Chet shrugged with his foresection and flicked his handsome tail about negligently. “I spoke generically, of course. There is no sexual discrimination among centaurs.”
“That’s what you think,” Grundy put in. “Who’s the boss in your family-Chester or Cherie? Does she let him do anything he wants?”
“Well, my mother is strong-willed,” Chet admitted.
“I’ll bet the fillies run the whole show at Centaur Isle,” Grundy said. “Same as they do at Castle Roogna.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Irene said, pouting.
“You may guard if you wish,” Chet said.
“You think I won’t? Well, I will. Give me that paddle.” She grabbed the emergency paddle, which would now be needed to keep the boat from drifting.
The others settled down comfortably, using pads and buoyant cushions. Chet’s equine portion was admirably suited for lying down, but his human portion was more awkward. He leaned against the side of the boat, head against looped arms.
“Say-how will I sleep when we’re nudging past that dragon?” Irene asked. “My sleeping turn will come then.”
There was a stiffed chuckle from Grundy’s direction. “Guess one sexist brought that on herself. Just don’t snore too loud when we’re passing under its tail. Might scare it into-“
She hurled a cushion at the golem, then settled resolutely into position, watching the dragon.
Dor tried to sleep, but found himself too wound up. After a while he sat upright. “It’s no use; maybe I’ll sleep tomorrow,” he said. Irene was pleased to have his company. She sat cross-legged opposite him, and Dor tried not to be aware that in that position her green skirt did not fully cover her legs. She had excellent ones; in that limited respect she had already matched the Gorgon. Dor liked legs; in fact, he liked anything he wasn’t supposed to see.
She sprouted a buttercup plant while Dor plucked a loaf from the breadfruit, and they feasted on fresh bread and butter in silence. The dragon watched, and finally, mischievously, Dor rolled some bread into a compact wad and threw it at the monster. The dragon caught it neatly and gulped it down. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad monster; maybe Grundy could talk to it and arrange for safe passage.
No-such a predator could not be trusted. If the dragon wanted to let them pass, it would go away. Better strategy would be to keep it awake and alert all day, so that it would be tired at night.
“Do you think this new centaur Magician will try to take over Xanth?” Irene asked quietly when it seemed the others were asleep.
Dor could appreciate her concern. Chet, who was a friend, was arrogant enough about centaur-human relations; what would be the attitude of a grown centaur with the power of a Magician? Of course the Magician would not be grown right now; it must be new-birthed.
But in time it could become adult, and then it could be an ornery creature, like Chet’s sire Chester, but without Chester’s redeeming qualities. Dor knew that some centaurs did not like human beings; those tended to stay well clear of Castle Roogna. But Centaur Isle was well clear, and that was where this menace was.
“We’re on our way to investigate this matter,” he reminded her. “There is help for King Trent there, too, according to Crombie’s pointing. Maybe we just need to figure out how to turn this situation positive instead of negative.”
She shifted her position slightly, unconsciously showing a little more of her legs, including a tantalizing flash of inner thigh. “You are going to try to help my father, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m going to try!” Dor said indignantly, hoping that if there was any flush on his face, she would assume it was because of his reaction to her words, rather than her flesh. Dor had in the past seen some quite lovely nymphs in quite scanty attire-but nymphs didn’t really count. They were all well formed and scantily attired, so were not remarkable. Irene was a real girl, and that type ranged from lovely to ugly-in fact, his mother Chameleon covered that range in the course of each month-and Irene did not normally display a great deal of her body at a time. Thus each glimpse, beyond a certain perimeter, was special. But more special when the display was unintentional.
“I know If my father doesn’t come back, you’ll stay King.”
“I’m not ready to stay King. In twenty years, maybe, I’ll be able to handle it. Right now I just want King Trent back. He’s your father; I think he’s my friend.”
“What about my mother?”
Dor grimaced. “Even Queen Iris,” he said. “I’d rather face a lifelike illusion of a dragon than the real thing.”
“You know, I never had any real privacy till she left,” Irene said. “She was always watching me, always telling on me. I hardly dared even to think for myself, because I was afraid she’d slip one of her illusions into my mind and snitch on me. I used to wish something would happen to her-not anything bad, just something to get her out of my hair for a while. Only now that it has-“
“You didn’t really want her gone,” Dor said. “Not like this.”
“Not like this,” she agreed. “She’s a bitch, but she is my mother. Now I can do anything I want-and I don’t know what I want.” She shifted position again. This time the hem of her skirt dropped to cover more of her legs. It was almost as if her reference to privacy from her mother’s snooping around her mind had brought about privacy from Dor’s surreptitious snooping around her body. “Except to have them back again.”
Dor found he liked Irene much better this way. Perhaps her prior sharpness of tongue, back when her parents had been in Xanth, had been because of that constant feeling of being watched. Anything real might have been demeaned or ridiculed, so she never expressed anything real. “You know, I’ve had the opposite problem. I have privacy but no one around me does. Because there’s not much anybody does that I can’t find out about. All I have to do is ask their furniture, or their clothing. So they avoid me, and I can’t blame them. That’s why I’ve found it easier to have friends like Smash. He wears nothing but his hair, and he thinks furniture is for bonfires, and he has no embarrassing secrets anyway.”
“That’s right!” she said. “I have no more privacy with you than I do with my mother. How come I don’t feel threatened with you?”
“Because I’m harmless,” Dor said with a wry chuckle. “Not by choice, it’s just the way I am. The Gorgon says you have me all wrapped up anyway.”
She smiled-a genuine, warm smile he liked a lot. “She snitched. She would. She naturally sees all men as creatures to be dazzled and petrified. Good Magician Humfrey never had a chance. But I don’t know if I even want you. That way, I mean. My mother figures I’ve got to marry you so I can be Queen-but that’s her desire, not necessarily mine. I mean, why would I want to grow up just like her, with no real power and a lot of time on my hands? Why make my own daughter as miserable as she made me?”
“Maybe you will have a son,” Dor offered. This was an intriguing new avenue of exploration.
“You’re right. You’re harmless. You don’t know a thing.” She finished her bread and tossed the crumbs on the water. They floated about, forming evanescent picture patterns before drifting away.
Somehow the afternoon had passed; the sun was dropping into the water beyond the barrier island. There was a distant sizzle as it touched the liquid, and a cloud of steam; then it was extinguished.
The others woke and ate. Then Chet guided the boat to the island shore.
“Anything dangerous to people here?” Dor asked it.
“Only boredom,” the island replied. “Nothing interesting ever happens here, except maybe a seasonal storm or two.”
That was what they wanted: a dull locale. They took turns leaving the boat in order to attend to sanitary needs. Irene also took time to grow a forgetme flower.