Spellsinger

by Alan Dean Foster

  "Truth is that I needed some help, fast. The Pearl Possum was the nearest and most likely place in which to find it. You were the first one I saw that I knew, and considering what was going on in there I didn't have a whole hell of a lot of time to be picky. I do need your help." She looked hesitantly past him at Jon-Tom. "And so I guess I have to put up with him, too." She walked over to Jon-Tom, looked him over sharply.

  "In truth, he's an impressive physical speciman." Jon-Tom stood a little taller. "What I need now are strong backs, not brains." He lost an inch.

  "I knew you were needin' something, dear," said Mudge knowl-edgeably. "I couldn't see you givin' yourself over t' philanthropy. Jon-Tom, meet Talea. And widdershins likewise."

  "Charmed," said Jon-Tom curtly.

  "Yeah, me too." She paused thoughtfully. "So the old magic bugger-in-the-shell was looking around for an other-world wizard and got you instead. I can imagine what his reaction must have been."

  "I don't need this." Jon-Tom turned away, spoke almost cheerfully. "I don't need this at all. I'll make my own damn way!"

  " 'Old on now, mate," said Mudge desperately. "You think o' me, too. Everyone think o' poor old Mudge for a change."

  "When did you ever think of anything else?" snorted Talea.

  "Please, luv. Go easy on the poor lad. 'Tis right that you owe 'im nothing and likewise meself. But consider, 'e's a whole new world t' try and cope with, and you're not makin' it any easier."

  "What have his problems to do with me?" she replied indifferently, but for a change left off adding any additional insults.

  "You said that you needed our help," Jon-Tom reminded her. "And I suppose we owe you a favor for helping us out of that mess back there." He jerked a hand back toward the now distant restaurant. "Or at least for warning us about the police. You can have the use of my back without my affection. At least I can use that without running my mouth."

  She almost smiled, flipping away hair from her eyes. The oil lamps set her curls on fire. "That's fair enough. We've wasted enough time here, and I suppose I've wasted most of it. Follow me...."

  They trailed her down the street. No strollers were out this time on so miserable a night. Rain dripped off tile and wood roofs, trickled metallically down drainpipes and into gutters. Sometimes they passed a sharper, richer echo where dripwater plunged into a collection barrel.

  They'd walked several blocks before she turned into another alleyway. Several yards into the narrow passage he began to hear a strange yet somehow familiar snuffling noise. It sounded like a drunk hog.

  Almost stumbling over something firm and heavy, he looked down and saw to his considerable dismay that it was an arm, badly decomposed and with the fur falling from forearm and paw. Nude bone projected like soap from one end.

  Mudge and Talea were just ahead. The otter was bending over and examining something on the stones. Jon-Tom hurried to join them.

  Two bodies lay sprawled awkwardly across the damp paving, necklaced by puddles of rainwater. One was that of a squirrel he assumed by attire to be female. She was richly dressed in a pleated gown puffed up like a cloud by a series of lace petticoats. Long ruffled sleeves covered each gray-furred arm. Nearby lay a feathered, broad-rimmed hat, torn and broken. She was half a foot shorter than Talea and her carefully applied face powder and paint were smeared like mud across her cheeks.

  Nearby was a fat furry form that he at first thought might be a small beaver but that turned out to be another muskrat. An oddly creased tricornered hat still rested on the motionless head, though it was tilted over the hidden eyes. A pair of cracked pince-nez speeta-cles, much like those worn by Clothahump, reflected the still, small pools between the cobblestones. The iridescent blue silk suit he wore was rich enough to shine even in the dim light of the alley.

  One boot had come off and lay limply near a naked foot. Its rhine-stone-inlaid mate lay up against the far wall. Talea ignored it as she rechecked the body with professional speed.

  "Blimey, luv, what's all this now?" Mudge's attention was directed nervously back toward the narrow plank of light from the street. "I ain't so sure we want to be compromisin' ourselves with business of this disreputable nature."

  "Shit, you're compromised just by standing there." Talea heaved at the thick silk jacket. "Not that your reputation would suffer. Who are you lying to, Mudge; yourself, me, or him?" and she nodded briefly toward the self-conscious Jon-Tom. "You know what the cops will do if they find you standing here flapping your whiskers."

  "Now Talea, luv--" he began.

  "I think we've exchanged enough pleasantries, otter. I need you for muscle, not platitudes.

  "Now I don't object to an occasional mugging, especially when the apple stands around begging to be plucked." She was pulling gold buttons off the comatose muskrat's trousers. "But murder's not my style. This fat little twerp decided to show off and resist, and I'll be damned if that fuzzy harridan he was with didn't try to help him. Between the two of them I didn't have much time to get selective with the hilt of my sword. So I bashed him proper and then she just sort of fainted."

  Mudge moved over to study the fallen lady. While Jon-Tom I i watched, the otter knelt and moved her head. There was a dark stain I on the stones and a matching one at the back of the furry skull.

  "This one's still bleedin', you know."

  "I didn't mean to hurt anyone." Talea did not sound particularly contrite. "I was just trying to keep them off. I told you, she fainted. What the hell was I supposed to do, dive underneath and break her fall?"

  Mudge moved away and performed a similar examination of the muskrat. "Now why would you 'ave t' do that, luv, when these gentle rocks 'ave done such a neat job of it for you?" he said sardonically. His paws moved over the muskrat's face. "Still breathin', the two of 'em. Bloody lucky you are." He looked up at her.

  "Right then. What is it you want of us?"

  She finally finished her scavenging, gestured back toward the street. "I've got a wagon tied around the corner on Sorbarlio Close. If I'd left it alley-opposite it would've blocked traffic and worse, drawn attention to this little drama. Besides, it's too wide to fit in the alley entrance.

  "Now, I can't carry that fat little bugger by myself. By the time I could drag the two of them to the Close some nosy-body's sure to notice me and ask questions I couldn't answer. Even if I got lucky I'm not sure I could heave these two bloated pumpkins up into the wagon."

  Mudge nodded sagely. "That's for us, then. Jon-Tom?"

  Jon-Tom's head had finally cleared of smoke and drink, but plenty of confusion still remained. Things had happened awfully fast and his thoughts were running into one another.

  "I don't know." He was also worriedly watching the street. Foul-fighting police might appear at any minute, and what Talea had told Mudge about them being guilty by their mere presence at the scene of the crime had a transworldly ring of truth to it.

  "I'm not sure this is what Clothahump had in mind when he asked you to educate me."

  " 'Tis a fine innocent you are, mate. As you of all people ought t' know, life's incidents are dictated by fate and not neat plannin'. We can't stay 'ere jabberin' all night, lest some idle patrol stumble on us. If you think the copfolk were hard on those poor innocent brawlers, consider wot they're likely t' do t' those they think 'ave assaulted respectable citizens. Or be it then so much different where you come from?"

  "No," he replied, "I think they'd react about the same as here."

  Mudge had moved to slip an arm around the waist of the unconscious squirrelquette, then flipped her with a whistle over his shoulders. "I'll take charge o' this one," he said, stumbling.

  "Thought you might," snorted Talea. "Here, let me help." She caught the lady's legs just as the overburdened Mudge was about to lose his balance completely, the looked back at Jon-Tom.

  "Don't just stand there gawking like a kid at a treepeep nook. Put that great gangling self of yours to work."

  Jon-Tom nodded, knelt, and managed to get his
arms underneath the snoring, bubbling muskrat shape. The creature was as heavy as he appeared, and the weight made Jon-Tom stagger. Working the mass around he finally got the rotund burden in a fireman's carry.

  "Truth, 'tis muscles the lad 'as, if not yet overmuch common sense," Mudge observed. "Does 'e not, lass?"

  "Let's get on with it," she said curtly.

  On reaching the end of the alley they hesitated. Talea studied the street to the right while Mudge cautiously checked out the other end. Nothing was visible in the nebulous lamplight save cobblestones and lonely clumps of garbage. The night mist had thickened somewhat from earlier in the evening and bestowed on the fugitives a blessing beyond price.

  Jon-Tom hurried out after them, the globular body of the muskrat bouncing slightly on his shoulders. He felt something warm on his cheek. At first he thought it was blood, but it turned out to be only saliva dripping from the victim's gaping mouth. He pushed the drooling head farther aside and concentrated on keeping close enough to the others to insure he wouldn't lose track of them in the fog.

  His feet were carrying him along a course of events he seemed powerless to alter. As he jogged up the street, he considered his present condition.

  In the short time he'd been in Lynchbany he'd nearly been assaulted by a beggar, had taken part in a distressingly violent riot, and was presently serving as an accessory to assault, robbery, and possibly murder. He decided firmly that as soon as circumstances permitted he would have to make his way back to Clothahump's Tree, with or without Mudge's assistance. There he would plead with the wizard to try sending him home, no matter the cost. He could not stand another day of this.

  But though he did not know it, he was destined to spend rather more time than that. Forces far greater than anything he could imagine continued to gather, the little sounds his boots made in the street puddles faint echoes of the thunder to come....

  VII

  Eventually they turned a corner onto another street. Mudge and Talea heaved the motionless form of the squirrelquette onto the back of a low-slung buckboard. Clicking sounds like thick wire brushing against glass came to them. They froze, waited in damp silence. But the wagon they heard did not turn down their street.

  "Hurry up!" Talea urged Jon-Tom. She turned and snapped at Mudge, "Quit that and let's get out of here."

  Mudge removed his hand from beneath the squirrelquette's dress as Jon-Tom bent his head and shoulders to dump the muskrat. That unfortunate landed with a dull thump in the wagon. Despite Mudge's insistence that both victims were still alive and breathing, the musk-rat felt very dead to the worried Jon-Tom.

  That was now a major concern. He thought he might be able to talk his way out of being in the same wagon with a couple of robbery victims, but if either one of them died and they were stopped by the police he doubted even Clothahump would be able to help him.

  Talea was rapidly pulling a thick blanket of some woven gray material over the bodies. Then the three of them were running around to the front seat of the wagon.

  There wasn't enough room there for all of them on the down-sized platform. Talea had grabbed the reins and Mudge had already mounted alongside her, so Jon-Tom had no choice but to vault the wagon rail and sit in the bed behind them.

  " 'Tis best anyway, mate." Mudge smiled sympathetically. "I know the wood's 'ard, but as big as you are we don't want to draw any more attention than we can get away with. Snuggle yourself down low and we won't."

  Talea gave a flip of the reins and shouted a soft "Hup!" and they were on their way. Just in time, too. As they rumbled down the street another rider passed them close.

  Despite his exhaustion and confusion Jon-Tom's interest was aroused. He barely had time for a glance at the mist-shrouded rider.

  A white-faced, leather-clad rabbit was mounted on a slim lizard traveling on all fours. The reptile had a long snout with two short tusks protruding upward from just back of the nostrils. Its eyes were searchlight bright and yellow with black slit pupils.

  The rider sat in a saddle that was securely attached by multiple straps to the lizard's neck and belly, the extra ties necessary because of the animal's peculiar twisting, side-to-side method of travel. It gave a snakelike appearance to the motion. The long tail was curled up in a spiral and fastened to the reptilian rear with a decorative silver scroll. Blunt claws appeared to have been trimmed close to the quick.

  As he watched them vanish down the street, he thought that the rider must be getting a smoother ride than any horse could provide, since all the movement was from side to side instead of up and down.

  That inspired him to inspect their own team. Shifting around on the wood and trying to avoid kicking the terribly still forms beneath the gray blanket, he peered ahead beneath the raised wagon seat.

  The pair of creatures pulling the wagon were also reptilian, but as different from the rabbit's mount as he was from Mudge. Harnessed in tandem to the wagon, they were shorter and bulkier than the single mount he'd just seen. They had blunt muzzles and less intelligent appearances, though that evaluation was probably due more to his unfamiliarity with the local reptilian life than to any actual physiologic difference.

  They trudged more slowly over the cobblestones. Their stride was deliberate and straightforward instead of the unusual twisting, side-to-side movement of the other. Stumpy legs also covered less ground, and leathery stomach folds almost scraped the pavement. Obviously they were intended for pulling heavy loads rather than for comfort or speed.

  Despite their bovine expressions they were intelligent enough to respond to Talea's occasional tugs on the reins. He studied the process of steering with interest, for there was no telling when such knowledge might prove useful. He was a good observer, one of the hallmarks of both lawyer and musician, and despite his discouragement about his surroundings he instinctively continued to soak up local information.

  The reins, for example, were not attached to bits set in the lizard's mouths. Those thick jaws could have bitten through steel. Instead, they were joined to rings punched through each nostril. Gentle tugs at these sensitive areas were sufficient to guide the course of the lumbering dray.

  His attention shifted to a much closer and more intriguing figure. From his slouched position he could see only flaming curls and the silver-threaded shape of her blouse and pants, the latter curving deli-ciously over the back edge of the wooden seat.

  Whether she felt his eyes or not he couldn't tell, but once she glanced sharply back down at him. Instead of turning embarrassedly away he met her stare. For a moment they were eye to eye. That was all. No insults this time. When he stepped further with a slight smile, more from instinct than intent, she simply turned away. She had not smiled back, but neither had that acid tongue heaped further abuse on him.

  He settled back against the wooden side of the wagon, trying to rest. She was under a lot of pressure, he told himself. Enough to make anyone edgy and impolite. No doubt in less dangerous surroundings she was considerably less antagonistic.

  He wondered whether that was likely or if he was simply rationalizing away behavior that upset him. It was admittedly difficult to attribute such bellicosity to such a beautiful lady. Not to mention the fact that it was bad for a delicate male ego.

  Shut up, he told himself. You've got more important things to worry about. Think with your head instead of your gonads. What are you going to tell Clothahump when you see him again? It might be best to...

  He wondered how old she actually was. Her diminutive size was the norm among local humans and hinted at nothing. He already knew her age to be close to his own because she hadn't contradicted his earlier comment about it. She seemed quite mature, but that could be a normal consequence of a life clearly somewhat tougher than his own. He also wondered what she would look like naked, and had reason to question his own maturity.

  Think of your surroundings, Meriweather. You're trapped, tired, alone, and in real danger.

  Alone... well, he would try his best to be friends w
ith her, if she'd permit it. It was absurd to deny he found her attractive, though every time she opened her mouth she succeeded in stifling any serious thoughts he might be developing about extending that hoped-for friendship.

  They had to become friends. She was human, and that in itself was enough to make him homesick and desperate. Maybe when they'd deposited the bodies at whatever location they were rolling toward she would relax a little.

  That prompted him to wonder and worry about just where they were taking their injured cargo, and what was going to be done with it when they got there.

  A moan came from beneath the blanket behind him, light and hesitant. He thought it came from the squirrelquette, though he couldn't be certain.

  "There's a doctor out on the edge of town," Talea said in response to his expression of concern.

  "Glad to hear it." So there was at least a shred of soul to complement the beauty. Good. He watched in silence as a delicately wrought two-wheeled buggy clop-clopped past their wagon. The two moon-eyed wallabies in the cab were far too engrossed in each other to so much as glance at the occupants of the wagon, much less at the lumpy cargo it carried.

  Half conscious now, the little squirrel was beginning to kick and roll in counterpoint to her low moans. If she reawakened fully, things would become awkward. He resolved that in spite of his desire to make friends with Talea, he would bolt from the wagon rather than help her inflict any more harm. But after several minutes the movement subsided, and the unfortunate victim relapsed into silence.

  They'd been traveling for half an hour and were still among buildings. Despite their plodding pace, it hinted that Lynchbany was a good-sized community. In fact, it might be even larger than he supposed, since he didn't know if they'd started from the city center or its outskirts.

  A two-story thatched-roof structure of stone and crisscrossed wooden support beams loomed off to their left. It leaned as if for support up against a much larger brooding stone building. Several smaller structures that had to be individual homes stretched off into the distance. A few showed lamps over their doorways, but most slept peacefully in the clinging mist.