“And you’re an archivist!” Dor exclaimed.
“Precisely. This should enable me to determine at what period in Mundania’s history we have intruded. Since, as King Dor says, King Trent referred to a medieval period, that would provide a frame of reference.”
“If we’re in the wrong Mundane century,” Irene said, “how do we get to him?”
“We should be required to return to Xanth and undertake a new mission to that century. As I mentioned, it seems feasible to determine the temporal locale from Xanth, and once in that aspect of Mundania, we would be fixed in it until returning to Xanth. However, this procedure is fraught with uncertainties and potential complications.”
“I should think so,” Dor said. “If we figured it wrong, we might get there before he did.”
“Oh, I doubt that would happen, other than on the macroscopic scale, of course.”
“The what?” Dor asked.
“I believe the times are consistent in particular circumstances. That is to say, within a given age, we could enter Mundania only with an elapsed period consonant with that of Xanth. Therefore-“
“We might miss by a century, but not by a day,” Grundy said.
“That is the essence, golem. The particular channels appear to be fixed-“
“So let’s go find the century!” Irene said, brightening. “Then all we’d need is the place.”
“With appropriate research, the specific geography should also be evident.”
“Then let’s go find your archives,” she said.
“Unfortunately, we have no knowledge of this period,” Amolde reminded her. “We are hardly likely to locate a suitable facility randomly.”
“I can help there,” Dor said. “It should be where there are a lot of people, right?”
“Correct, King Dor.”
“Uh, better not call me King here. I’m not, really, and people might find it strange.” Then Dor addressed the sand. “Which way to where most people live?”
“How should I know?” the sand asked.
“You know which direction most of them come from, and where they return.”
“Oh, that. They mostly go north.”
“North it is,” Dor agreed.
They marched north, and in due course encountered a Mundane path that debouched into a road that became a paved highway. No such highway existed in Xanth, and Dor had to question this one closely to ascertain its nature. It seemed it served to facilitate the travel of metal and rubber vehicles that propelled themselves with some sort of magic or whatever it was that Mundanes used to accomplish such wonders. These wagons were called “cars,” and they moved very rapidly.
“I saw something like that below ground,” Grundy said. “The demons rode in them.”
Soon the party saw a car. The thing zoomed along like a racing dragon, belching faint smoke from its posterior. They stared after it, amazed. “Fire it send from wrong end,” Smash said.
“Are you sure there’s no magic in Mundania?” Grundy asked. “Even the demons didn’t have firebreathers.”
“I am not at all certain,” Amolde admitted. “Perhaps they merely have a different name and application for their magic. I doubt it would operate for us. Perhaps this is the reason we believe there is no magic in Mundania-it is not applicable to our needs.”
“I don’t want any part of that car,” Irene said. “Any dragon shooting out smoke from its rear is either crazy or has one awful case of indigestion! How could it fight? Let’s find our archives and get out of here.”
The others agreed. This aspect of Mundania was certainly inverted. They avoided the highway, making their way along assorted paths that paralleled it. Dor continued to query the ground, and by nightfall they were approaching a city. It was a strange sort of settlement, with roads that crisscrossed to form large squares, and buildings all lined up with their fronts right on the edges of the roads, so that there was hardly room for any forest there, jammed in close together. Some were so tall it was a wonder they didn’t fall over when the wind blew.
Dor’s party camped at the edge of the city, under a large umbrella tree Irene grew to shelter them. The tree’s canopy dipped almost to the ground, concealing them, and this seemed just as well. They were not sure how the Mundanes would react to the sight of an ogre, golem, or centaur.
“We have gone as far as we can as a group,” Dor said. “There are many people here, and few trees; we can’t avoid being seen any more. I think Irene and I had better go in and find a museum.“
“A library,” Amolde corrected him. “I would love to delve eternally in a Mundane museum, but the information is probably most readily accessible in a library.”
“A library,” Dor agreed. He knew what that was, because King Trent had many books in his library-office in Castle Roogna.
“However, that is academic, no pun intended,” the centaur continued. “You cannot go there without me.”
“I know I’ll step out of magic,” Dor said. “But I won’t need to do anything special. Nothing magical. Once I find the library for you-“
“You have no certainty you can even speak their language,” Arnolde said curtly. “In the magic ambience, you can; beyond it, this is problematical.”
“I’m not sure we speak the same language in our own group, sometimes,” Irene said with a smile. “Words like ‘ambience, and ‘problematical!’”
“I can speak their language,” Grundy said. “That’s my talent. I was made to translate.”
“A magical talent,” Amolde said.
“Oooops,” Grundy said, chagrined. “Won’t work outside the aisle.”
“But you can’t just walk in to the city!” Dor said. “I’m sure they aren’t used to centaurs.”
“I would have to walk in to use the library,” Amolde pointed out. “Fortunately, I anticipated such an impediment, so obtained a few helpful spells from our repository. We centaurs do not normally practice inherent magic, but we do utilize particular enchantments on an ad hoc basis. I have found them invaluable when on field trips to the wilder regions of Xanth.” He checked through his bag of spells, much the way Irene checked through her seeds. “I have with me assorted spells for invisibility, inaudibility, untouchability, and so forth. The golem and I can traverse the city unperceived.”
“What about the ogre?” Dor asked. “He can’t exactly merge with the local population either.”
Amolde frowned. “Him, too, I suppose,” he agreed distastefully. “However, there is one attendant liability inherent in this process-“
“I won’t be able to detect you either,” Dor finished.
“Precisely. Some one of our number must exist openly, for these spells make the handling of books awkward; our hands would pass right through the pages. My ambience of magic should be unimpaired, of course, and we could remain with you-but you would have to do all the research unassisted.”
“He’ll never make it,” Irene said.
“She’s right,” Dor said. “I’m just not much of a scholar. I’d mess it up.”
“Allow me to cogitate,” Amolde said. He closed his eyes and stroked his chin reflectively. For a worried moment Dor thought the centaur was going to be sick, then realized that he had the wrong word in mind. Cogitate actually referred to thinking.
“Perhaps I have an alternative,” Amolde said. “You could obtain the assistance of a Mundane scholar, a qualified researcher, perhaps an archivist. You could pay him one of the gold coins you have hoarded, or perhaps a diamond; I believe either would have value in any frame of Mundania.”
“Uh, I guess so,” Dor said doubtfully.
“I tell you, even with help, he’ll foul it up,” Irene said. She seemed to have forgotten her earlier compliments on Dor’s performance. That was one of the little things about her selective memory. “You’re the one who should do the research, Amolde.”
“I can only, as it were, look over his shoulder,” the centaur said. “It would certainly help if I could direct the manner he selects references and turns the pages, as I am a gifted reader with a fine memory. He would not have to comprehend the material. But unless I were to abort the imperceptibility spells, which I doubt very much would be wise since I have no duplicates-“
“There’s a way, maybe,” Grundy said. “I could step outside the magic aisle. Then he could see me and hear
