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

though. Should've kept me concerns to meself." He added

hopefully, "We could still sell 'er."

"No." Jon-Tom put an arm around her shoulders. "Fol-

ly stays with us until we can find her a safe haven."

"I could suggest something," she murmured softly. He

moved his. arm.

"Right then," he said briskly. "No point in hanging

around here waiting for the cops to find us." He started

back the way they'd come. Mudge followed, kicking at the

garbage.

"Suits me, mate. Looks now like we're goin' to 'ave to

walk all the way to this bleedin' Crancularn. Might as well

get going. Only don't let's go spend the 'ole trip bJamin'

poor oP Mudge for the fact that we ain't ridin' in comfort."

"Fair enough. And you don't blame me for this." So

saying, he booted the otter in the rump so hard it took

Roseroar's strength to extract him from the pile of barrels

where he landed.

They slunk out of Snarken on foot—tired, anxious, and

broke. Mudge grumbled every step of the way but ac-

knowledged his mistake (sort of) by assuming the lead. It

was also a matter of self-defense, since it kept him well

out of range of Jon-Tom's boot.

Mudge also partly redeemed himself by returning from

one short disappearance with an armful of female clothing,

a bit of doubtful scavenging which Jon-Tom forced himself

to rationalize.

"Lifted it from a drunken serval," the otter explained as

Folly delightedly traded her black nightdress for the frilly

if somewhat too-small attire. "The doxy I took it off won't

miss it, and we've need of it."

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

179

They moved steadily through the city's outskirts. By the

time the sun rose over the horizon to illuminate the now

distant harbor, they were crossing the highest hill west-

ward. There they traded some goods from Jon-Tom's pack

for breakfast at a small inn, as he wanted to try and

hold on to their three remaining gold pieces for an emer-

gency. Midday saw them far from the city, hiking between

rows of well-tended fruit trees.

Mudge was rubbing his belly. "Not bad for foreign

cookin', mate."

"No, but we're going to have to eat lightly to conserve

what money we have left."

"We could sell the girl's favors."

"Not a bad idea," Jon-Tom said thoughtfully.

Mudge looked at him in surprise. "Wot's that? You

agrees?''

"Sure, if it's okay with her." He called ahead. "Hey,

Roseroar! Mudge here has a suggestion about how you can

help us raise some cash."

"No, no, no, mate!" said the suddenly panicky otter.

"I meant the girl, the girl."

Jon-Tom shrugged. "Big girl, little girl, what's the

difference?" He started to call out to the tigress a second

time. Mudge slammed a muffling paw over Jon-Tom's

mouth, having to stand on tiptoes to manage it.

"Okay, guv'nor. I get your point. I'll keep me ideas to

meseif."

"See that you do, or I'll repeat your suggestion to

Roseroar."

"I'd deny 'avin' anything to do with it."

"Sure you will, but who do you think she'll believe, me

or you?"

"That'd be a foul subterfuge, mate."

"In which inventions I have an excellent teacher."

Mudge wasn't flattered by the backhanded compliment.

They marched steadily westward. As the days passed the

character of the country grew increasingly rural. Houses

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THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

181

were fewer and far between. Semitropical flora made way

for coniferous forest that reminded Mudge of his beloved

Bell woods. The palms and thin-barked trees of the coast

fell behind them.

They asked directions of the isolated travelers they

encountered. All inquiries were met with expressions of

disbelief or confessions of ignorance. Everyone seemed to

know that Crancularn lay to the west. Exactly where to the

west, none were able to say with certainty.

Besides, there was naught to be found in Crancularn but

trouble, and the country folk had no need of more of that.

They were busy enough avoiding the attentions of Snarken's

predatory tax collectors.

In short, Crancularn was well-known, by reputation if

not by sight, and that reputation was not enticing to

potential visitors.

Two days after the road had become a mere trail, they

settled down to enjoy the bright sunshine. A clear stream

followed the track, tumbling glassily on its course down to

the now distant Glittergeist. An octet of commune spiders

were busy building a six-foot-square web between two

trees. They would share equally in any catch.

Jon-Tom studied the pinecone that had fallen near his

feet. It was Jong and slim, and the scales shone like

bronze. Mudge had slipped out of his boots and was

wading the stream, wishing it were deep enough for him to

have a swim, while Jalwar had wandered into the woods in

search of berries and edible roots to supplement their

meager diet. Roseroar catnapped beneath an evergreen

whose trunk grew almost parallel to the ground, while

Folly, as always, stayed as close to Jon-Tom as he would

allow.

"Don't look so discouraged," she said. "We'll get

there."

Jon-Tom was picking at the cone, tossing the pieces into

the stream and watching the little triangular brown boats

until they disappeared over slick stones.

"How can we get there if nobody can give us direc-

tions? 'West' isn't good enough. I thought it would be

easy once we got out of Snarken. I thought at least a few

of the country folk would know the way to Crancularn.

From what Clotharmmp told me, this store of the Aether

and Neither is supposed to be pretty famous."

"Famous enough to avoid," Folly murmured.

"Some of them must be lying. They must be. I can't

believe not a soul knows the way. Why won't they tell

us?"

Folly looked thoughtful. "Maybe they're concerned and

want to protect us from ourselves. Or maybe none of them

really do know the way."

"Mebbee they don't know the way, boy, because it

moves around."

"What?" Jon-Tom looked back to see an old chipmunk

standing next to a botherbark bush. He pressed against the

small of his back with his left paw and gripped the end of

a curved cane with the other. Narrow glasses rested on the

nose, and an ancient floppy hat nearly covered his head

down to the eyes. A gray shirt hung open to the waist,

and below he wore brown dungarees held up by suspend-

ers. He also had very few teeth left.

"What do you mean, it moves around?" Roseroar

looked up interestedly and moved to join them. The

chipmunk's eyes went wide at the sight and Jon-Tom

hurried to reassure him.

"That's Roseroar. She's a friend."

"That's good," said the chipmunk prosaically. Mudge

turned to listen but was reluctant to abandon the cool

water.

The oldster leaned against the tree for support and

waved his cane. "I mean, it moves around, sonny. It never

stays in the same place for very long."

"That's crazy," said Folly. "It's just another town."

"Oh, it's a town, all right, but not like any other, lass.

Not Crancularn." He peered out from beneath the brim of

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his hat at Jon-Tom. "Why thee want to go there, tall

man?"

"We need something from there. From a store."

The chipmunk nodded. "Aye, the Shop of the Aether and

Neither."

"Then you've heard of it!" Jon-Tom said excitedly.