neetha Napew - The Time Of The Transferance

“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?