fact as well as in name, Irene would never seek to undermine his power. That was perhaps a more important quality than her physical appearance. But he had to admit that she had acquired a most interesting body. Those touches she had used to tantalize him that Grundy had so acutely noted-they had been marvelously effective. Obviously she had been attempting to seduce him into acquiescence-and she had succeeded. As the Gorgon had intimated, Irene had him pretty well contained. What the Gorgon had not hinted was the fact that such captivity was quite comfortable to the captive, like a warm jacket on a cold day. Good Magician Humfrey was undoubtedly a happy man right now, despite his protestations. In fact, a man’s objections to marriage were rather like Irene’s objections to people looking at her legs-more show than substance.
Dor’s attention was jerked back to the immediate situation by the arrival of the Mundanes. There were three guards, one carrying a crude iron bar. They stopped before Irene’s cell and used the bar to pry up the wedged plank that barred it. Without that tool, evidently, the door could not be opened.
One of the guards went in and grabbed Irene. She did not resist; she knew as well as Dor did that this was the expected questioning. She would try to answer in such a way that they would take her to the stable where Amolde was confined, if only to prove she was lying. Then she could pry up the bar on the centaur’s stall, or start some devastating plant growing Except that she had no seeds. “Grundy!” he whispered. “Find Irene’s seeds! She’ll need them.”
“I’ll try.” The golem scrambled through a crevice and was gone.
Now King Oary entered the dungeon. “Rn wfqd sgd Jhmfr cztfgsdq,’ he said. “Vgzs hr wtq herb?”
“I don’t understand you,” Irene said.
“His Highness King Oary asks what is your magic,” one of the guards said. His speech was heavily accented, but he was intelligible.
“You know Xanth speech?” she asked, surprised. “How can that be?”
“You have no need to know,” the guard said. “Just answer the question, wench.”
So one of the Mundanes here spoke the language of Xanth! Dor’s mind started clicking over. This explained the eavesdropping-but how could the man have learned it, however poorly? He had to have been in contact with people from Xanth.
“Go soak your snoot in the sump,” Irene retorted.
Dor winced. She might be playing her role too boldly! “The King will use force,” the man warned. “Better answer, slut.” Irene looked daunted, as perhaps she was, but those insulting references to her supposed status made her angry. “You answer first, toady,” she said, compromising.
The guard decided negotiation was the best course. “I met a spy from your country, tart. I am quick with languages; he taught me. Then he went back to Xanth.”
“To report to my father, King Trent!” Irene exclaimed. “You promised him a trade agreement,, didn’t you, rogue, if he would come himself to negotiate it?”
“It is your turn to answer, hussy,” the man said.
“Oh, all right, wretch. My magic is growing plants. I can make anything grow from seed to tree in moments.”
Dor, peering out, could not see the man’s face clearly, but was sure there was a knowing expression on it. The eavesdropper thought he knew better, but didn’t want to betray his own secret snooping, so had to translate for the King. “Rgd fzud sgd khd,” he said.
“H vzms sgd sqtsgl” Oary snapped.
“His Majesty suspects you are deceiving us,” the guard said. “What is your real magic?”
“What does ol’ fatso care? I’m not doing any magic now.”
“You had magic when you came, trollop. The ogre used unnatural strength to destroy our front gate, and you all spoke our language. Now the ogre is weak and you speak your own language. What happened to the magic?”
The language! Dor cursed himself for overlooking that detail. Of course that had given away their secret! King Trent would have used an interpreter-probably this same man-and the ability of Dor’s party to converse directly would have alerted cunning King Oary immediately. He had known they had operative magic and now wanted to discover the mechanism of it.
“Well, if you bring me some seeds, thug, maybe I can find out,” Irene said. “I’m sure I can grow plants, if I just find the right place.”
Bless her! She was still trying to get to the stable, where she really could perform.
But the Mundanes thought they knew better. “If the King says you lie, you lie, strumpet,” the guard said. “Again I ask: what is your real magic? Can you speak in tongues, and cause others to do the same?”
“Of course not, villain!” she said. “Otherwise we wouldn’t need you to translate to His Lowness King Puddingbelly here, would we? Plants are all I can enchant.”
“Rgd vhkk mns sdkk,” the guard said to the King.
“Vd rgzkk lzjd ghl sdkk,” the King responded. “Snqstqd gdq hm eqnms timeghl.”
The other two guards grabbed Irene’s arms and hauled her a few steps down the hall until they were directly in front of Dor’s cell.
“Prince Dor,” the translator called. “You will answer our questions or see what we shall do.”
Dor was silent, uncertain what to do.
“Qho nee gdq bknsgdr,” the King ordered.
The two guards wrestled Irene’s jacket and silver-lined fur off her body, while she struggled and cursed them roundly. Then the translator put his hand on her neckline and brutally ripped downward. The blouse tore down the front, exposing her fine bosom. Irene, shocked at this sudden physical violence, heaved with her arms, but the two men held her securely.
“Vdkk, knnj zs sgzs!” the King exclaimed admiringly. “H sgntfgs innkx gdq kdfr vdqd fnne!”
Dor could not understand a word of the language, but he grasped the essence readily enough. King, translator, and both guards were all gawking at Irene’s revealed body. So was Dor. He had thought Irene did not match the Gorgon in general architecture, but Irene had filled out somewhat since he had last looked. He had had the chance to see during the quarrel in the moat, but there had been other distractions then. During the journey south to Centaur Isle, Irene had kept herself fairly private, and perhaps her excellent legs had led his attention away from her other attributes. Now he saw that she was no longer reaching for bodily maturity; she had achieved it.
At the same time, he was furious with the King and his henchmen for exposing Irene in this involuntary manner. He determined not to tell them anything.
“Gd khjdr gdq, knt snke Id,” the King said. “H bzm rdd vgx! Sgqdzsdm gdq zme gd’kk szkj.”
The King was plotting something dastardly! Dor hardly dared imagine what he might do to Irene. He couldn’t stand to have her hurt!
The translator stood in front of Irene and formed a fist. He drew back his arm, aiming at her belly.
“Stop!” Dor cried. “I’ll tell-“
“Shut up!” Irene snapped at him. One of her knees jerked up, catching the translator in the groin. The man doubled over, and the surprised guards allowed Irene to tear herself free, leaving shreds of cloth in their hands. Bare-breasted as any nymph, she ran a few steps, stooped to pick up the door-opening bar, and whirled to apply it to Dor’s door.
“Run!” Dor cried. “Don’t waste time on me!”
But it was already too late. Both guards had drawn their flat swords and were closing on Irene. She turned, raising the bar defensively, determined to fight.
“No!” Dor screamed, his voice breaking. “They’ll kill you!”
But now there was a new distraction. Smash, snoozing before, had become aware of the situation. He rattled his door angrily. “Kill!” he bellowed.
Both guards and the King blanched. They believed the ogre’s fantastic strength stemmed from his anger. If they hurt Irene while Smash watched… The translator was beginning to recover from his injury; it probably had been a glancing blow. “Gdqc gdq hmsn gdq bdkk,” he gasped to the other two guards. Then, to Irene: “Girl-go quickly to your cell and they won’t hurt you.”
Irene, realizing that she could not hope to escape the two swordsmen and knowing that the bluff of Smash’s strength should not be called, edged toward her cell. The two guards followed cautiously.
