I'm cooler than I was a few moments ago without it."
"Part of the spell, my boy," said the wizard with pride.
"Attention to detail makes all the difference."
"Speakin' o' attention t' detail, Your Mastemess," Mudge
said, " 'ow do I go about takin' a leak?"
"There are detachable sections of chitin in the appropriate
places, otter. You must take care to conceal bodily functions
of any kind from those we will be among. I could not
imagine Plated Folk jaws through which we might eat, for
example. Hopefully we can finish our business in Cugluch
and be out of it and these suits before very long."
"You remembered the formula well," Jon-Tom told the
wizard.
"Well enough, my boy." They left their packs and started
down the slope into the steaming lowlands. "One key phrase
eluded me for a time.
"Multioptics, eyes of glass,
sextupal reach in fiberglass,
210
THE HOUR OF THE GATS
hot outside but cool within,
suit of polymers I'll spin."
He proceeded to detail the formula that had provided such
perfectly fitted disguises.
"So these are foolproof, then?" Talea asked hopefully
from just ahead of them. It was difficult to think of the
black-and-brown-spotted creature as the beautiful, feisty Talea,
Jon-Tom mused.
"My dear, no disguise is foolproof," Clothahump replied
somberly.
"Dat's for damn sure." Pog fluttered awkwardly overhead
on false beetle wings.
"We are entering the Greendowns from me northern ranges,"
the wizard reminded them. "The Plated Folk cannot imagine
someone intentionally entering their lands. The only section
of their territories which might be even lightly watched is that
near the Pass. We should be able to mingle freely with
whoever we chance to encounter."
"That'll be the true test of these suits, won't it?" said Caz.
"Not whether we look believable to each other, but whether
we can fool them."
"The formula was as all-encompassing as I could fashion
it," said Clothahump confidently. "In any case, we shall
know in a moment."
They turned a bend in the animal path they'd been follow-
ing and came face to face with a dozen workers of that
benighted land. The Plated Folk were cutting hardwood and
loading the logs on a lizard-drawn sled. Unable to retreat, the
travelers marched doggedly ahead.
They were nearly past when one of the cutters, a foreman
perhaps, walked over on short spindly legs and gestured with
two of his four limbs. Jon-Tom marked the gesture for future
use.
"Hail, citizens! Whence come you, and wither go?"
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Alan Dean Foster
There was an uncomfortably long silence until Caz thought
to say, "We've been out on patrol."
"Patrol... in the mountains?" The foreman looked askance
at the snows beyond the forest's edge. He made a clicking
sound that might have passed for laughter. "What were you
patrolling for? Nothing comes from the north."
"We do not," said Caz, thinking furiously, "have to
provide such information to hewers of wood. However, there
is no harm in your knowing." His disguise gave his voice a
raspy tone.
"In her wisdom the Empress has decreed that every possi-
ble approach be inspected at least once in a while. Surely you
do not question her wisdom?" Caz put his hand on his
scimitar, and two limbs gripped the strange weapon.
"No, no!" said the insect foreman hastily, "of course not.
Now, of all times, the greatest secrecy must be preserved."
He still sounded doubtful. "Even so, nothing has come out of
these mountains in years and years."
"Of course not," said Caz haughtily. "Does that not prove
the effectiveness of these secret patrols?"
"That is sensible, citizen," agreed the foreman, his confu-
sion overcome thanks to Caz's inexorable logic.
The others had continued past while the rabbit had been
conversing with the foreman. That worthy snapped to atten-
tion and offered an interesting salute with both arms on his
left side. Caz mimicked it in return, his false middle arm
functioning smoothly in tandem with the real one.
"The Empress!" said the foreman with praiseworthy
enthusiasm.
"The Empress," Caz replied. "Now then, be on about
your business, citizen. The Empire needs that wood." The
foreman executed a sign of acknowledgment and returned to
his work. Caz tried not to move too hastily down the slope
after his companions.
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THE HOUR Of THE GATS
The foreman returned to his cutters. One of the laborers
glanced up and asked curiously, "What was that all about,
citizen foreman?"
"Nothing. A patrol."
"A patrol, up here?"
"I know it is odd to find one in the mountains."
"More than odd, I should think." His antennae pointed
downhill toward the retreating travelers. "That is a peculiar
grouping for a patrol of any kind."
"I thought so also." The foreman's tone stiffened. "But it
is not our place to question the directives of the High
Command."
"Of course not, citizen foreman." The laborer returned
quickly to his work.
Wooded hillsides soon gave way to extensive cultivated
fields cleared from bog and jungle. Most were planted with a
tall, flexible growth about an inch in diameter that looked like
jaundiced sugar cane. Swampy plantings alternated with herds
of small six-legged reptiles who foraged noisily through the
soft vegetation.
They also encountered troops on maneuver, always marching
in perfect time and stride. Once they were forced off the
raised roadway by a column twelve abreast. It took an hour to
pass, trudging from east to west.
They passed unchallenged among dozens of Plated Folk.
No one questioned their disguises. But Clothahump grew
uneasy at their progress.
"Too slow," he muttered. "Surely there is a better way
than this, and one that will have the ex$a advantage of
concealing us from close inspection."
"What've you got in mind, guv'nor?" Mudge wanted to
know.
"A substitute for feet. Excuse me, citizen." The wizard
stepped out into the road.
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Alan Dean Foster
The wagon bearing down on him pulled to a halt. It was
filled with transparent barrels of some aromatic green liquid.
The driver, a rather bucolic beetle of medium height, leaned
over the side impatiently as Clothahump approached.
"Trouble, citizen? Be quick now, I've a schedule to keep."
"Are you by chance heading for the capital?"
"I am, and I've no time for riders. Sorry." He lifted his
reins preparatory to chucking the wagon team into motion
again.
"It is not that we wish a ride, citizen," said Clothahump,
staring hard at the driver, "but only that we wish a ride."
"Oh. I misunderstood. Naturally. Make space for your-
selves in the back, please."
As they climbed into the wagon, Jon-Tom passed close by
the driver. He was sitting stiffly in his seat, eyes staring
straight ahead yet seeing very little. Seeing only what
Clothahump wanted them to see, in fact.
Under the wizard's urging, the rustic whipped the team
forward. The mesmerization had taken only a moment, and
no one else had observed it.
"Damnsight better than walking." Talea reached awkwardly
down to draw one foot toward her, wishing she could massage
the aching sole but not daring to remove even that small
section of the disguise.
"Sure is," agreed Jon-Tom. He balanced himself in the
swaying, rocking wagon as he made his way forward.
Clothahump sat next to the driver. The insect ignored his