Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  stowed neatly below the single deck. Jon-Tom followed

  them aboard, already out of breath. And he hadn't

  done anything but watch.

  "But why?" he asked Quorly. "Why risk yourselves

  to help us?"

  "Lots o* reasons," she told him, "the principal one

  bein' that we're bored. Even catchin' fish can get old,

  you knows."

  Jon-Tom tried to adopt a serious mien as he stepped

  on board. "This isn't a game. If I can't get along with

  this Markus, it could be-dangerous for all of us." He

  remembered Pandro's description of the attack by

  faceless demons almost certainly sent in pursuit of

  him by the magician. "I know he's capable of using

  violence against those he thinks mean him ill."

  'Tough titty." The delicate little Splitch spat over

  the side. "If 'e gives you any trouble, we'll just 'ave to

  show 'im the error o' 'is ways, won't we? A little

  danger'!! add some spice to the visit."

  Jon-Tom could only look on admiringly as they

  pushed off from shore. There wasn't a concerned

  expression in the bunch. On the contrary, they acted

  and sounded excited, as if they were looking forward

  to the coming confrontation.

  "I don't know what to say."

  "Save your breath for this Markus the Ineluctable,"

  Knorckle told him as he settled himself behind an

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  214

  oar. Muscles bulged in his short arms. "From wot

  Frangel says, you'll be needin* it. This magician bloke

  sounds like a thoroughly disagreeable person." Mur-

  murs of agreement sounded from his companions.

  Jon-Tom searched the center of the boat. There

  was no mast and no means for raising one, only the

  two sets of oars. He hunted for an unoccupied bench.

  "Now what are you about, young human?" Memaw

  had taken up a position next to the stem rudder.

  "I like to pull my own weight."

  "Kind of you, but I'm afraid there aren't any

  empty places. Each of us knows what to do. So just

  make yourself comfortable until we get to Quasequa."

  "All right, but I won't like it."

  "You don't have to like it." She smiled cheerfully

  at him. "Now, sit down, stay out of our way, and be-

  have yourself."

  "Yes ma'am." He did as he was told.

  Everyone except Splitch, who was lookout, bent to

  their oars. Turning neatly under Memaw's guidance,

  the boat began to move south, Jon-Tom sat and

  fidgeted for as long as he could stand it before

  muttering to the helmsman.

  "I don't want to rock the boat, Memaw, but I can't

  just sit here and let the rest of you do all the work. 1

  wasn't brought up like that."

  "Nonsense. There's nothing you can do in any

  case. There are only eight oars."

  Jon-Tom considered, then said brighdy, "I know."

  He moved his duar into playing position. "I can sing

  some rowing songs."

  "Yeah!..-great..-good idea!... let's 'ear *un sing.-.l"

  the rowers chorused enthusiastically.

  "No, no, no!" Mudge rushed to restrain Jon-Tom's

  fingers. "You might magic us back to the 'ome o' the

  Plated Folk, mate, or even worse,"

  THE MOMENT OF THE MACUCUM

  215

  "Relax, Mudge. I'm just going to make a little

  music, not magic."

  "I've 'card that one afore, I 'ave." He took his

  argument to his brethren.

  "'E's^a spellsinger all right. Trouble is, 'e 'as this

  sort o* scattershot effect that..."

  Jon-Tom was drowning out the otter's pleading,

  singing cheerfully with the mass control on the duar

  turned halfway up. No way could Mudge be heard

  over that volume. The otter finally gave up and

  moved as far away from the singer as he could get

  without abandoning ship. He squatted down against

  the bow and waited. His eyes never left his friend's

  instrument as he waited nervously for catastrophe to

  strike.

  Jon-Tom modified an old Dionne Warwick stan-

  dard and started off with a lilting little ditty newly

  titled "Do You Know the Way to Quasequa?" then

  segued into "By the Time I Get to the Quorumate."

  As the boat continued to slide through the water

  without being obliterated, Mudge finally allowed him-

  self to relax. Quorly helped him.

  The words didn't rhyme but that didn't dampen

  Jon-Tbm's delight. Traveling songs were always fun

  to sing, and sailing songs even more so. Occasionally

  the otters would join in, their high-pitched squeaky

  tones gathering in strength as they picked up on the

  lyrics. It didn't seem to matter that no two of them

  could harmonize. That blended in nicely with Jon-

  Tbm's erratic tenor, which is to say, not at all. But

  what they lacked in talent they made up for in

  enthusiasm. Somehow the boat stayed on course.

  By the time Jon-Tom wrapped up a final chorus of

  "We Were Sailing Along on Moonlight Bay" and

  launched into "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," Mudge

  was prepared to spend the rest of the cruise tied to

  the stem with his head underwater.

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  216

  "There's one consolation for me in all this, mate,"

  he told Jon-Tom shakily between verses. .

  "What's that?"

  "There ain't no torture too cruel, no 'on-or too vile

  to contemplate, no death so slow that Markus the

  Ineluctable can inflict on me that'd be any worse

  than 'avin' to endure this terrible tintinnabulation."

  "Why, Mudge"—Jon-Tom let loose with a couple

  of fresh riffs—"anyone would think you were some

  kind of music hater."

  " 'Ow could they think that, mate, when there ain't

  no music around for me to 'ate?"

  Quorly traded places with SpUtch and put both

  arms around the otter's neck. "Why, Mudgey-Wudgey,

  don't be such a sourpuss." She brushed his whiskers

  with hers and he was forced to relent.

  "Aw, welt," he allowed, "maybe there is a kind o'

  music on this boat."

  Pinching ringers made Jon-Tom jump. He turned

  to see Sasswise grinning at him from her bench as

  she pushed steadily on her oar. "Quorly was right

  about you, Jenny-Tom- You are cute."

  Jon-Tom thought of another song very quickly.

  XIII

  As the days passed and the miles accumulated be-

  neath their keel, the character of the land they were

  passing through began to undergo a drastic change.

  The huge emergents dripping with moss and vines

  gave way to rust-colored palms and house-sized bushes

  erupting with rainbow-hued flowers. The water grew

  clear enough for them to see the sandy bottom fifty

  feet below. Even the sky changed as fog and mist

  fell behind them. The humidity dropped to a

  tolerable level and the light of midday became bearable.

  They began to encounter communities constructed

  on stilts, and clusters of small fishing boats. The

  Otters waved at the inhab
itants and they waved back.

  The dark cloud that hung over this beautiful land

  was thus far only metaphorical. Everywhere Jon-

  Toiri looked he saw signs of abundance and cheerful,

  busy people. There were even a few human beings.

  Gradually, much larger islands replaced the smaller

  outlying ones. Buildings of reed and palm gave way

  to more permanent structures of wood and stone.

  Smoke curled from the chimneys of structures that

  climbed steep cliffs, while the homes of avians clung

  precariously to the topmost crags.

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  219

  Clothahump had been vindicated. This was a

  magnificent, prosperous land. He told Mudge so.

  "Oi, 'e was right about this much," the otter

  reluctantly conceded. "All 'is wizardship did was ne-

  glect to tell us about that little stretch o' filth and

  slime we 'ad to slog through to get 'ere- A triflin'

  oversight, wot?"

  Jon-Tbm stared over the bow. "I just wish I knew

  more about this Markus."

  "Still think 'e's come over from your world, mate?"

  The expression on the spellsinger's face reflected

  his uncertainty. "I don't know what to think anymore,

  Mudge. I'm not as certain as I once was. I'd feel

  better about it if we could hear someone say some-

  thing nice about him." He took a deep breath. "Well,

  we'll know all about him soon enough."

  Around him the otters were still singing, booming

  out all the songs he'd taught them during the past

  days with a vocal ferocity that was beginning to wear

  even on their instructor. His fingers were too tired

  for him to accompany them on the duar anymore,

  but that didn't seem to matter.

  "Don't they ever slow up? Don't they realize how

  serious this business could turn out to be?"

  "They know 'tis serious, mate, and they're actin' as

  serious about it as they can be. See, one otter can be

  serious. Two otters can't look at one another without

  crackin' up. Get three or more o* us together in one

  place for more than two minutes and you've got a

  nonstop party. Don't worry about 'em, guv. They're

  'ell in a fight."

  "I can believe that. I've seen you fight."

  "This lot ain't no different."

  *Tt is nice to have allies. Surely they'll quiet down

  when we reach Quasequa. We don't want to make a

  spectacle of ourselves when we pull into town."

  "Don't count on getdn' any quiet or decorum out

  THE MOMKHT OF THE SSAOICSAM

 

  219

  of this lot. And remember, you're the one who

  talked 'em into this."

  **I didn't talk them into it." Jen-Tom sounded

  defensive even to himself. "They volunteered"

  "Sorry, mate. You don't get off that easy."

  "It's just that if they don't quiet down some, we'll

  attract a lot of attention. I don't want this Markus to

  know I'm around until I'm ready to meet with him."

  **0h, I wouldn't worry too much about that, guv.

  From wot sweet Quorly's been tellin' me, Quasequa's

  a mighty big place, and plenty rowdy when 'tis on its

  good behavior. So we're likely to blend right in.'*

  "You don't care what happens anyway, do you,

  , Mudge? Not so long as there are a couple of compU-

  ^ ant ladies around."

  ^ "Now don't go gettin' on me case because o* that.

  mate. Just because you 'ave this peculiar puritanical

  . streak in you that keeps you from enjoyin' the atten-

  'tion o' others and because you ain't 'ad much luck

  'with your favorite red'ead."

  * "Talea's just taking her time before making a

  commitment," Jon-Tom replied frostily.

  - "Lad, lad, she's a free spirit, that one. Maybe she'll

  come back to you and maybe she won't. You might

  know about spellsingin', but I knows about females.

  That's a special kind o' knowledge all its own."

  "You know how' to talk, anyway." He lapsed into

  silence for a while, found himself watching Memaw

  steer the boat, her paws steady on the rudder as she

  led her friends in the umpteenth rendition of "Anchors

  Aweigh."

  "As for this mob, I don't guess I could get rid of

  them now even if I wanted to."

  "Not bloody likely," Mudge agreed. "1 keep tellin'

  you to quit worryin' about 'em. Remember, they

  didn't ^ave no trouble stealin' you away from the

  Plated Folk."

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  220

  "I know, I know. It's just that I'd feel really guiky if

  any of them got hurt on my behalf."

  "This ain't no bunch o' cubs on this ship," Mudge

  said somberly. "They know wot they're gettin' into."

  They were interrupted by Splitch's shout from the

  front of the boat. "Quasequal" Jon-Tom and Mudge

  rushed toward the bow as the rest of the otters

  pulled harder.

  If Clothahump had underestimated the travails of

  their journey, he'd also underestimated the beauty of

  their destination. Three of the Five main islands that

  composed the city proper were visible dead ahead.

  Multi-storied buildings built of quarried white lime-

  stone climbed the sides of each island's central peak.

  Palm trees rustled in the gentle wind, and here and

  there a copper-clad roof showed bright bronze in the

  sun.

  They were traveling among heavy traffic now. Most

  of the boats were smaller than theirs, a few with sails

  bulked larger. The Isle Drelft lay off to port, Isle

  Sofanza to starboard, and the central island called

  Quase where the Quorumate Complex was located

  loomed straight ahead. Massive stone causeways con-

  nected all three islands, their multiple arches high

  enough for the majority of boat traffic to pass freely

  underneath. Carved shells and animal faces decorat-

  ed each.

  Crowds filled the causeways, the constant hum of

  their conversation reaching out across the water.

  The babble bespoke a vibrant community, full of life

  and commerce. Quasequa certainly didn't strike Jon-

  Tom as a city about to fall under the domination of

  some alien tyrant. As yet, though, the citizens were

  not at war with their own government. As yet. If

  luck, skill, and charm were with him, the face of this

  exquisite metropolis would remain always as it was

  this morning.

  THE MOMENT OF THE MACHCIAff

  321

  Flowers. He'd never seen so many Howers in one

  place. There were blossoms floating past on the

  water thai were the size of his hand, shiny lavender

  striped with yellow. He lifted one from the surface

  and inhaled deeply of its lingering fragrance: pure

  peppermint.

  Smaller boats hove alongside. They were populat-

  ed by the familiar extraordinary assortment of intelli-

  gent species, all hawking handicrafts, dried fish,

  fresh fruits and vegetables, drinks chilled by ice

  spells, erotic art, and ship's supplies. Mem
aw steered

  through them, ignoring the familiar pleas of the

  floating hawkers.

  Flowers grew from the tops of trees, from the

  sides of buildings, out of neat green hedgerows that

  lined the streets, and even out on the open lake.

  Rubbery-looking Ulylike pads slid past, their centers

  startling with clusters of tiny blue blossoms no bigger

  than Jon-Tom's little Fingernail. Still-smaller blos-

  soms hung from silk balloons that floated through

  the warm air. When the breeze stilled they would

  settle to the water, only to rise again on the next puff

  of wind. They made the sky look as if it were full of

  flying rubies.

  Memaw leaned on the rudder, and the boat turned

  slightly to port, angling for the low quays that lined

  the shore of Isle Quase.

  "There is an inn we frequent during our visits

  here," she told him. "A good place to eat and rest

  while digesting the newest rumors and juiciest gossip."

  "Everything seems so normal," he told her. "The

  people look content. Maybe this Markus and I will

  get along after all."

  "Sometimes healthy fur can conceal rotting flesh.

  We shall see. Regardless, it will be nice to sleep in a

  real bed again" She adjusted their course minutely

  and gestured at a two-story-tall rock ediFice that lay

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  222

  dead ahead. It was built right down to the edge of

  the water.

  "The chap who runs this place, Cherjal, is privy to

  just about everything that happens in Quasequa. He

  should be able to tell us whether there will be danger-

  ous work awaiting you here or whether you can relax

  and enjoy the sights of the city."

  As they drew near, the reason for the inn's loca-

  tion became clear. With its siting right on the lake, it

  catered freely to water- and land-dwellers alike. They

  tied up to an empty slip, and Jon-Tom's newfound

  allies ushered him inside.

  The single large eating and drinking room had a

  low-domed ceiling and was crammed with chattering

  muskrats, beavers, nutrias, and capybaras in addition

  to unfamiliar otters. Water entered via an opening to

  the lake, permitting the easy entry of an occasional

  freshwater porpoise.

  Thunder boomed outside. They'd arrived just ahead

  of a tropical thunderstorm. Through the openings

  to the lake, Jen-Tom could see the heavy drops

  churning the smooth surface and was glad they'd

  pulled in when they had. Inside the inn, all was snug