neetha Napew - The Time Of The Transferance

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Picket rocketed back toward the house, re-emerged an instant later carrying a red felt cap with two long white and yellow feathers protruding from the crown. Mudge carefully placed it between his ears.

“What happened to the green one?”

Mudge nodded at the unkempt beard. “Wot ‘appened to your face? Time takes all things, mate. Even green ‘ats.”

The trail led up the bank away from the stream and back into the woods. “Didn’t throw it away, though,” the otter continued. “Got it in a drawer somewheres. Sort o’ a memento o’ our former travels together. Each stain on it tells a story.”

“So I come back to find an old married Lutra with a family and responsibilities, a pillar of his community. What do you do for a living these days, Mudge?”

“You asked me that strange question before. Me answer’s still the same. I live. Still got your duar, I see.” The familiar double-stringed instrument hung from Jon-Tom’s right shoulder, as bright and shiny as the day they’d taken it from Couvier Coulb’s skilled hands. The varnish the old kinkajou had rubbed into the instrument protected the wood like Lucite.

“Yep. Been doing a little singing here and there. Being a wandering minstrel grows on you.”

They were in sight of the familiar grove. Little had changed in his absence. The ancient dimensionally-expanded oaks looked the same. There were more flowers, evidence of Talea’s handiwork. A familiar figure let out a shout from the branch that hung over Clothahump’s doorway. Sorbl yelled a greeting, then vanished through an upper floor window to convey the good news to the wizard.

Jon-Tom’s attention was on the tree next door. Every limb, every leaf was engraved in his memory. Mudge saw the look on his friend’s face and motioned for his noisy offspring to be silent. They were perceptive enough to sense that this was an important moment in adult lives.

The door opened and there was Talea. A little older and a little more beautiful. She’d been busy with housework and wore a bandana around her red hair and a large work apron over her shorts and halter. There was no wind to ruffle the vision she made.

He put down his oversized backpacks. “Hello, Talea.”

She dropped her broom and stared back at him. “Jon-Tom.” Slowly she walked up to him, stood there inspecting every line of his face, every hair, remembering. Then she kicked him in the shin, the same one that Picket had sampled. He yelled.

“Hello Talea, hello Talea—is that all you can say after years have gone by, you mindless son of a whore? Years! Not one letter, not one frigging postcard.”

“But Talea my sweet, there’s no mail service between worlds.” She advanced on him and he backed up as best he could on one good leg.

“Don’t give me any of your clever spellsinger excuses. Years I’ve been waiting for you, years hoping you would come back so I could tell you how angry I was that you went back without me.”

Four otterlings sat politely nearby and paid rapt attention to his unplanned lesson in adulthood. Mudge stood next to them, making salient points as Talea chased the apologetic Jon-Tom several times around their tree home.

“Now pay attention an’ maybe you lot’ll learn somethin’,” daddy told his brood. “ ‘Umans do this sort o’ thing all the time. This is ‘ow they show affection for one another after they’ve been apart for a long time. ‘Umans are like clocks that always need windin’. Soon these two’ll run down. Then they’ll strike love an’ fall into each others arms.”

Sure enough, Talea was running out of breath. Jon-Tom let her run down, just as Mudge said, and then swept her against him. She was too weak to do more than batter feebly at his chest. Before long the pounding ceased altogether and was replaced by a different kind of contact.

“Now lady crying,” said Picket thoughtfully. “He hurting her?”

“No. They’re just demonstrating their love for one another,” Mudge explained.

“Humans are crazy,” said Nickum, one of two boys.

“Absolutely. All ‘umans are crazy. These two are crazier than most. But they can be fun. We’ll give ‘em another couple o’ minutes to sweat against each other and then we’ll see if we can’t find out wot me old friend ‘as brought back from ‘is own world, wot?”

Before that happened Clothahump put in an appearance. Jon-Tom thought the ancient wizard moved a little more slowly, a little more hesitantly than before he’d left, but those wise old eyes missed nothing.

“It is good to have you back, my boy. I’ve always felt, since you first came among us and we dealt in summary fashion with the Plated Folk, that you belonged here. Let us go inside. It is hot in the sun.”

Everyone moved into Clothahump’s tree. The otterlings were on dieir best behavior and Mudge only had to cuff one every two minutes to keep them in line. Jon-Tom sat in his favorite chair sipping Selesass tea while Talea curled up on the floor next to him. Sorbl provided refreshments.

“It’s funny, but while I was here all I could ever think about was going home, and once I got home I couldn’t stop thinking about coming back here.” He smiled at the woman sitting beside him. She was resting her head against his arm. “Of course, Talea’s presence here made my return imperative.

“Once home I had a life I’d left behind to clean up. I told everyone that I’d been away on a secret mission for my government and that I was going to have go away again soon, probably for a longer period. They were puzzled and confused, especially my parents, but in the end they understood. As long as the money was good and I was happy, they said.”

“At least you’ll be ‘appy,” Mudge chortled.

“While I was home I discovered that in my heart and maybe also in my mind I wasn’t cut out to be a lawyer. A solicitor, you call it. I also found out that playing lead in a rock band was pretty dull stuff after spellsinging. I thought of trying my hand at spellsinging in my own world, but I’m afraid they don’t take very kindly to magic over there unless its packaged in cellophane, advertised on TV, and equipped with a government sticker.

“But I wanted to be sure. The passageway between our worlds might close up some day and if it does I wanted make certain I ended up on the right side. So I took my time exploring my options and learning about myself. Then when I decided this was where I really belonged, I scoured my world in search of those truly important things I would want to bring back with me. Items of value and importance. I had to be very selective because I knew I could only bring what I could carry on my back.”

Rising from the chair and walking over to the pile of overstuffed backpacks, he began loosening straps and buckles. The otterlings stirred excitedly.

The first thing he extracted was a large tin containing twenty pounds of his world’s finest chocolate chip cookies. “Got the recipe, too,” he declared proudly. Setting the tin aside, he wrestled free a small bucket with a crank attached to the top. “Hand ice cream maker. All we need is rock salt, sugar, flavoring and the cooperation of a contented cow.”

The next sack disgorged several strange and wondrous objects. “Portable television, VCR, pedal-powered generator. Had to find the last in a surplus store.” From a third pack came two cases filled with videotapes of classic cartoons: Disney, Warner Brothers, Fleischer and some new Japanese features. Sandwiched in among the tapes were music books full of songs old and new.

“For spellsinging,” he told them.

Clothahump surveyed the bounty spread out on the floor before him. “I know of your world only what you have told me, my boy, but based on that little information I have I should say you have made excellent choices.”

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