“But before I put my name to this, I must in turn be certain of your commitment. We may well find ourselves in mortal danger at the hands of an opponent whose face and name remain a mystery to us and whose motivation is driven by an unknown madness. In addition we must somehow deal with an incredibly powerful and dangerous phenomenon that is not of this universe. Issues of great gravity are at stake here. We will in all likelihood have to face dangerous moments together, and at such times we must stand as one. I cannot have any member of our small party backing out at such times, whether for personal reasons or because of some footnote on a piece of paper.”
Dormas drew herself up until she looked every bit as proud as an Arabian. “I won’t be the one to break when push comes to pull and the Black Wind threatens to sweep us away. You can rest assured on that.” Her dark eyes swept over them to settle on Mudge. “What about you, otter? You’re not afraid?”
Mudge had resumed his place against the wall. He’d appropriated a sliver of straw from the Hinny’s bed and was chewing on it as he examined the claws of his right paw.
“Well now, lass, actually I’m terrified out o’ me gourd. But I’ve seen wot ‘Is Socerership can do, as well as me not-too-bright but well-meanin’ spellsinger friend ‘ere, and I ‘ave confidence in the both o’ them. This perambulator’s perturbin’ strikes me as a worldwide problem. Since there ain’t no runnin’ aways from it, I figure we might as well ‘ave a try at puttin’ it right. I’ve been through this sort o’ thing with this one”—and he jerked a thumb in Jon-Tom’s direction—”a couple o’ times previous. Not that I’m gettin’ used to ‘avin’ me precious self regularly threatened with dismemberment, but I ain’t surprised when somethin’ takes a try at it.
“See, I’m beginnin’ to feel that me fate is some’ow bound up with this ‘ere spellsinger chap and that I might as well trot along with ‘im. You know, sort of like bein’ in an accident where two wagons smash into one another at this intersection, and the owners can’t get themselves untangled?”
“That’s not a very sweet metaphor, Mudge,” Jon-Tom groused.
“It ain’t a very sweet relationship, mate.” He turned back to Dormas. “Anyways, seein’ as ‘ow there ain’t no place to run to for gettin’ away from the effects o’ this perambudiscombobulator, I figure I might as well tag along. Maybe there’ll be some profit in it, wot?”
“I see. Strong feelings are involved as well as strong reasons. I like that. Hand me that pen there, in the wall holder.”
Clothahump passed it over. Taking it in her teeth, she signed the contract with an unexpected flourish. The wizard nodded approvingly. Then he touched his signet ring to the blank place below her name, leaving behind the imprint of a turtle shell cut by a large letter C.
Dormas studied the signet admiringly. “A neat trick.”
“Cheaper than buying new pens,” the wizard told her. “I’d have one made up for you and sell you the necessary permanent ink spell, but your hoofprint would cover half the page. Your solicitor wouldn’t like that. He’d have less room to complain in the margins.”
She smiled, deposited the contract in a drawer, and closed it with a nudge of her muzzle. “Really, I’m not as cantankerous as I seem. On the trail you’ll find me an agreeable and pleasant companion.”
“Another one like ‘Is Magicness,” Mudge whispered to Jon-Tom. “Spirits preserve us!”
“When do we start climbing?”
“Tomorrow morning, if you are amenable.”
“Fine. I’ll be up with the sun. We can pack and be off fast.”
“Another go-getter,” Mudge muttered glumly. “Won’t I ever fall in with sensible folks wot knows ‘ow to take their time and their lives easy?”
“It’s pretty hard to relax when the stability of the entire world is at stake, Mudge.”
The otter stretched and yawned. “I don’t know as ‘ow it’s all that stable now, mate. Not that it matters very much. You know what they say: ‘Everyone’s crazy but me and thee, and I ain’t so sure about thee.’’
Jon-Tom studied him with a shrewd and familiar eye. “All that blather about your duty to Clothahump and your fellow beings—you’re really coming along to protect youself, aren’t you?”
“I never denied that were part o’ the reason behind me decision, guv. Anyways, things are slow ‘ere in Ospenspri, especially since that cloud come over the city, and you know ‘ow quickly yours truly can get dead-bored. Leavin’ aside ‘ow ‘ard it is to ‘old a set o’ dice properly when your back’s all bent out o’ shape.”
“I might have guessed. You wouldn’t be coming along if you weren’t broke as well as worried about your own skin.”
Mudge winked at him. “Mate, I wouldn’t go to a friend’s funeral if I didn’t think I’d ‘ave a shot at the ‘ankerchief concession. You know me that well, at least.”
“I guess I should be relieved. For a while there I wondered if the perturbation had affected your brain as well as your body.”
“Wot, me? Why, lad, old Mudge is as sturdy as the mountains, as free-runnin’ as the river Tailaroam, and as steady as the ground under our feet.”
At that moment the ground beneath their feet vanished. So did the sky above. Jon-Tom observed that he was floating in slighty murky blue-green water, staring at something that looked like a small barracuda. Off to his right was a bloated sunfish. Next to it drifted an armored throwback to the time when fish comprised the planet’s dominant life-form.
For a moment he struggled to catch his balance. He relaxed when it became clear that he was neither sinking nor drowning. He flexed his fins experimentally; first the dorsal, then the lateral, ventral last of all. The piscean analogs of Mudge, Dormas, and Clothahump stared back at him.
A new arrival zipped past his face. It was small, brightly colored, and fast. It began swimming rapid circles around Clothahump. “This is a bit much,” said the Sorbl-fish.
“Try to be calm,” Jon-Tom advised him. “We’ve been through worse.”
“Easy for you to say,” Sorbl shot back. “The master spends much time in water, and likewise your otterish friend, but I’m used to spending my time above the surface, not beneath it.”
“You think you’re the only one who’s stuck with a difficult psychological adjustment? I’m not exactly aquatic by nature, let alone by design, and Dormas even less so.”
“But you have been in water before,” the blue-striped darter protested. “I have cousins who have—cormorants and ducks and such—but I’ve never been beneath the waves in my life. I find it exceedingly distressing.”
“Oh, don’t put on such a show, you feathered twit!” This from the immediately recognizable floating version of Mudge. “I’ think I’m comfortable with fins instead o’ feet? Besides, if this ‘ere ocean were colored amber instead o’ blue-green, you’d probably feel right at ‘ome since you spend ‘alf your time moonin’ about near the bottom o’ a bottle, anyways.”
“I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown and he adds insults,” grumbled the apprentice.
“Take it easy.” Jon-Tom spoke absently, fascinated by the alien environment in which he found himself. “The perturbation will end soon enough.”
“Oh, it will, will it? You’re certain of that, are you? Are you going to spellsing it back to reality with that fine instrument you’re carrying?”
Jon-Tom noted that where his duar ought to have hung there was only a broad strip of olive-green seaweed.
“Or,” Sorbl continued, “is the Master going to return the world to normal again by means of his potions and spells? Remember what happened to Ospenspri. If it has happened again, but differently this time, we will remain in this wet, stifling water world forever, locked into the forms we presently are inhabiting.” He darted through the water, zipping around Clothahump, then Mudge and Dormas.