"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."