neetha Napew - Spellsinger

was a bit of magic in itself, Jon-Tom thought as he ducked to avoid the few

flying suds.

She turned an outraged look on the innocent-seeming Mudge. "You keep your hands

to yourself, you shit-eating son of a mud worm! Next time you'll get one of

these up your furry backside!" She threatened him with a tankard.

"Now Lily," Mudge protested, " 'aven't you always told me you're always 'untin'

for a way t' move up in the world?"

She started to swing an armful of liquor at him and he cowered away in mock

fear, covering his face with his paws and still smiling. Then she thought better

of wasting the brew. Turning from their table she marched away, elbowing a path

through the crowd. Her tail switched prettily from side to side, the short dress

barely reaching from waist to knee. It was gold with a gray lining that neatly

set off her own attractive russet and black and white striping.

"What did I tell you, mate?" Mudge grinned over his mug at Jon-Tom.

He tried to smile back, aware that the otter was trying to break the glum mood

into which Jon-Tom had fallen. So he forced himself to continue the joke.

"Mighty short levitation, Mudge. I don't see how it does her any good."

"Who said anything about her?" The otter jabbed himself in the chest with a

thumb. "It's me the levitatin' benefits!" He clasped both furry arms around his

chest and roared at his own humor, threatening to upset table and self.

Wooden shades were rolled down to cover the two windows, and someone dimmed the

oil lamps. Jon-Tom started to rise, felt a restraining paw on his wrist.

"Nay, guv, 'tis nothing t' be concerned about." His eyes were sparkling. "Quite

the contrary. Did I not promise you some entertainment?" He pointed to the

circular serving counter and up.

What looked like an upside-down tree was slowly descending from a gap in the

center of the peaked ceiling. It was green with fresh growth, only the foliage

had been tacked on and doubtless was periodically renewed. The still unseen band

segued into an entirely new tune. The percussionist was doing most of the work

now, Jon-Tom noted. The beat was heavy, slow, and sensuous.

The yelling and shouting that filled the establishment changed also. Barely

organized chaos faded to a murmur of anticipation spotted with occasional roars

of comment, usually lewd in nature.

Mudge had shifted his seat, now sat close to Jon-Tom. His eyes were on the fake

tree as he elbowed his companion repeatedly in the ribs.

"Eyes at the alert now, mate. There's not a fairer nor more supple sight in all

Lynchbany."

An animal appeared at the dark opening in the ceiling, prompting a bellow from

the crowd. It vanished, then teasingly reappeared. It was slight, slim, and made

its way very slowly from the hidden chamber above down into the branches of the

ersatz conifer. About three and a half feet in length, it displayed another half

foot of active tail and was completely, almost blindingly covered in snow-white

fur save for a few inches of black at the tip of the tail.

Its costume, if such so lithe a wrapping could be called, consisted of many

layers of black veils of some chiffonlike material through which the brilliant

white fur showed faintly. Its face was streaked with red painted on in intricate

curlicues and patterns that ran from face and snout down onto shoulders, chest,

and back before vanishing beneath the airy folds. A turban of matching black was

studded with jewels. The final touch, Jon-Tom noted with fascination, were long

false eyelashes.

So absorbing was this glittering mammalian vision that for several moments

identification escaped him. That slim form and muscular torso could only belong

to some member of the weasel family. When the apparition smiled and displayed

tiny sharp teeth he was certain of it. This was an ermine, still in full

winter-white coat. That confirmed the time of year he'd arrived, though he

hadn't thought to ask anyone. About the creature's femininity he had no doubt

whatsoever.

A hush of interspecies expectancy had settled over the crowd. All attention was

focused overhead as the ermine ecdysiast began to toy with the clasps securing

one veil. She unsnapped one, then its companion. Cries of appreciation started

to rise from the patrons, an amazing assortment of hoots, whistles, squeaks,

yowls, and barks. She began to uncoil the first veil with snakelike motions.

Jon-Tom had never had occasion to imagine an animal executing anything as erotic

as a striptease. After all, beneath any clothing lay another layer of solid fur

and not the bare flesh of a human.

But eroticism has little to do with nudity, as he soon discovered. It was the

movement of the creature, a supple twisting and turning that no human female

could possibly match, that was stimulating. He found himself thoroughly

engrossed by the mechanics of the dance alone.

To rising cries of appreciation from the crowd one veil followed another. The

cool indifference Jon-Tom had intended to affect had long since given way to a

distinct tingling. He was no more immune to beauty than any other animal. The

ermine executed a series of movements beyond the grasp of the most talented

double-jointed human, and did so with the grace and demeanor of a countess.

There was also the manner in which she oozed around the branches and leaves of

the tree, caressing them with hands and body in a way only a chunk of cold

granite could have ignored. The room was heavy with musk now, the suggestiveness

of motion and gesture affecting every male within sight.

The last veil dropped free, floated featherlike to the floor. The music was

moving almost as fast as the performer. That white-furred derriere had become a

gravity-defying metronome, a passionate pendulum sometimes concealed, sometimes

revealed by the position of the twitching tail, all vibrating in time to the

music.

The music rose to a climax as the ermine, hanging by her arms from the lowermost

branches, executed an absolutely impossible series of movements which

incidentally revealed to Jon-Tom the reason for the circular, central nature of

the main serving counter. It served now as fortress wall behind which the

heavily armed cooks and bartenders were able to fend off the hysterical advances

of the overheated patrons.

One long-eared rabbit which Jon-Tom supposed to be a jack actually managed to

grab a handful of black-tipped tail which was coyly but firmly pulled out of

reach. A burly bobcat dumped the rabbit back among the surging patrons as the

ermine blew a last kiss to her audience. Then she slithered back through

branches and leaves to disappear inside the ceiling with a last fluid bump and

grind.

Shades and tree were promptly rolled up. Conversation resumed and normality

returned to the restaurant. Waitresses and waiters continued to wend their way

through the crowd like oxygen in the bloodstream.

"D'you see now wot I mean, mate?" Mudge said with the contentment of one who'd

just cashed a very large check, "when I say that there's no one who--" He

stopped, stared strangely across the table.

"What's wrong?" asked Jon-Tom uncomfortably.

" 'Ave me for breakfast," was the startled reply, "if you ain't blushin'! You

'umans..."

"Bull," muttered Jon-Tom, turning angrily away.

"Nope." The otter leaned over the table, peering closely at Jon-Tom despite his

attempts to keep his face concealed. "Blimey but it's true... you're as red as a