“Did it ever occur to any of you scheming conspirators that I might have other plans?” Dor asked, nettled despite the effect she had on him. Perhaps he was reacting in order to counter his illicit liking for her. She certainly didn’t seem like eight hundred years old!
“No, that never occurred to any of us,” she said. “Do you think you have a chance to escape?”
“I doubt it,” he said. “But first we have to deal with this mysterious Magician of Centaur Isle. And I hope King Trent comes back soon.”
“I hope so, too,” Millie said. “And Queen Iris. She was the one who helped bring me back to life. She and your father. I’m forever grateful to them. And to you, too, Dor, for returning Jonathan to me.”
She always referred to the Zombie Master by his given name. “I was glad to do it,” Dor said.
Then a mishmash of creatures closed in on them, and Dor gave himself up to socializing, perforce. Everyone had a word for the King. Dor wasn’t good at this; in fact, he felt almost as awkward as Good Magician Humfrey looked. What was it really like, getting married?
“You’ll find out!” the book he still carried said, chuckling evilly.
They had surveyed prospective routes and decided to travel down the coast of Xanth. Dor’s father Bink had once traveled into the south center region, down to the great interior Lake Ogre-Chobee, where the curse-fiends lived, and he recommended against that route. Dragons, chasms, nickelpedes, and other horrors abounded, and there was a massive growth of brambles that made passing difficult, as well as a region of magic-dust that could be hazardous to one’s mental health.
On the other hand, the open sea was little better. There the huge sea monsters ruled, preying on everything available. If dragons ruled the wilderness land, serpents ruled the deep water. Where the magic ambience of Xanth faded, the Mundane monsters commenced, and these were worse yet. Dor knew them only through his inattentive geography studies-toothy alligators, white sharks, and blue whales. He didn’t want any part of those!
But the coastal shallows excluded the larger sea creatures and the solid-land monsters. Chances were that with a strong youth like the ogre Smash along, they could move safely through this region with out raising too much commotion. Had that not been the case, the Elders would never have permitted this excursion, regardless of the need. As it was, they insisted that Dor take along some preventive magic from the Royal Arsenal-a magic sword, a flying carpet, and an escape hoop. Irene carried a selected bag of seeds that she could use to grow particular plants at need-fruits, nuts, and vegetables for the food, and watermelons and milkweed If they had no safe supply of liquid.
They used a magic boat that would sail itself swiftly and quietly down any channel that was deep enough, yet was light enough to be portaged across sand bars. The craft was indefatigable; all they had to do was guide it, and in one full day and night it would bring them to Centaur Isle. This would certainly be faster and easier than walking. Chet, whose geographic education had not been neglected, had a clear notion of the coastal outline and would steer the boat past the treacherous shoals and deeps. Everything was as routine as the nervous Elders could make it.
They started in midmorning from the beach nearest Castle Roogna that had been cleared of monsters. The day was clear, the sea calm.
Here there was a brief bay between the mainland and a long chain of barrier islands, the most secure of all waters, theoretically. This trip should not only be safe, but also dull. Of course nothing in Xanth could be taken for granted.
For an hour they traveled south along the bay channel. Dor grew tired of watching the passing islands, but remained too keyed up to rest. After all, it was a centaur Magician they were going to spy out something never before known in Xanth, unless one counted Herman the Hermit Centaur, who hadn’t really been a Magician, just a strongly talented individual who related to the Will-o’-Wisps.
Smash, too, was restive; he was a creature of physical action, and this free ride irked him. Dor would have challenged him to a game of tic-tac-toe, an amusement he had learned from the child of one of the soldier settlers, but knew he would win every game; ogres were not much on intellect.
Grundy the Golem entertained himself by chatting with passing fish and sea creatures. It was amazing, the gossip he came up with. A sneaky sawfish was cutting in on the time of the damselfish of a hammerhead, and the hammerhead was getting suspicious. Pretty soon he would pound the teeth out of the sawfish. A sea squirt was shoring himself up with the flow from an undersea fresh-water spring, getting tipsy on the rare liquid. A certain little oyster was getting out of bed at midnight and gambling with the sand dollars; he was building up quite an alluvial deposit at the central bank of sand.
But when his folks found out, he would be gamboling to a different tune.
Irene, meanwhile, struck up a dialogue with the centaur. “You’re so intelligent, Chet. How is it that your magic is so, well, simple?”
“No one is blessed with the selection of his personal talent,” Chet said philosophically. He was lying ‘m the middle of the boat, so as to keep the center of gravity low, and seemed comfortable enough. “We centaurs less than most, since only recently has our magic been recognized. My mother-“
“I know. Cherie thinks magic is obscene.”
“Oh, she is broad-minded about its presence in lesser creatures.”
“Like human beings?” Irene asked dangerously.
“No need to be sensitive about it. We do not discriminate against your kind, and your magic does to a considerable extent compensate.”
“How come we rule Xanth, then?” she demanded. Dor found himself getting interested; this was better than fish gossip anyway.
“There is some question whether humans are actually dominant in Xanth,” Chet said. “The dragons of the northern reaches might have a different opinion. At any rate, we centaurs permit you humans your foibles. If you wish to point to one of your number and say, ‘That individual rules Xanth,’ we have no objection so long as that person doesn’t interfere with important things.”
“What’s so important?”
“You would not be in a position to understand the nuances of centaur society.”
Irene bridled. “Oh, yeah? Tell me a nuance.”
“I’m afraid that is privileged information.”
Dor knew Chet was asking for trouble. Already, stray wild seeds in Irene’s vicinity were popping open and sending out shoots and roots, a sure sign of her ire. But like many girls, she concealed it well. “Yet humans have the best magic.”
“Certainly-if you value magic.”
“What would you centaurs say if my father started changing you into fruitflies?”
“Fruit neat,” Smash said, overhearing. “Let’s eat!”
“Don’t be a dunce,” Grundy said. “It’s two hours yet till lunch.”
“Here, I’ll start a breadfruit plant,” Irene said. “You can watch it grow.” She picked a seed from her collection and set it in one of the earth-filled pots she had brought along. “Grow,” she commanded, and the seed sprouted. The ogre watched its growth avidly, waiting for it to mature and produce the first succulent loaf of bread.
“King Trent would not do anything as irresponsible as that,” Chet said, picking up on the question. “We centaurs have generally gotten along well with him.”
“Because he can destroy you. You’d better get along!”
“Not so. We centaurs are archers. No one can get close enough to harm us unless we permit him. We get along because we choose to.”