words like we and us."
"I need your help, Mudge."
They reached a main street and slowed to a walk as they
joined the crowd of evening strollers. Timswirty was a
good-sized town, much bigger than Lynchbany. It was
unlikely Madam Lorsha's thugs would be able to find
them. Jon-Tom tried to hunch over and mask his excep-
tional height.
"Clothahump is deathly ill, and we must have this
medicine. I'm not any happier about making this trip than
you are."
"You must be, mate, because I'm not goin' to make it.
Don't get me wrongo. You just 'elped me clear out of a
bad spot. 1 am grateful, I am, but she weren't worth
enough to make me put me life on the line for you, much
less for that old word-poisoner."
They edged around a strolling couple. "I need someone
who knows the way, Mudge."
"Then you needs some other bloke, mate. I ain't never
been to Snarken."
"I mean someone who knows the ways of the world,
Mudge. I've learned a lot since I've been here, but that's
nothing compared to what I don't know. I need your good
advice as well as your unconventional knowledge."
"Sure you do." Mudge puffed up importantly in spite of
knowing better. "You think you can flatter me into goin',
is that it? Or did you think I'd forgotten your intentions to
be a solicitor in your own world? Don't take me for a fool,
mate."
"I have to have someone along I can trust," Jon-Tom
went on. The otter's expression showed that was one ploy
he wasn't expecting.
"Now that ain't fair, guv'nor, and you knows it."
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
31
"There will also," Jon-Tom added, saving the best for
last, "be a good fee for helping me."
That piqued the otter's interest. " 'Ere now, why didn't
you come out and say that t' begin with instead of goin' on
with all this twaddle about *ow 'is poor old 'ardheaded
curmudgeonly 'oiiness was 'aving an attack of the gout or
whatever, or 'ow badly you need me unique talents." He
moved nearer and put a comradely arm around Jon-Tom's
waist, as high as he could comfortably reach.
"You 'ave a 'ell of a lot to learn about life, guv'nor."
He rambled on as the evening fog closed in comfortingly
around them, explaining that though he didn't know how it
was in Jon-Tom's world, here it was gold that spoke
clearest and bought one's trust. Not words.
Jon-Tom allowed as how things indeed were different,
deferring to the otter's claims while privately disagreeing.
It did not matter who was right, however. All that mattered
was that Mudge had agreed to join him.
Mudge managed to steer them into a tavern in a high-
class district. Having already flashed Clothahump's gold,
Jon-Tom couldn't very well claim he didn't have the
wherewithal to pay. So he went slowly through his own
meal while the otter devoured a gigantic banquet more
suitable to the appetite of Madam Lorsha's bouncer. As
Mudge explained between mouthfuls, he'd burned up a lot
of energy this past week and wanted to make certain he
embarked on their long journey at full strength.
Only when the otter had finished the final morsel did he
lean contentedly back in his chair.
"So you say we're goin' to distant Snarken, wot, and
beyond, and I say there's nothin' beyond. Wot did 'is nibs
say it would be like?"
"He didn't exactly say." Jon-Tom picked at a sweet
dessert. "Just the town where the store with the medicine
is kept."
"Yeah, I 'eard you say somethin' about a town. 'As it
got a name?"
32
Alan Dean Poster
Jon-Tom decided the bittersweet berry dessert was to his
taste, finished the last of it. "Cranculam."
"WOT?" Mudge suddenly was sitting bolt upright,
dribbling the last traces of wrinklerry jelly from his lips as
he gaped at the man sitting across the table from him. A
few curious diners spared him a glance, returned to their
business when they saw no fighting was involved.
Mudge wiped at his sticky whiskers and spoke more
softly, eyeing Jon-Tom sideways. "Wot did you say the
name o' this dump was, guv'nor?"
"Crancularn. I see you've heard of it."
" 'Hard of it, you're bloody well right I've 'card of it.
That's a place o' the dead, mate."
"I thought there wasn't anything beyond Snarken."
"Not supposed to be, mate, but then, nobody knows
where this Crancularn is supposed to be either, except that
it moves about from time to time, like lice, and that
anyone who ever gets there never comes back. 'Tis the
entrance to 'ell itself, mate. Surely you don't mean to go
there."
"Not only do I mean to go there, I intend to make a
small purchase and return safely with it. And you're
coming with me. You promised."
"'Ere now, mate, when I made this 'ere bargain,
weren't nothin' said about Cranculam. I'm out." He stepped
off the chair and discovered he was straddling the far end
of Jon-Tom's ramwood staff, which had been slipped
under the table earlier.
"Sit down," Jon-Tom ordered him. Gingerly, the otter
resumed his seat. "You made a promise, Mudge. You
agreed to accompany me. In a sense, you accepted the
proffered fee. Where I come from an oral contract is
enforceable when the details are known to both parties,
and in this case the details are now known."
"But Crancularn, mate. Can't this medicine be got
anywheres else?"
Jon-Tom shook his head. "I pressed Clothahump on that
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
33
point repeatedly, and he never wavered. The only place it
can be bought is Crancularn." He leaned over the table,
spoke almost angrily. "Look, do you think I want to go
gallivanting halfway across a strange world in search of
some old fart's pills? I like Clothahump, sure, but I have
my own life to live. What's left of it. If he dies leaving me
stuck here, I might as well be dead. It's interesting
enough, your world, but I want to go home, damn it! I
miss Westwood on the opening night of a Steven Spielberg
movie, and I miss the bookstores on Hollywood Boule-
vard, and the beach, and bagels at the deli, and take-out
Chinese food, and—"
"All right, mate, I believe you. Spare me your memo-
ries. So it's a contract, is it? At least you're learnin' 'ow to
stick up for your rights." He smiled and tapped the staff.
Jon-Tem was taken aback. He'd acted almost exactly the
way Mudge would have if their situations had been re-
versed. The thought was more than a little appalling.
"You'll keep your end of the bargain, then?"
"Aye." Mudge spoke with obvious reluctance. "I gave
me word, so I'm stuck with it. Well, a short life but a
happy one, they say. Tis better than dyin' in one's bed.
Alone, anyway."
"There's no need for all this talk of dying." Jon-Tom
sipped at the mug of cold cider in front of him. "We are
going to get to Cranculam, obtain the necessary medica-
tion, and return here. All we're doing is running an
errand."
"That's right, mate. Just an errand." He belched derisively,
to the unconcealed disgust of the well-dressed diners
nearby. "Wot a day it was for me when you tumbled into
that glade where I was huntin' so peaceful. Why couldn't
you 'ave settled on some other poor bloke besides old
Mudge?"
"You were just lucky. As for your ill fortune, we don't
know yet who's the fool in this play: you for agreeing to
come with me or me for wanting you to."
1
34
Alan Dean Foster
"You singe me privates, mate," said Mudge, looking