there now, as they had not paused as long as Bink.

Chester galloped along the path, catching up to Bink. His powerful hands picked Bink up by the elbows. "Don't go, Bink! It's nonsense!"

But Bink would not be denied. "Put me down, horserear. I have to go!" And his feet kept walking in midair.

"I can't hear you, but I know what you're saying, and it's not worth listening to," Chester said. "Only one way to stop this before the others are lost."

He set Bink down, then unslung his great bow. The siren was still far away, but there was no archery like that of a centaur. Chester's bowstring twanged, and the deadly shaft arced across the water toward the island and the female figure there.

There was a scream of anguish, and the melody halted abruptly. Chester's arrow had scored. Suddenly they all were freed; the compulsion was gone. Bink's talent had prevailed at last, saving him from harm without revealing itself.

They ran to the island. There lay the siren-the loveliest mermaid Bink had ever seen, with hair like flowing sunshine and tail like flowing water. The cruel arrow had passed entirely through her torso, between and slightly below her spectacular bare breasts, and she was bleeding from front and back. Her torso had collapsed across her dulcimer.

Yet she was not dead. Though the arrow, with that uncanny marksmanship of the centaur, must have pierced her heart, she still breathed. In fact she was conscious. She tilted her beautiful face weakly to look up at Chester. "Why did you shoot me, handsome male?" she whispered.

"He can't hear you; he's deaf," Bink said.

"I meant no harm-only love," she continued. "Love to all men, you-why should you oppose that?"

"What joy is there in death?" Bink demanded. "We have brought to you what you have brought to a hundred other men." He spoke gruffly, yet his heart ached to see the agony of this lovely creature. He remembered when Chameleon had been similarly wounded.

"I brought no death!" she protested as vehemently as she was able, and gasped as the effort pushed a gout of blood from her chest. Her whole body below the shoulders was soaked in bright blood, and she was weakening visibly. "Only-only love!"

Then at last she subsided, losing consciousness. Bink, moved despite what he knew, turned to the Magician. "Is-is it possible she speaks the truth?"

Humfrey brought out his magic mirror. It showed the smiling baby face. "It is possible," he said, wise to the ways of the mirror. Then he addressed it directly: "Did the siren speak the truth?"

The baby smiled again. "She meant no harm," the Magician said. "She is not the killer, though she lured men here."

The men exchanged glances. Then Humfrey brought out his bottle of healing elixir and sprinkled a drop on the siren's terrible wound. Instantly it healed, and she was sound again.

The Magician offered Chester a drop of elixir for his ears, but the centaur disdained it. So Humfrey sprinkled it on the centaur's rear, and suddenly it was as beautiful as ever.

"You healed me!" the siren exclaimed, passing her hands wonderingly over her front. "There is not even blood, no pain!" Then, startled; "I must sing!" She reached for her dulcimer.

Chester kicked it out of her reach. The musical instrument flew through the air, smashed, and plunked into the water. "There is the source of her magic!" he cried. "I have destroyed it!"

The source of magic, destroyed. Was that an omen?

Experimentally, the siren sang. Her upper torso expanded marvelously as she took her breath, and her voice was excellent-but now there was no compulsion in it The centaur had, indeed, deprived her of her devastating magic.

She broke off, "You mean that was what summoned all the men? I thought they liked my singing." She looked unhappy.

Apparently she really was the lovely innocent, like Chameleon in her beauty-phase. "What happened to all the men?" Bink asked.

"They went across to see my sister," she said, gesturing toward the other island. She pouted. "I offer them all my love-but they always go to her."

Curious! Who could lure victims away from the siren herself? "Who is your sister?" Bink asked. "I mean, what is her magic? Is she another siren?"

"Oh, no! She is a gorgon, very pretty."

"A gorgon!" Bink exclaimed. "But that is death!"

"No, she would not harm anyone, no more than I would," the siren protested. "She cherishes men. I only wish she would send some back to me."

"Don't you know what the gaze of a gorgon does?" Bink demanded. "What happens to someone who looks upon the face of-?"

"I have looked into my sister's face many times! There is no harm in her!"

Humfrey lifted his mirror again. "It affects men only?" he asked, and the smiling baby agreed.

It seemed the siren really did not know the devastating effect her sister's face had on men. So for years she had innocently lured in males-for the gorgon to turn to stone.

"We shall have to talk with your sister," Humfrey said.

"The path continues to her island," the siren informed him. "What will I do, without my dulcimer?"

"Your voice is pretty enough without any accompaniment, and so are you," Bink said diplomatically. It was true as far as it went; had she a lower portion to match her upper portion, it would have been true all the way. "You can sing acapella, without accompaniment."

"I can?" she inquired, brightening. "Will it bring nice men like you?"

"No. But perhaps a nice man will find you, regardless." Bink turned to the Magician. "How can we approach the gorgon? One glance-"

"We shall have to deal with her in the morning," Humfrey decided. Bink had lost track of time. The stars had been emerging at the village, then they had charged into the night of the jungle to battle the tangle tree, thence to this island-where it seemed dusk was only now falling. Did that make sense? Bink had somehow assumed that the sun set all over Xanth at the same instant, but realized that this was not necessarily so. But he had other things to worry about at the moment, and listened to the rest of Humfrey's speech: "Siren, if you have food and bed-"

"I'm not really that kind of female," she demurred.

Bink looked at her sleek fishtail. "Obviously not. We only want a place to sleep."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Actually, I could become that kind, if-" She shimmered, and her tail transposed into two fetching legs.

"Just sleep," Chester said. It seemed his hearing was returning naturally. "And food."

But her indignation had not yet run its course. "After you impaled me with your old messy arrow, and broke my dulcimer?"

"I'm sorry," Chester said shortly. "I have a headache."

As well he might, Bink thought. Why hadn't the ornery creature accepted a drop of elixir for his head as well as for his tail?

"If you were really sorry, you'd show it," she said. Crombie squawked. "She's setting her hooks into you already, ass," the golem said.

Doubly annoyed, Chester glowered at the siren. "How?"

"By giving me a ride on your back."

Bink almost laughed. Nymphs of any type loved to ride!

"Ride, then," Chester said, disconcerted. She walked to his side, but was unable to mount "You're too tall," she complained.

Chester turned his front portion, wrapped one arm about her slender waist, and hauled her up easily. "Eeek!" she screamed, delighted, as her feet swished through the air. "You're so strong!"

Crombie squawked again, and his remark needed no interpretation. She was, indeed, working her wiles on the centaur, needing no siren song.

Chester, not in the best of moods after his encounter with the pineapple, was visibly mollified. "All centaurs are strong." He set her neatly on his back, and walked forward.

The siren grabbed two handfuls of his mane. "My, your shoulders are so broad! And what sleek fur you have. You must be the handsomest centaur of all!"

"From the rear, maybe," he agreed. He began to trot.

"Oooh, that's fun!" she cried, letting go just long enough to clap her hands together girlishly. "You must be the smartest centaur, and the fastest-" She paused. "Could you, maybe, make a little jump?"

Chester, now quite puffed up by her praise, made a tremendous leap. The siren screamed and flew off his back. They were at the edge of the water, since this was a small island, and she plunked into the lake. "Uh, sorry," Chester said, mortified. "Guess I overdid it." He reached down to fish her out.

Fish her out he did: her legs had changed back into a tail. "No harm done," the mermaid said. "I am quite at home in the water." And she wriggled within his grasp, bringing her face to his and planting a wet kiss on him.

Crombie squawked. "There's no fool like a horse-reared fool," the golem said.

"That's for sure," Chester agreed, now in a good mood. "Just don't tell Cherie."

"Cherie?" the siren asked, frowning.

"My filly. The prettiest thing in Xanth. She's back home, tending our foal. His name is Chet."

She assimilated that. "How nice," she said, disgruntled. "I'd better see to your fodder now, and stall space."

Bink smiled privately. Chester wasn't such a fool after all!

They had a modest repast of fish and sea cucumber, and bedded down in a pile of soft dry sponges. Bink stretched out his feet-and banged into another pile of dirt. This time he was too tired to stomp it flat, so he ignored it.

The siren, having given up on the centaur, nestled down in the dark beside Bink. "Say," he said, remembering. "We have to give service for hospitality!"

Crombie squawked. "You give service, noodle-brain," Grundy said. "You're closest to her."

"Service?" the siren inquired, nudging him.

Bink found himself blushing furiously in the dark. Damn Crombie's innuendo! "Uh, nothing," he said, and pretended to fall suddenly asleep. Very soon it was no pretense.

In the morning they bade farewell to the siren after taking the time to break up some wood for her cooking fire-a service she appreciated, as she was not much for that sort of thing. They set about braving her sister. "The rest of you must be blindfolded," Humfrey decided. "I will use the mirror."

So he could view the gorgon indirectly, of course. That was the only way to look at such creatures; everyone knew that. Yet why did a mirror work? The image in the glass should be as horrendous as the original.

"Polarization," the Magician explained without being asked. "The magic of partial images."

That didn't clarify things much. But a more important question remained. "What do we do, to stop the-" Bink did not want to use the word "kill" in the presence of the innocent siren. Getting close to the gorgon was one thing; dispatching her while blindfolded was another.

"We shall see," Humfrey said. They submitted to blindfolding, including the golem. Then they formed a chain to follow the Good Magician, who walked backward on the path between the islands, using the mirror to see ahead. In this case he was not utilizing its magic, but merely the ordinary reflection: the natural magic all mirrors possessed.

It was strange and uncomfortable, crossing the water sightlessly. How awful it would be, to lose forever the power of seeing! What magic was better than the natural senses of life?

Bink's feet felt hard land. "You stand here, facing out," Humfrey told them. "Just in case. I will deal with the gorgon."

Still nervous, Bink obeyed. He felt tempted to rip off the blindfold, turn about, and look at the gorgon-but not strongly tempted. Once he had stood atop a tall mountain and suffered an urge to throw himself off it, similarly; it was as if there were a death urge in him along with the life urge. Perhaps the urge to adventure was drawn from the same wellspring. "Gorgon," Humfrey said.

Right behind Bink, she answered. "I am she. Welcome to my isle." Her voice was dulcet; she sounded even more attractive than her sister. "Why do you not look at me?"

"Your glance would turn me into stone," Humfrey said bluntly.

"Am I not beautiful? Who else has locks as serpentine as mine?" she asked plaintively, and Bink heard the faint hissing of the snakes. He wondered what it would be like to kiss the gorgon, with those snake-hairs twining around their two faces. The notion was both alarming and tempting. Yet what was the gorgon except the literal personification of the promise and threat embodied in every woman?

"You are beautiful," Humfrey agreed gravely. She must be beautiful indeed, Bink thought, for the Good Magician did not waste compliments. Oh, for a single look! "Where are the other men who came to you?"

"They went away," she said sadly.

"Where did they go?"

"There," she said, and Bink assumed she was pointing. "Beyond those rocks."

Humfrey moved over to investigate. 'These are statues," he said, unsurprised. "Statues of men, exquisitely realistic. Carved, as it were, from life."

"Yes," she agreed brightly. "They look just like the men who came to me."

"Does that not suggest anything to you?"

"The men left the gifts behind, pictures of themselves, sculptures. But I would rather have had the men stay with me. I have no use for stones."

She didn't realize what she had done! She thought these were mere images offered as remembrances. Maybe she refused to realize the truth, blocking it out from her consciousness, pretending she was an ordinary girl. She refused to believe in her own magic. What a fateful delusion!

Yet, Bink thought, wasn't this too typical of the thought processes of females? What one among them chose to recognize the mischief her sex worked among men!

But that was Crombie's contention, therefore probably an exaggeration. There might be a little siren and a little gorgon in every girl, but not a lot. There was hardly any in Chameleon.

"If more men come," Humfrey continued with unusual gentleness, "they will only leave more statues. This is not good."

"Yes, there are already too many statues," she agreed naively. "My island is getting crowded."

"The men must not come any more," Humfrey said. "They must stay at their homes, with their families."

"Couldn't just one man come-and stay a while?" she asked plaintively.

"I'm afraid not. Men just aren't, er, right for you."

"But I have so much love to give-if only a man would stay! Even a little one. I would cherish him forever and ever, and make him so happy-"

Bink, listening, was beginning to appreciate the depth of the gorgon's tragedy. All she wanted was to love and be loved, and instead she sowed a harvest of horrible mischief. How many families had been destroyed by her magic? What could be done with her-except execution?

"You must go into exile," Humfrey said. "The magic shield has been lowered by order of the King; you can pass freely out of Xanth. In Mundania your magic will dissipate, and you will be able to interact freely with the man or men of your choice."

"Leave Xanth?" she cried, alarmed. "Oh, no, I would rather die! I can not leave my home!"

Bink experienced a pang of sympathy. Once he himself had faced exile

"But in Mundania you would be an ordinary girl, under no curse. You are extremely lovely, and your personality is sweet. You could have your pick of men there."

"I love men," she said slowly. "But I love my home more. I can not depart. If this is my only choice, I beg of you to slay me now and end my misery."

For once the Good Magician seemed shaken. "Slay you? I would not do that! You are the most attractive creature I have ever seen, even through a mirror! In my youth I would have-"

Now a little ordinary feminine artifice manifested. "Why, you are not old, sir. You are a handsome man."

Crombie stifled a squawk, Chester coughed, and Bink choked. She had made a gross exaggeration, if not an outright distortion! Humfrey was a good man, and a talented one, but hardly a handsome one. "You flatter me," the Magician said seriously. "But I have other business."

"Of all the men who have come here, you alone have stayed to talk with me," the gorgon continued. "I am so lonely! I beg of you, stay with me, and let me serve you always."

Now Crombie squawked aloud. "Don't turn about, fool!" the golem cried. "Keep using the mirror!"

"Um, yes," Humfrey agreed. The griffin's hearing must be acute, Bink thought, to detect the sound of the Magician's incipient turning! "Gorgon, if I were to look at you directly-"

"You would feel obliged to go away, leaving only a stone memento in your likeness," she finished. "I do not understand why men are like this! But come, close your eyes if you must, kiss me, let me show you how much love I have for you. Your least word is my command, if you will only stay!"

The Magician sighed. Was the old gnome tempted? It occurred to Bink that it might not have been disinterest in women that kept Humfrey single, but lack of a suitable partner. The average woman was not interested in a wizened, dwarfish old man-or if she expressed interest, it was likely to be only because she wanted a piece of his formidable magic. Here was a woman who knew nothing of him but his appearance, and was eager to love him, asking only his presence.

"My dear, I think not," Humfrey said at last "Such a course would have its rewards-I hardly deny it!-and I would normally be inclined to dally with you a day or three, though love be blindfolded. But it would require the resources of a Magician to associate safely with you, and I am on a quest that takes precedence, and may not-"

"Then dally a day or three!" she exclaimed. "Be blindfolded! I know no Magician would have interest in me, but even a Magician could not be more wonderful than you, sir!"

Did she suspect the magnitude of Humfrey's talent? Did it matter? The Magician sighed again. "Perhaps, after my present quest is over, if you would care to visit at my castle-"

"Yes, yes!" she cried. "Where is your castle?"

"Just ask for Humfrey. Someone will direct you. Even so, you can not show your face to man. You would have to wear a veil-no, even that would not suffice, for it is your eyes that-"

"Do not cover my eyes! I must see!"

Bink felt another surge of sympathy, for at the moment he could not see.

"Let me consult," Humfrey said. There was a rustle as he rummaged through his magic props. Then: "This is not ideal, but it will do. Hold this vial before your face and open it."

More rustling as she accepted the vial that he held out over his shoulder. There was a pop as the cork came out, the hiss of escaping vapor, a gasp, then silence. Had the Magician executed her after all, giving her poison vapor to sniff?

"Companions, you may now remove your blindfolds and turn about," Humfrey said. "The gorgon has been nullified."

Bink ripped off the cloth. "Magician! You didn't-?"

"No, I did her no harm. Observe."

Bink observed, as did the others. Before them stood a breathtakingly lovely young woman with hair formed of many small thin snakes. But her face was-absent. There simply wasn't anything there.

"I applied a spell of invisibility to her face," Humfrey explained. "She can see out well enough, but I regret that no man can look upon her face, since it is the loveliest part of her. But this way it is impossible to meet her gaze. She is safe-as are we."

It was too bad, really, Bink had to agree. She seemed like such a nice girl, burdened with such a terrible curse. Magic was not always kind! The Magician had nullified the curse, but it was disconcerting to look into that vacuum in lieu of her face.

Crombie walked around the island, studying the statues. Some were of centaurs, and some of griffins. "Squawk!"

"Look at the damage the bitch has done! She must have petrified hundreds of innocent males. What good is it to nullify her now? It is like closing the house door after the man has escaped." He was evidently thinking more like a griffin, now. That was a danger of prolonged transformation.

"Yes, we shall have to do something about the statues," Humfrey agreed. "But I have expended enough of my valuable magic. Too much, in fact Crombie, point out where the solution to this problem lies."

The griffin whirled and pointed. Down.

"Hm. Now point out the source of magic, again."

Crombie did. The result was the same. "So I supposed," Humfrey said. "Our quest has more than informational significance."

Another factor fell into place for Bink. This whole escapade with the tangle tree and the devastating sisters had seemed like a diversion from the quest and a serious threat to Bink's welfare, yet his talent had permitted it. Now he saw that his experience related to the quest. Still, it should not have been necessary to expose himself to these dangers in order to reach the source of magic. Something other than his talent must be operating.

He remembered the mound of earth, last night. Did that relate? He really could not fathom how, yet he distrusted coincidental occurrences unless they derived from his talent If an enemy were-The Good Magician brought out his mirror again. "Get me the Queen," he said into it.

"The Queen?" Bink asked, surprised.

The mirror fogged, then showed the face of Queen Iris. "About time you called in, Humfrey," she said. "How come you're dawdling there on the gorgon's isle, instead of pursuing your fool quest?"

Crombie squawked angrily. "Don't translate that!" Humfrey snapped at the golem. Then, to the Sorceress: "It is Bink's quest, not mine. We have nullified siren and gorgon, and are proceeding toward the source of magic. Notify the King."

Iris made a minor gesture of unconcern. "When I get around to it, midget" she said.

The visage of King Trent appeared in the mirror behind her. Abruptly she assumed the aspect of a Sweet Young Thing, complete with long braids. "Which will be very soon, Good Magician," she amended hastily. Trent waved jovially and tugged on a braid as the mirror went blank.

"How can she talk on the mirror?" Bink inquired. "It shows silent pictures for everyone else."

"She is mistress of illusion," Humfrey explained.

"Mistress of the King, you mean," Crombie squawked.

"We only think we're hearing her," Humfrey continued. He put away the mirror. "And the King only thinks he can yank at an illusory braid. But illusion has its uses, in whatever capacity."

"I'd like the illusion of reality," the golem said wistfully.

Humfrey returned his attention to the gorgon. "We shall return in due course. I suggest you go comfort your sister, meanwhile. She has lost her dulcimer."

"I will, I will!" the gorgon cried. "Farewell, handsome Sorcerer!" She flung her arms around Humfrey and planted an invisible kiss on his mouth while the snakes snapped at his ears and hissed up a storm. "Hurry back! I have so much love stored up-"

"Um. Just so," the Magician agreed, embarrassed. He brought up a finger to snap away one serpent-hair that was gnawing too vigorously on his earlobe.

The magic path ended at the gorgon's isle, so it was necessary to swim back. They used Crombie's talent to locate a safe route across, avoiding lake monsters; then Bink mounted Chester and Humfrey rode the griffin. It was now midmorning, and the return to the magic-dust village was easy and swift. Hostile magic had not yet had time to move in to replace the prior charm of the path.

The tangle tree was a charred stump. The villagers had really done the job, destroying a long-term enemy. But the village itself was now quiet, with black drapes in the windows; it was in mourning for the last party of males to be lost to the siren.

How suddenly that changed, as those males marched in! "You survived!" Trolla cried, tears of untrollish joy streaming down her horrible face. "We tried to follow you, but could not hear the siren and could not trace the path in the dark. In the morning we knew it was too late, and we had wounded to attend to-"

"We have nullified the siren-and her sister, the gorgon," Bink said. "No more men will go that way. But the men who went before-"

"They are all dead; we know."

"No. They are stone. There may be a way to reverse the spell and restore them. If we are successful in our quest-"

"Come, we must celebrate!" Trolla cried. "We shall give you such a party-"

Bink knew the answer to that. "Uh, no thanks. You are very kind, but all we want to do now is get on with our quest. We seek the ultimate source of magic-the source of your magic dust, underground."

"There is no way down there," Trolla said. "It wells up in a solid shaft-"

"Yes. So we will seek elsewhere. If any avenue of access exists, from another direction-"

Disappointed, Trolla accepted the situation with grace. "Which way do you go?"

"That way," Bink said, indicating the direction Crombie had pointed for the resumption of their quest.

"But that's into the heart of the Region of Madness!"

Bink smiled. "Perhaps our access is through madness, then."

"The route past the tangle tree is open now. You could go out that way, and loop about to avoid the madness-"

Bink shook his head in negation, knowing that had that been the best way, Crombie would have indicated it.

"You males are so unreasonable! At least wait a few days. We will stop lofting the magic dust into the air, and the effect will diminish. Then you may traverse the region less hazardously."

"No. We have decided to push on." Bink feared that a few days' relaxation in this village of eager females would be as ruinous as continued dalliance with the siren and gorgon. They had to move on.

"Then we shall provide a guide. She can warn you of the immediate traps, and it is barely possible you will survive until clear of the worst of it. You are already half mad, after all."

"Yes," Bink agreed with a wry smile. "We are males." Neither sex understood the other; that was yet another aspect of the magic of Xanth. He rather liked this tame female troll; apparently almost any monster could be worthwhile once it was possible to know it personally.

The guide turned out to be a very pretty female griffin. "Squawk!" Crombie protested. "Awk! Awk!" she replied archly. "Don't saddle us with a chick like that!" Grundy translated happily. "Who are you calling a chick? I'm a lioness!"

"You're a nuisance!"

"And you're a bore!"

"Female!"

"Male!"

"Uh, that's enough translation, Grundy," Bink said. "They're down to ultimate insults." He turned to Trolla. 'Thank you for the guide. We'll be on our way now."

All the females of the village lined up to wave goodbye. It was a sad but necessary parting.

The wilderness of Xanth soon abolished sentimentality. The trees were extremely large here, closing in to form a dense jungle. This was the downwind region of the magic dust, as Trolla had warned; magic flourished here. Monstrous pincushions grew at the lowest level, stabbing anyone who passed too near, living stalagmites projected between the cushions, their stony points glistening with moisture that fell on them from above. Oil slicks twined wherever suitable depressions were available. The oil was more slippery than anything else, and at the same time more tenacious. "Those tanker trees shouldn't flush their wastes on the surface," Chester muttered. "They should bury it, the way civilized creatures do."

Yet the higher growths were no more promising; the huge metal trunks of ironwood trees crowded against the burned-out boles of ash. Rust and ashes coated the ground around them. Here and there bull spruces snorted and flexed their branch-horns menacingly. Above, it was worse yet; caterpillar nettles crawled along, peering down with prickly anticipation, and vomit-fungus dangled in greasy festoons. Where was there safe passage?

"Awk!" the guide said, showing the way. She glided past an outcropping of hissing serpentine, between two sharp blades of slash pine, and on over the rungs of a fallen ladder-bush. The others followed, wary but swift.

It was gloomy here, almost dark, though the day was rising onto noon. The canopy overhead, not satisfied with shutting out the sun, now constricted like an elastic band until it seemed to enclose them in one tight bubble. Like elastic? Now Bink saw it was elastic, from a huge elastic vine that stretched between and around the other foliage. Elastic was not a serious threat to people carrying swords or knives, but it could be a considerable inconvenience.

There seemed to be few large creatures here; but many small ones. Bugs were all over. Some Bink recognized: lightning bugs zapping their charges (this must have been where the demonstration bug had come from, the one that had burned up in the village), soldier beetles marching in precise formations to their bivouac, ladybugs and damselflies hovering near in the immemorial fashion of easy virtue females near armies. Almost under Chester's hooves a tiger beetle pounced on a stag beetle, making its kill with merciless efficiency. Bink averted his gaze, knowing that such activity was natural, but still not liking it.

Then he noticed Humfrey. The man was staring as if enchanted: a worrisome sign, here. "Are you all right, Magician?" Bink asked.

"Marvelous!" the man murmured raptly. "A treasure trove of nature!"

"You mean the bugs?"

"There's a feather-winged beetle," Humfrey said. Sure enough, a bug with two bright feathers for wings flew by. "And an owl-fly. And two net-wings!"

Bink saw the large-eyed, tufted bug sitting on a branch, watching the two nets hover. How a net-wing flew was unclear, as the nets obviously could not hold air. But with magic, what did it matter?

"And a picture-winged fly!" the Magician exclaimed, really excited. "That's a new species, I believe; it must have mutated. Let me get my text." He eagerly fumbled open a vial. The vapor came forth and formed a huge tome that the Magician balanced precariously on the back of the griffin, between the folded wings, as he turned over the pages. "PICTURE-WING," he read. "Pastoral, Still-life, Naturalistic, Surrealistic, Cubist, Watercolor, Oil, Pastel Chalk, Pen-and-ink, Charcoal-I was right! This is a Crayon-Drawing species, unlisted! Bink, verify this for the record!"

Bink leaned over to look. The bug was sitting on the griffin's right ear, its wings outspread, covered by waxy illustrations. "Looks like crayon to me," he agreed.

"Yes!" Humfrey cried. "I must record it! What a fantastic discovery!" Bink had never seen the man so excited. Suddenly he realized something important: this was what the Good Magician lived for. Humfrey's talent was information, and the discovery and classification of living things was right in line with this. To him there was nothing more important than the acquisition of facts, and he had naturally been resentful about being distracted from this. Now chance had returned him to his type of discovery. For the first time, Bink was seeing the Magician in his animation. Humfrey was not a cold or grasping individual; he was as dynamic and feeling as anyone-when it showed.

Bink felt a tug at his sword. He clapped his hand to the hilt-and two robber flies buzzed up. They had been trying to steal his sword! Then Chester jumped, almost dislodging him. "Almost stepped on a blister beetle," the centaur explained. "I wouldn't want to pull up with a blistered hoof at this stage!"

The lady griffin glanced back, rotating her head without turning her body, in the way griffins had. "Awk!" she exclaimed impatiently. "Hurry up, shrimp," the golem translated. "We're getting near the madness zone."

"Squawk!" Crombie replied irritably. "We're doing the best we can. Why don't you show us a better path, birdbrain?"

"Listen, cattail!" she awked back. "I'm only doing this as a favor to you! If you numbskulls had stayed at the village where you belonged-"

"Stay in a village of females? You're mad already!"

Then they had to stop squawking and awking to dodge a snake-fly that wriggled through, fangs gaping. This time Chester did step on a bug-a stink bug. A horrible odor wafted up, sending them all leaping forward to escape it. The lady griffin's passage stirred up a motley swarm of deerflies, tree hoppers, tiger moths, and a fat butterfly that splattered the Magician with butter.

One lovely gold bug fluttered up under Bink's nose. "Maybe this is another new one!" he cried, getting caught up in the Magician's enthusiasm. He grabbed for it, but Chester stumbled just then so that Bink missed it. "It's headed toward you, Magician!" he cried. "Catch it!"

But Humfrey shied away. "That's a midas fly!" he exclaimed in horror. "Don't touch it!"

"A midas fly?"

"Everything it touches turns to gold." The fly was now circling the Magician, looking for a place to land.

"But that's wonderful!" Bink said. "We must capture it. We can use gold!"

"Not if we become gold ourselves!" Humfrey snapped. He ducked so low that he fell of! the griffin. The midas fly settled down to land in his place.

"Crombie!" Bink screamed. "Watch out!"

Then the lady griffin crashed into Crombie, knocking him out of the way with her leonine shoulder. He escaped-but the midas fly landed instead on her.

Just like that, she was a gold statue. The fly buzzed up and away, no longer a threat-but its damage had been done.

"They're extremely rare, and they don't land often," Humfrey said from the bush he had landed in. "I'm amazed we encountered one. Perhaps it was maddened by the dust." He picked himself up.

"It may have been sent," Bink said. "It appeared near me first."

Crombie rolled to his feet with the litheness of his kind. "Squawk!"

"She did it for me-to save my life," Grundy translated. "Why?"

"It must indeed be madness," Chester said dryly.

Bink contemplated the statue. "Like the handiwork of the gorgon," he murmured. "Gold instead of stone. Is it possible she can be restored?"

Crombie whirled and pointed. "Squawk!"

"The answer lies in the same direction as the quest," Grundy said. "Now birdbeak has personal reason to complete it"

"First we must pass through the madness-without a guide," Chester pointed out

Bink looked ahead, dismayed. Things had abruptly taken a more serious turn-and they had not been unserious before. "How can we find our way safely through this jungle, even without madness?"

"Crombie will have to point out our best route-one step at a time," Humfrey said. "Look-there is a walking stick." He indicated the stick, ambling along on two tiny feet at the base, its hooked top wobbling erratically. The huge text was gone; he must have conjured it back into its bottle while Bink had been distracted. He hardly needed it "Mahogany-handled-a very fine specimen."

Crombie pointed the way, and they went slowly on, leaving the gold lady griffin where she stood. There was nothing they could do for her-except complete their quest, hoping to find the magic that would restore her.

Crombie looked back twice, not squawking; he seemed to be having serious private thoughts. For him, the woman-hater, the female's sacrifice had to be an awful enigma, of more significance than his own near-miss with the golden doom. As a soldier he was used to danger, but not to self-sacrifice.

All too soon, dusk loomed. Glowworms appeared from their tunnels in the ground, and bedbugs were already snoring in their bunks. A confused cockroach crowed, mistaking dusk for dawn. Swallowtails consumed their hind parts and disappeared for the night. A group of sawflies sawed boards for their own nocturnal roosts.

Bink looked about "Right now, I wouldn't mind being a bug," he said. "They're at home here."

Chester agreed soberly. "I have spent the evening in the open before, but never in the deep wilderness. We will not enjoy this night"

Bink looked at Humfrey. The Magician was still absorbed in his taxonomy. "There's a rhinoceros beetle, trying to bull-doze down houses," Humfrey said. "Those houseflies aren't going to like that!"

"Sir, it will be dangerous to sleep out here. If your magic can help us pick the best spot-"

"Now they're bringing in carpenter ants to shore up the timbers!"

"Maybe something from one of your bottles, some temporary shelter for the night-" Bink continued.

"But that rhino is too stupid to quit! He-"

"Magician!" Bink snapped, losing patience.

Humfrey glanced up. "Oh, hello, Bink. Haven't you set up for the night yet?" He glanced down again. "Look! They've hired an assassin bug! They're going to get rid of that-"

It was useless. The Magician cared more for information than for safety. Humfrey was no leader, which explained why he had been so ready to leave that chore to Bink. So it was up to Bink, again.

"We'll have to make some sort of shelter," he decided. "And keep watch in turns." He paused, considering the problems. How could they make shelter, when every piece of wood, stone, or foliage would be fiercely protective of its rights? This was the untamed wilderness!

Then his roving gaze spied a prospect: the great curving bones of a defunct monster. He couldn't tell what kind of animal it had been in life, but it must have been larger than a dragon. The bones seemed too solid for a roc, and there was no sign of wings, so probably it had been a grown groundborne sphinx. Ten times the height of a man. The only reason sphinxes did not rule the jungle was their rarity, and disinterest in ordinary matters. Dragons were common, while sphinxes were hardly ever encountered. Bink wondered why that was so, and what could kill a sphinx in its prime. Boredom, perhaps. "Crombie, point out the direction of the closest suitable or adaptable site for our overnight camp," he said, wishing to verify his notion.

Crombie obliged. He pointed toward the bones. Bink's hunch had been right! He was gratified. "We'll gather some blanket leaves and spread them over those bones," he said. "That will make us a decent shelter, and it can serve as a fort in case of attack. Crombie, point us out the nearest blankets."

The griffin pointed-right into the quivering ropes of a predator tree. It was not a tangler, but seemed related; it would hardly be safe to go there! "Well, maybe we can stay on guard better if we can see out," Bink decided. "Chester, why don't you stand the first watch. Wake me up the moment you find yourself getting sleepy, then wake Crombie."

The centaur nodded agreement. He did not inquire about Humfrey's share of the work; obviously the Magician would not be reliable for this.

Chapter 8

Mad Constellations

Bink paused for a call of nature, not of magic-and spied a chunk of wood, so dark and moss-grown that it resembled a rock. Something like that could be useful, in case a monster attacked in the night. The wood seemed to have a nice heft, good for throwing. He squatted to pick it up-and paused, in case it should be enchanted. But his talent would protect him; if the piece were dangerous, he would be unable to touch it

He picked it up, observing the etched grain of it, brown and green and white and altogether intriguing. It was surprisingly hard and heavy, for wood; he wondered whether it would float or sink in water. He felt a tingle in his hand as he held the chunk. There was some quality about it, something magic, strange and potent He felt his talent responding, taking nebulous hold, sizing up this thing, as it had once before when he drank from the spring of life. As before, his magic encompassed that of the other thing, and accepted it without penalty. Bink's talent was of Magician stature; he seldom felt its action directly except when it encountered strong or complex opposing magic. Yet-a chunk of wood?

He carried the chunk back to their temporary camp. "I don't know what this is, but it seems to be strongly magical. It may be useful!."

Chester took it "Wood, unusual, durable. This might have come from a very large, old tree. I don't recognize the species, which makes it remarkable. Maybe you could find some of the bark-"

Crombie squawked. "Give it here, horseface. I've seen a lot of wood in my day."

Chester stiffened only slightly. "By all means, bird-beak."

Crombie held the chunk in one foreclaw and inspected it closely. "Squawk."

"Something odd about this."

"Yes," Bink agreed. "Before you get too involved, will you point out the nearest food for us? We can eat while considering."

Crombie obligingly whirled and pointed. Bink looked, and saw a large glowing fungus. "That must be it. I never ate glow before, but your talent's never wrong." He walked over and reached down to break off a section. The fungus was firm and dry, pale inside, and emitted a pleasant odor.

"Squawk!" Crombie protested to the centaur. "I'm not through with it."

"You've had it long enough, buzzard-brain," Chester said. "My turn now."

Bink had to run to break up yet another quarrel. The trouble with fighting creatures was that they tended to fight! He couldn't turn his back on them even to fetch food. "It's the Magician's turn!" he cried. "Maybe he can identify it." He took back the wood and carried it to Humfrey. "Sir, if you care to classify this rare specimen-"

He had said the magic words. The Magician's attention was attracted. He looked. He blinked. "That's Blue Agony fungus! Get rid of it!"

Oops! Bink had put the wrong hand down, and shoved the fungus under Humfrey's nose. "Sorry. I meant to show you this wood, not the-" He paused. "The fungus is poisonous?"

"Its magic will turn your whole body blue, just before you melt into a blue puddle that kills all the vegetation in the ground where it soaks in," Humfrey assured him.

"But Crombie pointed it out as safe to eat!"

"Ridiculous! It's safe to touch, but the unsafest thing anyone could eat. They used to use it for executions, back in the bad old early Waves."

Bink dropped the fungus. "Crombie, didn't you-" He broke off, reconsidering. "Crombie, would you point out the worst thing we could eat?"

The griffin shrugged and pointed. Right toward the fungus.

"You absolute idiot!" Chester exclaimed to the griffin. "Have the feathers in your brains rotted? You just a moment ago pointed it out as safe!"

Crombie squawked angrily. "Bink must have picked up the wrong item. My talent is never wrong."

Humfrey was now examining the piece of wood. "Crombie's talent is always wrong," he remarked absently. "That's why I never rely on it."

Even Chester was surprised at this. "Magician, the soldier is no prize-even I am willing to concede that-but usually his talent is sound."

Crombie squawked, outraged at this qualified endorsement

"Maybe so. I wouldn't know." The Magician squinted at a passing sweat gnat. "What is that creature?"

"You don't recognize a common sweat gnat?" Bink asked, amazed. "A moment ago you were classifying the most obscure bugs, discovering new species!"

Humfrey's brow furrowed. "Why should I do that? I know nothing about bugs."

Man, griffin, and centaur exchanged glances. "First Crombie, then the Magician," Chester murmured. "It must be the madness."

"But wouldn't that affect all of us?" Bink asked, worried. "This is more like a misfire of talents. Crombie pointed out the worst food instead of the best, and Humfrey switched from knowledge to ignorance-"

"Right when the chunk of wood switched hands!" Chester finished.

"We'd better get him away from that wood."

"Yes," Chester agreed, and stepped toward Humfrey.

"No, please-let me do it," Bink said quickly, confident that his talent could handle the situation best. He approached Humfrey. "Excuse me, sir." He lifted the chunk gently from the Magician's grasp.

"Why doesn't it affect you?" Chester asked. "Or me?"

"It affects you, centaur," Humfrey said. "But since you don't know your talent, you don't see how it is reversed. As for Bink-he is a special case."

So the Good Magician was back in form. "Then this wood…reverses spells?" Bink asked.

"More or less. At least it changes the thrust of active magic. I doubt it would restore the griffin cow or the stone men, if that's what you're contemplating. Those spells are now passive. Only a complete interruption of magic itself would nullify them."

"Uh, yes," Bink said uncertainly.

"What kind of a special case are you?" Chester demanded of Bink. "You don't do any magic."

"You might say I'm immune," Bink said cautiously, wondering why his talent was no longer protecting itself from discovery. Then he looked down at the wood in his hand. Was he immune?

He dropped the wood. "Squawk!" Crombie said. "So that's why my talent missed! That wood made me…pumf squawk screech-"

The golem had wandered near the wood, and his translation had disintegrated. Bink gently lifted Grundy away from it

"…of what I meant to," the golem continued, blithely unaware of the change. "It's dangerous!"

"It certainly is," Bink agreed. He kicked the wood away.

Chester was not reassured. "That means this was an incidental foul-up. We have yet to face the madness."

Crombie located the nearest safe food, successfully this time. It was a lovely cookie bush growing from the rich soil beside the bones. They feasted on chocolate-chip cookies. A handy water-chestnut tree provided ample drink: all they had to do was pluck the fresh chestnuts and puncture them to extract the water.

As Bink chewed and drank, his eye fell on another earth mound. This time he scraped it away carefully with a stick, but could find nothing except loose earth. "I think these things are following me," he said. "But what is the point? They don't do anything, they just sit there."

"I'll take a look at one in the morning," the Magician said, his curiosity moderately aroused.

They set up house within the gaunt cage of bones as darkness closed in. Bink lay back on the cushion of sponge moss beneath the skeleton-he had checked this out carefully to make sure it was harmless-and watched the stars emerge. Camping out was not so terrible!

At first the stars were mere points of light peeking between the bars of the bone-enclosure. But soon Bink perceived patterns in them: the constellations. He was not conversant with the stars, because Xanth was not safe at night; he had stayed inside, and when caught outside had hurried to shelter. Thus he found the landscape of the night sky intriguing. He had somehow thought, for no good reason, that the stars were of equivalent brightness, evenly dispersed. Instead, they were highly varied in both respects, ranging from piercing-bright to look-again dim, and from solitary splendor to clustered confusion. In fact they seemed to form patterns. In his mind he could draw lines between them, fashioning pictures. There was the head of a man, and a curving line like a snake, and a blob with tentacles like a tangle tree. As he concentrated, these things became more definite. The figures assumed greater definition and conviction, seeming almost real. "Say, there's a centaur!" Bink exclaimed. "Naturally," Chester said. "That's one of the established constellations. Been there for centuries."

"But it looks alive! I thought I saw it move."

"No, the constellations don't move. Not that way. They-" Chester broke off.

"He did move!" Bink cried. "His arm, fetching an arrow from his bag-"

"His quiver," Chester corrected him. "Something strange here. Must be atmospherics."

"Or maybe the air moving," Bink said. Chester snorted. They watched the centaur in the sky take out his arrow, fit it to his bow, and cast about for some target. There was a swan in view, but it was a very large, tame bird, not suitable for hunting. There was a fox, but it slid out of sight behind some herdsmen before the centaur could take proper aim, Then a great bear showed up. It was trying to catch a lion cub, but the adult lion was nearby, almost as large as the bear and in an ornery mood. The two big predators circled each other, while the pointing arrowhead of the centaur traced their movements; which one should be taken first?

"Take the lion, stupid," Chester muttered. "Then the bear will take the cub, and leave you alone."

Bink was fascinated, both by this animation of the constellations, and by the strength and grace of the weird beasts. The centaur was a regular creature, of course-but only in mythology relating to Mundania did animals like bears and lions and swans exist. Parts of them showed up in the form of sphinxes, chimerae, griffins, and such, but that didn't really count. A Mundane lion could also be reckoned as the body of a griffin with the head of an ant lion, a composite deriving from the Xanth originals. Now with the shield down, animals could cross the boundary freely, and probably at the fringe all types mixed. Bink regretted, in retrospect, that he had not had the chance to see such creatures as bears in the flesh, when he had visited Mundania. But he had been glad enough to return to Xanth, then!

Almost under the centaur's tail, another strange Mundane creature appeared: a wolf. It resembled a one-headed dog. Bink had seen werewolves in the flesh, but that might not count. What a horror it must be in Mundania, where wolves were locked permanently in their animal form, unable to revert to men!

The sky-centaur whirled on the wolf, aiming his bow. But the wolf was already moving on, because a huge scorpion was following him. The scorpion was being chased by a man-no, it only thought the man was after it. The man, a hugely muscled brute, was actually pursuing a serpent, trying to smash in its head with a club. Yet a dragon was hot after the man, and a really strange long-necked animal followed the dragon. In fact the whole sky was alive with oddities, making it seem like a much more interesting place than the Land of Xanth.

"What is that thing with the neck?" Bink asked.

"Mythological zoology is not my specialty," Chester said. "But I believe it is a Mundane monster called a gaffe." He paused. "No, that's not quite it. A grraff. No, A-a giraffe! That's it The long neck is to keep it clear of hostile ground magic, or something. Its strangest feature, as I understand it, is that despite that long neck it has no voice."

"Strange magic indeed!" Bink agreed. "Strange unmagic, technically. The Land of Mundania could use a good, sensible shot of magic."

The sky was now densely crowded with animals, as the remaining stars emerged. Farther along was a crab, and a wingless bull, and a genuine single-headed dog. Birds abounded-half-familiar ones like the phoenix and bird of paradise, and a host of strange ones, like the crane, toucan, eagle, peacock, dove, and crow. There were people too-men, children, and several fetching young women.

That reminded Bink again of Chameleon. The longer he was away from her, the more he missed her. So what if she had her ugly phase? She also had her lovely phase-

"Look-there is the River Eridanus," Chester cried. Bink found it. The river flowed half across the sky, meandering from the feet of a giant all the way to-Bink couldn't see where it finished. Where could a river in the sky go? All manner of fish were associated with it, and one-"What is that?" Bink cried.

"The fabulous Mundane whale," Chester said. "I'm glad no such monster as that exists in our land!"

Bink agreed emphatically. He traced the river again, seeking its termination. It spread and thinned, becoming vague, eluding him. Then he spied a small lizard. "A chameleon!" he exclaimed.

As he spoke its name, the lizard changed, becoming the human Chameleon he knew and loved: his wife. She looked out at him from the deepest depths of the sky, and her mouth opened. Bink, Bink, she seemed to say. Come to me

Bink was on his feet, nearly banging his head against a bone. "I'm coming!" he cried joyfully. Why had he ever left her?

But there was no way to reach her. He could not climb the air, or fly up there, and in any event he knew she was just a picture, not real. Just a transformed lizard, itself imaginary. Still, he wished-Now the constellation centaur shot his arrow. The missile blazed as it flew, forming a brilliant streak across the sky, growing brighter and yet brighter as it drew near. Suddenly it loomed frighteningly large and close, as if flying right out of the sky-and cracked into a nearby tree. It was a dogwood; it yelped with pain, then growled and bared its teethlike inner branches in canine fury, seeking its enemy. In a moment it had torn the arrow to shreds.

Bink looked across at Chester, but could not make out the centaur's expression in the dark. That constellation arrow, no more than a shooting star, had struck a real tree close by "Was that centaur shooting at us?"

"He wasn't, he was criminally careless," Chester replied grimly. "If he was, he made a damn poor shot. That's a bad example that reflects on the merits of all centaurs. I will forward him a reminder," Now, visible against the sparkling night sky in silhouette, Chester stood tall and magnificent, a fine stallion of a man, and nocked one of his own arrows. He drew on the bow with all his formidable power and loosed the shaft upward.

Up, up it flew, somehow visible despite the night. Up, impossibly high, right to the verge of the nocturnal dome, right toward the centaur constellation.

Bink knew no physical arrow could strike a star or pattern of stars. After all, the constellations were merely imaginary lines drawn between those stars. Yet-

Chester's arrow plunked into the flank of the constellation centaur. The creature leaped with pain. From his mouth issued two comets and a shooting star: a powerful exclamation!

"Yeah? Same to you, vacuumhead!" Chester retorted.

The constellation reached back and yanked at Chester's arrow. A nova exploded from his mouth as he contemplated the damage. Several dim stars pulsed there, suggestive of the wound. He grabbed a handful of soft down feathers from the swan and rubbed them against the injury. Now it was the defeathered swan who cussed a bright streak of shooting stars, but the bird did not dare attack the centaur.

The sky-centaur snatched the extensible tube called the telescope and put it to his eye. The magic of this tube enabled him to see much farther than otherwise. "^@!!" he exclaimed with really foul invective, looking for the originator of the objectionable arrow.

"Right here, hoofhead!" Chester bawled, and lofted another arrow into the sky. "Come down and fight like a centaur!"

"I wouldn't-" Bink cautioned.

The constellation seemed to hear the challenge. He swung his telescope around and oriented on the bone-camp. A vile ringed planet shot from his mouth.

"That's right, dope!" Chester cried. "Come prove you're worthy of the name!"

Worthy of the name "dope"? Bink didn't like this at all, but was unable to stop it.

The constellation nocked another arrow. So did Chester. For a time the two faced each other, bows drawn, as it were, daring each other to shoot first. Then, almost together, their arrows leaped forth.

Both shots were uncomfortably accurate. Bink saw the two arrows cross midway in the heavens and home in on their targets as if magically guided. Neither centaur moved: this was evidently a point of honor in such duels. The one who jumped clear would show weakness of nerve, and few centaurs were weak in that department.

Both arrows missed-but not by much. Chester's shot almost grazed the constellation's forehead while the sky-centaur's arrow thunked into the ground beside Chester's left forehoof, which happened to be quite close to the Good Magician's head.

Humfrey woke with a start "You equine menace!" he cried grumpily. "Watch what you're doing!"

"I am watching," Chester said. "That's not my arrow. See, it has stardust on it"

Humfrey drew the arrow from the dirt "Why, so it does." He squinted up into the sky. "But stardust is not supposed to be down here. What's going on?"

Now Crombie stirred. "Squawk!"

"You're the Magician," the golem said. "You're supposed to know about things."

"About stellar constellations coming to life? It's been a long time since I reviewed that particular magic."

Humfrey stared up into the sky. "However, it would be a worthwhile study. Crombie, where's the most convenient access to that realm?"

Crombie pointed. Now Bink saw a pattern of stars resembling steps coming down to the horizon. They looked increasingly solid, and they seemed closer as he looked, descending almost to the rim of bones. Maybe it was possible after all to ascend!

He looked up into the stars again. They were even more brilliant than before, and the lines between them were stronger. The stick figures had assumed shadings that made them quite realistic. He saw Chameleon again, beckoning him. "I'm going up!"

"Squawk!" Crombie agreed. "I'm always ready for a good fight, and that comet-mouthed centaur needs a lesson."

Chester was already on his way to the steps, but at this he paused.

"Don't be a fool," the Magician snapped, running after them. "Crombie refers to the centaur in the sky, not you. You are loudmouthed, not comet-mouthed."

"Um, of course," Chester agreed without complete enthusiasm. He made a visible effort to shake off the annoyance. "Charge!"

They charged for the steps.

"Are you fools crazy?" Grundy yelled. 'There's nothing up there for you!"

Chester glanced at him; Bink saw the change in the shape of the centaur's head outlined against the massed constellations. "I didn't hear Crombie squawk."

"He didn't squawk!" the golem yelled, "I'm speaking for myself this time. Don't go into the sky! It's madness!"

"It's fascinating," Humfrey said. "Firsthand study of animated constellations! There may never be a better opportunity."

"I have to teach that centaur a lesson," Chester said.

Bink's eyes had returned to Chameleon. His need for her became as big as the sky. He continued forward.

"It's the madness," Grundy cried, yanking at the feathers of Crombie's neck. "It doesn't affect me. I see only the facts, because I'm not real. This is hostile magic. Don't go!"

"You're probably right, twerp," Humfrey agreed. "But this offering is too compelling to be denied."

"So was the siren! Don't do it!" Grundy repeated. "Where is your quest, if you let the madness take you now?"

"What do you care?" Chester demanded. "You have no feelings." He put his forehooves on the first step. It was firm, anchored at every corner by a pinpoint star. The lines were like threads, and the panels between them like glass. A translucent staircase, not quite invisible, going up into the sky.

Bink knew it was magic, and not to be trusted. But Chameleon was up there, waiting for him, and he had to go. His talent would not permit it if it were not safe, after all.

"Well, I'm not going!" Grundy screamed. He jumped from the griffin's back, fell into the foliage of a flower-bug bush, and scared up a swarm of flowerbugs. In a moment he was lost in the night

"Good riddance," Chester muttered, mounting the steps. The surfaces bowed slightly under his weight, drawing the anchoring stars inward, but held. Crombie, impatient with this, spread his wings and flew around the centaur and came to rest higher on the stairway. Apparently the ascent was too steep for comfortable flying by a creature of this size, so he preferred to mount by foot. The Good Magician was third, and Bink last

In a line they ascended. The stairway spiraled, so that soon Crombie was climbing directly above Bink. It was an interesting effect, but Bink was more intrigued by the view below. As he climbed above the level of the trees, the nocturnal landscape of the Xanth wilderness opened out below, impressive because of its special nature. Bink had once been transformed into a bird, and once had ridden a magic carpet, and once had flown in human form; magic had given him quite a varied experience. But this slow ascent up through the levels of the forest, with firm footing beneath him-this was different from the various forms of flight, and in a certain respect unique. He was highly aware that he could fall; the steps had no railing to hold him in, no barrier at the fringes of the steps. This seemed to put him right into the situation in a way that flight did not. To be above the ground, yet tied to it

The night forest was beautiful. A number of trees glowed. Some reached bone-white tentacles up; others were balls of pastel hues. Some had giant flowers that resembled eyes, and these eyes seemed to be focusing on Bink. Other treetops formed into mazes of interlocking branches. As he watched, the whole forest assumed the shape of a single human face. DON'T GO it mouthed.

Bink paused, momentarily disgruntled. Was the wilderness really trying to speak to him? Whose interest did it represent? It could be jealous of his escape to the sky. Hungry for his body. Or just mischievous.

Crombie had balked at the tangle tree. Chester had been fortuitously deafened in time to save them from the siren's call. His talent had been operating then. Why was it quiescent now?

He looked upward. The enormous panorama of the sky awaited him-animals, monsters, and people. They were all frozen in place at the moment, awaiting the arrival of Bink's party. Up there lay adventure.

He resumed his climb. He had to hurry, because the others had continued moving, and were now several spirals ahead of him. He didn't want to be late for the action!

As he caught up to the Magician, who was lagging behind the stout four-legged entities, something buzzed in from the darkness to the side. It sounded like a very large insect, one of the exotic bugs. Not another gold bug, he hoped! He waved his arms, hoping to scare it off.

"Bink!" a small voice cried.

What now? He was getting winded from his rapid climb, and had to watch carefully to be sure he didn't make a misstep while absorbing the splendors of the immense canopy above and the broad disk below. He was in the very center of a phenomenal scene, and he wanted to experience every aspect of it with full intensity, and he didn't need any bugs distracting him. "Go away!"

The bug flew near. There was light associated with it. It was a flying fish, propelling itself by a jet of bubbles from its fuselage, so that its rigid wings could provide sufficient lift. The gills were air-intakes, and assorted little fins provided stability and spot maneuverability. Flying fish were swift, Bink knew; they had to be, or they dropped to the ground. This one carried a light on its back like a miniature lantern, and-

"Bink! It's Grundy!" And lo, it was indeed the golem, braced on the back of the fish, guiding it with little reins and a bit set in its mouth. Grundy's free hand held the lamp, which seemed to be a tiny star, captive in a little net "I caught this fish by luring it with fish-talk; now it understands and is helping. I have the spell-reversal wood along." He tapped his saddle with his rein-hand. It was the gnarly fragment that Bink had discarded.

"But how can the fish fly?" Bink demanded. 'How can you translate? The reversal-"

"It doesn't affect the fish because the fish has no talent; the fish is magical," Grundy explained with limited patience. "The wood only reverses exterior magic, not inherent magic."

That doesn't make much sense to me," Bink said.

The wood reversed birdbeak's talent, but did not change him back into a man," the golem continued. "It fouled up the gnome's information, but did not make him a regular man either. It didn't affect you, because-"

The golem was not aware of Bink's talent, but this remained a pertinent question: had Bink's talent conquered the wood-or been reversed by it? The answer could be a matter of life and death! "What about you?" Bink demanded. "You're still translating!"

"I'm not real," Grundy said shortly. "Take away my magic and I'm nothing but string and mud. The wood is just wood, to me."

"But the wood was affecting you before! You were speaking gibberish, until I got you away from it"

"Was I?" Grundy asked, startled. "I never realized. I guess translation is my talent, so…" He faded out, considering. "I know! I'm not translating now. I'm speaking for myself!"

And there was the answer. "Well, keep that wood away from me," Bink said. "I don't trust it."

"No. I have to bring it close to you. Put your hand on it, Bink."

"I will not!" Bink exclaimed.

Grundy jerked the reins to one side, kicked the flanks of the fish, and leaned forward. The fish swerved, reared, and accelerated right at Bink. "Hey!" he protested as it grazed his hand.

But at that moment his outlook changed. Abruptly the stars were mere stars, and the stairs-were the branches of a latticework tree. Above him the others were near its summit, about to step onto the thinning twigs that could not support their weight. Crombie was already supporting much of his mass by flapping his wings, and Chester-

Bink shook his head in amazement. A centaur, climbing a tree!

Then the fish buzzed out of range, and the madness returned. Bink was on the translucent stairway again, climbing toward the glowing constellations. "It's crazy, I know!" he cried. "But I can't help myself. I have to go on up!"

The golem guided his fish in close again, "You can't throw it off even when you know it's doom?"

"It's mad!" Bink agreed, suffering a measure of sanity as the wood passed near again. "But true! But don't worry about me-I'll survive. Go get Chester off that branch before he kills himself!"

"Right!" Grundy agreed. He spurred his mount and buzzed upward. Bink resumed his climb, cursing himself for his foolishness.

The fish disappeared in the night. Only the caged star-that Bink now knew was nothing more than a glowberry-showed Grundy's location. That light moved up near the centaur.

"Good grief, golem!" Chester exclaimed. "What the horsefeathers am I doing in a tree?"

Bink could not hear Grundy's side of the conversation, but could guess its nature. After a moment Chester started backing down the stairway steps.

"Hey, oaf!" the Magician cried. "Get your ass's rear out of my face!"

"Go down," the centaur cried. "This is no stair, it's a tree. We're climbing to our doom."

"It's information. Let me by!"

"It's madness! Grundy, take your wood to him."

The light descended. "Great galloping gizzards!" Humfrey cried. "It is a tree! We've got to get down!"

But now the centaur was climbing again. "I haven't finished my business with that constellation centaur," he said.

"You equine fool!" Humfrey exclaimed. "Desist!"

The fish zoomed down toward Bink. "I can't handle them both," Grundy cried. "I've only got the single piece of wood, and there are four of you."

"The griffin can fly; hell be all right for now," Bink said. "The stair-I mean the tree-is narrow. Give Chester the wood; no one can pass him. Then you search for more wood."

"I had already thought of that," the golem said. The fish zoomed off. In a moment Chester reversed his course again. The Good Magician cursed in most un-Magician like vernacular, but was forced to retreat in the face of the centaur's rear. Soon they were right above Bink-and he too cursed as his ascent was balked

The constellations, seeing the retreat, exploded in rage. The sky centaur cried silently. At his summons, the other monsters of the heavens gathered: the dragon, the hydra, the serpent, the winged horse, the giant, and in the river the whale.

The madness remained upon him, but Bink no longer wanted to climb the stairway. The monsters were converging, clustering about the top of the stair-spiral. The serpent was starting down, its sinuous body coiling along the spiral, while the winged ones flew down. Bink was not certain whether they were real or illusion or something in between-but remembering the arrow-strike at the dogwood tree, he was disinclined to gamble. "We've got to get under cover!" he cried.

But Crombie, highest on the stair and unaffected by the spell-wood, flew up to do battle with the winged horse. "Squawk!" he cried.

"Neigh!" the horse replied.

Grundy buzzed by on his steed. "Oooh, what they said!"

Wings spread, griffin and horse faced off, claws swiping, hooves striking. Contact was made, but Bink couldn't tell from the whirling, flapping silhouettes which creature was prevailing.

Then the serpent arrived. Chester could not use his bow effectively, since no arrow would travel a spiral path, so he waited with his sword. Bink wondered what the centaur saw, since he had the wood and so perceived reality-or something. Probably it was not a serpent, but an equivalent threat. Meanwhile Bink had to interpret it as he saw it.

As the huge snake-head came close, the centaur bellowed a warning and struck it across the nose. Blade met fang. The serpent's teeth were large, reflecting starlight, and they gleamed with what might be poison. There were two projecting ones, and they moved with the precision of a fencer. Chester was compelled to retreat, since he had only one sword.

Then Chester took a cue from the winged horse, and used his front hooves. He bashed the serpent on the nose, one-two, one-two, while dazzling it with the sword. His front feet did not have the power of his rear ones, but his hooves had sharp fighting edges and a cumulative impact that could splinter bark from a tree, or scales from a serpent

What would happen, Bink wondered, if the wood were to touch the serpent? Would it give the serpent a different view of reality? Would the centaur then seem to be something else? How could anyone be sure what magic was real, and what false?

The serpent hissed and gaped its jaws so widely that its mouth became as tall as the centaur. Its sinuous tongue snaked out to wrap around Chester's sword arm, immobilizing it, but Chester shifted his weapon to his other hand, and efficiently lopped off the tongue. The serpent made a hissing howl of agony and snapped its mouth closed, the tusks clanging against each other. Chester took a moment to unwrap the segment of tongue from his arm, then resumed slashing at the nose. He was holding his own.

The dragon arrived. It zoomed in at the Good Magician. Humfrey might be captive to the madness, but he was not a fool. His hand dived into his jacket and came out with a vial. But so swift was the dragon's onslaught that there was no time to open the container. Instead, Humfrey flipped it into the opening mouth. The dragon snapped at it automatically. The vial crunched under its bite. Vapor exploded, expanding into a cloud that jetted out between the dragon's teeth and coalesced about its head. But it did not form into anything else-no demon, no smoke screen, not even a sandwich. It just clung there in hardening gobs.

"What is it?" Bink cried. "Did the vial misfire?"

"I had to grab randomly," Humfrey replied. "It's-I believe it is foaming insulation."