toward the town. "It's everywhere. Maybe they're enchanted,
but that's not the word I'd use to describe their sewage
system."
"Ah saw their gardens when we came in," said Roseroar
thoughtfully. "They appeahed to be untended."
"So fairy town's gone to hell," Jon-Tom murmured.
"Something's very wrong here."
"Wot difference do it make to us, mate? We 'ave our
own problems. Dealin' with 'Er Crossness, for one thing."
"If we could figure out what's wrong here," Jon-Tom
argued, "maybe we could ingratiate ourselves with our
captors."
"You ingratiate yourself, mate. Me, I'm for some sleep."
Jon-Tom didn't doubt that the otter could sleep on the
bare rock. If Mudge were tossed out of a plane at twenty
thousand feet, the otter could catch twenty winks before
awakening to open his parachute. It was a talent he often
envied.
"Sleeping won't solve our problem."
"It'll solve me immediate one, mate. I'm pooped."
192
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
193
"Perhaps yoah magic will work against the enchanted
folk," Roseroar said hopefully.
"I don't know." Jon-Tom tapped the wood of the duar,
was rewarded with a melodious thumping sound. The
moon was shining down into the narrow defile, illuminat-
ing the dense woods surrounding them. "I'm going to hold
off till the last possible moment to find out."
The tigress was slipping out of her armor and using it to
make a crude pillow. "Ah don't know." She rested her
massive head on black and white paws. "It seems to me
that we're already theah."
Grelgen and the rest of the fairy council came for them
in the morning. Their principal nemesis had changed into a
flowing gown of orange chiffon. The bright pastel attire
had not softened her disposition, however.
"We've been considering what to do with you bums
most of the night," she informed them brusquely.
Jon-Tom stretched, pushed at his tower back, and wished1,
he'd had the sense to use Roseroar for a cushion. He was
stiff and sore from spending the night on the hard ground.
"All I can tell you is that we're innocent of any charges
you discussed. So what are you going to do now?"
"Eat," she informed him. "Talk more later."
"Well now, I could do with a spot o' breakfast!" Mudge
tried to muster some enthusiasm. Maybe Jon-Tom was right
after all, and these cute little enchanted bastards were finally
going to act in a civilized manner. "Where do we eat?"
"Wrong pronoun," Grelgen said. She turned to point
with her wand.
Jon-Tom followed it into the brush. What the poor light
of evening had kept hidden from view was now revealed
by the bright light of day. Up the creek beyond the town,
thick peeled branches spanned a shallow excavation. The
firepit showed signs of recent use.
Mudge saw it, too, and his initial enthusiasm vanished.
"Uh, wot's on the menu, luv?"
"Fricasseed water rat," she told him, with relish.
"Wot, me?" Mudge squeaked.
"Give the main course a bottle of elf dust. What better
end for a guilty assassin?"
Up till now Jon-Tom had considered their predicament
as nothing more than a matter of bad communication. This
new vision of a bunch of carnivorous fairies feasting on
Mudge's well-done carcass shoved everything over the
edge into the realm of the surreal.
"Listen, you can't eat any of us."
Grelgen rested pudgy hands on soft hips. "Why not?
Jon-Tom struggled for a sensible reply. "Well, for one
thing, it just doesn't fit your image."
She squinted sideways at him. "You," she said decisively,
"are nuts. I'm going to have to consult with the Elders to
make sure it's okay to eat crazy people."
"I mean, it just doesn't seem right. What about your
honey rolls and custards and like that?"
Grelgen hesitated. When she spoke again, she sounded
slightly embarrassed.
"Actually, you're right. It's only that every once in a
while we get this craving, see? Whoever's unlucky enough
to be in the neighborhood at the time ends up on the
village menu." She glanced over at Folly and tried to
regain some of her former arrogance. "We also find it
helpful now and then to bathe in the blood of a virgin."
Folly digested this and collapsed, rolling about on the
ground while laughing hysterically. Grelgen saw the tears
pouring down the helpless girl's cheeks, grunted, and
looked back over a shoulder. Jon-Tom followed her gaze.
On the far side of fairy town a bunch of muscular,
overweight enchanted folk were sliding an oversized wooden
bowl down a slope. At the sound of Grelgen's voice they
halted.
"Right! Cancel the bathing ceremony!"
Cursing under their breath, the disappointed bowl mov-
ers reversed their efforts and began pushing their burden
back into the bushes.
194
Alan Dean Foster
T
THE DAY OF TBE DISSONANCE
195
"So you think it's funny, do you? Right then, you're
first on the fire instead of the water rat."
That put a clamp on Folly's laughter.
"Why her?" Jon-Tom demanded to know.
"Why not her? For one thing she's already depelted."
"Oh, no you don't." Folly braced herself against the
bare granite wall, as far from Grelgen as she could get.
"You just try and touch me! I'll squash you like a bug."
Grelgen looked disgusted, waved her wand almost
indifferently, and whispered something under her breath.
Folly leaped away from the wall, clutching her backside.
The stone had become red-hot.
"Might as well resign yourself to it, girl," said Grelgen.
"You're on this morning's menu and that's all there is to
it. If there's anything that gets my gall it's an uncooperative
breakfast."
"Please," Jon-Tom pleaded with her, dropping to his
knees to be nearer eye level with their tormentor. "We
mean you no harm. We only came into your lands to ask
you for some information."
"Sorry. Like I said, we've got the craving, and when it
comes upon us we've got to have meat."
"But why us?" Mudge asked her. "These woods must
be full o' lizards and snakes enough to supply your 'ole
village."
"Food doesn't wander into our custody," she snapped at
him. "We don't like hunting. And the forest creatures
don't stage unprovoked assaults on our person."
"Blimey," Mudge muttered. "'Ow can such small
'eads be so bloomin' dense? I told you that were an
accident!"
Grelgen stared silently at him as she tapped one tiny
glass slipper with her wand. Jon-Tom absently noted that
the slipper was three sizes too small for her not-so-tiny
foot.
"Don't give me any trouble. I'm in a disagreeable mood
as it is." She whistled up a group of helpers and they
started through one archway toward Folly. Her initial
defiance burned out of her, she hid behind Roseroar.
Jon-Tom knew that wouldn't save her.
"Look," he said desperately, trying to stall for time as
he swung the duar into playing position and tried to think
of something to sing, "you said that meat isn't usually
what you eat, that you only have this craving for it
occasionally?"
"What about it?" Grelgen snapped impatiently.
"What do you eat normally? Besides what you told me
earlier."
"Milk and honey, nectar and ambrosia, pollen and sugar
sap. What else would fairy folk eat?"
"So that's it. I had a hunch." A surge of hope rushed
through him.
"What's it?" she asked, frowning at him.
He sat down and crossed his legs, set the duar aside. "I