Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  them to follow. They crept along behind him, turned down

  a long narrow alley. It was ripe with moldering garbage.

  Jalwar pointed to the main street beyond.

  Both of their heavily laden wagons were still hitched to

  the rails outside the inn. Idling around the wagons were at

  least two dozen uniformed skunks and civet cats from

  Snarken's olfactory constabulary. Several well-dressed ci-

  vilians lounged next to the front wagon and chatted amia-

  bly with the officer in charge of the cops.

  Jalwar drew back into the shadows. "I saw them ar-

  rive," he whispered. "Many have stayed outside with our

  wagons. Others went upstairs searching for us. I was

  drinking and overheard in time to sneak away. I listened

  when they came back down and talked to others and to the

  innkeeper." The ferret's gaze shifted from Jon-Tom to

  Mudge. "They were talking about you."

  "Me?" Mudge squeaked, suddenly sounding defensive.

  "Now, why would they be talkin' about me?"

  "Because," Jalwar replied accusingly, "it seems you

  spent some time playing at dice with several of them."

  "So wot's wrong with a friendly little game o' dice.

  Blimey, you'd think one o' them caught me in the sack

  with 'is bleedin' daughter."

  It came to Jon-Tom in a rush: the finely fashioned

  wagons, the handsome dray animals, the new harnesses,

  the mountainous stock of supplies.

  "Mudge ..." he said dangerously.

  The otter retreated. There was little room to maneuver

  in the alley, a fact he was acutely conscious of.

  "Now, mate, take it easy. We needed them supplies,

  now, didn't we? Tis in a good cause, ain't it? Think o' 'is

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  177

  poor sickly wizardship lyin' and waitin' for us way back in

  Lynchbany and all the folks who need 'im well and 'ealthy

  again."

  "How did you manage it, Mudge? How did you cheat

  so many of them at the same time?"

  "Well, we otter folk are known for our quickness, and

  I've always been quick as any."

  "Y'all must've been a little too quick this time."

  Roseroar peered toward the inn. "Judgin* from the number

  o' police about, ah'd say you defrauded moah than a few

  idle sailors."

  "Wouldn't be much point in defrauding poor folks,

  now, would there, luv? Wot we got from sellin' the ship

  weren't near enough to buy supplies an' equipment for a

  proper expedition, but 'twere plenty to buy me into a

  handsome game o' chance with a few leadin' citizens."

  "Fat lot of good those supplies do us now," Jon-Tom

  muttered.

  Jalwar was rummaging through a pile of broken crates.

  "Here." He dragged out their backpacks. "I was able to

  throw these from our rooms while they were still searching

  for us below. It was all I had time to save."

  Jon-Tom wiped grime from his own pack. "Jalwar,

  you're a wonder. Thanks."

  "A small service, sir." Jon-Tom didn't bother to correct

  the ferret anymore. Let him say "sir" if it pleased him. "I

  only wish I could have informed you sooner, but I could

  not follow your path quickly enough." He smiled apologeti-

  cally. "These aged legs of mine."

  "It wouldn't have mattered. We were occupied with

  saving Folly."

  "What now?" Roseroar wondered as she hefted her

  own massive pack.

  Jon-Tom considered. "We can't hang around here. Now

  the cops have two reasons for picking us up. They might

  go easy on us over the Friends of the Street business, but

  not about this. For one thing, that officer in charge is a

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  little too chummy with the citizens Mudge cheated. I'm

  not anxious to tour the inside of Snarken's prison."

  "Give me a break, mate," whined the otter. "If you

  'adn't been so set on goin' after "er"—he pointed toward

  Folly—"we'd 'ave cleared this dump 'ours ago." He

  glared disgustedly at the girl. "I blame meself for it,

  though. Should've kept me concerns to meself." He added

  hopefully, "We could still sell 'er."

  "No." Jon-Tom put an arm around her shoulders. "Fol-

  ly stays with us until we can find her a safe haven."

  "I could suggest something," she murmured softly. He

  moved his. arm.

  "Right then," he said briskly. "No point in hanging

  around here waiting for the cops to find us." He started

  back the way they'd come. Mudge followed, kicking at the

  garbage.

  "Suits me, mate. Looks now like we're goin' to 'ave to

  walk all the way to this bleedin' Crancularn. Might as well

  get going. Only don't let's go spend the 'ole trip bJamin'

  poor oP Mudge for the fact that we ain't ridin' in comfort."

  "Fair enough. And you don't blame me for this." So

  saying, he booted the otter in the rump so hard it took

  Roseroar's strength to extract him from the pile of barrels

  where he landed.

  They slunk out of Snarken on foot—tired, anxious, and

  broke. Mudge grumbled every step of the way but ac-

  knowledged his mistake (sort of) by assuming the lead. It

  was also a matter of self-defense, since it kept him well

  out of range of Jon-Tom's boot.

  Mudge also partly redeemed himself by returning from

  one short disappearance with an armful of female clothing,

  a bit of doubtful scavenging which Jon-Tom forced himself

  to rationalize.

  "Lifted it from a drunken serval," the otter explained as

  Folly delightedly traded her black nightdress for the frilly

  if somewhat too-small attire. "The doxy I took it off won't

  miss it, and we've need of it."

  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  179

  They moved steadily through the city's outskirts. By the

  time the sun rose over the horizon to illuminate the now

  distant harbor, they were crossing the highest hill west-

  ward. There they traded some goods from Jon-Tom's pack

  for breakfast at a small inn, as he wanted to try and

  hold on to their three remaining gold pieces for an emer-

  gency. Midday saw them far from the city, hiking between

  rows of well-tended fruit trees.

  Mudge was rubbing his belly. "Not bad for foreign

  cookin', mate."

  "No, but we're going to have to eat lightly to conserve

  what money we have left."

  "We could sell the girl's favors."

  "Not a bad idea," Jon-Tom said thoughtfully.

  Mudge looked at him in surprise. "Wot's that? You

  agrees?''

  "Sure, if it's okay with her." He called ahead. "Hey,

  Roseroar! Mudge here has a suggestion about how you can

  help us raise some cash."

  "No, no, no, mate!" said the suddenly panicky otter.

  "I meant the girl, the girl."

  Jon-Tom shrugged. "Big girl, little girl, what's the

  difference?" He started to call out to the tigress a second

  time. Mudge slammed a muffling paw over Jon-Tom's

  mouth, having to stand on tiptoes to manage it.

  "Okay, guv'nor. I get your p
oint. I'll keep me ideas to

  meseif."

  "See that you do, or I'll repeat your suggestion to

  Roseroar."

  "I'd deny 'avin' anything to do with it."

  "Sure you will, but who do you think she'll believe, me

  or you?"

  "That'd be a foul subterfuge, mate."

  "In which inventions I have an excellent teacher."

  Mudge wasn't flattered by the backhanded compliment.

  They marched steadily westward. As the days passed the

  character of the country grew increasingly rural. Houses

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  THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

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  were fewer and far between. Semitropical flora made way

  for coniferous forest that reminded Mudge of his beloved

  Bell woods. The palms and thin-barked trees of the coast

  fell behind them.

  They asked directions of the isolated travelers they

  encountered. All inquiries were met with expressions of

  disbelief or confessions of ignorance. Everyone seemed to

  know that Crancularn lay to the west. Exactly where to the

  west, none were able to say with certainty.

  Besides, there was naught to be found in Crancularn but

  trouble, and the country folk had no need of more of that.

  They were busy enough avoiding the attentions of Snarken's

  predatory tax collectors.

  In short, Crancularn was well-known, by reputation if

  not by sight, and that reputation was not enticing to

  potential visitors.

  Two days after the road had become a mere trail, they

  settled down to enjoy the bright sunshine. A clear stream

  followed the track, tumbling glassily on its course down to

  the now distant Glittergeist. An octet of commune spiders

  were busy building a six-foot-square web between two

  trees. They would share equally in any catch.

  Jon-Tom studied the pinecone that had fallen near his

  feet. It was Jong and slim, and the scales shone like

  bronze. Mudge had slipped out of his boots and was

  wading the stream, wishing it were deep enough for him to

  have a swim, while Jalwar had wandered into the woods in

  search of berries and edible roots to supplement their

  meager diet. Roseroar catnapped beneath an evergreen

  whose trunk grew almost parallel to the ground, while

  Folly, as always, stayed as close to Jon-Tom as he would

  allow.

  "Don't look so discouraged," she said. "We'll get

  there."

  Jon-Tom was picking at the cone, tossing the pieces into

  the stream and watching the little triangular brown boats

  until they disappeared over slick stones.

  "How can we get there if nobody can give us direc-

  tions? 'West' isn't good enough. I thought it would be

  easy once we got out of Snarken. I thought at least a few

  of the country folk would know the way to Crancularn.

  From what Clotharmmp told me, this store of the Aether

  and Neither is supposed to be pretty famous."

  "Famous enough to avoid," Folly murmured.

  "Some of them must be lying. They must be. I can't

  believe not a soul knows the way. Why won't they tell

  us?"

  Folly looked thoughtful. "Maybe they're concerned and

  want to protect us from ourselves. Or maybe none of them

  really do know the way."

  "Mebbee they don't know the way, boy, because it

  moves around."

  "What?" Jon-Tom looked back to see an old chipmunk

  standing next to a botherbark bush. He pressed against the

  small of his back with his left paw and gripped the end of

  a curved cane with the other. Narrow glasses rested on the

  nose, and an ancient floppy hat nearly covered his head

  down to the eyes. A gray shirt hung open to the waist,

  and below he wore brown dungarees held up by suspend-

  ers. He also had very few teeth left.

  "What do you mean, it moves around?" Roseroar

  looked up interestedly and moved to join them. The

  chipmunk's eyes went wide at the sight and Jon-Tom

  hurried to reassure him.

  "That's Roseroar. She's a friend."

  "That's good," said the chipmunk prosaically. Mudge

  turned to listen but was reluctant to abandon the cool

  water.

  The oldster leaned against the tree for support and

  waved his cane. "I mean, it moves around, sonny. It never

  stays in the same place for very long."

  "That's crazy," said Folly. "It's just another town."

  "Oh, it's a town, all right, but not like any other, lass.

  Not Crancularn." He peered out from beneath the brim of

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  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

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  his hat at Jon-Tom. "Why thee want to go there, tall

  man?"

  "We need something from there. From a store."

  The chipmunk nodded. "Aye, the Shop of the Aether and

  Neither."

  "Then you've heard of it!" Jon-Tom said excitedly.

  "We need something, a certain medicine, that can only be

  purchased in that store."

  The oldster grunted, though it came out as more of a

  rusty squeak. "Well, that's thy business."

  "Please, we've come a long way. From across the

  Glittergeist. We need directions. Specific directions."

  Another grunt-squeak. "Long way to come to make

  fools of thyselves."

  "It's not for us. A friend of mine, a teacher and a great

  wizard, is very sick and badly needs this medicine. If you

  can tell us how to get to Crancularn, we'll pay you,

  somehow."

  The oldster shook his head sadly. "I'd tell thee if I

  could, boy, but I can't help you. I don't know where

  Crancularn is." Jon-Tom slumped. "But there's them that

  do. Only, I wouldn't be the one to go asking them."

  "Let us worry about that," said Jon-Tom eagerly. "Who

  are they?"

  "Why, the enchanted ones, of course. Who else?"

  "Enchanted ones?"

  "Aye, the little people of the magic. The fairy folk. You

  know."

  Folly's eyes were wide with childlike wonder. "When I

  was a little girl, I used to hear stories of the fairy folk. My

  mother used to tell me." She went very quiet and Jon-Tom

  tried to rush the conversation to take her thoughts off more

  recent memories.

  "Where would we find these fairy folk?" The thought

  of meeting real honest-to-Tinker Bell fairies was enough to

  motivate him. Getting directions to Crancularn would be a

  bonus.

  "I wouldn't advise anyone to risk such an encounter,

  sonny, but I can see that thee art determined." He indicat-

  ed the steep slope behind them. "They hide in the wet

  ravines and steep canyons of these hills, keeping to them-

  selves. Don't much care for normal folk such as us. But

  thee art human, and it is said that they take human form.

  Perhaps thee will have better luck than most. Seek the

  places where the water runs deep and clear and the rocks

  are colored so dark they are almost black, where the moss

  grows thick above the creeks and..."

  " 'Ere now, grandpa." Mudge spoke from his roc
ky seat

  out in the stream. "This 'ere moss, it don't 'ave^no mental

  problems now, do it?"

  The chipmunk frowned at him. "How could mere moss

  have mental problems?"

  Mudge relaxed. Their near-disastrous experience in the

  Muddletup Moors was still fresh in his mind. "Never mind."

  The chipmunk gave him an odd look, turned back to

  Jon-Tom. "Those are the places where thee might encoun-

  ter the fairy folk. If thee must seek them out."

  "It seems we've no choice." Rising, Jon-Tom turned to

  inspect the tree-fringed hillside.

  The elderly chipmunk resumed his walk. "I wish thee

  luck, then. I wish thee luck. Thee will need it to locate the

  enchanted ones, and thee will need it even more if thee

  do."

  The ridge above gave way to a heavily wooded slope on

  the far side that grew progressively steeper. Soon they

  were fighting to maintain their balance as they slipped and

  slid down the dangerous grade.

  At least, Jon-Tom and Roseroar were. With their inher-

  ent agility and lower centers of gravity, Jalwar and Mudge

  had no difficulty at all with the awkward descent, and

  Folly proved lithe as a gibbon.

  A stream ran along the bottom of the narrow gorge. It

  was broader than the one they'd left behind, but not deep

  enough to qualify as a river. Moss and many kinds of ferns

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  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  185

  clung to logs and boulders. Insects hummed in the cool,

  damp air while dark granite and schist soaked up the rays

  of the sun.

  They spent most of the day searching along the creek

  before deciding to move on. An insurmountable waterfall

  forced them to climb up the far side of the gorge. They

  topped the next ridge, climbed down still another slope

  where they camped for the night.

  By the afternoon of the following day they were explor-

  ing their fourth such canyon. Jon-Ton was beginning to

  think that the fairy folk were a myth invented by an

  especially garulous old rodent to amuse himself at the

  expense of some gullible travelers.

  They were finishing up a late meal when Mudge suddenly

  erupted from his seat on a thick patch of buttery yellow

  flowers. His bark of surprised pain echoed down the creek.

  Everyone jumped. Roseroar automatically reached for

  her swords. Folly crouched ready to run while Jalwar's fur

  bristled on his neck. Jon-Tom, who was more familiar

  with the otter's overreactions, left his staff alone.