Chorus Skating

by Alan Dean Foster

  With difficulty they succeeded in running ropes to the vacant fastenings, Mudge diving again and again to slip the lines through the thickly encrusted openings. After the mongooses rigged a block and tackle it took the combined effort of everyone aboard, princesses included, to haul the ancient chest up over the railing and onto the deck.

  “Look out!” Aleaukauna let out a yelp as the temporary tackle began to groan in protest at the weight it was being asked to carry. Everyone scattered as the lines gave way and the chest came crashing down. The deck planks held, but the corroded bronze bands belting the chest did not. As they sprang, the tough old wood finally split, spilling a shaft of light onto the deck. More light glittered within the ruptured container, hinting at clandestine wonders.

  Still dripping and naked, Mudge sprang to the salvage’s side and yanked hard on the sprung latch. The lid sprang back and the otter promptly jumped inside.

  A contented voice reached out to the others. “Come an’ ’ave a look, me friends. ’Tis a sight sure to soothe the ’eart o’ the most avaricious seafarer.”

  They clustered around the open chest. It was filled three-quarters of the way to the top with tiny gold coins, the largest no bigger than Jon-Tom’s thumbnail. Stirred in among the gold like bits of meat in a stew was a closetful of rings, necklaces, tiaras, armlets, anklets, decorative chains, and other objects of personal adornment, fashioned of platinum and gold, festooned with all manner of precious gems and enamels. As Mudge bustled about within, the crack in the side of the chest widened, spilling sunshine and rainbows onto the deck.

  Selecting a golden monocle rimmed with emeralds, the otter positioned it over his right eye. The lens had been cut from a single flawless pale blue diamond.

  “Wot do you think, Jonny-Tom? Do this make a fashion statement or wot?”

  “Does it do anything for your vision?”

  “Now that ain’t the idea, mate. Wot it’ll do is sharpen the sight o’ any folk settin’ eyes upon me.” A royal feeding frenzy set in as the princesses swarmed the chest. Not because of the riches it contained, but because of the style.

  “Earrings!” Ansibette let out a triumphant shout as she held up a brace of platinum and sapphire baubles. No fisherman could have been prouder of a record catch.

  Aleaukauna draped a chestpiece of pink coral and black pearls around her neck, while Seshenshe tried on armlets of solid malachite set with imperial topaz and amethyst.

  “claw-tips, i see claw-tips!” Quiquell plunged her paws into the golden treasure while next to her Pivver searched anxiously for a proper tail ring.

  The soldiers stood back and looked on prosaically. “I’m not greedy,” remarked Heke. “A bushel or two of gold will be enough to satisfy me.” Pauko nodded agreement.

  “’Ere now!” His lower torso and legs submerged in gold coins, Mudge sat erect. “Wot about me, ladies? I found the bloody chest, while you were all cursin’ me for takin’ me little swim. As finder I claims the major share.” Exhilarated beyond hearing, the princesses ignored him. “Leave me a bloomin’ armband, at least!”

  Arms folded, Jon-Tom looked on diffidently as Naike came over to stand next to him.

  “Your friend has an eye for treasure. I never would have identified that drifting object as a chest. I was too worn and tired, too busy thinking of flight.”

  “You and I aren’t Mudge. You could cut off his arms and legs, blind and deafen him, and he could still sniff out a lost silver piece fallen into a crack in a tavern floor. I suppose it’s a talent of sorts.”

  Naike looked pleased. “At least if this vessel fails us we now have the means with which to purchase alternative transportation. Nor will adequate supplies be any longer a problem.”

  “It’s funny, you know …” A faraway look came into Jon-Tom’s eyes.

  The mongoose gazed up at the much taller human. “You find such bounty amusing?”

  “No, not that. It’s just that with all the adventures Mudge and I have had over the years, with all the traveling we’ve done and all the dangers we’ve survived, this is the first time we’ve ever run into any kind of treasure. I suppose that’s because we’ve never gone looking for it. We’ve always been searching for other things.

  “Now out here, in the middle of a strange sea, we practically run into a fortune greater than any I’ve ever imagined.”

  The Lieutenant was silent for a while before replying. “It must be, then, that your work has been rewarded on a higher plane. Yours must have been a noble career.”

  “Oh, I dunno. It’s all very well and good to do good works and aspire to noble pursuits, but it’s also nice to have a bit of treasure now and then. Talea will be pleased. So will Weegee. They like pretty things.”

  “I suppose I do not understand,” Naike said. Before them, Mudge continued to bicker with the princesses. “Can’t you just spellsing up gold and jewels whenever you wish?”

  “Nope. There’s some sort of spectral prohibition against sorcerers using their abilities to make themselves fabulously wealthy. Otherwise none of us would have to get up and go to work in the morning. We’d all be retired and living like kings. I don’t pretend to understand the rules, but Clothahump says it has something to do with the physics of ethicality. The math’s too much for me. If you try it, push the limits, you end up a crotchety old dragon lording it over a useless hoard in a cave somewhere, waiting for some blond, muscular, valiant hero with an IQ the size of his biceps to show up and cut out your heart. It’s not like you can stuff your pockets and hop off to Las Vegas. No, thanks. I’d rather have my family and my profession.”

  He nodded toward the chest and its riches. “However, there are no prohibitions against honestly finding treasure.”

  “I think I see the point of it.”

  A smile spread slowly across the spellsinger’s face. “So here it was up to Mudge, the old reprobate, to finally find us some treasure.” He focused on the grand tiara Umagi had placed on her head. It imparted to the scion of Tuuro a regal air which had hitherto largely been absent. “I don’t recognize the style or any of the engraving. Don’t you want to get in on this?”

  “There are ample spoils to go around. Let the ladies have their fun. Such wealth means nothing to them, whereas enhancing their appearance means everything. My soldiers and I will sate our more common appetites later.”

  “Take that off, pointy-ears!” Reaching for the necklace glittering on Seshenshe’s neck, Mudge overbalanced and fell headlong into the gold. He came up spitting coins. “’Tis mine by right o’ discovery! I claim original rights; I claim first choice!”

  Pivver inspected Ansibette’s newly acquired ensemble. “The blister pearls suit you well, but I would go with rubies instead of sapphires on your ears.”

  “Do you think so? I was wondering.” Together with their sister princesses they effortlessly ignored the violently protesting Mudge.

  “Listen to me!” Having recovered his footing, the otter was hopping up and down atop the hoard. The princesses paid him not the slightest attention, which, Jon-Tom knew, would make his companion madder than ever.

  “He’ll settle down. It’s not like he’s going to have to make the return journey in poverty. As it is I’ll have to watch to make sure he doesn’t carry enough to cripple himself.”

  So much fabulous jewelry did the chest contain that, when every feminine limb and curvaceous body part had been appropriately adorned, the ship seemed to radiate its own light as it sailed on southward.

  Chapter 19

  RUGGED AS IT WAS, their craft had taken a dreadful beating while trapped inside the maelstrom. Their violent ejection had put additional strains on the fastenings and timbers. Now the soldiers had to pump constantly to keep ahead of the worsening leaks. Seeping water threatened to overwhelm the single siphon, as mongoose arms and backs proved no match for the relentless pressure outside the hull.

  Since the princesses steadfastly refused to have anything to do with so degrading an enterprise as operat
ing the pump, it was imperative that a place be found where the boat could be hauled out and proper repairs made. Naike was beginning to despair even as he wondered if the tall human knew any spell-songs appropriate to boat caulking, when a line of low islands came into view on the southwest horizon.

  It was decided to try to find a suitable beaching site. The princesses were elated at the prospect of taking a stroll on motionless, dry ground again and Jon-Tom had to admit he wouldn’t be averse to the opportunity himself. A suitable mooring would also give them a chance to replenish their supplies. Fruits, nuts, berries, shellfish, and the like could be gathered while the otters went fishing.

  It would be pleasant to stop for a while. The air was warm and not terribly humid, the sky clear, the seas cooperative. Several days ashore would serve to rehabilitate their spirits as well as their vessel.

  With Heke and Karaukul riding the bow to port and starboard and acting as reef spotters, and despite the princesses all offering suggestions simultaneously, they carefully negotiated a passage into a peaceful lagoon boasting an adequate anchorage. Unlike the surrounding islands, the one they chose boasted a small central hill of heavily vegetated coral rock. Rather than objecting to the delay, as was usual, the chord chorus preceded them into the lagoon with evident enthusiasm.

  “Easy, easy,” Heke shouted back. “A little to port, sir!” Naike coaxed the wheel. “There!” With a gentle grinding noise the boat slid up into the soft sandy beach. It heeled slightly to starboard and stopped, comfortably aground.

  It was, as they’d intended, high tide. As the morning receded, so did the water in the lagoon, leaving the vessel’s underside exposed and dry. The soldiers immediately set to work repairing the damage their craft had sustained.

  Simply strolling along the unpolluted arc of beach gave a boost to everyone’s spirits. It occupied the princesses and kept them out of the soldiers’ way. Even Mudge pitched in to help with the repairs.

  “Spent me ’ole life breakin’ into things,” he quipped. “Nothin’ like bustin’ somethin’ up to leam ’ow ’tis best put right again. ’And me that dowel, guv.” Pauko passed the requested pin across.

  Jon-Tom likewise offered to assist, but on the work site his gangly form proved more of a hindrance than a help. In no way could he compete with the agile otter and mongooses, who as they worked twisted and bent into various configurations that would have caused permanent injury in any human foolish enough to try to emulate them. Feeling like a loose wheel, he decided the best thing he could do was keep out of the way.

  His services sorcerous or manual unneeded, it struck him that for the first time in many days he could actually indulge in a few hours of solitude without feeling guilty about it. He resolved to explore the island, starting with the central hillock.

  The modest incline proved no obstacle and he climbed easily, making his way through scrub and palm trees. The summit afforded an excellent view of the surrounding islands as well as the lagoon and their grounded craft. The figures of the mongooses and Mudge were clearly visible as they busied themselves about the exposed hull.

  Turning, he started down into the lush tropical forest that blanketed the north side of the island. Pools of rainwater gave promise of refilling the ship’s casks, and numerous trees were heavy with orange and green fruit.

  He was about to head back when he heard the grunting. It was a peculiar singsong that reminded him more of clamoring seals than anything else. He noted the position of the sun. It was much too early for his companions to miss him, and he knew if he wanted to check out any local life-forms he needn’t worry about getting lost. The island was small enough to walk around in a few hours.

  Making his way through the trees, he found himself gazing out across another part of the lagoon that encircled the island. The beach here was narrower than where they’d grounded the boat, the palms growing right down to the lagoon’s edge. Transparent, waist-deep water covered sand the color of white sugar and eddied around the occasional bommie. Each of the smooth, exposed humps of blue and yellow coral was occupied, and not by seals.

  Mermaids.

  Looking back on the wonders he’d encountered since his original transposition it was surprising Jon-Tom hadn’t chanced upon them before. Of course, he and Mudge had done the majority of their adventuring on land.

  From the vicinity of the pelvis up they were exquisitely human. The precise line of demarcation between fish and human being of more than casual interest, he found himself leaning forward until he stumbled over a protruding root and tumbled out onto the sand.

  Whistles and shrieks greeted his appearance, followed by a succession of splashes as the piscine lovelies vanished into the water. All save one. Hair the color of red gold covered her shoulders like rusted kelp. Narrow eyes of purest vermilion slanted upward at the outside corners. The fact that only soft, pale skin showed where a nose ought to have been was no more disconcerting than the gills that rippled along the sides of her neck. Set out from her head, her ears were large and fringed, designed to serve as small directional fins as well as organs of hearing. They fanned slowly back and forth with her breathing. Her lips … her lips were as boldly crimson as the folds of the nudibranch called Spanish dancer.

  Slipping languidly into the water, she swam effortlessly toward the beach until she could rest her elbows on the dry sand. Propping her delicate chin on her lightly webbed hands, she stared up at him where he stood dusting off his pants. Her scaly, iridescent green tail slapped lazily back and forth.

  “Hello, man.”

  Jon-Tom swallowed hard. “Hello,” he replied, not knowing what else to say.

  “Or perhaps you are more a monkey, to live in the trees?”

  “Uh, no.” As he stepped out onto the beach she rolled playfully onto her back and giggled up at him, a pure but far from innocent effervescence.

  “How strange you look.”

  “Maybe it’s the way you’re lying.”

  She spun back onto her belly. “Always men run from me. Yet I am told it is the dream of many human males to make love to a mermaid.”

  “You’re very … direct.”

  “That is the way of the sea.” She arched her back and touched the tip of her remarkable tail to her forehead. “So it is not your dream?”

  “It’s pretty hard to dream about something you don’t know exists.”

  Laughter bubbled from deep in the gill-lined throat and her ear-fins wiggled disconcertingly, droplets of water clinging like seed pearls to their tips.

  “I heard you singing,” he told her. Her expression kinked.

  “Those awful noises? That wasn’t singing. It is all we can do since our songs were stolen.”

  “Stolen?”

  “Fled, vanished, disappeared, magicked away; we know not how or why. Still, we try to sing, but can only grunt in chorus like so many addled pinnipeds.” For a moment he thought she was going to cry, then decided that for one who dwelt beneath the sea tears would be more than superfluous.

  He raised his eyes toward the open ocean. “The curse.”

  “Curse?” She blinked at him and he saw that she had double eyelids, the inner pair being perfectly transparent.

  “You and your sisters aren’t the only ones whose music has gone missing.”

  “I know.”

  He frowned. “You know about the musicians in Mashupro?”

  “What is this ‘Mashupro’? I speak of the dolphins and whales, many of whom are also losing the ability to sing. For them it is more than a matter of artfulness, for if they cannot sing, they cannot find one another within the deep ocean or properly position themselves with respect to the land or the sea bottom. A songless cetacean is a half blind cetacean.” She was staring at him.

  “How come you to know of such matters, man? Usually land dwellers are woefully ignorant of what transpires beneath the waves.”

  “I’m a little different from your average land dweller.” He crossed his legs and sat down in front of her. She res
ponded by sitting up and swinging her tail around so that the tip just touched his boots. In spite of his determination he found his concentration crippled.

  “I’m a spellsinger. That’s a kind of sorcerer who makes magic with music.”

  “‘Singer.’ Your songs have not been disappeared?”

  “Not so far. In fact, we’re traveling with a piece of music, though I don’t think it belongs to you or your whales. It leads, and we follow.”

  “You speak of things I do not understand. But if you are a magician as well as a singer, is there nothing you can do to help return our songs to us?” Leaning forward sharply, she thrust her face close to his. She was ripe with the aroma of salt and life, kelp and crystal. “I would so do anything to make that happen.”

  “That’s not necessary.” He drew back a little, though not as much as he might have. “If I can be of any help, I’ll help everyone. You, your sisters, the whales, a fresh little band in Mashupro, everyone who’s lost music to this singular phenomenon.”

  “And what of me?” she whispered, humping forward like a seal. “Do you think of me as a singular phenomenon?” She was very near now.

  “Actually—” He sneezed sharply, causing her to draw back in surprise. Her tail smacked the water, a warning reflex not unlike the lobtailing performed by her cetacean cousins.

  “Sorry. It’s just that I—” He sneezed again, violently, wiping at his nose with the back of his right hand.

  “What is it, man? What is wrong?”

  Sniffing, he managed to gasp out a reply. “I’m allergic to certain kinds of seafood.”

  “Seafood? You would catch and fillet me, man?”

  “No, no!” he said hastily. “Not you. Tuna, mackerel, haddock, sardines—that kind of seafood.”

  She put her hands on her hips, just above the first iridescent scales. “I should have known. Man, some of my best friends are tuna.” Her expression softened. “But you say you do not eat them.”

  “Can’t.” He sneezed again, less explosively this time now that she had moved back a little.