leisure.
But now the water dragon was much closer. They cut across its path uncomfortably close and approached the island’s inner shore.
The dragon halted, turning its body to pursue them-but in a moment its nether loops ran aground in the shallows, and it halted. Jets of steam plumed from its nostrils; it was frustrated.
A flipper slapped at the side of the boat. “It’s a groupies” Grundy cried. “Knock it off!”
Smash reached out a gnarled mitt to grasp the flipper and haul the thing up in the air. The creature was a fattish fish with large, soft extremities.
“That’s a groupie?” Irene asked. “What’s so bad about it?”
The fish curled about, got its flippers on the ogre’s arm, and drew itself up. Its wide mouth touched Smash’s arm in a seeming kiss.
“Don’t let it do that!” Chet warned. “It’s trying to siphon out your soul.”
The ogre understood that. He flung the groupie far over the water where it landed with a splash.
But now several more were slapping at the boat, trying to scramble inside. Irene shrieked. “Just knock them away,” Chet said. “They can’t take your soul unless you let them. But they’ll keep trying.”
“They’re coming in all over!” Dor cried. “How can we get away from them?”
Chet smiled grimly. “We can move into the deep channel. Groupies are shallow creatures; they don’t stir deep waters.”
“But the dragon’s waiting there!”
“Of course. Dragons eat groupies. That’s why groupies don’t venture there.”
“Dragons also eat people,” Irene protested.
“That might be considered a disadvantage,” the centaur agreed. “If you have a better solution, I am amenable to it.”
Irene opened her bag of seeds and peered in. “I have watercress. That might help.”
“Try it!” Dor exclaimed, sweeping three sets of flippers off the side of the boat. “They’re overwhelming us!”
“That is the manner of the species,” Chet agreed, sweeping several more off. “They come not single spy, but in battalions.”
She picked out a tiny seed. “Grow!” she commanded, and dropped it in the water. The others paused momentarily in their labors to watch. How could such a little seed abate such a pressing menace?
Almost immediately there was a kind of writhing and bubbling where the seed had disappeared. Tiny tendrils writhed outward like wriggling worms. Bubbles rose and popped effervescently. “Cress!” the mass hissed as it expanded.
The groupies hesitated, taken aback by this phenomenon. Then they pounced on it, sucking in mouthfuls.
“They’re eating it up!” Dor said.
“Yes,” Irene agreed, smiling.
In moments the groupies began swelling up like balloons. The cress had not stopped growing or gassing, and was now inflating the fish. Soon the groupies rose out of the water, impossibly distended, and floated through the air. The dragon snapped at those who drifted within its range.
“Good job, I must admit,” Chet said, and Irene flushed with satisfaction. Dor experienced a twinge of jealousy and a twinge of guilt for that feeling. There was nothing between Chet and Irene, of course; they were of two different species. Not that that necessarily meant much, in Xanth. New composites were constantly emerging, and the chimera was evidently descended from three or four other species. Irene merely argued with Chet to try to bolster her own image and was flattered when the centaur bolstered it for her. And if there were something between them, why should he, Dor, care? But he did care.
They could not return to the main channel, for the dragon paced them alertly. It knew it had them boxed. Chet steered cautiously south, searching out the deepest subchannels of the bay, avoiding anything suspicious. But the island they were skirting was coming to an end; soon they would be upon the ocean channel the water dragon had entered by. How could they cross that while the dragon lurked?
Chet halted the boat and stared ahead. The dragon took a stance in mid-channel, due south, and stared back. It knew they had to pass here. Slowly, deliberately, it ran its long floppy tongue over its gleaming chops.
“What now?” Dor asked. He was King; he should be leader, but his mind was blank.
“I believe we shall have to wait until nightfall,” Chet said.
“But we’re supposed to make the trip in a day and night!” Irene protested. “That’ll waste half the day!”
“Better waste time than life, greennose,” Grundy remarked.
“Listen, stringbrain-“ she retorted. These two had never gotten along well together.
“We’d better wait,” Dor said reluctantly. “Then we can sneak by the dragon while it’s sleeping and be safely on our way.”
“How soundly do dragons sleep?” Irene asked suspiciously.
“Not deeply,” Chet said. “They merely snooze with their nostrils just above the water. But it will be better if there is fog.”
“Much better,” Irene agreed weakly.
“Meanwhile, we would do well to sleep in the daytime,” Chet said. “We will need to post one of our number as a guard, to be sure the boat doesn’t drift. He can sleep at night, while the others are active.”
“What do you mean, he?” Irene demanded. “There’s too much sexism in Xanth. You think a girl can’t guard?”
Chet shrugged with his foresection and flicked his handsome tail about negligently. “I spoke generically, of course. There is no sexual discrimination among centaurs.”
“That’s what you think,” Grundy put in. “Who’s the boss in your family-Chester or Cherie? Does she let him do anything he wants?”
“Well, my mother is strong-willed,” Chet admitted.
“I’ll bet the fillies run the whole show at Centaur Isle,” Grundy said. “Same as they do at Castle Roogna.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Irene said, pouting.
“You may guard if you wish,” Chet said.
“You think I won’t? Well, I will. Give me that paddle.” She grabbed the emergency paddle, which would now be needed to keep the boat from drifting.
The others settled down comfortably, using pads and buoyant cushions. Chet’s equine portion was admirably suited for lying down, but his human portion was more awkward. He leaned against the side of the boat, head against looped arms.
“Say-how will I sleep when we’re nudging past that dragon?” Irene asked. “My sleeping turn will come then.”
There was a stiffed chuckle from Grundy’s direction. “Guess one sexist brought that on herself. Just don’t snore too loud when we’re passing under its tail. Might scare it into-“
She hurled a cushion at the golem, then settled resolutely into position, watching the dragon.
Dor tried to sleep, but found himself too wound up. After a while he sat upright. “It’s no use; maybe I’ll sleep tomorrow,” he said. Irene was pleased to have his company. She sat cross-legged opposite him, and Dor tried not to be aware that in that position her green skirt did not fully cover her legs. She had excellent ones; in that limited respect she had already matched the Gorgon. Dor liked legs; in fact, he liked anything he wasn’t supposed to see.
She sprouted a buttercup plant while Dor plucked a loaf from the breadfruit, and they feasted on fresh bread and butter in silence. The dragon watched, and finally, mischievously, Dor rolled some bread into a compact wad and threw it at the monster. The dragon caught it neatly and gulped it down. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad monster; maybe Grundy could talk to it and arrange for safe passage.
No-such a predator could not be trusted. If the dragon wanted to let them pass, it would go away. Better strategy would be to keep it awake and alert all day, so that it would be tired at night.
“Do you think this new centaur Magician will try to take over Xanth?” Irene asked quietly when it seemed the others were asleep.
