"I 'ave no interest whatsoever in wizardry debates and
functions, for all that I seem to be gettin' repeatedly
screwed by 'em.
"Now, if it's the spellsinger 'ere you're come after, take
'im and let me go. I'm only a poor traveler tryin' 'is best
to make it down the windy road o' life, and I've 'ad a 'ard
enough time makin* ends meet as it is without gettin'
caught up again in the world's troubles."
"It may be true," said the coati, eyeing him unflatteringly.
"But I have my orders. They say I am to bring back the
spellsinger known as Jon-Tom and any who travel with
him. You will have the chance to plead your case before
the master. Perhaps he will let you go."
"And if *e don't?"
The coati shrugged. "That's not my affair."
"Easy for you to say," Mudge grumbled.
Spears prodded Jon-Tom and Mudge into the back of the
wagon, where they sat with their hands tied behind their
backs. A couple of the coati's henchmen took over the
reins. The little procession swung back northward, slightly
west of Timswitty but also in the opposite direction from
Lynchbany and the River Tailaroam.
"This Zancresta 'as a bad reputation, mate," Mudge
whispered to his companion. "Mind now, I'm not denyin'
'is abilities. From wot I've 'eard 'e ain't bad at sorcerin',
but 'e's unscrupulous as 'ell. Cheats on 'is spells and
short-changes 'is incantations, but 'e's too powerful for
anyone to go up against. I've 'ad no dealin's with 'im
40
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
41
tneself, and I stay clear o' folk from Malderpot. As I said,
they ain't much for partyinV
"From what you tell me about their chief wizard, I can
see why they aren't."
"Right." Mudge nodded past the drivers. "Now, 'tis
clear this 'ere ringtail knows nothin' o' wot 'is master
wants with us. That may be somethin' we can turn to our
advantage. So somehow we 'ave to get clear o' this
charmin' bunch o' throat-slitters before we're brought up
before Zancresta himself. If that 'appens, I 'ave this funny
feelin' that we'll never see the shores o' the Glittergeist or
any other calm water."
"Don't underestimate this one." Jon-Tom indicated the
coati, who strolled along in the lead, talking with a couple
of his band. "He seems more than the usual hired thug."
"Fancy clothes can't hide one's origin," said Mudge.
"No harm in trying." He raised his voice. "Hey, you,
leader!"
"Shut up," snapped the muskrat from the driver's
bench. He showed a short sword. "Or you will eat your
own tongues for breakfast and can see how your words
taste then."
"I just want a word with your chief. Surely one as
illustrious as he can spare a prisoner a few minutes of his
time."
Evidently the coati's ears were as sensitive as his nose,
because he slowed his pace until he was walking alongside
the wagon.
"I bear you no hatred, spellsinger. What do you wish to
talk about? By the way, my name is Chenelska."
"Don't you have any idea what your master wants with
us? What use has so great and powerful a wizard for a
mere spellsinger like me?"
Chenelska considered a moment, then glanced past Jon-
Tom to Mudge. "Tell me, water rat, is this tall human as
ignorant as he appears or is he making fun of me?"
"No." Mudge spoke with sufficient conviction to per-
suade the coati that he was telling the truth. " 'E's as
dumb as he looks."
"Thanks, Mudge. Nice to know I can rely on your good
opinion."
"Don't mention it, mate."
"Can it be," said the dumbfounded Chenelska, "that
you have never heard of the rivalry between our master
and the one that you serve?"
"The one I serve? You mean Clothahump? I don't serve
him. I'm not an apprentice or anything like that. He has
another who serves him. We're just friends."
"Indeed. Good enough friends that you undertake a
long, dangerous mission on his behalf when he lies too ill
to travel himself. A mission to cross the Glittergeist in
search of a rare and precious medicine he requires to cure
himself."
"How the hell do you know that?" Jon-Tom said
angrily.
The coati grinned and laughed, a single sharp barking.
"It seems that this Clothahump does have another who
serves him. A true famulus. A fine, intelligent, hard-
working apprentice who serves faithfully and well. Except
when he's been treated to a few stiff sips of good belly-
warmer."
"Sorbl! That stupid big-eyed sot!"
The coati nodded, still grinning. "Not that we had to
work hard at it, you understand. The poor little fellow
merely wanted companionship, and other servants of my
master provided it, whereupon the turtle's servant grew
extremely talkative."
"I'll bet he did," Jon-Tom mumbled disconsolately.
"It has always been a matter of great contention in this
part of the world," the coati explained, "as to who the
greater wizard is. Clothahump of the tree or my master
Zancresta. It didn't bother my master when opinion was
divided and drifted back and forth. But it has lately
become apparent that outside the immediate environs of
42
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
43
Malderpot, the consensus is that your Clothahump is the
greater." He moved closer to the wagon and lowered his
voice so that his band could not overhear.
"It's true that saving the whole world is a tough act to
follow. When word came of the victory over the Piated
Folk at the Jo-Troom Gate, and the part your master
Clothahump played in it, there was very little my master
couid do to counteract the great shift in public opinion,
and he has been in a murderous mood ever since."
' 'As if Clothahump saved all the warmlands just to spite
him," Jon-Tom said disgustedly.
"Be that as it may, wizards can be very touchy about
such things. Zancresta dwells on evil spells and prepares
toxic presents and calls down all who cross him. He has
been dangerous to approach ever since this happened. The
only way for him to regain his self-respect and cancel his
shame is to do something to make himself again be
considered the equal of the turtie of the tree. Yet he sees
no way to do this. This Clothahump refuses all challenges
and duels."
"Clothahump," Jon-Tom explained politely, "doesn't
think much of games."
"Word travels that he does not because he is getting
senile.''
Jon-Tom didn't reply. There was nothing to be gained by
arguing with Chenelska and angering him.
"Therefore, my master is badly frustrated, since there is
no way he can prove that he is truly the most skilled in the
wizardly arts.
"Word arrived recently about this severe sickness
Clothahump is suffering from and that he cannot cure with
his own magic, that he needs medicine obtainable only
from a land beyond Snarken. My master was delighted by
it."
"When we get out of this," Jon-Tom whispered to
Mudge, "I'm going to string Sorbl up by his feet and hang
him beak-first over an open bottle of brandy."
"Mate, I truly 'ope you get that opportunity," said
Mudge.
"Thanks to the information the wizard's famulus pro-
vided, we were able to locate and intercept you," said
Chenelska.
"What does your master intend doing with us?"
"I do not know, man. For now, it would seem sufficient
to prevent you from carrying out your mission and returning
with the necessary medicine. Perhaps after he has weakened
enough my master will take pity on him and travel south to