The Time Of The Transferance

by neetha Napew

  “I’ve been breathing otter fur too long.” Jon-Tom patted Mudge on the shoulder, then nodded at the river. “What now? They’re almost to the boat.”

  “Going be plenty mad when they find crocodile dung in the bottom instead of us.”

  “We thought that after expendin’ all that effort they deserved to find somethin’,” Mudge explained blithely.

  “They’re going to be a lot madder when they get back here and find these four.” Jon-Tom gestured at the bodies of the four guards. “We’d better not hang around to watch.”

  “Agreed.” The raccoon pointed into the swamp. “Not enough time to steal big boat. Take too long to get sails up and maybe they got somebody left on board to watch. They think we try and run toward nearest town. That be my village. So we go other way, south, and pretty soon by and by they give up and forget about us.”

  “South. What’s south of here?”

  “Nearby, nothing. Farther away, who know? Maybe another village. Maybe we find somebody to sell us a boat. Maybe we borrow one. But can’t go back to my home. That be first place they check, you bet. Kamaulk a smart bird. Also I think maybe fox plenty mad at me by now. So if it okay, I tag along.” He jerked a thumb in Mudge’s direction. “Otter here, he say you trying to get to Chejiji. I’ve heard about that place from other travelers, you bet. Always wanted to go there but never had reason. Got one now, by golly. Need to keep head out of stewpot.”

  “You really think they’ll give up the chase after a while? I don’t know this Kamaulk, though he seems to be a lot like his unmentionable brother, but this is twice we’ve left Sasheem looking foolish. He won’t like it.”

  “Likes got nothing to do with it. He not in charge. Pirates know ocean pretty well. Me,” and he tapped his gray-furred chest with a thumb, “I know swamps pretty well. Ground this way,” and he started toward the trees, “is higher and dryer. We make pretty damn good time, you bet, and soil still damp enough to soak up our footprints. They have to be better trackers than I think they are if they try to follow Cautious in swamp.”

  Mudge jogged along behind the raccoon. “Right. Suppose we give ‘em the slip? Then what? We can’t walk all the way to bloomin’ Chejiji.”

  “I tell you we find boat. If not, I make one maybe.”

  “We could borrow one, like you said.” He was speaking to Cautious but looking at Mudge as he spoke. The otter’s reply astonished him.

  “Nope. No more o’ that for me, mate. I’m givin’ up thievin’, I am.”

  “What’s that? You sure you didn’t catch the butt end of that lynx’s sword on your skull?”

  The otter looked slightly embarrassed. “Tweren’t entirely my doin’, mate.” Jon-Tom looked sharply at Weegee, who continued to stare resolutely and noncommitally straight ahead. “An’ it ain’t final. But I’m givin’ it serious consideration.”

  Cautious interrupted to suggest they save their breath for running, as it was important they put as much distance between themselves and their soon to be furious pursuers as possible before daybreak. In the dim moonlight the raccoon quickly and unhesitatingly chose the firmest, most direct path through the dense forest. Nor was Cautious’s wetland expertise the only thing they had going for them. Having slept away the day, Jon-Tom and his companions were fully rested, whereas the pirates had spent the entire day awake and the evening drinking. They would give out a hundred yards into the trees.

  Weegee did not enjoy the advantage of a full day’s rest. When even her boundless otterine energy threatened to run dry they paused long enough to rig a stretcher of saplings and reeds. Jon-Tom and Mudge carried her through the dense vegetation as Cautious continued to lead the way.

  Kamaulk was sure to cut the chase short, Jon-Tom reflected. The parrot was a practical sort. Corroboc, had he been alive and present, would have driven his men to the point of collapse in pursuit of the escapees.

  But they couldn’t take the chance that the pirate captain would act sensibly. They pressed on until a few hours before daylight. By then he and Mudge were too tired from carrying Weegee’s stretcher to run any longer. Cautious agreed to a stop and all were asleep within minutes of each other.

  They’d pulled it off, Jon-Tom mused tiredly as he drifted into unconsciousness. As he fell asleep a pair of parrots kept winking in and out of his mind’s eye; one less a leg and eye, the other intact save for a splinted wing.

  He rolled over and exhaled, trying to get comfortable on the damp ground. “Good thing Kamaulk’s wing was hurt or he could have flown over the zodiac close enough to see there wasn’t anyone under the camouflage. Lucky break.”

  “Lucky my derriere.” Weegee let out a snort. “Right after they tied me to that frigging tree he waddled over to check me out. Sort of inspecting the merchandise, you might say, with an eye toward future sales. He got a little intimate and I bit the shit out of his wing.”

  A steady high-pitched whistle emanated from the dark shape lying next to her. Mudge was already sound asleep. “I understand. You bit him because he was fondling you?”

  “Hell no. I bit him because he was insulting me. Sonofasnake underestimated my value by at least fifty gold pieces, the green-feathered little turd.”

  “Oh.” He closed his eyes again, feeling himself fading rapidly. A leaf or something settled on his chest. Or something.

  He sat up fast. Bright yellow eyes with black slitted pupils mooned back at him. He let out a yelp as the fat little lizard-like creature stuck out its tongue at him in a natural expression of curiosity and not derision. It was barely six inches long and Jon-Tom immediately perceived his howl of surprise as a loud overreaction.

  The thing rose straight into the air. It was able to do so because in place of arms and legs its body rested on four miniature rotors. Six feet off his chest it stopped, hovering like a cross between a hummingbird and a toy helicopter. A look around revealed dozens of the intensely colored insecti-vores flitting among the trees.

  His shout had roused the rest of his exhausted companions. Red-eyed, they studied the flock of helipoppering lizards as they dove and darted through the swamp. Each displayed several tiny patches of luminescence along its flanks. Running lights, Jon-Tom mused.

  They were unfamiliar to Mudge and Weegee, but Cautious expressed surprise at the ignorance of his traveling companions.

  “Squirks. Harmless little things, and tasty.”

  Mudge swatted at one that dove at his face, mistaking his whiskers for worms. They could motor forward or backward with equal agility, Jon-Tom observed with delight. They darted back just out of reach whenever he took a gentle swipe at one. Their flattened tails served as rotors.

  He went to sleep with one buzzing curiously above his ear.

  Cautious awoke first, well after the sun had put in its daily appearance. There was no sign of the pirates, so they lingered long enough to make a quick meal of backpacked supplies before resuming their trek southward. Morgels and cypress began to give way to drier land dominated by rail-thin evergreens and blue magnolias. One tree put form silvery blossoms that vibrated when they were touched. Mudge pronounced it distant kin to the familiar belltrees of home, though this variety hummed instead of tinkling.

  “Like I thought. Our friends they doen know this country. They stick to water robbing. I think we pretty okay now. Soon maybe we find a new town and rent ourselves-a boat.”

  “You could probably go back now,” Jon-Tom told the raccoon.

  “I’d rather go with you, if you doen mind. Most of my people they happy in swamp, doen care about rest of the world. I always want to see other places.”

  “You stick with bald-bottom ‘ere, then.” Mudge nodded toward his tall friend. “You’ll see more of it than you ever wanted to. I know that for a fact, I do, because I’ve traveled farther than ‘ere an’ there with ‘im, an’ me without ever ‘avin’ a choice in the itinerary.”

  They marched all that day and into the morning of the next without encountering so much as a sign that another vill
age might be near. Jon-Tom didn’t mind the hike, so long as they didn’t have to slop through mud and ooze and tangled vines. On dry land his long legs enabled him to keep pace with his more energetic companions.

  Once Mudge draped a long thin section of vine across Jon-Tom’s back, sending the youth into a panic believing a snake had fallen on him. Weegee leaped instantly to Jon-Tom’s defense, insisting that such juvenile gags were beneath Mudge’s station. All otter Weegee was, but far more mature than most. No wonder Mudge had been attracted to her.

  By mid-afternoon they were wading a shallow inlet less than a foot deep when Cautious suddenly raised a paw to call for a halt. He was staring into the trees opposite, his nose working the air.

  “Relatives, enemies, or wot?” Mudge inquired.

  “Fire. Something’s burning. Something big.”

  Jon-Tom turned a fast circle. The broad stream they were crossing was devoid of trees. “No reason to get excited. If it is a fire and it’s coming this way, we’re in the best place to cope with it. There’s nothing out here to burn.”

  “Maybe so, man,” said Cautious, “but where I come from we’ve heard rumors of funny things people down here do with fires.”

  Weegee was eyeing the forest dubiously. “Strange we don’t see any smoke.”

  A distant rumble became audible. Cautious’s eyes grew wide. “Run!” He turned to his right and started splashing wildly downstream. “This way quick, you bet!”

  Jon-Tom followed without knowing why he was doing so. “I don’t understand. We’re in the middle of a stream. This is as safe a place to be as any. Why are we running?”

  “The slinkers are burning the water!”

  Jon-Tom almost stumbled as he put his foot in a hole, managed to regain his balance. “That’s insane. Why would anyone want to burn the water, even if they could?”

  “Doen you hear, man?” Indeed, the rumble was growing steadily louder. The raccoon turned and headed toward the nearest bank. It was still a good distance away.

  At last they could see the smoke. A peculiar pale blue smoke preceded by a tremendous commotion in the water. The approaching blur began to separate into individual shapes and the hair on the back of Jon-Tom’s neck stiffened.

  The water was indeed on fire, though whether the liquid itself burned or the smoke rose from some volatile substance that had been dumped on top of it he couldn’t say. As to the disturbance preceding it, this was a stampede of epic proportions. Driven before the advancing flames was a huge herd of alligators and crocodiles, gavials and other toothed denizens of the shallow stream. Hundreds of them half swimming, half running, pounding their frantic way toward the smokeless sea. A few managed to escape onto the banks, but most continued to flee downstream.

  “They catch them this way, the slinkers do, and cut them up for the meat and hides. This must be how they drive them, you bet.” Cautious had more to say but not the chance to say it as all four of them found themselves wrenched upside down and lifted skyward. Hanging in the big net they were able to watch the reptilian stampede thunder by beneath them. Nearby, other nets held batches of furiously spasmodic crocodilians.

  “Get off me ‘ead, luv,” Mudge was shouting.

  “I’m not on your head, dammit.”

  “I’m tryin’ to get at me knife. If we can cut ourselves out o’ this before the bleedin’ owners show up....”

  “Too late. Too late for sure,” said Cautious, interrupting him.

  A dozen locals had materialized out of the fading flames. Slinkers, the raccoon called them. Mostly rats and mongooses averaging four feet tall. Jon-Tom picked out a few minks among the group. They wore neither civilized clothing like Mudge and Weegee nor the relaxed attire of Cautious’s people. Their fur was streaked with long splashes of blue and ochre paint. Head bands were decorated with fragments of crocodile hide and trade feathers. Other feathers were tied to short tails. Most carried spears except for a few who gripped stunted machetes. Their speech was unintelligible.

  Except to Cautious. “Degenerate talk. Very primitive, these people.”

  “Nothin’ primitive about their net work,” Mudge grumbled.

  “They trying decide what to do with us.”

  The tallest of the mongooses ordered the captives released from their prison. Someone tugged on a concealed rope and the four travelers landed in a messy heap in the shallow water. Jon-Tom tried to position his ramwood staff, but the slinkers were too fast. He found himself nose to point with an ugly looking spear. Hands were tied and weapons appropriated. Weegee vied with Mudge to see which of them could fashion the most egregious insults to heap upon their captors as they were led into the woods.

  The natives were impressed by Jon-Tom’s unusual size, but hardly overawed. Around them dozens of slinkers were slaughtering imprisoned crocodilians. They worked fast; killing, bleeding, and skinning. Jon-Tom was glad his own skin was too flimsy to be of any profit.

  “What will they do with us?” Weegee sounded concerned. It was too soon to panic.

  “I doen know. We try stay away from this part of the swamp, my buddies and me. They talking now about food.”

  “That ain’t promisin’,” Mudge muttered to the raccoon.

  “We might make a break for it when they’re not watching,” Jon-Tom suggested.

  “With our hands tied?” Weegee favored him with the kind of smile one reserves for an idiot child. “Look how good they are with those skinning knives. I’m sure they’re just as quick with these spears. We wouldn’t get twenty paces.”

  The river was far behind them now as their captors marched them through the undergrowth. This didn’t trouble Jon-Tom’s companions, but the needles and occasional thorns scratched and bit him.

  By evening they’d reached a village. The individual huts were not as architecturally advanced as those of Cautious’s town, but they were cleaner.

  The elderly mongoose who emerged from the largest hut to greet the returning hunters wore a particularly elaborate headdress. If not for the fact that this individual looked like he would gladly issue the order to have the captives cut up starting with the soles of the feet and working slowly upward, Jon-Tom would have laughed at the sight he and his attendant minks presented in their primitive garb. He kept his expression neutral. This wasn’t a play and none of the participants were acting.

  The mongoose in charge of the hunting party approached this chief, or headman, local premier or boss or whatever he was, and started talking. Cautious listened closely, struggling with the awkward speech.

  “They’re trying to decide whether or not we’re gods and how best to venerate us, right?” said Weegee sarcastically.

  “I’m afraid not. I think maybe they talk about which one of us taste better.” He glanced up at Jon-Tom. “Trend seems to favor you, Jon-Tom, since you got most meat on you bones.”

  “They can’t eat me. I refuse to be eaten. I haven’t spent a year battling perambulators and wizards and demons and pirates to end up in somebody’s cook pot.”

  The raccoon shrugged. “You can tell them that but I doen think they going to be impressed.”

  Jon-Tom was acutely conscious of the sharp spear points pressing close around him. “Talk to them, dammit. Tell them I’m a powerful magician, a spellsinger. Make sure they know what a spellsinger is.”

  Cautious took a step forward. “I try, but doen hold your breath.”

  The head hunter and the chief turned to the raccoon, who began speaking in a halting but passably forceful manner. Their expressions indicated Cautious was making himself understood.

  The raccoon finished his speech. There was a pause, then the chief stepped forward, shoving Cautious aside, and examined Jon-Tom with new interest. Though he was among the tallest of the villagers, he barely came up to Jon-Tom’s waist. A finger poked him in the belly. Jon-Tom tried not to flinch.

  Turning his head, the chief spoke to Cautious, who swallowed and translated.

  “Chief he say he think maybe you taste pre
tty sweet, but he doen want to eat a magician. He want to know what kind of magic you can make.”

  “Tell him I can give everyone in his village their heart’s desire, the thing they each want most in the whole world.”

  Mudge’s jaw dropped. “ ‘Ave you taken leave o’ your senses, mate? That’s too bloomin’ big an order even for a duar, much less that piddlin’ substitute lyre you’re pluckin’ these days.”

  “Don’t worry, Mudge. I know what I’m doing. Tell him, Cautious.”

  The raccoon took a deep breath and relayed the reply. The mongoose’s eyes grew wide. He took a couple of steps back from the tall human as he spoke.

  “He say he pretty impressed, you bet, if you can do this thing. For whole tribe?”

  “For the whole tribe,” Jon-Tom reiterated, staring at the chief as he spoke.

  This time it wasn’t necessary for Cautious to translate, the chief getting the gist of it from Jon-Tom’s expression and attitude. Again the head slinker chattered away and Cautious strained to make sense of his words.

  “Chief say you try this thing and if you tell the truth there be no reason to keep you here. He say he want to know how you can tell what everyone want most in the world.”

  “Tell him all they have to do is think of it, and I will know.”

  This produced quite a commotion among the assembled hunters and every other villager within earshot. The entire population had clustered around the hunting party and its captives. They babbled among themselves until the chief raised both paws for silence. Then he sat himself down in front of Jon-Tom, crossed his short legs, and spoke briefly to Cautious.

  “Chief say you go ahead.”

  “I’ll need my instrument, my suar, to work the magic.”

  As soon as this was translated one of the hunters quickly handed it over, after first checking the resonating box to make sure it held no concealed knives or other weapons.

  As he tuned up, Mudge sidled up next to him. “I don’t know wot you ‘ave in mind, mate, but it can’t work. You ain’t got the wherewithal without your duar to grant even one o’ these charmin’ fellas the thing ‘e most wants in the ‘ole world, let alone the ‘ole bleedin’ bunch of ‘em.”