The tail of a centaur appeared in the marred surface. Dor knew that meant NO. “It says you didn’t,” he said.
“Well, maybe I forgot,” Humfrey muttered. “I’m too busy to keep up with every trifling detail.” And the front of the centaur appeared-a fetching young female.
No wonder there had been no protest from the Elders! Humfrey, distracted by other things, had never gotten around to informing them.
King Trent, believing the Magician’s silence meant approval from the Elders, had departed as planned. Trent had not intentionally deceived them. That gratified Dor; it had been difficult to think of the King as practicing deliberate deception. Trent had meant his words about honesty.
“I believe the Elders will veto my trip,” Dor said. “Especially after-“
“The Elders can go-“
“Humfrey!” a voice called warningly from the doorway. “Don’t you dare use such language on this day. You’ve already cracked one mirror that way!”
So that was how the mirror had suffered! Humfrey had uttered too caustic a word when balked on news of the new Magician.
Dor looked to the voice. It came from the nothingness that was the face of the Gorgon, an absolutely voluptuous, statuesque, shapely, and buxom figure of a lovely woman whose face no one could look at. Humfrey had put a temporary spell on it, ten or fifteen years ago, to protect society from the Gorgon’s involuntary magic while he worked out a better way to solve the problem. It seemed he had never gotten around to that solution either. He was known to be a bit absent-minded.
Humfrey’s brow wrinkled as if bothered by a pink mosquito.
“What’s special about this day?”
She seemed to smile. At least, the little serpents that were her hair writhed in a more harmonious manner. “It will come to you in due course, Magician. Now you get into your suit. The good one that you haven’t used for the past century or so. Make the moth unball it for you.” Her facelessness turned to Dor. “Come with me, Your Majesty.”
Perplexed, Dor followed her out of the room. “Uh, am I intruding or something?”
She laughed, sending jiggles through her flesh. Dor squinted, to prevent his eyeballs from popping. “Hardly! You have to perform the ceremony.”
Dor’s bafflement intensified. “Ceremony?”
She turned and leaned toward him. It embarrassed him to look into her empty head, so he glanced down-and found himself peering through the awesome crevice of her burgeoning cleavage. Dor closed his eyes, blushing.
“The ceremony of marriage,” the Gorgon murmured. “Didn’t you get the word?”
“I guess not,” Dor said. “A lot of words seem to get mislaid around here.”
“True, true. But you arrived on schedule anyway, so it’s all right. Only the King of Xanth can make it properly binding on that old curmudgeon. It has taken me a good many years to land him, and I mean to have that knot tied chokingly tight.”
“But I’ve never-I know nothing about-“ Dor opened his eyes again, and goggled at the mountains and valley of her bosom, and at the empty face, and retreated hastily back into darkness. Too little and too much, in such proximity!
“Do not be alarmed,” the Gorgon said. “the sight of me will not petrify you.”
That was what she thought. It occurred to him that it was not merely the Gorgon’s face that turned a man to stone. Other parts of her could do it to other parts of him. But he forced his eyes open and up, from the fullness to the emptiness, meeting her invisible gaze.
“Uh, when does it happen?”
“Not long after the nuptials,” she said. “It will be a matter of pride with me to handle it without recourse to any potency spell.”
Dor found himself blushing ferociously. “The-I meant the ceremony.”
She pinched his cheek gently with her thumb and forefinger. “I know you did, Dor. You are so delightfully pristine. Irene will have quite a time abating your naiveté.”
So his future, too, had been mapped out by a woman-and it seemed all other women knew it. No doubt there was a female conspiracy that continued from generation to generation. He could only be thankful that Irene had neither the experience nor the body of the Gorgon. Quite. Yet.
They emerged into what appeared to be a bedroom. “You’ll have to change out of those soaking things,” the Gorgon said. “Really, you young people should be more careful. Were you playing tag with a bayonet plant? Let me just get these tatters off you-“
“No!” Dor cried, though he was shivering in the wet and ragged robe.
She laughed again, her bosom vibrating. “I understand. You are such a darling boy! I’ll send in the Zombie Master. You must be ready in hall an hour; it’s all scheduled.” She turned and swept out, leaving Dor relieved, bemused, and guiltily disappointed. A woman like that could play a man like a musical instrument!
In a moment the gaunt but halfway handsome Zombie Master arrived. He shook hands formally with Dor. “I will never forget what I owe you, Magician,” he said.
“You paid off any debt when you made Millie the Ghost happy,” Dor said, gratified. He had been instrumental in getting the Zombie Master here, knowing Millie loved him; but Dor himself had profited greatly from the experience. He had, in a very real sense, learned how to be a man. Of course, it seemed that he had forgotten much of that in the ensuing years-the Gorgon had certainly set him in his place!-but he was sure the memory would help him.
“That debt can never be paid,” the Zombie Master said gravely.
Dor was not inclined to argue. He was glad he had helped this Magician and Millie to get together. He remembered that he had promised to invite them both to visit Castle Roogna so that the ghosts and zombies could renew acquaintance.
“Uh-“ Dor began, trying to figure out how to phrase the invitation.
The Zombie Master produced an elegant suit of clothing tailored to Dor’s size, and set about getting him changed and arranged. “Now we must review the ceremony,” he said. He brought out a book.
“Millie and I will organize most of it; we have been through this foolishness before. You just read this service when I give the signal.”
Dor opened the book. The title page advised him that this text contained a sample service for the unification of Age-Old Magicians and Voluptuous Young Maidens. Evidently the Gorgon had crafted this one herself. The service was plain enough; Dor’s lines were written in black, the groom’s in blue, the bride’s in pink.
Do you, Good Magician Humfrey, take this lovely creature to be your bride, to love and cherish as long as you shall live? Well, it did make sense; the chances of him outliving her were remote. But this sort of contract made Dor nervous.
Dor looked up. “It seems simple enough, I guess. Uh, If we have a moment-“
“Oh, we have two or three moments, but not four,” the Zombie Master assured him, almost smiling.
Dor broke into a full smile. This Magician had been cadaverously gaunt and sober when Dor had first known him; now he was better fleshed and better tempered. Marriage had evidently been good for him. “I promised the ghosts and zombies of Castle Roogna that your family would visit soon. I know you don’t like to mix with ordinary people too much, but if you could see your way clear to-“
The Magician frowned. “I did profess a deep debt to you. I suppose if you insist-“
“Only if you want to go,” Dor said quickly. “’these creatures-it wouldn’t be the same if it wasn’t voluntary.”
“I will consider. I daresay my wife will have a sentiment.”
On cue, Millie appeared. She was as lovely as ever, despite her eight hundred and thirty-odd years of age. She was less voluptuous than the Gorgon, but still did have her talent. Dor became uncomfortable again; he had once had a crush on Millie. “Of course we shall go,” Millie said. “We’ll be glad to, won’t we, Jonathan?”