Chapter 12. Chameleon

The first thing Fanchon did when she recovered was fetch the magic gourd Bink had told her about. "This could be useful," she said, wrapping it in a great leaf from a blanket plant.

"Now we must plan the best route out of here," Trent said. "I believe we are south of the chasm, so that will balk us if we go north-unless we remain on the coast. I don't think that is wise."

Bink remembered his experience crossing the chasm at the other side. "No, we don't want to stay on the beach," he agreed. The Sorceress Iris had complicated things there-but there could be equivalent menaces here.

"Our alternative is to cut inland," Trent said. "I am not familiar with this specific locale, but I believe Humfrey was building a castle due east of here."

"He completed it," Fanchon said.

"Fine," Bink said. "You can change us into big birds, maybe rocs, and we'll carry you there."

Trent shook his head negatively. "This is not feasible.''

"But you changed us before, and we helped you. We made the truce; we wouldn't drop you."

Trent smiled. "It is not a question of trust, Bink. I trust you; I have no question at all about your basic integrity, or Fanchon's. But we are in a peculiar circumstance-''

"Fancy the Evil Magician paying a call on the Good Magician!" Fanchon said. "What a scene that would make."

"No, you would be disappointed," Trent said. "Humfrey and I have always gotten along well. We leave each other alone professionally. I should be happy to meet him again. But he would be obliged to convey the news of my return to Xanth to the King, and once he knew my general whereabouts he would use his magic to keep track of me."

"Yes, I see the problem," she said. "No sense tipping your hand to the enemy. But we could fly somewhere else."

"We can fly nowhere," Trent insisted. "I can not afford to advertise my presence in Xanth-and neither can you."

"That's right," Bink agreed. "We're exiles. And the penalty for violating exile--"

"Is death," Fanchon finished. "I never thought-we're all in trouble."

"If you had forgotten such details two days ago," Trent observed wryly, "we would not be here now." Fanchon looked unusually sober, as if there were some special significance to the remark. Oddly, the expression made her look less ugly than usual. Probably, Bink thought, he was merely getting used to her.

"What are we going to do?" Bink asked. "The whirlpool brought us in under the Shield; we've already agreed we can't go back that way. We can't stay here on the beach-and we can't let the citizens know we're back, even though we entered only by freak accident."

"We'll have to conceal our identities," Fanchon decided. "There are places in Xanth where we would be unknown."

"That doesn't sound like much of a life," Bink said. "Always in hiding-and if anyone asked Magician Humfrey where we were--"

"Who'd do that?" Fanchon demanded. "One year's service just to check up on someone in exile?"

"That is our only present margin of security," Trent said. "The fact that Humfrey will not bother to cheek without a potential fee. However, we can worry about such things after we escape the wilderness. Perhaps by then some new avenues will have appeared. I can change you into unrecognizable forms, if necessary, and camouflage myself. It may all prove to be academic."

Because they might never make it through the wilderness, Bink thought.

They traveled along the beach until they found a region of sparse forest and field that seemed less hazardous than the rest. They spaced themselves out somewhat whenever anything dangerous appeared, so that they would not all be caught together. The selection worked well enough; at first the magic they encountered was largely innocuous, as if the concentration were all at the beach. There were spells designed to make passing animals sheer off, or color shows whose purpose was unclear. Bink had been through worse on his trip to the Good Magician's castle. Maybe the wilderness was overrated.

Fanchon spotted a fabric plant and efficiently fashioned togas for them all. The men tolerated this with good humor, having become accustomed to nudity. Had Fanchon been a provocatively proportioned woman there might have been more reason--and less desire--for bodily concealment. Still, Bink remembered how she had professed modesty in the prison pit so as to gain a private section in which to hide the bricks. She probably had her reasons this time, too.

There were several patches of spell-cast coldness, and one of heat; the clothing would have helped protect against these, but they were easy to avoid. The assorted carnivorous trees were readily spotted and bypassed; staying off attractive paths was second nature to them all now.

One region was distinctly awkward, however. It was dry and sandy, with little apparent nutrient in the soil, yet it was covered by luxuriant waist-high broad-leaved plants. The region seemed harmless, so they strode straight through the center. Then all three travelers felt a sudden and almost uncontrollable call of nature. They had to scatter, barely getting separated in time to perform.

These were very practical plants, Bink abruptly realized. Their spells compelled passing animals to deposit nutritious fluids and solids on the soil, greatly promoting plant growth. Fertilizer magic!

Farther along, one animal neither fled their approach nor acted hostile. This was a knee-high, snuffling quadruped with a greatly extended snout. Trent drew his sword as it ambled toward them, but Fanchon stopped him. "I recognize that one," she said. "It's a magic-sniffer."

"It smells by magic?" Bink asked.

"It smells magic," she said. "We used to use one on my folks' farm, to sniff out magic herbs and things. The stronger the magic, the more it reacts. But it's harmless."

"What does it feed on" Trent asked, keeping his hand on his sword.

"Magic berries. Other magic doesn't seem to affect it one way or the other; it is just curious. It doesn't differentiate by type of spell, just intensity."

They stood and watched. Fanchon was nearest to the sniffer, so it approached her first. It snorted, making a flutelike sound. "See, I have some magic; it likes me," she said.

What magic? Bink wondered. She had never shown any talent, and never actually told him what she could do. There was still too much he did not know about her.

Satisfied, the sniffer moved on to Trent. This time its reaction was much stronger; it danced around, emitting a medley of notes. "Sure enough," Trent said, with a certain justified pride. "It knows a Magician when it smells one."

Then it came to Bink-and frisked almost as much as it had for Trent. "So much for perception," Bink said, laughing with embarrassment.

But Trent did not laugh. "It believes you are almost as strong a magician as I am," he said, his fingers tapping his sword with unconscious significance. Then he caught himself, and seemed to be at ease again.

"I wish I were," Bink said. "But I was banished for lack of magic." Yet the Magician Humfrey had told him he had very strong magic that could not be brought out. Now his curiosity and frustration were increased by this happenstance. What kind of a talent could he have that hid itself so determinedly-.or was it hidden by some outside spell?

They trudged on. They cut poles with which to poke the ground ahead for invisible barriers and pitfalls and other suspiciously unsuspect aspects of the wild. This made progress slow-but they dared not hurry. Actually, they had no reason to hurry; their only purposes were concealment and survival.

Food turned out to be no problem. They did not trust the various fruit and candy trees they saw; some might be magic, and serve the interests of their hosts rather than the interests of the consumers, though they looked similar to crop trees. But Trent merely turned a hostile thistle tree into a luxuriant multifruit tree, and they feasted on apples, pears, bananas, blackberries, and tomatoes. It reminded Bink how great was the power of a true Magician, for Trent's talent really embraced that of food conjuration as a mere subtalent. Properly exploited, the reach of his magic was enormous.

But they were still heading into the wilderness, not out of it. Illusions became bolder, more persistent, and harder to penetrate. There were more sounds, louder, more ominous. Now and then the ground shuddered, and there were great not-too-distant bellowings. Trees leaned toward them, leaves twitching.

"I think," Fanchon said, "we have not begun to appreciate the potency of this forest. Its whole innocuous permeability may have been merely to encourage us to get more deeply in."

Bink, looking nervously about, agreed. "We picked the safest-seeming route. Maybe that's where we went wrong. We should have taken the most threatening one."

"And gotten consumed by a tangle tree," Fanchon said.

"Let's try going back," Bink suggested. Seeing their doubt, he added: "Just to test."

They tried it. Almost immediately the forest darkened and tightened. More trees appeared, blocking the way they had come; were they illusions, or had they been invisible before? Bink was reminded of the one-way path he had walked from the Good Magician's castle, but this was more ominous. These were not nice trees; they were gnarled colossi bearing thorns and twitching vines. Branches crisscrossed one another, leaves sprouting to form new barriers even as the trio watched. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"No doubt about it," Trent said. "We failed to see the forest for the trees. I could transform any in our direct path, but if some started firing thorns at us we would be in trouble regardless."

"Even if we wanted to go that way," Fanchon said, looking west. "We'd never have time to retrace it all through that resistance. Not before night."

Night-that was the worst time for hostile magic. "But the alternative is to go the way it wants us to go," Bink said, alarmed. "That may be easy now, but it surely is not our best choice."

"Perhaps the wilderness does not know us well enough," Trent said with a grim smile. "I do feel competent to handle most threats, so long as someone watches behind me and stands guard as I sleep."

Bink thought of the Magician's powers of magic and swordplay, and had to agree. The forest might be one giant spider web-but that spider might become a gnat, unexpectedly. "Maybe we should gamble that we can handle it," Bink said. "At least we'll find out what it is." For the first time, he was glad to have the Evil Magician along.

"Yes, there is always that," Fanchon agreed sourly.

Now that they had made the decision, progress became easier. The threatenings of the forest remained, but they assumed the aspect of background warnings. As dusk came, the way opened out into a clearing, within which stood an old, run-down stone fortress.

"Oh, no!" Fanchon exclaimed. "Not a haunted castle!"

Thunder cracked behind them. A chill wind came up, cutting through their tunics. Bink shivered. "I think we spend the night there-or in the rain," he said. "Could you transform it into a harmless cottage?"

"My talent applies only to living things," Trent said. "That excludes buildings--and storms."

Glowing eyes appeared in the forest behind them. "If those things rush us," Fanchon said, "you could only transform a couple before they were on us, since you can't zap them from a distance."

"And not at night," Trent said. "Remember-Ii have to see my subject, too. All things considered, I think we had better oblige the local powers that be and enter the castle. Carefully-and once inside, we should sleep in shifts. It is likely to be a difficult night."

Bink shuddered. The last place he wanted to spend the night was there--but he realized they had come far too deeply into the trap to extricate themselves readily. There was powerful magic here, the magic of an entire region. Too much to fight directly-now.

So they yielded, goaded by the looming storm. The ramparts were tall, but covered by moss and clinging vines. The drawbridge was down, its once-stout timbers rotting in place. Yet there was an ancient, lingering, rugged magnificence about it. "This castle has style," Trent observed.

They tapped the planks, locating a reasonably solid section on which to cross. The moat was overgrown with weeds, and its water was stagnant. "Shame to see a good castle get run down," Trent said. "It is obviously deserted, and has been for decades."

"Or centuries," Bink added.

"Why would a forest herd us into a derelict castle?" Fanchon asked. "Even if something really horrible lurks here-what would our deaths profit the forest? We were only passing through-and we would make it much faster if the forest just left us alone. We intend it no harm."

"There is always a rationale," Trent said. "Magic does not focus without purpose."

They approached the front portcullis as the storm broke. That encouraged them to step inside, though the interior was almost black.

"Maybe we can find a torch," Fanchon said. "Feel along the walls. Usually a castle will have something near the entrance-"

Crash! The raised portcullis, which they had assumed was corroded in place, crashed down behind them. The iron bars were far too heavy to lift; the three were trapped inside. "The jaws close," Trent remarked, not seeming perturbed. But Bink could see that his sword was in his hand.

Fanchon made a half-muffled scream, clutching at Bink's arm. He looked ahead and saw a ghost. There was no question about it: the thing was a humped white sheet with dead-black eyeholes. It made a mouthless moan.

Trent's sword whistled as he stepped forward. The blade sliced through the sheet-with no visible effect. The ghost floated away through a wall.

"This castle is haunted, no question," Trent said matter-of-factly.

"If you believed that, you wouldn't be so calm," Fanchon said accusingly.

"On the contrary. It is physical menaces I fear," Trent replied. "The thing to remember about ghosts is that they have no concrete manifestation, and lack also the ability of shades to animate living creatures. Therefore they cannot directly affect ordinary people. They act only through the fear they inspire--so it is merely necessary to have no fear. In addition, this particular ghost was as surprised to see us as we were to see it. It was probably merely investigating the fall of the portcullis. It certainly meant no harm."

It was obvious that Trent was not afraid. He had not used his sword in panic, but to verify that it was a genuine ghost he faced. This was courage of a type Bink had never had; he was shivering with fear and reaction.

Fanchon had better control, now that her initial scream was out. "We could fall into quite physical pits or set off more boobytraps if we tried to explore this place in the dark. We're sheltered from the rain here-why don't we sleep right here in shifts until morning?"

"You have marvelous common sense, my dear," Trent said. "Shall we draw straws for first watch?"

"I'll take it," Bink said. "I'm too scared to sleep anyway."

"So am I," Fanchon said, and Bink felt warm gratitude for her admission. "I have not yet become blase about ghosts."

"There is not enough evil in you," Trent said, chuckling. "Very well; I shall be first to sleep." He moved, and Bink felt something cool touch his hand. "Do you take my sword, Bink, and run it through whatever manifests. If it has no impact, relax, for it is a true ghost; if it contacts anything material, that threat will no doubt be abated by the thrust. Only take care"-and Bink heard the smile in his voice-"that you do not strike the wrong subject."

Bink found himself holding the heavy sword, amazed. "I-"

"Do not be concerned about your inexperience with the weapon; a straight, bold thrust will have authority regardless," Trent continued reassuringly. "When your watch is done, pass the blade on to the lady. When she is done, I will take my turn, being by then well rested." Bink heard him lie down. "Remember," the Magician's voice came from the floor. "My talent is void in the dark, since I cannot see my subject. So do not wake me unnecessarily. We depend on your alertness and judgment.'' He said no more.

Fanchon found Bink's free arm. "Let me get behind you," she said. "I don't want you running me through by accident."

Bink was glad for her closeness. He stood peering about, sword in one sweaty hand, staff in the other, unable to penetrate the dark. The sound of the rain outside became loud; then he made out Trent's gentle snoring.

"Bink?" Fanchon said at last.

"Um."

"What kind of a man would give his enemy his sword and go to sleep?"

That question had been bothering Bink. He had no satisfactory answer. "A man with iron nerve," he said at last, knowing that that could only be part of it.

"A man who extends such trust," she said thoughtfully, "must expect to receive it."

"Well, if we're trustworthy and he isn't, he knows he can trust us."

"It doesn't work that way, Bink. It is the untrustworthy man who distrusts others, because he judges them by himself. I don't see how a documented liar and villain and schemer for the throne like the Evil Magician can be this way."

"Maybe he's not the historical Trent, but someone else, an imposter--"

"An imposter would still be a liar. But we've seen his power. Magic is never twice the same; he has to be Trent the Transformer."

"Yet something is wrong."

"Yes. Something is right; that's what's wrong. He trusts us, and he shouldn't. You could run him through right now, while he sleeps; even if you didn't kill him with the first thrust, he could not transform you in the dark."

"I wouldn't do that!" Bink exclaimed, horrified.

"Precisely. You have honor. So do I. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that so does he. Yet we know he is the Evil Magician."

"He must have spoken the truth before," Bink decided. "He can't make it through the wilderness alone, and he figures he'll need help to get out of this haunted castle in one piece, and he knows we can't get out alive either, so we're all on the same side and won't hurt each other. So he's serious about the truce."

"But what about when we get out of all this and the truce ends?"

Bink didn't answer. With that they were silent. But his troubled thoughts continued. If they survived the night in this dread castle, they could probably survive the day. In the morning Trent might figure the truce was over. Bink and Fanchon could guard the Magician through the night; then in the morning Trent could slay them both while they slept. If Trent had taken the first watch, he could not have done that, because he would have to slay the people who would protect him for the remainder of the evening. So it made sense to take the last watch.

No. He was not ready to believe that. Bink himself had chosen the first watch. He had to have faith in the sanctity of the truce. If that faith was misplaced, then he was lost-but he would rather lose that way than to win through dishonor. That decision gave him comfort.

Bink saw no more ghosts that night. At last he gave the sword to Fanchon. To his surprise, he managed to sleep.

He woke at dawn. Fanchon was asleep beside him, looking less ugly than he recalled-in fact, not really homely at all. He certainly was acclimatizing. Would it ever come to the point where Trent seemed noble and Fanchon beautiful?

"Good," Trent said. He was wearing his sword again. "Now that you can look out for her, I'll have a look around the premises." He walked on down the dim hall.

They had survived the night. Bink wasn't sure in retrospect whether he had been more worried about the ghosts or the Magician. He still lacked comprehension of the motives of either.

And Fanchon-as the light brightened, he was sure her appearance had improved. She could hardly be called lovely, but she certainly was not the ugly girl he had perceived when he met her four days ago. In fact, she now reminded him of someone-"Dee!" he exclaimed.

She woke. "Yes?"

Her response amazed him as much as the vague resemblance. He had called her Dee-but Dee was elsewhere in Xanth. Why, then, had she answered to that name as if it were her own? "I-I just thought you-"

She sat up. "You're right, of course, Bink. I knew I couldn't conceal it much longer."

"You mean you actually are...?'

"I am Chameleon," she said.

Now he was totally confused. "That was only a code word we used, to alert-" And an omen...

"I am Fanchon-ugly," she said. "And Dee-average. And Wynne-beautiful. I change a little every day, completing the circle in the course of a month. A lunar month. It's the female cycle, you know."

Now he remembered how Dee too had reminded him of someone. "But Wynne was stupid! You-"

"My intelligence varies inversely," she explained. "That is the other facet of my curse. I range from ugly intelligence to lovely idiocy. I've been looking for a spell to turn me normal."

"A spell for Chameleon," he said musingly. What an astonishing enchantment. Yet it had to be true, for he had almost caught the similarity when he met Dee, so close to where he had lost Wynne, and now he had seen Fanchon change day by day. Chameleon-she had no magic talent; she was magic, like the centaurs or dragons. "But why did you follow me into exile?"

"Magic doesn't work outside Xanth. Humfrey told me I would gradually center on my normal state if I went to Mundania. I would be Dee, permanently completely average. That seemed my best choice."

"But you said you followed me."

"I did. You were kind to Wynne. My mind may change, but my memory doesn't. You saved her from the Gap dragon at great peril to yourself, and you didn't take advantage of her when she--you know." Bink remembered the beautiful girl's willingness to disrobe. She had been too stupid to think through the likely consequence of her offer-but Dee and Fanchon, later, would have understood. "And now I know you tried to help Dee, also. She--I shouldn't have cut you off then-but we weren't as smart then as later. And we didn't know you as well. You-" She broke off. "It doesn't matter."

But it did matter! She was not one but three of the girls he had known-and one of those was excruciatingly beautiful. But also stupid. How should he react to this-this chameleon?

The concept of the chameleon, again-the magic lizard that changed its color and shape at will, mimicking other creatures. If only he could forget that omen--or be sure he understood it. He was sure this Chameleon meant him no harm, but she might in fact be the death of him. Her magic was involuntary, but it dominated her life. She had a problem, certainly--and so did he.

So she had learned that he was to be exiled for lack of magic and made her decision. Dee without magic, Bink without magic--two ordinary people with a common memory of the land of magic-perhaps the only thing to sustain them in drear Mundania. No doubt her smart phase had figured that out. What an apt couple they could make, these two demagicked souls. So she had acted-but had had no way of knowing about the ambush set by the Evil Magician.

It had been a good notion. Bink liked Dee. She was not so ugly as to turn him off, and not so lovely as to excite his distrust after his experiences with Sabrina and the Sorceress Iris-what was the mater with beautiful women, that they could not be constant?-but also not so stupid as to make it pointless. Just a reasonable compromise, an average girl he could have loved-especially in Mundania.

But now they were back in Xanth, and her curse was in force. She was not simple Dee, but complex Chameleon, swinging from extreme to extreme, when all he wanted was the average.

"I'm not so stupid yet that I can't figure out what's going through your mind," she said. "I'm better off in Mundania."

Bink could not deny it. Now he almost wished it had worked out that way. To have settled down with Dee, raised a family-that could have been its own special brand of magic.

There was a crash. Both reacted, orienting on the sound. It had come from somewhere above.

"Trent's in trouble!" Bink said. He started down the hall, carrying his Staff. "Must be stairs somewhere--" Behind his immediate consciousness he realized that this reaction indicated a fundamental change in his attitude toward the Magician. That night with the sword and the sleeping man-if evil was as evil did, Trent could not be very evil. Trust compelled trust. Maybe the Magician was only trying to manipulate Bink's attitude; regardless, that attitude had suffered a fundamental erosion.

Chameleon followed. Now that it was light, they had no fear of pitfalls, though Bink knew there could be magic ones. There was a grandly curving stone staircase beyond a palatial room. They charged up this.

Suddenly a ghost loomed up. "Ooooo!" it moaned, its great eye holes staring like holes in a dark coffin.

"Get out of my way!" Bink snapped, swinging his pole at it. The ghost, nonplused, phased out. Bink ran through its remnant, feeling the momentary chill of its presence. Trent was right: there was no need to fear the insubstantial.

Every step he took was solid; apparently there were no illusions in this old castle, just its harmless resident spooks. That was a relief after the way they had been herded into it last night.

But now there was silence upstairs. Bink and Chameleon picked their way through surprisingly opulent and well-preserved chambers, searching for their companion. At another time Bink would have admired the arrangements and tapestries of the rooms and halls at leisure, and been glad of the tight roof that had protected them from rain and weathering and rot, but right now his attention was preempted by concern. What had happened to Trent? If there were some monster lurking in this castle, summoning its victims by magic-Then they found a kind of upstairs library. Fat old books and coiled scrolls were filed on shelves along the walls. In the center, at a polished wood table, sat Trent, poring over an open tome.

"Another peephole spell's got him!" Bink cried.

But Trent lifted his head. "No, merely the thirst for knowledge, Bink. This is fascinating."

A bit abashed, they halted. "But the crash-" Bink started.

Trent smiled. "My fault. That old chair gave way under my weight." He pointed to a tangle of wood. "Much of the furniture here is fragile. I was so interested in this library that I was thoughtless." He rubbed his backside reminiscently. "I paid for it."

"What's so fascinating about the books?" Chameleon asked.

"This one is a history of this castle," Trent explained. "It is not, it seems, just another artifact. This is Castle Roogna."

"Roogna!" Bink exclaimed. "The Magician King of the Fourth Wave?"

"The same. He ruled from here, it seems. When he died and the Fifth Wave conquered Xanth, eight hundred years ago, his castle was deserted, and finally forgotten. But it was a remarkable structure. Much of the King's nature imbued the environs; the castle had an identity of its own."

"I remember," Bink said. "Roogna's talent-"

"Was the conversion of magic to his own purposes," Trent said. "A subtle but powerful asset. He was the ultimate tamer of the forces around him. He cultivated the magic trees around here, and he built this fine castle. During his reign Xanth was in harmony with its populace. It was a kind of Golden Age."

"Yes," Bink agreed. "I never thought I'd see this famous historical place."

"You may see more of it than you want to," Trent said. "Remember how we were guided here?"

"It seems like only yesterday," Bink said wryly.

"Why were we herded here?" Chameleon demanded.

Trent glanced at her, his gaze lingering. "I believe this locale behooves you, Fanchon."

"Never mind that," she said. "I'll be a lot prettier before I'm through, more's the pity."

"She is Chameleon," Bink said. "She shifts from ugly to pretty and back again--and her intelligence varies inversely. She left Xanth to escape that curse."

"I would not regard that as a curse," the Magician commented. "All things to all men-in due time."

"You're not a woman," she mapped. "I asked about this castle."

Trent nodded. "Well, this castle requires a new resident. A Magician. It is very selective, which is one reason it has lain dormant for so many centuries. It wants to restore the years of its glory; therefore it must support a new King of Xanth."

"And you're a Magician!" Bink exclaimed. "So when you came near, everything shoved you this way."

"So it would seem. There was no malign intent, merely an overwhelming need. A need for Castle Roogna, and a need for Xanth-to make this land again what it could be, a truly organized and excellent kingdom."

"But you're not King," Chameleon said.

"Not yet." There was a very positive quality to the statement.

Bink and Chameleon looked at each other in developing comprehension. So the Evil Magician had reverted to form-assuming he had ever changed his form. They had discussed his human qualifies, his seeming nobility, and been deceived. He had planned to invade Xanth, and now-"Not ever!" she flared. "The people would never tolerate a criminal like you. They haven't forgotten-"

"So you do have prior knowledge of my reputation," Trent said mildly. "I had understood you to say you had not heard of me." He shrugged. "However, the good citizens of Xanth may not have much choice, and it would not be the first time a criminal has occupied a throne," he continued calmly. "With the powers of this castle-which are formidable-added to mine, I may not need an army."

"We'll stop you," Chameleon said grimly.

Trent's gaze touched her again, appraisingly. "Are you terminating the truce?"

That gave her pause. The end of the truce would put the two of them directly in Trent's power, if what he said about this castle was true. "No," she said. "But when it does end..."

There was no hint of malignancy in Treat's smile. "Yes, it seems there will have to be a settlement. I had thought if I allowed you to go your way, you would extend the same courtesy to me. But when I said the people of Xanth would not necessarily have a choice, I did not mean it precisely the way you seem to have taken it. This castle may not permit us to do other than its will. For centuries it has endured here, hanging on against inevitable deterioration, waiting for a Magician of sufficient strength to qualify. Perhaps the magic-sniffer we encountered in the forest was one of its representatives. Now it has found not one but two Magicians. It will not lightly yield them up. From here we may be bound to glory-or extinction, depending on our decision."

"Two Magicians?" She asked.

"Remember, Bink has almost as much magic as I do. That was the verdict of the sniffer, and I am not certain it was mistaken. That would place him comfortably in the Magician class."

"But I have no talent," Bink protested.

"Correction," Trent said. "To have an unidentified talent is hardly synonymous with having no talent. But even if you are talentless, there is strong magic associated with you. You may be magic, as is Fanchon."

"Chameleon," she said. "That's my real name; the others are merely phases."

"I beg your pardon," Trent said, making a little sitting bow to her. "Chameleon."

"You mean I'll change somehow?" Bink asked, half hopeful, half-appalled.

"Perhaps. You might metamorphose into some superior form-like a pawn becoming a Queen." He paused. "Sorry-that's another Mundane reference; I don't believe chess is known in Xanth. I have been too long in exile."

"Well, I still won't help you try to steal the crown," Bink said stoutly.

"Naturally not. Our purposes differ. We may even be rivals."

"I'm not trying to take over Xanth!"

"Not consciously. But to prevent an Evil Magician from doing so, would you not consider...?"

"Ridiculous!" Bink said, disgruntled. The notion was preposterous, yet insidious. If the only way to prevent Trent from-no!

"The time may indeed have come for us to part," Trent said. "I have appreciated your company, but the situation seems to be changing. Perhaps you should attempt to leave this castle now. I shall not oppose you. Should we manage to separate, we can consider the truce abated. Fair enough?"

"How nice," Chameleon said. "You can relax over your books while the jungle tears us up."

"I do not think anything here will actually hurt you," Trent said. "The theme of Castle Roogna is harmony with man." He smiled again. "Harmony, not harm. But I rather doubt you will be permitted to depart."

Bink had had enough. "I'll take my chances. Let's go."

"You want me to come along?" Chameleon asked hesitantly.

"Unless you prefer to stay with him. You might make a very pretty Queen in a couple of weeks."

Trent laughed. Chameleon moved with alacrity. They walked to the stairs, leaving the Magician poring over his book again.

Another ghost interrupted them. This one seemed larger than the others, more solid. "Waarrningg," it moaned.

Bink stopped. "You can speak? What is your warning?"

"Dooom beeyonnd. Staay."

"Oh. Well, that's a chance we've already decided to take," Bink said. "Because we are loyal to Xanth."

"Xaaanth!" the spirit repeated with a certain feeling.

"Yes, Xanth. So we must leave."

The ghost seemed nonplused. It faded.

"It almost seems they're on our side," Chameleon commented. "Maybe they're just trying to make us stay in the castle, though."

"We can't afford to trust ghosts," Bink agreed.

They could not exit through the front gate, because the portcullis was firm and they did not understand the mechanism for lifting it. They poked through the downstairs rooms, searching for an alternate exit.

Bink opened one promising door-and slammed it shut as a host of leather-winged, long-toothed creatures stirred; they looked like vampire bats. He cracked the next open more carefully and a questing rope twined out, more than casually reminiscent of the tree vines.

"Maybe the cellar," Chameleon suggested, spying stairs leading down.

They tried it. But at the foot, huge, baleful rats scurried into place, and they were facing, not fleeing, the intruders. The beasts looked too hungry, too confident; they surely had magic to trap any prey that entered their territory.

Bink poked his staff at the nearest, experimentally. "Scat!" he exclaimed. But the rat leaped onto the pole, climbing up toward Bink's hands. He shook it, but the creature clung, and another jumped to the staff. He thunked it against the stone floor, hard-but still they hung on, and still they climbed. That must be their magic--the ability to cling.

"Bink! Above!" Chameleon cried.

There was a chittering overhead. More rats were crowding the beams, bracing themselves to leap.

Bink threw the staff away and backed hastily up the stairs, holding on to Chameleon for support until he could get turned around. The rats did not follow.

"This castle is really organized," Bink said as they emerged on the main floor. "I don't think it intends to let us go peacefully. But we've got to try. Maybe a window."

But there were no windows on the ground floor; the outer wall had been built to withstand siege. No point in jumping from an upper turret; someone would surely break a bone. They moved on, and found themselves in the kitchen area. Here there was a back exit, normally used for supplies, garbage, and servants. They slipped out and faced a small bridge across the moat: an ideal escape route.

But there was motion on the bridge already. Snakes were emerging from the rotten planking. Not healthy, normal reptiles, but tattered, discolored things whose bones showed through oozing gaps in the sagging flesh.

"Those are zombie snakes!" Chameleon cried with genuine horror. "Waked from the dead."

"It figures," Bink said grimly. "This whole castle is waked from the dead. Rats can thrive anywhere, but the other creatures died out when the castle died, or maybe they come here to die even now. But zombies aren't as strong as real living things; we can probably handle them with our staffs." But he had lost his own staff in the cellar.

Now he smelled the stench of corruption, worse than that of the harpy. Waves of it rose from the festering snakes and the putrescent moat. Bink's stomach made an exploratory heave. He had seldom encountered genuine, far-advanced decay; usually either creatures were living or their bones were fairly neat and dean. The stages in between, of spoilage and maggot infestation and disintegration, were a part of the cycle of life and death he had chosen not to inspect closely. Hitherto.

"I don't want to try that bridge," Chameleon said. "We'll fall through-and there are zombie crocs in the water."

So there were: big reptiles threshing the slimy surface with leather-covered bones, their worm-eaten eyes gazing up.

"Maybe a boat," Bink said. "Or a raft-"

"Uh-uh. Even if it weren't rotten and filled with zombie bugs, it would-well, look across the water."

He looked. Now came the worst of all, walking jerkily along the far bank of the moat: human zombies, some mummified, others hardly more than animate skeletons.

Bink watched the awful things for a long moment, fascinated by their very grotesqueness. Fragments of wrappings and decayed flesh dropped from them. Some dribbled caked dirt left from their over-hasty emergence from their unquiet graves. It was a parade of putrefaction.

He thought of fighting that motley army, hacking apart already-destroyed bodies, feeling their rotting, vermin-riddled flesh on his hands, wrestling with those ghastly animations, saturated with the cloying stink of it all. What loathsome diseases did they bear, what gangrenous embraces would they bestow on him as they fell apart? What possible attack would make these moldering dead lie down again?

The spell-driven things were closing in, coming across the ragged bridge. Surely this was even worse for the zombies, for they could not voluntarily have roused themselves. They could not retire to the pleasant seclusion of the castle interior. To be pressed into service in this state, instead of remaining in the bliss of oblivion-"l-don't think I'm ready to leave yet," Bink said.

"No," Chameleon agreed, her face somewhat green. "Not this way."

And the zombies halted, giving Bink and Chameleon time to reenter Castle Roogna.