“Let us compromise.” Everyone turned to Aleaukauna. She gestured in the direction of the boat, where the four other mongooses busied themselves readying it for travel while resolutely ignoring the noisy confrontation taking place behind them. “Accompany us only as far as Harakun, spellsinger. From there my family can provide individual escorts for each of my sisters, and you can resume your journey having detoured to only a single kingdom.”
The princesses discussed the suggestion and found it acceptable. As for Jon-Tom, he wasn’t quite ready to give in.
“How far is Harakun?”
“Not that far.” Naike had bravely rejoined him.
Mudge squinted perceptively at the Lieutenant. “An’ just ’ow far, guv, might ‘not that far’ be?”
The mongoose’s long snout quivered. “You know, river-runner. Not that far.”
The otter wasn’t satisfied. “Is it only me, mate, or is there a gap in communications ’ere?”
Ansibette slipped between them. “Accompany us at least to this town of Mashupro, where we can secure transport across the Farraglean to the distant shores of our home. We can discuss this matter further once we’ve arrived there. If Lieutenant Naike is satisfied with the ship and crew we engage, then perhaps you and your friend can leave us there.”
“I suppose we could do at least that much.” Jon-Tom lost himself in her eyes, which, given the multitude of optional locations, was probably the least dangerous place for them to be. “We’d probably end up in Mashupro anyway.”
Mudge gestured at the drifting, urgently chiming chords. “The music, mate. Wot about the music?”
“Music?” He blinked, breaking her stare, only to find himself encountering Naike’s beseeching gaze. To protect himself, he concentrated on the Lieutenant. “This Mashupro—is it really the major port at the end of the delta?”
“Not only the major, but as far as we could determine it is the only one,” Naike replied helpfully.
Nodding, Jon-Tom looked back down at Mudge. “The music can wait awhile.”
A ripe stream of inventive invective flowed from the otter’s lips. “Oi, but can we? A long journey in a small boat full to overflowin’ with gabblin’, spoiled females, each wantin’ ’er own dollop o’ personal attention. I didn’t come all this way for that, mate. We owe these royal ramblers not a thing, nor their un’appy cavalry, either.”
“Where’s your spirit of gallantry, Mudge?”
“Wot, that old thing?” The otter uttered something choice. Ansibette blushed, while Quiquell inhaled sharply. Even Pivver’s eyes dilated. “I believe I ’ad it exorcised a few years back.”
“If the Lieutenant is right and the music leads us all the way down to the ocean, we’ll have to find transportation in this Mashupro anyway. Unless you want me to try and spell-sing up a boat. Or have you forgotten what happened the last time I did that?”
Mudge hadn’t. “You managed the boat, all right, but spent most o’ the voyage stone drunk.”*
“An experience I have no wish to repeat.” The spellsinger was adamant. “I’d much rather try to hire a craft. Besides, for all we know, this kingdom of Harakun lies in the general direction the music is taking us.”
“As always, you rationalize well, mate.” The otter grimaced as he eyed the flat-bottomed boat. “’Tis goin’ to be one flavorful journey.”
“I’m not unaware of the potential for discomfort,” his friend assured him. “Our patience will be tested to the limit.”
“Your patience, mate. Meself, I never ’ad any to test.”
“I have confidence in you, Mudge.” Pivver stepped forward and put a reassuring paw on the other otter’s shoulder. Mudge’s expression changed abruptly, and not necessarily for the better, Jon-Tom thought. But at least there were no more objections. He turned back to the others.
“It’s settled. We’ll accompany you as far as Mashupro, and then we’ll see.” He gestured in the direction of the swirling cloud of notes. “It all depends on whether we can stay with the music.”
“Excellent!” exclaimed Aleaukauna.
“No one is going anywhere unless we can get this craft in the water.” Naike nodded at the boat. “The tide is down and it’s solidly beached.”
When the four straining soldiers proved unable to move the craft, Mudge stripped down to his fur and plunged in, as did Jon-Tom. Pivver joined them soon after, daintily placing her discarded attire on one of the boat’s bench seats.
After several moments of wrestling with the stern, she turned to Mudge, treading water effortlessly. “You know, it would probably be of greater benefit to the overall effort if you would put your hands on the wood and push instead of on me.”
“Sorry, Your Highboraness. Just tryin’ to find some better leverage.”
“I’m sure you are.” Her eyebrows rose. “However, in this instance that needs to be applied to the boat and not to my person.”
“Sorry.” Visibly miffed, he moved away from her. She strained against the sodden bulk a moment longer before her attitude softened slightly.
“We are going to be companions for some time. Given our circumstances, I see no need for you to refer to me as ‘Highness’ or by any other title. Informality being the order of the day, you may call me Lintania ler Culowyn aleyy Astrevian Pivver es Trenku.”
“Formality strikes me as simpler.” He spat out a mouthful of water plant. “’Ow’s about we say ‘Pivver’ an’ leave it at that? Me name you already knows.”
“Your name, yes, as well as that of your mate Weegee and your twinned offspring Nocter and Squill.”
Mudge’s gaze narrowed slightly as he strained to find footing in the mud. “Who told you that?”
“Why, your good friend the tall human.”
“’E would, the smiley son-of-a-simian.” Raising his voice, the otter shouted toward the front of the boat. “Oi, mate! Put your great sloppy weight into it, will you?”
Jon-Tom called back from his place near the bow, “Just shut up and pull! We’re doing all we can up here.”
Their combined effort soon had the vessel back in the water. One by one, the other princesses were helped aboard. With each additional passenger the gunwales sank lower. But no waves disturbed the glassy surface of the somnolent marsh and Naike was reasonably confident that, short of a particularly violent storm, all would be able to stay high and dry.
Heke and Karaukul soon had the single lateen sail raised. Unfortunately, there was not even the suggestion of a breeze and the cloth triangle hung limp and useless against the mast. The brief discussion which ensued resulted in Mudge and Jon-Tom manning the tiller while the four soldiers resignedly settled themselves at the oars and began to row.
“Once we’re out of these reeds and into a main channel, we’ll pick up a current.” The ever-optimistic Naike pulled hard on his sweep.
“In any event,” added Karaukul as he strained on the star-board side, “it’ll be easier than it was coming upstream.”
“If you ignore the fact that we’re riding much lower in the water.” Heke grunted with each stroke.
To take his mind off the work at hand, Pauko had been watching the lost chords. The softly pulsing musical mist floated near the stern, occasionally darting off to the south-west, only to return when it was clear the boat would not be diverted from its current course.
“Your music sounds unhappy,” he told the spellsinger.
“It sounds that way sometimes,” Jon-Tom admitted.
“It’ss only a clusster of mussical notess.” Intrigued, Seshenshe approached the cloud, experimentally waggling her fingers in its direction. “How can it ssound ‘unhappy,’ or, for that matter, anything elsse?”
“It’s music,” Jon-Tom reminded her. “Though a limited number of notes are involved, its range of emotional expression is considerable.”
“Then ’ow about you demonstrate by cheerin’ it up, mate?” Mudge was watching Pivver carefully. “We could all use a bit o’ upliftin’, wot? But no magic
,” he added hastily.
“Yes, give us a song, spellsinger!” Umagi smiled encouragingly.
“Sure, why not?” Swinging the duar around, Jon-Tom considered the delta through whose vast, silent reaches they were drifting. “What should I sing about?”
“Some sort of river chantey would be in order, I should think.” Aleaukauna picked at her fur.
“River chantey. A heavy metal river chantey. Neat idea.” His fingers flashed across the strings.
The cloud sparkled and sang in counterpoint. When Jon-Tom essayed a certain chord, it rang particularly loud. Pleased, he began to improvise faster, accelerating the tempo until the duet was in full swing. The music that sang out across the reeds and water grass was not particularly profound, but it was certainly lively. And while it did nothing to advance their progress through means mystical or otherwise, the mongooses straining at the oars seemed to row a little easier.
Ever alert and always suspicious when things were quiet, Mudge would not allow himself to relax completely even though nothing larger than a newt appeared to contest their progress.
Once, off in the distance, they saw a flock of birds making their way to the northeast. Everyone aboard waved, hoping to attract the travelers’ attention. Company and information both would have been welcomed, but either the fliers did not notice their presence or else chose to ignore it. The white wings vanished beyond a line of trees.
A newly depressing thought struck Mudge. Always unselfish in such matters, he hastened to share it with his companions.
“Sail an’ oars notwithstandin’, this tub is pretty much at the mercy o’ the current. Wot ’appens if we enter a main channel and find ourselves poppin’ out at the mouth o’ the delta unable to tack sideways? We’ll be at sea long before we can make it to this Mashupro.” He scuffed the rough-hewn deck.
“This wouldn’t last ten minutes in the open ocean. One decent-sized wave’d swamp us.”
“You court disaster unnecessarily, otter.” Naike was pulling more easily at his oar now as his body settled into a recurring pattern of pushing and pulling. “My kind have an excellent sense of direction.” He glanced briefly over his shoulder, eyeing the water ahead.
“All we have to do is find the main channel which we used to make our way up here. The mouth of the Karrakas is a maze of small straits, many of which run east to west instead of north and south. When the water starts to turn brackish, that is when we will use the sail to work our way eastward, to Mashupro. Coming in, we memorized our course most assiduously, lest we prove unable to find our way back out.”
Heke smashed a blood-sucking fly against the deck. “Don’t worry, otter. We don’t want to spend any more time in this country than we have to.” He sighed heavily. “I long for the cool breezes of Harakun.”
“As do we all.” The Lieutenant spoke feelingly.
An assortment of large, potentially dangerous denizens of the delta approached the boat on several occasions, most notably under cover of night. Each time they swam off without troubling its passengers. Perhaps the boat was too sturdy for any to attack. More likely it was the noise generated by the constantly chattering princesses.
Whatever the reason, the little craft proceeded southward unhindered and unchallenged.
Jon-Tom was handling the tiller, allowing Mudge to sit in the bow alongside the princess Pivver. Though too short to reach the water, the otters let their legs dangle over the side.
“I’d like to hear more of your wondrous adventures.”
“Adventures? Wot adventures!” Mudge inhaled her musk discreetly. It stood out even in aroma-heavy country like the delta. “We’ve surely ’ad our share, that crazy ’uman an’ I. I can’t tell you ’ow many o’ times I’ve ’ad to save ’is bald backside, ’ow many scrapes I’ve barely managed to pull ’im out of by the tips o’ me whiskers. Why, if it weren’t for me—”
She interrupted curiously. “Isn’t he the spellsinger?”
“Oh, sure, ’e can do a few parlor tricks now an’ again, but when the goin’ gets truly tough, ’tis good ol’ skill an’ boldness that ends up savin’ the day, as it were.” He dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. “See, ’e’s clever, Jonny-Tom is, but ’e ain’t too bright. Sort o’ instinctive-like rather than really intelligent. I don’t make a point o’ harpin’ on ’im about it. As you may ’ave noticed, ’e’s a bit o’ sensitive.”
“Perhaps a little,” she admitted.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Mudge said quickly. “I like the silly sod. ’E’s entertainin’ enough, an’ ’e builds a decent fire. A mite clumsy, though. You know ’ow ’umans are.”
“The poor thing is so fortunate to have a friend like you.”
“Oi, that ’e is, that ’e is. You should see ’im tryin’ to swim. Why, many’s the time I’ve ’ad to aul ’im out o’ some gentle-flowin’ river or stream an’ push on ’is great ’airless chest until the water squeezed out o’ ’is lungs like air from a bleed-in’ bellows. But wot can you expect from a creature wot flops about like a fish in sand an’ calls it swimmin’?”
Leaning over, she pinched one of his whiskers and twirled it back and forth between thumb and forefinger. “It’s not his fault. Our kind are so much more limber.”
“Right! We ’ave—” He halted in midsentence, suddenly aware of what she was doing. Suddenly aware of a number of things.
“I want to know all about you.” She was whispering into one ear. “I want to get to know you. Now then”—her alert brown eyes probed his own—“tell me about the places you’ve been and the marvels you’ve seen and the wondrous encounters you’ve had.”
Mudge found himself damning his present location. There was about as much privacy to be had on the prow of the flat-boat as in Lynchbany’s central square. Whiskers quivering, he leaned toward her.
“And your family,” she added huskily, sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “Tell me about your family.”
Mudge stiffened slightly. “’Tis just a family, like any other.”
“Come now—you are too modest. I have brothers and sisters who are distinctively my own. Beyond that, I have not mated yet. It must be to a suitable noble, of course.”
“O’ course.” Mudge gazed out across the moon-silvered wetlands. “’Ad I run into you twenty years ago, I couldn’t ’ave done nothin’ anyways. ’Tis many things I’ve been, an’ many things I am, but noble ain’t one o’ ’em.”
Her lashes brushed the moist air. “Nobles are for mating, bold Mudge. Rogues are for practice. Now, tell me more about your family.”
“You know wot a gamble globe is?”
She ruminated. “A spinning hollow sphere full of tiny numbered balls. Each time one falls through a hole in the side, its number is called out. Those with matching numbers or sequences of numbers may win money. Or so it goes in my country.”
He nodded. “That’s ’ow you make me feel, Princess.”
“Like a gambler?” She frowned prettily.
“Cor, no! Like one o’ those bleedin’ balls, waitin’ for its number to come up.”
“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh, ’ell. You upset me every time I set me bloomin’ eyes on you.”
“Well, then.” She massaged the back of his neck with strong fingers. “I’ll try my best not to unnerve you as we talk.”
“If that’s your intent, then you’re bloody failin’, luv. No, don’t stop. Might as well ’ave me body as confused an’ unsettled as me brain.”
He proceeded to regale her with reminiscences of his travels with the spellsinger Jon-Tom … with their respective contributions suitably skewed, and his own appropriately enhanced.
*See The Day of the Dissonance.
Chapter 12
THEY SOON FOUND themselves in a main channel and proceeded southward at increased speed and in pleasant fashion. Only occasionally was it necessary for the soldiers to bend to the oars or to climb overboard to hack at the floating grasses and reeds wh
ich collected around the bow or tiller. Manzai the abductor had not troubled their thoughts for many days. For the princesses, the principal source of complaint continued to be their radically altered (not to say addled) appearance, which contrary to Jon-Tom’s hopes had yet to begin to return to normal.
It was very early the next morning (much too early, Jon-Tom decided as he lifted his head from the pillow he’d made from his cloak) that Pauko let out a shout, followed immediately by words of warning.
“Rouse yourselves and to arms! Something comes!”
“Somethin’ comes?” A sleepy Mudge fought to wake up. “Wot the bloody ’ell kind o’ alarm is that, somethin’ comes?”
“Explain yourself, Pauko!” Naike was already standing and gripping his sword. “What comes?”
“I … I don’t know, sir. Something monstrous bright. It’s heading straight for us, or else we’re drifting down upon it.”
By now the princesses were beginning to stir. They should be well rested, Jon-Tom mused, since none of them would stoop to taking a turn on watch. That plebeian duty was left to him, Mudge, and the mongooses.
Struggling to notch an arrow, the otter kept missing the bowstring due to lingering grogginess. As evidenced by the steady stream of curses he addressed to the bow, however, his mouth was already fully responsive and in excellent working order.
“Bloody bleedin’ blinkin’ string o’ useless ratbag! Jon-Tommy, wot the ’ell’s ’appenin’?”
“I’m trying to find out!” Stumbling forward, Jon-Tom dug sleep from his eyes.
A vast pale phosphorescence lay dead ahead, throbbing in the early morning darkness. What at first sight appeared to be a volute mass with two heads resolved itself into a pair of four-legged shapes as they drifted closer. There was no thought or hope of turning the boat: the flatbottom was no racing yacht, to be lithely pivoted on an imperceptible breeze.
Jon-Tom relaxed slightly when he saw that the creatures were harnessed in parallel. That implied domestication of some sort, which in turn suggested control. Whatever were bearing down upon them were no wild beasts of the marsh. Extraordinary they certainly were: He’d never before seen their like.
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