neetha Napew - Spellsinger

that turned out to be another muskrat. An oddly creased tricornered hat still

rested on the motionless head, though it was tilted over the hidden eyes. A pair

of cracked pince-nez speeta-cles, much like those worn by Clothahump, reflected

the still, small pools between the cobblestones. The iridescent blue silk suit

he wore was rich enough to shine even in the dim light of the alley.

One boot had come off and lay limply near a naked foot. Its rhine-stone-inlaid

mate lay up against the far wall. Talea ignored it as she rechecked the body

with professional speed.

"Blimey, luv, what's all this now?" Mudge's attention was directed nervously

back toward the narrow plank of light from the street. "I ain't so sure we want

to be compromisin' ourselves with business of this disreputable nature."

"Shit, you're compromised just by standing there." Talea heaved at the thick

silk jacket. "Not that your reputation would suffer. Who are you lying to,

Mudge; yourself, me, or him?" and she nodded briefly toward the self-conscious

Jon-Tom. "You know what the cops will do if they find you standing here flapping

your whiskers."

"Now Talea, luv--" he began.

"I think we've exchanged enough pleasantries, otter. I need you for muscle, not

platitudes.

"Now I don't object to an occasional mugging, especially when the apple stands

around begging to be plucked." She was pulling gold buttons off the comatose

muskrat's trousers. "But murder's not my style. This fat little twerp decided to

show off and resist, and I'll be damned if that fuzzy harridan he was with

didn't try to help him. Between the two of them I didn't have much time to get

selective with the hilt of my sword. So I bashed him proper and then she just

sort of fainted."

Mudge moved over to study the fallen lady. While Jon-Tom I i watched, the otter

knelt and moved her head. There was a dark stain I on the stones and a matching

one at the back of the furry skull.

"This one's still bleedin', you know."

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone." Talea did not sound particularly contrite. "I

was just trying to keep them off. I told you, she fainted. What the hell was I

supposed to do, dive underneath and break her fall?"

Mudge moved away and performed a similar examination of the muskrat. "Now why

would you 'ave t' do that, luv, when these gentle rocks 'ave done such a neat

job of it for you?" he said sardonically. His paws moved over the muskrat's

face. "Still breathin', the two of 'em. Bloody lucky you are." He looked up at

her.

"Right then. What is it you want of us?"

She finally finished her scavenging, gestured back toward the street. "I've got

a wagon tied around the corner on Sorbarlio Close. If I'd left it alley-opposite

it would've blocked traffic and worse, drawn attention to this little drama.

Besides, it's too wide to fit in the alley entrance.

"Now, I can't carry that fat little bugger by myself. By the time I could drag

the two of them to the Close some nosy-body's sure to notice me and ask

questions I couldn't answer. Even if I got lucky I'm not sure I could heave

these two bloated pumpkins up into the wagon."

Mudge nodded sagely. "That's for us, then. Jon-Tom?"

Jon-Tom's head had finally cleared of smoke and drink, but plenty of confusion

still remained. Things had happened awfully fast and his thoughts were running

into one another.

"I don't know." He was also worriedly watching the street. Foul-fighting police

might appear at any minute, and what Talea had told Mudge about them being

guilty by their mere presence at the scene of the crime had a transworldly ring

of truth to it.

"I'm not sure this is what Clothahump had in mind when he asked you to educate

me."

" 'Tis a fine innocent you are, mate. As you of all people ought t' know, life's

incidents are dictated by fate and not neat plannin'. We can't stay 'ere

jabberin' all night, lest some idle patrol stumble on us. If you think the

copfolk were hard on those poor innocent brawlers, consider wot they're likely

t' do t' those they think 'ave assaulted respectable citizens. Or be it then so

much different where you come from?"

"No," he replied, "I think they'd react about the same as here."

Mudge had moved to slip an arm around the waist of the unconscious

squirrelquette, then flipped her with a whistle over his shoulders. "I'll take

charge o' this one," he said, stumbling.

"Thought you might," snorted Talea. "Here, let me help." She caught the lady's

legs just as the overburdened Mudge was about to lose his balance completely,

the looked back at Jon-Tom.

"Don't just stand there gawking like a kid at a treepeep nook. Put that great

gangling self of yours to work."

Jon-Tom nodded, knelt, and managed to get his arms underneath the snoring,

bubbling muskrat shape. The creature was as heavy as he appeared, and the weight

made Jon-Tom stagger. Working the mass around he finally got the rotund burden

in a fireman's carry.

"Truth, 'tis muscles the lad 'as, if not yet overmuch common sense," Mudge

observed. "Does 'e not, lass?"

"Let's get on with it," she said curtly.

On reaching the end of the alley they hesitated. Talea studied the street to the

right while Mudge cautiously checked out the other end. Nothing was visible in

the nebulous lamplight save cobblestones and lonely clumps of garbage. The night

mist had thickened somewhat from earlier in the evening and bestowed on the

fugitives a blessing beyond price.

Jon-Tom hurried out after them, the globular body of the muskrat bouncing

slightly on his shoulders. He felt something warm on his cheek. At first he

thought it was blood, but it turned out to be only saliva dripping from the

victim's gaping mouth. He pushed the drooling head farther aside and

concentrated on keeping close enough to the others to insure he wouldn't lose

track of them in the fog.

His feet were carrying him along a course of events he seemed powerless to

alter. As he jogged up the street, he considered his present condition.

In the short time he'd been in Lynchbany he'd nearly been assaulted by a beggar,

had taken part in a distressingly violent riot, and was presently serving as an

accessory to assault, robbery, and possibly murder. He decided firmly that as

soon as circumstances permitted he would have to make his way back to

Clothahump's Tree, with or without Mudge's assistance. There he would plead with

the wizard to try sending him home, no matter the cost. He could not stand

another day of this.

But though he did not know it, he was destined to spend rather more time than

that. Forces far greater than anything he could imagine continued to gather, the

little sounds his boots made in the street puddles faint echoes of the thunder

to come....

VII

Eventually they turned a corner onto another street. Mudge and Talea heaved the

motionless form of the squirrelquette onto the back of a low-slung buckboard.

Clicking sounds like thick wire brushing against glass came to them. They froze,

waited in damp silence. But the wagon they heard did not turn down their street.

"Hurry up!" Talea urged Jon-Tom. She turned and snapped at Mudge, "Quit that and

let's get out of here."

Mudge removed his hand from beneath the squirrelquette's dress as Jon-Tom bent

his head and shoulders to dump the muskrat. That unfortunate landed with a dull

thump in the wagon. Despite Mudge's insistence that both victims were still