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