neetha Napew - Spellsinger

"Port armth!" the beaver barked. Instantly a cluster of spears and clubs was

pointed at the travelers. The officer said sourly, "I've had jutht about enough

of thith foolithneth. I don't know who you are, where you come from, or what

kind of game you're trying to play with me, but we don't take kindly to vagranth

here. Ith dragged off to the thellth you're to be, and methily, too, unleth you

come up with thorn cash."

There was stone wall to his right and sharp steel ahead and behind, but nothing

blocked Jon-Tom's path as he'd worked his way to the water's edge. He cupped his

hands and yelled desperately, "Falameezarrrr!"

"What, thereth more of you then?" The beaver's whiskers twitched as he turned to

face the stagnant water. "Where ith thith one? Hiding on a boat? Ith going to

cotht you another hundredth silver piethes. I'm growing tired of thith. You'll

pay me right now or elth..." and he twirled the mace menacingly.

A great tired creaking drowned out the last words of the threat as two ships

were bodily shouldered aside. Dock planking gave under irresistible pressure

from below. A huge black head emerged from beneath, trailing water and shattered

boards. Great claws dug into broken stone, and coal-eyes glared down at the

group.

The beaver stared open-mouthed up at the wet, shiny teeth clashing just above

him. "D-d-d-d-!" He never did get the whole word out, but managed to outwaddle

half his subordinates in the race for the main gate.

Sailors hastily abandoned their ships in the mad rush for the gate. Vendors and

merchants abandoned their stocks and wharfside businesses in favor of drier

territory. There was panic on the city wall as rudely awakened troops ran into

one another in their rush to take up defensive positions.

The now solitary band of travelers put up their own weapons.

"A timely appearance, comrade," said Jon-Tom. "I'd hoped you might still be

nearby, but I had no idea it would be quite this near."

Falameezar gazed at the terrified faces peeking over the top of the wall. "What

is wrong with them?" He was more curious than angry. "I heard your call and came

as promised, but I thought they surely would treat you as fellow

comrades-in-arms in the great struggle to come."

"Yes, but you recall what I told you about the presence of

counterrevolutionaries?" Jon-Tom said darkly.

"Oho, so that's it!" Falameezar let out a furious hiss and a trio of small shops

burst into flame.

"Careful. We just want to get inside, not burn the city down."

A massive tail lashed at the water and instantly put out the small fires, though

he did the innocent shops no more good than had the flames.

"Keep your anger in check, Falameezar," Jon-Tom advised. "I'm sure we'll have

this all straightened out as soon as we can get to talk with the city's

commissars."

"I should certainly think so!" said the dragon huffily. "The idea of letting

counterrevolutionaries interdict innocent travelers."

"It's hard to tell the true revolutionaries from their secretive enemies."

"I suppose that's so," the dragon admitted.

"There might be even worse yet to come," Jon-Tom informed him as they all

sashayed across the stones toward the now tightly barred wooden gate.

"Like what, comrade?"

Jon-Tom whispered, "Revisionists."

Falameezar shook his head and muttered tiredly, "Is there no decency left in the

world?"

"Just keep your temper under control," Jon-Tom told him. "We don't want to

accidentally incinerate any honest proletarians."

"I will be careful," the dragon assured him, "but inside I am trembling with

outrage. Yet even a filthy revisionist can be reedueated."

"Yes, it's clear that the formation of instructional cadres should be a priority

here," Jon-Tom agreed.

The city of Polastrindu had suddenly taken on the aspect of a ghost town. At the

dragon's continued approach all interested faces had vanished from the wall.

Only an occasional spear showed itself, and that was the only sign of movement.

Jon-Tom could feel the eyes of hidden sailors and stevedores on his back, but

there was nothing to worry about from that quarter. In fact, so long as

Falameezar remained with them there was little to fear from anywhere.

He glanced at Caz. The rabbit smiled and nodded back at him. Being the one in

control of the dragon, it behooved Jon-Tom to do the talking. So he marched up

to the gate and rapped arrogantly on the wood.

"Captain of the Gate, show yourself!" When there was neither a reply nor hint of

movement from within, he added, "Show yourself or we'll burn down your gate and

make you Captain of Ashes!"

There were sounds of argument from within. Then a slight groaning of wood as the

massive portal opened just wide enough to permit the egress of a familiar

figure. The gate shut quickly closed behind him.

"That's better." Jon-Tom eyed the beaver, who looked considerably less

belligerent now. "We were discussing something about 'identity chits'?"

"They're being prepared right now," the officer told him, his gaze continually

darting up at the glowering crimson-eyed face of the dragon.

"That's nice. There was also the matter of a large number of silver pieces?"

"No, no, no. Don't be ridiculouth. And abthurd mithunderthanding!"

A moment later a grateful expression came over his face as the gate opened

again. He disappeared inside and came back with a handful of tiny metal

rectangles. Each was stamped with tiny symbols and a few words.

"Here we are." He passed them out quickly. "You are to have your own nameth

engraved here." He indicated a wide blank place on each chit. "At your leithure,

of courth," he added obsequiously.

"But there are only seven chits here." The beaver looked confused. "Remember, by

your own recognition there are now eight in our party."

"I don't underthand," said the nervous officer. He nodded slightly in

Falameezar's direction. "Thurely that ith not coming into the thity?"

"A bourgeois statement if ever I heard one!" The dragon leaned close enough for

the smell of brimstone and sulfur to overpower the odor of spilling sewage. That

he could swallow the officer in one snap was a fact not lost on that worthy.

"No, no... a mithunderthanding, thath all. I... I'm truly thorry, thir dragon. I

didn't realize you were a part of thith party... not jutht... if you'll excuth

me, pleath!" He back-pedaled through the opening faster than Jon-Tom would have

believed those bandy legs could carry him.

Several minutes went by this time before he reappeared. "The latht chit," he

said, panting as he preferred the freshly stamped metal plate.

"I'll take charge of it." Jon-Tom slipped it into a shirt pocket. "And now if

you'd be so kind as to open the gate?"

"Open up in there!" yelled the officer. The newcomers strolled through.

Falameezar had to duck his head and barely succeeded in squeezing through the

opening.

They found themselves in a deserted courtyard. Hundreds of anxious eyes observed

them from behind dozens of barely opened windows.

Huge stone structures marched off in all directions. As in Lynchbany, they gave

the impression of dozens of smaller buildings that had grown together, only here

the scale was larger. The city had the appearance of a gray sand castle. Some of

the structures were six and seven stories tall. Ragged apartment buildings

displayed odd windows and individual balconies.

The streets they could see were much wider than in provincial Lynchbany, though