The woman stopped, nonplused. “Oh-I see you are properly dressed. I must have mistaken you for someone else.” She retreated, embarrassed.
Dor’s clothing had not changed. Only the woman’s perception of it had, thanks to the magic.
“Amolde can’t get through the spinning door,” Irene said.
So that was why Dor had left the aisle! He had walked well beyond the door. Of course those small chambers could not accommodate the mass of the centaur!
“Maybe there’s another door,” Dor suggested. “We could walk around the building-“
Irene vanished, then reappeared. “Yes, Amolde says the spell fuzzes the boundaries of things somewhat, so his hands pass through Mundane objects, but his whole body mass is just too much to push through a solid Mundane wall. He might make it through a window, though.”
Dor went back out the rotating door, then walked around the building. In the back was a double door that opened wide enough to admit a car. Dor walked through this and past some men who were stacking crates of books. “Hey, kid, you lost?” one called.
It had not taken him long to progress from “King” to “kid”! “I am looking for the archives,” Dor said nervously.
“Oh, sure. The stacks. Third door on your left.”
“Thank you.” Dor went to the door and opened it wide, taking his time to pass through so that the others could get clear. He smelled the centaur and ogre, faintly, so knew they were with him.
Now they were in a region of long narrow passages between shelves loaded with boxes. Dor had no idea how to proceed, and wasn’t certain the centaur could fit within these passages, but in a moment Irene appeared and informed him that Amolde was right at home here. “But it would be better to consult with a competent archivist, he says,” she concluded.
“There is one here,” he said. “I asked.” Then another thought came. “But suppose he sics the Mundane authorities on us? He may not understand our need.”
“Amolde says academics aren’t like that. If there is a good one here, his scientific curiosity-I think that’s what they call magic here-will keep him interested. Check in that little office; that looks like an archivist’s cubby.”
Reluctantly, Dor looked. He was in luck, of what kind he was not sure.
There was a middle-aged, bespectacled man poring over a pile of papers.
“Excuse me, sir-would you like to do some research?” Dor asked.
The man looked up, blinking. “Of what nature?”
“Uh, it’s a long story. I’m trying to find a King, and I don’t know where or when he is.”
The man removed his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes. “That would seem to be something of a challenge. What is the name of the King, and of his Kingdom?”
“King Trent of Xanth.”
The man stood up and squeezed out of his cubby. He was fairly small and stooped, with fading hair, and he moved slowly. He reminded Dor of Amolde in obscure ways. He located a large old tome, took it down, dusted it off, set it on a small table, and turned the brittle pages. “That designation does not seem to be listed.”
Irene appeared. “He would not be a King in Mundania.”
The scholar squinted at her with mild surprise. “My dear, I cannot comprehend a word you are saying.”
“Uh, she’s from another land,” Dor said quickly. Since Irene had to stand outside the magic aisle in order to be seen and heard, the magic translation effect was not operative for her. Since Dor had been raised in the same culture, he had no trouble understanding her.
It was an interesting distinction. He, Dor, could understand both the others, and both seemed to be speaking the same language, but the two could not understand each other. Magic kept coming up with new wrinkles that perplexed him.
The scholar pondered. “Oh-she is associated with a motion picture company? This is research for a historical re-creation?”
“Not exactly,” Dor said. “She’s King Trent’s daughter.”
“Oh, it is a contemporary Kingdom! I must get a more recent text.”
“No, it is a medieval one,” Dor said. “Uh, that is-well, King Trent is in another time, we think.”
The scholar paused thoughtfully. “The Kingdom you are re-creating, of course. I believe I understand.” He looked again at Irene. “Females certainly have adequate limbs in that realm.”
“What’s he saying?” Irene demanded.
“That you have nice legs,” Dor told her with a certain mild malice.
She ignored that. “What about my father?”
“Not listed in this book. I think we’ll have to try another tack.”
The scholar’s eyes shifted from Irene’s legs to Dor’s face. “This is very odd. You address her in English, and she seems to understand, but she replies in an other tongue.”
“It’s complicated to explain,” Dor said.
“I’d better check with Amolde,” Irene said, and vanished.
The Mundane scholar removed his spectacles and cleaned them carefully with a bit of tissue paper. He returned them to his face just in time to see Irene reappear. “Yes, that’s definitely better,” he murmured.
“Amolde says we’ll have to use some salient identifying trait to locate my father or mother,” Irene said. “There may be a historical reference.”
“Exactly what language is that?” the scholar asked, again fixing on Irene’s legs. He might be old and academic, but he evidently had not forgotten what was what in female appearance.
“Xanthian, I guess,” Dor said. “She says we should look for some historical reference to her parents, because of special traits they have.”
“And what would these traits be?”
“Well, King Trent transforms people, and Queen Iris is mistress of illusion.”
“Idiot!” Irene snapped. “Don’t tell him about the magic!”
“I don’t quite understand,” the scholar said. “What manner of transformation, what mode of illusion?”
“Well, it doesn’t work in Mundania,” Dor said awkwardly.
“Surely you realize that the laws of physics are identical the world over,” the scholar said. “Anything that works in the young lady’s country will work elsewhere.”
“Not magic,” Dor said, and realized he was just confusing things more.
“How dumb can you get?” Irene demanded. “I’m checking with Amolde.” She vanished again.
This time the scholar blinked more emphatically. “Strange girl!”
“She’s funny that way,’ Dor agreed weakly.
The scholar walked to the spot Irene had vacated. “Tabhf jmmvtjpo?” he inquired.
Oh, no! He was outside the magic aisle now, so the magic no longer made his language align with Dor’s. Dor could not do anything about this; the centaur would have to move. Irene reappeared right next to the scholar. Evidently she hadn’t been paying attention, for she should have been able to see him while within the magic ambience. “Oh-you’re here!” she exclaimed.
“Bnbajohl” the scholar said. “J wtu jorvjsf-“
Then the centaur moved. Irene vanished and the scholar became comprehensible. “. . . exactly how you perform that trick.” He paused. “Oops, you're gone again.”
Irene reappeared farther down the hall. “Amolde says we’ll have to tell him,” she announced. “About the magic and everything. Thanks to your bungling.”
“Really, this is amazing!” the scholar said.
“Well, I’ll have to tell you something you may find hard to believe,” Dor said.
“At this stage, I’m inclined to believe in magic itself!”
“Yes. Xanth is a land of magic.”
“In which people disappear and reappear at will? I think I would prefer to believe that than to conclude I am losing my sight.”
“Well, some do disappear. That’s not Irene’s talent, though.”
“That’s not the young lady’s ability? Then why is she doing it?”
“She’s actually stepping in and out of a magic aisle.”
“A magic aisle?”
