"Whatever world it is, I want to go there!" another said. "Must be a foreign student. I haven't seen legs like that in three years."
"Her clothing is three centuries out of fashion, If it ever was in fashion," one of the women remarked, her nose elevated. Evidently she had after all paid attention. It was amazing what women could notice while seeming not to. Her own legs were unremarkable, though it occurred to Dor that the stilt-shoes might be responsible for deforming them.
"Men have no taste," the other woman said. "They prefer harem girls."
"Yeah” the third man said with a slow smile. "I'd like to have her number."
"Over my dead body!" the second woman said.
The Mundanes went on, their strange conversation fading from Dor's hearing. Dor proceeded thoughtfully. If Irene were that different from Mundanes, what about himself? No one had reacted to him, yet he was dressed as differently from the males as Irene was from the females. He pondered that as he and Irene continued along the streets. Maybe the Mundanes had been so distracted by Irene's legs that they had skipped over Dor. That was understandable.
The library was a palatial edifice with an exceedingly strange entrance. The door went round and round without ever quite opening.
Dor stood near it, uncertain how to proceed. Mundane people passed him, not noticing him at all despite his evident difference.
That was part of the magic, he realized suddenly, his contemplation's finally fitting an aspect of the Mundane mystery together. He seemed to share their culture. Should he step outside the magic aisle, he would stand out as a complete foreigner, as Irene had. Fortunately, she was a pretty girl, so she could get away with it; he would not have that advantage.
At the moment, Irene was not in view; perhaps she had been more aware of the Mundane reaction, and preferred to avoid repetition.
But as the Mundanes cleared the vicinity, she reappeared. "Arnolde believes that is a revolving door," she said. "There are a few obscure references to them in the texts on Mundania. Probably all you have to do is--" She saw another Mundane approaching, and hastily stepped into invisibility.
The Mundane walked to the door, put forth a hand, and pushed on a panel of the door. A chamber swung inward, and the man followed the compartment around. So simple, once Dor saw it in action!
He walked boldly up to the door and pushed through. It worked like a charm--that is, almost like a natural phenomenon of Xanth, passing him into the building. He was now in a large room in which there were many couches and tables, and the walls were lined with levels of books. This was a library, all right. Now all he needed to do was locate the excellent researcher who was supposed to be here.
Maybe in the history section.
Dor walked across the room, toward a wall of books. He could check those and see if any related. It shouldn't be too hard to do. He paused, aware that people were staring at him. What was the matter?
An older woman approached him, her face formed into stern lines.
"Xf ibwf b esftt-dpef ifsf," she said severely, her gaze traveling disapprovingly from his unkempt hair to his dust-scuffed sandaled feet.
It seemed she disapproved of his attire.
After a moment of confusion, Dor realized he had stepped beyond the magic aisle and was now being seen without the cushion of enchantment. Arnolde had been correct; Dor could not accomplish anything by himself.
What had happened to the centaur? Dor looked back toward the door--and saw Irene beckoning him frantically. He hurried back to her, the Mundane woman following. "Xf pqfsbuf a respectable library here," the Mundane was saying. "We expect a suitable, demeanor--"
Dor turned to face her. "Yes?"
The woman stopped, nonplused. "Oh--I see you are properly dressed. I must have mistaken you for someone else." She retreated, embarrassed.
Dor's clothing had not changed. Only the woman's perception of it had, thanks to the magic.
"Arnolde can't get through the spinning door," Irene said.
So that was why Dor had left the aisle! He had walked well beyond the door. Of course those small chambers could not accommodate the mass of the centaur!
"Maybe there's another door," Dor suggested. "We could walk around the building--"
Irene vanished, then reappeared. "Yes, Arnolde says the spell fuzzes the boundaries of things somewhat, so his hands pass through Mundane objects, but his whole body mass is just too much to push through a solid Mundane wall. He might make it through a window, though."
Dor went back out the rotating door, then walked around the building. In the back was a double door that opened wide enough to admit a car. Dor walked through this and past some men who were stacking crates of books. "Hey, kid, you lost?" one called.
It had not taken him long to progress from "King" to "kid"
"I am looking for the archives," Dor said nervously.
"Oh, sure. The stacks. Third door on your left."
"Thank you." Dor went to the door and opened it wide, taking his time to pass through so that the others could get clear. He smelled the centaur and ogre, faintly, so knew they were with him.
Now they were in a region of long narrow passages between shelves loaded with boxes. Dor had no idea how to proceed, and wasn't certain the centaur could fit within these passages, but in a moment Irene appeared and informed him that Arnolde was right at home here. "But it would be better to consult with a competent archivist, he says," she concluded.
"There is one here," he said. "I asked." Then another thought came. "But suppose he sics the Mundane authorities on us? He may not understand our need."
"Arnolde says academics aren't like that. If there is a good one here, his scientific curiosity--I think that's what they call magic here, will keep him interested. Check in that little office; that looks like an archivist's cubby."
Reluctantly, Dor looked. He was in luck, of what kind he was not sure. There was a middle-aged, bespectacled man poring over a pile of papers. "Excuse me, sir--would you like to do some research?" Dor asked.
The man looked up, blinking. "Of what nature?"
"Uh, it's a long story. I'm trying to find a King, and I don't know where or when he is."
The man removed his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes. "That would seem to be something of a challenge. What is the name of the King, and of his Kingdom?"
"King Trent of Xanth."
The man stood up and squeezed out of his cubby. He was fairly small and stooped, with fading hair, and he moved slowly. He reminded Dor of Arnolde in obscure ways. He located a large old tome, took it down, dusted it off, set it on a small table, and turned the brittle pages. "That designation does not seem to be listed."
Irene appeared. "He would not be a King in Mundania."
The scholar squinted at her with mild surprise. "My dear, I cannot comprehend a word you are saying."
"Uh, she's from another land," Dor said quickly. Since Irene had to stand outside the magic aisle in order to be seen and heard, the magic translation effect was not operative for her. Since Dor had been raised in the same culture, he had no trouble understanding her.
It was an interesting distinction. He, Dor, could understand both the others, and both seemed to be speaking the same language, but the two could not understand each other. Magic kept coming up with new wrinkles that perplexed him.
The scholar pondered. "Oh--she is associated with a motion picture company? This is research for a historical re-creation?"
"Not exactly," Dor said. "She's King Trent's daughter."
"Oh, it is a contemporary Kingdom! I must get a more recent text."
"No, it is a medieval one," Dor said. "Uh, that is--well, King Trent is in another time, we think."
The scholar paused thoughtfully. "The Kingdom you are re-creating, of course. I believe I understand." He looked again at Irene. "Females certainly have adequate limbs in that realm."
"What's he saying.?" Irene demanded.
"That you have nice legs," Dor told her with a certain mil
d malice.
She ignored that. "What about my father?"
"Not listed in this book. I think we'll have to try another tack."
The scholar's eyes shifted from Irene's legs to Dor's face. "This is very odd. You address her in English, and she seems to understand, but she replies in an another tongue."
"It's complicated to explain," Dor said.
"I'd better check with Arnolde," Irene said, and vanished.
The Mundane scholar removed his spectacles and cleaned them carefully with a bit of tissue paper. He returned them to his face just in time to see Irene reappear. "Yes, that's definitely better," he murmured.
"Arnolde says we'll have to use some salient identifying trait to locate my father or mother," Irene said. "There may be a historical reference."
"Exactly what language is that?" the scholar asked, again fixing on Irene's legs. He might be old and academic, but he evidently had not forgotten what was what in female appearance.
"Xanthian, I guess," Dor said. "She says we should look for some historical reference to her parents, because of special traits they have."
"And what would these traits be?"
"Well, King Trent transforms people, and Queen Iris is mistress of illusion."
"Idiot!" Irene snapped. "Don't tell him about the magic!"
"I don't quite understand," the scholar said. "What manner of transformation, what mode of illusion?"
"Well, it doesn't work in Mundania," Dor said awkwardly.
"Surely you realize that the laws of physics are identical the world over," the scholar said. "Anything that works in the young lady's country will work elsewhere."
"Not magic," Dor said, and realized he was just confusing things more.
"How dumb can you get?" Irene demanded. "I'm checking with Arnolde." She vanished again.
This time the scholar blinked more emphatically. "Strange girl!"
"She's funny that way,' Dor agreed weakly.
The scholar walked to the spot Irene had vacated. "Tabhf jmmvtjpo?" he inquired.
Oh, no! He was outside the magic aisle now, so the magic no longer made his language align with Dor's. Dor could not do anything about this; the centaur would have to move.
Irene reappeared right next to the scholar. Evidently she hadn't been paying attention, for she should have been able to see him while within the magic ambience. "Oh--you're here!" she exclaimed.
"Bnbajoh!" the scholar said. "J wtu jorvjsf--"
Then the centaur moved. Irene vanished and the scholar became comprehensible. "...exactly how you perform that trick" He paused. "oops, you're gone again."
Irene reappeared farther down the hall. "Arnolde says we'll have to tell him," she announced. "About the magic and everything. Thanks to your bungling."
"Really, this is amazing!" the scholar said.
"Well, I'll have to tell you something you may find hard to believe," Dor said.
"At this stage, I'm inclined to believe in magic itself!"
"Yes. Xanth is a land of magic."
"In which people disappear and reappear at will? I think I would prefer to believe that than to conclude I am losing my sight."
"Well, some do disappear. That's not Irene's talent, though."
"That's not the young lady's ability? Then why is she doing it?"
"She's actually stepping in and out of a magic aisle."
"A magic aisle?"
"Generated by a centaur."
The scholar smiled wanly. "I fear you have the advantage of me. You can imagine nonsense faster than I can assimilate it."
Dor saw that the scholar did not believe him. or show you my own magic, if you like," he said. He pointed to the open tome on the table. "Book, speak to the man."
"Why should I bother?" the book demanded.
"Ventriloquism!"' the scholar exclaimed. "I must confess you are very good at it."
"What did you call me?" the book demanded.
"Would you do that again--with your mouth closed?" the scholar asked Dor.
Dor closed his mouth. The book remained silent. "I rather thought so," the scholar said.
"Thought what, four-eyes?" the book asked.
Startled, the scholar looked down at it, then back at Dor. "But your mouth was closed, I'm sure."
"It's magic," Dor said. "I can make any inanimate object talk."
"Let's accept for the moment that this is true. You are telling me that this King you are searching for can also work magic?"
"Right. Only he can't do it in Mundania, so I guess it doesn't count."
"Because he has no magic centaur with him?"
"Yes."
"I would like to see this centaur."
"He's protected by an invisibility spell. So the Mundanes won't bother us."
"This centaur is a scholar?"
"Yes. An archivist, like yourself."
"Then he is the one to whom I should talk."
"But the spell--"
"Abate the spell! Bring your centaur scholar forth. Otherwise I cannot help you."
"I don't think he'd want to do that. It would be hard to get safely out of here without that enchantment, and we have no duplicate invisibility spell."
The scholar walked back to his cubby. "Mind you, I believe in magic no more than in the revelations of a hallucination, but I am willing to help you if you meet me halfway. Desist your parlor tricks, show me your scholar, and I will work with him to fathom the information you desire. I don't care how fanciful his outward form may be, provided he has a genuine mind. The fact that you find it necessary to dazzle me with ventriloquism, a lovely costumed girl who vanishes, and a mythological narrative suggests that there is very little substance to your claim, and you are wasting my time. I ask you to produce your scholar or depart my presence."
"Uh, Arnolde," Dor said. "I know it'll be awful hard to get out of here without the spells, but maybe we could wait till night. We really need the information, and--"
Abruptly the centaur appeared, facing the scholar's cubby. The ogre and golem stood behind him. "I agree," Arnolde said.
The scholar turned about. He blinked.
"These are rare costumes, I--"
Arnolde strode forward, his barrel barely clearing the shelves on either side, extending his hand. "I certainly do not blame you for being impatient with the uninitiated," he said. "You have excellent facilities here, and I know your time is valuable."
The scholar shook the hand, seeming more reassured by Arnolde's spectacles and demeanor than confused by his form.
"What is your specially?"
"Alien archaeology--but of course there is a great deal of routine work and overlapping of chores."
"There certainly is!" the scholar agreed. "The nuisances I have to endure here--"
The two fell into a technical dialogue that soon left Dor behind. They became more animated as they sized up each other's minds and information. There was now no doubt they were similar types.
Irene, bored, grew a cocoa plant in the hall, and shared the hot cups of liquid with Dor, Smash, and Grundy. They knew it was important that Arnolde establish a good rapport so that they could gain the scholar's cooperation and make progress on their request.
Time passed. The two scholars delved into ancient tomes, debated excruciatingly fine points, questioned Dor closely about the hints King Trent had given him in both person and vision, and finally wound down to an animated close. The Mundane scholar accepted a mug of cocoa, relaxing at last. "I believe we have it," he said. "Will I see you again, centaur?"
"Surely so, sir! I am able to travel in Mundania, am fascinated by your comprehensive history, and am presently, as it were, between positions."
"Your compatriots found your magic as intolerable in you as mine would find a similar propensity in me! I shall not be able to tell anyone what I have learned this day, lest I, too, lose my position and possibly even be institutionalized. Imagine conversing with a centaur, ogre, and tiny golem! How I should love to do a research paper on y
our fantastic Land of Xanth, but it would hardly be believable."
"You could write a book and call it a story," Grundy suggested. "And Arnolde could write one about Mundania."
Both scholars looked pleased. Neither had thought of such a simple expedient.
"But do you know where my father is?" Irene demanded.
"Yes, I believe we do,"' Arnolde said. "King Trent left a message for us, we believe."
"How could he leave a message?" she demanded.
"He left it with Dor. That, and the other hints we had, such as the fact that he was going to a medieval region, in the mountains near a black body of water. There are, my friend informs me, many places in Mundania that fit the description. So we assume it is literal; either the water itself is black, or it is called black. As it happens, there is in Mundania a large body of water called the Black Sea. Many great rivers empty into it; great mountain ranges surround it. But that is not sufficient to identify this as the specific locale we seek; it merely makes it one possibility among many." Arnolde smiled. "We spent a good deal of time on geography. As it happens, there was historically a confluence of A, B, and K people in that vicinity in medieval times--at least that is so when their names are rendered into Xanth dialect. The Avars, the Bulgars, and the Khazars. So it does seem to fit. Everything you have told us seems to fit."
"But that isn't enough!" Dor cried. "How can you be sure you have the place, the time?"
"Honesty," Arnolde said. "O N E S T I." He pointed to a spot on an open book. "This, we believe, is the unique special hint King Trent gave you, to enable you and only you to locate him in an emergency."
Dor looked. It was an atlas, with a map of some strange Mundane land. On the map was a place labeled Onesti.
"There is only one such place in the world," Arnolde said. "It has to be King Trent's message to you. No one else would grasp the significance of that unique nomenclature."
Dor recapped the intensity with which King Trent had spoken of honesty, as if there had been a separate meaning there. He remembered how well aware the King had been of Dor's kind of spelling. It seemed no one else spelled it the obvious way, Onesti.
"But If that's been there--that name, there in your maps and things--for centuries--that means King Trent never came back! We can't rescue him, because then the name would go."