neetha Napew - Spellsinger

standoff here, friend spellsinger. I must confess I am now more interested in

punishing my men than in your pitiful petty thief of a friend.

"If you will get him out of here and promise not to let him return, and will do

so without disturbing any municipal construction, I won't report this incident

to the Magistrates, or cut your friend's throat. Well though he deserves it!"

"I'd appreciate that, and I agree," said Jon-Tom.

"So do I, guv'nor." Mudge smiled toothily up at the gopher.

Abelmar hesitated, then used the curved blade on the otter's ropes before

slipping it through a catch in his lederhosen straps. Mudge scrambled across the

floor until he was standing next to Jon-Tom. He stretched luxuriously, working

the kinks out of his muscles and joints.

"Now mate, quick now, while there still be time!" He bent and hefted one of the

loose golden bricks. "Cover me with the knife while I slip a few o' those into

me quiver an' pants." He hurried to recover his own weapons. "You're bigger than

'im, and you've got the light."

When the otter had finished gathering up his possessions, Jon-Tom said tiredly,

"All right, Mudge. Put down the gold and let's go."

The otter stared at him, both arms now full of gleaming paving-stones. "You gone

daft, mate? I'm 'oldin' a bloody fortune right now. We've got us a chance t'-"

"Put it down, Mudge!" The knife moved threateningly, not at the gopher now. "Or

I swear I'll leave you the way I found you."

"Cor," muttered the otter. Reluctantly he opened his arms.

There was a heavy clattering as the gold bricks dented the pavement. Abelmar was

nodding and looking satisfied. The cries of the approaching patrol were

intelligible now. He peered down the tunnel and thought he could see dim, snouty

shapes approaching. They wore gold earrings, clothing similar to Abelmar's, and

very dark sunglasses. Their newly acquired weapons shone in the faint

torchlight. Jon-Tom idly noted that the gopher's sickle-knife was made of gold.

"You're a man of your word," said the gopher, "which is rare among sunlifers. Go

in peace." He glared at Mudge. "If I ever run across your flea-flecked body

again, sir, I'll see you skinned and thrown to the carrion herds."

Mudge made quick use of the middle digit of his right hand. "Up yours, shit

face!" He turned to Jon-Tom. "Right, then. It's done. You've kept your part o'

the bloody bargain, but you've no guarantee 'is men will keep theirs."

"Let's get going, then." They started back up the tunnel.

"No need to worry," Abelmar shouted to them, "my men will be busily engaged." He

turned to face down the tunnel.

"So, you cowards have come back, have you?"

Angry mutterings sounded from the ranks of armed moles. A few gophers were

scattered among them.

"They're getting away, sir!" shouted one of the moles, pointing up the tunnel.

"When I'm finished with you lot you'll wish you'd gone with them!" roared

Abelmar, letting loose a string of curses that reverberated around the tunnel.

Their echoes followed Jon-Tom and Mudge out.

"Keep going, Mudge." Jon-Tom gave the otter a gentle but insistent shove.

" 'Ere now, mate, let's not panic, shall we? That officer's stopped t' give 'is

troop a thorough bastin'. There's still plenty o' pavin' 'ere-abouts." He

stomped on the bricks with one boot. "It wouldn't 'urt no one if we took a few

minims 'ere and did a nice little bit o' work. There be no way that buck-toothed

flat-faced cop would know we were the ones responsible. Perhaps if I just--"

"Perhaps if I just stick this torch up your ass," Jon-Tom told him firmly.

"All right, all right. It were only a thought, lad."

The moon was bright when they emerged again into the forest. There were no

indications of pursuit, though he had a feeling of movement from behind them. It

was a distant rumbling, the sounds carried through the earth that indicated the

burrow city of Pfeiffunmunter was coming awake for another busy night.

"Just be thankful I got there when I did," he told the otter, "He might've cut

your throat without waiting to present you to the Magistrates."

"Poppycock," snorted Mudge. "I could've made me way loose eventual-like." He

straightened his vest and tugged his cap tight on his head. "All that beautiful

gold!" He shook his head regretfully. "More gold than even wizards can make! An'

those bloody dirt-eaters defile it by usin' it just t' walk upon."

"That's better than the other way around."

"Huh?" Mudge eyed him perplexedly. "Are you wizard riddlin' me, mate?"

"Not at all." They turned off into the woods.

The otter looked bemused. "You be either the sharpest spellsinger that ever came

up the river, mate, or else the biggest fat'ead."

Jon-Tom smiled faintly. "Hardly much thanks for the one who saved your life." He

pushed at the clinging brush.

"Better to die tryin' for wealth than to live on in poverty," the otter

grumbled.

"Okay. Go on back to the entrance, then. I won't try to stop you. See if you can

help yourself to some pavement. I'm sure Abelmar and his troops will be happy to

welcome you. Or do you think him fool enough to trust us to the point of leaving

the gateway unguarded?"

"On the other 'and," Mudge said, without breaking stride, " 'tis a wise chap who

bides 'is time and rates 'is chances. I told you once I ain't no gambler, not

like old Caz. But if you'd come back an' give me a 'and, lad...."

"No way." He shook his head. "I gave my word."

The otter looked crushed, shoved aside a branch, and cursed his foul luck as he

stumbled over a projecting root.

"If you expect to make anythin' o' yourself 'ere, mate, you're goin' to 'ave to

discard these otherworldly ethical notions."

"That sounds funny coming from you, Mudge. If you'll think a moment, you'll

remember that you're embarked on an ethical sort of journey."

"Under duress," Mudge insisted.

Jon-Tom looked back and smiled at him. "You know, I think you use that as an

excuse to keep from having to admit your real feelings." The otter grumbled

softly.

"We'll tell them you had an unsuccessful hunt, which is hardly a lie. That'll do

you better than telling them what a greedy, self-centered little prick you

really are."

"Now that 'urts me to me 'eart, lad," Mudge said in mock pain.

"It would have hurt you a lot more if you'd returned with your arms full of gold

and Falameezar saw you. Or hadn't you stopped to consider that? Considering the

strength of his feelings where personal accumulation of wealth is concerned, I

don't think even I could have argued him out of making otter chips out of you."

Mudge appeared genuinely startled. "You know wot, mate? I truly 'adn't given the

great beastie a thought. 'E is a mite quick-tempered, even for a dragon."

"Not quick-tempered at all," Jon-Tom argued. "He simply believes in his own

ethical notions...."

The beginnings of real distress were stirring through the camp when they finally

walked into the glow of the camp fire. Falameezar was vowing he'd burn down the

entire forest to find Jon-Tom, while Pog had volunteered to lead a night search

party.

It was difficult for Jon-Tom to restrain himself from telling them the truth as

he watched Talea and Flor fawn over the otter.

"Are you all right?" asked Flor, running concerned fingers through the fur of

his forehead.

"What happened out there?" Talea was exhibiting more coneern than she had for

anyone since the journey'd begun.