He went to see his grandfather Roland, who lived in the North Village, several days’ walk beyond the Gap Chasm. Kings of Xanth had once resided here, before Trent restored Castle Roogna. He marched up the neat walk and knocked on the humble door.
“Oh, grandfather!” Dor cried the moment the strong old man appeared. “Something has happened to King Trent, and I must go look for him.”
“Impossible,” Roland said sternly. “The King may not leave Castle Roogna for more than a day without appointing another Magician as successor. At the moment there are no other Magicians who would assume the crown, so you must remain there until Trent returns. That is the law of Xanth.”
“But King Trent and Queen Iris went to Mundania!”
“Mundania!” Roland was as surprised as Irene had been. “No wonder he did not consult with us! We would never have permitted that.”
So there had been method in the manner King Trent had set Dor up for this practice week. Trent had bypassed the Council of Elders!
But that was not Dor’s immediate concern. “I’m not fit to govern, grandfather. I’m too young. I’ve got to get King Trent back!”
“Absolutely not! I am only one member of the Council, but I know their reaction. You must remain here until Trent returns.”
“But then how can I rescue him?”
“From Mundania? You can’t. He will have to extricate himself from whatever situation he is in, assuming he lives.”
“He lives!” Dor repeated emphatically. He had to believe that! The alternative was unthinkable. “But I don’t know how long I can keep governing Xanth. The people know I’m not really King. They think King Trent is nearby, just giving me more practice. They won’t obey me much longer.”
“Perhaps you should get help,” Roland suggested. “I disapprove on principle of deception, but I think it best in this case that the people not know the gravity of the situation. Perhaps it is not grave at all. Trent may return in good order at any time. Meanwhile, the Kingdom need not be governed solely by one young man.”
“I could get help, I guess,” Dor said uncertainly. “But what about King Trent?”
“He must return by himself-or fail to. None of us can locate him in Mundania, let alone help him. This is the obvious consequence of his neglect in obtaining the prior advice of the Council of Elders. We must simply wait. He is a resourceful man who will surely prevail if that is humanly possible.”
With that Dor had to be satisfied. He was King, but he could not go against the Elders. He realized now that this was not merely a matter of law or custom, but of common sense. Any situation in Mundania that was too much for King Trent to handle would be several times too much for Dor.
Irene was more positive than he had expected, when he gave her the news on his return. “Of course the Elders would say that. They’re old and conservative. And right, I guess. We’ll just have to make do until my father gets back.”
Dor didn’t quite trust her change of heart, but knew better than to inquire. “Who can we get to help?” He knew it would be impossible to exclude Irene from any such activity. King Trent was, after all, her father, the one person to whom her loyalty was unfailing.
“Oh, all the kids. Chet, Smash, Grundy-“
“To run a Kingdom?” he asked dubiously.
“Would you rather leave it to the Elders?”
She had a point. “I hope the situation doesn’t last long,” he said.
“You certainly don’t hope it more than I do!” she agreed, and he knew that was straight from her heart.
Irene went off to locate the people mentioned so that Dor would not arouse suspicion by doing it himself. The first she found was Grundy the Golem. Grundy was older than the others and different in several respects. He had been created as a golem, animated wood and clay and string, and later converted to full-person status. He was only a handspan tall, and spoke all the languages of all living things which was the useful talent for which he had been created. Grundy could certainly help in solving the routine problems of Xanth. But he tended to speak too often and intemperately. In other words, he was mouthy. That could be trouble.
“Now this is a secret,” Dor explained. “King Trent is lost in Mundania, and I must run the Kingdom until he returns.”
“Xanth is in trouble!” Grundy exclaimed.
“That’s why I need your help. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have to be King, and I don’t want things to get out of control. You generally have good information-“
“I snoop a lot,” Grundy agreed. “Very well; I’ll snoop for you. First thing I have to tell you is that the whole palace is sniggering about a certain essay someone wrote for a certain female tutor-“
“That news I can dispense with,” Dor said.
“Then there’s the gossip about how a certain girl went swimming in her birthday suit, which suit seems to have stretched some since her birth, along with-“
“That, too,” Dor said, smiling. “I’m sure you comprehend my needs.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Your head.”
“He’s King, all right,” the golem muttered. One of the walls chuckled.
Irene brought in Chet. He was a centaur a little older than Dor, but he seemed younger because centaurs matured more slowly. He was Cherie’s son, which meant he was highly educated but very cautious about showing any magic talent. For a long time centaurs had believed they lacked magical talents, because most creatures of Xanth either had magic or were magic. Modern information had dissipated such superstitions. Chet did have a magic talent; he could make large things small. It was a perfectly decent ability, and many people had fine miniatures he had reduced for them, but it had one drawback; he could not reverse the process. His father was Chester Centaur, which meant Chet tended to be ornery when challenged, and was unhandsome in his human portion. When he reached his full stature, which would not be for some years yet, he would be a pretty solid animal. Dor, despite the maledictions he heaped on the race of centaurs while sweating over one of Cherie’s assignments, did like Chet, and had always gotten along with him.
Dor explained the situation. “Certainly I will help,” Chet said. He always spoke in an educated manner, partly because he was unconscionably smart, but mostly because his mother insisted. Technically, Cherie was Chet’s dam, but Dor refrained from using that term for fear Cherie would perceive the “n” he mentally added to it. Dor had sympathy for Chet; it was probably almost as hard being Cherie’s son as it was trying to be King. Chet would not dare misspell any words. “But I am uncertain how I might assist.”
“I’ve just barely figured out decent answers to the problems I’ve already dealt with,” Dor said earnestly. “I’m bound to foul up before long. I need good advice.”
“Then you should apply to my mother. Her advice is irrefutable.”
“I know. That’s too authoritative.”
Chet smiled. “I suspect I understand.” That was as close as he would come to criticizing his dam.
Later in the day Irene managed to bring in Smash. He was the offspring of Crunch the Ogre, and also not yet at full growth-but he was already about twice Dor’s mass and strong in proportion. Like all ogres, he was ugly and not smart; his smile would spook a gargoyle, and he could barely pronounce most words, let alone spell them. That quality endeared him to Dor. But the ogres association with human beings had made him more intelligible and sociable than others of his kind, and he was loyal to his friends. Dor had been his friend for years.
Dor approached this meeting diplomatically. “Smash, I need your help.”
The gross mouth cracked open like caked mud in a dehydrated pond. “Sure me help! Who me pulp to kelp?”