“They can still kill us.” The sloth was doing his best to shroud his own much more sensitive proboscis.
“Only at the risk of making another mess.”
“Maybe they haveanother mess.”
“Maybe they have we cannot imagine.”
“When things are tough your optimism’s a real comfort, Gragelouth.”
“I am a realist,” the merchant protested. “And I have reason to be.” He pointed.
Forcing his way through the knot of panicked guards was the senior Hygrian wizard, Multhumot, resplendent in a gold-embroidered white gown of office. Indignation colored his broad, furry face and his whiskers were convulsing as he pushed the commandant aside to assist his colleague.
“What is this . . . this corruption?”
“They think to provoke us into letting them go.” The badly unsettled Kimmilpat was wheezing weakly.
Multhumot glared at the prisoners as he steadied his associate. “That is not going to happen. Not while I have convicted power left in my body.” Covering his broad nose as best he was able, he advanced purposefully on the reeking cell, his other hand upraised. Miniature lightning crackled between his spread fingers as he commenced a deep-throated invocation of profound import.
He was barely halfway through the first sentence when Squill, taking unabashed aim and demonstrating extraordinary accuracy even for one so obviously skilled in such matters, proceeded to anoint the wizard with the remaining contents of the water jug via the conduit of his own body. Initially struck square in the face (hard as he strained, Squill couldn’t maintain the flow for very long), the wizard stopped dead in his tracks, blinked, realized fully the extent of the ultimate unhygienic act which had been performed upon him, and fainted clean away.
Not the similarly debased Kimmilpat, nor the commandant, nor any of the ordinary guards had the courage to advance to the woodchuck wizard’s rescue. Meanwhile the otters, employing the relentless energy and enthusiasm of their kind, did their best to exacerbate the despoiled condition of bom their cell and the adjoining corridor. Throwing himself into the spirit of the moment, Buncan participated as best he could. Gragelouth simply could not bring himself to do more than occasionally expectorate on the cell floor. Most of the time he simply kept his face averted from the fray and let out an occasional moan.
Eventually a trio of guards crept down the corridor. Improvised masks covered their mouths and nostrils. They hustled the still-heaving Kimmilpat out of the hallway before returning to drag the comatose mass of his colleague to safety. Pandemonium reigned in the antechamber, clearly audible to those within the cell.
Exhausted but exhilarated, the otters finally took a break from their noxious exertions.
“That ought to give the buggers somethin’ to think about,” Squill declared with satisfaction. “Wonder ‘ow they’re goin’ to react to our little party.”
Buncan was pinching his nose tightly, trying not to inhale any more than was absolutely necessary as he peered up the corridor.
“Whatever they do, I hope they do it soon. It’s hot in here and I’m having a tough time maintaining my own equilibrium.”
“ ‘Ere now, Bunkins,” said Neena worriedly, “don’t you up an’ pass out on us.”
“I have to confess,” came the voice of the distressed merchant from the back of their cell, “that I cannot imagine you spellsinging up anything worse than this.” He waved feebly to take in the ravaged cell and hallway.
“Crikey, guv, go easy on the compliments.” Squill grinned modestly. “We just improvised as best we could.”
“They’re coming back.” Buncan nodded toward the far end of the corridor.
The commandant was alone, stumbling and hesitating as if he was being urged on (not to say pushed) from behind. The rat’s demeanor was as thoroughly disheveled as his previously spotless uniform. Behind the handkerchief he kept tightly pressed to his muzzle, his narrow, pointy face was decidedly green. This was unsurprising given the fact that the city’s moist heat had invaded the cell block, the atmosphere of which had already graduated from ripe to rank.
Swaying slightly, he stumbled halfway down the corridor, at which point he could advance no farther. “I am,” he emitted a curdled gurgle, fought not to swallow, finally gathered himself, and began afresh, “I am pleased to inform you that a decision has been rendered in your case.”
Neena winked at Buncan.
“Is that right?” Squill responded innocently.
“Yes. Through the infinite magnanimity of the Justice Court of Hygria and by special dispensation from the Council of Cleanliness, it has been decided that you will be allowed to recover your worldly possessions and depart unhindered without having to face the formal prosecution you so richly deserve.”
Neena leaned against the diagonal bars. “Cor, wot a generous lot o’ folks. I almost ‘ate to leave. Wot do you think, Bunklewit? Maybe we ought to ‘ang around a while longer?”
“No, no.” The commandant spoke hastily, before Buncan could comment. “The streets have been cleared for you. This entire borough of the city has been sealed against your presence. Just take your belongings and leave.”
Buncan’s gaze narrowed as he regarded the trembling rat “I dunno. I think we’re owed something for our trouble, for being accused of something we weren’t aware of and for being shut up here while—” He broke off. Gragelouth was shaking him persistently.
“If you do not mind, I would rather not strain our current luck,” the merchant hissed. “We should get out while we can.”
Buncan smiled and whispered. “I know. I just like to push the envelope.”
“A peculiar expression.”
“One of my dad’s.”
Gragelouth stepped past him, waving at the bilious commandant. “Very well. We accept your offer. Now open up! We’re ready to leave.” He turned to the otters. “While I personally would have opted for a less unconventional means of resistance, I have to admit that the outcome has been congenial. Please try not to puke on anyone as we make our way to freedom.”
“Relax, guv. I don’t think I ‘ave it in me anymore anyways,” Squill informed him. “So to speak.”
Advancing with the pointed toes of a ballet dancer—or a lone scout traversing a mine field—the commandant worked his way down to their cell and fumbled at the lock with a large, ornate key. With more of a metallic clank than a click, the door swung aside. Weaving unsteadily, the rat watched them exit. Buncan almost felt sorry for him.
Squill paused, breathing directly into the rat’s face. “Wot about the guards outside?”
“The antech—” the commandant staggered under the impact of the otter’s breath, “the antechamber has been cleared. All doors are open and unbarred to you. Also all windows and every other ventable opening in the building. Now please, go!” He clung to the cell door for support.
Proving that the rat’s declaration was as genuine as his nausea, they found the outer chambers deserted. So was the main boulevard outside, and the square with its intricate fountain. As they hurried along the white paving stones, Buncan sensed eyes following them furtively from cracks in shutters and barely opened windows.
“Would you look at this,” Squill ventured as they jogged along. “They’re bloody terrified of us. I think we could ‘ave the run o’ the city if we wanted it.”
“Our actions must seem not merely outlandish but incomprehensible to them.” Gragelouth puffed along in the lead. “We are not free yet. Keep a watch for cocked bows or poised spears.”
“Naw, they wouldn’t try anythin’ now, guv,” Squill replied confidently. “Be afraid we might spit on “em.”
They passed the inn whose hospitality they wouldn’t have the opportunity to sample, taking note as they ran past of the barred doors and shuttered windows, and turned up the street leading to the tethering spot where they’d left Gragelouth’s wagon. The vegetable seller had deserted her stall, as had all her fellow vendors. After the clamor and noise which had greeted the travelers upon arrival, they now found the avenues eerily silent.