Centaur Aisle x-4

by Piers Anthony

  But when his folks found out, he would be gamboling to a different tune.

  Irene, meanwhile, struck up a dialogue with the centaur. “You’re so intelligent, Chet. How is it that your magic is so, well, simple?”

  “No one is blessed with the selection of his personal talent,” Chet said philosophically. He was lying ‘m the middle of the boat, so as to keep the center of gravity low, and seemed comfortable enough. “We centaurs less than most, since only recently has our magic been recognized. My mother-“

  “I know. Cherie thinks magic is obscene.”

  “Oh, she is broad-minded about its presence in lesser creatures.”

  “Like human beings?” Irene asked dangerously.

  “No need to be sensitive about it. We do not discriminate against your kind, and your magic does to a considerable extent compensate.”

  “How come we rule Xanth, then?” she demanded. Dor found himself getting interested; this was better than fish gossip anyway.

  “There is some question whether humans are actually dominant in Xanth,” Chet said. “The dragons of the northern reaches might have a different opinion. At any rate, we centaurs permit you humans your foibles. If you wish to point to one of your number and say, ‘That individual rules Xanth,’ we have no objection so long as that person doesn’t interfere with important things.”

  “What’s so important?”

  “You would not be in a position to understand the nuances of centaur society.”

  Irene bridled. “Oh, yeah? Tell me a nuance.”

  “I’m afraid that is privileged information.”

  Dor knew Chet was asking for trouble. Already, stray wild seeds in Irene’s vicinity were popping open and sending out shoots and roots, a sure sign of her ire. But like many girls, she concealed it well. “Yet humans have the best magic.”

  “Certainly-if you value magic.”

  “What would you centaurs say if my father started changing you into fruitflies?”

  “Fruit neat,” Smash said, overhearing. “Let’s eat!”

  “Don’t be a dunce,” Grundy said. “It’s two hours yet till lunch.”

  “Here, I’ll start a breadfruit plant,” Irene said. “You can watch it grow.” She picked a seed from her collection and set it in one of the earth-filled pots she had brought along. “Grow,” she commanded, and the seed sprouted. The ogre watched its growth avidly, waiting for it to mature and produce the first succulent loaf of bread.

  “King Trent would not do anything as irresponsible as that,” Chet said, picking up on the question. “We centaurs have generally gotten along well with him.”

  “Because he can destroy you. You’d better get along!”

  “Not so. We centaurs are archers. No one can get close enough to harm us unless we permit him. We get along because we choose to.”

  Irene adroitly changed the subject. “You never told me how you felt about your own magic. An your brains, but all you can do is shrink rocks.”

  “Well, it does relate. I render a stone into a calx. A calx is a small stone, a pebble used for calculating. Such calculus can grow complex, and it has important ramifications. So I feel my magic talent contributes-“

  “Monster coming,” Grundy announced. “A little fish told me.”

  “There aren’t supposed to be monsters in these waters,” Dor objected.

  Grundy consulted with the fish. “It’s a sea dragon. It heard the commotion of our passage, so it’s coming in to investigate. The channel’s deep enough for it here.”

  “We’d better get out of the channel, then,” Dor said.

  “This is not the best place,” Chet objected.

  “No place is best to get eaten, dummy!” Irene snapped. “We can’t handle a water dragon. We’ll have to get out of its way. Shallow water is all we need.”

  “There are groupies in these shallows,” Chet said. “Not a threat, so long as we sail beyond their depth, but not fun to encounter. If we can get farther down before diverging-“

  But now they saw the head of the dragon to the south, gliding above the water. Its neck cut a wake; the monster was traveling fast.

  It was far too big for them to fight.

  Smash, however, was game. Ogres were too stupid to know fear.

  He stood, making the craft rock crazily. “For me’s to squeeze!” he said, gesturing with his meathooks.

  “All you could do is gouge out handfuls of scales,” Irene said. “Meanwhile, it would be chomping the rest of us. You know an ogre has to have firm footing on land to tackle a dragon of any type.”

  Without further argument, Chet swerved toward the mainland beach. But almost immediately the sand began to writhe. “Oh, no!”

  Dor exclaimed. “A sand dune has taken over that beach. We can’t go there.”

  “Agreed,” Chet said. “That dune wasn’t on my map. It must have moved in the past few days.” He swerved back the other way.

  That was the problem about Xanth; very little was permanent. In the course of a day, the validity of a given map could be compromised; in a week it could be destroyed. That was one reason so much of Xanth remained unexplored. It had been traveled, but the details were not fixed.

  The dune, noting their departure, reared up in a great sandy hump, its most typical form. Had they been so foolish as to step on that beach, it would have rolled right over them, buried them, and consumed them at leisure.

  But now the water dragon was much closer. They cut across its path uncomfortably close and approached the island’s inner shore.

  The dragon halted, turning its body to pursue them-but in a moment its nether loops ran aground in the shallows, and it halted. Jets of steam plumed from its nostrils; it was frustrated.

  A flipper slapped at the side of the boat. “It’s a groupies” Grundy cried. “Knock it off!”

  Smash reached out a gnarled mitt to grasp the flipper and haul the thing up in the air. The creature was a fattish fish with large, soft extremities.

  “That’s a groupie?” Irene asked. “What’s so bad about it?”

  The fish curled about, got its flippers on the ogre’s arm, and drew itself up. Its wide mouth touched Smash’s arm in a seeming kiss.

  “Don’t let it do that!” Chet warned. “It’s trying to siphon out your soul.”

  The ogre understood that. He flung the groupie far over the water where it landed with a splash.

  But now several more were slapping at the boat, trying to scramble inside. Irene shrieked. “Just knock them away,” Chet said. “They can’t take your soul unless you let them. But they’ll keep trying.”

  “They’re coming in all over!” Dor cried. “How can we get away from them?”

  Chet smiled grimly. “We can move into the deep channel. Groupies are shallow creatures; they don’t stir deep waters.”

  “But the dragon’s waiting there!”

  “Of course. Dragons eat groupies. That’s why groupies don’t venture there.”

  “Dragons also eat people,” Irene protested.

  “That might be considered a disadvantage,” the centaur agreed. “If you have a better solution, I am amenable to it.”

  Irene opened her bag of seeds and peered in. “I have watercress. That might help.”

  “Try it!” Dor exclaimed, sweeping three sets of flippers off the side of the boat. “They’re overwhelming us!”

  “That is the manner of the species,” Chet agreed, sweeping several more off. “They come not single spy, but in battalions.”

  She picked out a tiny seed. “Grow!” she commanded, and dropped it in the water. The others paused momentarily in their labors to watch. How could such a little seed abate such a pressing menace?

  Almost immediately there was a kind of writhing and bubbling where the seed had disappeared. Tiny tendrils writhed outward like wriggling worms. Bubbles rose and popped effervescently. “Cress!” the mass hissed as it expanded.

  The groupies hesitated, taken aback by this phenomenon. Then they pou
nced on it, sucking in mouthfuls.

  “They’re eating it up!” Dor said.

  “Yes,” Irene agreed, smiling.

  In moments the groupies began swelling up like balloons. The cress had not stopped growing or gassing, and was now inflating the fish. Soon the groupies rose out of the water, impossibly distended, and floated through the air. The dragon snapped at those who drifted within its range.

  “Good job, I must admit,” Chet said, and Irene flushed with satisfaction. Dor experienced a twinge of jealousy and a twinge of guilt for that feeling. There was nothing between Chet and Irene, of course; they were of two different species. Not that that necessarily meant much, in Xanth. New composites were constantly emerging, and the chimera was evidently descended from three or four other species. Irene merely argued with Chet to try to bolster her own image and was flattered when the centaur bolstered it for her. And if there were something between them, why should he, Dor, care? But he did care.

  They could not return to the main channel, for the dragon paced them alertly. It knew it had them boxed. Chet steered cautiously south, searching out the deepest subchannels of the bay, avoiding anything suspicious. But the island they were skirting was coming to an end; soon they would be upon the ocean channel the water dragon had entered by. How could they cross that while the dragon lurked?

  Chet halted the boat and stared ahead. The dragon took a stance in mid-channel, due south, and stared back. It knew they had to pass here. Slowly, deliberately, it ran its long floppy tongue over its gleaming chops.

  “What now?” Dor asked. He was King; he should be leader, but his mind was blank.

  “I believe we shall have to wait until nightfall,” Chet said.

  “But we’re supposed to make the trip in a day and night!” Irene protested. “That’ll waste half the day!”

  “Better waste time than life, greennose,” Grundy remarked.

  “Listen, stringbrain-“ she retorted. These two had never gotten along well together.

  “We’d better wait,” Dor said reluctantly. “Then we can sneak by the dragon while it’s sleeping and be safely on our way.”

  “How soundly do dragons sleep?” Irene asked suspiciously.

  “Not deeply,” Chet said. “They merely snooze with their nostrils just above the water. But it will be better if there is fog.”

  “Much better,” Irene agreed weakly.

  “Meanwhile, we would do well to sleep in the daytime,” Chet said. “We will need to post one of our number as a guard, to be sure the boat doesn’t drift. He can sleep at night, while the others are active.”

  “What do you mean, he?” Irene demanded. “There’s too much sexism in Xanth. You think a girl can’t guard?”

  Chet shrugged with his foresection and flicked his handsome tail about negligently. “I spoke generically, of course. There is no sexual discrimination among centaurs.”

  “That’s what you think,” Grundy put in. “Who’s the boss in your family-Chester or Cherie? Does she let him do anything he wants?”

  “Well, my mother is strong-willed,” Chet admitted.

  “I’ll bet the fillies run the whole show at Centaur Isle,” Grundy said. “Same as they do at Castle Roogna.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha,” Irene said, pouting.

  “You may guard if you wish,” Chet said.

  “You think I won’t? Well, I will. Give me that paddle.” She grabbed the emergency paddle, which would now be needed to keep the boat from drifting.

  The others settled down comfortably, using pads and buoyant cushions. Chet’s equine portion was admirably suited for lying down, but his human portion was more awkward. He leaned against the side of the boat, head against looped arms.

  “Say-how will I sleep when we’re nudging past that dragon?” Irene asked. “My sleeping turn will come then.”

  There was a stiffed chuckle from Grundy’s direction. “Guess one sexist brought that on herself. Just don’t snore too loud when we’re passing under its tail. Might scare it into-“

  She hurled a cushion at the golem, then settled resolutely into position, watching the dragon.

  Dor tried to sleep, but found himself too wound up. After a while he sat upright. “It’s no use; maybe I’ll sleep tomorrow,” he said. Irene was pleased to have his company. She sat cross-legged opposite him, and Dor tried not to be aware that in that position her green skirt did not fully cover her legs. She had excellent ones; in that limited respect she had already matched the Gorgon. Dor liked legs; in fact, he liked anything he wasn’t supposed to see.

  She sprouted a buttercup plant while Dor plucked a loaf from the breadfruit, and they feasted on fresh bread and butter in silence. The dragon watched, and finally, mischievously, Dor rolled some bread into a compact wad and threw it at the monster. The dragon caught it neatly and gulped it down. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad monster; maybe Grundy could talk to it and arrange for safe passage.

  No-such a predator could not be trusted. If the dragon wanted to let them pass, it would go away. Better strategy would be to keep it awake and alert all day, so that it would be tired at night.

  “Do you think this new centaur Magician will try to take over Xanth?” Irene asked quietly when it seemed the others were asleep.

  Dor could appreciate her concern. Chet, who was a friend, was arrogant enough about centaur-human relations; what would be the attitude of a grown centaur with the power of a Magician? Of course the Magician would not be grown right now; it must be new-birthed.

  But in time it could become adult, and then it could be an ornery creature, like Chet’s sire Chester, but without Chester’s redeeming qualities. Dor knew that some centaurs did not like human beings; those tended to stay well clear of Castle Roogna. But Centaur Isle was well clear, and that was where this menace was.

  “We’re on our way to investigate this matter,” he reminded her. “There is help for King Trent there, too, according to Crombie’s pointing. Maybe we just need to figure out how to turn this situation positive instead of negative.”

  She shifted her position slightly, unconsciously showing a little more of her legs, including a tantalizing flash of inner thigh. “You are going to try to help my father, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I’m going to try!” Dor said indignantly, hoping that if there was any flush on his face, she would assume it was because of his reaction to her words, rather than her flesh. Dor had in the past seen some quite lovely nymphs in quite scanty attire-but nymphs didn’t really count. They were all well formed and scantily attired, so were not remarkable. Irene was a real girl, and that type ranged from lovely to ugly-in fact, his mother Chameleon covered that range in the course of each month-and Irene did not normally display a great deal of her body at a time. Thus each glimpse, beyond a certain perimeter, was special. But more special when the display was unintentional.

  “I know If my father doesn’t come back, you’ll stay King.”

  “I’m not ready to stay King. In twenty years, maybe, I’ll be able to handle it. Right now I just want King Trent back. He’s your father; I think he’s my friend.”

  “What about my mother?”

  Dor grimaced. “Even Queen Iris,” he said. “I’d rather face a lifelike illusion of a dragon than the real thing.”

  “You know, I never had any real privacy till she left,” Irene said. “She was always watching me, always telling on me. I hardly dared even to think for myself, because I was afraid she’d slip one of her illusions into my mind and snitch on me. I used to wish something would happen to her-not anything bad, just something to get her out of my hair for a while. Only now that it has-“

  “You didn’t really want her gone,” Dor said. “Not like this.”

  “Not like this,” she agreed. “She’s a bitch, but she is my mother. Now I can do anything I want-and I don’t know what I want.” She shifted position again. This time the hem of her skirt dropped to cover more of her legs. It was almost as if her reference to privacy from her mother�
�s snooping around her mind had brought about privacy from Dor’s surreptitious snooping around her body. “Except to have them back again.”

  Dor found he liked Irene much better this way. Perhaps her prior sharpness of tongue, back when her parents had been in Xanth, had been because of that constant feeling of being watched. Anything real might have been demeaned or ridiculed, so she never expressed anything real. “You know, I’ve had the opposite problem. I have privacy but no one around me does. Because there’s not much anybody does that I can’t find out about. All I have to do is ask their furniture, or their clothing. So they avoid me, and I can’t blame them. That’s why I’ve found it easier to have friends like Smash. He wears nothing but his hair, and he thinks furniture is for bonfires, and he has no embarrassing secrets anyway.”

  “That’s right!” she said. “I have no more privacy with you than I do with my mother. How come I don’t feel threatened with you?”

  “Because I’m harmless,” Dor said with a wry chuckle. “Not by choice, it’s just the way I am. The Gorgon says you have me all wrapped up anyway.”

  She smiled-a genuine, warm smile he liked a lot. “She snitched. She would. She naturally sees all men as creatures to be dazzled and petrified. Good Magician Humfrey never had a chance. But I don’t know if I even want you. That way, I mean. My mother figures I’ve got to marry you so I can be Queen-but that’s her desire, not necessarily mine. I mean, why would I want to grow up just like her, with no real power and a lot of time on my hands? Why make my own daughter as miserable as she made me?”

  “Maybe you will have a son,” Dor offered. This was an intriguing new avenue of exploration.

  “You’re right. You’re harmless. You don’t know a thing.” She finished her bread and tossed the crumbs on the water. They floated about, forming evanescent picture patterns before drifting away.

  Somehow the afternoon had passed; the sun was dropping into the water beyond the barrier island. There was a distant sizzle as it touched the liquid, and a cloud of steam; then it was extinguished.