'I do not appreciate humor at my expense,' the lord said, frowning. 'If you do not wish to inform me of your mission, that is certainly your privilege. But do not taunt me with an obvious fabrication.'
Bink had the impression that obviousness was a worse affront than fabrication, to this person.
'Listen, fiend!' Chester said, bridling in most obvious fashion. 'Centaurs do not lie!'
'Uh, let me handle this,' Bink said quickly. 'There is surely some misunderstanding. We are on quest for the source of magic-but perhaps we have been misinformed as to its access.'
The lord mellowed. 'That must be the case. Below this castle lies only the vortex. Nothing that goes that route ever returns. We are the Gateway; we straddle the vortex, protecting innocent creatures from being drawn unwittingly into that horrible fate. Who informed you that the object of your quest lay in such a direction?'
'Well, a Magician-'
'Never trust a Magician! They are all up to mischief!'
'Uh, maybe so,' Bink said uneasily, and Chester nodded thoughtfully. 'He was very convincing.'
'They tend to be,' the lord said darkly. Abruptly he shifted the subject. 'I will show you the vortex. This way, if you please.' He led the way to an interior panel. It slid aside at his touch. There was a glistening wall of glassy substance. No, not glass; it was moving. Fleeting irregularities showed horizontally. Now Bink could see through it somewhat vaguely, making out the three-dimensional shape. It was a column, perhaps twice his armspan in diameter, with a hollow center. In fact it was water, coursing around in circles at high speed. Or in spirals, going down-
'A whirlpool!' Chester exclaimed. 'We are looking at the nether column of a whirlpool!'
'Correct,' the lord said with pride. 'We have constructed our castle around it, containing it by magic. Substances may pass into it, but not out of it. Criminals and other untoward persons are fed into its maw, to disappear forever. This is a most salutary deterrent.'
Surely so! The mass of moving fluid was awesome in its smooth power, and frightening. Yet it was also in its fashion luring, like the song of the siren, or the madness.
Bink yanked his gaze away. 'But where does it go?'
'Who would presume to know?' the lord inquired in return, quirking an eyebrow expressively. He slid the panel across and the vision of the vortex was gone.
'Enough of this,' the lord decided. 'We shall wine and dine you fittingly, and then you will audience our play.'
The meal was excellent, served by fetching young women in scant green outfits who paid flattering attention to the travelers, especially Chester. They seemed to admire both his muscular man-portion and his handsome equine portion. Bink wondered, as he had before, what it was girls saw in horses. The siren had been so eager to ride!
At last, stuffed, Bink and Chester were ushered to the theater. The stage was several times the size of the chamber for the audience. Apparently these people did not like to watch as much as they liked to perform.
The curtain lifted and it was on: a gaudily costumed affair replete with bold swordsmen and buxom women and funny jokers. The staged duels were impressive, but Bink wondered how proficient those men would be with their weapons in a real battle. There was a considerable difference between technical skill and combat nerve! The women were marvelously seductive-but would they be as shapely without the support of their special clothes, or as wittily suggestive minus the memorized lines?
'You do not find our production entertaining?' the lord inquired.
'I prefer life,' Bink replied.
The lord made a note on his pad: MORE REALISM,
Then the play shifted to a scene of music. The heroine sang a lovely song of loss and longing, meditating on her faithless lover, and it was difficult to imagine how any lout, no matter how louty, could be faithless to such a desirable creature. Bink thought of Chameleon again, and longed for her again. Chester was standing raptly beside him, probably thinking of horsing around with Cherie Centaur, who was indeed a fetching filly.
Then the song was augmented by a hauntingly lovely accompaniment. A flute was playing, its notes of such absolute quality and clarity that the lady's voice was shamed. Bink looked toward that sound-and there it was, a gleaming silver flute hanging in the air beside the heroine, playing by itself. A magic flute! The lady ceased singing, surprised, but the flute played on. Indeed, freed of the limitations of her voice, it trilled on into an aria of phenomenal expertise and beauty. Now the entire cast of players stood listening, seeming to find it as novel as Bink did.
The lord jumped to his feet 'Who is performing that magic?' he demanded.
No one answered. All were absorbed in the presentation.
'Clear that set!' the lord cried, red-faced. 'Everybody out, out, out!'
Slowly they cleared, fading into the wings, looking back at the solo instrument The stage was empty-but still the flute played, performing a medley of melodies, each more lovely than the one preceding.
The lord grabbed Bink by the shoulders. 'Are you doing it?' he demanded, seeming about ready to choke.
Bink tore his attention from the flute. 'I have no magic like that!' he said.
The lord hauled on Chester's muscular arm. 'You-it must be yours, then!'
Chester's head turned to face him. 'What?' he asked, as if coming out of a reverie. In that instant, flute and music faded.
