in psychedelic hues darted among the flowers.
One hitched a ride on his indigo shirt. Perhaps it thought
he was some kind of giant ambulatory flower. Jon-Tom
examined it with interest. Instead of the yellow-and-black
pattern he was accustomed to, his visitor's abdomen was
striped pink, lemon yellow, orange, chocolate brown, and
bright blue. Man and insect regarded one another thought-
fully for a long moment. Deciding he was neither a source
of pollen or enlightenment, the bee droned off in search of
sweeter forage.
Lynchbany Towne was unchanged from the first time
Jon-Tom had seen it, on that rainy day when he, a strange-
to this world, had entered it accompanied by Mudge tl
otter. It was Mudge he sought now. He had no intention
striking out across the Glittergeist alone, no matter ho
much confidence Clothahump vested in him. There was
still far too much of the ways and customs of this place he
was ignorant of.
Mudge's knowledge was of the practical and non-
intellectual variety. Too, nothing was more precious to the
otter than his own skin. He was sort of a furry walking
alarm, ready to jump or take whatever evasive action the
situation dictated at the barest suggestion of danger. Jon-
Tom intended to use him the way the allies had used
pigeons in World War I to detect the presence of poison
gas.
Mudge would have considered the analogy unflattering,
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
15
but Jon-Tom didn't care what the otter thought. Despite his
questionable morals and wavering sense of loyalty, the
otter had been a great help in the past and could be so
again.
Luck wasn't with Jon-Tom, however. There was no sign
of Mudge in the taverns he normally frequented, nor word
of him in the eating establishments or gambling dens. He
hadn't been seen in some time in any of his usual haunts.
Jon-Tom finally found mention of him in one of the
more reputable rooming houses on the far side of town,
where the stink from the central open sewer was less.
The concierge was an overweight koala in a bad mood.
A carved pipe dangled from her lips as she scrubbed the
floor near the entrance.
"Hay, I've seen him," she told Jon-Tom. Part of her
right ear was missing, probably bitten off during a dispute
with an irate customer.
"I'd laik to know where he gone to much as you, man.
He skip away owing me half a week's rent. That not bad
as some have dun me, but I work hand to run this place
and every silver counts."
"Only a few days' rent, is it?" Jon-Tom squatted to be
at eye level with the koala. "You know where he is, don't
you? You're feeding me some story old Mudge paid you to
tell anyone who came looking for him because he paid you
to do so, because he probably owes everyone but you."
She wrinkled her black nose and wiped her paws on her
apron. Then she broke out in a wide grin. "You a clever
one, you are, man, though strange of manner and talk."
"I'm not really from around here," Jon-Tom confessed.
"Actually my home lies quite a distance from Lynchbany.
Nor am I a creditor or bill collector. Mudge is my friend."
"Is he now?" She dropped her scrub brush in the pail of
wash water and rose. Jon-Tom did likewise. She reached
barely to his stomach. That wasn't unusual. Jon-Tom was
something of a giant in this world where humans barely
topped five and a half feet and many others stood shorter.
16
Alan Dean Foster
"So you his friend, hay? That make you sort of unique.
I wasn't aware the otter had any friends. Only acquain-
tances and enemies."
"No matter. I am his friend, and I need to get in touch
with him."
"What for?"
"I am embarked on a journey in the service of the great
wizard Clothahump."
"Ah, that old fraud."
"He's not a fraud. Haven't you heard of the battle for
the Jo-Troom Gate?"
"Yea, yea, I heard, I heard." She picked up the bucket
of wash water, the scrub brush sloshing around inside. "I
also know you never believe everything you read in the
papers. This journey you going on for him. It going be a
hard one, where someone might get deaded?"
"Possibly."
"Hay, then I tell you where the otter is and you make
sure he go with you?"
"That's the idea."
"Good! Then I tell you where he is. Because I tell you
true, man, he owe me half a week's rent. I just don't want
to tell anyone else because maybe they get to him before
me. But this is better, much better. Worth a few days'
rent.''
"About that rent," Jon-Tom said, jiggling the purse full
of gold Clothahump had given him to pay for his passage
across the Glittergeist.
The concierge waved him off. "Hay nay, man. Just
make sure he go with you on this dangerous journey. More
better I dream of him roasting over some cannibal's spit in
some far-off land. That will give me more pleasure than a
few coins."
"As you wish, madame." Jon-Tom put the purse aside.
"Only, you must be sure promise to come back here
someday and regale me with the gory details. For that I
pay you myself."
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
17
"I'll be sure to make it my business," Jon-Tom said
dryly. "Now, where might I find my friend?"
"Not here. North."
"Oglagia Towne?"
"Hay nay, farther west. In Timswitty."
"Timswitty," Jon-Tom repeated. "Thanks. You know
what business he has there?"
She let out a short, sharp bark, a koalaish laugh. "Same
business that otter he have any place he go: thievery,
deception, debauchery, and drunkenness. I wager you find
him easy enough you keep that in mind."
"I will. Tell me. I've never been north of Lynchbany.
What's Timswitty like?"
She shrugged. "Like heah. Like Oglagia. Like any of
the Bellwoods towns. Backward, crowded, primitive, but
not bad if you willing stand up for your rights and work
hard."
"Thank you, madame. You're sure I can't pay you
anything for the information you've given me?"
"Keep you money and make you journey," she told
him. "I look forward to hearing about the otter's slow and
painful death upon you return."
"Don't hold your breath in expectation of his demise,"
Jon-Tom warned her as he turned to leave. "Mudge has a
way of surviving in the damndest places."
"I know he do. He slip out of heah without me smelling
his going. I tell you what. If he don't get himself killed on
this journey of yours, you can pay me his back rent when
you return."
"I'll do better than that, madame. I'll make him pay it
himself, in person."
"Fair enough. You have good traveling, man."
"Good day to you too, madame."
Jon-Tom had no intention of walking all the way to
Timswitty. Not since Clothahump had provided him with
funds for transport. The local equivalent of a stagecoach
was passing through Lynchbany, and he bought himself a
18
Alan Dean Poster
seat on the boxy contraption. It was pulled by four hand-
some horses and presided over by a couple of three-foot-
tall chimpmunks who cursed like longshoremen. They
wore dirty uniforms and scurried about, wrestling baggage
and cartons into the rear of the stage.
Jon-Tom had the wrong notion of who was in charge,
however. As he strolled past the team of four, one of the
horses cocked an eye in his direction.
"Come on, bud, hurry it up. We haven't got all day."
"Sorry. The ticket agent told me you weren't leaving for