Jon-Tom’s expression turned sour. “Uh-huh. And, of course, I have to go along with you because I’m sharing your house and your food and you’re the only chance I have of ever returning home.”
“And because you have a good heart, value my counsel, and suffer from an irresistible urge to help others who are in trouble,” the wizard added. “You also are an incorrigible show-off.”
“Thanks, I think. Well, at least all we’ll have to deal with are these damn changes. They’re disconcerting, but it’s not like they put us in any danger of bodily harm.”
“That remains to be seen,” said the wizard unencouragingly.
“Look, can’t you manage without me? Just this one time? On your own?”
Clothahump steepled his fingers and looked blandly skyward. “If the perambulator is not freed and the world changes too many times, the local structure of matter could become permanently distorted. We might lose a thing or two.”
“Like, for instance?”
“Like gravity.”
Jon-Tom took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll come. You’ve made it pretty clear that there’s no place to hide from this thing.”
“No place at all, my boy, any more than there is a place where you can hide from my criticisms.”
“You sure you want me along, what with my inaccurate spellsinging and all?”
“Do not take my little jibes to heart. You have accomplished some wonders with that instrument, and your voice and you may yet have the chance to do so again in the course of our journey. Besides, I’m getting on, and I need someone young and strong . . .”
“To help you over the rough spots, I know,” said Jon-Tom, having listened to the wizard’s lament many times before. “I said I’d come, didn’t I? Not that I have any choice. Not that any of us have any choice, I guess, with the stability of the world at stake. What’s this perambulator thing look like, anyway?”
Clothahump shrugged. “No one knows. It is said that it can look like anything, or nothing. A tree, a stone, a wisp of air. You and I define what we see in terms of what we are familiar with. We compare new sights to the nature we know. The perambulator is not a freak of nature; it is a freak of supernature.
“It is said that in shape and composition, structure, and outline it is like many individuals I know: unstable. There are ancient lines that insist it is pleasant to look upon. Nor is its character malign. It does not disturb from purpose or evil design. The perturbations are an unavoidable consequence of itself. It would be a very nice thing to encounter, I suspect, if it did not have this unfortunate habit of causing the universe in which it happens to be residing to go completely haywire.”
“And you’re sure that’s what we’re dealing with here?”
“Nothing else but a perambulator could perturb the world in such a fashion,” Clothahump assured him. The wizard had assumed the shape of an elderly moose with bright yellow wings. It needed the wings because he was sitting atop a hundred-foot-tall spruce. Jon-Tom looked at the dizzying drop beneath his own dangling, furry legs, and fought to hold on to the crown of his own tree. He saw no reason to disagree with the wizard’s assessment.
The perturbation lasted longer this time, almost three minutes, before the world snapped back to reality. Jon-Tom breathed a sigh of relief when it became clear that they had returned to the reality of Clothahump’s tree once again. Of course, in reality they had not moved, had never left it. Only reality had moved.
“You’re sure these are real changes we’re experiencing and not just some kind of clever mass delusions?”
“You would have found out had you fallen from that tree in which you had been squatting a moment ago,” Clothahump assured him. “You would have changed back, of course, except that you would now be lying spread all over this floor. You had been given wings, but could you have determined how to use them in the brief moment of falling?”
“I’m beginning to see why we have to find this perambulator and free it fast.” He walked over the washbasin and poured himself a glass of water from the jug standing on the shelf nearby. Except that instead of water, the glass filled with an alarmingly noisy bright blue liquid that fizzed and bubbled. He had the distinct impression that his drink was angry at him.
The glass slipped from his fingers. As it tumbled, the fizzing reached epic proportions. He dove for the far side of his bed while Clothahump retreated inside his shell. Propelled by the explosive blue fizz, the glass rocketed around the room, bouncing off suddenly rubbery walls and hunting furiously for the creature that had dared try to drink it. It barely missed Jon-Tom’s head as he scrambled beneath the bed.
Lacking either a butterfly net or a shotgun, they could only wait until the fizz lost its zip. This occurred at almost exactly the same moment when they slipped back to reality and the perturbation ceased. Occupied once more by ordinary water, the glass lost momentum in midair and shattered wetly against the footboard of the bed. Clothahump emerged from his shell while Jon-Tom warily crawled out from beneath the bed, keeping a watchful eye on the liquid debris lest the puddle try to bite him.
“Try the sink again, my boy. It should be all right now.”
Jon-Tom straightened. “Never mind. Suddenly I’m not thirsty anymore.”
“You’re going to have to keep your nerves under control. We all are. Why, we haven’t so much as begun, and things can only get worse before they get better.”
“That’s what I enjoy about assisting you, Clothahump. You’re always so reassuring about the outcome.”
“Tut, my boy,” the wizard chided him sternly, “you must remain calm in the face of chaos. If for no other reason than to maintain control over your spellsinging.”
“ ‘Keep control.’ ‘Stay calm’ Easy for you to say. You have some idea of what we’re up against, and you’re the world’s greatest sorcerer. Of course, you can keep your reactions under control. You’re sure of your abilities. I’m not. You know that you’ll be okay.”
Clothahump’s reply did nothing to boost Jon-Tom’s confidence.
“Are you kidding, my boy? I’m scared shitless.”
II
Jon-Tom had to bend his head to avoid bumping it on the ceiling. Clothahump had proven himself an accommodating host where his ungainly young human guest was concerned, but such accommodations did not extend to altering the tree-home spell to provide the dimensionally expanded interior with higher ceilings and doorways. Such spells were time-consuming and expensive, the wizard had informed him, and one did not mess with the details unless something happened to go wrong with the plumbing.
So he was compelled to bend low whenever moving from room to room. It wasn’t all bad, though. There were beneficial side effects. During the months of residing in the tree he’d become quite agile, and he could now take a blow to the forehead without so much as wincing.
He thought he was intimately familiar with every chamber and cubbyhole the tree possessed, but the tunnel Clothahump was presently leading him down was new to him. Not only was it alien in appearance, it seemed to be leading them downward.
Sorbl appeared, waiting for them. The famulus held a glowing bulb on the end of a stick. The light flickered unevenly, a clear sign that Sorbl had put the illumination spell on the bulb by himself.
“Here I am, Master.”
“Drunk again,” snapped the wizard accusingly. Sorbl drew himself up straight.
“No, Master. See, I am not swaying.” Indeed, Sorbl looked rock-steady. “I see you and Jon-Tom clearly.”
Jon-Tom looked at the famulus. Yes, the great yellow eyes were much less bloodshot than usual.
Clothahump nodded brusquely toward the glow bulb. “We won’t be neding that.”
“You are going down into the cellar, Master?”