The Time Of The Transferance

by neetha Napew

  “That we do,” the otter agreed contentedly. “Wot might you suppose mine would be?”

  “I think you’d make a fine salesman,” she replied, wiping her hands with a damp rag. “You’ve always been as fast with your tongue as with your feet.”

  “Crikey, that’s wot all the ladies tell me. But, says I, why haul a lot o’ goods around the country to sell when ‘tis easier and cleaner to relieve folks o’ their coin without burdenin’ them with shoddy goods in return?”

  “Something called morals.” Jon-Tom was finishing the last of his lunch.

  The otter’s brows drew together. “Morals, morals—let me see now. I’m sure I’ve ‘card that word somewhere before, lad, but at the moment its meanin’ escapes me. Some sort o’ fruit or somethin’, ain’t it? Grows up north somewheres?” Jon-Tom could only shake his head ruefully.

  Mudge slipped out of his chair and stretched. “ Tis been a wonderfully relaxing few days, it has, but I know when I’ve overstayed me welcome. No, you needn’t try to talk me out o’ leavin’.” He put up a restraining paw despite the fact that his hosts were not exactly imploring him to change his mind. “Far be it from me to strain a friend’s largess. I can see that ‘tis time for old Mudge to be movin’ on. They say the opportunities for ungainful employment in Malderpot are ‘ot just now. I think I’ll mosey on up that way and check out the scenery, so to speak.”

  Jon-Tom put his fork aside. “Just a minute. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “Forgettin’ somethin’?” The otter mumbled to himself for a moment, then he said brightly, “O’ course. Don’t worry, mate, I’ll see to me kit and me weapons before I takes me leave. Wouldn’t do for old Mudge to go traipsin’ off without ‘is weapons, now would it?”

  “Certainly not, considering the length of the journey that lies ahead of us.”

  “Us? Long journey? Oh, you mean that brief ocean voyage you were tellin’ me about. I’m sure it’ll do you well, mate. The sea seems to agree with you. When you get back you ‘ave to look me up so you can tell me all about it.”

  Jon-Tom’s sense of humor was ebbing rapidly. “You’re forgetting something else. You’re coming with me, remember? You agreed.”

  “Piffle. Surely you didn’t take that serious, lad? Now, if your life were in danger or it were a truly serious situation, why, I wouldn’t ‘esitate to tag along to back you up.”

  “You don’t think the fact that my duar is shattered is serious?”

  Mudge shrugged. “Serious for you maybe; not serious for anybody else. Not my responsibility, it ain’t. As I said, if you were off to save the world....”

  “You’d be so eager to come along you’d be tripping over your own feet, I know,” Jon-Tom said evenly. “Now you listen to me, Mudge. You go upstairs and pack your things, but not for Malderpot. We’re leaving for Yarrowl in half an hour.”

  “Yarrowl? I ain’t got no business in Yarrowl, mate.” The otter stared back at him out of steely dark eyes. “I might accompany you for a day or so just so’s to make sure you start off on the right road, but then I promise you mate, I’d just kind o’ slip away quiet-like some night in the woods.”

  “You never did anything like that before.”

  “Me conscience were never clear about it before. Knowin’ this time that I weren’t abandonin’ you to some ‘orrible danger, I wouldn’t have a second thought about it.”

  “You’re going to do exactly as Jon-Tom says.” Both of them turned to look at Talea.

  “Don’t you o’ all folks go appealin’ to me ethics, redfur.”

  “Why would I appeal to the nonexistent?” She walked from the sink to a nearby cabinet that held her household papers, searched through the second drawer until she found several sheets clipped together. As she spoke her eyes traveled down the pages.

  “Mudge the otter Expenses Incurred.” The otter gaped at her, then at Jon-Tom, who wore an equally blank expression. “Room and board; three meals a day, sometimes four; evening snacks, transportation to and from Lynchbany; laundry—want me to read you the totals, or should I just go on with the list?”

  “Now wait a bloody minute, luv! I’m your bloomin’ friend from years back, I am. Did I charge you for the times I bailed you out o’ damp jails, or protected your arse against a concealed blade? Wot’s all this rot about expenses, then?”

  She handed him the papers. “Keep that for your records, if you want. I have a copy.”

  Mudge’s eyes ran rapidly down the list. “This is bleedin’ outrageous, is wot it is! Tis not only illegal and immoral, ‘tis outright insultin’. Wot kind o’ friend o’ me youth are you, anyways?”

  “A cautious one. That’s one thing you taught me. Of course,” and she smiled sweetly at the furious otter, “we can forget the whole bill.”

  “You’re bloody right we can.” He ripped the sheets to shreds and with great dignity deposited them in the middle of the table. “That don’t mean snake-pucky. ‘Tis fit for nothin’ but wipin’ one’s arse.”

  “I’m sure you noted that toilet paper was included on the list,” she replied calmly. “On the contrary, that is a perfectly valid contract. Reception of services is sufficient proof of agreement to pay for services received. That’s one thing Jon-Tom taught me.”

  “Bloody solicitor,” the otter grumbled, glaring up at Jon-Tom. “I made no such arrangements to pay for anythin’ when I came to stay ‘ere as your guest.”

  “The judge won’t know that. Who do you think he’ll believe, Mudge?” She walked over and stroked the fur on the back of his neck. He jerked away, but not very violently. “The honest, respectable wife of a noted local citizen, or a thoroughly disreputable peculator like yourself?”

  “Peculator?” The otter turned on Jon-Tom. “Will you listen to this female, mate? You’re ruinin’ ‘er, you are.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He leaned back in his chair. “She doesn’t look particularly ruined to me.”

  “Which’ll it be, Mudge?” She looked at her husband. “You were right. This is almost as much fun as carving someone up with a knife.”

  “It’s pretty much the same thing where I come from, light of my life.”

  Mudge sat down heavily. Talea didn’t let up on him. “Answer me, water rat. Do you ship out or pay up?”

  Displaying his unparalleled mastery of the blue funk, the otter stared at the floor for several moments. Finally he squinted up at Jon-Tom. “You promise me this ain’t no ruse? You ain’t tryin’ to trick poor Mudge into takin’ off on another o’ your wild, life threatenin’ trips to the backside o’ hell?”

  Jon-Tom solemnly raised his right hand. “I swear we’re only taking a little ocean voyage to get my duar repaired. I don’t anticipate any trouble and I’m not going to go looking for any.”

  “Huh,” the otter grunted. He swiveled his head to look at Talea. “Wot ‘appens when we gets back?”

  “I tear up all copies of your bill.”

  “Bill, that’s a laugh.” He licked his lips and whiskers. “Do I get me room back?”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “Wot if this don’t turn out to be the picnic Jon-Tom claims it to be?”

  “I’ll bury you in the backyard. That far I’ll go. I’ve no objection to having you around so long as I don’t have to feed you, listen to you, or smell you.”

  “You always was generous to a fault, luv. Was one o’ the things I liked about you. Almost otterish.” He smiled in spite of himself. It was impossible for Mudge to stay gloomy for long. “Ah well. If one’s to be outfoxed ‘ow better than by the sauciest vixen in the ‘ole Bellwoods.” He rose to confront Jon-Tom. “I’ll be comin’ along then, mate, but I warn you: If you’re tryin’ to pull a fast one I’ll be away from your side faster than a celibate at a doxy’s convention.”

  “No tricks, Mudge. I promise. You and I are going to relax and enjoy a pleasant sea voyage, at the conclusion of which we’ll do a little business with a master craftsman. Then we’ll come home. T
hat’s all. I’ve never been that far south or on an ocean voyage that long. It ought to be educational.”

  “Aye, that’s wot worries me. Every trip I’ve accompanied you on ‘as been too bloody educational.” Spying an unconsumed slice of Talea’s delicious tokla bread, he lunged toward the table and plucked it off its plate. He did not offer to share it with his traveling companion.

  IV

  Their backpacks filled to bursting with the savory produce of Talea’s kitchen, anxious spellsinger and reluctant companion paused to pay their respects to Clothahump before striking off on the southern road. They found the wizard berating Sorbl for some unspecified offense which the owl insisted loudly was more imagined than real. Upon concluding his lengthy admonition, the wizard turned to the matter of his friend’s imminent departure.

  “Though she needs none, I will look after Talea in your absence, Jon-Tom. I pity anyone who troubles her while you are away.”

  “So do I. Talea can take care of herself, but I appreciate the concern. What about you, sir? Are you doing all right?”

  “Actually, my boy, I am feeling fitter than I have in some time.” He glanced back over his shell. “Things would be better still if I could beat some sense into that useless famulus of mine. Time will tell if Sorbl is to become something more than an alcoholic sponge. I have only just completed an extensive insurance spell for the city of Folklare and I may have to go up there in person in order to check the installation.” He lowered his head and peered over his glasses to where a bored Mudge was leaning impatiently against the tree.

  “Your education is proceeding apace, I see, for it must have taken magic indeed to convince that one to accompany you.”

  “Not my magic. Talea’s.”

  Clothahump nodded knowingly. “I always thought that young woman had hidden talents, in addition to the visible ones.”

  “Pity I never ‘ad the opportunity to plumb ‘em,” commented Mudge. The otter’s hearing was acute.

  “Lay off, Mudge. We’re married now.” This warning only served to increase the width of the otter’s smirk. Jon-Tom gave up and looked back down at his mentor. “I have this,” and he gestured with his ramwood staff, “but I feel naked without the duar.”

  “Try not to dwell on what you do not have, my boy. Soon Couvier Coulb will make it whole again. Perhaps you can convince him to fashion you a new set of interdimensional strings. Though made of metal, those you have salvaged will not last forever. Now then, when you reach Yarrowl and after booking your passage to Chejiji, I suggest you stop at a certain shop in the commercial district. It is known only by the name of its owner, which is Izfan ab-Akmajiandor, but who is called locally Dizzy Izzy. He is something of an eccentric, something of a local legend, and very much a dealer in precious and unique articles. He trades in clocks, toys—and musical instruments.”

  Jon-Tom felt a rush of excitement. “You think maybe he...?”

  “No, my boy. No one but Coulb himself might repair your duar. Still, there is no telling what Dizzy Izzy conceals beneath his shop counter. It is said he deals in devices as eccentric as himself. You might find something to your liking in his inventory.”

  “Another duar?”

  “Too much to hope for, but who can say? Certainly it is worth a visit to find out.”

  “You hear that, Mudge? If this merchant has another duar in stock we may not have to go all the way to Strelakat Mews.”

  “Much as that’s a development devoutly to be desired, mate, I ain’t ‘oldin’ me breath.” The otter was cleaning beneath his claws with a pocket knife. “ ‘Tis occurred to me that if duars o’ such power as yours were that common, the roads would be overflowin’ with would-be spellsingers.”

  “If Clothahump thinks this shop is worth checking out we’ll certainly pay it a visit.”

  Mudge shrugged. “Makes no matter to me. I’m just an indentured servant on this excursion, I am.”

  “Don’t belittle yourself. I’ve always valued your advice and I don’t value it any less now.”

  “Is that so?” The otter stopped picking his nails and jabbed the knife in Jon-Tom’s direction. “ ‘Ere’s a bit o’ advice, then. Before you destroy yourself and any unfortunates who ‘appen to be unlucky enough to be in the immediate vicinity, give up this spellsingin’ business and take up some practical profession.”

  “Mudge, spellsinging is all I’m trained to do. That and the law.”

  “Never thought I’d live to ‘ear meself say it, but better a live solicitor than a dead spellsinger.”

  “Thanks for the advice, but you’re not getting out of this that easily.”

  “Easily? Hell, you watch me, mate. I’m just warmin’ up, I am.”

  ‘They bought seats on the southbound coach, changed at the small town of Wourmet, and rattled into Yarrowl several days later. Located where the Tailaroam River emptied into the Glittergeist Sea, the port was abustle with traffic as cargo was transferred from barges and keelboats to ocean-going freighters or animal-drawn wagons destined for the numerous towns and cities sprinkled through the vast forest known as the Bell woods. In such a crossroads of commerce anything might be purchased. Perhaps, Jon-Tom thought to himself, even something as exotic as a duar.

  They found the shop of Dizzy Izzy without much difficulty, only to find themselves confronted by drawn shades and a sign in the window that read:Open from 8 to 8

  Jon-Tom tried to see through the beveled glass and around one of the shades. “Nothing moving.”

  “There wouldn’t be. Tis too early, or ‘ave you forgotten wot ‘is wizardship told us? This ‘ere storekeeper’s a member o’ the lemur persuasion. ‘E’s open from eight at night ‘til eight in the mornin’, not the other way ‘round.”

  “I remember now. So we’re too early, not too late.” He checked the nearby public clock. “We have enough time to eat first.”

  Mudge licked his chops. “ Supper it ‘tis , then! Washed down with a pint or two, wot?”

  “No booze, Mudge. Not here, not yet. First we have to get on the boat, then you can drink yourself silly if you’ve a mind to, but if you get yourself good and plastered in a strange city I might not be able to find you again. You tend to wander aimlessly when you’re liquored up.”

  “I do not,” replied the otter with some dignity, “ever get ‘liquored up.’ Drunk occasionally, inebriated once in a while, but never liquored up. Sounds like someone fillin’ a bloomin’ ‘orse trough.”

  “Yes, that’s not a bad metaphor.” The otter made a rude noise as they started up the street.

  Lights showed behind the shades when they returned from eating. It was not quite eight and they had to wait outside for another few minutes until the proprietor opened his doors. The indri wore canvas pants and vest over his black and white fur, and his bright yellow eyes stared at them from behind round rose-colored glasses with thin lenses.

  “Come in, come in. You’re early, friends, or late, depending on your time of day preferences.”

  Izzy’s shop was a delight, the shelves crammed full of intricately fashioned clocks of all kinds, small mechanical toys, music boxes and animated banks. But Jon-Tom’s attention was drawn instantly to the right-hand wall, on which hung a collection of musical instruments. Many of them were new to him, and several were so alien in design and construction he could not tell by looking at them whether they were intended to be strummed, tootled, or beaten.

  A series of small drums wound round a central post like fruit on a branch. Grotesque horns hung next to attenuated woodwinds. On the floor was a pipe carved from the trunk of a single tree. It must have weighed a hundred pounds or more and had fingering holes the size of Jon-Tom’s fist.

  “Bear pipe,” Izzy explained. His voice was high and reedy, not unlike that of some of his stock. “I sold the former owner a duplicate of much lighter wood and accepted this in part payment. It’s been here a long time.”

  “I can see why,” Jon-Tom said. “No one but another bear could lift it.”<
br />
  “So true, but I enjoy watching customers try. Sometimes a big cat will get it off the ground. Then they find they don’t have the lung power to operate it. What maybe perhaps possibly can I do for you, sir? By your stance and attire I divine you are a person of means, for all that you appear to enjoy associating with lesser lifes. I will be most very muchly pleased to help you, just as soon as your friend returns the small gold music box to the cabinet from which he has removed it.”

  Jon-Tom whirled to glare back at Mudge. The otter sheepishly removed an exquisitely made music box in the shape of a clavier from his inside vest pocket and put it back into the open display cabinet in front of him.

  “I were just ‘avin’ a close look at it, mate. Tis a pretty thing and I thought of buyin’ it, I did.”

  “I know, and you had to see whether or not it would ride comfortably in your breast pocket.”

  “Very comfortably I’m sure,” said Izzy agreeably. “My name, you should know, friends, comes from my dancing talent and not any inability to take care of business.”

  “Pfagh.” Mudge made a show of sauntering over to inspect a clock that was at least as tall as he was. “ Tis all right for me to look at this one or do you think I’ll try an’ walk off with it when you ain’t lookin’?”

  “I’d put nothing not at all never past an otter.” The indri smiled back at Jon-Tom. “What appeals to you, friend? What can I sell you? A timepiece?”

  “I have plenty of time. I need something else. I am a spellsinger.”

  The indri peered intently at his customer over the rims of his glasses. “Truly absolutely for sure so? A spellsinger? I’ve never met one myself though I once had an encounter with a substantial rumor.”

  Jon-Tom indicated the sack secured to his backpack. “Got a busted duar with me. I don’t suppose you could fix it?”

  “A true duar? Far beyond my meager skills, friend magic music maker. I’m no dabbler in the arcane arts.”