“Never been to the northwest,” Squill murmured thoughtfully. “Never been anywheres, really.”
Neena had emerged from the water and was shaking herself dry, her dark-brown fur glistening with droplets. “So Clothahump’s not gonna check this story out?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Buncan told her. “He let this Gragelouth spend the night. I’m sure he’s already left.”
“Wot about Jon-Tom?” She dug moss from behind one ear.
Buncan regarded the river. “Dad’s become . . . settled. You know what Talea would think about him going off on some crazy quest. Or how Weegee would give it to Mudge if he tried the same.”
“Old people,” groused Squill.
“Better not let Mudge ‘ear you say that,” Neena warned him as she methodically dried her whiskers.
“Squill’s more than half right.” Buncan chucked another rock into the water. “They’ve all gotten tired and lazy, forgotten what adventure’s all about. They’ve become too much a part of the community.”
“Well, I ain’t part o’ no community.” Squill rose and adjusted the angle of his cap’s feathers. “Me, I says we go after this ‘ere Gragelouth and check out ‘is story for ourselves. An’ if ‘e’s lyin’, we’ll be able to bring back proof o’ it.”
“Right,” agreed his sister. “Maybe ‘e were just tryin’ to extort some money from ol’ drawer-guts. Or free “elp.”
“Clothahump doesn’t hand out free samples,” Buncan murmured.
“Sure, ‘e ain’t dumb,” Squill agreed, nodding. “Just lazy.”
“I wonder how far to the northwest this Grand Veritable thing is supposed to lie,” Buncan said.
“Don’t matter. We got lots o’ time.” Squill moved nearer. “You said ‘e were near L’bor when he found that dyin’ mercenary. Did ‘e mention if ‘e were ‘eaded back up that way?”
Buncan tried to remember. “He may have said something along those lines.”
“We know where L’bor is.” Neena was slipping into her shorts. “We could find our way. This slant-eyed bloke came to Clodiahump lookin’ for ‘elp, did ‘e?”
“That’s right.” Buncan also stood, brushing at the seat of his pants.
“Well, then?” she murmured. The otters exchanged a glance. “Wot are we ‘angin’ around ‘ere for?”
“D’you mink he’d take us with him?”
“Cor,” she replied, batting her eyelashes at her tall human friend, “ ‘e’s a bleedin’ merchant! ‘E don’t know nothin’ about sorceral matters. If its spellsingin’ ‘elp ‘e wants, it’s spellsingin’ ‘elp we’ll ofifer ‘im.”
“Let’s get after ‘im.” Squill was already heading for the trees. “The farther off ‘e gets, the ‘aider it’ll be for us to catch up with ‘im. We’ll try the main north-south roads first.”
“What, leave right now?” Buncan hurried to catch up to the excited otter. “Without telling our parents?”
“Wot, you want their bloomin’ approval?” Neena came op behind him and pinched him on the butt. “We got our clothes, our weapons, your duar. We’re bloody well ready for anythin’. We can spellsing a privacy cocoon around us, keep Jon-Tom from spellsingin’ us out. That’s all we need to worry about. Besides, they’re used to us skippin’ off for a few days at a tune, campin’ in the woods. They won’t even look for us for a while.”
“The more distance we can make before they do,” Squill pointed out, “the ‘aider it’ll be for them to interfere.”
“If this Grugletooth—” Neena began.
“Gragelouth,” Buncan patiently corrected her.
“If ‘e turns out to be nothin’ more than some country extortionist, we’ll be right back anyways. Clothahump’ll be grateful for the confirmation.”
“Always wanted to see L’bor,” Squill murmured.
“What’ll we do for money?” Buncan wanted to know.
“We’ll live by our wits, mate. That’s wot Mudge always said ‘e did.”
“Your dad’s an inveterate liar.”
“I know. It’s one o’ ‘is most endearin’ traits. Come on.”
“You said this sloth ‘ad a team o’ two an’ a wagon. If it’s much o’ a team ‘e might be movin’ fast.” Neena was bursting with confidence and energy. “No matter. We’ll catch up with ‘im some’ow.”
Discreet queries revealed that the merchant had indeed passed through Lynchbany that very morning and had been observed heading north out of the town. That meant he was already a day ahead of mem.
“We ain’t gonna catch a wagon on foot,” Squill pointed out. “Bloody ‘ell! I was ‘oping ‘e’d ‘ole up ‘ere in town for a while.”
“We’ll ‘ave to find transportation.” His sister was nodding in agreement.
“How? We have hardly any money,” Buncan pointed out.
A twinkle showed in Neena’s gaze. “I’m the daughter o’ the inimitable Kludge, an’ Squill ‘ere, sad to say, is me brother. We’ve spent all our lives listenin’ to Mudge’s stories. You don’t do that an’ not pick up a smidgee o’ practical information ‘ere an’ there.”
Buncan glanced nervously up and down the busy street on which they stood conversing. “This is awfully close to home. Just being here makes it hard to stay inconspicuous.”
“Cor, mate, we ‘aven’t even started to push things.” Squill indicated a comfortable empty half-barrel in a nearby alleyway. “You just ‘ave a seat an’ wait ‘ere. Neena an’ I will be back shortly.”
“Just don’t do anything obvious!” Buncan shouted after them. He doubted that they heard, or if they did, would pay his words any heed.
The pair of four-legged riding lizards the otters found were strong and willing. They left Lynchbany quickly behind and soon found themselves once more among the dense groves of the Bellwoods, heading north at a laudable pace.
Buncan couldn’t keep from repeatedly glancing back over his shoulder, but no pursuit appeared on the smooth dirt road behind them. Squill and Neena rode back-to-back on the other animal’s saddle.
“If the stable owner catches us first, he’ll make hides out of us before we can explain.”
“Don’t be such an old granny-cakes.” Neena smoothed down the fur around her muzzle. “As soon as we catch up with Gragelouth an’ ‘ire ‘ourselves on with ‘im we’ll let these two skinks go. They’ll find their way back, an’ their owner’ll just think they slipped their bloody tethers.”
Clinging to the narrow reins, Buncan considered his horse-sized, yellow-and-blue-striped mount. “I didn’t know that skinks had a homing instinct.”
Neena waved absently. “Well, they’ll find their way back somewhere.” Her own mount lurched slightly and she grabbed hold of one of the long saddle’s multiple pommels. The saddle was designed to accommodate as wide a variation of backsides as possible. It was not particularly constructed with otters in mind. Or humans.
“Anyway,” Squill was saying, “they ‘ave to catch us first. If an’ when they do, if we ain’t got the goods in question in our possession, they can’t prove a bleedin’ thing. Relax, mate. Nobody saw us.”
Buncan did his best to comply.
They rode most of the night, catching a few hours’ sleep beneath the branches of a huge old Belltree whose leaves chimed only at the low end of the scale. Like their daytime counterparts the transparent butterflies, glass moths flitted among nocturnal blossoms, the light of the waxing moon shining through their transparent tinted wings and filtering starlight through living stained glass. A pair of owls soared past overhead, making for L’bor. Not searching for him, Buncan mused. Messengers, most likely, or just a young couple looking for a nice empty tree in which to make out.
The otters were up before the sun. Their energy was incredible, though if the mood took them they could also sleep for a day and a half.
By midmoming there was still no sign of pursuit, and Squill had paused to point out fresh ruts in the road.
“See that?” He clutched at his mount’s reins, steadying the big lizard. “The merchant’s wagon.”