put two fingers to her lips and let out a sharp, piercing
whistle. Jon-Tom listened admiringly. The sound was loud
enough to attract an empty cab from two blocks down a
Manhattan street.
What it did attract, from beneath mushrooms and flow-
ers, from behind moss beds and tree roots, was a swarm of
enchanted folk, several hundred of them. A few carried
wands resembling Grelgen's, but most hefted miniature
bows and arrows, crossbows, and spears. Jon-Tom put a
hand out to restrain Roseroar from picking up her swords,
even though the tigress weighed more than all the enchanted
folk combined.
"Magic," he whispered warningly.
Roseroar yielded, but not to his admonition. "Magic or
no, the tips of then: weapons are moistened. I suspect
poison. An ungallant way to fight."
"I guess if you're four inches tall you have to use every
advantage you can think of."
Jalwar moved close, whispered to him. "Move carefully
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Alan Dean Poster
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
189
here, spellsinger, or we may vanish in an arrogant conjura-
tion. These folk have a deserved reputation for powerful
magic."
"That's how I figure it," he replied. "Maybe they're
not all as obnoxious or combative as our friend there."
"What's that, what did you say?"
"I said," he told Grelgen, "that it's nice of you to
invite us to meet all your friends and relatives."
"When one of us is threatened, buster, all spring to the
rescue."
Jon-Tom noted that none of the fairies surrounding them
were in any condition to fly. Every one of them waddled
about with obvious difficulty, and the slimmest was a
candidate for the enchanted branch of Weight Watchers.
"You're our prisoners," she finished.
"I see," said Mudge. "And wot if we decide not to be
your prisoners?"
"Then you'll be dead," she assured him unpleasantly.
. Mudge studied the array of glistening little weapons.
" 'Ospitable folk, wot?"
"Watch 'em," said Grelgen to her relations. She turned
and sauntered to the end of the branch, hopped off, and
landed with a wheeze in the grass below. There she entered
into a mumbling conversation with several other wand-
bearers. Most of them were clad only in rags and tatters.
Mudge would have to sit on someone of importance,
thought Jon-Tom angrily. The conference broke up mo-
ments later.
"This way," said one of the other armed fairies, gestur-
ing upstream. Surrounded by miniuscule guards, they were
marched off up the creek.
"You sure you didn't see her, Mudge?" Jon-Tom asked
the otter.
"Would I 'ave been stupid enough to sit on 'er if I 'ad,
mate? Use your 'ead. It were those bloody flowers."
"You weren't looking, then," Jon-Tom said accusingly.
"So I weren't lookin*. Should I 'ave been lookin'?"
"No, I guess not. It's nobody's fault."
"Pity I didn't flatten 'er," the otter murmured, careful
to keep his voice down.
"It might not have mattered, sir," Jalwar murmured.
"The fairy folk are known for their resilience."
"I can see that," said Mudge, studying their obese
escort. "The one with the mouth looks like she could
bounce."
"Be quiet," said Jon-Tom. "We're in enough trouble
already. She'll hear you."
"Damned if I care if she does, guv." The otter had his
hands shoved in his pockets and kicked disgustedly at
pebbles as they walked along the side of the creek. "If she
ain't got common sense to see that—"
A paw the size of his head covered his mouth and,
incidently, most of his face. "Watch yo mouth, ottah,"
Roseroar told him. "Yo heard Jon-Tom. Let's not irritate
these enchanted folk any moah than we already have."
"I'd like to irritate 'em," said the otter when she'd
removed her paw. But his voice had become a whisper.
The stream narrowed. Canyon walls closed in tight
around the marchers, all but shutting out the sun. Trees
and bushes grew into one another, forming a dense,
hard-to-penetrate tangle. The captives had to fight their
way through the thickening undergrowth.
Dusk brought them to the outskirts of the enchanted
folk's village. In appearance it was anything but enchanted.
Tiny huts and homes were scattered around a natural
amphitheater. Evidence of disrepair and neglect abounded.
Some of the buildings were falling down, and even those
cut into massive tree roots had piles of trash mounded up
against the doorways. To Jon-Tom all this was clear proof
of a loss of pride among the inhabitants.
Tiny lights flickered to life behind many of the miniature
windows, and smoke started to curl from minute chim-
neys. Off to one side of the community a circular area was
surrounded by a stone wall pierced by foot-high archways.
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Alan Dean Poster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
191
The six-inch high wall ended at both ends against a sheer
cliff of gray granite.
The four captives filled this arena. Once they were
inside the insignificant walls, Grelgen and two other fairies
stood within the archways waving their wands and murmuring
importantly. When the invocation was finished, she stepped
back and retreated toward the village with her cronies.
Folly took a step toward the minuscule barrier and tried
to step over. She gasped and drew back as if bitten,
holding her right hand.
"What is it?" Jon-Tom asked anxiously.
"It's hot. The air's hot."
Experimentally, Jon-Tom waved at the emptiness above
the tiny stone wall. An invisible wall of flame now
enclosed them. He shook his hand and blew on his fingers
to cool them, deciding they weren't going to blister.
Escape wouldn't be easy.
Roseroar sighed and settled herself on the hard ground.
"An ironic conclusion to yoah expedition, Jon-Tom. Cap-
tured and imprisoned by a bunch of disgruntled, not to
mention uncouth, enchanted folk."
"Don't be so quick to give up. They may decide to let
us go yet. Besides," he swung his duar around, "we have
magic of our own."
Mudge looked imploringly heavenward. "Why me, wot?"
"I do not know that spellsinging will work against the
fairy folk, sir," said Jalwar. "In my travels I have heard
that they are immune to all forms of magic except their
own. It may be that yours will have no effect on them, and
may even be turned against you."
"You don't say." Jon-Tom's fingers fell from the duar's
strings, together with what remained of his confidence. "I
didn't know that."
"It may not be so, but it is what I have heard many
times."
"We'll hold it as a last resort, then."
"Wot difference does it make, mate? 'Alf the time it
backfires on you anyhows. If it doubles back on us I
wouldn't want it to 'appen while I'm stuck in this clearin'."
"Neither would I, Mudge." He looked out toward the
winking lights of the village. "We may not have any
choice. They don't seem much inclined to listen to reason."
"I think they're all crazy," commented Folly.
In the fading light she looked healthy and beautiful. The
impermanent bruises and scars Corroboc had inflicted on
her were healing fast. She was resilient, tough, and grow-
ing more feminine by the day. She was also making
Jon-Tom increasingly uneasy.
He turned to Mudge, saw the otter standing as close as
possible to the invisible barrier enclosing them.
"What's up, Mudge?"
The otter screwed up his face, his whiskers twitching.
"Can't you smell it, too, mate? Garbage." He nodded