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

inside the insignificant walls, Grelgen and two other fairies

stood within the archways waving their wands and murmuring

importantly. When the invocation was finished, she stepped

back and retreated toward the village with her cronies.

Folly took a step toward the minuscule barrier and tried

to step over. She gasped and drew back as if bitten,

holding her right hand.

"What is it?" Jon-Tom asked anxiously.

"It's hot. The air's hot."

Experimentally, Jon-Tom waved at the emptiness above

the tiny stone wall. An invisible wall of flame now

enclosed them. He shook his hand and blew on his fingers

to cool them, deciding they weren't going to blister.

Escape wouldn't be easy.

Roseroar sighed and settled herself on the hard ground.

"An ironic conclusion to yoah expedition, Jon-Tom. Cap-

tured and imprisoned by a bunch of disgruntled, not to

mention uncouth, enchanted folk."

"Don't be so quick to give up. They may decide to let

us go yet. Besides," he swung his duar around, "we have

magic of our own."

Mudge looked imploringly heavenward. "Why me, wot?"

"I do not know that spellsinging will work against the

fairy folk, sir," said Jalwar. "In my travels I have heard

that they are immune to all forms of magic except their

own. It may be that yours will have no effect on them, and

may even be turned against you."

"You don't say." Jon-Tom's fingers fell from the duar's

strings, together with what remained of his confidence. "I

didn't know that."

"It may not be so, but it is what I have heard many

times."

"We'll hold it as a last resort, then."

"Wot difference does it make, mate? 'Alf the time it

backfires on you anyhows. If it doubles back on us I

wouldn't want it to 'appen while I'm stuck in this clearin'."

"Neither would I, Mudge." He looked out toward the

winking lights of the village. "We may not have any

choice. They don't seem much inclined to listen to reason."

"I think they're all crazy," commented Folly.

In the fading light she looked healthy and beautiful. The

impermanent bruises and scars Corroboc had inflicted on

her were healing fast. She was resilient, tough, and grow-

ing more feminine by the day. She was also making

Jon-Tom increasingly uneasy.

He turned to Mudge, saw the otter standing as close as

possible to the invisible barrier enclosing them.

"What's up, Mudge?"

The otter screwed up his face, his whiskers twitching.

"Can't you smell it, too, mate? Garbage." He nodded

toward the town. "It's everywhere. Maybe they're enchanted,

but that's not the word I'd use to describe their sewage

system."

"Ah saw their gardens when we came in," said Roseroar

thoughtfully. "They appeahed to be untended."

"So fairy town's gone to hell," Jon-Tom murmured.

"Something's very wrong here."

"Wot difference do it make to us, mate? We 'ave our

own problems. Dealin' with 'Er Crossness, for one thing."

"If we could figure out what's wrong here," Jon-Tom

argued, "maybe we could ingratiate ourselves with our

captors."

"You ingratiate yourself, mate. Me, I'm for some sleep."

Jon-Tom didn't doubt that the otter could sleep on the

bare rock. If Mudge were tossed out of a plane at twenty

thousand feet, the otter could catch twenty winks before

awakening to open his parachute. It was a talent he often

envied.

"Sleeping won't solve our problem."

"It'll solve me immediate one, mate. I'm pooped."

192

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

193

"Perhaps yoah magic will work against the enchanted

folk," Roseroar said hopefully.

"I don't know." Jon-Tom tapped the wood of the duar,

was rewarded with a melodious thumping sound. The

moon was shining down into the narrow defile, illuminat-

ing the dense woods surrounding them. "I'm going to hold

off till the last possible moment to find out."

The tigress was slipping out of her armor and using it to

make a crude pillow. "Ah don't know." She rested her

massive head on black and white paws. "It seems to me

that we're already theah."

Grelgen and the rest of the fairy council came for them

in the morning. Their principal nemesis had changed into a

flowing gown of orange chiffon. The bright pastel attire

had not softened her disposition, however.

"We've been considering what to do with you bums

most of the night," she informed them brusquely.

Jon-Tom stretched, pushed at his tower back, and wished1,

he'd had the sense to use Roseroar for a cushion. He was

stiff and sore from spending the night on the hard ground.

"All I can tell you is that we're innocent of any charges

you discussed. So what are you going to do now?"

"Eat," she informed him. "Talk more later."

"Well now, I could do with a spot o' breakfast!" Mudge

tried to muster some enthusiasm. Maybe Jon-Tom was right

after all, and these cute little enchanted bastards were finally

going to act in a civilized manner. "Where do we eat?"

"Wrong pronoun," Grelgen said. She turned to point

with her wand.

Jon-Tom followed it into the brush. What the poor light

of evening had kept hidden from view was now revealed

by the bright light of day. Up the creek beyond the town,

thick peeled branches spanned a shallow excavation. The

firepit showed signs of recent use.

Mudge saw it, too, and his initial enthusiasm vanished.

"Uh, wot's on the menu, luv?"

"Fricasseed water rat," she told him, with relish.

"Wot, me?" Mudge squeaked.

"Give the main course a bottle of elf dust. What better

end for a guilty assassin?"

Up till now Jon-Tom had considered their predicament

as nothing more than a matter of bad communication. This

new vision of a bunch of carnivorous fairies feasting on

Mudge's well-done carcass shoved everything over the

edge into the realm of the surreal.

"Listen, you can't eat any of us."

Grelgen rested pudgy hands on soft hips. "Why not?

Jon-Tom struggled for a sensible reply. "Well, for one

thing, it just doesn't fit your image."

She squinted sideways at him. "You," she said decisively,

"are nuts. I'm going to have to consult with the Elders to

make sure it's okay to eat crazy people."

"I mean, it just doesn't seem right. What about your

honey rolls and custards and like that?"

Grelgen hesitated. When she spoke again, she sounded

slightly embarrassed.

"Actually, you're right. It's only that every once in a

while we get this craving, see? Whoever's unlucky enough

to be in the neighborhood at the time ends up on the

village menu." She glanced over at Folly and tried to

regain some of her former arrogance. "We also find it

helpful now and then to bathe in the blood of a virgin."

Folly digested this and collapsed, rolling about on the

ground while laughing hysterically. Grelgen saw the tears

pouring down the helpless girl's cheeks, grunted, and

looked back over a shoulder. Jon-Tom followed her gaze.

On the far side of fairy town a bunch of muscular,

overweight enchanted folk were sliding an oversized wooden

bowl down a slope. At the sound of Grelgen's voice they

halted.

"Right! Cancel the bathing ceremony!"

Cursing under their breath, the disappointed bowl mov-

ers reversed their efforts and began pushing their burden

back into the bushes.

194

Alan Dean Foster

T

THE DAY OF TBE DISSONANCE

195

"So you think it's funny, do you? Right then, you're