neetha Napew - Spellsinger

oughtn't to attack this or that town or cluster of traders. But without much of

a practical base on which to operate he grew confused, and Jon-Tom was able to

steer their debate to less violent aspects of social change.

Fortunately, there were few traders plying the river to stimulate the dragon's

ire, and the moment they spotted the black silhouette of Falameezar they hastily

abandoned both their boats and the water. The dragon protested that he would

like to talk with the crews as much as he would like to cremate the captains,

but sadly admitted he did not seem to have the ability to get close to people.

"They don't understand," he was saying softly one morning. "I merely wish to be

accepted as an equal member of the proletariat. They will not even stop to

listen. Of course, most of them do not have the necessary grasp and overview of

their society's socioeconomic problems. They rant and rave and are generally so

abusive that they give me heartburn."

"I remember what you said about your fellow dragons' independent natures. Can't

you organize them at all?"

Falameezar let out a disgusted snort, sending orange fire across the water's

surface. "They will not even stop to listen. They do not understand that to be

truly happy and successful it is necessary for all to work together, each

helping his comrade as we march onward toward the glorious, classless, socialist

future."

"I didn't know dragons had classes."

"It embarrasses me to admit it, but there are those among us who hold themselves

better than their fellows." He shook his great head dolefully. "It is a sad,

confused world we live in, comrade. Sad and exploitative."

"Too true," agreed Jon-Tom readily.

The dragon brightened. "But that makes the challenge all the greater, does it

not?"

"Absolutely, and this challenge we go to confront now is the most dangerous one

ever to face the world."

"I suppose." Falameezar looked thoughtful. "But one thing puzzles me. Surely

among all these invaders-to-come there must be some workers? They cannot all be

bosses."

Oh, lord, now how, Jon-Tom? "That's the case, I suppose," he replied as quickly

as he could, "but they're all irrevocably imbued with the desire to be bigger

bosses than those they now serve." Falameezar still seemed unsure.

Inspiration served. "And they also believe implicitly that if they can conquer

the rest of the world, the warmlands and the rest, then they will become

capitalist bosses over the workers here, and their old bosses will remain master

over them. So they will give rise, if successful, to the most implacable class

of capitalists the world has ever known, a class of bosses' bosses."

Falameezar's voice echoed like an avalanche across the water. "This must be

stopped!"

"I agree." Jon-Tom's attention for the past hour had been more and more on the

shoreline. Hills had risen in place of low beaches. On the left bank they merged

into sheer rock walls almost a hundred feet high, far too high for even the

powerful Falameezar to negotiate. The dragon was swerving gradually toward his

right.

"Rapids ahead," he explained. "I have never traveled beyond this point. I

dislike walking and would much rather swim, as befits a river dragon. But for

the cause," he said bravely, "I will of course dare anything, so I will walk the

rapids."

"Of course," Jon-Tom murmured.

It was growing dark. "We can camp the first place you can easily climb ashore,

comrade Falameezar." He looked back in distaste. Mudge and Caz were playing at

dice on a flat section of the dragon's back. "For a change maybe our 'hunters'

can find us something to eat besides fish. After all," he murmured with a wicked

grin, "everyone must contribute to the welfare of the whole."

"How very true," said the dragon, adding politely, "not that I mind catching you

fish."

"It's not that." Jon-Tom was enjoying the thought of the two somnolent gamblers

slogging through the muck to find enough meat to feed the voracious dragon.

"It's time some of us did some real work for you. You've sure as hell done

enough for us."

"Well put, comrade," said the dragon. "We must bow to social decorum. I would

enjoy a change from fish."

The hilly shore bordered a land of smaller trees, narrower of bole and widely

scattered amid thick brush. Despite his insistence that he preferred water to

land, the dragon had no trouble smashing his way through the foliage bulwarking

the water's edge.

A small clearing close to the river was soon located. They settled into camp to

the accompaniment of rising moonlight. Ahead was the steady but soothing roar of

the rapids Falameezar would have to negotiate the next day.

Jon-Tom dumped a load of wood by the fire, brushed bark and dirt from his hands,

and asked Caz, "What do ships traveling past this point do about the rapids?"

"Most are constructed and designed so as to make their way safely through them

when traveling down to the Glittergeist," the rabbit explained. "When traveling

upstream it is necessary to portage around. There are places where it can be

done. Logs have been laid across ancient, well-known paths. The ships are then

dragged across this crude cellulose lubrication until quieter water is reached."

He nodded curiously toward the dragon. Falameezar lay contentedly on the far

side of the clearing, his tail curled across his jaws.

"How did you ever manage to talk the monster into conveying us atop his belly

instead of inside it? I understood nothing of his riddle or your reply, nor of

the lengthy talk you have engaged in subsequently."

"Never mind," said Jon-Tom, stirring the fire with a twig. "I'll take care of

the dialectic. You just try to say as little as possible to him."

"No fear of that, my friend. He is not my idea of a scintillating

conversationalist. Nor do I have any desire to become someone's supper through

misapplication of a word or two." He patted Jon-Tom on the back and grinned.

Despite the rabbit's somewhat aloof bearing, Jon-Tom couldn't help liking him.

Caz was inherently likable and had already proven himself a willing and

good-natured companion. Hadn't he volunteered to come on what was likely to be a

dangerous journey? To be quite fair, he was the only true volunteer among them.

Or was there some other motive behind the rabbit's participation that so far

he'd kept well hidden? The thought gave Jon-Tom an unexpected start. He eyed the

retreating ears. Maybe Caz had reasons of his own for wanting to travel

upstream, reasons that had nothing to do with their mission. He might desert

them at the first convenient opportunity.

Now you're thinking like Clothahump, he told himself angrily. There's enough for

you to worry about without trying to analyze your companion's thoughts.

Speaking of companions, where the devil had Mudge got himself to? Caz had

returned a few moments ago with a fat, newtlike creature. It drew deprecatory

comments from Talea, the designated chef for the evening, so they'd given it to

the delighted Falameezar.

But Mudge had been gone a long time now without returning. Jon-Tom didn't think

the mercurial otter would try to split on them in so isolated a place when he'd

already passed up excellent opportunities to do so in far more familiar

surroundings.

He walked around the fire, which was now crackling insistently for fuel, and

voiced his concern to Clothahump. As usual, the wizard sat by himself. His face