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

"Uh, no." Jon-Tom decided he was going to have to

tread very carefully with this pint-size package of enchanted

belligerence.

"Smart answer. You got anything to eat?"

Jalwar started to rummage through his pack. "I think

we have some snake jerky, and there are a few hard rolls."

"Ptui!" She spat to her right. "I mean real food. Fruit

tarts, cream cups, nectar custard, whipped honey rolls."

Jon-Tom said carefully, "I think I am beginning to see

what your problem is."

"Oh, you are, are you, fungus-foot? You think every-

thing's cut and dried, don't you? It's all so obvious to

you." She was pacing now, back and forth atop the log,

waving her tiny hands to punctuate her words.

"Say, you can't fly, can you?"

She turned to face him. "Of course I can fly, dumbutt."

She wiggled her diaphanous wings. "What do you think

these are for? Air-conditioning?"

"All right, then let's see you fly. Come on, fly."

"Feh! You'd think I didn't have anything better to do

than put on a show for a bunch of pituitary freaks."

"You can't fly!" Jon-Tom said triumphantly. "That's

your big problem. You've gotten so..."

"Watch it, jack," she said wamingly.

"... so healthy that you can't lift off anymore. I wouldn't

think it would make a difference. A bumblebee's too heavy

for flight, but it manages, and without enchantment."

"I'm a fairy, one of the enchanted folk," Grelgen

informed him, speaking as one would to an idiot child.

"Not a bumblebee. There are structural, aerodynamic, and

metabolic differences you wouldn't understand. As for

problems, you're the ones who are stuck with the biggie."

THE DAT OF THK DISSONANCE

187

She stabbed the wand at Mudge. "That turkey tried to

assassinate me!"

Mudge gaped in surprise. "Wot, me? I did nothin* o'

the kind, your shortness."

"You sat on me, rat-breath."

"Like 'ell I did! You crawled underneath me. Anyways,

'ow was I supposed to see you or anything else under all

them flowers?"

Grelgen crossed her arm. "I was sitting there minding

my own business, having a little afternoon snack of nectar

and pollen, and you deliberately dropped your rat-butt

right on top of me."

"You expect me to inspect every patch o' ground I sit

down on?"

"In our lands, yes."

"We didn't know it were your lands." Mudge was fast

losing patience with this infinitesimal harridan.

"Ah-/ia! So, a casual assassin. The worst kind." She

put two fingers to her lips and let out a sharp, piercing

whistle. Jon-Tom listened admiringly. The sound was loud

enough to attract an empty cab from two blocks down a

Manhattan street.

What it did attract, from beneath mushrooms and flow-

ers, from behind moss beds and tree roots, was a swarm of

enchanted folk, several hundred of them. A few carried

wands resembling Grelgen's, but most hefted miniature

bows and arrows, crossbows, and spears. Jon-Tom put a

hand out to restrain Roseroar from picking up her swords,

even though the tigress weighed more than all the enchanted

folk combined.

"Magic," he whispered warningly.

Roseroar yielded, but not to his admonition. "Magic or

no, the tips of then: weapons are moistened. I suspect

poison. An ungallant way to fight."

"I guess if you're four inches tall you have to use every

advantage you can think of."

Jalwar moved close, whispered to him. "Move carefully

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Alan Dean Poster

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

189

here, spellsinger, or we may vanish in an arrogant conjura-

tion. These folk have a deserved reputation for powerful

magic."

"That's how I figure it," he replied. "Maybe they're

not all as obnoxious or combative as our friend there."

"What's that, what did you say?"

"I said," he told Grelgen, "that it's nice of you to

invite us to meet all your friends and relatives."

"When one of us is threatened, buster, all spring to the

rescue."

Jon-Tom noted that none of the fairies surrounding them

were in any condition to fly. Every one of them waddled

about with obvious difficulty, and the slimmest was a

candidate for the enchanted branch of Weight Watchers.

"You're our prisoners," she finished.

"I see," said Mudge. "And wot if we decide not to be

your prisoners?"

"Then you'll be dead," she assured him unpleasantly.

. Mudge studied the array of glistening little weapons.

" 'Ospitable folk, wot?"

"Watch 'em," said Grelgen to her relations. She turned

and sauntered to the end of the branch, hopped off, and

landed with a wheeze in the grass below. There she entered

into a mumbling conversation with several other wand-

bearers. Most of them were clad only in rags and tatters.

Mudge would have to sit on someone of importance,

thought Jon-Tom angrily. The conference broke up mo-

ments later.

"This way," said one of the other armed fairies, gestur-

ing upstream. Surrounded by miniuscule guards, they were

marched off up the creek.

"You sure you didn't see her, Mudge?" Jon-Tom asked

the otter.

"Would I 'ave been stupid enough to sit on 'er if I 'ad,

mate? Use your 'ead. It were those bloody flowers."

"You weren't looking, then," Jon-Tom said accusingly.

"So I weren't lookin*. Should I 'ave been lookin'?"

"No, I guess not. It's nobody's fault."

"Pity I didn't flatten 'er," the otter murmured, careful

to keep his voice down.

"It might not have mattered, sir," Jalwar murmured.

"The fairy folk are known for their resilience."

"I can see that," said Mudge, studying their obese

escort. "The one with the mouth looks like she could

bounce."

"Be quiet," said Jon-Tom. "We're in enough trouble

already. She'll hear you."

"Damned if I care if she does, guv." The otter had his

hands shoved in his pockets and kicked disgustedly at

pebbles as they walked along the side of the creek. "If she

ain't got common sense to see that—"

A paw the size of his head covered his mouth and,

incidently, most of his face. "Watch yo mouth, ottah,"

Roseroar told him. "Yo heard Jon-Tom. Let's not irritate

these enchanted folk any moah than we already have."

"I'd like to irritate 'em," said the otter when she'd

removed her paw. But his voice had become a whisper.

The stream narrowed. Canyon walls closed in tight

around the marchers, all but shutting out the sun. Trees

and bushes grew into one another, forming a dense,

hard-to-penetrate tangle. The captives had to fight their

way through the thickening undergrowth.

Dusk brought them to the outskirts of the enchanted

folk's village. In appearance it was anything but enchanted.

Tiny huts and homes were scattered around a natural

amphitheater. Evidence of disrepair and neglect abounded.

Some of the buildings were falling down, and even those

cut into massive tree roots had piles of trash mounded up

against the doorways. To Jon-Tom all this was clear proof

of a loss of pride among the inhabitants.

Tiny lights flickered to life behind many of the miniature

windows, and smoke started to curl from minute chim-

neys. Off to one side of the community a circular area was

surrounded by a stone wall pierced by foot-high archways.

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Alan Dean Poster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

191

The six-inch high wall ended at both ends against a sheer

cliff of gray granite.

The four captives filled this arena. Once they were