"0 Beauregard," Humfrey intoned. "I conjure thee by the authority vested in me by the Compact, tell us what magic talent this lad, Bink of the North Village of Xanth, possesses."
So that was the Magician's secret: he was a demon-summoner. The pentagram was for containing the demons released from their magic bottles; even a studious demon was a creature of hell.
Beauregard focused his lenscovered eyes on Bink "Step into my demesnes, that I may inspect you properly," he said.
"Nuh-uh!" Bink exclaimed.
"You're a tough nut," the demon said.
"I didn't ask you for his personality profile," Humfrey snapped. "What's his magic?"
The demon concentrated. "He has magic-strong magic-but-"
Strong magic! Bink's hopes soared.
"But I am unable to fathom it," Beauregard said. He grimaced at the Good Magician. "Sorry, fathead; I'll have to renege on this one."
"Then get ye gone, incompetent," Humfrey snarled, clapping his hands together with a remarkably sharp report. Evidently he was used to being insulted; it was part of his life style. Maybe Bink had lucked out again.
The demon dissolved into smoke and drained back into his bottle. Bink stared at the bottle, trying to determine what was visible within it. Was there a tiny figure, hunched over a miniature book, reading?
Now the Magician contemplated Bink. "So you have strong magic that cannot be fathomed. Were you aware of this? Did you come here to waste my time?"
"No," Bink said. "I never was sure I had magic at all. There's never been any evidence of it. I hoped-but I feared I had none."
"Is there anything you know of that could account for this opacity? A counterspell, perhaps?"
Evidently Humfrey was far from omnipotent. But now that Bink knew he was a demon-conjurer, that explained it. Nobody summoned a demon without good reason. The Magician charged heavily for his service because he took a heavy risk.
"I don't know of anything," Bink said. "Except maybe the drink of magic healing water I took."
"Beauregard should not have been deceived by that. He's a pretty savvy demon, a real scholar of magic. Do you have any of that water with you?"
Bink held out his canteen. "I saved some. Never can tell when it might be needed."
Humfrey took it, poured out a drop on his palm, touched his tongue to it, and grimaced thoughtfully. "Standard formula," he said. "It doesn't bollix up informational or divinatory magic. I've got a keg of similar stuff in my cellar. Brewed it myself. Mine is free of the Spring's self-interest geis, of course. But keep this; it can be useful."
The Magician set up a pointer attached to a string, beside a wall chart with pictures of a smiling cherub and a frowning devil. "Let's play Twenty Questions."
He moved his hands, casting a spell, and Bink realized that his prior realization had been premature. Humfrey did do more than demon-summoning-but he still specialized in information. "Bink of the North Village," he intoned. "Have you oriented on him?"
The pointer swung around to indicate the cherub.
"Does he have magic?"
The cherub again.
"Strong magic?"
Cherub.
"Can you identify it?"
Cherub.
"Will you tell me its nature?"
The pointer moved to cover the devil.
"What is this?" Humfrey demanded irritably. "No, that's not a question, idiot! It's an exclamation. I can't figure why you spirits are balking." Angry he cast the release spell and turned to Bink. "There's something mighty funny here. But it's become a challenge. I'm going to use a truth spell on you. We'll get to the heart of this."
The Magician waved his stubby arms again, muttered a vile-sounding incantation-and suddenly Bink felt strange. He had never experienced this odd type of magic before, with its gestures, words, and assorted apparatus; he was used to inherent talents that worked when they were willed to work. The Good Magician seemed to be something of a scientist-though Bink hardly understood that Mundane term, either.
"What is your identity?" Humfrey demanded.
"Bink of the North Village." It was the truth-but this time Bink said it because the spell compelled him to, not because he wanted to.
"Why did you come here?"
"To find out whether I have magic, and what it might be, so I shall not be exiled from Xanth and can marry-"
"Enough. I don't care about the sordid details." The Magician shook his head. "So you were telling the truth all along. The mystery deepens, the plot thickens. Now-what is your talent?"
Bink opened his mouth, compelled to speak-and there was an animal roar.
Humfrey blinked. "Oh-the manticora is hungry. Spell abate; wait here while I feed him." He departed.
An inconvenient time for the manticora to get hungry! But Bink could hardly blame the Magician for hastening to the feeding chore. If the monster should break out of its cage-Bink was left to his own devices. He walked around the room, stepping carefully to avoid the litter, not touching anything. He came to a mirror. "Mirror, mirror on the wall," he said playfully. "Who is the fairest one of all?"
