A Spell for Chameleon

  "Does he have magic?"

  The cherub again.

  "Strong magic?"

  Cherub.

  "Can you identify it?"

  Cherub.

  "Will you tell me its nature?"

  The pointer moved to cover the devil.

  "What is this?" Humfrey demanded irritably. "No, that's not a question, idiot! It's an exclamation. I can't figure why you spirits are balking." Angry he cast the release spell and turned to Bink. "There's something mighty funny here. But it's become a challenge. I'm going to use a truth spell on you. We'll get to the heart of this."

  The Magician waved his stubby arms again, muttered a vile-sounding incantation--and suddenly Bink felt strange. He had never experienced this odd type of magic before, with its gestures, words, and assorted apparatus; he was used to inherent talents that worked when they were willed to work. The Good Magician seemed to be something of a scientist--though Bink hardly understood that Mundane term, either.

  "What is your identity?" Humfrey demanded.

  "Bink of the North Village." It was the truth--but this time Bink said it because the spell compelled him to, not because he wanted to.

  "Why did you come here?"

  "To find out whether I have magic, and what it might be, so I shall not be exiled from Xanth and can marry--"

  "Enough. I don't care about the sordid details." The Magician shook his head. "So you were telling the truth all along. The mystery deepens, the plot thickens. Now--what is your talent?"

  Bink opened his mouth, compelled to speak--and there was an animal roar.

  Humfrey blinked. "Oh--the manticora is hungry. Spell abate; wait here while I feed him." He departed.

  An inconvenient time for the manticora to get hungry! But Bink could hardly blame the Magician for hastening to the feeding chore. If the monster should break out of its cage--

  Bink was left to his own devices. He walked around the room, stepping carefully to avoid the litter, not touching anything. He came to a mirror. "Mirror, mirror on the wall," he said playfully. "Who is the fairest one of all?"

  The mirror clouded, then cleared. A gross fat warty toad peered out. Bink jumped. Then he realized: this was a magic mirror; it had shown him the fairest one of all--the fairest toad.

  "I mean, the fairest female human being," he clarified.

  Now Sabrina looked out at him. Bink had been joking at first, but he should have realized that the mirror would take him seriously. Was Sabrina really the fairest girl of all? Probably not, objectively. The mirror showed her because, to Bink's prejudiced eye, she was the one. To some other man--

  The picture changed. Now the girl Wynne looked out. Yes, she was pretty too, though too stupid to be worthwhile. Some men would like that very well, however. On the other hand--

  Now the Sorceress Iris looked out, in her most beguiling illusion. "Well, it's about time you got around to me, Bink," she said. "I can still enable you to--"

  "No!" Bink cried. And the mirror went blank.

  He calmed himself, then faced the mirror again. "Can you answer informational questions too?" Of course it could; otherwise it wouldn't be here.

  The mirror clouded and cleared. A picture of the cherub appeared, meaning yes.

  "Why are we having so much trouble discovering my talent?"

  The picture that formed this time was that of a foot, a paw--a monkey's paw.

  Bink looked at it for some time, trying to figure out its meaning, but it eluded him. The mirror must have gotten confused and thrown in an irrelevant image. "What is my talent?" he asked at last. And the mirror cracked.

  "What are you doing?" Humfrey demanded behind him.

  Bink jumped guiltily. "I--seem to have broken your mirror," he said. "I was just--"

  "You were just asking stupidly direct questions of an instrument designed for subtlety," Humfrey said angrily. "Did you actually think the mirror could reveal what the demon Beauregard balked at?"

  "I'm sorry," Bink said lamely.

  "You're a lot more trouble than you're worth. But you are also a challenge. Let's get on with it." The Magician made his gesture and incantation again, restoring the truth spell "What is your--"

  There was a crash. The glass had fallen out of the cracked mirror. "I wasn't asking you!" Humfrey yelled at it. He returned to Bink. "What--"

  There was a shudder. The castle shook "Earthquake!" the Magician exclaimed. "Everything happens at once."

  He crossed the room and peered out an embrasure. "No, it's only the invisible giant passing by."

  Humfrey returned once more to Bink. This time he squinted at him, hard. "It's not coincidence. Something is preventing you--or anything else--from giving that answer. Some very powerful, unidentified magic. Magician-caliber enchantment. I had thought there were only three persons of that rank alive today, but it seems there is a fourth."

  "Three?"

  "Humfrey, Iris, Trent. But none of these have magic of this type."

  "Trent! The Evil Magician?"

  "Perhaps you call him evil. I never found him so. We were friends, in our fashion. There is a kind of camaraderie at our level--"

  "But he was exiled twenty years ago."

  Humfrey looked slantwise at Bink. "You equate exile with death? He resides in Mundania. My information does not extend beyond the Shield, but I am sure he survives. He is an exceptional man. But without magic now."

  "Oh." Bink had equated exile with death, emotionally. This was a good reminder; there was life beyond the Shield. He still did not want to go there, but at least it diminished the specter.

  "Though it galls me exceedingly, I dare not push the question further. I am not properly protected against interference magic."

  "But why would anyone try to prevent me from knowing my own talent?" Bink asked, bewildered.

  "Oh, you know it. You just can't tell it--even to yourself. The knowledge is buried deep inside you. And there, it seems, it is going to remain. I simply am not prepared to take the risk involved for a mere one-year service; I'd almost certainly take a loss on that contract."

  "But why would a Magician--I mean, I'm nobody! How could it benefit anybody else to stop me from--"

  "It might not be a person at all, but a thing placing a geis on you. A geis of ignorance."

  "But why?"

  Humfrey grimaced. "Lad, you grow repetitive. Your talent could represent some threat to some powerful special interest. As a silver sword is a threat to a dragon, even though it may not be near that dragon. So that entity protects itself by blocking off your knowledge of your talent."

  "But--"

  "If we knew that, we'd know your talent," Humfrey snapped, answering the unformed question.

  Still Bink persisted. "How can I demonstrate my talent, then, so I can stay in Xanth?"

  "You do seem to have a problem," Humfrey remarked, as if it were of only academic importance. He shrugged. "I'd answer if I could, but I can't. There is of course no charge for my service, since I was unable to complete it. I will send a note with you. Perhaps the King will allow you to remain after all. I believe the bylaws specify that each citizen shall be possessed of magic, not that he actually has to demonstrate it in public. On occasion the demonstration is suspended. I remember one young man who was able to change the color of his urine at will, for example. An affidavit was accepted in lieu of public display."

  Failure seemed to have mellowed the Magician considerably. He served Bink a pleasant meal of brown bread and milk--from his private breadfruit orchard and deerfly stable, respectively--and chatted almost sociably. "So many people come here and waste their questions," he confided. "The trick is not necessarily to find the answer, but to find the correct question. Yours is the first real challenge I've had in years. The last one was--let me think--the amaranth. This farmer wanted to know how to develop a really superior plant for greens and grain, so he could feed his family better, and bring in a little income for the comforts of life. I located the magic amaranth for him, and now it
s use has spread all over Xanth, and beyond it too, for all I know. It is possible to make bread from it that is almost indistinguishable from the real thing." The Magician pulled out a drawer and brought out a special loaf. "See, this has no stem; it was baked, not budded." He broke off a chunk for Bink, who was glad to accept it. "Now that was the kind of question to ask. The answer benefited the whole country of Xanth as well as the individual. Too many desires are of the monkey's-paw variety, in contrast."

  "The monkey's paw!" Bink exclaimed. "When I asked the magic mirror, it showed me--"

  "It would. The image derives from a Mundane story. They thought it was fiction. But here in Xanth there is magic like that."

  "But what...?"

  "Do you want to invest a year's service after all?"

  "Uh, no, not for that." Bink concentrated on chewing the new bread. It was tougher than true bread.

  "Then have it free. It simply means a type of magic that brings you more grief than good, though it grants what you technically ask. Magic you are better off without."

  Was Bink better off not knowing his talent? That was what the mirror had seemed to tell him. Yet how could exile, which would deprive him of it entirely, be better than knowledge? "Do many people come with questions, stupid or otherwise?"

  "Not so many now that I built this castle and hid it. Only the really determined find their way here now. Like you."

  "How did you build it?" So long as the Magician was talking...

  "The centaurs built it. I told them how to rid themselves of a local pest, and they served me for a year. They are very skilled craftscreatures, and did a fine job. Periodically I foul up the routes here, applying spells of misdirection, so as not to be pestered by casual querists; it's a good location."

  "The monsters!" Bink exclaimed. "The hippocampus, the manticora--they're serving their year's service, discouraging idle questioners?"

  "Of course. Do you think they'd stay here for the mere pleasure of it?"

  Bink wondered. He remembered the unholy glee with which the seahorse had flung itself about. Still, it would naturally prefer the open sea to a mere moat.

  He had finished the bread. It had been almost as good as real bread. "With your powers of information, you could--why, you could be King."

  Humfrey laughed, and there was nothing whining or bitter about it. "Who in his right mind would want to be King? It's a tedious, strenuous job. I am not a disciplinarian, but a scholar. Most of my labor is in making my magic safe and specific, refining it for greater applicability. Much remains to be done, and I am getting old. I can't waste time with diversions. Let those who wish the crown take it."

  Disconcerted, Bink cast about for someone who wanted to rule Xanth. "The Sorceress Iris--"

  "The trouble with dealing in illusion," Humfrey said seriously, "is that one begins to be deluded oneself. Iris doesn't need power half so much as she needs a good man."

  Even Bink could see the truth in that "But why doesn't she marry?"

  "She's a Sorceress, a good one. She has powers you have not yet glimpsed. She requires a man she can respect--one who has stronger magic than she does. In all Xanth, only I have more magic than she--and I'm of another generation, really too old for her, even if I had any interest in marriage. And of course we would be a mismatch, for our talents are opposite. I deal in truth, she in illusion. I know too much, she imagines too much. So she conspires with lesser talents, convincing herself that it can somehow work out" He shook his head. "It is too bad, really. With the King fading, and no Heir Apparent, and this alternate requirement that the crown go only to a full Magician, it is entirely possible that the throne will be subject to her machinations. Not every young man has your integrity or loyalty to Xanth."

  Bink felt a chill. Humfrey knew about Iris's offer, about their encounter. The Magician did not merely answer questions for a fee, he kept track of what was going on in Xanth. But he did not, it seemed, bother to interfere. He just watched. Maybe he investigated the background of specific seekers while the seahorse, wall, and manticora delayed them, so that by the time one won through, Humfrey was ready. Maybe he saved the information, in case someone came to ask "What is the greatest danger facing Xanth?", whereupon he could collect his fee for answering.

  "If the King dies, will you take the crown?" Bink asked. "As you said, it will have to go to a powerful Magician, and for the good of Xanth--"

  "You pose a question almost as awkward as the one that brought you here," the Good Magician said ruefully. "I do have a certain modicum of patriotism, but I also have a policy against interfering with the natural scheme of things. There is some substance to the concept of the monkey's paw; magic does have its price. I suppose if there were absolutely no alternative I would accept the crown--but first I would search most diligently for some superior Magician to assume the chore. We have not had a top talent appear in a generation; one is overdue." He gazed speculatively at Bink, "There seems to be magic of that caliber associated with you--but we cannot harness it if we cannot define it. So I doubt you are the heir to the throne."

  Bink exploded with incredulous, embarrassed laughter. "Me? You insult the throne."

  "No, there are qualities in you that would honor the throne--if you only had identified, controllable magic. The Sorceress may have chosen better than she knew, or intended. But evidently there is countermagic that balks you--though I am not sure the source of that countermagic would make a good King either. It is a strange matter, most intriguing."

  Bink was tempted by the notion of being a potent Magician, becoming King, and ruling Xanth. Oddly, it quickly turned him off. He knew, deep inside, that he lacked the qualities required, despite Humfrey's remarks. This was not merely a matter of magic, but of basic life style and ambition. He could never sentence a man to death or exile, however justified that sentence might be, or lead an army into battle, or spend all day deciding the altercations of citizens. The sheer responsibility would soon weigh him down. "You're right. No sensible person would want to be King. All I want is to marry Sabrina and settle down."

  "You are a most sensible lad. Stay the night, and on the morrow I will show you a direct route home, with protections against the hazards on the way."

  "Nickelpede repellent?" Bink asked hopefully, remembering the trenches Cherie the centaur had hurdled.

  "Precisely. You will still have to keep your wits about you; no route is safe for a stupid man. But two days' travel on foot will suffice."

  Bink stayed the night. He found he rather liked the castle and its denizens; even the manticora was affable now that the Magician had given the word. "I would not really have eaten you, though I admit to being tempted for a moment or three when you booted me in the...tail," it told Bink. "It is my job to scare off those who are not serious. See, I am not confined." It pushed against the bars, and the inner gate swung open. "My year is almost up, anyway; I'll almost be sorry to have it end."

  "What question did you bring?" Bink inquired somewhat nervously, trying not to brace himself too obviously for flight. In an open space, he was no possible match for the manticora.

  "I asked whether I have a soul," the monster said seriously.

  Again Bink had to control his reaction. A year's service for a philosophical question? "What did he tell you?"

  "That only those who possess souls are concerned about them."

  "But--but then you never needed to ask. You paid a year for nothing."

  "No. I paid a year for everything. Possession of a soul means that I can never truly die. My body may slough away, but I shall be reborn, or if not, my shade will linger to settle unfinished accounts, or I shall reside forever in heaven or hell. My future is assured; I shall never suffer oblivion. There is no more vital question or answer. Yet that answer had to be in the proper form. A simple yes or no answer would not have satisfied me; it could be a blind guess, or merely the Magician's offhand opinion. A detailed technical treatise would merely have obfuscated the matter. Humfrey phrased it in such a w
ay that its truth was self-evident. Now I need never doubt again."

  Bink was moved. Considered that way, it did make sense. Humfrey had delivered good value. He was an honest Magician. He had shown the manticora--and Bink himself--something vital about the nature of life in Xanth. If the fierce conglomerate monsters had souls, with all that implied, who could condemn them as evil?

  Chapter 7

  Exile

  The path was broad and clear, with no impinging magic. Only one thing chilled Bink: a region with small wormlike holes in the trunks of trees and surrounding rocks. Holes that wiggled straight from one side to another. The wiggles had been here! But he calmed himself. The wiggles had not passed recently, of course; that menace had been abolished. But where they had infested, it was horrible, for the little flying worms had drilled magically through anything that got in their way, including animals and people. A tree could survive a few neat holes, but a person could bleed to death, assuming he did not die outright from the holing of some vital organ. The mere thought made Bink wince. He hoped the wiggles never spawned again in Xanth--but there was no certainty about that. There was no certainty about anything where magic was involved.

  He walked faster, made nervous by the old wiggle scars. In half an hour Bink reached the chasm--and there, sure enough, was the impossible bridge the Good Magician had told him of. He verified its existence by tossing a handful of dirt and observing the pattern of its fall into the depths; it guided around one section. Had he known of this on the way over--but of course that was the thing about information, Without it, a person suffered enormous complications. Who would have thought there was an invisible bridge all the way across?

  Yet his long detour had not been an entire loss. He had participated in the rape hearing, and helped the shade, and witnessed some fantastic illusions, and rescued Crombie the soldier, and generally learned a lot more about the land of Xanth. He wouldn't care to do it all over again, but the experience had made him grow.

  He stepped out onto the bridge. There was one thing about it, the Magician had warned him: once he started across, he could not turn back, or it would dematerialize, dropping him into the chasm. It was a one-way ramp, existing only ahead of him. So he walked across boldly, though the gulf opened out awesomely beneath him. Only his hand on the invisible rail reassured him.