Chorus Skating

by Alan Dean Foster

  Umagi snapped her fingers. “Yes! There wouldn’t be any danger in that, Jon-Tom.”

  “do try, spellsinger!” requested Quiquell breathily.

  “I don’t know.” He eyed them askance. “Mudge, what do you think?” He turned, frowning. “Mudge?”

  “Said he was going fishing.” Heke looked disgusted.

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “Hey, you ask him about it,” barked the mongoose. “He’s your friend.”

  “Well, what does Lieutenant Naike think? Surely he’ll have an opinion on this.”

  “I suppose in a manner of speaking he does.” Pauko looked up from where he was washing out a skillet. “However, he went with your friend.”

  “And you didn’t go?” Jon-Tom said.

  “You think we weren’t ordered to stay here?” Karaukul replied ruefully.

  Wordlessly, Jon-Tom picked up his duar from where he’d placed it carefully atop a relatively dry rock. He’d had about enough of the princesses and their individual concerns. “You want cosmetics? I’ll give you cosmetics! Stand back.”

  They did so, looking on with a mixture of expectation and wonderment as he began to sing.

  He had no trouble combining bits and pieces of old songs with new bridging lyrics. Half the old rock tunes he knew had at least something to do with personal appearance. The lost chords fluttered ecstatically about him as he sang.

  “Ohhh, I got to look good for my bay-beee.

  Got to look good for the ball.

  Pretty ’em up, don’t say may-beee

  Color and glitz, one and all!

  Glitter and paint and touch-up

  Don’t spare the glamour

  Make sure they’ll enamor

  Anyone who chances to see

  The best that each one can be!”

  The duar actually vibrated as it responded to his wild playing. For the first time ever, a blast of multihued instead of monotonic light erupted from the interdimensional nexus, flaring in all directions to wrap about the squealing, screeching princesses like so many refulgent snakes. The soldiers dove for cover, the skillet Pauko had been cleaning clanging against the rocks as he flung it aside in his haste to conceal himself. Only the drifting chord cloud seemed enthused, serving up a soupçon of musical accompaniment to the dashing streams of light.

  As he fought to hang on to his bucking, twitching instrument, Jon-Tom found himself wondering if perhaps he ought to have waited until he’d calmed down some. Too late now. He’d summoned the magic of the duar and it was out in full force, bright enough to conceal all but the outlines of the princesses from view.

  Above the chiming of the chords and the flux of surging lights he heard Seshenshe’s laughter.

  “It tickless!”

  “And it’s cold!” added Aleaukauna from somewhere near-by.

  Without pausing to see if he’d been successful he decided that this was one spellsong he’d better wrap up right quick. Concluding a last stanza with a few hasty, desultory words, he let his fingers rise from the duar’s strings. The writhing shafts of color responded by bursting like so many party favors, cascading in a brief but intense shower of scintillating particulates to the ground. Melting into the damp soil, they caused the uneven surface of the dirt road to sparkle for just an instant like some sort of grandiose fairy freeway, a garish off ramp from the Yellow Brick Road.

  As the colors dissipated, the princesses stood revealed in all their newly resplendent glory. Screeches and gasps were replaced by giggles and inadequately suppressed smiles.

  “What are you laughing at?” Seshenshe grinned as she eyed Quiquell.

  The anteater gestured with her tongue. “i’m not sure that purple and pink polka dots suit your fur. and wouldn’t that ring look better in one of your ears than in your nose?”

  The lynx’s eyes crossed as she put both paws to her muzzle, from which now dangled a circlet of heavy-gauge twenty-four-carat gold wire. “No! Where did thiss come from? I don’t wear anything like thiss!” She whirled on Jon-Tom.

  “What’s wrong with a nose ring?” Ansibette studied the lynx’s new adornment speculatively. “I think it’s kind of flattering.”

  “As flattering as your tattoo?” Umagi gestured at the blonde.

  “Tattoo? What tatt … By my great-grandmother’s uterus!” Clutching a handful of her flowing skirt, she began rubbing furiously at her right arm. “It doesn’t come off! Doesn’t it come off?”

  Jon-Tom took a cautious step backward. Possibly she wouldn’t have been quite as upset, he reflected, if the exorbitantly chromatic tattoo hadn’t covered her entire body from forehead to toes. Personally he found the effect, as well as the actual artwork, quite elegant, though on closer inspection he did feel that there were one or two smaller drawings which could cause some offense. In particular there was one on her right shoulder running down into her cleavage which …

  “Look what you’ve done!” she wailed at him. “How can I return to my family looking like … like a walking painting from the royal galleries? Especially this kind of painting!” She indicated the etching which began at her shoulder and ended in…

  Jon-Tom stood his ground. “You all asked for a cosmetic makeover. This isn’t exactly my area of specialization.”

  Umagi was rubbing furiously at the indelible body paint which had traced a complex geometric design over her entire massive body. Pivver now wore a mixture of gold-laced stripes and circles which seemed to be skin deep, while Aleaukauna’s dark brown fur had suffered a radical body cut from crown to heel.

  Overall, it could be said that the princesses were somewhat less than wholly pleased by the manner in which Jon-Tom had complied with their request. In fact, it would not be exaggerating their reaction to say that if it were possible to lynch someone with a glance, he would by then have been swinging from beneath a branch of the nearest tree.

  To Jon-Tom’s surprise it was Heke who came to his defense, pointing out calmly but firmly that the spellsinger had done no more than comply with their wishes, and if they hadn’t badgered him into responding, they would not now be compelled to deal with their altered appearances. Which, he added, he personally could find nothing wrong with. While others might find a daub here and a razor cut there a touch extreme, he thought that on the whole they all looked most attractive.

  This mollified them only slightly. They continued muttering dire imprecations while commiserating sorrowfully with one another.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Jon-Tom told them, “but after all Mudge and I have gone through on our behalf, I thought your insistence on something so trivial was a bit out of line. I didn’t intend for my response to your request to be so … emphatic.

  “Besides which I kind of agree with Heke. I think you all look wonderful.”

  “Well…” Ansibette peered down at herself uncertainly. “Isn’t it a bit… daring? I mean, can you see all of this?” So saying, she grabbed the scoop of her bodice and pulled it down to her waist, to reveal a great deal more of her remarkably elaborate tattoo.

  Jon-Tom swallowed with difficulty. “Uh, yes, I can.”

  Moving much closer, she traced the scandalizing outline with the tip of one forefinger. “You really believe this is beautiful? You think this is attractive?”

  He chose his words with great care. “Bearing in mind that it’s difficult to improve on a blank canvas that’s already perfection itself, then I’d have to say yes, I do.”

  Lips pursed thoughtfully, she pulled the bodice back up. “Maybe I’ve been too cloistered.” Raising an arm, she examined the design which ran from shoulder to fingers. “It certainly is eye-catching.”

  “The soldier is right.” Aleaukauna was running a finger along several spirals which had been neatly shaved into the fur of her chest. “We have no one to blame for our present appearance save ourselves. We asked for this.”

  “Maybe you did; I didn’t. At leasst your fur will grow back.” The lynx tugged on the rings which decorated vario
us parts of her body.

  Jon-Tom finally quieted them by reminding them that his spells had a habit of wearing off rapidly and that if this one lingered, he would decosmetize them one at a time until their individual appearance had been restored. Still muttering, each of them found a place to lie down. It was hardly surprising that no one asked him to conjure up a proper bed or even so much as a sleeping pad, fearful of what they might awaken atop.

  Lieutenant Naike had sense enough to keep his reaction to himself when he and Mudge returned from their foraging. The otter was less restrained.

  “Bugger me for a pie-eyed potu, mate! Wot the blazes did you do to ’em?”

  Jon-Tom looked up irritably from where he lay beneath his iridescent cape. “What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”

  “Crikey, am I supposed to believe they did that to themselves?”

  “Some of it’s quite attractive,” Jon-Tom argued back. “And keep your voice down.”

  “Attractive, is it?” The otter considered the recumbent, redecorated royals. “Well, perhaps it ’tis, in a barbaric sort o’ fashion. Though I don’t see a one who looks much like the scion o’ some noble family.” He chuckled. “Just look at wot you’ve done to ’em, mate!”

  Keeping a grip on his temper, the spellsinger sat up. “So what are you saying? That you now find the princess Pivver, for example, unattractive just because she’s undergone a little fur styling?”

  “No, no. Did I say that?”

  Jon-Tom rested his forehead against one palm. “They hounded me into it, Mudge. And you weren’t exactly around to offer advice.”

  “Oi, wot could I ’ave done? I ain’t no intermediary ’twixt sorcery and nobility.” He was grinning broadly. “Though off wot I see ’ere, I don’t think you’ll ’ave to worry about bein’ bothered by any more conjurin’ requests anytime real soon.”

  “I was a little upset,” his friend replied. “Still, I tried to choose my words carefully. But you know how music can get to me. I overdid things. Again.” Behind him the cloud of ambulatory music hummed softly. “I told them that I’d try to repair matters.”

  The otter pursed his lips. “Can you?”

  “I don’t know. You know how it is with my spellsongs.” He glanced past his friend. Huddled together for reassurance, the princesses sprawled on the far side of the fire, clustering close to the bulk of Umagi of Tuuro like buttercups in the shadow of a sheltering boulder.

  “Watch your comments,” he added as he laid back down and pulled his cape up around his neck.

  Chapter 11

  BY MIDMORNING OF the following day the trees began to thin out. The travelers found themselves able to see across the marsh for quite some distance. In the absence of overbearing cypress and mahogany, they saw that sedges, reeds, and other grasses dominated the landscape, stretching southward toward the horizon.

  “The Karrakas Delta.” Lieutenant Naike wore an expression of satisfaction. “This is the way we came in.” He looked back toward the tree line. “It will be harder out here in the open for anyone to sneak up on us.”

  “I think it’s over this way, sir.” Karaukul was pointing to his right.

  “What’s over that way?” Pivver asked as the princesses splashed along in the mongooses’ wake. In addition to leaving behind the trees, they were also abandoning dry land. Mudge and Jon-Tom brought up the rear, still leery of possible pursuit. The otter was ever suspicious of good fortune.

  Under Naike’s direction the soldiers were energetically dismantling what appeared to be a grassy knoll. It wasn’t long before the outlines of a shallow-draft, flat-bottomed boat became visible. Jon-Tom no longer had to wonder how the chosen of Harakun had made their way across the vast marshland.

  As he watched, they quickly stepped the single square mast into a slot in the deck and secured it in place. There were bench seats fore and aft and oarlocks for four sweeps. A simple rudder hung from the stern.

  “Surely you didn’t navigate this bleedin’ shingle all the way from Harakun?” was Mudge’s comment when the entire craft was finally fully revealed.

  Naike gestured politely. “We purchased it in Mashupro, oceangoing vessels being useless in the marsh. It served us well enough.”

  “The four o’ you, aye.” The otter studied the simple vessel dubiously. “There’s twelve o’ us now.”

  Ansibette grasped the bow, teetering prettily on the spongy, unstable ground. “It will be awfully crowded.”

  “We shall manage.” Back on at least partly familiar territory now, the Lieutenant oozed confidence. “It’s a solid little craft, intended for ferrying cargo. Finding space for everyone will require some planning, but it will not sink under us.”

  “You only need to make room for ten, not twelve,” Jon-Tom told him.

  The Lieutenant and several of the princesses turned to him in surprise.

  “You are not coming with uss?” murmured Seshenshe.

  Jon-Tom gestured toward the chord cloud. It was drifting off to the southwest instead of the south, then racing back to spiral around him and chime insistently before repeating the motion. It was a pattern he and Mudge had come to know well.

  “We follow the music,” he explained.

  “But you cannot do that.” Naike was insistent.

  “Can’t we not, guv?” Mudge was testing the soil before him.

  “How will you cross the marsh without a boat?” Several small amphibians had taken up residence in the craft’s bow and Naike was gently returning them to the murky water.

  Mudge put an arm around the spellsinger’s waist. “Me mate ’ere an’ I ’ave crossed country both wet and dry, country you lot can’t begin to imagine. Country wot makes this ’ere bit o’ bog look like the Polastrindu parade grounds on a celebration day. We’ll arrange ourselves a raft or find another way through. We always do.”

  The Lieutenant walked over to them and lowered his voice, speaking now with the stealthiness so natural to his kind. “That is not what I mean. You cannot leave my soldiers and I to deal with these half dozen princesses. It would be difficult enough to cope with the presence and exigencies of Her Highness Aleaukauna. Add to her needs those of five equally demanding sisters and the situation becomes … how shall I say it… untenable.”

  “Oi, that’s a bleedin’ shame, that is,” Mudge replied cheerfully. “Also one that ain’t our responsibility. ’Tis a bit o’ music we’re followin’, we are. Not a cloud o’ bleedin’ perfume.” He waved at the softly ringing, faintly pink fog in question. It swirled lightly about his fingers before again darting insistently southwestward.

  Naike straightened and his tone became formal. “I am an officer of Harakun, a soldier of the Imperial Guard. If need be, ten enemies would I face alone to defend my liege or any of her relations, or any of my troops. But there was nothing in my training or experience to prepare me for this.”

  “’Ell,” quipped Mudge, “there ain’t no trainin’ for somethin’ like this. You’ll bloody well ’ave to learn on the job, as it were. I ’opes you survive. Meself, I’d rather face the ten armed enemies.”

  The Lieutenant took a step forward and clutched Jon-Tom’s shirt with both paws. His tone was pleading and his bright black eyes implored. To look at him, one would have thought him in imminent danger of undergoing the most profound sort of torture. Which was not far off the mark.

  “Please, spellsinger Jon-Tom, traveler Mudge—do not leave us to chaperon these noble ladies alone.”

  Jon-Tom gently disengaged himself from the mongoose’s grasp. “What makes you think Mudge and I would do any better?”

  “You are clearly more experienced in the ways of the world, if not those of the court. And the princesses revere you as the wizard responsible for their rescue. If there is trouble, you can always threaten them with a spell, whereas I have in my arsenal of response only feeble words.”

  “On the contrary, Naike, they despise me as the wizard who’s messed up their appearance.”

 
“There is that,” the Lieutenant conceded. “But that fades as they grow used to their new looks. Your presence would be desirable if only to give them others to talk with.”

  “You mean yell at, guv,” put in Mudge.

  Flicking water from her tail, Seshenshe came over to see what was causing the delay. Naike stepped aside.

  “The spellsinger and his companion, m’lady, will not be making the journey with us to Mashupro.”

  The lynx’s eyes widened as she regarded Jon-Tom. “What do you mean, you won’t be coming with uss?”

  “Yes, what’s this all about?” Umagi ambled over through the reeds, muscles rippling beneath her shoulders.

  Jon-Tom found himself facing a semicircle of princesses, all clamoring for his attention.

  “i can’t believe you intend abandoning us,” whispered Quiquell.

  “Yes.” Ansibette pouted sumptuously. “Aren’t you going to help us get out of this terrible place?”

  “Ain’t so terrible,” Mudge grumbled. “Just a mite damp, is all.”

  “Our situation’s not so simple.” Jon-Tom struggled to hold on to what ground remained to him. “There are six of you. That means traveling to six different kingdoms that may lie great distances apart. My friend and I have business of our own to attend to, and loved ones awaiting our return. So much journeying would delay us unconscionably.”

  “Oi, you tell ’em, mate.” Mudge made sure to keep Jon-Tom’s bulk between himself and the angry princesses.

  Aleaukauna pushed forward. “No honorable sorcerer would forsake a lady in such a place.”

  “And besides”—Pivver was fingering the whorls and chevrons shaved into her fur—“you owe us for what you’ve done to us.”

  “The cosmetic changes will fade, the piercings heal, the fur grow back,” he reminded them.

  “We’ve no guarantee of that,” said Seshenshe softly. “Your continued pressence among uss iss the only reassurance we have of being returned to normal.”