Chorus Skating

by Alan Dean Foster

  From the start, Mudge kept his paws over his ears. The lost chords swirled about madly, like an overstressed typhoon. Tack winced, and even Phembloch looked as though he were wondering if his request had been a good idea.

  A lustrous radiance cast shadows on the ratal’s powerfully muzzled face. With a look of awe and then delight, he turned to watch the spellsong at work. So did Tack, though the shrew had to half close his more sensitive eyes in order to be able to look directly at the glow. Jon-Tom warbled on, pleased with his efforts, while Mudge hunted desperately for some thick moss with which to plug his ears.

  So it was that when they finally took their leave of the two inherently inefficient, would-be con artists, they left behind them a gate that was rather more impressive than the pole and pivot arrangement they had originally encountered.

  Arching over the narrow causeway of comparatively dry land, it plunged into the depths of the swamp on either side. The soaring, curved marble seemed to blaze from within. Leaves of gold fringed the multiple arches, which boasted mosaics fashioned from semiprecious stones. Red, blue, and yellow searchlights transfixed the air above the gate, in the center of which ten thousand twinkling glowbulbs spelled out the words REST STOP. Animated cherubs darted back and forth beneath the arch, beckoning visitors to ease their burden by pausing awhile. Flanking this were a pair of prominent, cone-crowned turrets. Over each hung a captive dark cloud from which flashed bolts of blue lightning.

  The pole and pivot had been replaced with a translucent rail composed of strands of neon tubing. This burned so bright it was difficult to look at directly. The glow from the entire outrageous construct would be visible for miles in every direction, even at high noon.

  Tack shaded his eyes as Jon-Tom concluded the spellsong. “Well, now. A gate that is.”

  “We are indebted for this wonder,” added Phembloch. “Accept our deepest thanks.”

  “Oi, it ’tis incredibly vulgar, ain’t it?” Mudge felt a certain pride in his friend’s efforts as he eyed the flamboyant garishness.

  Jon-Tom was less certain. “Maybe I overdid it a little.”

  “Wot, you, overdo a spell?” The otter was the very picture of mock outrage. “Not a chance, mate. Just to reassure you, you should know that it suits me taste perfectly.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Better you turn back the way you’ve come.” Phembloch couldn’t resist offering one final bit of advice as the two travelers prepared to be on their way again.

  Mudge glanced back over a shoulder. “Blimey, guv: If we tended to turn back the way we’ve come, we’d never ’ave gotten nowhere except where we’d already been.” Ratal and shrew were left to mull this impenetrable profundity as man and otter strode off toward the southern horizon.

  “Tell me truthfully, Mudge,” Jon-Tom asked after they had left the gatekeepers far behind. “It’s not that gaudy, is it?”

  “Oh, ’tis unbelievably tawdry, mate. You can rest assured on that. A grand job, wholly in keepin’ with your spellsingin’ skills.”

  The glow from the ostentatious gate was still visible off to the north, rising above the treetops. “I tried to keep the lyrics simple. Not that it matters. Eventually the power of the spell will fade. Maybe by that time our erstwhile gatekeepers will have found gainful employment.”

  “Erstwhile? Wot the ’ell kind o’ word is erstwhile?”

  Chapter 6

  THEY DEBATED JON-TOM’S choice of words while hacking at the vegetation with their swords, for the path through the wetlands soon grew more difficult, and it quickly became an effort to keep to dry land. Phembloch and Tack had not been lying when they’d told them there were no readily recognizable roads or trails through the thickening morass.

  Mudge put as much energy into complaining as he did into chopping a path. The inimitable Mudge; Mudge the Clever, Mudge the Quick: playing gardener so that his simpleminded human friend could stumble along through dense swamp after a detached and maybe deranged bit of music! Oblivious to his thoughts the chordal concatenation thrummed contentedly nearby, vibrating the air. It was an attractive sound, and absolutely no help whatsoever in forging a path through the damp vegetation.

  Jon-Tom knew every expression in his friend’s considerable arsenal and did his best to maintain his spirits. It wasn’t easy to be cheerful, what with rivers of perspiration streaming down his front and back, soaking his clothes to his skin.

  “Perk up, Mudge. Where’s that irrepressible otter spirit?” He jabbed playfully at the other’s tail with his own sap-smeared sword.

  “Get away, ya bleatin’ bloody enigma!” Mudge took a few swipes of his own at the hovering music, which at present was a faint pink blur against the greenery. It did not react as the blade passed through its wave-form substance, but when it resumed chiming it sounded decidedly melancholy.

  “Don’t be like that, Mudge. Think how much more of the world we’re getting to see.”

  “Should’ve stayed home in me own bed,” the otter grumbled as he peered up into the dense canopy. “If the rest o’ the world is all green like this, I expect I could’ve kept to Weegee’s garden an’ been equally the wiser.”

  “What about your driving curiosity? I know you still have it.” The spellsinger’s sword sent chunks of obstructing verdure flying. “An incurious otter is a contradiction in terms.”

  “Oi, but a tired an’ bored one is not.” Mudge hitched up a fallen sleeve on his vest.

  In the lead now, Jon-Tom looked back at his friend. “I think I know better than—”

  He never finished the sentence. His next sword swipe caused him to overbalance and he went tumbling over a concealed ledge. Yelping and cursing all the way, he bounced down the slick slope. It was neither especially steep nor long, which was just as well, since he had to devote all his attention to making sure he didn’t crush the precious duar beneath him or get tangled up with the sharp sword still clutched tightly in his right hand.

  Reaching the bottom with everything precious still apparently intact, he rolled over one last time and bumped up against something soft that was not a representative of the plant kingdom. It let out a startled oath and sprang clear.

  “Ho!” the voice yelled. “Brigands in the woods! On your guard, soldiers of Harakun!”

  Jon-Tom struggled to process this unexpected information as he fought to get back on his feet. Unlike his dignity, the duar was intact.

  Behind him he heard Mudge’s familiar and more traditional otter war cry of “Watch your ass!” as a hazel-hued, green-capped blur sped past him. This was followed by the ring of metal on metal as the otter intercepted a thrust meant for his friend’s left knee.

  Blinking mud and swamp muck from his eyes while trying to wipe his face clean, Jon-Tom had just enough sense to parry the next blow himself, leaving Mudge to deal with fresh difficulties elsewhere. The blade that caromed off his own was as short as the otter’s, a parody of a real sword.

  His opponent was as wiry as Mudge and slightly shorter. Clad in gray leather armor striped and inlaid in blue, together with matching helmet, the creature darted about on shorter but equally quick feet. It had a longer muzzle, ears on the sides of its head, and a long, skinny tail that it used for balance as it darted nimbly from side to side. Light gray in color with six pale brown stripes across its back, it flashed small but wicked teeth at the much bigger human as it thrust and slashed with its weapon. Whiskers protruded not only from the muzzle but also above the eyes, as in many of the cats. But it was no cat, Jon-Tom was certain of that.

  Three more scrambled to join the one doing battle with Jon-Tom, kicking dirt on their campfire and scattering gear in their haste to join the battle. Though outnumbered, Jon-Tom felt his greater size and strength coupled with Mudge’s quickness served to equalize the confrontation.

  Now that his companion was safely back on his feet and in fighting position once more, Mudge moved around in front of him. That way the otter could ward off any blows aimed at his friend’s legs,
while Jon-Tom could use his much greater reach and longer sword to keep their opponents at bay. In such close quarters there was no time to draw a bow or, for that matter, compose and play a suitable spellsong.

  Repulsed, their assailants backed off, forming a semicircle with weapons at the ready. One looked longingly at the elegant halberds stacked neatly by the fire. Each blade was different, reflecting the work of some unknown but highly accomplished armorer.

  “Banded mongoose.” Jon-Tom watched the lethal quartet intently.

  “Aye. One o’ the few creatures that can give an otter a run for ’is money when it comes to speed an’ agility. Watch yourself, mate. This ain’t no sorry mob o’ bandits. This lot ’as done some professional fightin’ before, they ’ave.”

  For a while nothing was said as bright black eyes flicked from human to otter. The mongoose nearest the demolished campfire started edging his way toward the halberds. The intent was easy to figure. Unable to reach their opponents with their short swords, they would have to make use of the much longer, heavier weapons if they hoped to negate the human’s impressive reach.

  Clearly Jon-Tom and Mudge couldn’t allow that.

  The one who’d struck first at the spellsinger boasted three inlaid azure stripes on his helmet and shoulders, together with an embedded spiral shell motif. This was more in the way of insignia than any of the others displayed. He was clearly in charge.

  “What are you afraid of?” he barked at his troops. “It’s only one otter and a human!”

  The soldier on the officer’s left was watching Jon-Tom carefully. “Mighty big human.”

  “Let’s everyone just calm down.” Jon-Tom lowered the point of his sword. “We mean no one any harm. We’re just travelers in a hard land, like yourselves.”

  “You attacked me,” said the officer accusingly.

  “I didn’t attack anyone. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I fell off that little ridge.” Keeping his eyes on their assailants, he gestured up and back with his free hand. “It’s the first ridge we’ve encountered in days, and I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “Oi, you know ’ow clumsy ’umans are,” Mudge added helpfully. “Not like me an’ thee.”

  The officer looked uncertain, but dropped his own weapon slightly. “For such a short fall you made an awful great crash coming down into me.”

  Jon-Tom tapped the muddy but intact duar strapped to his back. “My instrument. I had to be careful of it.” The mongoose strained to see. “I’m a musician by trade.”

  “Really?” The officer pushed back the brim of his leather helmet, which threatened to slip down over his eyes. “Your intent is not to kill and rob us?”

  “Why would we want to do that, guv?” Mudge shook his head. “There’s four o’ you an’ only the two o’ us. Besides, everyone knows soldiers don’t ever ’ave any money.”

  “The river-runner speaks truth there!” agreed one of the other soldiers heartily. The officer relaxed a little more.

  A full head taller than any of his companions, the third member of the quartet ventured his own opinion. “It seems to have been an accident.”

  “Please accept my apology.” Sheathing his sword, Jon-Tom extended a hand.

  “’Ere now, mate!” Mudge protested. “’Twere an ’onest mistake. We don’t ’ave to apologize for … umph!” He bent double as a smiling Jon-Tom elbowed him gently but firmly in the solar plexus.

  “Fair enough.” The mongoose eyed the furless palm and took it in his own. The small, almost delicate-appearing fingers gripped like steel.

  “It’s funny,” said Jon-Tom as he drew back his hand, “but we were thinking that you four might be bandits.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, mate.” Mudge sucked air. “Look at ’em! Much too clean-cut to be proper robbers.”

  “We are soldiers of the Great and Noble Kingdom of Harakun!” The officer straightened visibly.

  “Never ’eard o’ it.” Rubbing his chest, Mudge favored his traveling companion with a look more eloquent than any extended verbal commentary.

  “It lies far from here, along the gentle eastern shore of the Farraglean,” the officer added.

  Jon-Tom brightened. “As a matter of fact, that’s the direction we’re headed. Not necessarily to your Harakun,” he added quickly, “but the Farraglean. If you don’t mind our presence, we’d be pleased to accompany you.” He volunteered his most accommodating smile. “Since we’ve already made each other’s acquaintance, all that’s needed is to formalize it. I am called Jon-Tom, and this is my friend Mudge.”

  The mongoose smiled hesitantly. “I am Lieutenant Naike, and these are true soldiers of Harakun.” He pointed them out as he named each one. “Heke, Pauko, and Karaukul. What you suggest has merit, for truly there is strength in numbers. But while I have no objection to your joining us for a portion of our homeward journey, we must first complete our mission. For that, alas, we must now travel in a different direction.”

  “Quite possibly to our deaths.” The tall one called Karaukul wore a somber expression that seemed permanently etched into his face. A black streak that ran vertically down over his left eye only added to a naturally funereal air.

  “Righty-ho,” said Mudge briskly. “Well, nice chattin’ with you lot.” Sheathing his sword, he waved energetically in the direction of the hovering, slightly skittish cloud of music.

  “Come along then, mate, and leave us be on our way.”

  “Just a moment, Mudge.”

  The otter winced visibly. Those four simple words had nearly been the cause of his demise on more occasions than he cared to remember.

  Jon-Tom eyed the officer sympathetically. “I don’t understand.”

  “We are here because a great honor has been bestowed upon us.”

  “Uh-oh,” mumbled Mudge. “Any time I ’ear ‘honor’ an’ ‘death’ in the same frame o’ reference I know we’re goin’ to ’ave problems reachin’ any sort o’ mutual understandin’.”

  Naike barely glanced in the otter’s direction. “But our difficulties are no concern of yours. Though our initial encounter was somewhat acrimonious, it need not inhibit us now. In such a lonely place it’s always good to hear the tales others have to tell.” He gestured toward the remnants of the scattered campfire. “Please join us for a while. A pleasant exchange of conversation will be a good way to begin what might be our last day on earth.”

  “Oi, ’tis definitely time we were on our way,” Mudge said quickly. “Clothahump would ’ave a fit, ’e would, if ’e thought we were malingerin’, an’ our trippin’ tune is growin’ impatient as ever.” He pulled forcibly at Jon-Tom’s sleeve.

  Deeply intrigued by the mongoose, the spellsinger disengaged his companion. Mudge indulged in a heavy, deep sigh of resignation.

  “What quest brings you so far from your homeland?”

  The Lieutenant set himself to explain. “Again, it is no worry of yours, but since you ask, I can tell you that we four have been charged with restoring the Princess Aleaukauna ma ki Woluwariwari to the bosom of the distraught royal family from whence she has been disappeared.”

  “Princess?” A gamut of expression passed over Mudge’s face in the blink of an eye. “Um, perhaps we might could spare a minim to listen to the details of your story. Be bloody impolite to rush off without at least grantin’ ’em a listenin’ to, don’t you know.” He folded his short legs under him as Pauko and Heke strove to restore the meal that had been so unexpectedly upset.

  “First you must know that the Princess is somewhat headstrong.”

  “A characteristic common to many princesses, I believe,” ventured Jon-Tom sympathetically.

  “After what I am told was a protracted disagreement with her mother, the Queen, she chose to try and lose herself in the northern wilds. This protest caused no immediate alarm within Harakun because no one believed she could get very far, and that before she could place herself in danger, her anger would subside and she would return to the palace of her own accord.
” At this Karaukul muttered something under his breath and the Lieutenant frowned in his direction.

  “Everyone was dreadfully wrong on both counts, and several court advisers lost various important parts of their anatomies as a result. Furthermore, the Princess has shown herself to be resourceful beyond imagining. Many were set on her trail, but as far as I know we are the only ones who have actually succeeded in locating her. There is great concern for her safety in Harakun.”

  “With good reason.” Pauko didn’t look up from his work. Instead of chastising him for interrupting, Naike nodded in agreement.

  “At what we believed at the time to be the limit of our wanderings,” the officer went on, “we learned she had been seen in a coastal town south of here.”

  “Mashupro,” Jon-Tom guessed.

  Heke was surprised. “You know the place, then?”

  “No. Never been there. That’s to be our next destination.”

  “Ah.” The soldier looked disappointed.

  “It seems,” Naike continued, “that the Princess’s presence was noted by one Manzai. Although descriptions are imprecise, and were apt to be colored by everything from fear to admiration, this individual apparently enjoys a status somewhere between that of a brigand and a noble. He has carved his own little private fiefdom out of this detestable country, wherein he exercises absolute power.

  “If what we learned is to be believed, it is he who has kidnapped our Princess.”

  “Oi!” Mudge was on familiar ground. “Ransom!”

  “Apparently not.” Naike’s brow creased. “It is possible she was abducted for unmentionable activities, though there is no certainty of that. Our sources were somewhat obscure on the matter.”

  “Oh, them.” Mudge leaned back against a mossy log.

  Heke glared at the otter. “Do you disrespect our Princess?”

  “Can’t,” Mudge responded nonchalantly. “’Aven’t met ’er yet.”

  The soldier hesitated, uncertain, and decided to return to his chores.

  “We are sworn,” the Lieutenant went on, “to bring back the Princess or perish in the attempt.”