Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

city but in all the outlyin' districts as well."

"That would mean the tax on our catch would be

raised." muttered Wupp angrily.

"Well, we ain't never paid no taxes to Quasequa

and we ain't never goin' tol" declaimed Flutzasar-

angelik.

"Right.,. yeal., - never... t" The rest of the band

took up the first cry of defiance.

Memaw raised a paw for silence. "Where'd you

hear of all this, Frangel?"

TSK MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN

"When we were leavin' Quasequa the last time we

were in for supplies. Couple o' blokes on a street

comer were reading the paper aloud."

Jon-Tom pursed his lips as he stared down over

his nosc^at Mudge. "So they never go into the city, eh?"

The otter offered up a wan smile by way of reply,

hunted for a hole big enough to crawl into.

"What else did you hear?" Memaw prompted the

younger otter.

Frangel licked his lips. "I 'eard that this Markus is

goin' to demand assurances o' allegiance. Not to

Quasequa, mind you, but to him direct."

"Wot an outragel... Never 'appen... got a snowball's

chance in the Greendowns if *e thinks 'e can force

that on everybody...'"

Memaw turned to Jon-Tom and the cries died

down. "You have still failed to properly answer

Drench's question, young human. If you are not on

the same "wavelength*—whatever that may be—as

this Markus the Ineluctable, how do you propose to

convince him to stop his activites should he prove

unresponsive to your initial entreaties?"

"Naturally, our response will depend on his. If he

proves stubborn and uncooperative, well, 1 have a

mandate from the great wizard Clothahump, my

instructor, to do whatever I think is in the best

interests of the people of Quasequa. As Mudge has

told you, 1 am something of a spellsinger. The

Plated Folk knew that, which is why they wanted me

so badly."

"Bugs ain't got no taste," Mudge grumbled. He

stood off to one side, looking surly and refusing to

participate in the discussion.

"Assuming your powers are functioning, you truly

believe you can overcome this magician? It is rumored

he is extraordinarily powerful. He defeated the fa-

mous Opiode the Sly."

Alan Dean Foster

2X2

"Like I said," Jon-Tom told her, with a quiet confi-:

dence he didn't feel, "we'll do whatever's necessary."

He moved through them to pick up his backpack,

slung it over his shoulders, did the same with the

duar, and gripped the ramwood staff. Then he looked

significantly toward a solitary figure standing away

from the others.

"Mudge?"

"Wot!" the otter growled, not looking back at him.

"Ifs time we were on our way."

The otter shook his head sadly. "Ain't it always?"

He let out a sigh, moved to follow as Jon-Tom started

toward the beach.

Behind them the hunting party congressed intently,

heads sucking together in a circle, looking for all the

world like an undersized rugby scrum.

Frangel stuck his head up first. "'Ang on there,

'uman! We're comin' with you."

Jon-Tom paused, turned. "That's damn decent of

you, and we'd sure like the company; but this isn't

your fight, and you're not operating under the kind

of obligation that I am."

"Screw your obligation!" said Quorly. "We're not

gonna stand 'ere and let ourselves be taxed like that."

"That's the spirit," Jon-Tom told her. "No taxation

without representation!"

"And we don't want none o' that neither!" Sasswise

said angrily.

Jon-Tom swallowed and let his simile go down in

flames- Quorly sashayed over to him.

"Anyway, you're not goin* to do anythin' without

our help, Jonny-Tom."

"And why not?"

" 'Cause you ain't got no boat anymore."

All that bouncing around must have caused him to

bump his head a few times, he reflected. That was

one minor fact he'd managed to overlook.

Tmc UOMKIVT OF THE MAOJCLUT

213

"I admit we could use a raft or something. The

Plated Folk made a mess of ours. Could we borrow

one of yours?"

"Don't be a fool." She winked at him and joined

(he scattering of her companions.

Jon-Tom watched dizzily as they broke camp, packed,

and prepared to depart. The entire process took

about five minutes. There was only the one craft in

any case, a large, low-gunwaled boat that bobbed at

anchor on the other side of the island. Gear was

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

Alan Dean Porter

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.

Alan Dean Foster

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 inhabitants 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.

217

Alan Dean Foster

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."

Alan Dean Foster

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. Memaw 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

Alaa Dean Foster

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

and dry.

Memaw left them seated at several tables, returned

a few moments later with the proprietor, Jen-Torn

didn't rise to greet him. The ceiling, lined with shiny

sea-green tile, was too low.

Cheijal was a large koala- He wore an apron, vest,

the ubiquitous short pants, and a bright blue scarf

around his forehead. He let out a tired groan as he

plopped down in an empty chair and regarded his

new guests.

Jon-Tom sipped at his sweet dder and waited

patiently while Cherjal exchanged pleasantries with

the rest of the otters. The floor was full of drains.

and the dampness of the room reflected the inn's

THE MOUEffT OF TfEE MAGJCLUT

223

largely riparian clientele. There was no sign of mold

or mildew, however, and he suspected the place was

scrubbed clean every night. Still, he couldn't escape

the feeling that he was sitting inside an enormous

terrariirm.

"So how go zee feeshing, Memaw?"

She shrugged and set down the dope stick she'd

been puffing on. Jon-Tom had already taken one

whiff of the pungent smoke and set temptation aside.

He needed all his wits about him now, and half that

stick would've laid him flat.

"Not bad. Our trip turned out to be full of interest-

ing digressions, however, hence our early return. We

happened upon this tall human chap and his friend

and helped them out of a difficult spot. This is

Jon-lbm."

, "Hi" He extended a hand, was surprised by the

koala's powerful grip.

"His friend Mudge is around somewhere. Well, no

matter." She leaned across the table. "What does

matter is something we stumbled across where the

Lakes meet the Wrounipai: a complete colony of

water-dwelling Plated Folk."

"Plated Folks?" Cherjal's eyes widened. "How shock-

ing a discoveree thees be! How reemarkable. How

frighteneeng."

"Yeah, it sucks," Frangel agreed.

"Indeed, indeed." Cherjal considered. "Sometheeng

must be done about thees. These Plated Theengs

cannot be allowed to colonize our waters. An expee-

deetion must be mounted to wipe theem away."

"There is no need to panic, my good friend." Memaw

crossed silver-furred arms. "The colony is not that

big, and we left them with sufficient to think about to

keep them from causing trouble for a while." Mut-

ters of agreement sounded from the rest of the

band, except for Mudge. He was too busy stuffing

Atan Deu Foatcr

224

himself with freshly broiled fish to care much about

the conversation.

"So you come back to mee early. What can I do for

my favorite lady, heh?"

'Always the flatterer, Cherjal." She smiled across

the table at him.

It was raining harder than ever now. Jon-Tom

could hear the drops drumming on the roof. The

warmth from so many furry bodies and the thick

scent of their mixed musk was making him sleepy. It

would be so nice just to find a warm bed and lie

down and sleep for about two days.

Unfortunately, he couldn't do that. Not just yet.

"We need to know what this new advisor to the

Quorum is like, what his plans are, and what he's

been up to," he asked Cherjal.

"So. You weesh about Markus the Ineluctable

information, heh?" Right away the koala lost some of

his good humor. "I have plenty I can tell you, yes,

and not much of eet much nice.

"Nobodies took much notice of eet when he defeated

Opiode the Sly. The cheef advisor spends hees time

mostly advising the Quorum. Very leetle of what hee

do treeckles down to us ordinary ceeteezens. Then

thee rumors up-started. Steel nobodies pays much

attention. As long as it don't much affect their lives,

thee people preety much ignore what thee govern-

ment gets up to." Cherjal lowered his voice and took

a moment to check the inhabitants of the tables

nearby before continuing.

"They say thees Markus setting up hees own net-

work of spies. Eenformers in Quasequa, can you

imagine?" He shook his head in disbelief at his own

revelation. "Theen last week eet finally happening.

At first nobody believe it. Thee shock steel not

settled een, I theenk. That's why everything look so

normal around town."

TH» MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN

228

"Believe wot?" Sasswise asked him.

"What thees new weezard he done. He dissolve

thee Quorum. Temporarily, hee say, unteel a new

one can be chosen. Meanwhile he running Quasequa

all by Heemself."

A new voice interrupted loudly. "I knew it!"

All eyes turned. "You knew what, Mudge?" jon-

Tom asked.

"I knew we should've stayed *ome."

"Calm down," He looked nervously over the otter's

head, but none of the other patrons appeared in the

least bit interested in the conversation taking place at

the far side of the room- Of course, a good informer

wouldn't reveal his interest. "We're still not sure who's

done what," he told the otter softly.

"No, eet ees certain not yet who is completely

altogether responseeble," Cherjal admitted. "But thee

rumors they say also that thees Markus has put all

the members of the Quorum who don't support

heem into the dungeons beneath the Quorumate.

Seence nobodies can get een to see heem or them,

thees can't be verified, and the members who come

and go as they please, like Kindore and Vazvek,

won't say what they must know."

"When's all this supposed to have happened?"

**0nly a few days ago." Cherjal rubbed his flat

black nose, sniffed. "Nobody really knows nothing.

When asked, word come back that thee members of

thee Quorum are engaged in long and deeficult

deescusions about the future of the city. But that

what they always say when they want to have private

party and geet smashed."

"So the government of Quasequa is either over-

thrown or drunk," Jon-Tom decided-

Cherjal nodded. "About thee size of eet that ees.

Those of us who fear thee first worry that Markus

may solidify his power on the Quorum with thee

Alan Dean Foster

226

help of those who support heem until eel ees

unbreakable becoming." He stared up at Jon-Tbm.

"You gots strong eenterest in thees even though you

not coming From Quasequa, man. Why?"

"I think it's also rumored that Markus claims to

come from another world." Cherjal nodded. "I think

he may come from mine. If I can meet with him, I

may be able to straighten a lot of things out."

Cherjal glanced at Memaw. "Is true? He from

another world?"

"Who'd lie about a thing like that?"

"Maybe a magician," Cherjal suggested.

"That's exactly why I need to talk to him," Jon-

Tom said. A paw came down on his shoulder.

" 'Ere now, mate," Mudge mumbled, "if this 'ere

bloke's the type to go around deposin' rightful

governments, it don't sound to me like 'e's the kind

who'd be ready and willin' to 'elp you find your way

*ome."

"I admit it doesn't sound promising, but we don't

know anything for certain yet and we won't until I

meet this Markus. Like I said before, if he is doing

these things, he may be doing so to protect himself

because he's in a strange place and he's afraid for his

safety."

"So hee protect heemself by taking control of

everybody else?" Cherjal made a disgusted sound.

"Doesn't matter no ways. No ways you can meet

heem. Hee sees nobodies. Lots of people have tried

to see heem. Nobody do it, and those who try too

hard disappearing"

"Isn't there an appointments secretary for the

Quorum, or something?"

"For thee Quorum, there is. For Markus is nothings.

Only Quorum members themselves have seen heem.

Appointments secretary will tell you to lost be getting."

"I see." Jon-Tom considered for a long moment

THE MOJHKWT OF TOE MAGICIAN

.227

before saying, "Then we'll ^ust have to make our own

appointment. Where is Markus staying?"

"Een a private apartment in the Quorumate

Complex. So the rumors saying."

Jon-Tom leaned as close to the koala as he could.

"You wouldn't happen to know of a service entrance

that's lightly guarded, would you?"

Mudge broke out in a broad grin. "Bugger me,

mate, can it be that you're Finally comin' 'round to

seein' things the way the world is instead of'ow you'd

like 'em to be?"

Jon-Tom replied primly. "I am always praematic.

Mudge"

"Oi, is that wot you calls it? I always thought it

were called breakin' and enterin'."

"We're not going to break anything," Jon-Tom

snapped, leaving the second half of Mudge's defini-

tion uncommented upon,

"There are several serveece entrances," Cherjal

informed them, "but all are being guarded."

"Who does the guarding?"

"Eet vary from place to place."

Quorly spoke for the first time, grinning over at

Jon-Tom. "Don't you worry none about the guards,

tuv. You just leave that little problem to Sasswise,

Splitch, and meself."

"I don't know—" he began uncertainly, but she cut

him off.

"We'll handle things... so to speak." Twin giggles

came from the table nearby.

"I wouldn't ask anything like that of you if this

wasn't really important, Quorly, I wouldn't want you

to do anything that's..." Mudge leaned over, his

nose inches from Jon-Tom's.

"Now, you shut up, mate," he murmured, "or

you're goin' to make the ladies feel bad. They're

TOlunteerin' for this little caper and they damn well

Alan Dean Footer

228

know wot they're about. Might even 'ave themselves a

good time doin' it."

"We always 'aves ourselves a good time doin' it,"

Sasswise commented from the neighboring table.

Not for the First time since he'd fallen in with this

remarkable gaggle of otters, Jon-Tom blushed.

"It could be very dangerous."

"Now, didn't you already say that?" Quoriy sounded

exasperated. "That were 'alf the point in our comin'

along."

"That is right, dear." Memaw looked over at Jon-

Tom. "We shall help you gain entrance to the

Quorumate so you may meet with Markus the In-

comprehensible."

"Ineluctable," Jon-Tom corrected her. "But why?"

"We already told you, I believe. We do not care for

this new wizard's politics. We stand ready to fight

anything that infringes on our freedom, including

each other. Can't just allow this sort of thing to slide

by."

"Not bloody likely!" snorted Knorckle.

"Damn right on!" Norgil agreed.

"Then it is settled," she finished, smiling warmly at

him-

"We thank you all from the bottom of our hearts.

Don't we, Mudge? Mudge?"

There were more giggles from the other table,

indicating that at the moment, Mudge was more

interested in getting to the heart of somebody's

bottom.

xrv

A slivered moon helped to conceal their approach as

they paddled toward the Quorumate. The complex

was constructed on a narrow, rocky peninsula chat

extended like a crooked finger out into the lake.

This made it nigh impossible to approach without

being seen, hence the decision to sneak up on it via

the water.

It was a much more impressive edifice than Jon-

Tom had imagined, rising some six stories above the

lake. Numerous towers and walls had been enlarged

over the years until the original buildings had merged

in a single rambling structure that covered nearly all

of the Quorumate grounds. Flying buttresses braced

several towers from the outside. These were capped

by flagpoles from which fluttered pennants signify-

ing the main islands which composed the city,

The boat they'd borrowed from Cherjal drifted

toward the single pier. Several other small craft were

already anchored there, bobbing like metronomes in

the gentle swell.

Quoriy, Sasswise, and Splitch adjusted their feath

ered hats as they slipped out of the boat. All three

were dressed to kill, so to speak. Making no attempt

to hide their presence, they staggered straight to-

229

Alan Dean Foster

230

ward the guard station, giving a perfect imitation of

three drunken, carousing ladies of the evening out

for a good time. Meanwhile Jon-Tom and the others

lay low in the boat and waited.

Half the night seemed to go by. Jon-Tom found

himself staring at the moon. It looked like the same

moon he used to watch set over the Pacific. There

was the same pattern of mares and mountain chains.

How could that be in this world, so different in so

many other ways from his own? There was so much

he still didn't understand.

The sounds of running feet interrupted his reverie.

Hands on ramwood staff, he tensed, as did his

companions.

But the face that peered down at them, hat askew

over one eye, was a familiar one.

"Come on then!" Quorly whispered urgently at

them.

They piled out of the boat and ran up the pier.

Jon-Tom was something of a runner, but already he

saw he was going to have a hard time keeping up

with this bunch.

Quorly led them up a succession of steep stone

steps until they reached a circular patio that overlooked

the pier. Lying side by side were an unconscious wolf

and weasel. Their armor was stacked haphazardly

off to one side. Sasswise and Splitch stood over them,

daintily readjusting their attire.

Sasswise was swinging a weapon in circles. It looked

something like a cast-iron nunchaku. She gestured

with her free paw at the weasel-

"Belongs to 'im, this does. After we got acquainted

I asked *im if I might 'ave a look at it. He was afraid

I might 'urt me delicate self with it, but I promised

'im I'd be careful." She put a finger to her lips and

assumed an innocent look. " 'Pears I wasn't careful

enough. Wot a shame."

TBX MoUEffT 0V THE StAOICIAN

231

"Right then, let's hop to rt." Memaw directed Knorckle,

Drortch, and Wupp as they bound the two guards.

They snored on peacefulty, dreaming perhaps of

happier moments- They were going to be more than

a little -upset when they came to and realized what

had been done to them.

"We can't just leave them here." Jon-Tom peered

carefully through the open doorway into the building.

'Another patrol might come along and find them."

"Right," said the petite Splitch in her little-girl-cub

voice. "Let's dump *em in the lake."

"No, no, I want to try and avoid any unnecessary

killing."

"Told you 'e was weird," Mudge whispered to

Quorly.

"We can put them in the boat," Memaw suggested.

Jon-Tom waited anxiously while half the otters

proceeded to dispose of the guards. The hallway

which led invitingly inward remained empty.

Several minutes passed. He was startled to see

their boat moving slowly away from the pier, its sail

raised. Sasswise gave him an explanation when she

rejoined the others.

"We compromised, Jonny-Tom. Nobody'11 find *em

now. The wind'll carry 'em out into the lake proper."

"What happens if they run into another boat?

Fishermen or something?"

"Won't make no bit o' difference," Splitch assured

him. "1 mean, if you were told to guard an important

place and somebody found you tied up and sailin'

away from that place with your pants missin', would

you be in a 'urry to report it to your superiors?"

"I guess not." He turned his attention inward.

"Let's find this Markus." He called down the hall,

where Memaw had stationed herself behind a table.

•All clear?"

She nodded and waved. They crowded in, comment-

Alan Dean Foster

232

ing on the elegant furnishings and marble Hoor. The

ceiling was impressively high, which meant thatJon-

Tbm couid move without having to walk hunched

over. His oft-bruised head was grateful ^for the

clearance.

They trotted down the long hall and turned left.

Cherjal had provided them with what was generally

known of the Quommate's floor plan, but no one

was certain of the location of the residential rooms

where Markus was likely to have his headquarters.

They'd have to find that themselves.

Everything went smoothly until Sasswise leaped

into the air grabbing at her backside. When she

came down she started haranguing the innocent Norgil.

"Will you watch wot you're doin' with that damn

sword!"

"Now, look 'ere, m'lady, I'm just keepin' it 'andy in

case we're attacked... if you don't mind." Norgil ges-

tured with the stubby but sharp offender. "Why

don't you give a body a little room to move about?'*

"Move about? I'll give you room to move about,

you fat slob. I'll move you...!"

"Quiet!" Memaw said sharply. "Be quiet, you twol"

Already too late, Jon-Tom saw despairingly. A pair

of halberd-wielding foxes had crossed their path a

safe distance down the corridor. The noise brought

them back to investigate. Now they were staring

straight at the tightly packed clutch of invaders.

"You there, where did you come from?" one

demanded to know.

"Cur's cockles!" Memaw muttered. She glanced

right, then left, and led them up a side corridor. Not

knowing what else to do, Jon-Tom followed. Shouts

and yells rang out behind them.

"So much for the element o* surprise," groused

Mudge.

THE MOMENT OF TOE MAGJCUN 233

"It'll be all right," Quoriy assured him. "You'll see.

We'll lose that pair of fools quick enough."

Mudge skidded to a stop. "Righty-ho, but wot

about this new lot o* fools?"

A whole platoon of soldiers had appeared in the

hall directly ahead and were now charging toward

them. The platoon was an interesting mix of species,

varying in size from armed rats and mice to two

great cats and one ape.

"Listen," Jon-Tom said innocently, "can't we talk

about this?" The ape stabbed at him and he jumped

aside, bringing down his staff on the other's spear.

Instead of listening to reason, the ape reversed his

weapon and tried to shove the butt end through

Jon-Tom's teeth.

He ducked and the blow passed over his head. A

swipe with the ramwood took the ape's legs out from

under him. The sound of fighting was deafening in

the narrow corridor. The otters found themselves at

a disadvantage in such confines, where they couldn't

make use of their quickness. But the guards' rein-

forcements couldn't get at their quarry and kept

bunching up against each other in the corridors.

Superior numbers couldn't be brought to bear against

the invaders, but neither could they escape.

Jen-Tom saw Mudge cut a tendon in a vizcacha's

leg, saw blood spun, and watched as the stripe-faced

soldier went down, too stunned to scream. Then

something whacked him on the back of his neck and

he staggered. He whirled, hunting for his assailant,

and saw nothing but stars before his eyes.

The stars grew brighter as he was hit again. He

blinked and shook his head. As he did so he leaned

slightly backward, and saw his attacker. An armored

possum hung by its tail from one of the rafters. Iron

weights were strapped to its waist and it was taking

its time picking out targets among the otters below.

Alaa Dean Foster

234

Nobody could reach him and Mudge was too busy

defending himself with his sword to unlimber his

bow.

The possum wasn't used to fighting someone as

tall as a human, however. Jon-Tom tried to knock

the dangling fighter loose with his ramwood staff but

couldn't quite reach him. For its part, the possum

decided to stop playing around. The next iron ball it

selected was lined with short, sharp spikes. It strug-

gled to draw a bead on Jon-Tom as he bobbed and

dodged below.

Jon-Tom thumbed the concealed switch set in the

staff, and the ramwood lengthened by six inches of

sharp steel. A sudden jab pierced the possum's throat.

It looked very surprised, hung for a moment longer

from the ceiling, and then dropped like a stone.

The otters fought well, but no matter how many

they cut down, there were always more soldiers to

take the places of the fallen. By now the whole

complex must be alerted, Jon-Tom thought grimly.

Still, it was Memaw who finally called a halt to the

fighting when she saw the twisted form of poor

Norgil lying limp against the marble. The otter had

taken half a dozen sword thrusts and his life was

leaking out on the floor. Already blood made the

footing treacherous. That would take away the otters'

one advantage: their quickness.

So Memaw put up her sword and said, "Enough.

We surrender."

"Surrender? Wot's that mean, surrender?" said

Quorly, panting hard. Her fine clothing had been

shredded by sword cuts but otherwise she appeared

unharmed.

"No, Memaw's right, she is." Knorckle tossed his

sword aside. "Better to gather strength and wits in

jail than to perish here."

The guards moved among them, collecting knives

THE aSOMSHT OF THK MAQSCWI

236

and scimitars and searching briskly for any concealed

weapons. Jon-Tom prayed they might leave him his

duar, but they confiscated it also, along with his

backpack.

When this was done, a massively muscled jaguar

shoved his way to the fore. His leather armor was

streaked with sword cuts.

"Explain this outrageous intrusion," he growled.

~ Jen-Torn stepped forward and growled right back

at him. "Outrageous is the word for it. Here we

arrive on time for our appointment and instead of

receiving a courteous greeting, we are brutally attacked.

What kind of troops do you station in here, anyways?

. Cutthroats and murderers!"

The jaguar's eyes narrowed and he stroked his

-„ chin. "An appointment, you say. With whom?"

"Markus the Ineluctable," Jon-Tom told him

defiantly. "And is he going to be pissed when he

/ clears how we've been treated."

"Markus, you say?" The officer pushed his helmet

back off his ears. He looked tired. "Next I expect

you're going to tell me that this is all a misunder-

standing and that it'll easily be straightened out as

soon as I take you to the advisor?"

"~ "Of course." Jen-Torn replied easily.

The jaguar seemed to consider. "The master is

sleeping and would not wish to be disturbed. This

casts something of a shadow over your story, tall

man. It may be that the appointment you seek will be

"' with the Chamber of Official Torments... but that is

not for rne to decide. The Great Markus will do

;. that"

"Fine with us. If you'll just take us to him, I

imagine he forgot all about our visit tonight. He'll

straighten this out fast." Jon-Tom glared at the sol-

^ diers bunched together behind the officer. "When

^ he learns what's happened, heads will roll."

Aim Dean Foster

336

"I prefer to bounce them myself," said'the jaguar

evenly. "As a point of interest, some bounce nicely

for a while, while others just go smash. I wonder

which yours would do." '

Jen-Torn went slightly weak in the knees, but didn't

let k show. "Why not ask Markus?"

"Why not, indeed?" replied the officer surprisingly.

"As I said, only he will know the truth of your words.

If you'll be so kind as to follow me?" He gestured

with a paw.

"That's more like it." Jon-Tom strode confidently

past the jaguar, continuing to glare at the guards.

They descended several levels until the air began

to grow thick and moist. They were below lake level,

and moisture seeped relentlessly through ancient

stonework.

"Markus the Ineluctable lives down here?" he asked

their guide.

"No," rumbled the jaguar. "As I told you, he sleeps

and would not wish to be disturbed. I will notify him

of your arrival. As he's expecting you, I'm sure he'll

be right down. Meanwhile, I thought you would

enjoy explaining yourselves to the leading members

of our government, who are at this moment awaiting

your presence in their new conference chamber."

"We've heard that some members of the Quorum

weren't getting along too well with their new advisor."

"Is that so? A vicious, unfounded rumor. So much

gossip in the city marketplaces these days. You really

shouldn't pay attention to such idle chatter. Ah, the

Quorum doorman. You there!" he roared at a doz-

ing javelina. "Visitors for the Quorum!"

Tusks flashing in the dim torchlight, the javelina

roused himself and led them forward. Jon-Tom balked

at the sight of the iron grille, but there was nothing

to be done about it now. They were herded toward

the open cell.

THE MOUKHT OF TBK UAOICSAS

237

"There you go. Enjoy your conference," the officer

said smoothly as the cursing, complaining otters were

shoved through the opening. The javelina locked it

from the outside.

Jon-Tom glared through the bars. "You're a real

smart-ass, aren't you, fuzz-brain?"

"My, my, such language from those who are friends

of the Great Markus," the jaguar said mockingly. "I

will inform him of your arrival. Meanwhile, do make

yourselves comfortable. I must see to the prepara-

tions for your evening meal. Swill is served in a

couple of hours." He turned and stalked off toward

the stairway, laughing uproariously at his subtle wit.

His soldiers clustered tightly around him.

Turning, the otters found themselves sharing the

cell with half a dozen surprised and rudely awakened

elders. Here were those members of the Quorum

who'd refused to countenance Markus's bid for

power... and one other. The robed salamander

stepped forward and introduced himself.

"I greet you, fellow sufferers. I am Opiode the Sly,

former chief advisor in matters arcane and mystic to

the legitimate Quorum of Quasequa and now chief

advisor in those same arts to the deposed Quorum of

Quasequa."

Jon-Tom wasn't ready for conversation with Opiode

or anyone else. Failing to Find an empty comer, he

sat down in the center of the floor.

"My fault, dragging all of you into this. I should've

come by myself."

"Let's not 'ave none o' that, Jonny-Tom," said

Quorly.

"Right." Drortch put a consoling paw on his shoul-

der. "You didn't 'ave no choice in the matter. You

couldn't 'ave made us stay behind if you'd tried."

"Right... that's so... better believe it..." agreed a

chorus of otterish voices.

Alan Dean Porter

238

"'Ow come nobody ever asks me wot I wants to

do?" Mudge found a section of empty floor to sulk

on.

Memaw laid a maternal paw on Jon-Tom's head.

"Norgil's time had come, that's all, my friend. Per-

haps time for all of us. We have no regrets."

"But 1 do, damn it! You shouldn't be here with

me"

"Damn right, mate," snapped Mudge. Memaw

wagged a warning Finger in his direction.

"Now, Mudge -.."

"Don't 'Mudge' me, water-elder," the otter snapped

back. "I've earned the right to 'ave me say, I 'ave.

You've only 'ad to deal with this spellsingin' shit'ead

for a few days. Me, I've 'ad to put up with 'is sorceral

muddlin's for months. All I want is to live an ordi-

nary life. An ordinary life, mind. And 'e keeps

yankin' me off to join 'im on 'is bloody bloomin'

bleedin' inexplicable quests and wotever. Well, I'm

sick of it." He spat the words in Jon-Tom's direction.

"You 'ear me, mate? Sick of it!"

Quorly stared at him in disbelief. "Mudge! I'm

surprised at you."

" 'Ell, luv, I'm surprised at me, too. Surprised I'm

'ere, but not surprised at 'ow this 'as turned out.

Twas only a matter o' time, it were. That senile old

turtle went and spun the wheel o* fate one time too

many, and now the odds 'ave finally caught up with

us. Only thing that's surprised me is that I've sur-

vived 'is rotten company as long as I 'ave." He turned

bis back on them all.

"Turtle?" The elderly salamander wiped at his face.

"Can it be that you are the help the great Clothahump

has sent to us?'^

"Not us," Memaw corrected him. "We are son of

along for the swim." She indicated jon-Tom. "You

need to talk to the young gentleman."

239

THE MOMBJVT Of THE MACTCIAJT

Opiode turned an amphibious eye on the uncom-

fortable Jon-Tom while one'of the deposed Quorum

members voiced the thought that was in all their

minds.

"Just him? Him, and the noisy otter? They're our

salvation? They are the strength Clothahump sends

to us?"

"I fear it may be so." Opiode hesitated as he spoke

to Jon-Tom. "Unless you and the otter are simply the

advance scouts. That's it, isn't it? Clothahump and

his mystic army are encamped not far away, awaiting

your report, aren't they?"

Jon-Tom sighed as he turned to face the advisor.

"Sorry. I'm afraid we're it. Me, Mudge, and our

recently acquired friends. We're your help, and we

haven't done a very good job of it so far. My plan

was for us to slip in here quiet-like so that I could

have a face-to-face meeting with Markus before any-

one got excited. We didn't quite manage it"

"Now, there's a snappy news bulletin," Mudge

muttered from his corner.

'An interesting stratagem," Opiode murmured, "but

what good would it have done had you succeeded?

You would still have ended up down here with the

rest of us who oppose his bid for absolute power."

Jon-Tom tried to summon up some of his battered

confidence. "Not necessarily. If he didn't listen to

reason, I was prepared to fight him. I'm a spellsinger,

and a pretty good one."

Opiode slumped. "A spellsinger? Is that all?"

"Hey, now, wait a minute. I've accomplished some

pretty impressive things with my spellsinging"

"You do not understand. I do not mean to impugn

your modest talents. But you must know that I am a

wizard of no small stature, yet I was unable to

counter the magic of this Markus. It is as unpredict-

able and peculiar as it is effective. No mere spellsinger,

Aim Deaa Porter

240

however voluble, can hope to deal with that." The

salamander strained to see behind Jon-Tom.

"Besides which, you have no instrument to accom-

pany you."

"They confiscated it along with our weapons and

supplies."

"It does not matter," said Newmadeen sadly. "It's

obvious this one wouldn't stand a chance against

Markus anyway."

"I'd hoped to find a little more support here,"

Jon-Tom told them. He was starting to get a little

peeved by all the criticism. "None of you have any

idea of my capabilities. You don't know what I can

do."

"Perhaps." The elderly squirrel who spoke was

clad in rags. The bandage around his forehead indi-

cated he hadn't accepted his deposition and subse-

quent incarceration gracefully. Several pieces of his

tail were missing.

"But we do know what you can't do, and that's get

in to see Markus. No one sees him anymore except

his closest associates—Kindore and Asmouelie and

the other traitors- And that dim-witted mountain of

a bodyguard of his, Prugg."

"I have to see him. We have to meet. It's the only

way to resolve things."

"Things will be resolved soon enough, as soon as

he has consolidated his power," said the squirrel,

whose name was Selryndi. "Markus will resolve his

embarrassments by having them skewered, weighted,

and dumped in a deep part of the lakes." He looked

bitter. "We are at fault. We ought never to have

allowed him to compete for the post of advisor."

"It was the law," said Opiode.

"Aye, but you warned us against him afterward

and we didn't listen."

"Now is not the time for recriminations or for the

THE MOMENT or THE MAarciAS 241

4

. ^

laying of blame. We must try to get word to the

population. A general uprising is our only hope. Or

we might try to bribe one of those close to him to

attempt an assassination."

"That will not be easy and could hasten our demise,"

said old Trendavi, "considering how carefully he

guards himself."

"Nevertheless, we must try. In matters both magi-

cal and political he grows stronger by the day. We

dare not waste a moment in trying to unseat him. I

do not intend to end up as fish food. If only

Clothahump had seen fit to send us some real help."

"All right, mates." Mudge climbed to his feet and

sauntered over. "That's just about enough. I admit

we 'aven't made much of an impression on this

Markus or anyone else in your bloomin' community,

and we did kind o' botch our intended nocturnal

visit to this Markus's bedchamber, but don't blame

your problems on Jon-Tom 'ere. We were doin' a bit

o* all right until somebody put a sword accidental-

like in the wrong place and tempers got out o' 'and

for a minim. Jon-Tom's done the best he could for

you sorry lot. We didn't get you into this mess, you

know-

"'Ere we are, come down *ere out o' the goodness

o' our "carts"—Jon-Tom gaped at the blatant false-

hood but said nothing—"to try and 'elp you folks

out o' a tight spot, and all you can do is moan and

bawl about wot you didn't get. Maybe we ain't done

so good so far but from wot I sees we ain't done any

worse than you 'ave. So let's call a halt to the mutual

name-callin' and see if we can't work together to

figure out a ways to keep our skins intact, wot?"

It was silent in the cell until Jon-Tom said softly,

"Thank you, Mudge."

The otter spun on him. "Shut your bleedin' cake-

Alan Dean Foeter

242

*ole and start thinkin' of a ways out, you bloody in-

terferin* twit." He stalked over to the bars in a huff.

"Charmin* friend you got there," Quorly told

Jen-Tom.

"He is unique, isn't he?" Feeling a little better

about himself, he turned back to the Quorum. "All

right then. We're still alive and we've still got our wits

about us. Opiode, if you're such a great wizard, how

come you haven't magicked your way out of this

prison?"

"Do you not think I have tried, man? The first

thing Markus did after we were placed in this cell

was to ensorcel it with some kind of containment

spell. My powers are useless here. Not that I think he

fears my magic, as he has already defeated me in

contest, but he is very careful and takes no chances

with any who oppose him."

Jon-Tom nodded, eyed the stone walls surround-

ing them on three sides. "What about digging our

way out?"

"With this?" Cascuyom held up a spoon and a

dull-bladed knife. "Even if we could cut into this old

rock with our eating utensils, we don't have enough

time."

Jon-Tom was about to make another suggestion

but was interrupted. Footsteps sounded on the stairs

outside their cell. Everyone turned to look.

The jaguar who had overseen their capture strode

down the steps, leading a group of heavily armed

guards. He approached the bars and peered through.

The prisoners glared back, their expressions run-

ning the gamut from defiance to contempt. The

officer ignored them.

"Which one of you is the leader here?" He grinned

nastily. "And I don't mean you, Trendavi. The only

thing you lead anymore is the procession to the

urinal." The deposed premier said nothing. He had

THK MOMENT OF THK JMAOICUHT

243

retained his dignity if not his position. "Come on,

speak up."

" T is," said Mudge suddenly, pointing toward Jon-

Tom.

"Thanks," Jon-Tom said dryly.

Mudge shrugged. "You always said you wanted to

lead, mate. No reason to be bashful now."

Memaw stepped forward. "I am the leader, you

young hooligan. 1 will go with you." The javelina

opened the grate-

Jon-Tom pushed her gently aside. "No, Memaw.

It's all right. I'll go." He turned to face the jaguar.

"Where are we going?"

"The Great Markus wishes to know why you have

infiltrated his home and how many other traitors lie

in wait outside to cause him further mischief."

"Ain't no other traitors but us," said Knorckle.

Memaw turned and swatted him up the side of his

head, knocking his hat off. "Aren't we clever today,

Knorckle. Tell me, are you going to help them pull

the lever when they hang us, too?"

"Sorry, mum." The abashed Knorckle bent to re-

trieve his hat.

"Markus," the officer continued, "would also know

whence you came, whether any of you escaped, and

what the intentions of your allies on the outside

might be." This time none of the prisoners was

inspired to comment. The jaguar returned his gaze

to Jon-Tom.

"I advise you to cooperate and reply truthfully to

any questions Markus may ask." Jon-Tom's heart

gave a little jump but he held his silence. "Master of

the dark arts that he is, he possesses means of

making you tell the truth that are both slow and

painful."

"Then I'm to be taken to Markus?" The jaguar

nodded.

Alan Dean Foster

244

Jon-Tom could hardly believe his luck. That was

just what they'd been trying to achieve all along. He

didn't say that, of course. Instead he tried to look

defiant. "I'm looking forward to the meeting."

"Then you're either braver than you look or

dumber." The jaguar gestured. The guards formed

a semicircle around the cell entrance while thejavelina

pushed the gate inward. As soon as Jon-Tom had

been pulled out, the gate was slammed shut again.

The noise echoed through the dungeon.

"There is just one thing " Jon-Tom spoke off-

handedly.

The jaguar eyed him impatiently, paws on hips.

"Don't waste my time, man, or I'll have you dragged

into Markus's presence. He won't like that."

Jon-Tom leaned close, whispered conspiratorially.

"I'm not really the leader of this bunch. I'm a wan-

dering minstrel, see, and I was forced to join them.

Now, I know you probably think I'm making this all

up"—the jaguar nodded sagely—"but that's why I'm

not afraid of meeting the great Markus. He'll know

the truth. Only thing is, I'm afraid he won't believe

me unless he hears me sing, and I can't sing without

my duar. The one your troops took from me."

The officer considered, eyeing Jon-Tom intently.

For his part, the prisoner assumed the blandest

expression he could manage. Finally the jaguar glanced

toward his subofficer.

"What of what he says?"

The fox replied in a gruff voice. "Aye, there was a

duar among the supplies we inventoried."

"Was it thoroughly inspected?" Jon-Tom couldn't

breathe.

"It was, sir. Appears to be a perfectly ordinary

instrument." Jon-Tom breathed again.

The officer nodded absently toward Jon-Tom. "A

peculiar encumbrance to carry into battle. Yet you

TBK MOMENT OF THE MAOICt/W

245

say you came to talk and not to Fight." He grinned.

"Well, you can't have it back "

"But it's only an instrument," Jon-Tom pleaded,

seeing a last chance slipping away.

'Tough. Personal property of all you traitors is

confiscated. There is one way .you could regain

possession, however."

"What do I have to do^"

"Convince Markus you're innocent." The jaguar's

laughter boomed through the dungeon. "Let's go,

and let there be no more talk of what you wanti"

The otters crowded against the bars, shouting

encouragement, while the deposed members of the

Quorum hung back near the rear of the cell and

looked on sadly.

"Chin up,Jonny-Tom!... stiff upper lip, old boy...

don't let 'em get to you ... show 'em wot you're made

of, Jon-Tom!... give 'em 'ell, mate!"

Jon-Tom turned and rewarded his friends with a

hopeful smile as he started up the steps. A trio of

alert guards preceded him while three more followed.

The officer stayed close to his side at all times. No

chance to break free.

They climbed half a dozen flights of stairs until

they finally emerged onto a stone parapet. After the

heavy damp of the dungeon, the cool night air was a

shock to his system. Several stories below, the water

of the great lake glistened in the moonlight.

As they marched him toward a tower, he thought

of making a break for it, of diving over the side to

freedom. Two things restrained him. For one, if he

happened to misjudge his leap, he would splatter

himself all over the stones below. For another, he was

a much better runner than he was a swimmer. No

doubt Markus had his own allies among the aquatic

species. Armed beavers or muskrats could recapture

him in seconds.

Alan Dean Foeter

246

Besides, it might cost him his chance to finally

meet (his mysterious Markus the Ineluctable. He'd

rather have gone to the meeting with his duar nestled

reassuringly under his arm, but at least he was going

to see what their nemesis was made of. He wondered

if the officer paralleling him sensed his nervousness.

What would Markus the Ineluctable be like? Human.

yes. He already knew that. But what kind of human,

and from what world? His own, this one, somewhere

else? Was Markus nothing more than an ambitious

local wizard who'd concocted his story of coming

over from another universe solely to frighten and

intimidate his opponents? Or did he come from

some mysterious unknown dimension where evil held

sway?

What was "human" and what was not? Couldn't

something with horns on its head and a barbed tail

be described as human? And if the latter description

proved to be nearer the truth, what concern would

such a creature have with the petty problems of one

Jonathan Thomas Meriweather?

The tower they were marching toward could only

be approached by a single narrow walkway. Elsewhere,

the stone walls fell sharply toward the water far

below. The guards Hanking the entrance were the

largest Jon-Tom had seen. Both lions stood half a

head taller than six feet and were armed with mas-

sive metal axes.

The jaguar exchanged greetings with his oversized

cousins, and the party was admitted to a hallway

beyond. Once inside, Jon-Tom couldn't help noticing

that his escort abruptly lost a lot of its boldness.

They exchanged anxious, uneasy whispers and

searched the torchlit corridor with darting, nervous

eyes. Their words and reactions showed they didn't

want to proceed any farther down that singular

passageway, but the jaguar bravely led them on.

TBTJB MOMBJVT Of THE MAQICIAH 247

Until they halted ten feet from a last door. The

officer took Jon-Tom's arm and pulled him forward.

Stopping before the door, be rapped three times on

the wood with one paw. The door opened slightly.

Putting the other paw in the middle of Jon-Tom's

back, the officer gave him a shove and sent him

stumbling inward. The door was pulled shut quickly

behind him.

The room was not large, with a high ceiling and

open wooden beams from which dangled wired-

together skeletons. Whether they had belonged to

the subjects of arcane experiments or to unlucky

supplicants, Jon-Tom had no way of knowing. The

room was softly lit, and the source of the illumina-

tion was a shock.

In place of the familiar torches or oil lamps or, for

those wealthy enough to afford them, globes containing

light spells, were several battered but serviceable-

looking fluorescent light fixtures. Though he searched

hard, he couldn't see any cords or sockets. Never-

theless, the lights shone efficiently.

The furnishings were of local manufacture. Many

were decorated with gold and pewter. There was a

large table with chairs, many sculptures and wall

hangings, and several tall crystal vases full of jewels.

Of more interest than that, than even the fluorescent

lights, were the three two-foot-long model airplanes

ensconced neatly in alcoves in one wall- There was a

Fokker biplane painted red, a Cutlass WWII dive

bomber, and a miniature Beechcraft Bonanza.

"You may approach," declared a voice.

Jon-Tom whirled and stared toward the poorly lit

far end of the room. The voice was heavily accented.

Was this Markus the Ineluctable? He moved toward

the voice, ready to retreat as best he could if the

wizard reacted with blind rage.

As he crossed the room he made out a large

Alan Dean Poster

248

wooden throne resting on a dais several steps higher

than the rest of the chamber. Small tables held silver

candlesticks. Leaning up against one leg of the throne

was an exquisite, bejeweled, and quite functional

sword. Jon-Tom was cheered by the sight. It hinted

that the Great Markus didn't have total confidence

in his magical abilities-

Markus the Ineluctable slouched on his throne

and regarded his prisoner imperiously. Resting by

the wizard's right hand was by far the strangest

object in the room. Jon-Tom couldn't take his eyes

off it.

"I am," the inhabitant of the throne announced

grandly, "Markus the Ineluctable, Markus the Great,

Ruler of Quasequa and all the Lakes District and all

the lands that conjoin them. Soon to be Emperor of

the World."

"Yeah," Jon-Tom replied evenly, "I know who you

are. What I want to know," he said, pointing at the

alien intrusion lying next to the wizard's right hand,

"is if that's a pastrami on rye. It looks like a pastrami

on rye." He sniffed. "It smells like a pastrami on rye.

It's got to be a pastrami on rye!" His mouth was

salivating. He could smell the mustard ten feet away.

Markus's eyes widened as he stood. Jon-Tom had a

dear view of him for the First time. He wore a

strange black suit backed by a dirty white shin and

black bow tie. The tie rode the collar slightly askew.

There was a moth-eaten black top hat on his head.

In his left hand he held a stick or cane of black

plastic tipped with white at both ends. A black cape

trailed across the throne behind him.

All in all he presented a moderately impressive

appearance, except for one thing which the inhabit-

ants of Quasequa would tend to overlook. Markus's

shoes were brown brogans.

"How dare you digress in my presence!" he snapped,

THE MOMENT OF THE MAQJCIAM

249

but there was evident uncertainty in his accusation.

It lacked conviction.

Five six, maybe five seven,"Jen-Tom decided. In his

late forties and not in real swell shape. In fact,

despite the wizard's strenuous efforts to suck it in, a

' substantial paunch kept creeping .out over his belt

line. There didn't appear to be much hair beneath

the black top hat. Bushy brown eyebrows framed

deeply sunk, dark eyes. Bags sagged beneath. The

nose was flat and almost triangular. Jon-Tom couldn't

tell if the shape was natural or the result of having

been broken several times.

The mouth was thin and delicate, almost girlish.

Frizzy sideburns exploded from both sides of the

head. An enormous fake diamond ring glistened on

one Finger.

"Excuse me. It's just that the last time I saw a

pastrami on rye was in the Westwood Deli on Wilshire

Boulevard. If you knew what I've been eating these

past months, you'd understand my reaction."

Markus the Ineluctable descended from his throne

and found himself in the awkward position of having

to stare up at his prisoner.

"Where'd you hear that?"

"I've heard it all my life." He was no longer afraid.

t" Still not too hopeful, but no longer afraid. "I'm a

graduate student...! was a graduate student... in

law at UCLA until I found myself yanked over here."

"UCLA." Markus mumbled. "Well, I'll be damned."

He circled his visitor slowly, inspecting him as careful-

ly as would a museum curator who'djust unwrapped

a newly arrived statue. "You aren't putting me on,

kid? You're for real?"

"Damn right I am. The question is, who the hell

are you?"

At this the wizard straightened slightly, "I'm Markus

the Ineluctable, that's who. Ruler of Qusquoqua." He

Alan Dean Foster

aso

shook his head. "Damn. Never can get that right.

Ruler of Quasequa."

"Can the bullshit and tell me who you are and how

you got here,"

Markus nodded up at him. "A!! right." He re-

moved his top hat, set it on a nearby table. Jon-Tom

saw that he was bald ail the way to the back of his

head.

"But first you tell me how you got here, kid."

"1 don't know," Jon-Tom told him truthfully. "A

local wizard needed help, and for some reason I got

picked on. It was a mistake, but that hasn't made me

feel a whole tot better. He can't send me back, at

least not for a long lime. So I'm stuck here. I've been

stuck here for quite a while. How about you?"

"Well, you know, kid, it's the damndest thing..."

Jon-Tom found a chair and settled down to listen.

XV

"See," Markus told him "I'm a professional magi-

cian." Jon-Tom chose not to comment on this. Hear

him out, he told himself. Markus was more than

willing to talk; indeed, he seemed eager to do so.

"Markus the Ineluctable's my stage handle. My

real name is Markle Kratzmeier, from Perth Amboy,

, New Jersey. I've been doing the same schtick for

years, all up and down the East Coast. I mean, I

knew I'd never get rich, but it was better than

pushing lettuce around in the market, and you can

work your own hours. And you never know when

some agent might see you and ask you to go out to

Vegas.

"Haven't made it yet, though. Once played a nice

joint in Manhattan and a couple of times a real sharp

club in Atlantic City, but usually I ain't that lucky. 1

do the usual gigs: private parties, bar mitzvahs, kids'

birthdays." He made a face. "God, I hate doing kids'

birthdays. Little snot-noses always crawling all over

you, throwing up and begging for candy. I've also

worked most of the bump-and-grind joints from

Jersey City all the way down the coast to Surf City.

I've seen a lot ot Hte. kid, and not much of it pretty."

251

Alan Dean Poster

252

He took a deep breath and leaned on one of the

tables for support.

"So anyway, there I am in this Con Edison power

plant. Bunch of the guys who run the place are

throwing a stag party for their foreman because the

sap's getting married the next day. They don't have

enough money to rent a hall, so they get together

with the night shift and decorate part of the plant on

the sly, see? Wasn't so bad. I've worked in worse

dumps. It was noisy in there, but at least it was clean.

"I'm doing my stuff, building to my big finish,

and it's going pretty good because they're all smashed

or stoned anyway."

"Big finish?"

"Yeah." Markus beamed proudly. "I saw one of the

gals or one of the guys from the audience in half."

"That's original."

"Hey, don't knock it. kid. Maybe it's an old trick, but

it stilt buffaloes the marks. Anyway, I have to do one

more thing before I get to go home. There's this

big cake, see?"

"I get the picture," Jen-Tom said, nodding.

"Yeah. They hired this bimbo from one of the

local topless joints." He paused, thinking, and those

bushy brows drew together. "Merill, or Cheryl, I

think her name was. Anyway, she's gonna pop out of

the cake in her swimsuit. The trick is I'm going to

wave my wand after the guys get through moaning

and make her suit fall off. Pretty neat, huh?"

"Very witty," Jon-Tom admitted carefully.

"So I'm trying to do it up right, give these guys

their money's worth. I'm waving my wand all over the

place"—he demonstrated by fluttering the cheap

plastic wand—"only I don't look where I'm going.

Suddenly everybody's shouting, and the broad is

screaming, and I feel myself going ass-over-backwards,

and I think, okay, that's it, you dumb schmuck, you

TUX MOMENT OF THE MACHCIAM

253

finally bought it. Had to overdo it for a couple of

extra tips. I'm falling over and over and the damn

cape's m my eyes and 1 can\ see a thing except I get

just a quick look at this big dynamo or generator or

whatever the hell it was.

"Then I hit it. Tell me something, kid. When you

were little, did you ever get real clever and stick your

finger in a socket?" Jon-Tom nodded. "Well. for about

ten seconds there 1 felt like I'd done just that, only

with my head. I'm shaking all over before 1 black out.

"When I wake up, I'm lying in a room in this

rockpile and there's this big dumpy character lean-

ing over me asking me if I feel okay" Markus's

tone was earnest. "Kid, I don't mind telling you that

this is a little tough to take, coming off a slag party

where I didn't have a damn thing to drink. I swear,

not a drop! Couple of beers maybe, one shot of rye.

Pretty good stuff too. But I know I ain't drunk.

"So I try to keep cool even though this refugee

from a horror flick is standing over me. and I get the

idea to wave my wand and make with a few magic

words to try and scare it away, and what do you

think happens? Something picks the big jerk up and

throws him across the room." He paused to take a

long drink from a pewter tankard. "Local booze ain't

half-bad, kid. Anyways, I see that this mass of talking

meat is more scared of me than I am of him. So 1

start fooling around with the old wand"—he con-

ducted his words with the plasic as he spoke—"and

what do you think I find out?"

"What?" asked Jon-Tom guardedly.

"That all those cheap tricks I've been practicing for

twenty-five years, all the junk I've been doing for

spoiled brats in Westchester and their tight-assed moth-

ers who wouldn't give me the time of day, they all work

here. For real. I can do real magic. Not only like the

stuff I've always done, but new stuff, too. Ain't that a pip?

Alan Dean Foster

294

"So I talk to this big dummy who found me and see

that he's long on muscle but slow upstairs, and 1

get the lay of the land. I find out that there's another

magician here who kinda runs things from'an advisor's

post. I feel my way around, introduce myself real

nice, and finally meet up with a couple of the guys

who sit on this Quorum or Mafia or Congress or

whatever you want to call it. Some of them see which

way the shit's flying and some of them don't, and

with a little magic and the help of the ones who see

right, I take over the whole damn city." He spread

his hands and grinned.

"Just like that. Me, Markle Kratzmeier from Perth

Amboy. Now I'm the advisor, the chief, the head

honcho. And this is only the beginning, kid. Only

the beginning. These hairy rubes think I'm the greatest

thing to hit them since chopped liver. And you know

what? I am. There's got to be stuff I can do I ain't

even thought up yet. Me, Markle Kratzmeier. After

years of eating dirt and yessiring and no-ma'aming

and putting up with you wouldn't believe what kind

of shit, I'm on top. You know what? It feels good!"

"That sounds swell," Jon-Tom agreed. "You know

what else? I can do a little magic myself."

"Izzat so?" Markus suddenly looked wary.

"Oh, nothing big, nothing like what you've done,"

Jon-Tom hastened to reassure him. "Just small stuff.

Entertaining, like that." He took a chance and moved

nearer. Markus didn't back away from him-

"Now, what I was thinking was that with the two of

us working together on the problem, maybe we could

figure out a way for both of us to get back home."

Markus eyed him in disbelief. "Get back home?

Why the hell would I want to get back home, kid? I

mean, look at the setup I've got here. Tell you what,

though. You play your cards right and don't screw

up and maybe I can use you. It*d be nice to have

THE MOMENT Or THE MAOICSAM

255

somebody to talk with about back home. But go

back?" He waved at the lavishly decorated room.

"You want me to trade this in and go back to doing

bar mitzvahs and weddings and working crappy clubs

up and down the Jersey coast? You got to be nuts, kid.

"Anyway, I wouldn't know how to start getting

home, even if I cared to try it. No way. See, these

rubes know what money is, and what power is, even

if most of them do look like they came out of the

local zoo or dog pound. In other words, they know

what's important in life. Maybe some of them have

whiskers that grow sideways instead of down, and

paws instead of palms, and fur coats instead of skin,

but they're still people. And I can run the whole

bunch of them. Hell, I am running the whole bunch

of them! And like I said, this is just the begin-

ning.

"Know something else?" He winked and Jon-Tom

felt suddenly unclean. "There's even people like us

here."

"I know."

"And some of the dames look pretty good. I've

seen some broads around here who could've made

it big in the big casinos except for what they all seem

to be a little on the short side- That suits me fine

since'I ain't no center for the Knicks myself- They're

all in awe of me, afraid of me." Markus's sunken

brown eyes looked more piggish than ever, Jon-

Tom mused.

"I like that. I like it a lot, kid. I like them all

bowing and scraping and cowering in front of me.

Go back home?" He laughed, a short nasty sound.

"If I tried touching any broads who looked half as

good as the ones here back in New York, they'd spit

on me and call a cop. You, you're young and good-

looking, kid. You never had that happen to you. You

Alao Dean Foster

256

haven't the vaguest idea what it's like for a woman

you idolize to spit on you.

"Well, nobody spits on Markus the Ineluctable!"

he snarled. "Go home? I'd sooner cut my own throat

right now. All my life I've gotten the short end of the

stick. All my life people have cut me down. Well, no

more. This is my chance to get back at them, and I

ain't giving it up!"

Jon-Tom listened to Markus rave on and forbore

from pointing out that the people of this world had

never put him down. Jon-Tom was Just old enough

and had seen just enough of the world to know for

the first time exactly what he was up against in the

person of Markus the Ineluctable.

He was one of the faceless ones, one of the

insignificant, uninspired, nameless persons whose

only real purpose in life was to occupy a few bytes in

a government computer. A number more than a

reality, an organic something in the shape of a man

who took up space. Someone who under normal

conditions was incapable of doing good and too

incompetent to do evil.

But a twist of space-time, a jog in the smooth

procession of events, an irony of eternity had thrust

him into this world and had placed him in a position

to do damage all out of proportion to his naturally

constituted self- In his own world Markle Kratzmeier

would simply have faded away without making much

of an impression on existence one way or the other.

But in this world, Markus the Ineluctable and his

ability to work magic posed a terrifying threat to

people who had never known of his history, his problems,

his concealed envies and hatreds. That didn't matter to

someone like Markus, who believed that all the forces

of the universe were arrayed against him. He wanted

to strike out, strike back against life, and it wouldn't

matter to him who or what got in his way.

TBK MOMCHT OF TBS MAOICIAH

2B7

So Jon-Tom had been both right and wrong. The

man who had usurped power in the city-state of

Quasequa was indeed from his own world, but only

in body. In spirit he was an alien, an evil import, and

a danger to everyone who came in contact with him.

The problem now at hand was not one of getting

home, but of saving himself and his friends.

It was clear that Markus's only interest lay in

gathering as much power to himself as possible-

Carefully. Jon-Tom was going to have to proceed

very carefully. Markus wasn't stupid. He was no

scholar, but he had street smarts, and those could

prove more dangerous than real intelligence.

"I understand- 1 mean, you've got a helluva setup

here. A couple of expatriates like you and me from

the good old U.S. of A., we ought to stick together.

Like I said. I've got a little talent myself. Noth-

ing like what you can do, of course, but I can do

small stuff- I know we wouldn't be equal, wouldn't

be a team. I wouldn't expect that. But with my

abilities augmenting yours, we could really show

these dumb animals a thing or two."

"Yeah. Hey, you know what I'd really like?" Markus

told him after he'd finished making his proposal.

"I'd really like a couple of Big Macs, some fries, and a

vanilla shake."

"1 could go for that, too," Jon-Tom told him

enthusiastically. "Why don't you let me do this one?"

He looked around as if searching for something. "I

do my magic better with some music, though. It's

like with your wand. Kind of helps to set the mood,

if you know what I mean. Your guards took my in-

strument away from me. If I could have it back I

promise you a regular MacFeast." He pointed. "Right

on that table there. Then we can make plans."

Markus stared at him for a long moment, then

repeated his thoroughly unpleasant laugh. "What's

AlanDean Foster

298

the matter with you, kid? You think I was born

yesterday? You think I've spent all my life poking

through every dump on the East Coast without learn-

ing nothing about people?"

"1 don't know what you're talking about," Jon-Tbm

said lamely.

"The hell you don't- You're too eager. Too eager to

throw in with me, too eager to help, too eager to

throw your buddies over, and you're sure as hell too

eager to get your mitts on your guitar or whatever it

was that my boys took off you." He smiled. It was no

more pleasant than his laugh-

"Tell you what, though. I'm a fair guy- This buddy

of mine 1 was telling you about earlier? His name's

Prugg. Maybe I'll let you wrestle him for your duar.

In fact, I'll go one better than that. You beat him and

I'll take you on as my partner, fifty-fifty split, straight

down the line. How's that, kid?" Before Jon-Tbm

could reply, Markus looked past him and whistled.

"Hey, Prugg! Come on out and join us. 1 want to

introduce you to sm^rt-boy here."

Something moved in the darkness near the back of

the room. A section of wall pivoted on its axis,

revealing an immense shape. It stepped out into the

room. In one paw it easily held an iron club that

looked like an Olympic barbell that had been melted

to a stub at one end. A leather cuirass two inches

thick covered it from chest to thighs.

The bear was nearly nine feet tall and probably

weighed in the neighborhood of a ton and a half.

"Kill now?" it rumbled expectantly.

"No, not now." Markus looked back up at Jon-

Tom. "How about it, kid? Can you take him?"

"Come on," Jon-Tbm said uneasily, "this isn't funny."

"You bet your smart ass it ain't." Markus's smile

vanished as he moved forward until he was standing

right next to his prisoner. "You fucking college boys

Tm MOMENT or TOE BSAOicwt 259

think you know everything, don't you? Mummy and

Daddy paying your way through school, paying for

your car and your dates?^

As a matter of fact, Jon-Tom had been holding

down two part-time jobs to help pay his tuition, but

Marfcus wouldn't allow him a chance to get a word in

edgewise.

"Not me. When I was twelve I was hauling crates

of vegetables to make enough money to buy shoes.

Lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash; all that shit.

You think I ever saw any of that money?" He shook

his head angrily. "My old man took it away from me

to buy booze with so he and my mother could go out

and get drunk every Saturday night.

"If you dropped one of those crates and it busted,

it came out of your salary. When the fresh stuff came

in from the truck farms in central and south Jersey,

the college boys used to come in from town to buy

for the supermarket chains. One time I was watching

one of the women who sometimes came in with

them. Real slick broad, long legs and everything.

"Anyway, 1 had a whole crate of tomatoes on my

back and 1 dropped it. Busted all over. Some of it

got on this buyer's shoes, and they made me clean it

up right there in front of everybody. All the other

guys just laughed at me.

"I've never forgotten that, kid. Never thought I'd

have a chance to do anything about it, until now."

"That wasn't me," Jon-Tom told him as calmly as

he could, "I wasn't there. 1 probably hadn't even

been born yet."

"So what's the difference? You intellectual schmucks

are all the same. Think you know belter than every-

body else. I'm giving you a better chance than your

kind gave me. I'm giving you a chance to fight your

way out."

Alan Dean Foster

260

Prugg smiled thinly and let out a grunt that rolled

through the room like thunder.

"At least let me have my instrument."

"Why, so you can work some magic maybe? Do a

disappearing act? Huh-uh, kid, not a chance. This is

my roll and I'm playing it for all it's worth. I'm

keeping these dice unless fate jerks them out of my

hands. I'm going for the whole ball of wax this time,

and I don't need any wise punks from back home

trying to muscle in on my territory. Tell you what I

will do, though. I'll tell Prugg to go easy on you.

Maybe he won't kill you. Maybe." Then he was looking

toward the door as though Jon-Tom had ceased to

exist as a human being.

"Hey, Thornrack! Get in here."

The jaguar who had conveyed j on-Tom from the

cell appeared. "Yes, Master?"

"Take this punk back downstairs and toss him in

with his friends, but don't hurt him. I want him in

one piece for later."

"Yes, Master." Thornrack entered the room and

put a powerful paw on Jon-Tom's shoulder. "Let's

go, man."

Markus's jeering followed Jon-Tom as he was led

from the chamber. "What's wrong, kid? No snide

remarks? No snappy comeback? I thought your kind

had an answer for everything. Don't you? Don't

you!"

The door slammed tight behind them, but as they

rejoined the waiting escort and started out of the

tower, Jon-Tom thought he could still hear Markus

the Ineluctable ranting and raving furiously behind

him.

He wasn't feeling very optimistic as they led him

back down into the bowels of the Quorumate, down

below the water line and into the dungeons again.

Somehow he had to regain possession of his duar.

Tax. MOMENT or THE MAOICSAM 261

The only way to unseat the two-bit dictator that Markle

Kratzmeier had turned into was with magic.

Certainly without the duar he wouldn't stand a

chance against the bear-mountain named Prugg.

"Open it up," the jaguar said to thejavelina turnkey.

Jon-Tom saw his companions lined up against the

bars. Clearly they read the expression on his face,

because there was no cheering. Only Opiode eyed

him with something approaching interest as the grille

was opened and he was shoved unceremoniously

inside. The grate closed with a metallic clang which

echoed through the darkness.

Guards and turnkey retreated up the stairs, chat-

ting conversationally. As soon as they were gone, the

otters crowded around him.

"Well, mate, 'ow'd it go?"

"What did you learn?" Opiode asked curiously.

"He's from my world, all right, but I resent having

to admit it. I didn't actually see him work any magic,

but I don't doubt that he can. His living quarters were

full of evidence."

"He proved his abilities to me in person," Opiode

said softly.

"Well, wot do *e want?" Mudge asked.

"The same thing every other tin-pot would-be

emperor wants: everything. He's a dangerous, homi-

cidal^ frightened, thoroughgoing bastard, and that's

giving him the benefit of the doubt. Oh, he did

make one show of magnanimity. He said that if I

could outfight his bodyguard, 1 might get my duar

back."

"Prugg." Domurmur nodded knowingly. "I like you,

man, but I'd put my wagering money on your

opponent."

"So would I," said Jon-Tom grimly. "I've got about

as much chance of beating him as I do of getting

Thornrack to let us escape. Less, probably." He glanced

Al&n Dean Foster

262

down at Mudge. "Remember the bouncer at Ma-

dame Lorsha's in Timswitty? This one makes him look

like a cub."

Mudge's whiskers twitched. "That don't sound none

too promisin', mate."

"It isn't." He paused. Something had been trou-

bling him since he'd reentered the cell, but he'd been

too busy telling of his meeting with Markus to focus

on it. Now he did, and it gave him a start. "Hey, I

think I can feel a—"

Three pairs of furry paws slapped over his mouth

and most of the rest of his face, muffling him

completely. Memaw stepped close, put her fingers to

her lips. Jon-Tom nodded slowly and the paws were

withdrawn.

Taking his hand in her paw, she quietly drew him

toward the darkest corner of the cell. The rest of the

otters moved aside to let them through. There was a

small twist and bend in the far corner where the cell

curved around to follow the contours of the outer

wall- It was there that Jon-Tom saw the source of the

thing thai had bothered him since he'd rejoined his

companions.

A steady breeze.

It rose from a section of floor where the paving

had been removed. The hole was rapidly being en-

larged by the otters' best diggers. A pile of cracked

and broken rock was stacked neatly against the far

wall. Memaw pointed at it.

"Rotten, from age and the dampness. Quoriy smelled

the air coming in and we traced it back here to the

floor. We managed to break the old stones away."

She leaned forward and whispered anxiously. "How

is it coming, my friends?"

Knorckle looked up at them. His face was smeared

with wet dirt and pulverized rock. "There's somethin'

THE MOMENT or TUE MAGICIAN 263

else down 'ere, all right, mum. It ain't solid and it

ain't water."

"Don't smell none too good," opined Mudge. He'd

moved up to stand nex? to Jon-Tom, who reflected

on the fact that the otter's shifts in mood were as fast

as his tingere. "But 'tis air. Where's she comin' from?"

He leaned'over and tried to see into the hole. Flying

paws and dirt made it difficult.

"Maybe a way out," murmured Memaw, hardly

daring to hope.

Selryndi had walked over to watch. The squirrel

drew his tattered cloak tightly around him, sniffed.

"Can't be. This is the lowest level of the Quorumate."

"Not necessarily, my friends." Those who weren't

digging turned to look at Opiode, whose expression

for the First time reflected his nickname- That in

itself gave Jon-Tom cause to hope- "There are.,.

stories." His wise, shining eyes roved over the ancient

masonry. "The Quorumate Complex is the largest

structure in Quasequa, and the oldest. It is said that

as it was built, the Lake of Sorrowful Pearls rose

around it, so that the dungeon we are now imprisoned

in once stood above the water line.

"It is, therefore, not inconceivable that there could

be still older levels farther below."

The digging crews worked in relays while the rest

kept a careful watch on the stairway. Their energy

and determination was wondrous to behold, except

when someone got in someone else's way. Then

Memaw would have to step in and break up the

fight. These were always brief and harmless, but

they cost precious minutes. There was no telling

when the turnkey or Thornrack might return and

decide to make a cursory inspection of their cell.

Jon-Tom didn't much care what lay below the

broken, sodden stones. Anything would be better

than having to face Markus's bodyguard in combat.

Alan Dean Foster

264

"She's wide enough now." Frangel wiped his paws

on his shorts. "Who's first down the bung-'ole?"

"I'll go," said Memaw. Sasswise pushed her aside.

"No you don't, mum. Beauty before brains."

"That's what 1 said, my dear," countered Memaw,

shoving back.

While the two of them argued, Ftutzasarangelik

(but you can call him Flutz) jumped between them

and disappeared through the gap in the floor. The

soft thump of his landing was heard clearly by those

waiting anxiously above.

"It's not too bad," he whispered up at them. "I'm

in some kind of tunnel. There's a little water runnin'

along the bottom, and I can 'ear it drippin' down the

wails in a couple o' places, but she seems solid

enough."

"How big is it?" Memaw called to him.

"Not very. Old drainage tunnel, I thinks. I *ave to

bend to clear the ceiling."

Jon-Tom went cold. He'd always been a little

claustrophobic and had trouble enough in local build-

ings with low ceilings. If Flutz had to bend, that

meant he'd have to go on hands and knees, or

crab-walk. This through a narrow tunnel full of

water, below the level of the lake beyond, toward an

unknown destination.

And the tunnel might get smaller as they went,

closing in around them tighter and tighter, pressing

against his sides as well as his legs until...

A hand nudged him. "Hey, mate, are you all

right?" There was genuine concern on Mudge's face.

"You look a mite green."

Jon-Tom took several long, measured breaths. "I'm

okay. Let's go."

Quorly followed Flutz, then Sasswise, then Frangel.

Selryndi was next in line and pulled up short, eyeing

the dark hole uneasily.

THE MOMENT OF THK MAGICIAN

26,5

"Let's not be hasty. We don't know what's down

there."

"But we do know what. is up here," said Opiode,

stepping around him. The salamander's tail twitched

as he spoke. "Slow starvation and continued humili-

ation, or worse."

"Easy for you to say, wizard. You are as much at

home underwater as a fish." He gestured at the

otters. "To a certain extent, so are these industrious

visitors. But the rest of us are strictly dry-land air-

breathers. What if the water should rise to the ceiling?"

"What if the sun should fail to rise tomorrow?"

said Opiode. "Remain here if you wish, and give our

apologies to Markus the Ineluctable. The rest of us

have an appointment with freedom." He turned and

plunged through the opening, displaying an agility

that belied his age.

Old Trendavi followed him, the pangolin's scales

barely clearing the gap. The rest of the Quorum

followed until only Selryndi remained.

Jon-Tom dropped through the hole and looked up

at him. "I'm as much of a drylander as you are,

Selryndi. If I can stand it, so can you."

The squirrel stood staring down at the tall young

human. Then he muttered something under his

breath, tucked his tail up against his back, and jumped.

The rest of the otters brought up the rear. They

took care to replace the floor as best they could. Any

delay in discovering the hole would help to confuse

pursuers-

Once the gap had been reseated, it was pitch-black

inside the tunnel. Jon-Tom found he could still walk

so long as he kept bent double. It hurt his back, but

it was better than trying to crawl through the shallow,

cold water that ran along the bottom of the tunnel.

[, Still, he kept knocking his head against the ceiling,

Aim Dean Foster

280

which fortunately had been worn smooth over the

years.

It was anything but a pleasant hike- He kept

bumping into furry bodies ahead and others stum-

bled into him from behind. Their only link and only

guides were touch, smell, and anxious whispers.

They walked for what seemed like miles in the

darkness before Frangel's voice echoed down the

tunnel. "There's a branching up 'ere. Which way?"

"From which direction does the air flow most

strongly?" Memaw inquired.

"From the left, mum, but the ceiling there is a bit

lower." Jon-Tom cursed softly.

"Ignore it, mate," said Mudge from just in front of

him. "You can 'andle it."

"I'll have to. If I go back to that cell, I'll have to go

two falls out of three with a two-ton rug."

"Move on!" Mudge shouted toward the front of the

line. "We're all okay back "ere."

They pushed ahead until Frangel called another

halt. "There's water comin' in 'ere pretty good,"

The tine shuffled slightly and Jon-Tom could hear

the otters scratching around.

"Stone's loose," Memaw announced evenly. "We

could probably break through. If the lake didn't

come in too fast we could get out this way."

"Maybe you could," said Selryndi, "but what about

the rest of us? We don't know how long we'd have to

hold our breath."

"Is not the chance of freedom better than the sure

death that awaits us all back in our prison?" Opiode

asked him.

"Easy for you to say, gill-wizard."

"Memaw," Jon-Tom broke in, "does the tunnel go

on?"

"Yes."

"Then I think we should keep going. Maybe we'll

THE MOMENT Of THE MAGICIAN

267

find a better place. If not, we can stilt come back and

try to break through here."

"My thoughts are the same, young man," she

replied. "We are not abandoning anyone." A chorus

of ayes rose from the rest of the otters and the line

started forward once again.

As he stumbled past the place Frangel had found,

cold water spurted over Jon-Tom's legs. The take lay

just beyond that feeble wall, ready to break in at any

" moment. If it gave way white they were further up

. -the tunnel...

He forced himself to concentrate on the path ahead.

They seemed to be walking in a wide curve back

toward the left, though the darkness had him

completely disoriented. It didn't seem to bother the

otters, though. He wondered if they would eventual-

ly arrive back at their starting point beneath the cell.

Better the lake should break in.

Then Frangel's voice from up ahead, "It's opening

up!"

Moments later they emerged from the tunnel into

a vast open bowl- Jon-Tom's back protested as he

straightened up. At first the big chamber seemed as

dark as the tunnel, but as his eyes adjusted he found

he was just able to make out dim outlines in the

darkness.

The source of illumination was weak with distance:

a tiny circle of light far above them.

"A well o' some kind," Quorly suggested, "inside

the bloomin' Quorumate. That sound familiar to any

o' you blokes?"

The Quorum members put their heads together

and considered. None of them had taken much of

an interest in the architecture of the rambling collec-

tion of structures they ruled from. Only Opiode had

any ideas.

"In less civilized times condemned criminals were

Alan Dean Foster

268

rumored to have been thrown into such pits. It may

be that this is such a place, long abandoned and only

recently rediscovered."

"Damn!" Mudge shouted abruptly.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Jon-Tom asked him-

"Tripped over somethin', mate." He fumbled a bit

in the darkness, lifted something for all of them to

feel. jon-Tom identified it immediately. It was a

primate skull.

Opiode took it from Mudge and they could see his

hands moving over the bone. "Cracked when the

owner was thrown from above," he announced. Eyes

immediately went to that distant circle of light.

It was quiet for a moment. Then Sasswise said,

"Come on then, you lazy lot. Let's see *ow big this 'ole

is. Maybe there's another way in."

Everyone fanned out and began feeling along the

wall. Climbing was out of the question, even for the

agile otters. The damp stones arched to form a

dome overhead. Only Opiode might have been able

to manage it, in his younger days. Now he did not

have the strength to cling to such a slick overhang.

"Got an idea," said Mudge. "Let's make a pyramid."

The otters discussed the proposal briefly, then

settled themselves in the center of the chamber and

proceeded to put. on an astonishing display of

acrobatics- They managed to stack themselves four

high, but Splitch was still yards shy of the point

where the vertical shaft of the well broadened out to

form the curved ceiling.

The pyramid was collapsed and the otters brushed

themselves off. "Wouldn't 'ave mattered if I could've

reached the bottom," Spiitch told them- "The shaft's

as slick as a snowslide, and there ain't a 'and'old in

sight. She's too wide to bridge." She eyed Jon-Tom

thoughtfully. "You're long enough to do it, Jonny-

Tom, but we've no way to get you up there."

THE MOMENT OF THE MAOICIAM

269

"We had best find some way out," said Opiode.

This skul! is fresh." Everyone shuffled about uneasily.

"Doesn't mean a lot," said Domurmur. "One of

Markus's latest victims, no doubt."

"No doubt," agreed Opiode readily. "The question

is, if the victinvis a recent one, who or what has so

efficiently removed the flesh from the bone?" Faint

light glinted off his bulging eyes as he searched the

darkness.

"If I only had my duar," Jon-Tom was muttering.

"I might be able to sing up a ladder or rope or

something. If only we—"

'. He was interrupted by noise from above. Voices,

and the blare of ceremonial trumpets.

"Everyone, get back from the opening and keep

quiet!'* Opiode ordered them. They spread out quickly.

Sounds of a scuffle overhead, another blare of

trumpets, and then a horrible high-pitched scream

- that increased rapidly in volume. It stopped abruptly

t when something struck the stone floor with a wet,

sickening thud. The object bounced once and then

lay still.

The sounds from above went away. Jon-Tom leaned

cautiously into the light and saw nothing. Slowly, the

refugees gathered around the thing that had been

'thrown down the well.

It was a small macaque, no more than four feet

tall. A torn white lace ruffle ringed the neck above a

green-and-blue jersey which was tucked into dark

green shorts of bright snakeskin- Gold embroidery

decorated the sleeves, and a belt of thin gold links

circled the narrow waist-

The neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. One

arm lay bent straight up behind the spine. Open eyes

stared toward the well.

"Died instantly," commented .Opiode softly. "Neck

broke when he hit. Poor fellow."

270 Aim Dean foster

Cascuyom pushed his way to the fore. "1 know

him. That is the honorable Jestutia."

"Yes, I know him also." Selryndi bent over the

body. '"One of our most respected citizens." He^ glanced

up toward the top of the shaft. "Markus must be

feeling very confident, to begin murdering such promi-

nent individuals."

"Quiet, be quiet!" That was Mudge, snapping at

them from somewhere far off to the left.

"Listen, otter, one of our colleagues and friends

has just been foully slain, and I see no reason to—"

"Shut up, nut-eater, or I'll stuff that tail of yours

down your throat," His voice dropped an octave.

"There's somethin' else in 'ere with us."

A chill raced down jon-Tom's back. Something

had removed the meat from that first skull. "Mudge,

we checked out..."

"There's another tunnel over 'ere, mates. A big

one. And there's somethin' in it, and I think *tis

startin' to move."

"You are trying to frighten us," Selryndi said

nervously.

"Oh, why sure, now, that's it, guv'nor," said Mudge

sarcastically. "I've got nothin' better to do than make

up scary stories, right?" He rejoined them and put a

hand on the squirrel's back. " 'Ow about you go and

'ave a looksee over there, guv, and prove me out 10

be the liar you say I am." Selryndi's feet dug into the

floor.

"Listen, all of you," Memaw urged them- Mudge

and Selryndi quit squabbling as something scraped

against distant stones. This was followed by a heavy

wheeze. Wind from another tunnel, Jon-Tbm thought-

Or something waking up.

Unconsciously, everyone retreated toward the drain-

age tunnel. "What do the old legends say about

this?" Jon-Tom asked the wizard.

THB MOMENT OF THE MAG/CMN 271

"Nothing," came Opiode's whispered reply. "There

is not supposed to be anything down here. This is

the place of the dead."

Chunk! Gravel shifted underfoot, followed by a vast

exhaling and an odor like burning charcoal. Quoriy

clung to Miidge's arm.

"Tis comin' this way!"

"Stay still, don't let it know we're afraid," Mudge

told her, trying to edge behind Memaw and Sasswise.

Optode raised a hand and muttered something

under his breath, but it had no effect on whatever

shared the chamber with them. It was moving nearer.

"It is no use- I am still constrained from working

magic by the spell Markus laid upon me. 1 cannot

break free."

"Get ready to run for the tunnel," Memaw told

them. It lay close at hand, but it would take time for

all of them to crowd inside the narrow opening, and

a sudden rush ran the risk of stirring to action

whatever was coming toward them.

There was a brief explosion of flame in the darkness,

accompanied by a thick acrid smell. Then a low

growl, rich and throaty.

"Try singin' somethin*, matel" Mudge urged Jon-

Tom.

"But 1 haven't got the duar."

"Try anyway, mate. Try somethin'l"

"Sasswise," said Memaw, "you, Flutz, and I will try

to divert its attention while the others file into the

tunnel. The rest of you prepare yourselves." The

otters scrambled to salvage old bones, rocks, any-

thing that might be used as a weapon.

Jon-Tom began to sing. He had no plan in mind,

no brilliant ideas, and he was certain the magic

wouldn't happen without the duar's music, but he

had to try. If nothing else, it might concentrate the

thing's attention on him while the others fled into

Alan Dean Porter

272

the tunnel. The first notes trembled, but his voice

steadied as he sang on. He could hear his companions

rushing for the tunnel entrance,

An immense outline turned toward him -.. and

hesitated. Mudge called out to him.

"That's it, mate! Keep singin'. 'Tis workin!"

It couldn't be, Jon-Tom thought. There was no

magic without the duar, none, no way! It couldn't be

working.

Yet there was no question of it: the thing had

halted in its leisurely approach,

A thunderous whisper filled the chamber then.

"Jon-Tom."

"Blimey," muttered Splitch, "it knows 'im!"

"It knows the spellsinger," Opiode observed aloud.

"Spellsinger," the voice echoed in the darkness.

Jon-Tom squinted, trying to see in the poor light

as he took a reluctant step forward.

A blast of fire erupted over his head- Screams

came from the otters and the Quorum members as

they rushed in panic for the tunnel, running into

each other and stumbling over the bones on the

floor. But Jon-Tom didn't move. The fire had passed

over him. Nor had it been directed at any of his

companions. It had been aimed ceilmgward, to gen-

erate light and not destruction.

The instant of brilliant illumination hurt his eyes,

but not so badly that he couldn't recognize its source.

"Comrade Falameezar," he asked hesitantly, "is that

you?"

XVI

A great clawed hand descended and picked Jon-Tom

off the floor. He could feel the thick, leathery mem-

brane that ran between the fingers. The hand lifted

him until it paused in front of a mouth full of

curving teeth. A single puff could incinerate him in

a second, sizzle his bones and melt his flesh. There

was heat and the smell of brimstone, but no hint of

cremation.

"It is you, Falameezar! I'll be damned."

"We are all damned, comrade Jon-Tom," said the

dragon somberly. "What are you doing here?"

Jon-Tom sat down on the slick, scaly palm and

turned to his triends. "It's okay. He's a friend. This is

comrade Falameezar, a good proletarian."

"What is the man talking about?" Memaw asked

Mudge.

The otter strode boldly out into the chamber. "We

know this bloke, we do, 'E 'elped us once before, on

our way to Polastrindu. Though wot 'e's doin' 'ere I'll

be buggered if I know." He looked back into the

tunnel, which was filled with anxious faces. "Everyone,

'tis all right. You can come out. Only," he added

more quietly, "wotever you do, don't say anythin'

about makin' money." He fought to recall some of

273

Alan Dean Poster

274

the confusing but effective conversations Jon-Tom

had held with the river dragon as it had carried

them up the river Tailaroam toward far Polastrindu

not so very long ago. The dragon was. - - what had

Jon-Tom called it?... a Marked Met. No, something

more compact. Marxist, yeah, that was it. The drag-

on was a Marxist, whatever that was.

But he was certainly sensitive about it. Dedicated,

Jon-Tbm had called him. Mudge knew better. The

dragon was nuts.

He spoke to his friends as they hesitantly emerged

from hiding. "Just act collective," he told them.

"What does that mean?" Memaw asked him.

" 'Ow the 'ell do I know? Just make sure everybody

does it."

Jon-Tbm was patting the dragon on the snout.

"Comrade Falameezar, it appears we are to be com-

panions in misfortune."

"So it would seem." The dragon set him down

gently, then looked around and opened his mouth.

Another blast of flame spewed forth. The members

of the Quorum cowered against the nearest wall. but

Opiode and the otters edged forward.

Falameezar's well-aimed blast set a huge pile of

debris on fire. It burned fitfully at best but provided

enough light for everyone to see ctearly for the first

time since they'd fled from their cell. They gathered

around while the dragon lay down on his belly, crossed

his arms, and rested his head against them.

"How did you get here?" Jon-Tom asked him.

"I wasn't having much luck trying to raise the

consciousness of the masses who live on the shores of

the Tailaroam," the dragon explained, "so 1 deter-

mined to try to find a group of the oppressed who

were more receptive.

"I'd heard much of this land, where the lakes are

large and the fish plentiful. So I made my way here

TffB MOJttEiVT OF TaE MAOICIAS

275

and, surely enough, found the workers badly in need

of organizing." He sighed and a puff of smoke drifted

ceilingward. "But as so often seems to happen, the

people here were reluctant to listen to me"

"Can't imagine why," Quorly whispered.

"So I decideokthis time to try to convert the heads

of state instead of the people."

"Uh-oh," said Jon-Tom.

"Precisely, comrade. 1 allowed myself to be de-

ceived by the honeyed words of the local ruler, a

strange human very different from yourself."

"Markus the Ineluctable."

"Yes. I did not know at first that he had deposed

the rightful rulers of this place, nor that he was a

powerful magician as well as a disgusting fascist

whose only aim is the exploitation of the masses for

personal gain. But by the time I learned all this he

had rendered me sleepy. I vaguely remember being

brought to the large room above. The floor was

removed and I was dropped down here, and then

walled up.

"I've tried to break out but the stone is solid and

thick. It will not burn. So here I have remained,

trapped by this evil imperialist. He does feed me

well. though. The trumpet calls me when a meal is

ready." Falameezar moved his head and sniffed at the

body of Jestutia. "A banker this time. Markus is

clever. He has learned that I will only eat capitalists."

"I'm surprised at you." Jon-Tom said accusingly.

"Even a banker can be converted to the cause of the

people."

"Not if he's dead." The dragon sniffed again. "Yes,

a dead banker. I'm sure of it- I hate bankers, you

know. Filthy robber-barons."

Near the back wall Newmadeen was hurriedly

going through her pockets. Like the recently de-

ceased macaque, she was also in the business of

Alan Dean Poster

276

lending money. Until now she'd never had reason to

regret it. Fortunately, Falameezar was too involved in

conversation with his newfound friends to do any

serious sniffing, and she was able to unburden her-

self of money, notes, and assorted usurious I.O.U.'s.

"Besides," he was saying, "a dragon has to eat." He

extended his long neck and snapped up the unfortu-

nate Jestutia in a single bite, chewed noisily.

" *Ere now," murmured Sasswise, looking at New-

madeen, "this one's gone and fainted."

Falameezar noticed it, too, sniffed curiously as he

chewed. "What's wrong with your companion? If I

didn't know better I'd ..."

Jon-Tom hurried to distract the dragon. "It's the

air down here. These are the legitimate rulers of

Quasequa, by the way. They have no more love for

Markus than you. They constitute the legitimate, uh,

soviet that the magician has deposed."

"I did not realize that this government was so

advanced," Falameezar replied in surprise.

"They're working on it," Jon-Tom assured him.

"Aren't you?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" The conscious members of the

Quorum managed to reply with enthusiasm, if a bit

too quickly.

Falameezar looked pleased. "It is good to have

right-thinking company in such sad circumstances-

As it is good to see my old comrade again. You, too,

Mudge. even if you did express the occasional reac-

tionary thought." The otter allowed himself to be

stroked by a single swordlike talon.

"If only I could get ahold of my duar," Jon-Tom

mumbled. "Markus hasn't placed any anti-magic spells

on me."

"That is so,'* admitted Opiode. "I would have

sensed it if he had."

TUB MOMEATT Or THE MAGICIAM 277

"Then there's only one thing left to try." He started

toward the tunnel. "I have to go back to our cell."

"You're jokin', mate." '

"No, Mudge. It's the only .way. I've got an idea.

Mudge, will you and Quorly come back with me?"

"Count on me, Jenny-Tom," she replied. Her ready

agreement made Mudge's acquiescence a foregone

conclusion.

"I'll be back in a little while, Falameezar"

"Good luck, comrade."

"Just a minute." Men-law stepped in front of Jon-

Tom as he bent to enter the tunnel. She looked

significantly past him. "What do we talk about with

the dragon?"

"Anything you can think of. He likes to chat- The

last weather we saw outside, jokes... Falameezar's

great with jokes. Simple things. Just make sure no-

body talks about how rich they'd like to be. Fame you

can talk about, but not fortune. Tell him how much

you all despise the capitalist bosses."

"What are those?"

"Never mind. Just do it. It'll please him."

Memaw was still reluctant to let him leave. "What

are you going to do, work some strange magic on

our behalf?" He nodded. "But I thought you told us

you required your duar in order to work magic."

"There's magic, and then there's magic." He winked

at her, then bent and began gathering bones. As

many as he could carry. He directed Mudge and

Quorly to do likewise.

"Oi, it works better when you use the duar, mate.

There's less to carry." Staggering beneath his grue-

some burden, he followed Quorly and Jon-Tom into

the tunnel.

Making their way through the narrow tube had

been difficult enough with their hands free. With the

armfuls of bones it was twice as hard. But the otters

Aim Dean Foster

278

never complained, and Jon-Tom was damned if he

was going to be the one to call for a rest.

Eventually they found themselves beneath the en-

trance to their cell. They dumped their loads. Mudge

went up Jon-Tom's back as lithely as he would have a

tree, and listened.

"Dead quiet, mate. They 'aven't checked on us

since we took our little walk. No need to, really.

Wasn't likely we'd be goin' anywhere, now, was it?"

"Move those stones and let's get up there."

"Right, mate, but you'd better know wot you're

about."

"You'll understand soon enough."

Sure enough, once their cargo had been arranged

according to his instructions, Mudge knew just what

his lanky, furless friend had in mind.

"What was that?" The javelina turnkey spoke to

the fennec seated across the table. The fennec's

oversized ears immediately cocked sideways.

"Beats me. 1 heard it too." He put aside his

handful of odd triangular cards and shouted toward

the stairway. "You prisoners be quiet or you won't get

your next ration of slop!"

The eerie moaning which had interrupted their

game grew louder.

"Don't sound like the otters," said the javelina,

cleaning a nail on one upthrust tusk. He then used

it to strip the bark from a piece of cane, stuck the

clean pulp in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

When the moaning continued he put down his cards,

careful not to reveal them to his companion, and

issued an irritated grunt-

"We'd better see what's going on down there."

"Maybe they're killing each other."

"They'd better not be. Thomrack himself ordered

me to make sure they stay healthy until the new

magician decides what's to be done with them."

THB MOMENT or THE MAGICIAN 279

He took a three-foot-long knife off the wall. The

fennec opted for a long spear. This was excellent for

poking at prisoners through bqrs.

Each grabbed a torch as they started down the

stairs. Soon they were on the lower level, staring

through the bars^of the big cell. Staring hard.

"By the curl in my grandmother's tail!" the stunned

javelina muttered. "What's happened to them?" His

initial irritation had turned to panic.

"Dead," moaned a quavering voice from the back

of the cell, "they're all deeeaddd."

"What do you mean, all dead?" the fennec stuttered

as he struggled to locate the speaker. The voice

responded with a moan.

"Open it up," he told the turnkey. The javelina

nodded, used his keys and then his hands to swing

the huge grate slightly ajar. Hefting the long knife,

he entered cautiously while the fennec waited by the

door in case any of the prisoners tried to make a

break for it-

No one did. There was no one in the cell.

Except... in the farthest corner he found the tall

man sitting with his back against the wall. His hands

half covered his face, and he was shaking in terror.

"What's the matter with you?" The turnkey's eyes

roamed the deserted darkness nervously. "Where are

the rest of them?"

"The wizard, it was the wizard who did it," Jon-

Tom moaned feebly. He gestured with a shaky hand.

"Pid it to all of them."

"Did what?" The javelina's blunt muzzle twitched

as he followed the pointing Fingers.

A substantial pile of white bones lay nearby, heaped

up in a jumble against the wall. Had the turnkey

taken the time to look closely he might have seen

that none of the skeletons belonged to otters, or a

salamander, or a pangolin, but to entirely different

Al«n Dean Foster

280

species. It might not have mattered anyway. His

knowledge of anatomy was pretty much restricted to

knowing where the best place to stick a knife was.

**By the Ovens of Suranis!" he whispered fearfully.

"What is it, where are all the prisoners?" The

fennec stuck his head into the cell, trying to see.

"Gone, all gone. Nothing left of them except their

bones." The javelina swung his torch to illuminate as

much of the cell as possible, "What manner of sor-

cery is this?"

"He did it. The salamander did it,"

"Old Opiode?"

"Yes, yes, the slimy one! He said he was tired of

this, tired of everyone and everything, and he did

this. Only I was s-s-spared."

"A spell was put on him to prevent him from

working magic. The new wizard did that himself. We

were told," the javelina insisted.

"I know, I know, but the slimy one struck a bargain

with the creatures of the dark, and now he's going to

do that to all who oppose him." Jon-Tom pointed

toward the pile of bones- "1 saw, 1 saw him do it. He

made the flesh run like butter from their bones.

made it melt and drip..."

The fennec couldn't stand it anymore. His mind

told him there was only one live prisoner left in the

cell and his curiosity was killing him. He held his

spear in front of him as he entered.

"What's this garbage this fool's saying?" he asked

the turnkey.

"Look, they're all dead," stuttered the javelina. He

pointed at the bones. "The wizard Opiode killed

them. A great sorcery." There was fear in his voice

now.

"1 don't know about that," muttered the fennec,

"but we'd belter tell Thomrack." He started backing

toward the exit,

THB MOMEWT OF THE MAGJC&W

281

As he did so, Mudge and Quorly dropped from

the crevices in the ceiling where they'd been hiding

and flailed away at the guards with the leg bones

they'd been holding in their teeth. The javelina

[, dropped his long knife, the man he'd been question-

ing underwent-a miraculous transformation, and in

seconds both guards lay dead on the floor of the cell.

Mudge netted the fennec's spear while Quoriy

helped herself to the knife from his belt. "Now, that,"

Mudge said with ghoulish satisfaction, "is wot I calls

magic!" He kicked the javeiina in the side.

"I'm sorry we had to kill them," Jon-Tom murmured.

"I don't like unnecessary slaughter."

"Oi, but this were necessary slaughter," Quoriy

observed. She glanced at Mudge. "Wot is 'e. squeam-

ish or somethin'?'*

"Or somethin*, luv, but don't 'old it against *un."

They crept out of the cell and started up the stairs.

No one challenged them when they entered the

deserted guard room, where they helped themselves

to handfuls of weapons. Thus equipped, they took

the place apart searching for Mudge's bow and Jon-

Tom's duar.

"No luck," grumbled Mudge as he finished exca-

vating the last cabinet. "Maybe further up. I thought

I saw a barred storeroom on our right when they

| were bringin' us down 'ere."

Jon-Tom nodded. They climbed to the next level.

Where they found the storeroom Mudge remem-

bered. They also saw a pudgy but alert hare standing

in front of the half-open door.

At the same time, the rabbit saw them and turned

to slam the door shut. Mudge threw his spear and

the swinging grate slammed against it. The guard

did manage a piercing scream before Quoriy could

cut his throat. Nothing can scream like a dying hare.

"Shit!" Quoriy snapped, her eyes going immediately

Aim Dean roster

282

\

to the stairwell leading upward. "That'll bring 'em

down on us in a minute. I'll watch while you and

Mudgey get your stuff."

Jon-Tom rushed into the storeroom. Tossed indif-

ferently on a pile of spears was his ramwood staff.

He grasped it like an old friend's proffered hand.

But where was the duar?

"Right, mate, let's go."

He turned. Mudge stood waiting nearby. His quiv-

er of arrows and longbow were slung against his

back. and he was staggering beneath a load of metal

and rock. Long links of gold coins were draped

across his chest like bandoliers while necklaces of

pearls and gems hung from his neck and wrists. His

arms were full of gem-encrusted plates and goblets.

Two tiaras rested askew on his crushed cap.

"Mudge, what the hell are you doing?"

The otter blinked, then looked embarrassed. He

dropped his heavy load. Coins and gems went rolling

across the floor.

"Sorry, mate. For a minim there 1 kind o' forgot

where we are." Reluctantly, he unburdened himself

of the rest of the treasure. "Couldn't we maybe take

just a wee bit with us?"

"No, we could not." Jon-Tom snapped angrily.

"Will you two kindly get your arses in gear?"

Quorly's shout reached them along with pounding

footsteps from the stairs. There was a startled squeal

and a four-foot-tall armored hedgehog went sprawling

into the room, bleeding from a stab wound in the

belly. "I can't hold this lot off forever."

Jon-Tom turned to search the room, but Mudge

spun him around. The otter's eyes were wide as he

pointed, not into the storeroom, but across the floor.

"There she is, mate!"

Jon-Tom fairly flew across the stones toward the

crackling fireplace. He ignored the heat and the

THE MOJOBVT OF THE MAOICIAH

283

cinders as he yanked the priceless duar from the top

of the fire. It was blackened in a couple of spots, but

the strings were intact and so was the body. He

tested it, was rewarded with a familiar mellow ring.

"That," he gulped, "was too close." He tried the

tremble and mass controls. Everything worked. A

slight shudder went through the paving stones as the

music filled the room. "Let's get out of herel"

Only the fact that the stairwell was so narrow had

enabled Quorly to hold off the guards. Mudge glee-

fully went to work with his longbow, and in a couple

of minutes the passage was blocked by the bodies of

the fallen. Those guards who hadn't been shafled

retreated.

• "That ought to 'old the bastards," Mudge said with

satisfaction.

They plunged down the stairs, for the moment

pursued only by confused shouts and angry cries.

Jon-Tom had thoughtfully requisitioned the unfortu-

nate javelina's keys. Now he used them to lock the

cell from the inside. Arrows flashed past him. The

guards had finally managed to bring up archers of

their own.

Jon-Tom tossed the keys into the hole in the floor

and followed them down.

"Wot about puttin' the stones back in place?" Quorly

, asked as she fell on top of him and slid off to one

side.

"Take too much time," he told her. "They saw us

come in here. As soon as they get the door open, the

first thing they'll do is start checking the walls and

the floor." He started running down the tunnel,

cursing as he bumped against the unyielding ceiling

while trying to juggle his burden of staff, duar, and

extra weapons.

They weren't halfway back to the well chamber

when excited yells sounded behind them. Some of

Alan Dean Footer

284

Jon-Tom's initial confidence evaporated and he tried

to run faster, but it was hard to speed up in the

confines of the tunnel.

"I didn't think they'd follow us down here," he

yelled to his companions.

"I imagine they figure they can follow anyplace we

can go, mate."

"You go on ahead. I'll catch up."

"Now wot kind o' cowards do you think we are?"

Mudge replied, outraged. "Do you think that after

all we've been through together, you and I, 'avin'

come all this ways, that I'd for a minute think o'

leavin' you behind to get your behind shot off? Wot

do you take me for?"

Jon-Tom was gasping for breath now but still couldn't

keep from replying. "There's also the fact that unless

I can manage to do something with this duar, we'll

all likely never get out of here."

"Well, yeah, that 'ad occurred to me, too," Mudge

confessed -

Jon-Tom grinned, though he knew the otter couldn't

see him. "Glad to hear it. For a second I thought the

dampness might've addled your brain."

"Now, mate, you do old Mudge an injustice." But

the otter didn't complain very strongly.

Meanwhile their pursuit continued to gain ground

on them. Occasionally a flicker of light from closing

torches would reach the refugees, spurring them to

run still faster. The tunnel seemed to have stretched

in their absence, lengthening like a rubber tube. The

only advantage they possessed was the assurance of

knowing their destination.

Even so, by the time the faint circle of light that

marked the entrance to the well chamber appeared

ahead, the guards were near enough for Jon-Tom to

pick out individual voices. The three of them stum-

bled into the room, tripping and spilling weapons in

THB MOMENT OF THS MAOICIAM 889

all directions. The otters grabbed them up and waited

tfor whatever might come.

Jon-Tom rolled over, discovered a pair of crossbow

bolts protruding from the back of his cape. Once

again he'd been saved by the thick leather. He plucked

them out as several guards emerged from the tunnel

mouth, only to find themselves confronted by not

three but more than a dozen armed opponents.

Thornrack struggled to catch his breath, held his

sword over his head. "All right, you've had your fun.

You've led us a hard chase, but that's over now." He

glared around until he located Jon-Tom- "We'll see

how well you run with your calf muscles cut."

At that point Falameezar lifted his head, closed

^one eye, and spat. A small globe of very intense

flame struck the jaguar's sword, which melted like

taffy. Eyes bulging at the immense outline which was

slowly rising behind the otters, Thornrack dropped

the glowing metal and bolted for the tunnel. He ran

into the guards who were clustered thickly behind

him.

Falameezar sighted and went poof with his lips.

Thornrack's tail burst into flame, and he redoubled

his efforts to push past his own troops. They could

hear 'him cursing and screaming halfway back through

the tunnel.

*T don't think we'll have any more trouble from

that direction," observed Jon-Tom dryly.

"No," agreed Opiode, dampening their euphoria,

"but he will report what has happened back to Markus,

and you can be certain the magician vail do something-

There are only two openings to this room: the tunnel

and the mouth of the old well above us. Both could

easily be plugged- We could be sealed in here to

starve or suffocate, and no magic would be required

to accomplish those ends. Somehow we must get out

Alan Dean Foster

286

before Markus has time to react to our escape."

Those salamander-slick eyes turned to Jon-Tom.

"Clothahump must have had confidence in you to

send you by yourself in response to my request. If

you are any kind of spellsinger, you must free us

from this prison now. Even a wizard needs room to

maneuver, and we have none of that here."

*"E's right, mate. We got your bloomin' music box

back. Now show 'em wot you can do!"

Every eye turned to him. He was glad it was dark

so they couldn't see how nervous he was- A song—

what would be the right song?

johnny Cash's "Fol&om Prison Blues" created no

openings -in the stone walls, nor did any song of

prisons or chain gangs. He started to sweat despite

the coolness. Mudge sat down, looking resigned.

He'd been through this before. Opiode looked disap-

pointed and the rest of the party confused. It hurt

Jon-Tom's recall, though his playing was as smooth

as ever.

"Wot's wrong?" Quorly leaned over Mudge and

snuggled close. "Nothin's 'appenin'."

Mudge ran fingers lightly over her fur. tt Tis just

the way it works sometimes. 'E's a spellsinger for

sure, but 'e's still new to 'is profession and don't quite

*ave the *ang o' it quite. Sometimes the magic works

and sometimes it don't. And sometimes you just 'ave

to be patient."

"I'll try," she murmured worriedly, "but Opiode

said we didn't have a lot of time."

Jon-Tom sang until he began to grow hoarse, and

still the singing produced no results. Only a few idle

gneechees, who didn't hang around long enough for

him to finish a single tune.

More to cheer himself than out of any hope of

doing anything, he launched into a spirited ren-

THE MOMEWT OP TBB MAQSCIAS

287

dition of Def Lepard's "Rock of Ages." StBl no magical

escape hatches appeared, no stairways or corridors.

He got something else, though. ^

The otters stirred. Awed whispers rose from die

Quorum members. Opiode's eyes narrowed, and he

stroked his chin as he tried to analyze the meaning

of this bizarre conjuration. Powerful sorcery it was,

but of what kind, and what could it portend?

Only Mudge knew the origin of the shifting, glow-

ing shapes that had appeared and now danced glee-

fully around the spellsinger's feet. He knew because

he'd encountered them once before.

"Wot did you call 'em, mate?" he asked softly,

staring along with the others.

The duar continued to produce thunderous, ring-

ing chords. "Geolks," Jon-Tom shouted at him, "but

what are we going to do with them?"

XVII

The exquisite phosphorescent worm-forms continued

to multiply, until they occupied much of the floor

and most of the walls. They twisted and flowed

through the stone in a peculiar cadence all their

own, sometimes in time to the rhythm of the duar,

sometimes in time to one utterly alien. The chamber

was alive with living rainbows.

Jon-Tom concluded a brazen chorus, kept playing

as he spoke. "Hello! Do you remember me?"

"It is good to see you again, music-maker.'* The

speaker might have been the same one who'd con-

versed with Jon-Tom back among the karst pinnacles

in the Wrounipai, or it might have been another.

There was no way of knowing for certain- Color was

no clue. "Singing still, we see."

"Yes, but not freely. We're trapped in this place."

He tried to alter the melody subtly, to substitute his

words for Lepard's lyrics. "Trapped in this awful

dark place."

"Awful? What is the difference between one vacu-

um and another?" the worm asked him.

"Freedom of movement. Something you take for

granted. Can you help us out of here? I'll play

whatever you like for as long as you want if you'll just

288

THB MOKEWT W TOS MAQICIAM

289

help us get out of here. There's an opening higher

up. Can you make something we can climb?"

"What is 'climb'?" inquired a coolly curious geolk.

The other prisoners looked on in mesmerized silence.

"What is 'out'? We like your emptiness but your

movements concern us not."

There had to be something they could do, he

thought desperately. What could the geolks do? They

could move freely through solid rock, come and go

as they pleased and...

They could make earthquakes.

"Find a crack in this wall... in the rock that sur-

rounds us. Link together as I saw you do before. Feel

the music."

"Nothing to do with us," the geolks insisted distantly.

"To tremor we have to work together, and right now

we do not feel like working together."

"Don't feel like working together?" a new voice

said. Jon-Tom continued to sing while trying simul-

taneously to quiet Falameezar, but the dragon's politi-

cal consciousness was up and he refused to be shushed.

If anything, he looked inspired.

"Leave this to me, comrade. This is a matter of

organization"

"But you don't understand, Falameezar," Jon-Tom

said desperately. "These aren't your usual folks. They

won't—"

"Workers of the world, arise!" Falameezar bellowed.

"Join together in solidarity and nothing can stop

you!"

"Nothing can stop us now," a bright blue geolk

replied. "And we are not workers."

Falameezar would have none of it, continued to

lambast the glowing shapes with the profoundest

barrage of Marxist rhetoric Jon-Tom had ever heard.

It made absolutely no sense to him, but it seemed to

hypnotize the geolks.

Alan Dean Foster

290

"Make Vladimir Ilyich proud of you," Falameezar

rumbled. "Show the world what true collective action

can do!"

Whether it was Jon-Tom's music or the dragon's

rhetoric or a combination of both, the geolks started

to line up on the far wall, twisting and curling

against one another.

"Get back, everybody," Mudge warned the onlookers.

"And don't be surprised no matter wot 'appens. Be

ready" He grinned at his friend the spellsinger. "Bugger

me for a blue-eyed bandicoot if I don't think we're

gettin' out o* 'ere!"

Still the geolks continued to gather, until the oppo-

site wall of the well chamber was alive with blinding

light- Jon-Tom had to close his eyes to shut out the

intense glow.

Falameezar roared something about the worker's

imperative at the same time that Jon-Tom and his

duar thundered out the opening words of Quiet

Riot's "Cum On Feel the Noize." The earth trembled

as the huge rope of geolks convulsed. The concus-

sion knocked Jon-Tom off his feet, and even Falameezar

was tossed sideways.

His head rattling, he tried to keep playing, tried to

do it as fluidly as Jimi or Robin Trower or Eddie van

Halen would have. Finally he had to stop because the

dust in his nostrils was choking him.

He opened his eyes to a different kind of light,

The geolks were gone, and so was much of the far

wall. Light washed over the bottom of the well be-

cause the right side of the roof had collapsed. In

place of wall and roof was a pile of rubble that

reached all the way to the main floor above.

Falameezar shoved his way clear of the talus. "Free!

Free from the imperialist neo-colonialist yoke!" He

started pawing up the steep slope. "Where is he, lead

me to him!"

THE MOMENT OF TUB MAGICIAN 291

"Easy, easy, comrade!" Jon-Tom struggled to catch

up to the angry dragon- "If he sees you, he'll only

put you to sleep again."

"No, he will not," said Falameezar decisively. "The

people are awake to reality now, and not4ing can put

them to sleep again." Flame and smoke billowed

from his jaws. ^'I'll reduce the fascist dictator to a

cinder." He started climbing again.

"Don't underestimate him!" Jon-Tom shouted

up at the dragon, but to no avail. Falameezar

wasn't dumb, but he was more than a litde impulsive,

especially when the revolutionary fever was on

him.

Shouts sounded from the floor above, and they

found themselves looking up at Markus's guards.

Their expressions were more than a little fearful as

they stared down into the gaping hole that had

materialized practically under their feet. If that

wasn't enough to send them running, the sight of

Falameezar climbing rapidly toward them finished

the job. The floor cleared with gratifying swift-

ness.

"He'll keep the sohders busy," Jon-Tom muttered,

"but I'll have to handle Markus. Somehow."

"You can do it. mate. You're the only one who

can," Mudge said.

Jon-Tom looked grim. "Maybe I can convince the

geolks to concentrate in his spine. Hell, we'll get him!

I just managed a Marxist earthquake, didn't I?" He

looked past the otter, waved to the others. "All right,

let's go!"

Yelling and barking enthusiastically, the otters

followed him up the slope. Opiode and the Quorum

members trailed at a discreet distance. They were

administrators, not fighters.

Falameezar was searching the intact part of the big

room, hunting for fascists. Occasionally a guard or

Alan Dean Foster

292

two would peer through a doorway, Only to be sent

fleeing by a ferocious blast of flame. Falameezer

launched into a spirited rendition of the "Internation-

ale." He was out of tune and had the words aU wrong,

but Jon-Tom wasn't about to correct him. The scaly

Marxist was having too good a time incinerating

capitalist dupes.

"We've got to Find Markus as fast as possible,

before he can get his wits together. Fatameezar will

keep his guards occupied." He looked at Trendavi,

the deposed premier. "Can you show us the way to

his tower?"

The aged pangolin nodded. "Without fail, my

friends." He led them through a still-standing door.

Occasionally they encountered some of Markus's

guards, but while the otters were usually outanned

and outweighed, they were never intimidated. Guards

broke and ran without Fighting. No doubt word of

the escape was already racing through the Quorumate,

and no solider wanted to risk the chance of encounter-

ing a bunch of hyperkinetic fanatics who might be

backed up by a Fire-breathing, if somewhat verbose,

dragon.

"This way," Trendavi told them, turning to his left.

Then they were outside, on the parapet Jon-Tom

had been marched across not so long ago, racing

toward Markus's sanctuary.

"He has outsmarted himself," Opiode commented

as they slowed. The members of the Quorum were

near collapse from the run, but not. the salamander.

His eyes glittered. "None can approach from three

sides, but by the same token there is only this way

out."

"I'm going in," Jon-Tom told them. "The rest of

you stay behind me"

"I was about to suggest that meself," said Mudge.

They rushed forward. There was no sign of the

TUB MOMEWT Of THE MAGJCIAJf 293

two armed lions who had flanked the entrance when

Jon-Tom had been brought here before.

Actually, now that the final confrontation was at

hand, Jon-Tom wasn't quite sure how to proceed. He

didn't tell his companions that.

Attack. Always keep the opposition off balance.

That was how he'd been taught and that was what he

intended to do- The advice had come, not from a

class on warfare, but on courtroom procedure. Jon-

Tom didn't see why it wouldn't apply as well on the

battleField as in the courtroom.

Each inner door opened at their touch, until they

confronted a door-sized slab that did not. Instead of

moving aside, it leaned forward and growled. Black

leather armor gleamed in the torchlight. Prugg ges-

tured threateningly with his enormous club.

"You stop," the bodyguard growled menacingly.

Frangel tried to dart past the bear. The club

descended with frightening speed and dented the

rock where the otter had been a split-second earlier.

Only Frangel's exceptional quickness saved him. Any-

one slower than an otter would have been smashed

to pulp.

That was the signal for the rest of the band to

charge- Dodging Prugg's lethal swings, they darted

all around him, poking and prodding with their

spears and swords while yelling encouragement to

each other-

"Get 'im!... take 'is bloomin* 'ead off!... kill 'imi... get

the ugly bastard down!"

"Knock 'im over, tear 'is throat out!" a solitary

voice yelled from behind Jon-Tom. The spellsinger

turned, tapped Mudge on the shoulder.

•/ "Kill? Tear his throat out?" he said dangerous-

ly-

Mudge put his paws behind his back and tried to

Aim Dean FoBter

294

smile. "1 was just sort o' coverin' our rear, mate.

Don't want to be taken from behind, we don't"

"Guarding our rear, my ass!"

*'0i, that's wot 1 said, weren't it?"

There were times when Jon-Tom could tolerate his

friend's shameless displays ot cowardice. This wasn't

one of them. Not with petite warriors like Sasswise

and Splitch fighting to make a path for him.

Actually, he went a little crazy.

"You rotten, smelly, no-good...!" Reaching down,

he grabbed Mudge by the tail and the ruff of his

neck. The otter's feet bicycled through the air as he

fought to free himself.

"Hey, take it easy, mate!"

"Get in there and fight alongside your cousins,

damn you!"

Jon-Tom threw the Otter forward, harder than he

intended. He was too mad to judge his strength. To

his horror, Mudge performed a single somersault

and landed neatly on top of Prugg's head. The

otter's impact shoved the bear's helmet down over

his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Seeing this, Quorly

lowered her head and charged underneath a deadly

but badly aimed swing to hit the bodyguard head-

first between pillarlike tegs. Prugg let out a low

grunt, bent over, and tried to find Mudge, who was

frantically retreating down the bear's back. The club

fell to the floor.

Memaw, Knorckle, and Wupp immediately dropped

their own weapons in favor of the club. Turning the

business end toward their opponent, they rushed

forward at full speed, short legs churning, and made

loud contact with the leather helmet Mudge had so

recently abandoned. The impact sent them tum-

bling.

Prugg let out a strange low sigh and sort of keeled

THJB MOMEMT OF TUB UAOICIAM 29B

over, like a falling redwood. He hit the floor with a

muffled brrouummmf, out cold.

Jon-Tom and the others raced past while the club-

wielders tried to collect themselves.

The last door beckoned. Were they in time? Hadf

they moved fast enough? Or was Markus the Ineluc-

table waiting just inside, prepared to strike all of

them dead with whatever new evil he had drawn into

this world?

Jon-Tom pushed on the latch. Somewhat to his

surprise, the door was not locked. The otters crowd-

ed in around him.

At the far end of the Room, Markus the Ineluctable,

nee Markle Kratzmeier, sat waiting on his throne.

He looked different somehow. He'd straightened his

bow tie and his white shirt gleamed. He did not seem

particularly upset by the intrusion.

"Heard what was going on, kid. Didn't think you'd

get this far. Congratulations." He tried to see past

Jon-Tom, out into the hall, searching for his bodyguard.

"Sleeping," Jon-Tom told him wolfishly. "My friends

here took care of that."

"Let me at the bald bastard!" yelled Drortch. Jon-

Tom had to put out an arm to restrain her.

"This looks easy. 1 don't think it's going to be"

"No, it ain't, kid." said Markus quietly as he rose.

Standing there on the dais, silhouetted by torchlight,

he did not look anything like the cheap stage magi-

cian from Perth Amboy that he'd once been. There

was a dark radiance about his person, a palpable

aura of evil. It poured down from the throne to

cascade over the onlookers clustered in the doorway,

and several of the otters reflexively shrank back.

Markus stepped off the dais. He was wearing white

gloves now, Jon-Tom noticed, and his shoes had been

polished to a blinding sheen. Still brown, though.

Aim Dean Foster

296

The speUunger held his ground as the magician

raised his plastic wand.

"Oops." Mudge did his own disappearing act,

retreating back behind the door.

Markus lowered the wand and smiled. "See how

fast your companions desert you."

"They're not deserting me," Jon-Tom told him. He

turned and looked down at his friends. "All of you:

this is between Markus and me- Wait in the hall."

Obediently, they filed out, leaving him with words of

encouragement and a promise to rush in no matter

what the danger should he call out to them.

"That takes care of my friends. Where are yours?"

Markus lost his smile. "Wise-ass. You'll be sorry."

He glanced at the duar. "So that's what you've been

so keen to get your hands on. Weird-lookin' gadget."

jon-lbm let his fingers fall casually across the

duar's strings. An explosive note Filled the room.

"Hey, pretty good trick!" Markus complimented

him. "Here's one of mine"

He aimed the wand at Jon-Tom and mumbled

under his breath.

Jon-Tom prepared to duck or sing, as the attack

demanded. Instead he nearly brokq^out laughing. A

steady stream of brightly colored scarves emerged

from the magician's sleeve. It was exactly the sort of

trick you'd expect to see someone like Markus per-

form at a neighborhood party.

Except that the scarves knotted themselves around

his ankles and began enveloping his legs, winding

steadily upward. Meanwhile the flow from the

magician's sleeve showed no signs of slowing.

If he didn't do something fast, in a couple of

minutes he'd look like a psychedelic mummy. But

what songs did he know about clothing? About scarves,

or ties? Suddenly the flood of silk didn't seem so

THE MOMENT w THE MAOICIAH 297

funny. There was an old cartoon song about"*? Chi-

nese laundry... no, that wouldn't work.

In desperation he tried some lyrics from Carole

Ring's "Tapestry" album. The scarves quivered but

didn't vanish. Instead^they began to unknot themselves*

fold up neatly, and stack in piles according to color

on the nearby table. They unwound from his thighs

and calves, then his ankles, until they were twisting

and folding and stacking themselves as quickly as

they emerged from Markus's sleeve.

Furthermore, each one bore in its upper right-

hand corner the monogram JTM.

Markus frowned, lowered his arm. The silk assault

ceased. "You're fast, kid. Not fast enough to make it

in Atlantic City. but pretty good for here." This time

he raised both hands. "For this one we need an

assistant."

Something began to coalesce in the space between

them. A faint silvery glow that drew shape as well as

substance from his wand-and Fingers. An hourglass

.outline traced in air.

It didn't have fangs or talons. Jon-Tom was enrap-

tured by it.

She was tall, as tall as he was. Blond, alluring, clad

in. next to nothing.. She was walking toward him and

whispering through puckered, inviting lips; cajoling

him, tempting him. pleading with him.

"Please, can 1 have a volunteer from the audience?**

Jon-Tom found himself stumbling forward, a step

at a time. He couldn't be certain, but he thought he

could see Markus through her. A single gold tooth

flashed in the magician's mouth. He was smiling

again. ,

Somehow Jon-Tom retreated, though the effort

of will required to back away from that seductive

' vision was tremendous. And she was still coming

i toward him,, one perfect hand outstretched to lead

Alan Dean Foster

268

him, lead him up onto the stage. How could he resist

her? She was obviously so beautiful, so innocent, so

badly in need of this job.

He couldn't resist her. But he could sing to her.

Sure, nothing wrong with that. What gentle, reassur-

ing ballad could he dedicate to her?

Hesitantly at first, then with growing strength, he

began to play "Killer Queen,"

The blond houri contorted as the first chords

filled the room. She shimmied and twisted in front

of him, though not the way he wanted her to shim-

my and twist. But as she spun he was able to see the

knife she clutched in her other hand. With a cry she

lunged at him. Maybe he should have raised the

duar to absorb the force of the blow, but he just kept

on singing, trying to match the notes perfectly, trying

to imitate Freddie Mercury as best he could.

The instant before the knife started to come down

toward his throat, it, the girl, and the conjuration

dissolved before his eyes like a lump of sugar in a

cup of hot tea. *

He blinked. Markus growled something vile and

looked past him, mumbling and gesturing with his

wand. His black cape stood out behind him even

though there was no wind in the room.

A snarl came from behind Jon-Tom, familiar and

yet alien to this place. The sound of the faceless

demons.

They leaped from their alcoves, their curved teeth

aiming for his face. He ducked the Fokker and ran

for cover behind a table as they soared and dove at

him, thirsting for his eyes. He knew nothing about

airplanes. The only tune he could remember that had

anything at all to do with Hying machines seemed

insufficient to counter the threat, but maybe it would

buy him some tune.

THE MOMKHT W THB UAOSCIAM

299

So he sang, " 'Up, up and awaaay. in my beautiful

balloon;" £"

They filled the room in an instant: hundreds of

1 them. Thousands, in all colors and shapes and sizes.

| Dozens of pops and/bangs made it sound like, the ,

Chinese New Year as Markus's metallic demons dashed

through the brightly colored obstacles.

The Fokker's wing brushed Jon-Tom's scalp as it

shot over him. Its sharp propellor, the same one that

had nearly decapitated a raven named Pandro, was

entangled in a hundred strips of thin latex. It execut-

ed a Final desperate Immelmann turn before it crashed

into the wall behind him. A minute later the second

demon bounced off the floor and skidded to a halt,

its engine gasping and completely jammed by dozens

of broken balloons.

When the third and last demon flew out a window,

sputtering and wheezing as it plunged to its death in

the waters below, jon-Tom concluded his song, sent a

silent thank-you from the Fourth Dimension to the

Fifth, and waited while the balloons evaporated to

see what Markus might try next.

He didn't look scared. Not yet. But neither did he

look quite as sure of himself-

"You were right, kid. You were right and I was

wrong. You're not a punk. You know your stuff.

Maybe we should make a deal after all." He started

toward the younger man. "Here, a peace offering:

okay? Better we work something out between us than

we keep trying to knock each other off."

Jon-Tom eyed him suspiciously, but this time

Markus's hand brought forth no homicidal houris,

no mechanical assassins. Just a simple bouquet of

flowers.

"Be more appropriate if you were a broad," Markus

said, "but this is the best 1 can think of. Don't flowers

Aim Dean FoBter

300

say it ail?** He waved the bouquet at his erstwhile

opponent.

Jon-Tom grinned, found himself nodding in

agreement. Only problem was, he didn't want to

nod. Nodding he was, though. Maybe it was because

the Howers smelled so beautiful, so fresh and relaxing.

Relaxing. He hadn't been able to relax in a long

time. The flowers told him it was okay to relax, to

take it easy. A wonderfully reassuring, cloying mias-

ma issued from the bouquet.

"That's it, kid. It's all over. Nothing else to fight

about. We'll just kiss and make up. Hell, what's there

to fight about? There's plenty here for us to

shareeeeee...."

Somehow Jon-Tom backed away from that soporific

spiel, until his back was against the near wall and he

couldn't retreat any further. Did he want to retreat?

The small part of him that hadn't been drugged by

the bouquet's aroma was frantic. Sing something! Sing

anything, the first thing that comes to mind, so long

as it has something to do with flowers!

Van Halen didn't sing about flowers. Neither did

Men With Hats or Motley Crue or Godwanna. Blooms

and daisies weren't the stuff heavy metal anthems

were made of.

Not every great new group was that heavy, though.

In fact, there was one...

He started to sing, amazed at how appropriate the

music was. So it would be better if he were a broad,

would it? Somehow that fit too.

This time he didn't sing to Markus. He sang to the

bouquet. "'Karma, karma, karma camelliaaa, you

come and go, you come and go, oh-oh-oh.'"

It was hard for him to duplicate Boy George's

smooth, slightly buttery sound, but he managed, and

the duar spit out everything from the background

guitar to the harmonica solos. As Markus stared in

THE MOMENT or Tax MAGJCWT 301

I shock at his hypnotic handful of blossoma^they

began to depart in time to the lyrics. Their petals spin-

ning like the blades of tiny helicopters, they lifted

[from his fingers and, traveling neatly in single Hie,

|circled once around Jen-Tom's head before flying off

gin perfect formation through the nearby high window.

| Leaving behind in Markus's hand a paper cone

|,which concealed a five-inch-long stiletto.

t Markus stumbled away from the spellsinger, re-

I'treating back toward the throne- His hat was askew

^on his head, and he'd lost a couple of buttons off his

cheap white shirt. He looked less like Markus the

Ineluctable and more like a cheap bum.

"You're through here, Markus," Jon-Tom told him,

"Quit while you're ahead, before 1 really gel into my

music. I^s over, finished."

i' Markus pulled himself together, seeming to draw

fresh strength from his proximity to the throne and

the power it represented. "You think so, kid? You

think I've had enough? Hell, I've just been playing

up till now. Kid stuff. 1 thought that would be

enough, but I was wrong. It's over, all right, but not

for me. For you."

His face was wild, his expression full of concentrat-

ed fury. Everything he'd built here, everything he'd

taken from a world he'd been pulled into against his

will, was slipping out of his grasp. He was hanging

onto his sanity by emotional fingernails. No, he

wasn't finished. He was Markus the Ineluctable, Em-

peror of Everything, and no skinny punk-rocker was

going to take that away from html,

Removing the top hat, he held it in his right hand

while whispering and passing the wand over the

i opening. Then he tapped the brim several times. At

f first nothing happened, and Jon-Tom found himself

^hoping that the magician had finally reached his

I limits.

302 Alan Dean Foster

Then something came creeping out of the hat.

The room darkened as the sickly green vapor

emerged. It pulsed with inner evil, curling around

the legs of chairs, clinging to the floor as it crept

down the steps from the dais. It moved slowly, explor-

ing the environment into which it had been summoned.

Markus eyed it uncertainly, and it occurred to

Jon-Tom that his opponent, in his anger and fury,

might have overextended himself, might have called

forth something stronger than he'd intended to.

Certainly that expanding cloud of poisonous green

sprang from a source of evil far stronger than per-

fumed bouquets and faceless demons. There was

nothing even faintly amusing about it. Despite its

apparent insubstantiality, it was real in a way none of

Markus's previous conjurations could match.

The magician glanced down into his hat. Appar-

ently he saw something he didn't like, because he

dropped it as if it had burned him and stepped back

toward the throne, never taking his eyes from it. The

hat tumbled down the steps, rolling to a stop on the

floor. The frightening cloud continued to pour forth

from the dark opening,

You could see through it, but the effort wa& dizzying.

Furthermore, there were shapes inside the cloud,

shapes that wrenched and heaved in agony at their

surroundings. They moaned softly as they fought to

escape their nebulous prison. The sound was chill-

ing.

Vapor reached the ceiling and began to spread out

sideways. Jon-Tom wanted to run, to get out of that

room. The threat that was Markus had been reduced

to insignificance by the cloud. Markus no longer

mattered. Only getting away, getting out of there,

getting away from that, mattered.

But a wispy tentacle of ichorous green brushed

his foot, and he found he couldn't move. It was Just a

303

THE MOMENT OF THE MAOTCLUI

tiny thing, an airy caress. It paralyzed him in his

tracks.

And it was so cold.

Eyes in the cloud then, small and piercing, floating

above a round oval of a mouth. They hovered within

the fog, sleepy and indifferent. The shapes flashed

and slipped around eyes and lips as they fought to

escape.

The cloud spoke softly in a patient, irresistible

voice. Jon-Tom felt a chill strike him with each word.

"I've come for you. It is good that you called me."

Green vapor filled most of the room now. It was

starting to spread out along the wall behind him.

Soon it would engulf him completely. He knew what

would happen then. It would suck him up inside

itself, to join those other helpless, moaning stiapes.

Then he knew what it was that Markus had con-

jured up, had called forth out of the depths of his

fury and frustration. Instinct told him.

His body might be frozen to the spot, but he

found he could still talk. Maybe the vapor wanted

him to talk. Maybe that was a final gift it gave to all

that it swallowed up.

"You... you're Death, aren't you?"

An eloquent silence was his reply. Jon-Tom could

feel the cold dosing in around him, patient, irresistible.

"I didn't know you could see Death." The cloud

was thicker now, an icy green cold that began to

prick at his bare skin.

"Any man who cannot see Death approaching is

blind." The mouth-oval drifted closer. It was going

to touch his own lips. The kiss of Death.

Jon-Tom listened to his own voice and was terri-

fied at how feeble it had become. "But... you said

you came for me. and that 1 called you. I didn't call

you.

For an instant oblivion retreated. The wisps of

^

Alaa Dean Foster

304

green foulness drew back and the cold fell away.

Jon-Tom found he was shivering, and it was the first

time in his life he regarded it as a sign of health.

"You called me."

"No." He tried to raise a hand to his duar, but

his fingers suddenly weighed a thousand pounds

apiece. He tried the other one, straining with his

whole being. It rose, slowly, but it rose. He moved it

because he had to. He didn't try to touch the duar

this time. There was no point. Here was an opponent

his spellsinging could not defeat.

Fingers weak and trembling, he pointed through

the cloud.

"He called you."

"No," came a quavering voice from far across the

chamber. Markus cowered down on his throne, trying

to hide. "No, it wasn't me. I didn't call you!"

The eyes didn't free Jon-Tom from their relentlessly

peaceful gaze- Perhaps another pair appeared else-

where within the cloud. There was a pause, a brief

eternity while the room hung suspended in the void.

Then Death whispered, "Markie Kratzmeier, age

forty-eight, of Perth Amboy, New Jersey. You fell into

a dynamo. You were electrocuted instantly. You died."

"No!" Markus shook as he waved his wand errati

cally toward the cloud. He was hysterical now, his

eyes wide as the vapor moved to envelop him. "No, I

didn't diel I came here. I am here."

"You died," Death insisted softly. "I came for you

but you had gone. I couldn't find you. I do not enjoy

being cheated."

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 them, 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.