“Do you have to eat with your mouth open?”
Mudge promptly stopped munching to squint at his friend. Bits of meat and skin hung from his teeth and jaws, and his face was shiny with oil. “Well now, guv’nor, if you can show me ‘ow to eat with me mouth closed, I’ll ‘ave a shot at it. Otherwise, be a good chap and bugger off.” He plunged his face back into the hollowed-out fish and took an enormous bite, loudly crunching up meat, skin, and bones.
“That’s not what I meant.” Jon-Tom struggled to remain patient. “It’s the noise you’re making.”
Again the otter glanced up. “Wot of it?”
“It’s disconcerting. You should eat quietly and chew with your mouth closed.”
Mudge sighed in amazement. “You ‘umans. The notions you come up with. Mate, I couldn’t eat like that even if I wanted to.”
“Why not?”
“Because me mouth ain’t flat against me face like an ape’s, that’s why. ‘Tis easy for you to keep your cud restrained behind your cheeks, but my jaws protrude. See?” He stuck his face close to Jon-Tom’s, and the spellsinger recoiled from the overpowering odor of fish. “The sound comes out both sides o’ me face. Tis a matter o’ design, not preference.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” He sat silently for a moment while the otter resumed gorging himself. His forehead twisted in contemplation, and then he spoke sharply. “Hey, now wait a minute—” He didn’t get the chance to finish the thought. Clothahump was speaking again.
Only, this time the wizard’s words were directed not to the attentive members of Ospenspri’s ruling council but to the newest member of the expedition.
“You.”
Silence. It finally penetrated Mudge’s food-sodden consciousness that everyone was looking at him. He turned, managed to mumble around a mouthful of food.
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you, river rat.” Behind the six-sided glasses the wizard’s gaze was intense. Jon-Tom watched with interest. Something serious was up.
Mudge could sense it too. Carefully he positioned the remainder of his fish on its plate and commenced an ostentatious licking of his fingers. “What can I do for your magicness?’’
“Jon-Tom tells me that you have volunteered to accompany us northward to aid us in our endeavor.”
“Urn. Well, if Jonny-Tom says that’s wot I said, then 1 guess I said it.”
Clothahump leaned forward. “I am curious to know why. It is uncharacteristic of you.”
“I’ll let that one by, guv’nor.” He began to preen his whiskers. “It’s like I told Jon-Tom. You ‘elped me like you ‘elped everyone else. I’m meself again. I’d ‘ave ‘ated to ‘ave gone through life bent over under that bloody cloud. You saved me. So I figure I owes you. I couldn’t very well ‘ave continued in me profession all twisted and gnarled like I was.”
“Your profession?” The wizard’s eyebrows would have lifted if he’d had any. “Are you referring to your practice of pickpocketing and general thievery?”
“ ‘Ere now, sir, is that any way to treat an old friend who volunteers ‘is ‘elp out o’ the goodness of ‘is ‘eart to accompany you on a journey no doubt as dangerous as your usual travels? If all you can do is sit there and insult me, maybe I—”
“I do not mean to belittle your generous offer. I merely am trying to define your motives. I suspect you are in this because you sense the scope of the danger and, possessing a crude sort of native intelligence, realize that the safest place to be is as close as possible to me.”
Jon-Tom spoke softly to his friend. “Is he right, Mudge?”
“Mate, you do me a disservice. You both do me a disservice. Seems like every time I volunteers to ‘elp you blokes without regard for the safety of me own person, all you can do is question me motivation. I can’t tell you ‘ow much it ‘urts me.”
“It will hurt you a great deal more if you insinuate yourself into our company only for your own selfish reasons. My concern, however, is not so much with your motivations as with your allegiance once we have reached our destination. I cannot afford to have you running off at a critical moment. I must be able to rely on all my companions.” Before Mudge could prefer the inevitable protest, Clothahump was pointing a heavy finger at him. Behind those thick glasses the wizard’s eyes seemed to have darkened from their natural brown to a deep, glowing crimson.
“Swear, son-of-a-stream, miscreant offspring of a midden maiden, that you come on this journey of your own free will, that you will do what is required of you as a companion in peril, and that you will do so without thought or regard for your own safety, for the good of all the inhabitants of the warmlands.” A red haze had enveloped the table and the awed patrons of the inn. Everyone had turned to watch.
“Swear this to me now, by the blood that flows in your veins, by the intellgence that may hide in your brain, and by the desire that rules your loins.”
“Okay, okay,” said Mudge disgustedly, putting up both paws defensively. “Take it easy! Jump me tail if I don’t think you like overdoin’ these things, Your Wizardship. Be that as it may, I swear.”
The red haze dissipated into the walls of the inn, and Clothahump’s eyes regained their normal placid hue. Satisfied, he settled back into his chair. It was higher than most in order to raise his midsection to table level. He picked up a fork and jabbed at the soggy mass of colorful river-bottom greens that had been served earlier.
“Very well. I accept your oath and your company. Needless to say, the consequences of reneging on your agreement are too horrible to mention.”
“I know.” Mudge sighed. He did not appear in the least upset or, for that matter, impressed. “All that fuss over nothing.” He picked up his fish, was about to bite into it again when Jon-Tom leaned close.
“That’s the first time Clothahump’s made you swear an oath.”
“Wot of it, mate?”
“It doesn’t give you much leeway for slinking off on side trips the way you like to when we’re traveling. You’ll have to toe the line pretty tightly or something dreadful’s likely to happen to you.”
“I know that, lad. Tis no big deal.” He chomped down on the fish. Bones splintered under his sharp teeth.
Still Jon-Tom was not satisfied. “Mudge, this isn’t like you. You’ve changed.”
“Who, me? I ‘aven’t changed a bit, mate. The truth o’ the matter is that I’m bein’ agreeable because it suits me, not old armor-britches over there. I’ve ‘ad a taste or two o’ these perambulations and wot ‘is wizardship says about the safest place in the world bein’ close to ‘is arse is mighty near the truth.”
“I can’t argue with that myself,” Jon-Tom admitted. “It’ll be good to have you with us, especially when we have to confront whoever’s trapped it.”
Mudge paused, the fish halfway to his mouth. “Wot are you babblin’ on about, mate? Once His Magicsty there frees this perbambulator or wotever the ‘ell it is, we can all come a-skippin’ ‘ome safe an’ clear, right?”
“Maybe not. We still have to deal with the instigator of this crisis, and there’s no telling what he, or it, is like or how it’ll react to our attempts to intervene. Freeing the perambulator will assure that the world is saved, but it won’t do anything for us. We still have to get away from whoever’s restrained it. I imagine that psychotic will be more than a little upset when his plans are ruined.”
“I see now.” The otter carefully returned the remnants of the fish to his plate. “I think I’ve ‘ad enough. Nothin’ was said about dealin’ with no psychotic monster once this ‘ere peramutraitor was freed to go on its way.” He started to rise.
Jon-Tom put a hand on one furry shoulder. “Your oath, Mudge.”
“Oath? I don’t recall anything in me oath that says I ‘ave to stay at this table. So if you’ll all excuse me.” He pushed his chair back quickly and made a dignified dash for the bathroom.