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

rigging reached for Zancresta.

The sorcerer cowered back against the shelving. His

expression was desperate as he sought refuge and found

none. He dropped to his knees and begged.

"Forgive me, forgive me, I did not know!"

"IGNORANCE is THE EXCUSE OF THE CONTEMPTUOUS,"

bellowed the djinn. "ABUSERS OF KNOWLEDGE RARELY

SEEK ENLIGHTENMENT FROM OTHERS. THOSE WHO TRAM-

PLE CONVENTION DESERVE NO PITY. THOSE WHO DO NOT

PAY WHAT THEY OWE DESERVE TO PERISH."

"I'm sorry!" Zancresta screamed, utterly frantic now.

"I was blinded by anger."

"YOU WERE BLINDED BY EGO, WHICH IS FAR WORSE."

"It is a terrible thing to feel inferior to another. I can't

stand it. I was overcome with the need to redeem myself,

to restore my standing as the greatest practitioner of the

mystic arts. All I have done was only for love of my

profession." He prostrated himself, arms extended. "I

throw myself on your mercy."

"YOU LOVE ONLY YOURSELF, WORM. MERCY? YOU

WOULD HAVE SLAIN MY MORTAL TO SAVE A FEW COINS,

TO SHOW YOUR DOMINANCE. MERCY? YEA, I WILL GRANT

YOU MERCY." The ferret's head lifted, and there was a

hopeful look on his tormented face.

"THIS is MY MERCY: THAT YOU SHALL DIE QUICKLY

INSTEAD OF SLOWLY!"

Zancresta shrieked and dodged to his left, but he wasn't

fast enough to escape that immense descending hand. The

fingers contracted once, and the shriek was not repeated.

There was only a quick echo of bones crunching. Jon-Tom

and his companions stared numbly.

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The hand opened and dropped the jellied smear that had

been Jalwar-Zancresta, Wizard of Malderpot.

"I ASK YOU," the djinn muttered in slightly less deafen-

ing tones, "YOU TRY TO RUN A LITTLE BUSINESS DOWN

THROUGH THE AGES AND YOU FIND ETERNITY FULL OF

WELCHERS. SPEAKING OF WHICH"—the massive toothy

skull and burning yellow eyes lifted to regard Jon-Tom—

"THERE is MORE YET TO DO."

"Hey, wait a minute," said Jon-Tom, starting to back

away, "we're ready to pay for what we want. We didn't

come here to stiff anybody." He glanced toward Snooth,

who only shrugged helplessly. Apparently now that the

djinn had been called, she was powerless to control it.

"PAY FOR YOUR GOODS YOU MAY, BUT NOW I HAVE

BEEN CALLED FORTH, AND I MUST ALSO BE PAID. HOW

WILL YOU DO THAT, PALE WORM? I HAVE NO NEED OF

YOUR MONEY. PERHAPS YOU WILL SING ME A SONG SO

THAT I MAY LET YOU LEAVE?" Volcanic laughter filled the

Shop of the Aether and Neither.

Jon-Tom felt a hand pushing at him. "Well come on,

then, mate," Mudge whispered urgently, "go to it. I'm

right 'ere behind you if you need me 'elp."

"You're such a comfort." Still, the otter was right. It

was up to him to somehow placate this djinn and get them

out of there. But he was exhausted from his duel with

Charrok and Zancresta, and worn out from thinking up

song after song. He was also more than a little irritated.

Not the most sensible attitude to take, perhaps, but he was

too tired to care.

"You listen to me, Hargood ali rooge."

The djinn glowered. "I DON'T LIKE MORTALS WHO GET

MY NAME WRONG."

"Okay, I can go with that," Jon-Tom replied, "but

you'll have to excuse me. I've had a helluva couple of

weeks. We came here to get some medicine for a sick

friend. If that old fart hadn't intruded," and he gestured at

the smear on the floor, "we'd be out of here and on our

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

283

way by now. We didn't have a damn thing to do with his

actions."

"TRULY YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN ON YOUR WAY, BUT

WHICH WAY IS RIGHT AND PROPER FOR YOU TO GO,

LITTLE MORTAL?"

"Do you still have the medicine, Snooth?" The kanga-

roo nodded, opened a fist to show the precious container.

A hand the size of a bus lowered to block her from

Jon-Tom's sight.

"THE MEDICINE YOU MAY TAKE. IF YOU CAN SATISFY

ME. AND YOU HAVE SEEN WHAT HAPPENS TO MERE MOR-

TALS WHO DISPLEASE ME."

Jon-Tom was beginning to understand why Crancularn

had acquired a less than favorable reputation among travel-

ers in this part of the world, in spite of the miracles it

offered for sale.

"YOU THINK LONG, MORTAL. Do NOT THINK TO TRICK

ME BY SOME FOOLISHNESS SUCH AS ASKING ME TO SHRINK

MYSELF INTO A BOTTLE." A hand hovered above them and

Folly flinched. "I DON'T NEED TO CHANGE MY SIZE TO

SHOW MY POWER. ALL I NEED TO DO IS PUT MY THUMB ON

YOUR HEAD."

"Whatever happened to the customer's always right?"

Jon-Tom shot back.

The djinn hesitated. "WHAT OTHERWORLDLY IDIOCY is

THAT?"

"Just good business practice."

"A MORTAL WITH A KNACK FOR BUSINESS." The djinn

looked interested. "I WILL LET YOU PAY WITH YOUR

BUSINESS, THEN, AND PERHAPS YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS

WILL LEAVE HERE WITH YOUR BONES INTACT. YOU ARE A

SPELLSINGER. I HAVE HEARD MANY SPELLS INGERS, BUT

NONE THAT PLEASED ME. I DO NOT THINK I KNOW OF ONE

FROM YOUR WORLD. SlNG ME A SPELLSONG OF YOUR

WORLD, WORM. SlNG ME A SONG THAT WfLL AMUSE ME,

INTRIGUE ME. SlNG ME SOMETHING DIFFERENT. THEN,

AND ONLY THEN, WILL I LET YOU TAKE THE MEDICINE

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AND GO!" The djinn folded arms with thick muscles like

the trunks of great trees.

"THINK CAREFULLY ON WHAT YOU WILL SING. I GROW

IMPATIENT QUICKLY AND WILL NOT ALLOW YOU A SEC-

OND CHANCE."

Jon-Tom stood sweating and thinking furiously. What

song could he possible sing that would interest this off-

spring of magic, who had access to the goods of thousands

of worlds? What did he know that might be offbeat and

just weird enough to have some effect on a djinn?

Off to his left Roseroar stood watching him quietly.

Mudge was muttering, something like a prayer. Folly paced

anxiously behind him while Drom pawed at the floor and

wished he were outside where he'd at least have a running

chance.

Feathers caressed his neck. "You can do it, colleague."

Charrok was smiling confidently at him.

Mystical. It had to be overtly mystical, yet not so

specific as to anger the djinn into thinking Jon-Tom was

trying to trick him. What did he know that fit that

description? He was just a hard rocker when he wasn't

studying law. All he knew were the hits, the platinum

songs.

There was only one possibility, one choice. A song full

of implications instead of accusations, mysterious and not

readily comprehended. Something to make the djinn think.

He let his fingers slide over the duar's strings. His throat

was dry but his hoarseness was gone.

"Watch it, mate," Mudge warned him.

To his surprise Jon-Tom found he could smile down at

the otter. "No sweat, Mudge."

"Wot can you sing for 'im 'e don't already 'ave,

guv'nor?" The otter waved at hand at the endless shelves

crammed with goods from dimensions unknown. "Wot

can you give 'im in song 'e don't already own?"

"A different state of mind," Jon-Tom told him softly,

and he began to sing.

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

285

He was concerned that the duar would not reproduce the

eerie chords correctly. He need not have worried. That

endlessly responsive, marvelously versatile instrument du-

plicated the sounds he drew from memory with perfect

fidelity, amplifying them so that they filled the chamber

around him. It was a strange, quavering moan, a galvaniz-

ing cross between an alien bass fiddle being played by