deebt. And no talk off exameenations."
"Quit trembling. I just like to see you sweat a little, that's all."
Nilanthos followed them, his attention now on the limp form slung over Jon-Tom's
shoulders. "Eef eether off theese pair are dead, wee weel all sweat a leetle."
Then his eyes widened as he apparently recognized the blubbering muskrat.
"Good God, eet's Counceelman Avelleeum! Couldn't you have peeked a leess
dangerous veecteem? He could have us all drawn and quarteered."
"He won't," she insisted. "I'm depending on you to see to that."
"You and your good nature." Nilanthos closed the door behind them, moved to
spark the oil lamps lining the surgery. "You might have been beetter off leeting
theem die."
"And what if they hadn't? What if they'd lived and remembered who attacked them?
It was dark, but I can't be sure they'd never recognize me again."
"Yees, yees, I see what you mean," he said thoughtfully. He stood at a nearby
sink and was washing long-fingered hands carefully.
"Weel then, what story should I geeve theem wheen they are brought around?" He
was pulling on gloves and returning to the large central table on which the two
patients had been deposited.
Jon-Tom leaned back against a wall and watched with interest. Mudge paced the
surgery and looked bored. Actually, he was keeping one eye on Nilanthos while
searching for anything he might be able to swipe undetected.
With a more personal interest in the welfare of the two victims, Talea stood
close to the table as Nilanthos commenced his preliminary examination.
"Tell them they had an accident," she instructed him.
"What kind off acceedent?"
"They ran into something." He looked over at her skeptically and she shrugged.
"My fist. And the iron chain I had wrapped around it. And maybe a wall. Look,
you're a doctor. Think of something reasonable, convince them. Some passersby
found them and brought them to you."
He shook his head dolefully. "Why a primate as attracteeve as yourseelf would
eendulge een such neefarious doings ees more than I can fathom, Taleea."
She moved back from the table. "You fix them up, and let me take care of me."
Several minutes passed and the examination continued. "Thee Counceelman weel bee
fine. Hee has onlee a mild concussion and minor cuts and bruises. I know. I weel
make arrangements to have heem deeposited on hees front doorstep by a couple off
rats I know who weel do that sort off work weethout letting cureeosity get een
their way." He turned his gaze on the squirrelquette, long fingers moving
carefully through her hair.
"Theese one ees not as good. There ees a chance off a skull fracture." He looked
up at Talea. "That means posseeble eenternal een-juries." The subject of the
examination moaned softly.
"She seems lively enough," Talea commented.
"Appeerances can deeceive, eespecially weeth head eenjuriees." He was applying
disinfectant and then bandaging to the wound. The bandage promptly began to show
a dark stain. "I'll just have to watch her carefullee. Do you by any chance know
her?" Talea shook her head.
"Neither do I. The Counceelman's lady for thee evening. Probably lady off thee
eevening, too. Shee'll bee angry when shee regains consciousness, but no
dangeer. I'll see to that, too."
"Good." Talea started for the exit, hesitated, put a hand on the orang's broad
shoulder. "Thanks, Nilanthos. You've more than canceled out our debt. Now I owe
you. Call on me if you need my services."
The physician replied with a wide simian leer.
"Professionally, I mean." The leer broadened. "You are impossible, Nilanthos!"
She feigned a swing at him.
"Do not strike thee doctor while hee ees een thee process off performing hees
heeling duties."
"That's a laugh! But I still owe you."
"Honor among theeves, ees that eet?" He looked seriously down at the
squirrelquette and the now badly stained bandage wrapped around her skull.
"Veree weel. For now eet's best eef you all geet out off heer." He said it while
staring at Mudge.
The otter nodded, moved away from the slipcatch-latched drug-and-narcotics case
where he'd been idling the past several minutes.
"What's the hurry?" Jon-Tom wanted to know.
Mudge put a hand on his arm, pulled him along. "Be you daft, mate? We've got t'
get out o' town."
"But I don't... I thought..." He barely remembered to duck as they exited the
surgery. "If Doctor Nilanthos is going to take care of things as he said, why do
we have to run?"
"Cor, he can take away the worries as far as those two in there be concerned,
but someone else might 'ave seen us. They might even now be reportin' us t' the
police. Your size makes us too conspicuous, lad. We 'ave t' leave, especially
after that fight in the Pearl Possum."
"But I still don't see..."
"Not now, mate." Mudge was insistent. They were out in the dark street again.
"Come on, Jon-Tom," said Talea. "Don't make trouble."
He halted, stared open-mouthed at her. "Me make trouble? I've been the innocent
victim of trouble ever since I set foot in this stinking, lousy excuse for a
world."
"Easy now, mate." Mudge looked sideways at him. "Don't be sayin' somethin' you
may be sorry for later."
Jon-Tom's carefully constructed calm had lasted about ten minutes. His voice
rose unreasonably, echoing in the mist. "I don't regret anything I have to say!"
Talea was looking back toward town, clearly upset. "I want to see some of the
goodness, the kindness that this world should have."
"Should 'ave?" Mudge looked confused. "By who's determination?"
"By the..." His voice trailed off. What could he say? By the rights of legend.
What legend? By logic? Mudge was right.
"Oh, never mind." The anger and frustration which had flared inside faded
quickly. "So we're fugitives. So I make us conspicuous. That's the way it is."
He nodded at nothing in particular. "Let's get going, then."
He vaulted into the back of the wagon. Mudge climbed into the front seat, caught
Talea's questioning glance, and could only shrug blankly. She hefted the reins
and let out a vibrant whistle. The somnolent lizards came awake, leaned forward
into their reins. The wagon resumed its steady forward motion, the thick feet of
its team sounding like sacks of flour landing on the damp pavement.
Jon-Tom noted that they were headed out of town, as Mudge had insisted they
must. Houses decorated with little gardens slipped past. No lights showed in
their windows at this stygian hour.
They passed the last street lamp. Here the road turned from cobblestone to
gravel. Even that gave way to a muddy track only a little while later. All light
had vanished behind them.
It was deep night of early morning now. The mist continued to dog them, keeping
them wet and chilled. Never is the winter so cloying as at night.
Among the occupants of the wagon only Jon-Tom had a lingering concern for the
greater night that threatened to do more to the world than chill it. Talea and
Mudge are creatures of the moment, he thought. They cannot grasp the
significance of Clothahump's visions. He huddled deeper under the gray blanket,
ignoring the persistent aroma of the squirrelquette's perfume. It clashed with
the smell of dried blood.
Thunder crossed the sky overhead, oral signatory to the last distant vestiges of
the night storm. It helped them bid farewell to Lynchbany. He was not sorry to
leave.
Soon they were in the woods. Oaks and elms showed familiar silhouettes against
the more melodious boles of belltree and coronet vine. The latter generated an
oboesque sob as if pleading for the advent of day and the refreshing heat of the