neetha Napew - Spellsinger

Inquiry revealed that a seekstealth was something of a magical delayed-action

bomb. Possessed of its own ethereal composition, it would drift about the world

invisibly until it finally tracked down its assigned individual. At that point

the substance of the spell would take effect. Jon-Tom shook at how devastating

such a Damoclean conjuration could be. The unfortunate subject could

successfully elude the seekstealth for years, only to wake up one morning having

long since forgotten the original incident to discover that he now had, for

example, the head of a chicken. How could this happen to his friend Mudge? Wait

one hour, he begged the wizard, who reluctantly agreed.

One hour later Clothahump commenced forming the complex spell. He was halfway

through it when a figure appeared out of the forest. Jon-Tom and Flor turned

from preparing breakfast to observe it.

Several small, bright blue lizard shapes dangled from its belt, their heads

scraping the ground. In all other respects it was quite familiar.

Mudge detached the catch from his waist and tossed the limp forms near the

cookfire. Then he frowned curiously at the half circle of gaping onlookers.

" 'Ere now, wot's with all the fish-faces, wot?" He bent over the lizards,

pulled out his knife, and inserted it in one of the bodies. "Take me a moment,

mates, t' gut these pretties and then we can set t' some proper fryin'. Takes a

true gourmet chef, it does, t' prepare limnihop the right way."

Clothahump had ceased his mumbling and gesticulating. He looked quite angry.

"Nice mornin' for huntin'," said the otter conversationally. "Ground's moist

enough t' leave tracks everwhere, so wakin' up early as I did, I thought I'd

'ave a go at supplementin' our larder." He finished the last lizard, began to

skin them. Then he paused, whiskers twitching a touch uncertainly as he noticed

everyone still staring at him.

"Crikey, wot's the bloomin' matter with you all?"

Jon-Tom walked over, patted the otter on the back. "We thought for a moment that

you'd run out on us. I knew you wouldn't do that, Mudge."

"The 'ell I wouldn't," came the fervent reply. Mudge gestured toward Clothahump

with the knife. "But I've no doubt 'Is Brainship 'ere would keep his wizardly

word t' do somethin' rotten t' meself, merely because I might choose t' exercise

me own freedom o' will. Might even do me the dirty o' puttin' a seekstealth on

me."

"Oh, now I don't know that I would go that far," muttered Clotha-hump. Jon-Tom

looked at him sharply.

"Now don't get me wrong, mate," the otter said to Jon-Tom. "I like you, and I

like the two dear ladies, even if they are a bit standoffish, and even old Pog

'ere can be good company when 'e wants to." The bat looked down from his branch

and snorted, then returned to preening himself.

"It's just that I'm not lookin' forward t' the prospect o' possible

dismemberment. But then, I've said all this before, 'aven't I." He smiled

beatifically. " 'Tis the threat that keeps me taggin' along. I know better than

t' try and run off."

"It is not that we believed you had actually done that. Which is to say, we were

not entirely certain that..."

"Stow it, guv'nor. I don't pay it no mind." He set the fillets on the fire,

moved to a mossy log, and pulled off one boot. Furry toes wiggled as he turned

the boot upside down and tapped the heel with a paw. Several small pebbles

tumbled out.

"Some bloody deep muck I 'ad t' slop through t' run that set down. Twas worth

it, I think. They're young enough t' be sweet and old enough t' be meaty. Truth

t' tell, I was gettin' tired o' nuts and berries and jerky." He shoved his foot

back into the boot.

"Come on, now. Surely none o' you seriously thought I'd taken the long hike?

Let's get t' some serious business, right? Breakfast!" He ambled toward the

fire. "I may be ignorant, foul-mouthed, lecherous, and disreputable," he reached

for the proximate curves of Talea's derriere and she jumped out of the way, "but

there be one thing I am that's good. I'm the best camp cook this side or the

Muddletup Moors." He winked at Jon-Tom.

"Comes from 'avin' t' eat on the run all your life."

There was no more talk of desertion. The lizards looked rather more ghastly than

the average hunk of cooked meat. Flor bit into her seetion with obvious gusto,

so Jon-Tom could hardly show queasi-ness. Meat was meat, after all, and he'd

eaten plenty of reptile in the past weeks. It was just that they'd been such

cute little blue things.

"Muy bueno," Flor told Mudge, licking her fingers. "Maybe one of these days I'll

have a chance to make you my quesadillas."

Mudge was repacking his gear. "Maybe one o' these days I'll 'ave a chance to

sample some quintera."

"No,no. 'Quesadilla.' Quintera is my..." She gaped, and then to Jon-Tom's

considerable surprise, she blushed. The flush was very becoming on her dark

skin. He wanted to say something but somehow the idea of admonishing an otter

about a ribald remark upset him. He simply could not visualize the furry joker

as a rival. It was inhuman....

They shouldered their packs and started across the glade. Jon-Tom chatted with

Mudge and Clothahump while Flor engaged the gruff but willing Pog in

conversation. She was curious about the functions of a famulus, and he readily

supplied her with a long list of the mostly unpleasant activities he was

regularly required to perform. He spoke softly, out of the wizard's hearing.

Water occasionally lapped at their boots. The night's rain had littered the

glade with little pools. They avoided the largest without anyone noticing that

several of the depressions were identical in outline: the shape of hooves had

been melted into the rock.

Jon-Tom was not prepared for his first sight of the river. The Tailaroam was

anything but the modest stream he'd expected.

It was broad and wild, with an occasional flash of racing white water showing

where the current ran from east to west. He had no way of knowing its depth, but

it seemed substantial enough to support a very large vessel indeed. It reminded

him of pictures he'd seen of the Ohio in colonial times. Not that he expected to

see anything as technologically advanced as a steamship or sternwheeler.

Possibly it was the contrast that made the river seem so big. This was the first

time he'd seen anything larger than a rivulet or creek, and the Tailaroam was

enormous in comparison. Willow and cypress clustered thickly along the banks.

Here and there, scattered stands of birch thrust thin skeletal fingers toward a

cloud-flecked sky.

They turned eastward and moved steadily upstream. The dense undergrowth that

hugged the river made progress slow. Tangled clumps of moonberry bushes often

forced them to change direction, and brambles stuck to their capes and tried to

work their way to the skin beneath.

Eventually they found what Clothahump had been searching for: a flat peninsula

of sand and gravel that jutted out into the water. Only a few bushes clung

tenaciously to the poor soil. In high-water weather the little spit would be

submerged. For now it formed a natural landing place and a good one, the wizard

explained, from which to hail a passing ship.

Day slid into day, however, without any sign of river travel.

"Commerce is thin this time of year," Clothahump told them apologetically.

"There are more ships in the spring when the river is higher and the upper

rapids more navigable. If we do not espy transport soon, we may be reduced to