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

who'd ooze all over me in a place like this."

"You saw something, Mudge?" Jon-Tom moved to

stand next to him. "I thought it was neat, clean, and

well-equipped."

"Bullocks," snapped the otter. "We saw what they

wanted us to see, nothin' more. That Chokas chap's as

slick as greased owl shit and I'd trust 'im about as far as I

can piss." He turned to face them both. "I don't suppose

either o' you sharp-eyed suckers 'appened to note that there

are no windows on the first floor anywheres facin' the

streets?"

Jon-Tom looked left, then right, and saw that the otter

was correct. "So? I'm sure they have their reasons."

"I'll bet they do. Notice also that all the second-story

windows are barred?"

"More decorative wrought iron," murmured Jon-Tom,

his eyes roving over the upper floors.

"Decorative is it, mate?"

"This is a rough city," said Roseroar. "Orphans are

vulnerable. Perhaps the bans are to keep thieves from

breakin1 in and stealing youngsters to sell into slavery."

"If that's the case then the 'Friends' of the Street 'ave

done a mighty professional job o' protectin' their charges

from the outside. Observe that none of these trees over-

hang any part of any of the buildin's."

That was true. A cleared expanse of street formed an

open barrier between the nearest orchard and the outermost

structures.

"But what does all of it prove?" Jon-Tom asked the

otter.

"Not a bloody thing, mate. But I've been around a bit,

and I'm tellin' you that my gut tells me somethin' 'ere

ain't right. Me, I'd be curious to *ave a little chat with one

or two o' the occupants without that piranha-faced squirrel

o' our charmin' guide Chokas about. I've 'card descrip-

tions o' orphanages, and this place makes the best o' them

look like mat dungeon we fled in Malderpotty. That's wot

bothers me, mate." He gazed up at the silent walls. "It's

too sweet."

"I'm not sure I follow you."

"Look, guv. Cubs is dirty. They make filth the way I

makes sweat. 'Tis natural. This place is supposed to be

full o' cubs and it's as clean as milady's intimates."

Roseroar spoke softly as she studied the barred upper

windows. "Ah did think it uncommon neat fo such an

establishment. Almost like a doctah's office."

"You too, Roseroar?" Jon-Tom said in surprise.

"Me too what? What the ottah says makes sense. Ain't

no secret ah've little love fo the cub, but ah'd sleep easier

knowin' she's been properly cared fo."

"If you both feel that way, then we need to talk with her

before we go." Jon-Tom started back for the entrance.

Mudge held him by an arm.

"Slow there, spellsinger. Ol' Chokas were friendly enough

because we didn't ask no awkward questions or try to poke

into places 'e didn't want us to see. If 'e'd wanted us to

meet any o' 'is kids 'e'd 'ave brought 'em down to us. I

don't think Vll be likely to accede to our little request."

"He has a good reason. They're likely to all be asleep.

It's late."

"All of 'em?" wondered Mudge. "I doubt it. Wot about

those offspring of the night-lifers? The gophers and the

moles?"

"Maybe they have separate quarters so they can be

active at night without disturbing the others," Jon-Tom

suggested. "If they're nocturnal, they wouldn't need lights

in their rooms."

"There'd still be some hint o' activity. Remember,

mate, we're talkin' about a bunch o' young cubs."

Jon-Tom chewed his lower lip. "It was awfully quiet in

there, wasn't it?"

"Like a tomb, mate. Tell you wot. Why don't you

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spellsing the lot o' them to sleep the way you did that

bunch on the pirate ship?"

"Wouldn't work. On the ship, everyone was within

range of the duar and of my voice. Too many walls here."

Mudge nodded. "Right then. My turn to perform a little

magic."

"You?"

The otter grinned, his whiskers twitching. "You ain't

the only master o' strange arts around 'ere, mate."

They followed him around the side, until they were far

from the entrance. As they walked Jon-Tom noted that no

other doors were visible in the complex. There was only

the single entrance. Still, there might be other doors

around the back. And the Friends of the Street were not

constrained by, say, the Los Angeles Fire Code.

Mudge halted near a tree that grew closer to the build-

ings than any of the others.

"Now then, my petite purr-box, I 'ave a little job for

you." He pointed up into the tree. "See that branch there?

The second one up?" She nodded. "Can you climb up

there and then climb out along it?"

She frowned. "What foah? It won't hold man weight."

"That's precisely the idea, luv."

Jon-Tom immediateiy divined the otter's intent. "It's no

good, Mudge. That branch'11 throw you headfirst into the

wall. I'll end up with a furry Frisbee on my hands instead

of a valuable friend."

"Don't worry about me, guv. I knows wot I'm about.

We otter folk are born acrobats. Most o' the time there's

nothin' more to it than play, but we can get serious with it

if we need too. Let me give 'er a try."

"One try is all you'll get." He swing the duar around

until it rested against his chest. "Why don't I try spell-

singing you onto the roof?"

Mudge looked unwilling. "That would work fine, wouldn't

it, mate? With you standin' 'ere below these barred win-

dows caterwaulin' fit to shiver a bat's ears."

"Ah resent the comparison, watah rat." Roseroar ad-

vanced up the tree trunk.

Mudge shrugged. "Don't matter 'ow you describe it.

You'd wake the 'ole place."

"I could try singing quietly."

'Aye, and likely catapult.. .sorry again, Roseroar.. .me

into the middle o' some far ocean. No offense, mate, but

you know well as I that there be times when your spellsmgin'

don't quite strike the mark. So if it's all the same, I'd

rather take me chances with the tree."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jon-Tom muttered.

A glance showed Roseroar already crawling carefully out

onto the chosen limb. "Go ahead, but I think you're

nuts."

"Why, guv, I didn't think me mental condition were a

matter o' dispute anymore. An' the proof of it's that I'm

standin' 'ere askin' you to let me catapult meself toward a

stone wall instead o' lying in a soft bed somewhere back in

the Bellwoods."

He moved aside as the thick branch began to bend

toward the ground beneath Roseroar. She kept crawling

along it until she couldn't advance any more, then swung

beneath and continued advancing toward the end of the

limb hand-over-hand. Seconds later the leaves were brushing

the street.

Mudge nestled himself into a crook between two smaller

branches near the end. "Wot's your opinion o' this, luv?"

Roseroar had to use all her weight to hold the branch

down. She studied the distant roof speculatively. "A lot to

miss and little to land on. Wheah do y'all wish the remains

sent?"

"Two optimists I'm blessed with," the otter mumbled,

"I thank the both o' you for your encouragin' words." He

patted the wood behind him. "Wortyle wood. I thought

she'd bend without breakin'. They make ship's ribs out o'

this stuff." He glanced back at Roseroar. "Any time you're

ready, lass."

"Yoah sure about this?"

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"No, I'm not, but I ain't doin' no good sittin' 'ere on