The Time Of The Transferance

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Chief say you go ahead.”

  “I’ll need my instrument, my suar, to work the magic.”

  As soon as this was translated one of the hunters quickly handed it over, after first checking the resonating box to make sure it held no concealed knives or other weapons.

  As he tuned up, Mudge sidled up next to him. “I don’t know wot you ‘ave in mind, mate, but it can’t work. You ain’t got the wherewithal without your duar to grant even one o’ these charmin’ fellas the thing ‘e most wants in the ‘ole world, let alone the ‘ole bleedin’ bunch of ‘em.”

  “Of course I can’t. What kind of fool do you think I am?”

  “I expect I’m fixin’ to find out.”

  “I just want to get them thinking hard about something, anything. With everyone concentrating on his heart’s desire, I’m going to try and put the village into a trance. Remember how we put Corroboc’s whole crew to sleep? I don’t think I can do that here, especially without the duar. They’re too sharp-eyed and alert. But I do think I can put them into a hypnotic trance because they’re doing half the work for me by concentrating hard on a single thought. Then while they stand around swaying with stupid contented smiles on their happy faces, we can get the hell out of here.”

  “I don’t ‘ave any better ideas. But if this don’t work they ain’t goin’ to be real pleased with us. Not that they’ve exactly invited us to join ‘em in song an’ dance as it is.” He stepped back.

  “What’s he going to try?” Weegee asked him. ‘ “Paralyze ‘em with the sheer beauty o’ ‘is voice, m’luv.”

  “Tell them to start concentrating on what they want,” Jon-Tom told Cautious. “In order for the magic to work they have to think of that and nothing else. They must shut out all other thoughts. I want them thinking as hard as they can.”

  The raccoon nodded, translating for the chief and everyone else nearby. The word was passed through the assembled villagers. Many of them closed their eyes to enhance their concentration while those who kept them open stared expectantly in Jon-Tom’s direction. If only they were as friendly an audience as they were attentive, he thought.

  Having already settled on his song, he began to strum the suar’s strings. Almost immediately a faintly phosphorescent green cloud formed over the villagers’ heads. Whispers of astonishment and awe greeted this rapid manifestation of true magic.

  Unfortunately, while visually impressive, it distracted them from concentrating. He had to tell Cautious to remind them to ignore things like the green cloud or none of them would get their wishes. The cloud did have the effect of convincing the doubters among the hunters, however. Everyone was concentrating intently now.

  As he sang on, a few gneechees put in an appearance. Not many, certainly far fewer than would have been drawn to the music of his duar, but enough to show that the spellsinging was working. There seemed to be something wrong with them, though. Instead of swooping and darting in familiar patterns, they shot through the air in short, jerky bursts. A couple even smashed into the ground and bounced dazedly away.

  What this erratic behavior portended he couldn’t imagine and didn’t have time to consider. What mattered was that the tribe continue to concentrate. He could see them beginning to drift, to lose consciousness where they stood. A foul odor abruptly assailed his nostrils. Odd, but then his spellsinging often produced unexpected side effects. He could see that his companions smelled it, too.

  “Wot the bloody ‘ell’s that aroma?”

  Next to him, Weegee put both paws over her nose. “Jon-Tom, it’s awful,”

  Indeed it was, but he was afraid to stop singing or playing. The horrible miasma spread and intensified.

  Cautious tried to retreat a few steps, nodding toward the villagers closest to him. “I think it coming from them.”

  Indeed, every one of the villagers, from the chief down through the hunters to the lowliest infant seemed to have suddenly acquired the most abominable body odor. Nor did they appear in the least hypnotized by the spellsinging. One by one they opened their eyes and began to discuss the atrocious effluvia that now permeated their fur. Mutterings of disgust and anger filled the air as neighbor shied away from neighbor.

  “That settles it.” Mudge could barely keep his breakfast down. “Not that there seemed much doubt wot fate they ‘ad in mind for us before, but ‘tis confirmed now.”

  Jon-Tom continued to play until it was clear his song wasn’t producing the desired effect. “I don’t understand. I played that perfectly. The words were so apt.”

  “Must’ve been somethin’ in your pronunciation, mate, or maybe it ‘as to do with your usin’ this ‘ere suar instead o’ your duar. You tried to get ‘em thinkin’ all the time. Wot you got ‘em was stinkin’ all the time.”

  “We’ll have to try again.” As he said this a pair of the senior hunters were heading toward him, gesturing angrily with their truncated machetes. “Cautious, tell them it’ll be all right, tell them I made a mistake but I’m going to fix everything. Tell them fast.”

  The raccoon translated. The hunters hesitated, glared threateningly at the man in their midst but held their ground. He began to sing again. It wasn’t easy because of the odor, but he had no choice. Once again the green cloud intensified. No onlooker could doubt the human was a magician. The trouble was that his variety of magic wasn’t very agreeable.

  He sang hard, trying to concentrate particularly on his enunciation, phrasing each lyric precisely. Once more the spellsinging took effect. Once more the result was not quite what he’d been striving for.

  “Terrific, mate.” Mudge gazed at the villagers surrounding them. “You’ve made ‘em our friends forever.”

  The odor had not gone away. Not only was the tribe still stinking worse than an antiquated sewage plant, the second spellsong had induced a second additional change in their demeanor. Every one of them, irrespective of species, had turned a shocking shade of pink.

  “You couldn’t make them think,” said Weegee, “so you made them stink and pink.”

  “I just don’t understand,” Jon-Tom muttered to himself. “The songs both sounded so right.”

  “I wouldn’t try tellin’ ‘em that, mate. Not that you could make ‘em any madder. Wotever you do don’t say you can’t change ‘em back or they’ll ‘ave us on the spit on the spot.”

  “Got it.” He turned to Cautious. “Tell the chief that the magic doesn’t always work right the first time. I’m sorry for the unpleasant results, but after I rest I can make everything right again. When this kind of magic occurs you have to wait a while between spelling or you just make things worse.”

  Clearly the chief and his advisors didn’t care one whit for this explanation, but they didn’t have much choice. Jon-Tom knew it and they knew it. The mongoose snapped an order. A platoon of furious, brightly hued and extremely smelly hunters promptly herded Jon-Tom and his friends to one end of the village and into a large, sturdy wooden cage. This was suspended from a thick rope fashioned of interwoven vines which ran through a wooden pulley hung from a high overhead branch. The captives bounced helplessly as they were hauled up until the cage dangled twenty feet off the ground. Looking down between the bottom poles they could watch the villagers jabbing weapons and fingers in their direction.

  “I don’t mind that,” Mudge commented, “but I wish they’d do it from a distance. They stink somethin’ terrible, an’ they look worse.”

  Weegee slapped a paw over his mouth. “Whatever you do, luv, don’t laugh. Keep in mind ‘tis Jon-Tom they need to fix things. The rest of us are expendable. That apparently hasn’t occurred to them yet. Let’s not give them a reason to think of it.” He nodded and she removed her paw.

  “I ought to ‘ave bit your fingers, luv, but you’re right.” He sat on one of the poles that formed the bottom of the cage. “So ‘ow do we get out o’ this one, spellsinger?”

  Jon-Tom leaned against a corner of the prison and brooded. “I thought I was getting us out of it.” H
e was staring at the suar, trying to wish an additional set of strings and better controls into existence. “I wish Clothahump was here.”

  “Wot’s this? Losin’ a bit o’ our confidence, are we?”

  “Hey, gimme a break. At least they’re not getting ready to barbecue us. Maybe the magic was unconventional, but it did buy us a breathing spell.”

  Weegee had a delicate lace handkerchief wrapped around her muzzle. “Poor choice of words, Jon-Tom.”

  “I don’t know wot you’re all cryin’ about. I’ve smelted worse in me time.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that,” she told him, “judging from the descriptions of some of the dens of iniquity Jon-Tom’s told me he’s dragged you out of.”

  “Wot’s that?” The otter shot a look in his tall friends’s direction. “Wot false’oods ‘ave you been feeding ‘er when me back were turned?”

  “Only the truth.”

  The otter threw up his hands., “The truth? Ain’t you got no more brains than to tell a lady the truth, mate?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Weegee snapped, and the two of them launched into a violent argument that if nothing else took their minds off their present precarious situation. Cautious sat down and cleaned beneath his claws. Jon-Tom envied them all their ability to relax.

  Worst of all was, he found himself wondering what he would taste like.

  VIII

  They were provided with food and water the following morning. By late afternoon their captors had evidently decided how to handle their unwelcome guests. A creaking announced the lowering of the cage as a half dozen warriors slowly let the rope slide through its pulley. Jon-Tom clutched the bars and peered downward.

  “Better think fast, mate. Looks like they think your magic’s ‘ad about enough rest.”

  “I’ll tell them they’ll just have to wait. I need more time to recharge my batteries.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. Take a look at their eyes. If your batteries ain’t recharged by now, I expect they’re goin’ to ‘ave a go at removin’ ‘em.”

  “Maybe they’re bluffing,” said Weegee. “If they kill you they won’t have anyone to restore their normal color and smell.”

  “So if ‘tis a standoff, then why are they lowerin’ us down? Can’t be for casual conversation an’ I ain’t anxious to be invited to dinner.”

  “Be ready.” Cautious was checking out the forest as they descended. “We may have to make a run for it, you bet.”

  A. tun fot it. That was something, movie cowbovs did, Jon-Tom mused. Like heading people off at passes and saving the ranch. He was a spellsinger. Spellsingers didn’t run. They didn’t get eaten, either. He thought furiously. Maybe they could head these primitives off at the impasse.

  As it turned out they were not to be marched to the kitchen, though when they saw what was waiting for them Jon-Tom wondered if that fate might not be preferable.

  “Well now,” said Kamaulk, “it’s a genuine pleasure to see you again. The way you departed one might think you didn’t care for our hospitality.”

  Jon-Tom’s heart sank as he saw the pirate captain, Sasheem and other members of that bloodthirsty crew standing among the natives. They’d have a much more difficult time escaping from the parrot than they would from these superstitious primitives.

  “How’d you find us?”

  “When you abandoned our company we were quick to send word all up and down the coast. Money talks, tall man. A runner from this tribe heard about our open offer of payment. We hastened here as fast as the word reached us. I’ve already settled a price with this chief. Seems he’s anxious to be rid of you. I don’t think he trusts your spellsinging anymore. Sasheem, relieve our friend of his burden, won’t you?”

  “With pleasure, sir.” The first mate and a couple of assistants proceeded to strip Jon-Tom and-his friends of weapons, packs, suar and everything else useful.,

  “What do you intend to do with us?” Weegee stood straight as she asked the question though in her case she thought she already knew the answer.

  “Ain’t decided yet. Now me dear departed nest-brother, he wouldn’t be hesitating. He’d have the lot of you gutted on the spot. Myself being of a less wasteful nature I can’t decide whether to try and sell you somewhere for a profit or keep you to satisfy my less businesslike cravings. But I promise you’ll be the first to know when I’ve made my choice.”

  “If you take me away from here I won’t be able to return these people to normal.”

  Kamaulk chuckled. “You haven’t been paying attention, spellsinger. The chief and I have already discussed the little problem you created here. Their color is already beginning to come back. So is their smell. Have a look and a sniff.”

  The pirate was correct. Pink was shading back to brown and black and the rich aroma of raw sewage was less offensive than it had been the day before. Jon-Tom was downcast.

  “The spell fades. It never did that when I worked with the duar.”

  “You should be thankful.” Sasheem smiled hugely at him. “We arrived to rescue you just in time.” The other pirates found this sally vastly amusing.

  “Not sure I wouldn’t ‘ave preferred the cookpot,” mumbled Mudge.

  “Come now, I’m not so uncivilized as that.” Kamaulk rubbed at an eye. “I doubtless will end up selling you, though perhaps not quite all of you. You see, Sasheem here has grown fond of you and wishes to keep some small remembrance of your numerous meetings. I have not yet decided which part of each of you I am going to allow him to retain. That will depend on the behavior you exhibit between now and the time I have you sold. Keep that in mind lest any new thoughts of escape enter your heads.”

  Sasheem fingered his knife. “Eunuchs are in high demand on the western shore of the Glittergeist.”

  “Definitely ought to ‘ave opted for the cookpot,” said Mudge miserably.

  They were marched in single file out of the village between lines of snarling, gesticulating hunters. Then the pirates turned west instead of north.

  “Heading for the sea. Got a boat on the beach somewhere, you bet.” Cautious sniffed at the air. “Told you pirate folk stick to ocean. Pretty long walk from here, I think. Be night soon.” He threw Jon-Tom a significant glance.

  His meaning was clear enough. Despite Kamaulk’s warning they had to try to get away before the pirates got them back aboard a boat. Once safely at sea Sasheem would muster all his arguments, insisting it was dangerous to let them live, probably regaling Kamaulk with an exaggerated list of Jon-Tom’s abilities and in general doing everything in his power to convince the new captain that it was safer to have the human and his companions dead than to try and wring a few gold pieces out of them. Excepting Weegee, of course.

  They didn’t stop for dark until a scrawny, swarthy coyote tripped over a root in the darkness and got up cursing. “We need to halt ‘ere, Cap’n” He carried a long pike and was gaudily clad in reds and greens. “The boys don’t relish tryin’ to find the beach in the dark.” Murmurs of agreement rose from the other crew members.

  “Aye, sir, we’re about done in.”

  “ Tis been a long enough day and enough marchin’. I’m for makin’ camp here.”

  Sasheem glared at them. “Nonsense.” He jabbed a thumb skyward. “The moon gives plenty of light.”

  “We’ll do better to rest tonight and make better time in the morning,” the coyote argued stubbornly. “One never knows what one might meet in a strange wood at night, especially in this unknown country.”

  The leopard let out a low snarl. “Surely you don’t fear the simpletons we just left?”

  The coyote spat at the ground. “First mate, I ain’t afraid of anything natural. We’re just plain tuckered, we are. I’m second to none in me desire to be back aboard a seaworthy vessel, but even a fanatic needs his sleep. Now that we got what we come for I don’t see the need to rush. They ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

  Kamaulk put a restraining wing on his second-in-command’s arm. “I’m
tired myself. The past few days have been a strain, bar. This is a good place to nap, dry and cool. Even if we were to reach the beach we’d have to spend the night on the sand before sailing home. The currents along these shores are tricky and I don’t care to try the breakers at night. Let the crew have their sleep.”

  A smart captain, Jon-Tom reflected, and therefore more dangerous than the impetuous, hotheaded Corroboc. He knows how to listen to his men and play them off against each other.

  Sasheem set an ample guard over the prisoners and around the temporary encampment just in case the hunters they had bargained with were tempted to try and repossess their former property. The fat, badly scarred beaver who had been assigned to watch glared down at Jon-Tom, angry at having been singled out while his comrades fell to sleeping.

  Jon-Tom and Mudge put their heads together and whispered, but in the end it was Weegee who determined their next course of action. She sat up straight and spat on both of them. Man and otter separated in surprise.

  “I’m fed up with the lot of you!”

  “Luv, wot are you on about? We risked our necks to rescue you from these bastards. Just because things didn’t work out the way we planned....”

  “Planned my arse. You don’t plan, you stumble, you ignorant twits. You don’t consider the unforeseen possibilities. My luck that my ‘rescuers’ turn out to be the biggest trio of dummies this side of Snarken.”

  Mudge rose. “Now you listen to me, you bristle-nosed bitch!”

  “Don’t call me names, fuzznuts. I’ve about had it up to here with you and your pimple-brained man-boy. You’re no good as rescuers and you’re no good as anything else. At least this bunch,” and she jerked her head in the direction of the sleeping pirates, “has some guts. Take him, for instance.” She indicated their guard. “You can tell just by looking at him that he’s too smart to get himself iri a fix like this. Males like that, they’ve been around. They know the score, how to take care of themselves.” The beaver made a show of ignoring this verbal by-play, but he consciously tried to suck in his gut and stand a little taller.