That was an exaggeration, but she was prone to it when excited.
Neither Trent nor Iris was helpless in nonmagical terms. The King was an expert swordsman, and the Queen had a wonderfully devious mind. “Remember, he spent twenty years there, before he was King. He knows his way around.”
“But he didn’t come back!”
Dor could not refute that. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed.
“We’ll have to go find them,” she said. “Don’t tell me no again.”
And there was such a glint in her bright eyes that Dor dared not defy her.
Actually, it seemed so simple. Anything was better than the present doubt. “All right. But I’ll have to tell the Council of Elders.”
For the Elders were responsible for the Kingdom during the absence of the King. They took care of routine administrative chores and had to select a new King if anything happened to the old one. They had chosen Trent, back when the prior monarch, the Storm King, had died. Dor’s’ grandfather Roland was a leading Elder.
“First thing in the morning,” she said, her gaze daring him to demur.
“First thing in the morning,” he agreed. She had forced this action upon him, but he was glad for the decision.
“Shall I stay with you tonight? I saw the hoofprints.”
Dor considered. The surest way to banish nightmares was to have compatible company while sleeping. But Irene was too pretty now and too accommodating; if he kissed her this night, she wouldn’t bite. That made him cautious. Once Good Magician Humfrey had suggested to him that it might be more manly to decline a woman’s offer than to accept it; Dor had not quite understood that suggestion, but now he had a better inkling of its meaning. “No,” he said regretfully. “I fear the nightmares, but I fear you more.”
“Gee,” she said, pleased. Then she kissed him without biting and left in her swirl of perfume.
Dor sat for some time, wishing Irene were that way all the time. No tantrums, no artful flashes of torso, no pretended misunderstandings, just a sincere and fairly mature caring. But of course her niceness came only in phases, always wiped out by other phases.
His decision had one beneficial effect: the nightmares foraged elsewhere that night, letting him sleep in peace.
“Cover for me,” he told Irene in the morning. “I would rather people didn’t know where I am, except for the conjurer.”
“Certainly,” she agreed. If people knew he was consulting privately with an Elder, they would know something was wrong.
He went to see his grandfather Roland, who lived in the North Village, several days’ walk beyond the Gap Chasm. Kings of Xanth had once resided here, before Trent restored Castle Roogna. He marched up the neat walk and knocked on the humble door.
“Oh, grandfather!” Dor cried the moment the strong old man appeared. “Something has happened to King Trent, and I must go look for him.”
“Impossible,” Roland said sternly. “The King may not leave Castle Roogna for more than a day without appointing another Magician as successor. At the moment there are no other Magicians who would assume the crown, so you must remain there until Trent returns. That is the law of Xanth.”
“But King Trent and Queen Iris went to Mundania!”
“Mundania!” Roland was as surprised as Irene had been. “No wonder he did not consult with us! We would never have permitted that.”
So there had been method in the manner King Trent had set Dor up for this practice week. Trent had bypassed the Council of Elders!
But that was not Dor’s immediate concern. “I’m not fit to govern, grandfather. I’m too young. I’ve got to get King Trent back!”
“Absolutely not! I am only one member of the Council, but I know their reaction. You must remain here until Trent returns.”
“But then how can I rescue him?”
“From Mundania? You can’t. He will have to extricate himself from whatever situation he is in, assuming he lives.”
“He lives!” Dor repeated emphatically. He had to believe that! The alternative was unthinkable. “But I don’t know how long I can keep governing Xanth. The people know I’m not really King. They think King Trent is nearby, just giving me more practice. They won’t obey me much longer.”
“Perhaps you should get help,” Roland suggested. “I disapprove on principle of deception, but I think it best in this case that the people not know the gravity of the situation. Perhaps it is not grave at all. Trent may return in good order at any time. Meanwhile, the Kingdom need not be governed solely by one young man.”
“I could get help, I guess,” Dor said uncertainly. “But what about King Trent?”
“He must return by himself-or fail to. None of us can locate him in Mundania, let alone help him. This is the obvious consequence of his neglect in obtaining the prior advice of the Council of Elders. We must simply wait. He is a resourceful man who will surely prevail if that is humanly possible.”
With that Dor had to be satisfied. He was King, but he could not go against the Elders. He realized now that this was not merely a matter of law or custom, but of common sense. Any situation in Mundania that was too much for King Trent to handle would be several times too much for Dor.
Irene was more positive than he had expected, when he gave her the news on his return. “Of course the Elders would say that. They’re old and conservative. And right, I guess. We’ll just have to make do until my father gets back.”
Dor didn’t quite trust her change of heart, but knew better than to inquire. “Who can we get to help?” He knew it would be impossible to exclude Irene from any such activity. King Trent was, after all, her father, the one person to whom her loyalty was unfailing.
“Oh, all the kids. Chet, Smash, Grundy-“
“To run a Kingdom?” he asked dubiously.
“Would you rather leave it to the Elders?”
She had a point. “I hope the situation doesn’t last long,” he said.
“You certainly don’t hope it more than I do!” she agreed, and he knew that was straight from her heart.
Irene went off to locate the people mentioned so that Dor would not arouse suspicion by doing it himself. The first she found was Grundy the Golem. Grundy was older than the others and different in several respects. He had been created as a golem, animated wood and clay and string, and later converted to full-person status. He was only a handspan tall, and spoke all the languages of all living things which was the useful talent for which he had been created. Grundy could certainly help in solving the routine problems of Xanth. But he tended to speak too often and intemperately. In other words, he was mouthy. That could be trouble.
“Now this is a secret,” Dor explained. “King Trent is lost in Mundania, and I must run the Kingdom until he returns.”
“Xanth is in trouble!” Grundy exclaimed.
“That’s why I need your help. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have to be King, and I don’t want things to get out of control. You generally have good information-“
“I snoop a lot,” Grundy agreed. “Very well; I’ll snoop for you. First thing I have to tell you is that the whole palace is sniggering about a certain essay someone wrote for a certain female tutor-“
“That news I can dispense with,” Dor said.
“Then there’s the gossip about how a certain girl went swimming in her birthday suit, which suit seems to have stretched some since her birth, along with-“
“That, too,” Dor said, smiling. “I’m sure you comprehend my needs.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Your head.”
“He’s King, all right,” the golem muttered. One of the walls chuckled.
Irene brought in Chet. He was a centaur a little older than Dor, but he seemed younger because centaurs matured more slowly. He was Cherie’s son, which meant he was highly educated but very cautious about showing any magic talent. For a long time centaurs had believed they lacked magical talents, because most creatures of
