Talea. This Clothahump's the one who brought me here, remember. He's a very
powerful wizard and although I found him to be concerned and even kindly, he's
obsessed with this crisis he dreams about, and I've seen him come near to frying
that bat."
"Don't worry," she replied with a tight smile. "I know who he is, and what he
is. He's a borderline senile who ought to have enough sense to retract into his
shell and stay there. Do you think I'm an ignorant country sodder? I follow
current rumors and talemongerings. I know who's in power and who's doing what,
and to whom. That's how I know he's responsible for the mess he's made of your
life, Jon-Tom." She frowned at him.
"You're the weirdest sorcerer I've ever encountered or heard tell of, except
maybe for this Clothahump. In that respect it's a good match, and I can see how
in his searching he seized on you." The comparison startled Jon-Tom. He hadn't
considered that he and the turtle might have personal affinities, or that they
might be responsible for his presence here.
"That's okay," he replied readily. "You're the most interesting mugger I've ever
run into."
"Better not do it on a dark street or you're liable to find out just how
interesting I am," she said warningly.
"Really? I've never done it on a dark street, and I would like to find out how
interesting you are."
She started to snap out a reply, looked uncertain, and then accelerated. "Oh,
come on." There was exasperation in her voice and just possibly something else.
"You're a funny one, Jon-Tom. I'm never quite sure about you."
And you, he thought as he watched her hurry on ahead of him, are maybe not as
hopeless as I once thought.
It was quite astonishing, he thought as he followed her, how the sight of a
beautiful figure teasingly wrapped in snug clothes could shove aside all worries
about such picayune matters as survival. Base animal nature, he mused.
But if he was going to survive in this world, he would have to revert to basics.
Wasn't that just what Clothahump and, in different ways, Mudge had both told
him? Maybe by keeping his thoughts focused on those basics he could keep a
firmer grip on his sanity.
All assuming that Talea didn't change her mind as fast as she seemed able to and
didn't decide to shove a sword through his belly. That thought cooled his ardor,
if not his long-term interest.
Slowing, he found himself standing close to her in the central chamber of the
tree. Her perfume was in his nose, her presence a constant comfort in alien
surroundings. Yes, they would have to remain friends, if naught else. She was
too familiar, too human for him to abandon that.
Pog directed them out of the central room and into a work area he and Mudge
hadn't visited before. The bat hovered nearby while all four watched in silence
as the wizard Clothahump fumbled awkwardly among bottles and vials.
Thoroughly engrossed in his work, the wizard failed to notice his visitors.
After a proper pause, Pog fluttered forward and said deferentially, "Pardon da
intrusion, Master, but dey have returned."
"Um... what? Who's returned?" He looked around and his gaze fell on Jon-Tom. "Oh
yes, you. I remember you, boy."
"Not too well, it seems." It was something less than the exuberant welcome he'd
hoped for.
"I have a lot on my mind, boy." He slid off the low bench and sought out the
gray figure of Mudge, who was partly hidden behind Jon-Tom. "Back early, I see.
Well, you lazy, foul-mouthed, slanderous mammal, what have you to say for
yourself? Or is this merely a courteous visit and I should assume you've
encountered no troubles?" The last sentence was spoken with false sweetness.
" 'Tis not like you're thinkin' at all, Your Worshipfulness," the otter
insisted. "I was showin' the lad the ways o' Lynchbany and we ran into some
unforeseen problems, we did. They weren't no more my fault than they was 'is,"
and he jerked a short thumb in Jon-Tom's direction.
Clothahump looked up at the tall young man. "Is what he says true, boy? That's
he's done his best and taken good care of you? Or is he the outright liar he
looks?"
"Wot a thing to say," muttered Mudge, but not too loudly.
"It's hard to lay responsibility for what we've been through lately at anyone's
feet, sir." He was aware of black otter eyes hard on his back. "On the one hand,
it certainly seems as though I... as though we've been the victims of a really
unlikely sequence of unfortunate happenings. On the other...."
"No, mate," interrupted Mudge hurriedly, "there be no need t' go into such
silliness now." He looked back to the wizard. "I did me best for the lad, Your
Highestness. Why, I venture t' say nary a stranger's 'ad quite such fullness o'
experience o' local customs as 'e 'as in these past several days."
Jon-Tom kept his expression carefully neutral. "I certainly can't argue with
that, sir."
Clothahump considered while he inspected Jon-Tom. "At least the laggard has
clothed you properly." He took note of the war staff and the duar. Then his
attention shifted to the third member of the little group.
"And who might you be, young lady?"
She stepped proudly forward. "I am Talea of Wuver County, of the Brightberries
that mature at Night, third on my mother's side, first of red hair and green
eyes, and I am afraid of neither man, woman, beast... nor wizard."
"Hmph." Clothahump turned away from her, then suddenly seemed to slump in on
himself. Sitting back down on the workbench he leaned his shell against the
table. Fingers rubbed tiredly at his forehead as he smiled almost apologetically
at his visitors.
"Pardon my tone, my friends. You especially, Jon-Tom. I forget common courtesy
myself these days, as I forget many other things too easily. Responsible as I am
for your inconveniencing, I owe you more than a curt interrogation concerning
your recent activities. If I seemed brusque it was only out of worry for your
welfare. But you see, things are growing worse and not better."
"The coming crisis you told us about?" Jon-Tom wondered sympathetically.
The turtle nodded. "It turns my sleep into a cauldron of black distress. I dream
of nothing save darkness and death. Of an ocean of putrification about to drown
the worlds."
"Ahhh, I don't see why ya worry yourself so much," said Pog from a nearby
rafter. "You knockin' yourself out fer noddin', boss. Everybody else scoffs at
ya, taunts ya behind your shell. Ya know some of da names dey call ya? 'Senile'
is da best o' them."
"I am aware of the local opinion." Clothahump grinned slightly. "In order for
one to be affected by insults, one must have some respect for their source. I've
told you that before, Pog. The comments of the rabble are of no import, even if
they are the rabble one is trying to save. You'll never make a decent peregrine
unless you change your attitude in such matters. Hawks and falcons are a haughty
folk. You need to cultivate more mental and social independence."
"Yeah, tell me about it," the bat muttered.
Jon-Tom was fascinated by the still unspecified threat, despite his own personal
problems. "So you haven't learned anything new about this evil since we left? Or
about its source, or when it will come?"
The wizard shook his head dolefully. "It remains as nebulous in nature, as
tenuous of touch as before, boy. Nor am I any nearer concocting a methodology to
combat it with."
Jon-Tom tried to cheer the despondent turtle. "I've a surprise for you,
Clothahump. It was a surprise to me, also."