Jon-Tom bent over to regard his somnolent houseguest. “Mudge? Mudgey-Wudgey? Time to get up.” He yelled at the buried head. “Wake up, dammit!”
The otter’s rear end subsided slowly like a leaky balloon. A head emerged from the bunched sheets near the foot of the bed. Brown eyes blinked sleepily up at him.
“Cor’, wot a bloody racket. Wot’s up, mate?”
“Me, and now you, and soon business.”
The otter frowned, smacking his lips. “Now wot sort o’ business might any civilized person be ‘avin’ so early in the momin’?
“Mudge, it’s almost lunchtime.”
“Lunch?” The otter’s eyes snapped all the way open. He was instantly and fully awake, exploding from the bed to slide supplely and with extraordinary speed into his clothes. “Why din’ you say so? Missed breakfast already, ‘ave I? Well, we’ll make up for it some’ow. Tell me then, lad, wot succulent viands ‘as the beauteous Talea prepared for us this charmin’ midday?”
“Nothing to swallow this morning but a bitter pill, Mudge. A bunch of thugs broke into the wizard’s tree earlier and tried to rob him. I woke up, snuck over there, and routed them.”
‘ Tis a true selfless ‘ero you are, mate. ‘Aven’t I always said so?”
“No, you’ve always said that I was a prime idiot for sticking my nose into other people’s troubles, but that’s beside the point. I fell on my duar and broke it.”
That gave the otter pause. “Broke the duar, you say? Bad?”
“Reduced it to fragments. Clothahump says it can only be fixed, if it can be fixed at all, by a master craftsman named Couvier Coulb who lives in a town called Strelakat Mews.”
The otter sniffed, his whiskers twitching. “Never ‘card of it.” He bent over to gaze into a small mirror, preening himself. “Well, we all ‘ave our little unexpected errands to run from time to time.”
“We sure do. You’re coming with me.”
“Wot?” Mudge looked up from the mirror, placed his feathered green felt cap on his head between his ears. “Before lunch?”
“No,” Jon-Tom replied in exasperation, “we can eat first.”
“Well that’s all right then.” Fully clad, the otter sauntered toward the staircase. “Where is this Strelakat place? Up near Malderpot? Or east over by Polastrindu?”
“Neither. It lies inland from the southern shore of the Glittergeist.”
“Wot, down near Yarrowl?” Mudge hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, that’s not but a few days journey by public conveyance. I could use a bit of a change o’ scenery. Join me in a quick swim?”
“Mudge, Strelakat Mews lies somewhere in the jungle south of the city of Chejiji, which is clear across the ocean. When I said the southern shore, I meant the southern shore.’’
Mudge cocked a suspicious eye on his friend. “Do you know ‘ow far that is, mate?”
“I have an idea.”
“Then here’s another idea for you to ‘ave: count me out. I’ve ‘ad me fill o’ travelin’ to far distant lands, I ‘ave, especially in your company. Nasty things tend to ‘appen to folks taggin’ along with you, Jon-Tom.”
“There’ll be no trouble this time. We’re just taking a trip to get a duar repaired. We’re not marching off to save the world this time.”
“Get this straight, mate: we ain’t marchin’ anywhere. Besides, I ain’t got the stomach for another ocean voyage. One with you were enough to last me a lifetime. I’ll just stay right “ere.”
“I didn’t want to bring this up, Mudge, but you’ve been staying ‘right here’ ever since Talea and I got married.”
“Right, and don’t think I ‘aven’t appreciated the ‘ospitaliry. I’ve enjoyed every day and every meal, just as I’ve enjoyed the company.”
“Talea seems to feel otherwise,” he said quietly.
“Ah, that sweet bare skinned redhead.” Mudge spoke wistfully. “Always was like that, ‘idin’ ‘er true feelings behind a fake wall o’ temper. That’s just to show the world ‘ow tough she is. When she says yes she means no, and when she says no she means yes.”
“She had her sword out a few hours ago. I think that means ‘no.’”
“Wot a sense o’ humor. You’re a lucky male, Jon-Tom.” The otter chuckled.
“I believe,” he continued dryly, “she intended to come up here and cut your heart out.”
The otter shook his head. “Wot a laugh, your Talea!”
Jon-Tom glanced toward the stairway. “In fact, I think I hear her coming up now.”
The otter’s smile vanished instantly and he bounded back behind the bed, the amused expression on his furry face now replaced by one of stark terror.
“Don’t let ‘er get me, mate. I’ve seen ‘er like this before. She goes crazy. You can’t talk to ‘er, no one can, not even you.”
Jon-Tom suppressed a smile. “I think she’s gone back down—for the moment. No promises, but if you agree to accompany me I think I can calm her down long enough for us to slip out of the house without bloodshed.”
Mudge looked uncertain. “Got to cross the ‘ole Glittergeist, you say?”
Jon-Tom nodded slowly. “And then an unknown stretch of jungle after we leave the boat.”
The otter considered silently before replying. “I ain’t so sure I wouldn’t be better off just takin’ me chances with Talea’s sword.”
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bitty gal like Talea?”
“You ‘aven’t seen that ‘little bitty’ one fight the way I ‘ave. She’s ruthless as a magistrate on ‘angin’ day.”
Jon-Tom turned and started down the stairs. “You coming with me or not?”
“Give me another minute to think it over, mate,” the otter pleaded.
“I can hear her banging around down there with that sword. Sounds like she’s getting herself good and worked up.”
“Okay, okay.” The otter rushed out from behind the bed. “Just keep ‘er off me, will you?”
“Let’s go,” Jon-Tom suggested. “It won’t seem so bad on a full stomach, although,” and he glanced down at the bulge that was straining the limits of the otter’s waistband, “you don’t look like you’ve been empty for some time.”
“Right. Always a good idea to eat and then talk. Besides, if she’s wieldin’ a servin’ spoon she can’t handle a sword.” He was careful to follow his host down the stairs.
“A wonderful meal, luv.” Mudge leaned back in his chair as if to - accentuate the compliment, wiping grease and fragments of food from his lips. “All those years you and I were pickin’ pockets and relievin’ undeservin’ citizens o’ their oversized wallets and you never dropped a ‘int that you could cook as well as you could cut.”
“We all have hidden talents, Mudge.” Talea was cleaning off the stove as she spoke. Clothahump’s tree-expanding spell hadn’t provided for a separate dining area so the rough-hewn table was located in the middle of the kitchen.
“That we do,” the otter agreed contentedly. “Wot might you suppose mine would be?”
“I think you’d make a fine salesman,” she replied, wiping her hands with a damp rag. “You’ve always been as fast with your tongue as with your feet.”
“Crikey, that’s wot all the ladies tell me. But, says I, why haul a lot o’ goods around the country to sell when ‘tis easier and cleaner to relieve folks o’ their coin without burdenin’ them with shoddy goods in return?”
“Something called morals.” Jon-Tom was finishing the last of his lunch.
The otter’s brows drew together. “Morals, morals—let me see now. I’m sure I’ve ‘card that word somewhere before, lad, but at the moment its meanin’ escapes me. Some sort o’ fruit or somethin’, ain’t it? Grows up north somewheres?” Jon-Tom could only shake his head ruefully.