"Climb aboard, then, mate, and ride."
Jon-Tom moved to the last saddle. He got a good grip on the pommel, put his
right boot in the stirrup, and pulled. His left foot dragged against the side of
the creature, which took no notice of the contact. It was like kicking a steel
bar.
He found himself staring past Mudge at the beacon of Talea's hair. She uttered a
low hiss. The snake started forward obediently, and Jon-Tom reached down and
used the curved handle-pommel to steady himself.
The movement was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Not that he'd ever
ridden any animal other than the ponies who once frequented his hometown, but it
still seemed incredibly gentle. He was put in mind of the stride of the lizards
who had pulled their lost wagon; only having no legs, the snake produced an even
smoother ride. Technically, it had no gait at all.
There was no jouncing or bouncing. The snake glided like oil over bumps and
boulders. After a few minutes of vibration-free ride Jon-Tom felt confident in
letting loose of the handle. He relaxed and enjoyed for a change the passing
sights of the forest. It was amazing how relaxed the mind could become when
one's feet no longer hurt.
He made certain the duar was secured across his belly and his fighting staff was
still tight on his back, then settled back to enjoy the ride.
The only thing difficult to get used to was the feeling of not knowing where
they were headed, since the snake's slithering, rippling method of making
progress was quite deceptive. Eventually he learned to keep a close eye on the
reptile's head. It was more like traveling in a tacking sailboat than on a
horse.
Smooth as the ride was, the constant moving from right to left in order to
proceed forward was making him slightly queasy. This was solved when he directed
his attention sideways instead of trying to stare straight ahead.
"I didn't mean to call this monster up, you know," he said to Mudge. "I was
trying for something completely different."
"And what might that 'ave been?" A curious Mudge looked back over his shoulder,
content to let Talea lead now that he'd given her a heading.
"Actually, I was sort of hoping for a Jeep Wagoneer, or maybe a Landcruiser. But
I didn't know any songs--any spells--for them, so I tried to come as close as I
could with what I had."
"I don't know wot the first might be," replied Mudge, meticulously preening his
whiskers and face, "but a 'landcruiser' be wot we 'ave, if not just precisely
the variety you'd 'oped for."
"I guess." Jon-Tom sounded thoughtful. "I suppose it's a good thing I didn't
know any songs about tanks. No telling what we might have ended up with."
Mudge frowned. "Now that's a peculiar thing t' say. Wot would we 'ave needed
with extra water, wot with streams aboundin' throughout this part o' the
Bellwoods?"
Jon-Tom started to explain, decided instead that this was not the time to launch
into a complicated explanation of otherworldly technologies. Mudge and Talea
appeared quite pleased with the snake. There was no reason for him not to be
equally satisfied. Certainly its ride was far smoother than any meehanized
vehicle's would have been.
Idly he ran his fingers over the small strings of the duar. Delicate harplike
notes sauntered through the forest air. They still possessed the inexplicable if
familiar electronic twang of his old Grundig. Blue sparks shot from beneath his
fingers.
He started to hum a few bars of "Scarborough Fair," then thought better of it.
He didn't want anything to divert them from their intended rendezvous with
Clothahump. Who knew what some casually uttered words might conjure up? Possibly
they might suddenly find themselves confronted with a fair, complete with food,
jugglers and minstrels, and even police.
Play to amuse yourself if you must, he told himself, but keep the words to
yourself. So he kept his mouth shut while he continued to play. His fingers
stayed clear of the longer upper strings because no matter how softly he tried
to strum those, they generated a disconcertingly vast barrage of sound. They
remained linked to some mysterious magickry of amplification that he was
powerless to disengage.
He'd hoped for a four-wheel drive, tried for two-wheel, and had produced a
no-wheel drive that was far more efficient than anything he'd imagined. Now,
what else would add to his feeling of comfort in the forest? An M-16 perhaps, or
considering the size of the riding snake and its as yet unseen but possibly
belligerent relatives, maybe a few Honest John Rockets.
What'd he'd likely get would be a sword or something. Better to rely on his wits
and the war staff bouncing against his spine. Or he might produce the weapon in
the firing stage. He would have to be very, very careful indeed if he tried to
sing up anything else, he decided. Perhaps Clothahump would have some good
advice.
He continued to play as they slithered on through increasing darkness. When
asked about why they were continuing, Talea replied, "We want to make as much
distance as we can tonight."
"Why the sudden rush? We're doing a helluva lot better than we did when we were
walking."
She leaned to her left, looked past him, and pointed downward. "We weren't
leaving this kind of trail, either." Jon-Tom looked back and noted the wake of
crushed brush and grass the snake was producing. "Outriders from Thieves' Hall
will surely pick it up."
"So? Why should they connect that up with us?"
"Probably they won't. But L'borean riding snakes are available only to the
extremely wealthy. They'd follow any such track, especially one not leading
straight for town, hoping to run down a fat prize. Their disappointment in
finding us instead of some rich merchant wouldn't bode well for our futures."
"Bloody well right," agreed Mudge readily. "There's a disconcertin' and
disgustin' tendency toward settlin' discontents without resortin' to words."
"Beg your pardon?" said Jon-Tom with a frown.
"Kill first and ask questions afterward."
He nodded grimly. "We have some of those where I come from, too."
He turned moodily back to the duar. It was barely visible in the intensifying
night. He fiddled with the bottom controls, and the strings fluttered with blue
fire as he played. Carefully he kept his lips closed, forced himself not to
voice the words of the song he was playing. It was hard to remember the melody
without voicing the words. A silver-dollar moon was rising in the east.
Once he caught himself softly singing words and something green was forming
alongside the snake. Damn, this wasn't going to work. He needed to play
something without words in order to be completely safe.
He changed the motion of his fingers on the strings. Better, he thought. Then he
noticed Mudge staring at him.
"Something wrong?"
"Wot the 'ell is goin' on with you, Jon-Tom?"
"It's a Bach fugue," he replied, not understanding. "Quite a well-known piece
where I come from."
" 'Ell with that, mate. I wasn't referrin' t' your music. I was referrin' t'
your company."
His voice was oddly muted, neither alarmed nor relaxed. Jon-Tom looked to his
right... and had to grab the saddle handle to keep from falling out of his
seat....
X
He found himself staring directly at a huge swarm of nothing. That is, it seemed
that there was definitely something present. Hundreds of somethings, in fact.
But when he looked at them, they weren't there.
They had moved to his left. He turned to face them, and as he did so, they moved