The yacht moved out to sea. Soon it bore upon an island-and what an island it was! Lush vegetation grew all around it, flowers of all colors and sizes: polka-dot daisies the size of dishes, orchids of exquisite splendor, tiger lilies that yawned and purred as the boat approached. Neat paths led from the golden pier up toward a palace of solid crystal, which gleamed like a diamond in the sun.
Like a diamond? Bink suspected it was a diamond, from the way the light refracted through its myriad faces. The largest, most perfect diamond that ever was.
'I guess I owe you my life,' Bink said, uncertain as to how to handle the situation. It seemed ridiculous to offer to chop wood or pitch animal manure to earn his keep for the night; there was nothing so crude as firewood or animal refuse on this fair island! Probably the best favor he could do her was to remove his soaking, bedraggled presence as rapidly as possible.
'I guess you do,' she agreed, speaking with a surprising normality. He had somehow expected her to be more aloof, as befitted pseudo-royalty.
'But my life may not be worth much. I don't have any magic; I am to be exiled from Xanth.'
She guided the yacht to the pier, flinging a fine silver chain to its mooring post and tying it tight.
Bink had thought his confession would disturb her; he had made it at the outset so as not to proceed under false pretenses. She might have mistaken him for someone of consequence. But her reaction was a surprise. 'Bink, I'm glad you said that. It shows you are a fine, honest lad. Most magic talents aren't worthwhile anyway. What use is it to make a pink spot appear on a wall? It may be magic, but it doesn't accomplish anything. You, with your strength and intelligence, have more to offer than the great majority of citizens.'
Amazed and pleased by this gratuitous and probably unjustified praise, Bink could make no answer. She was correct about the uselessness of spot-on-wall magic, certainly; he had often thought the same thing himself. Of course, it was a standard remark of disparagement, meaning that a given person had picayune magic. So this really was not a sophisticated observation. Still, it certainly made him feel at ease.
'Come,' Iris said, taking him by the hand. She guided him across the gangplank to the pier, then on along the main path to the palace.
The smell of flowers was almost overwhelming. Roses abounded in all colors, exhaling their perfumes. Plants with sword-shaped leaves were even more common; their flowers were like simplified orchids, also of all colors. 'What are those?' he inquired.
'Irises, of course,' she said.
He had to laugh. 'Of course!' Too bad there was no flower named 'Bink.'
The path passed through a flowering hedge and looped around a pool and fountain to the elaborate front portico of the crystal palace. Not a true diamond after all. 'Come into my parlor,' the Sorceress said, smiling.
Bink's feet balked, before the significance penetrated to his brain. He had heard about spiders and flies! Had she saved his life merely to-
'Oh, for God's sake!' she exclaimed. 'Are you superstitious? Nothing will hurt you.'
His recalcitrance seemed foolish. Why should she revive him, then betray him? She could have let him choke to death instead of pumping the water out of him; the meat would have been as fresh. Or she could have tied him up and had the sailors bring him ashore. She had no need to deceive him. He was already in her power-if that was the way it was. Still
'I see you distrust me,' Iris said. 'What can I do to reassure you?'
This direct approach to the problem did not reassure him very much. Yet he had better face it-or trust to fate. 'You-you are a Sorceress,' he said. 'You seem to have everything you need. I-what do you want with me?'
She laughed. 'Not to eat you, I assure you!'
But Bink was unable to laugh. 'Some magic-some people do get eaten.' He suffered a vision of a monstrous spider luring him into its web. Once he entered the palace-
'Very well, sit out there in the garden,' Iris said. 'Or wherever you feel safe. If I can't convince you of my sincerity, you can take my boat and go. Fair enough?'
It was too fair; it made him feel like an ungrateful lout. Now it occurred to Bink that the whole island was a trap. He could not swim to the mainland-not with the sea monsters there-and the yacht's crew might grab him and tie him up if he tried to sail across.
Well, it wouldn't hurt to listen. 'All right.'
'Now, Bink,' she said persuasively-and she was so lovely in her intensity that she was very persuasive indeed. 'You know that though every citizen of Xanth has magic, that magic is severely limited. Some people have more magic than others, but their talents still tend to be confined to one particular type or another. Even Magicians obey this law of nature.'
'Yes.' She was making sense-but what was the point?
'The King of Xanth is a Magician-but his power is limited to weather effects. He can brew a dust devil or a tornado or a hurricane, or make a drought or a ten-day downpour-but he can't fly or transmute wood into silver or light a fire magically. He's an atmospheric specialist.''
'Yes,' Bink agreed again. He remembered Donald the shade's son, who could make dust devils, those evanescent swirls of dust. The boy had an ordinary talent; the King had a major one-yet they differed in degree, not type.
Of course, the King's talent had faded with age; perhaps all he could conjure now would be a dust devil. It was a good thing the Shield protected Xanth!
'So if you know a citizen's talent, you know his limitations,'' Iris continued. 'If you see a man make a storm, you don't have to worry about him forming a magical pit under you or changing you into a cockroach. Nobody has multiple fields of talent.'
