neetha Napew - Spellsinger

get out o' town."

"But I don't... I thought..." He barely remembered to duck as they exited the

surgery. "If Doctor Nilanthos is going to take care of things as he said, why do

we have to run?"

"Cor, he can take away the worries as far as those two in there be concerned,

but someone else might 'ave seen us. They might even now be reportin' us t' the

police. Your size makes us too conspicuous, lad. We 'ave t' leave, especially

after that fight in the Pearl Possum."

"But I still don't see..."

"Not now, mate." Mudge was insistent. They were out in the dark street again.

"Come on, Jon-Tom," said Talea. "Don't make trouble."

He halted, stared open-mouthed at her. "Me make trouble? I've been the innocent

victim of trouble ever since I set foot in this stinking, lousy excuse for a

world."

"Easy now, mate." Mudge looked sideways at him. "Don't be sayin' somethin' you

may be sorry for later."

Jon-Tom's carefully constructed calm had lasted about ten minutes. His voice

rose unreasonably, echoing in the mist. "I don't regret anything I have to say!"

Talea was looking back toward town, clearly upset. "I want to see some of the

goodness, the kindness that this world should have."

"Should 'ave?" Mudge looked confused. "By who's determination?"

"By the..." His voice trailed off. What could he say? By the rights of legend.

What legend? By logic? Mudge was right.

"Oh, never mind." The anger and frustration which had flared inside faded

quickly. "So we're fugitives. So I make us conspicuous. That's the way it is."

He nodded at nothing in particular. "Let's get going, then."

He vaulted into the back of the wagon. Mudge climbed into the front seat, caught

Talea's questioning glance, and could only shrug blankly. She hefted the reins

and let out a vibrant whistle. The somnolent lizards came awake, leaned forward

into their reins. The wagon resumed its steady forward motion, the thick feet of

its team sounding like sacks of flour landing on the damp pavement.

Jon-Tom noted that they were headed out of town, as Mudge had insisted they

must. Houses decorated with little gardens slipped past. No lights showed in

their windows at this stygian hour.

They passed the last street lamp. Here the road turned from cobblestone to

gravel. Even that gave way to a muddy track only a little while later. All light

had vanished behind them.

It was deep night of early morning now. The mist continued to dog them, keeping

them wet and chilled. Never is the winter so cloying as at night.

Among the occupants of the wagon only Jon-Tom had a lingering concern for the

greater night that threatened to do more to the world than chill it. Talea and

Mudge are creatures of the moment, he thought. They cannot grasp the

significance of Clothahump's visions. He huddled deeper under the gray blanket,

ignoring the persistent aroma of the squirrelquette's perfume. It clashed with

the smell of dried blood.

Thunder crossed the sky overhead, oral signatory to the last distant vestiges of

the night storm. It helped them bid farewell to Lynchbany. He was not sorry to

leave.

Soon they were in the woods. Oaks and elms showed familiar silhouettes against

the more melodious boles of belltree and coronet vine. The latter generated an

oboesque sob as if pleading for the advent of day and the refreshing heat of the

sun.

For hours they plodded steadily on. The road wound like a stream around the

hills, taking advantage of the lowest route, never cresting more than an

occasional rise. Small lakes and ponds sometimes flanked the trail. They were

inhabited by a vast assortment of aquatic lizards who meeped and gibbered in

place of frogs. Each glowed a different color, some green, others red or pink,

still others a rich azure. Each bubble of sound was accompanied by an increase

in light. The ponds were full of chirping searchlights that drifted from branch

to bank.

Jon-Tom watched the water and its luminescent reptilians fade behind them. The

ponds became a brook which ran fast and friendly alongside the rutted wagon

track. Unlike the other travelers it was indifferent to who might overhear its

conversation, and it gurgled merrily while teasing their wheels.

Resignation gave way once more to his natural curiosity.

"Well, we're long out of town." He spoke to Talea. "Where are we going?" Rising

to his knees he reached out a hand to steady himself in the jouncing wagon. It

gave an unexpected lurch to the right, and he caught her side instead of the

back of the seat. Hastily he moved his fingers, but she had neither moved away

nor protested.

"Somewhere where we can't be trapped," she replied. "For God knows even a

blithering Lynchbany cop could piss and track the ruts of this wagon at the same

time. Like any other creature we retreat to a lair and we don't fight unless

we're cornered. And where we're going not even the police will dare come."

"I ain't sure I'd agree to that." Mudge sounded more hopeful than assured. "Tis

more of an uneasy truce."

"Nonetheless," she countered, "we're far more likely to be safe there than

anyplace else." Jon-Tom still gazed questioningly at her.

"We're going to the local branch of the intracounty association of disadvantaged

self-employed artisans and underachievers," she explained.

"Thieves' Hall," Mudge grunted....

VIII

They spent the rest of the night curled beneath the thick blanket in the back of

the wagon. Mudge and Talea were soon as motionless as her former victims, but

Jon-Tom was too keyed up to sleep. Talea was silent as a stone, but a steady

snoring in the form of a high-pitched whistle came from the gray-clad lump that

was Mudge.

Jon-Tom lay on his back and studied the night sky, framed by the overhanging

branches of the trees. Some of the constellations overhead were familiar, though

out of place. Location as well as season was different here. It was a great

comfort, however, to see the easily recognizable shape of Orion standing

stalwart as ever against the interstellar vastness.

Once something with ghostly gray fluorescent wings passed between him and the

moon, a delicate crinoid shape that might have been a reptile, or bird, or

something unimaginable. It trailed thin yellow streamers behind it, and for an

instant it glittered in the sky.

Then it was gone behind the trees. A low hiccoughing came from some concealed

arboreal thing.

Tiny feet sounded like twigs on the road. Their owner paused to sniff at the

wagon wheels before skittering onward. Sycamores and gingkos conversed in low

philosophical woodtones. They lulled him finally into a deep, dreamless

sleep....

He awoke to a welcome sun filtering down through the leaves and a weight on his

left shoulder. Turning his head, he saw Talea snuggled up against him. She was

sleeping on her side, resting on his shoulder, one arm thrown limply across his

chest. He had mixed feelings about disturbing the sculpture.

However... they had a destination. He moved a little. Her eyes fluttered, body

stirred. She blinked, simultaneously taking note of both him and proximity. As

she pulled away, she rubbed sleep from her eyes.

"Easy night," she murmured thickly, "though I've had softer beds."

"Me too." To his surprise he saw that Mudge was already wide awake. He had no

idea how long the otter had lain there watching them.

"Best we be on about our business," the otter said brightly. "The Lynchbany