avoided mentioning that he'd been the cause of the injury.
Jon-Tom struggled unsteadily to his feet. Claret ran from the left leg of his
pants, thick and warm.
"Clothahump been workin' up any otherworldly invokings?"
"He is soberer dan usual, if dat's what you mean." The bat let loose a derisive
snort.
A rich, throaty voice called from the depths of the tree, an impressive if
slightly wavering voice that Jon-Tom instinctively knew belonged to the master
sorcerer. "Who's there, Pog?"
"Mudge, da otter hunter, Master. And some damaged, dopey-looking human. ""Human,
you say?" There was an excited edge to the question. "In then, bring them in."
"Come on," ordered Pog curtly. "His nibs'll see you." The bat vanished into the
tree, wings larger than the robin's barely clearing the entrance.
"You all right, mate?" Mudge watched the swaying form of his unwanted companion.
"Why'd you 'ave a fit like that? Pog be no uglier than any other bat."
"It wasn't... wasn't his countenance that upset me. It was his size. Most of the
bats where I'm from don't grow that big."
"Pog be about average, I'd say." Mudge let the thought slide. "Come on, now, and
try not to bleed too much on the floor."
Refusing the otter's support, Jon-Tom staggered after him. The hallway was a
shock. It was far too long to fit inside the oak, despite its considerable
diameter. Then they entered a single chamber at least twenty-five feet high.
Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes of evident age and all sizes and
bindings. Incense rose from half a dozen burners, though they could not entirely
obliterate the nose-nipping miasma which filled the room.
Scattered among books lay oddly stained pans and bowls, glass vials, jars filled
with noisome objects, and other unwholesome paraphernalia. Skulls variously
treated and decorated were secured on the walls. To Jon-Tom's horror, they
included a brace that were obviously human.
Windows offered ingress to topaz light. This colored the high chamber amber and
gold and made live things of the dust motes pirouetting in the noxious air. The
floor was of wood chips. A few pieces of well-used furniture made of heavy wood
and reptile skin dominated the center of the room.
Two doors ajar led to dimly glimpsed other rooms.
"This is impossible," he said to Mudge in a dull whisper. "The whole tree isn't
wide enough to permit this one room, let alone others and the hallway we just
came through."
"Aye, guv'nor, 'tis a neat trick it is." The otter sounded impressed but not
awed. "Sure solves the space problem, don't it? I've seen it in towns in a few
wealthy places. Believe me, the initial spell costs plenty, not t'mention the
frequent renewals. Permanently locked hyperdimensional vortical expansions don't
come cheap, wot?"
"Why don't they?" Jon-Tom asked blankly, unable to think of a more sensible
comment in the face of spatial absurdity.
Mudge looked up at him conspiratorially. "Inflation."
They looked around to see Pog returning from another room. "He says he'll be
along in a minute or two."
"What kind of mood is he in?" Jon-Tom looked hopefully at the bat.
"Comprehensible." Keeping his balance in midair, the bat reached with a tiny
clawed hand set halfway along his left wing into a pouch strapped to his chest.
It was much smaller than the robin's. He withdrew a small cigar. "Gotta light?"
"I'm out o' flints, mate."
"Just a second." Jon-Tom fumbled excitedly in his jeans. "I do." He showed them
his cheap disposable lighter.
Mudge studied it. "Interestin'."
"Yeah." Pog fluttered close. Jon-Tom forced himself to ignore the proximity of
those gleaming, razor-sharp fangs. "Never saw a firemaker like it." He swung the
tiny cigar around in his mouth.
Jon-Tom flipped the wheel. Pog lit the cigar, puffed contentedly.
"Let's 'ave a look, lad." Jon-Tom handed the lighter over. The otter turned it
around in his paws. " 'Ow's it work?"
"Like this." Jon-Tom took it back, spun the wheel. Sparks, but no flame. He
studied the transparent base. "Out of fluid."
"Got stuck wid a bum spell?" Pog sounded sympathetic. "Never mind. And thanks
for da light." He opened his mouth, blew smoke squares.
"It has nothing to do with spells," Jon-Tom protested. "It works on lighter
fluid."
"Get my money back if I were you," advised the otter.
"I'd rather get me back." Jon-Tom studied his wrist, "My watch has stopped, too.
Battery needs replacing." He held up a hand. "And I don't want to hear anything
more about spells." Mudge shrugged, favoring Jon-Tom with the look one would
bestow on an idiot relation. "Now where's this lazy old so-called wizard of
yours?" Jon-Tom asked Pog.
"OVER HERE!" a powerful voice thundered.
Shaking lest his discourteous remark had been overheard, Jon turned slowly to
confront the renowned Clothahump.
There were no flowing robes or white beard, no peaked hat or cryptically marked
robe. But the horn-rimmed glasses were present. Somehow they remained fixed
above a broad, rounded beak, just above tiny nostrils. The glasses did not have
arms extended back and behind ears, since a turtle's ears are almost invisible.
A thick book clutched in one stubby-fingered hand, Clothahump waddled over to
join them. He stood a good foot shorter than Mudge.
"I mean no disrespect, sir," Jon had the presence of mind to say. "I didn't know
you were in the room and I'm a stranger here and I..."
"Tosh, boy." Clothahump smiled and waved away the coming apology. His voice had
dropped to normal, the wizardly thunder vanished. "I'm not easily offended. If I
were I wouldn't be able to put up with him." He jerked a thumb in Pog's
direction. "Just a moment, please."
He looked down at himself. Jon followed the gaze, noticing a number of small
knobs protruding from the wizard's plastron. Clothahump tugged several,
revealing tiny drawers built into his front. He hunted around for something,
mumbling apologies.
"Only way I can keep from losing the really important powders and liquids," he
explained.
"But how can you... I mean, doesn't that hurt?"
"Oh heavens no, boy." He let loose an infectious chuckle. "I employ the same
technique that enables me to enlarge the inside of my tree without enlarging the
outside."
"Bragging," grumped Pog, "when da poor lad's obviously in pain."
"Hold your tongue!" The bat whirled around in tight circles, but went silent. "I
have to watch his impertinence." Clothahump winked. "Last time I fixed him so he
could only sleep right side up. You should have seen him, trying to hang from
his ears." He chuckled again.
"But I don't like to lose my temper in front of guests. I cultivate a reputation
for mildness. Now then," he said with a professional air, "let's have a look at
your side."
Jon-Tom watched as the turtle gently eased aside the crude bandage concocted by
Mudge. Stubby fingers probed the glistening, stained flesh, and the youth
winced.
"Sorry. You'd best sit down."
"Thank you, sir." They moved to a nearby couch, whose legs were formerly
attached to some live creature of unimaginable shape. He lowered himself
carefully, since the cushions were barely half a foot off the floor, at a level
designed to accommodate the turtle's low backside.
"Stab wound." Clothahump regarded the ugly puncture thoughtfully. "Shallow,
though. We'll soon have you fixed."
" 'Ere now, your wizardship," Mudge broke in. "Beggin' your pardon, but I've
always 'eard tell 'twas sorceral procedure to seek payment for magicking
services in advance."