Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance

side of the floor. He reached up, grabbed the nearest

chandelier, and made his way across the ceiling gracefully,

without disturbing any of the other customers.

"It doesn't make any sense," Jon-Tom was muttering.

"If no one knows of any specific danger in Cranculam,

why doesn't anyone go mere?"

"I could think of several reasons," said Jalwar thought-

fully.

"Can you really, baggy-nose?" said Mudge. "Why

don't you enlighten us then, guv'nor?"

"There may be dangers there mat remain little known."

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Alas Dean Foster

"He would have told us anything known," Jon-Tom

argued. "No reason to keep it from us. What else, Jalwar?"

"There may be nothing there at all."

"I'll take Clothahump's word that there is. Go on."

The ferret spread his hands. "This shop you speak of so

hopefully. It may be less than you wish for. Many such

establishments never live up to their reputations."

"We'll find out," Jon-Tom said determinedly, "because

no matter what anyone says, we're going there." His

expression altered suddenly as he stared past the ferret.

"Wot is it, mate?" asked Mudge, abruptly alert. "Wot

do you see?"

"Darkness. Nighttime. It's been night out for a long

time. Too long. Folly should have returned by now."

He whirled angrily on the otter. "Damn it, Mudge, did

you...?"

"Now 'old on a minim, mate." The otter raised both

paws defensively. "I said my piece and you said you

didn't want to sell *er. I wouldn't do anythin' like that

behind your back."

"If you were offered the right price you'd sell your own

grandmother without her permission."

"I never knew me grandmum, mate, so I couldn't guess

at 'er worth, but I swears on me works that as far as I

know the girl's done only wot you said she could do: gone

tshoppin' for some respectable coverin' for that skinny

naked body o' 'ers. Well, not all that skinny."

Jon-Tom had a sudden thought, turned on the largest

member of their party. "Roseroar?"

The massive torso shaded the table as the tigress daintily

set down half a roast lizard as big as the duar. She picked

with maddening slowness at her teeth before replying.

"Ah will pretend ah didn't heah that insult, suh. Ah

think it's obvious enough what has happened."

"What's obvious?" He frowned.

"Why, you gave her some gold. As she told yo herself,

you owe her nothing and she owes you little, since you

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

147

turned down her offah to sell herself. It's cleah enough to

me that she's gone off to seek her own fortune. We've

given her her freedom. She held no love fo us and ah must

admit the feelin's mutual."

"She wouldn't think of it like that," Jon-Tom muttered

worriedly. "She isn't the type."

Mudge let out a sharp, barking laugh. "Now, wot would

you know about 'er type, mate? I didn't know wot 'er

'type' was, and I've forgotten more about women of more

species than you'll ever think on."

"She's just not the type, Mudge," Jon-Tom insisted.

"This city's as new to her as it to us, and we're the only

friends or security she's got."

"A type like that," said Roseroar disdainfully, "can find

friends wherevah she goes."

"She just wouldn't run off like that, without saying

anything. Maybe you're right, Mudge. Maybe she does

want to strike off on her own, but she'd have told us first.''

"Wot for?" wondered Mudge sarcastically. "To spare

you from worryin' about 'er? Maybe she don't like long

good-byes. Not that it matters. You've seen 'ow big this

town is. Wot can we do about it?"

"Wait until morning," Jon-Tom said decisively. "We

can't do much without sleep, and it'll be good to sleep on

something that doesn't roll and pitch."

"Me sentiments exactly, mate."

"In the morning we'll make some inquiries. You're

good at making inquries, Mudge. Like finding that orang

to tell us the way to Crancularn."

"Cor, some 'elp > was." He pointed wildly backward.

"That way! 'Ow 'elpftil! That may be the most I can find

out about the girl. I don't know why you bother, mate. I

thought the main thing was gettin' that dope back to

Clothy-wothy."

"Check on the girl first. She may be in some kind

of trouble. I'll let her go her own way, but I want to make

sure that's what she wants. I want her to say it to me."

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Alan Dean Poster

Mudge looked disgusted. "It's your funeral, mate. Just

don't make it mine, too."

They slept soundly. In the morning they began checking

the clothing stores in the area. Yes, a girl of that descrip-

tion had been into several of the shops and then had moved

on. The trail halted abruptly at the eighth shop. Beyond it,

Folly had not been seen.

"Face it, mate, she's gone off on 'er lonesome."

"One last try." Jon-Tom nodded toward the corner,

where a pair of uniformed skunks were lounging. Civil

patrol, just as in Lynchbany, where their particular anatomi-

cal capabilities made them the logical candidates for the

police service. It was simple for them to control an angry

mob or recalcitrant prisoner through nonviolent means.

Jon-Tom would much rather be beaten up.

The cops turned as he approached, taking particular note

of the heavily armed Roseroar.

"Trouble, strangers?" one of the police inquired.

"No trouble." Both striped tails relaxed, for which

Jon-Tom was grateful. "We're looking for someone. A

companion, human female of about mid-to-late adoles-

cence. Attractive, blonde fur. She was shopping in this

area last night."

The cops looked at each other. Then the one on the left

raised a hand over his head, palm facing the ground.

"About so tall?"

"Yes!" Jon-Tom said excitedly.

"Wearing funny sort of clothes, dark blue pants?"

"That's her!" Suddenly he remembered who he was

talking to. "What happened to her?"

"Not much, as far as I know. We were just coming on

duty." He turned to gesture up a steep street. "Was about

four blocks up that way, two to the left. She was out cold

when we stumbled over her. Friend of yours, you say?"

Jon-Tom nodded.

"Well, we tried to bring her around and didn't have

much luck. It was pretty plain what had happened to her.

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

149

The pockets of her pants and blouse had been ripped open

and she had a lump here," he touched his head near his

left ear, "about the size of a lemon."

"Somebody rolled 'er," said Mudge knowledgeably.

"My fault," said Jon-Tom. "I thought she'd be okay."

He stared at Mudge.

"Hey, don't be mad at me, mate. I didn't slug 'er."

"She kept saying she could take care of herself."

"I thought 'er mouth was bigger than 'er brain," the

otter commented sourly. "Take care o' 'erself, wot? Not

by 'alf." He turned to the cop. "Wot 'appened to 'er,

then?"

"We relayed it in." He glanced at his partner. "Do you

know what headquarters did with her afterwards?" The

other skunk shrugged and the first looked thoughtful. "Let

me think."

"Hospital," Jon-Tom suggested. "Did they send her to

a hospital?"

"Not that bad a bump, stranger. She was half-conscious

by the time we got her into the station. Kept moaning

about her mother or something. She didn't have a scrap of

identification on her, I remember that. Also kept mum-

bling for someone named—" he fought to recall, "Pom-

pom?"

"Jon-Tom. That's me."