The Time Of The Transferance

“Squirks. Harmless little things, and tasty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The slinkers are burning the water!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not on your head, dammit.”

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

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

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

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

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

“They trying decide what to do with us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chief say you go ahead.”

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

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

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

“Of course I can’t. What kind of fool do you think I am?”

“I expect I’m fixin’ to find out.”

“I just want to get them thinking hard about something, anything. With everyone concentrating on his heart’s desire, I’m going to try and put the village into a trance. Remember how we put Corroboc’s whole crew to sleep? I don’t think I can do that here, especially without the duar. They’re too sharp-eyed and alert. But I do think I can put them into a hypnotic trance because they’re doing half the work for me by concentrating hard on a single thought. Then while they stand around swaying with stupid contented smiles on their happy faces, we can get the hell out of here.”

“I don’t ‘ave any better ideas. But if this don’t work they ain’t goin’ to be real pleased with us. Not that they’ve exactly invited us to join ‘em in song an’ dance as it is.” He stepped back.

“What’s he going to try?” Weegee asked him. ‘ “Paralyze ‘em with the sheer beauty o’ ‘is voice, m’luv.”

“Tell them to start concentrating on what they want,” Jon-Tom told Cautious. “In order for the magic to work they have to think of that and nothing else. They must shut out all other thoughts. I want them thinking as hard as they can.”

The raccoon nodded, translating for the chief and everyone else nearby. The word was passed through the assembled villagers. Many of them closed their eyes to enhance their concentration while those who kept them open stared expectantly in Jon-Tom’s direction. If only they were as friendly an audience as they were attentive, he thought.

Having already settled on his song, he began to strum the suar’s strings. Almost immediately a faintly phosphorescent green cloud formed over the villagers’ heads. Whispers of astonishment and awe greeted this rapid manifestation of true magic.

Unfortunately, while visually impressive, it distracted them from concentrating. He had to tell Cautious to remind them to ignore things like the green cloud or none of them would get their wishes. The cloud did have the effect of convincing the doubters among the hunters, however. Everyone was concentrating intently now.

As he sang on, a few gneechees put in an appearance. Not many, certainly far fewer than would have been drawn to the music of his duar, but enough to show that the spellsinging was working. There seemed to be something wrong with them, though. Instead of swooping and darting in familiar patterns, they shot through the air in short, jerky bursts. A couple even smashed into the ground and bounced dazedly away.

What this erratic behavior portended he couldn’t imagine and didn’t have time to consider. What mattered was that the tribe continue to concentrate. He could see them beginning to drift, to lose consciousness where they stood. A foul odor abruptly assailed his nostrils. Odd, but then his spellsinging often produced unexpected side effects. He could see that his companions smelled it, too.

“Wot the bloody ‘ell’s that aroma?”Next to him, Weegee put both paws over her nose. “Jon-Tom, it’s awful,”

Indeed it was, but he was afraid to stop singing or playing. The horrible miasma spread and intensified.

Cautious tried to retreat a few steps, nodding toward the villagers closest to him. “I think it coming from them.”

Indeed, every one of the villagers, from the chief down through the hunters to the lowliest infant seemed to have suddenly acquired the most abominable body odor. Nor did they appear in the least hypnotized by the spellsinging. One by one they opened their eyes and began to discuss the atrocious effluvia that now permeated their fur. Mutterings of disgust and anger filled the air as neighbor shied away from neighbor.

“That settles it.” Mudge could barely keep his breakfast down. “Not that there seemed much doubt wot fate they ‘ad in mind for us before, but ‘tis confirmed now.”

Jon-Tom continued to play until it was clear his song wasn’t producing the desired effect. “I don’t understand. I played that perfectly. The words were so apt.”

“Must’ve been somethin’ in your pronunciation, mate, or maybe it ‘as to do with your usin’ this ‘ere suar instead o’ your duar. You tried to get ‘em thinkin’ all the time. Wot you got ‘em was stinkin’ all the time.”

“We’ll have to try again.” As he said this a pair of the senior hunters were heading toward him, gesturing angrily with their truncated machetes. “Cautious, tell them it’ll be all right, tell them I made a mistake but I’m going to fix everything. Tell them fast.”

The raccoon translated. The hunters hesitated, glared threateningly at the man in their midst but held their ground. He began to sing again. It wasn’t easy because of the odor, but he had no choice. Once again the green cloud intensified. No onlooker could doubt the human was a magician. The trouble was that his variety of magic wasn’t very agreeable.

He sang hard, trying to concentrate particularly on his enunciation, phrasing each lyric precisely. Once more the spellsinging took effect. Once more the result was not quite what he’d been striving for.

“Terrific, mate.” Mudge gazed at the villagers surrounding them. “You’ve made ‘em our friends forever.”

The odor had not gone away. Not only was the tribe still stinking worse than an antiquated sewage plant, the second spellsong had induced a second additional change in their demeanor. Every one of them, irrespective of species, had turned a shocking shade of pink.

“You couldn’t make them think,” said Weegee, “so you made them stink and pink.”

“I just don’t understand,” Jon-Tom muttered to himself. “The songs both sounded so right.”

“I wouldn’t try tellin’ ‘em that, mate. Not that you could make ‘em any madder. Wotever you do don’t say you can’t change ‘em back or they’ll ‘ave us on the spit on the spot.”

“Got it.” He turned to Cautious. “Tell the chief that the magic doesn’t always work right the first time. I’m sorry for the unpleasant results, but after I rest I can make everything right again. When this kind of magic occurs you have to wait a while between spelling or you just make things worse.”

Clearly the chief and his advisors didn’t care one whit for this explanation, but they didn’t have much choice. Jon-Tom knew it and they knew it. The mongoose snapped an order. A platoon of furious, brightly hued and extremely smelly hunters promptly herded Jon-Tom and his friends to one end of the village and into a large, sturdy wooden cage. This was suspended from a thick rope fashioned of interwoven vines which ran through a wooden pulley hung from a high overhead branch. The captives bounced helplessly as they were hauled up until the cage dangled twenty feet off the ground. Looking down between the bottom poles they could watch the villagers jabbing weapons and fingers in their direction.

“I don’t mind that,” Mudge commented, “but I wish they’d do it from a distance. They stink somethin’ terrible, an’ they look worse.”

Weegee slapped a paw over his mouth. “Whatever you do, luv, don’t laugh. Keep in mind ‘tis Jon-Tom they need to fix things. The rest of us are expendable. That apparently hasn’t occurred to them yet. Let’s not give them a reason to think of it.” He nodded and she removed her paw.

“I ought to ‘ave bit your fingers, luv, but you’re right.” He sat on one of the poles that formed the bottom of the cage. “So ‘ow do we get out o’ this one, spellsinger?”

Jon-Tom leaned against a corner of the prison and brooded. “I thought I was getting us out of it.” He was staring at the suar, trying to wish an additional set of strings and better controls into existence. “I wish Clothahump was here.”

“Wot’s this? Losin’ a bit o’ our confidence, are we?”

“Hey, gimme a break. At least they’re not getting ready to barbecue us. Maybe the magic was unconventional, but it did buy us a breathing spell.”

Weegee had a delicate lace handkerchief wrapped around her muzzle. “Poor choice of words, Jon-Tom.”

“I don’t know wot you’re all cryin’ about. I’ve smelted worse in me time.”

“I’ve no doubt of that,” she told him, “judging from the descriptions of some of the dens of iniquity Jon-Tom’s told me he’s dragged you out of.”

“Wot’s that?” The otter shot a look in his tall friends’s direction. “Wot false’oods ‘ave you been feeding ‘er when me back were turned?”

“Only the truth.”

The otter threw up his hands., “The truth? Ain’t you got no more brains than to tell a lady the truth, mate?”

“What do you mean by that?” Weegee snapped, and the two of them launched into a violent argument that if nothing else took their minds off their present precarious situation. Cautious sat down and cleaned beneath his claws. Jon-Tom envied them all their ability to relax.

Worst of all was, he found himself wondering what he would taste like.

VIII

They were provided with food and water the following morning. By late afternoon their captors had evidently decided how to handle their unwelcome guests. A creaking announced the lowering of the cage as a half dozen warriors slowly let the rope slide through its pulley. Jon-Tom clutched the bars and peered downward.

“Better think fast, mate. Looks like they think your magic’s ‘ad about enough rest.”

“I’ll tell them they’ll just have to wait. I need more time to recharge my batteries.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. Take a look at their eyes. If your batteries ain’t recharged by now, I expect they’re goin’ to ‘ave a go at removin’ ‘em.”

“Maybe they’re bluffing,” said Weegee. “If they kill you they won’t have anyone to restore their normal color and smell.”

“So if ‘tis a standoff, then why are they lowerin’ us down? Can’t be for casual conversation an’ I ain’t anxious to be invited to dinner.”

“Be ready.” Cautious was checking out the forest as they descended. “We may have to make a run for it, you bet.”

A. tun fot it. That was something, movie cowbovs did, Jon-Tom mused. Like heading people off at passes and saving the ranch. He was a spellsinger. Spellsingers didn’t run. They didn’t get eaten, either. He thought furiously. Maybe they could head these primitives off at the impasse.

As it turned out they were not to be marched to the kitchen, though when they saw what was waiting for them Jon-Tom wondered if that fate might not be preferable.

“Well now,” said Kamaulk, “it’s a genuine pleasure to see you again. The way you departed one might think you didn’t care for our hospitality.”

Jon-Tom’s heart sank as he saw the pirate captain, Sasheem and other members of that bloodthirsty crew standing among the natives. They’d have a much more difficult time escaping from the parrot than they would from these superstitious primitives.

“How’d you find us?”

“When you abandoned our company we were quick to send word all up and down the coast. Money talks, tall man. A runner from this tribe heard about our open offer of payment. We hastened here as fast as the word reached us. I’ve already settled a price with this chief. Seems he’s anxious to be rid of you. I don’t think he trusts your spellsinging anymore. Sasheem, relieve our friend of his burden, won’t you?”

“With pleasure, sir.” The first mate and a couple of assistants proceeded to strip Jon-Tom and-his friends of weapons, packs, suar and everything else useful.,

“What do you intend to do with us?” Weegee stood straight as she asked the question though in her case she thought she already knew the answer.

“Ain’t decided yet. Now me dear departed nest-brother, he wouldn’t be hesitating. He’d have the lot of you gutted on the spot. Myself being of a less wasteful nature I can’t decide whether to try and sell you somewhere for a profit or keep you to satisfy my less businesslike cravings. But I promise you’ll be the first to know when I’ve made my choice.”

“If you take me away from here I won’t be able to return these people to normal.”

Kamaulk chuckled. “You haven’t been paying attention, spellsinger. The chief and I have already discussed the little problem you created here. Their color is already beginning to come back. So is their smell. Have a look and a sniff.”

The pirate was correct. Pink was shading back to brown and black and the rich aroma of raw sewage was less offensive than it had been the day before. Jon-Tom was downcast.

“The spell fades. It never did that when I worked with the duar.”

“You should be thankful.” Sasheem smiled hugely at him. “We arrived to rescue you just in time.” The other pirates found this sally vastly amusing.

“Not sure I wouldn’t ‘ave preferred the cookpot,” mumbled Mudge.

“Come now, I’m not so uncivilized as that.” Kamaulk rubbed at an eye. “I doubtless will end up selling you, though perhaps not quite all of you. You see, Sasheem here has grown fond of you and wishes to keep some small remembrance of your numerous meetings. I have not yet decided which part of each of you I am going to allow him to retain. That will depend on the behavior you exhibit between now and the time I have you sold. Keep that in mind lest any new thoughts of escape enter your heads.”

Sasheem fingered his knife. “Eunuchs are in high demand on the western shore of the Glittergeist.”

“Definitely ought to ‘ave opted for the cookpot,” said Mudge miserably.

They were marched in single file out of the village between lines of snarling, gesticulating hunters. Then the pirates turned west instead of north.

“Heading for the sea. Got a boat on the beach somewhere, you bet.” Cautious sniffed at the air. “Told you pirate folk stick to ocean. Pretty long walk from here, I think. Be night soon.” He threw Jon-Tom a significant glance.

His meaning was clear enough. Despite Kamaulk’s warning they had to try to get away before the pirates got them back aboard a boat. Once safely at sea Sasheem would muster all his arguments, insisting it was dangerous to let them live, probably regaling Kamaulk with an exaggerated list of Jon-Tom’s abilities and in general doing everything in his power to convince the new captain that it was safer to have the human and his companions dead than to try and wring a few gold pieces out of them. Excepting Weegee, of course.

They didn’t stop for dark until a scrawny, swarthy coyote tripped over a root in the darkness and got up cursing. “We need to halt ‘ere, Cap’n” He carried a long pike and was gaudily clad in reds and greens. “The boys don’t relish tryin’ to find the beach in the dark.” Murmurs of agreement rose from the other crew members.

“Aye, sir, we’re about done in.”

“ Tis been a long enough day and enough marchin’. I’m for makin’ camp here.”

Sasheem glared at them. “Nonsense.” He jabbed a thumb skyward. “The moon gives plenty of light.”

“We’ll do better to rest tonight and make better time in the morning,” the coyote argued stubbornly. “One never knows what one might meet in a strange wood at night, especially in this unknown country.”

The leopard let out a low snarl. “Surely you don’t fear the simpletons we just left?”

The coyote spat at the ground. “First mate, I ain’t afraid of anything natural. We’re just plain tuckered, we are. I’m second to none in me desire to be back aboard a seaworthy vessel, but even a fanatic needs his sleep. Now that we got what we come for I don’t see the need to rush. They ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Kamaulk put a restraining wing on his second-in-command’s arm. “I’m tired myself. The past few days have been a strain, bar. This is a good place to nap, dry and cool. Even if we were to reach the beach we’d have to spend the night on the sand before sailing home. The currents along these shores are tricky and I don’t care to try the breakers at night. Let the crew have their sleep.”

A smart captain, Jon-Tom reflected, and therefore more dangerous than the impetuous, hotheaded Corroboc. He knows how to listen to his men and play them off against each other.

Sasheem set an ample guard over the prisoners and around the temporary encampment just in case the hunters they had bargained with were tempted to try and repossess their former property. The fat, badly scarred beaver who had been assigned to watch glared down at Jon-Tom, angry at having been singled out while his comrades fell to sleeping.

Jon-Tom and Mudge put their heads together and whispered, but in the end it was Weegee who determined their next course of action. She sat up straight and spat on both of them. Man and otter separated in surprise.

“I’m fed up with the lot of you!”

“Luv, wot are you on about? We risked our necks to rescue you from these bastards. Just because things didn’t work out the way we planned....”

“Planned my arse. You don’t plan, you stumble, you ignorant twits. You don’t consider the unforeseen possibilities. My luck that my ‘rescuers’ turn out to be the biggest trio of dummies this side of Snarken.”

Mudge rose. “Now you listen to me, you bristle-nosed bitch!”

“Don’t call me names, fuzznuts. I’ve about had it up to here with you and your pimple-brained man-boy. You’re no good as rescuers and you’re no good as anything else. At least this bunch,” and she jerked her head in the direction of the sleeping pirates, “has some guts. Take him, for instance.” She indicated their guard. “You can tell just by looking at him that he’s too smart to get himself iri a fix like this. Males like that, they’ve been around. They know the score, how to take care of themselves.” The beaver made a show of ignoring this verbal by-play, but he consciously tried to suck in his gut and stand a little taller.

“A real male would know how to take advantage of every situation, no matter how delicate, without getting himself in a bucket of trouble. Wouldn’t he?” She batted her lashes at the beaver, who pretended not to notice. She began to twist about on the ground in a seductive manner. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a good lover I’ve damn well forgotten what it’s like.”

The beaver swallowed, watching her movements out of one eye.

“Don’t you think,” Weegee cooed to him, “you and I could slip away for a few minutes and show these bottle-brains what a real male and female can do?” She cut her eyes right. “There’s a couple of nice, thick bushes over there.”

“I—I can’t.” The guard’s lips were twitching. “Sasheem would have my tongue out if I left my post,”

“But you’re not leaving your post. Your job is to keep an eye on us, isn’t it? Those useless neuters are securely tied. So am I for that matter. Why, I wouldn’t be able to keep you from doing just any old thing you might want to do. And you will be keeping an eye on me, won’t you? Along with other things?”

The guard turned, studied Jon-Tom, Mudge and Cautious. “One of them might get loose.”

“Why don’t you tie their necks together?” Weegee suggested brightly. “That way if they try to run off they’ll just choke each other. If they trip and fall two of them will break the third one’s neck—not that that’d be any loss. Besides, we’ll just be a few feet over there.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“What could a little weak thing like me do, all tied up like this?”

The temptation was too much for the guard. Drawing a length of heavy rope from his belt he quickly secured the three males neck to neck, so tightly the hemp burned into Jon-Tom’s skin. Then he lifted Weegee under her arms and dragged her off into the bushes. Mudge rolled over to face Jon-Tom.

“Let’s ‘ave a chat, mate.”

“About what?” Jon-Tom was looking past him into the underbrush where the guard had taken Weegee.

“Anything you want,” the otter said tightly, “but let’s talk.”

So they talked, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from the bushes until Weegee reappeared. She ran bent over and low and though her wrists were still bound behind her, she made short work of their bonds with her sharp teeth. Her clothing was more disheveled than ever.

“How’d you get away from him?” Jon-Tom asked the question because Mudge couldn’t.

“I waited and let him do as he pleased, whispering sweet sillinesses into his ears and moaning and whistling, and when he was about done I kissed him as hard as I could and kicked his nuts up into his throat, that’s how. Then I picked up a rock I’d selected earlier with my feet—he forgot that we otters are very agile with our feet—and I hit him in the head. Many times. Until he stopped moving. I don’t think he’ll move again.”

Cautious was the last to be untied. As Mudge and Jon-Tom were helping him slip free of his bonds, Weegee vanished back among the bushes only to return a moment later with the guard’s knife and spear.

“We’ve got to get our backpacks and stuff.” Jon-Tom rubbed his wrists where the rope had cut into them. “We’ve at least got to get the sack my duar’s in.”

“How much is me life worth to you, mate?”

“Mudge, you know I can’t leave that behind.”

“Some’ow I knew you’d say somethin’ like that.” The otter sighed. “Wait over there.” He pointed toward a clump of small trees. Not the bushes where Weegee had been dragged.

They did as he bid, waiting for what seemed like an hour but was only a few minutes. Jon-Tom was about to suggest going after him when he reappeared, moving silently through the darkness, his own pack on his back and Jon-Tom’s trailing along behind him. Jon-Tom winced every time the sack containing the pieces of duar bounced off the ground.

“Couldn’t you have been a little more careful with that?” He grabbed the backpack’s straps and swung it onto his shoulders.

“Do tell? You ought to be grateful I risked me life to sneak back for that lousy sack o’ kindlin’.”

“I am, because you’re the only one I know who could have done it.”

“Oh, well, since you put it that way. I expect I am. Anyone else would ‘ave woken the lot of them.”

At about that time a shout rose from the pirate encampment, followed by a couple of sleepy queries.

“Would have, eh?” Weegee smacked him across the snout. Mudge slapped her back and Jon-Tom and Cautious had to forcibly separate the two lovers.

“Ain’t got time for this, you bet,” Cautious chided them. Jon-Tom was trying to peer into the woods as the alarm spread slowly through the brigands’ camp.

“Which way? Toward the beach?”

“I doen know the beach. I know the woods.” The raccoon pointed southward. “We go that way.”

At first the cries and shouts of the pirates faded behind them, but soon they gained in strength.

“Following for sure.” Mudge scampered alongside Jon-Tom. “I ‘ave this uncomfortable feelin’ they won’t be so quick to give up on us this time. We’ve embarrassed ‘em once too often.”

“I agree.” Jon-Tom ducked a low-hanging branch, felt the wood scrape the top of his scalp. “I’m afraid Sasheem will prevail.”

“They won’t take us alive.” Weegee kicked a bush aside. “Think we can outrun “em?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced skyward worriedly. “I wonder if Kamaulk’s wing is healed enough for him to fly. I didn’t notice any other avians in the crew.”

“Lucky break.” Mudge leaped a rivulet. “Be ‘ard put to spot us at night through these trees anyway.”

At times the pirate’s cries would drift away, only to return stronger than ever as one of their number picked up the tracks of the escapees. Once they splashed down a shallow stream and temporarily lost their pursuers completely, only to have them eventually pick up the trail yet again. Cautious tried every trick he knew, but the pirates persisted. This time they wouldn’t tuck their tails between their legs and give up. And if they couldn’t shake them at night, Jon-Tom knew, they’d have twice the trouble losing them in the daytime.

He was tired already. His heart pounded against his ribs and his legs felt like silly putty. Even Mudge and Weegee were showing signs of exhaustion. Not even an otter can run forever.

Suddenly Jon-Tom stopped, nearly stumbling. Mudge crashed into him from behind and wheezed angrily up at his friend.

“Wot’s the matter with you, mate? Come on, we’ve got to keep movin’.”

“Hold on a minute.”

“We ain’t got many minutes.”

Jon-Tom ignored this as he moved curiously to his left. Mudge looked back into the woods, then at his companion.

“Are you daft, lad? Wot is it you’re ‘untin’ for?”

“Don’t you feel it?”

“Feel wot?”

“Something our friends are likely to overlook.” He was pushing leaves and branches aside now, let out an exclamation of satisfaction when he found what he was looking for.

A cool, slightly damp breeze emerged from beneath a rocky ledge.

“There’s got to be a cave down there. Pretty big one, too, judging from the strength of the wind coming out. Maybe we can’t lose them up here, but I think they’ll be less likely to come looking for us below, even if they’re lucky enough to find this opening.” He started scanning the forest floor. “Find something we can make torches out of.”

There was plenty of dried moss. Wrapped around branches, these made serviceable faggots.

“How do we light them?” Weegee had already searched her clothing. “I don’t have any flints with me. Can you sing a fire spell?”

“No, but I’ve got these.” He fumbled in his pack. Sure enough, he had four matches left of the box he’d been carrying when Clothahump had first yanked him into this world. Saying a silent prayer, he struck the first alight. He was greatly relieved when the moss on the first torch caught instantly.

Weegee was wide-eyed. “If not magic, what do you call that?”

“Matches. I’ll explain later.” He touched the lit torch to the others. “Come on. If I fit, everyone’ll fit.”

Cautious stepped in front of him. “My eyes are better in the dark than anyone else’s here, you bet. I go first. You follow, Jon-Tom, stay close to my tail. Maybe if I fall in big hole, you got something to grab. If not, I warn you before I bounce.” He grinned, clapped the man on the shoulder, then turned and ducked lithely beneath the ledge. Jon-Tom followed as Mudge and Weegee brought up the rear.

The cave sloped steadily downward, a claustrophobic tube. Jon-Tom began to wonder if this had been such a bright idea. His palms were rubbing raw on the slick, unyielding limestone.

Without warning the ceiling rose and everyone was able to stand. Torches revealed a graveled path leading steadily onward.

Weegee surveyed the dark tunnel ahead. “Isn’t this far enough? I’m not very fond of deep places.”

“Are you fond o’ bein’ slowly skinned alive?” Mudge nodded back the way they’d come. “If they do find the openin’ they’re liable to hear our voices or see the light from these torches. The farther we go the safer we’ll be.”

Cautious had advanced several yards in front of his companions. “Opens up more, I think.”

“Let’s go on.” Jon-Tom followed the raccoon. He’d always liked caves.

Roughly a hundred feet beneath the forested surface the floor of the tunnel leveled out and their torches illuminated a subterranean world of baroque loveliness. Except for rock that had fallen from the ceiling the surface they were walking on was smooth and firm, having been scoured clean ages ago by a now vanished underground river. Water dripped from stalactites into shallow rimstone pools.

“A live cave.” Jon-Tom held his torch close to one pristine limestone soda straw. “Still growing.”

“Strange places, caves. Tis better to stay out of ‘em.” Mudge was studying the floor, looking for tracks. “One never knows wot sort o’ evil spirits lurk in their depths. O’ course in this case, we already know the nature o’ the evil spirits lurkin’ about above.”

The torches were holding out well, burning slowly and steadily, and the extensive winding chamber showed no sign of diminishing in size. Jon-Tom allowed Cautious to lead on. The farther they got from Sasheem and Kamaulk and the rest of their murderous ilk the safer he’d feel. Eventually they’d find a convenient stopping place, extinguish all of their torches, and rest.

Unless they discovered the entrance to the cavern the pirates would have to give up. Not even Sasheem and Kamaulk’s exhortations could keep the crew roaming a trackless forest for days on end. Even if they did discover the cavity beneath the ledge they probably wouldn’t enter, since the brigands tended to be more superstitious even than Mudge. Eventually the practical Kamaulk would have to admit he’d been outwitted again. His crew would mollify him by assuring him it was no crime to be fooled by a magician.

The beauty surrounding them tended to take their minds off their distant pursuers. A cluster of stalagmites rose fifteen feet from the floor, gleaming beneath their coats of pure white calcite. Frozen flowstone waves clung like draperies from the walls and gave off charming musical tones when Mudge tapped them with his claws. Iron oxide stained several draperies, giving them the appearance of huge slabs of bacon. Miniature travertine dams held back the drip water.

Long thin stalactites called soda straws hung from the ceiling, each with its bead of lime-saturated water dangling from the tip. One chamber was filled with helictites, twisted stalagtites that grew every which way in defiance of gravity. There were cave pearls and fried eggs and a whole phantasmagoria of wondrous speleotherms to admire. Jon-Tom identified stalactites and stalagmites that had grown together over the eons to form columns, tiny pale troglodytes that had to be cave crickets, long snaky wires....

Long snaky wires?

Hands shaking, he bent over and held his torch close to the motionless cable. The insulation was frayed and disintegrating but there was no mistaking what it was.

Weegee leaned over his shoulder, her musk strong in the still air of the cavern. “What the devil is it?” Ignoring her, he began tracing the cable along the ground. She looked over at Mudge. “What’s wrong? Why doesn’t he answer?”

Mudge bent low over the frayed cable, plucked a bit of torn insulation and smelled of it. His eyes were on his tall friend’s back. “I’ve an idea. ‘Tis insane, but no more insane than many things e an I ‘ave encountered in our travels together. Whether it bodes good or ill only the fates can say, those interferin’ blabbermouths.”

Jon-Tom was examining the narrow cleft in the wall from which the cable emerged. By turning sideways he could just squeeze through. Several minutes passed before his companions were drawn by a shout from beyond. Clothahump couldn’t have followed, but Cautious and the two otters slipped easily through the gap.

They came out in another decorated chamber seemingly no different from the one they had left. The cable continued to snake along the floor until it terminated in a square metal box. Another cable in somewhat better condition emerged from the other side of the container. Jon-Tom was studying it closely as his three companions gathered around.

“What is it?” Cautious inquired.

By way of reply Jon-Tom flipped open the box’s lid. A large plastic switch stared back at him. Hardly daring to hope, he turned it to the right. The primitive wiring not only still worked, it was connected to an as yet undiscovered power source. Mudge and Weegee jumped involuntarily as powerful argon lamps came to life and illuminated much of the chamber in which they stood. Cautious made protective signs in front of his body.

“No jokes this time, mate. Where ‘ave you brought us?”

“I don’t know. I sure as hell don’t know, Mudge.”

Quickly overcoming his initial surprise, Cautious had wandered over to stare at one of the high intensity lamps. “Strongest glow-bulb spell I ever see.”

“Don’t touch it,” Jon-Tom warned him. “They look old and I bet they get real hot real quick. This whole setup’s at least forty or fifty years old.”

“So where do we go from ‘ere, mate?”

“One of two ways, Mudge. Either we go back the way we came or we follow the cable and lights the other way and see if they lead to a dream come true.”

“I’d rather they led to a decent eatin’ place, but I think I’d settle for a dream come true. I sure as ‘ell ain’t going back up yet. Weegee?”

“If you trust Jon-Tom that much, how can I do less?”

“Doen make no much difference to me,” added Cautious. “You lead now, tall man.”

The cables led to another switch box, and another, and a fourth. Since the limits of the power supply had to be finite, Jon-Tom turned off the lights behind them each time he turned on the next set ahead. As old as the system was he didn’t think it would take much to overload it.

Once the roof dropped, and they all had to bend to clear the ceiling. When it lifted so they could stand again the cavern had become another tunnel similar to the one they had descended but with one important addition. Concrete steps spiraled upward directly ahead of them.

“Wot’s up there, mate? Or rather, wot do you think is up there?”

“Not our piratical friends. As to anything else, I’m afraid to guess’.”

“If we’re not to come out in the forest we left,” said Weegee, “where are we to come out, Jon-Tom?”

“The mind boggles.” He started climbing.

The steps wound their way up a narrow chute which had been artificially enlarged. As they neared the top they could smell warm air. A roof had been built over the hole. Several of the crossbeams had long since fallen in. The entrance to the cave below was either infrequently used or infrequently maintained.

When they got to the top of the stairs they found themselves surrounded by stone walls. A double door of heavy planks sealed the exit and was secured by a fat padlock. Jon-Tom bent to examine it but was gently nudged aside.

“Are you forgettin’ in whose company you’re travelin’?”

Using a knife and another small tool from his pack, it took Mudge about two minutes to pick the lock. The doors were shoved aside.

They found themselves standing atop a grassy knoll surrounded by trees very different from those they had left behind. There was no sign of the sandy-soiled cypress, pine and hardwood forest. The earth underfoot was thick with crumbled limestone, shale and clay. As for the trees, Jon-Tom recognized live oak right away. It took him longer to figure out that their neighbors were mesquite.

Off to their right stood a single building devoid of life. Climbing a few dozen yards the other way put them atop the highest part of the hill. From this vantage point they should have been able to see over the forest to the distant shore of the Glittergeist. There was no sea to be seen; only mile upon square mile of dense forest broken by a single wide, paved trail.

As they stood and stared, a bulky monster came chugging down the trail. It roared twice.

“Wot the bloody ‘ell is that?” Mudge stammered. ‘ Tis horrible to look upon.” Weegee turned her face to Jon-Tom. “Where have you brought us, spellsinger?”

The monster was the size of several elephants. It had eighteen legs, all of them round, and as it thundered southward Jon-Tom could just make out the legend inscribed on its flank.PIGGLY WIGGLY

Dumbfounded, he watched the eighteen-wheeler until it vanished into the woods. Fingers tugged insistently on his sleeve. “Out with it, mate. You know where we are, don’t you?”

Jon-Tom didn’t reply, continued to gaze dazedly at the highway. Mudge turned away from him.

“E’s bloody well out of it for now, ‘e is.”

“There’s a sign of some son.” Weegee waddled over to the wooden square that topped a post marking the end of a dirt road. She couldn’t make out the alien hieroglyphics on the other side but Jon-Tom could. Mudge dragged his friend over. The sight of the familiar lettering shocked him back to reality.

“It says, ‘Welcome to the Cave-With-No-Name’” and underneath, in smaller letters, “ ‘San Antonio - 64 Miles’.” ‘ ‘San At-nonio’?” Mudge’s brows drew together and his whiskers twitched. The sun was beginning to set over the eastern horizon. At least that were unchanged from the real world, he reflected. “I know Jarrow and I know Lynchbany an’ Polastrindu an’ half a ‘undred other cities, but I ain’t never ‘card o’ no San At-nonio.”

“I didn’t think Hell would have quite so many trees.” Weegee was examining a pair of acorns.

“We’re not in Hell,” Jon-Tom assured her. “Just Texas.”

“I don’t know where that is either.”

“My world.” A slow grin spread across Jon-Tom’s face. “We’ve crossed through to my world.” He walked back to the cave entrance. “‘Cave-With-No-Name’. That’s appropriate. There must be a permanent passage down there between your world and mine. Whoever developed this cave started to run a new cable through to the chamber on your side and gave it up. Maybe ran out of money. This setup hasn’t been worked on in years, maybe decades. Clothahump often postulated that such permanent gateways might exist.”

“Wot makes you think ‘tis permanent?”

“Want to go back and see if Kamaulk and Sasheem and the others are waiting for us by the ledge opening?”

“Not just right away, mate. I expect we could ‘ang around ‘ere for a day or two and then go back. Don’t know as ‘ow I could stand it much longer than that.” He sniffed ostentatiously. “Air ‘ere smells peculiar but not as you always told me.”

“That’s because we didn’t come out in the middle of a big city. Just as well. Would’ve caused quite a stir.” Bending, he picked up an empty metal container. It was brown, red, battered, and said DR. PEPPER on the side. It was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in over a year. He might’ve been fondling the Hope diamond. Tears started from the corners of his eyes. “Home. Damn, I finally made it.”

Cautious was turning a slow circle. “So this your world, eh? Doen look so impressive to me.”

Jon-Tom couldn’t bring himself to cast the empty can aside. “We didn’t emerge in the most impressive neighborhood, for which we can all be grateful. The culture shock on both sides would’ve been too much to handle.” He took a deep breath, gestured toward the entrance to the cavem. “I think the rest of you’d better keep out of sight over there until I see if anybody’s home.”

Mudge frowned. “Why? We got bad breath or somethin’?”

“You don’t understand. In my world, people like you and Weegee and Cautious don’t talk.”

“Oh, right you are, mate. You told me that before.”

“What’s he talking about?” Weegee asked.

Mudge put his arm around her and directed her toward the cave. “I’ll explain it all to you, luv. It beggars understandin’, it does.”

As soon as his friends had concealed themselves Jon-Tom stepped up on the porch of the building which was at least as old as the wiring he’d encountered below. Clearly this was not one of the tourist highspots of the Lone Star state. He rapped twice on the screen door before noticing the small sign set inside.GONE BOWLING - BACK IN A WEEK

Someone who knew how to relax, he reflected. On a hunch he opened the unsecured screen door and tried the door knob. Locked. He hunted around the opening. Displaying either country trustworthiness or bucolic naivete, the owner had left a key on top of the nearby light. He had to jiggle it in the lock but soon had the door open.

The sight froze him. So long, it had been so unbelievably long. So many extraordinary things had happened to him that he found himself paralyzed by the sight of the ordinary.

It was all real, from the souvenir postcards in the wire rack atop the candy counter to the telephone and cash register and rack of antlers. With difficulty he restrained himself from tearing into the neat rows of Milky Ways and Baby Ruths and Hershey’s with Almonds.

The den of the old house had been converted into a greeting room for tourists. Snug and lined with pine, it fronted a single bedroom and a small unimpressive kitchen which nonetheless held out the promise of the first familiar food he’d seen in a year. He forced himself to stay clear of the refrigerator and pantry until he’d thoroughly checked the rest of the premises. There was a bathroom and a garage out back. The garage was empty.

A shout brought him back to the front porch. Mudge was peering around the edge of one of the doors that led to the cave. “Is it safe or ain’t it, mate? Do we come on in or run back down?”

“It’s okay, there’s nobody here now. Come on in.”

The otters and Cautious were fascinated by the plethora of unfamiliar objects that filled the old house. The kitchen in particular was a treasure house of alien delights, not the least of which took the form of half a dozen cans of Chicken of the Sea tuna. After Jon-Tom instructed him in the use of a can opener Mudge went a little berserk.

An hour later he was patting his bulging belly. “One thing about your world, mate: ‘tis fillin’.” He held up a small oblong can. Wot’s in ‘ere?”

Jon-Tom had the lights on in the kitchen. It was getting pitch dark outside. “Sardines. Slow down. We don’t want to eat everything at once and I don’t know how I’m going to pay the owner for what we’ve eaten.”

“We’ll leave ‘im an IOU.”

“You leave an IOU? That’d be a first.” He sipped slowly from a cold bottle of RC. Pure luxury sloshed down his throat. “It’s funny. All the spells Clothahump and I have tried over the past year, all the arcane tomes we’ve consulted, and here we stumble across a permanent link between our worlds because we’re running for our lives from a bunch of two-bit pirates.”

“If it is permanent and doesn’t close down on us while we’re sitting here stuffing our faces,” Weegee said darkly.

Jon-Tom lowered the bottle from his lips. “I think that gate’s been there as long as the cave itself. The terminated cable running through the passage shows that it’s been open between worlds for a number of years, anyway. Think of it! We can travel back and forth between my world and yours at will. Columbus was a piker compared to us.” He chuckled at the thought. “I can’t wait to see the reaction when you and Mudge and Cautious appear on the Six O’Clock News.”

“Now wot might that be?”

Jon-Tom was explaining network news to the otter as he fried himself some bacon and eggs. The explanation was inelegantly interrupted by a voice from the kitchen doorway.

“Nobody runs out on Kamaulk twice in a row and lives to brag about it, not even if they run all the way to another world.”

IX

Jon-Tom dropped the skillet. Sizzling bacon and runny eggs splashed over his boots. Kamaulk stood framed in the lower half of the doorway, holding a small crossbow in his wings. Behind him Sasheem held a throwing knife in each paw.

“Crap!” Mudge glanced at his friend. “Guess you’re right, mate. I expect the passage between our worlds is permanent enough. Would ‘ave to be. Proof of it is that sewage flows both ways.”

Kamaulk hopped into the kitchen, his eyes flicking over the strange sights and familiar former acquaintances with equal alacrity. “Demonic contrivances. There’s money in demonic contrivances. There’s much here that can be turned to profit.”

Jon-Tom forbore from pointing out that the household goods the parrot was eyeing enviously didn’t belong to him. Somehow he didn’t think appealing to the pirate’s sense of fair play would garner them much credit. Mudge was trying to sneak his paw down to the longbow lying near his feet when a stiletto slammed into the table two inches from his belly.

“Don’t try that again.” Sasheem stepped into the room. “I’ve no patience left where any of you are concerned. Try me one more time and no matter what the captain says I’ll put the next one between your eyes. Or hers.” He favored Weegee with a cursory nod.

“Nice to see you again, lass.” The voice was colder than the ice cubes in the refrigerator’s freezer compartment. It came from the beaver who slipped into the room beneath Sasheem’s arm. A thick bandage was wrapped around his head. It was the guard who’d been assigned to watch them last night. His expression was not pleasant. “I’ve pleaded with the Cap’n to let me take charge of you special. I’ve a few kicks you lent me I’d like to return.”

“Belay that for now, Woshim. You haven’t earned anything here.”

“But Cap’n, you said “

“Not now,” Kamaulk snapped. “A fascinating place you’ve led us to. We will need a suitable guide to show us the best way to profit.”

“I’ll guide you to the garbage dump.”

“You’ll do better than that, spellsinger. By my tail feathers you will. Or your friends will die one by one, as slowly and painfully as Sasheem can make it. You will stay here to explain this world to me. We will take the others back with us as hostage to your good intentions. We marked the path with care. Tracking you through that cave was not easy.”

“How did you track us?”

Mudge snorted. “Ain’t you lived long enough in our world to figure that by now, mate?” He tapped his glistening black nose.

Jon-Tom had forgotten. In the pristine atmosphere of the cave their scents must have lingered in the air like road markers. Even so it had taken guts for Kamaulk and his crew to follow them through that black underworld, up the obviously alien concrete stairway. How many of them had that kind of courage? He tried to see past Sasheem into the den. How badly were they outnumbered? Surely the whole crew hadn’t agreed to follow their captain into darkness.

Of one thing he was certain: If Kamaulk was able to march Mudge, Weegee and Cautious back to their world he’d have a permanent hold on Jon-Tom. He’d have to do exactly as the pirate directed in order to keep his friends alive. Eventually Kamaulk would grow sated with the products of Jon-Tom’s world, or else he’d figure out some way to derive what he wanted from it without any help. Then Jon-Tom and the others would become expendable. He had to do something now.

As bemused and amazed as they were by this new world they’d stumbled into, Jon-Tom didn’t think Kamaulk was dazed enough to allow him to try a song on the suar. For that matter he had no idea if his spellsinging would work in his own world. As he thought furiously, time and opportunity were slipping away. The pirates were divesting their captives of their rewon weapons. With sorrow Mudge watched his longbow and short sword taken by other hands. Jon-Tom was relieved of his ramwood staff and suar. Their backpacks were not touched. Apparently Kamaulk was convinced they contained nothing likely to present a significant danger to him or his crew.

The parrot was inspecting the gas range, determined not to show hesitation or fear in front of his troops. He sniffed at the stove, picked up the skillet Jon-Tom had dropped and placed it back on the open burner.

“Cooking device. Very interesting.” He peered beneath the skillet. “Where does the fire come from?”

“Gas.”

This brought forth laughter from several of the pirates. Kamaulk made a face and whipped out a long stiletto with a hollowed handle. “Do you take me for a fool?” He ran the tip of the blade up one leg of Jon-Tom’s pants, not cutting the material but letting him feel the edge. “I said I didn’t want to kill you. That does not mean I am adverse to marking you a little.”

Jon-Tom found he was starting to sweat. “Dammit, it’s a gas stove!”

“Even Kizewiz doesn’t make that much gas.” A bulky anteater guffawed from his place in the doorway.

“It’s not that kind of gas. See?” He reached for one of the stove controls and almost lost a finger as Kamaulk brought the blade down against the plastic.

“Be careful what you do, man. I am sure you can guide me in the use of these devices with nine fingers as well as with ten.”

Very slowly Jon-Tom adjusted the flame. “See how it works? A special kind of gas enters the house through pipes and runs into this stove. You use a small fire to light the gas.”

“How do you stop it?” Jon-Tom demonstrated. Kamaulk nodded, satisfied.

“And this?” He tapped the refrigerator handle with his knife.

“It keeps food from spoiling.” Maybe Kamaulk wouldn’t get bored with his survey of modern inventions. The longer he could stall the captain the more time there was to think of something. Not that there seemed much anyone could do with a bunch of heavily armed pirates milling around in the other room. “Pull the handle.”

Kamaulk did so and jumped back as a puff of chilled air struck him. He blinked, then waddled forward to study the porcelain-on-steel interior.

“Wonderful.” He looked back at Sasheem. “We’re going to take some of these marvels back with us. Trade will make us the wealthiest company of buccaneers the world has ever seen.” He glanced curiously at the portable TV that sat atop one of the kitchen cabinets. “And what is that thing?”

“Television. Magic picture box.” He tried not to reveal the sudden surge of excitement that raced through him as he winked at Mudge. The otter’s expression did not change, but Jon-Tom saw him stiffen slightly.

Kamaulk squinted at the blank screen. “What does it do?”

“Turn the knob on the bottom right all the way to the left, then pull it out ‘til it clicks.” He gathered himself. Maybe they would get lucky. If a sufficiently loud, violent show flared to life it might startle or frighten the pirates enough to enable Mudge and himself to get their hands on some weapons. Starsky and Hutch, a war movie, the evening news, anything really repellent and noisy.

What they got instead was a tape of the Royal Ballet doing the pas de deux from the Nutcracker Suite. He cursed helplessly.

“Lovely.” Kamaulk turned the volume down to an acceptable level and grinned at Jon-Tom. “You see how quickly I adapt to new things. But why are there only humans in the picture?”

“That brings up something about my world you aren’t going to like.” As he began to explain, the lights went out.

“Freeze! Everybody!”

There was barely enough time for Jon-Tom to identify the accent as Spanish before a number of things happened all at once. Kamaulk yelled an oath, Jon-Tom leaped toward his friends and shouted for them to drop to the floor, Sasheem roared and charged and thunder and lightning echoed through the little house.

“Great rubbing post of God, what was that?” Weegee whimpered.

Jon-Tom shushed her. “Quiet. Whatever you do, don’t breathe another word when the lights come back on. Understand? Say nothing unless I give you a sign, no matter what happens. Mudge, Cautious, that goes for you, too.”

Mass confusion reigned in the den as the remaining pirates practically broke down the screen door in their anxiety to flee. Jon-Tom could visualize them scrambling in panic to reach the tunnel that led back to their own world. The air in the kitchen stank of gunpowder and blood. Then the lights camp back on.

Standing by the back door was a swarthy man in his late thirties. He had curly black hair, a thin mustache, and one finger on the light switch. Jon-Tom thought he was a dead ringer for one of the extras who composed the background of Miami Vice. The sawed-off twelve gauge he cupped against his forearm was no prop.

Directly across the floor Sasheem lay sprawled on his back with a gaping hole in his chest. Kamaulk had flown up onto a cabinet and perched there, staring wide-eyed at the body of his first mate and wondering whence his brave crew had fled.

“Madre de dios.” The intruder took his hand off the light switch and stared down at the dead leopard. Another Latino paused in the den door, a large pistol dangling from his fist. His eyes flicked over the spotted corpse before coming to rest on Jon-Tom and his friends.

“What thee hell ees going on here?” He looked to his buddy. “I was comeeng een thee front door an’ theese damn zoo nearly run over me.”

“Big cat jumped me.” The other man’s accent was not as thick as that of the pistolero. “What’s with all these animals in clothes?”

Mudge made as if to reply, clammed up as Jon-Tom frantically put finger to his lips. The otter nodded imperceptibly and both movements went unnoticed by the armed intruders. They were too busy examining Sasheem’s body.

The pistolero muttered the name “Cruz” and that worthy turned to point the sawed-off in Jon-Tom’s general direction. “You. You tell me what’s going on here. Where the hell did all these animals come from?” He leaned to his left and saw Cautious squatting under the kitchen table. “That’s the biggest damn raccoon I’ve ever seen.”

“They’re mine.” Mudge nipped him on the leg but he winced and ignored it. “They belong to me. I’m an animal trainer. These are all specially trained performers.” He nodded at Sasheem. “When you turned on the lights you panicked the leopard. He’s really quite harmless. A great loss.”

“Hey mon, he panicked me pretty good. I was just defending myself. You part of a circus or something? We didn’t see no tents outside.”

“More of a private traveling show. I’m kinda down on my luck. Got kicked out of the company. At least they let me take my animals with me. Maybe you could give me a hand? I understand about the leopard. Just tough luck.”

“Give you a hand?” Cruz grinned in a way Jon-Tom didn’t like. “What’s with the getup?” He indicated Sasheem’s vest and short pants, the sword lying next to the leopard’s body, and the bandolier of stilettoes that crossed his broad chest.

“I told you, they’re all trained. It’s all part of the act.”

“I never saw an act like that.”

“Hey, I deed once.” The pistolero’s eyes lit with recognition. “In Vegas. You know, mon, them Siegfreed and Roy guys? They dress some of their animals up.”

“Is this your place?” Jon-Tom asked innocently.

Cruz found this very amusing. “Let’s just say we use it as a stopover on our way north. You might say we’re traveling salesmen, Manco and I. A raccoon that big. What kind of tricks can your animals do?”

Jon-Tom stared hard at Mudge and Weegee. “They can’t do anything unless I tell them to. But I’ve trained them to walk on their hind legs all the time.”

“That’s about enough of this bilge-pus.” Everyone’s eyes went to the top of the high cabinet. Cruz gave Kamaulk the approving eye.

“Biggest parrot I ever saw, too. That’s a sharp outfit you’ve got on him.”

“What the blazes are you two morons blabbering about?”

Jon-Tom tensed, but Cruz and his partner found Kamaulk’s comments entertaining rather than insulting. “Hey, that’s pretty good! You teach him all that?”

“Not exactly.” Jon-Tom’s throat was dry. “He kind of picked up a lot of it himself. He’s very clever. I don’t know myself what he’s going to say next.”

“Bugger the lot o’ you!” The pirate folded his wings over his chest. “Do what you will with me. I’m not frightened of you.”

“Cute.” Cruz forgot about the parrot and turned his attention back to Jon-Tom. “You, I’m not so sure you’re cute. More like a problem.”

“Look, let’s just forget about the trained leopard and I’ll let bygones be bygones, okay? I didn’t know this was your house and I’ll be glad to pay for the food. I had to do something. My animals were starving. And I’ve got to try to catch the others before they’ve gone too far.” He took a hopeful step toward the far door, grunted as Cruz shoved the business end of the sawed-off into his belly.

“Your pets’ll just have to wait, compadre. You don’t need so many animals anyway. Why don’t you hitch a ride with us? We’ll drop you at a phone and you can call the local animal shelter.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to cause you guys any trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” Cruz gestured with the shotgun. “We’re ready to leave right now. See, we just stopped for a few minutes to pick up some luggage we have to deliver up north. Chicago. We don’t mind company.” His expression darkened. “Out back now. Bring your animals with you if you want.”

“What about my stuff?” He gestured toward the backpacks and weapons.

Cruz walked over, picked up the ramwood staff, then Mudge’s longbow. “Check ‘em out, Manco.” The other man obediently went through both packs.

“Cleen.”

“Okay, you can have these.” He tossed both packs to Jon-Tom, who caught them gratefully. “These other toys,” and he admired Mudge’s short sword as he held it up to the light, “I think maybe we keep with us. I know a good pawn shop in Chicago.” He grinned. “Payment for your ride, no?”

Under watchful eyes Jon-Tom, his friends and Kamaulk were herded out back of the empty garage and into a waiting truck. With all the noise and confusion attendant upon the pirates’ earlier arrival he hadn’t heard it drive up. It was a U-Haul with a fourteen foot bed. The back end they scrambled into was filled with cheap household furniture. He frowned. Furniture movers didn’t usually travel with heavy artillery. Cruz secured their weapons in a steel footlocker.

“Go on, all the way back.” They obliged. The metal door was rolled down and locked. Jon-Tom heard the click as it was latched from outside.

There were no windows, but the truck had been heavily used and there were a couple of spots where roof and walls didn’t quite meet. Starlight was visible through the cracks. At least they wouldn’t suffocate. The truck lurched backward, then started forward, picking up speed. Heading down the dirt road that led away from the house, no doubt.

He smelled Weegee close by. “Is it all right to talk now, Jon-Tom?”

“What do you mean, is it all right to talk now?” Kamaulk sounded at once puzzled and bitter at the hand fate had dealt him. “What are the two strange humans going to do with us?”

Jon-Tom ignored him. “It’s okay to talk, Weegee.”

Cautious made a disgusted noise. “Your world not very hospitable, man. Doen think I like it much. Is always this violent, people throwing thunder and lightning at each other?”

“No. We just got lucky.”

“That’s right, mate, Lady Luck loves travelin’ in your company, she does.” Mudge was working his way back to the rolling door. “If they take us too far from that place we’ll never find our way back.”

Mudge, you don’t know the half of it, Jon-Tom thought worriedly. The one named Cruz had mentioned Chicago. They couldn’t go to Chicago. No way could they go to Chicago. They had to get back to the Cave-With-No-Name.

“You’re all frightened.” Kamaulk’s tone dripped contempt. “Even you, man, in your own world.”

“You bet your green feathered ass I’m frightened.”

“Pagh! You should prepare to meet your fate with dignity.”

“You meet your fate with dignity, buttbeak. Me, I’m goin’ down kickin’ an’ screamin’. Hey, wot ‘ave we ‘ere?”

“Where?” Jon-Tom could barely make out the silhouette of the otter. Mudge was fumbling with a large oak trunk.

“Somethin’ in ‘ere smells peculiar. Luv, ‘and me my pack, would you? That’s a good lass.” Weegee passed his backpack over. Mudge fumbled inside, removed a couple of small bits of metal and went to work on the trunk’s lock. Jon-Tom didn’t see the point of it, but at least it kept his companions’ minds off their incipient demise.

The trunk produced a pair of Samsonite suitcases, also locked.

“Can you make a little light, mate? These locks are new to me.”

Three matches remained in Jon-Tom’s back pocket. He struck one alight, held it close to the latch of the first suitcase. Mudge leaned close, squinting.

“Bloody tricky clever, this design.”

“Can you spring it?”

The otter grinned at him in the matchlight. “Mate, there ain’t a lock in any world that your bosom buddy can’t figure. Just give me a minim to think ‘er through.”

The match burned Jon-Tom’s fingers and he flung the stub aside, lit a second. “Only one match left, Mudge.”

“Don’t matter none, mate. I can work it by feel.”

“You always could,” said Weegee, and the otters shared a not so private giggle.

Two minutes of quiet, intense work remained before Mudge had all four suitcase latches sprung. He opened the first. Jon-Tom leaned forward.

“I can’t see a damn thing. What’s inside?”

“Nothin’ much, mate. Just some plastic bags full of funny smellin’ stuff. Maybe a better whiff.. .”and he used a claw to slit one of the plasticine sacks. As he did so he leaned forward and sniffed deeply.

Someone must have lit a fire under all his toes because he suddenly leaped off the floor of the truck and fell backward over a crushed velvet sofa.

“Mudge—Mudge, you okay?”

“Okay? Okay? Okay ain’t the word mate. Weegee m’luv, have yourself a sniff, but just a bitty one.”

Curious, she did exactly that and let out a whoop as she jumped halfway to the roof.

“Hey, what is that stuff? Take it easy, you two. We don’t want to let our friends up front know what we’re doing back here.” He had to forcibly keep Mudge away from the open suitcase.

“What is it? I’ll tell you wot it is, mate. That there is pure stinger sweat, that’s wot it be. More than I’ve ever seen in one place. More than ever were in one place. It explains a lot to me. I expect ‘tis worth as much in your world as in mine.”

“Stinger sweat?” Jon-Tom frowned, thought hard. He didn’t have to think too hard.

Shotguns. Business in Chicago. Stop to pick up some luggage. Clear bags of funny smelling stuff.

“What color’s the powder, Mudge?”

“Why, ‘tis white, mate. Wot other color would it be?”

“Christ.” Jon-Tom sat down in a conveniently close-by chair. It bounced and rocked as the truck fought its way down the dirt road but his mind was on something other than the smoothness of the ride. “It sure does explain things. This whole deal: the van, the furniture, it’s just cover. Those two guys are coke runners. Two suitcases full of cocaine. Jesus.” He got out of the chair and against Mudge’s protests shut the suitcase. They they checked its mate. It was just as full. He lifted first one, then the other.

Allowing for the weight of the suitcases, he estimated that between them they contained between eighty and a hundred pounds of pure uncut “stinger sweat.”

“I need you thinking straight, Mudge. That stuff will mess up your head.”

“I know, mate, but wot a delightful mess.”

“Jon-Tom’s right,” Weegee admonished him. “Besides, you told me you were going to stay away from thosesuch temptations.”

“Aye, luv, but blimey, a whole case full!”

“Keep an eye on him,” Jon-Tom instructed her. “Mudge has a good heart, but where temptations are concerned he’s weak.”

“Weak? Like ‘ell I’m weak. I can resist anythin’ if I put me mind to it.”

“It’s your nose I’m worried about you putting to it.” He tapped the suitcase. “If I left you alone with this for five minutes you’d snort your brains out. Everyone needs to be sharp if we’re going to get out of this.”

“And ‘ow might we be goin’ to get out o’ this, your magicship?”

“I want to go home,” said Cautious suddenly. “Back to sane world.”

“So do I. I mean, I want to help the rest of you get home.” What did he want, he asked himself abruptly? Did he even know?

“Hey, I can hear what they two fellas saying up front.” Cautious was leaning against the front wall of the truck.

“Impossible,” Jon-Tom said. Then it occurred to him he was arguing with a raccoon, a creature who could hear a beetle crossing a dead leaf thirty feet away in the middle of a forest. Trying not to make any noise, he and the two otters clambered forward to stand close to their masked companion. They waited silently, hardly daring to breathe while he listened.

Finally Jon-Tom couldn’t stand it anymore. “What are they saying?”

“They laughing a lot. Talking about what they going to do when they get to a place called Vegas.”

“Vegas? Las Vegas? I thought they said they were going to Chicago.”

“Won’t you ever learn anythin’ about life, mate?” Mudge shook his head in the dim light. “Why should they tell us where they’re ‘eadin’?” It made sense, Jon-Tom mused. Logical destination, empty interstates, plenty of loose cash for making big deals, and people visiting from all over.

“Quiet,” said Cautious. After a minute, “They talking ‘bout us now.”

“Us? You mean, the rest of you?”

“Yeah, they going to sell us. To zoo or something like whatever that be. Sure they can get lot of money for us.”

A pair of five foot tall otters, an equally big raccoon and a parrot that could swear a blue streak certainly would tempt any zoo or circus director, Jon-Tom thought.

“What about me? Are they saying what they’re going to do with me?” He could see Cautious’s eyes glint in the darkness.

“They ain’t going to sell you. Ain’t going to let you go, neither.”

“I thought as much.” That’s why they hadn’t worried about the possibility of him finding their cocaine shipment. If by some miracle or an otter he stumbled across it, he wouldn’t live long enough to tell anyone about it. They’d dump him along some lonely stretch of desert road, between Flagstaff and Las Vegas would be a likely place, and the buzzards would do their autopsy long before the Highway Patrol.

“We’ve got to break out of here. Even if they decide to let me go I’m damned if I’ll see my friends sold to some rotten sideshow.”

He could visualize Mudge and Weegee stripped of their clothing, put on display in a glass cage in a Vegas casino, poked and probed by double-domed researchers and callous zoologists. See the amazing talking otters! See the giant talking raccoon!

On the other hand, if he didn’t get lonely for their own kind, Mudge might do rather well living in the lap of luxury surrounded by gambling and liquor. Best not to mention such a possibility to his impressionable and occasionally mentally erratic friend. Certainly Weegee wouldn’t opt for such a life.

Would she?

An answer to his unasked question took the form of soft sniffling from nearby. “Mudge, I don’t like this world. I want to go home.”

“So do I, luv, so do I. Mate, you’ve got to do somethin’.”

With these confessions in hand he felt better about his chosen course of action.

“Mudge, they think they’ve locked our weapons away from us. Have they?”

The otter bent over the steel footlocker. “Give me three minutes, mate.”

Actually Mudge was wrong. He needed four. Once they were rearmed Jon-Tom ordered everyone to move to the back of the truck.

“That way those guys up front won’t hear me spellsinging.”

“Spellsinging, fagh!” Kamaulk rocked back and forth atop a dresser. “Don’t expect us to believe in that, har. That’s a feeble joke you’ve been fooling people with all along.”

“Believe in what you want to believe in, Kamaulk. The rest of us are getting out of here.”

“Think you that? Well, on the off chance you may be right...” he turned and started hollering toward the driver’s compartment. “Hey you humans up front! Your captives are preparing to—mmmpff!”

Using a couch for a trampoline Cautious had landed on the parrot in a single bound. Mudge gave the raccoon a hand subduing the spitting, snapping parrot. Kamaulk’s intent was clear enough: he’d hoped to secure his own freedom by spoiling their attempt to escape. Jon-Tom almost felt sorry for the bird. He had no idea what kind of world he’d stumbled into. Much of the furniture was secured with rope and they soon had the pirate bound and gagged to a chair.

“That takes care o’ ‘im.” Mudge turned to look grimly up at Jon-Tom. “Now let’s take care o’ us, mate. If you can.”

“Everybody keep close together. I’m not sure what’s going to happen if this works.” As they crowded tight against his legs he let his fingers fall across the suar’s strings, wishing desperately it was his trusty duar instead. One good solid spellsong. That’s all he needed from his store-bought instrument. Just one hefty spellsong.

Nothing for it but to begin.

“Hang on, everybody. I’m going to try and sing us home.”

“That means you’ll go back with us, mate.” Mudge looked up at him. “Wot about you? You wanted to come back to your own world more than anydiin’. Now you’re ‘ere.”

“Shut up, Mudge, before you talk me out of it. I’m not going to stand for having you and Weegee and Cautious doped up and treated like a bunch of freaks.”

“Well, if ‘tis good dope....”

“Mudge!” Weegee looked up at Jon-Tom. “Why would anyone want to do that to us, Jon-Tom?”

“To find out why you’re intelligent. To find out why you can talk.”

She shuddered. “This world of yours is a horrible place.”

“Not horrible, really. There are some good people in it, just as there are bad. It’s not all that different from your world.”

“Hush now,” Mudge told her, drawing her close. “Let the man concentrate on ‘is spellsingin’.”

Jon-Tom sang beautifully, softly. His voice and the dulcet tones of the suar rang through the truck. He sang until his throat was raw and his fingers were numb as they rumbled over rough roads and smooth. And nothing happened.

They were on a highway now. The truck hardly vibrated and their speed had increased. He finally gave it up.

“I’m sorry. Not surprised, but sorry. Clothahump told me time and again it wasn’t easy to bounce people from one world to another. But I had to try.”

“Don’t take it too ‘ard, mate. Maybe if you ‘ad your duar....”

“I’m not sure it would make any difference. I’m not sure magic works in my world.”

“Dull place then. Don’t worry about Weegee and me. We’ll make out all right. Won’t we, luv?”

“Sure. We’ll manage.”

They wouldn’t, he knew. If they kept silent whenever anyone else was around they might be able to slip away to freedom one day. But what kind of freedom would that be? The freedom to roam an alien world, cut off from others of their kind, unable to go home? Fugitives in a strange land. “I hear a new sound.” Cautious pressed his ear to the rolling door that sealed the back end of the truck. “Some animal is chasing us.”

Jon-Tom frowned. “Dogs maybe.” On the highway? They were doing at least fifty. “Is it still there?”

“Coming closer. Screaming steady-like.” Screaming? Then his eyes got very wide. “Police siren.”

“Local cops? Crikey, that’s bloody wonderful.”

“Not if they see us.” He was thinking rapidly. “If they do they’ll want to haul us all in as material witnesses, and that only if they’ve a lead on these guys as dealers. If not, they’ll probably just let ‘em go. Maybe the truck has a taillight out or something. We’re sure not speeding. No, we’ve got to get out of here fast.”

The siren was clearly audible now. The truck slowed, pulled over onto the shoulder. “Be quiet. I want to listen.” He climbed onto a desk and leaned close to one of the cracks in the roof. He could just hear one of the patrolmen ask Cruz for his license. Then the words, “Open it up” and Cruz replying politely but tensely, which was to be expected. “Hey, what’s wrong, officer? We haven’t done anything. You said we weren’t speeding, and there’s nothing the matter with our truck.”

“It’s not that, buddy,” Jon-Tom heard the cop reply. “Routine inspection. We’re looking for undocumented aliens.” Jon-Tom hadn’t thought of that possibility. He wondered how someone checking on the presence of undocumented aliens would react to the sight of two giant-otters and a five-foot-tall raccoon. Probably not what the patrolman had in mind. No immigration law would allow for Mudge and Weegee.

And just like that the old Genesis song popped into his head. He immediately launched into the first stanza, not caring if Cruz or the cops or anyone else overheard. Mudge and the others packed themselves tightly around him as he sang, wishing Phil Collins was there to back him up with voice and drums.

“Hey, eets no fun, bein’ an illegal ayleeun....”

“Come on, pancho, open it up.” The patrolman stood impatiently next to the back of the truck. Cruz was fiddling with the lock, taking his time and wondering how he was going to explain the presence of ‘a kidnap victim. They could always insist he was just some crazy hitchhiker they’d picked up. Maybe he’d just take his animals and split, glad to get away.

“Really, officer, I don’t know what kind of shape our stuff is in back here. My poor Consuela and I packed for days and days. If everything has shifted it’s all going to fall out.”

“We’ll help you pick it back up.” The patrolman sounded tired. He also had the build of an ex-linebacker and was in no mood to coddle suspicious characters at two in the morning. Cruz knew he’d stalled about as long as he could. “Open it, or we can open it at the station.”

“Oh no, no need of that, officer. It’s just that this lock here, it’s kind of rusty.” He took a deep breath and rolled up the door. “See, nothing but furniture and one...” he broke off. There was nothing in the back of the truck but furniture. There were no giant otters, no oversized raccoon, and no lanky, bigmouthed young Anglo. They had gone.

The cop turned his flashlight on the furniture. Something was moving in the middle of the household goods. The light picked out the shape of a large colorful parrot with bound wings and beak. It struggled mightily to squawk a protest but was too tightly tied.

“That’s no way to move a household pet,” the patrolman declared disapprovingly.

Cruz stammered a reply. “I know, man, but Consuela wouldn’t listen to me and . . .”

“Never mind. I’m not looking for birds. If you guys were smuggling endangered species you’d sure as hell have a load of more than one.” He leaned back and yelled toward the cruiser parked in front of the truck. “Skip that call in, Jay. These guys are clean.” By way of apology he offered Cruz a reluctant, professional smile. “Sorry to hold you up, buddy.”

“Hey, no sweat, mon. We all got to do our jobs.” Cruz waited until the big patrolman had climbed back into his cruiser and driven off into the warm Texas night. Then he shouted for his partner.

“Manco, get back here, mon!” When his companion arrived he saw on his boss’s face a mixture of confusion and glee. “The kid and most of his animals got away, but the cops didn’t find the coke.”

Manco peered into the truck. “You sure? Somebody’s been into that trunk.”

“Whaaat?” Cruz jumped into the back of the truck. He ignored the struggling, sputtering parrot. “Oh, mierda.” The two of them started pawing through the furniture, tossing pieces out the back of the truck, not caring if they broke on the unyielding pavement.

Two hours later they sat staring out the back of the truck, forced to admit defeat.

“I don’t understand,” Cruz was muttering disconsolately. “How the hell did they get out of the truck? It was still locked when that cop and I opened it up. How did that skinny bastard get out!”

“Maybe the animals chewed their way out?”

“I didn’t see no hole in the roof.” Cruz dropped his head into his hands. “What are we going to tell them in Vegas?” He was running his long fingers through his straight black hair. “That a college kid and some trained animals made off with forty kilos of coke from the back of a locked truck?”

Manco looked wistful. “I got relateeves een Cheeleh I ain’t seen seence I was a keed.”

“Terrific. Except we ain’t got no money for airline tickets and I forgot to renew my Visa. How about you?”

“Just a few bucks for expeenses. But thee man doesn’t know when we’re supposed to show. We’ve got a chance to get away.”

“Without money?”

Manco gestured into the truck. “We steel got that beeg talking parrot. We can sleep eento Vegas and sell eet for plenty, then go straight to the airport.”

Cruz perked up slightly, turned to gaze at the bird in question. It stared back at him with an alarmingly intelligent eye. “What if we can’t get it to talk? We aren’t animal trainers like that kid.”

“Hell, it’ll talk. I know a leetle about birds like that. Give them some food, you can’t shut them up. Thees one ought to be worth a fortune.”

“It sure as hell can say more than polly wanna cracker. Maybe we get out of this yet.” He slapped his compadre on the back. “All right, Manco. We go to Vegas, dump the furniture at some pawn shop and sell the bird. Then we take the first Aeromexico south. I’ve always wanted to see South America.”

“That’s thee spireet, mon.” They rolled down the back door and ran back to the front of the truck, ignoring the spitting and struggling of the big green parrot who represented their ticket to safety.

X

It was a beautiful beach, the kind of pure white sand beach that exists only in travel posters and, oddly enough, in the middle of New Mexico. Gypsum sand, powdery and canescent as sugar. It climbed unmatted ten feet -from the water’s edge before the first palm trees appeared. Beyond the beach the water was as transparent as the lens of an eagle’s eye. It lay like glass over submerged beach until finally giving way to deeper water and the distant spray of surf on a barrier reef.

Jon-Tom looked down at himself. He was intact and unharmed. Mudge and Weegee embraced nearby while Cautious had squatted to inspect an empty shell. Eventually the two otters separated.

“Where the ‘ell are we, mate?”

He was staring up the beach. “Far south of where we escaped from the pirates, I’m guessing. Of course, we could be on the other side of the world, but I’d say we’ve moved about as far as we moved in the back of that truck. Time of day’s different, too. Tonight we can check the stars.”

“I wouldn’t worry about no remaining pirates.” Cautious tossed the shell aside. “They won’t stop running ‘til they get back to their boat, you bet. I don’t think it much matter anymore. Kamaulk was brains and Sasheem the muscle. Others pretty well lost without those two.”

“Then ‘tis about time we ‘ad a rest.” Mudge was stripping off his shorts and vest. Weegee matched him item for item, throwing her shoes at him and beating him into the water. Jon-Tom watched as they swam and dove with the agility of a pair of furry porpoises. Mudge rolled over onto his back with a sinuous motion no human could hope to match and shouted back toward shore.

“Come on in, mate. The water’s swell. Fresh is better, but this ain’t bad.”

Jon-Tom hesitated. He’d been skinny dipping with Mudge before, but Weegee acted almost human. Cautious was already trotting down to the water. Now the raccoon looked back.

“I understand. You humans, you shy because you ain’t got no fur hardly.” Then he plunged into the shallow lagoon.

Hell, Jon-Tom thought. It took him a few minutes to strip. The water was warm and refreshing, wiping away the sweat and dirt of the past several days, washing away the memory of the pirates and the tribefolk who’d captured them, relieving some of the stress that had built up during their trek south.

“Odds are that he sinks,” said Weegee, watching the human’s clumsy attempts to emulate the otters’ agility in the water.

“Not ‘im, luv.” Mudge lay on his back, floating, letting the sun warm him. “ ‘E does all right for a ‘uman, the way ‘is arms an’ legs are arranged notwithsjandin’.”

They spent the whole day cavorting in the lagoon. The palm forest was full of tropical fruits and when they desired something more substantial, it took the otters only minutes to produce armfuls of edible shellfish. One particularly tasty mollusc was available in such quantities it threatened to permanently expand Jon-Tom’s waistline. Mudge called it a seckle. It was fiat on the bottom and full of blue spines on top and when toasted tasted just like abalone. Cut and polished, the shell would make beautiful jewelry. That led him to thoughts of Talea, and home, and induced a melancholy the otters understood and did not comment upon.

It was evening and they were sitting around a fire Cautious had built on the sand. Recognizable constellations shone overhead, indicating they had indeed returned to the world of the otters a number of miles south of where they’d entered the cavern. Jon-Tom had tried resinging the alien song, to no effect. Clothahump had warned him that such special spells often worked only once. He wasn’t going to get back home that way.

Their clothes had been washed and now hung on a palm branch nearby.

Finally Mudge could stand the silence no longer. “Wot’s ailin’ you, mate? Thinkin’ about your ladyluv?” He pulled Weegee closer to him. Together the otters regarded their human companion.

“I wish she were here.”

“ ‘Ell, she’s better off back in the good old Bellwoods. Clothyrump will watch over ‘er. I wish we were back there. Ain’t no ‘arm goin’ to befall ‘er.”

“I’m not worrying about harm befalling her. I’m wondering if we could find that cave again.”

“I don’t see why not. Might take a bit ‘o ‘untin’, but I’m sure we could find the inlet where our playful seagoin’ friends anchored their craft and then work our way south from there. Why?”

“If it’s the permanent gate between our worlds that I think it is, it means I can go home anytime I want.”

The otter stirred the fire with a stick. Something that looked like breadfruit but tasted like sugared tangerine was roasting on the coals. “If that’s the case, why go all the way to this Screaming Kitty Muse place?”

He shrugged. “We might run into trouble trying to find the cave again. If so, I’d like to have an operational duar with me. Also, I’m kind of interested to see if I can make magic with it in my own world. Or just great music. But Talea’s my main concern. I love Talea and I....”

Mudge raised a restraining paw. “Spare me the sappy ‘omilies.”

Weegee whacked him in the ribs. “Like hell.” She smiled at Jon-Tom. “Go ahead. I love sappy homilies.”

“It’s just that I can’t imagine life without her.”

“That’s good. Go on,” she urged him, a contented expression on her face.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“No problem, I’m thinking.” Cautious poked at the fire. “You go get your instrument fixed, then we go back and get your lady, and lastly you both walk back through passage to your world.”

“It’s not that easy, Cautious. That’s what’s tearing me up. Talea’s never known any world but this one. Remember how you three reacted to mine? And we were in one of the simpler, easier to adapt to parts. In someplace like downtown Los Angeles you might’ve gone crazy. I don’t know if Talea could handle it.”

“Don’t underrate ‘er, mate. She’s pretty tough, that redhead. I think she’d manage it.”

“I’m glad you think so, Mudge, because I’m not going back without her.”

“Right.” He hopped to his feet, pulled Weegee up after him. “Now that that’s settled, I’ve something to show you, luv.”

“Mudge, I’ve already seen that.”

“Not like this you ain’t.” Together they strolled off into the bushes.

Jon-Tom stared out over the silent lagoon. A cry of pain and surprise shattered the mood. Wordlessly, he and Cautious ran for their weapons, then turned and raced after the otters.

“What happened?” he asked breathlessly as they practically ran into Weegee. It was Mudge who answered, was leaning againt a bush, holding his right foot.

“Tripped over this bleedin’ thing I did, but it don’t ‘urt no more. No it don’t.”

Jon-Tom’s gaze dropped to the ground. What Mudge had stumbled over in the poor light was a medium-size cerulean blue Samsonite suitcase. A second case lay nearby, half buried in the sand.

“We didn’t see them earlier because they came through here in the weeds,” Weegee commented. “They must have been close enough to have traveled through on the same spellsong, Jon-Tom.”

“One of them was right next to my foot when I started singing in the truck.” He started to pick one up but Mudge beat him to it, began working on the locks.

The hundred pounds of cocaine was still inside, snug in its plasticine sacks.

Mudge danced gleefully around the suitcases.

“Mudge, we can’t keep this junk.”

The saraband ceased in mid-leap and the otter gaped at him in the moonlight. “Can’t keep it? Wot the ‘ell are you sayin’, we can’t keep it? You want to haul it back through the cave so you can give it back to those two delightful blokes who were ready to sell us into slavery and kill you?”

“Of course not, but we can’t keep it. It’s too damn dangerous.”

“Oh matey-mine,” the otter moaned, “don’t you go all ethical on poor Mudge now. Not now p’ all times.” He picked up a bagful of white powder. “Do you know wot this ‘ere stuff is worth? There’s them in places like Snarken an’ Polastrindu that would pay through the nose for a pinch of it, so to speak. Weegee and me, we wouldn’t ‘ave to work another day in our lives.”

Jon-Tom was adamant. “I haven’t fought my way across this whole world and learned how to be a spellsinger so I could stoop to dealing drugs.”

“Fine! Let me stoop. I’m a ‘ell of a stooper. I’m the best damn stooper you ever saw. It ain’t entirely your decision to make anyways. This ain’t no kingdom an’ you ain’t no bleedin’ emperor.”

“I know that.”

“The rest of us ‘ave as much right to this booty as you do. We sure as ‘ell ‘ave gone through enough to earn it.”

“It’s not a question of who has the right, Mudge. It’s a question of what is right. The people of your world aren’t used to drugs of such potency.”

“ ‘Ow the ‘ell would you know? I could tell you stories.”

Jon-Tom tried a different tack. “Well, they’re not used to this type of drug.”

The otter let out a snort. “Stinger sweat is stinger sweat no matter wot world it comes from.”

“Mudge, it’s dangerous stuff. I don’t want any part of dealing it.”

“No problem, mate. I’ll take care o’ all of it.”

“Jon-Tom’s right, Mudge.”

The otter spun, stared at Weegee. “Wot do you mean ‘e’s right, luv? ‘E ain’t been right since ‘e slid out o’ “is mother’s womb, an’ I think ‘e’s gettin’ less right every day.”

She gestured at the suitcases. “If he says it’s dangerous, I’m inclined to agree with him. After all, this comes from his world, not ours.”

“But luv,” Mudge pleaded, “don’t you see wot this could mean to us?”

“I think I do, yes. Mudge, I haven’t led the kind of life you have.” She looked apologetically at Jon-Tom. “Not every otter is an incurable hedonist like my sweet Mudge. Some of us do have higher aspirations and a semblance of morality.” She stared hard at her lover. “Do you know what we are going to do with this otherworldly poison, sweetness?”

Mudge turned away from her, in obvious pain. “Don’t say it, luv. Please don’t say it. Can’t we keep one packet?” She shook her head. “ ‘Alf o’ one?”

“I’m sorry, Mudge. I want to start off our life together on a higher plane.”

“Fine. Let’s just ‘ave a few snorts of this an’ . . .”

She grabbed a suitcase in each paw and while she wasn’t strong enough to lift them, she was able to drag them through the sand. An admiring Jon-Tom followed her as she trudged toward the lagoon.

Mudge parallelled her, sometimes arguing with his paws, sometimes pleading on his hands and knees. “Don’t do this, Weegee. If you love me, don’t do this.”

“I do love you, Mudge. And if you want to prove your love for me you’ll help me with this thing.”

“Don’t ask me that. I won’t stop you. By all the powers that live in the ground and make tunnels I should stop you but I won’t. But don’t ask me to ‘elp.”

“Piffle. Don’t make such a fuss. Here.” She dropped one of the suitcases. “I know you can do it. I know what you have inside you.”

“Right now ‘tis mostly pain.”

“I’ll dump this one and you do that one.” Jon-Tom and Cautious stood side by side higher up the beach and watched as the otters waded into the shallow lagoon. A horrible keening sound drifted over the water.

“Never heard an otter make noise like that,” Cautious commented.

“Me neither.” Jon-Tom watched small puffs of white rise into the air as sack after sack of pure cocaine was ripped open and scattered upon the tide. When the last had been emptied the suitcases themselves were left to sink peacefully into the pale sand.

Weegee came trotting back to rejoin them. Splashing sounds rose from the water behind her. Jon-Tom peered over her.

“What’s he doing back there?”

She shook her head, sounding disgusted. “He’s out there in the water trying to snort half the lagoon, the stupid fuzzball. But all he inhales is water. Then he sits up spitting and choking for three minutes before he tries again. Let’s go back to the fire. He’ll either give up or drown pretty soon now. I’m not going to baby him. He’s no cub. Just slightly retarded.”

So they sat and waited and nibbled on the roasted seckles until Mudge, looking more pitiful and bedraggled than Jon-Tom had ever seen him, came trudging back to flop wetly down in his spot. He said nothing at all the rest of that evening. The depth of his depression was demonstrated by his refusal to join Weegee in the bushes for some post-dumping discussion.

Morning returned him to something like his usual effervescent self. He was simply too full of life to remain morose for long.

“Easy come, easy go, they say.” He was rearranging the supplies in his backpack. “Time to move on an’ no use to lookin’ back.”

“You got over that fast enough,” said Jon-Tom.

“Wot’s the point in stayin’ down?” He rubbed noses with Weegee. “Besides, when you make a commitment you either stick to it right down the line or you don’t.”

“Pretty impressive coming from someone who’s never made a commitment to anything in his life.”

“There’s a first time for every thin’, mate. I never met anyone like the Weeg ‘ere before, either. Life’s chock full o’ endless surprises, wot?”

“What indeed. What do you think about the beach ahead, Cautious?”

The raccoon was staring southward. “Might as well go this way if it’s the way you need to go, man. Maybe this time we find some friendly folk to sell us boat.”

Off they went, Mudge and Jon-Tom shouldering their packs, Weegee skipping along the shore and occasionally bending to inspect the small treasures the sea had washed up, and Cautious leading the way, his alert eyes constantly scanning the tree line for signs of movement.

“I wonder wot old Kamaulk’s up to an’ ‘ow ‘e’s makin’ out in your world.” Mudge glanced up at his tall friend. “You don’t suppose Corroboc ‘ad a third brother lyin’ about somewheres?”

“Let’s hope not. Two of that ilk are all I ever want to encounter.”

“I were thinkin’, there’s a chance, just a chance mind now, that someone as clever an’ resourceful as that parrot might be able to talk ‘is way out o’ trouble. Those two ‘umans who were goin’ to sell us to some sideshow weren’t exactly wot you’d call any world’s brightest. If Kamaulk could convince ‘em ‘e were more than a trained pet ‘e might be able to get them workin’ for Mm. If they came marchin’ back through that cave passage with a few o’ those lightnin’ throwers like the kind they used to kill Sasheem with they could make a lot o’ trouble.”

Jon-Tom looked uneasy. “I hadn’t thought of that.” The idea of an enraged Kamaulk returning with armed humans from his own world was more than disconcerting. “We’ll just have to hope that nobody believes him.”

But as they marched along the beach he found himself brooding over the image Mudge had called forth. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about with just trying to reach Chejiji.

“I’m telling you, Lenny, you ain’t never seen nothing like this.”

The neatly dressed man leaned back in his leather chair and fiddled with his glasses. “Boys, I’ve booked acts at the Palace for fifteen years. There aren’t any acts I haven’t seen.”

Cruz stepped back from the desk. “And I’m saying you haven’t seen anything like this because there ain’t never been anything like this. This damn bird is unique. Almost weird how it talks.”

“Yeah,” chipped in Manco. “I mean, you don’t have to prompt heem to talk or nothing. You just loosen hees beek an’ hee starts talkeeng nonstop. Hee’s smarter than a cheempanzee.”

“And big.” Cruz held his palm a meter off the floor to show just how big. “I’ve never seen a parrot this big.”

“A macaw.” The booking agent steepled his fingers. “Macaws get pretty big.”

“Not like this. And broad in proportion. Almost heavyset.”

“Well.” The agent glanced pointedly at the clock on the far wall. In fifteen minutes he was due to watch a quartet of former showgirls who’d developed a specialty juggling act which included watermelons, chain saws, flaming torches and, most important for Vegas, strategic articles of their clothing. Sort of a nudey version of the Flying Karamazov Brothers. He was looking forward to interviewing them a lot more than he was these two street clowns, the good dope they’d slipped him in the past notwithstanding.

But they’d been convincing enough to get past his secretary and there was in their spiel an almost childlike certitude that gave him pause. It was one thing to waste your time on every fruitcake that wandered in off the street convinced he owned a million-dollar act, quite another to dismiss them out of hand only to see them turn up headlining the lounge over at the MGM Grand or Circus Circus the following night. Fifteen years’ time with the company or no, that was a good way to find yourself out on the street shilling for the cheap joints downtown. He studied the two expectant visitors. Had they actually managed to latch onto something special? Or had they stolen it from another performer? There was such a thing as a one-in-a-lifetime novelty act.

Wild thought, of course. Talking parrots were a dime a dozen. Cockatoos were always in demand because of that old TV show that was still big in syndication, that, what was it—Berreta, or something. No, that was a gun. And every animal act he’d ever seen required the presence of a trainer to cue the critter. There was no such thing as a spontaneous animal performer. All required direction. Yet these two insisted theirs could perform alone. Dare he risk passing on the five minutes needed to check it out?

Cruz watched him waver. “Listen, the bird’s outside in the back of our truck. All you gotta do is come look at him.” He was begging and trying not to. “I promise you, Lenny, once you’ve seen and heard him I won’t say another word. I won’t have to.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Promise. I swear.”

The agent sighed, rose from behind his desk. “You boys better not be wasting my time. And don’t try fooling me with a hidden mike or something. I’ve seen every scam in the book.”

“No tricks, Lenny.”

He followed them toward the door. “I can’t figure your angle. You two don’t look like animal trainers.”

“We ain’t,” said Cruz agreeably. “We just sort of acquired the bird. As payment for a debt.” What the hell, he thought. “We gave a guy a ride and he paid us with the parrot.”

“Just sort of acquired it, huh?” Well, that wouldn’t matter. All that mattered was whether or not the act would astonish the blue-hairs from Topeka.

They entered his outer office and he told his secretary he’d return in a few minutes and to make sure the juggling chorines didn’t leave until he had a chance to check out their act. Flanked by Cruz and Manco he strolled across the main floor of the casino, past ranks of jangling slots and the intense preoccupied stares of the quarter-feeders. They exited through the marbled front lobby.

Out on the edge of the vast parking lot he halted suspiciously. “Where is your truck, anyway?” Not that he was carrying a lot of cash, but it still paid to be prudent. These weren’t two kids from Boise, after all.

“Take it easy, mon.” Cruz pointed to the far corner of the parking lot. “It’s right over there.”

The truck was parked off by itself next to several large commercial buildings which stood on the lot next to the casino. There was a bank and a big discount drugstore complex, then another casino. The lot was brightly illuminated.

“Why didn’t you just bring the bird to my office?” the agent grumbled as he stepped over a large puddle.

“I said he was big.” Cruz jumped the same puddle. “The other thing is, well, when he does talk he’s pretty blue.”

The agent considered. A few four-letter words wouldn’t hurt a talking bird act. Not in Vegas. “What else can he say?”

“I told you, mon. Pretty damn near anything you can think of. Whoever trained him really knew what the hell he was doing. He sounds just like a person.” They reached the truck. As they turned the rear corner Cruz acquired the look of a man who’d just said hello to a two-by-four with his forehead.

The back of the truck had been rolled up.

Cursing, he climbed inside. The agent could hear furniture being thrown around. “Something wrong?” he said mildly to the other member of the pair.

“We didn’t leave thee door up. Hey, Cruz, I thought you lock eet.”

“Lock it?” The other man’s voiced echoed from inside the truck. “Why lock it? To keep somebody from stealing this junk? I don’t see no ropes, so he didn’t get loose in here. Maybe somebody got curious and lifted the door and he hopped out.” He jumped down out of the truck, his eyes scanning the parking lot, the agent forgotten. “He’s got to be around here someplace. His wings were tied. He couldn’t fly away.”

“Are you sure?” The agent’s voice was tinged with sarcasm. “I’ve seen plenty of acts where the birds did that.” The two men ignored him. Manco ran down the alley between the drugstore and the bank.

“Sorry, boys, but I’ve got another act to review.”

Cruz put a hand on his arm. “Just give us a minute, please, just a minute. He’s got to be close by somewhere. We ain’t been gone that long.”

“Hey, down heere!”

Cruz let out a sigh of relief. “See? I told you it was a smart bird.” Reluctantly the agent allowed himself to be led into the alley. The casino doorman had seen him leave and would be after him in two minutes if he didn’t return.

It was more service road than alley and plenty wide. He didn’t think the two men had robbery on their mind. If so, they would have jumped him already, behind the truck.

Halfway down the road was an elderly gentleman who was not a casino patron. The agent knew this immediately because the man was wearing a long overcoat. You don’t wear overcoats in Vegas in the springtime. The smell of liquor was stronger here than at the gaudy bar in the casino. The man was swaying unsteadily, obviously uncomfortable at being the object of so much unexpected late-night attention.

“Hey, lay off. I didn’t do nuttin’.”

“We know, mon.” Manco was standing close to the rummy, licking his lips and look farther down the alley. “We’re just lookeeng for sometheeng.”

“Ain’t we all. Me, I’m lookin’ for the ten grand I dropped in this burg six years ago. Lost it in there.” He nodded toward the nearby mirage that was the casino. “No offense. They were honest cards.” The agent aknowledged this with a slight nod.

“It was a big bird.” Cruz traced shapes in the air with his hands. “About this size.”

The rummy’s eyes narrowed as he fought to concentrate.

“Big bird. All tied up?”

“Yeah! That’s him. You seen him?”

“Yeah, I seen him. Me an’ my buddies.” He turned and sort of gestured with his whole body. Cruz and Manco sprinted down the alley. The curious agent followed at a more leisurely pace.

A small fire crackled behind a pair of massive dumpsters. The group of bunis clustered around it tensed, then relaxed when they saw that their visitors weren’t uniforms. A few lay against the rear wall of the bank. Others rested on their backs, staring up at the stars and remembering better nights.

Cruz arrived out of breath. “We’re looking for a bird. Big green parrot.”

“Parrot?” One of the old men sat up and frowned. “We ain’t seen any parrot.”

“Hey.” A younger down-on-his-luck gestured with a half empty bottle. “He must be talking about the chicken. That belonged to you, huh?”

“Chicken?” Cruz talked like a man who’d just had Novocain. “What chicken?”

“The big green chicken. Hey, look man, we didn’t know he belonged to anybody. He just sorta came hoppin’ down here and, well, some of us ain’t had a square meal in three days. He was big enough to feed the bunch of us and what with him all trussed and ready for the fire, well—hey, don’t cry, man. What was it, somebody’s pet?”

Cruz couldn’t answer. He just put his face in his hands and sobbed. His partner stared past the fire at the small pile of bones on the far side. “That weren’t no cheeken, mon. It were a parrot. A talking parrot. A special talking parrot.”

The younger bum leaned back, shrugged, and picked at his upper left bicuspid. “I don’t know about special, but he sure was delicious.”

The agent sighed. “Sorry, boys. I’ve got another act to review.”

“That’s all you got to say, mon?” Cruz stared blankly at the ground. “You’re sorry? Somebody ate the most unique act in the history of this town and you’re sorry?”

“Hey—that’s show business.”

With the pure white sand beach gleaming beneath their feet, the pale blue sea on their right and the warm sun shining down through a perfect cloudless sky it was impossible to believe anything was wrong with the world, Jon-Tom reflected.

“Wonder ‘ow far from ‘ere it ‘tis to this Chejiji.” Mudge kicked a shell aside. “Not that I’m complain’ about the walk. This is charmin’ country. Plenty to eat an’ easy to catch, but even paradise can get borin’ after a bit.”

“I’ve no idea, Mudge. All I remember is that it lies southwest of here and we haven’t begun to turn west yet. It might take weeks to hike there.”

“Months,” put in Cautious.

Weegee was cleaning her lashes. “I, for one, have no intention of hiking hundreds of leagues. If we don’t find a village where we can buy or rent a boat pretty soon, I think we should seriously consider stopping and trying to make one.”

“A raft’s not out of the question. There are plenty of straight palms we could use.”

“Sure thing, mate,” said Mudge. “An’ while you’re at it, ‘ow about singin’ up some saws an’ ‘ammers an’ nails. Come to think o’ it, why not sing up a couple o’ ships’ carpenters as well. Because speakin’ for meself, I don’t know a damn thing about shipbuilding.”

“Come on, Mudge, we built ourselves a raft once before.”

“When we were travelin’ to fair Quasequa? You’re forgettin’ one thing, mate. You spellsang that one up.”

“Oh, that’s right. Well, we’ll do something soon. I promise you won’t have to walk all the way to Chejiji, Weegee.”

Mudge leaned over and whispered to her. “ ‘E’s always makin’ promises like that, ‘tis Jon-Tom. Sometimes, through no fault o’ ‘is own, ‘e actually keeps one or two.” He raised his voice. “Anybody ‘ungry besides me?”

“You’re always eating. I don’t think it has anything to do with hunger.”

‘ Tain’t much to life if you don’t indulge, mate.” The otter scampered into the palms, returned a few minutes later with several large chunks of real breadfruit. It peeled apart in flat, faintly green sections.

“Now for somethin’ to put on it.” His eyes fastened on the water’s edge. “Ah, the very thing.”

Jon-Tom observed the otter working with his knife and flinched. Mudge was dicing several large, pale-hued jellyfish which had washed up on shore.

“You can’t eat those, Mudge. They’re poisonous.”

“Now mate, when ‘ave you ever known me to eat anythin’ that weren’t ‘ealthy, much less bloomin’ delicious?” So saying, the otter slipped several quivering slabs of coelenterate between two pieces of breadfruit and commenced chewing noisily. Despite Jon-Tom’s fears, he didn’t fall over kicking and twitching. Instead, he handed a sandwich to Weegee, who bit into it with obvious gusto.

She looked up, dripping jelly from her whiskers, her muzzle smeared. “Mudge is right, Jon-Tom. It’s lovely. Have some.”

“I don’t know.” He warily approached the sandwich the otter preferred. “Where I come from jellyfish are anything but tasty.”

“We’ve already ‘ad a taste o’ ‘ow perverse your world is, mate. Now ‘ave a taste o’ ours.”

Feeling queasy, Jon-Tom took the sandwich. Droplets of jelly oozed from the edges. His stomach jumped.

“Go on, mate,” Mudge urged him. “If I wanted to poison you I’ve ‘ad a dozen better opportunities than this.”

Jon-Tom closed his eyes and took a deep bite out of the sandwich. His mouth froze and his taste buds exploded. Raspberry. He chewed, swallowed the wondrous concoction, and took another bite. Grape. To his utter astonishment each bite had a different flavor. Huckleberry, cherry, lingonberry, pear and so on.

“Mudge this is marvelous!”

“O’ course it is. Didn’t I recommend it? Would I suggest indulgin’ in anythin’ that weren’t absolutely amazin’?”

“Given your degenerate and occasionally despicable life, yes you would. But I’ve forgiven you such history.” Weegee tapped his nose with the sandwich.

Mudge put his arm around his ladylove as they strolled down the beach. “That’s a dear.”

“I just don’t understand.” Jon-Tom was on his second sandwich.

“Wot don’t you understand, mate? Why the ‘ell do you suppose they’re called jellyfish?”

“That’s just not the way it is in my world.”

The otter made an obscene noise. “Your world don’t work proper. ‘Tis smelly an’ impolite an’ brutal. One day I expect you’ll be goin’ back through your tunnel or cave or wotever that passageway we found is, but you’ll ‘ave to make the trip without me.”

“Or me.” Weegee shuddered slightly. “I don’t think I could take that again.”

“I understand. I don’t expect you to go with me.”

Cautious had moved out ahead, scouting for the shellfish which constituted his favorite food. Now he beckoned for them to join him, having found something less tasty but far more significant. Jon-Tom saw the prints right away. There were quite a few. They were similar but subtly different.

“All related.” Cautious traced several with a finger. “Foxes, wolves, dingoes, like that. Doen often see species exclusivity so much.”

“Maybe they’re just part of a larger community,” Mudge suggested.

“Could be.” The raccoon nodded down the beach. “Goes that way. Fresh, or they would’ve been washed away by now. I think we better go careful from here, you bet. until we find out whose back yard we playing in.”

They abandoned the exposed beach in favor of moving through the trees. The village was not far. It was located on the far side of a clear stream. A number of double outriggered canoes lay drawn up on the sand. They looked solid and seaworthy, especially the larger ones.

“Transportation!” Jon-Tom was already selecting a favorite from the line of boats. “I told you we wouldn’t have to walk all the way to Chejiji.”

“ ‘Old on a minim, mate. We don’t know as ‘ow these ‘ere chaps are in the boat rentin’ business, much less ‘ow they’ll react if we go stompin’ into their town uninvited. Let’s just ‘ave ourselves a bit o’ a sit-down ‘ere and study our prospective suppliers, wot?”

“I thought you were sick of walking.”

“Sick in the feet, but not sick in the ‘ead. ‘Aven’t you learned anythin’ about me world yet? Fools rush in where sneaky types fear to tread. I ain’t no fool.”

“Remember the attitude of the last villagers we encountered.” Weegee was peering around a large fern.

“AH right, but this looks like a completely different kind of village.”

He was right about that. The owners of the outriggers were in no wise similar to the primitives who’d sold them back to the pirates. On the other hand, Mudge’s caution proved well-founded as observation revealed they were not the type of folks to spend their time helping old ladies across the creek, either.

Most revealing was the high-walled wooden corral that dominated the center of the village. It did not look especially sturdy, but the tops of the walls curved inwards and were lined with sharp thorns. The intent was clear: to prevent anyone inside from climbing out. Presently the corral had a single occupant.

Each villager wore a single massive necklace from which hung long, brightly colored interlocking leather strips. Hammered breastplates of thin metal were secured to the leather. The individual in the corral was attired in a similar garment, but Jon-Tom didn’t think he wore it voluntarily. For one thing the leather was dyed dead black. There were no bright colors, no additional adornments of beads or quills. For another, he was pacing restlessly back and forth as he tried various sections of the wall. Nor was he related to canus or lupus.

Jon-Tom recognized the pattern. Appaloosa, and a handsome member of the breed he was. This world’s breed, for only ih fantasy did any stallion of his own world sport broad wings like those attached to the shoulders and ribs of the corral’s inhabitant.

“Look there.” Cautious was pointing toward a big fire pit. Two spits were suspended over the shallow excavation. Villagers were filling it brimful with wood and coconut husks to make a hot blaze.

It looked as though the community was preparing for a large luau. But was the flying stallion secured in the corral to be an honored guest or the main course?

“What do you make of it?’’ Jon-Tom asked his companions.

“From the way that ‘orse is runnin’ back and forth and nudgin’ at those posts I’d say e’d rather pass on tonight’s supper,” said Mudge. “But there’s one thing that don’t make no sense.”

Jon-Tom found himself nodding in agreement. Indeed, you’d have to be blind not to have noticed it already. For while the walls of the corral curved inward and were topped with sharp things, the enclosure remained open to the sky. The nervous fluttering of the stallion’s wings showed they were not broken or otherwise visibly damaged. Therefore the inexplicable question remained.

If he was in the kind of danger he appeared to be in, why didn’t he simply spread those powerful appendages and fly away?

XI

“That black collar they’ve got on him must be some kind of ceremonial harness.” Weegee was as puzzled by the apparent dichotomy of the stallion’s imprisonment as the rest of them. “Even if it was solid lead I don’t see it weighing him down enough to prevent him from taking off. He’s a big, strong animal.”

“Make no sense for sure,” Cautious agreed.

‘ Tis all to our advantage.” Mudge pointed to a long outrigger with a sturdy mast set in the center. “Look at that beauty. If we can make off with ‘er we’ll ‘ave ourselves a leisurely cruise to Chejiji in no time. This is goin’ to be a cakewalk. While they’re ‘avin’ themselves their barbecue me an Weegee will swim across an* slip that pretty from its moorin’s. We can do this stream underwater easy.”

Jon-Tom made no effort to hide his shock. “Mudge, we can’t just run off and let them cannibalize a beautiful animal like that.”

“Who says?” He nodded toward Weegee. “That’s my idea o’ a beautiful animal, not somethin’ with hooves instead o’ toes.”

“But what about the commonality of intelligence among the warm blooded? Have you forgotten that one of our best friends on our previous journey was a quadruped?”

“I ain’t forgot old Dormas. Who could? But she ain’t set for the banquet tonight and I don’t know that winged stallion from nothin’. Just because ‘e’s got wings don’t make Mm anythin’ special.”

Cautious looked upset. “It ain’t right. Ain’t right that those who can speak an’ think should try eat each other.”

“ ‘Ow do you know that ‘orse can speak an’ think? Maybe ‘e’s a dumb throwback. Sure as ‘ell’s somethin’ wrong with ‘im. Otherwise why don’t ‘e up and fly away? Maybe ‘e’s livin’ out a deathwish.”

Jon-Tom watched the stallion as he endlessly paced the interior of his prison. “We could fly to Chejiji a lot faster than we could sail there. You’re right, Weegee, about his size. A flying percheron. He’s big enough to carry all of us.”

“I don’t like bein’ off the ground, mate. I get airsick, I do, if I ‘ave to climb to the top o’ a small tree. You’re pissin* into the wind anyways. ‘E’s in there and we ain’t. Tonight we ‘elp ourselves to a boat and slip out o’ ‘ere an’ tomorrow mornin’ we’ll be out on the open sea. Worst you’ll ‘ave out o’ this is a bad dream or two.”

“Logically you’re right, Mudge. Emotionally you’re all wrong.”

The otter found this amusing. “Now there’s a switch, wot?”

“How about this, then? Suppose we cross the stream and free him while the villagers are busy preparing for their feast.”

“ ‘Ow about we tie an’ gag you an’ dump you in the boat, and untie you when you’ve come back to your senses.”

“I’m going in after him. Are either of you with me?”

The otters exchanged a glance. Weegee dropped her eyes and said nothing. Disappointed, Jon-Tom looked to the last member of their little party.

“What about you, Cautious?”

“Just my name, that. I go with you, man.” He looked back toward the village and the corral. “This not right for sure.”

“You’re both out o’ your bleedin’ minds. Jon-Tom, you ask too much this time, you do.”

Jon-Tom pleaded with his friend. “It won’t be dangerous. Cautious and I will sneak up there when no one’s watching and cut the ropes securing several of those corral posts. Then we’ll run him out of there. Meanwhile you and Weegee can be stealing a boat. We’ll meet you where the stream flows into the lagoon. Cautious and I and maybe the stallion will swim back to join you. We’ll all be out to sea before anyone in there realizes that their main course has departed for parts unknown.”

“That’s fine, mate. You write it down. We’ll make copies to pass out to them cannibals in there just so’s they know for sure ‘ow they’re supposed to play their bloomin’ parts.”

They waited until the sun fell behind the palms. Mudge watched as Jon-Tom and Cautious started across the stream.

“You better make it downstream on time, mate. I ain’t ‘angin’ around waitin* on you. Not this time. You ‘ear me?” But Jon-Tom’s ears’were full of water and he didn’t hear. Or maybe he did hear but chose not to reply.

“Bloody idiots. I tried to warn “em.”

Weegee put a paw on his shoulder. “They’ll make it. Don’t worry.”

“Worry? Why the ‘ell should I worry about them? They’ve got plenty o’ time. We’ve got plenty o’ time.” He turned to embrace her but she pushed him away.

“Not to be distracted we don’t. Let’s go get that boat.”

She trotted toward the water. Grumbling, Mudge followed.

A single drum kept up an unvarying, monotonous rhythm that imbedded itself in Jon-Tom’s consciousness. He would hear it in his dreams for days thereafter, he knew—assuming this improvised rescue attempt came off successfully. With Cautious leading they picked their way through the reeds, dripping wet from having swum the stream. It was a warm evening and Jon-Tom felt refreshed instead of chilled. More than ever he knew they were doing the right thing.

They stopped behind a hut, crouching low. “See anything?”

“Most people over making preparations for big fire,” the raccoon whispered. “Here I don’t see anything and nobody. We go quick now.”

They raced across a small open area and found themselves standing next to the corral. The stallion saw them, glanced anxiously back over a shoulder, and trotted toward them. His voice was deep and resonant.

“Who are you, where’d you come from?”

“Friends.” Jon-Tom tried to see past the horse. “How’d you come to be in this fix?” Cautious was already using a knife on the thick ropes which held the corral posts together.

“I was traveling to visit friends. A terrible storm struck one night and the small craft I was traveling on foundered. I fear many of my shipboard companions were not strong swimmers. There were high waves and then rocks. I washed ashore alone and came this way looking for help. Instead I found these terrible people.”

Cautious had freed one of the posts. Jon-Tom helped the raccoon tie it down quietly.

“You’d better hurry.” The stallion was looking toward the fire pit. “My name is Teyva, by the way. Hurry or they will eat you as well. This is a terrible land.”

“Depend which part you live in.” Cautious strained against the knife.

“Why don’t you just fly out of here?” Jon-Tom indicated the black leather collar. “Surely that doesn’t weigh that much.”

The stallion glanced down at the ring around his neck. “No, it’s not heavy. I think the meaning is more ceremonial than anything else. This is what they place on the people they plan to eat. The fence is too high for me to jump.”

“I didn’t say jump, I said fly. Why don’t you fly away?”

Teyva looked at the ground and his voice fell. “I can’t.”

“Have this in a minute.” Cautious grunted as he pulled on the post. “Why not.”

“I just can’t.”

Something struck Jon-Tom in the small of the back, propelling him into the corral through the gap he and Cautious had opened. The raccoon sailed in alongside him. Man and coon rolled to their feet in time to see a dozen grinning, well armed villagers starting to put the posts back in place. Cautious’s knife lay next to the feet of a muscular wolf. He picked it up and stuck it into his belt. They’d approached so quietly neither Jon-Tom or Cautious had heard them until heavy feet landed in their backs.

Now they resecured the posts. Their tongues hung out as they regarded their new prisoners. Not a word was spoken.

“Plenty quiet people for sure.” Cautious started forward. “I can climb this fence, I think.” He started forward until an arrow landed in the ground a foot in front of his big toe. Jon-Tom looked up into the trees. There wasn’t much visible among the branches. Intimations of bows and flashing eyes.

“That’s where they came from. That’s why we didn’t hear them sneaking up behind us. They’ve probably been watching us ever since we came out of the river, trying hard not to laugh.”

“Plenty dangerous people all right. Think nobody watching, they watching all the time.”

“Not wasteful, though.” Jon-Tom nodded at the arrow. “That could have gone through your foot.” He turned away from the corral wall. “Pretend we’re stuck, that we’ve given up.”

“We are and maybe I have.” The raccoon sat down heavily.

“Not necessarily.”

“What are you talking about? You’re just as helpless as I am,” said Teyva.

“There’s a six-inch blade concealed in the bottom of my staff.” Jon-Tom gestured with his ramwood stick. “And I have an instrument in my pack.”

“I don’t think music will help.”

“You don’t understand. I’m a spellsinger.”

“You’ll never be able to spellsing yourself out of here, man. You won’t have time.”

Jon-Tom turned, studied the dark silhouettes of the trees. “Maybe, maybe not. Is that why you haven’t flown off? Because you’re afraid they’ll put an arrow through you before you can get above the treetops?”

The stallion turned away. “Oh no, that doesn’t worry me. I could be up and gone before the quickest among them could take aim. They don’t worry about that, though, because they know I can’t fly out of here. Because they know what’s wrong with me.”

Jon-Tom rested a hand on the enormous wing which lay folded back against the stallion’s right flank. He could feel the muscles beneath, the play of tendons the size of his thigh. The horse looked strong enough to fly off with a grand piano strapped to his back.

“You look all right to me. If you’re not worried about being shot down and there’s nothing wrong with you then why the hell don’t you fly out of this lizard coop?” He tugged appraisingly on one of the leather straps that hung down the stallion’s sides, the black leather that was the mark of a chosen victim. “If as you say there’s something wrong with you, I sure as hell can’t see it.”

“That’s not surprising. It’s not something that shows.” Teyva swallowed in embarrassment. “You see, I am afraid of heights.”

Jon-Tom stared open-mouthed at the stallion. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn’t fated to personally make the acquaintance of every psychologically damaged individual in Mudge’s world.

As for the villagers, they were delighted to welcome two new additions to the night’s feasting. To make them feel at home they busied themselves adding two new small spits to the pair of larger ones. The fire pit was widened. The main course would now be preceded by two appetizers. Surely a benign providence had smiled on them, blessing them with fresh food which walked right up and practically begged to be consumed.

Why, one of them wouldn’t even have to be skinned.

Jon-Tom studied the posts from the inside. The blade hidden in the base of his ramwood staff would make short work of the ropes holding them together, but it would also expose him to the attentions of the bow-wielders in the trees overhead. He doubted they’d allow him enough time to cut his way through.

“We in stew for sure.”

“Maybe not. Mudge and Weegee are still out there.”

The coon blew his nose. “Nothing plus nothing gives nothing. I think we better try and figure way out of here ourselves. Don’t think you ought to count on your otter.”

“He’s come back for me before.”

“Did he have new lady with him at that time?”

“Well, no.”

“Then you ain’t talking ‘bout same otter no more. Which you think he choose between? New life with her or old friendship with you?”

Instead of making that choice Jon-Tom wandered over to Teyva. The stallion paid him no mind as he inspected the arrangement of leather straps that dangled from neck and back, and wondered if their captors would try dressing him in similar garb. In his heart Mudge was coming to save him, but his mind agreed with Cautious. They’d better try and figure a way out by themselves—and fast. Teyva represented the best chance of making an escape. Work on him instead of the fence.

“A flying horse that’s afraid of heights. Doesn’t make any sense.”

The stallion glanced back at him. “Neither does a spellsinger from another world, but you’re here.”

Jon-Tom adopted his best professorial tone, the kind he used when tutoring befuddled first-year law students. “Why don’t you stop staring at that fire pit and relax? I’ve had some experience in matters like this. Maybe if we work on it we can find a cure for what’s ailing.your mind.”

“I am relaxed. Just as relaxed as anyone can be when they’re preparing to be the main course at a cannibal feast. As for your curing me, man, you are welcome to try, but I must warn you that as things stand now I begin to get nervous rearing on my hind legs because it puts my head so far from the ground. On the ship I spent all my time in my room because I couldn’t bear to look over the railing. The surface of the ocean was too far below.”

Not good, Jon-Tom told himself. “Have you always been this way?”

“As far back as I can remember. When I was a colt I used to run and hide from my playmates because I couldn’t bear to watch them soaring freely through the air, playing tag with storm clouds, while my own inner fears bound me to the earth. Oh, I tried to fly, man. Believe me I tried!” He unfurled his magnificent mottled wings and flapped them vigorously, but as soon as two hoofs rose more than an inch off the ground he immediately tucked his feathers against his body. He had a wild look in his eye and was shivering visibly. Clearly the mere thought of flying was anathema to him.

Cautious was shaking his head, watching. “Damndest thing I ever see.”

“Don’t help,” Jon-Tom said sharply to the raccoon. He turned back to Teyva, smiling comfortingly. “When did you first realize you were afraid of flying, as opposed to actually being physically incapable of flight?”

The stallion spoke shyly, “Oh, I knew that from way back. If you’re searching for some pivotal event, some deep dark secret of my past, you don’t have to look far. When I was very young I was told, though I can scarce remember, that I had begun to fly on a training tether, as is the custom with young colts. Apparently, and I can hardly credit this though I am assured it is so, I was braver than most. I tried to fly right out of the stable that was my home. Right over the stable door I went like a shot, a door about your height, man.”

“What happened?”

“I tripped.” He shuddered visibly. “My legs hit the top of the low door. One hoof caught on the latch and the rest of me tumbled over the other side.”

“Bruised yourself pretty good?”

“Not at all. You see, the tether was around my neck and the door was taller than I was. So I was trapped against it, hanging from my neck. I tried to right myself by flapping my wings but they were pinned between my back and the door. I hung there against it slowly strangling until a mare who was a friend of my dame happened to come strolling by. She bit the tether in half, but by that time I had blacked out. That memory has remained with me always. Now if I try to fly all the fear and pain comes rushing back in on me and I feel as though I am strangling. You see, there is no great mystery about it. Just as there is nothing I can do about it.”

Jon-Tom nodded. “Perfectly understandable.”

Teyva eyed him in surprise. “It is?”

“Certainly. You can’t fly if you’re grounded by a childhood terror. Many people know the cause of their irrational fears. They simply have no idea how to overcome them. The first thing you have to realize is that your fear is irrational. That all took place a long time ago, when you were barely an infant. You have to convince yourself there’s nothing wrong with your mind, just as you know there’s nothing wrong with your wings, your legs or any other part of your body.” He took a couple of steps forward until he was practically eyeball to eyeball with the stallion.

“You can overcome your fear, Teyva. All you have to do is talk yourself out of it. There’s no tether around your neck except the one in your memory. You can’t choke on a memory. Doesn’t the fact that you’re about to be gutted and spitted and served up as someone’s dinner make you want to get out of here?”

“I have no more interest in becoming a premature meal than you do, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” Again he flapped his great wings. The backblast of air from those powerful limbs blew dust in Jon-Tom’s fact. Teyva rose off the ground an inch, two inches, three, half a foot this time before dropping back to earth. He was sweating and beginning to froth at the mouth.

“I just can’t do it,” he said tightly. “I can feel the,tether around my neck. I can feel it tightening and constricting, cutting off my breath. If I got ten feet up I’d black out from lack of air and come crashing down. I know it.” He glared at Jon-Tom. “You don’t know what it’s like, that feeling. You can’t imagine it. So don’t try to tell me that you do.”

“I won’t.” Jon-Tom wanted to be patient, to be gentle. Unfortunately, the light from the fire pit was beginning to glow brightly. There was no time for patience or gentleness. He had to push.

“Let’s try something.”

“They’ve gone an’ got themselves caught, the stupid twits.” Mudge was squatting in the middle of the big outrigger he and Weegee had spirited away from the boat landing, looking back toward the village. Two wolves had been guarding the trim little vessels, but some commotion among the huts had providentially drawn their attention. Now Mudge knew what the cause of the commotion had been, and providence hadn’t been involved.

“They ought to ‘ave been ‘ere by now.”

“Give them another few minutes.”

He turned to stare at her in the darkness. “No. I know that Jon-Tom, I do. The poor bald-bodied ape don’t ‘ave the brains of a worm. Got ‘imself caught ‘e did. Well, we did our best. I tried to warn Mm, but no, ‘e ‘ad to go an’ play the noble man, ‘e did. It were ‘is choice, it were, an’ it don’t ‘ave nothin’ to do with us. We’ve a life of our own to live. Tis time to go.” He hopped out of the boat and leaned his shoulder against the side preparatory to pushing it off the low sandbar where they’d beached the hull.

Weegee leaned out and rubbed her nose against his to get his attention. “We can’t just let them die like that, Mudge.”

“We didn’t make the choice on ‘ow they’re goin’ to die, luv. They did that themselves. Wot about me and you then, eh?” He stood straight and kissed her, leaning over the gunwale to do so. Then he ran a finger over her whiskers. “I never met no one like you, lass. Never expected to. Never planned on settlin’ down because I never thought I’d ‘ave a reason to. Now I’ve got me a reason an’ I ain’t blowin’ it because some nitwit of a ‘uman from another world ‘asn’t got the sense to know when to mind ‘is own business. Jon-Tom’s been pullin’ idiotic stunts like this ever since I’ve known ‘im, which is as long as ‘e’s been in our world. I knew ‘e’d pull one too many one day and that would be the end o’ an interestin’ friendship. Today’s that day. ‘E’s made the choice. There’s no one else at risk in this. This time the fate o’ the world don’t ‘ang in the balance. Tis just Jon-Tom, an’ fate’s decided ‘is end ‘as come.”

“Someone once told me that fate never decided anything.”

“Wot fool told you that?”

She leaned close. “You did, Mudge.”

He pulled away from her but he couldn’t get away from her eyes. “Damn all females to ‘ell anyway. You ‘ear me, Weegee? I say damn you!”

“I heard you.” She slipped over the side into the water. “We’ll haVe a nice long mutual cursing session later. Right now we’re wasting time.”

Together they swam for the village, easily outracing the startled fish that crossed their path.

Jon-Tom’s halting attempts at equine psychoanalysis were going nowhere fast when he was interrupted by the sound of a gate opening at the far end of the corral. At first he thought the cooks had come for them, but the opening was only to permit the injection of some new ingredients to the stew. These ingredients were unceremoniously tossed inside. The gate was slammed behind them.

He didn’t wave. “Hello, Mudge. Hi, Weegee.”

Teyva pawed the earth. “More of your friends? You certainly do have a number of foolish acquaintances, man.”

Mudge was brushing himself off. The expression on his face ought to have been sharp enough to cut through the pen all by itself. “You don’t know the ‘alf o’ it, four-legs. I should’ve brought me longbow but the water would’ve ruined it. Should’ve brought it anyway an’ taken the chance. Too bleedin’ late now.” He ran back to the gate and bestowed some choice epithets on his captors.

“Very smart this bunch.” Cautious was cleaning his tail. “You got to be real quick or they drop down on you from trees.”

“I’ll keep that useful advice right where it’ll do the most good,” the otter growled. “Only trouble is ‘tis about three minutes shy o’ bein’ of any use. I didn’t think to keep an eye on the trees. Didn’t see no monkeys livin’ ‘ere.” He stared straight at Jon-Tom. “ ‘Course they got one now.”

Weegee walked slowly up to Jon-Tom. “This is my fault. Mudge didn’t want to come. He was probably right, but I insisted.”

“Wot do you mean I didn’t want to come? Are you sayin’ I ‘ad thoughts o’ abandonin’ me good mate ‘ere to the cookpot without at least tryin’ to save “im?”

Weegee turned on her paramour, stared at him for a moment, then looked quietly back up at Jon-Tom. “Everything you told me about him is true.” She strolled over to whisper something to Cautious. Meanwhile Jon-Tom, vaguely aware that he might be missing something, walked over to rejoin his brave friend.

“I appreciate the effort, Mudge. I’m just sorry you didn’t succeed.” He nodded toward the gate. “You bought us some time, anyway. They’re going to have to enlarge the firepit again.” Through the fence posts they could observe the delighted villagers doing just that.

“Why don’t they just cook us one at a time?” the otter muttered.

“That’s what I do not understand,” said Teyva.

“Maybe it’s some spiritual thing. The bigger the banquet and the more prey they cook at once the better it bodes for future hunting, or something.”

Mudge cocked an eye at him. His tone was bitter, resigned. “I knew if I just stuck with you long enough, mate, I’d wind up dead before me time. You know, at the end o’ every one o’ our previous little jaunts you’ve always clapped me on the shoulder an’ said ‘Well done, Mudge. Well done.’ “ He jerked a thumb toward the gate and the firepit beyond. “I’ll be well done for sure this time.” He turned his gaze on the flying horse.

“Wot ‘ave you found out about the cause o’ all this distress? You were right about ‘im bein’ big enough to carry all o’ us. So why don’t we just climb aboard and ‘ave ‘im fly us away?”

“He’s afraid of heights,” said Cautious.

Mudge’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the raccoon. “Wot’s that? I didn’t ‘ear that.”

The disgruntled Cautious raised his voice. “I said he afraid of heights.”

Mudge was silent for a long moment as he digested this. Then he walked slowly up to the huge stallion until his black nose was barely inches from Teyva’s muzzle.

“Mudge, don’t...” Jon-Tom began, but he could no more keep the otter quiet than he could have halted a flood of biblical proportions.

“So you’re afraid o’ heights? With wings that’d shame a ‘undred eagles an’ muscles like that?” He tried to kick the stallion in the chest but his short legs wouldn’t reach high enough. “You four-legged coward. You winged sissy. You namby-pampy cud-chewin’ pitiful excuse for a member o’ the equine persuasion! Wot use are you?” The otter continued to heap insults on the flying horse until Teyva buried his head beneath one of his wings. Only then did the thoroughly disgusted Mudge turn away.

“Thanks, Mudge.” Jon-Tom was shaking his head. “You really helped the situation, you know that? Here I’m trying to convince Teyva he can fly by building up his self-esteem a little and you—”

“Do wot, mate? Tell the truth? Tis a tough life and I ain’t one to coddle another bloke, especially when ‘tis my life that’s at stake.” He sat down and rested his head in his paws. “I only ‘ope that when they cook me they use plenty o’ sage. I always liked sage.”

Jon-Tom turned his attention back to the stallion and tried to peer beneath the concealing wing. “Come out of there, Teyva. That’s not helping anything.”

“Yes it is. I feel bad enough already and I’m going to die and you’re all going to die because you tried to help me. I don’t need any more shame.”

Weegee was standing next to the gate. “Time for last minute expressions of regret or whatever. They’re coming for us.”

Moving in solemn double file, a long line of villagers was approaching the corral. A dull chant rose from the rest, who were assembled around the firepit.

“Please come out of there,” Jon-Tom pleaded with the multicolored wing. A reluctant Teyva peeped out from behind the feathers.

“It is no use, man. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, but you’re wasting your time. It has been tried before.”

“Maybe we can fake them. Pretend like you’re going to fly away. Shock them into hesitating for a while at least.” He put one hand on the black leather strap that ran down the stallion’s spine. “Do you mind?”

“Better you should be composing yourself for the last moment, but if it makes you feel better, go ahead.”

Jon-Tom put a foot into the lower leather straps and swung himself up on the broad, muscular back. From his new height he had a different perspective on Teyva’s size and power. The stallion would have the wingspan of a small airplane.

“Mudge, Weegee, Cautious: get up here behind me.”

“Wot for, mate? If that useless lump o’ ‘orseflesh could fly ‘e’d be long gone from ‘ere before now an” we wouldn’t be in this fix.”

Weegee spoke as Jon-Tom gave her a hand up. “Do as he says, Mudge.”

“Do as Jon-Tom says, do as Jon-Tom says. I’ve been doin’ that for over a year and look where ‘tis got me.”

“All right, then do what I say. Get up here!”

“An’ now I’m takin’ orders from a dumb female.” Grumbling under his breath, he rose and walked to the stallion’s side.

With Jon-Tom in front and the two otters and Cautious behind, there wasn’t much room left on Teyva’s back. Mudge was sitting more on the stallion’s rump than his back, which suited the otter just fine. According to him, that was the part of life he’d been getting ever since he’d met up with Jon-Tom.

“Turn and face them.”

“Why?” Teyva asked Jon-Tom. “I would rather not see the fatal blow coming.”

“Turn an’ face ‘em like the man says,” Mudge bawled. “Maybe it don’t make no difference to you, but I’m damned if I’m goin’ to die with a spear up my arse.”

Silently the stallion pivoted.

“Now spread your wings like you’re preparing to take off,” Jon-Tom told him. With a sacrificial sigh the stallion complied.

The gate opened. The villagers parted to form two lines leading from the corral to the firepit. Two wolves, a couple of dingoes and a bat-eared fox came marching ceremoniously down the aisle. Each carried a knife the size of a machete.

“ ‘Ere comes the anointed butchers,” Mudge muttered. “ ‘Old ‘em off as long as you can with your staff, mate.”

Jon-Tom ignored the otter as he studied the bloodletters. They wore black straps similar to those that had been placed on Teyva. The last wolf in line held an armful of smaller leathers. Obviously it would not do for the three smaller captives to go to their deaths improperly attired.

Leaning close to the stallion’s ear, he whispered. “Now make like you’re getting ready to fly.”

Obediently Teyva began to flap his great wings. They reached from one side of the corral to the other. He rose off the ground almost a foot this time before settling back to earth and nearly collapsing to his knees.

“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. Jon-Tom thought he could see tears beginning to spill from his eyes. “I just can’t do it.”

“Goodbye, Weegee.” Mudge leaned forward to clasp her tightly to him. “I’m sorry about all the times we didn’t ‘ave to spend in bed so that I could show you wot a great lover I am.”

“And I’m sorry,” she murmured back, “about all the times we didn’t have to spend out of bed so that I could learn what a truly fine person you are beneath all the affected crudity and false bravado.”

“Me, I’m just plain sorry,” said Cautious. The raccoon shut his eyes and waited for the first kiss of the knife.

“Fly,” Jon-Tom urged the stallion. “I know you can do it. You know you can do it.” Remembering an old Indian trick he’d once read about he leaned over and bit the stallion’s ear. Teyva started but didn’t rise.

“It’s no use, my final friends.”

The butchers were mumbling some ceremonial nonsense next to the gate. Blessing the sacred slaughtering knives or something, Jon-Tom thought. They had less than minutes left.

“Fly, dammit!”

“Uh, mate.”

“Don’t bother me now, Mudge.”

The otter was fumbling with the left inside pocket of his battered old vest. Curious in spite of himself Jon-Tom looked back. No doubt Mudge wanted to present him with some final offering, some last token of his esteem to cement the bond that had sprung up between them during the past months. Something meaningful. Something that looked just like a four-inch square packet of white powder.

Weegee’s outrage was palpable. “Mudge!”

“Sorry, luv. I’m weak, I guess. Never made a promise that weren’t some’ow qualified.” He handed the packet to Jon-Tom. “As the time for spellsingin” seems past, maybe ‘tis time to try a little spellsniffm’. Give ‘im a whiff o’ this—just a tiny one, mind now.”

“Right, yeah, sure.” Jon-Tom snatched the packet. In his frantic efforts to break it open he almost dropped it. When he ripped it down the middle Mudge winced as though the tear had gone through his back fur. Clinging to the stallion’s neck with his left arm he profferred the gaping bag with his right. “Open your eyes, damn it.”

Teyva blinked, saw the bag. “What is that? I have already made my peace with the universe. There is nothing more to do.”

“I agree, right. This will help relax you. Take a sniff.”

The stallion frowned. “It looks like sugar. Why sniff instead of taste?” The chanting rose in pitch and the official butchers were spreading out in a semicircle to make sure no panicky captive could dash past them.

“Please, just inhale a little. My last request.”

“A foolish one, but if I can make up a little at the last for all the damage I’ve done I will do so.” Bending forward, the stallion dipped his nostrils to the packet and inhaled deeply. Teyva was quite a large animal. Most of the contents of the packet vanished.

A couple of minutes slid by. Then the lead wolf raised the ceremonial blade and struck. It cleft only empty air.

Teyva hadn’t so much taken off as exploded two hundred feet straight up.

The shockingly abrupt ascension caused Jon-Tom to drop the packet and the remainder of its euphoric contents. Cautious and Weegee had to grab Mudge to keep him from diving after it. With his tremendous wings beating the air to a blur, the stallion hovered like a hummingbird above the corral and its stunned occupants. Teyva not only had the wingspan of a small plane; the extraordinary rapidity of his wing beats made him sound like one.

“Well what do you know.” He studied the ground far below. “You were right, man. That is the ground down there, isn’t it?”

Jon-Tom’s heart was pounding against his chest as he clung to the black leather straps with a death grip. “Yes. Quite a ways down, in fact.”

Teyva spun in midair. “My but this is interesting up here.” He glanced down again. “Look at them all jumping up and down there. They seem quite exercised about something.”

“I imagine it’s our escape.”

“Oh yes, our escape. We have escaped, haven’t we? They were going to kill us.” His gaze narrowed. “Cook us and eat us. Nasty mean old people. We should teach them a lesson.”

“No no! I mean, we don’t have time to teach them a—nooooo!”

Folding his wings against his flanks, the stallion dropped like a stone toward the corral. What the startled villagers below took to be war cries were actually screams of utter terror. Wolves, foxes and others scattered in all directions. Some didn’t flee fast enough and the stallion’s front hooves cracked a few skulls. Teyva repeated his stuka-like dive several times. Then he hovered over the center of the village and emptied his bowels and bladder. Having lastly knocked over a brace of torches, thereby setting half the village on fire, he fluttered overhead and surveyed the havoc he’d wrought with an air of equine equanimity.

“That ought to teach them to think twice about trying to eat any helpless strangers.” He glanced back at Jon-Tom. “I owe you everything, man. What can I do for you?”

Aware that his skin must by now have acquired something of a greenish cast, Jon-Tom fought to form a coherent sentence. “Could you take us to a town called Strelakat Mews?”

“I don’t know where that is, I’m afraid.”

“How about Chejiji, then?”

Teyva’s expression brightened. “Ah, Chejiji! Of course I know Chejiji.”

“And quickly.”

“Why quickly, mate?” a woozy but exultant Mudge inquired.

“Because I’m getting dizzy and I don’t know how long I can keep this up. I guess I neglected to mention it while I was trying to cure Teyva of his fear of heights, but I’m afraid of heights. Always have been.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun!” And to demonstrate how much fun it was going to be the stallion executed a perfect loop-the-loop, thereby allowing Jon-Tom to add the contents of his stomach to the gifts Teyva had already bestowed on the devastated populace below.

“Afraid of heights, man?” The stallion let out a whinny that could be heard across half the continent. “What a foolish notion! It seems to me that I was once afraid of heights. I can’t imagine why. You must let me talk to you about it sometime.”

“You betcha.” Jon-Tom wiped his lips. “Could we go now—please?”

“To Chejiji it is.” He leaned forward, a determined look on his face, and in a minute they were out over the silvery expanse of the ocean.

“Wait, wait a minute!”

“I thought you said quickly.”

He pointed downward. “We have to get our things. That is, if you think you can handle a little additional weight.”

“Weight? What is weight?”

Mudge searched until he located the outrigger where he and Weegee had stowed their backpacks. Teyva executed another heart-rending dive, waited impatiently while they gathered up their supplies.

“I could carry the boat as well, if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Jon-Tom resumed his seat on the stallion’s broad back. With weapons, food, and the splinters of his precious duar once more in hand they rose again over the water.

Anyone on shore who chose that moment to look skyward would have seen a most unusual silhouette crossing the face of the full moon, and might also have heard the whinny of pure delight the stallion Teyva emitted. Might have also heard the sharp smack of paw on furry face accompanied by a feminine voice saying, “Mudge, don’t try that again.”

“But luv,” another voice then plaintively replied, “I never did it on the back o’ a flyin’ ‘orse before.”

Arguments, whinnies and wings shrank toward the starlit horizon.

XII

Teyva was all for striking out straight across the open sea, but Jon-Tom didn’t trust the stallion’s navigational skills enough to abandon the coastline entirely. So they stuck to the shore, following it steadily southward until it began a long westward curve that would carry them to the vicinity of Chejiji. The farther they flew the more they saw that this part of the world was virtually unpopulated. Not even an isolated fishing village appeared beneath them.

“Not bad country.” Cautious gazed down from his perch at the terrain slipping past below. “Wonder why so empty?”

“Tropics, swampland,” Jon-Tom commented. “Hard to fashion a city in dense jungle.”

Mudge pointed suddenly. “Somebody did. ‘Ave a look at that, would you.”

“Bank left,” Jon-Tom directed their mount. Teyva dropped his left wing slightly and they began to turn.

Below them, hidden by vines and creepers and parasitic trees, lay the ruins of a great city. The massive stone bulk of huge pyramids and decorated walls poked through the choking vegetation. Shattered towers thrust skyward like broken teeth.

“Wot do you make o’ that, mate?”

“I don’t know.” Jon-Tom drank in the sight of the ruined metropolis. “Plague, tidal wave this close to the ocean. Who can say?”

“Let’s ‘ave ourselves a closer look, wot?” Jon-Tom looked back in surprise. “Why Mudge, I thought you were anxious to get back to civilization.”

“That I am, but lost cities tend to be chock full o’ things forgotten. Maybe bushels o’ corn an’ dried-up old vegetables, maybe bushels o’ somethin’ else.”

Jon-Tom chuckled. “I don’t think we’ll find any buried treasure, but you can look if you want to. Set down atop that big temple or whatever it is over there, Teyva.”

“As you wish, my friend, though I hate to land. Flying is such pleasure.”

The stallion’s wing beats slowed. They fell in a descending spiral until he touched down gently on the apex of the ancient pyramid.

From the ground the lost city was more impressive than it had been from above. It extended an unknown distance back into the dense jungle, where the vegetation was so thick it was impossible to tell where city ended and rain forest took over.

A small building sat atop the pyramid. They entered in hopes of finding some clues to the nature of the city’s builders and their fate, but there were none to be seen. No bas-reliefs, no sculptures, no chipped friezes. Jon-Tom found the complete absence of any informative or decorative arts disturbing. It was almost as though the former inhabitants had made a conscious effort to maintain their anonymity down through the ages. All they found were some traces of tempera-painted plaster which mold and moisture had obliterated. Jon-Tom touched a fragment of blue and pink color. It crumbled to powder at the touch of his finger. “Jungle’s destroyed everything that wasn’t removed. It would’ve lasted in a desert climate, but not here.”

“Not everythin’, mate!” came a shout.

Mudge had crawled beneath a fallen beam. Now his voice echoed from beyond. “Come see wot I’ve found.”

One by one they slithered through the opening. It was a tight squeeze for Jon-Tom. Teyva’s passage was out of the question. He remained outside, waiting on them.

The chamber Mudge had discovered was in a much better state of preservation than anything they’d yet encountered. Perhaps it had been sealed for years and only recently exposed to the air. The plaster frescoes were intact. There were finely rendered scenes of ocean and beach, perhaps the very beach visible from the top of the pyramid. Fish cavorted in the shallows. There were scenes depicting cultivated plants, and weather, and mysterious imaginary beings, but no portraits of the city’s builders. They were anxious to illustrate the world in which they lived but downright paranoid about exhibiting themselves to posterity. Jon-Tom could think of one or two cultures in his own world that had phobias about rendering exact images of themselves.

Besides the frescoes the chamber held several relics. A beautifully worked dressing table or desk with matching chair stood against the far wall. Both had been cut from some purplish wood that proved to be as hard as steel. In the center of the desk was an age-stained mirror. Shoved into the back of the chair was a sword that might have been forged yesterday. The handle gleamed like chrome. An indecipherable script covered the visible portion of the blade.

On the dressing table to the left of the mirror sat a golden goblet. Closer inspection revealed that it was full of water and that the base was of pure rock crystal. Anyone drinking from it would be able to see through the transparent bottom.

Except for these singular objects and the wall frescoes the room was bare and plain. There were no windows. The ceiling was fashioned of exceptionally thick timbers of the same purple wood from which the dressing table and chair had been carved. Slate and straw littered the floor, having fallen from overhead.

Weegee shivered slightly. “It looks like somebody just stepped out.”

Mudge put a comforting arm around her. “Glad they did. This is where fortunes are made, luv.”

“I don’t see no fortune,” said Cautious. “I see a desk and chair, pretty but not special. Maybe the goblet and sword worth some money, maybe the gold fake.”

Mudge approached the dressing table and picked up the goblet. Weegee sucked in an anxious breath, but no ghosts appeared to defend their property. The otter inspected it from every angle, holding it up to the light.

“If this ain’t real gold I’ll eat me tail. Why don’t you ‘elp yourself to the sword, Jonny-Tom?” He gestured magnanimously at the chair and the weapon half buried within.

“Thanks, but I’ll stick with my ramwood staff.”

The otter shrugged as he walked over to the chair. “Don’t say I didn’t offer to share.” He spat into one paw, rubbed it against its counterpart, and grabbed the sword handle with both hands. As his skin made contact with the metal it began to speak. Mudge jumped three feet. A faint yellow luminescence appeared, traveling from the handle down through the blade until the entire chair was glowing brightly.

Weegee was backing rapidly toward the crawlway. “Mudge, you put your hands on too many things.”

The otter hesitated, then stepped back to the chair and resumed his grip. “So wot? It ain’t doin’ nothin’.”

“It spoke. I heard it.”

“I heard it too,” Jon-Tom said.

“I ain’t afraid o’ no sword voice. Tis the edge that concerns me.”

“Higher,” said the sword.

Mudge licked his lips, feeling suddenly less bold, but followed the weapon’s instructions by sliding his paws upward a few inches.

“That’s better.”

Like a recording, Jon-Tom thought, moving closer. Same inflection, tone, and decibel level as the first time. Not a suggestion of intelligence so much as programming. It reacted to the touch of a living creature, no more.

“I sense and I respondeth.”

Mudge let go of the shaft, but this time the glow didn’t fade.

“Respondeth? Wot the ‘ell kind o’ talk is that?”

“Hush,” said Weegee. The sword continued.

“Knoweth all who stand before me that I am the One and Sole True Sword. This chair is my home and I standeth guard o’er it for ever and ever.”

“Wot, not forevereth?” Mudge said sarcastically. The sword ignored him.

“Those who placed me here did so in the full knowledge that only a true hero can remove me from my home and take me out into the world where I may defend and profit such a hero greatly.” Now voice and luminescence faded together, but a faint aura clung to the weapon’s haft.

“Pagh!” Mudge stepped back. “That’s a waste, then. Of no use to anybody.”

“How do you know?” Weegee looked at each of them in turn. “We should try to remove it. Maybe there’s a true hero among us.”

Mudge found this vastly amusing until she batted her lashes at him. “You first, Mudgey. You’re my true hero no matter what happens.”

Mudge swelled with self-importance. “That puts a different light on it, luv, though I think I’m wastin’ me time. Never let it be said I let a request from a lady go unattended.”

He walked back and studied the sword from every possible angle while his companions looked on anxiously. At last he hopped up into the chair, reached over and grabbed the handle of the sword with both paws, and heaved mightily. His whiskers quivered and the strain distorted his face. “Is it coming?” Weegee asked anxiously. He finally released the sword, let out a gasp and slumped over. “Is wot comin’? The sword, or me ‘ernia?” He climbed down. “I told you I weren’t no ‘ero, much less a true one. Never ‘ave been, never will be, an’ furthermore I don’t aspire to it. I’ll settle for bein’ yours, luv.” He looked to his right. “Why don’t you try it, mask-face?”

“Be some surprise for sure, but why not?” The raccoon hopped up into the empty seat and gave a tug on the sword. He didn’t strain himself. “Sorry. Doen have the strength to be hero.”

Jon-Tom was studying the chair. “Maybe brute force would work. I wonder if we could knock the chair over and let Teyva have a go at it.”

“Not me,” said the flying horse from beyond the crawl way. “I don’t want to be a hero. I don’t want the responsibility. All I want is to fly. Speaking of which, could you hurry things up? I feel like I’ve been standing here simply for hours.” It had only been a few minutes, but the stallion was idling in overdrive.

“Won’t be much longer.” He looked to the only female member of their little band. “Weegee?”

“What, me?”

“Sure, go on, luv.” Mudge gave her a nudge forward. “Just because that snippy section o’ steel said ‘ ‘ero’ don’t mean it couldn’t be talkin’ about a “eroine.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with a sword like that.” She hesitated. “I feel a lot more comfortable with a knife.”

“You feel a lot more period,” Mudge chortled, “but give ‘er a try anyways.”

She did so, and was unable to move the sword an inch. Mudge turned to gaze up at his tall friend. “I guess ‘tis up to you, mate. If there be any among us likely to qualify as a true ‘ero I expect ‘tis you. Either that, or for the looney bin.”

Jon-Tom had to admit this was true. Had he not been thrust into that role several times during the past year, and hadn’t he emerged intact, unscathed and successful? Perhaps the sword was meant for him. Perhaps some unseen, unknown power had placed it here knowing he’ would require the use of it during the remainder of the journey. It might be a thing destined.

Approaching the chair, he put one hand around the haft of the sword, the other around the hilt just below the guard, and straightened, pulling with his legs as well as with shoulders and arms. He tried several times.

The sword didn’t budge.

“Why don’t you sing to it, mate.” Mudge was leaning against the far wall. He wore an expression Jon-Tom couldn’t interpret and didn’t like.

Finally he had to call a halt to his efforts, if only to catch his breath. “If I had my duar with me don’t think I wouldn’t.”

The sword spoke up. “Knoweth all that I am the One True Sword.”

“Ah, says you.” He stepped away from the chair.

“Uppity bit o’ brass, wot? Meself, I ain’t got much use for a weapon wot talks back.” He kicked the chair, not hard enough to hurt his foot or do it any damage but hard enough to receive some satisfaction from the gesture. “I got me longbow an’ me short sword. Who needs it?” Jon-Tom was staring longingly at the ensorceled blade. “Don’t look so downcast, mate. You don’t ‘ave to be a true ‘ero. ‘Tis sufficient to be an ordinary, everyday, run-o-the-mill one.”

“I know, Mudge. It’s just that I thought “

“You thought wot, mate?” Mudge eyed him penetratingly. “That you were somethin’ special? That you were brought to this world for some deep dark purpose instead o’ merely by accident? They say contrition’s good for the soul. Not ‘avin one, I wouldn’t know.”

“Not having one what? Soul, or contrition?”

“I wouldn’t mind having this.” Weegee plopped herself down in the chair. Ignoring the sword sticking out of the back, she peered into the beveled mirror atop the dressing table and began to primp fur and whiskers. “It would be lovely in a bedroom and....”

She broke off as a soft pink glow appeared within the glass.

“Oh, shit,” said Mudge, “not again.”

Sure enough, the mirror began to speak, in a slightly less fruity voice than the one which had inhabited the sword.

“Knoweth all who sitteth before me that I am the One True Mirror. That all who peer into my depths shall seeth themselves as they actually are and not as they may thinketh they be: without prejudice, without flattery, without enhancement.” The mirror was silent, but the pink fluorescence remained.

“You want it in your bedroom, luv, then you’d better ‘ave a looksee.”

“Are you sure it’s safe? No,” she said, answering her own question, “of course you’re not sure it’s safe. But the sword didn’t do anything. All right, why not? It’s only a mirror.” She leaned forward.

The face that stared back at her was her own, but instead of the tatters she wore as a result of her encounters these several days past with pirates and cannibals and difficult circumstances, her reflection was clad in an exquisite body-length suit asparkle with gold and jewels. Her expression and pose in the mirror combined with the clothing to give off an air of dignity and power.

“I look beautiful,” she whispered in awe. “Truly beautiful.”

“A true mirror for sure,” said Mudge, smiling at her.

“But I look like a queen. I don’t own any clothing like that.”

“Not yet,” Jon-Tom murmured. It was a regal reflection indeed.

She hopped down off the chair and walked into Mudge’s arms. “What does it mean, do you think?”

He whispered in her ear. “That you’re gonna ‘ave a ton o’ money, or else we’ve got a first-class joker on our ‘ands.”

“Let me try.” Cautious squirmed onto the chair. The otters and Jon-Tom joined him in peering into the mirror. Pink diamonds danced along the beveled rim, but there was no change in the image visible in the glass. None at all.

The raccoon waited a moment longer before abandoning the chair. “I am not disappointed, you bet. I am what you see. Worse things to be.”

“To thine own self be true,” murmured Jon-Tom softly.

“You next, Mudge.” Weegee pushed him toward the chair.

“Now wait a minim, luv. Let’s think this through. I ain’t sure I want to see myself as I really am. From wot friends tell me it leaves somethin’ to be desired.”

“Oh go on, Mudge. It’s only a mirror.”

“Yeh, sure.” He readied himself. “Just be ready to pick me up if I faint.”

Carefully he sat in the chair, resting his arms on the wooden ones, and turned to face his reflection. It showed a much older otter in the final stages of dessication. Most of the fur had turned silver and the figure was so thin the bones showed in the shoulders and face. Several whiskers on the left side of the muzzle were missing, spittle dribbled from the same side of the trembling mouth, and the right eye rolled wildly and independent of the left. The clothes were ragged and torn.

It was a reflection of a life taken to extremes, of one stuffed to bursting with too much liquor, too much rich food, drugs, wenching and a general overindulgence in all things. Despite intimations of incipient senility, there was no mistaking that lecherous expression. It was Mudge.

Jon-Tom eyed him worriedly as he slid slowly out of the chair. Weegee said nothing but embraced him tightly. He stroked the fur on the back of her neck.

“There now, luv, no need to get all upset.”

“It doesn’t bother you to see yourself like that?” Jon-Tom asked him.

“Why should it bother me?” He looked around at the trio of concerned faces. “That’s ‘ow I’ve always seen myself. Besides, His a reflection of ‘ow I am now, not ‘ow I’m goin’ to end up. Come on now, cheer up. You’re depressin’ me wot with all these long faces. ‘Tis your turn, Jon-Tom.”

“I don’t know.” The image of the decrepit otter still lingered on his retinas. What might the mirror tell him about himself?

“Go on,” said Cautious, displaying unaccustomed asser-tiveness. “We all done it, you got to do it too. You not afraid of what maybe you see, are you?”

“Yes I am.”

“Take the plunge, mate. Probably you’ll just see a straight reflection, like Cautious did.”

Now that all three of his companions had chanced the mirror he could hardly back out. So he settled himself in the chair, lifted his eyes and stared nervously into the glass.

His lower jaw dropped and he moved his head from side to side, but k didn’t change what he saw in the mirror.

“You okay, Jon-Tom?” Weegee was eyeing him with concern. He didn’t reply and she looked to Mudge. “What’s the matter? What’s gone wrong?”

“Maybe nothin’, luv. Maybe ‘tis just somethin’ we ain’t smart enough to understand.” He held her tightly. “Not every answer in life’s an easy one.”

There was no image in the mirror, no image at all. Cautious leaned forward and saw himself, and you could see the otters standing a little further back, but Jon-Tom might as well have been invisible. The raccoon helped him up from the chair. Still stunned, he leaned against the dressing table, consciously avoiding any contact with the beveled glass that dominated the center.

“But what does it mean? Does it mean I’m not really here? That I don’t really exist?” He felt of his chest, his legs. “I feel real. I feel like I’m here.”

Mudge tried to be helpful. “Maybe it means the real you hasn’t made itself known yet. Maybe there’s somethin’ that ‘as to be added to make you complete. Hell, I’ve always thought you weren’t all there.”

“Mudge, this is no time to be funny. I’m scared.”

“Then that’s the best time to be funny. ‘Ere, let’s think about somethin’ else for a while. I don’t think you ‘ave to worry about fadin’ away.” He searched the chamber and his gaze fastened on the golden goblet. “Wot you want to bet this ‘ere bit o’ crenulated crockery talks?” He picked it up, as he had once before, but though he held it tightly no glow issued from its hammered sides and no words from its depths.

“You lose,” Weegee told him.

“Can’t lose when you bet against yourself, luv.” He sniffed the clear contents. “Smells like rainwater. Must’ve dripped from the ceilin’. Pity it couldn’t be somethin’ a mite stronger.”

“As dry as my throat is all of a sudden I’m not going to be particular.” Jon-Tom took it from the otter and after a quick look to ensure himself nothing besides water had fallen into it from the ceiling he downed the contents gratefully.

He was about to put it back on the dressing table when the bowl filled with a pulsating blue smoke.

“Knoweth all that I am the One True Goblet. Knoweth all who standeth before me that I will provide sustenance for the thirsty of mind as well as throat.”

“Interesting.” Jon-Tom turned the empty goblet around in his fingers. “I wonder what it means, ‘sustenance for the mind’?” He looked into its depths anew and they heard the voice a second time.

“Beware the Moqua plants.”

The blue smoke dissipated. In its wake it left a fresh drink of water.

“Now ain’t that somethin’,” said Mudge. “‘Beware o’ the Moqua plants.’ “

“What’s a Moqua?”

The otter formed a circle with thumb and forefinger. “Got little bells on it about like this that fill up with tiny bugs. Got nasty bites, they do.” There was contempt in his voice. “I didn’t need no talkin’ utensil to tell me that. But I do need a drink. Pass ‘er over.”

Jon-Tom handed the otter the goblet and Mudge drained it in a single long swallow. “Water’s good even if the advice leaves somethin’ to be desired.”

It spoke again. “Avoid the lugubrious lescar.”

Mudge made a face. “That one’s got me stumped. Any you lot know wot a lugubrious lescar is?” Weegee and Cautious shook their heads.

“Hurry up in there.” Teyva sounded genuinely impatient.

“Just another minute.” Jon-Tom glanced at his companions. “Nobody knows what a lugubrious lescar is?”

“Never ‘card o’ it,” confessed Mudge.

“Well we’d better stay out of its way, whatever it is.” He studied the vessel, peered over the rim at the lady of the troup. “Weegee?”

“Strange, but I feel a sudden thirst.” She smiled at him as she took the goblet.

“At least we come out o’ this with somethin’ useful.” Mudge watched her as she sipped. “Melted down, there must be a quarter pound o’ gold in that cousin to a tankard.”

Jon-Tom was shocked. “Mudge, how can you think of melting something so unique and magical just for its monetary content?”

“Because I think o’ just about everythin’ in terms o’ its monetary content, that’s ‘ow.”

“You could be dying of thirst in the desert and that bottomless water supply could keep you alive.”

“Aye, and I could be fallin” down broke in Polastrindu an* the gold in it would keep me drunk forever.”

“Jon-Tom’s right,” Weegee chided him. “You don’t melt magic.” She’d finished draining the goblet. As it refilled itself for the third time they heard the voice again.

“Buy IBM at 124.”

Jon-Tom blinked. Could it be that the goblet’s range extended to his world as well? He took the goblet from Weegee and stowed it carefully in his pack.

“We’ll decide what to do with this later, but I think it definitely has its uses. Let’s go before Teyva decides to depart without us.”

They crawled back beneath the fallen beam. Teyva’s nostrils flared. “I smell water. I could use a drink.”

Jon-Tom sighed. “Cautious, would you get him the goblet?” The raccoon obliged, held it for the stallion while he drank, and then repacked it. As he was putting it away Jon-Tom thought he heard it again.

“The solution to the national debt is to...” but the remainder was smothered by the supplies in his pack.

Easy come, easy go, he thought. Better it should tell them how to get to Strelakat Mews.

By the morning of the next day Teyva’s wing beats had slowed considerably and the flying horse was beginning to show the strain of carrying four passengers for hundreds of miles. If the stallion were to give out unexpectedly they would land in the ocean. How much farther was it to Chejiji?

“I’m sorry,” said Teyva, “but all of a sudden I don’t feel so good. Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have any more of that white powder on you, would you?”

“It wouldn’t matter. What your system needs now is food. You’re coming down, Teyva. At this point another jolt would do real damage. Can you go on?”

“I don’t know.” The stallion was shaking his head repeatedly. “Real tired all of a sudden. Weak.” He dipped sharply, fought to regain altitude. “Going down.” His voice was slurred.

“Look!” Cautious was leaning out over nothingness and pointing. “Is that real or am I blind?”

Just ahead a narrow strip of land protruded into the sea. A wide beach lined the green peninsula like lace on an old lady’s collar. The far side of the peninsula was dotted with irregular brown and red forms. Buildings, Jon-Tom thought excitedly. It could only be fabled Chejiji. It had to be Chejiji.

“We’ll have to swim for it.” Teyva continued to lose altitude.

“Like hell. We’ve haven’t come all this way and overcome everything we have to arrive soaking wet. Lock your wings, Teyva. Just lock them out straight. You don’t have to work to fly. We can glide in.”

“I’ll try.” The vast multicolored wings slowed and extended fully. They descended in a slow curve, soaring on the hot air rising from the warm bay below.

For a few minutes Jon-Tom feared they’d land in the shallow water on the near side of the peninsula. Then Teyva struck a thermal rising from an exposed section of reef arid they lifted like a hot-air balloon, barely clearing the tops of the tallest trees. Exhausted, the stallion set down on the edge of the harbor district, causing something of a commotion as the shadow of his great wings passed over startled pedestrians.

Jon-Tom and his companions dismounted quickly. “How do you feel?” he asked Teyva.

“Like my wings are about to fall off. In fact, like everything is about to fall off.”

“You don’t look too good, either. I think we’d better get you to a doctor.”

“Let Mm find ‘is own doctor.” Mudge was in no mood to coddle. “I’m starvin’, I am.”

“Mudge,” said Weegee wamingly. He gave her the sour eye.

“I know you can pronounce me name properly, luv. No need to keep demonstratin’ the fact.”

She smiled sweetly. “Be nice to Teyva, dear, or I’ll give you a kick.”

“Well matched, them couple.” Cautious turned to gaze at the tall stone and tile buildings that lined the harbor front. “Never seen a city like this. Come to think of it, I never seen a big city ever.”

The stucco walls, tiled roofs, turrets and battlements suggested a cross between an old Moorish town on the Costa Brava and a leftover set from the film South Pacific. They intercepted a ferret wearing a broadbrimmed straw hat and short pants. He was carrying half a dozen fishing poles and attendant paraphernalia which he kept shifting from shoulder to shoulder as they inquired about a doctor.

“For which among you?” Bright sunlight made him squint as Jon-Tom gestured toward Teyva. “A quadruped specialist, then. I recommend Corliss and Marley.” He turned and pointed. “Go along the Terrace to the first brick road and turn left. Their office, as I recall, lies not far up that street.”

“Great, thanks.” Jon-Tom shook the ferret’s paw and they headed south.

They found the brick road easily, but Teyva was now so weak he could barely make it up the steep incline, his wings fluttering spasmodically against his sweaty withers. Corliss and Marley’s office was a one-story yellow stucco structure topped by a green tile roof. It had a sweeping view of the bay beyond. A few fishing boats were visible out in the calm waters.

Corliss was a nimble-fingered gibbon with an empathetic bedside manner. His long arms and delicate fingers probed the length and breadth of Teyva’s body while his partner Marley stood nearby staring through thick glasses and making notations on a pad. One didn’t have to be a member of the profession to figure out that Corliss was the manipulative end of the partnership and Marley the brains. After all, Marley was a goat, and it’s rather difficult to perform surgery without any fingers.

When Corliss had concluded his inspection the pair consulted. Then the gibbon stepped aside, Marley put down his mouth-stylus, and they voiced their diagnosis simultaneously.

“Worst case of wing-strain we’ve ever seen.” Marley continued on his own.

“What did you do, make the poor fellow fly halfway across the Glittergeist?”

Jon-Tom coughed into his fist. “Something like that. But we didn’t make him do it. He volunteered.”

The goat consulted his notes. “And his blood pressure, verra strange.” He glanced up at the stallion through those half-inch thick lenses. “Are you on enna kind of medication?”

“Ah, no.” Teyva looked away. “That is, nothing of a long-term nature.”

“Long-term nature?” The physician looked at the stallion’s companions. “What does ‘e mean, nothing of a long-term nature?”

Mudge started to reply but Weegee slapped a paw over his mouth. Jon-Tom took a step forward. “Our lives were at stake. Teyva here suffered from a fear of flying ever since colthood. We had to resort to the use of a stimulant to break him of that fear.”

“Weel you broke him of it, I’d say, judging from the way those wings look. Severe sprain, both of them.” He shook his head at the stallion. “No flying for you for a while, my friend.”

“Absolutely verboten.” Corliss was examining Teyva’s right eye, having added drops to dilate the pupil. “Nor would I take any more of that stimulant if I were you. Not if you want to fly anywhere soon except into a shallow grave.”

Jon-Tom felt uncomfortable. “Like I said, we had no choice. Everything happened pretty fast. I had no time to measure out a dose.”

This failed to placate the gibbon. “As a doctor I have little sympathy for anyone who employs strong drugs without a prescription.”

Mudge couldn’t stand it anymore, broke away from Weegee’s restraining paw. “Look ‘ere,.knuckles, we were about to be potted an’ we didn’t ‘ave time for careful consideration o’ the possible consequences.”

Teyva gazed sorrowfully at Jon-Tom. “I am sorry I will not be able to do as I hoped and fly you all the way to Strelakat Mews, but I think I had best abide by the doctors’ decision.”

Jon-Tom walked up to pat him on the neck. “That’s all right. You’ve done more than enough by bringing us this far, Teyva. We can walk the rest of the way.”

Marley looked up from his papers. “Strelakat Mews? What business could you have in Strelakat Mews?”

Jon-Tom indicated the sack containing the fragments of his duar. “I’m a spellsinger by trade. My instrument is badly broken and my mentor, the wizard Clothahump, insists that the only craftsman in the world capable of repairing it properly is a fellow named Couvier Coulb who lives in the Mews.”

“That may be, that may be.” Corliss was writing on a pad of his own. “I wouldn’t know, not being a musician myself.”

“Where might we find someone to guide us to this dump?” Mudge asked.

“You can’t,” Marley told the otter. “It’s said the inhabitants of Strelakat Mews can do wondrous things, but nobody goes there.”