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

small for Jon-Tom to make out.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Are you the master of this orphanage?" Jon-Tom

asked.

"Me?" She did not smile. "No. What do you wish with

the Headmaster?" She was watching Roseroar carefully.

"Just a couple of quick questions." He put on his most

ingratiating grin.

"Office hours are from mid-morning to nightfall." She

moved to shut the door.

Jon-Tom took a step forward, still wearing his grin.

"We have reason to believe that an acquaintance of ours

was recently—" he searched for the right word, "enrolled

at the orphanage."

"You mean you don't know for certain?"

"No. It would have been within the last day."

"I see. Visiting hours are at nightfall only." Again the

attempt to close the door, again Jon-Tom rushed to fore-

stall her.

"Please, ma'am. We have to depart on a long difficult

journey tomorrow. I just want a moment to assure myself

that your institution is as admirable on the inside as it is

from without."

"Well," she murmured uncertainly, "wait here. The

Headmaster is at his late-eve devotions. I will ask if he can

see you."

"Thanks."

The wait that ensued was long, and after a while he was

afraid they'd been given a polite brushoff. He was about to

use the bell-pull a second time when she reappeared

trailing an elderly man.

As always, Jon-Tom was surprised to see another human

in a position of authority, since they didn't seem to be

among the more prolific groups here. In Clothahump's

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

155

world mankind was just one of dozens of intelligent

species.

The man was only a few inches shorter than Jon-Tom,

which made him unusually tall for a local. With the

exception of a radically different cut, his attire was identi-

cal with that of the much smaller squirrel: all black with

lace cuffs and the same golden medallion. He held his

hands clasped in front of his chest. His gray hair was

combed neatly back at sides and forehead. A gray goatee

protruded from his chin, and he wore thin wire glasses

with narrow lenses. To Jon-Tom he resembled a cross

between Colonel Sanders and a contrabassoon.

His smile and words both spoke of kindly concern,

however. "Greetings. Welcome, strangers, to Friends of

the Street." He gestured toward the squirrel. "Ishula tells

me you have a friend among our flock?"

"We think so. Her name's Folly."

The Headmaster frowned. "Folly. I don't know that we

have anyone staying with us by that... oh, yes! The young

woman who was brought in the previous evening. She told

us her terrible tale of being captured by pirates on the high

seas. You are the ones she described as her rescuers, are

you not?"

"That's right."

"To think that such awfulness is abroad in the world."

The Headmaster shook his head regretfully. "The poor girl

has endured more than any intelligent creature should

suffer."

Jon-Tom had to admit that so far all of his concerns and

fears looked unjustified. Still, he couldn't leave satisfied

without at least a fast look at the facilities.

"I know it's late, and it's cold out here. We have to

leave on a long trip tomorrow, as I told your assistant.

Could we come in for a moment and have a look around?

We just want to make sure that Folly's going to be well

looked after. We place no claim on her and I'm sure she'll

be much better off here than with us."

156

Alan Dean Foster

"Why, certainly, do come in," said the Headmaster.

"My name is Chokas, by the way. Ishula, the gate."

The squirrel unlocked the iron grille as Jon-Tom made

his own introductions.

"Delighted, ah am sure," said Roseroar as she ducked

through the opening.

They found themselves in a long white hallway. Chokas

led them down the tiled corridor, chatting effusively and

not at all upset by their presence or the lateness of the

hour. The squirrel trailed behind, occasionally pausing to

dust a bench or vase with her tail.

Jon-Tom made polite responses to the Headmaster's

conversation, but he was only paying partial attention. The

rest of him searched for indications of subterfuge or

concealed maleficence. He was not rewarded.

The corridor and the rooms branching off it were spot-

less. Decorative plants occupied eaves and niches or hung

in planters from the beamed ceiling. There were skylights

to admit the warmth of day. Without being asked, Chokas

volunteered a further tour of the Friends of the Street.

Beginning to relax, Jon-Tom accepted.

Padded benches paralleled clean tables in the dining

room, and the kitchen was as shiny as the hallway.

"We pride ourselves on our hygiene here," the Head-

master informed him.

The larder was filled to overflowing with foodstuffs of

every kind, suitable for sustaining the energetic offspring

of many races. Beyond, the reason for the interlocking

architecture became apparent. It circled to enclose a

broad courtyard. Play areas were marked out beneath

several bubbling fountains, and tall trees shaded the grounds.

Roseroar bent to whisper to him. "Come, haven't y'all

seen enough? The girl will be well cared fo heah."

"I have to admit it's not the kind of place I expected,"

he confessed. "Hell, I'd be half-tempted to move in

myself." He raised his voice as he spoke to the Headmas-

ter. "Terrific-looking place you run here, Chokas."

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

157

The man nodded his thanks. "We are privileged to serve

as guardians and protectors of the homeless and those who

have lost their way at a tender age. We take our responsi-

bilities seriously."

"What sort o' schooling do they get?" Roseroar asked.

"Histories, geographies, mathematics, training in the

social verities, domestic subjects such as cooking and

sewing. Physical education. Instruction in discipline and

courtesy. A well-rounded curriculum, we believe."

"I've seen enough." Jon-Tom glanced toward the second-

floor dormitories. "So long, Folly. It was interesting know-

ing you. Have a full and happy life and maybe we'll meet

again someday." He turned back toward the entry hall.

"Thanks again for the tour, Chokas."

"My pleasure. Please come visit us anytime, sir. The

Friends of the Street encourages visitation."

The front door closed quietly behind them, leaving the

trio standing on the cobblestone avenue outside. Roseroar

started down the hill.

"That's done. Now we can get down to mo important

business."

"I admit she's better off here than with us," Jon-Tom

said. "Certainly it's a more stable environment than any

alternative we could come up with."

"Hang on a minim, you two." Jon-Tom and Roseroar

turned, to see Mudge inspecting the entrance.

"What's the matter, Mudge?" Come to think of it,

Jon-Tom hadn't heard a single comment from the otter

during the tour. "I'd think that you, of any of us, would

be anxious to get back to the inn."

"That I am, mate."

"Come on, then, ottah," said Roseroar impatiently.

"Don't tell me you miss the cub? You liked her no mo

than did ah."

"True enough, mistress of massive hindquarters. I thought

'er obstinate, ignorant, and nothin' but trouble, for all that

she went through. Life's tough and I ain't me sister's

158

Alan Dean Poster

THE DAY OF THE

159

keeper. But I wouldn't leave a slick, slimy salamander