to the reins now. Without being told, the lizards would
continue to plod onward on their present course.
"But that's what life's all about, isn't it? Solving a series
of problems? When they're as varied and challenging as
these," and she flicked long nails in the air, a brief gesture
mat casually encompassed two worlds and a shift in dimen-
sion, "why, that adds to the spice of it."
"That's not the kind of problem I'm talking about, Flor.
This one is personal."
She looked concerned. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Possibly." He looked up at her. "I think I'm in love with
you. I think I've always been in love with you. I..."
"That's enough," she told him, raising a restraining hand
and speaking gently but firmly. "In the first place, you can't
have always been in love with me because you haven't known
me for always. Metaphysics aside, Jon-Tom, I don't think
you've known me long enough.
"In the second place, I don't think you're really in love
with me. I think you're in love with the image of me you've
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Alan Dean Foster
seen and added to in your imagination, es verdad, amigo^ To
be erode about it, you're in love with my looks, my body
Don't think I hold it against you. It's not your fault. Your
desires and wants arc a product of your environment."
This was not going the way he'd hoped, he mused confusedly.
"Don't be so sure that you know all about me either, Flor."
"I'm not." She was not offended by his tone. "I mean,
how have you 'seen' me, Jon-Tom? How have you 'known'
me? Short skirt, tight sweater, always the perfect smile,
perfectly groomed, long hair flouncing and pom-poms jounc-
ing, isn't that about it?"
"Don't patronize me."
"I'm not patronizing you, dammit! Use your head, hom-
bre. I may look like a pinup, but I don't think like one. You
can't be in love with me because you don't know me."
"'Ere now, wot the 'ell are you two fightin' about?"
Mudge stuck his furry face out from behind the canvas. " 'T!S
too bloomin' nice a night for such witterin'."
"Back out, Mudge," said Jon-Tom curdy at the interrup-
tion. "This is none of your business."
"Oh, now let's not get our bowels in an uproar, mate. Suit
yourself." With a last glance at them both, he obligingly
retreated inside.
"I won't deny that I find you physically attractive, Flor."
"Of course you do. You wouldn't be normal if you
didn't." She stared out across the endless dark plain, kissed
with orange by the rising moon. "Every man has, ever since
I was twelve years old. I've been through this before." She
looked back at him.
"The point is you don't know me, the real Hores Quintera.
So you can't be in love with her. I'm flattered, but if we're
going to have any kind of chance at a real relationship, we'd
best start fresh, here and now. Without any preconceived
68
THE HOUK Of THE QATK
notions about what I'm like, what you'd like me to be like, or
what I represent to you. ComprendeV
"Bor, don't you think I've had a look at the real you these
past weeks?" Try as he might, he couldn't help sounding
defensive.
"Sure you have, but that's hardly long enough. And you
can't be certain that's the real me, either. Maybe it's only
another facet of my real personality, whose aspects are still
changing."
"Wait a minute," he said hopefully. "You said, 'chance at
a real relationship.' Does that mean you think we have a
chance for one?"
"I've no idea." She eyed him appraisingly. "You're an
interesting man, Jon-Tom. The fact that you can work magic
here with your music is fascinating to me. I couldn't do it.
But I don't know you any better than you know me. So why
don't we start clean, huh? Pretend I'm just another girl
you've just met. Let's call this our first date." She nodded
skyward. "The moon's right for it."
"Kind of tough to do," he replied, "after you've just
poured out a deeply felt confession of love. You took that
apart like a professor dissecting a tadpole."
"I'm sorry, Jon-Tom." She shrugged. "That's part of the
way I am. Part of the real me, as much as the pom-poms or
my love of the adventure of this world. You have to leam to
accept them all, not just the ones you like." She tried to
sound encouraging. "If it's any consolation, while I may not
love you, I do like you."
"That's not much."
"Why don't you get rid of that hurt puppy-dog look, too,"
she suggested. "It won't do you any good. Come on, now.
Cheer up! You've let out what you had to let out, and I
haven't rebuffed you completely." She extended an open
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Alan Dean Foster
hand. "Buenos noches, Jon-Tom. I'm Plores Maria Quintera.
Como 'stasT'
He looked silently at her, then down at the proferred palm.
He took it with a resigned sigh. "Jon-Tom.. .Jon Meriweather.
Pleased to meet you."
After that, they got along a little more easily. The punctur-
ing of Jon-Tom's romantic balloon released tension along
with hopes....
70
v
It was a very ordinary-looking river, Jon-Tom thought.
Willow and cypress and live oak clustered thirstily along its
sloping banks. Small scaly amphibians played in thick under-
brush. Reeds claimed the quiet places of the slow-moving
eddies.
The bank on the far side was equally well fringed with
vegetation. From time to time they encountered groups of
animals and humans occupied in various everyday tasks on
the banks. They would be fishing, or washing clothes, or
simply watching the sun do the work of carrying forth the
daytime.
The wagon turned eastward along the southern shore of the
Sloomaz-ayor-le-WeentIi, heading toward the growing massif
of the mountains and passing word of the coming invasion to
any wannlander who would listen. But the River of Twos was
a long way from Polastrindu, and the Jo-Troom Gate and the
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Alan Dean Foster
depredations of the Plated Folk only components of legend to
the river dwellers.
All agreed with the travelers on one matter, however: the
problem of trying to pass downstream and through the Teeth.
"Eh?" said one wizened old otter in response to their
query, "ye want to go where?" In contrast to Mudge the
oldster's fur was streaky-white. So were his facial whiskers.
Arthritis bent him in the middle and gnarled his hands and
feet.
"Ye'll never make it. Ye won't make it past the entrance
and if ye do, ye'll not find yer way through the rock. Too
many have tried and none have ever come back."
"We have resources others did not have," said Clothahump
confidentally. "I am something of a formidable conjurer, and
my associate here is a most powerful spellsinger." He ges-
tured at me lanky form of Ion-Tom. They had stepped down
from the wagon to talk with the elder. The dray lizards
munched contentedly on rich riverbank growth.
The old otter put aside his fishing pole and studied them.
His short whistle indicated he didn't think much of either man
or turtle, unseen mental talents notwithstanding.
"Sorcerers ye may be, but the passage through the Teeth
by way of the river is little but a legend. Ye can travel b\
legend only in dreams. Which is all that's likely to be left of
ye if ye persist in this folly. Sixty years I've lived on the
banks of the Sloomaz-ayor-le-Weentli." He gestured fondly
at the flowing water behind him. "Never have I heard tell of
anyone fool enough to try and go into the mountains by way