last to wish to disrupt that aspect of King Trent’s being.
Yet the problem of an heir was a real one. No one wanted a repetition of the shambles resulting from lack of a well-defined royal line. There had to be an heir to serve until a suitable Magician appeared, lending continuity to the government.
“We seem to have a similar dilemma, Your Majesty,” Bink said. He tried to maintain the proper attitude of respect, because of the way he had known Trent before he was King. He had to set a good example. “We each prefer to remain loyal to our original wives, yet find it difficult. My problem will pass, but yours—” He paused, struck by dubious inspiration. “Millie is to be restored by having her skeleton dipped in healing water. Suppose you were to recover your wife’s bones, bring them to Xanth—”
“If that worked, I would be a bigamist,” King Trent pointed out. But he looked shaken. “Still, if my wife could live again—”
“You could check how well the procedure works, as they try it on Millie,” Bink said.
“Millie is a ghost—not quite dead. A special case, like that of a shade. It happens when there is pressing unfinished business for that spirit to attend to. My wife is no ghost; she never left anything unfinished, except her life. To reanimate her body without her soul—”
Bink was beginning to be sorry he had thought of the notion. What horrors might be loosed on Xanth if all bones were renovated indiscriminately? “She might be a zombie,” he said.
“There are serious risks,” the King decided. “Still, you have provided me food for thought. Perhaps there is hope for me yet! Meanwhile, I certainly shall not have the Queen assume the likeness of my wife. Perhaps I shall only embarrass myself by trying and failing, but—”
“Too bad you can’t transform yourself,” Bink said. “Then you could test your potency without anyone knowing.”
“The Queen would know. And to fail with her would be to show weakness that I can hardly afford. She would feel superior to me, knowing that what she has taken to be iron control is in fact impotence. There would be much mischief in that knowledge.”
Bink, knowing the Queen, could well appreciate that. Only her respect for, and fear of, the King’s personality and magic power held her in check. His transforming talent would remain—but the respect she held for his personality would inevitably erode. She could become extremely difficult to manage, and that would not be good for the Land of Xanth. “Could you, er, experiment with some other woman first? That way, if you failed—”
“No,” the King said firmly. “The Queen is not my love, but she is my legal spouse. I will not cheat her—or any other member of my kingdom, in this or any other respect.”
And there was the essence of his nobility! Yet the Queen might cheat
him
, if she saw her opportunity, and knew him to be impotent. Bink didn’t like that notion. He had seen King Trent’s reign as the onset of a Golden Age; how fraught it was with liabilities, from this vantage!
Then Bink had another inspiration. “Your memory of your wife—it isn’t just your memory of her you are preserving, it is your memory of yourself. Yourself when you were happy. You can’t make love to another woman, or let another woman look like her. But if two other people made love—I mean, the Queen and a man who did not resemble you—no memories would be defiled. So if the Queen changed your appearance—”
“Ridiculous!” the King snapped.
“I suppose so,” Bink said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“I’ll try it.”
“Sorry I bothered you. I—” Bink broke off. “You will?”
“Objectively I know that my continuing attachment to my dead wife and son is not reasonable,” the King said. “It is hampering me in the performance of my office. Perhaps an unreasonable subterfuge will compensate. I will have Iris make me into the likeness of another man, and herself
Yet the problem of an heir was a real one. No one wanted a repetition of the shambles resulting from lack of a well-defined royal line. There had to be an heir to serve until a suitable Magician appeared, lending continuity to the government.
“We seem to have a similar dilemma, Your Majesty,” Bink said. He tried to maintain the proper attitude of respect, because of the way he had known Trent before he was King. He had to set a good example. “We each prefer to remain loyal to our original wives, yet find it difficult. My problem will pass, but yours—” He paused, struck by dubious inspiration. “Millie is to be restored by having her skeleton dipped in healing water. Suppose you were to recover your wife’s bones, bring them to Xanth—”
“If that worked, I would be a bigamist,” King Trent pointed out. But he looked shaken. “Still, if my wife could live again—”
“You could check how well the procedure works, as they try it on Millie,” Bink said.
“Millie is a ghost—not quite dead. A special case, like that of a shade. It happens when there is pressing unfinished business for that spirit to attend to. My wife is no ghost; she never left anything unfinished, except her life. To reanimate her body without her soul—”
Bink was beginning to be sorry he had thought of the notion. What horrors might be loosed on Xanth if all bones were renovated indiscriminately? “She might be a zombie,” he said.
“There are serious risks,” the King decided. “Still, you have provided me food for thought. Perhaps there is hope for me yet! Meanwhile, I certainly shall not have the Queen assume the likeness of my wife. Perhaps I shall only embarrass myself by trying and failing, but—”
“Too bad you can’t transform yourself,” Bink said. “Then you could test your potency without anyone knowing.”
“The Queen would know. And to fail with her would be to show weakness that I can hardly afford. She would feel superior to me, knowing that what she has taken to be iron control is in fact impotence. There would be much mischief in that knowledge.”
Bink, knowing the Queen, could well appreciate that. Only her respect for, and fear of, the King’s personality and magic power held her in check. His transforming talent would remain—but the respect she held for his personality would inevitably erode. She could become extremely difficult to manage, and that would not be good for the Land of Xanth. “Could you, er, experiment with some other woman first? That way, if you failed—”
“No,” the King said firmly. “The Queen is not my love, but she is my legal spouse. I will not cheat her—or any other member of my kingdom, in this or any other respect.”
And there was the essence of his nobility! Yet the Queen might cheat
him
, if she saw her opportunity, and knew him to be impotent. Bink didn’t like that notion. He had seen King Trent’s reign as the onset of a Golden Age; how fraught it was with liabilities, from this vantage!
Then Bink had another inspiration. “Your memory of your wife—it isn’t just your memory of her you are preserving, it is your memory of yourself. Yourself when you were happy. You can’t make love to another woman, or let another woman look like her. But if two other people made love—I mean, the Queen and a man who did not resemble you—no memories would be defiled. So if the Queen changed your appearance—”
“Ridiculous!” the King snapped.
“I suppose so,” Bink said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“I’ll try it.”
“Sorry I bothered you. I—” Bink broke off. “You will?”
“Objectively I know that my continuing attachment to my dead wife and son is not reasonable,” the King said. “It is hampering me in the performance of my office. Perhaps an unreasonable subterfuge will compensate. I will have Iris make me into the likeness of another man, and herself
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