Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  Then there was another sound in the room, a

  sound that chilled Jon-Tom more thoroughly than

  the touch of that annihilating fog. It was the sound

  of Death laughing.

  "And now you have called me back to you. And the

  living say that life is full of little ironies."

  THK MOMENT OF THE MAGICMJT

  305

  "NOI" Markus screamed. He fell to whimpering.

  |"I didn't call you, I didn't. Go awaaay." The wand

  .twitched feebly in the air. "I send you back to where

  | you come from. 1 command you."

  t The cloud was pulling away from the shivering

  |Jon-Tom, dragging itself across the floor toward the

  | throne. As it left him he found that he could move

  i again. He started to head for the door, slowed

  ' thoughtfully. If Death wanted him, no door was

  ; going to stop it. Somehow he didn't think that was

  . going to happen. What had happened was that he

  had almost been the victim of a fatal case of mistaken

  identity.

  He turned. The fog had surrounded Markus

  •completely. He could still hear the unfortunate

  | magician. The shapes inside the cloud reached out

  | to welcome him into their company. The torches

  1 winked out and there was only the green light left to

  ['see by-

  t There were no dramatic shrieks or screams. The

  |whimpering from the throne simply stopped. Then

  | the cloud began to retreat, sucked back down into

  ^the hat from which it had been summoned forth. An

  ^-innocent-looking black top hat that the late Markus

  the Ineluctable had probably paid no more than ten

  bucks for in some cheap magic shop in Jersey City.

  Then it was gone. Fresh air hesitantly wafted into

  ^ the room. All that remained of Markus the Ineluctable,

  the All-Powerful, Ruler of Quasequa and the Lakes

  District, was a piece of white-tipped black plastic a

  foot long.

  Still shivering, Jon-Tom strode over to the throne

  and picked up the wand. He tapped it against the

  wood. It made a soft clicking noise. On the side was

  the legend Made in Hong Kong. Handling it gingerly,

  he descended to the floor and dropped it into the

  open hat. It vanished.

  Alan Dean Foster

  306

  Then he took a deep breath and did the hardest

  thing he'd ever done in his life. He picked up the

  hat. Carrying it carefully in his right hand, he walked

  over to the window nearby and threw it as far as he

  could. It sailed out into the night and he watched it

  fall. When it hit the water it was too light to make an

  audible splash. Either it would sink or the current

  would carry it into the river that drained the Lake of

  Sorrowful Pearls, and the river would take it out to

  the Glittergeist Sea to sink in thousands of fathoms

  of sunless, specterless water.

  He found himself feeling sorry for Markle Kratz-

  meier. But not for Markus the Ineluctable.

  Something creaked behind him. He jumped.

  "You okay, mate?" inquired a hesitant voice. Mudge's

  face peeped uncertainly around the rim of the door.

  Jon-Tom relaxed. "It's all right, Mudge. It's all

  over. You can come in now." He swallowed. "Everyone

  can come in now."

  "Right, mate." But Mudge made a thorough sur-

  vey of the empty throne room before he entered.

  Weapons drawn, the rest of the band rushed in

  around him.

  Memaw crossed her arms over her chest. "Brrri

  Young man, it's freezing in here. What happened?"

  "Markus unintentionally called up an old friend of

  his. They went away together." Suddenly he was very

  tired, searched for something to sit on. The throne

  was out of the question, so he chose a pile of richly

  embroidered cushions stacked in a corner.

  Trendavi waddled over to him. "What of our city?"

  "It's been restored to you. You got it back." Trendavi

  accepted this information solemnly. Then he bowed

  before Jon-Tom, who was too exhausted to tell him

  not to, and went off to tell the other members of the

  Quorum.

  Opiode had paced the length of the room, sniffing

  THE MoJcswr or TUX MAOicxiur 307

  at the chilled air. Now he peered down at the

  speltsinger out of wise, knowing eyes.

  "Death has been in this place. You called it forth?"

  "No, not me. Markus did it- I don't think he knew

  what he was doing when he did it. See, he'd died in

  the other world. My world. He escaped by being

  thrown through to here. Death had been looking for

  him ever since."

  "So in his anger and greed he called up his own

  fate," Opiode murmured. "Justice." He sniffed again.

  "There has been much magic worked here this night.

  Great magic."

  "I don't know how great it was"—Jon-Tom rubbed

  his face with both hands—"but 1 feel like I've just had

  the shit stomped out of me by an angry elephant."

  Quorly put a comforting paw on hisr shoulder.

  ** 'Tis done with, spellsinger. 'Tis all over now."

  A voice from across the room drew their eyes.

  "Hey, you lot, look at me!" Mudge was sitting on

  the throne, his short legs a foot above the floor, both

  arms resting on the carved armrests. "Oi, I'm Emper-

  or o' Quasequa, 1 am, and you louts can all pay me

  *omage." He grinned down at Splitch. "Ladies first.

  o' course."

  Jon-Tom spoke casually. "That is precisely where

  Markus was sitting when Death itself took him."

  Mudge's legs abruptly stopped swinging. "You don't

  say. If that's supposed to scare me, why, it don't." He

  hopped down from the seat. " 'Tis a mite chilly up

  there, though. Not really to me taste." He retreated

  in haste.

  "Then there's nothing more for us to worry about,"

  said Memaw.

  "Well, there is one thing," Jon-Tom mused. "You

  all seem to have forgotten that we have a revolution-

  minded dragon running loose in the Quorumate's

  tower levels."

  Alan Dean Porter

  308

  "Is that a problem?'* Domurmur frowned. "If he is

  your friend, can't you tell him to leave us in peace?"

  "He'll leave you in pieces if he finds out what kind

  of government you're running. You're going to have

  to move to eliminate bribery and corruption, stamp

  out the blatant buying of public office."

  Selryndi sputtered a reply. "But that's impossible!

  How else do you govern?"

  Jon-Tom grinned up at him. "I should let Falameezar

  instruct you, but I'll talk to him and see if we can't

  work out some kind of compromise that will satisfy

  all the concerned parties."

  "We thank you," a relieved Trendavi said humbly.

  So Falameezar was permitted to run a political

  reeducation center on the shore of Isle Quase, and

  the citizens were taught not to run in fear from his

  presence. Before too much time went by he was no

  longer frightening the
m, only boring them to death

  with his droning recitations of Marxist ideology. De-

  spite his threats they began to drift away, and even

  the city troops couldn't force them to stay and listen.

  As Cherjal the innkeeper put it one day, "I'd

  rather bee fried than forced to leesten to that

  garbage anymore!"

  So Falameezar swam off one evening in search of

  more willing converts, bidding Jon-Tom and his friends

  adieu, singing the "Internationale" as he disappeared

  into a sunset which was, appropriately enough that

  evening, bright red.

  It was the following night that Jon-Tom was com-

  pelled to go with a group of grim-faced police to the

  end of an empty municipal pier. At the far end of

  the pier was a large pile of fur. The pile sported a

  bunch of eyes, many of which were closed or bloodshot,

  an indistinguishable dutch of arms and legs, and

  reeked of liquor.

  The sergeant of police was a three-foot-tall cavy,

  TBX VQMSMT OF THE MAGJCJAH

  309

  short and testy. He gestured at the pile. "These your

  friends?"

  "Uh, yes sir."

  "Well, do something with them. We had to shovel

  them out of the Capering Gibbon tavern. They were

  being drunk and disorderly and obnoxious."

  "Is that so oad? They did help save your city from

  the rule of Markus the Ineluctable, you know."

  "Aw, that was weeks ago," said the sergeant. "Since

  then they've busted up half of what they helped save,

  insulted most of the ladies and some of the males,

  parlied until all hours in quiet zones, and generally

  made a spectacular nuisance of themselves."

  One lump of fur wiggled out of the pile and

  focused rheumy eyes on the sergeant. "Who're you

  callin' a nuisance, you sorry-lookin', worm-infested

  lump o' snake crap?"

  "Mudge, watch your mouth!" The otter twisted

  'round to squint up at him.

  "Hiya, mate! Say, where was you the other night?

  You missed a hell of a party."

  The cavy looked up at the much taller Jon-Tom, its

  nose twitching in distaste- "This party has been going

  on for a month now, and the patience of the Quo-

  rum is at its end. So in gratitude for what you have

  done for the city ofQuasequa, it was decided to send

  you safely on your way." He gestured at the pile of

  'otters. "We dumped them here, more or less intact.

  See that they don't come back."

  /'I'm sorry if they've caused you any trouble,"

  Jon-Tom told him apologetically. The cavy threw

  him a sideways glance.

  "Trouble? Oh, no trouble, no trouble at all. At

  least three dozen of my best people are stuck in

  infirmaries all around the city because of run-ins

  with your friends here." He jerked a tiny thumb

  Alan Dean Foster

  310

  toward the pile. "You sort 'em out any way you want

  to. Just keep 'em out of my Jurisdiction, okay?"

  Jon-Tom waited until the police had left the pier.

  Then he gazed down at the pile of fuzz. "Aren't you

  all ashamed of yourselves? Aren't you disgusted? You

  win the gratitude of an entire population, and then

  you throw it back in their faces."

  Sasswise appeared, waving her sword dangerously

  about. "Nobody better not throw nothin* at mel"

  "Ow!" Drortch emerged, flaring at her cousin.

  "You stick me with that again, you sodden slut, and

  I'll pull your tail out by its roots!"

  "You and wot army, bitch?"

  The two of them went at it enthusiastically, biting

  and kicking and pulling fur. The distraction was

  energetic enough to bestir their companions to action.

  The hill unpiled. Knorckle crawled weakly to the

  edge of the pier and proceeded to vomit violently

  into the Lake of Sorrowful Pearls.

  Jon-Tom stood and watched, shaking his head in

  despair. Then he said something he regretted more

  than anything else he'd said since he'd left the rela-

  tive sanity of Clothahump's tree.

  "What am I going to do with you?"

  A drunken Memaw gazed up at him, "Now, don't

  you worry, young fan... man, because we've taken a

  vote on thish, and we decided that we couldn't possi-

  bly think of letting you make that nasty old trip all

  the way back up to these Bellwoodsies you come

  from all by yourselves."

  "Oh, that's all right," Jon-Tom said quickly. "I

  mean. I appreciate the offer, but Mudge and I

  managed to make it down here by ourselves, and we

  can make it home the same way." He looked around

  wildly for support.

  A head appeared. "More company the better, mate,"

  declared a thoroughly sozzled Mudge.

  THE MQMBWT Of THB MACUCSAH

  311

  Weaving, drunken oUers gathered around the dis-

  traught spellsinger, cheering and waving their swords

  about with complete disregard for the bodily integri-

  ty of their neighbors.

  "Aye, mate.. .We're with you all the bayway!.. .Glad

  to come along!.. .Three cheers for the spullspung-

  er...!"

  Jon-Tom dodged a sword stroke that came perilously

  near taking a chunk out of his thigh. He found

  himself being backed toward the otters' boat, which

  the police had thoughtfully tied up at the end of

  the pier.

  Mudge lurched along in front, one arm around

  Quorly, the other around Sasswise. "It'll be fun,

  mate, to 'ave a little good company goin' 'ome. Besides.

  I'd like for me friends 'ere to meet Clothagrump."

  He leaned over to whisper to Quorly. "This 'ere wizbiz

  'as got 'imself an apprentice name o' Sorbl who can

  conjure up the best damn batch o' 'omemade 'ootch

  I you never tasted, luv. Burn the linin' right out o'

  your bloomin' throat."

  Quorly pressed tight against him. "Sounds wonder-

  ful. Mudgey."

  "No, no," Jon-Tom told them, pleading desperately,

  | "you don't understand. Clothahump is a very serious,

  sober-minded sorcerer. It's important that he see me

  in the same light or he won't send me home someday."

  "Then we'll get along fine, Jon-Tome... Tom," said

  Wupp happily, "because we're damn sure serious

  about not stayin' sober."

  Paws reached forward and lifted the protesting

  spellsinger, carried him down into the boat. Hands

  bent to oars, and after some initial confusion, the

  boat began to slide out onto the Lake of Sorrowful

  Pearls. Drortch launched into a spirited if slightly

  sloppy rendition of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat!" The

  melody was quickly taken up by her companions and

  312 Alan Dean Foster

  the boat was soon producing enough noise to attract I

  every water-going predator between Quasequa and i

  the river Tailaroam. E

  jon-Tom lay in the bottom of the boat and won-

  dered if maybe Markus the Ineluctable hadn't been

  the lucky one.

  FB2 document info

  Do
cument ID: 83ff64a8-d332-477b-89a3-70c74d47e3e5

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 20.12.2011

  Created using: calibre 0.8.18 software

  Document authors :

  Foster, Alan Dean

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