“We indulge in some social denial,” Curvia said candidly. “We know that we have both equine and human ancestry, but prefer to pretend that the human element is a fading relic. We also know that magic exists and is almost universal in Xanth, and we tolerate it in other species. We merely avoid it to the extent we can here on Centaur Isle. We arrange for inferior species to perform necessary magic, so that our hands may be free of it.”
Kandy saw that the centaur was unconscious of her social slip. By inferior species she meant human beings.
“But if you don’t use pie plants or beer-barrel trees, because they are magical, how do you get along?” Tiara asked.
“We do most things ourselves, the old fashioned way,” Curvia explained. “We grow, harvest, thresh and grind grain, shape it into dough, and bake it in ovens into bread. The pastries you are eating now were made that way. The wine was made by juicing the carrots, fermenting the juice, and aging it properly. No magic at all. In fact Centaur Isle is a low magic zone, which is one reason humans and magical creatures tend to avoid it.” She glanced at Astrid. “A few hours or days here won’t hurt you, but you would not care to remain here permanently.”
“Then how do you make deals with humans?” Mitch asked, getting interested in more than her bosom. “We use magic all the time.”
“We trade services with them,” Curvia said.
“But suppose one service is worth more than another? It would be hard to make a fair deal.”
“We have a standard measure of service. A small one is a favor. Ten favors are a full service. So a person can accumulate enough services to cover what she might want in return. We keep accurate records, and there is no time limit. Those humans who choose to reside with us pay one to five services a week for fodder and stabling.” She saw their expressions. “Sorry. Food and board. It works out. There is also free schooling for their children, the best in Xanth. Many prominent human families hire centaur tutors or send their children here for a few years.”
“Suppose the children don’t study hard?” Mitch asked.
“We give them regular tests. If they don’t measure up, they are sent home. Their families don’t like that. So most children do study hard, as they have to try to match even mediocre centaur levels. It is also a new kind of discipline for them to do things without magic. At first they hate it, but then they usually discover that the route to personal fulfillment is personal accomplishment, not depending on a crutch such as magic. That is perhaps the most worthwhile lessen they can learn: to be able to do anything without magic. Because sometimes, unexpectedly, it is necessary.”
Kandy found this interesting. She had had to learn to make do not only without magic, but without her body. It provided her an entirely different perspective.
“I understand that in Mundania many children cheat,” Pewter said. “All they want is a good grade, and they don’t care how they get it.”
“That is just one of the problems with Mundania,” Curvia said. “They have many distorted values. We do not have grades as such, and if we did, there would still be no point in cheating, as they would be only an indication of the student’s progress. What is the point of learning, if the learning itself is not valued? Any child who does not want to learn is free to go home; we will not waste our time with him.”
“With him?” Mitch asked. “Girls don’t cheat?”
“Girls generally want to get along. They do that by studying hard. Boys may have other agendas.” She paused reflectively. “I tutored a boy once, and had to send him back, because his attention never got higher than my chest. I never had that problem with a girl.”
Mitch took the hint and yanked his gaze free. AWAY! Kandy prompted Ease, and he reluctantly obeyed. She realized that the centaur did not care what they looked at, being without modesty of that kind, but did want reasonable attention paid to her words, not merely her form. This was actually a kind of school, as she acquainted them with centaur conventions.
Chase returned. “We have verified that the stork will arrive tomorrow morning. Our guests need to be there by then.”
Tiara looked at Mitch, stricken. “The stork? But all we did was hold hands!”
Astrid seemed to be stifling a laugh, and Pewter seemed about to say something patronizingly informative. The poor girl!
Curvia handled it smoothly. “The stork is not for you, Tiara. It takes somewhat more than hands to generate the signal, and there is a nine month delay in delivery. You were in a tower and oppressed by the human Adult Conspiracy so could not be expected to know.”
“Oh,” Tiara said, relieved. But she remained nervous.
“We have some traveling to do now,” Curvia said. “I will carry you on my back, and as we go I will acquaint you with the content of the Conspiracy. You should find it interesting.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ride,” Tiara protested. “I have no experience; I would fall off.”
“By no means. I am an experienced mount. I have never yet dropped a rider.”
“Not inadvertently,” Chase said with half a smile.
“Amorous centaurs don’t count.”
Tiara looked blank, but the others got it. It was clear that Curvia could handle herself with males, who surely got notions the moment they saw her outline.
“Oh. Well, all right,” Tiara said dubiously.
Curvia helped Tiara get on her back, where there was no saddle and no reins, but the woman looked comfortable the moment she got there. It seemed that experience counted for a lot.
“I thought centaurs didn’t use storks,” Mitch said.
“We don’t,” Chase said. “I will explain the situation as we travel. This way, please.”
They followed him to what looked like a large baby pram. Very large. It seated four adults. The four of them exchanged a mottled glance, then got into it, duly fastening their seat belts.
Chase put his hands on the pram handles and propelled it forward at an alarming velocity. They moved onto a paved lane and fairly zoomed along through town, field and forest. Fortunately the canopy was strong, protecting them from the cutting wind, and they were in no danger of falling out.
Curvia trotted ahead of them, carrying Tiara, who remained poised as if she had always ridden equines. Probably there was magic there, though the centaurs would not admit it. The centaur was beautiful throughout, with flowing hair, mane, and tail. As they traveled they talked. Kandy saw the girl put her hands to her face, blushing; she was learning the details of the Adult Conspiracy, evidently a stiff dose for one who had had no prior inkling. Blushing was a signal of maturity; children were generally unable to learn anything warranting a blush.
“As I was saying,” Chase said, “Centaurs don’t use storks; they are strictly a human convention. We prefer to eliminate the middleman, as it were. But some few humans dwell among us, and they do employ storks. That complicates things, because Centaur Isle is a low magic zone and the storks can’t readily handle it. So they don’t make deliveries here.” They could hear him clearly despite the wind; the pram was evidently designed so that the proprietor could converse with the occupants. It was obviously intended for humans, as centaurs would never fit in it.
“Then what happens if a resident human summons a stork?” Astrid asked.
“Normally the human goes to the Xanth mainland to meet the stork,” Chase said. “Then she returns to the Isle with her baby. However, in some rare cases they are unable to do that. We are about to intercede in such a case.”
“A woman can’t leave Centaur Isle?” Astrid asked. “Why?”
“She came to the Isle because she suffers an allergy to magic. In fact her name is Allergy, for that reason. The low magic environment here enables her to function normally. But the moment she leaves it, her malady is back in full force. It seems to accumulate in her absence, and now is at a lethal level. She can not venture to the continent even for a moment.”
“And the stork won’t deliver here,” Astrid said. “I see the problem. But I don�
��t see how we can help.”
“You will cross from the edge of the closest Key to the beach of the mainland, where you will meet the stork,” Chase said. “You will carry the baby across to its mother. That will be your party’s service to us.”
“But couldn’t a centaur do that, saving the complication of involving us?”
“It is a type of magic we prefer not to touch.”
Because magic was obscene to the centaurs, Kandy reflected. The way certain natural functions were to humans: necessary but disgusting. They did not want to dirty their hands, even to this minimal extent. Storks were simply too magical for them.
“Storks do not normally give babies to anyone except the mother who signaled, for any reason,” Pewter said. “I understand they are quite strict about that.”
“That is another complication,” Chase agreed. “Perhaps they make exceptions for Quest personnel.”
Exceptions? Kandy had never heard of that. This task might be impossible to fulfill. In which case the centaurs would owe them no return service. Was that the idea? No, centaurs were notoriously fair minded.
They came to the shore, but the paved path crossed the water to another island, a smaller one. It seemed to be in the shape of a large key.
“We will be crossing several keys,” Chase said, confirming it. “They are centaur territory also, though fewer of us choose to reside on them.”
They crossed the key, and came to another, still smaller. Then Curvia slowed her trot to a walk. There was something ahead.
“Oh, bleep,” Chase swore. Kandy suspected that he would have been more explicit but for the presence of humans. “The dirty birds are at it again.”
“Dirty birds?” Mitch asked.
“Harpies. Every so often they seek to intrude on our demesnes and we have to warn them off.”
“I can help,” Astrid said.
“Not necessary, basilisk. Curvia will handle it.” Chase brought the pram to a halt.
Curvia did. She walked up to the huge grotesque nest the harpies were making beside the path. “You are not welcome here, harpies,” Curvia said. “This is centaur territory, as you surely know.”
A harpy flew up and hovered, her wings greasy, her bare breasts smudged, her hair messy, her face ugly. Indeed, she was a dirty bird, one of three. “Forget it, horse-face,” she screeched. “We’re a crossbreed, same as you. You don’t need all these islands. We’re taking this one.”
“You are not,” Curvia said evenly. “Now depart before I drive you away.”
All three harpies burst into screeching laughter. “You and what army, tail-for-brains? Go away before we bomb you with eggs.”
“I tell you again,” Curvia said. “Go in peace, lest I drive you away in war. You have no right to any of these keys; the winged monster covenant establishes that.”
“You asked for it, hidebound.” All three harpies flew up, holding eggs in their talons. “Bombs away!”
But before they could hurl the eggs, a bow appeared in the centaur’s hands. Three arrows flew. Three harpies tumbled cursing to the ground, dropping their eggs. The eggs struck the sand, exploding with foul smoke and the stench of rotten garbage. Tiara, on Curvia’s back, looked startled. The threat of the eggs had been more than messiness, and the efficiency of the lovely centaur was impressive.
“My tailfeather!” a harpy screeched, picking up a dislodged feather. The others were in similar state: all had lost feathers as the arrows grazed them.
“Those were warning shots,” Curvia said evenly. “The next ones will be for effect. Don’t make me soil my clean arrows on your wretched flesh. Depart!”
It was clear that this was no bluff. Curvia, like all centaurs, had hit exactly what she aimed for. It would have been easier to aim for the bosoms instead of the feathers. Kandy was sure Chase could have done it as readily as Curvia; it must have been her turn to deal with the nuisance.
The harpies considered briefly, then decided that retreat was the better part of valor. They lurched into the air and flew across the water, raggedly because of the missing feathers, cursing all the way. “Bleepity, bleepity, bleepity, bleepity bleep!” Plants at the shoreline wilted, and fish near the surface rolled over dead. They certainly had fowl mouths. Tiara was now conversant enough with some of the terms to blush, while Astrid nodded with covert admiration.
“Now we can help,” Mitch said, jumping out of the pram. He ran to the nest and started hauling its dirty sticks to the water. In a moment the others joined him, dragging the nest to the water. They also recovered the three arrows, rinsed them in the sea, and gave them to Curvia, who smiled appreciatively.
“Thank you,” Chase said gruffly as they returned to the pram. “We don’t like to handle anything the dirty birds have touched, and they know it.”
They resumed their journey, crossing a number of small keys. One of the larger ones had a sign identifying it as NoName Key. Kandy had heard of that one, as it was supposed to have an access to Mundania. That might be just a legend, however. After all, who would ever want to go to Mundania?
As evening approached they came to a village on the last key before the mainland. “You will night here,” Chase said. “You will meet the human woman you are helping.”
They drew up beside a stone house with a large stall, evidently a centaur residence. They were met by a human man and woman. “Oh, we’re so glad to see you!” the woman said. “The centaurs promised, but still we were concerned. I am Allergy, and this is my husband Robert.” She smiled at him. “We met on the job. He is Robert Ulysses Dunn, from Mundania. He died of old age there, thus losing his family, but managed to come here, and the centaurs gave him rejuvenating elixir in return for his applying his expertise for them. He’s a fine cabinet maker and woodworker. He got so tired of folk constantly asking ‘R U Dunn yet?’ Nobody asks that here.”
“Um, yes,” Astrid said, introducing the others. Allergy was evidently talkative. The two centaurs moved on, seeking their own lodging.
Soon they were in a comfortable room, not a stall. “This is a way station,” Allergy explained. “Centaur visitors stay here and the staff tends to them.”
“The staff?” Astrid asked.
“We are part of a larger staff, but no one is visiting now, so we have it to ourselves.”
It seemed that the only visitors who counted were centaurs. Humans were merely hired help.
“What is it that you do here,” Astrid asked, “that the centaurs can’t do themselves?”
“Robert makes cabinets they value, since they won’t craft them magically, and he built the wooden framework for the wine cellar. I store the bottles, and bring them out at need, because the cellar is too tight for the centaurs to fit.”
“Why don’t they build the cellar big enough for centaurs to fit?” Tiara asked.
“Oh, that would not do! The one here is actually a beer cellar, for root beer. It’s shielded against magic so that the root beer doesn’t change into boot rear, which they detest. It’s a pun, you see, and centaurs aren’t keen on puns. They regard them as an inferior form of magic. So it is very tight and dark, and only I can fit conveniently in to handle the bottles.”
“We understand you are allergic to magic,” Astrid said.
“Yes I am. My life was awful before I came here; I just dragged along. But magic is largely suppressed here, and it’s wonderful for me. Except--”
“The stork,” Astrid said.
“Yes. We were really worried that the stork would not be able to deliver our baby. But now, with your help, it will be all right.”
Astrid considered. “Maybe Tiara had better do it. You see, I am a transformed basilisk, and my ambiance would be bad for the baby.” Yet she looked a little sad, and Kandy knew why: she would have liked to have held that baby to see what it was like, because she might never have one of her own. Because she might never be able to get a man close enough, long enough, and even if he did, what kind of a baby would it be? A person whose look could
kill?
“I can do it,” Tiara agreed gladly. “I just learned all about how babies are signaled for and delivered.”
In due course they were shown to two nice rooms. “I’m sorry we don’t have one for each of you,” Allergy said.
“These are fine,” Astrid said quickly.
Mitch and Tiara took one room, by mutual consent. Pewter, Ease, and Astrid took the other. Ease was soon asleep, and Kandy emerged. “There is surely a man for you somewhere,” she said immediately to Astrid. “You have the body to attract any man you want, if only he could handle your nature.”
“There’s the rub,” Astrid agreed sadly. “I would encourage Ease to hold his breath, or meet me in water, but I know he belongs to you.”
“I’m a board!”
“You’re a woman. You just need to be rid of that spell.”
“We seem to have vaguely similar problems,” Kandy said. “We can’t safely touch a man in the way we might like to.”
“Neither of you would be any problem to me,” Pewter said.
“Because you’re a machine,” Kandy said. “Let’s play chess.”
They played, with Kandy and Astrid teaming up against Pewter, but it was obvious that he could defeat them both any time he chose to. They couldn’t even distract him by flashing panties. They tried, with Kandy borrowing Astrid’s for the experiment. That failure annoyed them more than they cared to say. It was fundamentally dis-empowering.
In the morning they rejoined Mitch and Tiara, both of whom looked annoyingly satisfied, and prepared for the rendezvous with the stork. They walked to the shore, which wasn’t far from the house. The bright Gold Coast was a short distance across the water, with golden coins washing up in the tide. The centaur path did not continue there, because the centaurs did not want to encourage intruders. Allergy stood and gazed across, unable to go there.
There was a boat that seated six. Mitch and Ease got in and took paddles, though Ease’s paddle was the board. Well, that gave Kandy a good taste of the water. Pewter took the prow. The two women sat in the center.
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