Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance
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FEED ON WORMS! BEHOLD, AND BE AFRAID!" A hand big
enough to sail the Glittergeist if fitted out with sails and
rigging reached for Zancresta.
The sorcerer cowered back against the shelving. His
expression was desperate as he sought refuge and found
none. He dropped to his knees and begged.
"Forgive me, forgive me, I did not know!"
"IGNORANCE is THE EXCUSE OF THE CONTEMPTUOUS,"
bellowed the djinn. "ABUSERS OF KNOWLEDGE RARELY
SEEK ENLIGHTENMENT FROM OTHERS. THOSE WHO TRAM-
PLE CONVENTION DESERVE NO PITY. THOSE WHO DO NOT
PAY WHAT THEY OWE DESERVE TO PERISH."
"I'm sorry!" Zancresta screamed, utterly frantic now.
"I was blinded by anger."
"YOU WERE BLINDED BY EGO, WHICH IS FAR WORSE."
"It is a terrible thing to feel inferior to another. I can't
stand it. I was overcome with the need to redeem myself,
to restore my standing as the greatest practitioner of the
mystic arts. All I have done was only for love of my
profession." He prostrated himself, arms extended. "I
throw myself on your mercy."
"YOU LOVE ONLY YOURSELF, WORM. MERCY? YOU
WOULD HAVE SLAIN MY MORTAL TO SAVE A FEW COINS,
TO SHOW YOUR DOMINANCE. MERCY? YEA, I WILL GRANT
YOU MERCY." The ferret's head lifted, and there was a
hopeful look on his tormented face.
"THIS is MY MERCY: THAT YOU SHALL DIE QUICKLY
INSTEAD OF SLOWLY!"
Zancresta shrieked and dodged to his left, but he wasn't
fast enough to escape that immense descending hand. The
fingers contracted once, and the shriek was not repeated.
There was only a quick echo of bones crunching. Jon-Tom
and his companions stared numbly.
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The hand opened and dropped the jellied smear that had
been Jalwar-Zancresta, Wizard of Malderpot.
"I ASK YOU," the djinn muttered in slightly less deafen-
ing tones, "YOU TRY TO RUN A LITTLE BUSINESS DOWN
THROUGH THE AGES AND YOU FIND ETERNITY FULL OF
WELCHERS. SPEAKING OF WHICH"—the massive toothy
skull and burning yellow eyes lifted to regard Jon-Tom—
"THERE is MORE YET TO DO."
"Hey, wait a minute," said Jon-Tom, starting to back
away, "we're ready to pay for what we want. We didn't
come here to stiff anybody." He glanced toward Snooth,
who only shrugged helplessly. Apparently now that the
djinn had been called, she was powerless to control it.
"PAY FOR YOUR GOODS YOU MAY, BUT NOW I HAVE
BEEN CALLED FORTH, AND I MUST ALSO BE PAID. HOW
WILL YOU DO THAT, PALE WORM? I HAVE NO NEED OF
YOUR MONEY. PERHAPS YOU WILL SING ME A SONG SO
THAT I MAY LET YOU LEAVE?" Volcanic laughter filled the
Shop of the Aether and Neither.
Jon-Tom felt a hand pushing at him. "Well come on,
then, mate," Mudge whispered urgently, "go to it. I'm
right 'ere behind you if you need me 'elp."
"You're such a comfort." Still, the otter was right. It
was up to him to somehow placate this djinn and get them
out of there. But he was exhausted from his duel with
Charrok and Zancresta, and worn out from thinking up
song after song. He was also more than a little irritated.
Not the most sensible attitude to take, perhaps, but he was
too tired to care.
"You listen to me, Hargood ali rooge."
The djinn glowered. "I DON'T LIKE MORTALS WHO GET
MY NAME WRONG."
"Okay, I can go with that," Jon-Tom replied, "but
you'll have to excuse me. I've had a helluva couple of
weeks. We came here to get some medicine for a sick
friend. If that old fart hadn't intruded," and he gestured at
the smear on the floor, "we'd be out of here and on our
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
283
way by now. We didn't have a damn thing to do with his
actions."
"TRULY YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN ON YOUR WAY, BUT
WHICH WAY IS RIGHT AND PROPER FOR YOU TO GO,
LITTLE MORTAL?"
"Do you still have the medicine, Snooth?" The kanga-
roo nodded, opened a fist to show the precious container.
A hand the size of a bus lowered to block her from
Jon-Tom's sight.
"THE MEDICINE YOU MAY TAKE. IF YOU CAN SATISFY
ME. AND YOU HAVE SEEN WHAT HAPPENS TO MERE MOR-
TALS WHO DISPLEASE ME."
Jon-Tom was beginning to understand why Crancularn
had acquired a less than favorable reputation among travel-
ers in this part of the world, in spite of the miracles it
offered for sale.
"YOU THINK LONG, MORTAL. Do NOT THINK TO TRICK
ME BY SOME FOOLISHNESS SUCH AS ASKING ME TO SHRINK
MYSELF INTO A BOTTLE." A hand hovered above them and
Folly flinched. "I DON'T NEED TO CHANGE MY SIZE TO
SHOW MY POWER. ALL I NEED TO DO IS PUT MY THUMB ON
YOUR HEAD."
"Whatever happened to the customer's always right?"
Jon-Tom shot back.
The djinn hesitated. "WHAT OTHERWORLDLY IDIOCY is
THAT?"
"Just good business practice."
"A MORTAL WITH A KNACK FOR BUSINESS." The djinn
looked interested. "I WILL LET YOU PAY WITH YOUR
BUSINESS, THEN, AND PERHAPS YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS
WILL LEAVE HERE WITH YOUR BONES INTACT. YOU ARE A
SPELLSINGER. I HAVE HEARD MANY SPELLS INGERS, BUT
NONE THAT PLEASED ME. I DO NOT THINK I KNOW OF ONE
FROM YOUR WORLD. SlNG ME A SPELLSONG OF YOUR
WORLD, WORM. SlNG ME A SONG THAT WfLL AMUSE ME,
INTRIGUE ME. SlNG ME SOMETHING DIFFERENT. THEN,
AND ONLY THEN, WILL I LET YOU TAKE THE MEDICINE
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AND GO!" The djinn folded arms with thick muscles like
the trunks of great trees.
"THINK CAREFULLY ON WHAT YOU WILL SING. I GROW
IMPATIENT QUICKLY AND WILL NOT ALLOW YOU A SEC-
OND CHANCE."
Jon-Tom stood sweating and thinking furiously. What
song could he possible sing that would interest this off-
spring of magic, who had access to the goods of thousands
of worlds? What did he know that might be offbeat and
just weird enough to have some effect on a djinn?
Off to his left Roseroar stood watching him quietly.
Mudge was muttering, something like a prayer. Folly paced
anxiously behind him while Drom pawed at the floor and
wished he were outside where he'd at least have a running
chance.
Feathers caressed his neck. "You can do it, colleague."
Charrok was smiling confidently at him.
Mystical. It had to be overtly mystical, yet not so
specific as to anger the djinn into thinking Jon-Tom was
trying to trick him. What did he know that fit that
description? He was just a hard rocker when he wasn't
studying law. All he knew were the hits, the platinum
songs.
There was only one possibility, one choice. A song full
of implications instead of accusations, mysterious and not
readily comprehended. Something to make the djinn think.
He let his fingers slide over the duar's strings. His throat
wa
s dry but his hoarseness was gone.
"Watch it, mate," Mudge warned him.
To his surprise Jon-Tom found he could smile down at
the otter. "No sweat, Mudge."
"Wot can you sing for 'im 'e don't already 'ave,
guv'nor?" The otter waved at hand at the endless shelves
crammed with goods from dimensions unknown. "Wot
can you give 'im in song 'e don't already own?"
"A different state of mind," Jon-Tom told him softly,
and he began to sing.
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285
He was concerned that the duar would not reproduce the
eerie chords correctly. He need not have worried. That
endlessly responsive, marvelously versatile instrument du-
plicated the sounds he drew from memory with perfect
fidelity, amplifying them so that they filled the chamber
around him. It was a strange, quavering moan, a galvaniz-
ing cross between an alien bass fiddle being played by
something with twelve hands and the snore of a sleeping
brontosaurus. Only one man had ever made sounds quite
like that before, and Jon-Tom strained hands and lips to
reproduce them.
"If you can just get your mind together," he crooned to
the djinn, "and come over to me, we'll watch the sunrise
together, from the bottom of the sea."
The words and sounds made no sense to Roseroar, but
she could sense they were special. Bits and pieces of
broken light began to illuminate the chamber around her.
Gneechees, harbingers of magic, had appeared and were
swarming around Jon-Tom in all their unseeable beauty.
It was a sign the song was working, and it inspired
Jon-Tom to sing harder still. Harun al-Roojinn leaned
forward as if to protest, to question, and hesitated. Behind
the fiery yellow eyes was a first flicker of uncertainty.
Jon-Tom sang on.
"First, have you ever been experienced? Have you ever
been experienced?" The djinn drifted back on nonexistent
heels. His great burning eyes began to glaze over slightly,
as if someone were drawing wax paper across them.
"Well, I have," Jon-Tom murmured. The notes bounced
off the walls, rang off the ears of the djinn, who seemed to
have acquired a pleasant indifference to those around him.
Jon-Tom's own expression began to drift as he contin-
ued to sing, remembering the words, remembering the
chords. A brief eternity passed. It was Mudge who reached
up to break the trance.
"That's it, mate," he whispered. He shook Jon-Tom
hard. "C'mon, guv, snap out o' it." Jon-Tom continued to
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play on, a beatific expression on his face. The djinn
hovered before him like some vast rusty blimp, hands
folded over his chest, great claws interlocked, whispering.
"BEAUTIFUL ... Beautiful... beautiful..."
"Come on, mate!" The otter turned to Roseroar, who
was swaying slowly in time to the music, her eyes blank.
A thin trickle of drool fell from her mouth. Mudge tried to
kick her in the rump, but his foot wouldn't reach that high.
So he settled for slapping Folly.
"What... what's happening?" She blinked. "Stop hit-
ting me." She focused on the drifting djinn. "What's
happened to him? He looks so strange."
" 'E ain't the only one," Mudge snapped. " 'Elp me
wake the rest of 'em up."
They managed to revive Drom and Charrok and Roseroar,
but Jon-Tom stubbornly refused to return to reality. He was
as locked into the deceptively langorous state of mind he'd
conjured up as was the target of his song.
"Wake «/>!" Roseroar demanded as she shook him. He
turned to her, still playing, and smiled broadly.
"Wake up? But why? Everything's so beautiful." He
looked half through her. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful
you are?"
Roseroar was taken aback by that one, but only for a
moment. "Tell me later, sun." She threw him over her left
shoulder and started for the door, keeping a wary eye on
the stoned djinn.
"Just a second." Drom paused at the portal and snatched
the container of medicine from Snooth's fingers.
"Hey, what about my payment, sonny?"
"You've already been paid, madame." The unicorn
used his horn to point at Harun al-Roojinn."Collect from
him." Drom trotted out, through the storeroom of broken
devices, through the living area, and out the front door to
join his friends.
Snooth watched him go, hands on hips, her expression
grim.
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287
"Tourists! I shouid've known they'd be more trouble
than they're worth." She stomped out onto the porch and
watched until they'd vanished into the woods. Then she
reached inside, found the sign she wanted, hung it on the
door, and slammed it shut. The message on the sign was
clear enough.
OUT TO LUNCH
BACK IN TEN THOUSAND YEARS
Jon-Tom bounced along on Roseroar's powerful shoul-
der. Mudge kept pace easily alongside, Folly rode atop the
reluctant but soft-hearted Drom, and Charrok scouted their
progress from above.
As the Shop of the Aether and Neither receded behind
them, Jon-Tom gradually began to emerge from the
mental miasma into which he'd plunged both himself
and Harun al-Roojinn. Fingers moved less steadily over
the duar's strings, and his voice fell to a whisper. He
blinked.
" 'E's comin' round," Mudge observed.
"It's about time," said Folly. "What did he do to
himself?"
"Some wondrous magic," muttered Drom. "Some pow-
erful otherworldly conjuration."
Mudge snorted and grinned. "Right, mate. What 'e did
to the monster was waste 'im. Unfortunately, 'e did 'imself
right proud in the process."
Jon-Tom's hand went to his head. "Ooooo." Shifting
outlines resolved themselves into, the running figure of
Mudge.
" 'Angover, mate?"
"No. No, I feel okay." He looked up suddenly, back
toward the smoking mountain. "Al-Roojinn?"
"Zonked, skunked, blown-away. A fine a piece o'
spellsingin' as was ever done, mate."
"It was the song," Jon-Tom murmured dazedly. "A
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good song. A special song. Jimi's best. If anything could
dazzle a djinn, I knew it would be that. You can put me
down now, Roseroar." The tigress set him down gently.
"Come on, mate. We'd best keep movin' fast before
your spellsong wears off."
"It's all right, I think." He looked back through the
forest toward the mountain. "It's not a restraining song.
It's a happy song, a relaxing song. Al-Roojinn didn't seem
either happy or relaxed. Maybe he's happy now."
They followed the winding trail back toward Crancularn
and discovered a ghost town populated by slow-moving,
nebulous inhabitants who smiled wickedly at them, grin-
ning wraiths that floated in
and out of reality. "It's there
but some don't see it," Drom had said. Now Jon-Tom
understood the unicorn's meaning. The real Crancularn
was as insubstantial as smoke, as solid as a dream.
They forced themselves not to run as they left the town
behind, heading for the familiar woods and the long walk
back to far-distant Lynchbany. Somewhere off to the right
came the grind of the ATC, but this time the helpful
rabbit, be he real or wraith, did not put in an appearance.
Once Jon-Tom glanced back to reassure himself that he'd
actually been in Crancularn, but instead of a crumbling old
town, he thought he saw a vast bubbling cauldron alive
with dancing, laughing demons. He shuddered and didn't
look back again.
By evening they were all too exhausted to care if
Al-Roojinn and a dozen vengeful cousins were hot on then-
trail or not. Mudge and Roseroar built a fire while the
others collapsed.
"1 think we're safe now," Jon-Tom told them. He ran
both hands through his long hair, suddenly sat up sharply.
"The medicine! What about the—!"
"Easy, mate." Mudge extracted the container from a
pocket. " 'Ere she be, nice and tidy."
Jon-Tom examined the bottle. It was such a small thing
on which to have expended so much effort, barely an inch
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289
high and half again as wide. It was fashioned of plain
white plastic with a screw-on cap of unfamiliar design.
"I wonder what it is." He started to unscrew the top.
"Just a minim, mate," said Mudge sharply, nodding at
the container. "Do you think that's wise? I know you're a
spellsinger and all that, but maybe there's a special reason
for that little bottle bein' tight-sealed the way it is."
"Any container of medicine would be sealed," Jon-Tom
responded. "If there was any danger, Clothahump would
have warned me not to open it." Another twist and the cap
was off, rendering further argument futile.
He stared at the contents, then held the bottle under his
nose and sniffed.
"Well," asked Drom curiously, "do you have any idea
what it is?"
Jon-Tom ignored the unicorn. Frowning, he turned the
bottle upside down and dumped one of several tablets into
his palm. He eyed it uncertainly, and before anyone could
stop him, licked it. He sat and smacked his lips thoughtfully.
Abruptly his face contorted and his expression under-
went a horrible, dramatic change. His eyes bugged and a
hateful grimace twisted his mouth. As he rose his hands