Chorus Skating

by Alan Dean Foster

  A week had passed when the storm loomed on that chosen horizon. From his position behind the wheel, Naike beckoned Jon-Tom to join him. The sea had grown irritable and he knew from experience what the open ocean could be like on an off day.

  “What do you think?” He gestured forward. The squall line extended as far as the eye could see, a threatening rampart of advancing gray-black. “We’ll have to get around it somehow. Port or starboard?” His small but strong hands waited expectantly on the wheel.

  “Why ask me?” Jon-Tom scrutinized the ominous clouds worriedly. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the storm’s sooty underbelly, turning one boiling Vulcansberg the color of polished antimony. “I’m no mariner. I’ve only traveled the seas as a passenger.”

  Naike nervously scratched the short beige-colored fur of his forehead. “Perhaps you could calm the storm with a spell-song, or at least conjure the most promising heading.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. I’m much better at calling up specific objects or shapes. I’ve never tackled anything as substantial as the weather. I’d as like sink us as save us.”

  “This craft is sturdy but not large, and we are not exactly the most experienced of crews. We have some time before the weather will be upon us. Can you not think of anything?”

  Jon-Tom equivocated. “No harm in thinking.” Something chimed at his shoulder.

  Hovering near enough to warm his face, the chord cloud was singing restively. It was astonishing, he thought, how the same melody could communicate so many different emotions merely by varying tempo and volume.

  Naike looked on in wonderment. “I know nothing of matters mystic, but file my teeth if I don’t think it’s trying to tell you something.”

  “It does seem anxious, doesn’t it?” The pulsating motes swirled inches from his eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

  Seeming to respond, the cloud became an attenuated pink streak as it darted forward. Pausing above the rolling sea several points to starboard, it hovered there and sang out as loudly as it could. As Jon-Tom and Naike looked on, it repeated the action several times. It was a gesture the spellsinger knew well by now.

  “What is it doing?” The mongoose gripped the wheel firmly, waiting.

  “Suggesting a course. I suppose we might as well follow. Unless you’ve a better idea.”

  “As I have told you, spellsinger, I am no more than an amateur mariner.” So saying, the Lieutenant swung the wheel hard over, bringing the bow around. “You have confidence in this heading?”

  “No, but I’ve always had confidence in music. If we continue on the way we’ve been going we’ll run smack into that storm for sure. If this direction’s no better, we’ll have done no worse. And maybe, just maybe, the music knows what it’s about. I certainly don’t.”

  The chords became a helix, then an ovoid. Each time it changed shape it altered tempo. In one thing only it did not vary: its chosen course.

  Umagi was leaning on the portside railing, contemplating the surface of the sea, when a silvered mist crystallized in the air only a few yards from her face. Exclaiming in surprise, she stumbled back from the apparition. Jon-Tom saw that she had worked the fur on the back of her head and neck into a mass of tiny, intricate spitcurls. On the princess of Tuuro the effect was incongruously petite.

  Materializing in the middle of the mist and hovering at deck level was the remarkable insectlike being they had encountered previously. He stared straight at Jon-Tom.

  “Hi, you there—human! I remember what it was!”

  “What what was?” Jon-Tom felt unaccountably foolish.

  “What I’ve been searching for!” Antennae dipped forward. “Memory is such a feeble thing.”

  Mudge rested an arm on the rail and spoke casually. “Are you aware, guv, that at the moment there’s a fair space o’ nothin’ but air between your sit-upon and the sea?”

  “The sea? What are you talking about?” Glancing down between its forefeet, the creature emitted a high-pitched whine of surprise and promptly plummeted into the waves, landing with an impressive splash.

  “It must have intended to appear on deck,” observed Naike thoughtfully. “Then we made that sharp turn to starboard.”

  Jon-Tom wasn’t paying attention to the Lieutenant. He’d rushed to the railing. Their visitor was flopping about helplessly on the surface. Despite the presence of eight limbs, it appeared to know nothing of swimming.

  “I remember!” it sputtered. “I remember!”

  Cupping his hands to his mouth, Jon-Tom shouted back, “What do you remember?”

  “I remember that … I can’t swim!” It was a piteous declaration, voiced as the narrow head was swamped by a modest wave. Jon-Tom started to remove his cloak and shirt. When the creature bobbed back to the surface, he could see it fumbling with the controls set into the pack on its back. Once more it was enveloped in mist, this time in the form of a silvery lambence that was so bright he was forced to turn away, as if a hundred camera flashes had gone off in his face at the same time. Caught by surprise, the princesses cried out and rubbed at their eyes.

  Peering through tears, Jon-Tom noted the presence of a neat, spherical hole in the ocean, as if someone had taken a perfect scoop out of a bowl of deep green ice cream. A couple of mackerel swam into the hole, found themselves flopping frantically as they fell, and vanished into the bottom of the aqueous excavation. Then the smooth, curving walls collapsed and the sea flowed on over the place as if it had never been disturbed.

  “A divertin’ if futile performance.” Mudge had moved to join his friend. “Personal-like, I’m less than impressed by ’is flavor o’ magic.”

  “I don’t think it’s magic he’s employing, Mudge. I think it’s science.”

  “Magic, science, ’tis only in the spellin’ o’ it. So to speak. Think ’e’ll try again? ’E wants somethin’ o’ us, that’s for sure.”

  “Mudge, I’m as baffled as you are.”

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong, mate. You’re more baffled than me. Tis an inherent an’ inheritable condition.”

  The spellsinger passed on the offer to exchange insults. “Right now all I’m interested in is outrunning or flanking this storm.” He nodded toward the advancing line of threatening black clouds as Naike continued to follow the lead of the singing chords. Was that lightning off to the west, in the direction they were taking? He couldn’t tell.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Wot, me?” Reaching up, the otter flicked the brim of his cap. “Optimal as always, mate. I would like to know one thing, though.”

  “What?”

  “Did I ’ave a good time?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Pity.” The otter took a deep breath and put a paw over his chest. “Well, I feel wonderful now. So the ladies ’ave always told me.” He pivoted to scrutinize the deck. The princesses were gathered around the mast, chatting and assisting each other, while the mongoose soldiers attended to the operation of the ship.

  “Things’ll run smooth from now on, you’ll see. All we ’ave to worry about is bein’ bombed by a forgetful giant bug from otherwhere. Methinks we can cope with that, don’t you know.” He was beaming. It was an utterly infectious and irresistible smile, one which Jon-Tom knew well. One could not help but smile back at a grinning otter.

  The storm fell upon them with all the suddenness and fury of a female who’d been dieting for six months only to discover that she’d gained four pounds. It was impossible even to light the ship’s lamps so they could find their way about belowdecks. Not that lamps were really necessary. The rolling barrage of lightning strobed sea and ship mercilessly, illuminating more than anyone wanted to see.

  Dry as it was below, the rocking and heaving rendered the temporary haven untenable for any length of time, forcing the princesses to alternate between being soaked and queasy. A fortune in sodden silks and chiffon clung to them as they took turns traversing the single stairway.

  It requir
ed the full attention of the six males aboard to keep their craft stable and upright, with Aleaukauna and Pivver assisting where they could. Unforgiving wind shredded the spinnaker before it could be furled, but they did succeed in reefing the mainsail.

  Hewing close to their chosen course required all of Jon-Tom and Naike’s strength, the human clinging to one side of the wheel and the mongoose to the other. At least they had no trouble seeing their guide. Glowing softly just forward of the bowsprit and apparently unaffected by the tempest, the cloud of music led them on. It might have been his imagination, spurred by lightning and clouded by driving rain, but Jon-Tom could have sworn that it was chiming in time to the thunder. He could only wonder what conditions were like at the center of the storm, whence they had originally been headed.

  The waves rose so high that their crests overtopped the mast, but the sturdy little craft climbed each wall of water and slid down the opposite side like a plangent dream. Each time one of the green monsters bore down on them, Jon-Tom was certain they would be swamped. Each time the boat responded by sliding up the breaking crest as nimbly as a spider on a rock. Better in such circumstances for a ship to be buoyant, he thought grimly, than beautiful.

  Her mast swayed and her timbers groaned, but she didn’t crack. Seeming almost frustrated, the seas redoubled their fury. Jon-Tom worried more about the rudder than the mast. If they lost steering, the boat would swing broadside into the advancing waves and they’d capsize for sure. But the rudder, fashioned of tough swamp surrow, remained unsplintered on its pivot.

  In the midst of lightning and thunder, screaming wind and stinging rain, Mudge could be seen strolling nonchalantly about the deck, whistling to himself and seemingly oblivious to the prospect of imminent destruction. He’d divested himself of his gear and stowed it safely below. Rain slicked his fur, imparting to his coat a natural sheen Jon-Tom could only envy.

  Noticing his friend’s stare, the otter put his hands to his mouth and called out, “Ain’t this excitin’, mate! Wot a ride!”

  Jon-Tom wiped salt spray from his eyes. “Oh, it’s exciting, all right. How about you share some of the excitement by coming up here and giving us a hand?”

  The otter shook his head. “Wouldn’t think o’ spoilin’ your fun, Jommy-Tin. Why don’t you ask Umagi? She’d be o’ more use than modest-sized me.”

  “She was asked,” shouted Naike from alongside the spellsinger, “but while her strength is equal to the task, her constitution is not. She is unwell.”

  “Oi, a royal rail rider, is that it? Too bad.” The otter ducked and grabbed a line as a belligerent wave crashed over the port side, soaking everything and everyone on deck. “This is the life, mate!” he yelled when the sea had drained away. “This is wot we came for, crikey but it ’tis!”

  “I’m sure it’s even better up in the bow!” Jon-Tom yelled back. Besides which, he added to himself, we don’t have to listen to you if you’re up there. “We could all drown, you know.”

  Instead of heading forward, the otter moved nearer. “You could all drown, you mean.”

  “Even an otter could drown in this.” Naike was less than overwhelmed by Kludge’s bravado. “It may be true that at swimming your tribe is the most accomplished, but I have yet to hear it told of one who could swim across an ocean.”

  “I’d just float,” the otter replied. “Drift in the sun and eat crabs and sargassum.”

  “If something didn’t eat you first,” the mongoose shot back.

  Mudge was unfazed. Very little truly upset the otter. “Then it’d be a proper end to an interestin’ life, an’ I’d ’ave no regrets, I wouldn’t. Beats dyin’ in bed o’ distemper or the colic.”

  Naike’s gaze traveled from the patient, drifting chord cloud back to Jon-Tom. “My tall friend, I begin to wonder if we were right to trust the line of this wandering music.”

  “If you’ll recall, we didn’t have a lot of choices!” Salt crusted Jon-Tom’s lips, leaving them wet and chapped at the same time. “If we chose wrong and we die, I’ll apologize.”

  The mongoose grimaced. “Humans have the most peculiar sense of humor. No wonder you get along so well with the otter.”

  “Courage, brave Lieutenant. We still float, and we sail on.”

  “Toward what fate, I wonder?” The strain of wrestling with the heavy wheel was beginning to take its toll on the mongoose’s smaller, lighter frame. A glance showed the top of the mast whipping like a cattail as the shrieking wind toyed with the rigging.

  “What about a spellsong now? Surely our circumstances justify the taking of some risks?”

  Jon-Tom blinked away rain. “I would, but there’s no one else to help you hold the wheel. And I could make things worse.”

  “Worse? What could be worse than this?” The Lieutenant gritted his teeth as a rogue wave struck them hard aport, rocking and rolling the ship simultaneously. From belowdecks there arose a collective feminine moan.

  This was followed by a dimly perceived shout from one of the soldiers, who clung grimly to the lines at the base of the bowsprit.

  “Sir, master Jon-Tom: I think I see something ahead!”

  Naike extended his limber body to its maximum. “Sing out! What see you, Heke?”

  “Clearing! I see clearing ahead!”

  Moments later Jon-Tom and the Lieutenant could see it as well—an unequivocal break in the storm, bright and beckoning. It was toward this that the music was leading them. Of course the opening could close back up at any time, but it was the first sign of hope they’d had all day.

  “Steer for it!” Naike shouted superfluously. “Steer for our lives!” Jon-Tom kept his weight on the wheel and continued to pray for the integrity of the rudder.

  Though the wind still howled and the rain continued to pelt them, it was clear that the storm was moving off to the northeast. Gradually the seas decreased from the monstrous to the merely fearful, the wind became an irritant instead of a threat, and the horrible pounding they had endured came at last to an end. Heke, Pauko, and Karaukul went over every foot of the battered vessel and were able to report that the only damage it had sustained was minor. Except for a few slow leaks which the soldiers set to patching, she was in remarkably good shape.

  The same could not be said for her passengers. Bruised and exhausted, they gathered on deck to try to dry out, but even this small comfort was denied them. Though the temperature had warmed considerably, the thick fog which had followed in the wake of the storm closed in smotheringly around them.

  Jon-Tom had been gazing astern, studying the retreating edge of the gale. Now he turned and regripped the wheel. “I think we can resume our original course. Four points to port.”

  “Right.” Naike put his own paws back on the wheel.

  It would not turn. Not even when Pauko and Karaukul added their weight and strength to the effort.

  Jon-Tom stepped back from the frozen disk. “Something has us in its grip. Has us good.”

  Pauko gestured forward. “The music?” Indeed, the chord cloud drifted on unconcerned, as though nothing had changed.

  “I don’t think so,” Jon-Tom declared quietly. “It hasn’t affected Mudge or me physically in any way before now. I suspect something else.”

  “But what?” wondered Karaukul. Jon-Tom shrugged.

  “Some sorcerer,” Pauko muttered under his breath.

  “Let’s try once more.” Naike was unwilling to quietly surrender their destiny to forces unseen.

  “It’s no use.” Mouth slightly agape and panting rhythmically, Karaukul finally stepped away from the wheel. “At least we’re out of the storm. Perhaps that’s a sign that the fate in store for us is a benign one.”

  “Or perhaps ’tis only a sign that we busted our butts to get clear.” Mudge had come astern to join the others.

  “We?” Naike eyed the otter sharply. “Why, o’ course, guv. Who else gave freely o’ ’is emotions till nothin’ were left to comfort the ladies an’ see to their safety? I’m bloomin’
drained, I am!”

  For an instant the Lieutenant’s iron self-control seemed about to snap. Eyes blazing, he took a step forward, compelling Mudge to skip back. Then, with a great effort of will, the mongoose calmed himself.

  “We are in the grip of some unknown force or current, which is carrying us we know not where. We’ll need all the ‘comforting’ you can muster, river-mouse. I suggest you ponder that for a while.”

  Mudge grinned guilefully. “I’d try, guv, but as me friend Jonny-Tom can tell you, me attention span is bleedin’ brief.”

  The tension between the two was shattered by a frantic shout from Heke, who had stayed forward. “Lost, all is lost!”

  “What?” Naike yelled back. “What are you talking about? Do you see something?”

  Without waiting for a reply Mudge had raced to the mast and ascended the starboard-side ladder-rigged stay as agilely as any monkey. From the crow’s nest he called down to those waiting anxiously below.

  “The snake-eater’s right, we’re done!”

  Head tilted back, Jon-Tom blinked up at his friend through the drifting fog. “What is it? What do you mean?”

  “There’ve been plenty down through the years, mate, both friend and foe, who said I’d end up in the ’ole someday.” The otter sounded unnaturally fatalistic. “But I never thought they meant it literally!”

  At that moment the fog broke and they could see clearly. Several of the princesses screamed and Quiquell commenced a steady, if barely audible, sobbing. Ansibette and Seshenshe hugged each other tightly. The source of the current which had locked them in its grip and was dragging them inexorably forward was now apparent.

  They were much too near the edge of the whirlpool to avoid it.

  Chapter 18

  JON-TOM HAD heard sailors’ tales of great maelstroms that formed in the deep open ocean, but never of anything like this. It was perfectly circular, an inverted volcano in the sea. As they approached the rim, the spectacle acquired a voice as well as a visage: a profound, basso rumble. It was the call of the Abyss.