Free Centaur Aisle by Piers Anthony Page A

had stressed the importance of honesty, and that annoyed Dor. This mountain was no King! What business did it have making oblique allusions, as if Dor were a dunce who needed special handling? "Look, glass—I asked you a direct question—"
    "An indirect question, technically. My response reflects your approach. But surely you realize that I am under interdiction by another Magician."
    Dor didn't know what "interdiction" meant, but could guess. Humfrey had told the mountain not to blab the secret. But the cloud was looming close and large and dense with water, and he was impatient. "Hey, I insist that you tell me—"
    "That is of course the answer."
    Dor paused. This too-bright object was making a fool of him. He reviewed his words. Hey, I insist that you tell me —how was that the answer? Yet it seemed it was.
    "You'll never get it," the glass said disparagingly.
    "Hey, now—" Dor started angrily.
    "There you go again."
    Hey, now?
    Suddenly for got it. Hey—spelled H A Y. "Hay—now!" he cried. It was a homonym.
    The zombie sea serpent, taking that for an order, swam across the moat and reached out to take a clumsy bite of dry grass from the outer bank. It brought this back to Dor.
    "Thank you, serpent," Dor said, accepting the armful. He shook out the residual slime and dottle, and several more of the monster's teeth bounced on the glass. Zombies had an inexhaustible supply of fragments of themselves to drop; it was part of their nature.
    He started up the slope yet again, but this time he wanted to meet the Hoofer. He stood there with his hay, facing her.
    The creature came 'round the mountain—and paused as she sighted him. Her ears perked forward and her tongue ran over her lips.
    "That's right, you beautiful bovine," Dor said. "This hay is for you. Think and chew—to chew on while you think. I noticed that there isn't much forage along your beat. You must use a lot of energy, pounding around, and work up quite an appetite. Surely you could use a lunch break before the rain spoils everything."
    The Hoofer's eyes became larger. They were beautiful and soulful. Her square nose quivered as she sniffed in the odor of the fresh hay. Her pink tongue ran around her muzzle again. She was certainly hungry.
    "Of course, if I set it down, it'll just slide down the slope and into the moat," Dor said reasonably. "I guess you could fish it out, but slime-coated hay doesn't taste very good, does it?" As he spoke, a stronger gust of wind from the eager storm swirled through, tugging at the hay and wafting a few strands down to the goo of the moat. The Hoofer fidgeted with alarm.
    "Tell you what I'll do," Dor said. "I'll just get on your back and carry the hay, and feed it to you while you walk. That way you'll be able to eat it all, without losing a wisp, and no one can accuse you of being derelict in your duty. You'll be covering your beat all the time."
    "Mmmooo," the Hoofer agreed, salivating. She might not be bright, but she knew a good deal when she smelled it.
    Dor approached, gave her a good mouthful of hay, then scrambled onto her back from the uphill side. His left foot dragged, while his right foot dangled well above the surface of the glass, but he was sitting level. He leaned forward and extended his left hand to present another morsel of hay.
    The Hoofer took it and chewed blissfully, walking forward. When she finished masticating that—Dor realized he had learned a new word, though he would never be able to spell it—he gave her more, again left-handedly. She had to turn her head left to take it, and her travel veered slightly that way, uphill.
    They continued in this manner for a full circuit of the mountain. Sure enough, they were higher on the slope than they had been. His constant presentation of hay on the upward side caused the Hoofer to spiral upward. That was where he wanted to go.
    The storm was almost upon them. It had not been fooled! Dor leaned forward, squeezing with his knees, and the Hoofer