neetha Napew - The Paths Of The Perambulator

“Swear this to me now, by the blood that flows in your veins, by the intellgence that may hide in your brain, and by the desire that rules your loins.”

“Okay, okay,” said Mudge disgustedly, putting up both paws defensively. “Take it easy! Jump me tail if I don’t think you like overdoin’ these things, Your Wizardship. Be that as it may, I swear.”

The red haze dissipated into the walls of the inn, and Clothahump’s eyes regained their normal placid hue. Satisfied, he settled back into his chair. It was higher than most in order to raise his midsection to table level. He picked up a fork and jabbed at the soggy mass of colorful river-bottom greens that had been served earlier.

“Very well. I accept your oath and your company. Needless to say, the consequences of reneging on your agreement are too horrible to mention.”

“I know.” Mudge sighed. He did not appear in the least upset or, for that matter, impressed. “All that fuss over nothing.” He picked up his fish, was about to bite into it again when Jon-Tom leaned close.

“That’s the first time Clothahump’s made you swear an oath.”

“Wot of it, mate?”

“It doesn’t give you much leeway for slinking off on side trips the way you like to when we’re traveling. You’ll have to toe the line pretty tightly or something dreadful’s likely to happen to you.”

“I know that, lad. Tis no big deal.” He chomped down on the fish. Bones splintered under his sharp teeth.

Still Jon-Tom was not satisfied. “Mudge, this isn’t like you. You’ve changed.”

“Who, me? I ‘aven’t changed a bit, mate. The truth o’ the matter is that I’m bein’ agreeable because it suits me, not old armor-britches over there. I’ve ‘ad a taste or two o’ these perambulations and wot ‘is wizardship says about the safest place in the world bein’ close to ‘is arse is mighty near the truth.”

“I can’t argue with that myself,” Jon-Tom admitted. “It’ll be good to have you with us, especially when we have to confront whoever’s trapped it.”

Mudge paused, the fish halfway to his mouth. “Wot are you babblin’ on about, mate? Once His Magicsty there frees this perbambulator or wotever the ‘ell it is, we can all come a-skippin’ ‘ome safe an’ clear, right?”

“Maybe not. We still have to deal with the instigator of this crisis, and there’s no telling what he, or it, is like or how it’ll react to our attempts to intervene. Freeing the perambulator will assure that the world is saved, but it won’t do anything for us. We still have to get away from whoever’s restrained it. I imagine that psychotic will be more than a little upset when his plans are ruined.”

“I see now.” The otter carefully returned the remnants of the fish to his plate. “I think I’ve ‘ad enough. Nothin’ was said about dealin’ with no psychotic monster once this ‘ere peramutraitor was freed to go on its way.” He started to rise.

Jon-Tom put a hand on one furry shoulder. “Your oath, Mudge.”

“Oath? I don’t recall anything in me oath that says I ‘ave to stay at this table. So if you’ll all excuse me.” He pushed his chair back quickly and made a dignified dash for the bathroom.

Sorbl was sitting on a perch behind the oval conference table. “What’s wrong with the water rat?” He plucked another fried lizard from the brochette stuck into one end of the perch and gulped it down. “Did he eat too fast? He certainly ate enough.”

“I’ve never known Mudge to get sick from overeating,” Jon-Tom told the owl. “I think he’s just realized what he’s gotten himself into, and he’s choking on his oath.”

Sorbl nodded sadly. “Those can be hard to swallow. Few of us truly have the foresight to consider all the consequences of our actions. My signing on as wizard’s famulus, for example.”

“What was that? Did you say something, Sorbl?” Clothahump was glaring up at his apprentice.

“I said that Jon-Tom’s singing was an example to us all, Master.” The owl belched politely and smiled.

V

The inn’s beds were as well prepared as the food, and they all enjoyed their soundest sleep in weeks. As usual, Clothahump was awake and making notes before Jon-Tom arose. Sorenset met them for breakfast. The fox looked tired.

“There is much to be done in the city. Some people are still suffering from the aftereffects of the perturbation, as you call it. Not to mention the aftereffects of that remarkable rainstorm. I have some good news for you. When you have finished your meal, I am to escort you to the transport barracks.”

“You found us a volunteer, then?” Sorenset nodded and Clothahump looked satisfied. “Good. That will speed us up considerably.”

“Not quite a volunteer, exactly.” The fox looked apologetic.

“What do you mean ‘not quite’? Did you find us someone willing to haul our supplies or not?”

“It’s likely. The problem is, I’m not sure you’ll find this particular transporter to your taste. She’s something of an iconoclast, very strong-willed, and apt to cancel a contract at the smell of the slightest ill wind.”

“She?” Clothahump grunted. “No matter. As long as she has a strong back and legs. As for the possibility of some imagined personality conflict, that does not concern me. I am the most agreeable person in the world, quite able to get along with anyone I have to work with.”

A strange noise came from the far side of the table. Clothahump’s gaze narrowed as he eyed his apprentice. “Something in your breakfast not to your liking, Sorbl?”

“Gnuf—no, Master,” the owl managed to choke out. He was holding a thick napkin over his face, though whether to shield his mouth or hide his expression, no one could tell.

“Fine. We must meet this sturdy transporter and settle upon a contract immediately. We’ve no time to waste.”

“But, guv’nor,” Mudge protested, “I ‘aven’t finished me breakfast yet.”

Jon-Tom rose and pulled the otter’s chair away from the table. “Come on, Mudge. You heard Clothahump. The way you’re gorging yourself this morning, you’d think you hadn’t had supper last night.”

The otter wiped at his whiskers. “ ‘Ardly enough to keep a shrew alive. One little fish and I didn’t ‘ave time to finish that proper.”

“The fish was nearly as big as you. Let’s go.”

“Right then, ‘ave it your way.” Grumbling, the otter jumped out of his chair. “But wait until I catch you ‘ungry someday.” He slipped his arrow quiver and bow over his back while Jon-Tom picked up his duar and ramwood staif. Together they followed Clothahump and Sorenset out into the street while Sorbl glided along overhead.

The fox led them past the central square, now restored to its original beauteous state, through busy commercial streets, and into the industrial end of Ospenspri. It took that long for Mudge to cease complaining.

The stables that comprised the transportation barracks were spacious and well maintained, with ample roads between them to allow for the movement of cleaning crews and feed delivery wagons. The buildings were owned, Sorenset told them, by an old and revered family of heavy horses, one of whom sat (or rather stood) on the city council. There were triple-sized stalls available for married teams and families, with quarters to either side for studs and mares.

At the head of each line of stalls was an office where the inhabitants’ business was transacted by hired help. This necessary arrangement was common to the warmlands, for while a percheron could do heavy work all day, managing a ledger with hooves was a next-to-impossible task. So capuchins and baboons and similarly dexterous individuals did the paperwork for them.