“Roseroar!” Mudge shouted. “Get ’im down! I’ll find some vines to tie ’im with!” He rushed toward the trees.
“No,” Jon-Tom growled tightly. “No.” His face fell as he stared at the bottle. Then he drew back his hand and made as if to fling the plastic container and its priceless contents into the deep woods. At the last instant he stopped himself. Now he was smiling malevolently at the tablet in his hand.
“No. We’re going to take it back. Take it back so that Clothahump can see it. Can see what we crossed half a world and nearly died a dozen times to bring him.” He stared at his uneasy companions. “This is the medicine. This will cure him. I’m sure it will. Then, when the pain has left his body and he is whole and healthy again, I’ll strangle him with my bare hands!”
“Ah don’t understand yo, Jon-Tom. What’s wrong if that’s the right medicine?”
“What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong.” He shook the bottle at her. “It’s acetylsalicylic acid, that’s what’s wrong!” Suddenly the anger went out of him, and he sat back down heavily on a fallen tree. “Why didn’t I think that might be it? Why?”
Mudge fought to pronounce the peculiar, otherworldly word, failed miserably. “You mean you know wot the bloody stuff is?”
“Know it?” Jon-Tom lifted tired eyes to the otter. “You remember when I arrived in this world, Mudge?”
“Now, that would be a ’ard day to forget, mate. I nearly spilled your guts all over a field o’ flowers.”
“Do you remember what I was wearing?”
Mudge’s face screwed up in remembrance. “That funny tight shirt and them odd pants.”
“Jeans, Mudge, jeans. I had a few things with me when Clothahump accidently brought me over. My watch, which doesn’t work anymore because the batteries are dead.”
“Spell’s worn out, you mean.”
“Let’s don’t get into that now, okay? My watch, a lighter, a few keys in a small metal box, and another small box about this big.” He traced an outline in the air in front of him.
“The second box held a few little items I always carried with me for unexpected emergencies. Some Pepto-Bismol tablets for an upset stomach, a couple of Band-Aids, a few blue tablets whose purpose we won’t discuss in mixed company, and some white tablets. Do you remember the white tablets, Mudge?”
The otter shook his head. “I wouldn’t ’ave a looksee through your personal things, mate.” Besides, he’d been interrupted before he could get the two boxes opened.
“Those tablets were just like these, Mudge. Just like these.” He stared dumbly at the bottle he held. “Acetylsalicylic acid. Aspirin, plain old ordinary everyday aspirin.”
“Ah guess it ain’t so ordinary hereabouts,” said Roseroar.
“Now, mate,” said Mudge soothingly, “’is wizardship couldn’t ’ave known you ’ad some in your back pocket all along, now could ’e? It were a sad mistake, but an ’onest one.”
“You think so? Clothahump knows everything.”
“Then why send us across ’alf the world to find somethin’’e already ’ad in ’is ’ouse?”
“To test me. To test my loyalty. He’s grooming me to take his place someday if he can’t send me home, and he has to make sure I’m up to the reputation he’s going to leave behind. So he keeps testing me.”
“Are you tellin’ me, mate,” muttered Mudge carefully, “that this ’ole damn dangerous trip was unnecessary from the beginnin’? That this ’ere glorious quest could’ve been left undone and we could’ve stayed comfy an’ warm back in the Bellwoods, doin’ civilized work like gettin’ laid an’ drunk?”
Jon-Tom nodded sadly. “I’m afraid so.”
Mudge’s reaction was not what Jon-Tom expected. He anticipated a replay of his own sudden fury, at least. Instead, the otter clasped his hands to his belly, bent over, and fell to the ground, where he commenced to roll wildly about while laughing uncontrollably. A moment later Drom’s own amused, high-pitched whinny filled the woods, while Roseroar was unable to restrain her own more dignified but just as heartfelt hysteria.
“What are you laughing about? You idiots, we nearly got killed half a dozen times on this journey! So what are you laughing about?” For some reason this only made his companions laugh all the harder.
Except for one. Soft hands were around his neck and still softer flesh in his lap as Folly sat down on his thighs.
“I understand, Jon-Tom. I feel sorry for you. I’ll always understand and I’ll never laugh at you.”
He struggled to squirm free of her grasp. This was difficult since she was seated squarely in his lap and had locked her hands tightly behind his neck.
“Folly,” he said as he wrestled with her, “I’ve told you before that there can’t be anything between us! For one thing, I already have a lady, and for another, you’re too young.”
She grinned winsomely. “But she’s half a world away from here, and I’m getting older every day. If you’ll give me half a chance, I’ll catch up to you.” By now the unicorn was lying on his back kicking weakly at the air, and Mudge was laughing hard enough to cry. Jon-Tom fought to free himself and failed each time he tried, because his hands kept contacting disconcerting objects.
Mudge looked up at his friend. Tears ran down his face and formed droplets on the ends of his whiskers. “’Ow are you going to magic your way out o’ this one, spell-slinger?” Something nudged him from behind, and he saw that the unicorn had crawled over close to him.
“Small you may be, otter, but you are most admirable in so many ways. I look forward to joining you on your homeward journey. It will give us the chance to get to know each other better. And it is said that where there is a will, there is a way.” He nuzzled the wide-eyed otter’s haunches.
Then it was Jon-Tom’s turn to laugh… .
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1984 by Thranx, Inc.
cover design by Jason Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-4532-1176-2
This edition published in 2011 by Open Road Integrated Media
180 Varick Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
The Day of the Dissonance: A Spellsinger Adventure (Book Three) Page 29
