wounded, an expression he had mastered.
"A wonder there's anything left to singe, after three
days in that brothel. Finish up and let's find a place to
sleep. I'm bushed."
ill
It took six tries to finally wake Mudge. After three days of
nonstop debauchery and the huge mea! of the previous
night, the otter had to be helped to the bathroom. He got
his pants on backwards and his boots on opposite feet.
Jon-Tom straightened him out and together they worked
their way through Tims witty in search of transportation.
From a nervous dealer badly in need of business they
rented a low wooden wagon pulled by a single aged dray
lizard, promising to drop it off at the port of Yarrowl at the
mouth of the Tailaroam. From Yarrowl it should be a
simple matter to book passage on a merchantman making
the run across the Glittergeist to Snarken.
They succeeded in slipping quietly out of town without
catching the eye of Madam Lorsha or her hirelings and
were soon heading south along the narrow trade road.
Once within the forest Mudge relaxed visibly.
" 'Peers we gave the old harridan the slip, mate."
Jon-Tom's eyebrows lifted. "We?"
"Well now, guv'nor, since 'tis we who are goin* on this
little jaunt and we who are goin' to risk our lives for the
sake o' some half-dotty ol' wizard, I think 'tis fair enough
35
36
Alan Dean Foster
for me to say that 'tis we who escaped the clutches of her
haunches."
"Plural good and plural bad, is that it?" Jon-Tom
chucked the reins, trying to spur the ancient lumbering
reptile to greater speed. "I guess you're right."
"Nice of you to agree, mate," said Mudge slyly. "So
'ow's about lettin' me 'ave a looksee at our money?"
"I'll keep an eye on our travel expenses, thanks. I need
your help with several matters, Mudge, but counting coin
isn't one of them."
"Ah well, then." Mudge leaned back against the hard
back of the bench, put his arms behind his head, and gazed
through the tinkling branches at the morning sun. "If you
don't trust me, then to 'ell with you, mate."
"At least if I end up there it'll be with our money
intact."
They stopped for lunch beneath a tree with bell leaves
the size of quart jars. Mudge unpacked snake jerky and
fruit juice. The appearance of the fruit juice made the otter
shudder, but he was intelligent enough to know that he'd
overdone his alcoholic intake just a hair the past week and
that the percentage in his blood could not be raised much
higher without permanent damage resulting. He poured
himself a glass, wincing as he did so.
Something glinted in the glass and he looked sharply to
his right. Nothing amiss. Bell leaves making music with
the morning breezes, flying lizards darting from branch to
branch in pursuit of a psychedelic bee.
Still... Carefully he set down his glass next to the
wagon wheel. The dray lizard snoozed gratefully in a
patch of sunlight, resting its massive head on its forelegs.
Jon-Tom lay in the shade of the tree. All seemed right with
the world.
But it wasn't.
"Back in a sec, mate." Mudge reached into the back of
the wagon. Instead of food and drink he grabbed for his
bow and quiver. The crossbow bolt that rammed into the
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
37
wood between his reaching hands gave him pause. He
withdrew them slowly.
"A wise decision," said a voice from the trees.
Jon-Tom sat up fast. "Who said that?"
He found himself staring at the business ends of an
assortment of pikes and spears, wielded by an unpleasant-
looking assortment of furry assailants.
"Me fault," Mudge muttered, angry at himself. "I
'eard 'em comin', I did, but not quite soon enough."
"It wouldn't have mattered," said the voice which had
spoken a moment, before. "There are too many of us
anyway, and though we are instructed to bring you in
alive, it wasn't specified in what condition."
Stepping through the circle of armed warmlanders was a
coatimundi nearly as tall as Mudge. His natural black
striping had been enhanced with brown decorations painted
on muzzle and tail. One front canine was missing, and the
remainder of the long, sharp teeth were stained yellow. He
rested one paw on the hilt of a thick, curved dagger belted
at his waist. The dagger was also stained, but not yellow.
Jon-Tom thought rapidly. Like Mudge's bow, his own
duar and ramwood staff lay in the bed of the wagon. If he
could just get to them.... Well, what if he could? As this
apparent leader of their captors had said, they were badly
outnumbered.
"Right. Wot is it you want with us?" Mudge asked.
"We're just a couple of innocent travelers, poor prospects
for thieves."
The coati shook his head and glared at them over his
long snout out of bright black eyes. "I'm not interested in
your worldly possessions, whatever they might be. I've
been ordered by my master to bring you in."
"So Lorsha found us out anyway," the otter muttered.
He sounded wistful. "Well, them three days were almost
worth dyin' for. You should've been with me, mate."
"Well, I wasn't, and they're not worth dying for from
my viewpoint."
38
Alan Dean Foster
"Calm yourselves," said the coati. "No one's speaking
of dying here. Cooperate and give me no trouble, and I'll
give none back to you." He squinted at Mudge. "And
what's all this chattering about someone named Lorsha?"
Mudge came back from his memories and made a face
at the coati. "You ain't 'ere to take us back to Madam
Lorsha of Timswitty?"
"No. I come from Malderpot."
"Malderpot?" Jon-Tom gaped at him.
"Big town," Mudge informed him, "full of dour folk
and little pleasure."
"We like it," said a raccoon hefting a halberd.
"No offense," Mudge told him. "Who wants us in
Malderpot?"
"Our master Zancresta," said the coati.
"Who's this Zancresta?" Jon-Tom asked him.
A few incredulous looks showed on the faces of their
captors, including the coati.
"You mean you've never heard of the Master of Dark-
ness and Manipulator of the Secret Arts?"
Jon-Tom shook his head. " 'Fraid not."
The coati was suddenly uncertain. "Perhaps we have
made a mistake. Perhaps these are not the ones we were
sent to fetch. Thile, you and Alo check their wagon."
Two of the band rushed to climb aboard, began going
through the supplies with fine disregard for neatness. It
took them only moments to find Jon-Tom's staff and duar,
which Thile held up triumphantly.
"It's the spellsinger, all right," said the muskrat.
"Keep a close watch on his instrument and he'll do us
no harm," the coati instructed his men.
"I mean you no harm in any case," said Jon-Tom.
"What does your Zancresta want with us?"
"Nothin' good. You can be certain o' that, mate," said
Mudge.
"So one of you, at least, has heard of our master."
"Aye, I've 'eard of 'im, thVmgh I don't mean to flatter
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
39
'is reputation by it." He turned to Jon-Tom. "This 'ere
Zancresta chap's the 'ead wizard not only for the town of
Malderpot but for much of the northern part o' the Bellwoods.
See, each town or village 'as its own wizard or sorcerer or
witch, and each o' them claims to be better than 'is
neighbor at the arts o' magickin'."
"Zancresta is the best," said the coati. "He is the
master."
"I ain't goin' to argue the point with you," said Mudge.