Chapter 4. Illusion

Bink resumed his journey--on the wrong side of the chasm. If only Donald's farm had been to the south!

Strange, how everyone here knew about the chasm and took it for granted-yet nobody in the North Village did. Could it be a conspiracy of silence? That seemed unlikely, because the centaurs didn't seem to know about it either, and they were normally extremely well informed. It had been present for at least two years, since the shade had been there that long, and probably much longer, since the Gap dragon must have spent its whole life there.

It must be a spell-an ignorance spell, so that only those people in the immediate vicinity of the chasm were aware of it. Those who departed-forgot. Obviously there had never been a clear path from the north to the south of Xanth-not in recent years.

Well, that was not his concern. He just had to get around it. He was not going to attempt to cross it again; only a phenomenal series of coincidences had saved his skin. Bink knew that coincidence was an untrustworthy ally.

The land here was green and hilly, with head-high candy-stripe ferns sprouting so thickly that it was impossible to see very far ahead. He had no beaten trail now. He got lost once, apparently thrown off by an aversion spell. Some trees protected themselves from molestation by causing the traveler to veer aside, so as to pass some distance from them. Maybe that was how the silver oak had remained undiscovered so long. If someone got into a patch of such trees, he could be bounced far afield, or even routed in a perpetual circle. It could be difficult indeed to break out of that sort of trap, because it was not at all obvious; the traveler thought he was going where he wanted to go.

Another time he encountered a very fine path going right his way, so fine that natural caution made him avoid it. There were a number of wilderness cannibal plants that made access very attractive, right up until the moment their traps sprung.

Thus it was three days before he made significant progress-but he remained in good form, apart from his cold. He found a few nosegays that helped clear his nose, and a pillbox bush with headache pills. At irregular intervals there were colorfruit trees, bearing greens, yellows, oranges, and blues. He had fair luck finding lodging each night, for he was obviously a fairly harmless type, but he also had to spend some hours in labor, earning his board. The people of this hinterland were minimally talented; their magic was of the "spot on a wall" variety. So they lived basically Mundane lives, and always needed chores done.

At last the land wound down to the sea. Xanth was a peninsula that had never adequately been mapped-obviously! the unmarked chasm proved that!-so its precise dimensions were unknown, perhaps unknowable. In general, it was an oval or oblong stretching north-south, connected to Mundania by a narrow bridge of land on the northwest. Probably it had been an island at one time, and so evolved its distinct type of existence free from the interference of the outside world. Now the Shield had restored that isolation, cutting off the land bridge by its curtain of death and wiping out the personnel of invading ships. If that weren't enough, there was said to be a number of ferocious sea monsters. Offshore. No, Mundania did not intrude any more.

Bink hoped the sea would permit him to get around the chasm. The Gap dragon probably could not swim, and the sea monsters should not come too close to land. There should be a narrow section where neither dragon nor sea monster prevailed. Maybe a beach he could walk across, plunging into the water if the terror of the chasm charged, and onto land if magic threatened from the sea.

There it was: a beautiful thread of white sand stretching from one side of the chasm to the other. No monsters were in sight. He could hardly believe his luck-but he acted before it could change.

Bink hit the beach running. For ten paces everything was fine. Then his foot came down on water, and he fell into the brine.

The beach was illusion. He had fallen for a most elementary trap. What better way for a sea monster to catch its prey than a vanishing beach converting to deep water?

Bink stroked for the real shoreline, which he now saw was a rocky waste upon which the waves broke and spumed. Not a safe landing at all, but his only choice. He could not go back on the "beach" he had come along; it no longer seemed to exist even in illusion. Either he had somehow been borne across the water or he had been swimming without knowing it. Either way, it was not magic he cared to get tangled up in again. Better to know exactly where he was.

Something cold and flat and immensely powerful coiled around one ankle. Bink had lost his staff when the Gap dragon ran him down, and had not yet cut a new one; all he had was his hunting knife. It was a puny resource against a sea monster, but he had to try.

He drew the knife from its sheath, held his breath, and lashed in the vicinity of his ankle. What held him felt like leather; he had to saw at it to sever it. These monsters were tough all over!

Something huge and murky loomed at him under the water, reeling in the tongue he sawed at. Yard-long teeth flashed as the giant jaws opened.

Bink lost what little nerve he had left. He screamed.

His head was underwater. The scream was a disaster. Water rushed into his mouth, his throat.

Firm hands were pressing his back rhythmically, forcing the water out, the air in. Bink choked and hacked and coughed. He had been rescued! "I-I'm okay!" he gasped.

The hands eased off. Bink sat up, blinking.

He was on a small yacht. The sails were of brightly colored silk, the deck of polished mahogany. The mast was gold.

Gold? Gold plate, maybe. Solid gold would have been so heavy as to overbalance the ship.

Belatedly, he looked at his rescuer, and was amazed again. She was a Queen.

At least, she looked like a Queen. She wore a platinum crownlet and a richly embroidered robe, and she was beautiful. Not as lovely as Wynne, perhaps; this woman was older, with more poise. Precise dress and manner made up for the sheer voluptuous innocence of youth that Wynne had. The Queen's hair was the richest red he had ever seen--and so were the pupils of her eyes. It was hard to imagine what a woman like this would be doing boating in monster-infested surf.

"I am the Sorceress Iris," she said.

"Uh, Bink," he said awkwardly. "From the North Village." He had never met a Sorceress before, and hardly felt garbed for the occasion.

"Fortunate I happened by," Iris remarked. "You might have had difficulties."

The understatement of the year! Bink had been finished, and she had given him back his life. "I was drowning. I never saw you. Just a monster," he said, feeling inane. How could he thank this royal creature for sullying her delicate hands on something like him?

"You were hardly in a position to see anything," she said, straightening so that her excellent figure showed to advantage. He had been mistaken; she was in no way inferior to Wynne, just different, and certainly more intelligent. More on a par with Sabrina. The manifest mind of a woman, he realized, made a great deal of difference in her appeal. Lesson for the day.

There were sailors and servants aboard the yacht, but they remained unobtrusively in the background, and Iris adjusted the sails herself. No idle female, she!

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 he 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."

"Except maybe Magician Humfrey," Bink said.

"He is a powerful Magician," she agreed. "But even he is restricted. His talent is divination, or information; I don't believe he actually looks into the future, just the present. All his so-called hundred spells relate to that. None of them are performance magic."

Bink did not know enough about Humfrey to refute that, but it sounded correct. He was impressed with how the Sorceress kept up with the magic of her counterpart. Was there professional rivalry among those of strong magic? "Yes--talents run in schools. But-"

"My talent is illusion," she said smoothly. "This rose-" She plucked a handsome red one and held it under his nose. What a sweet smell! "This rose, in reality, is...''

The rose faded. In her hand was a stalk of grass. It even smelled grassy.

Bink looked around, chagrined. "All of this is illusion?''

"Most of it. I could show you the whole garden as it is, but it would not be nearly as pretty." The grass in her hand shimmered and became an iris flower. "This should convince you. I am a powerful Sorceress. Therefore I can make an entire region seem like something it is not, and every detail will he authentic. MY roses smell like roses, my apple pies taste like apple pies. My body-" She paused with half a smile. "My body feels like a body. All seems real-but it is illusion. That is, each thing has a basis in fact, but my magic enhances it, modifies it. This is my complex of talents. Therefore I have no other talent-and you can trust me to that extent."

Bink was uncertain about that last point. A Sorceress of illusion was the last type of person to be trusted, to any extent! Yet he comprehended her point now. She had shown him her magic, and it was unlikely that she would practice any other magic on him. He had never thought of it this way before, but it was certainly true that no one in Xanth mixed types of magic talents.

Unless she were an ogre, using illusion to change her own appearance, too... No. An ogre was a magical creature, and magical creatures did not have magical talents. Probably. Their talents were their existence. So centaurs, dragons, and ogres always seemed like what they were, unless some natural person, animal, or plant changed them. He had to believe that! It was possible that Iris was in collusion with an ogre--but unlikely, for ogres were notoriously impatient, and tended to consume whatever they could get hold of, regardless of the consequence. Iris herself would have been eaten by this time.

"Okay, I trust you," Bink agreed dubiously.

"Good. Come into my palace, and I will tend to all your needs."

That was unlikely. No one could give him a magic talent of his own. Humfrey might discover his talent for him-at the price of a year's service!-but that would be merely revealing what was there, not creating it.

He suffered himself to he led into the palace. It was exquisite inside, too. Rainbow-hued beams of light dropped down from the prismatic roof formations, and the crystal wails formed mirrors. These might be illusion-but he saw his own reflection in them, and he looked somehow healthier and more manly than he felt. He was hardly bedraggled at all. More illusion?

Soft pretty pillows were piled in the comers in lieu of chairs or couches. Suddenly Bink felt very tired; he needed to lie down for a while! But then the image of the skeleton in the pine forest returned to him. He didn't know what to feel.

"Let's get you out of those wet clothes," Iris said solicitously.

"Uh, I'll dry," Bink said, not wanting to expose his body before a woman.

"Do you think I want my cushions ruined?" she demanded with housewifely concern. "You were floundering in salt water; you've got to rinse the salt off before you start itching. Go into the bathroom and change; there is a dry uniform awaiting you."

A uniform awaiting him? As though she had been expecting him. What could that mean?

Reluctantly, Bink went. The bathroom was, appropriately, palatial. The tub was like a small swimming pool, and the commode was an elegant affair of the type the Mundanes were said to employ. He watched the water circle around the bowl and drain out into a pipe below, disappearing as if by magic. He was, fascinated.

There was also a shower; a spray of water, like rain, emerged from an elevated nozzle, rinsing him off. That was sort of fun, though he was not sure he would want it as a regular thing. There must be a big tank of water upstairs somewhere, to provide the pressure for such devices.

He dried with a plush towel embroidered with images of irises.

The clothing was hung on a rack behind the door: a princely robe, and knickers. Knickers? Ah, well-they were dry, and no one would see him here in the palace. He donned the uniform, and stepped into the ornate sandals awaiting him. He strapped his hunting knife on, concealing it beneath the overhang of the robe.

Now he felt better-but his cold was developing apace. His sore throat had given way to a runny nose; he had thought this was merely aggravation by the salt water he had taken in, but now he was dry and it was apparent that his nose needed no external supply of fluid. He didn't want to sniff overtly, but he had no handkerchief.

"Are you hungry?" Iris asked solicitously as he emerged. "I will fetch you a banquet."

Bink certainly was hungry, for he had eaten only sparingly from his pack since starting along the chasm, depending on foraging along the way. Now his pack was soaked with salt water; that would complicate future meals.

He lay half buried in cushions, his nose tilted back so that it wouldn't dribble forward, surreptitiously mopping it with the corner of a pillow when he had to. He snoozed a bit while she puttered in the kitchen. Now that he knew this was all illusion, he realized why she did so much menial work herself. The sailors and gardeners were part of the illusion; Iris lived alone. So she had to do her own cooking. Illusion might make for fine appearance, texture, and taste, but it would not prevent her from starving.

Why didn't Iris marry, or exchange her services for competent help? Much magic was useless for practical matters, but her magic was extraordinary. Anyone could live in a crystal palace if he lived with this Sorceress. Bink was sure many people would like that; appearance was often more important than substance anyway. And if she could make ordinary potatoes taste like a banquet, and medicine taste like candy-oh yes, it was a marketable talent!

Iris returned, bearing a steaming platter. She had changed into a housewifely apron, and her crownlet was gone. She looked less regal and a good deal more female. She set things up on a low table, and they sat crosslegged on cushions, facing each other.

"What would you like?" she inquired.

Again Bink felt nervous. "What are you serving?"

"Whatever you like."

"I mean-really?"

She made a moue. "If you must know, boiled rice. I have a hundred-pound bag of the stuff I have to use up before the rats catch on to the illusory cat I have guarding it and chew into it. I could make rat droppings taste like caviar, of course, but I'd rather not have to. But you can have anything you want-anything at all." She took a deep breath.

So it seemed-and it occurred to Bink that she was not restricting it to food. No doubt she got pretty lonely here on her island, and welcomed company. The local farmers probably shunned her-their wives would see to that!-and monsters weren't very sociable.

"Dragon steak," he said. "With hot sauce."

"The man is bold," she murmured, lifting the silver cover. The rich aroma wafted out, and there lay two broiled dragon steaks steeped in hot sauce. She served one expertly onto Bink's plate, and the other onto her own.

Dubiously, Bink cut off a piece and put it to his mouth. It was the finest dragon steak he had ever tasted-which was not saying much, since dragons were very difficult prey; he had eaten it only twice before. It was a truism that more people were eaten by dragons than dragons eaten by people. And the sauce-he had to grab for the glass of wine she had poured for him, to quench the heat. But it was a delicious burn, converting to flavor.

Still, he doubted. "Uh-would you mind...?"

She grimaced. "Only for a moment," she said.

The steak dissolved into dull boiled rice, then back into dragon meat.

"Thanks" Bink said. "It's still a bit hard to believe."

"More wine?"

"Uh, is it intoxicating?"

"No, unfortunately. You could drink it all day and never feel it, unless your own imagination made you dizzy."

"Glad to hear it." He accepted the elegant glass of sparkling fluid as she refilled it, and sipped. He had gulped down the first too fast to taste it. Maybe it was actually water, but it seemed to be perfect blue wine, the kind specified for dragon meat, full-bodied and delicately flavored. Much like the Sorceress herself.

For dessert they had home-baked chocolate-chip cookies, slightly burned. That last touch made it so realistic that he was hard put to it to preserve his disbelief. She obviously knew something about cooking and baking, even in illusion.

She cleared away the dishes and returned to join him on the cushions. Now she was in a low-cut evening gown, and he saw in more than adequate detail exactly how well-formed she was. Of course, that too could be illusion-but if it felt the same as it looked, who would protest?

Then his nose almost dripped onto the inviting gown, and he jerked his head up. He had been looking a mite too closely.

"Are you unhappy?" Iris inquired sympathetically.

"Uh, no. My nose--it-"

"Have a handkerchief," she said, proffering a lovely lace affair.

Bink hated to use such a work of art to honk his nose into, but it was better than using the pillows.

"Uh, is there any work I can do before I go?" he inquired uneasily.

"You are thinking too small," Iris said, leaning forward earnestly and inhaling deeply. Bink felt the flush rising along his neck. Sabrina seemed very far away-and she would never have dressed like this, anyway.

"I told you-I have to go to the Good Magician Humfrey to find my magic--or be exiled. I don't really think I have any magic, so--"

"I could arrange for you to stay, regardless," she said, nudging closer.

She was definitely making a play for him. But why would such an intelligent, talented woman be interested in a nobody like him? Bink mopped his nose again. A nobody with a cold. Her appearance might be greatly enhanced by illusion, but mind and talent were obviously genuine. She should have no need of him-for anything.

"You could perform magic that everyone would see," she continued in that dismayingly persuasive way of hers, nudging up against him. She certainly felt real-most provocatively so. "I could fashion an illusion of performance that no one could penetrate." He wished she hadn't said that while touching him so intimately. "I can do my magic from a distance, too, so there would be no way to tell I was involved. But that is the least of it. I can bring you wealth and power and comfort-all genuine, nonillusive. I can give you beauty and love. All that you might desire as a citizen of Xanth--"

Bink grew more suspicious. What was she leading up to? "I have a fianc e-"

"Even that," Iris agreed. "I am not a jealous woman. You could have her as a concubine, provided you were circumspect."

"As a concubine!" Bink exploded.

She was unshaken. "Because you would be married to me."

Bink stared at her, aghast. "Why should you want to marry a man with no magic?"

"So I could be Queen of Xanth," she said evenly.

"Queen of Xanth! You'd have to marry the King."

"Precisely."

"But-"

"One of the quaint, archaic laws and customs of Xanth is that the nominal ruler must be male. Thus some perfectly capable magical females have been eliminated from consideration. Now the present King is old, senile, and without heir; it is time for a Queen. But first there must be a new King. That King could be you."

"Me! I have no knowledge of governing."

"Yes. You would naturally leave the dull details of government to me."

Now at last it was coming clear. Iris wanted power. All she needed was a suitable figurehead, to get herself installed. One sufficiently talentless and naive to be readily managed. So he would never get delusions of actually being King. If he cooperated with her, he would be dependent on her. But it was a fair offer. It provided a viable alternative to exile, regardless of the state of his own magic.

This was the first time he had seen his magic infirmity as a potential asset. Iris did not want an independent man or legitimate citizen; she would have no lasting hold on that kind of person. She needed a magic cripple like him-because without her he would be nothing, not even a citizen.

That diminished the romantic aspect considerably. Reality always did seem to be less enticing than illusion. Yet his alternative was to plunge back into the wilderness on a mission he suspected was futile. His luck was already considerably overextended; his chances of even making it as far as the castle of the Magician Humfrey were not ideal, since he now had to trek through the fringe of the central wilderness. He would be a fool not to accept the offer of the Sorceress.

Iris was watching him intently. As he looked back at her, her gown flickered, becoming transparent. Illusion or not, it was a breathtaking sight. And what difference did it make if the flesh only seemed real? He had no doubt now of what she was offering on the immediate, personal level. She would be glad to prove how good she could make it, as she had with the meal. Because she needed his willing cooperation.

Really, it made sense. He could have citizenship and Sabrina, since obviously the Sorceress Queen would never betray that aspect...

Sabrina. How would she feel about the arrangement? He knew. She would not buy it. Not for anything, not for an instant. Sabrina was very straitlaced about certain things, very proper in the forms.

"No," he said aloud.

Iris's gown snapped opaque. "No?" Suddenly she sounded like Wynne, when he had told that idiot gift she could not accompany him.

"I don't want to be King."

Now Iris's voice was controlled, soft. "You don't think I can do it?"

"I rather think you can. But it's not my sort of thing."

"What is your sort of thing, Bink?"

"I just want to be on my way."

"You want to be on your way," she repeated, with great control. "Why?"

"My fianc e wouldn't like it if I-"

"She wouldn't like it!" Iris was working up a substantial head of steam, like the Gap dragon. "What does she offer you that I cannot better a hundredfold?"

"Well, self-respect, for one thing," Bink said. "She wants me for myself, not to use me."

"Nonsense. All women are the same inside. They differ only in appearance and talent. They all use men."

"Maybe so. I'm sure you know more about that sort of thing than I do. But I have to be going now."

Iris reached out a soft hand to restrain him. Her gown disappeared entirely. "Why not stay the night? See what I can do for you? If you still want to go in the morning-"

Bink shook his head. "I'm sure you could convince me overnight. So I have to go now."

"Such candor!" she exclaimed ruefully. "I could give you an experience like none you have imagined."

In her artful nudity, she already stimulated his imagination far more than was comfortable. But he steeled himself. "You could never give me back my integrity."

"You idiot" she screamed, with a startling shift of attitude. "I should have left you to the sea monsters."

"They were illusions too," he said. "You set up the whole thing, to make me beholden to you. The illusion beach, the illusion threat, all. That was your leather strap that wrapped around my ankle. My rescue was no coincidence, because I never was in danger."

"You are in danger now," she gritted. Her lovely bare torso became covered by the military dress of an Amazon.

Bink shrugged and stood up. He blew his nose. "Good-bye, Sorceress."

She studied him appraisingly. "I underestimated your intelligence, Bink. I'm sure I can improve my offer, if you will only let me know what you want."

"I want to see the Good Magician."

Now her rage burst out anew. "I'll destroy you!"

Bink walked away from her.

The crystal ceiling of the palace cracked. Fragments of glass broke off and dropped toward him. Bink ignored them, knowing they were unreal. He kept walking. He was quite nervous, but was determined not to show it.

There was a loud, ominous crunching sound, as of stone collapsing. He forced himself not to look up.

The walls shattered and fell inward. The remaining, mass of the roof tumbled down. The noise was deafening. Bink was buried in rubble-and pushed on through it, feeling nothing. Despite the choking smell of dust and plaster, and the continued rumble of shifting debris, the palace was not really collapsing. Iris was a marvelous mistress of illusion, though! Sight, sound, smell, taste-everything but touch. Because there had to be something to touch, before she could convert it to feel like something else. Thus there was no solidity to this collapse.

He banged face first into a wall. Jarred more than physically, he rubbed his cheek and squinted. It was a wooden panel, with flaking paint. The real wall, of the real house. The illusion had concealed it, but now reality was emerging. Doubtless she could have made it feel like gold or crystal or even like slimy slugs, but the illusion was breaking down. He could find his way out.

Bink felt his way along the wall, tuning out the terrifying sights and sounds of the collapse, hoping she did not change the feel of the wall so that he would be deceived by that and led astray. Suppose it became a row of mousetraps or thistles, forcing his hand away?

He found the door and pulled it invisibly open. He had made it! He turned and for a moment looked back. There was Iris, standing in the splendor of her female fury. She was a middle-aged woman running slightly to fat, wearing a worn housecoat and sloppy hair net. She had the physical qualities she had shown him via her peek-a-boo outfit, but they were much less seductive at age forty than at the illusion of age twenty.

He stepped outside. Lightning flared and thunder cracked, making him jump. But he reminded himself that Iris was mistress of illusion, not weather, and walked out into it.

Rain pelted him, and hailstones. He felt the cold splats of water on his skin, and the stones stung-but they had no substance, and he was neither wet nor bruised after the initial sensation. Iris's magic was in its prime, but there were limits to illusion, and his own disbelief in what he saw tended to reduce the impact.

Suddenly there was the bellow of a dragon. Bink jumped again. A fire-belching winged beast was bearing down on him, not a mere steamer like the Gap dragon, but a genuine flamer. Seemingly genuine; was it real or illusion? Surely the latter-but he could not take the chance. He dived for cover.

The dragon swooped low, passing him. He felt the wash of air from its motion, the blast of heat. He still didn't know for sure, but he might be able to tell from its action; real fire-belchers were very stupid, as dragons went, because the heat shriveled their own brains. If this one reacted intelligently-It looped about almost immediately, coming at him for a second run. Bink made a feint to the right, then scooted left. The dragon was not fooled; it zeroed right in on him. That was the intellect of the Sorceress, not the animal.

Bink's heart was thudding, but he forced himself to stand upright and still, facing the menace as it came. He lifted one finger in an obscene gesture at it. The dragon opened its jaws, blowing out a tremendous cloud of fire and smoke that enveloped Bink, singeing the hair of his body-and leaving him untouched.

He had gambled and won. He had been almost certain, but his body still trembled in reaction, for none of his senses had doubted the illusion. Only his brain had defended him, preventing him from being reduced to quivering acquiescence to the will of the Sorceress, or from being herded into some genuine hazard. Illusions could kill-if one heeded them.

Bink moved out again, with more confidence. If there were a real dragon in the vicinity, there would have been no need for an illusory one; therefore all dragons here were illusion.

He stumbled. Illusion could hurt him another way, though-by covering up dangerous breaks in the terrain, forcing him to misstep or fall or drop into a well. He would have to watch his step-literally.

As he concentrated on the region near his feet, he was able to penetrate the illusion with greater facility. Iris's talent was phenomenal, but in covering the entire island it was necessarily thinly spread. His will could oppose hers in a localized area while her attention was distracted. Behind the facade of the flower gardens was the weedy wilderness of the island. The palace was a rickety shack, first cousin to the farmhouses he had met along the way. Why build a good house when illusion could do it so much easier?

His borrowed clothing, too, had changed. Now he wore a crude feminine shawl and-he verified with dismay-panties. Lacy silk girl-style panties. His fancy handkerchief was exactly what it appeared to be. Apparently the Sorceress did indulge herself in some reality, and lace hankies were what she could afford. And panties.

He hesitated. Should he go back for his own clothing? He didn't want to encounter Iris again, but to travel in the wilderness or meet people in this outfit-He had a vision of walking up to the Good Magician Humfrey to ask for his boon of information,

BINK: Sir, I have come across Xanth at great peril to ask-MAGICIAN: For a new dress? A bra? Ho, ho, ho!

Bink sighed, feeling his face redden again. He turned back.

Iris spotted him as soon as he reentered the shack. A flicker of hope lighted her face-and that briefly honest expression had more compulsion than all her illusion. Human values moved Bink. He felt like the supreme heel.

"You changed your mind?" she asked. Suddenly her voluptuous youth was back, and a section of the glittering palace formed around her.

That dashed it. She was a creature of artifice, and he preferred reality-even the reality of a shack among weeds. Most of the farmers of Xanth had nothing better, after all. When illusion became an essential crutch to life, that life lost value. "Just want my own clothes," Bink said. Though his decision was firm, he still felt like a heel for interfering with her splendid aspirations.

He proceeded to the bathroom-which he now saw was an attached outhouse. The fabulous toilet was merely the usual board with a hole sawed in it, and flies buzzed merrily below it. The bathtub was a converted horse-watering trough. How had he taken a shower7 He saw a bucket; had he dumped water on his own head, not knowing it? His clothing and pack were in a pile on the floor.

He started to change-but found that the facility was really only an opening in the back wall of the shack. Iris stood watching him, Had she watched him change before? If so, he had to take it as a compliment; her approach had become much more direct and physical thereafter.

His eye fell on the bucket again. Someone had dumped water on him, and he was sure now that he had not done it himself. The only other person who could have done it--ouch!

But he was not about to display himself so freely to her again, though it was obvious that he had no physical secrets remaining! He picked up his things and headed for the door.

"Bink-"

He paused. The rest of the house was dull wood, with flaking paint, straw on the floor, and light showing through the cracks. But the Sorceress herself was lovely. She wore very little, and she looked a lush eighteen.

"What do you want in a woman?" she asked him. "Voluptuousness?" She became extremely well ell-dewed, with an exaggerated hourglass figure. "Youth?" Suddenly she looked fourteen, very slender, lineless and innocent. "Maturity?" She was herself again, but better dressed. "Competence?" Now she was conservatively dressed, about twenty-five, quite shapely but of a businesslike mien. "Violence?" The Amazon again, robust but still lovely.

"I don't know," Bink said. "I'd really hate to choose. Sometimes I want one thing, sometimes another."

"It can all be yours," she said. The alluring fourteen-year-old reappeared. "No other woman can make this promise."

Bink was suddenly, forcefully tempted. There were times when he wanted this, though he had never dared admit it openly. The Sorceress's magic was potent indeed-the strongest he had ever experienced. So it was illusion-yet in Xanth illusion abounded, and was quite legitimate; it was never possible to know precisely what was real. In fact, illusion was part of Xanth reality, an important part. Iris really could bring him wealth and power and citizenship, and she could be, for him, any kind of woman he wanted. Or all kinds.

Furthermore, through her illusions, applied politically, she could in time create an identical reality. She could build an actual crystal palace with all the trappings; the powers of the Queenship would make this possible. In that light, it was reality she offered, with her magic simply a means to that end.

But what was actually in her scheming mind? The reality of her inner thoughts might not be sweet at all. He could never be sure he understood her completely, and therefore could never trust her completely. He was not at all sure she would make a good Queen; she was too interested in the trappings of power, instead of the welfare of the land of Xanth as a whole.

"I'm sorry," he said, and turned away.

She let him go. No more palace, no more storm. She had accepted his decision-and that, perversely, tempted him again. He could not call her evil; she was merely a woman with a need, and she had offered a deal, and was mature enough to accede to necessity, once her temper cooled. But he forced himself to keep going, trusting his logic more than his meandering feeling,

He picked his way down to the sagging wharf, where the rowboat was tied. The craft looked insecure, but it had brought him here, so it could take him away.

He got into it-and stepped into a puddle. The boat leaked. He grabbed a rusty pail and bailed it out somewhat, then sat and took the oars.

Iris must have performed quite a maneuver, to row this boat while seeming to be an idle Queen. She had a lot of plain old-fashioned practical talent to supplement her magic. She probably could make a good ruler of Xanth-if she ever found a man who would go along with her.

Why hadn't he cooperated? As he rowed, he considered the matter more carefully, looking back at the isle of illusion. His superficial reasons were sufficient for the moment, but not for an enduring decision. He must have some underlying rationale to which he was true, even though he gave himself some more-presentable justification. It could not just be his memory of Sabrina, evocative as that was, for Iris was as much of a woman as Sabrina, and much more magical. There had to be something else, diffuse but immense-ah, he had it! It was his love of Xanth.

He could not allow himself to become the instrument of his homeland's corruption. Though the present King was ineffective, and many problems were developing, still Bink was loyal to the established order. The days of anarchy, or of brute might making right, were over; there were set procedures for the transfer of authority, and these had to be honored. Bink would do anything to stay in Xanth--except to betray it.

The ocean was calm. The devastating rocks of the shore had also been illusion; there was after all a small beach-but it was not where it had seemed to be, either when he thought he ran along it or after he was in the brine. A long narrow pier angled out from the side of the chasm; that was what he had run along at the beginning. Until he had simply run off the end, splashing abruptly into deep water. In more than one sense.

He beached his boat on the south shore. Now-how was he to return the boat to the Sorceress?

No way. If she didn't have another boat, she would simply have to swim for it. He regretted that, but he was not going back to that isle of illusion again. With her powers, she could probably scare away any sea creatures that threatened, and he was sure she was an adequate swimmer.

He changed into his original clothes, salty though they might be, shrugged into his knapsack, and turned his face to the west.