"Monster coming," Grundy announced. "A little fish told me."
"There aren't supposed to be monsters in these waters," Dor objected.
Grundy consulted with the fish. "It's a sea dragon. It heard the commotion of our passage, so it's coming in to investigate. The channel's deep enough for it here."
"We'd better get out of the channel, then," Dor said.
"This is not the best place," Chet objected.
"No place is best to get eaten, dummy!" Irene snapped. "We can't handle a water dragon. We'll have to get out of its way. Shallow water is all we need."
"There are groupies in these shallows," Chet said. "Not a threat, so long as we sail beyond their depth, but not fun to encounter. If we can get farther down before diverging--"
But now they saw the head of the dragon to the south, gliding above the water. Its neck cut a wake; the monster was traveling fast.
It was far too big for them to fight.
Smash, however, was game. Ogres were too stupid to know fear.
He stood, making the craft rock crazily. "For me's to squeeze!" he said, gesturing with his meathooks.
"All you could do is gouge out handfuls of scales," Irene said.
"Meanwhile, it would be chomping the rest of us. You know an ogre has to have firm footing on land to tackle a dragon of any type."
Without further argument, Chet swerved toward the mainland beach. But almost immediately the sand began to writhe. "Oh, no!"
Dor exclaimed. "A sand dune has taken over that beach. We can't go there."
"Agreed," Chet said. "That dune wasn't on my map. It must have moved in the past few days." He swerved back the other way.
That was the problem about Xanth; very little was permanent. In the course of a day, the validity of a given map could be compromised; in a week it could be destroyed. That was one reason so much of Xanth remained unexplored. It had been traveled, but the details were not fixed.
The dune, noting their departure, reared up in a great sandy hump, its most typical form. Had they been so foolish as to step on that beach, it would have rolled right over them, buried them, and consumed them at leisure.
But now the water dragon was much closer. They cut across its path uncomfortably close and approached the island's inner shore.
The dragon halted, turning its body to pursue them--but in a moment its nether loops ran aground in the shallows, and it halted. Jets of steam plumed from its nostrils; it was frustrated.
A flipper slapped at the side of the boat. "It's a groupies" Grundy cried. "Knock it off!"
Smash reached out a gnarled mitt to grasp the flipper and haul the thing up in the air. The creature was a fattish fish with large, soft extremities.
"That's a groupie?" Irene asked. "What's so bad about it?"
The fish curled about, got its flippers on the ogre's arm, and drew itself up. Its wide mouth touched Smash's arm in a seeming kiss.
"Don't let it do that!" Chet warned. "It's trying to siphon out your soul."
The ogre understood that. He flung the groupie far over the water where it landed with a splash.
But now several more were slapping at the boat, trying to scramble inside. Irene shrieked. "Just knock them away," Chet said. "They can't take your soul unless you let them. But they'll keep trying."
"They're coming in all over!" Dor cried. "How can we get away from them?"
Chet smiled grimly. "We can move into the deep channel. Groupies are shallow creatures; they don't stir deep waters."
"But the dragon's waiting there!"
"Of course. Dragons eat groupies. "That's why groupies don't venture there."
"Dragons also eat people," Irene protested.
"That might be considered a disadvantage," the centaur agreed.
"If you have a better solution, I am amenable to it."
Irene opened her bag of seeds and peered in. "I have watercress. That might help."
"Try it!" Dor exclaimed, sweeping three sets of flippers off the side of the boat. "They're overwhelming us!"
"That is the manner of the species," Chet agreed, sweeping several more off. "They come not single spy, but in battalions."
She picked out a tiny seed. "Grow!" she commanded, and dropped it in the water. The others paused momentarily in their labors to watch. How could such a little seed abate such a pressing menace?
Almost immediately there was a kind of writhing and bubbling where the seed had disappeared. Tiny tendrils writhed outward like wriggling worms. Bubbles rose and popped effervescently. "Cress!" The mass hissed as it expanded.
The groupies hesitated, taken aback by this phenomenon. Then they pounced on it, sucking in mouthfuls.
"They're eating it up!" Dor said.
"Yes," Irene agreed, smiling.
In moments the groupies began swelling up like balloons. The cress had not stopped growing or gassing, and was now inflating the fish. Soon the groupies rose out of the water, impossibly distended, and floated through the air. The dragon snapped at those who drifted within its range.
"Good job, I must admit," Chet said, and Irene flushed with satisfaction. Dor experienced a twinge of jealousy and a twinge of guilt for that feeling. There was nothing between Chet and Irene, of course; they were of two different species. Not that that necessarily meant much, in Xanth. New composites were constantly emerging, and the chimera was evidently descended from three or four other species. Irene merely argued with Chet to try to bolster her own image and was flattered when the centaur bolstered it for her. And if there were something between them, why should he, Dor, care? But he did care.
They could not return to the main channel, for the dragon paced them alertly. It knew it had them boxed. Chet steered cautiously south, searching out the deepest subchannels of the bay, avoiding anything suspicious. But the island they were skirting was coming to an end; soon they would be upon the ocean channel the water dragon had entered by. How could they cross that while the dragon lurked?
Chet halted the boat and stared ahead. The dragon took a stance in mid-channel, due south, and stared back. It knew they had to pass here. Slowly, deliberately, it ran its long floppy tongue over its gleaming chops.
"What now?" Dor asked. He was King; he should be leader, but his mind was blank.
"I believe we shall have to wait until nightfall," Chet said.
"But we're supposed to make the trip in a day and night!" Irene protested. "That'll waste half the day!"
"Better waste time than life, greennose," Grundy remarked.
"Listen, stringbrain--" she retorted. These two had never gotten along well together.
"We'd better wait," Dor said reluctantly. "Then we can sneak by the dragon while it's sleeping and be safely on our way."
"How soundly do dragons sleep?" Irene asked suspiciously.
"Not deeply," Chet said. "They merely snooze with their nostrils just above the water. But it will be better if there is fog."
"Much better," Irene agreed weakly.
"Meanwhile, we would do well to sleep in the daytime," Chet said.
"We will need to post one of our number as a guard, to be sure the boat doesn't drift. He can sleep at night, while the others are active."
"What do you mean, he?" Irene demanded. "There's too much sexism in Xanth. You think a girl can't guard?"
Chet shrugged with his foresection and flicked his handsome tail about negligently. "I spoke generically, of course. There is no sexual discrimination among centaurs."
"That's what you think," Grundy put in. "Who's the boss in your family--Chester or Cherie? Does she let him do anything he wants?"
"Well, my mother is strong-willed," Chet admitted.
"I'll bet the fillies run the whole show at Centaur Isle," Grundy said. "Same as they do at Castle Roogna."
"Ha. Ha. Ha," Irene said, pouting.
"You may guard if you wish," Chet said.
"You think I won't? Well, I will. Give me that paddle." She grabbed the emergency paddle, which would now be needed to keep
the boat from drifting.
The others settled down comfortably, using pads and buoyant cushions. Chet's equine portion was admirably suited for lying down, but his human portion was more awkward. He leaned against the side of the boat, head against looped arms.
"Say--how will I sleep when we're nudging past that dragon?" Irene asked. "My sleeping turn will come then."
There was a stiffed chuckle from Grundy's direction. "Guess one sexist brought that on herself. Just don't snore too loud when we're passing under its tail. Might scare it into--"
She hurled a cushion at the golem, then settled resolutely into her guard position, watching the dragon.
Dor tried to sleep, but found himself too wound up. After a while he sat upright. "It's no use; maybe I'll sleep tomorrow," he said.
Irene was pleased to have his company. She sat cross-legged opposite him, and Dor tried not to be aware that in that position her green skirt did not fully cover her legs. She had excellent ones; in that limited respect she had already matched the Gorgon. Dor liked legs; in fact, he liked anything he wasn't supposed to see.
She sprouted a buttercup plant while Dor plucked a loaf from the breadfruit, and they feasted on fresh bread and butter in silence. The dragon watched, and finally, mischievously, Dor rolled some bread into a compact wad and threw it at the monster. The dragon caught it neatly and gulped it down. Maybe it wasn't such a bad monster; maybe Grundy could talk to it and arrange for safe passage.
No--such a predator could not be trusted. If the dragon wanted to let them pass, it would go away. Better strategy would be to keep it awake and alert all day, so that it would be tired at night.
"Do you think this new centaur Magician will try to take over Xanth?" Irene asked quietly when it seemed the others were asleep.
Dor could appreciate her concern. Chet, who was a friend, was arrogant enough about centaur-human relations; what would be the attitude of a grown centaur with the power of a Magician? Of course the Magician would not be grown right now; it must be new-birthed.
But in time it could become adult, and then it could be an ornery creature, like Chet's sire Chester, but without Chester's redeeming qualities. Dor knew that some centaurs did not like human beings; those tended to stay well clear of Castle Roogna. But Centaur Isle was well clear, and that was where this menace was. "We're on our way to investigate this matter," he reminded her. "There is help for King Trent there, too, according to Crombie's pointing. Maybe we just need to figure out how to turn this situation positive instead of negative."
She shifted her position slightly, unconsciously showing a little more of her legs, including a tantalizing flash of inner thigh. "You are going to try to help my father, aren't you?"
"Of course I'm going to try!" Dor said indignantly, hoping that if there was any flush on his face, she would assume it was because of his reaction to her words, rather than her flesh. Dor had in the past seen some quite lovely nymphs in quite scanty attire--but nymphs didn't really count. They were all well formed and scantily attired, so were not remarkable. Irene was a real girl, and that type ranged from lovely to ugly--in fact, his mother Chameleon covered that range in the course of each month--and Irene did not normally display a great deal of her body at a time. Thus each glimpse, beyond a certain perimeter, was special. But more special when the display was unintentional.
"I know If my father doesn't come back, you'll stay King."
"I'm not ready to stay King. In twenty years, maybe, I'll be able to handle it. Right now I just want King Trent back. He's your father; I think he's my friend."
"What about my mother?"
Dor grimaced. "Even Queen Iris," he said. "I'd rather face a lifelike illusion of a dragon than the real thing."
"You know, I never had any real privacy till she left," Irene said.
"She was always watching me, always telling on me. I hardly dared even to think for myself, because I was afraid she'd slip one of her illusions into my mind and snitch on me. I used to wish something would happen to her--not anything bad, just something to get her out of my hair for a while. Only now that it has--"
"You didn't really want her gone," Dor said. "Not like this."
"Not like this," she agreed. "She's a bitch, but she is my mother.
Now I can do anything I want--and I don't know what I want." She shifted position again. This time the hem of her skirt dropped to cover more of her legs. It was almost as if her reference to privacy from her mother's snooping around her mind had brought about privacy from Dor's surreptitious snooping around her body. "Except to have them back again."
Dor found he liked Irene much better this way. Perhaps her prior sharpness of tongue, back when her parents had been in Xanth, had been because of that constant feeling of being watched. Anything real might have been demeaned or ridiculed, so she never expressed anything real. "You know, I've had the opposite problem. I have privacy--but no one around me does. Because there's not much anybody does that I can't find out about. All I have to do is ask their furniture, or their clothing. So they avoid me, and I can't blame them.
That's why I've found it easier to have friends like Smash. He wears nothing but his hair, and he thinks furniture is for bonfires, and he has no embarrassing secrets anyway."
"That's right!" she said. "I have no more privacy with you than I do with my mother. How come I don't feel threatened with you?"
"Because I'm harmless," Dor said with a wry chuckle. "Not by choice, it's just the way I am. The Gorgon says you have me all wrapped up anyway."
She smiled--a genuine, warm smile he liked a lot. "She snitched. She would. She naturally sees all men as creatures to be dazzled and petrified. Good Magician Humfrey never had a chance. But I don't know if I even want you. That way, I mean. My mother figures I've got to marry you so I can be Queen--but that's her desire, not necessarily mine. I mean, why would I want to grow up just like her, with no real power and a lot of time on my hands? Why make my own daughter as miserable as she made me?"
"Maybe you will have a son," Dor offered. This was an intriguing new avenue of exploration.
"You're right. You're harmless. You don't know a thing." She finished her bread and tossed the crumbs on the water. They floated about, forming evanescent picture patterns before drifting away.
Somehow the afternoon had passed; the sun was dropping into the water beyond the barrier island. There was a distant sizzle as it touched the liquid, and a cloud of steam; then it was extinguished.
The others woke and ate. Then Chet guided the boat to the island shore. "Anything dangerous to people here?" Dor asked it.
"Only boredom," the island replied. "Nothing interesting ever happens here, except maybe a seasonal storm or two."
That was what they wanted: a dull locale. They took turns leaving the boat in order to attend to sanitary needs. Irene also took time to grow a forget-me flower.
As the darkness closed, Dor reviewed the situation. "We're going to sneak by that dragon in the night. Irene will harvest some forget-me flowers to discourage memory of our passage; that way the reactions of fish in the area will not betray us. But that won't help us if the dragon sees us or hears us or smells us directly. We don't have any sight-or sound-blanking plants; we didn't anticipate this particular squeeze. So we must go extremely carefully."
"I wish I were string and clay again," Grundy said. "Then I couldn't be killed."
"Now we do have some other resources," Dor said. "The magic sword will make any person expert the moment he takes it in their, hand. It won't help much against a pouncing dragon, but any lesser creature will be balked. If we get in serious trouble, we can climb through the escape hoop. The problem with that is that it leads to the permanent storage vat of the Brain Coral, deep under the earth, and the Coral doesn't like to release creatures. It happens to be my friend, but I'd rather not strain that friendship unless absolutely necessary. And there is the flying carpet--but that can only take one person at a time, plus Grundy. I think it could support Smash,
but not Chet, so that's not ideal."
"I wouldn't fit through the hoop either," Chet said.
"Yes. So you, Chet, are the most vulnerable one in this situation, because of your mass. So we need to plan for another defense." Dor paused, for Irene was looking at him strangely. "What's the matter?"
"You're glowing," she said.
Startled, Dor checked himself. Light was streaming from one of his pockets. "Oh--that's the midnight sunstone Jewel gave me so I'll always have light. I had forgotten about it."
"We don't want light at the moment," she pointed out. "Wrap it up." She handed him a piece of cloth.
Dor wrapped the gem carefully, until its glow was so muted as to be inconsequential, and put it back in his pocket. "Now," he continued. "Irene has some seeds that will grow devastating plants--she really is Magician level, regardless of what the Elders say--but most of those plants would be as dangerous to us as to the enemy. We'd have to plant and run."
"Any that would block off the water so the dragon couldn't pursue?" Chet asked.
"Oh, yes," Irene said, glowing at Dor's compliment about her talent. "The kraken weed--"
"I see what Dor means," the centaur said quickly. "I don't want to be swimming in the same ocean with a kraken!"
"Or I could start a stunflower on the island here, but it would be likely to stun us, too." She considered. "Aha! I do have some popcorn. That's harmless, but it makes an awful racket. "That might distract the dragon for a while."
"Grow me some of that," Chet said. "I'll throw it behind me if I have to swim."
"Only one problem," she said. "I can't grow that at night. It's a dayplant."
"I could unwrap the sunstone," Dor offered.
"That's too small, I think. We'd need a lot of light, radiating all about, not gleaming from tiny facets."
"What can you grow naturally at night?" Chet asked glumly.
"Well, hypno-gourds do well; they generate their own light, inside.
But you wouldn't want to look in the peephole, because--"
"Because I'd be instantly hypnotized," Chet brightened. "Grow me one anyway; it might help."
"As you wish," she agreed dubiously. She leaned over the side of the boat to drop a seed on the shore. "Grow," she murmured.