"Name of MacDonald, ma'am," the man said, nodding politely. "And this is my farm, and I'd appreciate it if you'd take your friend and your donkey and your cats elsewhere."

"I'm Cimorene, the Queen of the Enchanted Forest," Cimorene said.

"Pleased to meet you, Farmer MacDonald. And we'll be leaving just as soon as our magician recovers a bit more. I'm sorry if we've caused a problem."

"Queen, eh?" MacDonald's eyes narrowed speculatively. "Little unusual to find a queen out adventuring. Mostly it's princes and younger sons, and once in a while a princess."

"So I'm unusual," Cimorene said.

"I wasn't criticizing," MacDonald said peaceably. "I just wondered if you'd be in the market for some vegetables."

"Vegetables? Why would I-" "I got a full line of specialty crops," the farmer went on. "My peas are perfectly round, and hard as rock. I sell them by the bag if you want to scatter them on the floor for maidens disguised as huntsmen to walk on, or you can buy one at a time for sticking under the mattress of a visiting princess."

"I don't think I-" "Then there's straw, first quality, for spinning into gold. I can deliver as much as you want, on a regular schedule.

I grow four kinds of grain-oats, barley, millet, and wheat-on the same plants, so it's harvested premixed.

I sell it by the bushel, to people who want to test someone by making them sort out the different kinds. And beans, naturally. I got the kind that jump and the kind that grow giant stalks. I've got apples, poisoned or gold, in several varieties; extra-large pumpkins for turning into coaches; and walnuts with anything you want inside, from a miniature dog to a dress as shining as the stars."

"I appreciate the offer," Cimorene said, "but I don't think I need any of those things."

"You wouldn't happen to have any invisible dusk-blooming chokevines, would you?" Morwen asked.

"No, I don't grow ornamentals," MacDonald replied. "I stick to vegetables, fruit, and nuts. Farm things. I'm hoping to branch out into livestock soon."

Cimorene blinked. "What sort of livestock?"

"Oh, little dogs that laugh, winged horses, geese that lay golden eggs, that sort of thing. That's why I'm growing hay." The farmer waved at the hillside. "I want to have it on hand when the horses arrive."

"It's not enchanted hay, is it?" Morwen asked with sudden misgiving.

"Not exactly. Why?"Enchantments." Nothing seemed to have happened yet, though. At least, Morwen hadn't heard any horrified braying since Killer disappeared over the hill.

Perhaps it would be all right.

MacDonald shrugged. "I use enchanted fertilizer to help it grow, but the hay itself is nothing special. Winged horses eat pretty much the same thing as regular horses, plus a little birdseed."

"You sound as if you've thought about it quite a bit," Cimorene said.

"Had to," MacDonald said, nodding. "This farm's been in the family for a long time, but I couldn't make a living running it the way my dad did.

Here a horse, there a pig-that just doesn't work anymore. These days, you have to have a plan. So I decided to specialize. Sure you don't need anything?"

"Not right now," Cimorene said, "but I'll keep you in mind."

"Thanks." The farmer hesitated. "About that blue donkey-" "He isn't a donkey," Morwen reminded him. "He's an enchanted rabbit."

"Oh, that's right. Pity. He'd make an interesting start at stocking the barnyard." Fingering his rope thoughtfully, MacDonald stared off in the direction Killer had taken.

"I don't think you'd want him," Cimorene said. "He doesn't seem to be good for much."

"And he eats a great deal," Morwen added. "Most of it unsuitable, inconvenient, or both. Besides, it's time we were leaving."

"What about my hay?"

Morwen glanced at the nibbled clover and raised an eyebrow. "Killer hardly touched it. In a couple of days, you won't be able to tell which part of the patch he got at."

"Well…"

"Then that's settled," Cimorene said in a tone that somehow reminded everyone that this was the Queen of the Enchanted Forest talking, and if she said it was settled, it had better be settled. "It's been nice meeting you, Mr. MacDonald, and I shall certainly mention your special crops to my friends.

Now, we really must be going." She turned and swept off.

Nodding a brisk farewell to MacDonald, Morwen followed. Halfway around the hill, she glanced back and saw MacDonald frowning uncertainly after them. At least he isn't chasing after us, she thought. Goodness knows how he'd react if he saw Kazul.

The same thought had apparently occurred to Cimorene. "We need to leave right away, if we can," she said as soon as they reached the others.

"Can you manage it, Telemain?"

"Of course," the magician said. "But what's the problem?"

"Nothing dangerous, but if we stay we're likely to waste the whole afternoon arguing. I'll explain later."

"Wait a minute," Morwen said as Telemain climbed to his feet.

"Where's Scorn?"

"She went after you," Trouble said.

"Bother," said Morwen. "I'm sorry, Cimorene, but-" A narrow path of grass stirred and shifted. An instant later, Scorn leapt for Morwen's back. Her claws dug into the folds of material, and with another brief effort she pulled herself the rest of the way up to Morwen's shoulder, where she perched, purring smugly.

"No wonder you wear loose robes," Cimorene said.

Balancing carefully, Scorn stretched. Then the purring stopped and she said, "That farmer is coming after you, Morwen. I thought you'd want to know."

"Scorn says MacDonald is on his way," Morwen said to the rest of them.

"If you really want to avoid him, Cimorene, we should go now."

"Then let's go." Cimorene looked at Telemain.

"Everyone here? Very well, then." Eyes narrowed in unwonted concentration, Telemain raised his hands and recited the spell.

The hillside wavered like a reflection in a suddenly disturbed pool.

Reluctantly, it began to melt and shift. Morwen caught a glimpse of MacDonald's face, too distorted to tell whether his expression was one of astonishment or fear, before the scene became unrecognizable.

Suddenly, everything froze. For an impossibly long instant, they hung between greenish blurs and brown blobs. Then, with a painful jerk, everything darkened and slammed into proper shapes once more. Morwen dropped two inches into a puddle of mud. The landing jarred her glasses loose and tore Scorn from her shoulder. Morwen managed to catch the cat, but her glasses vanished into the mud. Behind them, there was a squishy thwump as Kazul landed, followed by a yowl from Trouble and various startled noises from Killer and Cimorene.

"Drat," Morwen muttered, swallowing hard. "I knew I should have brought a stomach remedy." The air was damp and smelled like rotten eggs, which didn't help any.

"And boots," Scorn said, relaxing in Morwen's hands.

"Definitely boots," Morwen agreed. The mud was cold, soft, and ankle deep, and between the gloom and her missing glasses she could not spot a better place to step to. Assuming, of course, that there was a better place to stand.

"Morwen?" Cimorene called. "Where are you?"

"Where are we, is the question," Scorn said.

"Quiet," said Morwen. "Over here, Cimorene. Scorn, I'm going to hunt for my glasses, and I'll need both hands. If you don't want to walk around in this, you'd better climb up on my back."

With a disdainful snort, Scorn scrambled out of Morwen's grasp and back to her shoulder. Slowly, Morwen bent forward, giving Scorn time to adjust her balance. Holding her sleeves out of the way with one hand, she fished in the mud with the other.

A series of sucking noises and squelches came near. "Morwen, what are you doing?" Cimorene asked. She was muddy to the elbows, and she held her drawn sword in one hand.