"What are you riddling me with, boy?"
"I think I may be able to help after all." Clothahump looked up at him
curiously.
"Aye, 'tis true, Your Geniusness," said Mudge excitedly. "Why, 'twas meself who
first suggested that..." He broke off, thinking better of the incipient lie.
"No. No, dammit, I cannot take any o' the credit. The lad did it all on 'is
own."
"Did what on his own?" asked the exasperated wizard.
"We'd been tryin' 'ard t' discover some useful skill for 'im, Your Mastership.
'Is range o' experience matches 'is youthfulness, so wasn't much in the way o'
things 'e was practiced at. 'E 'as 'is natural size and reach, and some agility.
At first I thought 'e might make a good mercenary. But 'e kept insistin' 'e
wanted t' be either a lawyer or a musician." Jon-Tom nodded in confirmation.
"Well, Your Lordship can imagine wot I thought o' the first suggestion.
Concernin' 'tother, while the lad's voice is o' considerable volume, it leaves
somethin' t' be desired as far as carryin' the tune, if you follow me meaning.
But 'is musicianship was another matter, sor. 'E 'as real enthusiasm for
music... and as it turned out, somethin' more.
"We stumbled, literally stumbled we did, across that fine duar you see 'angin'
about 'is neck. And when he got to strummin' on it, well, the most unbelievable
things started a-happenin'! You would not believe it 'ad not you been there
yourself. All purple and 'azy it started to shine, and its shape a shakin', and
the sounds, sor." The otter put his hands melodramatically to his ears.
"The sounds this lad can coax out o' that little musicbox. 'E calls it music
like 'e's used to playin', but 'tis of a size I never 'eard in me short but full
little life."
"I don't know what happened or why, sir." Jon-Tom ran his fingers over the duar.
"It vibrates a little when I play it. I think it's trying to become the kind of
instrument I'm used to, and can't. As to the magic"--he shrugged--"I'm afraid
I'm not very good at it. I only seem to have the vaguest kind of control over
what I call up."
"He's too modest, sir," said Talea. "He's a true spellsinger.
"We were tired and worn from our long march through the woods when he started a
strange song about some kind of transportation." She looked sideways at Jon-Tom.
"I cannot imagine what it was he was singing about, but what he produced was a
L'borean riding snake. I do not think it was specified by his song."
"Not hardly," agreed Jon-Tom.
"Nevertheless, that is what he materialized, and a fine ride it provided us,
too."
"Nor be that all, sor," said Mudge. "Soon afterward, as we glide through the
forest night, 'e's a-strummin' those strings and then... why sor, the like's o'
so many gneechees was never seen in this country! I swear by me piece they were
about us like fleas on a fox followin' a four-day drunk. You never saw the
almost-likes o' it."
Clothahump was silent for long moments. Then, "So it seems you've some
spellsinging abilities." He scratched at a loose drawer in his plastron.
"It looks that way, sir. I've heard about hidden talent, but I never expected to
find any in myself."
"All most interesting." The wizard rose from the bench, put both hands as far
behind his back as they'd reach, and scratched at his shell. "It would help to
explain so many things. It would explain why in casting I settled upon you and
passed over others." There was a touch of resurgent pride in his voice. "So it
may be I am not as senile as some say. I thought there was more to this than
mere confusion on my part. The talent I sought has been present all along."
"Not exactly, sir. As Talea explained, I can call for something, but I get
something quite different. I don't have control over my, uh, magic. Couldn't
that be awfully dangerous?"
"My boy, all wizardry is dangerous. So you think you might be able to help now?
Well, if we can settle on something for you to help me against, your services
will be most welcome."
Jon-Tom shuffled his feet nervously. "Actually, sir, I didn't mean I'd be able
to help in that way. Wouldn't you still prefer a real magician, a real
'engineer' from my world to assist you?"
"I expect I would." Clothahump adjusted his spectacles.
"Then send me back and exchange me for another."
"I told you before, boy, that the energies required, the preparations involved
need time to..." He stopped, squinted upward. "Ah, I believe I follow your
meaning now, Jon-Tom spellsinger."
"That's it, sir." He could no longer restrain his excitement. "If we both
concentrate, both devote our energies to it, maybe the combination will be
powerful enough to work the switch. It's not like you're shoving me back home
all by yourself, or pulling a replacement here alone. We'd be complementing each
other's talents, and making an exchange all at once. Only a single conjuration
would be involved instead of two."
Clothahump looked seriously at his workbench. "It might be possible. There are
certain shortcuts...." He glanced back at Jon-Tom. "It involves definite risks,
boy. You might find yourself stuck halfway between this world and your own.
There's no future in limbo. Only eternity, and I can't think of a duller way to
spend existence."
"I'll take that chance. I'll take any chances neeessary."
"Good for you, but what about whoever you're going to be trading places with?"
"How do you mean?" He looked uncertain.
"This eng'neer that we locate with our thoughts, Jon-Tom, will be as thrown from
his familiar time and place as you were. He will likely also be trapped here for
considerably longer than yourself, since I will not have the power to try and
return him to his normal life for some time. He might not adapt here as well as
you have, might not ever be sent home.
"Are you willing to accept the responsibility for doing that to someone else?"
"You have to take the same responsibility."
"My entire world is at stake, possibly your own as well. I know where I stand."
The wizard was staring unwinkingly at him.
Jon-Tom forced himself to think back, to remember what his first sight and
feelings were like when he'd materialized in this world. Glass butterflies and
utter disorientation. A five-foot-tall otter and bellwoods.
How might that affect an older man of forty or fifty, who might find it far
harder to cope with the physical hardships of this place, not to mention the
mental ones? A man with a family perhaps. Or a woman who might leave children
behind?
He looked back down at Clothahump. "I'm willing to try the exchange and... if
you're as serious about this crisis as you say, then you don't have any choice.
Not if you want a real engineer."
"That is so," replied the wizard, "but I have far more important reasons for
wanting to make this switch."
"My reasons are important enough to me." He turned away from the others. "I'm
sorry if I don't measure up to your heroic standards."
"I expect no heroic stances from you, Jon-Tom," said Clothahump gently. "You are
only a man. All I ask now is that you make the decision, and you have. That is
enough for me. I will commence preparations." He turned back to his bench,
leaving Jon-Tom feeling expectant, pleased, and slightly anxious.
Self-preservation, he told himself angrily. He would wish whoever was to take
his place the best of luck, and could do no more than that. He'd never know who
was chosen.
Besides, his erratic and possibly dangerous magic could do little to help Talea
and Mudge and Clothahump's world. Probably whoever took his place would be able