Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

his. They went away together." Suddenly he was very

tired, searched for something to sit on. The throne

was out of the question, so he chose a pile of richly

embroidered cushions stacked in a corner.

Trendavi waddled over to him. "What of our city?"

"It's been restored to you. You got it back." Trendavi

accepted this information solemnly. Then he bowed

before Jon-Tom, who was too exhausted to tell him

not to, and went off to tell the other members of the

Quorum.

Opiode had paced the length of the room, sniffing

THE MoJcswr or TUX MAOicxiur 307

at the chilled air. Now he peered down at the

speltsinger out of wise, knowing eyes.

"Death has been in this place. You called it forth?"

"No, not me. Markus did it- I don't think he knew

what he was doing when he did it. See, he'd died in

the other world. My world. He escaped by being

thrown through to here. Death had been looking for

him ever since."

"So in his anger and greed he called up his own

fate," Opiode murmured. "Justice." He sniffed again.

"There has been much magic worked here this night.

Great magic."

"I don't know how great it was"—Jon-Tom rubbed

his face with both hands—"but 1 feel like I've just had

the shit stomped out of me by an angry elephant."

Quorly put a comforting paw on hisr shoulder.

** 'Tis done with, spellsinger. 'Tis all over now."

A voice from across the room drew their eyes.

"Hey, you lot, look at me!" Mudge was sitting on

the throne, his short legs a foot above the floor, both

arms resting on the carved armrests. "Oi, I'm Emper-

or o' Quasequa, 1 am, and you louts can all pay me

*omage." He grinned down at Splitch. "Ladies first.

o' course."

Jon-Tom spoke casually. "That is precisely where

Markus was sitting when Death itself took him."

Mudge's legs abruptly stopped swinging. "You don't

say. If that's supposed to scare me, why, it don't." He

hopped down from the seat. " 'Tis a mite chilly up

there, though. Not really to me taste." He retreated

in haste.

"Then there's nothing more for us to worry about,"

said Memaw.

"Well, there is one thing," Jon-Tom mused. "You

all seem to have forgotten that we have a revolution-

minded dragon running loose in the Quorumate's

tower levels."

Alan Dean Porter

308

"Is that a problem?'* Domurmur frowned. "If he is

your friend, can't you tell him to leave us in peace?"

"He'll leave you in pieces if he finds out what kind

of government you're running. You're going to have

to move to eliminate bribery and corruption, stamp

out the blatant buying of public office."

Selryndi sputtered a reply. "But that's impossible!

How else do you govern?"

Jon-Tom grinned up at him. "I should let Falameezar

instruct you, but I'll talk to him and see if we can't

work out some kind of compromise that will satisfy

all the concerned parties."

"We thank you," a relieved Trendavi said humbly.

So Falameezar was permitted to run a political

reeducation center on the shore of Isle Quase, and

the citizens were taught not to run in fear from his

presence. Before too much time went by he was no

longer frightening them, only boring them to death

with his droning recitations of Marxist ideology. De-

spite his threats they began to drift away, and even

the city troops couldn't force them to stay and listen.

As Cherjal the innkeeper put it one day, "I'd

rather bee fried than forced to leesten to that

garbage anymore!"

So Falameezar swam off one evening in search of

more willing converts, bidding Jon-Tom and his friends

adieu, singing the "Internationale" as he disappeared

into a sunset which was, appropriately enough that

evening, bright red.

It was the following night that Jon-Tom was com-

pelled to go with a group of grim-faced police to the

end of an empty municipal pier. At the far end of

the pier was a large pile of fur. The pile sported a

bunch of eyes, many of which were closed or bloodshot,

an indistinguishable dutch of arms and legs, and

reeked of liquor.

The sergeant of police was a three-foot-tall cavy,

TBX VQMSMT OF THE MAGJCJAH

309

short and testy. He gestured at the pile. "These your

friends?"

"Uh, yes sir."

"Well, do something with them. We had to shovel

them out of the Capering Gibbon tavern. They were

being drunk and disorderly and obnoxious."

"Is that so oad? They did help save your city from

the rule of Markus the Ineluctable, you know."

"Aw, that was weeks ago," said the sergeant. "Since

then they've busted up half of what they helped save,

insulted most of the ladies and some of the males,

parlied until all hours in quiet zones, and generally

made a spectacular nuisance of themselves."

One lump of fur wiggled out of the pile and

focused rheumy eyes on the sergeant. "Who're you

callin' a nuisance, you sorry-lookin', worm-infested

lump o' snake crap?"

"Mudge, watch your mouth!" The otter twisted

'round to squint up at him.

"Hiya, mate! Say, where was you the other night?

You missed a hell of a party."

The cavy looked up at the much taller Jon-Tom, its

nose twitching in distaste- "This party has been going

on for a month now, and the patience of the Quo-

rum is at its end. So in gratitude for what you have

done for the city ofQuasequa, it was decided to send

you safely on your way." He gestured at the pile of

'otters. "We dumped them here, more or less intact.

See that they don't come back."

/'I'm sorry if they've caused you any trouble,"

Jon-Tom told him apologetically. The cavy threw

him a sideways glance.

"Trouble? Oh, no trouble, no trouble at all. At

least three dozen of my best people are stuck in

infirmaries all around the city because of run-ins

with your friends here." He jerked a tiny thumb

Alan Dean Foster

310

toward the pile. "You sort 'em out any way you want

to. Just keep 'em out of my Jurisdiction, okay?"

Jon-Tom waited until the police had left the pier.

Then he gazed down at the pile of fuzz. "Aren't you

all ashamed of yourselves? Aren't you disgusted? You

win the gratitude of an entire population, and then

you throw it back in their faces."

Sasswise appeared, waving her sword dangerously

about. "Nobody better not throw nothin* at mel"

"Ow!" Drortch emerged, flaring at her cousin.

"You stick me with that again, you sodden slut, and

I'll pull your tail out by its roots!"

"You and wot army, bitch?"

The two of them went at it enthusiastically, biting

and kicking and pulling fur. The distraction was

energetic enough to bestir their companions to action.

The hill unpiled. Knorckle crawled weakly to the

edge of the pier and proceeded to vomit violently

into the Lake of Sorrowful Pearls.

Jon-Tom stood and watched, shaking his head in

despair. Then he said something he regretted more

than anything else he'd said since he'd left the rela-

tive sanity of Clothahump's tree.

"What am I going to do with you?"

A drunken Memaw gazed up at him, "Now, don't

you worry, young fan... man, because we've taken a

vote on thish, and we decided that we couldn't possi-

bly think of letting you make that nasty old trip all

the way back up to these Bellwoodsies you come

from all by yourselves."

"Oh, that's all right," Jon-Tom said quickly. "I