"Well, a Magician-"
"Never trust a Magician! They are all up to mischief!"
"Uh, maybe so," Bink said uneasily, and Chester nodded thoughtfully. "He was very convincing."
"They tend to be," the lord said darkly. Abruptly he shifted the subject. "I will show you the vortex. This way, if you please." He led the way to an interior panel. It slid aside at his touch. There was a glistening wall of glassy substance. No, not glass; it was moving. Fleeting irregularities showed horizontally. Now Bink could see through it somewhat vaguely, making out the three-dimensional shape. It was a column, perhaps twice his armspan in diameter, with a hollow center. In fact it was water, coursing around in circles at high speed. Or in spirals, going down-
"A whirlpool!" Chester exclaimed. "We are looking at the nether column of a whirlpool!"
"Correct," the lord said with pride. "We have constructed our castle around it, containing it by magic. Substances may pass into it, but not out of it. Criminals and other untoward persons are fed into its maw, to disappear forever. This is a most salutary deterrent."
Surely so! The mass of moving fluid was awesome in its smooth power, and frightening. Yet it was also in its fashion luring, like the song of the siren, or the madness.
Bink yanked his gaze away. "But where does it go?"
"Who would presume to know?" the lord inquired in return, quirking an eyebrow expressively. He slid the panel across and the vision of the vortex was gone.
"Enough of this," the lord decided. "We shall wine and dine you fittingly, and then you will audience our play."
The meal was excellent, served by fetching young women in scant green outfits who paid flattering attention to the travelers, especially Chester. They seemed to admire both his muscular man-portion and his handsome equine portion. Bink wondered, as he had before, what it was girls saw in horses. The siren had been so eager to ride!
At last, stuffed, Bink and Chester were ushered to the theater. The stage was several times the size of the chamber for the audience. Apparently these people did not like to watch as much as they liked to perform.
The curtain lifted and it was on: a gaudily costumed affair replete with bold swordsmen and buxom women and funny jokers. The staged duels were impressive, but Bink wondered how proficient those men would be with their weapons in a real battle. There was a considerable difference between technical skill and combat nerve! The women were marvelously seductive-but would they be as shapely without the support of their special clothes, or as wittily suggestive minus the memorized lines?
"You do not find our production entertaining?" the lord inquired.
"I prefer life," Bink replied.
The lord made a note on his pad: MORE REALISM,
Then the play shifted to a scene of music. The heroine sang a lovely song of loss and longing, meditating on her faithless lover, and it was difficult to imagine how any lout, no matter how louty, could be faithless to such a desirable creature. Bink thought of Chameleon again, and longed for her again. Chester was standing raptly beside him, probably thinking of horsing around with Cherie Centaur, who was indeed a fetching filly.
Then the song was augmented by a hauntingly lovely accompaniment. A flute was playing, its notes of such absolute quality and clarity that the lady's voice was shamed. Bink looked toward that sound-and there it was, a gleaming silver flute hanging in the air beside the heroine, playing by itself. A magic flute! The lady ceased singing, surprised, but the flute played on. Indeed, freed of the limitations of her voice, it trilled on into an aria of phenomenal expertise and beauty. Now the entire cast of players stood listening, seeming to find it as novel as Bink did.
The lord jumped to his feet "Who is performing that magic?" he demanded.
No one answered. All were absorbed in the presentation.
"Clear that set!" the lord cried, red-faced. "Everybody out, out, out!"
Slowly they cleared, fading into the wings, looking back at the solo instrument The stage was empty-but still the flute played, performing a medley of melodies, each more lovely than the one preceding.
The lord grabbed Bink by the shoulders. "Are you doing it?" he demanded, seeming about ready to choke.
Bink tore his attention from the flute. "I have no magic like that!" he said.
The lord hauled on Chester's muscular arm. "You-it must be yours, then!"
Chester's head turned to face him. "What?" he asked, as if coming out of a reverie. In that instant, flute and music faded.
"Chester!" Bink exclaimed. "Your talent! All the beauty in your nature, suppressed because it was linked to your magic, and as a centaur you couldn't-"
"My talent!" Chester repeated, amazed. "It must be me! I never did dare to-who would have believed-"
"Play it again!" Bink urged. "Make beautiful music! Prove you have magic, just as your hero-uncle Herman the Hermit did!"
"Yes," Chester agreed. He concentrated. The flute reappeared. It began to play, haltingly at first, then with greater conviction and beauty. And strangely, the centaur's rather homely face began to seem less so. Not so strange, Bink realized: much of Chester's brutality of expression stemmed from his habitual snarl. That snarl had abated; he had no need of it any more.
"Now you don't owe the Magician any service," Bink pointed out. "You found your talent yourself."
"What abominable mischief!" the lord cried. "You accepted our hospitality on the agreement that you would render service as an audience. You are not an audience-you are a performer. You have reneged on your agreement with us!"
Now a portion of Chester's familiar arrogance reasserted itself. The flute blew a flat note. "Manfeathers!" the centaur snapped. "I was only playing along with your heroine's song. Bring your play back; I'll watch it, and accompany it."
"Hardly," the lord said grimly. "We tolerate no non-guild performances in our midst. We maintain a monopoly."
"What are you going to do?" Chester demanded. "Throw a fit? I mean, a curse?"
"Uh, I wouldn't-" Bink cautioned his friend.
"I'll not tolerate such arrogance from a mere half-man!" the lord said.
"Oh, yeah?" Chester retorted. With an easy and insulting gesture he caught the man's shirtfront with one hand and lifted him off the floor.
"Chester, we're their guests!" Bink protested.
"Not any more!" the lord gasped. "Get out of this castle before we destroy you for your insolence!"
"My insolence-for playing a magic flute?" Chester demanded incredulously. "How would you like that flute up your-"
"Chester!" Bink cried warningly, though he had considerable sympathy for the centaur's position. He invoked the one name that had power to restrain Chester's wrath: "Cherie wouldn't like it if you-"
"Oh, I wouldn't do it to her!" Chester said. reconsidered. "Not with a flute-"
All this time the centaur had been holding the lord suspended in air. Suddenly the man's shirt ripped, and then he fell ignominiously to the floor. More than ignominiously: he landed in a fresh pile of dirt.
Actually, this cushioned his impact, saving him from possible injury. But it multiplied his rage. "Dirt!" the lord cried. "This animal dumped me in dirt!"
"Well, that's where you belong," Chester said. "I really wouldn't want to dirty my clean silver flute on you." He glanced at Bink. "I'm glad it's silver, and not some cheap metal. Shows quality, that flute."