reached inside, found the sign she wanted, hung it on the
door, and slammed it shut. The message on the sign was
clear enough.
OUT TO LUNCH
BACK IN TEN THOUSAND YEARS
Jon-Tom bounced along on Roseroar's powerful shoul-
der. Mudge kept pace easily alongside, Folly rode atop the
reluctant but soft-hearted Drom, and Charrok scouted their
progress from above.
As the Shop of the Aether and Neither receded behind
them, Jon-Tom gradually began to emerge from the
mental miasma into which he'd plunged both himself
and Harun al-Roojinn. Fingers moved less steadily over
the duar's strings, and his voice fell to a whisper. He
blinked.
" 'E's comin' round," Mudge observed.
"It's about time," said Folly. "What did he do to
himself?"
"Some wondrous magic," muttered Drom. "Some pow-
erful otherworldly conjuration."
Mudge snorted and grinned. "Right, mate. What 'e did
to the monster was waste 'im. Unfortunately, 'e did 'imself
right proud in the process."
Jon-Tom's hand went to his head. "Ooooo." Shifting
outlines resolved themselves into, the running figure of
Mudge.
" 'Angover, mate?"
"No. No, I feel okay." He looked up suddenly, back
toward the smoking mountain. "Al-Roojinn?"
"Zonked, skunked, blown-away. A fine a piece o'
spellsingin' as was ever done, mate."
"It was the song," Jon-Tom murmured dazedly. "A
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Alan Dean Foster
good song. A special song. Jimi's best. If anything could
dazzle a djinn, I knew it would be that. You can put me
down now, Roseroar." The tigress set him down gently.
"Come on, mate. We'd best keep movin' fast before
your spellsong wears off."
"It's all right, I think." He looked back through the
forest toward the mountain. "It's not a restraining song.
It's a happy song, a relaxing song. Al-Roojinn didn't seem
either happy or relaxed. Maybe he's happy now."
They followed the winding trail back toward Crancularn
and discovered a ghost town populated by slow-moving,
nebulous inhabitants who smiled wickedly at them, grin-
ning wraiths that floated in and out of reality. "It's there
but some don't see it," Drom had said. Now Jon-Tom
understood the unicorn's meaning. The real Crancularn
was as insubstantial as smoke, as solid as a dream.
They forced themselves not to run as they left the town
behind, heading for the familiar woods and the long walk
back to far-distant Lynchbany. Somewhere off to the right
came the grind of the ATC, but this time the helpful
rabbit, be he real or wraith, did not put in an appearance.
Once Jon-Tom glanced back to reassure himself that he'd
actually been in Crancularn, but instead of a crumbling old
town, he thought he saw a vast bubbling cauldron alive
with dancing, laughing demons. He shuddered and didn't
look back again.
By evening they were all too exhausted to care if
Al-Roojinn and a dozen vengeful cousins were hot on then-
trail or not. Mudge and Roseroar built a fire while the
others collapsed.
"1 think we're safe now," Jon-Tom told them. He ran
both hands through his long hair, suddenly sat up sharply.
"The medicine! What about the—!"
"Easy, mate." Mudge extracted the container from a
pocket. " 'Ere she be, nice and tidy."
Jon-Tom examined the bottle. It was such a small thing
on which to have expended so much effort, barely an inch
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
289
high and half again as wide. It was fashioned of plain
white plastic with a screw-on cap of unfamiliar design.
"I wonder what it is." He started to unscrew the top.
"Just a minim, mate," said Mudge sharply, nodding at
the container. "Do you think that's wise? I know you're a
spellsinger and all that, but maybe there's a special reason
for that little bottle bein' tight-sealed the way it is."
"Any container of medicine would be sealed," Jon-Tom
responded. "If there was any danger, Clothahump would
have warned me not to open it." Another twist and the cap
was off, rendering further argument futile.
He stared at the contents, then held the bottle under his
nose and sniffed.
"Well," asked Drom curiously, "do you have any idea
what it is?"
Jon-Tom ignored the unicorn. Frowning, he turned the
bottle upside down and dumped one of several tablets into
his palm. He eyed it uncertainly, and before anyone could
stop him, licked it. He sat and smacked his lips thoughtfully.
Abruptly his face contorted and his expression under-
went a horrible, dramatic change. His eyes bugged and a
hateful grimace twisted his mouth. As he rose his hands
were trembling visibly and he clutched the bottle so hard
his fingers whitened.
"It's got him!" Folly stumbled back toward the bushes.
"Something's got him!"
"Roseroar!" Mudge shouted. "Get 'im down! I'll find
some vines to tie 'im with!" He rushed toward the trees.
"No," Jon-Tom growled tightly. "No." His face fell as
he stared at the bottle. Then he drew back his hand and
made as if to fling the plastic container and its priceless
contents into the deep woods. At the last instant he
stopped himself. Now he was smiling malevolently at the
tablet in his hand.
"No. We're going to take it back. Take it back so that
Clothahump can see it. Can see what we crossed half a
world and nearly died a dozen times to bring him." He
290
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
291
stared at his uneasy companions. "This is the medicine.
This will cure him. I'm sure it will. Then, when the pain
has left his body and he is whole and healthy again, I'll
strangle him with my bare hands!"
"Ah don't understand yo, Jon-Tom. What's wrong if
that's the right medicine?"
"What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong." He shook
the bottle at her. "It's acetylsalicylic acid, that's what's
wrong!" Suddenly the anger went out of him, and he sat
back down heavily on a fallen tree. "Why didn't I think
that might be it? Why?"
Mudge fought to pronounce the peculiar, otherworldly
word, failed miserably. "You mean you know wot the
bloody stuff is?"
"Know it?" Jon-Tom lifted tired eyes to the otter. "You
remember when I arrived in this world, Mudge?"
"Now, that would be a 'ard day to forget, mate. I nearly
spilled your guts all over a field o' flowers."
"Do you remember what I was wearing?"
Mudge's face screwed up in remembrance. "That funny
tight shirt and them odd pants."
"Jeans, Mudge, jeans. I had a few things with me when
Clothahump accidently brought me over. My watch, which
doesn't work anymore because the batteries are dead."
"Spell's worn out, you mean."
"Let's don't get into that now, okay? My watch, a
lighter, a few keys in a small metal box, and another small
box about this big." He traced an outline in the air in front
of him.
"The second box held a few little items I always carried
with me for unexpected emergencies. Some Pepto-Bismol
tablets for an upset stomach, a couple of Band-Aids, a few
blue tablets whose purpose we won't discuss in mixed
company, and some white tablets. Do you remember the
white tablets, Mudge?"
The otter shook his head. "I wouldn't 'ave a looksee
through your personal things, mate." Besides, he'd been
interrupted before he could get the two boxes opened.
"Those tablets were just like these, Mudge. Just like
these." He stared dumbly at the bottle he held. "Acetylsali-