“Dragons!” David exclaimed. “Really? Can I see one?”
Carleton glanced coolly at him. “I doubt that would be wise. Dragons are best avoided, unless one is proficient with archery or has protective enchantment.”
Mom spoke up. “Are you saying that the whole of Florida—of Xanth—is magical? That fantastic creatures abound there?”
“Exactly. We can arrange to notify the human authorities at Castle Roogna of your presence. They may send a detachment to assist you, because you surely do not wish to travel Xanth alone.”
“A castle?” Karen asked, excited anew. She loved anything fantastic.
“Castle Roogna is the capital of the human beings.” the centaur explained. “Their King Dor should be interested.”
“A King!” Karen exclaimed, really truly delighted.
“This land's got everything.”
“But we can't leave our RV,” Mom said, ruining things with her practicality. “We have to fix it and drive home.”
“Not to mention the pets,” Dad added.
That really got Karen. “Woofer! Midrange! Tweeter! They're alone!”
“They've been alone before, twerp,” David reminded her.
“There are others in your party?” Carleton asked.
“Our pet animals,” Sean explained. “We encountered you folk so suddenly that we never thought to fetch them out of the RV.”
“What manner of creatures are these?”
“Woofer's a dog, Midrange's a cat, and Tweeter's a bird,” Karen said quickly. “They're part of the family. We've got to get them.”
“Of course you must, before you depart the Isle.”
“First we have to get our RV running,” Dad said.
“And—where's the nearest gas station?”
Carleton's brow furrowed. “I do not believe I know of that creature.”
“For gasoline. The fuel. You don't use gasoline here? Maybe you call it petrol?”
“We do have pet-rel seabirds. However—”
“Petroleum. Refined from oil.”
The centaur shook his head. “I suspect we are on different subjects. Our pet-rels merely fly and seek fish. They do make good pets, of course, but they have no known connection with oil, apart from that with which they preen their feathers.”
Dad shook his head. “I think we're in trouble. But first things first. Maybe I can get the motor running. Then maybe we'll have enough gas left to get us home, if we can find the way.”
“This creature is ailing? You did say that it was limping.”
“It's not a creature,” Dad said. “It's a motor home. A recreational vehicle, RV. The motor was skipping, and finally quit. Maybe salt water blew into it.”
“Would healing elixir cure it?”
Dad paused. “Maybe you should take a look at it, and form your own conclusion.”
“Certainly. I will bring a vial of elixir.”
They finished their meal, and started back. Karen was openly admiring Carleton's handsome equine body. She liked all animals, but especially horses.
The centaur caught her gaze. “You are small, Karen Human,” he said. “Would you prefer me to carry you?”
She was immediately abashed. “Gee, no—I don't know how to—someday maybe I'll get riding lessons—I'd just fall off.” But how she longed to try it.
“You will not fall,” he said.
Karen looked pleadingly at Mom, who was sure to say no, but maybe possibly just this once might not. Mom sighed and looked away: her way of not quite opposing it.
So Dad picked her up by the armpits and set her on the centaur's sturdy back. She grabbed on to the fur in front of her, hoping she would be able to hold her position.
Carleton took a step—and Karen didn't lose her balance despite the lack of a saddle. Somehow the way he moved supported her, giving her confidence. It was as though he were balancing her, compensating for the motions he made. She was, indeed, in no danger of falling. It was glorious.
They walked back to the RV. Now it was time to dismount, but Karen wasn't sure how. Then the centaur put back one hand, and she grabbed his hand and steadied herself as she slid down. “Thank you! Thank you,” she babbled. “That was the greatest ride ever!”
He smiled faintly. “You remind me of my little sister.”
“Gee, where is she?”
“She was exiled.” His mouth closed so firmly that she knew he would say no more on that subject.
They entered the RV, where the pets were glad to see them. Sean put Woofer on a leash, and David did the same for Midrange. Some folk thought that cats couldn't be leash-trained, but so many cats had been killed in the neighborhood, mostly getting hit by cars, that they had done it with this one, and Midrange was used to it.
Tweeter was another matter. He always stayed close to Karen when they went out, and would come to her when she lifted a finger for him to perch on, so he had more freedom. She brought him out, proudly perched.
All three animals were obviously surprised by the centaur. They stood and stared, evidently not sure whether to be friendly or hostile.
“There is one on the mainland who has a cat-pet,” Carleton said. “Her name is Jenny Elf.” Then he turned to the vehicle. “This is a house?”
“A combination house and motor vehicle,” Dad said.
“You might call it a house that moves.”
“A magic house,” the centaur agreed. “How does it move?”
“The motor is connected to the wheels, making them turn and move it forward.” Dad opened the motor compartment. “Here is the motor. I couldn't find any loose wires, so it's something more subtle. I'm not an auto mechanic, so my expertise is limited.”
“Mine is surely less, in this connection,” Carleton said.
“I make no sense of this at all. Can you make it operate now?”
“I'll try, just in case.” Dad got in and cranked the starter. The motor coughed once, but wouldn't catch.
“Amazing,” the centaur said. “It does seem to be alive, but in very bad health. I will try the elixir.” He brought out a vial and sprinkled a few drops of liquid on the motor.
Karen stifled a smile; she didn't know beans about motors, but even she was sure that wouldn't do a thing for it. She saw the boys reacting similarly.
Dad tried the starter again—and the motor caught. Suddenly it was not only running, it was purring.
Several jaws dropped. “That's either one bleep of a coincidence,” Sean auittered. “Or—”
Dad got out, leaving the motor running. “What did you do?” he asked. “Suddenly it's perfect.”
“I simply sprinkled some healing elixir on it,” Carleton said. “Normally it has little effect on anything inanimate, but your motor creature seems to be animate, and I had nothing better to try. I'm glad it helped. Your house should be all right now, because it is completely healed.” He frowned. “Though I still do not see how it can move.”
“Watch,” Dad said, and got back in. In a moment the RV nudged forward. It drove in a circle, and stopped where it had been. Then the engine died. “Nosense wasting gas until we actually go,” Dad said, emerging.
“This is phenomenal,” the centaur said, obviously impressed. “A rolling house. I have not seen such a thing before.”
“But there seem to be no paved roads here,” Mom said worriedly. “And no bridges. We have nowhere to drive.”
“I believe there is a high-way on the mainland,” Carleton said. “Unfortunately, it is a troll pike. You have to pay the trolls at every turn.”
“We're used to that,” Dad said. “How do we get across to the mainland?”
“We shall be glad to ferry you across. We can have a craft ready by noon.”
“But the winds remain so high,” Mom said, worried again. “It wouldn't be safe.”
“We can handle it,” Carleton said in the same tone he had used when assuring Karen about riding.
Mom looked dubious, but didn't argue. So the centaur trotted off
, leaving them to make ready for the trip.
Dad shook his head. “I find today hard to believe,” he said. “But I'll feel better when we get on that highway.”
The others agreed. The centaurs seemed nice, but this whole business was pretty weird. Karen was looking forward to getting home and telling all her skeptical friends about where they'd been. Nobody would ever believe her, that was the fun of it.
Promptly at noon, a big raft poled into view, with four muscular centaurs at its corners. At the same time, Carleton and Sheila Centaur galloped up from the village. Again the boys' eyes threatened to pop at the sight of the filly's front, and even Dad's eyes might have strained a little.
Mom's mouth tightened ever so slightly: not the best sign.
Karen was good at reading small signals; it kept her from getting into as much trouble as she deserved. So she didn't giggle, quite.
“I thought you would appreciate something to eat on the way,” Sheila said, presenting them with a big bag marked GOODIES. “More milk pods, honey buns, nuts and bolts—”
“Bolts?” David asked.
She brought out what did indeed look like a bolt and gave it to him. He sniffed it, then bit off the end. It seemed to be similar to a nut. “Chocolate flavored!” he said.
“I could get to like this filly,” Sean murmured, though his eyes weren't on the bolt. Sheila tossed back her lovely brown tress/mane and smiled at him, not at all selfconscious.
The raft nudged in to the shore. “Now, if you will have your house creature get on, we shall take it across to the mainland,” Carleton said. “I have communicated with the Good Magician, who says he will send you a guide. She will arrive in late afternoon with her companion; Sheila will introduce you before she returns here.”
“Sheila's crossing with us?” Sean-asked, his eyeballs threatening to go into orbit.
“We would not want it claimed that we of the Isle were inhospitable to those who found themselves here through no fault of their own,” Carleton said. “Normally we discourage unauthorized visits, but we do allow for special circumstances. We are doing what we can to see you safely on your way. The Good Magician is competent, and you should be able to progress with the help of his guide.”
“Uh, thank you,” Dad said. “We appreciate your hospitality and assistance. Perhaps we shall meet again.”
“This is doubtful.” Carleton nodded, then turned tail and trotted off. Dad went to the RV.
“He is a bit saddened by the loss of his little sister,” Sheila confided. “If you should happen to encounter her, I'm sure he would appreciate news of her current state.”
“Why was she exiled?” Karen asked.
Sheila's mouth tightened. “She was found to have a magic talent. She was a good person, but that is simply not allowed among centaurs of the Isle. We consider it obscene.”
“I guess you don't want to know what we consider obscene,” David said brightly.
“If you are typical of your species, you consider your natural body and its natural functions, other than eating, to be obscene,” she replied evenly. “Therefore you cover your body with clothing, evidently ashamed of it, and pretend that you have no natural functions, especially not defecation or reproductive capacity.”
Karen looked at David. “Well, I guess she flushed your toilet,” she said, drawing on an old saying she had researched from a book of dated vernacular.
“I guess she did,” David agreed, bemused. “I think I like the centaur way better.”
“Me too,” Karen agreed.
Mom and Sean exchanged a Significant Glance. Karen made a mental note: Sean was getting to be too much like an adult.
The RV started up and moved slowly toward the raft. It nudged onto the planking, fitting comfortably. Then David and Karen ran to put the blocks at the wheels so it couldn't roll off even if the brakes didn't hold.
When they were all safely aboard, the centaurs shoved off. Then they unfurled a sail and tied it firmly in place.
The winds remained quite stiff, so this gave the raft plenty of push. It moved obliquely against the wind, tacking. The muscular centaurs clearly knew what they were doing.
Each had his station, whether at sail, tiller, pole, or guard, and was intent on his business.
“This is a good time to eat,” Sheila said. “It will take a while to cross the channel, and thereafter you may be distracted by the things of the mainland.”
Mom recovered some of her normal aplomb. “Will you join us in the meal, Sheila?”
“Of course,” the centaur said. “Let me set up toad stools for you.” She went to a box at one side and brought forth stools that were indeed shaped like toads, and when they sat on them, the stools made “Ribbit!” croaking sounds.
“Now, that's interesting,” Dad remarked. “Where we come from, toads are silent; only frogs croak.”
“Mundania is surely a curious place,” Sheila said politely. “Our toads accept no such constraints.”
They ate their interesting meal as the raft forged across the channel to the mainland. The shoreline seemed to be solid jungle with strange-looking trees, but there was a golden beach. “The Gold Coast,” Sheila explained. In due course they came aground, and Dad drove the RV onto land.
“I will show you to the landing site,” Sheila said. “It should not be long now before your guide arrives. Can your moving house travel at trotting velocity?”
“If it has firm, level terrain,” Dad said. “This beach seems suitable.”
“It is at the edge of the Gold Coast,” the centaur said.
“Thereafter you will use the trollway, which is certainly firm. I shall run ahead, and you may follow at such speed as your house can manage.”
They piled into the RV, and Dad started the engine. He turned west to follow Sheila. The kids all looked out the windshield to see how it went.
At first the centaur walked. As they caught up to her, she trotted. Then, as the RV caught up again, she broke into a gallop, her hair/mane flying back. “I wish I could see her from the front,” Sean murmured.
“You have seen more than enough of her already,”
Mom replied primly.
They got going at about twenty-five miles an hour, which seemed to be the centaur's cruising speed. Soon they came to what looked like nothing so much as a giant pillow sitting on the sand. Here Sheila stopped, so they did too.
“My, your house does move well,” the centaur said.
She was breathing hard, which surely provided Sean with all the view he could have desired. “I am beginning to suspect that Mundania is not as dreary a region as reputed.”
“It does have its points,” Dad said.
Sheila looked at her wrist watch, which turned out to be two eyes painted on her wrist. They winked at her in what must have been a meaningful pattern. “Your guide should arrive soon,” she said.
They settled down to wait for the arrival of the guide.
Chapter 3
CHLORINE
Chlorine was enjoying herself. It was fun being beautiful and smart, in the company of a handsome and smart (but mute) man. But her enjoyment was fading. There was no one to see her in her lovely brilliance, and Nimby was more apparent than real. That was to say, he had the appearance but not the reality of a princely man.
And he was the cause of her good fortune. So he didn't really count. She needed to be among real people, whose admiration and envy meant something. But she couldn't go to her home village, where someone might possibly recognize her and know her present beauty for a fraud, and she didn't know enough about any other village to go there. So how was she to find a suitable place to show off to real people? She put her fine new mind to work on the problem.
Then a bright bulb flashed above her head. She would go to the Good Magician with a Question! That was a legitimate activity, and of course, she would have to do a year's Service for him, and in all that time she would be able to show off legitimately. She might even accomplish something useful, as
suming the Service was of a useful kind, and the new niceness in her appreciated that.
But she needed a Question. What would be legitimate?
What did she really want to know?
After a moment the bulb flashed again. How she loved this good mind, which performed so much better than her old one had; when she posed a question for it, it took hold with the power of twenty centaurs. She would ask where her lost final tear was. She had wondered about that for years, and now she could finally find out.
“Nimby,” she announced, “we are going to the Good Magician's castle to ask him a Question.”
Nimby looked at her doubtfully. He seemed a bit alarmed. Maybe he thought the Good Magician Humfrey wouldn't like him.
“Not to worry,” she said reassuringly. “I'll tell him how nice you have been to me, though you're really just a donkey-headed dragon. I'm sure he'll understand.”
Nimby did not seem entirely reassured, but she was sure he would relax when he saw that it was all right. The Good Magician knew everything, so he would know that Nimby was nice, and if he had any doubt, he could simply look him up in his Big Book of Answers and immediately learn everything about the mute dragon. So there was no call to be concerned on that score.
But there was one small immediate problem: she didn't know the way to the Good Magician's castle. She lived in the northeast section of Xanth, and the Good Magician was somewhere in the center of Xanth. It was surely a long and difficult route there.
But maybe Nimby could help. “Nimby, I want to reach the Good Magician's castle swiftly and safely and comfortably. Do you know a way?”
Nimby nodded yes.
“Then show me that way.”
Nimby set off at a swift walk toward a neighboring village. He soon found a clear path, and in three moments and an instant or two they were at the village limit. She knew because there was a sign saying JACKS ON VILLE. Oh, yes, she remembered now; every person in this village was named Jack or Jackie, and they all worked to harvest assorted jacks. Little jacks were six-pointed twists of wire that children could play with, while big jacks were solid metal twists used to lift heavy things. So it was a thriving community.
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