Back at the Blue Demesnes, Stile uninvoked the spells, became visible and full-weight, and turned Neysa out to graze. Then he talked to Hulk and the Lady Blue. “I must meet the Stallion in ritual battle a fortnight hence,” Stile said. “At their Unolympic celebration. This is for honor, and for the use of Neysa this season—yet I know not how I can match him, and am bound to suffer humiliation,”
“Which is what he wants,” Hulk said wisely. “Not thy blood, but thy pride. He wants to take a thing of value from the Blue Adept, in public, not by theft or by technicality but by right.”
The Lady’s blue eyes flashed. In this frame, it was literal: a momentary glare of light came from them. She was no Adept, but she did have some magic of her own. Stile remained new enough to Phaze to be intrigued by such little effects. “No creature humiliates the Blue Adept!” she cried.
“I am not really he, as the Stallion knows,” Stile re-minded her unnecessarily.
“Thou hast the image and the power and the office,” she said firmly. “It is not thy fault that thou’rt not truly he. For the sake of the Demesnes, thou canst not let the unicorn prevail in this manner.”
The preservation of the Blue Demesnes was of course what this was all about, to her mind. Stile was merely the figurehead. “I am open to suggestions,” he said mildly. “I would ask the Oracle how I might prevail, had I not ex-pended my question in the course of achieving my present status.”
“The Oracle,” Hull; said. “It answers one question for any person?”
“Only one,” Stile agreed.
“Then I could ask it!”
“Thou shouldst not waste thine only question on a concern not thine,” Stile said. “Ask instead about thine own future here in Phaze. There may be an ideal situation awaiting thee, if thou dost but inquire as to its where-abouts.”
“Nay, I want to do it,” Hulk insisted. “Neysa is my friend too, and it was thou who showed me how to cross the curtain into this marvelous and not-to-be-believed world. The least I can do is help thee in this matter.” “Let him go,” the Lady murmured.
Stile spread his hands. “If thou truly dost feel this way, go with my blessing. Hulk. I shall be in thy debt. I will arrange for thee a magic conveyance—“
“Nay, I can walk.”
“Not that far, and return in time to be of much help. I need to know how to prepare as soon as possible. If I must master a special skill—“
“Okay,” Hulk agreed. “But I’m not good at riding unicorns.”
The Lady smiled, and there seemed to be a momentary glow in the room. “Only two I know of have ever ridden a unicorn, except at the unicorn’s behest: my lord Stile and I. The Adept will summon for thee a traveling carpet—“
“Oh, no! Not one of those flying things! I’d be constantly afraid its magic would poop out right over a chasm or near a nest of dragons. I’m not the lightest of creatures, thou knowest. Can’t we find a motorcycle or something?”
“A motorcycle?” the Lady asked blankly.
“A device of the other frame,” Stile explained. “A kind of traveling wheel, rather like a low-flying carpet. It is an idea. Science is inoperative here, yet I might fashion a magic wagon.”
They went about it, and in the end Hulk had his motorcycle: two wooden wheels, a steering stick, a seat, a windshield. No motor, no fuel, no controls, for it was motivated by magic. Hulk had only to give it key verbal commands and steer it. Both men were clinically interested in the construction, determining how far magic would go, and where the line between functional magic and nonfunctional science was drawn.
Hulk boarded the magic machine and rode away in a silent cloud of dust. A flock of grouse took off, startled by the apparition. “I just hope he follows the map and doesn’t drive into a chasm or meet a monster,” Stile said. “He might hurt the monster.”
“Nay, Hulk is kind to creatures,” the Lady said, overlooking the humor. “He is a gentle man, under all that muscle. A clever and honorable man.”
“True. That is one reason I brought him here.”
The Lady rose and turned about, her blue gown flinging out sedately. Every motion she made was elegant!
“Now we are alone, I would talk to thee. Adept.”
Stile tried to still his suddenly racing pulse. She could not mean she had had a change of heart about him; he remained an imposter in her eyes. Her loyalty to her true love was a thing he envied and longed for. Should such loyalty ever be oriented on him ...
“Any time,” he agreed. They went to her apartment, where she bade him be seated in a comfortable blue chair. She maintained the blue insignia of these Demesnes with loving determination. It was a wonder, he thought with fond irritation, that she did not dye her fair hair blue.
“Thy friend Hulk told me of thy life in Proton-frame,” she said. “I bade him do it during thine absence, as it behooves me to know of thee.” Pumping Hulk for information: a natural pastime.
“I would have told thee, hadst thou asked.” But of course she had wanted to obtain a reasonably objective view. What was she leading up to?
