neetha Napew - The Paths Of The Perambulator

“That’s about wot I thought.”

“Watch your tongue, water rat. If you would like to bid to take the leadership of our group, I will—”

“No, no, not me, Your Conjurerness.” The otter was grinning. “Far be it from me to dispute the fairness o’ your awesome decisions.”

“When you’re going on three hundred years old”—the wizard harrumphed—”you find you require the maximum amount of sleep.”

The next morning dawned clear and cold. Colin yawned, stretched, and spoke to his companions, who were still wrapped in their blankets and bedrolls.

“I’ll see to the fire.”

“You couldn’t make a fire if somebody doused you in oil and stuck a torch between your teeth!”

“What?” The koala rose quickly, turned a fast circle. The only other member of the party who was on his feet was Mudge. The otter was standing on the far side of the central campfire, surveying the forest.

Colin glowered at him. “I’ll let that one pass. It’s too early for this.”

“Wot?” Mudge turned and eyed him curiously.

“Nothing.” Colin bent over the pile of dead wood that remained from their scavenging of the previous night, began to stack several fragments in the center of the pile of gray ash.

Mudge shrugged. “Wot would you like to ‘ave with your meal? Berries, perbits, nuts?”

“Doesn’t matter” came the quick reply. “We have the biggest nut of all in camp already. Or maybe it’s a fruit.”

The otter whirled. “Now see ‘ere, guv’nor, there’s such a thing as stretchin’ ‘ospitality too far.”

At first Colin didn’t appear to hear him. Then he looked up to see Mudge staring at him, and his gaze narrowed dangerously. He paused in the middle of lighting the fire. “Are you talking to me, pilgrim?”

“Yeah, I’m talking to you, cookie-ears. Just what did you mean by that?”

“What did I mean by what?” Colin was as confused as he was upset.

Dormas lifted her head from beneath her blanket, sleepily peered out at the world. “If you two kids are going to argue, I’d appreciate it if you’d do it somewhere else. I’m still working on my beauty sleep.”

“And everyone knows how badly you need it, too, nag-hag.”

The hinny was instantly awake. She rolled over onto her knees and glared around the campsite. “Who said that? Where’s the bastard who said that?”

Mudge and Colin were too busy trying to stare each other down to pay any attention to her. “If you don’t find our company to your likin’ anymore, mate,” the otter growled, “we’ll be ‘appy to do without you.”

“Actually I could do without your face. Also your neck, paws, and the rest of your degenerate body. In fact, the world could do without you altogether.”

“Is that a fact?” The otter reached for his sword.

“Wait a minute.” Colin’s anger had given way to genuine puzzlement.

“That’s all it’ll take to teach you some manners, you—” But Colin cut him off.

“No, think a minute, pilgrim. I didn’t say anything a moment ago.”

“The pudgy one is correct.” Both of them turned to see Clothahump standing and scanning the air around them. “Restrain your natural impulses, you two. There is mischief afoot this morning. Up, everyone, wake up!”

“Huh, wha—” Jon-Tom rolled out from beneath his blanket. “What’s going on?”

“Get up, Jon-Tom.”

Their confrontation already forgotten, Mudge and Colin were staring down at the spellsinger. “Is he always like this?” Colin inquired.

Mudge sighed. “I’m afraid so. ‘E’s good to ‘ave around, as he showed durin’ yesterday’s ‘ot spell, even if ‘e is a bit of a prude an’ lazy to boot. But ‘e’s a spellsinger o’ the first water when ‘e’s on, which ain’t always.”

“I heard that, Mudge.” Jon-Tom sat up and fought with his shirt. “Where do you get off calling anybody else lazy?”

“Silence, all of you,” ordered Clothahump in a commanding voice. He turned away from them and strolled softly over to the small tree where a wary Sorbl still stood watch. “What have you seen approach the camp?”

“Nothing, Master. Nothing has come and gone, not so much as a lizard. But—I sense something. I did not think it worth waking anyone. It has been present only since sunrise.”

Clothahump nodded approvingly. “Good. You are learning suspicion. All those lessons may not have been in vain. I sense it also.”

Jon-Tom climbed to his feet, trying to clear his mind and his eyes, which were both still foggy with sleep. “Sense what? I don’t see anything.”

The wizard started back toward his sleeping basin, was brought up short by a challenging, sneering voice. “Where do you think you’re going, you senile old fart? You think you’re tough because of that shell. Well, it is hard, except for your head, which is soft like a ripe tomato.”

“Who said that?” Jon-Tom looked at Mudge. Mudge looked cautiously at Colin, who returned the stare.

“You didn’t insult my fire-making, did you?”

“Of course not, mate. I did nothin’ o’ the sort. An’ you didn’t snap at me when I were about to set out on the mornin’s foragin’?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

Clothahump had proceeded on to the far side of the camp when the voice sounded again. “Can’t even walk in a straight line anymore, can you? Advanced decrepitude’s definitely set it. Wonder which’ll go first? The brain or the body?”

The wizard took a couple of steps backward and the voice ceased. “It is a wall,” he announced confidently. The others gaped at him.

“A wall?” Jon-Tom muttered. He looked in front of the wizard, saw nothing but clear air. “But everything’s normal, everything and everybody are normal. The world’s unaltered.”

“It is definitely a designed perturbation,” Clothahump went on, “sent here to stop us. Truly the individual we seek is one of power and talent, though his thoughts are distorted and his methods unorthodox. We are in a cage.”

“I don’t see any bars, Master.” Sorbl spread his wings and lifted off. He was ten feet off the ground when that by-now familiar voice boomed at him.

“Looks like a pie plate with wings.”

“No,” declared a second voice, at least as nasty as the first, “it’s a flying feather duster.”

Sorbl was brought up as short, as if he’d smacked into a glass ceiling. He barely had time to right himself as he tumbled groundward, landing hard on his left side. Pushing himself upright with a wing, he hopped onto his feet and studied the seemingly empty air overhead.

“I am sorry I doubted you, Master. It was just like hitting a roof.”

“I still don’t see any bars or anything,” a thoroughly confused Jon-Tom muttered.

“This is not your ordinary sort of cage, my boy. I have seen cages fashioned of wood and cages made of steel. I have heard of cages built of clay and delicate cages woven of silk. I have even heard of cages built with the bodies of living creatures. But I have never heard of, read of, or expected to encounter a cage fashioned of gratuitous insults.”

“Who said they’re gratuitous?” chorused a cluster of voices around them. “Every one of ‘em’s well deserved.”

“It will not work,” Clothahump argued with the air. “You will never be able to hold us here, nor get us to fighting among ourselves. We are too intelligent and too diverse a group. Your best efforts have already failed.” Mudge and Colin exchanged an embarrassed glance.

“Sinister, malign, and loquacious you may be,” the wizard went on, “but you are also directed by an unbalanced personality and therefore can have no effect on those of us who are healthy.”

“He calls us unbalanced,” declared a voice. “Him, who’s been senile for the past fifty years.” This was followed by a roll of sardonic laughter. It faded away with frightening finality, like the door of a safe being slammed shut.