of wood in a circle about its spindly trunks so that no hostile magic could approach them without getting reversed. That was not a perfect defense, but they were so tired they had to make do.
Several hours later Bink woke, stretched, and descended. The centaur remained lodged on a broad branch, his four hooves dangling down on either side; it seemed the tree-climbing experience during the madness had added a nonmagical talent to his repertoire. The Magician lay curled in a ball within a large nest he had conjured from one of his vials. Crombie, ever the good soldier, was already up, scouting the area, and the golem was with him.
'One thing I want to know?' Bink started, as he munched on slices of raisin bread from a loaf Crombie had plucked from a local breadfruit tree. It was a trifle overripe, but otherwise excellent.
Crombie squawked. '?is who destroyed that reverse-spell tree,' Grundy finished.
'You're translating again!'
'I'm not touching any wood at the moment.' The golem fidgeted. 'But I don't think I'm as real as I was last night, during the madness.'
'Still, there must be some feeling remaining,' Bink said. 'It can be like that, approaching a goal. Two steps forward, one back-but you must never give up.'
Grundy showed more animation. 'Say, that's a positive way of looking at it, mushmind!'
Bink was glad to have given encouragement, though the golem's unendearing little mannerisms remained evident. 'How did you know what I was about to ask? About the destruction of-'
'You always come up with questions, Bink,' the golem said. 'So we pointed out the location of the subject of your next question, and it matched up with the tree stump. So we researched it. It was a challenge.'
That was an intriguing ramification of Crombie's talent! Anticipating the answers to future questions! Magic kept coming up with surprises. 'Only a real creature likes challenges,' Bink said.
'I guess so. It's sort of fun, the challenge of becoming real. Now that I know that maybe it's possible. But I still have this ragtag body; no amount of caring can change that. It just means that now I fear the death that will surely come.' He shrugged, dismissing it 'Anyway, the tree was blasted by a curse from that direction.' He pointed.
Bink looked. 'All I see is a lake.' Then, startled: 'Didn't the ogre say something about-?'
'Fiends of the lake, who hurled a curse that blasted the whole forest,' Grundy said. 'We checked: that is the lake.'
Humfrey descended from the tree. 'I'd better bottle some of this wood, if I can get my magic to work on it,' he said. 'Never can tell when it might be useful.'
'Cast a spell hurling it away from your bottle,' Chester suggested from the tree. He, too, dropped to the ground, after some awkward maneuvering that put his handsome posterior in jeopardy. Centaurs really did not belong in trees.
The Magician set up his vial and wood and uttered an incantation. There was a flash, a puff of smoke, and a gradual clearing of the air.
There sat the vial, corked. There sat the wood. The Good Magician was gone.
'Where did he go?' Bink demanded.
Crombie whirled and pointed his wing. Directly toward the bottle.
'Oh, no!' Bink cried, horrified. 'His spell reversed, all right! It banished him to the bottle!' He dashed over and picked it up, jerking out the cork. Vapor issued forth, expanding and swirling and coalescing and forming in due course into the Good Magician. There was a fried egg perched on his head. 'I forgot I was keeping breakfast in that one,' he said ruefully.
Grundy could hold back his newfound emotion no longer. He burst out laughing. He fell to the ground and rolled about, guffawing. 'Oh, nobody gnomes the trouble he's seen!' the golem gasped, going into a further paroxysm.
'A sense of humor is part of being real,' Chester said solemnly.
'Just so,' Humfrey agreed somewhat shortly, 'Good thing an enemy did not get hold of the bottle. The holder has power over the content.'
The Magician tried again-and again. Eventually he found the proper aspect of reversal and managed to conjure the wood into the vial. Bink hoped the effort was worth it. At least he knew, now, how the Good Magician had assembled such an assortment of items. He simply bottled anything he thought he might need.
Then Bink encountered another pile of earth. 'Hey, Magician!' he cried. 'Time to investigate this thing. What is making these mounds? Are they all over Xanth, or just where we happen to be?'
Humfrey came over to contemplate the pile. 'I suppose I'd better,' he grumped. 'There was one on the siren's isle, and another at our bone-camp.' He brought out his magic mirror. 'What thing is this?' he snapped at it.
The mirror clouded thoughtfully, then cleared. It produced the image of a wormlike creature.
'That's a wiggle!' Bink exclaimed, horrified. 'Are the wiggles swarming again?'
'That's not a wiggle,' Chester said. 'Look at the scale. It's ten times too large.' And in the mirror a measuring stick appeared beside the worm, showing it to be ten times the length of a wiggle. 'Don't you know your taxonomy? That's a squiggle.'
'A squiggle?' Bink asked blankly. He did not want to admit that he had never heard of that species. 'It looks like an overgrown wiggle to me.'
'They are cousins,' Chester explained. 'The squiggles are larger, slower, and do not swarm. They are solitary creatures, traveling under the ground. They are harmless.'
