Bink woke naked and battered, but not cold. He lay strewn on the edge of a warm, glowing lake. Hastily he dragged his feet out of the water, fearful of predators.
He heard a groan. A little farther along lay the centaur, limbs projecting in six directions. It had been an extremely violent descent; had they not had that water-breathing magic, they would surely have drowned. Bink scrambled to his feet and lumbered toward his friend “Chester! Are you—“
He paused. Midway between them he spied the sparkle of a star or jewel. Foolishly he paused to pick it up; he had no use for such a bauble. But it turned out to be only a shard of glass.
Chester groaned again, and lifted his head. “Takes more than a mere vortex to put away a centaur,” he said. “But maybe not much more...”
Bink completed the distance between them, and tried to help his friend rise. “Hey, are you trying to cut me?” Chester demanded.
“Oops, sorry. I picked up this fragment of—* Bink paused again, looking at it ‘”There’s something in it! That is—“
Chester got to his feet. “Let me see that.” He reached down to take the fragment. His eyes rounded in surprise. “That’s Humfrey!”
“What?” Bink thought he had misheard.
“It’s hard to see in this dim glow, but it’s him, all light. This must be a piece of the magic mirror, thrown ashore by coincidence. What happened to the Good Magician?”
“I lost the bottle!” Bink exclaimed with horror. “It was in my pocket—“ His hand slapped his flesh where his pocket had been.
“He had the mirror with him. How did even one fragment of it get out of the bottle, unless—“
“Unless the bottle was smashed,” Bink finished. “In which case—“
“In which case they were released. But where—and in what condition? They didn’t have the water-breathing pills.”
“If they got out just when that curse caught up—”
Chester looked closely at the fragment of glass. “Humfrey seems to be well—and I see the griffin behind him. I think they’re still inside the bottle, though.”
Bink looked. “They are! I see the curving glass walls, and the upholstery. It has been shaken up some, but the bottle never broke.” He was relieved. A broken bottle might well have meant the end of his friends. “And they have another fragment of glass!” He raised his hand in a wave. “Hi, folks!”
Silently, Humfrey waved back. “He sees us in his fragment!” Chester exclaimed. “But that’s impossible, because the broken mirror is out here.”
“Anything is possible, with magic,” Bink said. It was a cliché truism, but right now he had his doubts.
“Look at the shambles in there,” Chester said. “That bottle must have been bounced against a wall.”
“And the mirror broke, and a piece of it flew out here,” Bink said uncertainly. “Right where we could find it. That’s quite a coincidence, even if we can believe the possibility.”
“What else can we believe?” Chester demanded.
Bink could not argue. His talent operated through seeming coincidence; it must have had a part in this. But wouldn’t it have been easier to have the Magician’s bottle itself float to shore here, instead of one piece of glass? “We can see them, but not hear them. Maybe if we print a message—“ But they had nothing to do that with.
“If we can find the bottle, we can let them out,” Chester pointed out He seemed to be feeling better, physically.
“Yes.” Bink held the fragment close to his face and mouthed elaborately “Where are you?”
Humfrey spread his hands. He pointed to the bottle wall. Outside it, turbulent water swirled, its phosphorescence making streaky line-patterns. The bottle was somewhere in a river, being carried along by the current—where?
“I guess that mirror isn’t much use,” Chester said. “Crombie could locate us—but can’t get to us. We might get to the bottle—but can’t find it.”
“We’ll have to follow the river down,” Bink said. “It must start at the vortex pool here in this lake, and dribble on to wherever it goes. Yet if we follow it—“
“We delay our quest for the source of magic,” Chester finished.
That made Bink pause. “The quest will have to wait,” he decided. “We have to save our friends.”
“I suppose so,” the centaur agreed. “Even that arrogant griffin”
“Do you really dislike Crombie?”
“Well...he’s a scrapper, like me. Can’t blame him for that, I suppose. But I’d like to try his strength, once, just for the record.”
Male competition. Well, Bink understood that, for he experienced it himself at times.
But there were more important matters now. “I’m thirsty,” Bink said. He walked back to the lake shore.
“Have you noticed,” Chester remarked, “that there is no life in this lake? No fish, no monsters, no plants, no beach creatures...”
“No life,” Bink repeated. “But we’re all right, so—“
“We haven’t drunk from it yet. Or if we did, it was from the fresh water of the vortex, when we were on the pill.”
“That’s true,” Bink said uncomfortably.
“I wonder whether the cork loosened in Humfrey’s bottle, and he got a sample of this water, and hauled the cork back in place right after the mirror broke.”
“Could be,” Bink agreed. “We’d best not gamble. Well need food soon, too. We’d better check around. We can’t rescue the Magician if we don’t take care of ourselves.”
“Right,” Chester agreed. “And the first thing to do is—“
“Is to find my clothes,” Bink finished.
They were farther along the shore, complete with Bink’s sword, as luck would have it. But as luck would also have it, the bottle was not with them. Chester had retained his weapons and rope, so was in good shape.
They moved on through the cavern passages, leaving the suspicious river behind, their eyes acclimatizing to the dimming subterranean reaches. Bink hoped they would not encounter nickelpedes here, but was careful not to voice this wish. No sense alarming Chester. They tried to mark their way by scratching X’s in the floor every so often, but Bink wasn’t sure how effective this would be. Time passed, and the way was interminable—especially since they did not know where they were going.
Bink’s thirst had been casual, at first, but now that he knew there was no water it became more pressing. How long could they go on, before—?
Abruptly they saw light—real light, not the mere passage glow. They hurried cautiously up to it—and discovered a magic lantern suspended from a jag of stone. Its soft effulgence was a welcome sight—but there was nothing else.
“People—or goblins?” Bink asked, nervous and hopeful.
Chester took it down and studied it. “Looks like fairy-work to me,” he said. “Goblins don’t really need light, and in any event this is too delicately wrought.”
“Even fairies aren’t necessarily friendly,” Bink said, “Still, it seems a better risk than starving here alone.”
They took the lamp and went on with slightly improved prospects. But nothing further developed. Apparently someone or something had lit a lamp, left it, and departed. Strange. . Weary, dirty, hungry, and unpleasantly thirsty, they parked at last on a boulder. “We have to find food, or at least water,” Bink said, trying to make it seem casual. “There doesn’t seem to be any on this main passage, but—” He paused, listening. “Is that—?”
Chester cocked his head. “Yes, I think it is. Water dripping. You know, I haven’t wanted to say anything, but my tongue has been drying up in my mouth. If we could—“
“Behind this wall, I think. Maybe if we—“
“Stand clear.” The centaur faced about so that his better half addressed the wall in question. Then he kicked.
A section of the wall collapsed. Now the sound was louder: water flowing over stone. “Let me climb in there,” Bink said. “If I can collect a cupful—“
“Just in case,” Chester said, taking his coil of rope and looping it about Bink’s waist. “We don’t know what to expect in these dark chambers. If you fall in a hole, I’ll haul you out”
“Yes,” Bink agreed. “Let me take the magic lantern.”
He scrambled into the hole. Once he got by the rubble, he found himself in a larger, irregular cavern whose floor slanted down into darkness. The sound of water was coming from that darkness.
He moved forward, careful of his footing, trailing the line behind him. The water sound became temptingly loud. Bink traced it to a crevice in the floor. He held his lantern over it. Now at last he saw the glint of a streamlet. He reached down with his fingers, and just as his shoulder nudged the crevice lip his fingers touched the water.
How could he draw any up? After a moment’s thought he ripped a piece of cloth from his already tattered sleeve, and dangled that down into the water. He let it soak up what liquid it cared to, then brought it to the surface.
While he was doing this, he heard a distant singing. He stiffened with alarm. Were the lake fiends coming here? No, that seemed highly unlikely; they were water dwellers, not rock dwellers, and by the lord of the mayor’s own admission they knew nothing of this nether region. This had to be some creature of the caves. Perhaps the owner of the magic lantern.
By the time he brought the dripping rag to his mouth, the singing was quite dose. There was the scent of fresh flowers. Bink put the dangling end of the rag in his mouth and squeezed. Cool, clear liquid dripped down. It was the best water he had ever tasted!
Then something strange happened. Bink experienced a surge of dizziness—not sickening, but wonderfully pleasant. He felt alive, vibrant, and full of the warmth of human spirit. That was good water indeed! He dipped his rag into the crevice again, soaking it for Chester. This was an inefficient way to drink, but a great deal better than nothing. While he lay there he heard the singing again. It was a nymph, of imperfect voice but sounding young and sweet and joyful. A pleasant shiver went through him.
Bink brought up the rag and laid it on the cave floor. He took up the light and moved toward the voice. It came from a section beyond the water, and soon Bink came to the end of his tether. He untied the rope, let it drop from his waist, and went on.
Now he spied a beam of light emanating from another crack. The singer was in the chamber beyond. Bink knelt and put his eye to the crack, silently.
She was sitting on a stool fashioned of silver, sorting through a barrel filled with precious stones. Their colors reflected brilliantly, decorating all the walls of the room. She was a typical nymph, long and bare of leg with a tiny skirt just about covering a pert derriere, slender of waist, full of bosom, and innocent and large-eyed of face. Her hair sparkled like the keg of jewels. He had seen nymphs like this many times; each had her association with tree or rock or stream or lake or mountain, yet they were all so uniform in face and feature that their beauty became commonplace. It was as if some Magician had established the ideal female-human aspect and scattered it about the Land of Xanth for decoration, attaching individual units to particular locales so that the distribution would be uniform. So she was nothing special. The precious stones, in contrast, were a phenomenal treasure.
Yet Bink glanced only passingly at the stones. His gaze became fixed on the nymph. She—he felt—it was rapt adoration.
What am I doing? he demanded of himself. With Chester waiting for a drink, Bink had no business here! And for answer, he only sighed longingly.
The nymph overheard. She glanced up alertly, breaking off her innocent melody, but could not see him. Perplexed, she shook her maiden tresses and returned to her work, evidently deciding that she had imagined it.
“No, I am here!” Bink cried, surprising himself. “Behind the wall!”
She screamed a cute little scream, jumped up, and fled. The keg overturned, dumping jewels across the floor.
“Wait! Don’t run!” Bink cried. He smashed his fist into the wall with such force the stone cracked. He wrenched out more fragments, widening the hole, then jumped down into the room. He almost slipped on some pearls, but did a little dance and got his balance.
Now he stood still and listened. There was a strange smell, reminiscent of the breath of an attacking dragon, one just behind a person and gaining. Bink looked about nervously, but there was no dragon. All was silent. Why didn’t he hear her still running?
In a moment he had it figured. She might flee in alarm, but she would hardly leave her treasure unguarded. Obviously she had dodged around a corner and now was watching him from hiding.
“Please, miss,” Bink called. “I mean no harm to you. I only want to—“
To hug you, to kiss you, to—
Shocked, he halted his thoughts in mid-train. He was a married man! What was he doing chasing a strange nymph? He should get back to Chester, take the centaur his ragful of water—
Again he paused in his thoughts. Oh, no!
Yet he could hardly doubt his sudden emotion. He had imbibed from a spring, and become enamored of the first maiden he had seen thereafter. It must have been a love spring!
But why had his talent let him drink it?
The answer was distressingly obvious. He wished he hadn’t thought of the question. His talent had no regard for his feelings, or those of others. It protected only his physical, personal welfare. It must have decided that his wife Chameleon represented some kind of threat to his welfare, so it was finding him another love. It had not been satisfied with separating him from Chameleon temporarily; now it intended to make that separation permanent.
“I will not have it!” he cried aloud. “I love Chameleon!”
And that was true. Love potions did not undo existing relations. But now he also loved this nymph—and she was a great deal more accessible.
Was he at war with his own talent? He had ethics it evidently did not; he was civilized while it was primitive. Who was to be the master, here?
He fought, but could not undo the effect of the love spring. Had he anticipated what his talent was leading him into, he might have balked it before he drank, but now he was the victim of a fait accompli. Well, he would settle with his talent when he found a better occasion.
All was fair in magic. “Nymph, come here and tell me your name, or I’ll steal all your treasure!” he yelled.
When she did not respond, he righted the keg and began scooping up gems. There was an amazing assortment: diamonds, pearls, opals, emeralds, sapphires, and too many others to classify. How had the nymph come by such a fortune?
Now the nymph appeared, peeking around a curve in the tunnel. Coincidentally, Bink smelled the fleeting scent of woodland flowers. “But I need that treasure!” she protested.
Bink continued his work. The stones sailed into the barrel. “What is your name?” he demanded.
“What’s yours?” There was an odor like that of a hesitant deerfly at the edge of a glade.
“I asked you first.” All he wanted to do was keep her in conversation until he could catch her.
“But you’re the stranger!” she pointed out with female logic.
Ah, well. He liked her logic. He knew it was the effect of the potion, but he was captive to her mannerisms. “My name is Bink.”
“I am Jewel,” she said. “The Nymph of Jewels, if you insist on the whole definition. Now give me back my stones.”
“I’ll be glad to, Jewel. For a kiss.”
“What kind of a nymph do you think I am?” she protested in typical nymphly fashion. Now there was the odor of pine-oil disinfectant.
“I hope to find out. Tell me about yourself.”
She edged farther into the room, distrusting him. “I’m just a rock nymph. I see that all the precious stones get properly planted in the ground, so that goblins, dragons, men, and other voracious creatures can mine them.” Bink smelled the mixed fumes of hard-laboring men and goblins. “It’s all very important, because otherwise those creatures would be even wilder than they are. The mining gives them something to do.”
So that was how the jewels got planted. Bink had always wondered about that, or would have wondered had he thought about it “But where do you get them to start with?”
“Oh, they just appear by magic, of course. The keg never empties.”
“It doesn’t?”
“See, it is already overflowing with the gems you are trying to put back. You aren’t supposed to put them back.”
Bink looked, surprised. It was so. He had assumed the keg was empty without really checking it, because his main attention had been on the nymph.
“How am I ever going to process all those extra stones?” she demanded with cute petulance. “Usually it takes an hour to place each one, and you have spilled hundreds.” She stamped her sweet little foot, not knowing how to express her annoyance effectively. Nymphs had been designed for appearance, not emotion.
“Me? You spilled them when you ran!” Bink retorted. “I’m trying to pick them up.”
“Well, it’s your fault because you scared me. What were you doing behind the wall? No one’s supposed to go there. That’s why it’s walled off. The water—“ She paused with new alarm. “You didn’t—?”
“I did,” Bink said. “I was thirsty, and—“
She screamed again, and fled again. Nymphs by nature were flighty. Bink continued his gathering, arranging the surplus jewels in a pile beside the keg, knowing she would be back. He hated himself somewhat, knowing he should leave her alone, but found himself unable to stop himself. And he did owe it to her to clean up this mess as well as he could, though the pile was getting unwieldy.
Jewel peeked back around the corner. “If you’d just go away and let me catch up—“
“Not until I’ve finished cleaning up this overflow,” Bink said. “As you pointed out, it is my fault” He placed a huge egg-shaped opal on top of his mound— and watched the whole thing subside, squirting out diamonds and things. He was getting nowhere.
She edged in closer. “No, you’re right I spilled it. I’ll catch up somehow. You just—just leave. Please.” The sneezy tang of dust tickled his nose, as if a herd of centaurs had just charged along a dry road in midsummer.
“Your magic talent!” Bink exclaimed. “Smells!”
“Well, I never,” she said, modestly affronted. Now the dust-odor was tinged by the fumes of burning oil.
“I mean you can make—you smell like what you feel.”
“Oh, that.” The oil merged into perfume. “Yes. What’s your talent?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“But I just told you mine! It’s only fair—“ She edged within range. Bink grabbed her. She screamed again most fetchingly, and struggled without much strength. That, too, was the way nymphs were: delightfully and ineffectively difficult. He drew her in for a firm kiss on the lips. She was a most pleasant armful, and her lips tasted like honey. At least they smelled like it.
“That wasn’t very nice,” she rebuked him when he ended the kiss, but she didn’t seem very angry. Her odor was of freshly overturned earth.
“I love you,” Bink said. “Come with me—“
“I can’t go with you,” she said, smelling of freshly cut grass. “I have my job to do.”
“And I have mine,” Bink said.
“What’s your job?”
“I’m on a quest for the source of magic.”
“But that’s way down in the center of the world, or somewhere,” she said. “You can’t travel that way. There are dragons and goblins and rats—“
“We’re used to them,” Bink said.
“I’m not used to them! I’m afraid of the dark! I couldn’t go there, even if—“
Even if she wanted to. Because of course she did not love him. She had not drunk the love-water.
Bink had a naughty idea. “Come and take a drink with me! Then we can—“
She struggled to disengage, and he let her go. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her! “No, I couldn’t afford love. I must plant all these jewels.”
“But what am I to do? From the moment I saw you—“
“You’ll just have to take the antidote,” she said, smelling of a newly lit candle. Bink recognized the connection: the candle symbolized her bright idea.
“There is an antidote?” He hadn’t thought of that
‘There must be. For every spell there’s an equal and opposite counterspell somewhere. All you have to do is find it”
“I know who can find it,” Bink said. “My friend Crombie.”
“You have friends?” she asked, surprised, smelling of startled birds.
“Of course I have friends!”
“Down here, I meant I thought you were alone.”
“No. I was looking for water for me and Chester. We—“
“Chester? I thought your friend was Crombie.”
“Chester Centaur. Crombie is a griffin. And there’s Magician Humfrey, and—“
“A Magician!” she exclaimed, impressed. “All to look for the source of magic?”
“Yes. The King wants to know.”
“There’s a King along too?”
“No,” Bink said, momentarily exasperated. “The King assigned me to make the quest. But we had some trouble, and got separated, and—“
“I suppose I’d better show you where there’s water,” she decided. “And food—you must be hungry too.”
“Yes,” he said, reaching for her. “We’ll be glad to do some service in return—“
“Oh, no!” she cried, skipping away with an enticing bounce of anatomy and the scent of hickory smoke. “Not until you drink the antidote!”
Just so. “I really must get back to Chester,” Bink said. “He’ll be worried.”
She considered for a moment. “Bink, I’m sorry about what happened. Fetch your friends, and I’ll see they get fed. Then you really must go.”
“Yes.” Bink walked slowly to the hole in the wall.
“Not that way!” she cried. “Go round by the regular passages!”
“But I don’t know the way! I have no light. I have to follow the rope back.”
“Definitely not!” She took her own magic lantern, a twin of the one Bink had found before, from the wall and grasped Bink’s arm firmly. “I know all the halls around here. I’ll find him for you.”
Bink willingly suffered himself to be led. Even apart from the potion, he was discerning commendable traits in her. She was not one of the empty-headed nymphs like those associated with ocean foam or wild oats; she had a sense of purpose and fitness and decency. No doubt her responsible job of jewel-placing had matured her. Still, potion or not, he had no business with this creature! Once his friends were fed, he would have to leave her. He wondered how long it would take the potion to wear oft. Some spells were temporary, but others were lifelong.
They circled through intersecting passages. In a moment they came upon Chester, still waiting by the hole. “Here we are!” Bink called.
Chester jumped so that all four hooves were off the floor. “Bink!” he exclaimed as he landed. “What happened? Who is that nymph?”
“Chester, this is Jewel. Jewel—Chester,” Bink introduced. “I—“ He hesitated.
“He drank a love potion,” Jewel said brightly.
The centaur made a motion as of tearing out two fistfuls of mane. “The secret enemy strikes again!”
Bink hadn’t thought of that. Of course that was the most reasonable explanation! His talent hadn’t betrayed him, but it hadn’t protected him from this non-physical threat either. Thus his enemy had scored.
How could he pursue the source of magic, when his heart was tied up here?
But his heart was also tied up back home, with Chameleon. That was part of the reason he was on this quest. So—he had better just get on with it. “If we can get back together with Crombie and the Magician, maybe Crombie can point out the location of the antidote,” Bink said.
“Where are your friends?” Jewel asked.
‘They’re in a bottle,” Bink explained. “But we can communicate with them through a fragment of magic mirror. Here, I’ll introduce you to them.” He fumbled in his pocket for the bit of glass.
His fingers found nothing. “Oh, no—I’ve lost the fragment!” He turned the pocket inside out. There was a hole in it, where the sharp edge of glass had sawed its way out.
“Well, we’ll find them somehow,” Bink said numbly. “We won’t give up until we do.”
“That would seem best,” Chester agreed gravely. “However, we’ll have to take the nymph along with us.”
“Why?” Bink had mixed emotions.
“The object of the counterspell has to be present; that’s the way these things work. You loved the first female you encountered after imbibing the potion; you must unlove her in the same fashion.”
“I can’t come with you!” Jewel protested, though she looked at Chester as if wishing for a ride on his back. “I have a lot of work to do!”
“How much will you get done if Bink stays here?” Chester inquired.
She threw up her hands in feminine exasperation.
“Come to my apartment, both of you. We’ll discuss it later.”
Jewel’s apartment was as attractive as herself. She had a cluster of caves completely carpeted; the carpet-moss ran across the floor, up over the walls, and across the ceiling without a break except for the round doors. It was extremely cozy. She had no chairs, table, or bed; it seemed she sat or lay down anywhere, anytime, in perfect comfort.
“We’ll have to do something about those clothes,” she said to Bink.
Bink looked down at himself. His clothing had more or less dried on him, after its soaking in the vortex and lake; it glowed in uneven patches. “But these are all I have,” he said regretfully.
“You can dry-clean them,” she said. “Go into the lavatory and put them in the cleaner. It only takes a moment.”
Bink entered the room she indicated and closed the curtain. He located the cleaner: an ovenlike alcove through which a warm current of air passed his tunic and shorts. He set them within this, then moved over to the basin where a rivulet of water ran through. Above it was a polished rock surface: a mirror. The vanity of the distaff always required a mirror!
Seeing himself reflected was a shock: he was more bedraggled than his clothes. His hair was tangled and plastered over his forehead, and he had a beard just at the ugly starting stage. Cave-dirt was smeared over portions of his face and body, from his crawl through the wall. He looked like a juvenile ogre. No wonder the nymph had been afraid of him at first!
He used the keen blade of his sword to shave his face, since there was no magic shaving brush here to brush his whiskers away conveniently. Then he rinsed and combed his hair. He found his clothing dry and clean and pressed: obviously more than hot air was at work. His torn sleeve had been neatly hemmed so that the absence of cloth looked intentional. He wondered if some magic dust circulated in these caves, augmenting the function of such things as dry cleaners. The nymph seemed to have many magical conveniences, and quite a comfort able life-style. It would not be hard to adapt to such a style—
He shook his head. That was the love potion speaking, not his common sense! He had to be on guard against rationalization. He did not belong down here, and he would have to leave when his mission was done, though he leave part of his heart behind.
Nevertheless, he dressed himself neatly, even giving his boots a turn at the cleaner. Too bad the Magician’s bottle couldn’t have washed ashore instead of his footwear!
When he emerged from the lavatory, Jewel looked him over with surprised admiration. “You are a handsome man!”
Chester smiled wryly. “I suppose it was hard to tell, before. Would that I could wash my face and suffer a similar transformation!” They all laughed, somewhat ill at ease.
“We must pay for your hospitality—and for your help,” Chester said when the laugh subsided fitfully.
“My hospitality I give freely; pay would demean it,” Jewel said. “My help you seem to be co-opting. There is no pay for slave labor.”
“No, Jewel!” Bink cried, cut to the heart of his emotion. “I would not force anything on you, or cause you grief!”
She softened. “I know it, Bink. You drank of the love-water; you would not hurt me. Yet since I must help you find your friends, so they can find the counterspell, and this takes me away from my work—“
‘Then we must help you do your work!” Bink said.
“You can’t. You don’t know the first thing about sorting precious stones, or where they should be set. And if you did, the borer would not work for you.”
“The borer?”
“My steed beast. He phases through the rock to reach where I must set the stones. I alone can control him—and then only when I sing. He works for a song, nothing else.”
Bink exchanged glances with Chester. “After we eat, we will show you our music,” Chester said.
Jewel’s meal was strange but excellent. She served an assortment of mushrooms and fungus—things that grew magically, she explained, without the need of fight. Some tasted like dragon steak, and some like potato chips chipped from a hot potato tree, and dessert was very like chocolate pie fresh from the brown cow, so round and soft and pungent it practically flowed off the plate. She also had a kind of chalky powder she mixed with the water to produce excellent milk.
“You know,” Chester murmured aside to Bink, “you could have found a worse nymph to encounter after your draught.”
Bink didn’t answer. After the magic drink, he would have loved a harpy; it wouldn’t have mattered how foul she was. The love potion was absolutely heedless of its consequence. Magic without conscience. Indeed, as he had learned to his horror, the history of Xanth had been influenced by just such love springs. The original, mundane species had intermated, producing crossbreeds like the chimeras, harpies, griffins —and centaurs. Who was to say this was wrong? Where would the Land of Xanth be now, without the noble centaurs? Yet Bink’s own drink of this water was supremely inconvenient in a personal way. Rationally, he had to stay with his wile, Chameleon; but emotionally—
Chester finished his repast. He concentrated, and the silver flute appeared. It played rapturously. Jewel sat frozen, listening to the silvery melody. Then she began to sing in harmony with it. Her voice could not approach the purity of the flute, but it complemented the instrument nicely. Bink was entranced—and would have been, he told himself, regardless of the potion.
Something grotesque poked into the room. Chester’s flute cut off in midnote, and his sword appeared in his hand.
“Stay your hand, centaur!” Jewel cried. “That is my borer!”
Chester did not attack, but his sword remained ready. “It looks like a giant worm!”
“Yes,” she agreed. “He’s related to the wiggles and squiggles, but he’s much larger and slower. He’s a diggle—not very bright, but invaluable for my work.”
Chester decided it was all right. “I thought I had seen everything in the lexicon, but I missed this one. Let’s see whether we can help you work. If he likes my music, and you have any stones to place near the river—“
“Are you kidding?” Jewel asked in her nymphly idiom. “With half the keg spilled, I have dozens of stones for the river. Might as well start there.”
Under her direction, they boarded the diggle. Jewel bestrode the monster worm near its front end, a basket of precious stones held before her. Bink sat next, and Chester last, his four feet somewhat awkward in this situation. He was used to being ridden, not to riding, though he had done it before with the dragon.
“Now we make music,” Jewel said. “He will work as long as he likes the sound, and he doesn’t require much variation. After a few hours I get tired and have to stop, but if the centaur’s flute—“
The flute appeared. It played. The great worm crawled forward, carrying them along as if they were mere files. It did not scramble or flex, as the dragon did; it elongated and contracted its body in stages, so that the sections they rode were constantly changing in diameter. It was a strange mode of travel, but an effective one. This was a very large worm, and it traveled swiftly.
A flange flexed out from the diggle’s front segment, and as he tunneled into the rock, the flange extended the diameter of the phase-tunnel so that the riders could fit through also. It occurred to Bink that this was a variant of the type of magic in the Good Magician’s water-breathing pills. The rock, like the water, was not being tunneled through so much as it was being temporarily changed so that they could pass through it without making a hole. Chester had to duck his head to stay within the phase, and his flute was crowded, but it kept playing its captivating melodies. Bink was sure Chester was more than happy to have this pretext to practice his newly discovered talent, after a lifetime of suppression.
“I have to admit, this is a worthwhile service,” the nymph said. “I always thought centaurs had no magic.”
“The centaurs thought so too,” Bink said, covertly admiring her form from behind. To hell with the love potion; she had a shape to conjure with. Then the worm lurched, striking a different type of rock, and Bink was thrown forward against the nymph. “Uh, sorry,” he said, righting himself, though indeed he was not very sorry. “I, uh—“
“Yes, I know,” Jewel said. “Maybe you’d better put your arms about my waist, to steady yourself. It does get bumpy on occasion.”
“I...think I’d better not,” Bink said.
“You’re sort of noble, in your fashion,” she observed. “A girl could get to like you.”
“I—I’m married,” Bink said miserably. “I—I need that antidote.”
“Yes, of course,” she agreed.
Suddenly the diggle emerged through a wall into a large chamber. “The river,” Chester observed. When he spoke, his flute ceased its playing. The worm turned, his snout questing for the vanished music.
“Don’t stop!” Jewel cried. “He quits when—“
The flute resumed. “We want to follow the river down,” Bink said. “If we see a bottle floating in it—“
“First, I have to place some stones,” he said firmly. She guided the worm to a projecting formation, halted him, and held out a fat diamond. “Right inside there,” she said. “It’ll take a million years for the water to wash that into sight.”
The diggle took the stone in his orifice and carried it into the rock. His head tapered into a virtual point, with a mouth smaller than a man’s, so holding the jewel was no problem. When his snout emerged, the diamond was gone and the formation was whole. Bink was startled, then realized he shouldn’t be; they had not left any tunnel behind them, either.
“One down,” Jewel said briskly. “Nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.”
But Bink’s eyes were on the glowing river, looking for the bottle. Such as the power of the potion, he half-hoped he wouldn’t find it. Once they found the magician, and then located the antidote, he would be out of love with Jewel—and that was difficult to contemplate. He knew what was right, but his heart wasn’t in it.
Time passed. Jewel placed diamonds, opals, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts, jades, and many garnets in the rocks along the river, and sprinkled pearls in the water for the oysters to find. “Oysters just love pearls,” she explained. “They just gobble them up.” She sang as she worked, alternating with Chester’s flute, while Bink’s attention roved from her to the water and back again. He could, indeed, have encountered a worse subject for the potion to fix on!
Then the river opened out into another lake. “This is the abode of the demons, who are able to drink and use the tainted water,” Jewel cautioned them. “The demons know me, but the two of you will have to obtain a permit to pass through their territory. They don’t like trespassers.”
Bink felt Chester’s motion behind him, as of hand touching bow and sword. They had had trouble with fiends; they didn’t need trouble with demons!
The cavern walls became carved to resemble stone buildings, with squared-off corners and alleys between: very like a city. Bink had never actually seen a city, except in pictures; the early settlers of Xanth had made cities, but with the decline in population these had disappeared.
Bink and Chester dismounted and walked beside the worm, here on the street. Soon a magic wagon rolled up. It resembled a monster-drawn coach, but lacked the monster. The wheels were fat bouncy donuts of rubber, and the body seemed to be metal. A purring emanated from the interior. There was probably a little monster inside, pedaling the wheels.
“Where’s the fire?” the demon demanded from the coach. He was blue, and the top of his head was round and flat like a saucer.
“Right here, Blue Steel,” Jewel said, clapping one hand to her bosom. “Will you issue a ticket for my friends? They’re looking for the source of magic.”
“The source of magic!” another voice exclaimed. There were, Bink now saw, two demons in the vehicle; the second was of coppery hue. “That’s a matter for the Chief!”
“All right, Copper,” Jewel agreed. She evidently knew these demons well enough to banter with them. Bink suffered a sharp green pang of jealousy.
Jewel guided them to a building marked PRECINCT STATION and parked the worm. “I must remain with the diggle to sing him a song,” she said. “You go in and see the Chief; I will wait.”
Now Bink was afraid she would not wait, that she would take this opportunity to leave them, to betray them to the demons. That way she would be safe from pursuit, either vengeful or romantic. But he had to trust her. After all, he loved her.
The demon inside sat at a broad desk, poring over a book. He glanced up as they entered. “Ah, yes—we were fated to meet again,” he said.
“Beauregard!” Bink exclaimed, amazed.
“I’ll issue the permits, of course,” the demon said. “You were the specific instrument of my release, according to the rules of the game, and I feel an undemonly obligation. But allow me to entertain yon properly, as you entertained me at the ogre’s domicile. There is much you must be advised of before you pursue your quest further.”
“Uh, there’s a nymph waiting outside—“ Bink said.
Beauregard shook his head. “You do seem to be jinxed, Bink. First you lose the bottle, then your heart. But never fear, well include the nymph in the party. We shall entertain the diggle at our motor pool; he will enjoy the swim. We know Jewel well; in fact, you could hardly have been more fortunate in your misfortune.”
In due course Jewel joined them for supper. It was hard to believe that dawn had been at the fringe of the Region of Madness, in a tree, and breakfast had been at the lake castle of the fiends, lunch with the nymph, and supper here—all in the same day. Down here under the ground day had less meaning; still, it had been an eventful period.
The demon’s meal was similar to the nymph’s, only it was fashioned from minute magic creatures called yeast and bacteria. Bink wondered whether there were front-teria too, but didn’t ask. Some of the food was like squash, which had been squashed only minutes before; some resembled roast haunch of medium-long pig. Dessert was the frozen eye of a scream bird. Genuine eye scream was a rare delicacy, and so was this yellow flavored imitation.
“I sampled the eye of a smilk once,” Chester said. “But it was not as good as this.”
“You have good taste,” Beauregard said.
“On, no! Centaur eyes have inferior flavor,” Chester said quickly.
“You are too modest” But the demon smiled reassuringly. “Screams have more fat than smilks, so their eyes provide more flavor, as you recognized.”
After the repast they retired to Beauregard’s den, where a tame firedrake blazed merrily. “Now we shall provide you excellent accommodations for the night,” the demon said. “We shall not interfere in any way with your quest. However—“
“What is it you know, that we don’t?” Bink asked anxiously.
“I know the nature of demons,” Beauregard said.
“Oh, we don’t plan to bother you here! We’re going on to—“
“Bear with me, Bink.” Beauregard brought out a fancy little bottle, uttered an obscure word, and made a mystic gesture. The cork popped out, vapor issued forth, and formed into—Good Magician Humfrey.
Amazed, Bink could only ask: “But where is Crombie?”
“Back in the bottle,” Humfrey said shortly. “It would help if you recovered your fumble promptly.”
“But if Beauregard can rescue you—“
“I have not rescued him,” the demon said. “I have conjured him. He must now do my bidding.”
“Just as you once did his bidding!” Bink said.
“Correct. It all depends on who is confined, and who possesses the controlling magic. The Magician has dabbled in demonology; he is now subject to our humanology.”
“But does that mean—“
“No, I shall not abuse the situation. My interest is in research, not ironies. I merely make this demonstration to convince you that there is more to magic than you may have supposed, and that the possible consequences of your quest may be more extensive than you would care to risk.”
“I already know something is trying to stop me,” Bink said.
“Yes. It is some kind of demon—and that is the problem. Most demons have no more magic than most humans do, but the demons of the depths are something else. They are to ordinary demons like me as Magicians are to ordinary people like you. It is not wise to venture into their demesnes.”
“You’re a demon,” Chester said suspiciously. “Why are you telling us this?”
“Because he’s a good demon,” Jewel said. “He helps people.”
“Because I care about the welfare of Xanth,” Beauregard said. “If I were convinced Xanth would be better off without people, I would work toward that end. But though I have had doubt on occasion, so far I believe the species of man is a net benefit.” He looked at the Magician. “Even gnomes like him.”
Humfrey merely stood there. “Why don’t you set him free, then?” Bink asked, not wholly trusting the demon.
“I cannot free him. Only the holder of his container can do that.”
“But here he is! You summoned him from your bottle!”
“My magic has granted me a temporary lease on his service. I can only evoke him briefly, and cannot keep him. If I had his bottle, then I could control him, since he was so foolish as to confine himself in that manner. That is why you must recover that bottle, before—“
“Before it breaks!” Bink said.
“It will never break. It is an enchanted bottle; I know, for I occupied it, and made sure it was secure. No, the danger is that your enemy will recover it first.”
Bink was appalled. “The enemy!”
“For then that enemy would control the Magician, and all Humfrey’s power would be at the enemy’s service. In that event, Humfrey’s chances of surviving would be poor—almost as poor as yours.”
“I must get that bottle!” Bink cried. “If only I knew where it is!”
“That is the service I require,” Beauregard said. “Magician, inform Bink of your precise location, so he can rescue you.”
“Latitude twenty-eight degrees northwest, longitude one hundred and—“
“Not that way, simpleton!” Beauregard interrupted. “Tell it so he can use it!”
“Er, yes,” Humfrey agreed. “Perhaps we’d better put Crombie on.”
“Do it,” the demon snapped.
The griffin appeared beside the Magician.
“Say, yes,” Bink said eagerly. “If we have him point out your direction from here, I mean our direction from there, we can reverse it to reach you.”
“Won’t work,” Beauregard said. But Crombie was already whirling. His wing came to rest pointing directly at Bink.
“Fine,” Bink said. “We’ll go that way.”
“Try walking across the den,” Beauregard said. “Griffin, hold that point.”
Perplexed, Bink walked. Crombie didn’t move, but his pointing wing continued aiming at Bink. “It’s just a picture!” Bink explained. “No matter how you look at it, it looks right at you.”
“Precisely,” the demon agreed. “This conjuration is in a certain respect an image. The same aspect appears regardless of the orientation of the viewer. To orient on the conjuration is useless; it is the original we require.”
“Easily solved, demon,” Humfrey snapped. “Crombie, point out the direction of our bottle as viewed from the locale of the conjuration.”
How simple! The conjuration was here, so this would give the proper direction to there. But would it work?
The griffin whirled and pointed again. This time the wing aimed away from Bink, and downward.
‘That is the way you must go,” Beauregard said gravely. “Now before I banish the image, have you any other questions?”
“I do,” Chester said, “About my talent—“
Beauregard smiled. “Very clever, centaur. I think you have the mind of a demon! It is indeed possible, in this situation, for you to obtain the information you seek without incurring the Magician’s normal fee, if your ethics permit such exploitation.”
“No,” Chester said. “I’m not trying to cheat! Magician, I know my talent now. But I’ve already served part of the fee, and am stuck for the rest.”
Humfrey smiled. “I never specified the Question I would Answer. Pick another Question for the fee. That was part of the agreement.”
“Say, good,” Chester said, like a colt with sudden access to the farthest and greenest pasture. He pondered briefly. “Cherie—I’d sure like to know her talent, if she has one. A magical one, I mean. Her and her less-magical-than-thou attitude—“
“She has a talent,” Humfrey said. “Do you wish the Answer now?”
“No. I might figure it out myself, again.”
The Magician spread his hands. “As you prefer. However, we are not insured against accidents of fate. If you don’t solve it, and Bink doesn’t find my bottle before the enemy does, I may be forced to renege. Do you care to take that risk?”
“What do you mean, before the enemy does?” Bink demanded. “How close is the enemy to—“
“That is what we were discussing before,” Beauregard said. “It seems the Magician cannot be protected from his own information-talent. He is correct: that bottle has been carried very close to the region your enemy inhabits, and it is very likely that the enemy is aware of that. Thus this is not a routine search for the bottle, but a race against active opposition.”
“But what is the nature of the enemy?” Bink demanded.
“Begone, Magician,” Beauregard said. Humfrey and Crombie converted into smoke and swirled into the bottle. “I cannot answer that Question directly, other than to remind you that the enemy must be some sort of demon. Therefore I spare myself the embarrassment of confessing my ignorance in the presence of my human counterpart in research. Professional rivalry, you might say.”
“I don’t care about professional rivalry!” Bink retorted. ‘The Good Magician and Crombie are my friends. I’ve got to save them!”
“You’re loyal,” Jewel said admiringly.
“The thing you must understand,” Beauregard continued, “is that as you approach the source of magic, the magic of the immediate environment becomes stronger, in a function resembling a logarithmic progression. Therefore—“
“I don’t understand that,” Bink said. “What have logs to do with it? Is the enemy a tree?”
“He means the magic gets stronger faster as you get closer,” Chester explained. Centaurs had excellent mathematical comprehension.
“Precisely,” the demon agreed. “Thus we demons, being more proximate to the source, tend to be more magical than you creatures at the fringe. But in the immediate vicinity of the source, the magic is far stronger than we can fathom. Therefore I cannot identify your specific enemy or describe his magic— but it is likely that it is stronger magic than you have encountered before.”
“I’ve met pretty strong magic,” Bink said dubiously.
“Yes, I know. And you have extremely strong magic yourself. But this—well, though I have never been able to fathom the precise nature of your talent, therefore my prior remark about you being an ordinary individual, empirical data suggest that it relates to your personal welfare. But at the source—“
“Suddenly I understand,” Bink said. “Where I’m going, the magic is stronger than mine.”
“Just so. Thus you will be vulnerable in a manner you have not been before. Your own magic suffers enhancement as you proceed, but only in a geometric ratio. Therefore it can not—“
“He means the enemy magic gets stronger faster than our magic,” Chester said. “So we’re losing power proportionately.”
“Precisely,” the demon agreed. “The nature of the curves suggests that the differential will not become gross until you are extremely close to the source, so you may not be much inconvenienced by it, or even aware of it. Still—“
“So if I continue,” Bink said slowly, “I come up against an enemy who is stronger than I am.”
“Correct. Because the strength of the magic field of Xanth varies inversely with distance, on both an individual and environmental basis—“
“What about the magic dust?” Chester demanded.
“That does indeed enhance magic in its vicinity,” Beauregard agreed. “But it is not the major avenue for the distribution of magic. The dust is basically convective, while most magic is conductive. Were that village to close down its operations, the magic of Xanth would continue only slightly abated.”
“So they might as well relax,” Bink said.
“To continue: because of the inverse ratio, the enemy was not able to harm you on the surface, though he tried with demonic persistence and cunning. (I distinguish between the terms ‘demonic’ and ‘demoniac’; the latter has a pejorative connotation that is unwarranted.) Which is why I am convinced it is in fact a demon you face. But here in the nether region, the enemy can and will bring to bear overwhelming magic. Therefore it is foolish to pursue your quest further.”
“I’m human,” Bink said.
“Yes, unfortunately. A demon would be more rational. Since you are a foolish human of exactly the type my research paper describes, you will continue inevitably to your doom—for the sake of your ideals and friendships.”
“I must be more human than demon,” Jewel said. “I think he’s noble.”
“Don’t flatter me,” Bink warned her. “It only exaggerates the effect of the potion.”
She looked startled, then prettily resolute. “I’m sorry the potion had to—I mean, you’re such a nice, handsome, courageous, decent man, I—I can’t say I’m sorry it happened. When we get back maybe I will take a drink myself.”
“But one reason I need the Magician is to find the antidote,” Bink pointed out. “Apart from my friendship for him, I mean. In fact, we should have asked Crombie to point out the locale of the antidote, so—”
“I could summon them again,” Beauregard said. “But I would not advise it.”
“Why not?” Bink asked.
“Because in the event the enemy is not yet aware of the precise location of their bottle, we do not wish to call further attention to it. We do not know what mechanisms the enemy has to observe you, now that its squiggle is gone, but we cannot afford to assume they are negligible. It would be better to rescue your friends first, then attend to your more personal business.”
“Yes, that is true,” Bink said. He turned to the nymph. “Jewel, I regret having to inconvenience you further, but my loyalty to my friends comes first. I promise, as soon as we rescue them—“
“That’s all right,” she said, seeming not at all displeased.
“She could wait here,” Chester said. “Or go about her normal business. Once we obtain the antidote, we can bring it back and—“
“No, only the diggle can take you there fast enough,” Jewel said. “And only I can guide the diggle. There’s lots of bad magic in the river channel, and very little in the solid rock. I’m coming along.”
“I hoped you would say that,” Bink said. “Of course my feeling doesn’t count, since—“
Jewel stepped up and kissed him on the mouth. “I like your honesty, too,” she said. “Let’s get going.”
Bink, momentarily stunned by the potency of this first voluntary kiss, forced his mind to focus on the mission. “Yes—we must hurry.”
“The goblins are very bad in the deeper reaches,” Beauregard said. “In recent years they have lost their savagery on the surface, but below they retain it. You have not encountered goblins like these.”
“It is not a matter of choice,” Bink said. “We have to go there.”
“Then stay on well-lighted routes, when you’re not phasing through actual rock. Like nickelpedes, they don’t like light. They will face it if they have to, but generally they avoid it.”
Bink turned to the nymph. “Is that why you’re afraid of the dark? Can you keep us in the light?”
She nodded. “Yes...yes,” she agreed to each question. Bink somehow had the impression that he could have asked somewhat more personal questions and had the same response. Or was that a flight of romantic fancy spawned by the potion?
“At least get a good night’s rest,” Beauregard urged. “We demons don’t need sleep, as such, but you humans can get very irritable if—“ .
“No, we’d better move right along,” Bink said. “A few hours could make the difference.”
“So could fatigue,” Beauregard pointed out “You will need all your faculties about you, when you face the big magic.”
“Seems to me one demon’s stalling,” Chester said.
Beauregard spread his hands. “Perhaps I am, centaur. There is one thing I have not told you.”
“If you plan to tell it, tell it now,” Bink said. “Because we’re leaving now.”
“It is this,” the demon said reluctantly. “I am not at all certain that your quest is proper.”
“Not proper!” Bink exploded. “To rescue my friends?”
“To seek the source of the magic of Xanth.”
“All I want is information! You, of all demons, should understand that!”
“Too well,” Beauregard said. “Information can be the most dangerous thing there is. Consider the power of your Magician, who specializes in information. Suppose he were armed with full knowledge about the ultimate nature of magic? Where would be the limits of his power then?”
“Humfrey wouldn’t hurt Xanth,” Bink protested. “He’s a good Magician!”
“But once knowledge of the nature of the source of magic were known, what would stop an evil Magician from obtaining it? With the strongest magic of all, he could rule Xanth—or destroy it.”
Bink considered. He remembered how an Evil Magician had taken over the crown of Xanth—and had turned out not to be evil at all. But that had been a special situation. Suppose a truly evil man—or woman —obtained unconscionable power? “I see your point. I’ll think about it. Maybe I won’t go all the way to the source. But I must rescue the Magician, regardless.”
“Yes of course,” Beauregard agreed, seeming ill at ease for a demon.
They boarded the diggle and moved out, following the direction Crombie had indicated. “I don’t know the deeper depths so well,” Jewel said, “But there’s a whole lot of solid rock here, since we’re not following so close to the river. I’ll tell the diggle to stay within the rock until we get there, and only to come out where there is light. I think you could sleep some while we travel, while I sing the worm along.”
“You are beautiful,” Bink said gratefully. He leaned his head against her back and was lulled to sleep by her singing, amplified and sweetened by his contact with her. And the worm ground on.