Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance

by Foster, Alan Dean;

where she was taken. I expect she'll be okay. From what I

  hear it's a well-run, sober, clean place."

  Mudge put a consoling paw on Jon-Tom's arm. "See,

  mate? Tis all worked out for the best."

  "Yes," growled Roseroar. "Let's get on with this quest

  of yours, Jon-Tom. The girl's in the kind of place best

  suited to he I pin' her."

  Jon-Tom listened to all of them, surprised Jalwar by

  asking for his opinion.

  "Since you request the thoughts of a humble servant, I

  have to say that I agree with your friends. Undoubtedly the

  young woman is now among those her own age, being

  cared for by those whose business it is to succor such

  unfortunates. We should be about our business."

  Jon-Tom nodded. "You're probably right, Jalwar." He

  looked at Mudge and Roseroar. "You're probably all

  right." He eyed the senior of the two cops. "You're sure

  this is a decent place?"

  "The streets of Snarken are full of homeless youth. We

  bag 'em all the time. So there are many orphanages. Some

  are supported by taxes, others are private. If I remember

  aright, the Friends of the Street are among the private

  organizations."

  "Okay, okay," Jon-Tom grumbled, out-reasoned as well

  as outvoted.

  "So when do we leave, mate?"

  "Tomorrow morning, I suppose, if you think you can

  lay in enough supplies by tonight."

  "Cor, can a fish fry? Leave 'er to me, mate. You and

  the cat-mountain and the old bugger get yourselves back to

  the inn. Relax and suck in the last o' the sea air. Leave

  everythin' to ol' Mudge."

  Jon-Tom did so, and was rewarded that evening by the

  sight of not one but two large, comfortable wagons tied up

  outside the inn. They were piled high with supplies and

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  151

  yoked to two matched horned lizards apiece, the kind of

  dray animals who could handle smooth roads or rough

  trails with ease.

  "You've done well," Jon-Tom complimented the otter.

  Mudge appeared to be undergoing the most indescrib-

  able torture as he reached into a pocket and handed over

  three gold coins. "And 'ere's the change, mate."

  Jon-Tom hardly knew what to say. "I didn't think

  there'd be this much. You're changing, Mudge."

  "Please don't say anythin', mate," said the tormented

  otter. "I'm in pain enough as it is."

  "Did you ever think of setting yourself up as a legiti-

  mate merchant, Mudge."

  "Wot, me?" The otter staggered. "Why, I'd lose me

  self-respect, not to mention me card in the Lynchbany

  Thieves' Guild! It'd break me poor mother's 'eart, it

  would."

  "Sorry," Jon-Tom murmured. "I won't mention it again.

  Roseroar was giving the loads a professional inspection.

  "Ah take back everything ah said about yo, ottah. Yo've

  done a fine job o1 requisitionin'." She turned to Jon-Tom.

  "Theah's mo than enough heah to last us fo a journey of

  many months. He spent the gold well."

  Mudge executed a low bow. "Thanks, tall, luscious,

  and unattainable. Now 'ow about a last decent meal before

  we're back to eatin' outdoor cooking?" He headed for the

  inn entrance.

  Jon-Tom held back, spoke sheepishly. "Look, I under-

  stand how you all feel and 1 respect your opinions, and

  you're probably all right as rain and I'm probably wrong.

  I'll understand if you all want to go in and eat and go to

  bed, but I'm not tired. I know it doesn't make any sense,

  but I'm going up to this Friends of the Street place to

  make a last check on Folly."

  Mudge threw up his hands. " 'Umans! Now, wot do you

  want to go and waste your time with that for, mate? The

  girl's a closed chapter, she is."

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  "A closed chapter," Jalwar agreed, "with a happy

  ending. Leave it be. Why aggravate yourself?"

  "I won't aggravate myself. It'll just take a minute." He

  plucked one string of his duar. "I owe her a farewell song

  and I want to let her know that we'll probably be coming

  back this way, in case she wants to see us or anything."

  "Pitiful," Mudge mumbled. "Plumb pitiful. Right then,

  mate, come on. Let's get it over with."

  "You don't have to come," Jen-Tom reminded him.

  "What about your big supper?"

  "It'll keep." He took the man's arm and urged him up

  the street. They climbed the first hill.

  "Look at it, mate. The night's as black as the inside of

  a process-server's 'eart." He stared up the narrow, winding

  avenue. "You sure we can find this place?"

  Jon-Tom nodded. "It's atop a hill. We can always ask

  directions. We're not helpless."

  "No," said a new voice, startling them, "not now

  you're not."

  "Roseroar... you're not hungry either?"

  "Ah've got a beilyfull of thunder," she shot back, "but

  ah figured ah'd better come along to make sure you two

  don't end up in an alley somewheres. Those muggahs may

  still be working this area."

  "We can take care of ourselves, luv," said Mudge.

  "Ah'm sure you can, but you can take better care o'

  yourselves with me around."

  Jon-Tom looked past her. She noticed the direction of

  his gaze. "Jalwah wanted to come, too, bless his heart,

  but there's climbing to do and he's more than a little worn

  out. He'll wait fo us and keep a watch on our supplies."

  "Fine," said Jon-Tom, turning and starring to climb

  again. "We'll be back soon enough."

  "Aye, right quick," Mudge agreed.

  But they were both wrong.

  x

  The Friends of the Street occupied a complex of stone-and-

  mortar buildings atop a seaward-facing hillside. It was

  located in an area of comfortable individual homes and gar-

  den plots instead of the slum Jon-Tom expected.

  "Whoever endowed this place," he told his companions

  as they approached the main entrance, "had money."

  "And plenty o' it," Mudge added.

  Several long, narrow, two-story structures were linked

  together by protective walls. Blue tile roofs gleamed in the

  moonlight. Dim illumination flickered behind a couple of

  windows, but for the most part the complex was dark.

  That wasn't surprising. It was late and the occupants

  should be in bed. Flowery wrought-iron trellises blocked

  the front doorway, but there was a cord to be pulled.

  Jon-Tom tugged on it, heard the faint echo of ringing from

  somewhere inside. Leaves shuffled in tall trees nearby. The

  thousand bright stars of Snarken electrified the shoreline

  far below.

  The door opened and a curious lady squirrel peeked out

  at them. She was elderly and clad entirely in black. Black

  lace decorated the cuffs of her sleeves. Hanging from her

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  Alan Dean Poster

  gray neck was a single golden medallion on a gold chain.

  Several letters had been engraved on it, but they were too

  small f
or Jon-Tom to make out.

  "Yes, what is it?"

  "Are you the master of this orphanage?" Jon-Tom

  asked.

  "Me?" She did not smile. "No. What do you wish with

  the Headmaster?" She was watching Roseroar carefully.

  "Just a couple of quick questions." He put on his most

  ingratiating grin.

  "Office hours are from mid-morning to nightfall." She

  moved to shut the door.

  Jon-Tom took a step forward, still wearing his grin.

  "We have reason to believe that an acquaintance of ours

  was recently—" he searched for the right word, "enrolled

  at the orphanage."

  "You mean you don't know for certain?"

  "No. It would have been within the last day."

  "I see. Visiting hours are at nightfall only." Again the

  attempt to close the door, again Jon-Tom rushed to fore-

  stall her.

  "Please, ma'am. We have to depart on a long difficult

  journey tomorrow. I just want a moment to assure myself

  that your institution is as admirable on the inside as it is

  from without."

  "Well," she murmured uncertainly, "wait here. The

  Headmaster is at his late-eve devotions. I will ask if he can

  see you."

  "Thanks."

  The wait that ensued was long, and after a while he was

  afraid they'd been given a polite brushoff. He was about to

  use the bell-pull a second time when she reappeared

  trailing an elderly man.

  As always, Jon-Tom was surprised to see another human

  in a position of authority, since they didn't seem to be

  among the more prolific groups here. In Clothahump's

  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  155

  world mankind was just one of dozens of intelligent

  species.

  The man was only a few inches shorter than Jon-Tom,

  which made him unusually tall for a local. With the

  exception of a radically different cut, his attire was identi-

  cal with that of the much smaller squirrel: all black with

  lace cuffs and the same golden medallion. He held his

  hands clasped in front of his chest. His gray hair was

  combed neatly back at sides and forehead. A gray goatee

  protruded from his chin, and he wore thin wire glasses

  with narrow lenses. To Jon-Tom he resembled a cross

  between Colonel Sanders and a contrabassoon.

  His smile and words both spoke of kindly concern,

  however. "Greetings. Welcome, strangers, to Friends of

  the Street." He gestured toward the squirrel. "Ishula tells

  me you have a friend among our flock?"

  "We think so. Her name's Folly."

  The Headmaster frowned. "Folly. I don't know that we

  have anyone staying with us by that... oh, yes! The young

  woman who was brought in the previous evening. She told

  us her terrible tale of being captured by pirates on the high

  seas. You are the ones she described as her rescuers, are

  you not?"

  "That's right."

  "To think that such awfulness is abroad in the world."

  The Headmaster shook his head regretfully. "The poor girl

  has endured more than any intelligent creature should

  suffer."

  Jon-Tom had to admit that so far all of his concerns and

  fears looked unjustified. Still, he couldn't leave satisfied

  without at least a fast look at the facilities.

  "I know it's late, and it's cold out here. We have to

  leave on a long trip tomorrow, as I told your assistant.

  Could we come in for a moment and have a look around?

  We just want to make sure that Folly's going to be well

  looked after. We place no claim on her and I'm sure she'll

  be much better off here than with us."

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  Alan Dean Foster

  "Why, certainly, do come in," said the Headmaster.

  "My name is Chokas, by the way. Ishula, the gate."

  The squirrel unlocked the iron grille as Jon-Tom made

  his own introductions.

  "Delighted, ah am sure," said Roseroar as she ducked

  through the opening.

  They found themselves in a long white hallway. Chokas

  led them down the tiled corridor, chatting effusively and

  not at all upset by their presence or the lateness of the

  hour. The squirrel trailed behind, occasionally pausing to

  dust a bench or vase with her tail.

  Jon-Tom made polite responses to the Headmaster's

  conversation, but he was only paying partial attention. The

  rest of him searched for indications of subterfuge or

  concealed maleficence. He was not rewarded.

  The corridor and the rooms branching off it were spot-

  less. Decorative plants occupied eaves and niches or hung

  in planters from the beamed ceiling. There were skylights

  to admit the warmth of day. Without being asked, Chokas

  volunteered a further tour of the Friends of the Street.

  Beginning to relax, Jon-Tom accepted.

  Padded benches paralleled clean tables in the dining

  room, and the kitchen was as shiny as the hallway.

  "We pride ourselves on our hygiene here," the Head-

  master informed him.

  The larder was filled to overflowing with foodstuffs of

  every kind, suitable for sustaining the energetic offspring

  of many races. Beyond, the reason for the interlocking

  architecture became apparent. It circled to enclose a

  broad courtyard. Play areas were marked out beneath

  several bubbling fountains, and tall trees shaded the grounds.

  Roseroar bent to whisper to him. "Come, haven't y'all

  seen enough? The girl will be well cared fo heah."

  "I have to admit it's not the kind of place I expected,"

  he confessed. "Hell, I'd be half-tempted to move in

  myself." He raised his voice as he spoke to the Headmas-

  ter. "Terrific-looking place you run here, Chokas."

  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  157

  The man nodded his thanks. "We are privileged to serve

  as guardians and protectors of the homeless and those who

  have lost their way at a tender age. We take our responsi-

  bilities seriously."

  "What sort o' schooling do they get?" Roseroar asked.

  "Histories, geographies, mathematics, training in the

  social verities, domestic subjects such as cooking and

  sewing. Physical education. Instruction in discipline and

  courtesy. A well-rounded curriculum, we believe."

  "I've seen enough." Jon-Tom glanced toward the second-

  floor dormitories. "So long, Folly. It was interesting know-

  ing you. Have a full and happy life and maybe we'll meet

  again someday." He turned back toward the entry hall.

  "Thanks again for the tour, Chokas."

  "My pleasure. Please come visit us anytime, sir. The

  Friends of the Street encourages visitation."

  The front door closed quietly behind them, leaving the

  trio standing on the cobblestone avenue outside. Roseroar

  started down the hill.

  "That's done. Now we can get down to mo important

  business."

  "I admit she's better off here than with us," Jon-Tom

  said. "Certainly it's a more stable environment than any

  alternative we could come up with."

&n
bsp; "Hang on a minim, you two." Jon-Tom and Roseroar

  turned, to see Mudge inspecting the entrance.

  "What's the matter, Mudge?" Come to think of it,

  Jon-Tom hadn't heard a single comment from the otter

  during the tour. "I'd think that you, of any of us, would

  be anxious to get back to the inn."

  "That I am, mate."

  "Come on, then, ottah," said Roseroar impatiently.

  "Don't tell me you miss the cub? You liked her no mo

  than did ah."

  "True enough, mistress of massive hindquarters. I thought

  'er obstinate, ignorant, and nothin' but trouble, for all that

  she went through. Life's tough and I ain't me sister's

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  Alan Dean Poster

  THE DAY OF THE

  159

  keeper. But I wouldn't leave a slick, slimy salamander

  who'd ooze all over me in a place like this."

  "You saw something, Mudge?" Jon-Tom moved to

  stand next to him. "I thought it was neat, clean, and

  well-equipped."

  "Bullocks," snapped the otter. "We saw what they

  wanted us to see, nothin' more. That Chokas chap's as

  slick as greased owl shit and I'd trust 'im about as far as I

  can piss." He turned to face them both. "I don't suppose

  either o' you sharp-eyed suckers 'appened to note that there

  are no windows on the first floor anywheres facin' the

  streets?"

  Jon-Tom looked left, then right, and saw that the otter

  was correct. "So? I'm sure they have their reasons."

  "I'll bet they do. Notice also that all the second-story

  windows are barred?"

  "More decorative wrought iron," murmured Jon-Tom,

  his eyes roving over the upper floors.

  "Decorative is it, mate?"

  "This is a rough city," said Roseroar. "Orphans are

  vulnerable. Perhaps the bans are to keep thieves from

  breakin1 in and stealing youngsters to sell into slavery."

  "If that's the case then the 'Friends' of the Street 'ave

  done a mighty professional job o' protectin' their charges

  from the outside. Observe that none of these trees over-

  hang any part of any of the buildin's."

  That was true. A cleared expanse of street formed an

  open barrier between the nearest orchard and the outermost

  structures.

  "But what does all of it prove?" Jon-Tom asked the

  otter.

  "Not a bloody thing, mate. But I've been around a bit,

  and I'm tellin' you that my gut tells me somethin' 'ere

  ain't right. Me, I'd be curious to *ave a little chat with one

  or two o' the occupants without that piranha-faced squirrel