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

"She couldn't tell us where you were... that sock on

the head rattled her pretty good, I'd think... and the name

meant nothing to us. Weird as it was, we thought she was

still off her nut. Mid-adolescent, you said?" He nodded.

"I thought she looked underage for a human. Now I

remember what happened to her. Social Services took her

in. Several groups put in a claim and the Friends of the

Street won."

"Yeah, that's right," said his partner. "I saw that on the

report sheet."

"Who are the Friends of the Street?" Jon-Tom asked,

"Kind of like an orphanage, stranger," the cop explained.

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He turned and pointed. "They're up on Pulletgut Hill

there. Never been there myself. No reason. But that's

where she was taken. I expect she'll be okay. From what I

hear it's a well-run, sober, clean place."

Mudge put a consoling paw on Jon-Tom's arm. "See,

mate? Tis all worked out for the best."

"Yes," growled Roseroar. "Let's get on with this quest

of yours, Jon-Tom. The girl's in the kind of place best

suited to he I pin' her."

Jon-Tom listened to all of them, surprised Jalwar by

asking for his opinion.

"Since you request the thoughts of a humble servant, I

have to say that I agree with your friends. Undoubtedly the

young woman is now among those her own age, being

cared for by those whose business it is to succor such

unfortunates. We should be about our business."

Jon-Tom nodded. "You're probably right, Jalwar." He

looked at Mudge and Roseroar. "You're probably all

right." He eyed the senior of the two cops. "You're sure

this is a decent place?"

"The streets of Snarken are full of homeless youth. We

bag 'em all the time. So there are many orphanages. Some

are supported by taxes, others are private. If I remember

aright, the Friends of the Street are among the private

organizations."

"Okay, okay," Jon-Tom grumbled, out-reasoned as well

as outvoted.

"So when do we leave, mate?"

"Tomorrow morning, I suppose, if you think you can

lay in enough supplies by tonight."

"Cor, can a fish fry? Leave 'er to me, mate. You and

the cat-mountain and the old bugger get yourselves back to

the inn. Relax and suck in the last o' the sea air. Leave

everythin' to ol' Mudge."

Jon-Tom did so, and was rewarded that evening by the

sight of not one but two large, comfortable wagons tied up

outside the inn. They were piled high with supplies and

THE DAY OF TOR DISSONANCE

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yoked to two matched horned lizards apiece, the kind of

dray animals who could handle smooth roads or rough

trails with ease.

"You've done well," Jon-Tom complimented the otter.

Mudge appeared to be undergoing the most indescrib-

able torture as he reached into a pocket and handed over

three gold coins. "And 'ere's the change, mate."

Jon-Tom hardly knew what to say. "I didn't think

there'd be this much. You're changing, Mudge."

"Please don't say anythin', mate," said the tormented

otter. "I'm in pain enough as it is."

"Did you ever think of setting yourself up as a legiti-

mate merchant, Mudge."

"Wot, me?" The otter staggered. "Why, I'd lose me

self-respect, not to mention me card in the Lynchbany

Thieves' Guild! It'd break me poor mother's 'eart, it

would."

"Sorry," Jon-Tom murmured. "I won't mention it again.

Roseroar was giving the loads a professional inspection.

"Ah take back everything ah said about yo, ottah. Yo've

done a fine job o1 requisitionin'." She turned to Jon-Tom.

"Theah's mo than enough heah to last us fo a journey of

many months. He spent the gold well."

Mudge executed a low bow. "Thanks, tall, luscious,

and unattainable. Now 'ow about a last decent meal before

we're back to eatin' outdoor cooking?" He headed for the

inn entrance.

Jon-Tom held back, spoke sheepishly. "Look, I under-

stand how you all feel and 1 respect your opinions, and

you're probably all right as rain and I'm probably wrong.

I'll understand if you all want to go in and eat and go to

bed, but I'm not tired. I know it doesn't make any sense,

but I'm going up to this Friends of the Street place to

make a last check on Folly."

Mudge threw up his hands. " 'Umans! Now, wot do you

want to go and waste your time with that for, mate? The

girl's a closed chapter, she is."

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"A closed chapter," Jalwar agreed, "with a happy

ending. Leave it be. Why aggravate yourself?"

"I won't aggravate myself. It'll just take a minute." He

plucked one string of his duar. "I owe her a farewell song

and I want to let her know that we'll probably be coming

back this way, in case she wants to see us or anything."

"Pitiful," Mudge mumbled. "Plumb pitiful. Right then,

mate, come on. Let's get it over with."

"You don't have to come," Jen-Tom reminded him.

"What about your big supper?"

"It'll keep." He took the man's arm and urged him up

the street. They climbed the first hill.

"Look at it, mate. The night's as black as the inside of

a process-server's 'eart." He stared up the narrow, winding

avenue. "You sure we can find this place?"

Jon-Tom nodded. "It's atop a hill. We can always ask

directions. We're not helpless."

"No," said a new voice, startling them, "not now

you're not."

"Roseroar... you're not hungry either?"

"Ah've got a beilyfull of thunder," she shot back, "but

ah figured ah'd better come along to make sure you two

don't end up in an alley somewheres. Those muggahs may

still be working this area."

"We can take care of ourselves, luv," said Mudge.

"Ah'm sure you can, but you can take better care o'

yourselves with me around."

Jon-Tom looked past her. She noticed the direction of

his gaze. "Jalwah wanted to come, too, bless his heart,

but there's climbing to do and he's more than a little worn

out. He'll wait fo us and keep a watch on our supplies."

"Fine," said Jon-Tom, turning and starring to climb

again. "We'll be back soon enough."

"Aye, right quick," Mudge agreed.

But they were both wrong.

x

The Friends of the Street occupied a complex of stone-and-

mortar buildings atop a seaward-facing hillside. It was

located in an area of comfortable individual homes and gar-

den plots instead of the slum Jon-Tom expected.

"Whoever endowed this place," he told his companions

as they approached the main entrance, "had money."

"And plenty o' it," Mudge added.

Several long, narrow, two-story structures were linked

together by protective walls. Blue tile roofs gleamed in the

moonlight. Dim illumination flickered behind a couple of

windows, but for the most part the complex was dark.

That wasn't surprising. It was late and the occupants

should be in bed. Flowery wrought-iron trellises blocked

the front doorway, but there was a cord to be pulled.

Jon-Tom tugged on it, heard the faint echo of ringing from

somewhere inside. Leaves shuffled in tall trees nearby. The

thousand bright stars of Snarken electrified the shoreline

far below.

The door opened and a curious lady squirrel peeked out

at them. She was elderly and clad entirely in black. Black

lace decorated the cuffs of her sleeves. Hanging from her

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gray neck was a single golden medallion on a gold chain.

Several letters had been engraved on it, but they were too