neetha Napew - The Paths Of The Perambulator

It certainly took the edge off Clothahump’s achievement. Sorenset no longer had to fend off citizens who wanted to kiss the wizard’s feet.

“Ungrateful wretches.” The turtle sipped his soup. “It’s not enough that for them I turn their town right side up. They want me to tip the world for them.”

“Don’t be too hard on them.” Jon-Tom was finishing his own meal, savoring the subtle spices and the tender meat that now rested comfortably in his belly. After weeks of hasty meals followed by continuous jouncing in the old jeep, the meal at the inn had reminded him that eating could be a delight as well as a necessity. “They don’t understand what’s going on. We’re probably the only ones in the world who do—along with whoever’s restraining the perambulator, of course.”

“Ignorance is no excuse for bad manners,” grumped the wizard. But Jon-Tom had managed to soothe him somewhat.

Sorenset and several other members of the city council joined them at the oval table. A pouty Clothahump allowed Jon-Tom to tell their story and explain what they intended to try. The rulers of Ospenspri listened politely.

“One thing is certain.” The flying squirrel, Talla, was president of the council and wore his medals on the flaps of skin that connected his wrists to his ribs. “The vehicle in which you arrived will not take you where you wish to go. Between here and the northern reaches you will have to climb.”

“What about riding snakes?” Jon-Tom asked.

The squirrel shook his head. “No L’borian could survive the conditions on the Plateau. It’s far too cold.”

“Then we will have to continue on foot.” Clothahump was tapping the table with the fingers of both hands. “A daunting prospect, yet one that does not concern me a tenth so much as whatever we will encounter at the end of our journey.”

“What do you suggest?” Jon-Tom asked again.

Sorenset considered. “Ospenspri is home to many independent transporters. But to go north of the Plateau at this tune of year, I don’t know. All we can do is inquire if any quadruped is willing to undertake such a journey. You will have all the supplies you need, but we cannot compel a citizen to risk a life against his will.”

“Of course not,” said Clothahump.

“I will go and make inquiries right now.” A nervous bandicoot excused himself from the gathering and hurried toward the door.

“Even a single horse willing to carry our supplies would be a great help,” Clothahump said, “though I am not sanguine about one volunteering.”

“What, after you saved the whole city?” Jon-Tom observed.

The wizard gave him a knowing look. “My boy, when you have lived as long as I have, you come to learn that among the virtues, altruism is not the most common.”

The contemplative silence that followed this wise observation was interrupted by a loud smacking sound from the table behind the conference oval. Jon-Tom turned a disapproving eye on Mudge. Only the top of the otter’s head was visible. His face was buried in the midsection of a two-foot-long broiled fish. Jon-Tom tilted back in his chair and whispered.

“Do you have to eat with your mouth open?”

Mudge promptly stopped munching to squint at his friend. Bits of meat and skin hung from his teeth and jaws, and his face was shiny with oil. “Well now, guv’nor, if you can show me ‘ow to eat with me mouth closed, I’ll ‘ave a shot at it. Otherwise, be a good chap and bugger off.” He plunged his face back into the hollowed-out fish and took an enormous bite, loudly crunching up meat, skin, and bones.

“That’s not what I meant.” Jon-Tom struggled to remain patient. “It’s the noise you’re making.”

Again the otter glanced up. “Wot of it?”

“It’s disconcerting. You should eat quietly and chew with your mouth closed.”

Mudge sighed in amazement. “You ‘umans. The notions you come up with. Mate, I couldn’t eat like that even if I wanted to.”

“Why not?”

“Because me mouth ain’t flat against me face like an ape’s, that’s why. ‘Tis easy for you to keep your cud restrained behind your cheeks, but my jaws protrude. See?” He stuck his face close to Jon-Tom’s, and the spellsinger recoiled from the overpowering odor of fish. “The sound comes out both sides o’ me face. Tis a matter o’ design, not preference.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” He sat silently for a moment while the otter resumed gorging himself. His forehead twisted in contemplation, and then he spoke sharply. “Hey, now wait a minute—” He didn’t get the chance to finish the thought. Clothahump was speaking again.

Only, this time the wizard’s words were directed not to the attentive members of Ospenspri’s ruling council but to the newest member of the expedition.

“You.”

Silence. It finally penetrated Mudge’s food-sodden consciousness that everyone was looking at him. He turned, managed to mumble around a mouthful of food.

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you, river rat.” Behind the six-sided glasses the wizard’s gaze was intense. Jon-Tom watched with interest. Something serious was up.

Mudge could sense it too. Carefully he positioned the remainder of his fish on its plate and commenced an ostentatious licking of his fingers. “What can I do for your magicness?’’

“Jon-Tom tells me that you have volunteered to accompany us northward to aid us in our endeavor.”

“Urn. Well, if Jonny-Tom says that’s wot I said, then 1 guess I said it.”

Clothahump leaned forward. “I am curious to know why. It is uncharacteristic of you.”

“I’ll let that one by, guv’nor.” He began to preen his whiskers. “It’s like I told Jon-Tom. You ‘elped me like you ‘elped everyone else. I’m meself again. I’d ‘ave ‘ated to ‘ave gone through life bent over under that bloody cloud. You saved me. So I figure I owes you. I couldn’t very well ‘ave continued in me profession all twisted and gnarled like I was.”

“Your profession?” The wizard’s eyebrows would have lifted if he’d had any. “Are you referring to your practice of pickpocketing and general thievery?”

“ ‘Ere now, sir, is that any way to treat an old friend who volunteers ‘is ‘elp out o’ the goodness of ‘is ‘eart to accompany you on a journey no doubt as dangerous as your usual travels? If all you can do is sit there and insult me, maybe I—”

“I do not mean to belittle your generous offer. I merely am trying to define your motives. I suspect you are in this because you sense the scope of the danger and, possessing a crude sort of native intelligence, realize that the safest place to be is as close as possible to me.”

Jon-Tom spoke softly to his friend. “Is he right, Mudge?”

“Mate, you do me a disservice. You both do me a disservice. Seems like every time I volunteers to ‘elp you blokes without regard for the safety of me own person, all you can do is question me motivation. I can’t tell you ‘ow much it ‘urts me.”

“It will hurt you a great deal more if you insinuate yourself into our company only for your own selfish reasons. My concern, however, is not so much with your motivations as with your allegiance once we have reached our destination. I cannot afford to have you running off at a critical moment. I must be able to rely on all my companions.” Before Mudge could prefer the inevitable protest, Clothahump was pointing a heavy finger at him. Behind those thick glasses the wizard’s eyes seemed to have darkened from their natural brown to a deep, glowing crimson.

“Swear, son-of-a-stream, miscreant offspring of a midden maiden, that you come on this journey of your own free will, that you will do what is required of you as a companion in peril, and that you will do so without thought or regard for your own safety, for the good of all the inhabitants of the warmlands.” A red haze had enveloped the table and the awed patrons of the inn. Everyone had turned to watch.