Centaur Aisle x-4

by Piers Anthony

  A grotesque bespectacled demon detached himself from conversation with a nymph. “Your Majesty, I am Beauregard, of the Nether Contingent. We are assembled here, in peace, not because we necessarily love the Good Magician, but because not one of us would pass up the chance to see him finally get impressed into bondage himself and to the most fearsome creature known to magic. Come; you must take your place.” And the demon guided Dor down the center aisle toward the dais, past as diversified an assortment of creatures as Dor had ever encountered. One he thought he recognized-Grundy the Golem, somehow spirited here for the unique occasion. How had all these creatures gotten past the castle defenses? No one had been around when Dor himself had braved them.

  “Oh, you must be King Dor!” someone cried. Dor turned to discover a handsome woman whose gown was bedecked with a fantastic array of gems.

  “You must be Jewel!” he exclaimed, as a diamond in her hair almost blinded him. It was the size of his fist, and cut in what seemed like a million facets. “’The one with the barrel of gems-Crombie’s wife.”

  “How did you ever guess?” she agreed, flashing sapphires, garnets, and giant opals. “You favor your father, Dor. So good of you to come in his stead.”

  Dor remembered that this woman had loved his father. Perhaps that explained why Bink wasn’t here; a meeting, even after all these years, could be awkward. “Uh, I guess so. Nice to meet you, Jewel.”

  “I’m sorry my daughter Tandy couldn’t meet you,” Jewel said. “It would be so nice-“ She broke off, and again Dor suspected he understood why. Jewel had loved Bink; Dor was Bink’s son; Tandy was Jewel’s daughter. It was almost as if Dor and Tandy were related.

  But how could that be said?

  Jewel pressed a stone into his hand. “I was going to give this to Bink, but I think you deserve it. You will always have light.”

  Dor glanced down at the gift. It shone like a miniature sun, almost too bright to gaze at directly. It was a midnight sunstone, the rarest of all gems. “Uh, thanks,” he said lamely. He didn’t know how to deal with this sort of thing. He tucked the gem into a pocket and rejoined Beauregard, who was urging him on. As he reached the dais and mounted it, the hubbub diminished. The ceremony was incipient.

  The music started, the familiar theme played only at nuptials. It gave Dor stage fright. He had never officiated at an affair like this before; the opportunities for blundering seemed limitless. The assembled creatures became absolutely quiet, waiting expectantly for the dread denouement. The Good Magician Humfrey was finally going to get his!

  There was a scuffle to the side. The groom appeared in a dark suit that looked slightly motheaten; perhaps the guardian moth had not balled it properly. He was somewhat disheveled, and obliquely compelled by the Zombie Master. “I survived it; so can you!” the best man whispered, audible throughout the chamber. Somewhere in the Stygian depth of the audience, a monster chuckled. The expression on Humfrey’s face suggested that he was in serious doubt about survival.

  More members of the audience grinned, showing assorted canine teeth; they liked this.

  The music got louder. Dor glanced across and saw that the organist was a small tangle tree, its tentacles writhing expertly over the keys. No wonder there was a certain predatory intensity to the music!

  The Zombie Master, dourly handsome in his funereal-tailed suit, straightened Humfrey’s details, actually brushing him off with a little whisk broom. Then he put Humfrey in a kind of armlock and marched him forward. The music surged vengefully.

  One demon in the front row twitched its tail and leaned toward another. “A creature doesn’t know what happiness is,” he said, “until he gets married.”

  “And then it’s too late!” half a dozen others responded from the next row back. There was a smattering of applause.

  Magician Humfrey quailed, but the best man’s grip was as firm as death itself. At least he had not brought his zombies to this ceremony! The presence of the walking dead would have been too much even for such a wedding.

  Now the music swelled to sublime urgency, and the bridal procession appeared. First came Millie the Ghost, radiant in her maid-of-honor gown, her sex appeal making the monsters drool. Dor had somehow thought that an unmarried person was supposed to fill this office, but of course Millie had been unmarried for eight centuries, so it must be all right.

  Then the bride herself stepped out-and if the Gorgon had seemed buxom before, she was amazing now. She wore a veil that shrouded the nothingness of her face, so that there was no way to tell by looking that she was not simply a ravishingly voluptuous woman. Nevertheless, few creatures looked directly at her, wary of her inherent power. Not even the boldest dragon or tangle tree would care to stare the Gorgon in the face.

  Behind her trooped two cherubs, a tiny boy and girl. Dor thought at first they were elves, but realized they were children-the three-year-old twins that Millie and the Zombie Master had generated.

  They certainly looked cute as they carried the trailing end of the bride’s long train. Dor wondered whether these angelic tots had manifested their magic talents yet. Sometimes a talent showed at birth, as had Dor’s own; sometimes it never showed, as had Dor’s father’s-though he knew his father did have some sort of magic that King Trent himself respected. Most talents were in between, showing up in the course of childhood, some major, some minor.

  Slowly the Gorgon swept forward, in the renewed hush of dread and expectation. Dor saw with a small start that she had donned dark glasses, a Mundane import, so that even her eyes behind the gauzy veil seemed real.

  Now at last Humfrey and the Gorgon stood together. She was taller than he-but everyone was taller than Humfrey, so it didn’t matter. The music faded to the deceptive calm of the center of a storm.

  The Zombie Master nodded to Dor. It was time for the King to read the service, finally tying the knot.

  Dor opened the book with trembling fingers. Now he was glad that Cherie Centaur had drilled him well in reading; he had the text to lean on, so that his blank mind couldn’t betray him. All he had to do was read the words and follow the directions and everything would be all right. He knew that Good Magician Humfrey really did want to marry the Gorgon; it was just the ceremony that put him off, as it did all men. Weddings were for women and their mothers. Dor would navigate this additional Kingly chore and doubtless be better off for the experience. But his knees still felt like limp noodles. Why did experience have to be so difficult?

  He found the place and began to read. “We are gathered here to hogtie this poor idiot-“

  There was a stir in the audience. The weeping matrons paused in mid-tear, while males of every type smirked. Dor blinked. Had he read that right? Yes, there it was, printed quite clearly. He might have trouble spelling, but he could read well enough. “To this conniving wench-“

  The demons sniggered. A snake stuck its head out over the Gorgon’s veil and hissed. Something was definitely wrong.

  “But it says right here,” Dor protested, tapping the book with one forefinger. “The gride and broom shall-“

  There was a raucous creaking sound that cut through the chamber.

  Then the Zombie Master’s whisk broom flew out of his pocket and hovered before Dor.

  Astonished, Dor asked it: “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m the broom,” it replied. “You invoked the gride and broom, didn’t you?”

  “What’s a gride?”

  “You heard it. Awful noise.”

  So a gride was an awful noise. Dor’s vocabulary was expanding rapidly today! “That was supposed to be a bride and groom,” Dor said. “Get back where you belong.”

  “Aw. I thought I was going to get married.” But the broom flew back to the pocket.

  Now Millie spoke. “Lacuna! she said.

  One of the children jumped. It was the little girl, Millie’s daughter.

  “Did you change the print?” Millie demanded.

  Now Dor caught on. The child’s talent-changi
ng printed text! No wonder the service was fouled up!

  The Zombie Master grimaced. “Kids will be kids,” he said dourly. “We should have used zombies to carry the train, but Millie wouldn’t have it. Let’s try it again.”

  Zombies to attend the bride! Dor had to agree with Millie, privately; the stench and rot of the grave did not belong in a ceremony like this.

  “Lacuna, put the text back the way it was,” Millie said severely.

  “Aw,” the child said, exactly the way the whisk broom had.

  Dor lifted the book. But now there was an eye in the middle of the page. It winked at him. “What now?” he asked.

  “Eh?” the book asked. An ear sprouted beside the eye.

  “Hiatus!” Millie snapped, and the little boy jumped. “Stop that right now!”

  “Aw.” But the eye and ear shrank and disappeared, leaving the book clear. Now Dor knew the nature and talent of the other twin.

  He read the text carefully before reading it aloud. It was titled A Manual of Simple Burial. He frowned at Lacuna, and the print reverted to the proper text: A Manual of Sample Wedding Services.

  This time he got most of the way through the service without disruption, ignoring ears and noses that sprouted from unlikely surfaces.

  At one point an entire face appeared on the sun-ball, but no one else was looking at it, so there was no disturbance.

  “Do you, Good Magician Humfrey,” he concluded, “take this luscious, faceless female Gorgon to be your-“ He hesitated, for the text now read ball and chain. Some interpolation was necessary. “Your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to squeeze till she-uh, in health and sickness, for the few measly years you hang on before you croak-uh, until you both become rotten zombies-uh, until death do you part?” He was losing track of the real text.

  The Good Magician considered. “Well, there are positive and negative aspects-“

  The Zombie Master elbowed him. “Stick to the format,” he muttered.

  Humfrey looked rebellious, but finally got it out. “I suppose so.”

  Dor turned to the Gorgon. “And do you, you petrifying creature, take this gnarled old gnome-uh-“ The mischievous text had caught him again. A monster in the audience guffawed. “Take Good Magician Humfrey-“

  “I do!” she said.

  Dor checked his text. Close enough, he decided. “Uh, the manacles-“

  Oh, no!

  Gravely the Zombie Master brought forth the ring. An eye opened on its edge. The Zombie Master frowned at Hiatus, and the eye disappeared. He gave the ring to Humfrey.

  The Gorgon lifted her fair hand. A snakelet hissed. “Hey, I don’t want to go on that finger!” the ring protested. “It’s dangerous!”

  “Would you rather be fed to the zombie sea serpent?” Dor snapped at it.

  The ring was silent. Humfrey fumbled it onto the Gorgon’s finger.

  Naturally he got the wrong finger, but she corrected him gently.

  Dor returned to the manual. “I now pronounce you gnome and monst-uh, by the authority vested in me as King of Thieves-uh, of Xanth, I now pronounce you Magician and Wife.” Feeling weak with relief at having gotten this far through despite the treacherous text, Dor read the final words. “You may now miss the gride.” There was the awful banshee noise.

  “Uh, goose the tide.” There was a sloppy swish, as of water reacting to an indignity. “Uh-“

  The Gorgon took hold of Humfrey, threw back her veil, and kissed him soundly. There was applause from the audience, and a mournful hoot from the distance. The sea monster was signaling its sorrow over the Good Magician’s loss of innocence.

  Millie was furious. “When I catch you, Hiatus and Lacuna-“ But the little imps were already beating a retreat.

  The wedding party adjourned to the reception area, where refreshments were served. There was a scream. Millie looked and paled, for a moment resembling her ghostly state. “Jonathan! You didn’t!”

  “Well, somebody had to serve the cake and punch,” the Zombie Master said defensively. “Everyone else was busy, and we couldn’t ask the guests.”

  Dor peered. Sure enough, zombies in tuxedos and formal gowns were serving the delicacies. Gobbets of rot were mixing with the cake, and yellowish drool was dripping in the punch. The appetite of the guests seemed to be diminishing.

  The assembled monsters, noting that Humfrey had not been turned to stone despite being petrified, were now eager to kiss the bride. They were in no hurry to raid the refreshments. A long line formed.

  Millie caught Dor’s elbow. “That was very good, Your Majesty. I understand that my husband is to substitute for you during your journey to Centaur Isle.”

  “He is?” But immediately the beauty and simplicity of it came clear. “He’s a Magician! He would do just fine! But I know he doesn’t like to indulge in politics.”

  “Well, since we are going there for a visit anyway, to see the zombies and ghosts, it’s not really political.”

  Dor realized that Millie had really helped him out. Only she could have persuaded the Zombie Master to take the office of King even temporarily. “Uh, thanks. I think the ghosts will like the twins.”

  She smiled. “’The walls will have ears.”

  That was Hi’s talent. “They sure will!”

  “Let’s go join the monsters,” she said, taking his arm. Her touch still sent a rippling thrill through him, perhaps not just because of her magic talent. “How is Irene? I understand she will one day do with you what we women have always done with Magicians.”

  “Did it ever occur to any of you scheming conspirators that I might have other plans?” Dor asked, nettled despite the effect she had on him. Perhaps he was reacting in order to counter his illicit liking for her. She certainly didn’t seem like eight hundred years old!

  “No, that never occurred to any of us,” she said. “Do you think you have a chance to escape?”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “But first we have to deal with this mysterious Magician of Centaur Isle. And I hope King Trent comes back soon.”

  “I hope so, too,” Millie said. “And Queen Iris. She was the one who helped bring me back to life. She and your father. I’m forever grateful to them. And to you, too, Dor, for returning Jonathan to me.”

  She always referred to the Zombie Master by his given name. “I was glad to do it,” Dor said.

  Then a mishmash of creatures closed in on them, and Dor gave himself up to socializing, perforce. Everyone had a word for the King. Dor wasn’t good at this; in fact, he felt almost as awkward as Good Magician Humfrey looked. What was it really like, getting married?

  “You’ll find out!” the book he still carried said, chuckling evilly.

  They had surveyed prospective routes and decided to travel down the coast of Xanth. Dor’s father Bink had once traveled into the south center region, down to the great interior Lake Ogre-Chobee, where the curse-fiends lived, and he recommended against that route. Dragons, chasms, nickelpedes, and other horrors abounded, and there was a massive growth of brambles that made passing difficult, as well as a region of magic-dust that could be hazardous to one’s mental health.

  On the other hand, the open sea was little better. There the huge sea monsters ruled, preying on everything available. If dragons ruled the wilderness land, serpents ruled the deep water. Where the magic ambience of Xanth faded, the Mundane monsters commenced, and these were worse yet. Dor knew them only through his inattentive geography studies-toothy alligators, white sharks, and blue whales. He didn’t want any part of those!

  But the coastal shallows excluded the larger sea creatures and the solid-land monsters. Chances were that with a strong youth like the ogre Smash along, they could move safely through this region with out raising too much commotion. Had that not been the case, the Elders would never have permitted this excursion, regardless of the need. As it was, they insisted that Dor take along some preventive magic from the Royal Arsenal-a magic sword, a flying carpet, and an escape hoop. Irene carri
ed a selected bag of seeds that she could use to grow particular plants at need-fruits, nuts, and vegetables for the food, and watermelons and milkweed If they had no safe supply of liquid.

  They used a magic boat that would sail itself swiftly and quietly down any channel that was deep enough, yet was light enough to be portaged across sand bars. The craft was indefatigable; all they had to do was guide it, and in one full day and night it would bring them to Centaur Isle. This would certainly be faster and easier than walking. Chet, whose geographic education had not been neglected, had a clear notion of the coastal outline and would steer the boat past the treacherous shoals and deeps. Everything was as routine as the nervous Elders could make it.

  They started in midmorning from the beach nearest Castle Roogna that had been cleared of monsters. The day was clear, the sea calm.

  Here there was a brief bay between the mainland and a long chain of barrier islands, the most secure of all waters, theoretically. This trip should not only be safe, but also dull. Of course nothing in Xanth could be taken for granted.

  For an hour they traveled south along the bay channel. Dor grew tired of watching the passing islands, but remained too keyed up to rest. After all, it was a centaur Magician they were going to spy out something never before known in Xanth, unless one counted Herman the Hermit Centaur, who hadn’t really been a Magician, just a strongly talented individual who related to the Will-o’-Wisps.

  Smash, too, was restive; he was a creature of physical action, and this free ride irked him. Dor would have challenged him to a game of tic-tac-toe, an amusement he had learned from the child of one of the soldier settlers, but knew he would win every game; ogres were not much on intellect.

  Grundy the Golem entertained himself by chatting with passing fish and sea creatures. It was amazing, the gossip he came up with. A sneaky sawfish was cutting in on the time of the damselfish of a hammerhead, and the hammerhead was getting suspicious. Pretty soon he would pound the teeth out of the sawfish. A sea squirt was shoring himself up with the flow from an undersea fresh-water spring, getting tipsy on the rare liquid. A certain little oyster was getting out of bed at midnight and gambling with the sand dollars; he was building up quite an alluvial deposit at the central bank of sand.