The Source of Magic (12 page)

This monster was defeating him—and it hadn’t even noticed him!

Then Bink had a bright idea. Sometimes creatures were vulnerable to their own specialties. The gargoyle’s specialty was ugliness.

Bink stood before it, straddling the river. “Hey, homely—here’s what you look like!” He put his fingers in the corners of his mouth to stretch it wide while he bugged his eyes.

The gargoyle reacted. It pursed its lips to funnel the water toward Bink. Bink jumped nimbly aside. “Nyaa!” he yelled, puffing out his cheeks to make another ludicrous face.

The monster shuddered with rage. It shot another blast of water at him. Bink was tagged by the fringe of it, and almost washed off the ledge. This was, after all, a chancy business!

He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. “Haa!” he cried, unable to form anything much better while holding the expression.

The gargoyle was infuriated. Its mouth opened until it took up half the face. But with the opening that large, the water emerged at low pressure, dribbling down the ugly chin.

Bink dived forward—directly into that mouth. He scrambled upstream against the slowly moving water—and emerged into a reservoir tank within the castle. In a moment he had stroked to the surface and climbed out. He was inside!

But not yet safe. A cactus cat perched at the edge of the reservoir. It was about half Bink’s height, with a normal feline face, but its fur was composed of thorns. On the ears the thorns were very large and stiff, like slender spikes. But the cat’s real weapons were on its front legs: knifelike blades of bone projecting from the front, scintillatingly sharp. These obviously could not be wielded endwise like daggers, but would be devastating as slicers.

The thorn-fur was horizontally striped, green and brown, and this pattern carried over into the three tails. A pretty but dangerous creature; one that no cognizant person would pat casually on the head saying “Nice kitty.”

Was this another guardian of the castle, or merely a house-guest? Cactus cats normally ran wild, slicing up cactus with
their blades and feeding on the fermenting sap. Needle cactuses fought back, however, shooting their needles into anything that annoyed them, so they were natural enemies to the cactus cats. Encounters between the two were said to be quite something! But there was no cactus of any kind here. Maybe this was an animal soliciting an Answer from the Good Magician.

Bink tried to skirt it, but the cat moved lithely to the only apparent exit and settled there. So it seemed he would have to force the issue, regardless.

Suddenly Bink got mad. He had had enough of these obstructions. He was no mere supplicant, he was here on the King’s business! “Cat, get out of my way!” he said loudly.

The animal began to snore. But Bink knew it would come awake instantly and violently if he tried to sneak past it. Cats were ornery that way. This creature was playing cat and mouse with him—and that made him madder yet.

But what could he do? He was no needle cactus, with hundreds of sliver-thorns to launch. How could he strike at this insufferable cat?

Needles. There were other missiles than needles.

“Then pay the consequence!” Bink snapped. He leaned over the reservoir and sliced his hand across its surface, scooping out a fierce splash of water. The droplets arched across the room and splatted against the wall beside the sleeping cat.

The creature rose up with a screech of sheerest feline fury. Sparks radiated from its ears. Most cats hated water, other than small tame amounts for drinking, and desert cats were enraged by it. The thing charged Bink, its forelimb blades gleaming.

Bink scooped another volley of liquid at it. The cat leaped straight up in horror, letting the splash pass under. Oh, it was ecstatically angry now!

“We can handle this two ways, Cactus,” Bink said calmly, his hand ready by the water. “Either I can soak you down thoroughly—or you can stand and let me pass. Or any combination of the two.”

The cat snarled. It looked at Bink, then at the water. Finally
it affected loss of interest, in the manner of balked felines, and stalked to the side, all three tails standing stiffly.

“Very good, Cactus,” Bink said. “But a word to the cunning: if I were to be attacked on the way, I should simply have to grab my antagonist and plunge into the pool and drown him, whatever the mutual cost. That would be inconvenient, and I hope it does not become necessary.”

The cat pretended not to hear. It settled down again to sleep.

Bink walked toward the door, affecting a nonchalance similar to that of the cactus cat, but was wary. Fortunately he had bluffed it out; the cat did not move.

Now he was past the hurdles. He explored the castle until he located the Good Magician Humfrey. The man was gnomelike, perched on top of three huge tomes so as to gain the elevation he needed to pore over a fourth. He was old, perhaps the oldest man in the Land of Xanth, with skin wrinkled and mottled. But he was a fine and honest Magician, and Bink knew him to be a kindly individual under all his gruffness.

“Magician!” Bink exclaimed, still irked by the challenge of entry. “Why don’t you pay attention to who’s visiting! I had to run your infernal gauntlet—and I’m not even coming as a supplicant. I’m on the King’s business.”

Humfrey looked up, rubbing one reddish eye with a gnarled little hand. “Oh, hello, Bink. Why haven’t you visited me before this?”

“We were yelling across the moat! You never answered!”

Humfrey frowned. “Why should I answer a transformed griffin who squawks in a manner that would make a real griffin blush? Why should I acknowledge the bellow of an ornery centaur? The one has no Question, and the other doesn’t want to pay for his. Both are wasting my time.”

“So you were aware of us all the time!” Bink exclaimed, half-angry, half-admiring, with a little indefinable emotion left over. What a personality this was! “You let me struggle through the whole needless route—”

“Needless, Bink? You come on a mission that will cost me an inordinate amount of time, and will threaten the welfare of Xanth itself. Why should I encourage you in such folly?”

“I don’t need encouragement!” Bink cried hotly. “All I need is advice—because the King thought that was best.”

The Good Magician shook his head. “The King is a remarkably savvy customer. You need more than advice, Bink.”

“Well, all I need from
you
is advice!”

“You shall have it, and without charge: forget this mission.”

“I can’t forget this mission! I’m on assignment for the—”

“So you said. I did tell you that you needed more than advice. You’re as ornery as your friends. Why didn’t you leave that poor dragon alone?”

“Leave the poor—” Bink started indignantly. Then he laughed. “You’re some character, Magician! Now stop teasing me and tell me why, since you obviously have been well aware of my progress, you did not let us into the castle the easy way.”

“Because I hate to be disturbed for minor matters. Had you been balked by my routine defenses, you could hardly have possessed the will to pursue your mission properly. But as I feared, you persevered. What started as a minor diversion with a shapely ghost has become a serious quest—and the result is opaque even to my magic. I queried Beauregard on the matter, and he got so upset I had to rebottle him before he had a nervous breakdown.”

Beauregard—that was the bespectacled demon corked in a container, highly educated. Bink began to feel uncomfortable. “What could so shake up a demon?”

“The end of Xanth,” Humfrey said simply.

“But all I’m looking for is the source of magic,” Bink protested. “I’m not going to do anything to harm Xanth. I love Xanth!”

“You weren’t going to install the Evil Magician as King, last time you were here,” Humfrey reminded him. “Your minor personal quests have a way of getting out of hand.”

“You mean this present mission is going to be worse than the last one?” Bink asked, feeling both excited and appalled. He had only wanted to find his own talent, before.

The Magician nodded soberly. “So it would seem. I can not fathom in what precise manner your quest will threaten Xanth, but am certain the risks are extraordinary.”

Bink thought of giving up the quest and returning to Chameleon, ugly and sharp of tongue as she was at the moment, with Millie the nonghost hovering near. Suddenly he became much more interested in the source of the magic of Xanth. “Thanks for your advice. I’m going on.”

“Less hasty, Bink! That was not my magic advice; that was just common sense, for which I make no charge. I knew you would ignore it.”

Bink found it hard at times not to get impatient with the Good Magician. “Let’s have your magic Answer then.”

“And what do you proffer for payment?”

“Payment!” Bink expostulated. “This is—”

“The King’s business,” the Magician finished. “Be realistic, Bink. The King is merely getting you out of his hair for a while until your home life sweetens up. He can’t have you tearing up his palace every time he tries to make out with the Queen. That hardly warrants my waiver of fee.”

Only a foolish man tried to argue with a Magician whose talent was information. Bink argued. “The King merely timed the mission conveniently. My job always has been to seek out the source of magic; it just took me a while to get around to it. It is important for the King to have this knowledge. Now that I’m actually on the quest, the authority of the King is behind it, and he can call on your resources if he chooses. You knew that when you helped make him King.”

Humfrey shook his head. “Trent has become arrogant in his power. He draws ruthlessly on the talents of others to forward his purposes.” Then he smiled. “In other words, he is exactly the kind of monarch Xanth needs. He does not plead or petition, he commands. I as a loyal citizen must support that exercise of power.” He glanced at Bink. “However capriciously it happens to be exercised. Thus my fee becomes forfeit to the good of Xanth, though in this case I fear it is the bad of Xanth.”

This capitulation was too sudden and too amiable. There had to be a catch. “What is your Answer, then?”

“What is your Question?”

Bink choked on a mouthful of air. “What do I need for this quest?” he spluttered.

“Your quest can not be successful unless you take a Magician along.”

“Take a Magician!” Bink exclaimed. “There are only three Magician-class people in Xanth, and two of them are the King and Queen! I can’t—” He broke off, realizing. “
You?
”

“I told you this was going to cost me time!” Humfrey grumbled. “All my arcane researches interrupted, my castle mothballed—because you can’t wait a few days for your wife to finish her pregnancy and get sweet and pretty again.”

“You old rogue!” Bink cried. “You
want
to come!”

“I hardly made that claim,” the Magician said sourly. “The fact is, this quest is too important to allow it to be bungled by an amateur, as well the King understood when he sent you here. Since there is no one else of suitable expertise available, I am forced to make the sacrifice. There is no necessity, however, that I be gracious about it.”

“But you could have sought the source of magic anytime! You didn’t have to co-opt the quest right when I—”

“I co-opt nothing. It is your quest; I merely accompany you, as an emergency resource.”

“You mean you’re not taking over?”

“What do I want with leadership? I shall stick to my own business, leaving the pesky details of management and routing to you, until my resources are needed—which I trust will not be soon or often.”

Now Bink was uncertain how serious Humfrey was. Surely a man who specialized in magical information would be seriously interested in the source of magic—but certainly the Good Magician liked his convenience and privacy, as his castle and mode of operation testified. Probably Humfrey was torn between desires for isolation and knowledge, so reacted negatively while doing what he deemed to be the right thing. No sense in aggravating the situation. The man would certainly be an incalculable asset on a quest of this nature. “I am sorry to be the agent of such inconvenience to you, but glad to have your help. Your expertise is vastly greater than mine.”

“Umph,” Humfrey agreed, trying not to seem mollified.
“Let’s get on with it. Go tell the troll to let down the drawbridge for your companions.”

“Uh, there is one other thing,” Bink said. “Someone may be trying to kill me—”

“And you want to know who.”

“Yes. And why. I don’t like—”

“That is not the King’s business. It will have to be covered by a separate fee.”

Oh. Just when Bink had begun to suspect there was a decent streak in the Good Magician, he had this confirmation of the man’s mercenary nature. One year of service for the Answer? Bink preferred to locate and deal with his enemy himself. “Forget it,” he said.

“It is already forgotten,” Humfrey said graciously.

Miffed, Bink trekked downstairs, found the troll, and gave it the instruction. The brute winched down the bridge. Where the drawbridge mechanism was Bink did not know, as it had not been apparent from the outside, and the troll stood in a chamber near the center of the castle. There had to be magical augmentation to connect what the troll did to what the bridge did. But it worked, and Chester and Crombie entered at last, emerging from a gate that opened from the center of the castle. How could there be an opening here, with no hole through the wall? The Magician was evidently squandering a lot of magic here! Maybe some clever technician had brought a Question, and constructed this mechanism in fee.

“I knew you’d come through, Bink!” the centaur said. “What did the old gnome say about your quest?”

“He’s coming with me.”

Chester shook his head. “You’re in trouble.”

The Magician came downstairs to meet them. “So you want to know your obscene talent,” he said to the centaur. “What fee do you offer the old gnome?”

Chester was for once abashed. “I’m not sure I—centaurs aren’t supposed to—”

“Aren’t supposed to be wishy-washy?” Humfrey asked cuttingly.

“Chester just came along to give me a ride,” Bink said. “And fight dragons.”