“Hi, Tweeter.” The parakeet was Karen's own pet, and was friendly only with her, though he tolerated the others.
His feathers were tinged with brown, which, of course, was to match her own red curls. That was what came of trying to emulate both Dad and Mom: in-between hair.
The pets were all glad to see her, because she usually paid them more attention than anyone else did. The truth was that they were all garden-variety creatures, rescued from pound or flea market according-to the whims of the various family members; nobody else had wanted any of them. But Karen thought they were all great folk, and they evidently agreed with her.
The vehicle shuddered. “Damn!” Dad said. from way up front in the driver's seat. “Motor's skipping.”
“But we can't stop here,” Mom protested. “We can't pause at all, or the storm…” She trailed off, with most of what she had to say lost in the ellipsis, as she tended to do when there was something she didn't want the children to overhear.
That meant, of course, that Karen definitely wanted to hear it. “Sorry, gotta go now,” she said to the animals, and hotfooted it back to her place at the table.
Now she could hear the skipping motor herself. It sounded like one of David's model airplane engines when it was feeling balky. The motor home was slowing.
“Passengers will buckle their seat belts,” Sean announced, using his airline-captain voice. “We are encountering turbulence. There is no cause for alarm. Repeat: no cause for alarm.” He spoke the last words with special emphasis, as if the captain were trying to conceal the strain he was under.
Just then a terrific gust of wind buffeted the RV, giving it a scary push and shake. David and Karen laughed at the coincidence; it really did seem as if they were in an airplane landing in a storm.
“Must be someplace to pull off the road,” Dad said.
“Don't want to stall out on a bridge. Where are we?”
Mom looked at the map. “We're crossing Big Pine Key. You don't think the motor will… ?”
“Not worth risking,” Dad said. “If this one's big, we're better off here, at least until I can get into the engine.”
“Emergency landing,” Sean announced in an especially worried pilot tone. “Passengers will remain seated. Please review the crash procedures and verify your nearest escape hatch.” And sure enough, there was another buffet of wind to add realism. “Repeat: there is cause—I mean, no cause for alarm.” As if the captain had repeated without making the statement the first time, really losing it.
Karen giggled, but behind the fun she was beginning to get nervous. They were on their way home from a weekend visit to friends in Key West, and the approach of TS Gladys had hastened their departure. They had a lot of long, thin, exposed causeway and bridge to cover before they got home to Miami, and the sea was looking increasingly formidable. Suppose one of those gusts blew them into the water?
The skipping got worse. “Can't nurse it along much farther,” Dad said grimly. “That an intersection ahead?”
“Yes, the other road runs the length of Big Pine,” Mom said, focusing on the map. “Maybe there's shelter there.”
The RV swung through the intersection, turning north.
The wind pushed at it, trying to make it slew off the road, but Dad managed to keep it on. Then a blast of rain came down, making the world outside opaque. Karen couldn't see much of anything through the side window, and doubted that Dad was much better off with the windshield.
This was getting bad. She had been enjoying this drive, and had been intrigued by the notion of a big storm, but that delight was turning sour. This was definitely getting scary, and it wasn't even a hurricane yet. She was beginning to think that such tempests weren't as much fun as advertised.
“Can't see anywhere to stop,” Dad muttered. “What's that—another turn?”
“There's an intersection with 940,” Mom said, her voice wearing that carefully controlled tone that made Karen especially nervous. Even the two boys weren't joking now. It was entirely too easy to visualize the RV as an airplane descending through bad weather, and Karen wished she could get that image out of her mind.
“Intersection? Can't make it out,” Dad said. “But there's got to be a big building or something we can use as a windbreak. I don't dare stop until I have a good place, because the motor may not start again.”
The RV limped on, surviving the buffeting. Then Mom made a stifled exclamation—the worst kind. She was scared now, and she didn't scare easy. “Jim—”
“How did we get back on a bridge?” Dad demanded, seeing it.
“There're two roads,” Mom said. “I thought we were on the left one, but it must be the right one. It leads to No Name Key.”
“Well, whatever its name or lack thereof, here we come,” Dad said.
Karen was relieved to see land resume outside the window; it had been a brief bridge. She peered ahead, out the windshield, and saw a sign saying ROCKWELLS. Then one saying NO NAME. They were indeed on No Name Key.
And still no place to find shelter. Finally the motor gasped its last, and the vehicle came to a stop. They would stay here for a while, ready or not. Here on the nameless key. Mom wouldn't even let Dad get out to check the motor, because now things were flying through the air, the wind making missiles of whatever was handy. All they could do was wait it out.
“Safe belly-flop landing,” Sean announced. “In remote country. Do not panic; we are certain to be rescued before the headhunters locate us.” But the humor didn't get off the ground.
So they made sandwiches and sang songs, pretending it was a picnic, while the wind howled and the night closed around them like some hungry monster. The RV was shaken so constantly that they came to tune out the distraction.
There was a lull. Quickly they attended to the necessary things: Dad went to the motor, and the kids took their pets out on leashes to do their natural business. Actually Tweeter didn't need any of that, but Karen took him out of the cage and cuddled him in her two hands, reassuring him. He rubbed his beak against her nose, his way of kissing her. He wouldn't do that with anyone else, and that was the only trick she had been able to teach him, but it was enough. The truth was that Tweeter was comforting her as much as she was comforting him.
The winds picked up again, and there was a power about them that indicated that what was coming would be worse than what had been. Everyone bundled back into the RV.
Dad hadn't been able to fix the motor—big surprise!—but had found rocks to block the wheels, making it a bit more stable. Mom turned on the radio, briefly, just long enough -to get the weather report.
“Expected to achieve minimal hurricane status within the next twenty-four hours,” Karen heard it say, and she had to stifle a hysterical laugh. If this was subminimal, she didn'f want to meet a maximum one! “Twenty-four point five north latitude, eighty-one point three west longitude, proceeding west northwest at ten miles per hour.”
Mom traced the lines on the map, and stifled another shriek. “That's here!” she said. “It's coming right here.”
“Well, at least it will be calm in the eye,” Dad said, trying for light reassurance but not achieving it.
There was nothing to do but settle down to wait it out.
They didn't think it was safe to use the beds, so they just buckled themselves into their various seats and slept as well as they could in the circumstances. There seemed to be no point in confining the pets again, so they were allowed to be where they wished. Woofer settled down at Sean's feet, and Midrange chose David's lap. Tweeter, uneasy about Midrange being loose, decided to fly back into the safety of his cage. Midrange had never actually made a pass at the bird, but Karen understood his concern.
The weather report was right, because in due course the winds died out and there was complete calm. But they knew better than to leave the vehicle, because the winds could return at any time. Karen listened to the silence for a while, then lapsed back into sleep.
Karen woke to the winds of da
wn. There was no sun in the sky, just brightening turbulence. She had a mental picture of puffy clouds circling the RV, firing arrows into it, but since the arrows were made of vapor, they didn't have much effect. However, the winds were diminishing, so the worst had indeed passed. The RV had not been tipped over or blown into the sea. Now she could resume enjoying the experience as an adventure.
The others stirred in their seats as the light penetrated.
They took turns using the bathroom facilities. Then Mom got to work on breakfast, while Dad went out to try fixing the motor again.
“Yo!” he called, surprised.
Karen, free at the moment, zoomed out to join him, carrying Tweeter perched on one lifted finger. And stopped just outside the door, amazed.
The outdoors had changed. They were now near the shore of a huge island. Not far from the RV was a tree that seemed to be made of metal, and whose fruits seemed to be horseshoes. And standing not far from the tree was the weirdest horse she had ever seen. It was male, with regular hindquarters. But its front rose up into the torso, arms, and head of a man. It had an old-fashioned bow slung across its back, and a quiver of arrows.
“What is that?” she asked, too awed to be alarmed.
“That is a centaur,” Dad said, his voice unnaturally level.
“A what?”
“A mythical crossbreed between a man and a horse. It must be a statue, remarkably lifelike.”
The figure moved. “Ho, intruders,” it said. “What are you doing on Centaur Isle?”
Karen looked at her bird. “Somehow I don't think we're in Florida anymore. Tweeter,” she said.
Dad seemed too astonished to respond, so Karen did.
“We're the Baldwin family,” she said. “We must've gotten blown here by Hurricane Happy Bottom. Tropical Storm, I mean. But where's this? I mean, which key is Centaur Isle?”
“Key?” the centaur asked in turn. “This is a shoe tree, not a key-lime tree.” He reached out and touched one of the dangling horseshoes.
The other members of the family emerged, hearing the dialogue. “Gee—a horseman,” David said. “I thought they were fantasy.”
“They are,” Dad said. “We must have stumbled into a freak show.”
“Perhaps I misunderstand,” the centaur said. “Are you referring to me as a freak?” Suddenly his bow was in his hand, and an arrow was nocked and pointing right at Dad.
Karen acted before she thought, as she often did. “Don't do that!” she cried to the centaur, running out between them. “Dad doesn't believe in fantasy.”
The centaur was taken aback. “He doesn't? What about magic, then?”
“That neither,” she said.
“What kind of a man is he?” the centaur asked, bemused.
“Just a regular garden-variety family man,” she said.
“From Miami.”
“From your what?”
Karen tittered. “Not your ami, silly. My ami. Miami.”
The centaur scowled, confused. “What part of Xanth is that?”
“It's part of Florida, America.”
The centaur tilted his head and swished his tail, surprised. “Are you by any chance from Mundania?”
“No, Florida.”
“Did you come through the Gate?”
Karen looked around. “We sure must've come through somewhere, because this isn't much like home.”
The centaur put away his bow. “This is near the Gate aperture. The Turn Key normally supervises it, competently enough for a human. Perhaps something went wrong, and you came through unaware.”
“We must've been blown through,” Karen agreed. “It sure was windy. Till we were in the eye.”
“An eye gazed at you?”
She giggled. “The eye of the hurry-cane. Happy Bottom.”
“Cheerful posterior?” The centaur glanced at his handsome rump.
“You're funny! The center of the storm.”
“Ah, the storm. We shall have to see what we can do. Let us introduce ourselves. I am Cedric Centaur the tenth, of Centaur Isle.”
“I'm Karen Baldwin,” Karen said.
“I must say, you don't look bald. Is that a magic hairpiece?”
Karen felt her wild tangle of blown, slept-in hair. “I don't think so. It's just the way I grew it. It's always wild in the morning until Mom brushes it down.”
Cedric smiled. “Our foals have a similar problem. We try to keep the tangle weeds clear, but more keep appearing.”
“Should we shake hands?” Karen asked, uncertain of the protocol.
Cedric lifted one hand and made it shake slightly. “I do not see the point, unless you are bothered by flies.”
She suppressed another titter. “No, I mean our two hands together, to show we are friendly.”
“How quaint.”
She raised her hand high, and the centaur reached his hand low, and they shook hands. “And that's my family,” she said, nodding behind her. Dad had been joined by the others, all appearing somewhat stunned.
“Indubitably. Follow me.” He turned and walked away.
Karen turned to address her family. “Well?” she inquired. “Are you coming?” She knew she had pretty well one-upped them, and it was a great feeling.
The four of them exchanged about six glances in a scant second. Then they fell in behind without comment.
The winds remained high, blowing the foliage of nearby trees to one side. Some of the foliage looked like green tentacles. It was pleasantly weird. Cedric led them to a village made of stalls. There were other centaurs there: stallions, mares, fillies, colts, and foals. None of them wore any clothing. Only the smallest paid them any attention. They were busy repairing damaged structures. The high winds had blown some of the stall roofs off.
They came to a central pavilion where a young stallion of about Sean's age stood. “I found these Mundanes near the shore,” Cedric said. “They call themselves the Baldwin family, and seem to be stranded here. There may be a rift in the Gate. Take care of the matter, Carleton.” He turned and trotted back the way they had come.
Carleton stepped forward. “Welcome to Centaur Isle,” he said. “Unfortunately you can't remain here, unless you care to become servants. As Mundanes, you have no magic, which is good; nevertheless I suspect you will be better off on mainland Xanth, among your own kind.”
Dad finally got hold of himself. “Just exactly what kind of a place is this?”
Carleton paused, briefly considering. “You have no prior knowledge of Xanth?”
“Unless you are referring to a yellow nitrogenous compound, xanthine—” Dad paused at the centaur's blank look. “Evidently not. Then we know nothing of this.”
“Then perhaps we should exchange information,”
Carleton said. “Would you like a meal while we converse?”
“Yes!” Karen said, as usual, before she thought. They hadn't had breakfast yet, and she was hungry.
Carleton lifted one hand, and in a moment a filly centaur trotted over, her large full firm bare breasts quivering in a way that made Sean and David stare. Karen felt a tinge of resentment, because she knew that never in her fullest future adult-maturity would she ever develop a bosom like that. “Yes, Carleton?” she inquired.
“Sheila,-these Mundanes are in need of fodder.”
“Coming right up,” Sheila agreed, trotting bouncily off.
“Fodder?” David asked.
But soon the filly returned with big bowls of odd fresh fruit and other items. She set them on a table under the pavilion. “Yellows, greens, reds, and oranges,” she said, indicating the fruits. “Pink, purple, black, and blue berries.
A loaf of breadfruit and a butterfly. And milkweed pods.”
She glanced at Karen. “Including chocolate.”
Mom lifted the breadfruit. It fell into several slices. She picked up the butterfly. Its wings detached and flew away, leaving the butter to be used. “These will do nicely,” she said, terrifically poised. “Thank you, Sheila.?
??
The filly made a partial bow with her foresection that almost made Sean's eyeballs pop out of his head. in fact, Karen's own almost popped, and she was a girl. She had once sneaked a peek at an X-rated video, but these were more than those, and better formed. Then Sheila trotted off, evidently to Mom's relief.
Karen picked up the chocolate milkweed pod and sniffed it. Then she bit off the end. Sure enough, chocolate milk, and very good. Meanwhile the boys piled into the various-colored fruits and berries. Mom passed a slice of buttered bread to Dad, and started another for herself.
“The Land of Xanth is magical,” Carleton said. “There are many magical artifacts, and most human beings possess magic talents, one to each person. Centaurs don't, of course; we regard magic in our own kind as obscene. But sometimes it happens. My sister Chena—” He winced.
“But that is irrelevant. We centaurs use magic tools on occasion, however. Beyond Xanth is Mundania, a rather dreary region because of its lack of magic. The normal route to Mundania is to the north and west, via the isthmus.
That may be your route of choice, to return to your homeland. Now, if I may inquire, what are the details of your arrival here?”
Dad filled him in on the drive and the storm, and how they stalled out on No Name Key. “You mentioned a gate,” he concluded. “That must be a connection between our two realms. The eye of the storm passed over us, and perhaps swept us into this, um, dimension. Unless this is after all some experimental project on No Name Key.”
“Centaur Isle is no experiment,” Carleton said firmly.
“We constructed it centuries ago, from the scattered islets of the region. It is low on magic by our preference. But on the mainland you will see a great deal of magic, if you wish. However, I must advise you that much of it is dangerous to the uninitiated. Have you had experience with dragons?”