That started Dor on another chain of thought. Actually it wasn't just Bink and Chameleon; nobody in Castle Roogna cared to associate too closely with Dor. Because all sorts of things went on that the furniture saw and heard, and Dor could talk to the furniture. For him, the walls had ears and the floors had eyes. What was wrong with people? Were they ashamed of everything they did? Only King Trent seemed completely at ease with him. But the King could hardly spend all his time entertaining a mere boy.
Grundy caught up. 'This is a bad day for exploring, Dor!' he warned. 'That storm means business.'
Dor looked dourly up at the cloud. 'Go soak your empty head!' he yelled at it 'You're no thunderhead, you're a dunderhead!'
He was answered by a spate of yellow hailstones, and had to hunch over like a zombie and shield his face with his arms until they passed.
'Be halfway sensible, Dor!' Grundy urged. 'Don't mess with that mean storm! It'll wash us out!'
Dor reluctantly yielded to common sense. 'We'll seek cover. But not at home; the zombie's there.'
'I wonder what Millie sees in him,' Grundy said.
'That's what I asked.' The rain was commencing. They hurried to an umbrella tree, whose great thin canopy was just spreading to meet the droplets. Umbrella trees preferred dry soil, so they shielded it against rain. When the sun shone, they folded up, so as not to obstruct the rays. There were also parasol trees, which reacted oppositely, spreading for the sun and folding for the rain. When the two happened to seed together, there was a real wilderness problem.
Two larger boys, the sons of palace guards, had already taken shelter under the same tree. 'Well,' one cried. 'If it isn't the dope who talks to chairs!'
'Go find your own tree, twerp,' the other boy ordered. He had sloping shoulders and a projecting chin.
'Look, Horsejaw!' Grundy snapped. 'This tree doesn't belong to you! Everyone shares umbrellas in a storm.'
'Not with chair-talkers, midget.'
'He's a Magician!' Grundy said indignantly. 'He talks to the inanimate. No one else can do that; no one else ever could do that in the whole history of Xanth, or ever will again!'
'Let it be, Grundy,' Dor murmured. The golem had a sharp tongue that could get them both into trouble. 'We'll find another tree.'
'See?' Horsejaw demanded triumphantly. 'Little stinker don't stand up to his betters.' And he laughed.
Suddenly there was a detonation of sound right behind them. Both Dor and Grundy jumped in alarm, before remembering that this was Horsejaw's talent: projecting booms. Both older boys laughed uproariously.
Dor stepped out from under the umbrella-and his foot came down on a snake. He recoiled-but immediately the snake faded into a wisp of smoke. That was the other boy's talent: the conjuration of small, harmless reptiles. The two continued to laugh with such enthusiasm that they were collapsing against the umbrella trunk.
Dor and Grundy went to another tree, prodded by another sonic boom. Dor concealed his anger. He didn't like being treated this way, but against the superior physical power of the older boys he was helpless. His father Bink was a muscular man, well able to fight when the occasion required, but Dor took after his mother more: small and slender. How he wished he were like his father!
The rain was pelting down now, soaking Dor and Grundy. 'Why do you tolerate it?' Grundy demanded. 'You are a Magician!'
'A Magician of communication,' Dor retorted. 'That doesn't count for much, among boys.'
'It counts for plenty!' Grundy cried, his little legs splashing through the forming puddles. Absent- mindedly Dor reached down to pick him up; the one-time golem was only a few inches tall. 'You could talk to their clothes, find out all their secrets, blackmail them-'
'No!'
'You're too damned ethical, Dor,' Grundy complained. 'Power goes to the unscrupulous. If your father, Bink, had been properly unscrupulous, he'd have been King.'
'He didn't want to be King!'
'That's beside the point. Kingship isn't a matter of want, it's a matter of talent. Only a full male Magician can be King.'
'Which King Trent is. And he's a good King. My father says the Land of Xanth has really improved since Magician Trent took over. It used to be all chaos and anarchy and bad magic except for right near the villages.'
'Your father sees the best in everyone. He is entirely too nice. You take after him.'
Dor smiled. 'Why thank you, Grundy.'
'That wasn't a compliment!'
'I know it wasn't-to you.'
Grundy paused. 'Sometimes I get the sinister feeling you're not as naive as you seem. Who knows, maybe little normal worms of anger and jealousy gnaw in your heart, as they do in other hearts.'
'They do. Today when the zombie called on Millie-' He broke off.
'Oh, you notice Millie now! You're growing up!'
