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now plummeted. It swooped low, banked, and hovered for a moment, releasing Irene just above the ground. Then it hurled itself upward again with a downdraft of air that shoved Irene back several steps and ruined her hairdo.
    “Birdbrain!” she shouted after it, disgruntled. “May a giant feather stick in your craw!” Of all times to be subjected to such pointless mischief! Just when she was going in to see Humfrey.
    She paused, annoyed by a new realization. This wasn’t coincidence! This was the castle defense system! All newcomers had to struggle through three types of obstruction in order to get inside and see the Good Magician. That was because Humfrey didn’t like to be bothered by trivial concerns. Anyone who really wanted to see him would persevere until he got inside. At least that was the theory. Humfrey was a taciturn gnome of a man with his own ornery ways of doing things. No one really understood him, except perhaps the Gorgon, his wife.
    But Irene was the Queen of Xanth. She wasn’t supposed to be subjected to this indignity! The traveling illusion, the roc—those were intended for lesser folk.
    She paused. Lesser folk? Beware the arrogance of royalty! She was just the woman who had married the King, and her present concern was a personal one. She could not presume to deserve favors that the least of the denizens of Xanth could not.
    She would darn well conquer these challenges herself. She had already handled one, the illusion. Now she would deal with the second.
    Obviously the roc was assigned to pick up all intruders and dump them well away from the castle. She had to nullify that big bird. But how? The roc was far too powerful for any plant short of a tangle tree to conquer, and she didn’t want to hurt it. It had not hurt her, after all. This was really a kind of game, a challenge, not warfare.
    She checked through her collection of seeds. Purple turnips—no good. Soda poppies—no. Night lilies—no.
    Suddenly she brightened. She had a rock garden kit with her! That just might do it.
    She heard a putrid sound in the distance. Her nose wrinkled. That was the belch of a stink horn! That must be the seed she had dropped, back at the castle. She could use that foul signal to locate the castle immediately.
    She marched back toward the castle. It took her a while, for the huge bird had covered a lot of distance during the brief flight. When she came to the moat, she dropped her seeds on the ground. “Grow!”
    The rock group sprouted. Rock moss spread across the ground, forming a carpet. Colored stones expanded in pretty crystalline patterns. Sand formed in miniature dunes, and tiny streamlets of water appeared. From the whole issued the sound of strange music, reminiscent of the noise of the twins’ jerk box but harsher. Irene didn’t understand rock music, but of course this was not for her benefit.
    Now she grew a water lily in the moat. It formed a series of sturdy wide leaves, stepping-places across the water. She started crossing.
    Immediately the roc appeared again. This time she was ready for it. “Look over there, bird,” she told it. “A roc garden.”
    The bird looked, listened—and almost, plummeted into the moat. “Rawk!” it squeaked.
    “That’s right, bird—rock,” Irene agreed. “Pattern and music—all yours.”
    The roc landed by the garden and stared at it, fascinated. It cocked its head, listening. Rocs loved rock gardens! Irene knew she would have no more trouble with the big bird. She proceeded on across the moat. She knew there would be one more hurdle.
    The stone walls of the castle were imposing. They were fresh and firm, unlike those of the zombie castle, and were buttressed by a wooden lattice, though they hardly needed it. No normal person could scale this barrier. Of course, she wouldn’t have to; she would have a climbing vine to do it for her, if the front door was locked.
    Now she arrived at that door. It was solid wood. She knocked politely. There was no