Clothahump looked approvingly at his guest. “You are learning, my boy, that words are more useful than weapons.”
“What do you expect from somebody in law school? I’ve known Mudge long enough to know what buttons to push. He would’ve come along, anyway. He just likes to make it look like he’s been forced.”
“Don’t be too sure of your ability to manipulate him. Otters are an unpredictable lot. One thing I would never count on is for him to act in a predictable fashion.”
“Overconfidence on my part where Mudge is concerned isn’t something you need to worry yourself about, sir.”
They ascended a gentle slope, crossed a ravine, and climbed the heavily wooded far side. As they neared the crest of the ridge the chanting grew much louder. In addition to the voices they could now make out the sounds produced by individual drums, reed flutes, and something that sounded like an acerbic tambourine. Mudge motioned for silence, unnecessarily. It was clear they were very near the source of the singing. The time for conversation was past. It was time to listen and to observe.
Then they were able to see over the ridge. They found themselves looking down into a small valley. Set among the trees were semipermanent angular huts fashioned of twigs, branches, and mud. Fires danced in rock pits in front of two or three of the buildings. Laboriously gathered vegetation had been laid out to dry next to the flames. Berries of many kinds, nuts, and the thin, tender heart of some unknown plant were constantly being turned and patted clean by the females of several species.
“I see some ground squirrels,” Jon-Tom whispered. “I don’t recognize the ones with the small round ears.”
“Pikas.” Clothahump was squinting through his glasses. “The big fat ones are marmots. Notice their attire.”
Regardless of species, all were scantily clad in primitive garments. With their thick coats of fur, none required heavy outer clothing to protect them from the cold. Decorative skirts had been fashioned of tree bark pounded thin and softened with water. There was an extraordinary variety of headgear, ranging from simple headbands to elaborate tiaras of dried seeds and animal bones.
Away from the transitory village and off to the right, a group of musicians sat in a semicircle pounding or tootling or rattling their instruments. Seated in the semicircle opposing them were the chanters. These included all the senior males. They were dressed like warriors. In addition to their decorative necklaces and rings they wore headpieces made from the bleached, hollowed-out skulls of other creatures. Nor were all the gruesome chapeaus fashioned from the bones of prey animals.
“Crikey,” Mudge murmured in realization, “they’re a bloody lot o’ cannibals.”
In the center of the two semicircles was a wooden platform surmounted by a single post. A trio of barbarically clad pikas tended a fire beneath it. They were careful not to let the flames rise high enough to threaten the wood. The purpose of the blaze was to produce as much smoke as possible in order to make life as diflficult as possible for the single leather-clad individual who was tied to the pole above. This the pikas achieved by feeding the flames a steady diet of damp leaves and bark.
The unfortunate prisoner was wearing snakeskin-pants and shirt, leather boots, and fingerless leather gloves. Brass spikes studded his clothing from the top of the short boots to the broad shoulders. Jon-Tom was unable to tell just from looking whether these bits of metal were designed to serve for decoration or defense. Among^ some warlike people they did double duty.
Around a considerable waist the prisoner wore a brass-studded belt. A matching collar girdled his neck. He was about four and a half feet tall, though he appeared shorter because he was bent over as much as his bonds would permit, coughing and wheezing, unable to avoid inhaling the thick black smoke that rose from beneath him.
A hook hammered into one corner of the platform supported a large knapsack fashioned of the same black leather the prisoner wore. It bulged with unseen objects. Tied to it was a thin saber that was nearly as tall as the prisoner himself.
From time to time a light breeze would disturb the fog long enough for the hidden spectators to get a decent view of the prisoner. His face and large furry ears were instantly recognizable. Species identification was as easy as it was surprising.
“What’s he doing here?” Jon-Tom asked of no one in particular. “I thought koalas preferred tropical climes. I haven’t encountered one anywhere in the Bellwoods.”
“They are not frequent visitors to our part of the world, it is true.” Clothahump was straining for a better view of the prisoner. “Certainly this one is a long way from his home, though he is not dressed improperly for this climate.”
“The poor slob.” Dormas sniffed sympathetically. “Wonder what he did to get himself taken prisoner and subjected to such treatment?”
“Probably just trespassing.” Mudge started to inch his way backward. “Right. We’ve seen enough to satisfy any aberrant biological curiosity. Now ‘tis time to leave, right?”
“Wrong. Their intentions are pretty damn clear. They’re going to slowly suffocate him. No one deserves that kind of death.”
“ ‘Ow do you know that, mate? Maybe this one’s committed some kind o’ heinous crime against this lot o’ savages. Maybe ‘e’s been fairly judged and condemned. Wot ‘ave I told you about tryin’ to foist your moral precepts on other folk?” He nodded toward the encampment. “Look at ‘ow ‘e’s dressed, will you? A rough bloke for sure. Me, I says they deserve each other.”
“If he’s guilty of some crime, I’d like to know about it,” Jon-Tom responded. “If not, we’d be morally derelict to let him die slowly like that. I’d like to think a passing traveler might do as much for me someday.”
“Not bloody likely,” the otter grumbled. “I thought you’d been ‘ere long enough to know better than that, mate.”
“I would very much like to know his story,” Clothahump declared. “Not only how he comes to find himself in this dangerous situation but also how he comes to be in this lonely part of the world in the first place.”
“That’s fine, that is! I should’ve stayed back at the camp.”
“Mudge, where’s your concern for your fellow being?”
“In me left ‘ip pocket, where it belongs. As for that, those ‘appy dirge drippers down there are as much me fellows as that armored fat bear. I ain’t enamored o’ their table manners, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to risk me own arse to try and rescue some other fool’s.”
Jon-Tom turned his attention back to the encampment. It was clear that the prisoner was rapidly becoming too weak even to cough. “We have to do something.”
“Swell, guv. You an’ old rockback ‘ere ‘ave a stroll on in, untie the object o’ your pity, an’ announce to that angelic choir that you’re sorry but the party’s over and you’re all leavin’ together. I’m certain they’ll understand. They’ll be delighted—that they ‘ave three carcasses for the smoker.”
“Much as my curiosity—and my sense of justice, of course—draws me toward that poor unfortunate,” Clothahump said, “the water rat does have a point. We have a much greater responsibility. I do not see how we can risk everything to rescue this one individual.”
Jon-Tom considered a long moment before replying. “You’re right,sir. So is Mudge.”
The otter looked surprised but pleased. “About time you started showin’ some o’ the sense I’ve spent a year poundin’ into you, mate.”
“We can free him without risking a thing.” He started to unlimber his duar.
It did not take a wizard to divine Jon-Tom’s intentions. “Are you sure you want to try this, my boy? While it is true that this will not expose us to retaliation at first, it will not take long for those forest-dwellers below to locate us if you fail.”