Dor was trying to write an essay, because the King had decreed that any future monarchs of Xanth should be literate. It was an awful chore. He knew how to read, but his imagination tended to go blank when challenged to produce an essay, and he had never mastered conventional spelling.
“The Land of Xanth,” he muttered with deep disgust.
“What?” the table asked.
“The title of my awful old essay,” Dor explained dispiritedly. “My tutor Cherie, on whom be a muted anonymous curse, assigned me a one-hundred-word essay telling all about Xanth. I don’t think it’s possible. There isn’t that much to tell. After twenty-five words I’ll probably have to start repeating. How can I ever stretch it to a whole hundred? I’m not even sure there are that many words in the language.”
“Who wants to know about Xanth?” the table asked. “I’m bored already.”
“I know you’re a board. I guess Cherie, may a hundred curse-burrs tangle in her tail, wants to know.”
“She must be pretty dumb.”
Dor considered. “No, she’s infernally smart. All centaurs are. That’s why they’re the historians and poets and tutors of Xanth. May all their high-IQ feet founder.”
“How come they don’t rule Xanth, then?”
“Well, most of them don’t do magic, and only a Magician can rule Xanth. Brains have nothing to do with it—and neither do essays.” Dor scowled at his blank paper.
