Piers Anthony - The Source of Magic

"Where are your friends?" Jewel asked.

"They're in a bottle," Bink explained. "But we can communicate with them through a fragment of magic mirror. Here, I'll introduce you to them." He fumbled in his pocket for the bit of glass.

His fingers found nothing. "Oh, no-I've lost the fragment!" He turned the pocket inside out. There was a hole in it, where the sharp edge of glass had sawed its way out

"Well, we'll find them somehow," Bink said numbly. "We won't give up until we do."

"That would seem best," Chester agreed gravely. However, we'll have to take the nymph along with us."

"Why?" Bink had mixed emotions.

"The object of the counterspell has to be present; that's the way these things work. You loved the first female you encountered after imbibing the potion; you must unlove her in the same fashion."

"I can't come with you!" Jewel protested, though she looked at Chester as if wishing for a ride on his back. "I have a lot of work to do!"

"How much will you get done if Bink stays here?" Chester inquired.

She threw up her hands in feminine exasperation.

"Come to my apartment, both of you. We'll discuss it later."

Jewel's apartment was as attractive as herself. She had a cluster of caves completely carpeted; the carpet-moss ran across the floor, up over the walls, and across the ceiling without a break except for the round doors. It was extremely cozy. She had no chairs, table, or bed; it seemed she sat or lay down anywhere, anytime, in perfect comfort.

"We'll have to do something about those clothes," she said to Bink.

Bink looked down at himself. His clothing had more or less dried on him, after its soaking in the vortex and lake; it glowed in uneven patches. "But these are all I have," he said regretfully.

"You can dry-clean them," she said. "Go into the lavatory and put them in the cleaner. It only takes a moment."

Bink entered the room she indicated and closed the curtain. He located the cleaner: an ovenlike alcove through which a warm current of air passed over his tunic and shorts. He set them within this, then moved over to the basin where a rivulet of water ran through. Above it was a polished rock surface: a mirror. The vanity of the distaff always required a mirror!

Seeing himself reflected was a shock: he was more bedraggled than his clothes. His hair was tangled and plastered over his forehead, and he had a beard just at the ugly starting stage. Cave-dirt was smeared over portions of his face and body, from his crawl through the wall. He looked like a juvenile ogre. No wonder the nymph had been afraid of him at first!

He used the keen blade of his sword to shave his face, since there was no magic shaving brush here to brush his whiskers away conveniently. Then he rinsed and combed his hair. He found his clothing dry and clean and pressed: obviously more than hot air was at work. His torn sleeve had been neatly hemmed so that the absence of cloth looked intentional. He wondered if some magic dust circulated in these caves, augmenting the function of such things as dry cleaners. The nymph seemed to have many magical conveniences, and quite a comfortable life-style. It would not be hard to adapt to such a style-

He shook his head. That was the love potion speaking, not his common sense! He had to be on guard against rationalization. He did not belong down here, and he would have to leave when his mission was done, though he leave part of his heart behind.

Nevertheless, he dressed himself neatly, even giving his boots a turn at the cleaner. Too bad the Magician's bottle couldn't have washed ashore instead of his footwear!

When he emerged from the lavatory, Jewel looked him over with surprised admiration. "You are a handsome man!"

Chester smiled wryly. "I suppose it was hard to tell, before. Would that I could wash my face and suffer a similar transformation!" They all laughed, somewhat ill at ease.

"We must pay for your hospitality-and for your help," Chester said when the laugh subsided fitfully.

"My hospitality I give freely; pay would demean it," Jewel said. "My help you seem to be co-opting. There is no pay for slave labor."

"No, Jewel!" Bink cried, cut to the heart of his emotion. "I would not force anything on you, or cause you grief!"

She softened. "I know it, Bink. You drank of the love-water; you would not hurt me. Yet since I must help you find your friends, so they can find the counterspell, and this takes me away from my work-"

"Then we must help you do your work!" Bink said.

"You can't. You don't know the first thing about sorting precious stones, or where they should be set. And if you did, the borer would not work for you."

"The borer?"

"My steed beast. He phases through the rock to reach where I must set the stones. I alone can control him-and then only when I sing. He works for a song, nothing else."

Bink exchanged glances with Chester. "After we eat, we will show you our music," Chester said.

Jewel's meal was strange but excellent. She served an assortment of mushrooms and fungus-things that grew magically, she explained, without the need of light. Some tasted like dragon steak, and some like potato chips chipped from a hot potato tree, and dessert was very like chocolate pie fresh from the brown cow, so round and soft and pungent it practically flowed off the plate. She also had a kind of chalky powder she mixed with the water to produce excellent milk.

"You know," Chester murmured aside to Bink, "you could have found a worse nymph to encounter after your draught."

Bink didn't answer. After the magic drink, he would have loved a harpy; it wouldn't have mattered how foul she was. The love potion was absolutely heedless of its consequence. Magic without conscience. Indeed, as he had learned to his horror, the history of Xanth had been influenced by just such love springs. The original, mundane species had intermated, producing crossbreeds like the chimeras, harpies, griffins-and centaurs. Who was to say this was wrong? Where would the Land of Xanth be now, without the noble centaurs? Yet Bink's own drink of this water was supremely inconvenient in a personal way. Rationally, he had to stay with his wife, Chameleon; but emotionally-

Chester finished his repast. He concentrated, and the silver flute appeared. It played rapturously. Jewel sat frozen, listening to the silvery melody. Then she began to sing in harmony with it. Her voice could not approach the purity of the flute, but it complemented the instrument nicely. Bink was entranced-and would have been, he told himself, regardless of the potion.

Something grotesque poked into the room. Chester's flute cut off in midnote, and his sword appeared in his hand.

"Stay your hand, centaur!" Jewel cried. "That is my borer!"

Chester did not attack, but his sword remained ready. "It looks like a giant worm!"

"Yes," she agreed. "He's related to the wiggles and squiggles, but he's much larger and slower. He's a diggle-not very bright, but invaluable for my work."

Chester decided it was all right. "I thought I had seen everything in the lexicon, but I missed this one. Let's see whether we can help you work. If he likes my music, and you have any stones to place near the river-"

"Are you kidding?" Jewel asked in her nymphly idiom. "With half the keg spilled, I have dozens of stones for the river. Might as well start there."

Under her direction, they boarded the diggle. Jewel bestrode the monster worm near its front end, a basket of precious stones held before her. Bink sat next, and Chester last, his four feet somewhat awkward in this situation. He was used to being ridden, not to riding, though he had done it before with the dragon.

"Now we make music," Jewel said. "He will work as long as he likes the sound, and he doesn't require much variation. After a few hours I get tired and nave to stop, but if the centaur's flute-"