"Go find him yourself!" the surly creature retorted brusquely. "Can't you see we're busy here?"
The centaurs of Dor's time were generally the soul of courtesy except when aroused. One notable exception was "Uncle Chester," sire of Dor's centaur playmate Chet. This centaur supervisor was reminiscent of Chester, and the other members of this herd resembled him too. Chester must have been a throw-back to this original type: ugly of facial feature, handsome of posterior, powerfully constructed, surly of disposition, yet a creature of sterling qualities once his confidence was won.
Dor and his party retreated. This was obviously not the occasion to bug the centaurs. "Stone, where is King Roogna?" Dor inquired of a section of a block that had not yet been transported across the moat.
"He resides in a temporary hut south of here," the stone responded.
As Dor had suspected. There would have to be a lot more work on the Castle before it was habitable for a King, though in the event of war the inner court should be safe enough for camping. No one would choose to live there while the centaurs were hoisting massive rocks about.
They went south. Dor was tempted to make a detour to the spot where his cottage cheese existed in his own day, but resisted; there would be nothing there.
They came across a hut adapted from a large pumpkin, set in a small but neat yard. A solid, graying man in soiled shorts was contemplating a chocolate cherry tree while chewing on the fruit: evidently a gardener sampling the product. The man hailed them without waiting for an introduction: "Welcome, travelers! Come have a cherry while they are available."
The three stopped. Dor plucked a cherry and found it excellent: a delicious outer coating of sweet brown chocolate, a firm cherry exterior with a liquid center. Millie liked the fruit too. "Better than candied cave-lice," she opined. Jumper was too polite to demur, but evidently had another opinion.
"Pretend it is a swollen tick," Dor suggested in a low voice. The spider waved a foreleg, acquiescing.
"Well, let's try it again," the gardener said. "I'm having some difficulty with this one." He concentrated on the tree.
Nothing happened.
"Are you trying to do a spell?" Dor inquired, plucking another cherry. "To add fertilizer to it, or something?"
"Um, no. The centaurs provide plenty of fertilizer. As a matter of fact-" The man's eyes widened, startled. "Hold that cherry a moment, sir, if you please. Don't bite into it."
Dor paused, cherry near mouth. The first had been so good, he was a bit put out to have the gardener deny him the second so arbitrarily. He looked at the fruit. It lacked the chocolate covering, and its surface was bright red and hard. "I won't," he agreed. "This must be a bad one." He flipped it away."
"Don't-" the man cried, too late. "That's a-"
There was an explosion nearby. Millie screamed. The noise was deafening, and heat blasted at them.
All four of them stumbled to the side, away from the blast.
The concussion subsided. Dor looked around dazedly. There was a wisp of smoke rising from the vicinity of the explosion. "What was that?" Dor asked, shaken. He discovered he had his sword in hand, and put it away self-consciously.
"The cherry bomb you threw," the gardener said. "Lucky you did not bite into it."
"The cherry-that was a chocolate cherry, from this-" Dor looked at the tree. "Why, those are cherry bombs, now! How-?"
"This must be King Roogna," Millie offered. "We didn't recognize him."
Nonplused, Dor worked it out. He had pictured King Roogna as a man somewhat like King Trent, polished, intelligent, commanding of demeanor, a man nobody would care to take lightly. But of course the folklore of eight hundred years would clothe the Magician in larger-than-life grandeur. It was not a person's appearance that counted in Xanth, it was his magic talent. So this pudgy, informal, gardener-type man with the gentle manner and thinning, graying hair and sweaty armpits, unprepossessing-this could indeed be the King. "This tree-he changed it from chocolate cherry to cherry bomb-Magician King Roogna's talent was adapting magic to his purpose-"
"Was?" the King inquired, raising a dust-smeared eyebrow.
Dor had been thinking of the historical figure, who was of course contemporary in the tapestry world. "I, uh, is. Your Majesty. I-" He started to bow, changed his mind in midmotion, started to kneel, changed his mind again, and found himself dissolving in confusion.
The King set a firm, friendly hand on his shoulder. "Be at ease, warrior. Had I desired obeisance, I would nave made it known at the outset. It is my talent that sets me apart, rather than my office. In fact, my office is insecure at the moment. My troops are all on furlough because we have no quarters yet for them, and difficulties plague the construction of my Castle. So pretension would ill befit me, were I inclined toward it."
"Uh, yes, Your Majesty," Dor mumbled.
The King contemplated him. "I gather you are from Mundania, though you seem to have had some garbled account of Xanth." He glanced at Millie. "And the young lady has the aspect of the West Stockade. They do raise some pretty fruits there." He looked at Jumper. "And this person-I don't believe I have encountered a jumping spider of your magnitude before, sir. Is it an enchantment?"
"He called me sir," Jumper cluttered. "Is a King supposed to do that?"
"A King," Roogna said firmly, "can do just about anything he chooses. Preferably he chooses to rule well. I note your voice is translated by a web on the warrior's shoulder." His aspect hardened, and he began to suggest the manner Dor had expected in a King. "This interests me. There appears to be unusual magic here."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Dor said quickly. "There is considerable enchantment here, but it is hard to explain."
"All magic is hard to explain," Roogna said.
"He makes things talk," Millie said helpfully. "The sticks and stones don't break his bones. They talk to him. And walls and water and things. That's how we found our way here."
"A Mundane Magician?" Roogna asked. "This is a virtual contradiction in terms!"
"I, uh, said it was hard to explain, Your Majesty," Dor said awkwardly.
A figure approached: a compact squarish man of the King's generation, with a slightly crooked smile. "Do I smell something interesting, Roogna?" he inquired.
"You do indeed, Murphy," the King replied. "Here, let's introduce ourselves more adequately. I am Magician Roogna, pro-term King. My talent is the adaptation of living magic to my purpose." He looked meaningfully at Dor.
"I, uh, I am Dor. Er, Magician Dor. My talent is communication with the inanimate." Then, in case that wasn't clear, he added: "I talk to things."
The King prompted Millie with another glance. "I am Millie the maid, an innocent girl of the West Stockade village," she said. "My talent is-" She blushed delicately, and her talent manifested strongly. "Sex appeal."
On around the circle: "I am Phidippus Variegatus of the family of Salticidae: Jumper the spider for short," Jumper chittered. "My talent, like that of all my kind, is silk."
At last it came to the newcomer. "And I am Magician Murphy. My talent is making things go wrong. I am the chief obstacle to Roogna's power, and his rival for dominance in Xanth."
Dor's mouth dropped open. "You are the Enemy Magician? Right here with the King?"
King Roogna laughed. "What better place? It is true we oppose each other, but this is a matter of politics. Magicians, as a rule, do not practice their talents directly on each other. We prefer to manifest our powers more politely. Murphy and I are two of the three Magicians extant. The third has no interest in politics, so we two are the rivals for power in Xanth. We are trying our strength in this manner: if I can succeed in completing Castle Roogna before the year is out, Murphy will yield me uncontested title to the throne. If I fail, I will abdicate the throne, and since there is no other Magician suitable for the office, the anarchy that follows will likely foster Murphy as the dominant figure. Meanwhile we share the camaraderie of our status. It is an equitable arrangement."