tion and began swimming sideways than to speed the swimmers
in their descent.
Even so, Jon-Tom was beginning to grow a mite con-
cerned. Increasing pressure told him that they'd descended a
respectable distance. Both he and Flor were in fairly good
condition, but he was less sure of Pog and Caz. If they didn't
reach the air pocket they had to be heading toward shortly,
he'd have to turn around and swim for the surface.
The surface he broke was unexpected, however. He felt
himself falling helplessly, head over heels, windmilling his
arms in a desperate attempt to regain his balance.
A loud splash echoed up to him as someone else hit the
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THE HOUR OF THE GATE
water. Then he landed with equal force, sank a few feet, and
fought his way back to the surface and fresh air.
He broke through and inhaled several deep breaths. Nearby
Talea's red curls hung straight and limp as paint from her
head. She blinked away water, gasped, and sniffed once.
"Well, that wasn't bad at all. I'd heard it wasn't, but you
can't always trust the tales people tell."
Her breasts bobbed easily in the current. Jon-Tom stared at
her, more conscious now of her nudity than he'd been when
they'd first removed then- clothes up above.
But they were above. Weren't they?
Something shoved him firmly between the shoulders.
"Let the current carry you."
Jon-Tom turned in the water, stared into the vast eyes of
Bribbens. Looking past him he saw the ship. It was neatly
anchored and sat stable in the middle of the stream, perhaps
ten yards away. They were drifting toward it.
Following the boatman's advice he relaxed, his body grate-
ful for the respite after the dive, and let the current push him
toward the boat. Mudge was already aboard, restocking
supplies. He leaned over the side and gave Jon-Tom a hand
up, then did the same for Talea.
There was a large, flopping thing on deck that Jon-Tom
first thought to be an unfortunate fish. It flipped over, and he
recognized the still bound and outraged body of Pog. He
accepted Mudge's preferred towel, dried himself, and began
to untie the famulus' bonds.
"You okay, Pog?"
"No, I'm not okay, dammit! I'm cold, drenched, and sore
all over from that fall."
"But you made it through all right." Jon-Tom loosened
another slipknot and one wing stretched across the deck. It
jerked, sent water flying.
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Alan Dean Foster
"Not much I can do about it now, I guess," he said
angrily.
With the other wing unbound the bat got to his knees, then
his feet. He stood there fanning both wings slowly back and
forth to dry them.
Mudge joined them. His fur shed the water easily and,
almost dry, he was slipping back into his clothes.
"Wbt's up, mate?" he asked the bat. "Don't you 'ave no
word for your old buddy?"
The large sack of clothing lay opened nearby. Jon-Tom
moved to sort his own attire from the wad.
"Yeah, I got something to say ta my old buddy. You can go
fuck yourself!" The bat flapped hard, lifted experimentally
off the deck, and rose to grip the right spreader. He hung head
down from there, his wings still extended and drying.
"Now don't be like that, mate," said the otter, fitting his
cap neatly over his ears and fluffing out the feather. "It was
necessary. You were 'ardly about t' come voluntarily, you
know."
Pog said nothing further. The otter shrugged and left the
disgruntled apprentice to his huff.
Jon-Tom buttoned his pants. While the others continued
dressing around him, he took a moment to inspect their
extraordinary new surroundings.
There was a dull roaring as if from a distant freight train. It
sounded constantly in the ears and was a subtle vibration in
his own body. His first thought was that they were in a dimly
lit tunnel. In a way they were.
The ship rode easily at anchor. On either side were high,
moist banks lush with mosses and fungi^ That they were not
normal riverbanks was proven by the peculiar habits of the
higher growths clinging to them. These fems and creepers put
out roots both upward and down, into both running rivers.
Above was a silver-gray sky: the underside of the upper
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THE HOUR OF THE GATE
river. Jon-Tom estimated the distance between the two streams
at perhaps ten meters. The mast of the boat cleared the watery
ceiling easily.
How the two rivers flowed without meeting, without smashing
together and eliminating the air space between them, was an
interesting bit of physics. More likely of magic, he re-
minded himself.
"Easy part's over with." Bribbens moved to wind in the
bow anchor, using the small winch bolted there.
"The easy part?" Jon-Tom didn't hear the boatman too
clearly. Water still sloshed in his ears.
"Yes. This much of the Sloomaz-ayor-le-WeentIi is known.
Little traveled in its lower portion, but still known." He
pointed with a webbed hand over the bow. Ahead of them the
river(s) disappeared into darkness.
- "What's ahead is not."
Jon-Tom walked forward and gave the boatman a hand
with the winch. "Thanks," Bribbens said when they were
finished.
A strong breeze blew in Jon-Tom's face. It came from the
blackness forward and chilled his face even as it dried his
long hair. He shivered a little. The wind came from inside the
mountain. That hinted at considerable emptiness beyond.
Here there was no mass of water-soaked debris to prevent
their continued traveling. The mouthlike opening could easily
swallow the logs and branches bunched against the mountain-
side above. The cliff did not descend this far.
When they had the second anchor up and secured and the
boat was drifting downstream once more, Bribbens moved to
a watertight locker set in the deck. It offered up oil lamps and
torches. These were set in hook or hole and lit.
The wind blew the flames backward but not out. Oil light
flickered comfortingly inside conical glass lamps.
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Alan Dean Foster
"Why didn't you explain it to us?" Flor brushed at her
long black mane while she chatted with the boatman.
Bribbens gestured at the squat shape of Clothahump, who
rested against the railing nearby. "He suggested back at my
cove that it'd be a good idea not to say anything to you."
Jon-Tom and Flor looked questioningly at Clothahump.
"That is so, youngsters." He pointed toward the flowing
silver roof. "From there to here's something of a fall. I
wasn't positive of the distance or of what your mental
reactions to such a peculiar dive might be. I thought it best
not to go into detail. I did not wish to frighten you."
"We wouldn't have been frightened," said Flor firmly.
"That may be so," agreed the wizard, "but there was no
need to take the chance. As you can see we are all here safe
and sound and once more on our way."
A muttered obscenity fell from the form on the right
spreader.
They were interrupted by a loud multiple splashing to
starboard. As they watched, several fish the size of large bass
leaped skyward. Their fins and tails were unusually broad and
powerful.
Two of the leapers fell back, but the third intersected the
flowing sky, got his upper fins into the water, and wiggled its
way out of sight overhead. Several minutes passed, and then
it rained minnows. A huge school of tiny fish came shooting
out of the upper river to disappear in the lower. The two
unsuccessful leapers were waiting for them. They were soon