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

would have made use of them enthusiastically.

For that matter, how many of his contemporaries actual-

ly understood what made a computer tick or instant replay

possible? People had a way of just accepting the workings of

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everyday machinery they didn't understand, whether it was

powered by alkaline batteries or arcane spells.

Then they were leaving the town again, fog drifting lazily

around them. They had attracted no more than an occa-

sional cursory glance from the villagers. Huge trees hugged

the fertile lower slopes of the volcano, which simmered

quietly and unthreateningly above them.

Inquiries in town had produced no mention of visitors

resembling Jalwar or Folly. Either the two had lost their

way or else with Drom's aid they had already passed the

renegade pair in the woods. Jon-Tom experienced a pang of

regret. He still wasn't completely convinced of Folly's

complicity in the theft of the map.

No time for that now. The rabbit on the ATC implied

they might have trouble purchasing what they wanted from

this Snooth. Jon-Tom struggled to compose a suitably ef-

fective speech. AH they needed was a little bit of medicine.

Nothing so complex as a malleable globe or toothless saw.

His hand went to the tiny vial dangling from the chain

around his neck. Inside was the formula for the desperately

needed medicine. He hadn't brought it this far to be turned

away empty-handed.

There was no sign, no posted proclamations to advertise

the shop's presence. They turned around a cluster of oaks,

and there it was, a simple wooden building, one story

high. It was built up against the rocks. A single wooden

door was set square in the center of the storefront, which

was shaded by a broad, covered porch.

A couple of high-backed rocking chairs sat on the

porch, unoccupied. Wooden shingles in need of repair

covered the sloping roof that likewise ran up into the

rocks. Jon-Tom estimated the entire building enclosed no

more than a thousand square feet of space. Hardly large

enough for store and home combined.

As they drew close, a figure emerged from inside and

settled into the farther rocking chair. The chair creaked as

it rocked. The tall kangaroo wore a red satin vest which

THE DAY op THE DISSONANCE

253

blended with her own natural rust color and, below, a kilt

similar in style to the rabbit's. There were pockets and a

particularly wide one directly in front to permit the owner

access to her pouch. Jon-Tom stared at the lower belly but

was unable to tell if the female was carrying a joey, though

once he thought he saw something move. But he couldn't

be sure, and since he was ignorant of macropodian eti-

quette, he thought it best not to inquire.

She also wore thick hexagonal granny glasses and a

heavy necklace of turquoise, black onyx, and malachite. A

matching bracelet decorated her right wrist, and she puffed

slowly on a corncob pipe which was switched periodically

from one side of her mouth to the other.

He halted at the bottom of the porch steps, "Are you the

one they call Snooth?"

"I expect I am," the kangaroo replied, "since I'm the

only one around here by that name." She took her pipe

from her lips and regarded them thoughtfully. "You folks

aren't from around here. What can I do for you?"

"We've undertaken one hell of a shopping trip," Jon-

Tom told her.

She sighed. "I was afraid of that. Just when I got

myself all nice and comfortable. Well, that's par for the

course."

Jon-Tom's eyes grew wide. "That's an expression of

my world."

"Is it? I traffic with so many I sometimes get confused.

Sure as the gleebs are on the fondike."

Jon-Tom decided to tread as lightly as possible, bearing

the rabbit's admonition in mind. "We don't want to

disturb you. We could come back tomorrow." He tried to

see past her, into the store. "You haven't by any chance

had a couple of other out-of-town customers in recently,

have you? An old ferret, maybe accompanied by a human

female?" He held his breath.

The kangaroo scratched under her chin with her free

hand. "Nope. No one of that description. In fact, I haven't

r

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had any local out-of-town customers stop by in some

time."

Forbearing to inquire into the nature of a local out-of-

towner, which seemed to Jon-Tom to be a contradiction in

terms, he permitted himself a moment of silent exultation.

They'd done it! With Drom's help they'd succeeded in

beating Jalwar to Crancularn. Now he could relax. The

object of their long, arduous journey was almost in his

grasp.

He turned to leave. "We don't want to upset your siesta.

We'll come back tomorrow."

A small brown shape pushed past him. Mudge took

up an aggressive stance on the lowest step. "Now let's

'old on a minim 'ere, guv'nor." The otter fixed the

proprietress with a jaundiced eye. "This 'ere dump is

the place I've been 'earin' about for weeks? This

cobbled-together wreck is the marvelous, the wondrous,

the magnificent Shop o' the Aether and Neither? And

you're the owner?"

The kangaroo nodded.

"Well," announced Mudge in disgust, "it sure as 'ell

don't look like much to me."

"Mudge!" Jon-Tom angrily grabbed the otter by his

shoulder.

The kangaroo, however, did not appear upset. "Ap-

pearances can be deceiving, my fuzzy little cousin." She

turned to face Jon-Tom as she stood on enormous, power-

ful feet. She was as tall as he was. The rickety porch

boards squeaked under her weight.

"I can tell just by looking at you that you've come a

long ways to do your shopping. Except for the Crancularni-

ans, most of my customers travel far to buy from me,

some by means most devious. Some I sell to, others I do

not." She turned and pointed toward a thin scrawl on a

worn piece of wood that was nailed over the doorway. The

sign said:

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE 255

WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYTHING

"It's not for ourselves that we come seeking your

help," Jon-Tom told her. "We're here at the behest of a

great wizard who lives in the forest of the Bellwoods, far

across the Glittergeist Sea. His name's Clothahump."

"Clothahump." Eyes squinted in reflection behind the

granny glasses. She put out a hand, palm facing down-

ward, and positioned it some four feet above the porch.

"Turtle, old gentleman, about yea high?"

Jon-Tom nodded vigorously. "That's him. You've met

him?"

"Nope. But I know of him by reputation. As wizard's

go, he's up near the top." This revelation impressed even

the skeptical Mudge, who'd always thought of Ciothahump

as no better than a talented fakir verging on senility who

just happened to get lucky once in a while. "What's

wrong with him?"

Jon-Tom fumbled with the vial around his neck, removed

the small piece of paper from within. "He says he's dying,

and he's in terrible pain. He says this can cure him."

Snooth took the fragment, adjusted her glasses, and read.

Her lips moved as she digested the paper's information. "Yes,

yes...I believe I have this in stock." She glanced back at

Jen-Tom. "Your devotion to your mentor does you credit."

Which made him feel more than a little guilty, since the

main reason he'd undertaken the journey was to protect his

only chance of returning home by ensuring Clothahump's