The Day of the Dissonance: A Spellsinger Adventure (Book Three)

by Alan Dean Foster

  Then he was being assailed by a volley of anxious whispers.

  “Me too, sir … and me … me also … !”

  The whole dorm was awake and crowding around Folly’s bed, pawing at the adults, pleading in a dozen dialects for help. Tails twitched nervously from the backsides of dozens of nightclothes, all black.

  “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “This looks like such a nice place. But it’s not right if they beat you all the time.”

  “That’s not all they do,” said Folly. “Haven’t you noticed how perfect this place is?”

  “You mean, clean?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not just clean. It’s sterile. Woe unto any of us caught with a dirt smudge or piece of lint on us. We’re supposed to be perfect at mealtime, perfect at study, and perfect at devotions, so we can be perfect citizens when we’re old enough to be turned out on the street again.

  “A bunch of the supervisors here were raised here and this is the only home they know. They’re the worst. We wear only black because a perfect person can’t have any distractions and color is distracting. There’re no distractions of any kind. No dancing, no singing, no merriment at all. Maybe all the jokes the pirates told were brutal and crude, but at least they had a sense of humor. There’s no humor in this place.”

  Myealn had slipped out of her bed. Now she leaned close to Folly. “The other thing,” she whispered urgently. “Tell them about the other thing.”

  “I was getting to that.” Nervously, Folly glanced at the doorway at the far end of the room. “Since a perfect person doesn’t need silly things like merriment and pleasure, one of the first things they do here is make sure you’re made perfect in that regard.”

  Mudge frowned. “Want to explain that one, luv?”

  “I mean, they see to it that no pleasurable diversions of any kind remain to divert you from the task of becoming perfect.” The otter gaped at her, then waved to take in the shuffling crowd of anxious, black-clad youngsters.

  “Wot a bloody ’ouse o’ devils we stumbled into! You mean every one o’ these … ?”

  Folly nodded vigorously. “Most of them, yes. The males are neutered and the females spayed. To preserve their perfection by preventing any sensual distractions. They’re going to operate on me tomorrow.”

  “Against your will?” Jon-Tom struggled to come to grips with this new, coldly clinical horror.

  “What could we do?” Myealn sobbed softly. “Who would object on our behalf? We’re all orphans, none of us even have guardians. And the Friends of the Street have a wonderful reputation with the people who run the city government because there’s never any trouble here.”

  “And the Friends of the Street put model citizens back into the population,” Folly added. “People who never give the city any trouble.”

  Jon-Tom was so furious he was shaking. “If you got out of this place,” he asked the trembling, altered youngsters, “where would you go?”

  Again a flurry of desperate pleas. “Anywhere … anyplace … the waterfront, I want to be a sailor … I can sew, be a steamstress … I’m good with paints … I want to be … !”

  He shushed them all. “We’ll get you out. Somehow. Mudge, what about the dorm we came through? Can we risk going back that way with all these kids?”

  “Fuck the risk, mate.” Jon-Tom had never seen the otter so mad. “Not only are we goin’ back into the other dorm, we’re goin’ to break every cub out o’ this pit o’ abomination. Come on, you lot,” he told them. “Quietlike.” Jon-Tom followed behind, making sure no one was left and shepherding them along like a giraffe among a flock of sheep.

  The hallway and the stairs were silent. Once in the other dorm those awake went from bed to bed waking their friends and explaining what was happening. When they were through, the center aisle was full of milling, anxious young faces.

  Mudge opened the door to the supply closet. At the same time the door at the other end of the dorm burst open. Standing in the opening was the powerful figure of a five-foot-tall adult lynx. Green eyes flashed.

  “What’s going on in here?” He started in. “By the Eight Levels of Purity, I will have the hide off whoever is responsible!” Then he caught sight of Jon-Tom standing like a pale tower above the heads of the youngsters. “How did you get in here?”

  Jon-Tom faced him with a broad, innocent smile. “Just visiting. A little late, I know. Special dispensation from Chokas.”

  “Just visiting be damned! Where’s your pass? These are not visiting times.”

  Jon-Tom kept smiling as the cubs crowded close around him. “Like I said, friend, it’s a special occasion.”

  The monitor carried a short, ugly black whip which he now drew back threateningly. “You’re coming with me to see the Headmaster, whoever you are. I do not know how you got in here, or you either,” he added as he espied Mudge, “but you are not leaving without making proper explanation. The rest of you,” he roared, “back to your beds!”

  The youngsters milled around uncertainly. Many of them were starting to bawl.

  “’Ere now, guv’nor, there’s no reason to get upset.” Mudge toddled toward him, smiling broadly.

  The whip cracked just in front of the otter’s nose. The children started to scatter for their beds, whimpering loudly.

  “Now, hold on there, friend.” Jon-Tom put his ramwood staff in front of his chest. “Let’s be careful with that whip, shall we?”

  “Cute little gimcrack, snake master,” said Mudge, still grinning and walking toward the monitor. The lynx eyed his approach warily.

  “That is far enough, trespasser. Take another step toward me and I’ll have one of your eyes out.”

  Mudge halted, threw up both hands and gaped at the lynx in mock horror. “Wot, and mar me perfection? Crikey, why would you want to muss up me perfect self?” He started to turn, abruptly leaped at the monitor.

  The lynx wasn’t slow, but Mudge was a brown blur in the dim light. The whip snapped down and cut across the back of the otter’s neck. Mudge’s sword was faster still, slicing through the whip handle just above the big cat’s fingers.

  The monitor bolted for the open door. “Mudge, no!”

  Jon-Tom yelled, but Mudge didn’t hear him in time. Or perhaps he did. The short sword spun end over end. It was the hilt that struck the lynx in the back of the head with a gratifyingly loud thump. The monitor dropped as if poleaxed.

  Jon-Tom breathed a sigh of relief. “Smart throw, Mudge. We don’t need a murder complicating our departure.”

  Mudge retrieved his sword. “That’s right, mate, but I can’t take the credit. I was tryin’ to separate ’is ’ead from ’is shoulders.”

  “Quick now!” Jon-Tom instructed the youngsters as he headed for the storage closet. “Everyone out, before someone else shows up to check on you.” He led them through the storage closet. “Don’t push, everyone’s going to get out … don’t shove in the back… .”

  Roseroar strained to see better as shadows moved against the open window. So far no one had appeared to spot the dangling rope of pastel linen, but it would take only one passing pedestrian to give the alarm.

  She expected to see Jon-Tom or Mudge or even the girl. What she did not expect to see was the silent column of cubs who began descending the sheets. Some species were built for climbing and climbed down quickly and gracefully, while others had a more difficult time with the descent, but all made it safely. She dropped clear of the tree and rushed toward the building. The cubs largely ignored her as they ran off in different directions, small dark shapes swallowed by the shadows.

  The prepubescent exodus continued for some time. Finally Jon-Tom, Mudge, and Folly appeared at the open window.

  At the same time, lights began to wink on throughout the orphanage complex.

  XI

  SO THE OTTER’S SUSPICIONS had been well founded, she decided. That was the only possible explanation for the mass escape in progress. She waited anxiously as Mudge slipped down the rope. F
olly followed closely.

  Jon-Tom had just stepped through the window opening and was climbing over the iron grate when something whizzed past his head. It struck the street below. Roseroar picked it up, found herself inspecting a small club. The knobbed end was studded with nails. Not the kind of disciplinary device one would expect a dormitory supervisor or teacher to carry.

  The last fleeing cub vanished down a narrow alleyway. Within the orphanage, bells were clanging violently. Mudge reached the bottom of the rope and jumped clear. Folly slipped, fell the last five feet, and almost broke an ankle. The reason for her fall was clear; a pile of pink linen spiraled down on top of her.

  “Bloody ’ell!” The otter looked upward and cursed. “I ’ad the other end tied to a bedpost. Someone must ’ave cut it.” He could see Jon-Tom hanging on to the grating with one hand while trying to defend himself with his staff.

  From within the storage closet outraged shouts were clearly audible down on the street. The grating creaked loudly as it bent on its hinges.

  “They’ll ’ave ’im in a minute,” the otter muttered helplessly, “if that old iron doesn’t break free first.”

  Neither happened. Someone inside the supply room jabbed outward with a spear. Jon-Tom leaned back to dodge the deadly point, lost his grip, and fell. The staff dropped from his fingers as he tumbled head over heels, wrapped up in his lizard skin cape. Folly screamed. Lesser wails came from dark shadows nearby as those few children who’d paused to catch their breath saw their benefactor fall.

  But there was no sickening thud of flesh meeting stone. Roseroar grunted softly. It was the only hint of any strain as she easily caught the plunging Jon-Tom in both arms. He pushed away the cape which had become wrapped around his head and stared up at her.

  “Thanks, Roseroar.” She grinned, set him down gently. He adjusted his attire and recovered his staff. The duar, still slung across his back, had survived the fall unscathed.

  “’Ell of a catch, luv!” Mudge gave the tigress a complimentary whack on the rump, darted out of reach before her paw could knock him silly. There were several faces staring down at them from the open window, yelling and issuing dire promises. Jon-Tom ignored them.

  “Y’all okay?” Roseroar inquired solicitously.

  “Fine.” He slung the cape back over his shoulders, brushed at his face. “If you hadn’t caught me, Clothahump would have a longer wait for his medicine.”

  “And y’all brought out the girl, ah see.”

  Folly stepped toward her. “I am not a girl! I’m as grown-up as you are.”

  Roseroar lifted her eyebrows as she regarded the skimp of a human. “Man deah, no one is as grown-up as ah am.”

  “Depends on whether someone prefers quality to quantity.”

  “’Ere now, wot’s all this?” Mudge stepped between the ladies. “Not that I mind if you two want to ’ave a go at each other. Just give me a ten-minute ’ead start before the fireworks commence, yes?” He gestured to his right. “I don’t think now’s the time for private digressions, though.”

  At least a dozen black-clad adult shapes had appeared near the main entrance. Jon-Tom couldn’t see if Chokas was among them, but he had no intention of hanging around to find out.

  They headed off in the opposite direction, and Jon-Tom saw they needn’t worry about pursuit. The black-clad gestapo maintained by the Friends of the Street wasn’t after them. They were fanning out toward the alleys and side streets in search of their escaped flock.

  Jon-Tom considered intercepting them. It was difficult not to, but he had to tell himself that they’d done everything possible for the children. Most, if not all, of them ought to make it to the safety of the crowded city below, and he suspected they were wise enough to discard their incriminating black-and-lace night clothes at the first opportunity.

  One of their own was faced with the same dilemma. “You’ve got to get out of that nightdress, Folly,” he told her. Obediently, she started to pull it over her head, and he hastened to restrain her. “No, no, not yet!”

  They were racing down a steep street that led back toward the harbor area. It had begun to drizzle. He was grateful for the rain. It should aid the fleeing children in their escape.

  “Why not yet?” Folly eyed him curiously. Curiosity gave way rapidly to a coy smile. “When you first saw me on Corroboc’s boat I wasn’t wearing anything but an iron collar. Why should my nakedness bother you now?”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” he lied. “It’s raining and I don’t want you contracting pneumonia.” Citizens of Snarken out for an evening stroll watched the flight with interest.

  “I don’t mind if you see me naked,” she said innocently. “You like me a little, don’t you, Jon-Tom?”

  “Of course I like you.”

  “No. I mean you like me.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re still a child, Folly.”

  “You don’t look at me the way you’d look at a child.”

  “She ain’t built like no cub, mate.”

  Jon-Tom glared over at the otter. “Stay out of this, Mudge.”

  “Excuse me, guv’nor. None o’ me business, right?” He skittered along next to Roseroar, running fluidly on his stubby legs and trying to hide a grin.

  “I’m concerned for your welfare, Folly.” Jon-Tom struggled to explain. “I don’t like to see anyone taken advantage of. You noticed that we freed everyone from the orphanage and not just you.”

  “I know, but you didn’t come to free everyone. You came because I was there.”

  “Of course. You’re a friend, Folly. A good friend.”

  “Is that all?” As she ran there was a lot of movement beneath the damp nightdress. Jon-Tom was having a difficult time concentrating on the street ahead. “Just a good friend?”

  Roseroar listened with one ear to the infantile dialogue while trying her best to ignore it. Idiot humans! She made certain to inspect every side street they passed. Surely, as soon as the Friends of the Street finished rounding up as many escapees as they could, they’d contact the police about the break-in.

  Besides worrying about that new problem, she had to endure the banalities mouthed by the adolescent human female who was flirting shamelessly with Jon-Tom.

  So what? She considered her discomfiture carefully. Why, she asked herself, should she find such harmless chatter so aggravating? Admirable the spellsinger might be, but he wasn’t even a member of a related species. Any relationship besides mutual respect and strong friendship was clearly out of the question. The very thought was absurd! The man was a skinny, furless thing less than half her size. It made no sense for her to concern herself with his personal business.

  She assured herself her interest was only natural. Jon-Tom was a friend, a companion now. It was just as he’d said to the girl: it hurt to see anyone taken advantage of. Roseroar wasn’t about to let this scheming adolescent take advantage of him. And take advantage of him Folly would, if given half a chance. Roseroar was sure of that much. She shook her head as Jon-Tom allowed himself to be smothered with verbal pap, astonished at the naiveté displayed during courtship by the human species. She’d thought better of him.

  She ignored it for as long as she could, until she was unable to stand the veiled remarks and coy queries any longer.

  “Ah think we can slow down some now.” Jon-Tom and Mudge agreed with her. Everyone slowed to a fast walk. Roseroar moved close to the girl. “And ah also think it would be a good ideah if we all kept quiet foah a while. We don’t want to attract any undue attention. In addition to which, if ah’m forced to listen to any moan o’ yoah simperin’, girl, ah may vomit.”

  Folly eyed the tigress. “Something bothering you?”

  “Nothin’ much, little female. It’s just that ah have a great respect foah the language. Hearin’ it used so foolishly always upsets man digestion.”

  Folly turned to Jon-Tom. She flashed blue eyes and blonde hair in the reflected light from storefronts and street lamps. Her skin, wet with
drizzle, sparkled.

  “Do you think I’m talking foolish, Jon-Tom?”

  “Maybe just a little, yes.”

  She responded with a much practiced and perfectly formed pout. Roseroar sighed and turned away, wondering why she went to the trouble. The spellsinger had shown himself to be a man of intelligence and insight. It distressed her to see him so blatantly manipulated. She increased her stride so she wouldn’t have to listen to any more of it.

  “You don’t like me,” Folly murmured to Jon-Tom.

  “Of course I like you.”

  “I knew you did!” She turned and threw her arms around him, making him stagger. “I knew you liked me!”

  “Please, Folly.” Jon-Tom reluctantly worked to disengage himself. Roseroar would have been happy to help, though she might have broken both of the girl’s arms in the process. “Folly, I already have a woman.” Her expression fell abruptly. She moved away from him, once more concentrating on the street ahead.

  “You never told me that.”

  “It was never necessary to tell you. Her name’s Talea. She lives near a town called Lynchbany, which lies far across the Glittergeist.”

  Otter ears overheard and Mudge fell back to join them. “O’course, she ain’t really ’is woman,” he said conversationally, thoroughly delighting in Jon-Tom’s discomfort. “They’re just friends is all.”

  Folly’s delight returned upon hearing this disclosure. “Oh, that’s all right, then!”

  “Besides, you’re much too young for what you’re thinking,” Jon-Tom told her, impaling Mudge with a stare promising slow death.

  “Too young for what?”

  “Just too young.” Strange. The right words had been there on his lips just a moment earlier. Odd how they vanished the instant you needed them.

  “Bet I could convince you otherwise,” she said coquettishly.

  “Here’s the right cross street,” he said hastily, lengthening his stride. “We’ll be back at the inn in a couple of minutes.”