Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance

better if we had some music."

Grelgen grunted, turned, and barked a command. There

was a brief delay. Several small figures made their way

through the enchanted mob and took up positions atop the

stone wall. Each carried a delicate instrument. There were

a couple of flutes, a set of drums, and something that

resembled a xylophone which had been in a bad traffic

accident.

"What should we play?" piped one of the minuscule

musicians.

"Something lively."

"A dance or roundelet?" They discussed the matter

among themselves, then launched into a lively tune with

faintly oriental overtones. Jon-Tom waited until he was

sure of the rhythm, then smiled at his attentive if uncertain

audience.

"Ready? Let's begin! Imitate me." He dipped. "Come

on, it's not hard. One, two, three, and bend; one, two,

three, and bend;... that's it!"

While Jon-Tom's companions looked on, several hun-

dred fairy folk struggled to duplicate the human's move-

ments. Before too long, groans and moans all out of

proportion to the size of the throats they came from filled

the air.

Grelgen was gasping and sweating. Her orange chiffon

gown was soaked. "You're sure that you're not actually

trying to murder us?"

"Oh, no." Jon-Tom was breathing a little hard himself.

"See, this isn't an instantaneous kind of magic. It takes

time." He sat down and put his hands behind his neck,

wondering how far he could go before Grelgen gave up.

"Now, this kind of magic is called sirups. Up, down, up,

down ... you in the back there, no slacking, now... up,

down..."

He worried constantly that Grelgen and her colleagues

would become impatient before the new exercise regimen

had time to do its work. He needn't have worried. The

enchanted folk took weight off as rapidly as they put it on.

By the second day the most porcine of the villagers could

boast of shrunken waistlines. By the third the effects were

being felt by all, and by the fourth even Grelgen could stay

airborne for short flights.

"I don't understand, mate," said Kludge. "You said it

'tweren't magic, yet see 'ow quick-like they're shrinkin'

down!"

"It's their metabolic rate. They burn calories much

faster than we do, and as soon as they get down to where

they can fly again, the burning accelerates."

The results were reflected in Grelgen's changing atti-

tude. As the exercises did their work, her belligerence

softened. Not that she became all sweetness and light, but

her gratitude was evident.

"A most wondrous gift you have given us, man. A new.

kind of magic." It was the morning of the fifth day of their

captivity and a long time since any of the enchanted folk

had suggested having one of their guests for supper.

"I have a confession to make. It's not magic. It's only

exercise."

"Call it by whatever name you wish," she replied, "it

is magic to us. We are starting to look like the enchanted

folk once more. Even I," she finished proudly. She did a

deep knee-bend to prove it, something she couldn't have

imagined doing five days earlier. Of course, she did it

while hovering in midair, which made it somewhat easier.

Still, the accomplishment was undeniable.

"You are free to go," she told them.

Roseroar stepped forward and cautiously thrust out a

paw. The invisible wall of fire which had kept them

imprisoned had vanished, leaving behind only a little

lingering heat. The tigress stepped easily over the tiny

stone wall.

"Our gratitude is boundless," Grelgen went on. "You

said you came to us for help." She executed a neat little

2OO

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

2O1

pirouette in the air, delighting in her rediscovered mobility.

"What is it you wish to know?"

"We need directions to a certain town," he told her. "A,

place called Crancularn."

"Ah. An ambiguous destination. Not mine to

why. Wait here." She flew toward the village, droning

a wasp, and returned several minutes later with four newh

slimmed Elders. They settled on the wall. Between them,

the four Elders held a piece of parchment six inches

square. It was the biggest piece of writing material the

village could produce.

"Crancularn, you said?" Jon-Tom nodded at her.

She rolled up the sleeves of her burgundy-and-lime

dress, waved the wand over the parchment as she spoke.

The parchment twisted like a leaf in the wind. It continued

to quiver as a line of gold appeared on its surface, tracing

the outlines of mountains and rivers, trails, and paths.

None of them led directly toward the golden diamond that

shone brightly in the upper-lefthand corner of the parchment.

Grelgen finished the incantation. The parchment ceased

its shaking, allowing the concentrating Elders to relax their

grip. Jon-Tom picked the freshly inscribed map off the

grass. It was warm to the touch. One tiny spot not far from

a minor trail fluoresced brightly.

"The glow shows you where you are at any time,"

Grelgen informed him. "It will travel as you travel. Hold

fast to the map and you will never be lost." She rose on

diaphanous wings to hover near his shoulder and trace over

the map with her wand. "See? No easy journey from here

and no trails directly to the place."

"We're told Crancularn moves about."

"So it does. It has that characteristic. But the map will

take you there, never fear. This is the cartography of what

will be as well as of what is. A useful skill which we

rarely employ. We like it where we are."

Jon-Tom thanked her as he folded the map and slipped it

carefully into a pocket of his indigo shirt.

Grelgen hovered nearby. "Tell me, man. Why do you

go to Crancularn?"

"To shop for something in the Shop of the Aether and

Neither." She nodded, a grave expression on her tiny face.

"We've heard many rumors," he went on. "Is there

something dangerous about the shop?"

"Indeed there is, man. Included among its usual in-

ventory is a large supply of the Truth. That is something

most travelers seek to avoid, not to find. Beware what

purchases you make. There are bonuses and discounts to

be had in that place you may not find to your liking."

"We'll watch our step," he assured her.

She nodded solemnly. "Watch your hearts and souls as

well. Good luck to you, man, and to your companions.

Perhaps if you return by a similar route we can show you

the Cloud Dance." She looked wistful. "I may even

participate myself."

"Dancing in the air isn't as difficult as dancing on the

ground," said Folly.

Grelgen grinned at her. "That depends on what you're

doing in the air, infant." With great dignity she pivoted

and led the four Elders back to the village.

They were free, Jon-Tom knew, and so again were the

enchanted folk.

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

203

XII

The map led them out of the narrow defile that was the

enchanted canyon. Music and rhythmic grunts followed

them as they left behind a village full of fairies aerobicizing

like mad. Grelgen had a long way to go before she looked

like Jane Fonda but she was determined to out perform her

subjects, and Jon-Tom didn't doubt she had the willpower

to do so.

Several days' march through game-filled country brought

them over the highest mountain pass and down onto the

western slopes. Despite Grelgen's insistence that the jour-

ney the rest of the way to Cranculam would not be easy,

they were beginning to relax. Since leaving behind the

enchanted village they had encountered no dangerous ani-

mals or sapients, and food was plentiful.

Ahead lay the desert. Jon-Tom felt certain they could

cross it in a couple of days. AH was well.

No more bad dreams bothered him, and he awoke

refreshed and at ease. Fallen leaves had made a comfort-

able, springy bed. They were now back into deciduous

forest, having left most of the evergreen woods behind.

He pushed his cape aside. A few wisps of smoke still

202

rose from the remains of last night's fire. Roseroar snored

softly on the far side of the embers while Mudge dozed

nearby. That in itself was unusual. Normally the otter

woke first.

Jon-Tom scanned the rest of the camp and sat up fast.

"Jalwar? Folly!"

The woods did not answer, nor did anyone else.

He climbed to his feet, called again. His shouts roused

Mudge and Roseroar.

"Wot's amiss, mate?"

Jon-Tom gestured at the campsite. "See for yourself."

Mudge inspected the places where the missing pair had

slept. "They aren't off 'untin' for breakfast berries. All

their gear's gone."

"Could they have been carried off?" Jon-Tom muttered.

"Why would anybody bother to sneak in softly and steal

that pair away while leavin' us snug and in dreamland?"

Roseroar said. "Makes no sense."

"You're right, it doesn't. So they left on their own, and

with a stealthiness that implies premeditation."

"What?" she growled in confusion.

"Sorry. My legal training talking. It means they planned

to sneak out. Don't ask me why."

"Which way would they go?"

"Maybe there's a town nearby. I'll check the map." He

reached into his pocket, grasped air. A frantic, brief search

proved that the map was well and truly gone.

"Mudge, did you... ?"

The otter shook his head, his whiskers bristling in anger.

"You never gave it to me, guv'nor. I saw you put it up

yourself." He sighed, sat down on a rock, and adjusted his

cap, leaning the feather down at its usual rakish angle.

"Can't say as 'ow I'm surprised. That Corroboc might

'ave been a class-one bastard, but 'e knew wot 'e were

about when *e named that girl."

"ArTve been suspicious of her motives from the begin-

204

Alan Dean Foster

ning," Roseroar added. "We should have sold the little

bitch in Snarken, when we had the chance."

Jon-Tom found himself staring northwestward, through

the thinning forest toward the distant desert. "It doesn't

make sense. And what about Jalwar? He's gone, too, and

that makes even less sense. How can he get anywhere

without our help and protection?"

Mudge came and stood next to his friend, put a comforting

paw on his shoulder. "Ah, lad. 'Ave you learned so little

o' life since you've been in this world? Who knows wot

old Jalwar promised the girl? 'E's a trader, a merchant.

Obviously 'e made 'er a better offer than anything we 'ave.

Maybe 'e were bein' marooned on that beach by 'onest

folk 'e'd cheated. This ain't no world for takin' folks on

faith, me friend. For all we know Jalwar's a rich old

bugger in 'is 'ome town."

"If he wanted Folly to help him, why would they take

the map? They wouldn't need it to retrace the trail back to

Snarken."

"Then it's pretty clear they ain't 'eadin' for Snarken,

mate." He turned and stared down the barely visible path.

"And we ought to be able to prove it."

Sure enough, in the dew-moistened earth beyond the

campsite the two sets of footprints stood out clearly, the

small, almost dainty marks of Jalwar sharp beside Folly's

sandalprints. They led downslope toward the desert.

" Tis plain wot they're about, mate. They're 'eading

for Crancularn. That's why they stole the map."

"But why? Why not go theah with the rest of us?"

Roseroar was shaking her head in puzzlement.

"You're as dense as 'e is, luv. Ain't it plain enough yet

to both of you? Jalwar's a trader. They're goin' to try and

buy up the 'ole supply o' this medicine 'is sorcerership

needs so badly and 'old it for ransom." He stared at

Jon-Tom. "We told the old fart too much, mate, and now

'e's bent on doin' us dirty."

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

2O5

"Jalwar, maybe..." Jon-Tom mumbled unhappily, "but

I can't believe that Folly..."

"Why not, mate? Or did you think she were in love

with you? After wot she went through, she's just lookin'

out after 'erself. Can't blame 'er for that, wot?"

"But we were taking care of her, good care."

Mudge shrugged. "Not good enough, it seems. Like I

said, no tellin' wot old Jalwar promised 'er in return for

'elpin' Mm."

"What now, Jon-Tom?" asked Roseroar gently.

"We can't turn back. Map or no map. I suppose we

could go back to the village of the enchanted folk and get

another one, but that would put us weeks behind them. We

can't lose that much time if Mudge's suspicions are correct.

They'd beat us to the medicine easily. I studied that map

pretty intensively after Grelgen gave it to us. I can remember

some of it."

"That ain't the 'ole of it, mate." Mudge bent and put

his nose close to the ground. When he stood straight again,

his whiskers were twitching. "An otter can follow a scent

on land or through water if there's just enough personal

perfume left to tickle 'is nostrils. This track's fresh as a

new whore. Until it rains we've got a trail to follow, and

there's desert ahead. Maybe if we pee on the run we can

overtake the bloody double-crossers."

"Ah second the motion, suh. Let's not give up, Jon-

Tom."

"I wasn't thinking of giving up, Roseroar. I was thinking

about what we're going to do when we do catch up with

them."

"That's the spirit!" She leaned close. "Leave the de-

tails to me." Her teeth were very white.

"I'm not sure that would be the civilized thing to do,

Roseroar." Despite the deception, the thought of Folly in

Roseroar's paws was not a pleasant one.

"All man actions are dictated by man society's code of

honah, Jon-Tom," she said stiffly. She frowned at a sudden

206

Alan Dean Foster

thought. "Don't tell me that after what's happened heah

yo still feel fo the little bitch?"

He was shouldering his backpack. "We still don't know

that she went with Jalwar voluntarily. Maybe he forced

her."

Mudge was waiting at the edge of the campsite, anxious

to get moving. "Come on now, mate. Even if you exclude

age as a consideration, the girl was bigger and stronger

than that old ferret. And she could always have screamed."

"Not necessarily. Not if Jalwar had a knife at her throat.

Look, I admit it looks like she went with him voluntarily,

but I won't condemn her until we know for sure. She's

innocent until proven guilty."

Mudge spat on the ground. "Another o' your other-

worldly misconceptions."

"It's not otherworldly. It's a universal truism," Jon-

Tom argued.

"Not in this universe it ain't."

Roseroar let them argue while she assumed the lead,

glancing occasionally at the ground to make sure they were

still on the trail, scanning the woods for signs of ambush.

For the moment she preferred to ignore both of her

argumentative companions.

From time to time Mudge would move up alongside her

to dip his nose to the earth. Sometimes the footprints of

their quarry would disappear under standing water or mix

with the tracks of other creatures. Mudge always regained

the trail.

"Must 'ave took off right after the last o' us fell

asleep," the otter commented that afternoon. "I guess

them to be at least six hours ahead of us, probably more."

"We'll catch them." Jon-Tom was covering the ground

easily with long, practiced strides.

"Maybe that ferret weren't so old as 'e made 'imself out

to be," Mudge suggested.

"We'll still catch them."

But the day went with no sign of girl and ferret. They

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

207

let Roseroar lead them on through the darkness, until

accumulating bumps and bruises forced Jon-Tom to call a

halt for the night. They slept fitfully and were up again

before the dawn.

By afternoon the last trees had surrendered to scrub

brush and bare rock. Ahead of them a broad, hilly plain of

yellow and brown mixed with the pure white of gypsum

stretched from horizon to horizon. It was high desert, and

as such, the heat was not as oppressive as it might have

been. It was merely dauntingly hot. The air was still and

windless, and the shallow sand clearly showed the tracks

of Jalwar and Folly.

It was a good thing, because the sand did not hold their

quarry's spoor as well as damp soil, and Mudge had

increasing difficulty distinguishing it from the tracks of

desert dwellers as they started out across the plain.

"I 'ope you remember that map well, mate."

"This is the Timeful Desert, as I remember it."

Mudge frowned. "I thought deserts were supposed to be

timeless, not timeful."

"Don't look at me. I didn't name it." He pointed

toward a low dune. "The only sure source of water is a

town in the middle of the desert called Redrock. The

desert's not extensive, but it's plenty big enough to kill us

if we lose our way.''

"That's a comfortin' thought to be settin' out with."

The otter looked up at Roseroar. "Any sign o' our friends,

tall tail?"

Roseroar's extraordinary eyesight scanned the horizon.

"Nothing but sand. Nothing moves."

"Can't say as 'ow I blame it." He kicked sand from his

boots.

By the morning of the next day the mountains had

receded far behind them. Jon-Tom busied himself by

searching for a suggestion of green, a hint of moisture. It

seemed impossible that the land could be utterly barren.

208

Alan Dean Foster

Even a stubby, tired cactus would have been a welcome

sight.

They saw nothing, which did not mean nothing existed

in the Timeful Desert. Only that if any life did survive, it

did not make itself known to the trio of travelers.

He felt sure they would overtake Jalwar and Folly, but

they did not. Not all that day nor the next.

It was on that third day that Mudge had them halt while

he knelt in the sand.

" 'Ere now, 'ave either of you two noticed this?"

"Noticed what?" The sweat was pouring down Jon-

Tom's face, as much in frustration at finding no sign of

their quarry as from the heat.

Mudge put a paw fiat on the ground. "This 'ere sand.

'Ave a close look."

Jon-Tom knelt and stared. At first he saw nothing. Then

one grain crept from beneath Mudge's fingers. A second, a

third, moving from west to east. Mudge's paw hadn't

moved them, nor had the wind. There was no wind.

At the same time as loose grains were shifting from

beneath the otter's paw, a small rampart of sand was

building up against the other side of his thumb. The sand

was moving, without aid of wind, from east to west.

Jon-Tom put his own hand against the hot sand, watched

as the phenomenon repeated itself. All around them, the

sand was shifting from east to west. He felt the small hairs

on the back of his neck stiffen.

4' Tis bloody creepy,' * the otter muttered as he rose and

brushed sand from his paws.

"Some underground disturbance," Jon-Tom suggested.

"Or something alive under the surface." That was not a

pleasant thought, and he hastened to discard it. They had

no proof that anything lived in this land, anyway.

"That's not all." Mudge gestured back the way they'd

come. "There's somethin' else mighty funny. See that 'ill

we passed the other day?" Jon-Tom and Mudge strained to

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

2O9

see the distant relative of a Serengeti kopje. " Tis lower

than it were."

"Nothing unnatural about that, Mudge. It's just shrink-

ing into the distance as we walk."

The otter shook his head insistently. " 'Tis shrinkin' too

bloomin' fast, mate." He shouldered his pack and resumed

the march. "One more thing. Don't it seem to either o'

you that we're walkin' downhill?"

Jon-Tom didn't try to hide his confusion. He gestured at

the western horizon. "We're on level ground. What are

you talking about?"

"I dunno." The otter strained to put his feelings into

words. "Tis just that somethin' don't feel right 'ere,

mate. It just don't feel right."

That night the otter's nose proved of more help than his

sense of balance. They dug a hole through a dark stain in

the sand and were rewarded with a trickle of surprisingly

clear water. Patience enabled them to top off their water

skins and relieve their major anxiety. It was decided

unanimously to spend the night by the moisture seep.

Jon-Tom felt someone shaking him awake, peered sleep-

ily into still solid darkness. Mudge stared anxiously down

at him.

"Got somethin' for you to 'ave a looksee at, mate."

"At this hour? Are you nuts?"

"I 'ope so, mate," the otter whispered. "I sincerely

'ope so."

Jon-Tom sighed and unrolled himself. As he did so he

found himself spitting out sand. The full moon gleamed

brightly on their campsite, to reveal packs, weapons, and

Roseroar's feet partially buried in sand.

"The wind came up during the night, that's all." He

found he was whispering, too, though there seemed no

reason for it.

"Feel any wind now, mate?"

Jon-Tom wet a finger, stuck it into the air. "No. Not a

breeze."

"Then 'ave a look at your own feet, mate."

210

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSOJVAJVCE

211

Jon-Tom did so. As he stared he saw sand flowing over

his toes. There was no wind at all, and now the sand was

moving much faster. He drew his feet up as if the pulver-

ized silica might bite him.

"Look all around, lad."

The sand was crawling westward at an ever more rapid

pace. It seemed to accelerate even as he watched. In

addition to the steady movement there came the first

murmurs of a dry, slithery, rasping sound as grains tumbled

over one another.

The discussion finally woke Roseroar. "What's goin' on

heah?"

"I don't know," Jon-Tom muttered, eyeing the crawling

ground. "The sand is moving, and much faster now than it

was yesterday. I'm not sure I want to know what's making

it move."

"Should we go back?" The tigress was slipping on her

sandals, shaking the grains from the leather.

"We can't go back." He pulled on his boots. "If we go

back now, we lose Jalwar, Folly, and likely as not,

Clothahump's medicine. But I won't force either of you to

stay with me. Roseroar, are you listening to me?"

She wasn't. Instead, she was pointing southward. "Ah

think we might get ourselves a second opinion. We have

company, y'all."

The line of camels the tigress had spotted was slightly

behind them but moving in the same direction. Hastily

gathering their equipment, the trio hurried to intercept the

column of dromedaries. As they ran the sun began to rise,

bringing with it welcome light and unwelcome heat. And

all around them, the sand continued to crawl inexorably

westward.

Mounted on the backs of the camels was an irregular

assortment of robed rodents—pack rats, kangaroo rats,

field mice, and other desert dwellers of related species.

They looked to Jon-Tom like a bunch of midget bewhis-

kered bedouins. He loped alongside the lead camel, tried

to bow slightly, and nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Where are you headed in such a hurry?" The pack rat

did not reply. The camel did.

"We go to Redrock, Everyone goes now to Redrock,

man. Everyone who lives in the desert." The camel's

manner was imperious and wholly typical of his kind. He

spat a glob of foul-smelling sputum to his left, making

Jon-Tom dodge.

"Who are you people?" inquired the pack rat in the

front. There was room on the camel's back for several.

"Strangers in this land."

"That is obvious enough," commented the camel.

"Why is everyone going to Redrock?" Jon-Tom asked.

The camel glanced back up at its lead rider and shook its

head sadly. The rat spoke. "You really don't know?"

"If we did, would we be askin' you, mate?" said

Mudge.

The rat gestured with both paws, spreading his arms

wide. "It is the Conjunction. The time when the threads of

magic that bind together this land reach their apogee. The

time of the time inversion."

"What does that mean?"

The rat shrugged. "Do not ask me to explain it. I am no

magician. This I do know. If you do not reach the safety of

Redrock by the time the next moon begins to rise, you

never will." He slapped the camel on the side of its neck.

The animal turned to gaze back up at him.

"Let's have none of that, Bartim, or you will find

yourself walking. 1 am measuring my pace, as are the rest

of the brethren."

"The time is upon us!"

"No less so upon me than thee," said the camel with a

pained expression. He turned to glance back to where

Jon-Tom was beginning to fall behind. "We will see you

in Redrock, strangers, or we will drink the long drink to

your memory."

212

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

213

Panting hard in the rising light, Jon-Tom slowed to a

walk, unable to maintain the pace. On firm ground he

might have kept up, but not in the soft sand. Roseroar and

Mudge were equally winded.

"What was that all about, Jon-Tom?" asked Roseroar.

"I'm not sure. It didn't make much sense."

"Ah you not a spellsingah?"

"I know my songs, but not other magic. If Clothahump

were here ..."

"If 'is wizardship were 'ere we wouldn't be, mate."

"What do you think of their warning?"

Sand was building up around the otter's feet, and he

kicked angrily at it. "They were both scared. Wot of I

couldn't say, but scared they were. I think we'd better

listen to 'em and get a move on. Make Redrock by

nightfall, they said. If they can do it, so can we. Let's get

to it."

They began to jog, keeping up a steady pace and taking

turns in the lead. They barely paused to eat and made

lavish use of their water. The more they drank, the less

there was to carry, and if the warning was as significant as

it had seemed, they would have to drink in Redrock that

night or not drink at all.

As for the nature of the menace, that began to manifest

itself as they ran.

It was evening, and still no sign of the city, nor of the

caravan, which had far outdistanced them. The sand was

moving rapidly now, threatening to engulf their feet every

time they paused to catch their breath.

At first he thought he was sinking. A quick glance

revealed the truth. The ground behind them was rising. It

was as. if they were running inland from a beach and the

beach was pursuing, a steadily mounting tidal wave of

sand. He thought about turning and trying to scramble to

the crest of the granular wave. What stopped him was the

possibility that on the other side they might find only

another, even higher surge.

So they ran on, their lungs heaving, legs aching. Once

Mudge stumbled and they had to pull him to his feet while

the sand clutched eagerly at his legs.

When he fell a second time, he tried to wave them off. It

was as if his seemingly inexhaustible energy had finally

given out.

" 'Tis no use, lad. I can't go on anymore. Save your-

selves." He fluttered weakly with a paw.

Jon-Tom used the pause to catch his wind. "You're

right, Mudge," he finally declared. "That's the practical

thing to do. I'll always remember how nobly you died."

He turned to go on. Roseroar gave him a questioning look

but decided not to comment.

A handful of sand struck Jon-Tom on the back of the

neck. "Noble, me arse! You would've left me 'ere, wouldn't

you? Left poor old Mudge to die in the sand!"

Jon-Tom grinned, took care to conceal it from the

apoplectic otter. "Look, mate. I'm tired, too, and I'm

damned if I'm going to carry you."

The otter staggered after his companions. "I suppose you

think it's funny, don't you, you 'ypocritical, angular bastard?"

Jon-Tom fought not to laugh. For one thing, he couldn't

spare the wind. "Come off it, Mudge. You know we

wouldn't have left you."

"Oh, wouldn't you, now? Suppose I 'adn't gotten up to

follow you, eh? Wot then? 'Ow do I knows you would've

come back for me?"

"It's a moot point, Mudge. You were just trying to hitch

a ride."

"I admit nothin'." The otter pushed past him, taking the

lead, his short, stubby legs moving like pistons.

"A strange one, yoah fuzzy little friend," Roseroar

whispered to Jon-Tom. She matched her pace to his.

"Oh, Mudge is okay. He's a lazy, lying little cheat, but

other than that he's a prince."

Roseroar considered this. "Ah believes the standards o'

yoah world must be somewhat different from mine."

214

Alan Dean Foster

"Depends on what part of my culture you come from.

Mudge, for example, would be right at home in a place

called Hollywood. Or Washington, D.C. His talents would

be much in demand."

Roseroar shook her head. "Those names have no meanuT

fo me."

"That's okay. They don't for a lot of my contemporaries,

either."

The sand continued to rise behind them, mounting

toward the darkening sky. At any moment the wave might

crest, to send tons of sand tumbling over them, swallowing

them up. He tried not to think of that, tried to think of

anything except lifting his legs and setting one foot down

ahead of the other. When the angle of the dune rising in

their wake became sharper than forty-five degrees the sand

would be rushing at them so rapidly they would be hard

put to keep free of its grasp.

All around them, in both directions as far as they could

see, the desert was climbing for the stars. He could only

wonder at the cause. The Conjunction, the pack rat had

said. The moon was up now, reaching silvery tendrils

toward the panting, desperate refugees. At moonrise, the

rat told him. But when would the critical moment come?

Now, in minutes, or at midnight? How much time did they

have left?

Then Roseroar was shouting, and a cluster of hills

became visible ahead of them. As they ran on, the outlines

of the hills sharpened, grew regular and familiar: Redrock,

so named for the red sandstone of which its multistoried

towers and buildings had been constructed. In the first

moonlight and the last rays of the sun the city looked as if

it were on fire.

Now they found themselves among other stragglers—

some on foot, others living in free association with camels

and burros. Some snapped frantic whips over the heads of

dray lizards.

Several ostrich families raced past, heavy backpacks

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

215

strapped to their useless wings. They carried no passen-

gers. Nor did the family of cougars that came loping in

from the north, running on hind legs like Roseroar. Bleating

and barking, honking and complaining, these streams of

divergent life came together in pushing, shoving lines that

struggled to enter the city.

"We're going to make it!" he shouted to his compan-

ions as they merged with the rear of the mob. He was

afraid to look back lest an avalanche of brown-and-yellow

particles prove him a fatal liar. His throat felt like the

underside of the hood of a new Corvette after a day of

drag-racing, but he didn't dare stop for a drink until they

were safely inside the city walls.

Then the ground fell away beneath him.

They were on a bridge, and looking down he could see

through the cracks in the wood. The lumber to build it

must have come from distant mountains. There was no

bottom to the moat, a black ring encircling the city.

His first thought was that Redrock had been built on a

hill in the center of some ancient volcanic crater. A glance

at the walls of the moat proved otherwise. They were too

regular, too smooth, and too vertical to have been fashioned

by hand. Something had dug the awesome ring. Who or

what, he could not imagine.

Thick smells and heavy musk filled the air around him.

The bridge seemed endless, the gaps between the heavy

timbers dangerously wide. If he missed a step and put a

leg through, he wouldn't fall, but he would be trampled by

the anxious mass of life crowding about him.

Once within the safety of the city walls, the panic

dissipated. Lines of tall guards clad in yellow shepherded

the exhausted flow of refugees into the vast courtyard

beyond the gate. There were no buildings within several

hundred yards of the wall and the moat just beyond. A

great open space had been provided for all who sought

shelter from the rising sands. How often did this phenom-

216

Alan Dean Foster

enon take place? The camel and the pack rat hadn't said,

but it was obviously a regular and predictable occurrence.

"I have to see what's going on outside," he told

Roseroar. She nodded, towering above most of the crowd.

Tents had been set up in expectation of the flood of

refugees. Jon-Tom and his companions were among the

last to enter, but they had interests other than shelter.

"This way," the tigress told him. She took his hand and

pulled him bodily through the milling, swarming crowd, a

striped iceberg breasting a sea of fur. Somehow Mudge

managed to keep up.

Then they found themselves by the city wall, followed

it until they came to stone stairs leading upward. Jon-Tom

let loose of Roseroar's paw and led the way.

Would the sand wave fill the moat? If so, what would

happen afterward?

A few others already stood watching atop the wall. They

were calm and relaxed, so Jon-Tom assumed there was no

danger. Everyone in the city was handling the situation too

well for there to be any danger.

One blase guard, a tall serval wearing a high turban to

protect his delicate ears, stood aside to let them pass.

"Mind the vibration, visitors," he warned them

They reached the top and stared out over the desert.

Beyond the moat, the world was turning upside down.

There was no sign of the far mountains they had left

many days ago. No sign of any landmark. Not a rock

protruded from the ground. There was only the sand sea

rising and rushing toward the city in a single wave two

hundred feet high, roaring like a billion pans of frying

bacon. Jon-Tom wanted to reach back and put his hand on

the guard, to ask what was going to happen next. Since

none of the other onlookers did so, he held his peace and

like them, simply stood and gaped.

The massive wave did not fall forward to smash against

the puny city walls. It began to slide into the dark moat,

pouring in a seemingly endless waterfall into the unbelievable

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

217

excavation. The wave was endless, too. As they watched

it seemed to grow even higher, climbing toward the clouds

as its base disappeared into the moat.

The thunder was all around him, and he could feel the

sandstone blocks quivering underfoot. Jon-Tom turned.

Across the roofs of the city, in all directions, he could see

the wave. The city was surrounded by rushing sand hun-

dreds of feet high and inestimable in volume, all of it

cascading down into the depths which surrounded Redrock.

Thirty minutes passed. The wave began to shrink. Un-

countable tons of sand continued to pour into the moat,

which still showed no sign of filling up. Another thirty

minutes and the torrent had slowed to a trickle. A few

minutes more and the last grains tumbled into the abyss.

Beyond, the moon illuminated the skeleton of the de-

sert. Bare rock stood revealed, as naked as the surface of

the moon. Between the city and the mountains, nothing

lived, nothing moved. A few hollows showed darkly

in the rock, ancient depressions now emptied of sand and

gravel.

A soft murmur rose from the onlookers as they turned

away from the moat and the naked desert to face the center

of the city. Jon-Tom and his companions turned with them.

In the exact center of Redrock a peculiar glassy tower

stood apart from the sandstone buildings. All eyes focused

on the slim spire. There was a feeling of expectation.

He was about to give in to curiosity and ask the guard

what was going to happen when he heard something

nimble. The stone under his feet commenced quivering. It

was a different tremor this time, as though the planet itself

were in motion. The rumbling deepened, became a roar-

ing, then a constant thunder. Something was happening

deep inside the earth.

"What is it, what's going on?" Roseroar yelled at him.

He did not reply and could not have made himself heard

had he tried.

218

Alan Dean Foster

Sudden, violent wind blew hats from heads and veils

from faces. Jon-Tom's cape stretched out straight behind

him like an iridescent flag. He staggered, leaned into the

unexpected hurricane as he tried to see the tower.

The sands of the Timeful Desert erupted skyward from

the open mouth of the glass pillar, climbing thousands of

feet toward the moon. Reaching some predetermined height,

the silica geyser started to spread out beneath the clouds.

Jon-Tom instinctively turned to seek shelter, but stopped

when he saw that none of the other pilgrims had moved.

As though sliding down an invisible roof, the sand did

not fall anywhere within the city walls. Instead, it spread

out like a cloud, to fall as yellow rain across the desert. It

continued to fall for hours as the tower blasted it into the

sky. Only when the moon was well past its zenith and had

begun to set again did the volume decrease and finally

peter out.

Then the geyser fell silent. The chatter of the refugees

and the cityfolk filled the air, replacing the roar of the

tower. A glance revealed that the bottomless moat was

empty once again.

Beyond the wall, beyond the moat, the Timeful Desert

once more was as it had been. All was still. The absence

of life there despite the presence of water was now explained.

"Great magic," said Roseroar solemnly.

"Lethal magic." Mudge twitched his nose. "If we'd

been a few minutes longer we'd be out there somewhere

with our 'earts stopped and our guts full o' sand."

Jon-Tom stopped a passing fox. "Is it over? What

happens now?"

"What happens now, man," said the fox, "is that we

sleep, and we celebrate the end of another Conjunction.

Tomorrow we return to our homes." She pushed past him

and started down the stairs.

Jon-Tom resorted to questioning one of the guards. The

muskrat was barely four feet tall and wore his fur cut

fashionably short.

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

219

"Please, we're strangers here." He nodded toward the

desert. "Does this happen every year?"

"Twice a year," the guard informed him, bored. "A

grand sight the first time, I suppose."

"What's it for? Why does it happen?"

The muskrat scratched under his chin. "It is said that

these are the sands of time. All time. When they have run

their course, they must be turned to run again. Who turns

them, or why, no one knows. Gods, spirits, some great

being somewhere else who is bored with the task, who

knows? I am no sorcerer or scholar, visitor." He turned to

leave.

"Let 'im go, mate/' said Mudge. "I don't care wot it's

about. Runnin' for me life always tires me out. Me for a

spot o' sleep and somethin' to drink." He started down the

stairs. Jon-Tom and Roseroar followed.

"What do yo think happens heah?" the tigress asked

him.

"I imagine it's as the guard told us. The desert is some

kind of hourglass, holding all time within it." He gazed

thoughtfully at the sky. "I wonder: if you could stop the

mechanism somehow, could you stop time?" He turned

toward the glassy tower. "I'd sure like to have a look

inside that."

"Best not to," she told him. "Yo might find something.

Yo might find your own time."

He nodded. "Anyway, we have other fish to fry."

"Ah beg yo pahdon?"

"Jalwar and Folly. If everyone else is forced to seek

sanctuary here from the Conjunction, they would also. If

they weren't caught by the sand, they should be some-

where here in the city."

"Ah declah, Jon-Tom, ah hadn't thought o' that!" She

scanned the courtyard below.

"Unless," he went on, "they were far enough ahead of

us to have already crossed the desert."

"Oh," She looked downcast, then straightened. "No

220

Alan Dean Foster

mattah. We'll find them." She began looking for an empty

place among the crowds. Probably the few city inns were

already full to overflowing with the wealthy among the

refugees. The city gates were open and some were already

filing back out into the desert.

"Yo know, somethin' just occurred to me, Jon-Tom.

This old Jalwah, ah'm thinkin' we've been underestimatin'

him all along. Do yo suppose he deliberately led us out

heah into this desert knowin' we didn't know about this

comin' Conjunction thing, and hopin' we might get oah-

selves killed?"

Jon-Tom considered only a moment. "Roseroar, I think

that's a very good possibility, just as I think that the next

time we meet up with our ferret friend, we'd better watch

our step very carefully indeed."

XIII

Inquiries in the marketplace finally unearthed mention of

Folly and Jalwar's passing. They were indeed several days

ahead of their pursuers, and yet they had rented no riding

animals. Apparently Jalwar was not only smarter than

they'd given him credit for, he was also considerably

stronger. The merchant who provided the information did

not know which way the ferret and the girl had gone, but

Jon-Tom remembered enough of the map to guess.

The desert reaches were much more extensive to north

and south. There was no way back to Snarken except via

Redrock. Therefore their earlier suppositions still held

true. Jalwar was making for Crancularn as fast as possible.

Roseroar's search for nighttime lodging was terminated.

There was no time to waste. Jon-Tom reluctantly allowed

Mudge to scavenge for supplies, and the travelers then beat

a hasty retreat from Redrock before their unwilling vict-

ualers could awaken to the discovery of their absent

inventory.

"Of course, we'll pay for these supplies on our way

back," Jon-Tom said.

"And 'ow do you propose we do that?" Mudge labored

221

222

Alan Dean Poster

under his restocked pack. The desert was oddly cool

underfoot, the sand stable and motionless once again. It

was as though the grains had never been displaced, had

never moved.

"I don't know, but we have to do something about this

repeated steali—"

"Watch it, mate."

"About this repeated foraging of yours. Why do you

insist on maintaining the euphemisms, Mudge?"

The otter grinned at him. "For appearances' sakes,

mate."

"It troubles me as well," Roseroar murmured, "but we

must make use of any means that we can to see this thing

through."

"I know, but I'll feel better about it if we can pay for

what we've 'borrowed' on our way back."

Mudge sighed, shook his head resignedly. " 'Umans,"

he muttered.

Despite Jon-Tom's expectations, they did not catch up

to their quarry. They did encounter occasional groups of

nomads returning to their campsites, sometimes sharing

their camps for the night. All expressed ignorance when

asked if they had seen any travelers fitting Jalwar's or

Folly's description.

On the third day they had their first glimpse of the

foothills which lay beyond the western edge of the Timeful

Desert. On the fourth they found themselves hiking among

green grass, cool woodlands, and thick scrub. Mudge

luxuriated in the aroma and presence of running water,

while Roseroar was able to enjoy fresh meat once more.

On their first day in the forest she brought down a

monitor lizard the size of a cow with one swordthrust.

Mudge joined her in butchering the carcass and setting the

steaks to cook over a blaze of thin, white-barked logs.

"Smells mighty good," commented a strange voice.

Roseroar rose to a sitting position. Mudge peered around

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

223

the cookfire while Jon-Tom put aside the duar he'd been

strumming.

Standing at the edge of their little clearing in the trees

was a five-foot-tall cuscus, a bland expression on his pale

face. He was dressed in overlapping leather strips and

braids, snakeskin boots of azure hue, and short brown

pants. A single throwing knife was slung on each hip, and

he was scratching himself under the chin with his furless,

prehensile tail. As he scratched he leaned on the short staff

he carried. Jon-Tom wondered if, like his own, the visi-

tor's also concealed a short, deadly length of steel in the

unknobbed end. The visitor's fur was pale beige mottled

with brown.

He was also extraordinarily ugly, a characteristic of the

species, though perhaps a female cuscus might have thought

otherwise of the newcomer. He made no threatening ges-

tures and waited patiently.

"Come on in and have a seat." Jon-Tom extended the

invitation only after Roseroar had climbed to her feet and

Mudge had moved close to his bow.

"That is right kind of you, sir. I am Hathcar." Jon-Tom

performed introductions all around.

Roseroar was sniffing the air, glanced accusingly down

at the visitor. "You are not alone."

"No, large she, I am not. Did I forget to mention it? I

am sorry and will now remedy my absentmindedness." He

put his lips together and emitted a sharp, high-pitched

whistle.

With much rustling of bushes a substantial number of

creatures stepped out into clear view, forming a line behind

the cuscus. They were an odd assortment, from the more

familiar rats and mice to bandicoots and phalangers. There

was even a nocturnal aye-aye, who wore large, dark

sunglasses and carried a short, sickle-shaped weapon.

Their clothes were on the ragged side, and their boots

and sandals showed signs of much usage. Altogether not a

prosperous-looking bunch, Jon-Tom decided. The presence

224

Alan Dean Foster

of so many weapons was not reassuring. These were not

kindly villagers out for a daily stroll.

Still, if all they wanted was something to eat....

"You're welcome to join us," he told Hathcar. "There's

plenty for all."

Hathcar looked past him, to where Mudge was laboring

with the cooking. His tongue licked black lips.

"You are kind. Those of us who prefer meat haven't

made such a grand catch in many a day." He smiled as

best he could.

Jon-Tom gestured toward Roseroar. "Yes, she's quite

the huntress."

"She sizes the part. Still, there is but one of her and

many of us. How is it that she has been so successful and

we have not?"

"Skill is more important than numbers." One huge paw

caressed the hilt of a long sword.

Hathcar did not seem impressed. "Sometimes that can

be so, unless you are a hundred against one lizard."

"Sometimes," she agreed coolly, "but not always."

The cuscus changed the subject. ' 'What seek you strang-

ers in this remote land?"

"We're on a mission of importance for a great and

powerful wizard," Jon-Tom told him, "We go to the

village of Crancularn."

"Crancularn." Hathcar looked back at his colleagues,

who were hard-pressed to restrain their amusement. "That's

a fool's errand."

Jon-Tom casually let his fingers stray to his staff. He'd

had just about enough of this questioning, enigmatic visi-

tor. Either they wanted something to eat or they didn't,

and double-talk wasn't on the menu.

"Maybe you think we look like fools," Hathcar said.

All hints of laughter fled from the gang standing behind

him. Jon-Tom didn't reply, waited for what might come.

The cuscus's smile returned, and he moved toward the

fire. "Well, you have offered us a meal. That's a wise

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

225

decision. Certainly not one to be made by fools." He

pulled a throwing knife. "If I might try a bite? It looks

well done. My compliments to the cook." Mudge said

nothing.

Jon-Tom watched the visitor closely. Was he going to

cut meat with it... or throw it? He couldn't decide.

Something came flying through the air toward him. He

ducked and rolled, ending up on his feet holding the

ramwood staff protectively in front of him. Mudge picked

up his bow and notched an arrow into the string. Roseroar's

longswords flashed as they were drawn. All within a

couple of seconds.

Hathcar was careful not to raise the knife he now held.

Behind him, his colleagues gripped their own weapons

threateningly. But the cuscus was not glaring at Jon-Tom.

His gaze was on the creature who had come flying through

the air to land heavily next to the tall human.

The mongoose was clad entirely in black. It lay on its

belly, moaning. Strange marks showed on its narrow backside.

"Faset," Hathcar hissed, "what happened?" The mon-

goose rolled to look at him, yelped when its bruised pelvis

made contact with the ground.

"I happened." Everyone turned toward the voice.

The unicorn strolled casually into the clearing. It was

gold. Not the light gold of a palomino but a pure metallic

gold like the color of a coin or ring, except for white

patches on its forehead and haunches. It might have risen

from a vat of liquid gold except that Jon-Tom could clearly

see that the color was true, down to the shortest hair.

In its mouth it carried a small crossbow. This it dropped

at Jon-Tom's feet. Then it nodded meaningfully toward the

still groaning mongoose. Jon-Tom now recognized the

marks on the mongoose's pants. They were hoofprints.

Hathcar was beside himself as he glared furiously at the

unicorn. "Who the hell are you, four-foot? And who

asked you to interfere? This is none of your business."

The unicorn gazed at him out of lapis eyes, said coolly,

226

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

227

"1 am making it my business." He smiled at Jon-Tom.

"My name's Drom. I was grazing back in the woods when

I heard the talk. Ordinarily I would have ignored it, as I

ignored your presence." He nodded toward the mongoose,

who was trying to crawl back to its comrades while

avoiding Hathcar.

"However, I happened to chance upon this ebon worm

as he was aiming his little toy at your back." Drom raised

a hoof, brought it down on the crossbow. There was a

splintering sound. "The unpleasant one there," and he

nodded toward Hathcar, "was right. This was none

of my business. I don't trouble to involve myself in

the affairs of you social types. But I can't stand to

see anyone backshot." He turned his magnificent head,

the thin golden goatee fluttering, and glared back at

Hathcar.

"Yo ah a true gentlemale, suh," said Roseroar approvingly.

"You should have stayed out of this, fool." Hathcar

moved quickly to join his gang. "Anyway, he lies. No

doubt this insect," and he kicked at the miserable Faset,

"was trying to put a bolt through you. But that has nothing

to do with me."

"You called him by name," Jon-Tom said accusingly.

"A casual acquaintance." Hathcar continued to retreat.

His backers muttered uneasily.

"Glad you don't know 'im, friend." Mudge's arrow

followed the cuscus's backpedaling. "I'd 'ate to think you

'ad anything to do with 'is little ambushcade."

"What about your invitation?" Hathcar wanted to know.

"I think we'd rather dine alone," Jon-Tom smiled

thinly. "At least until we can sort things out."

"That's not very friendly of you. It's not polite to

withdraw an invitation once extended."

"My back," the mongoose blubbered. "I think my

back is broken."

"Shut up, asshole." Hathcar kicked him in the mouth

and blood squirted. The cuscus tried to grin at the tall

man. "Really, this thing has nothing to do with me." His

band was beginning to melt into the forest. "Always

hanging around, looking for sympathy. Sorry our visit

upset you. I understand." Then he too was gone, swallowed

by the vegetation.

Roseroar's ears were cocked forward. "They're still

movin' about," she murmured warily.

"Where?" Jon-Tom asked her.

"Back among the trees."

"They are spreading out in an attempt to encircle you,"

said the one-horned stallion.

"Permit me to congratulate you on your timely arrival,

mate." Mudge's eyes searched the woods as he spoke. "I

never sensed 'im."

"Nor did I," said Roseroar, sparing a glance for the

remains of the crossbow.

"I don't understand," Jon-Tom murmured. "We offered

them all the food they could eat."

"It wasn't just your food they were after." Drom kicked

the crossbow fragments aside. "I know that bunch by

reputation. They were after your weapons and armor, your

Fine clothes and your money."

Mudge let out a barking laugh. "Our money! Now

mat's amusin'. We haven't a copper to our names," he

lied.

"Ah, but they thought you did." The unicorn nodded

toward the forest. "Small comfort that would have been to

you if they had learned that afterwards."

"You're right there."

Roseroar was turning a slow circle, keeping the roasting

carcass at her back as much as possible. "They're still out

theah. Probably they think we can't heah them, but ah

can." She growled deep in her throat, a blood chilling

sound. "Our friend here is right. They're trying to get

behind us."

"And to surprise you. Hathcar did not show his full

228

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

229

strength. Many more of his band remained concealed while

he spoke to you."

Jon-Tom eyed the silent trees in alarm. "How many

more?' *

"A large number, though, of course, I am only guessing

based on what I could observe during my approach."

"We appreciate your help. You might as well take off

now. Our problems aren't yours."

"They are now," the unicorn to!d him. "These are

indifferent murderers, full of false pride. I have embarrassed

their leader in front of his band. Now he must kill me or

lose face and possibly his status as leader."

Roseroar strode toward the back of the clearing. "Move

in heah, where theah's some covah."

The unicorn shook his head, the mane of gold rippling

in the filtered tight. "It will not be good enough, tigress. I

can see that you are powerful as well as well-versed in

war, but there are too many of them, and you will be

fighting in very close quarters. If they come at you from

all directions simultaneously you won't have a chance.

You require a more defensible position."

"You know of one?" Jon-Tom asked him.

"It is not far from here. I think if we can get there we

will be able to stand them off."

"Then let's get the hell out of here," he muttered as he

shouldered his pack.

Mudge held back, torn between common sense and the

effort he'd put into their supper. Roseroar saw his hesitation.

"A full belly's small consolation to someone with his

guts hangin' out. Ah declah, short-whiskahs, sometimes

ah wondah about yo priorities."

"Sometimes I wonder meself, lass." He looked longingly

back at the lost roast as they hurried through the woods,

following the stallion's lead.

Drom maintained a steady but slow pace to enable his

newfound friends to keep up with him. Everyone watched

the surrounding woods. But it was Roseroar's ears they

relied on most.

"Stayin' carefully upwind of us, but I can heah them

movin' faster. They're still behind us, though. Must think

we're still in the camp."

"Wait a minute!" Jon-Tom called a halt. "Where's

Mudge?"

Roseroar cursed under her breath. "Damn that ottah! Ah

knew ah should've kept a closer watch on him. He's gone

back fo some of that meat. Yoah friend is a creature of base

instincts."

"Yes, but he's not stupid. Here he comes."

Mudge appeared, laboring beneath a section of roast

nearly as big as himself. "Sorry, mates. I worked all day

on this bloody banquet, and I'm damned if I was goin' to

leave it all for those bastards."

"You're damned anyway," snapped Jon-Tom. "How

are you going to keep up, hauling that on your back?"

The otter swung the heavy, pungent load off his shoulders.

"Roseroar?"

"Not me, ottah. Yo stew in yoah own stew."

"We're wasting time," said Drom. "Here." He dipped

his head forward. "Hold it still."

A quick jab and the roast was impaled on the spiral

horn. "Now let's be away from here before they discover

ourflight." He turned and resumed his walk. "Disgusting."

"What is?" Jon-Tom asked as he jogged alongside.

"The smell of cooked flesh, the odiferous thought of

consuming the body of another living creature, the miasma

of carbonized protein, what else?"

Suddenly Jon-Tom wasn't so hungry anymore.

Creepers and vines strangled the entrance to the ancient

structure. Roseroar was reluctant to enter. The strangely

slitted windows and triangular doorways bespoke a time

and people who had ruled the world long before the

warmblooded.

230

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

231

"Sulolk used this place," murmured Drom as he trotted

inside.

Distant shouts of outrage came from behind them,

deciding the tigress. She bent beneath the low portal and

squeezed in.

The single chamber beyond had a vaulted ceiling that

enabled her to stand easily. There was more than enough

room for all of them. Mudge was admiring the narrow

windows, fashioned by a forgotten people for reasons of

unknown aesthetics but admirably suited to the refugees'

present needs. He notched an arrow into his bow and

settled himself behind one thin gap.

Jon-Tom took up a stance to the left of the opening,

ready to use his steel-tipped staff on anyone who tried to

enter. A moment later he was able to move to a second

window as Roseroar jammed a massive stone weighing at

least three hundred pounds into the doorway, blocking it

completely.

"This is a good place to fight from." Drom used a hoof

to shove the cooling roast from his horn onto clean rock.

"A small spring flows from the floor of a back room.

Cracks in the ceiling allow fresh air to circulate. I have

often slept here in safety." He indicated the damp grass

growing from the floor. "There is food as well."

"For you," admitted Jon-Tom, watching the woods for

signs of their pursuers. "Well, we have what's in our

packs and the roast we saved." He glanced to his right,

toward the other guarded window. "You shouldn't have

done that, Mudge."

"Cor, it ain't no fun fightin' on an empty stomach,

mate." He leaned forward; his black nose twitched as he

sampled the air. "If they try chargin' us, I can pick 'em off

easy. Our 'omy friend's right. This is a damn good place."

Rosewar was eyeing the wall carvings uneasily. "This is

a very old place. I smell ancient feahs." She had drawn

bom longs words.

There was a thump as Drom settled down to wait. "I

smell only clean grass and water."

Threatening shouts began to emanate from the trees.

Mudge responded with some choice comments about

Hathcar's mother, whom he had never met but whom

thousands of others undoubtedly had. This inspired a rain

of arrows which splintered harmlessly against the thick

stone walls. One flew through Jon-Tom's window to stick

in the earth behind him.

"Here they come!" he warned his companions.

There was nothing subtle about the bandits' strategy.

While archers tried to pin down the defenders, an assort-

ment of raccoons, foxes, and cats rushed at the entrance,

carrying a big log between them. But Roseroar braced her

massive shoulders against the boulder from behind and

kept it from being pushed inward, while Mudge put arrows

in the log wielders as fast as they could be replaced.

"Another bugger down!" the otter would yell each time

an arrow struck home.

This continued for several minutes while Mudge re-

duced the number of Hathcar's band and Roseroar kept the

boulder from moving so much as an inch inward. No

martyrs to futility, those hefting the battering ram finally

gave up and fled for the safety of the woods with the

otter's deadly shafts urging them on.

No one had approached Jon-Tom's window during the

fight. Mudge and Roseroar had done all the work and he

felt pretty useless.

"What now? I don't think they'll try that again."

"No, but they'll bloody well try somethin' else,"

murmured the otter. "Say, mate, why don't you 'ave a go

at 'em with your duar?"

Jon-Tom blinked. "I hadn't thought of that. Well, I had,

but it's hard to think and sing when you're running."

"Why make music? To aggravate them?" asked Drom

interestedly.

"Nope. 'E's a spellsinger, 'e is," said Mudge, "and a

232

Alan Dean Poster

right good one, too. When 'e can control it," he added by

way of afterthought.

"A spellsinger. I am impressed," said the unicorn.

Jon-Tom felt a little better, though he wished the golden

stallion would quit staring at him so intensely.

"What do you think they'll try next?" Jon-Tom asked

the otter.

Mudge eyed the trees. "This bunch bein' about as

imaginative as a pile o' cow flop, I'd expect them to try

smokin' us out. If four legs there is right about the cracks

in the roof lettin' air in, they'll be wastin' their time."

"Are yo certain theah's no back way in?"

"None that I was ever able to discover," Drom told the

tigress.

"Not that you'd fit places where some o1 the rest of us

might," observed Mudge thoughtfully. He handed his bow

and quiver to Jon-Tom. "I'd better check out the nooks

and crannies, mate. We don't want some nasty surprises to

show up and stick us in the behind when we ain't lookin'."

He headed for the crumbling back wall.

Jon-Tom eyed the bow uncertainly. "Mudge, I'm not

good at this."

"Just give a shout if they come at us again. It ain't 'ard,

mate. Just shove an arrow through the window there. They

don't know you can't shoot." He bent, crawled under a

lopsided stone and disappeared.

Jon-Tom awkwardly notched an arrow, rested it on the

window sill as Roseroar took up a position behind the one

the otter had vacated.

"Ah don't understand," she murmured, squinting at the

forest. "We all ain't worth the trouble we're causin' this

Hathcar. That ottah brought down five or six o' them. If ah

was this fella ah'd give up and go in search of less deadly

prey."

"That would be the reasonable thing to do," said

Drom, nodding, "except that as chief he has lost face

already before his band. He will not give up, though if he

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

233

suffers many more losses his own fighters may force him

to quit." The unicorn climbed to his feet and strolled over

to Roseroar's window. She made room for him.

"Hathcar!" he shouted.

A reluctant voice finally replied. "Who calls? Is that

you, meddler with a spike in his brain?"

"It is I." Drom was unperturbed by the bandit leader's

tone. "Listen to me! These travelers are poor. They have

no money."

Cuscus laughter rang through the trees. "You expect me

to believe that?"

"It's true. In any case, you cannot defeat them."

"Don't bet on that."

"You cannot break in here."

"Maybe not, but we'll force you out. It may take time,

but we'll do it."

"If you do, then I will only lead them to another place

of safety, one even harder to assault than this one. I know

these woods, and you know I speak the truth. So why not

depart now before suffering any more senseless losses? It's

a stupid leader who sacrifices his people for no gain."

Muttering came from different places in the trees, proof

that Drom's last words had hit home. Hathcar hastened to

respond.

"No matter if you lead them elsewhere. We'll track you

down no matter where you go."

"Perhaps you will. Or perhaps you'll find yourselves

led into a trap. We of the forest have ways of defending

ourselves against you lovers of civilization. There are

hidden pits and tree-mounted weapons scattered through-

out my territory. Follow me and find them at your peril."

This time the woods were silent. Drom nodded to

himself. "Good. They're thinking it over, probably argu-

ing about it. If they come to their senses, we may be able

to get out of here without any more violence."

Jon-Tom peered through the narrow slit in the stone.

"You think they'll really react that sensibly?"

234

Alan Dean Foster

"I don't know, but he knows I'm talking truth," said the

unicorn softly. "I know this section of forest better than he

does, and he knows that I know that."

"But how could we slip out of here and get past them?"

Drom chuckled. "1 did fudge on that one a bit. Yet for

all he knows there are a dozen secret passages out of

here."

"If there are, they're bloody well still secret." Mudge

emerged from the crawlspace he'd entered and wiped

limestone dust from his shirt and whiskers. "Tight as a

teenage whore. Nothin' bigger than a snake could get out

the back way. We're safe enough here, all right." Jon-Tom

gladly handed back the otter's bow and found himself a

soft place on the floor.

' Then I guess we wait until they attack again or give up

and leave us alone. I suppose we ought to stand watch

tonight."

"Allow me, suh," said Roseroar. "Ah'm as comfortable

with the night as ah am with the day."

"While we wait to see what they'll do," said Drom,

"perhaps now you'll tell me what you people are doing in

this country, so far from civilization."

Jon-Tom sighed. "It's a long story," he told the uni-

corn, and proceeded to relate it yet again. As he spoke, the

sun set and the trees blended into a shadowy curtain

outside. An occasional arrow plunked against the stone,

more for nuisance value than out of any hope of hitting

any of the defenders inside.

Hathcar had indeed lost too many in the futile attack to

try it again. He knew that if he continued to fling his

followers uselessly against an impregnable position they

would melt quietly away into the woods. That night he

moved away from the main campfire and sought counsel

from an elderly rat and wolf, the two wisest of his band.

"So how do we pry those stinking bastards out of

there?"

The rat's hair was tinged with white and his face and

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

235

arms were scarred. He picked at the dirt with one hand.

"Why bother? Why not let them rot in there if they so

desire? There are easier pickin's elsewhere."

Hathcar leaned toward him, glaring in the moonlight.

"Do you know what happened today? Do you? They made

a fool of me. Me, Hathcar! Nobody makes a fool of

Hathcar and walks away to boast of it, nobody! Not on

their own legs, they don't."

"It was just a thought," the rat mumbled. "It had to be

said."

"Right. It's been said. It's also been forgotten." The rat

said nothing.

"How about smoking them out?" suggested the wolf.

The cuscus let out a derisive snort. "Don't you think

they've already thought of that? If they haven't tried to

break out, it means they aren't worried about smoke; and

if they aren't worried about it, it probably means it won't

work if we try it."

"Could we," suggested the rat, "maybe force our way in

through the roof?"

Hathcar sighed. "You're all looking at the obvious, all

of you. I'm the only one who can see beyond the self-

evident. That cursed four-legs led them straight here, so

he's probably telling the truth when he says he knows it

well. He wouldn't box himself into a situation he wasn't

comfortable with. He says they can slip out anytime and

hide somewhere else twice as strong. Maybe he's lying,

but we can't take that chance. We have to take them here,

while we know what we're up against. That means our

first priority is to get rid of that horned meddler."

"How about moving a couple of archers in close?

Those with good night vision. If they can sneak up against

the wall they might get a clear shot inside."

Hathcar considered. "Not bad, except that if they don't

snuff the unicorn right away that fucking water rat's likely

to get 'em both. I've never seen anybody shoot like that."

He shook his head.

236

Alan Dean Foster

"No, it's not good enough, Parsh. I'm sure they've got

a guard up, and I won't send any more of the boys against

that otter's bow. No, we have to bring the unicorn out

somehow, far enough so we can get a clear shot at him. By

himself, if possible."

The rat spat on the ground. "That's likely, isn't it?"

"You know, there may be a way."

Hathcar frowned at the wolf. "I was only half-serious,

Brungunt."

"I'm wholly serious. All we need is the right kind of

bait."

"That blow you took in Ollorory village has addled

your brains," said Parsh. "Nothing's going to bring that

unicorn out where we can get at him."

"Go on, Brungunt," said the thoughtful Hathcar.

The wolf leaned close. "It should be done when most of

them sleep. We must watch and smell for when the stallion

takes his turn as sentry. If they post only the one guard, we

may have a chance. Great care must be taken, for it will be

a near thing, a delicate business. Bait or no bait, if the

meddler senses our presence, I do not think he can be

drawn out. So after we set the bait we must retreat well out

of range. It will work, you'll see. So powerful is the bait,

it will draw our quarry well out where we can cut off his

retreat. Then it won't matter if he bolts into the woods.

The important thing is that we'll be rid of him, and the

ones we really want will be deprived of his advice and

aid."

"No," said Hathcar, his eyes gleaming, "no. I want

that four-legs, too. I want him dead. Or better yet, we'll

just hamstring him." He grinned viciously in the dark.

"Yes, hamstring him. That's better still." He forced him-

self from contemplation of pleasures to come. "This bait?

Where do we get it?"

Brungunt scratched an ear and even the skeptical Parsh

looked interested. "First we must find a village or farm

that numbers humans among its occupants." He was

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

237

nodding to himself as he spoke. "This is an old, old magic

we will work tonight, but you don't have to be a sorcerer

to work it. It works itself. It is said by those who may

know that a unicom may not be taken by force, but only

by stealth and guile."

"Get to the point," said Hathcar impatiently.

The wolf hurried his words. "We don't have to sneak up

on him. He'll come to us. He'll follow a maiden fair and

true. It is said."

Hathcar looked doubtful. "What kind of maiden? A

coltish mare?"

"No, no. It must be a human maiden."

Parsh the rat was thoroughly shocked. "You expect to

find a virgin around here? Species notwithstanding."

"There is a town not far from this place."

"Crestleware." Hathcar nodded.

"We can but try," said the wolf, spreading his paws.

"A virgin. Are you certain about this, Brungunt?"

"The bond is supposed to be most powerful. The girl

need only lead him far enough for us to get behind him

before he picks up our scent. Do not ask me to explain this

thing. I only relate what I have heard told."

"Wouldn't cost us a one. You'd better be right about

this, Brungunt, or I'll see your ears decorating my spear."

"That's not fair!" protested the wolf. "I am only

relating a legend."

"Look to your ears, wolf." Hathcar rose. "And tell the

others to look to theirs. Parsh, you come with me." He

glared at Brungunt. "We will return as quickly as possi-

ble. This magic sounds to me like it works better in the

dark, and I don't want to give that four legs another day to

think of a better place." He glanced through the trees

toward the moonlit ruins. "Hamstring him, yes. I'll see

that damned meddler crawling to me on his knees, and

then we'll break those as well."

XIV

Hathcar crouched low as he pointed toward the clearing

in front of the silent fortress. The slim girl who stood

next to him watched closely, her eyes wide. She had

been awakened in the middle of the night by her mother

and sent off in the company of this ugly stranger. She

hadn't wanted to go, but her mother had insisted, assuring

her it would only be until sunrise and that everything was

all right, everything had been arranged. Then she would be

brought home and allowed to sleep all day. And they had

promised her candy.

"There is the place, little one."

"Don't call me little," she snapped. "I'm as grown up

as you are! And my name's Silky."

"Sorry," Hathcar growled softly, restraining himself.

He wasn't very fond of cubs, but he needed this one's

cooperation.

"You're going to pay my daddy two gold pieces for

luring out this unicorn to you. What makes you think he'll

come out and follow me?"

"He'll come," Hathcar assured her. "Just be nice to

him, tell him how strong and beautiful he is."

238

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

239

She stared warily at the cuscus and his two companions

out of eyes that were not as innocent as her parents insisted

they were. "You're sure this is a unicorn you're sending

me after?"

"Are you sure you're a virgin?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she said tiredly. She'd heard this

stranger discussing the matter with her mother.

Hathcar turned and pointed back through the woods.

"Back this way there's a pool in a little hollow. Bring him

there. We'll be waiting."

"What happens when we get there?" she asked curiously.

"None of your business, lit... Silky. Your daddy's

being paid for your services. You do what I want you to

and you don't ask questions."

"Okay." She hesitated. "You're not going to hurt him,

are you? I've never seen a unicorn, but I've been told

they're real pretty."

"Oh, no, no, we won't hurt him," said Hathcar smoothly.

"We just want to surprise him. We're his friends, and we

want to surprise him, and you won't tell him about us

because that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?"

"I guess so." She smiled brightly. "I like surprises,

too. Can I watch when you surprise him?"'

"Sure you can," Hathcar assured her innocently. "I

think you'll be surprised, too." He turned to leave her,

Brungunt and Parsh following.

"It's dark," she said uncertainly.

"You'll be okay," Brungunt told her. "Didn't you say

you were a big girl?"

"That's right, I am."

"Fine. Just bring the four-legs down to the pool."

"Why didn't we just abduct the little bitch?" Parsh

wanted to know as they made their way through the woods

to rejoin the rest of the waiting band.

"Big village," Hathcar told him. "A good place to buy

supplies. The price hurts, but it'll be worth it. Besides,

240

Alan Dean Foster

Brungunt here said the girl had to act voluntarily or the

magic wouldn't work."

"That's so," the wolf agreed, nodding. "It is so told."

"So it's better all around this way," Hathcar finished.

Silky stood waiting, counting away the minutes to allow

the unicorn's friends time to ready their surprise. Then she

strolled out into the small clearing in front of the broken

old building. She was wearing her best dress. It clung to

her budding figure as she moved. Her mother had spent

fifteen minutes combing out the long auburn hair to make

certain her daughter looked her best. The old wolf had

insisted on it.

Two gold pieces. That would buy a lot of things for the

family, including candy. She determined to do exactly as

the cuscus ordered, even if he'd been lying to her about

the surprise he was planning. After all, the horned one was

nothing to her.

Still, she was trembling slightly at the prospect of

actually meeting a unicorn as she stepped out into the

silvery moonlight. There were many stories told about the

shy, solitary four-legs. They kept to themselves in the deep

forest, shunning civilization and intelligent company.

The ancient stones before her were silent. Should she

cry out? If she did, what could she say? "Here, unicorn"?

There was no one to advise her, since Hathcar had joined

the rest of his friends far back in the trees, out of sight and

scent. The old wolf had assured her she had only to

approach the ruins and the unicorn would come to her.

Would come and would follow back to the pool. And the

surprise waiting there.

She stood before the ruins and waited.

Within, there was movement she could not see. Drom's

head lifted, his nostrils twitching. He blinked at the bodies

sleeping soundly around him. It was his turn on watch.

Trotting silently so as not to disturb his newfound

friends, he moved to one window slit and peered out.

Standing alone in the moonlight was a small, slim figure.

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

241

A human figure, young and pure. Ancient emotions began

to pluck at him.

Nodding at no one in particular, he quietly began push-

ing at the boulder which blocked the entryway. He worked

with care, wanting to make positive identification of the

beckoning shape outside without waking his companions.

When the stone had been edged to one side he walked

through the opening and stepped out onto the grass,

sniffing at the air, which was heavy with the girl's clean,

sweet-smelling scent. She was alone. The night was still,

and there was no wind to mask concealed odors.

He walked over to the girl, who eyed him nervously and

took a step backward.

"Hello. You're... awfully pretty." She licked her lips,

glanced over a shoulder once, then said confidently, "Won't

you come and walk with me? It's a nice night in the

forest."

"In a minute, little one. There's something I have to do

first." Turning, he moved back to the ruins and stuck his

head inside, let out a soft whinny. "Wake up."

There were stirrings on the floor. Lightest of sleepers,

Roseroar sat up fast when she saw that the boulder defending

them had been moved.

"Now what?" She stared at the unicorn. "Explain

yoself, suh." She was on her feet and heading for the

boulder. Drom cut her off. "If they come at us now ..."

she began warningly.

"Relax, cat-a-mountain. They're not coming. They're

not even watching us." Behind them, Jon-Tom and Mudge

were also awakening.

"How do yo know?" Roseroar was peering cautiously

out. She saw and smelled the girl immediately, but no one

else.

"Because they've decided to try something else." He

let out a soft, whinnying laugh. "By the time they realize

this latest ploy has failed, it will be too late. We'll be long

242

Alan Dean Foster

gone from this place and beyond their reach. Who among

you is the fleetest of foot?"

"Roseroar over the long distance, me over the short. I

think," Jon-Tom told him sleepily, still not sure just what

was going on.

"Good. You and the otter climb onto my back and

ride."

A sweet but anxious voice sounded from outside. "Who

are you talking to? Why don't you come out and talk with

me?"

"Who the 'ell is that?" Mudge rushed to a window.

"Blimey, 'tis a girl!"

"What?" Jon-Tom joined him, gaped at the figure standing

in the clearing. "What's she doing here?"

"Tempting me." Drom chuckled again. "Hathcar and

his curs have moved out of scent range, no doubt to lie in

wait to ambush me as I am drawn helplessly to them by

this irresistibly pure young female."

"I'm not sure I follow you."

"It's part of an ancient legend, a very old magic."

"Lousy magic," said Jon-Tom.

"Oh, no, it's very good magic, and very true. Only not

in my case. We're wasting time." He turned his flank to

Jon-Tom, tilted his head low. "Can you mount by your-

self? Use my mane for a grip if you need one."

Jon-Tom climbed onto the broad, strong back easily,

pulled Mudge up behind him.

"Leave some room," Drom instructed him. "We're not

leaving the girl here for Hathcar." He trotted outside,

Roseroar pacing him easily while restlessly searching the

woods for signs of their enemies.

Silky watched them approach. Hathcar and the old wolf

hadn't said anything about the unicorn's companions. She

stared worriedly at the big cat loping alongside the four

legs. The tigress could swallow her in one gulp.

Then the unicorn was standing close and smiling down

r

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

243

at her over his goatee. "Do not be afraid, little one. All is

well. How came you into mis business?"

She hesitated before replying. "They paid my mother

and father. They paid them two gold pieces for me to come

with them for the night and help them surprise you."

"Surprise me. I see," murmured Drom, nodding

knowingly.

"You were supposed to follow me." She turned and

pointed. "That way, to a hollow full of water so your

friends could surprise you."

"And a fine surprise that would've been, wot?" growled

Mudge softly,

"There's been a change in plans," Drom informed her.

"Get onto my back, in front of this handsome gentleman.

We're taking you back to your parents. You did as requested

and drew me out of my refuge. We're just going to take

a little detour, that's all. So you've fulfilled your end of

the contract, at least in part, and your parents should be

entitled to keep whatever payment they've already re-

ceived for your service."

"I don't know." She scuffed the ground with one foot.

"I didn't bring you to the pool."

"Is that your fault?" Drom leaned close. "You don't

really like those people out there, do you?"

"No," she said suddenly. "No, I don't. But I had to do

'it. I had to."

"You are a true innocent, as you would have to be. You

have done all you could."

"What about my candy?" she asked petulantly.

Jon-Tom reached down a hand. The girl took it reluctantly

and he swung her up in front of him. Her nearness

reminded him uncomfortably of Folly.

Drom turned and exploded into a wild gallop, restraining

himself only enough to allow Roseroar to keep pace.

Jon-Tom felt confident the unicorn could carry three fully

grown men with ease. He, the girl, and Mudge were no

burden at all.

244

Alan Dean Foster

After they'd covered several kilometers, the stallion

slowed. Roseroar was panting hard and they had made a

clean escape from the ruins.

"Wish I could see those bastards' faces when they come

lookin' for us," Mudge commented.

"They'll be looking for this one, too." Jon-Tom smiled

down at the other passenger, "Where's your village, little

girl?"

"I am not a little girl!"

"Sorry, young lady. Where do you live?"

She stared into the woods. Her sense of direction was

superb. A hand gestured to the north. "That way."

Drom nodded and changed direction as he headed down

a gentle slope. He called back to Jon-Tom. "Will you

continue on to Crancularn in search of your medicine, now

that you have escaped the attentions of Hathcar's band?"

"We must," Jon-Tom told him. "You're welcome to

accompany us if you like."

"Aye, mate," said Mudge. "We'd be glad of your

help."

"I have never been to Crancularn, though I know of it. I

would be delighted to accompany you."

"It's settled, then," said a pleased Jon-Tom. Not only

was the unicorn a welcome addition to their trio, it had to

be admitted that riding was more fun than walking.

By morning they were at the outskirts of the girl's

village. Cultivated fields surrounded the town. Jon-Tom let

her down gently.

"I didn't do all I was supposed to do," she muttered

uneasily.

"You did all you could. It's not your fault that their plan

didn't work."

The town was enclosed by a strong wooden palisade and

looked more than capable of withstanding an attack by any

angry bunch of bandits. He didn't think Hathcar would try

to take revenge for his failure against the girl or her

parents.

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

245

"I still think you're pretty," the girl said to Drom.

"Can I kiss you good-bye? That's supposed to be good

luck."

Drom smacked his lips with evident distaste. "I'd prefer

you didn't, but if you must." He dropped his head, stood

still for a buss just below the right eye.

"Gen!" he muttered as she pulled away. "Now be on

your way, human, and count yourself fortunate this night."

"Good-bye, unicorn. Good-bye, strangers." She was

still waving at them as they disappeared back into the

forest.

No armed mob of angry, frustrated bandits materialized

to interrupt their progress as they swung back to the west.

With luck it would be midday before Hathcar finally

realized his plans had fallen through and ventured to check

on the ruins.

"I think I understand what was going on," Jon-Tom

murmured. "The girl was a virgin."

" 'Ere now, mate," Mudge protested, "I've been around

meself, but even I can't tell for certain just by lookin'."

"She'd have to have been for it to fit." He glanced

down at their mount. "She was a virgin, wasn't she,

Drom?" Roseroar looked on curiously.

"The sight and scent of her suggested so," the stallion

replied.

"I read something somewhere about the attentions of a

virgin girl being irresistible to a unicorn."

"An ancient and more-or-less accurate notion, which

Hathcar was counting on to draw me out. They would have

succeeded with their plan except for ignorance of one

fact."

"Wot fact, mate?" Mudge asked.

Drom turned to look back at the otter. "I'm gay." He

increased his pace.

"Uh, 'ere now, mate, maybe we'd all be better off

walkin' after all."

246

Man Dean Foster

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

247

"Nonsense. We are still not far enough away from

Hathcar's troop to chance slowing down."

"That's debatable. Besides, there's no need for you to

keep on carryin' us about like this. Don't want to make

you uncomfortable or nothin'."

"It sounds to me as though you are the one who is

feeling uneasy, otter."

"Wot, me? Not me, guv'nor. It's just that I—"

"What's wrong with you, Mudge?" Jon-Tom asked

him. "I thought you'd be glad of the chance to rest your

precious feet."

"Relax, otter," the stallion said. "You are not my type.

Now if you happened to be a Percheron, or a Clydesdale,

or maybe a shire..." He let the images trail off.

"If you have to worry about something, think about

Hathcar," Jon-Tom instructed the otter.

Mudge did so, though he still kept a wary eye on their

mount. Later, his confusion was broken by the sound of

distant thunder. Or perhaps it was only a bellow of

outrage.

Silky's parents kept the money already paid to them by

Hathcar, and as Jon-Tom surmised, the cuscus did not try

to take it back by force from the heavily defended town.

There seemed no way for him to vent his rage and

frustration until it occurred to him that since the girl had

truly done her best, if anything she actually deserved a

bonus.

So it was that while Silky did not get her much-desired

candy, she was the only girl in the village who could look

forward to the coming winter confidently, clad as she was

in her brand-new wolfskin coat.

The travelers stopped in late afternoon. The roast that

Mudge had risked his life to salvage was almost gone, but

Roseroar soon brought in enough fresh food for all. Drom

nibbled contentedly at a nearby field of petal pedals. Each

blue-and-pink flower produced a different musical note

when it was munched.

Mudge ate close to Jon-Tom. "Don't it bother you,

mate?"

"Don't... doesn't what bother me?"

The otter nodded toward the unicorn. " 'Im."

Jon-Tom bit into his steak. The meat was succulent and

rich with flavor. "He saved us once and might save us

again. As for his personal sexual preferences, I could care

less. He'd be downright inconspicuous on Hollywood

Boulevard."

"Well, maybe you're right. Now, me, I knew it from

the first. The way 'e minced out of the woods toward us."

Drom overheard, lifted his muzzle, and said with digni-

ty, "I do not mince, otter. I prance." He looked at

Jon-Tom. "You really believe your former acquaintances

will beat you to Crancularn and to the medicine you have

come for?"

"I hope not, but I fear it. They stole our only map."

"That is a small loss. Do not regret it." The unicorn

crunched a clump of purple ortnods with petals the shade

. of enameled amethyst. The flowers hummed as they were

consumed. "I can guide you there."

"We were told it moves around."

"Only in one's imagination. There are those who stum-

ble through it without seeing it, or circle 'round it as if

blind. So they say it has moved. It does not move, but to

find it you must wish to. I know. I was told by those who

could know. I will lead you to Crancularn."

"That's bleedin' wonderful," Mudge confessed aloud.

He was mad at himself. There was no reason for him to be

nervous or wary in the unicorn's presence. Drom was a

likable chap, wasn't he, and Mudge didn't look in the least

like a shire horse, did he? And hadn't he always been told

never to look a gift unicorn in the mouth? He was upset

with himself.

Hadn't the four-legs carried himself and Jon-Tom all this

way from Hathcar's territory without complaining? Why,

with him galloping along and the rest of them taking turns

248

Alan Dean Poster

riding him, they might yet overtake that prick Jalwar and

his whore of a helpmate Folly.

They made rapid progress westward, but still there was

no sign of their former friends.

When they finally found themselves on the outskirts of

Crancularn itself, Jon-Tom found it hard to believe. He'd

half come to think of the town as existing only in

Clothahump's imagination. Yet there it was.

Yes, there it was, and after too many close calls with

death, after crossing the Muddletup Moors and the Glittergeist

Sea and innumerable hills and vales, he was more than a

little discouraged by the sight of it.

The setting was impressive enough: a heavily forested

slope that climbed the flank of a slowly smoking volcano.

The town itself, however, was about as awe-inspiring as

dirty, homey Lynchbany. Tumble-down shacks and ram-

shackle two-and three-story buildings of wood and mud

crowded close to one another as if fearful of encountering the

sunlight. A dirty fog clung to the streets and the angular,

slate-roofed structures. As they headed toward the town, a

familiar odor made his nostrils contract: the thick musk of

the unwashed of many species mixed with the stink of an

open sewer system. His initial excitement was rapidly

fading.

Massive oaks and sycamores grew within the town

itself, providing more shade where none was required and

sometimes even shouldering buildings aside. Jon-Tom was

about to ask Drom if perhaps they might have come to the

wrong place when the unicorn reared back on its hind

hooves and nearly dumped him and Mudge to the ground.

Roseroar snarled as she assumed a defensive posture.

Coming straight at them, belching smoke and bellowing

raggedly, was a three-footed demon. A rabbit rode the

demon's back. This individual wore a wide-brimmed felt

hat; a long-sleeved shirt of muslin, open halfway; and a

short mauve skirt similar to the kilts favored by the

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

249

intelligent arboreals of this world. His enormous feet were

unshod.

The demon slowed as it approached. Jon-Tom drew in a

deep breath as it stopped in front of him and hastened to

reassure his companions. "It's all right. It can't harm

you."

"How do yo know, Jon-Tom?" Roseroar kept her hands

on her sword hilts.

"Because I know what it is. It's a Honda ATC Offroad

Three-wheeler." He admired the red-painted demon. "Au-

tomatic too. I didn't know Honda made an ATC with

automatic."

"Funny name for a demon," Mudge was muttering.

"Hiya," said the rabbit cheerfully, revving the engine.

"Can I help you folks?"

"You sure can." Jon-Tom pointed at the ATC. "Where'd

you get that?"

The rider raced the motor and Drom shied away. "From

the Shop of the Aether and Neither. Where else?"

Jon-Tom felt a burst of excitement. Maybe Clothahump

was right. The inexplicable presence of the ATC in this

world was proof enough that powerful magic was at work

here.

"That's where we want to go."

"Figures," said the rabbit. "Nice of you to drop in. We

don't get a lot of visitors here in Crancularn. For some

reason, travelers avoid us."

"Might be your wonderful reputation," Mudge told

him.

The rabbit eyed them appraisingly. "Strangers. Don't

know if Snooth will serve you. She don't get much

business from outsiders." He shrugged. "Ain't none of my

business, your business."

"Who's Snooth?" Jon-Tom asked him.

"The proprietress. Of the Shop of the Aether and

Neither." He looked back over his shoulder, pointed. "Go

through town and stay on the north trail that winds around

25O

Alan Dean Poster

the base of the mountain. Snooth's place is around the side

a ways." He turned back to inspect them a last time.

"You're a weird-looking bunch. I don't know what

you've come to buy, but you'll need all the luck you can

muster to pry anything out of Snooth's stock. And no, you

can't have one of my feet to help you." He put the

all-terrain vehicle in gear and roared off into the woods,

the ATC popping and growling.

"I still say it were a demon," Mudge muttered.

"No demon, just a machine. From my world."

"Ah'd dislike being a resident o' yoah world, then, Jon-

Tom." Roseroar made a face. "Such noise. And that

smell!"

It had to have been conjured, Jon-Tom knew. Conjured

by a magic even more powerful than Clothahump's. His

heart raced. If this Snooth could bring something as solid

as the ATC into this world, something lifted from a

dealership in Kyoto or L.A. or Toronto, then perhaps she

could also send things back to such places.

Things like himself.

He didn't dare dwell on that possibility as they made

their way through town. For the most part, the busy, bored

citizenry ignored them. Many of them were using or

playing with otherworldly devices. Jon-Tom began to have

second thoughts about his chances of being sent home.

Maybe this Snooth was no sorceress but just some local

shopkeeper who happened to have stumbled onto some

kind of one-way transdimensional gate or something.

Mudge pointed out a traveling minstrel. The diminutive

musical mouse was plinking out a very respectable polka

not on a duar or handlebar lyre or bark flute but on a

Casiotone 8500 electronic keyboard. Jon-Tom wondered

what the mouse was using for batteries.

Not all the devices in use were recognizably from his

own world. The sign over a fishmonger's stall was a

rotating globe of red and white lambent light that spelled

out the shop's name and alternated it with that of the

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

251

owner. There appeared to be nothing supporting the globe.

As they stared, the globe twisted into the shape of a fish,

then into the outlines of females of various species in

provocative poses. Sex sells, Jon-Tom reminded himself.

Even fish. He walked over to stand directly underneath the

globe. There was no source of support or power, much less

a visible explanation for its photonic malleability. One

thing he was sure of: it hadn't come from his own world.

Neither had the device they saw an old mandrill using to

cut wood. It had a handle similar to that of a normal metal

saw, but instead of a length of serrated steel the handle was

attached to a shiny bar no more than a quarter-inch in

diameter. The baboon would hitch up his gloves, choose a

piece of wood, put both hands on the handle and touch the

thin bar to the log. It would cut through like butter.

There were other worlds, then, and this Snooth appar-

ently had access to goods from many of them. As they

made their way through the town, he thought back to his

companion's reaction to the ATC. To someone unfamiliar

with internal combustion devices on a world where magic

held sway, it certainly must have looked and sounded like

a demon. Crancularn was full of such alien machines. No

wonder it had acquired an unwholesome reputation.

But the townsfolk themselves were open and friendly

enough. In that they were no different from the inhabitants

of the other cities and villages Jon-Tom had visited. As for

their blase" acceptance of otherworldly devices, there was

nothing very extraordinary about that. People, no matter

their shape or size or species, were infinitely adaptable.

Only a hundred years ago in his own world, a hand-held

television or calculator watch would have seemed like

magic even to sophisticated citizens, who nonetheless

would have made use of them enthusiastically.

For that matter, how many of his contemporaries actual-

ly understood what made a computer tick or instant replay

possible? People had a way of just accepting the workings of

252

Alan Dean Foster

everyday machinery they didn't understand, whether it was

powered by alkaline batteries or arcane spells.

Then they were leaving the town again, fog drifting lazily

around them. They had attracted no more than an occa-

sional cursory glance from the villagers. Huge trees hugged

the fertile lower slopes of the volcano, which simmered

quietly and unthreateningly above them.

Inquiries in town had produced no mention of visitors

resembling Jalwar or Folly. Either the two had lost their

way or else with Drom's aid they had already passed the

renegade pair in the woods. Jon-Tom experienced a pang of

regret. He still wasn't completely convinced of Folly's

complicity in the theft of the map.

No time for that now. The rabbit on the ATC implied

they might have trouble purchasing what they wanted from

this Snooth. Jon-Tom struggled to compose a suitably ef-

fective speech. AH they needed was a little bit of medicine.

Nothing so complex as a malleable globe or toothless saw.

His hand went to the tiny vial dangling from the chain

around his neck. Inside was the formula for the desperately

needed medicine. He hadn't brought it this far to be turned

away empty-handed.

There was no sign, no posted proclamations to advertise

the shop's presence. They turned around a cluster of oaks,

and there it was, a simple wooden building, one story

high. It was built up against the rocks. A single wooden

door was set square in the center of the storefront, which

was shaded by a broad, covered porch.

A couple of high-backed rocking chairs sat on the

porch, unoccupied. Wooden shingles in need of repair

covered the sloping roof that likewise ran up into the

rocks. Jon-Tom estimated the entire building enclosed no

more than a thousand square feet of space. Hardly large

enough for store and home combined.

As they drew close, a figure emerged from inside and

settled into the farther rocking chair. The chair creaked as

it rocked. The tall kangaroo wore a red satin vest which

THE DAY op THE DISSONANCE

253

blended with her own natural rust color and, below, a kilt

similar in style to the rabbit's. There were pockets and a

particularly wide one directly in front to permit the owner

access to her pouch. Jon-Tom stared at the lower belly but

was unable to tell if the female was carrying a joey, though

once he thought he saw something move. But he couldn't

be sure, and since he was ignorant of macropodian eti-

quette, he thought it best not to inquire.

She also wore thick hexagonal granny glasses and a

heavy necklace of turquoise, black onyx, and malachite. A

matching bracelet decorated her right wrist, and she puffed

slowly on a corncob pipe which was switched periodically

from one side of her mouth to the other.

He halted at the bottom of the porch steps, "Are you the

one they call Snooth?"

"I expect I am," the kangaroo replied, "since I'm the

only one around here by that name." She took her pipe

from her lips and regarded them thoughtfully. "You folks

aren't from around here. What can I do for you?"

"We've undertaken one hell of a shopping trip," Jon-

Tom told her.

She sighed. "I was afraid of that. Just when I got

myself all nice and comfortable. Well, that's par for the

course."

Jon-Tom's eyes grew wide. "That's an expression of

my world."

"Is it? I traffic with so many I sometimes get confused.

Sure as the gleebs are on the fondike."

Jon-Tom decided to tread as lightly as possible, bearing

the rabbit's admonition in mind. "We don't want to

disturb you. We could come back tomorrow." He tried to

see past her, into the store. "You haven't by any chance

had a couple of other out-of-town customers in recently,

have you? An old ferret, maybe accompanied by a human

female?" He held his breath.

The kangaroo scratched under her chin with her free

hand. "Nope. No one of that description. In fact, I haven't

r

254

Alan Dean Foster

had any local out-of-town customers stop by in some

time."

Forbearing to inquire into the nature of a local out-of-

towner, which seemed to Jon-Tom to be a contradiction in

terms, he permitted himself a moment of silent exultation.

They'd done it! With Drom's help they'd succeeded in

beating Jalwar to Crancularn. Now he could relax. The

object of their long, arduous journey was almost in his

grasp.

He turned to leave. "We don't want to upset your siesta.

We'll come back tomorrow."

A small brown shape pushed past him. Mudge took

up an aggressive stance on the lowest step. "Now let's

'old on a minim 'ere, guv'nor." The otter fixed the

proprietress with a jaundiced eye. "This 'ere dump is

the place I've been 'earin' about for weeks? This

cobbled-together wreck is the marvelous, the wondrous,

the magnificent Shop o' the Aether and Neither? And

you're the owner?"

The kangaroo nodded.

"Well," announced Mudge in disgust, "it sure as 'ell

don't look like much to me."

"Mudge!" Jon-Tom angrily grabbed the otter by his

shoulder.

The kangaroo, however, did not appear upset. "Ap-

pearances can be deceiving, my fuzzy little cousin." She

turned to face Jon-Tom as she stood on enormous, power-

ful feet. She was as tall as he was. The rickety porch

boards squeaked under her weight.

"I can tell just by looking at you that you've come a

long ways to do your shopping. Except for the Crancularni-

ans, most of my customers travel far to buy from me,

some by means most devious. Some I sell to, others I do

not." She turned and pointed toward a thin scrawl on a

worn piece of wood that was nailed over the doorway. The

sign said:

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE 255

WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYTHING

"It's not for ourselves that we come seeking your

help," Jon-Tom told her. "We're here at the behest of a

great wizard who lives in the forest of the Bellwoods, far

across the Glittergeist Sea. His name's Clothahump."

"Clothahump." Eyes squinted in reflection behind the

granny glasses. She put out a hand, palm facing down-

ward, and positioned it some four feet above the porch.

"Turtle, old gentleman, about yea high?"

Jon-Tom nodded vigorously. "That's him. You've met

him?"

"Nope. But I know of him by reputation. As wizard's

go, he's up near the top." This revelation impressed even

the skeptical Mudge, who'd always thought of Ciothahump

as no better than a talented fakir verging on senility who

just happened to get lucky once in a while. "What's

wrong with him?"

Jon-Tom fumbled with the vial around his neck, removed

the small piece of paper from within. "He says he's dying,

and he's in terrible pain. He says this can cure him."

Snooth took the fragment, adjusted her glasses, and read.

Her lips moved as she digested the paper's information. "Yes,

yes...I believe I have this in stock." She glanced back at

Jen-Tom. "Your devotion to your mentor does you credit."

Which made him feel more than a little guilty, since the

main reason he'd undertaken the journey was to protect his

only chance of returning home by ensuring Clothahump's

continued good health.

"You overpraise my altruism."

"I think not." She stared at him in the most peculiar

fashion. "You are better than you give yourself credit for.

That is why you would make a good adjudicator. Your

good instincts outweigh your common sense."

For the second time since arriving at the store Jon-Tom's

eyes widened. "How did you know that I was studying to

be a lawyer?"

256

Alan Dean Foster

"Lucky guess," said Snooth absently, dismissing the

matter despite Jon-Tom's desire to pursue it further. She

held out the paper with the formula written on it. "May I

hold on to this?"

Jon-Tom shrugged. "Why not? It's the medicine we

need."

Snooth tucked the paper neatly into her pouch. Again

Jon-Tom thought he saw something moving about within.

If Snooth was carrying a joey, it was evidently either too

immature or too shy to show itself.

"Come on in." She turned and pushed wide the door.

Her visitors mounted the steps and crossed the porch.

The front room of the building was furnished in simple

kaleidoscopic style. To one side was another rocking chair,

only instead of being fashioned of wood it was composed

of transparent soap bubbles clinging to a thin metal frame.

The bubbles were moving in slow motion and looked fragile

and ready to burst.

"Surely you don't sit in that?" Roseroar said.

"Wouldn't be much use for anything else. Like to try

it?"

"Ah couldn't," the tigress protested. "Ah'd bust it as

well as mah tail end."

- "Maybe not," said the kangaroo with quiet confidence.

Reluctantly, Roseroar accepted the challenge, turning to

set herself gently into the chair. The soap bubbles gave

under her weight but did not break, nor did the thin metal

frame. And the bubbles kept moving, massaging the chair's

new occupant with a gentle sliding motion. A rich throbbing

purr filled the room.

"How much?" Roseroar inquired.

"Sorry. That's a demo model. Not for sale."

"Come on, Roseroar," Jon-Tom told her. "That's not

what we came for." She abandoned the caressing chair

sadly.

As they crossed the room, Jon-Tom had time to notice a

circular recording device, a heatless stove, and a number

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

257

of utterly alien machines scattered among the familiar.

Snooth led them through another doorway barred by opaque

ceramic strips that hung in midair and into a back store

room filled with broken, jumbled goods. A bathroom was

visible off to the left.

A second suspended curtain admitted them to the store.

Jon-Tom's brain went blank. He heard Roseroar hiss

next to him and even the always voluble Mudge was at a

loss for words. Drom inhaled sharply in surprise.

As near as they could tell, the shop filled the whole

inside of the mountain.

XV

Ahead of them was an aisle flanked by long metal shelves.

The multiple shelving rose halfway to the forty-foot-high

ceiling and was crammed with boxed, crated, and clear-

packaged goods. Jon-Tom saw only a few empty slots. The

shelving and the aisle between ran away into the distance

until all three seemed to meet at some distant vanishing

point.

He turned and stared to his left. Shelves and aisles

marched off into the distance as far as he could see. He

looked right and saw a mirror image of the view on his left.

"I never dreamed..." he began, only to be interrupted

by the proprietress.

"Oh, but you have dreamed, shopper. Everyone dreams."

She gestured with a negligent wave. "There are a lot of

worlds in the plenum. Some produce a lot of goods for

sale, others only a few. I try to keep up with what the major

dimensions are doing. It isn't an easy job, being a shopkeeper.

There's one place where time runs backwards. Plays hell

with my inventory."

Jon-Tom continued to gape at the endless rows. "How

258

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

259

do you know what you've got here, let alone where it's

located?"

"Oh, we're very up-to-date in the store." From a side

pocket she extracted a length of bright blue metal six

inches long and two and half an inches thick. A transparent

facing ran the length of it. There were no buttons or

switches visible.

"Pocket computer." She showed it to Jon-Tom. As he

watched, words scrolled rapidly across the face. Lan-

guages and script changed as he stared. Twice Snooth

turned it vertically and the words scrolled from top to

bottom. Several times they reversed and traveled from

right to left. Once there were no letters at all, only colors

changing in sequence. Once there was only music.

"Thought-activated. Handy little gadget. Bought it from

a place whose location can't be determined, only inferred.

Very talented folks there. See?"

A chemical formula appeared on the transparent facing

and froze in position. A long numerical sequence appeared

below it.

"Down this way." Snooth hopped off to her left, even-

tually turned down an aisle.

Roseroar stared at the endless ranks of goods. "How

many shelves do y'all have down heah?"

"Can't really say," the kangaroo replied. "It changes

all the time."

"You run this whole place by yourself?" Jon-Tom asked her.

She nodded. "You get used to it. I like stockwork, and

the perks are good."

"How far is the medicine?"

"Not far. Only about half a day's hop. Any longer and

I'd have paused to pack us a meal or dig out a scooter."

"Is that anything like the Honda ATC we saw one of

your customers riding around outside of town?"

"That'd be Foharfa's toy. He's going to break his neck

on that thing one of these days. No, a scooter's just an

260

Alan Dean Poster

inertialess disc. You guide it by sensing your relationship

to the local planetary magnetic field."

Jon-Tom swallowed. "I'm afraid I don't have a license

to drive anything like that."

"No matter. I'm enjoying the walk."

"Can we buy one to get us 'ome, maybe?" Mudge

asked hopefully.

"Sorry. I've none in general stock. Besides, I make it a

rule not to let certain goods travel beyond Crancularn. The

world's a complicated enough place as it is. You can

overtechnologize magic if you're not careful."

"Looks like your business is rather slow," observed

Drom.

Snooth shrugged in mid-hop. "I'm not looking to get

rich, unicorn. I just like the business, that's all. Besides,

it's a good way to keep up with what's going on in the

greater cosmos. Goods are better than gossip and more

honest reflections of what's happening elsewhere than

official news pronouncements and zeeways."

"Must be 'ard on profits," Mudge commented.

"That depends on what kind of profit you're trying to

make, otter."

Jon-Tom eyed the kangaroo uneasily. "That's a funny

thing for a shopkeeper to say. Are you sure you aren't

some kind of sorceress yourself?"

"Who, me?" Snooth appeared genuinely shocked. "Not

I, sir. Too many responsibilities, too many regulations

attached to the profession. I prefer my present employ-

ment, thank you. And the cost-of-living in Crancularn is

low." A pause, then, "What about this ferret and girl you

referred to earlier?"

"They were traveling with us," Jon-Tom explained.

"We had an unfortunate parting of the ways."

"Unfortunate, 'ell!" Mudge rumbled. "The dirty bug-

gers stole our map, they did, and it were only by dint o'

good luck and this spellsinger's determination and this

one-horn's knowledge o' the lay o' the land that we ...!"

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

261

Snooth interrupted him, smiling at Jon-Tom. "So you

are a spellsinger? I noticed the duar you carry right off, but

I imagined you to be no more than a traveling musician."

"I'm still an amateur," Jon-Tom confessed. "I'm still

learning how to control my abilities."

"I think one day you will, though I sense you still have

along way logo."

"It's just that it's so new to me. The magic, not the

music. Everything's so new to me. I'm not of this world."

"I know. You smell of elsewhere. Do not let your

transposition faze you. Newness is life's greatest pleasure

and delight." She indicated the shelves wailing them in.

"Every new product I encounter is a source of wonder-

ment to me."

"1 wish I could share your enthusiasm. But I can't help

my homesickness. You can't, by any chance, send me

home by the same means you use to stock your goods?"

he asked hopefully.

"I am truly sorry," Snooth told him softly, and it struck

him that she was. "This is only a receive-and-disperse

operation. I can only ship products, not people."

Jon-Tom slumped. "Well, it's no more than what I

expected. Clothahump said as much."

"You must tell me about your travels. Oddly, I know

more about many other worlds than about this one. The

result of being tied to my business."

So partly to please her and partly to help relieve his own

disappointment, Jon-Tom regaled her with a recitation of

the adventures they had experienced during their long

journey. It took at least the half day Snooth had claimed

before she finally called the march to a halt. Jon-Tom

looked down the aisle. They stili were not in sight of its

end.

Strange medications filled bottles and jars and contain-

ers of unfamiliar material. The twenty-foot-high shelves

they had halted before represented a cosmological phar-

macopia. Jon-Tom made out pills and drops, salves and

262

Alan Dean Foster

unguents, bandages and bindings, scattered among less

recognizable items.

Snooth regarded the shelving for a moment, consulted

her blue metal bar, and hopped a few yards farther down

the aisle. Then she climbed one of the motorized ladders

that ran from the topmost shelf to tracks cut in the stone

floor and ascended the shelving halfway.

"Here we are," she said, sounding gratified. She opened

an ordinary cardboard box and removed a small plastic

container. "Only one. I'll have to restock this item. I don't

have the room to keep more than one of any item on the

shelves. There are instructions on the side which I presume

your wizard will know how to interpret."

"I'm sure he will," Jon-Tom said, reaching relievedly

for the container.

"Stop right there, please."

Jon-Tom whirled. Roseroar growled and reached for her

swords as Mudge tried to ready his longbow.

"Don't!"

A figure emerged from behind a translucent crate

containing frozen flowers and came toward them. In his

hands Jalwar held something resembling a multiple cross-

bow. At least three dozen lethal-looking little darts were

clustered in concentric circles at the tip of the weapon.

"Poison. Enough to kill all of you at once. Even you,

mistress of long teeth." Roseroar continued to glower at

the new arrival, but let her paws fall slowly from the hilts

of her swords.

"A wise decision," Jalwar told her.

Jon-Tom was staring past him. "Folly. Where's Folly?"

When the ferret did not immediately reply, Jon-Tom felt a

surge of excitement despite the precariousness of the

situation. "So she didn't go with you voluntarily, did

she!"

"No." Jalwar made the admission indifferently. "But

she came, and that was all I required. I needed assistance

in hauling rudimentary supplies, and she struck me as the

THE DAY or THE DISSOJKAJVCE

263

easiest of all of you to manipulate. As a beast of burden

she proved adequate." He smiled thinly, enjoying himself.

"Then, too, the destruction of innocence has always appealed

to me, and she still had a little left."

Jon-Tom struggled to restrain himself. He didn't for a

second doubt the lethality of those multiple darts or Jalwar's

willingness to employ them.

"Where is she? What have you done with her?"

"In good time I will tell you, my impetuous blind

friend." The ferret cocked an eye toward Snooth. "So that

is the precious medicine our friend Clothahump requires so

desperately. How interesting. I suddenly feel the need for

some medication myself. You, proprietress! I'll take that

container, if you don't mind."

"Take a 'elluva lot more than that to cure wot ails you,

mate," said Mudge insultingly.

"You think so, do you? Yet I am not so sick that I have

failed to outwit you all. I did not think you would make it

here without the map, and in my confidence I slowed my

approach. I thought in any event that with the aid of my

help I would always know your location. Indeed, without

that help I would not have been able to rush in close on

your heels and track your progress within this place from

two aisles over."

"What help?" Jon-Tom asked warily.

"Now, be that the right tone with which to greet an old

comrade, man?" said a voice Jon-Tom had hoped never to

hear again. He turned to his right.

"Corroboc."

The parrot executed a half bow. ' 'It be right good of you

to remember me name. That singing magic you worked on

me ship, that be my fault for not guessing you had more

than entertainment for old Corroboc in mind. But I'm not

the one to dwell on old regrets. No, not I, even though me

worthless crew chose a new captain and set me adrift

barely within flying range o' the mainland.

"There I found your strange boat and picked up your

264

Alan Dean Foster

trail. I knew o' your aims and thought somehow to follow

until 1 found a way o' repayin' you all for your kindnesses

to me. In the forest I saw two of you leave from the rest."

He nodded toward Jalwar.

"When I saw the respect with which he were treatin' me

old friend Folly, I thought to meself, now here be one after

me own heart. So I settled down for a chat, and after an

exchange of pleasantries me and the good ferret here, we

came to an understandin', har."

"That bird will cut out our hearts and dance on them,"

Roseroar whispered to Jon-Tom. "We might as well rush

them now."

"Steady on, you oversized bit o' fluff," Mudge warned

her. "All the cards 'aven't been dealt yet, wot?"

"Whisper all you want," snapped Jalwar. "It will avail

you naught."

Corroboc pulled a short, thin sword from the flying

scabbard slung at his waist. Holes in the blade made it

light and strong. He caressed the flat side of the blade

lovingly.

"Many days have I had to anticipate the pleasures of our

reunion. I beg you not to provoke me new friend lest he

put an end to you all too quick. I want our meeting to be a

memorable experience for all. Aye, memorable! You see,

I've no ship, no crew anymore. All I have left to me be

this moment, which I don't want to hurry."

Realization rushed in on Jon-Tom as he turned on

Jalwar. "You work for Zancresta, don't you? You've been

working for Zancresta from the first! Running into you on

the northern shore of the Glittergeist was no coincidence.

Those brigands weren't attacking you. It was all a ploy to

let you worm yourself into our company."

"An apt metaphor, Jon-Tom," said Roseroar.

"Tell me something," Jon-Tom went on quietly. "How

much is Zancresta paying you to keep this medicine from

Clothahump?"

The ferret burst out laughing, though the business end of

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

265

the strange weapon he held did not waver. "Paying me?

You idiots! Spellsinger? Pah! / am Zancresta! Wizard of

Malderpot, supreme master of the arcane arts, diviner of

the unknown and parter of the shrouds! Fools, beggars of a

humble knowledge, you are blinder than the troglodytes of

Tatrath and dumber than the molds that grub out an

existence in the cracks between the stones."

The ferret seemed to swell in their eyes as they stared,

though neither his size nor shape actually changed. But the

curved spine stiffened, the voice was no longer shaky, and

an inner unholy light emanated from suddenly bottomless

eyes while a barely perceptible dark aura sprang to malev-

olent life around him.

"I didn't think you'd get this far, none of you! But

where a spellsinger, however inept, is involved, there are

never any assurances. So when you escaped from Malderpot

and my servants lost you in the woods, I determined to

find you myself. Your bold and unforeseen move into the

Muddletup Moors confused me, I must admit. But only for

a time, and I was just able to intercept you on the shores of

the Glittergeist and execute my little charade.

"I did not think I would be with you long, but luck and

false fortune seemed to follow you wherever you went.

Across the ocean, on this kindred spirit's vessel, even into

the land of the bellicose enchanted folk. When you not

only managed your release from their hands but induced

them to assist you with a map, I determined to press on

ahead on my own to seek out this Shop of the Aether and

Neither and buy up all the necessary medicine before you

could arrive.

"And again you surprised me, not out of cleverness or

insight, but through blind luck. So Corroboc and I paral-

leled your progress through this bloated emporium of

useless goods, he flying above to check periodically on

your position, until you kindly located the object of the

quest for me. Which I will now take possession of." He

glanced up at Snooth.

266

Alan Dean Foster

"I do not think she has in hand a device or medicine

that can save her from the fast-acting effects of hruth

venom. Once that container has been handed over I will

relieve you of your weapons and leave you to the tender

attentions of my patient friend. Perhaps he will grow bored

before all of you are dead." Corroboc made neat, thin

slices in one of his own feathers with the razor-sharp

sword while Zancresta looked suddenly wistful.

"Ah, the day that I stand at that fat fraud's bedside,

holding the precious medicine he so desperately requires

just beyond his feeble reach, making him plead and beg

for it, that will be a day of triumph indeed."

"What have you done with Folly!"

Zancresta came back from his private reverie. "Ah, my

pack animal and my insurance. I have never feared you,

spellsinger, but your talents act in ways wayward and

unpredictable. Sometimes it is awkward to deal with such

implausibilities, and I do worry some on the impetuous

nature of your companions.

"Knowing of your insipidly tender nature, I took care to

keep the girl tightly under my control, lest she foolishly try

to run to you for misguided salvation."

"You hypnotized her?"

"I am unfamiliar with the term, but if you mean did I

blur her simple mind in order to make her compliant, yes.

I no longer have need of her as crude labor or as insurance

against your actions, however." He pointed down the

aisle.

"These shelves reach far back into the mountain, which

you may have noticed is of volcanic origin. I would

presume that each aisle ends in a fairly hot place. Perhaps

the proprietress stores goods back there that require con-

stant heat. Being of a warm nature myself, I dismissed the

girl and bid her wander down to the end of the aisle. She

acquired on Corroboc's ship a dark coloration which I

venture to say will change rapidly to red as she stumbles

into the hot center of this mountain."

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

267

Jon-Tom took a step backward and Zancresta raised his

peculiar multiple dart-thrower. "Let her go. She is nothing."

There was a flash of gold from behind Roseroar. Again

Zancresta raised the weapon, but a feathery hand came

down on his arm.

"Nay, let the horned one go," snarled Corroboc. "I've

no real quarrel with him. He won't be in time to save the

girl and I want these three left alive and conscious." He

started toward the ladder, sword in one hand, the other

outstretched toward Snooth. "The medicine, if you please,

hag."

"As you wish."

"No!" Jon-Tom shouted. "Don't give it to him!"

The kangaroo's reply was firm. "I am not a party to

what is a private quarrel. This is between you and him."

She handed over the precious container. "Here, catch." At

the last instant she tossed it toward the pirate captain.

Corroboc grabbed for the small plastic cylinder and

missed. It struck the floor, vaporizing instantly and spitting

out a thick cloud of black smoke.

Jon-Tom threw himself sideways and down. The dart-

thrower twanged and something struck his boot while

others thunked harmlessly into the back of his thick snake-

skin cape. He heard no screams of pain and prayed that his

friends had also managed to dodge Zancresta's weapon.

He started to rise, preparing to do battle with his staff,

when it occurred to him that in a hand-to-hand fight

Roseroar's swords and Mudge's bow would be more effec-

tive, and that, in any case, they had a sorcerer to deal with

now. So he put the ramwood aside and fumbled with the

duar. An old Moody Blues tune came to mind, suitable for

combating evil. He played and sang.

It had its intended effect. As the smoke began to

dissipate he could hear the ferret moan, see him staggering

backwards clutching at his head.

But Zancresta was not to be so simply vanquished.

268

Alan Dean Poster

Gathering his strength, he glared at Jon-Tom and began to

recite:

"Nails of rails and coils of toil,

Come to me now, rise to a boil,

Become with strength my herpetological foil!"

The sorcerer's fingers stretched, elongated, became pow-

erful constrictors that writhed and curled toward Jon-Tom.

Whether it was out of fear for Folly or for himself or

sheer anger, he couldn't say, but now the music flowed

easily through him. Without missing a bar he segued straight

into a slithering song by Jefferson Airplane. The snakes

shriveled and shrank to become ferret fingers once more.

A second time Zancresta threw out his hands toward

Jon-Tom.

"Xyleum, phylum, cellulose constrained,

Hypoblastic hardwood rise up now unrestrained.

Chlorophyllic transformation make thyself known.

Long and strong and sharp and straight

And solid as a stone!"

The wooden stake that materialized to leap at Jon-Tom's

chest was the size of a small tree. A few branches erupted

from its trunk, and it continued to grow even as it flew

toward him, sending out roots and leaves. He barely had

time enough to switch to a throaty rendition of Def

Lepard's "Pyromania."

The huge, growing spear blew up in a ball of fire. The

force of it knocked Zancresta backward to the floor.

It gave Jon-Tom a moment to check on his companions.

They were unhurt, but there was plenty of blood on the

floor of the aisle. It all came from the same source, and

was sticky with green and blue feathers. A beaked skull

lay sightless in one place, a leg elsewhere, a pair of wings

on a half-empty shelf. More blood stained Roseroar's

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

269

muzzle and claws. Her swords were still sheathed and

clean. She hadn't needed to use them, having dismembered

Corroboc as neatly as Jon-Tom would have a fried chicken.

Mudge stepped forward to fire a single arrow at Zancresta.

The sorcerer raised a hand, uttered one contemptuous

word. The arrow turned rotten before it crumpled against

the ferret's hip. Meanwhile Jon-Tom wondered and wor-

ried about Folly. If only Drom had time enough to reach

her before ...!

Sensing his opponent's lapse of concentration, Zancresta

waved a hand over his head and declaimed stentoriously. A

small black cloud appeared in the air between them.

Thunder rolled ominously.

Jon-Tom barely had the presence of mind to shout the

right words from Procol Harum's "In Held I Was" and

hold up the duar in front of him in time to intercept the

single bolt of lightning that emerged from the cloud. The

instrument absorbed the bolt, though the impact sent him

stumbling. The cloud disintegrated.

Now, for the first time, there was a hint of fear in

Zancresta's eyes. Fear, but not surrender. Not yet. He

stood staring at his opponent, making no effort to draw his

torn and ragged clothes tighter about him.

"Not accident, then," he muttered as he stood there.

"Not just luck. I worried about that, but in the end gave it

little credence. Now I see that I was wrong. You think

you've won, don't you? You think you've beaten me?" He

looked up at the ladder. Snooth stood on it holding the

original container of medicine. Zancresta had been so busy

watching Jon-Tom that he hadn't seen the proprietress

switch it for the smoke bomb.

"You all think you've beaten me. Well, you haven't.

Not Zancresta, you haven't. Because you see, I came

prepared to deal with every possibility, no matter how

remote or unlikely. Yes, I even came prepared to deal with

the chance that this stripling spellsinger might possess

some small smidgen of talent."

270

Alan Dean Foster

"Go ahead and try something." Jon-Tom felt ten feet

tall. He could feel the power surging inside him, could feel

the music fighting to get out. His fingers tingled and the

duar was like a third arm. He was riding high, on the same

kind of high the stars got when they sang in front of

thousands in the big halls and arenas. He stopped just short

of levitating.

"Come on, Zancresta," he taunted the sorcerer, "trot

out anything you can think of, bring forth all your nasti-

ness! I've got a song for every one of 'em, and when

you're finished"—he was already humming silently the last

song he planned to sing this day—"when you're finished,

Jalwar-Zancresta, I've got a final riff for you."

The ferret pursed his lips and shook his head sadiy.

"You poor, simple, unwilling immigrant, do you think I'm

so easily beaten? I know a hundred powerful conjurations

to throw at you, remember a thousand curses. But you are

correct. I know that your music could counter them."

Something was wrong, Jon-Tom thought. Zancresta ought

to have been begging for mercy. Instead, he sounded as

confident as ever.

"Your music is strong, spellsinger, but you are feeble

here." He tapped his head. "You see, as I said, I came

prepared to deal with anything." He looked to his right.

"Charrok, I need you now,"

From behind a partly vacant shelf, a new shape appeared.

Jon-Tom braced himself for anything, his fingers ready on

the duar, his mind full of countering songs. The figure that

emerged did not inspire any fear in him, however. In fact,

it was singularly unimpressive.

The mockingbird stood barely three feet tall, shorter

even than Corroboc. He wore an unusually plain kilt of

black on beige and yellow, a single matching yellow vest

devoid of adornment, and a single yellow cap.

Zancresta gestured at Jon-Tom. "That's the one I told

you about. Do what I paid you to do!"

The mockingbird carefully shook out his wings, then the

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

271

rest of his feathers, put flexible wingtips on his hips and

cocked his head sideways to eye Jon-Tom.

"I hear tell from Zancresta here that you're the best."

"The best what?"

The mockingbird reached back over a shoulder. Roseroar

and Mudge tensed, but the bird produced not an arrow or

spear but a thin wooden box overlaid with three sets of

strings.

"A syreed," murmured Roseroar.

Charrok nestled the peculiar instrument under one wing

and flexed the strong feathers of the other. "Now we're

going to learn who's really the best."

"Bugger me for a mayor's mother!" Mudge gasped.

"The bloody bastard's a spellsinger 'imself!"

XVI

"That," said the mockingbird with obvious pride, "is just

what I am."

"Now, look," said Jon-Tom even as he made sure the

duar was resting comfortably against his ribs, "I don't

know you and I've no reason to fight you. If you've been

listening to what's been going on you know who's on the

side of right here and who on the side of evil."

"Evil-schmieval," said the mockingbird. "I'm just a

country spellsinger. I don't go around making moral judg-

ments. I just make music. The other I leave to solicitors

and judges." Feathers dipped toward multiple strings.

"Let's get to it, man."

The voice that emerged from that feathered throat was

as sweet and sugary as Ion-Tom's was harsh and uneven,

and it covered a range of octaves no human could hope to

match.

Well then, Jon-Tom decided grimly as he saw the smile

that had appeared on the ferret's face, it was up to him to

respond with musical inventiveness, sharper lyrics, and

better playing. If nothing else, he could at least match the

mockingbird in enthusiasm and sheer volume.

272

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

273

The mountain rattled and the shelving shook. The floor

quivered underfoot and stone powder fell from the ceiling

as the two spellsingers threw incisive phrases and devastat-

ing rhymes at each other. Charrok sang of acid tongues

and broken hearts, of mental anguish and crumbling self-

esteem. Jon-Tom countered with appropriate verses by

Queen and the Stones, by Pat Benatar and Fleetwood Mac.

Charrok's clashing chords smashed violently against Jon-

Tom's chords by the Clash. The mockingbird even resorted

to calling up the defeated warriors of the Plated Folk, and

Jon-Tom had to think fast to fight back with the pounding,

sensual New Wave of Adam Ant.

As the two singers did battle, Mudge struggled to get a

clear shot at Zancresta. The wizard had witnessed several

demonstrations of the otter's prowess with the longbow,

however, and was careful not to provide him with a decent

target.

Jon-Tom was finally forced to pause, no matter the

consequences. He was panting hard and his fingers were

numb and bloody from nonstop strumming. Worse, his

throat stung like cracked suede and he feared creeping

hoarseness.

But the arduous duel had taken its toll on his opponent

as well. Charrok no longer fluffed out his feathers proudly

between songs, nor did he appear quite as confident as he

had when the battle had begun.

At which point Jon-Tom thought to try another line of

attack entirely.

"That last tune, the one about the drunken elephant with

the knife? That was pretty sharp. You got some good riffs

in there. I couldn't do that."

"Sometimes," Charrok croaked, "it's harder with fin-

gers than with feathers." He held up his right wing and

wiggled the flexible tips for emphasis. "You're not doing

too badly yourself, though. What was that bit about dirty

deeds done dirt cheap?"

274

Alan Dean Poster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

275

"AC/DC," Jon-Tom replied tiredly. "I thought it might

conjure me up a few berserk assassins. No such luck."

"Good try, though," Charrok complimented him. "I

could almost feel the knife at my throat."

Zancresta stepped forward, careful to keep the body of

his hired instrument between himself and Mudge.

"What is this? I am not paying you to indulge in casual

conversation with this man. I am paying you to kill him!"

Charrok turned. His gaze narrowed as he stared up at

the sorceror. "You hold on a minute there, Mr. Zancresta,

sir. You hired my spellsinging, not my soul."

"Don't get existential with me, you warbling bumpkin!

You'll do as you're told!"

Charrok was unperturbed by the sorcerer's outburst.

"That's what I've been doing." He nodded toward Jon-

Tom. "This fella's mighty damn good. He might, just

might, be better than me."

"I don't know who's best and I don't care," Jon-Tom

said hastily, "but you sing like a storm and you play like a

fiend. I'd appreciate it a lot if you could show me that last

song." He strummed an empty chord on the duar. "Maybe

I've only got five fingers here, but I'd damn sure like to

give it a try."

"I don't know ... a duar only has two sets of strings and

my syreed three. Still, if you dropped a note here and

there...." He started to walk over. "Let's have a looksee."

"No fraternizing with the enemy," Zancresta snapped,

putting a restraining paw on the mockingbird's shoulder.

Charrok shook it off.

"Maybe he ain't my enemy."

"Of course I'm not," said Jon-Tom encouragingly,

moving forward himself. "A gig's a gig, but that shouldn't

come between a couple of professionals." When Charrok

was near enough, Jon-Tom put a comradely arm around

the bird's shoulders, having to bend over to do so. "This

isn't your fight, singer. Two musician-magicians of our

caliber shouldn't be trying to destroy each other. We

should be collaborating. Imagine the wizardry we could

work! This shouldn't be a duel, it should be a jam

session."

"I'd like that," said Charrok. He searched the aisle

beyond. "Where are the berries?"

"Not that kind of jam. I mean we should play together,

make music and magic together."

A hand reached out and clutched in frustration at the

mockingbird's vest. "1 won't have this!" The ferret was

jumping up and down on short legs. "I tell you, I won't

have it! I've paid you well to serve me in this matter. We

have a contract! There is too much at stake here."

"Yea, including my reputation," Charrok told him frosti-

ly. "But," he glanced up at Jon-Tom, "that can always be

settled between friends. As for your money, you can have

it back. I've decided I don't want.. ."

"Look out, mate!" Mudge yelled. The otter threw

himself forward, hit Zancresta just in time to make the

subtle knife thrust the ferret had been aiming at Jon-Tom

beneath Charrok's wing miss. The two went rolling over

together on the floor.

"Hold him, sun!" Roseroar thundered as she advanced,

ready to remove Zancresta's head from his neck as easily

as she would a stopper from a bottle.

But the ferret was scrambling to his feet, leaving a

bleeding Mudge lying on the floor. Displaying incredible

agility, the sorcerer dodged under Roseroar's wild rush and

started climbing up the nearest shelf. Boxes and cartons

came flying down at the tigress, who batted the missiles

aside impatiently as she tried to locate her quarry. Then

she was climbing after him, slowly but relentlessly.

Jon-Tom was bending over Mudge, whose paws were

clasped over the knife wound. The otter's eyes were

half-closed as he stared up at his companion.

"This is it, guv'nor. I'm on me way out. I'm dyin'. I

knew it would come someday, but 1 never thought it'd be

like this, wot? Not in some bloody store 'alfway across the

276

Alan Dean Foster

world. I was meant to die in bed, I was." The limpid

brown eyes were full of sadness and regret. "We 'ad some

good times, though. A few laughs 'ere, narrow escape

there. Cor, 'twere much to be sung of." The eyes closed,

reopened weakly.

"Sorry it 'ad to end like this, mate. If you 'ave a song

left in you to sing you might sing one for old Mudge. Sing

me a song o' gold, spellsinger. If I can't die in bed maybe

I can die under a pile o' gold. Bury me in the damn stuff

and I'll slip away 'appily."

Jon-Tom knelt alongside the limp otter, holding his head

up with one hand. "Mudge," he said quietly, "that knife

didn't go in more than half an inch, and you're not

bleeding that bad. If you want to get gold out of me you're

going to have to do better than that."

The otter fixed him with pleading eyes. "Gold? Why, I

wouldn't try to trick you into conjurin' up me some gold at

a time like this, mate. Would I?" Jon-Tom didn't reply.

Mudge moved his hands, and his eyes went wide with

surprise. "Crikey, would you 'ave a look at this! It's

'ealin' right over, it 'tis! Thanks be to your magic, mate.

I'll never forget this, guv, never!"

"I'll bet you won't," said the disgusted Jon-Tom. He

stood, and Mudge's head bounced off the floor.

"Ow! Damnit, you bloody smart-arsed, know-it-all,

over-sized, shallow-voiced son of a... !"

Jon-Tom didn't hear the rest. He'd turned to look down

the aisle. It was full of smoke from conjured lightning and

dust fallen from the ceiling. There was no sign of Zancresta

or the vengeful Roseroar. The fight had moved to another

aisle, another row of shelving. Snooth had also vanished,

which was understandable. The proprietress had retreated

to a place of safety to await the outcome of the fight,

exactly as Jon-Tom would have done had their positions

been reversed.

"Get up, Mudge," Jon-Tom said impatiently. "We've

got to help Roseroar."

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

277

The otter rose, still holding a paw over the light wound.

"That she-massif doesn't need any 'elp, mate. I'll 'elp you

look for 'er, but odds'll get you she finds that bastard

Zancresta first." He winced, inspected his knife cut.

"Ruined a good vest, 'e did."

"Wait." Jon-Tom squinted into the haze that filled the

aisle. "I think she's coming."

But it wasn't Roseroar. It moved on four legs and its

golden coat glowed even in the weak light. Clinging to the

broad back was the naked form of a young woman toasted

pink as a boiled lobster.

Drom trotted to a halt beside them. He was foaming at

the mouth and soaked with lather.

"Hot," he told them unnecessarily. "Excruciatingly

hot." Folly slid off the unicorn's back into Jon-Tom's

arms, barely conscious. "She was walking blindly toward

an open lava pit. I got there just in time."

"Jon-Tom." He held her carefully, acutely conscious of

the first-degree burn that covered her whole body. "I.. .1

didn't know what was happening, what I was doing.

Jalwar... he made me feel so strange. I couldn't think my

own thoughts anymore." She leaned against him.

"That morning when he woke me and made me follow

him out of our camp, I wanted to cry out, to warn you, but

I couldn't. He made me go with him, and he made me fetch

and cook and carry for him, but it wasn't me, it wasn't

me! It was like I was a prisoner in my own body and I

couldn't get out." She was sobbing now, the tears wet

against his chest. She leaned back and looked up at him in

astonishment.

"I'm crying. I didn't think I could cry anymore."

"You were hypnotized," Jon-Tom told her. When she

continued staring at him in puzzlement he explained fur-

ther. "A kind of magic. You couldn't help yourself." He

hugged her to him and when she moaned in pain he was

quick to release her. "We'll have to do something about

your burn. Maybe Snooth has something. We can buy

278

Alan Dean Poster

medicine for you, too. I still have the three gold pieces

that Mudge didn't lose in Snarken."

"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm all right now."

She turned to Drom. "I wouldn't have been if he hadn't

shown up. I didn't know what to think when he came

galloping down the corridor after me. Then he told me

who he was and that he was a friend of yours and you

were all here inside the mountain with him. That you were

fighting Jalwar-Zancresta." She ran to the unicorn and,

putting her arms around his neck, hugged him gratefully.

Drom tolerated the attention briefly before stepping back

and pulling free. "I am glad to have been of assistance,

madame, but leave us not get carried away with our

emotions."

"But I thought..." Folly looked hurt and Jon-Tom

hastened to reassure her.

"Drom's not being unfriendly, Folly. He's just being

himself. I'll explain later." He looked at the unicorn. "It

was a fine bit of rescue work, Drom."

"1 try." The unicorn searched the aisle. "Where is the

evil one? And the great feline? Did you defeat him during

my absence?"

"No." Jon-Tom smiled at the mockingbird. "This is

Charrok. When Zancresta discovered that he couldn't de-

feat me with his own magic, he tried to do it with another

spellsinger. Charrok and I conjured up quite a musical

storm before we came to the conclusion that harmony is

better than dissonance. As for Roseroar, she's gone after

Zancresta."

"I should pity the ferret, then."

"That's the truth, mate," said Mudge. "That's some

broad. If she were only a fourth 'er size."

"You have to learn to think big, Mudge." Jon-Tom

became serious. "Zancresta's as fast on his feet as he is

with his mind. He might give her the slip in here."

" 'E can't get out, though, mate," Mudge commented.

"Unless there's another way in, and I'd bet me tool there's

THE DAT OP THE DISSONANCE

279

only the one. I'd say the best we can do now is find that

oversized she-rat who runs the place. She 'ad the medicine

when the fight started, and I'd wager she's kept it with

'er."

It was a long hike back to the entryway, and Jon-Tom's

appraisal of the ferret as being fleet of foot turned out to be

accurate, for when they turned up the last aisle Zancresta

was already there.

"Ah just missed him in a side aisle," Roseroar rumbled

angrily, having rejoined them only moments earlier. "He

won't get away this time."

Zancresta's clothes were shredded, and he looked very

unwizardly as he stood panting heavily before the exit.

A glance down the side aisle showed his tormentors

approaching rapidly. There was nothing, however, to pre-

vent his escaping to plot against them from the outside.

Nothing except an old female kangaroo.

"Get out of my way, hag! My time is precious and I

have none to waste in argument."

"I'm not here to argue with you." Snooth spoke calmly,

the pipe dangling from her lips. Her right hand was

extended, palm upward. "You owe me payment."

"Payment? Payment for what?" Zancresta snarled impa-

tiently. His enemies were hurrying now, the ferocious

tigress in the lead. He did not have much time.

"For damage done to stock and fixtures."

"I was trying to escape from that insane female who

even now approaches. You can't hold me responsible for

that."

"I hold you responsible for everything," she replied

darkly. "You initiated conflict. You interrupted a sale. I

forgive you all that, but you must pay for the damage

you've caused. I'm not running a philanthropic organiza-

tion here. This is a business." She gestured with the palm.

"Pay up."

"Fool! I said I've no time to argue with you. This little

store you have here is a very clever piece of work, I'll

280

Alan Dean Foster

admit that. But I am Zancresta of Malderpot and I am not

impressed. I give you one chance to get out of my way."

Snooth did not move. The wizard's paw dipped into an

intact pocket and he flung something small and round at

her as the kangaroo's hands went to her belly. There was a

crump\ as the small round thing exploded, filling the

portal with angry red smoke. Jon-Tom had tried to shout

a warning. It came too late.

"Now I will leave over you, hag!"

But there was something else in the doorway now,

something besides the uninjured and glowering Snooth. It

rose from her pouch, the pouch where Jon-Tom thought he

had detected hints of movement before. It rose and grew

and it was immediately clear it was no joey, no infant

kangaroo. It was far larger, and it expanded as Jon-Tom

and his companions slowed to a halt.

Zancresta backed slowiy away from the apparition. It

enlarged until it reached the roof forty feet overhead, and

still it grew, until it could only fit in the cavern by bending

low against the rock ceiling.

It had the shape of a red kangaroo, but its face was not

the face of a gentle vegetarian like Snooth. The ears were

immense, sharply pointed, and hung with thick gold rings.

The long snout was full of scimitarlike teeth, and sulfurous

eyes centered on tiny black pupils glared downward. Gray

smoke encircled and obscured the behemoth's waist, rising

lazily from Snooth's pouch. Gorillalike arms hung to the

floor, where backturned knuckles rested on the smooth

stone.

A bright crimson band encircled the huge forehead. It

was inscribed with glowing symbols drawn from an an-

cient place and time. A thin silken vest flapped in an unfelt

wind against the mountainous chest.

And there was the voice. Not gentle and matronly like

Snooth's, but awesome in its depth and richness. The

apparition spoke, and the earth trembled.

"BEHOLD, ODIOUS IMP, TOILER IN OBSCURITY, MED-

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

281

DLER IN INEFFECTUALITY: I AM HARUN AL-ROOJINN,

MASTER OF ALL THE SPIRITS OF TIME PAST AND TIME

FUTURE WHERE MARSUPIALS RULE AND ALL OTHERS ARE

BUT TINY SCURRYING THINGS THAT HIDE IN ROCKS AND

FEED ON WORMS! BEHOLD, AND BE AFRAID!" A hand big

enough to sail the Glittergeist if fitted out with sails and

rigging reached for Zancresta.

The sorcerer cowered back against the shelving. His

expression was desperate as he sought refuge and found

none. He dropped to his knees and begged.

"Forgive me, forgive me, I did not know!"

"IGNORANCE is THE EXCUSE OF THE CONTEMPTUOUS,"

bellowed the djinn. "ABUSERS OF KNOWLEDGE RARELY

SEEK ENLIGHTENMENT FROM OTHERS. THOSE WHO TRAM-

PLE CONVENTION DESERVE NO PITY. THOSE WHO DO NOT

PAY WHAT THEY OWE DESERVE TO PERISH."

"I'm sorry!" Zancresta screamed, utterly frantic now.

"I was blinded by anger."

"YOU WERE BLINDED BY EGO, WHICH IS FAR WORSE."

"It is a terrible thing to feel inferior to another. I can't

stand it. I was overcome with the need to redeem myself,

to restore my standing as the greatest practitioner of the

mystic arts. All I have done was only for love of my

profession." He prostrated himself, arms extended. "I

throw myself on your mercy."

"YOU LOVE ONLY YOURSELF, WORM. MERCY? YOU

WOULD HAVE SLAIN MY MORTAL TO SAVE A FEW COINS,

TO SHOW YOUR DOMINANCE. MERCY? YEA, I WILL GRANT

YOU MERCY." The ferret's head lifted, and there was a

hopeful look on his tormented face.

"THIS is MY MERCY: THAT YOU SHALL DIE QUICKLY

INSTEAD OF SLOWLY!"

Zancresta shrieked and dodged to his left, but he wasn't

fast enough to escape that immense descending hand. The

fingers contracted once, and the shriek was not repeated.

There was only a quick echo of bones crunching. Jon-Tom

and his companions stared numbly.

282

Alan Dean Foster

The hand opened and dropped the jellied smear that had

been Jalwar-Zancresta, Wizard of Malderpot.

"I ASK YOU," the djinn muttered in slightly less deafen-

ing tones, "YOU TRY TO RUN A LITTLE BUSINESS DOWN

THROUGH THE AGES AND YOU FIND ETERNITY FULL OF

WELCHERS. SPEAKING OF WHICH"—the massive toothy

skull and burning yellow eyes lifted to regard Jon-Tom—

"THERE is MORE YET TO DO."

"Hey, wait a minute," said Jon-Tom, starting to back

away, "we're ready to pay for what we want. We didn't

come here to stiff anybody." He glanced toward Snooth,

who only shrugged helplessly. Apparently now that the

djinn had been called, she was powerless to control it.

"PAY FOR YOUR GOODS YOU MAY, BUT NOW I HAVE

BEEN CALLED FORTH, AND I MUST ALSO BE PAID. HOW

WILL YOU DO THAT, PALE WORM? I HAVE NO NEED OF

YOUR MONEY. PERHAPS YOU WILL SING ME A SONG SO

THAT I MAY LET YOU LEAVE?" Volcanic laughter filled the

Shop of the Aether and Neither.

Jon-Tom felt a hand pushing at him. "Well come on,

then, mate," Mudge whispered urgently, "go to it. I'm

right 'ere behind you if you need me 'elp."

"You're such a comfort." Still, the otter was right. It

was up to him to somehow placate this djinn and get them

out of there. But he was exhausted from his duel with

Charrok and Zancresta, and worn out from thinking up

song after song. He was also more than a little irritated.

Not the most sensible attitude to take, perhaps, but he was

too tired to care.

"You listen to me, Hargood ali rooge."

The djinn glowered. "I DON'T LIKE MORTALS WHO GET

MY NAME WRONG."

"Okay, I can go with that," Jon-Tom replied, "but

you'll have to excuse me. I've had a helluva couple of

weeks. We came here to get some medicine for a sick

friend. If that old fart hadn't intruded," and he gestured at

the smear on the floor, "we'd be out of here and on our

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

283

way by now. We didn't have a damn thing to do with his

actions."

"TRULY YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN ON YOUR WAY, BUT

WHICH WAY IS RIGHT AND PROPER FOR YOU TO GO,

LITTLE MORTAL?"

"Do you still have the medicine, Snooth?" The kanga-

roo nodded, opened a fist to show the precious container.

A hand the size of a bus lowered to block her from

Jon-Tom's sight.

"THE MEDICINE YOU MAY TAKE. IF YOU CAN SATISFY

ME. AND YOU HAVE SEEN WHAT HAPPENS TO MERE MOR-

TALS WHO DISPLEASE ME."

Jon-Tom was beginning to understand why Crancularn

had acquired a less than favorable reputation among travel-

ers in this part of the world, in spite of the miracles it

offered for sale.

"YOU THINK LONG, MORTAL. Do NOT THINK TO TRICK

ME BY SOME FOOLISHNESS SUCH AS ASKING ME TO SHRINK

MYSELF INTO A BOTTLE." A hand hovered above them and

Folly flinched. "I DON'T NEED TO CHANGE MY SIZE TO

SHOW MY POWER. ALL I NEED TO DO IS PUT MY THUMB ON

YOUR HEAD."

"Whatever happened to the customer's always right?"

Jon-Tom shot back.

The djinn hesitated. "WHAT OTHERWORLDLY IDIOCY is

THAT?"

"Just good business practice."

"A MORTAL WITH A KNACK FOR BUSINESS." The djinn

looked interested. "I WILL LET YOU PAY WITH YOUR

BUSINESS, THEN, AND PERHAPS YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS

WILL LEAVE HERE WITH YOUR BONES INTACT. YOU ARE A

SPELLSINGER. I HAVE HEARD MANY SPELLS INGERS, BUT

NONE THAT PLEASED ME. I DO NOT THINK I KNOW OF ONE

FROM YOUR WORLD. SlNG ME A SPELLSONG OF YOUR

WORLD, WORM. SlNG ME A SONG THAT WfLL AMUSE ME,

INTRIGUE ME. SlNG ME SOMETHING DIFFERENT. THEN,

AND ONLY THEN, WILL I LET YOU TAKE THE MEDICINE

284

Alan Dean Poster

AND GO!" The djinn folded arms with thick muscles like

the trunks of great trees.

"THINK CAREFULLY ON WHAT YOU WILL SING. I GROW

IMPATIENT QUICKLY AND WILL NOT ALLOW YOU A SEC-

OND CHANCE."

Jon-Tom stood sweating and thinking furiously. What

song could he possible sing that would interest this off-

spring of magic, who had access to the goods of thousands

of worlds? What did he know that might be offbeat and

just weird enough to have some effect on a djinn?

Off to his left Roseroar stood watching him quietly.

Mudge was muttering, something like a prayer. Folly paced

anxiously behind him while Drom pawed at the floor and

wished he were outside where he'd at least have a running

chance.

Feathers caressed his neck. "You can do it, colleague."

Charrok was smiling confidently at him.

Mystical. It had to be overtly mystical, yet not so

specific as to anger the djinn into thinking Jon-Tom was

trying to trick him. What did he know that fit that

description? He was just a hard rocker when he wasn't

studying law. All he knew were the hits, the platinum

songs.

There was only one possibility, one choice. A song full

of implications instead of accusations, mysterious and not

readily comprehended. Something to make the djinn think.

He let his fingers slide over the duar's strings. His throat

was dry but his hoarseness was gone.

"Watch it, mate," Mudge warned him.

To his surprise Jon-Tom found he could smile down at

the otter. "No sweat, Mudge."

"Wot can you sing for 'im 'e don't already 'ave,

guv'nor?" The otter waved at hand at the endless shelves

crammed with goods from dimensions unknown. "Wot

can you give 'im in song 'e don't already own?"

"A different state of mind," Jon-Tom told him softly,

and he began to sing.

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

285

He was concerned that the duar would not reproduce the

eerie chords correctly. He need not have worried. That

endlessly responsive, marvelously versatile instrument du-

plicated the sounds he drew from memory with perfect

fidelity, amplifying them so that they filled the chamber

around him. It was a strange, quavering moan, a galvaniz-

ing cross between an alien bass fiddle being played by

something with twelve hands and the snore of a sleeping

brontosaurus. Only one man had ever made sounds quite

like that before, and Jon-Tom strained hands and lips to

reproduce them.

"If you can just get your mind together," he crooned to

the djinn, "and come over to me, we'll watch the sunrise

together, from the bottom of the sea."

The words and sounds made no sense to Roseroar, but

she could sense they were special. Bits and pieces of

broken light began to illuminate the chamber around her.

Gneechees, harbingers of magic, had appeared and were

swarming around Jon-Tom in all their unseeable beauty.

It was a sign the song was working, and it inspired

Jon-Tom to sing harder still. Harun al-Roojinn leaned

forward as if to protest, to question, and hesitated. Behind

the fiery yellow eyes was a first flicker of uncertainty.

Jon-Tom sang on.

"First, have you ever been experienced? Have you ever

been experienced?" The djinn drifted back on nonexistent

heels. His great burning eyes began to glaze over slightly,

as if someone were drawing wax paper across them.

"Well, I have," Jon-Tom murmured. The notes bounced

off the walls, rang off the ears of the djinn, who seemed to

have acquired a pleasant indifference to those around him.

Jon-Tom's own expression began to drift as he contin-

ued to sing, remembering the words, remembering the

chords. A brief eternity passed. It was Mudge who reached

up to break the trance.

"That's it, mate," he whispered. He shook Jon-Tom

hard. "C'mon, guv, snap out o' it." Jon-Tom continued to

286

Alan Dean Foster

play on, a beatific expression on his face. The djinn

hovered before him like some vast rusty blimp, hands

folded over his chest, great claws interlocked, whispering.

"BEAUTIFUL ... Beautiful... beautiful..."

"Come on, mate!" The otter turned to Roseroar, who

was swaying slowly in time to the music, her eyes blank.

A thin trickle of drool fell from her mouth. Mudge tried to

kick her in the rump, but his foot wouldn't reach that high.

So he settled for slapping Folly.

"What... what's happening?" She blinked. "Stop hit-

ting me." She focused on the drifting djinn. "What's

happened to him? He looks so strange."

" 'E ain't the only one," Mudge snapped. " 'Elp me

wake the rest of 'em up."

They managed to revive Drom and Charrok and Roseroar,

but Jon-Tom stubbornly refused to return to reality. He was

as locked into the deceptively langorous state of mind he'd

conjured up as was the target of his song.

"Wake «/>!" Roseroar demanded as she shook him. He

turned to her, still playing, and smiled broadly.

"Wake up? But why? Everything's so beautiful." He

looked half through her. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful

you are?"

Roseroar was taken aback by that one, but only for a

moment. "Tell me later, sun." She threw him over her left

shoulder and started for the door, keeping a wary eye on

the stoned djinn.

"Just a second." Drom paused at the portal and snatched

the container of medicine from Snooth's fingers.

"Hey, what about my payment, sonny?"

"You've already been paid, madame." The unicorn

used his horn to point at Harun al-Roojinn."Collect from

him." Drom trotted out, through the storeroom of broken

devices, through the living area, and out the front door to

join his friends.

Snooth watched him go, hands on hips, her expression

grim.

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

287

"Tourists! I shouid've known they'd be more trouble

than they're worth." She stomped out onto the porch and

watched until they'd vanished into the woods. Then she

reached inside, found the sign she wanted, hung it on the

door, and slammed it shut. The message on the sign was

clear enough.

OUT TO LUNCH

BACK IN TEN THOUSAND YEARS

Jon-Tom bounced along on Roseroar's powerful shoul-

der. Mudge kept pace easily alongside, Folly rode atop the

reluctant but soft-hearted Drom, and Charrok scouted their

progress from above.

As the Shop of the Aether and Neither receded behind

them, Jon-Tom gradually began to emerge from the

mental miasma into which he'd plunged both himself

and Harun al-Roojinn. Fingers moved less steadily over

the duar's strings, and his voice fell to a whisper. He

blinked.

" 'E's comin' round," Mudge observed.

"It's about time," said Folly. "What did he do to

himself?"

"Some wondrous magic," muttered Drom. "Some pow-

erful otherworldly conjuration."

Mudge snorted and grinned. "Right, mate. What 'e did

to the monster was waste 'im. Unfortunately, 'e did 'imself

right proud in the process."

Jon-Tom's hand went to his head. "Ooooo." Shifting

outlines resolved themselves into, the running figure of

Mudge.

" 'Angover, mate?"

"No. No, I feel okay." He looked up suddenly, back

toward the smoking mountain. "Al-Roojinn?"

"Zonked, skunked, blown-away. A fine a piece o'

spellsingin' as was ever done, mate."

"It was the song," Jon-Tom murmured dazedly. "A

288

Alan Dean Foster

good song. A special song. Jimi's best. If anything could

dazzle a djinn, I knew it would be that. You can put me

down now, Roseroar." The tigress set him down gently.

"Come on, mate. We'd best keep movin' fast before

your spellsong wears off."

"It's all right, I think." He looked back through the

forest toward the mountain. "It's not a restraining song.

It's a happy song, a relaxing song. Al-Roojinn didn't seem

either happy or relaxed. Maybe he's happy now."

They followed the winding trail back toward Crancularn

and discovered a ghost town populated by slow-moving,

nebulous inhabitants who smiled wickedly at them, grin-

ning wraiths that floated in and out of reality. "It's there

but some don't see it," Drom had said. Now Jon-Tom

understood the unicorn's meaning. The real Crancularn

was as insubstantial as smoke, as solid as a dream.

They forced themselves not to run as they left the town

behind, heading for the familiar woods and the long walk

back to far-distant Lynchbany. Somewhere off to the right

came the grind of the ATC, but this time the helpful

rabbit, be he real or wraith, did not put in an appearance.

Once Jon-Tom glanced back to reassure himself that he'd

actually been in Crancularn, but instead of a crumbling old

town, he thought he saw a vast bubbling cauldron alive

with dancing, laughing demons. He shuddered and didn't

look back again.

By evening they were all too exhausted to care if

Al-Roojinn and a dozen vengeful cousins were hot on then-

trail or not. Mudge and Roseroar built a fire while the

others collapsed.

"1 think we're safe now," Jon-Tom told them. He ran

both hands through his long hair, suddenly sat up sharply.

"The medicine! What about the—!"

"Easy, mate." Mudge extracted the container from a

pocket. " 'Ere she be, nice and tidy."

Jon-Tom examined the bottle. It was such a small thing

on which to have expended so much effort, barely an inch

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

289

high and half again as wide. It was fashioned of plain

white plastic with a screw-on cap of unfamiliar design.

"I wonder what it is." He started to unscrew the top.

"Just a minim, mate," said Mudge sharply, nodding at

the container. "Do you think that's wise? I know you're a

spellsinger and all that, but maybe there's a special reason

for that little bottle bein' tight-sealed the way it is."

"Any container of medicine would be sealed," Jon-Tom

responded. "If there was any danger, Clothahump would

have warned me not to open it." Another twist and the cap

was off, rendering further argument futile.

He stared at the contents, then held the bottle under his

nose and sniffed.

"Well," asked Drom curiously, "do you have any idea

what it is?"

Jon-Tom ignored the unicorn. Frowning, he turned the

bottle upside down and dumped one of several tablets into

his palm. He eyed it uncertainly, and before anyone could

stop him, licked it. He sat and smacked his lips thoughtfully.

Abruptly his face contorted and his expression under-

went a horrible, dramatic change. His eyes bugged and a

hateful grimace twisted his mouth. As he rose his hands

were trembling visibly and he clutched the bottle so hard

his fingers whitened.

"It's got him!" Folly stumbled back toward the bushes.

"Something's got him!"

"Roseroar!" Mudge shouted. "Get 'im down! I'll find

some vines to tie 'im with!" He rushed toward the trees.

"No," Jon-Tom growled tightly. "No." His face fell as

he stared at the bottle. Then he drew back his hand and

made as if to fling the plastic container and its priceless

contents into the deep woods. At the last instant he

stopped himself. Now he was smiling malevolently at the

tablet in his hand.

"No. We're going to take it back. Take it back so that

Clothahump can see it. Can see what we crossed half a

world and nearly died a dozen times to bring him." He

290

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

291

stared at his uneasy companions. "This is the medicine.

This will cure him. I'm sure it will. Then, when the pain

has left his body and he is whole and healthy again, I'll

strangle him with my bare hands!"

"Ah don't understand yo, Jon-Tom. What's wrong if

that's the right medicine?"

"What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong." He shook

the bottle at her. "It's acetylsalicylic acid, that's what's

wrong!" Suddenly the anger went out of him, and he sat

back down heavily on a fallen tree. "Why didn't I think

that might be it? Why?"

Mudge fought to pronounce the peculiar, otherworldly

word, failed miserably. "You mean you know wot the

bloody stuff is?"

"Know it?" Jon-Tom lifted tired eyes to the otter. "You

remember when I arrived in this world, Mudge?"

"Now, that would be a 'ard day to forget, mate. I nearly

spilled your guts all over a field o' flowers."

"Do you remember what I was wearing?"

Mudge's face screwed up in remembrance. "That funny

tight shirt and them odd pants."

"Jeans, Mudge, jeans. I had a few things with me when

Clothahump accidently brought me over. My watch, which

doesn't work anymore because the batteries are dead."

"Spell's worn out, you mean."

"Let's don't get into that now, okay? My watch, a

lighter, a few keys in a small metal box, and another small

box about this big." He traced an outline in the air in front

of him.

"The second box held a few little items I always carried

with me for unexpected emergencies. Some Pepto-Bismol

tablets for an upset stomach, a couple of Band-Aids, a few

blue tablets whose purpose we won't discuss in mixed

company, and some white tablets. Do you remember the

white tablets, Mudge?"

The otter shook his head. "I wouldn't 'ave a looksee

through your personal things, mate." Besides, he'd been

interrupted before he could get the two boxes opened.

"Those tablets were just like these, Mudge. Just like

these." He stared dumbly at the bottle he held. "Acetylsali-

cylic acid. Aspirin, plain old ordinary everyday aspirin."

"Ah guess it ain't so ordinary hereabouts," said Roseroar.

"Now, mate," said Mudge soothingly, " 'is wizardship

couldn't 'ave known you 'ad some in your back pocket all

along, now could 'e? It were a sad mistake, but an 'onest

one."

"You think so? Clothahump knows everything.'1

"Then why send us across 'alf the world to find somethin'

'e already 'ad in 'is 'ouse?"

"To test me. To test my loyalty. He's grooming me to

take his place someday if he can't send me home, and he

has to make sure I'm up to the reputation he's going to

leave behind. So he keeps testing me."

"Are you tellin' me, mate," muttered Mudge carefully,

"that this 'ole damn dangerous trip was unnecessary from

the beginnin'? That this 'ere glorious quest could've been

left undone and we could've stayed comfy an' warm back

in the Bellwoods, doin' civilized work like gettin' laid an'

drunk?"

Jon-Tom nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so."

Mudge's reaction was not what Jon-Tom expected. He

anticipated a replay of his own sudden fury, at least.

Instead, the otter clasped his hands to his belly, bent over,

and fell to the ground, where he commenced to roll wildly

about while laughing uncontrollably. A moment later Drom's

own amused, high-pitched whinny filled the woods, while

Roseroar was unable to restrain her own more dignified but

just as heartfelt hysteria.

"What are you laughing about? You idiots, we nearly

got killed half a dozen times on this journey! So what are

you laughing about?" For some reason this only made his

companions laugh all the harder.

292

Alan Dean Poster

Except for one. Soft hands were around his neck and

still softer flesh in his lap as Folly sat down on his thighs.

"I understand, Jon-Tom. I feel sorry for you. I'll always

understand and I'll never laugh at you."

He struggled to squirm free of her grasp. This was

difficult since she was seated squarely in his lap and had

locked her hands tightly behind his neck.

"Folly," he said as he wrestled with her, "I've told you

before that there can't be anything between us! For one

thing, I already have a lady, and for another, you're too

young."

She grinned winsomely. "But she's half a world away

from here, and I'm getting older every day. If you'll give

me half a chance, I'll catch up to you." By now the

unicom was lying on his back kicking weakly at the air,

and Mudge was laughing hard enough to cry. Jon-Tom

fought to free himself and failed each time he tried,

because his hands kept contacting disconcerting objects.

Mudge looked up at his friend. Tears ran down his face

and formed droplets on the ends of his whiskers. " 'Ow

are you going to magic your way out o' this one, spell-

slinger?" Something nudged him from behind, and he saw

that the unicorn had crawled over close to him.

"Small you may be, otter, but you are most admirable

in so many ways. I look forward to joining you on your

homeward journey. It will give us the chance to get to

know each other better. And it is said that where there is a

will, there is a way." He nuzzled the wide-eyed otter's

haunches.

Then it was Jon-Tom's turn to laugh....