Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  A tall glass of murky, aged pond water stood nearby.

  Heat rose from the iron cookstove where Sorbl la-

  bored diligently over two bubbling pots and baking

  bread. As he watched, the owl dropped from the

  perch welded to the front of the stove, slid a couple

  of fried mice out of the oven -and slipped them

  between slices of fresh bread, and began to munch

  on his own breakfast. The bread smelled delicious.

  At the moment, though, his thoughts were not on

  food. Instead, he stared openmouthed at the con-

  struction which had appeared in the middle of the

  floor.

  It was a cage, and not a very elegant cage at that.

  Six feet tall and three or four square, it seemed to

  hover in midair a foot or so above the kitchen tiles. It

  had six sides instead of four. Instead of bars, thin

  threads connected top and bottom. They did not

  ripple in the heat of the room. They did not move at

  all.

  Not even when the berserk, spitting, squalling

  creature caged within chose to bang against them

  with its body. It bounced off as if the threads were

  fashioned of inch-thick steel. It used its shoulders

  because its arms were tied to its sides. In fact, the

  occupant of the cage wore a mummylike cylinder of

  heavy rope that encased him from ankle to neck.

  "Good morning, my boy," said Clothahump cheerily,

  as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  "Have some breakfast?"

  "In a minute." Jon-Tom put his staff aside. He

  moved into the kitchen and walked slowly around

  the hovering cage, never taking his eyes from it.

  TBE MOKBNT OF THE MAOJCJAM

  67

  With a finger, he tested one of the threads. It

  refused to move no matter how hard he pushed or

  pulled on it. He had to pull away fast because the

  bound creature inside tried to bite off his finger.

  Sharp teeth just managed to nick his skin. He sucked

  on the thin cut.

  "I'm sorry, Mudge," he said, "but I didn't have

  anything to do with this."

  "Oi now, didn't you, you stretched-out offspring of

  an otherworldly bitch? You slippery sliver-tongued

  bastard. Of course you didn't 'ave nothin' to do with

  it, you and that calcified lump of solid bone wot calls

  'imself a sorcerer."

  Clothahump ignored this tirade and continued to

  slurp daintily at his meal.

  "Don't give me that crap, matel You and 'im *ave

  always been in league with one another against me.

  Don't try to deny it! 'Tis been that way all along."

  Jon-Tom continued to suck on the Finger his friend

  had attempted to amputate, spoke quietly. "He was

  just supposed to find you and send you a message."

  He turned to face the wizard. "You were just sup-

  posed to send him a message."

  Clothahump considered, the spoon halfway to his

  mouth. "I did send a message, my boy, and you were

  correct in your concerns. He was quite a distance

  away, in a town near Kreshfarm-in-the-Geegs."

  "It weren't far enough!" Mudge howled. He tried

  to sit down, but the enveloping ropes prevented the

  maneuver, and he had to settle for leaning up against

  the threads. "Seems it'll never be far enough to get

  me away from you two arseholes! It won't stop me

  from tryin', though. I'll never stop tryin'l" He glared

  accusingly at Jen-Tom.

  "Why, mate? I thought after that little sea voyage I

  *elped you out with we were even up."

  Jen-Tom found himself unable to meet the otter's

  Alan Dean Foster

  68

  gaze. "We were... as far as that particular trip was

  concerned. Unfortunately, something new has come

  up." He tried to smile. "You know how highly I value

  your company and assistance."

  "And you want good old 'appy-go-lucky Mudge

  along to 'old your bleedin* 'and, right? Or maybe to

  push you along in your pram?"

  When Jon-Tom didn't reply, the otter turned his

  attention back to the kitchen table. "Untie me, you

  disgustin' ball of reptilian corruption, or when I get

  out of 'ere, I swears I'll shove you in on yourself and

  cement up all the openin's!"

  "Now, now." Clothahump dabbed delicately at his

  mouth with a linen napkin. "Let us remember who

  we are talking to."

  "Oh, I know who I'm talkin' to, all right. The

  world's master meddler. I don't care anymore, you

  see? So I can say wotever I want. Turn me into a

  snake, turn me into a worm, even turn me into a

  bloody 'uman. See if I care. Because you've gone too

  far this time, the two of you, and I've 'ad it! I'm not

  goin' anywhere." He nodded in Jon-Tom's direction.

  "Especially not with 'im. Not across any oceans, not

  into any fights, not to the local market to buy chestnuts.

  Nowhere, nohow, no way!"

  Jon-Tom switched to rubbing his bitten finger.

  "Ever hear of Quasequa, Mudge?"

  The otter frowned down at him. "Qua wot?"

  "Quasequa. It lies far to the south of the Bellwoods.

  Exquisite country, a beautiful tropical city built out

  on a vast lake. The kind of place an otter, it seems to

  me, would find downright paradisaical."

  "Charming, friendly inhabitants;' Clothahump added

  without glancing up from his meal, "who know how

  to make a stranger feel at home. Especially, I am

  told, the ladies."

  TBS MOMENT OF TJXE MAGfCUUr

  69

  Mudge seemed to waver, but only for an instant-

  Then his determination returned.

  "Oh, no, you ain't goin' to smooth-talk me into it

  again. Not this time. I know 'ow you two operate, I

  does." He nodded again toward Jon-Tom. "This one's

  *alf solicitor and 'alf devil. Between the two of you,

  you could sell ice to polar bears- No, I'll 'ave none of

  it this time. Do what you want to me."

  Jon-Tom approached the cage, his best profes-

  sional smile fairly lighting up the dim kitchen. He

  was careful, however, not to get within biting dis-

  tance of his best friend.

  "Aw, c'mon, Mudge. One more time. For old times*

  sake. Be a friend." The otter didn't reply, stared

  stolidly at the far wall.

  "I know you're upset right now, and I can under-

  stand why. I sympathize, really. I meant it when I

  said I had nothing to do with bringing you here like

  this. I was going to come out and meet you, but

  Clothahump decided that it was important to try and

  save time, I guess, so he brought you here this way

  without telling me of his plans."

  *Time. Let me tell you somethin' about time, mate.

  Do you 'ave any idea where I was when 'is sorcerership

  there yanked me out of reality and into nothingness?

  Do you 'ave any idea what five minutes in Chaos is

  like?"

  "There are somewhat smoother methods of generat-

  ing the transition," Clothahump murmured, "but

  they take too much time."
/>   "Do they now? Time, wot? I'll tell you about time."

  A wistful expression came over his face. "There I

  was, sittin* in Shorvan's Gambling Palace in down-

  town Toothrust... which is a good place for a gam-

  bling chap like meself to be... 'oldin* twelve of a

  kind. Twelve of a kind!" He almost broke out sobbing,

  but managed to restrain himself.

  Alan Dean Foster

  70

  "And the pot... there was enough gold in that pot,

  me friends, to set me up for three, four years o*

  comfort. So I'm gettin' ready to make me play, see,

  because I know wot the score is and that the one

  chap with a chance to stop me 'as to be bluffin'

  because 'e ain't 'oldin' diddly-squat in 'is paws. This

  bum's a foxie with no moxie, see? I can read 'is

  bloomin' whiskers, and I know I've got 'im beat, I

  know I dol So I push in all me chips, a great

  galumphin' pile won at great labor and pain, and

  wot do you think 'appens to me and me twelve of a

  kind, eh? Wot?" Jon-Tom said nothing.

  "I'm jerked bodily into Unfamiliar Chaos, which

  ain't no garden spot, I can tell you, and then finds

  meself bound up like a B&D 'oliday gift in this

  bloody cage so's that tuft o' blotchy, moth-eaten

  feathers over there can tell me that I've been sum-

  moned hence because you, mate, needs me 'elp on

  one of your forthcomin' suicidal excursions."

  Jon-Tom glared at Ctothahump, who appeared

  not in the least distressed. "You did say, my boy, that

  you wanted his company on this journey. If anything,

  I expressed a dissenting opinion."

  "I said that I wanted his help, his willing help."

  "Best not to waste time," the turtle harrumphed,

  "debating semantics."

  "If you don't want to waste time," Jon-Tom said,

  **why not send us to Quasequa tlie same way you

  brought him here?"

  "It's not quite that simple, my boy. Bringing and

  sending are quite different things. The spells are

  more complex than you can imagine. Bringing takes

  enough out of you, and 1 am not at all adept, I

  confess, at sending. If I were better at either, I'd

  bring this Markus person here. That would simplify

  everything, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, 1 cannot do

  TUB MOUKKT OF THE SS.AOIC3AM

  71

  that. I was only able to manage this recall because of

  your strong association with this creature and—"

  "Who're you callin' a 'creature,' you fat-brained..."

  Mudge hesitated, latched onto a new thought. "Wait

  a minim. Who's this 'Markus' you're talkin' about?"

  "Someone I have to talk to," Jon-Tom explained.

  "In beautiful Quasequa."

  "Ain't nowheres as beautiful as a gamin' room with

  a big pot o* gold lyin' in it waitin' for the takin'.

  Twelve of a kind. The draw o' me life." He looked

  back to Clothahump again. "The least you could've

  done, your sorcerership, was to 'ave brung me 'ere

  first-class instead of economy."

  "I am not one to indulge in frivolous, unnecessary

  expense."

  "Right, guv, and I'm sure you travels steerage

  every time you transpose, too. At least let me out o'

  these blasted ropes!"

  "Yes, I believe 1 can do that, now that you have

  calmed down somewhat and decided to act halfway

  civilized. All that screaming and cursing, tch." He

  mumbled something under his breath.

  Nothing happened. "Well," Mudge asked, "is that

  it?"

  "Not quite. You have to sneeze."

  "Oi, I do, do I? Just like that? You think sneezin*

  on cue's as simple as talkin'? As simple as drawin* to

  twelve of a kind? Right then!" He inhaled sharply,

  tickled his nose with a whisker, and blew messily in

  Jon-Tom's direction. No question but that his aim

  was deliberate.

  The ropes turned to dust at his feet. He stood and

  rubbed his arms to restore the circulation.

  Same old Mudge, Jon-Tom mused, cleaning him-

  self up as he inspected his old friend. The otter

  boasted a new vest of gray shot through with silver

  thread together with matching silver-and-black shorts.

  Alan Dean Foster

  72

  His new boots were bright metallic blue. The famil-

  iar longbow and quiver of arrows were slung across

  his back. On his head rode the same battered green

  felt cap. New feather, though.

  "That's an improvement, guv'nor. Now 'ow about

  this bloomin' cage?"

  "What cage?" asked Clothahump with a half smile.

  "There is nothing barring your path save a few

  flimsy threads."

  "Few they may be but flimsy they ain't. Don't think

  I 'aven't tried." He pushed out with a hand, casually,

  and several of the threads snapped. He had to rush

  to jump clear as the wooden roof started to collapse

  on top of him. Then he was standing unrestrained

  on the kitchen floor staring at what up until a

  moment ago had been an impenetrable prison but

  was now nothing more than a couple of blocks of

  wood lightly linked together by a few cloth threads.

  "The only thing worse than a bloody wizard," he

  mumbled, "is a bloody wizard who likes to play

  jokes."

  "I do not play jokes," declaimed Clothahump with

  dignity. "Such mundane exercises in plebeian amuse-

  ment are beneath my stature." He coughed lighdy. "I

  do admit to some slight subtle sense of humor,

  however. At my age you pass up no opportunity for

  some mild amusement.

  "As for your late lamented twelve of a kind, for

  that 1 am sorry. I have reason to believe that the

  wizard Opiode the Sly, whom you travel to visit, will

  be willing to reimburse you fully."

  "Yeah, that's wot you always say, guv."

  "In any case, you will surely have the run of lovely,

  exotic Quasequa, whose climate and virtues the poets

  extol beyond—"

  "Oh, come off it, guv'nor, I've 'eard all this before."

  He sniffled once. "Twelve of a kind." A glance up at

  TBC MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN

  73

  jon-Tbm. "You know 'ow long a player waits for a

  'and like that, mate?"

  "No, I don't. I thought the most you could get in a

  game was four of a kind."

  Mudge mulled this over. "I can see we're talkin'

  different games 'ere, mate. You wouldn't understand,

  then." He turned to face Clothahump. "Right then;

  this brotherly dabbler in the back o' beyond may or

  may not pay me for me time and trouble, but wot

  about me own 'ard-earned money I put on the table?

  Wot about the loss o' me gamblin' stake? Or don't

  you think you're responsible for me losin* that?"

  "I am not responsible for your gambling debts,"

  said the turtle slowly, "but I agree it would be wrong

  were you to suffer the loss of your own money on my

  account."

  "Well now, that's more like it." Mudge looked sur-

  prised and somewhat mollified. "You know, guv, if


  you wouldn't treat me like an old 'ammer and saw all

  the time, I might be a mite more inclined to partici-

  pate willingly in these charmin' little diversions you

  and the 'airless one 'ere come up with. Quasequa,

  wot? Never been there, 'tis true. Wot is it we're

  supposed to do there?"

  "Check out a new chief advisor to the local rulers,

  a newly arrived wizard who calls himself Markus the

  Ineluctable," Jen-Torn told him.

  "Sounds straightforward enough to me." His gaze

  narrowed and darted back and forth between Jon-

  Tom and Clothahump. "You're sure that's all, now?

  You two wouldn't be concealin* somethin' from old

  -Mudge, now would you?"

  "Certainly not," said Clothahump, obviously insulted.

  "Would I do something like that, Mudge?"

  "I don't like it. You two are too chummy. I feel

  safer when you're arguin'." He focused on the turtle.

  Alan Dean Foster

  74

  "Wot's the land like between 'ere and this -Quasequa

  place?"

  "Tropical, friendly, largely uninhabited and un-

  spoiled. I would be coming along myself if my arthri-

  tis were not acting up. That, and the fact that this is

  really a minor business, precludes my accompanying

  you"

  "There's something else." Jon-Tom put a comradely

  hand on Mudge's shoulder. The otter moved out

  from under it, but at least he didn't try to bite. "This

  Markus the Ineluctable claims to have come from

  another world. If he comes from my world and the

  two of us strike up a friendship, it's a chance for me

  to get home. Maybe for both of us to get home."

  "Well now, that would be worth the journey, to see

  the last of you, mate, though I don't know as 'ow I

  could stand more than one of you otherworldly twits

  in the same place at the same time. Nothin' personal,

  but if you get back to your 'ome, maybe I can get

  back to 'aving a normal life o' me own."

  "A normal life," said Clothahump dryly, "rich with

  thieving, fighting, wenching, and being in a condi-

  tion verging on permanent inebriation all the time."

  "Yes, that's wot I said," agreed the otter blithely,

  missing the wizard's sarcasm entirely.

  Clothahump eyed him sadly. "I fear there is no

  hope for you, water rat." He looked suddenly

  thoughtful. "I was led to believe that the most you

  could hold in a game of artimum was eleven of a

  kind."

  "I thought artimum was a spice," said Jon-Tom.

  "A spicy game of chance, my boy. Spices are in-

  volved as well as dice and cards." He gave the otter a