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

first on the fire instead of the water rat."

That put a clamp on Folly's laughter.

"Why her?" Jon-Tom demanded to know.

"Why not her? For one thing she's already depelted."

"Oh, no you don't." Folly braced herself against the

bare granite wall, as far from Grelgen as she could get.

"You just try and touch me! I'll squash you like a bug."

Grelgen looked disgusted, waved her wand almost

indifferently, and whispered something under her breath.

Folly leaped away from the wall, clutching her backside.

The stone had become red-hot.

"Might as well resign yourself to it, girl," said Grelgen.

"You're on this morning's menu and that's all there is to

it. If there's anything that gets my gall it's an uncooperative

breakfast."

"Please," Jon-Tom pleaded with her, dropping to his

knees to be nearer eye level with their tormentor. "We

mean you no harm. We only came into your lands to ask

you for some information."

"Sorry. Like I said, we've got the craving, and when it

comes upon us we've got to have meat."

"But why us?" Mudge asked her. "These woods must

be full o' lizards and snakes enough to supply your 'ole

village."

"Food doesn't wander into our custody," she snapped at

him. "We don't like hunting. And the forest creatures

don't stage unprovoked assaults on our person."

"Blimey," Mudge muttered. "'Ow can such small

'eads be so bloomin' dense? I told you that were an

accident!"

Grelgen stared silently at him as she tapped one tiny

glass slipper with her wand. Jon-Tom absently noted that

the slipper was three sizes too small for her not-so-tiny

foot.

"Don't give me any trouble. I'm in a disagreeable mood

as it is." She whistled up a group of helpers and they

started through one archway toward Folly. Her initial

defiance burned out of her, she hid behind Roseroar.

Jon-Tom knew that wouldn't save her.

"Look," he said desperately, trying to stall for time as

he swung the duar into playing position and tried to think

of something to sing, "you said that meat isn't usually

what you eat, that you only have this craving for it

occasionally?"

"What about it?" Grelgen snapped impatiently.

"What do you eat normally? Besides what you told me

earlier."

"Milk and honey, nectar and ambrosia, pollen and sugar

sap. What else would fairy folk eat?"

"So that's it. I had a hunch." A surge of hope rushed

through him.

"What's it?" she asked, frowning at him.

He sat down and crossed his legs, set the duar aside. "I

don't suppose there are any professional dieticians in the

village?''

"Any what?"

"No, of course not. See, all your problems are diet-

related. It not only explains your unnatural craving for

protein, it also explains your, uh, unusually rotound fig-

ures. Milk's okay, but the rest of that stuff is nothing but

pure sugar. I mean, I can't even imagine how many

calories there are in a daily dose of ambrosia. You proba-

bly use a lot of glucose when you're flying, but when you

stop flying, well, the problem only compounds itself."

One of the Elder fairies waiting impatiently behind

Grelgen now stepped forward. "What is this human raving

about?"

Grelgen pushed him back. "It doesn't matter." She

turned back to Jon-Tom. "What you say makes no sense,

and it wouldn't matter if it did, because we still have our

craving." She started to aim her wand at the trembling

Folly. "No use in trying to hide, girl. Step out here where

I can see you."

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THE DAY OF TOR DISSONANCE

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Jon-Tom leaned sideways to block her aim. "Wait!

You've got to listen to me. Don't you see? If you'd only

change your eating habits you'd lose this craving for

protein."

"We're not interested in changing our eating habits,"

said another of the Elders. "We like nectar and honey and

ambrosia."

"All right, all right!" Jon-Tom said frantically. "Then

there's only one way out. The only other way to reduce

your craving for protein is for you to start burning off all

these extra ounces you've been accumulating. You've got

to break the cycle." He picked up the duar.

"At least give me a chance to help you. Maybe I can't

do it with spellsinging, but there are all kinds of magic."

"Consider carefully, man," Grelgen warned him. "Don't

you think we're aware that we have a little problem? Don't

you think we've tried to use our own magic to solve it?"

"But none of you is a spellsinger."

"No. That's not our kind of magic. But we've tried

everything. We're stuck with what we are. Your spellsinging

can't help us. Nothing can help us. We've experimented

with every type of magic known to the enchanted folk, as

well as that employed by the magic-workers of the greater

world. We're trapped by our own metabolisms." She

rolled up her sleeves. "Now let's get on with this without

any more bullshitting, okay?" She raised the wand again.

"Just one chance, just give me one chance!" he pleaded.

She swung the wand around to point it at him, and he

flinched. "I'm warning you, buster, if this is some sort of

trick, you'll cook before her."

"There's one kind of magic I don't think you've tried."

She made a rude noise. "Worm dung! We've tried it

all."

"Even aerobics?"

Grelgen opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned to

conference with the Elders. Jon-Tom waited nervously.

Finally she stuck her head out of the pile and inquired

almost reluctantly, "What strange sort of magic is this?"

Jon-Tom took a deep breath and rose. Putting aside the

duar, he began stripping to the waist.

Roseroar came over to whisper in his ear. "Suh, are yo

preparin' some trick ah should know about? Should ah be

ready with mah swords?"

"No, Roseroar. No tricks."

She shrugged and moved away, shaking her head.

Jon-Tom started windmilling his arms, loosening up.

Grelgen immediately retreated several steps and raised

the wand threateningly. "All you need is to learn this

magic," he said brightly. "A regular program of aerobics.

Not only will it reduce your unnatural craving for protein,

it should bring back your old aerodynamic figures."

"What does that mean?" asked one of the younger

fairies.

"It means we'll be able to fly again, stupid," replied

one of the Elders as he jabbed the questioner in the ribs.

"Fly again." The refrain was taken up by the rest of the

crowd.

"It's a trick!" snapped Grelgen, but the weight of

opinion (so to speak) was against her.

"All right." She tucked her wand under one arm and

glared up at Jon-Tom. "You get your chance, man. If this

is a trick to buy time, it better be good, because it's going

to be your last one."

"It's no trick," Jon-Tom assured her, feeling the sweat

starting to trickle from beneath his arms. And he hadn't

even begun yet.

"Look, I'm no Richard Simmons, but I can see we need

to start with the basics." He was aware he had the

undivided attention of several hundred sets of eyes. He

took a deep breath, thankful for the morning runs which

kept him in decent condition. "We're going to start with

some deep knee-bends. Hands on hips... watch those

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Tarn DAY or THE DISSONANCE

199

wings, that's it. Ready." He hesitated. "This would work

better if we had some music."

Grelgen grunted, turned, and barked a command. There