neetha Napew - The Time Of The Transferance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Squirks. Harmless little things, and tasty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They marched all that day and into the morning of the next without encountering so much as a sign that another 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.