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

me arse talkin' about it."

"That ain't the part that's goin' to get smashed," she

said as she stepped away from the quivering branch.

The wortyle wood whipped upward so fast the air

vibrated in its wake. Mudge was thrown with tremendous

force into the night sky. The otter did a single flip and

described an elegant arc as he began to descend.

As it developed, his judgment was only slightly off. He

didn't reach the roof, but neither did he smash into the side

of the building. He fell only a little short.

At first it looked as if he was going to land hard on the

cobblestones, but at the last instant he grabbed with his

right hand. Short, powerful muscles broke his fall as his

fingers locked onto the iron grating barring one window.

He hung there for a long moment, catching his breath.

Then he reached up with the other hand and pulled himself

on to the iron.

His companions stood beneath the window, staring up at

him. "Can you get in?" Jon-Tom asked softly.

Mudge responded with a snort of contempt, fiddled with

the grate. Seconds later a metallic click reached Jon-Tom

and Roseroar.

"He's very clevah, yo friend."

"He's had a lot of experience with locks," Jon-Tom

informed her dryly. Another click from above signified the

opening of the window.

They waited below, feeling exposed standing there on

the otherwise empty, moonlit street. Minutes passed. A

pink rope snaked down from the open window. Jon-Tom

reached up to take hold of the chain of knotted bedsheets.

"They'll support me," he told Roseroar. "I don't think

they'll hold you."

"Nevah mind. Y'all are just goin' to spend a few '

minutes talkin' to the girl-cub anyways." She nodded

toward the nearby grove. "Ah'll wait foah y'all up in the

same tree. Ain't nobody goin' to spot me up theah. If I see

anyone comin' this way and it looks tricky, I'll whistle

y'all a warnin'."

As she stood there in the pale light Jon-Tom was

conscious of her strength and power, but her words struck

him as odd. "I didn't know tigers could whistle."

"Well, ah'll let ya'all know somehow." She turned and

loped toward the trees.

Jon-Tom braced his feet against the wall and pulled

himself up. Mudge was waiting to help him inside.

Jon-Tom found himself standing in near blackness. "Where

are we?" he whispered.

"Some sort o' storage closet, mate." Mudge's night

vision was several cuts above his friend's.

But as they moved cautiously through the darkness

Jon-Tom's eyes adjusted to the weak illumination, and he

was able to make out buckets, pails, piles of dust rags,

curry combs, and other cleaning supplies. Mudge stopped

at the door and tried the handle.

"Locked from the other side." The otter hunted through

the darkness, came back holding something that looked

like an awl. He inserted it into the door lock and jiggled

delicately. Though Jon-Tom heard nothing, the otter was

apparently satisfied by some sound. He put the awl aside

and pushed.

The door opened silently. Mudge peered into a dark

dormitory. Against opposite walls stood beds, cots, mats,

and diverse sleeping stations for children of different

species. On the far wall windows looked down into the

courtyard with the trees and fountains. Unlike those on the

outside, these were not barred.

They tiptoed out of the closet and found themselves

walking between rows of silent youngsters. All of them

appeared to be neatly groomed and squeaky clean. There

wasn't a hair or patch of fur out of place. The dormitory

itself was comfortably cool and as spotless as the dining

room and entry hall had been.

164

Alan Dean Poster

"I don't see any indications of abuse here," Jon-Tom

whispered as they went from bed to bed.

Mudge was shaking his head doubtfully. "Too neat,

mate. Too perfect." They reached the end of the long

chamber without finding Folly. The door at the end was

also locked from the outside. "And another thing, mate.

Too many locks 'ere." He used the tool to pick it.

Beyond was a short hall. A stairway led downward off

the the left. Mudge picked the lock on the door across the

hall and they entered a second dorm.

Grunts and whistles and snores covered their footsteps

as they commenced an inspection of the new group of

beds. Halfway down the line they found Folly. Jon-Tom

shook her gently awake. She rolled over, woke up.

She was gasping with fright. There was no mistaking

the look in her eyes, the tenseness of her body, the

expression on her face. It reminded Jon-Tom a little of the

look she'd display on the pirate ship whenever Corroboc

appeared.

As soon as she recognized him she threw her arms

around him and started sobbing.

"Jon-Tom, Jon-Tom. And Mudge too. I thought you'd

forgotten me. I thought you'd go off and leave me here!"

"I didn't forget you, Folly." Acutely conscious of her

curves beneath the thin black nightdress, he gently pushed

her away. "What's wrong?"

She looked around wildly. "You've got to get me out of

here! Quickly, before the night patrol shows up."

"Night patrol? You mean, someone looks in on you?"

"No, I mean patrol. No one's allowed out of bed after

dark. If they catch you, they beat you. Bad. Not like

Corroboc, but bad enough."

"But we were here earlier, and we didn't see any

indications of—"

"Don't be a fool, mate," said Mudge tightly. "D'you

think these servants o' the downtrodden would be stupid

enough to hit their charges where it'd show?"

"No, I guess not. They beat you here?"

THE DAY or THK DISSONANCK

165

Folly spat on the floor. "Only out of love, of course.

Every time they beat you it's out of love. They beat you if

you don't learn your lessons, they beat you if you don't

hold your knife right at mealtime, they beat you for not

saying yes sir and no ma'am, and sometimes I think they

beat you for the fun of it, to remind you how bad the

world outside is." Her nails dug into his arms.

"You've got to get me out of here, Jon-Tom!" How

much truth there was to her accusations, he couldn't tell,

but the desperation in her voice was genuine enough.

Mudge kept a paw on the hilt of his short sword. "Let's

make up our feeble minds, mate. Some o' these cubs are

startin' to move around."

"I'm awake." Jon-Tom turned to the bed next to Fol-

ly's. It was occupied by a young margay. She sat up

rubbing at her eyes. She wore the same black nightdress.

"Is what Folly says true?" he asked the young cat.

"Who...who are you?" asked the now wide-awake

youngster. Folly hastened to reassure her.

"It's okay. They're friends of mine."

"Who're you?" Jon-Tom countered.

"My name's Myealn." To his surprise she began to

sniffle. He'd never seen a feline cry before. "Pu-please,

sir, can you help me get away from this place, too?"

Then he was being assailed by a volley of anxious

whispers.

"Me too, sir... and me... me also...!"

The whole dorm was awake and crowding around Fol-

ly's bed, pawing at the adults, pleading in a dozen dialects

for help. Tails twitched nervously from the backsides of

dozens of nightclothes, all black.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "This looks like

such a nice place. But it's not right if they beat you all the

time."

"That's not all they do," said Folly. "Haven't you noticed

how perfect this place is?"