The translator stood in front of Irene and formed a fist. He drew back his arm, aiming at her belly.
“Stop!” Dor cried. “I’ll tell-“
“Shut up!” Irene snapped at him. One of her knees jerked up, catching the translator in the groin. The man doubled over, and the surprised guards allowed Irene to tear herself free, leaving shreds of cloth in their hands. Bare-breasted as any nymph, she ran a few steps, stooped to pick up the door-opening bar, and whirled to apply it to Dor’s door.
“Run!” Dor cried. “Don’t waste time on me!”
But it was already too late. Both guards had drawn their flat swords and were closing on Irene. She turned, raising the bar defensively, determined to fight.
“No!” Dor screamed, his voice breaking. “They’ll kill you!”
But now there was a new distraction. Smash, snoozing before, had become aware of the situation. He rattled his door angrily. “Kill!” he bellowed.
Both guards and the King blanched. They believed the ogre’s fantastic strength stemmed from his anger. If they hurt Irene while Smash watched… The translator was beginning to recover from his injury; it probably had been a glancing blow. “Gdqc gdq hmsn gdq bdkk,” he gasped to the other two guards. Then, to Irene: “Girl-go quickly to your cell and they won’t hurt you.”
Irene, realizing that she could not hope to escape the two swordsmen and knowing that the bluff of Smash’s strength should not be called, edged toward her cell. The two guards followed cautiously.
Smash watched, still angry, but with the sense not to protest as long as the guards were holding off. Then Irene stepped into her cell, the guards slammed the door shut and barred it, and the crisis was over.
“You should have run out of the dungeon!” Dor said with angry relief.
“I couldn’t leave you,” she replied. “Where would I find another like you?” Dor wasn’t certain quite how to take that; was it a compliment or a deprecation?
King Oary himself seemed shaken. “Sgzs fhqkr mns tnnkx adztshetk, rgd gzr ehfgshmf rohqhs,” he said. “Cwn’s gtqs gdq; H Itrs ehme z trd enq gdq.” He turned about and marched out of the dungeon, followed by his henchmen. The translator, though still uncomfortable, had to remain where he thought he was just out of sight, to eavesdrop some more. The dungeon settled back into its normal gloom.
They were plotting something worse, Dor knew, but at least Irene had escaped unhurt, and the secret of their magic had been preserved, at least in part. The Mundanes knew the prisoners had magic, but still had not fathomed its mechanism. It was a temporary respite, but much better than nothing.
“I think we’d better get out of here soon,” Irene said as the Mundanes departed. “Give me your hand.”
What was she contemplating this time? Dor passed his hand through the crevice.
She took it in her own and kissed it. That was nice enough, though he found himself obscurely disappointed. She had lost her jacket and blouse She took his wrist in her hand and had him spread his fingers.
Then she put something into his hand. Dor almost exclaimed with surprise, for it was hard and cold and heavy.
It was the iron bar.
Of course! In their confusion, the guards had forgotten that Irene retained the bar she had picked up. Now Dor had this useful tool or weapon. Maybe he could lever open his door from the inside.
But a guard was in the hall, probably the translator, though there could have been a change. Dor didn’t dare try the door now; he would have to wait. In fact, he could not risk prying at any other part of the cell, for the noise would alert the guard and call attention to his possession of the bar. So, for now, they had to wait-and there were things he wanted to tell Irene.
“You were awfully brave,” he said. “You faced up to those thugs-“
“I was scared almost speechless,” she confessed. That was surely an overstatement; she had traded jibes with the translator quite neatly.
“But I knew they’d hurt you if-“
“Hurt me! It was you they-“
“Well, I worry about you, Dor. You wouldn’t be able to manage without me.”
She was teasing him-maybe. “I like your new outfit,” he said. “But maybe you’d better take my jacket.”
“Maybe so,” she agreed. “It’s cool here.”
Dor removed his centaur jacket and squeezed it through the crevice. She donned it, and was quite fetching in it, though it tended to fall open in front. Or perhaps that was why he found it so fetching.
At least the jacket would protect her from the cold and from the attack of instruments like swords or spears, because it was designed to resist penetration. And it wouldn’t hurt to have her body concealed from the lecherous eyes of the King and his henchmen; Dor’s jealousy of such things remained in force.
Grundy reappeared. “I got a seed,” he said. “The bag’s in the King’s chamber, along with the magic sword. I knew it was safe to sneak in there, because the King was down here. But I couldn’t carry the whole bag. Couldn’t find the magic compass at all; they must have thrown that away. So I picked out what looked like a good seed.”
“Give it here,” Irene said eagerly. “Yes-this is a tangler. If I could start it and drop it in the hall-“
“But you can’t,” Dor said. “Not without-“ He caught himself, for the eavesdropper was surely eavesdropping.
“I have an idea,” Dor said. “Suppose we brought a part of you-know-who here-would it have a little magic, enough to start one seed?”
Irene considered. “A piece of hoof, maybe. I don’t know. It’s worth a try.”
“I’m on my way,” Grundy said.
“I always thought girls were supposed to be timid and sweet and to scream helplessly at the mere sight of trouble,” Dor said. “But you-those guards-“
“You saw too much of Millie the Ghost. Real girls aren’t like that, except when they want to be.”
“You certainly aren’t! But I never thought you’d risk your life like that.”
“Are you disappointed?”
Dor considered. “No. You’re a lot more girl-more woman than I thought. I guess I do need you. If I didn’t love you before, I do now. And not because of your looks-though when it comes to that-“
“Really?” she asked, sounding like an excited girl.
“Well, I could be overreacting because of our imprisonment.”
“I liked it better unqualified,” she said.
“Oh, sure. Uh, I think you’re beautiful. But-“
“Then we’d better check again after we get out of this, to see if we feel the same. No sense being hasty.”
Dor was shaken. “You have doubts?”
“Well, I might meet a handsomer man.”
“Uh, yes,” Dor said unhappily.
She laughed. “I’m teasing you. Girls are smarter about appearances than boys are. We go for quality rather than packaging. I have no doubt at all. I love you, Dor. I never intended to marry anyone else. But I refuse to take advantage of you when you’re unsettled. Maybe when you get older you’ll change your mind.”
“You’re younger than I am!”
“Girls mature faster. Hadn’t you noticed?”
Now Dor laughed. “Just today, I noticed!”
She kissed his hand again. “Well, it’s all yours, when.”
When. Dor Considered the ramification of that, and felt warm all over.
She had a body, true-but what pleased him most was the loyalty implied. She would be with him, she would support him, whatever happened. Dor realized he needed that support; he really would foul up on his own. Irene was strong, when not jarred by an acute crisis; she had nerve he lacked. Her personality complemented his, shoring up his weakness. She was the one who had gotten them going on this rescue mission; her determination to rescue her father had never relented. With her at his side, he could indeed be King.