They came up to a pavilion in the Castle Roogna orchard. It had a drying stone set up for just such occasions as this. As they approached it, warm radiation came out, which started the pleasant drying of their clothes. Few things felt as good as a drying stone after a chill soaking! "I really appreciate your service, drier," Dor told it.

       "All part of the job," the stone replied. "My cousin, the sharpening stone, really has his work cut out for him. All those knives to hone, you know. Ha ha!"

       "Ha ha," Dor agreed mildly, patting it. The trouble with talking with inanimate objects was that they weren't very bright-but thought they were.

       Another figure emerged from the orchard, clasping a cluster of chocolate cherries in one hand. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, recognizing Dor. "If it isn't dodo Dor, the lifeless snooper."

       "Look who's talking," Grundy retorted. "Irate Irene, palace brat."

       "Princess Irene, to you," the girl snapped. "My father is King, remember?"

       "Well, you'll never be King," Grundy said.

       "'Cause women can't assume the throne, golem! But if I were a man-"

       "If you were a man, you still wouldn't be King, because you don't have Magician-caliber magic."

       "I do too!" she flared.

       "Stinkfinger?" Grundy inquired derisively.

       "That's green thumb!" she yelled, furious. "I can make any plant grow. Fast. Big. Healthy."

       Dor had stayed out of the argument, but fairness required his interjection. "That's creditable magic."

       "Stay out of this, dodo!" she snapped. "What do you know about it?"

       Dor spread his hands. How did he get into arguments he was trying to avoid? "Nothing. I can't grow a thing."

       "You will when you're a man," Grundy muttered.

       Irene remained angry. "So how come they call you a Magician, while I am only-"