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and knelt before it. "Look, you're the greatest wizard

alive. Can't you help me?"

Clothahump shook his head, wrestled himself into

a sitting position, and crossed his arms over the

compartments in his plastron.

"I must say it is hard to refuse the requests of one

of such perspicacity. I only wish you could find a

more stable possibility for a mate."

"Talea's the one I love."

"What about that Quintera female you brought

over into this world?"

Jon-Tom swallowed, turned, and walked away from

the bed. "Why bring that up? You know it's a sore

point with me."

"Why? Because in the end she preferred that

sophisticated hare Caz to you?" Ctothahump shook a

warning finger at him. "That's what comes of

projecting your own desires onto someone else. She

may have been your physical ideal, but mentally and

emotionally she was neither... and neither is this

Talea."

"No!" Jon-Tom whirled on the bed. "Talea's the

Alan Dean Poster

42

right one. I'm sure of that, even if our relationship is

developing a little, uh, slowly. Come on, Clothahump,

I know you can help if you want to."

"With what? You want me to mix you up a love

potion to slip into her drink?" He shook his head. "I

don't deal in those kinds of petty emotionally manip-

ulative devices and you know it. If that's what you

want, go to the chemist in Lynchbany. I'll give you a

prescription, but I won't mix you anything myself.

You'll be wasting your money, though. Ninety per-

cent of that stuffs no better than what you can buy

over-the-counter."

"I don't want your potions or prescriptions, Ctotha-

hump. I want your wise, sage advice."

"Really? All right. Get a haircut."

Jen-Tom moaned. His hair was only shoulder-

length, "Not here too. Or do you have a prejudice

against fur because you've none of your own?"

The turtle looked down at himself. "My, my, so

you've noticed that, have you? I can't imagine how

one so observant hasn't been able to win the undying

affection of the woman he thinks loves him."

"It's not a question of 'winning,'" Jen-Tom muttered-

"This isn't a war."

"Isn't it now? Dear me! Perhaps after your first

two hundred years you'll learn to adjust that view."

"And don't lay any of that 'venerable ancient' shit

on me, either! I want your advice, not your sarcasm."

Clothahump peered over his glasses. "If you want

to learn what love is all about, my boy, you'd better

learn to handle sarcasm."

Jon-Tom shifted to another tack. "I've been work-

ing on a song for her,"

"If you think you can spellsing her into love with

you, my boy, then you—"

"No, no, just a friendly little song to show her how

THE MOSfCPiT OF TBS MAGICIAN

43

I feel about her. I've always been better at conveying

my emotions through music. Want to hear it?"

Clothahump muttered under his breath, "Do I

have a choice?"

Jon-Tom walked over to the comer where he'd set

down his duar and picked up the peculiar, double-

stringed instrument. He caressed it lovingly. It had

brought him through some tough spots, that duar.

It, and his ability to make magic with it, however

erratic and unpredictable.

"Just something to put her in the right mood," he

assured Clothahump. "I've been trying to remember

what she likes so I can sing about it the next time we

meet."

"Sing about a rich drunk lying alone in an alley,"

Clothahump suggested.

Jon-Tom ignored the gibe. "I remember her tell-

ing me one time how much she liked roses. She said

they were pretty. She'd never use the word 'romantic.'

Talea's not the romantic type- But she said she liked

their smell and the way they went with her hair. So

I've been trying to think of a song about roses. It

wasn't easy. It's not the sort of thing my favorite

musicians like to write songs about, and I have to be

careful or I'll wind up with that amazonic tigress I

told you about.

"Anyhow, I finally settled on this. I'd like your

opinion of it."

"Hold on a moment, boy. I want none of your

hit-and-miss spellsinging in my home. If you feel the

need to practice, do it outside."

"Oh, it's all right." Jon-Tom found himself a seat

1 on a strong shelf. "It's just a Hide tune. I'm not going

to do any spellsinging."

Clothahump eyed him warily. "Well, if you're sure.."

Jen-Tom smiled confidently at him. "Sure I'm

sure. What could be dangerous about a song about

44 Alan Dean Foster

something as innocent as roses?" He let his fingers

fall lightly across the first set of strings, then the

second, adjusted the control for tremble ever so

slightly.

The chords floated through the room, soothing

and mellow, not nearly as sharp or discordant as

Jon-Tbm's heavy metal favorites. Clothahump relented.

"All right, boy." He moved as far back on the bed

as he was able. "If you're certain you know what

you're doing and have everything under control."

Jon-Tom smiled reassuringly and began to sing.

The music was lovely, but that didn't relax Clothahump.

He was watching and listening to more than the

melody.

Sure enough, there it was: an intense red glow

near the foot of the bed.

"Boy, see there, I told you...!"

But Jon-Tom wasn't listening to his mentor. He

was transported to the kingdom of love by images of

how Talea would react to this song, composed specially

for her by the man who adored her.

The intense, blood-red ball of light hung in the

air, throwing off red sparks as Jon-Tom's voice rose

passionately. Clothahump waved anxiously at it and

was pleased to see it fall to the floor and disappear.

He let out a relieved sigh and narrowed his gaze as

he waited for Jon-Tom to finish his song. So he did

not see the branches that sprang forth from beneath

the carpet of wood chips. They grew with astonishing

speed.

Jon-Tom concluded his chorus and looked proud.

"There, you see? Nothing to worry about. I've

been working hard on my control, and I think I've

gotten it to the point where I only conjure up what I

want to." His expression changed to one of curiosity.

"That's funny. I don't remember your planting any-

thing at the foot of your bed."

TUB MOMENT or THE MAOICIAM

45

Fearing the worst, Clothahump tumbled forward

to peer over the edge of the bed. Growing out of the

floor was a small, nicely pruned collection of thin

branches. As they both watched, some two dozen

American beauty blossoms erupted from the naked

twigs.

"Hey, how about that?" said Jon-Tom, delighted.

"Now I ask you, what girl could resist that?"

"Well," Clothahump said reluctantly, "1 have to

admit that's quite a charming little bouquet you've

called up."

Jon-Tom netted the duar. "I didn't even get to the

second chorus. What color would you like this time?

How about a nice canary yellow?" He sang again,

and this time the second bush appeared sooner than

its predecessor. It was also twice as tall and, sure

enough, heavy with fragrant yellow blooms.

"Nothing to it. I told you I've been practicing my

control."

Clothahump stared at the bush. "Good. Then you

can stop it now."

Jon-Tom's jaw hung a little slack. "Uh, stop what?"

"Stop it from growing."

"But I have stopped. I'm not singing anymore."

Clothahump pointed. "Tell it to that rosebush."

Indeed, it didn't take especially sharp vision to see