Piers Anthony - The Source of Magic

Chester plodded on, picking his way carefully through the unfamiliar aquatic environment. Dusky clouds of sediment stirred up around his legs. Curious fish looked the pair over. Chester now held his bow in his hands, in case they should encounter a sea monster. Apart from the tension, it was soon rather dull going.

Bink drew out the bottle that held the Magician and put his eye to the side. Vaguely he made out the shapes of a tiny griffin and tinier man. They were in a carpeted room like that of a palace, and were looking at moving pictures in the magic mirror. It seemed very comfortable. Much nicer, in fact, than forging through the murk toward fiends.

Another ugly thought came. Suppose he had grabbed the wrong bottle himself, and popped the Magician into his mouth in lieu of a water-breathing pill? Such things were very scary right now.

Bink put the vial in his pocket, reassured that his friends were secure. He wondered what would happen if he shook the bottle violently, but resisted the urge to experiment. "Let's go visit the fiends," he said with false cheer.

Shortly they approached a splendid marine castle. It was formed from seashells-which meant it was probably magical, since few seashells formed in lakes without the aid of magic. Little whirlpools ascended from its turrets, apparently bringing air down to the inhabitants. Instead of a moat, the castle had a thick wall of seaweed, patrolled by vigilant swordfish.

"Well, let's hope the fiends are kind to travelers," Bink said. There were no bubbles as he spoke; the pill had fully acclimatized him.

"Let's hope the Magician's mirror knew its business," the centaur responded grimly. "And that the fiends don't connect the fool griffin with us, if they saw him."

They marched up to the main gate. A behemoth rose out of the muck, mostly mouth.

"Hooold!" the behemoth bellowed. "Whoo goooes there?" It was very proficient and resonant on the long O's; the sound reverberated across the reaches of the cavernous maw.

"Chester and Bink, travelers," Bink said with some trepidation. "We'd like lodging for the night."

"Soooo?" the monster inquired. "Then goooo!" Its month gaped even more horrendously.

"Go?" the centaur repeated aggressively. "We just came!"

"Soo gooo!" the behemoth reverberated, its orifice gaping so widely that the centaur could have ridden right into it without ducking his head.

Chester reached for his sword. "Uh, hooold-I mean hold," Bink murmured. "I remember-the gargoyle-I think it means to go inside. Inside the mouth."

The centaur peered into the monster's tunnel-like throat. "Damned if I'll cooperate in my own consumption!"

"But that's the entrance to the castle!" Bink explained. "The behemoth itself."

Chester stared. "Well I'll be gelded!" And without further hesitation he galloped in.

Sure enough, the throat continued on into the castle. Lights appeared at the end of the tunnel, and soon they emerged into a palatial receiving hall. Intricately woven tapestries covered the walls, and the floor was done in fancy wooden squares.

A handsome, almost pretty young man walked up to greet them. He had ornate curls about his ears and a neat mustache. His costume was a princely robe embroidered with brightly colored threads, and he wore soft slippers with pointed toes. "Welcome to Gateway Castle," he said. "May I inquire your identities and the purpose of this visit?"

"You may," Chester said.

There was a pause. "Well?" the man said, a bit nettled.

"Well, why don't you inquire?" Chester said. "I gave you permission."

Small muscles quirked about the man's mouth, making him less pretty. "I so inquire."

"I am Chester Centaur, and this is my companion Bink. He's human."

"So I noted. And your purpose?"

"We seek the source of magic," Bink said.

"You have lost your way. It is at the amazon village, some distance north. But the direct route is hazardous to your sanity."

"We have been there," Bink said. "That is not the ultimate source, but merely the upwelling of magic dust. What we seek lies below. According to our information, a more convenient route passes through this castle."

The man almost smiled. "Oh, you would not care for that route!"

"Try us and see."

"This is beyond my cognizance. You will have to talk with the lord of the manor."

"Good enough," Bink said. He wondered what sort of a fiend this lord would be, who had such a docile human servant.

"If you would be good enough to come this way."

"We're good enough," Chester said.

"But first we must do something about your hooves. The floor is teak parquet; we do not wish it scratched or dented."

"Why put it on the floor, then?" Chester demanded.

"We do not apply it to the floor of our stable," the man said. He produced several disks of felt pads "Apply these to your hooves; they will adhere, and muffle the impact."

"How about wearing one of these on your mouth?" Chester demanded.

"It's a small concession," Bink murmured. Chester's hooves were sound, since the healing elixir had eliminated all damage to the centaur's hind end, but they were hard enough to leave an imprint. "Humor the poor man. The fiends are probably very strict about such things, and punish their servants for violations."

With imperfect grace, Chester pressed his hooves one at a time onto the felt disks. The material clung to them, and it made the centaur's footfalls silent.

They moved through an elegant hall, descended carpeted steps, and entered a small chamber. There was barely room for Chester to stand. "If this is your main hall-" he began.

The man touched a button. The door slid closed. Then, abruptly, the room moved.

Bink flung out his hands, startled, and Chester kicked a hole in the rear wall.

"Easy, visitors," the man said with a small frown. "Haven't you ridden an elevator before? It is inanimate magic, a chamber that rises or sinks when occupied. Saves wear on stairs."

"Oh," Bink said, abashed. He preferred more conventional magic.

The magic lift stopped. The door slid open. They stepped out into another hall, and in due course came to the chambers of the lord of the manor.

He was, to Bink's surprise, a man, garbed richly in silver cloth and diamonds, but with the same foolish slippers his servant wore. "So you proffer service for a night's lodging," he said briskly.

"This is our custom," Bink said.

"And ours too!" the lord agreed heartily. "Have you any special talents?"

Bink couldn't tell his own, and didn't know Chester's. "Uh, not exactly. But we're strong, and can do work."

"Work? Oh my heavens no!" the lord exclaimed. "People do not work here!"

Oh? "How do you live, then?" Bink asked. "We organize, we direct-and we entertain," the lord said. "Have you any entertainment abilities?" Bink spread his hands. "I'm afraid not."

"Excellent! You will make an ideal audience."

"Audience?" Bink knew that Chester was as perplexed as he. The mirror had shown him watching a play-yet that could hardly be a service!

"We send our troupes out to entertain the masses, accepting payment in materials and services. It is a rewarding profession, esthetically and practically. But it is necessary to obtain advance audience ratings, so that we can gauge our reception precisely."

This innocuous employment hardly jibed with the local reputation! "To be an audience-to watch your shows-that's all you require? It hardly seems equitable! I'm afraid we would not be able to present an informed critical report-"

"No necessity! Our magic monitors will gauge your reactions, and point up our rough edges. You will have nothing to do but react, honestly."

"I suppose we could do that" Bink said dubiously. "If you really are satisfied."

"Something funny here," Chester said. "How come you have a reputation as fiends?"