The Time Of The Transferance

by Alan Dean Foster

  Rolling to her feet, she began spitting ostentatiously while rubbing at her mouth. “Phooey, phooey, phooey! Stink!”

  Regaining his balance the giant felt of his not-too-severely injured leg and eyed the young otter warily, ready to dodge or defend against another attack.

  “I can’t say much for the resemblance, but the attitude is unmistakable. Will you go and tell your father that an old friend is here to see him?”

  The young otter’s brows drew together. She wore a frilly pair of short pants and a flowery necklace. “See Dada? Stinkman want to see Dada?”

  “Yes.” Jon-Tom couldn’t repress a smile. When she wasn’t trying to amputate his leg the little furball was damn cute. “See Dada.”

  The cub considered, then turned and scampered up the road. “Come wid me.”

  As he followed, Jon-Tom drank in his surroundings. The forest appeared unchanged, eternal. The belltrees tinkled melodiously at the merest hint of a breeze. Already the young otter was almost out of sight. She would stop and turn to wait impatiently for him to catch up, then take off with another burst of speed.

  “Quick-quick, stinkman! You too slow.”

  He would smile and try to lengthen his stride.

  She led him to the bank of a large stream. Several homes were built on the gentle slope and as many more in the sides of the banks themselves. His guide led him to one underground domicile which boasted broad windows looking out over the water and a large oval doorway. As they drew near another trio of youngsters materialized to cluster questioningly around him. Thankfully none of them decided to find out what he tasted like.

  His guide vanished inside. While he waited for her to return he set his burden down one sack at a time. This did not allow him to relax, since he had to repeatedly but gently slap tiny paws away from straps and seals.

  “You’re your father’s cubs, all right.”

  “Who’s father’s cubs?” snapped a demanding voice. Jon-Tom spun to confront the speaker. Eyes locked.

  For a moment Mudge was speechless, in itself sufficient indication of the shock he felt. Then he rushed to greet his old friend. “ Tis a ghost.” Hand met paw. “No, ‘tis too solid to be a ghost. I never thought you’d come back, mate. We’d sort o’ given up ‘ope, wot?”

  “It took longer than I thought to set my affairs in order, Mudge.” Another figure emerged from the doorway. “Hi, Weegee.” She wore an apron covered with appliqued flowers.

  “I’m glad you came back Jon-Tom. We all worried about you, every day.”

  Insistent fingers were tugging at the bottom of Mudge’s vest. “Dada know stinkman?” Mudge backhanded her across the face, sending her tumbling tail over head. In an instant she’d regained her feet and zipped around to stare at Jon-Tom while remaining out of her father’s reach.

  “This is the human I’ve told all o’ you about.”

  “Jun-Tum?” Another of the otterlings had her finger in her mouth. “One dad have to save alia time?”

  Mudge coughed self-consciously. “Well, once in a while, anyways.”

  The cub was not so easily silenced. “You say alia time, dada. Got to save mans alia....”

  “Shut up, sapling. Cubs should be fuzzy an’ not ‘card.” He smiled wanly at his friend. “You know kids; tend to misremember wotever they’ve been told.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Well come on in then, mate! Tell us o’ wot you been up to all this time in the other world.”

  He shrugged. “Not much to tell. It’s the same dull, smelly, dangerous place you visited yourself.” As he spoke he was staring upstream. Mudge noticed the direction of his gaze, grinned and nudged the tall man in the ribs.

  “Now you wouldn’t be worryin’ about a certain red-‘eaded ‘uman, would you, mate? No need to. She’d been tendin’ the ‘ome fires, so to speak, ever since you left. I admit the rest o’ us tended to give up ‘ope from time to time, but she never did. Not that flame-’aired lass. Oh, she’s ‘ad one or two lengthy affairs, but aside from that . . .”

  “Mudge!”

  He glanced back at the doorway. “Take it easy, luv. Old Jon-Tom knows when ‘is mate is funnin’ with ‘im. Come on, you skinny sight for sore eyeballs. I’ll run up with you.”

  “Me too, me too!” The girl cub who’d chomped Jon-Tom’s leg ran up to join them. Mudge ruffled the fur between her ears fondly.

  “This is Picket. Fancies ‘erself the family lookout.”

  “Does she always look out for you by trying to take a bite out of every stranger who comes down the road?”

  “Usually,” said Mudge with exaggerated cheerfulness. “You’ll get to like ‘er. You’ll get to like ‘em all. ‘Ave ‘em callin’ you Uncle before you know it.” He yelled at another of his obstreperous offsping. “ ‘Ere you, Smidgen, put that down or I’ll knock you in the creek!”

  Together they shooed the other cubs away from Jon-Tom’s packages. Mudge studied them with interest. “Wot you got ‘ere? Stuff from your world?”

  “Treasures, yes. But I’d rather reveal them to everyone at once—if I can get home before your brood steals everything at that isn’t tied down.”

  “Wot, me kids—steal?”

  “Why not? They’ve got the most light-fingered instructor in this world.”

  Mudge put one paw in the air and the other over his heart. “Take me for a cookfire cinder if I ever teach one o’ me own flesh an’ blood to take wot ain’t theirs.” He looked apologetic. “I swear I ain’t been teachin’ “em, mate. They seem to come by it naturally.”

  With the otter’s assistance Jon-Tom shouldered his heavy load. Not much farther now. A long walk from Westwood. “If there’s a gene for that I’m sure it runs in your family.”

  Mudge frowned as he scratched his head uncertainly. “Don’t ‘ave any relations name o’ Jean. They’ll turn out all right. Their mother’s the civilizin’ influence on ‘em.” He turned to his daughter. “Be a luv an’ get dada ‘is favorite ‘at, that’s a dear.”

  Picket rocketed back toward the house, re-emerged an instant later carrying a red felt cap with two long white and yellow feathers protruding from the crown. Mudge carefully placed it between his ears.

  “What happened to the green one?”

  Mudge nodded at the unkempt beard. “Wot ‘appened to your face? Time takes all things, mate. Even green ‘ats.”

  The trail led up the bank away from the stream and back into the woods. “Didn’t throw it away, though,” the otter continued. “Got it in a drawer somewheres. Sort o’ a memento o’ our former travels together. Each stain on it tells a story.”

  “So I come back to find an old married Lutra with a family and responsibilities, a pillar of his community. What do you do for a living these days, Mudge?”

  “You asked me that strange question before. Me answer’s still the same. I live. Still got your duar, I see.” The familiar double-stringed instrument hung from Jon-Tom’s right shoulder, as bright and shiny as the day they’d taken it from Couvier Coulb’s skilled hands. The varnish the old kinkajou had rubbed into the instrument protected the wood like Lucite.

  “Yep. Been doing a little singing here and there. Being a wandering minstrel grows on you.”

  They were in sight of the familiar grove. Little had changed in his absence. The ancient dimensionally-expanded oaks looked the same. There were more flowers, evidence of Talea’s handiwork. A familiar figure let out a shout from the branch that hung over Clothahump’s doorway. Sorbl yelled a greeting, then vanished through an upper floor window to convey the good news to the wizard.

  Jon-Tom’s attention was on the tree next door. Every limb, every leaf was engraved in his memory. Mudge saw the look on his friend’s face and motioned for his noisy offspring to be silent. They were perceptive enough to sense that this was an important moment in adult lives.

  The door opened and there was Talea. A little older and a little more beautiful. She’d been busy with housework and wore a bandana around her red
hair and a large work apron over her shorts and halter. There was no wind to ruffle the vision she made.

  He put down his oversized backpacks. “Hello, Talea.”

  She dropped her broom and stared back at him. “Jon-Tom.” Slowly she walked up to him, stood there inspecting every line of his face, every hair, remembering. Then she kicked him in the shin, the same one that Picket had sampled. He yelled.

  “Hello Talea, hello Talea—is that all you can say after years have gone by, you mindless son of a whore? Years! Not one letter, not one frigging postcard.”

  “But Talea my sweet, there’s no mail service between worlds.” She advanced on him and he backed up as best he could on one good leg.

  “Don’t give me any of your clever spellsinger excuses. Years I’ve been waiting for you, years hoping you would come back so I could tell you how angry I was that you went back without me.”

  Four otterlings sat politely nearby and paid rapt attention to his unplanned lesson in adulthood. Mudge stood next to them, making salient points as Talea chased the apologetic Jon-Tom several times around their tree home.

  “Now pay attention an’ maybe you lot’ll learn somethin’,” daddy told his brood. “ ‘Umans do this sort o’ thing all the time. This is ‘ow they show affection for one another after they’ve been apart for a long time. ‘Umans are like clocks that always need windin’. Soon these two’ll run down. Then they’ll strike love an’ fall into each others arms.”

  Sure enough, Talea was running out of breath. Jon-Tom let her run down, just as Mudge said, and then swept her against him. She was too weak to do more than batter feebly at his chest. Before long the pounding ceased altogether and was replaced by a different kind of contact.

  “Now lady crying,” said Picket thoughtfully. “He hurting her?”

  “No. They’re just demonstrating their love for one another,” Mudge explained.

  “Humans are crazy,” said Nickum, one of two boys.

  “Absolutely. All ‘umans are crazy. These two are crazier than most. But they can be fun. We’ll give ‘em another couple o’ minutes to sweat against each other and then we’ll see if we can’t find out wot me old friend ‘as brought back from ‘is own world, wot?”

  Before that happened Clothahump put in an appearance. Jon-Tom thought the ancient wizard moved a little more slowly, a little more hesitantly than before he’d left, but those wise old eyes missed nothing.

  “It is good to have you back, my boy. I’ve always felt, since you first came among us and we dealt in summary fashion with the Plated Folk, that you belonged here. Let us go inside. It is hot in the sun.”

  Everyone moved into Clothahump’s tree. The otterlings were on dieir best behavior and Mudge only had to cuff one every two minutes to keep them in line. Jon-Tom sat in his favorite chair sipping Selesass tea while Talea curled up on the floor next to him. Sorbl provided refreshments.

  “It’s funny, but while I was here all I could ever think about was going home, and once I got home I couldn’t stop thinking about coming back here.” He smiled at the woman sitting beside him. She was resting her head against his arm. “Of course, Talea’s presence here made my return imperative.

  “Once home I had a life I’d left behind to clean up. I told everyone that I’d been away on a secret mission for my government and that I was going to have go away again soon, probably for a longer period. They were puzzled and confused, especially my parents, but in the end they understood. As long as the money was good and I was happy, they said.”

  “At least you’ll be ‘appy,” Mudge chortled.

  “While I was home I discovered that in my heart and maybe also in my mind I wasn’t cut out to be a lawyer. A solicitor, you call it. I also found out that playing lead in a rock band was pretty dull stuff after spellsinging. I thought of trying my hand at spellsinging in my own world, but I’m afraid they don’t take very kindly to magic over there unless its packaged in cellophane, advertised on TV, and equipped with a government sticker.

  “But I wanted to be sure. The passageway between our worlds might close up some day and if it does I wanted make certain I ended up on the right side. So I took my time exploring my options and learning about myself. Then when I decided this was where I really belonged, I scoured my world in search of those truly important things I would want to bring back with me. Items of value and importance. I had to be very selective because I knew I could only bring what I could carry on my back.”

  Rising from the chair and walking over to the pile of overstuffed backpacks, he began loosening straps and buckles. The otterlings stirred excitedly.

  The first thing he extracted was a large tin containing twenty pounds of his world’s finest chocolate chip cookies. “Got the recipe, too,” he declared proudly. Setting the tin aside, he wrestled free a small bucket with a crank attached to the top. “Hand ice cream maker. All we need is rock salt, sugar, flavoring and the cooperation of a contented cow.”

  The next sack disgorged several strange and wondrous objects. “Portable television, VCR, pedal-powered generator. Had to find the last in a surplus store.” From a third pack came two cases filled with videotapes of classic cartoons: Disney, Warner Brothers, Fleischer and some new Japanese features. Sandwiched in among the tapes were music books full of songs old and new.

  “For spellsinging,” he told them.

  Clothahump surveyed the bounty spread out on the floor before him. “I know of your world only what you have told me, my boy, but based on that little information I have I should say you have made excellent choices.”

  “I want you to be proud of me, Clothahump. Here, let’s get the big stuff out of the way.” He picked up the TV. Talea moved the VCR and Mudge fought with the generator.

  As he was shoving it along the floor it caught a rising plank. Generator and wood collapsed and Mudge barely escaped tumbling down with them. Everyone moved to the edge of the unsuspected cavity.

  The secret compartment Mudge had accidentally revealed was the size of several bath tubs. Reaching down, he brought up a handful of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls and fireines. The compartment contained a hoard that would have-to be measured in bushels instead of karats.

  Years had passed but Jon-Tom had not forgotten. He turned furiously on the wizard.

  “I knew I should have put in that extra closet last year,” Clothahump murmured. “One can never have too much storage room in a tree.”

  Jon-Tom grabbed himself a handful and shook it in the wizard’s face. Precious stones went bouncing across the floor as they slipped from between his fingers.

  “Look at this! You lied to me. All the danger and pain, all the travails of that nearly fatal journey of years ago could have been avoided. Mudge and I nearly got killed a dozen times on that trek to Strelakat Mews, and for what?”

  “Calm yourself, my boy. I honestly don’t know what you’re raving about.”

  “You don’t, eh? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the night those thieves broke in here and I had come over to and rescue you, breaking my duar in the process.”

  “Of course I remember.” Clothahump’s expression was placid, his demeanor composed.

  “All that risk to protect a few lousy jewels.”

  Mudge’s eyes were popping out of his head as he stared at the treasure. “Let’s not dismiss old ‘ardhshell’s motives out o’ ‘and, mate. ‘Tain’t like ‘e didn’t ‘ave anythin’ worth risking a life or two for.”

  “I did not lie. As you may recall, my nocturnal visitors specifically asked to be given gold. Not once did they demand gems. Only gold. If you will look carefully you will find no gold. If I’d had any I most assuredly would have given it to them. But surely you wouldn’t expect me to volunteer information about what I did have, now would you? That wouldn’t have been sensible.

  “Now consider this: If you hadn’t been forced to intervene on my behalf your duar would not have been damaged. Consequently you would never have been compelled to travel to Strel
akat Mews. Mudge would never have encountered his Weegee. You would not have discovered the gate between your world and mine. You would not have been able to return to your home to learn where your true destiny lies. Consider.”

  Putting aside his initial anger, Jon-Tom did just that. It wasn’t easy. He didn’t want to consider the matter logically and dispassionately. He wanted to stomp about and yell and shout imprecations. Unfortunately he knew he was doomed to lose from the start. Not only was Clothahump right, the turtle had two hundred and fifty years of debating experience on him.

  “I resent having to admit it, sir, but you’re right.”

  “Of course I am,” said Clothahump blandly. “You are a spellsinger; not a solicitor, not a ‘rock singer’, whatever that may be, not anything else. I am your teacher and you are my student. That is your fate and that is your mate.” He nodded toward Talea, then gestured around the room.

  “These are your friends.”

  Jon-Tom took a deep breath and returned their stares: Mudge and Weegee, the four otterlings, a sober Sorbl, and back again to Clothahump. Talea completed the circle. So many things seemed to have come full circle. He thought of all the delightful companions he and Mudge had encountered; of massive but ladylike Roseroar, of Teyva and Colin the koala, of Clothahump’s first famulus Pog, the transmogrified bat.

  For company they sure as hell beat hanging around the pre-yuppies at the student union.

  “I guess you can’t argue with the world’s greatest wizard.”

  “Not advisable,” said Clothahump.

  He smiled down at Talea. “Will you have me back? If love can be magnified by traveling, then mine’s big enough to encompass the whole world.”

  “Have you back? A big, ugly, clumsy catastrophe-prone freak like you? On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “That you shave that grotesque fuzz off your face as soon as we’re back in our own tree. It makes you look like a damn otter.”