“How do you know of this?”
“I was there, in the front hall. I heard pretty much everything.”
“I see. And you were not discovered. You are a very adroit young human.”
“And you’re a very intriguing old sloth. I suppose Clothahump could be right and your whole story could be an elaborate ploy to draw attention to yourself, or get some free sorceral help, or whatever, but I happened to think that there was a lot of conviction in your voice.”
“The conviction of truth,” Gragelouth replied solemnly.
“My friends think so too. Just because Clothahump and Jon-Tom don’t feel it’s worthwhile to assist you doesn’t mean no one does.”
Sleepy eyelids rose as realization dawned on the sloth. “You?”
“Why not us?” Squill emerged from beneath the wagon, slapping his hat against his side to knock the dust off. “At least we believe in you. ‘Alfway, anyway. We’re younger and more resilient than that oP ‘ardback. More important, we’re willin’ to give you the benefit o’ the doubt, we are.”
“We’re ready and willing,” Buncan added.
Gragelouth was silent as he studied his youthful saviors and would-be companions. At last he shook his head slowly, the gray fur rippling.
“I am sorry, but you cannot come with me.”
“Why not, guv?” Neena struggled out from beneath the wagon. “Somethin’ about our looks you don’t like?”
“There is nothing wrong with your appearance, or your enthusiasm. It is your parentage that concerns me. Most especially his.” He pointed at Buncan. “You tell me that your sire is the great spellsinger Jon-Tom. I cannot help but feel that since he declined to aid me himself, he would prefer that you did not substitute in his stead. I cannot chance incurring his wrath, much less that of his colleague the wizard Clothahump.”
Buncan repositioned the duar against his back. “Yeah, but since he doesn’t believe there’s any truth to your story, that means he doesn’t think mere’s any danger, either. How can something that doesn’t exist pose any threat?”
“The wizard seemed to think that it does. Besides which the journey itself presents many obstacles that will have to be overcome. But you argue like a solicitor. Clearly you have mastered certain skills.”
“Like spellsinging,” boasted Buncan proudly.
“Oi, that’s right enough!” Squill gestured in the direction of the tree-hooked hammer. “Wot did you just think you saw, guv? Unprovoked prestidigitation?” He slipped an arm around Buncan’s waist. “Me sister and I does the singin’ an’ Buncan ‘ere the playin’. We’re a bloody magic-masterin’ trio, we are.”
“We saved your bleedin’ life,” Neena added pugnaciously.
“And nearly lost your own in the bargain. Upon extended observation it struck me that you have less than complete control over your conjuring.”
“Now see ‘ere, mate . . .,” Squill began, but Buncan put out a hand to cut him off.
“No, Squill. Let’s be honest from the start.”
“ ‘Onest from the start? Me dad would ‘ave a fit.”
“Nevertheless.” Buncan looked back to the merchant. “We don’t claim to be masters. There’s still a lot we need to learn. But I’ve spent my whole life watching and studying my father. All I’ve wanted to do is be like him. I can do some spellsinging on my own, but the otters are in better voice, and the three of us have spent so much time growing up together that we’ve been a unit of sorts practically since birth. That’s why we were able to scatter those bandits the way we did.
“Sure our control isn’t perfect, but neither was my father’s when he started. Maybe we’re not as proficient as him, but we’re a damn sight more powerful than anyone else you’re likely to encounter. Do you still want the kind of special help we can offer, and if so, how badly do you need it?” He stopped, watching the merchant intently.
Gragelouth sighed. “Your style and sound of spellsinging is entirely new to me. I admit that it frightens me some.”
“ ‘Ell,” said Squill, “it bloody well frightens us some. Anythin’ new is a little bit frightenin’, wot? But it works.”
“It nearly worked on you.”
“That’s a risk we’re willing to take,” said Buncan. “What about you?”
“You espy clearly my desperate situation.” The merchant sighed deeply. “Have any of you ever taken a long journey away from your homes?”
“O’ course.” Squill responded without hesitation. “Wot does we look like to you, mewlin’ babes? Why, our sire is Mudge the Stupendous!”
“Mudge the otter, anyway.” Gragelouth turned contemplative. “I have heard that name elsewhere, though usually in connection with extensive debts long owed or assorted ingenious moral outrages.”
Neena nodded. “That sounds like Dad right enough.”
“Yes, I know of his reputation. Mudge the great thief, Mudge the great drunk, Mudge the great wencher, Mudge the great . . .”
‘Well, at least the operative adjective is still ‘great,’“ Squill muttered.
“You have daring and guts,” Gragelouth admitted. “I wonder how extensive is your quotient of courage.”
“As big as any bloody merchant’s,” Squill shot back testily.
“Your inexperience in matters sorceral and otherwise still concerns me,” he readily admitted, “but as is clearly evident I have no army of wizards clamoring to accompany me. There are occasions when youth can work to an advantage. So . . . I will allow you to accompany me until such time as your presence becomes more of a burden than an asset.”
Buncan couldn’t repress a pleased smile. “I hope we never give you reason to regret your decision, merchant.”
“Right, then!” chirped Neena. “ Tis on to L’bor.”
“L’bor?” Gragelouth made room for Buncan on the bench seat and for the others behind. “We do not go to L’bor.”
Buncan eyed him. “But this is the road to L’bor. That’s where you were heading.”
“To seek wizardry aid and advice. I now have, the Great Counter watch over me, you three to supply that. So there is no reason to waste time journeying to L’bor. We will procure final supplies at Timswitty, which is nearer, before striking out northwestward.”
“Northwest.” Squill’s brows scrunched together. “That means crossin’ the Muddletup Moors.”
“That is correct.” Gragelouth was watching him closely. Watching all of them.
Squill spat over the side of the wagon. “Piece o’ carp. A little lousy weather, the projected mental murmurin’s o’ some discontented fungi, maybe an ‘umble but interestin’ ogre or two. We’ve ‘eard all about the place from Mudge an’ Jon-Tom. They made it through. So will we.”
“Bravado is useful when it translates into assurance and not foolhardy overconfidence.” He glanced at Buncan. “Do you have money of your own?”
“Very little.”
The merchant nodded resignedly. “My resources are limited. Now it seems they are to be stretched still further. We will manage somehow. When pressed we have my wagon for shelter, though it will be crowded with four of us.” He shuffled the reins in his hands. “We should move on. Great mysteries await resolution.” He chucked the reins and the wagon trundled forward. Squill and Neena settled themselves on some cushions behind the bench seat.
“You hope to capture, or acquire, this Grand Veritable?” Buncan asked their host.
“Nothing so estimable,” replied the merchant modestly. “I wish merely to ascertain the truth of gallant Juh Phil’s story. Yes, when that moment arrives it will be good to have three young, strong companions by my side.”
Buncan repressed a grin. “You forget that I overheard the whole conversation.”
Gragelouth looked slightly abashed. “Well, there would be nothing immoral in making a profit as well.”
Tack strained and creaked as the two dray lizards increased their pace, hissing in protest at Gragelouth’s insistent reins.