"I don't go for the game either," Chester agreed. "But the prize-that is worth a year of my life."
"By definition," Bink agreed morosely. "One Question Answered by the Good Magician Humfrey-free. But everyone's competing for it; someone else will win."
"Not if we get hoofing!" Chester said. "Let's go unmask the zombie before it gets away!"
"Yes," Bink agreed, embarrassed by his previous reaction.
They passed the sword, still stuck in the tree. "Finders keepers!" Chester exclaimed happily, and put his hand to it.
"That's a gluebark; it won't let go."
But the centaur had already grasped the sword and yanked. Such was his strength there was a shower of bark and wood. But the sword did not come free.
"Hm," Chester said. "Look, tree-we have a glue-bark in Centaur Village. During the drought I watered it every day, so it survived. Now all I ask in return is this sword, that you have no use for."
The sword came free. Chester tucked it into his quiver of arrows, fastening it in place with a loop of the coil of rope he also carried. Or so Bink guessed, observing the contortions of the cactus. Bink had put a hand to his own sword, half-fearing a renewal of hostilities, but the other weapon was quiescent. Whatever had animated it was gone.
Chester became aware of Bink's stare. "You just have to understand trees," he said, moving on, "It's true of course; a centaur never lies. I did water that tree. It was more convenient than the privy."
So this gluebark had given up its prize. Well, why not? Centaurs were indeed generally kind to trees, though Chester had no particular love for needle-cactuses. Which was no doubt why the Queen in her humor had imposed this costume on him.
They came to the place where Bink had encountered the zombie, but the awful thing was gone. Only a slimy chunk of dirt lay in the path. Chester nudged it with one forehoof. "Real dirt-from a fake zombie?" he inquired, puzzled. "The Queen's illusions are getting better."
Bink nodded agreement. It was a disquieting note. Obviously the Queen had extended the illusion greatly-but why should she bother? Her magic was strong, far beyond the talents of ordinary people, for she was one of the three Magician-class citizens of Xanth. But it had to be a strain on even her power to maintain every detail of every costume of every person attending the masquerade. Bink and Chester's costumes were visual only, or it would have been difficult for them to converse.
"Here is a fresh pile of dirt," Chester remarked. "Real dirt, not zombie dirt." He tapped at it with a cactus foot that nevertheless left a hoofprint. "Could the thing have gone back into the ground here?"
Curious, Bink scraped at the mound with his own loot There was nothing inside it except more dirt. No Zombie. "Well, we lost him," Bink said, upset for a reason he could not quite fathom. The zombie had seemed so real! "Let's just find our way into the palace, instead of making fools of ourselves out here."
Chester nodded, his cactus-head wobbling ludicrously. "I wasn't guessing people very well anyway," he admitted. "And the only question I could ask the Good Magician doesn't have any answer."
"No answer?" Bink asked as they turned into another channel.
"Since Cherie had the colt-mind you, he's a fine little centaur, bushy-tailed-she doesn't seem to have much time for me anymore. I'm like a fifth hoof around the stable. So what can I-?"
"You, too!" Bink exclaimed, recognizing the root of his own bad mood. "Chameleon hasn't even had ours yet, but-" He shrugged.
"Don't worry-she won't have a colt."
Bink choked, though it really wasn't funny.
"Fillies-can't run with them, can't run without them," Chester said dolefully.
Suddenly a harpy rounded a corner. There was another scramble to avoid a collision. "You blind in the beak?" Chester demanded. "Flap off, birdbrain."
"You have a vegetable head?" the harpy retorted in a fluting tone. "Clear out of my way before I sew you up in a stinking ball with your own dull needles."
"Dull needles!" Chester, somewhat belligerent even in the best of moods, swelled up visibly at this affront. Had he actually been a cactus, he would have fired off a volley of needles immediately-and none of those darts looked dull. "You want your grimy feathers crammed up your snotty snoot?"
It was the harpy's turn to swell. Most of its breed were female, but this one was male: more of the Queen's rather cutting humor. "Naturally," the bird-man fluted. "Right after you have the juice squeezed out of your pulp, greenface."
"Oh, yeah?" Chester demanded, forgetting that centaurs were not common brawlers. Harpy and cactus squared off. The harpy was evidently a considerably larger creature, one that never had to take any guff off strangers. That odd, half-musical mode of speech-
"Manticora!" Bink exclaimed.
The harpy paused. "One point for you, Centaur. Your voice sounds familiar, but-"
Startled, Bink reminded himself that he was in the guise of a centaur at the moment, so that it was himself, not Chester, the creature addressed, "I'm Bink. I met you when I visited the Good Magician, way back when-"
"Oh, yes. You broke his magic mirror. Fortunately he had another. Whatever became of you?"
"I fell upon evil times. I got married."
The manticora laughed musically. "Not to this cactus, I trust?"
"Listen, thing-" Chester said warningly.
"This really is my friend, Chester Centaur," Bink said quickly. "He's the nephew of Herman the hermit, who saved Xanth from the-"
"I knew Herman!" the Manticora said. "Greatest centaur there ever was, even before he gave his noble life for his country. Only one I know who wasn't ashamed of his magic talent. His will-o'-the-wisps led me out of a dragon warren once. When I learned of his death, I was so sad I went out and stung a small tangle tree to death. He was so much better than those hoof-headed equines of the common herd who exiled him-" He broke off. "No offense, Cactus, you being his nephew and all. I may have a target to sting with you, but I would not affront the memory of that remarkable hermit"
There was no surer route to Chester's favor than praise of his hero-uncle, as perhaps the manticora knew. "No offense!" he said instantly. "Everything you said is true! My people exiled Herman because they thought magic in a centaur was obscene. Most of them still do. Even my own filly, as nice a piece of horseflesh as you'd care to-" He shook his cactus-head, becoming aware of the impropriety. "They are hoofheads."
"Times are changing," the manticora said. "One day all the centaurs will be flaunting their talents instead of flouting them." He made a gesture with his harpy wings. "Well, I must go identify some more people, not that I need the prize. It's merely a challenge." He moved on. Bink marveled again at the humor of the Queen, to costume as a harpy such a formidable creature as a manticora, who possessed the head of a man with triple jaws, body of a lion, wings of a dragon, and tail of a monstrous scorpion. Certainly one of the most deadly monsters of the Land of Xanth-rendered into the likeness of one of the most disgusting. Yet the manticora was bearing up with grace, and playing the game of charades and costumes. Probably he felt secure in the knowledge that he had a soul, and so he cared little for appearances.