The Source of Magic

  "Care."

  "What?"

  "Care, dumbbell."

  "Care?"

  "Care."

  "That's all?"

  "All"

  "All the Answer?"

  "All the Answer, stupid."

  "And for that you serve a year's labor?"

  "You think you have a monopoly on stupidity?"

  Bink turned to the Good Magician, who seemed to have caught up on his sleep but remained blithely silent. "How can you justify charging such a fee for such an Answer?"

  "I don't have to," Humfrey said. "No one is required to come to the grasping old gnome for information."

  "But anyone who pays a fee is entitled to a decent Answer," Bink said, troubled.

  "The golem has a decent Answer. He doesn't have a decent comprehension."

  "Well, neither do I!" Bink said. "Nobody could make sense of that Answer!"

  The Magician shrugged. "Maybe he asked the wrong Question."

  Bink turned to Chester's human portion. "Do you call that a fair Answer?"

  "Yes," the centaur said.

  "I mean that one word 'care'? Nothing else, for a whole year's service?"

  "Yes."

  "You think it's worth it?" Bink was having trouble getting through.

  "Yes."

  "You'd be satisfied with that Answer for your Question?"

  Chester considered. "I don't think that Answer relates."

  "So you wouldn't be satisfied!"

  "No, I'd be satisfied if that were my Answer. I just don't believe it is. I am not a golem, you see."

  Bink shook his head in wonder. "I guess I'm part golem, then. I don't think it's enough."

  "You're no golem," Grundy said. "You aren't smart enough."

  Some diplomacy! But Bink tried again. "Chester, can you explain that Answer to us?"

  "No, I don't understand it either."

  "But you said--"

  "I said I thought it was a fair Answer. Were I a golem, I would surely appreciate its reference. Its relevance. This is certainly more likely than the notion that the Good Magician would fail to deliver in full measure."

  Bink remembered how Humfrey had told the manticora that he had a soul--in such a manner that the creature was satisfied emotionally as well as intellectually. It was a convincing argument. There must be some reason for the obscurity of the Answer for the golem.

  But oh, what frustration until that reason became clear!

  Near dusk they spied a house. Crombie's talent indicated that this was their residence for the night.

  The only problem was the size of it. The door was ten feet tall.

  "That is the domicile of a giant--or an ogre," Humfrey said, frowning.

  "An ogre!" Bink repeated. "We can't stay there!"

  "He'd have us all in his pot in a moment, and the fire high," Chester agreed. "Ogres consider human flesh a delicacy."

  Crombie squawked. "The idiot claims his fool talent is never mistaken," Grundy reported.

  "Yes, but remember what his talent doesn't cover!" Bink said. "We asked for a good place to spend the night; we didn't specify that it had to be safe."

  "I daresay a big pot of hot water is as comfortable a place to relax as any," Chester agreed. "Until it becomes too hot. Then the bath becomes--"

  "I suppose I'll have to expend some of my valuable magic," Humfrey complained. "It's too late to go wandering through the woods in search of alternate lodging." He brought out yet another little stoppered bottle and pulled out the cork. It was an ornery cork, as corks tended to be, and gave way only grudgingly, so that the process took some time.

  "Uh, isn't that a demon container?" Bink asked, thinking he recognized the style. Some bottles were solider than others, and more carefully crafted, with magical symbols inscribed. "Shouldn't you--?"

  The Magician paused. "Umph."

  "He says he was just about to, nitwit," the golem said. "Believe it if you will."

  The Magician scraped a pentacle in the dirt, sat the ^bottle in it, and uttered an indecipherable incantation. The cork popped out and the smoky demon issued, coalescing into the bespectacled entity Bink recognized as Beauregard.

  The educated demon didn't even wait for the question. "You routed me out for this, old man? Of course it's safe; that ogre's a vegetarian. It's your mission that's unsafe."

  "I didn't ask you about the mission!" Humfrey snapped. "I know it's unsafe! That's why I'm along."

  "It is not like you to indulge in such foolishness, especially at the expense of your personal comfort," Beauregard continued, pushing his spectacles back along his nose with one finger. "Are you losing your marbles at last? Getting senile? Or merely attempting to go out in a blaze of ignominy?"

  "Begone, infernal spirit! I will summon you when I need your useless conjectures."

  Beauregard shook his head sadly, then dissipated back into the bottle.

  "That's another feeling spirit," Bink said, uneasy. "Do you have to coop him up like that, in such a little bottle?"

  "No one can coop a demon," the Magician said shortly. "Besides, his term of service is not yet up."

  At times it was hard to follow the man's logic! "But you had him when I first met you, more than a year ago."

  "He had a complex Question."

  "A demon of information, who answers the questions you get paid fees for, has to pay you for Answers?"

  Humfrey did not respond. Bink heard a faint booming laughter, and realized after a moment that it was coming from the demon's bottle. Something was certainly funny here, but not humorous.

  "We'd better move in before it gets dark," Chester said, eyeing the ogre's door somewhat dubiously.

  Bink would have liked to explore the matter of the demon further, but the centaur had a point.

  They stepped up to the door. It was a massive portal formed of whole tree trunks of hewn ironwood, scraped clean of bark and bound together by several severed predator vines. Bink marveled at this; unrusted iron-wood could be harvested only from freshly felled trees, and not even a magic axe could cut those very well. And what monster could blithely appropriate the deadly vines for this purpose? The vines normally used their constrictive power to crush their prey, and they were killingly strong.

  Chester knocked resoundingly. There was a pause while the metallic echoes faded. Then slow thuds approached from inside. The door wrenched open with such violence that the ironwood hinges grew hot and the suction of air drew the centaur forward a pace. Light burst out blindingly, and the ogre stood there in terrible silhouette. It stood twice Bink's height, dwarfing even the monstrous door, and its body was thick in proportion. The limbs carried knots of muscles like the gnarly boles of trees. "Ungh!" it boomed.

  "He says what the hell is this bad smell?" the golem translated.

  "Bad smell!" Chester cried. "He's the one who smells!"

  It was true. The ogre seemed not to believe in washing or in cleansing magic. Dirt was caked on his flesh, and he reeked of rotting vegetation. "But we don't want to spend the night outside," Bink cautioned.

  Crombie squawked. "Birdbeak says let's get on with it, slowpokes."

  "Birdbeak would," Chester grumbled.

  The ogre grunted. "Stoneface says that's what he's sniffin', a putrid griffin."

  The griffin stood tall and angry, half-spreading his brilliant wings as he squawked. "How'd you like that problem corrected by amputation of your schnozzle?" Grundy translated.

  The ogre swelled up even more massively than before. He growled. "Me grind you head to make me bread," the golem said.

  Then there was a medley of squawks and growls, with the golem happily carrying both parts of the dialogue.

  "Come outside and repeat that, numbskull!"

  "Come into me house, you beaked mouse. Me break you bone upon me dome."

  "You'd break your dome just trying to think!" Crombie squawked.

  "Do all ogres speak in rhyming couplets?" Bink asked when there was a pause to replenish the reservoirs
of invective. "Or is that just the golem's invention?"

  "That little twit not have wit," the golem said, then reacted angrily. "Who's a twit, you frog-faced sh--"

  "Ogres vary, as do other creatures," Humfrey cut in smoothly. "This one does seem friendly."

  "Friendly!" Bink exclaimed.

  "For an ogre. We'd better go on in."

  "Me test you mettle in me kettle!" the ogre growled via the golem. But the griffin nudged on in, and the ogre gave grudging way.

  The interior was close and gloomy, as befitted the abode of a monster. The blinding light that had manifested when the door first opened was gone; evidently the proprietor had charged up a new torch for the occasion, and it had already burned out. Dank straw was matted on the floor, stocked cordwood lined the walls, and a cauldron bubbled like volcanic mud over a fire blazing in a pit in the center of the room. There seemed to be, however, no piles of bones. That, at least, was encouraging. Bink had never before heard of a vegetarian ogre, but the demon Beauregard surely knew his business.

  Bink, realizing that the constant threats were mostly bluffs, found himself embarrassed to be imposing on the good-natured (for an ogre) monster. "What is your name?" he inquired.

  "You lunch; me crunch."

  Apparently the brute had not understood. "My name's Bink; what's your name?"

  "Me have hunch you not know crunch." The ogre dipped a hairy, grimy mitt into the boiling cauldron, fished about, grabbed, withdrew a gooey fistful, plunked it into a gnarly wooden bowl which he shoved at Bink. "Drink, Bink."

  "He means his name is Crunch," Chester said, catching on. "He's offering you something to eat. He doesn't distinguish between meals; all food is 'lunch.'"

  "Oh. Uh--thank you, Crunch," Bink said awkwardly. You lunch; me Crunch--now it made sense. An offer of food, an answer to a question, rather than a threat. He accepted the glop. The ogre served the others similarly; his huge paw seemed immune to the heat

  Bink looked at his portion dubiously. The stuff was too thick to pool, too thin to pick up, and despite its bubbling heat it hardly seemed dead yet. It was a deep-purple hue, with green excrescences. It smelled rather good, actually, though there was a scalded fly floating in it.

  Chester sniffed his serving appreciatively. "Why this is purple bouillon with green nutwood--a phenomenal delicacy! But it requires a magic process to extract the bouillon juice, and only a nutty green elf can procure nutwood. How did you come by this?"

  The ogre smiled. The effect was horrendous, even in the gloom. "Me have elf, work for pelf," the golem translated. Then Crunch lifted a log from his stack and held it over the cauldron. He twisted one hand on each end--and the wood screwed up like a wet towel. A thin stream of purple liquid fell from it into the cauldron. When the log was dry, the ogre casually ripped it into its component cords and tossed it into the fire, where it flared up eagerly. Well, that was one way to burn cordwood.

  Bink had never before witnessed such a feat of brute strength. Rather than comment, he fished out the fly, dipped a finger into his cooling pudding, brought out a creamy glob and put it gingerly to his mouth. It was delicious. "This is the best food I ever ate!" he exclaimed, amazed.

  "You say that, Bink. You think it stink," Crunch growled, flattered.

  Crombie squawked as he sampled his bowl. "You may stink; this is great," the golem translated.

  Crunch, highly pleased by the double compliment, served himself a glob by dumping a bubbling fistful directly into his gaping maw. He licked off his fingers, then took another glob. As the others finished their helpings, the ogre served them more with the same hand. No one saw fit to protest; after all, what magic germs could survive that heat?

  After the repast, they settled on the straw for the evening. The others seemed satisfied to sleep, but Bink was bothered by something. In a moment he identified it: "Crunch, among our kind we offer some return service for hospitality. What can we do for you to repay this fine meal and lodging?"

  "Say, that's right," Chester agreed. "You need some wood chopped or something?"

  "That no good. Have plenty wood," the ogre grunted. He smashed one fist down on a log, and it splintered into quivering fragments. He obviously needed no help there.

  Crombie squawked. "Birdbeak says he can point out where anything is. What do you want, stoneface?"

  "Want sleep, you creep," Crunch mumbled.

  "Not until we do you some service," Bink insisted.

  "Take heed, no need!" Crunch closed one fist on a handful of straw, squeezed, and when he let go the straw had fused into one spindly stick. The ogre used this to pick at his gross teeth.

  Chester argued caution for once. "We can't force a service on him he doesn't want."

  "Maybe he doesn't know he wants it," Bink said. "We must honor the code."

  "You sure are a stubborn lout," Grundy said, for once speaking for himself. "Why stir up trouble?"

  "It's a matter of principle," Bink said uncertainly. "Crombie, can you point out where the thing Crunch desires is?"

  The griffin squawked affirmatively, spun about, stirred up the straw, and pointed. At the Good Magician Humfrey, nodding in the corner, one piece of straw straddling his head.

  "Forget it," Humfrey snapped sleepily. "I am not available for consumption."

  "But he's a vegetarian!" Bink reminded him. "It can't be that he wants to eat you. Maybe he wants to ask you a Question."

  "Not for one measly night's lodging! He'd have to serve me for a year."

  "Me have no question, no suggestion," the ogre grunted.

  "It does seem we're forcing something unwanted on our host," Chester said, surprisingly diplomatic. That log-twisting and straw-squeezing and wood-splintering had evidently impressed the centaur profoundly. The ogre was clearly the strongest creature this party had encountered.

  "There is something Crunch wants, even if he doesn't know it himself," Bink said. "It is our duty to locate it for him." No one argued, though he was sure they all wished he would drop the subject. "Crombie, maybe it isn't the Magician he wants, but something on the Magician. Exactly where did you point?"

  Crombie squawked with tired resignation. He pointed again. Bink lined up his own finger, tracing the point. "There!" he said. "Something in his crotch." Then he paused, abashed. "Uh, his jacket, maybe."

  But the Magician, tired, had fallen asleep. His only answer was a snore.

  "Oh, come on!" Grundy said. "I'll check it out." And he scrambled up on the Magician, climbing inside his jacket.

  "I don't think--" Bink began, startled by this audacity.

  "That's your problem," the golem said from inside the jacket. "It must be--this." He emerged, clasping a vial in both arms. For him it was a heavy weight.

  "That's the demon-bottle!" Chester said. "Don't fool with--"

  But Grundy was already prying out the cork.

  Bink dived for him, but as usual was too late. The cork was not ornery this time; it popped off cleanly as Bink grabbed the bottle.

  "Now you've done it!" Chester exclaimed. "If Humfrey wakes--"

  Bink was left holding the bottle as the demon coalesced, unbound by any magic inscription or incantation. "Some--some--somebody make a--a--" Bink stammered.

  Beauregard firmed, standing with a huge tome tucked under one arm. He peered at Bink beneath his spectacles. "A pentacle?" the demon finished. "I think not."

  "What have I done?" Bink moaned.

  Beauregard waved negligently with his free hand. "You have done nothing, Bink. It was the foolish golem."

  "But I set him in motion!"

  "Perhaps. But do not be concerned. Rather consider yourself as the instrument of fate. Know that neither the bottle nor the pentacle constrained me; I but honored these conventions to please the Magician, to whom I owed professional courtesy. The agreement was that I should serve in this capacity of reserve-informant until circumstances should free me, by the ordinary rules of demon control. That chance has now occurred, as it was fated. A genuinely b
ound demon would have escaped, so I am free to go. I thank you for that accident, and now I depart." He began to fade.

  "Wait!" Bink cried. "At least answer this nice ogre's Question!"

  Beauregard firmed again. "He has no Question. He only wants to sleep. Ogres need plenty of rest, or they lose their meanness."

  "But Crombie's talent indicated--"

  "Oh, that. Technically there is something, but it is not a conscious desire."

  "It will do," Bink said. He had not realized that ogres could have unconscious desires. "Tell us what it is, before you go."

  "He wants to know whether he should take a wife," the demon said.

  The ogre growled. "What kind of life, if me have wife?" the golem said.

  "Now that's interesting," Beauregard said. "A golem, serving fee for an Answer he can not comprehend."

  "Who could make sense of a one-word Answer?" Grundy demanded.

  "Only a real creature," Beauregard replied. "That's the point--he's not real," Bink said. "He wants to know how to become real."

  Beauregard turned to the centaur. "And you want to know your talent. I could tell you, of course, but you would then be in fee to me, and neither of us would want that."

  "Why don't you just answer the ogre's question and go?" Bink asked, not quite trusting this too-knowledgeable freed demon.

  "I can not do that directly, Bink. I am a demon; he would not accept my answer, rational though it would be. He is of an irrational species, like yourself; you must answer him."

  "Me! I--" Bink broke off, not wanting to comment on his present problem with Chameleon.

  "I spoke in the plural," Beauregard said, a bit condescendingly. "You and Chester and Crombie should discuss your relations with your respective females, and the consensus will provide the ogre with the perspective he needs." He considered. "In fact, in that context, my own comment might become relevant" And he settled down on the straw with them.

  There was a silence. "Uh, how did you--that is, there is a lady ogre--uh, ogress in mind?" Bink asked Crunch.

  The ogre responded with a volley of growls, snorts, and gnashings of yellow teeth. It was all the golem could do to keep up the translation, but Grundy rose to the occasion and spouted at the height of his form: