enormous, snowshoed feet.
"Walking's beginning to get to me. No fit occupation for a
riverman."
"If it's any consolation I'd rather be on a boat myself just
now," said Jon-Tom.
Then Mudge was gesturing excitedly upward. "Ease off it,
mates! 'Ere 'e comes!"
"And damned if he hasn't got company." Talea unsheathed
her sword, stood ready and waiting for whatever might drop
out of the sky.
Pog drifted down toward them, a black crepe-paper cutout
against the bright sky. He was paced by a similar silhouette
several times more massive, with a distinctly animate lump
attached to its back.
Dozens of other fliers poured from the perforated cloud-
cliff like water from a sieve. They did not descend but instead
blended together to create a massive, threatening spiral above
the plateau.
Talea reluctantly placed her sword back in its holder.
"Doesn't look like they've hurt Pog. We might as well
assume they're friendly, considering how badly we're
outnumbered."
"Characteristic understatement, flame-fur." Caz's monocle
waltzed with the sun as he craned his neck to inspect the
soaring whirlpool overhead. "I make out at least two hundred
of them. Size varies, but the shape is roughly the same. I
think they're all owls. I've never heard of such a concentrated
community of them as this, not even in Polastrindu, which
has a respectable population of noctural arboreals."
"It is odd," Clothahump agreed. "They are antisocial and
zealously guard their privacy, which fits with what the Weav-
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Alan Dean Foster
ers told us about the psychology of Ironcloud's inhabitants.
Yet they appear to have established a community here."
Pog touched down on the high boulder he'd so recently
tried to hide behind. The flier shadowing him braked ten-foot
wings. The force of the backed air nearly knocked Flor oft
her feet.
The creature took a couple of dainty steps, ruffled its
feathers, and stood staring at them. The high tufts atop She
head identified this particular individual as a Great Homed
Owl. Jon-Tom found himself more impressed with those great
eyes, like pools of speculative sulfur, than by the creature's
size.
The lump attached to its back, which even Caz had not
been able to identify, now detached itself from the light,
high-backed saddle it had been straddling. It slid decorative
earmuffs down to its neck, unsnapped its poncho, and leaned
against its companion's left wing.
Now the spiral high above started to break up. Most of she
fliers returned to their respective caves in the hematite. A few
assumed watchful positions.
Jon-Tom eyed the lemur standing close to the owl. It was
no longer a mystery who made use of the thin, knotted vines
fringing the cave mouths. With their diminutive bodies and
powerful prehensile fingers and toes, the lemurs could travel
up and down the cables as easily as Jon-Tom could circle an
oval track.
Pog glided down from the crest of his boulder and sauntered
over to rejoin his friends. "Dis guy's called Tolafay." He
gestured with a wingtip at the glowering owl. "His skymate's
named Malu."
The lemur stepped forward. He was barely three feet tall.
"Your friend explained much to us."
"Yes. Quite a story it was, tooooo." The owl smoothed the
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THE HOUK OF THE GATE
folds of its white, green, and black kilt. "I'm not sure how
much of it I believe," he added gruffly.
"We have managed to convince half a world," replied
Clothahump impatiently. "Time grows short. Civilization
teeters on the edge of the abyss. Surely I need not repeat our
whole tale again?"
"I don't think you have to," said Malu. He indicated the
watchful Ananthos. "The mere fact that a Weaver, citizen of
a notoriously xenophobic state, is traveling as ally with you is
proof enough that something truly extraordinary is going on."
"look who is calling another 'xenophobic,'" whispered
Ananthos surlily.
"It had better be extraordinary," the owl grumbled. He
used a flexible wing tip to wipe one saucer-sized eye. "You've
awakened all of Ironcloud from its daily rest. The populace
will require a reasonable explanation." He blinked, shielding
his face as the sun emerged from behind a stray cloud.
"How you can live with that horrid light burning your eyes
is something I'll never understand."
"Oh very well," said Clothahump with a sigh. "You will
convey details of our situation to your leader or mayor or—"
"We have no single leader," said the owl, mildly outraged.
"We have neither council nor congress. We coexist in peace,
without the burdens imposed by noisome government."
"Then how do you make communal decisions?" Jon-Tom
asked curiously.
The owl eyed him as though he represented a lower
species. "We respect one another."
"There will be a feasting tonight," said Malu, trying to
lighten the atmosphere. "We can discuss your request then."
"That's not necessary," said Flor.
"But it is," the lemur argued. "You see, we can welcome
you either as enemies or as guests. There will be a feasting
either way."
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Alan Dean Foster
"I believe I follow your meaning." Caz spoke drily, eyeing
Tolafay's razor-sharp beak, which was quite capable of snap-
ping him in half. "I sincerely hope, then, that we can look
forward to being greeted as guests...."
They gathered that evening in a chamber far larger than
any of the others. Jon-Tom wondered at the force, technolog-
ical or natural, which could have hollowed such a space in the
almost solid iron.
It was dimly lit by lamp but more brightly than usual in
deference to the Ironclouders' vision-poor visitors. Trophy
feathers and lizard skins decorated the curving walls. Nearly
a hundred of the great owls of all species and sizes reveled in
music and dance along with their lemur companions.
Their guests observed the spectacle of feathers and fur with
pleasure. It was comfortably warm in the cave, the first time
since departing Gossameringue any of them had been really
warm.
The music was strange, though not as strange as its
sources. Nearby a great white barn owl stood in pink-green
kilt playing a cross between a tuba and a flute. It held the
instrument firmly with flexible wing tips and one clawed foot,
balancing neatly on the other while pecking out the melody
with a precision no mere pair of lips could match.
Owls and lemurs spilled out on the great circular iron floor,
dancing and spinning while their companions at the huge
curved tables ate and drank their fill. It was wonderful to
watch those great wings spinning and flaying at the air as the
owls executed jigs and reels with their comparatively tiny but
incredibly agile primate companions. Claws and tiny padded
feet slipped and hopped in and around each other without
missing a beat.
The night was half dead when Jon-Tom leaned over to ask
Ror, "Where's Clothahump?"
"I don't know." She stopped sipping from the narrow-
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THE HOUR OF THE GATE
mouthed drinking utensil she'd been given. "Isn't he magnif-
icent?" Her eyes were glowing almost as brightly as those of
an acrobat performing incredible leaps before their table, his
long middle fingers tracing patterns in the air. A beautiful
female sifaka joined him, and the dance-gymnastics contin-
ued without a pause.
Jon-Tom put the question to the furry white host on his
other side.