Spellsinger

by neetha Napew

  "He won't," she insisted. "I'm depending on you to see to that."

  "You and your good nature." Nilanthos closed the door behind them, moved to

  spark the oil lamps lining the surgery. "You might have been beetter off leeting

  theem die."

  "And what if they hadn't? What if they'd lived and remembered who attacked them?

  It was dark, but I can't be sure they'd never recognize me again."

  "Yees, yees, I see what you mean," he said thoughtfully. He stood at a nearby

  sink and was washing long-fingered hands carefully.

  "Weel then, what story should I geeve theem wheen they are brought around?" He

  was pulling on gloves and returning to the large central table on which the two

  patients had been deposited.

  Jon-Tom leaned back against a wall and watched with interest. Mudge paced the

  surgery and looked bored. Actually, he was keeping one eye on Nilanthos while

  searching for anything he might be able to swipe undetected.

  With a more personal interest in the welfare of the two victims, Talea stood

  close to the table as Nilanthos commenced his preliminary examination.

  "Tell them they had an accident," she instructed him.

  "What kind off acceedent?"

  "They ran into something." He looked over at her skeptically and she shrugged.

  "My fist. And the iron chain I had wrapped around it. And maybe a wall. Look,

  you're a doctor. Think of something reasonable, convince them. Some passersby

  found them and brought them to you."

  He shook his head dolefully. "Why a primate as attracteeve as yourseelf would

  eendulge een such neefarious doings ees more than I can fathom, Taleea."

  She moved back from the table. "You fix them up, and let me take care of me."

  Several minutes passed and the examination continued. "Thee Counceelman weel bee

  fine. Hee has onlee a mild concussion and minor cuts and bruises. I know. I weel

  make arrangements to have heem deeposited on hees front doorstep by a couple off

  rats I know who weel do that sort off work weethout letting cureeosity get een

  their way." He turned his gaze on the squirrelquette, long fingers moving

  carefully through her hair.

  "Theese one ees not as good. There ees a chance off a skull fracture." He looked

  up at Talea. "That means posseeble eenternal een-juries." The subject of the

  examination moaned softly.

  "She seems lively enough," Talea commented.

  "Appeerances can deeceive, eespecially weeth head eenjuriees." He was applying

  disinfectant and then bandaging to the wound. The bandage promptly began to show

  a dark stain. "I'll just have to watch her carefullee. Do you by any chance know

  her?" Talea shook her head.

  "Neither do I. The Counceelman's lady for thee evening. Probably lady off thee

  eevening, too. Shee'll bee angry when shee regains consciousness, but no

  dangeer. I'll see to that, too."

  "Good." Talea started for the exit, hesitated, put a hand on the orang's broad

  shoulder. "Thanks, Nilanthos. You've more than canceled out our debt. Now I owe

  you. Call on me if you need my services."

  The physician replied with a wide simian leer.

  "Professionally, I mean." The leer broadened. "You are impossible, Nilanthos!"

  She feigned a swing at him.

  "Do not strike thee doctor while hee ees een thee process off performing hees

  heeling duties."

  "That's a laugh! But I still owe you."

  "Honor among theeves, ees that eet?" He looked seriously down at the

  squirrelquette and the now badly stained bandage wrapped around her skull.

  "Veree weel. For now eet's best eef you all geet out off heer." He said it while

  staring at Mudge.

  The otter nodded, moved away from the slipcatch-latched drug-and-narcotics case

  where he'd been idling the past several minutes.

  "What's the hurry?" Jon-Tom wanted to know.

  Mudge put a hand on his arm, pulled him along. "Be you daft, mate? We've got t'

  get out o' town."

  "But I don't... I thought..." He barely remembered to duck as they exited the

  surgery. "If Doctor Nilanthos is going to take care of things as he said, why do

  we have to run?"

  "Cor, he can take away the worries as far as those two in there be concerned,

  but someone else might 'ave seen us. They might even now be reportin' us t' the

  police. Your size makes us too conspicuous, lad. We 'ave t' leave, especially

  after that fight in the Pearl Possum."

  "But I still don't see..."

  "Not now, mate." Mudge was insistent. They were out in the dark street again.

  "Come on, Jon-Tom," said Talea. "Don't make trouble."

  He halted, stared open-mouthed at her. "Me make trouble? I've been the innocent

  victim of trouble ever since I set foot in this stinking, lousy excuse for a

  world."

  "Easy now, mate." Mudge looked sideways at him. "Don't be sayin' somethin' you

  may be sorry for later."

  Jon-Tom's carefully constructed calm had lasted about ten minutes. His voice

  rose unreasonably, echoing in the mist. "I don't regret anything I have to say!"

  Talea was looking back toward town, clearly upset. "I want to see some of the

  goodness, the kindness that this world should have."

  "Should 'ave?" Mudge looked confused. "By who's determination?"

  "By the..." His voice trailed off. What could he say? By the rights of legend.

  What legend? By logic? Mudge was right.

  "Oh, never mind." The anger and frustration which had flared inside faded

  quickly. "So we're fugitives. So I make us conspicuous. That's the way it is."

  He nodded at nothing in particular. "Let's get going, then."

  He vaulted into the back of the wagon. Mudge climbed into the front seat, caught

  Talea's questioning glance, and could only shrug blankly. She hefted the reins

  and let out a vibrant whistle. The somnolent lizards came awake, leaned forward

  into their reins. The wagon resumed its steady forward motion, the thick feet of

  its team sounding like sacks of flour landing on the damp pavement.

  Jon-Tom noted that they were headed out of town, as Mudge had insisted they

  must. Houses decorated with little gardens slipped past. No lights showed in

  their windows at this stygian hour.

  They passed the last street lamp. Here the road turned from cobblestone to

  gravel. Even that gave way to a muddy track only a little while later. All light

  had vanished behind them.

  It was deep night of early morning now. The mist continued to dog them, keeping

  them wet and chilled. Never is the winter so cloying as at night.

  Among the occupants of the wagon only Jon-Tom had a lingering concern for the

  greater night that threatened to do more to the world than chill it. Talea and

  Mudge are creatures of the moment, he thought. They cannot grasp the

  significance of Clothahump's visions. He huddled deeper under the gray blanket,

  ignoring the persistent aroma of the squirrelquette's perfume. It clashed with

  the smell of dried blood.

  Thunder crossed the sky overhead, oral signatory to the last distant vestiges of

  the night storm. It helped them bid farewell to Lynchbany. He was not sorry to

  leave.

  Soon they were in the woods. Oaks and elms showed familiar silhouettes against

  the more melodious boles of belltree and co
ronet vine. The latter generated an

  oboesque sob as if pleading for the advent of day and the refreshing heat of the

  sun.

  For hours they plodded steadily on. The road wound like a stream around the

  hills, taking advantage of the lowest route, never cresting more than an

  occasional rise. Small lakes and ponds sometimes flanked the trail. They were

  inhabited by a vast assortment of aquatic lizards who meeped and gibbered in

  place of frogs. Each glowed a different color, some green, others red or pink,

  still others a rich azure. Each bubble of sound was accompanied by an increase

  in light. The ponds were full of chirping searchlights that drifted from branch

  to bank.

  Jon-Tom watched the water and its luminescent reptilians fade behind them. The

  ponds became a brook which ran fast and friendly alongside the rutted wagon

  track. Unlike the other travelers it was indifferent to who might overhear its

  conversation, and it gurgled merrily while teasing their wheels.

  Resignation gave way once more to his natural curiosity.

  "Well, we're long out of town." He spoke to Talea. "Where are we going?" Rising

  to his knees he reached out a hand to steady himself in the jouncing wagon. It

  gave an unexpected lurch to the right, and he caught her side instead of the

  back of the seat. Hastily he moved his fingers, but she had neither moved away

  nor protested.

  "Somewhere where we can't be trapped," she replied. "For God knows even a

  blithering Lynchbany cop could piss and track the ruts of this wagon at the same

  time. Like any other creature we retreat to a lair and we don't fight unless

  we're cornered. And where we're going not even the police will dare come."

  "I ain't sure I'd agree to that." Mudge sounded more hopeful than assured. "Tis

  more of an uneasy truce."

  "Nonetheless," she countered, "we're far more likely to be safe there than

  anyplace else." Jon-Tom still gazed questioningly at her.

  "We're going to the local branch of the intracounty association of disadvantaged

  self-employed artisans and underachievers," she explained.

  "Thieves' Hall," Mudge grunted....

  VIII

  They spent the rest of the night curled beneath the thick blanket in the back of

  the wagon. Mudge and Talea were soon as motionless as her former victims, but

  Jon-Tom was too keyed up to sleep. Talea was silent as a stone, but a steady

  snoring in the form of a high-pitched whistle came from the gray-clad lump that

  was Mudge.

  Jon-Tom lay on his back and studied the night sky, framed by the overhanging

  branches of the trees. Some of the constellations overhead were familiar, though

  out of place. Location as well as season was different here. It was a great

  comfort, however, to see the easily recognizable shape of Orion standing

  stalwart as ever against the interstellar vastness.

  Once something with ghostly gray fluorescent wings passed between him and the

  moon, a delicate crinoid shape that might have been a reptile, or bird, or

  something unimaginable. It trailed thin yellow streamers behind it, and for an

  instant it glittered in the sky.

  Then it was gone behind the trees. A low hiccoughing came from some concealed

  arboreal thing.

  Tiny feet sounded like twigs on the road. Their owner paused to sniff at the

  wagon wheels before skittering onward. Sycamores and gingkos conversed in low

  philosophical woodtones. They lulled him finally into a deep, dreamless

  sleep....

  He awoke to a welcome sun filtering down through the leaves and a weight on his

  left shoulder. Turning his head, he saw Talea snuggled up against him. She was

  sleeping on her side, resting on his shoulder, one arm thrown limply across his

  chest. He had mixed feelings about disturbing the sculpture.

  However... they had a destination. He moved a little. Her eyes fluttered, body

  stirred. She blinked, simultaneously taking note of both him and proximity. As

  she pulled away, she rubbed sleep from her eyes.

  "Easy night," she murmured thickly, "though I've had softer beds."

  "Me too." To his surprise he saw that Mudge was already wide awake. He had no

  idea how long the otter had lain there watching them.

  "Best we be on about our business," the otter said brightly. "The Lynchbany

  lockups ain't particularly persistent, but if it was a slow night a few

  ambitious types might've elected to come follow." He stood up, gestured back

  down the road.

  "Personally I think we're well clear of 'em, but you never can be sure."

  "Right." She was climbing into the driver's seat. "Best never to take chances

  with a skunk."

  Shortly they were trundling once more down a road that had become hardly more

  than a trail. They'd turned off, he noted, on a branch that was almost devoid of

  wagon ruts. Their absence was compensated for by large rocks that did nothing to

  help his kidneys.

  They paused later for a Spartan breakfast of bread, jerky, and a kind of dried

  fruit that resembled lime but tasted much better. Then off again.

  It was noon when Talea indicated they'd arrived. Jon-Tom peered ahead between

  her and the otter. "I don't see anything."

  "What did you think?" she asked archly. "That a place like the local branch of

  the intracounty... a place like Thieves' Hall would announce itself with flying

  banners and a brass band?"

  They turned down a still narrower path and penetrated as deeply into the dense

  woods as trees would allow. After a half-mile walk they came to a crude corral

  filled with an astonishing assortment of reptilian mounts. Several hundred yards

  off to the right of this open-air stable Talea located a metal doorway. It lay

  half hidden beneath the roots of several massive oaks and was set directly into

  the rock face of a low-browed cliff.

  She rapped hard on the metal three times with her open palm, waited, then

  repeated the knock.

  Presently a small window opened in the top of the door. No face showed itself.

  It was easy enough for whoever was within to see outside without placing an eye

  invitingly near a possible knife thrust.

  "Succor and surcease, comfort and respite to those who know how to live," said a

  voice from within.

  "T' practice usury without interference," Mudge responded promptly. "T' get

  one's fair share. T' never givin' a sucker an even break."

  There was a pause and then the door swung outward on rusty hinges. Talea entered

  first, followed by Mudge. Jon-Tom had to bend almost double to clear the

  ceiling.

  Inside they confronted a muscular otter a couple of niches taller than Mudge. He

  inspected them cautiously, reserving particular attention for Jon-Tom.

  "That one I don't know."

  " 'E's a friend." Mudge smiled as he spoke. "An acquaintance from a far

  province, wot?" He did not elaborate on that, nor did he mention Clothahump.

  The other otter blew his nose on the floor and turned perfunctorily away. They

  followed. Before long they passed a series of interlocking tunnels. These all

  seemed to devolve into a much larger central cavern. It was filled with a noisy,

  raunchy, squalling crowd that made the patrons of the Pearl Possum look like

>   nursery schoolers their first day away from home.

  There was enough sharpened steel in that one room to fight a small war. A fair

  amount of dried blood on the stone floor showed that those instruments were

  frequently in use. In the enclosed area the noise was close to deafening. Not to

  mention the odor. He'd almost come to ignore the animal smells, but in that

  tight, poorly ventilated chamber, populated as it was by a less than usually

  hygienic assembly, it was overpowering.

  "What do we do now?"

  "First we find the president of the local chapter," Talea explained, "and pay

  our protection money. That allows us to stay here. Then we find a piece of

  unoccupied tunnel. There are hundreds of them honeycombing this hillside. We set

  up temporary housekeeping and lie low until the councilman has a chance to

  forget what happened to him.

  "Of course, he may buy Nilanthos' explanation, but I wouldn't put it past his

  type to check out any citizen's reports for that night. That's where we could

  have trouble, remember. We'll wait here a couple of weeks until it all turns to

  memory-mush. Then we can safely leave."

  At his look of distress, Mudge said, "Don't look so ill, mate. Crikey, 'tis only

  for a couple o' weeks." He grinned. "Lynchbany cops 'ave mem'ries as brief as

  their courage. But it do behoove us t' stay out o' sight o' casual travelers for

  a while. None save the completely daft are likely t' come within leagues o' this

  spot."

  Jon-Tom focused on well-used swords and knives. "I can't imagine why not," he

  said drily, trying to hold his breath.

  As it turned out they did not utilize Thieves' Hall for two weeks. It was less

  than a day before Jon-Tom made his mistake. It didn't seem like a mistake at the

  time, and afterward he was too confused to be sorry.

  There was a game. It was common in Lynchbany and well known among those who

  preyed upon the townsfolk. It involved the use of triangular dice and a circle.

  There were no hidden complexities.

  A good student like Jon-Tom had no trouble picking it up, after a few hours of

  careful study. He was still a mite hesitant about actually participating, but

  Talea was off somewhere chatting with friends and Mudge had simply disappeared.

  Left on his own and mentally exhausted, he was both bored and irritable. A