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  She was in a short hall. In alcoves to either side were young human men. She recognized them by their forms, though she could as readily have done so by their action: both were looking fixedly at her breasts. They were young men, all right. She could simply trot between them and be through.

  Or could she? This was likely to be the third Challenge, which meant that there would be something to challenge her progress. She had better discover its nature, rather than suffer it by surprise. Sometimes the worst threats were the least obvious ones.

  First she tried the direct approach. "Hello, men. Shall we exchange introductions?"

  "If you want to," the one on the right replied, not removing his eyes from her torso. Young men did tend to stare, but these ones were becoming downright obvious.

  There was a pause, and she realized that it would be up to her to initiate the exchange. "I am Cynthia Centaur, coming to ask a Question of the Good Magician."

  "We are the human twins Metros and Chronos," he replied. "We are here to serve as your third Challenge." His eyeballs seemed to be expanding.

  Cynthia had schooled herself to be a true centaur, and to ignore incidental human crudities. But there were limits. The way these men were staring disrupted her aplomb. "May I inquire as to the nature of this Challenge?"

  "You may." Both of them licked their lips. They were actually slavering.

  There was another pause. They were answering, but not volunteering. "What is the nature of this Challenge?"

  "You must pass by us." They were breathing hard. This was becoming embarrassingly obvious. Had they never before seen a maidenly chest?

  But she maintained her dignity, with an effort. "Is there some reason this is not as simple as it seems?"

  "That depends on how simple it seems to you." Never once had they looked away. The man on the left was locked on her left side, the one on the right on her right.

  Cynthia sighed inwardly. These characters were bound to make it other than simple. But how? "Will you tell me your talents?" Then, before they could complete the routine of agreement and silence, she continued: "Please do so."

  Metros nodded. "My talent is to make any object I touch larger or smaller, by four-fold." His right hand twitched, as if eager to make something on her right side four times as large.

  "And mine is to make it older or younger, by a similar margin," Chronos said. His left hand twitched, as if ready to make something on her left side a quarter its present age.

  Cynthia managed not to wince. "And if I try to walk past you, you will make me larger or smaller, or younger or older-four-fold?"

  "Yes. You may choose which, by taking our right hands, which make larger or older, or our left hands, which make smaller or younger. Or one of each, so as to become larger and younger, or smaller and older."

  "Four-fold," Cynthia said soberly. She had already gathered which hand did which; it was elementary logic. "So I will become a monstrous centaur, too big to squeeze through this passage, or a little one, readily balked. Or I will become sixty-four years old, or four years old-too old or young to accomplish those things I wish to."

  "Precisely. You may be able to avoid one of us, but not both of us. If you do not touch us, we will touch you. So you must choose, or be chosen. Or retreat."

  This did seem to be a sufficient Challenge. So competent that there needed to be no surprise element. So deadly that she could not afford to choose any of the alternatives. So certain that she could not avoid it. She had to figure it out, and nullify it.

  But how? She was sure the twins were not bluffing. Illusion could be spectacular, but the Good Magician had no need to use it. He could afford the real thing, as the harpy/centaur ball had demonstrated. She really would be rendered older or younger, larger or smaller, depending on how she chose to be touched. Yet how could she avoid it? There seemed to be no way.

  But there had to be a way. That was the nature of each Challenge. If only she could figure it out. She was supposed to have a fine centaur mind. She should be able to use it now. If she was a real centaur, instead of an imitation one. Unfortunately she wasn't sure she was genuine. That was why she was here, after all.

  This reminded her of the problem of age. She had been delivered as a human baby in the year 1005, and been transformed to winged centaur in 1021. So technically she had been in this form for eighty of her ninetysix years. That was how she made it as five-sixths of her life. But when transformed she had fled to the Brain Coral's pool, and remained there seventy-two years, until 1093, when she was released, and traveled with Gloha Goblin-Harpy and Magician Trent, and joined Che Centaur. So her conscious life was twenty-four years. Then she had been rejuvenated by eight years, so was now physically sixteen. So if she were touched by Chronos, would she become three hundred eighty-four or twenty-four? Or ninety-six or six? Or sixty-four or four? Which of her ages would the magic talent fix on to multiply or divide?

  She couldn't risk it. None of them were good for her. She wanted to stay sixteen, parallel to Che, so they could marry as approximate equals. That was why she had been rejuvenated: to match him. She didn't want to throw that away. As for changing her size-she had changed it when transformed, and that was quite enough. So she could not tolerate any more change of either size or age.

  In addition, the very thought of having these freaks touch her body revolted her. She knew exactly where they would grab. Even if their talents didn't change her size, she would get dirtily pawed. The dirt was all in their minds, not hers, but it nevertheless bothered her considerably. She had not, it seemed, yet abolished all of her original human conditioning.

  So should she just give up, and go home, and hope it was all right? That did not appeal, either. There just had to be a solution! If only she could cancel out the twins, make them touch each other-

  Surely they did touch each other, and themselves, often. How did they eat, wash, dress? Were they constantly changing size and age? She doubted it. Each might be immune to his own touch, but what about his brother? They must have a way to nullify brotherly touches. That was the way she needed.

  Suppose they touched with both hands at once? Would they multiply or divide? Or would the hands cancel each other's effects?

  A bulb flashed. They had to cancel. It was the only logical way. And therein was her answer. She should take both hands, simultaneously.

  But there were two of them. She might nullify one, but what about the other? She didn't have four hands.

  Another bulb flashed. She didn't need them. The twins' hands defined their talents, but the victims weren't restricted to hands, as far as she knew. Otherwise the victims could simply tuck their hands under their armpits and be immune. It had to be the touch anywhere on their bodies that counted. Not that there was any doubt where she would be touched.

  Well, it was time to prove she was more centaur than human. She would use their fixations to nullify them. She would touch them, her way. "I'm coming through!" Cynthia cried. She galloped toward the twins.

  Each of them reached forward to touch her. She reached to the right to catch both of Metros's hands in hers. Her size did not change. She hauled him in to her bosom. She was taller than he; his face got flattened against her right breast while his feet dragged on the floor. He was helpless.

  But that was only half the job. She half unfurled her left wing and swept it out to enclose Chronos. It was awkward, but she angled her body to make it possible. She brought him in against her left breast, holding him down with the wing so that both his hands were under him, locked against her equine chest. She held him there, and clasped his twin brother as closely as she turned around. Then she shoved Metros quickly away, and reached across with her hands to do the same with Chronos. The twin brothers tumbled together as she backed hastily away from them. Both had silly vacant smiles on their faces, as if they had been stunned by something heavenly. That irritated her, on a background level; she had intended to nullify them, not to give them a treat. But it couldn't be helped.

 
She saw one of them become huge, then small. The other grew old, then young. Indeed, they had not been bluffing. They would have to sort themselves out. Meanwhile she was backing through the far door. She had gotten past them.

  Not without some token injury, however. She discovered that there were scratches on her breasts and sides where the obnoxious men had scraped by. Her torso was stinging, and blood was starting to ooze.

  She shut the door, and turned around again. Her pulse was racing; she wasn't used to physical violence, even in a good cause. But she had overcome the third challenge. She felt like taking a shower to get her front side clean. But it had done its job, paralyzing their minds while nullifying their hands. She had proved she was more centaur than human.

  "Welcome, Cynthia." It was Wira, the Good Magician's daughter-in-law. She appeared to be about twenty-seven, but, like Cynthia, could be reckoned as different ages. She was blind, and very nice.

  "I'm so glad to see you, Wira," Cynthia said. "I was afraid I wouldn't make it through those challenges."

  "Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't."

  Cynthia stared at her. "What do you mean?"

  "Oh, I shouldn't have said that," the woman said quickly. "I'm sure everything's in good order." But there was a certain insincerity in her tone. That was quite unlike her.

  "Now, Wira," Cynthia said in her most reasonable manner. "We have been friends for some time, because we have things in common. Remember, we were both sixteen when we went to sleep."

  "Yes, we have been, and we were," the woman agreed evasively.

  Cynthia didn't like taking advantage of guilt, but she was getting really nervous about what was going on with Magician Humfrey. "You woke in Ten-ninety, and were youthened twenty-two years to match Hugo, so you could marry him. I woke in Ten-ninety-three, and was youthened eight years to match Che. He introduced me to you, when we visited the castle."

  "Yes, when I was nineteen physically, forty-one chronologically. You were eight physically and eighty-eight chronologically, so you were both half my age and twice my age. Wasn't that odd!"

  "So we had to be friends," Cynthia said. "We pretended to be big and little sisters in spirit. Now you're twenty-seven and I'm sixteen, physically, and we've never deceived each other." She paused meaningfully.

  Tears squeezed from Wira's blind eyes. "Oh, Cynthia, I'm not deceiving you! I just can't talk about the Good Magician's business."

  This was really serious. "Did I do something wrong?"

  "Oh, no. Not at all. You-you just came at a bad time, I think. Humfrey's in an awful mood. I think he set the Challenges not to stop you, so much as to make you change your mind."

  "The ferociously angry demoness!" Cynthia said. "The loathsome dance. The boys gawking at my torso."

  "Yes. But it didn't work. You prevailed."

  "It came close to working," Cynthia muttered. "I must confess that last Challenge really bothered me. I hate being viewed as a naked object. It isn't centaurly. But I just didn't want to admit defeat."

  "I'm glad you won through. But I hope you don't regret it. Something weird is going on."

  "So Metria thinks. I promised to tell her what it is."

  "Well, I fear you will soon find out. I've never seen Humfrey so out of sorts."

  "Seen?"

  "I may be blind, but I speak the same language you do. There's not even a Designated Wife on duty today; none of them will go near him when he's like this." Then Wira looked at her. "Are you hurt?"

  "Just some scratches. How did you know?"

  "There is a slight tightness to your voice, as if you are in discomfort. Let me summon Robert."

  "Robert?"

  "He uses music to heal wounds." She elevated her voice. "Robert!"

  "Please, I'm not wounded, just scratched."

  But Robert was already appearing. He was an ordinary human man with some kind of instrument. He touched its strings. Music flowed-and the stinging abated.

  Cynthia looked down at herself. The scratches had healed!

  Robert, seeing that his job was done, nodded and departed. "Thank you!" Cynthia called after him. He had healed her with his music, and not even stared.

  Cynthia returned to business. "So the Good Magician's been grumpy before. How did his wives handle it then?"

  Wira pondered. "I suspect they stayed clear of him, as they are doing now."

  "No one has mentioned long-ago episodes? There must be some hint."

  "Well, the Maiden Taiwan did mention something once. But that wasn't really the same."

  "Tell me anyway. Maybe it will help."

  "Well, it seems that over a century ago Humfrey discovered the Fountain of Youth. He offered the water to King Ebnez. The king declined, and made him promise not to give any of the youth elixir to any person not of his own family, and not to tell anyone where it was. So Ebnez died, and Humfrey became king after him. He honored the restriction, but the Maiden Taiwan, who was his wife of the time, said that the restriction really chafed him, because he saw worthy people aging and dying when they didn't have to. He would be really grumpy for days on end when he thought about it. But finally Ebnez came to him as a ghost, and told him that he seemed to have good judgment so far, so he was releasing Humfrey from that restriction. Thereafter Humfrey felt free to use the elixir for other beneficent purposes, and did so, and was significantly less grumpy."

  "You're right: That's not quite the same. I have no information that might free him from such a problem."

  "Yes. I don't know what to advise you to do."

  This sounded really bad. Cynthia's nervous tinge expanded into an apprehensive twinge. But her curiosity grew apace. "Well, let's discover what it is."

  "I suppose we had better." Wira led the way up the winding stairway to the Good Magician's dingy little study. There was barely room for her equine body.

  Humfrey looked up as Cynthia came to the doorway. "Go away," he grumped.

  Not sufficiently daunted, she spoke formally. "Good Magician, I have come to ask a Question."

  He grimaced. "I prefer not to Answer it. Please depart."

  This was an astonishing response. Humfrey's entire business as the Magician of Information was Answering Questions. The required year of service enabled him to keep a fine castle, always well stocked, with competent help at all times. Why should he balk now? "Good Magician, if I have unwittingly given offense, I apologize and proffer whatever amends are feasible. But I do want my Answer, and stand ready to perform whatever Service is required."

  "She did successfully navigate the Challenges," Wira said. "And she's my friend. She is deserving."

  The Magician's fossilized countenance softened, as it tended to do when Wira addressed him. If there was any person in Xanth he could be said to like, it was her. "My dear, it is not that easy."

  "My Question is straightforward," Cynthia said. "I am sure you will have no difficulty Answering it. It is-"

  He stopped her with a suddenly lifted hand. "Desist, filly. I do not want to hear it."

  "But-"

  "I see I must explain. There is an indirect crisis facing Xanth which will require horrendously risky action. The Muse of History has decreed that I must select for this mission the first querent whose Question I Answer. Your Question is so simple, and the mission so difficult and dangerous, that there is a complete lack of proportion. In addition, you are a nice person, and Che Centaur's fiancée. I prefer not to disrupt your lives so pointlessly. Please do not ask your Question. It is better for me to wait for someone with a more difficult one."

  This was indeed serious. But she had fought through the Challenges, and was not about to quit now. "You don't think I'm up to this mission," Cynthia said, nettled. "Because you know I'm not a real winged centaur, I'm only a transformed human girl." There was the crux of her insecurity.

  "If the Muse of History selects you for this mission, then you must be up to it," he said. "You are fully your present species, in every particular but memory. But for such a s
imple Question, and with so much to risk, with your mating ceremony looming soon, it seems unfair. Now abandon this query and go your way untroubled."

  "No! I want to know. I'll do the mission. Give me my Answer." She realized as she spoke that she hadn't even asked the Question yet. But obviously Humfrey knew what it was.

  "I believe you could fathom it for yourself. Depart, and enjoy your future with a fine centaur."

  Cynthia took a determined breath, but Wira touched her elbow before she could translate it into a sentence. "He has really Answered you," she whispered. "He's trying to let you go without a Service."

  Indeed, he had. He had said she was fully centaur in everything but the memory of her human origin. Breeding was not memory. But she was unwilling to accept her Answer free. "No. I will do the Service. I insist on having my Question Answered."

  "The answer is yes!" he snapped. "Now begone!"

  "But I haven't yet asked."

  "So you need do no Service. Scram!"

  "You must go," Wira whispered urgently.

  She stood unmoved. "Yet it seems that you have indeed Answered. You tell me that my issue will breed true to my present nature."

  "Yes! All transformees breed true. Half the present winged centaurs are transformees. You know that. So there is no need to come here."

  Cynthia realized with a start that she had known that. A number of her friends were transformees, and some had already mated and bred true. She had been concerned about nothing. Still, she felt obliged to honor the forms. She had come for an Answer, and she had gotten it. "What is my Service?"

  Humfrey sighed. "You will not relent?"

  "I am a centaur. You have confirmed that." Centaurs were known for their stubbornness.

  "Then so it must be," he said, resigned. "The Demon E(A/R)th has disappeared, and must be rescued before his magic of Gravity fades, destroying Earth and taking Xanth with it. My Book of Answers has nothing on this subject; it is beyond the scope of mere magic. You must handle this matter yourself." He put his head down on the musty tome before him.