Dor’s party camped at the edge of the city, under a large umbrella tree Irene grew to shelter them. The tree’s canopy dipped almost to the ground, concealing them, and this seemed just as well. They were not sure how the Mundanes would react to the sight of an ogre, golem, or centaur.
“We have gone as far as we can as a group,” Dor said. “There are many people here, and few trees; we can’t avoid being seen any more. I think Irene and I had better go in and find a museum.“
“A library,” Amolde corrected him. “I would love to delve eternally in a Mundane museum, but the information is probably most readily accessible in a library.”
“A library,” Dor agreed. He knew what that was, because King Trent had many books in his library-office in Castle Roogna.
“However, that is academic, no pun intended,” the centaur continued. “You cannot go there without me.”
“I know I’ll step out of magic,” Dor said. “But I won’t need to do anything special. Nothing magical. Once I find the library for you-“
“You have no certainty you can even speak their language,” Arnolde said curtly. “In the magic ambience, you can; beyond it, this is problematical.”
“I’m not sure we speak the same language in our own group, sometimes,” Irene said with a smile. “Words like ‘ambience, and ‘problematical!’”
“I can speak their language,” Grundy said. “That’s my talent. I was made to translate.”
“A magical talent,” Amolde said.
“Oooops,” Grundy said, chagrined. “Won’t work outside the aisle.”
“But you can’t just walk in to the city!” Dor said. “I’m sure they aren’t used to centaurs.”
“I would have to walk in to use the library,” Amolde pointed out. “Fortunately, I anticipated such an impediment, so obtained a few helpful spells from our repository. We centaurs do not normally practice inherent magic, but we do utilize particular enchantments on an ad hoc basis. I have found them invaluable when on field trips to the wilder regions of Xanth.” He checked through his bag of spells, much the way Irene checked through her seeds. “I have with me assorted spells for invisibility, inaudibility, untouchability, and so forth. The golem and I can traverse the city unperceived.”
“What about the ogre?” Dor asked. “He can’t exactly merge with the local population either.”
Amolde frowned. “Him, too, I suppose,” he agreed distastefully. “However, there is one attendant liability inherent in this process-“
“I won’t be able to detect you either,” Dor finished.
“Precisely. Some one of our number must exist openly, for these spells make the handling of books awkward; our hands would pass right through the pages. My ambience of magic should be unimpaired, of course, and we could remain with you-but you would have to do all the research unassisted.”
“He’ll never make it,” Irene said.
“She’s right,” Dor said. “I’m just not much of a scholar. I’d mess it up.”
“Allow me to cogitate,” Amolde said. He closed his eyes and stroked his chin reflectively. For a worried moment Dor thought the centaur was going to be sick, then realized that he had the wrong word in mind. Cogitate actually referred to thinking.
“Perhaps I have an alternative,” Amolde said. “You could obtain the assistance of a Mundane scholar, a qualified researcher, perhaps an archivist. You could pay him one of the gold coins you have hoarded, or perhaps a diamond; I believe either would have value in any frame of Mundania.”
“Uh, I guess so,” Dor said doubtfully.
“I tell you, even with help, he’ll foul it up,” Irene said. She seemed to have forgotten her earlier compliments on Dor’s performance. That was one of the little things about her selective memory. “You’re the one who should do the research, Amolde.”
“I can only, as it were, look over his shoulder,” the centaur said. “It would certainly help if I could direct the manner he selects references and turns the pages, as I am a gifted reader with a fine memory. He would not have to comprehend the material. But unless I were to abort the imperceptibility spells, which I doubt very much would be wise since I have no duplicates-“
“There’s a way, maybe,” Grundy said. “I could step outside the magic aisle. Then he could see me and hear me, and I could tell him to turn the page, or whatever.”
“And any Mundanes in the area would pop their eyeballs, looking at the living doll,” Irene said. “If anyone does it, I’m the one.”
“So they can pop their eyes looking up your skirt,” the golem retorted, miffed.
“That may indeed be the solution,” Amolde said.
“Now wait a minute!” Irene cried.
“He means the messenger service,” Dor told her gently.
“Of course,” the centaur said. “Since we have ascertained that the aisle is narrow, it would be feasible to stand quite close while Dor remains well within the forward extension.”
Dor considered, and it did seem to be the best course. He had somehow thought he could just go into Mundania, follow King Trent’s trail by querying the terrain, and reach the King without much trouble. This temporal discontinuity, as the centaur put it, was hard to understand and harder to deal with, and the vicarious research the centaur proposed seemed fraught with hangups. But what other way was there? “We’ll try it,” he agreed. “In the morning.”
They settled down for the night, their second in Mundania. Smash and Grundy slept instantly; Dor and Irene had more trouble, and Arnolde seemed uncomfortably wide awake. “We are approaching direct contact with Mundane civilization,” the centaur said. “In a certain sense this represents the culmination of an impossible dream for me, almost justifying the personal damnation my magic talent represents. Yet I have had so many confusing intimations, I hardly know what to expect. This city could be too primitive to have a proper library. The denizens could for all we know practice cannibalism. There are so many imponderabilities.”
“I don’t care what they practice,” Irene said. “Just so long as I find my father.”
“Perhaps we should query the surroundings in the morning,” Arnolde said thoughtfully, “to ascertain whether suitable facilities exist here, before we venture any farther. Certainly we do not wish to chance discovery by the Mundanes unless we have excellent reason.”
“And we should ask where the best Mundane archivist is,” Irene agreed.
Dor drew a word in the dirt with one finger: ONESTI. He contemplated it morosely.
“This is relevant?” the centaur inquired, glancing at the word.
“It’s what King Trent told me,’ Dor said. “If ever I was in doubt, to proceed with honesty.”
“Honesty?” Amolde asked, his brow at the dirt.
“I think about that a lot when I’m in doubt,” Dor said. “I don’t like deceiving people, even Mundanes.”
Irene smiled tiredly. “Amolde, it’s the way Dor spells the word. He is the world’s champion poor speller. O N E S T I: Honesty.”
“ONESTI,” the centaur repeated, removing his spectacles to rub his eyes. “I believe I perceive it now. A fitting signature for a King.”
“King Trent’s a great King,” Dor agreed. “I know his advice will pull us through somehow.”
Amolde seemed almost to smile, as if finding Dor’s attitude peculiar. “I will sleep on that,” the centaur said. And he did, lying down on the dirt-scratched word.