"An ancient and more-or-less accurate notion, which
Hathcar was counting on to draw me out. They would have
succeeded with their plan except for ignorance of one
fact."
"Wot fact, mate?" Mudge asked.
Drom turned to look back at the otter. "I'm gay." He
increased his pace.
"Uh, 'ere now, mate, maybe we'd all be better off
walkin' after all."
246
Man Dean Foster
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
247
"Nonsense. We are still not far enough away from
Hathcar's troop to chance slowing down."
"That's debatable. Besides, there's no need for you to
keep on carryin' us about like this. Don't want to make
you uncomfortable or nothin'."
"It sounds to me as though you are the one who is
feeling uneasy, otter."
"Wot, me? Not me, guv'nor. It's just that I—"
"What's wrong with you, Mudge?" Jon-Tom asked
him. "I thought you'd be glad of the chance to rest your
precious feet."
"Relax, otter," the stallion said. "You are not my type.
Now if you happened to be a Percheron, or a Clydesdale,
or maybe a shire..." He let the images trail off.
"If you have to worry about something, think about
Hathcar," Jon-Tom instructed the otter.
Mudge did so, though he still kept a wary eye on their
mount. Later, his confusion was broken by the sound of
distant thunder. Or perhaps it was only a bellow of
outrage.
Silky's parents kept the money already paid to them by
Hathcar, and as Jon-Tom surmised, the cuscus did not try
to take it back by force from the heavily defended town.
There seemed no way for him to vent his rage and
frustration until it occurred to him that since the girl had
truly done her best, if anything she actually deserved a
bonus.
So it was that while Silky did not get her much-desired
candy, she was the only girl in the village who could look
forward to the coming winter confidently, clad as she was
in her brand-new wolfskin coat.
The travelers stopped in late afternoon. The roast that
Mudge had risked his life to salvage was almost gone, but
Roseroar soon brought in enough fresh food for all. Drom
nibbled contentedly at a nearby field of petal pedals. Each
blue-and-pink flower produced a different musical note
when it was munched.
Mudge ate close to Jon-Tom. "Don't it bother you,
mate?"
"Don't... doesn't what bother me?"
The otter nodded toward the unicorn. " 'Im."
Jon-Tom bit into his steak. The meat was succulent and
rich with flavor. "He saved us once and might save us
again. As for his personal sexual preferences, I could care
less. He'd be downright inconspicuous on Hollywood
Boulevard."
"Well, maybe you're right. Now, me, I knew it from
the first. The way 'e minced out of the woods toward us."
Drom overheard, lifted his muzzle, and said with digni-
ty, "I do not mince, otter. I prance." He looked at
Jon-Tom. "You really believe your former acquaintances
will beat you to Crancularn and to the medicine you have
come for?"
"I hope not, but I fear it. They stole our only map."
"That is a small loss. Do not regret it." The unicorn
crunched a clump of purple ortnods with petals the shade
. of enameled amethyst. The flowers hummed as they were
consumed. "I can guide you there."
"We were told it moves around."
"Only in one's imagination. There are those who stum-
ble through it without seeing it, or circle 'round it as if
blind. So they say it has moved. It does not move, but to
find it you must wish to. I know. I was told by those who
could know. I will lead you to Crancularn."
"That's bleedin' wonderful," Mudge confessed aloud.
He was mad at himself. There was no reason for him to be
nervous or wary in the unicorn's presence. Drom was a
likable chap, wasn't he, and Mudge didn't look in the least
like a shire horse, did he? And hadn't he always been told
never to look a gift unicorn in the mouth? He was upset
with himself.
Hadn't the four-legs carried himself and Jon-Tom all this
way from Hathcar's territory without complaining? Why,
with him galloping along and the rest of them taking turns
248
Alan Dean Poster
riding him, they might yet overtake that prick Jalwar and
his whore of a helpmate Folly.
They made rapid progress westward, but still there was
no sign of their former friends.
When they finally found themselves on the outskirts of
Crancularn itself, Jon-Tom found it hard to believe. He'd
half come to think of the town as existing only in
Clothahump's imagination. Yet there it was.
Yes, there it was, and after too many close calls with
death, after crossing the Muddletup Moors and the Glittergeist
Sea and innumerable hills and vales, he was more than a
little discouraged by the sight of it.
The setting was impressive enough: a heavily forested
slope that climbed the flank of a slowly smoking volcano.
The town itself, however, was about as awe-inspiring as
dirty, homey Lynchbany. Tumble-down shacks and ram-
shackle two-and three-story buildings of wood and mud
crowded close to one another as if fearful of encountering the
sunlight. A dirty fog clung to the streets and the angular,
slate-roofed structures. As they headed toward the town, a
familiar odor made his nostrils contract: the thick musk of
the unwashed of many species mixed with the stink of an
open sewer system. His initial excitement was rapidly
fading.
Massive oaks and sycamores grew within the town
itself, providing more shade where none was required and
sometimes even shouldering buildings aside. Jon-Tom was
about to ask Drom if perhaps they might have come to the
wrong place when the unicorn reared back on its hind
hooves and nearly dumped him and Mudge to the ground.
Roseroar snarled as she assumed a defensive posture.
Coming straight at them, belching smoke and bellowing
raggedly, was a three-footed demon. A rabbit rode the
demon's back. This individual wore a wide-brimmed felt
hat; a long-sleeved shirt of muslin, open halfway; and a
short mauve skirt similar to the kilts favored by the
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
249
intelligent arboreals of this world. His enormous feet were
unshod.
The demon slowed as it approached. Jon-Tom drew in a
deep breath as it stopped in front of him and hastened to
reassure his companions. "It's all right. It can't harm
you."
"How do yo know, Jon-Tom?" Roseroar kept her hands
on her sword hilts.
"Because I know what it is. It's a Honda ATC Offroad
Three-wheeler." He admired the red-painted demon. "Au-
tomatic too. I didn't know Honda made an ATC with
automatic."
"Funny name for a demon," Mudge was muttering.
"Hiya," said the rabbit cheerfully, revving the engine.
"Can I help you folks?"
"You sure can." Jon-Tom pointed at the ATC. "Where'd
you get that?"
The rider raced the motor and Drom shied away. "From
the Shop of the Aether and Neither. Where else?"
Jon-Tom felt a burst of excitement. Maybe Clothahump
was right. The inexplicable presence of the ATC in this
world was proof enough that powerful magic was at work
here.
"That's where we want to go."
"Figures," said the rabbit. "Nice of you to drop in. We
don't get a lot of visitors here in Crancularn. For some
reason, travelers avoid us."
"Might be your wonderful reputation," Mudge told
him.
The rabbit eyed them appraisingly. "Strangers. Don't