There was a moment’s silence. “What if I had?” Ben asked finally.
The stooped figure pulled the gray robes free from a trailer of scrub on which they had caught. “Why, then you might have wandered too deep into the fairy world and been lost forever.” He paused. “Are you hungry. High Lord?”
“What?” The question startled Ben. He was still thinking about his brush with the fairy world and the possibility that one could wander lost in it forever. Until now, this world into which he had come had seemed fairly safe.
“Food and drink — it occurs to me that you may not have had either for some time.”
Ben hesitated. “Not since this morning, as a matter of fact.”
“Good. Come this way.”
Questor walked past him down the slope to a small cluster of Bonnie Blues at the edge of an oak grove. He waited for Ben to join him, then reached up and tore free a branch from one of the trees. The branch broke cleanly and soundlessly. The wizard knelt, grasped the base of the branch with one hand, and with the other stripped it of its leaves. The leaves tumbled into the lap of his robe.
“Here, try one,” he offered, holding out one of the leaves. “Take a bite of it.”
Ben took the leaf, examined it, then cautiously bit into it and chewed. His face brightened with surprise. “It tastes like… like melon.”
The other nodded, smiling. “Now the stalk. Hold it like this.” He held the broken end upright. “Now suck on it there, at the break.”
Ben did as he was told. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he whispered. “It tastes like milk!”
“It is the staple of human existence in the valley,” Questor explained, chewing a leaf himself. “One can live on only the Bonnie Blues and a small amount of drinking water, if one has nothing else — and there are those who do not. It wasn’t always so, but times have changed…”
He trailed off, distracted. Then he glanced at Ben. “The Bonnie Blues grow wild everywhere in the valley. Their reproductive capacity is amazing — even now. Look there — look at what has happened.”
He pointed to the tree where the limb had been broken off. Already, the break was healing over and beginning to bud anew.
“By morning, a new limb will have begun to grow. In a week’s time, it will be exactly as we found it — or should be.”
Ben nodded without comment. He was thinking about Questor’s carefully phrased qualifications. “Times have changed… Their reproductive capacity is amazing — even now… In a week’s time, it will be exactly as we found it — or should be.” He studied the Bonnie Blues behind the one the wizard had chosen. They seemed to be flourishing less successfully, signs of wilt on their leaves and a drooping to their limbs. Something was distressing them.
Questor interrupted his thoughts. “Well, now that we have sampled the Bonnie Blues, perhaps something a bit more substantial would be in order.” He rubbed his hands together briskly. “How would you like some ham and eggs, some fresh bread, and a glass of ale?”
Ben turned. “Are you hiding a picnic basket in one of those pouches?”
“A what? Oh, no, High Lord. I will simply conjure up our meal.”
“Conjure…? Ben frowned. “You mean use magic?”
“Exactly! After all, I am a wizard. Now, let me see.”
The owlish face screwed up, the shaggy brows narrowing. Ben leaned forward. He had eaten nothing since breakfast, but he was more curious than hungry. Could this odd-looking fellow really do magic?
“A bit of concentrated thought, fingers extended so, a quick motion thus, and… hah!”
There was a flash of light, a quick puff of smoke, and on the ground before them lay half a dozen scatter pillows, tasseled and embroidered. Ben stared in amazement.
“Oh, well, we will need something to sit upon while we eat, I suppose.” The wizard brushed the matter aside as if it were of no consequence. “Must have turned the fingers a bit too far right… Now let me see, once again, a bit of thought, fingers, a quick motion…”