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

"You mean, clean?"

166

Alan Dean Foster

She shook her head. "It's not just clean. It's sterile.

Woe unto any of us caught with a dirt smudge or piece of

lint on us. We're supposed to be perfect at mealtime,

perfect at study, and perfect at devotions, so we can be

perfect citizens when we're old enough to be turned out

on the street again.

"A bunch of the supervisors here were raised here and

this is the only home they know. They're the worst. We

wear only black because a perfect person can't have any

distractions and color is distracting. There're no distrac-

tions of any kind. No dancing, no singing, no merriment at

all. Maybe all the jokes the pirates told were brutal and

crude, but at least they had a sense of humor. There's no

humor in this place."

Myealn had slipped out of her bed. Now she leaned

close to Folly. "The other thing," she whispered urgently.

"Tell them about the other thing."

"I was getting to that." Nervously, Folly glanced at the

doorway at the far end of the room. "Since a perfect

person doesn't need silly things like merriment and pleas-

ure, one of the first things they do here is make sure

you're made perfect in that regard."

Mudge frowned. "Want to explain that one, luv?"

"I mean, they see to it that no pleasurable diversions of

any kind remain to divert you from the task of becoming

perfect." The otter gaped at her, then waved to take in the

shuffling crowd of anxious, black-clad youngsters.

"Wot a bloody 'ouse o' devils we stumbled into! You

mean every one o' these... ?"

Folly nodded vigorously. "Most of them, yes. The

males are neutered and the females spayed. To preserve

their perfection by preventing any sensual distractions.

They're going to operate on me tomorrow."

"Against your will?" Jon-Tom struggled to come to

grips with this new, coldly clinical horror.

"What could we do?" Myealn sobbed softly. "Who

would object on our behalf? We're all orphans, none of us

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCK

167

even have guardians. And the Friends of the Street have a

wonderful reputation with the people who run the city

government because there's never any trouble here."

' 'And the Friends of the Street put model citizens back

into the population," Folly added. "People who never

give the city any trouble.

Jon-Tom was so furious he was shaking. "If you got out

of this place," he asked the trembling, altered youngsters,

"where would you go?"

Again a flurry of desperate pleas. "Anywhere.. anyplace

... the waterfront, I want to be a sailor.. I can sew, be a

steamstress... I'm good with paints ... I want to be...!"

He shushed them all. "We'll get you out. Somehow.

Mudge, what about the dorm we came through? Can we

risk going back that way with all these kids?"

"Fuck the risk, mate." Jon-Tom had never seen the

otter so mad. "Not only are we goin' back into the other

dorm, we're goin' to break every cub out o' this pit o'

abomination. Come on, you lot," he told them. "Quiet-

like." Jon-Tom followed behind, making sure no one was

left and shepherding them along like a giraffe among a

flock of sheep.

The hallway and the stairs were silent. Once in the other

dorm those awake went from bed to bed waking their

friends and explaining what was happening. When they

were through, the center aisle was full of milling, anxious

young faces.

Mudge opened the door to the supply closet. At the

same time the door at the other end of the dorm burst

open. Standing in the opening was the powerful figure of a

five-foot-tall adult lynx. Green eyes flashed.

"What's going on in here?" He started in. "By the

Eight Levels of Purity, I will have the hide off whoever is

responsible!" Then he caught sight of Jon-Tom standing

like a pale tower above the heads of the youngsters. "How

did you get in here?"

Jon-Tom faced him with a broad, innocent smile. "Just

168

Alan Dean Foster

visiting. A little late, I know. Special dispensation from

Chokas."

"Just visiting be damned! Where's your pass? These are

not visiting times."

Jon-Tom kept smiling as the cubs crowded close around

him. "Like I said, friend, it's a special occasion."

The monitor carried a short, ugly black whip which he

now drew back threateningly. "You're coming with me to

see the Headmaster, whoever you are. I do not know how

you got in here, or you either," he added as he espied

Mudge, "but you are not leaving without making proper

explanation. The rest of you," he roared, "back to your

beds!"

The youngsters milled around uncertainly. Many of

them were starting to bawl.

" 'Ere now, guv'nor, there's no reason to get upset."

Mudge toddled toward him, smiling broadly.

The whip cracked just in front of the otter's nose. The

children started to scatter for their beds, whimpering loudly.

"Now, hold on there, friend." Jon-Tom put his ramwood

staff in front of his chest. "Let's be careful with that whip,

shall we?"

"Cute little gimcrack, snake master," said Mudge, still

grinning and walking toward the monitor. The lynx eyed

his approach warily.

"That is far enough, trespasser. Take another step to-

ward me and I'll have one of your eyes out."

Mudge halted, threw up both hands and gaped at the

lynx in mock horror. "Wot, and mar me perfection?

Crikey, why would you want to muss up me perfect self?''

He started to turn, abruptly leaped at the monitor.

The lynx wasn't slow, but Mudge was a brown blur in

the dim light. The whip snapped down and cut across the

back of the otter's neck. Mudge's sword was faster still,

slicing through the.whip handle just above the big cat's

fingers.

The monitor bolted for the open door. "Mudge, no!"

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

169

Jon-Tom yelled, but Mudge didn't hear him in time. Or

perhaps he did. The short sword spun end over end. It was

the hilt that struck the lynx in the back of the head with a

gratifyingly loud thump. The monitor dropped as if poleaxed.

Jon-Tom breathed a sigh of relief. "Smart throw, Mudge.

We don't need a murder complicating our departure."

Mudge retrieved his sword. "That's right, mate, but I

can't take the credit. I was tryin' to separate 'is 'ead from

'is shoulders."

"Quick now!" Jon-Tom instructed the youngsters as he

headed for the storage closet. "Everyone out, before

someone else shows up to check on you." He led them

through the storage closet. "Don't push, everyone's going

to get out... don't shove in the back...."

Roseroar strained to see better as shadows moved against

the open window. So far no one had appeared to spot the

dangling rope of pastel linen, but it would take only one

passing pedestrian to give the alarm.

She expected to see Jon-Tom or Mudge or even the girl.

What she did not expect to see was the silent column of

cubs who began descending the sheets. Some species were

built for climbing and climbed down quickly and graceful-

ly, while others had a more difficult time with the descent,

but all made it safely. She dropped clear of the tree and

rushed toward the building. The cubs largely ignored her

as they ran off in different directions, small dark shapes

swallowed by the shadows.

The prepubescent exodus continued for some time. Fi-

nally Jon-Tom, Mudge, and Folly appeared at the open