sun.
For hours they plodded steadily on. The road wound like a stream around the
hills, taking advantage of the lowest route, never cresting more than an
occasional rise. Small lakes and ponds sometimes flanked the trail. They were
inhabited by a vast assortment of aquatic lizards who meeped and gibbered in
place of frogs. Each glowed a different color, some green, others red or pink,
still others a rich azure. Each bubble of sound was accompanied by an increase
in light. The ponds were full of chirping searchlights that drifted from branch
to bank.
Jon-Tom watched the water and its luminescent reptilians fade behind them. The
ponds became a brook which ran fast and friendly alongside the rutted wagon
track. Unlike the other travelers it was indifferent to who might overhear its
conversation, and it gurgled merrily while teasing their wheels.
Resignation gave way once more to his natural curiosity.
"Well, we're long out of town." He spoke to Talea. "Where are we going?" Rising
to his knees he reached out a hand to steady himself in the jouncing wagon. It
gave an unexpected lurch to the right, and he caught her side instead of the
back of the seat. Hastily he moved his fingers, but she had neither moved away
nor protested.
"Somewhere where we can't be trapped," she replied. "For God knows even a
blithering Lynchbany cop could piss and track the ruts of this wagon at the same
time. Like any other creature we retreat to a lair and we don't fight unless
we're cornered. And where we're going not even the police will dare come."
"I ain't sure I'd agree to that." Mudge sounded more hopeful than assured. "Tis
more of an uneasy truce."
"Nonetheless," she countered, "we're far more likely to be safe there than
anyplace else." Jon-Tom still gazed questioningly at her.
"We're going to the local branch of the intracounty association of disadvantaged
self-employed artisans and underachievers," she explained.
"Thieves' Hall," Mudge grunted....
VIII
They spent the rest of the night curled beneath the thick blanket in the back of
the wagon. Mudge and Talea were soon as motionless as her former victims, but
Jon-Tom was too keyed up to sleep. Talea was silent as a stone, but a steady
snoring in the form of a high-pitched whistle came from the gray-clad lump that
was Mudge.
Jon-Tom lay on his back and studied the night sky, framed by the overhanging
branches of the trees. Some of the constellations overhead were familiar, though
out of place. Location as well as season was different here. It was a great
comfort, however, to see the easily recognizable shape of Orion standing
stalwart as ever against the interstellar vastness.
Once something with ghostly gray fluorescent wings passed between him and the
moon, a delicate crinoid shape that might have been a reptile, or bird, or
something unimaginable. It trailed thin yellow streamers behind it, and for an
instant it glittered in the sky.
Then it was gone behind the trees. A low hiccoughing came from some concealed
arboreal thing.
Tiny feet sounded like twigs on the road. Their owner paused to sniff at the
wagon wheels before skittering onward. Sycamores and gingkos conversed in low
philosophical woodtones. They lulled him finally into a deep, dreamless
sleep....
He awoke to a welcome sun filtering down through the leaves and a weight on his
left shoulder. Turning his head, he saw Talea snuggled up against him. She was
sleeping on her side, resting on his shoulder, one arm thrown limply across his
chest. He had mixed feelings about disturbing the sculpture.
However... they had a destination. He moved a little. Her eyes fluttered, body
stirred. She blinked, simultaneously taking note of both him and proximity. As
she pulled away, she rubbed sleep from her eyes.
"Easy night," she murmured thickly, "though I've had softer beds."
"Me too." To his surprise he saw that Mudge was already wide awake. He had no
idea how long the otter had lain there watching them.
"Best we be on about our business," the otter said brightly. "The Lynchbany
lockups ain't particularly persistent, but if it was a slow night a few
ambitious types might've elected to come follow." He stood up, gestured back
down the road.
"Personally I think we're well clear of 'em, but you never can be sure."
"Right." She was climbing into the driver's seat. "Best never to take chances
with a skunk."
Shortly they were trundling once more down a road that had become hardly more
than a trail. They'd turned off, he noted, on a branch that was almost devoid of
wagon ruts. Their absence was compensated for by large rocks that did nothing to
help his kidneys.
They paused later for a Spartan breakfast of bread, jerky, and a kind of dried
fruit that resembled lime but tasted much better. Then off again.
It was noon when Talea indicated they'd arrived. Jon-Tom peered ahead between
her and the otter. "I don't see anything."
"What did you think?" she asked archly. "That a place like the local branch of
the intracounty... a place like Thieves' Hall would announce itself with flying
banners and a brass band?"
They turned down a still narrower path and penetrated as deeply into the dense
woods as trees would allow. After a half-mile walk they came to a crude corral
filled with an astonishing assortment of reptilian mounts. Several hundred yards
off to the right of this open-air stable Talea located a metal doorway. It lay
half hidden beneath the roots of several massive oaks and was set directly into
the rock face of a low-browed cliff.
She rapped hard on the metal three times with her open palm, waited, then
repeated the knock.
Presently a small window opened in the top of the door. No face showed itself.
It was easy enough for whoever was within to see outside without placing an eye
invitingly near a possible knife thrust.
"Succor and surcease, comfort and respite to those who know how to live," said a
voice from within.
"T' practice usury without interference," Mudge responded promptly. "T' get
one's fair share. T' never givin' a sucker an even break."
There was a pause and then the door swung outward on rusty hinges. Talea entered
first, followed by Mudge. Jon-Tom had to bend almost double to clear the
ceiling.
Inside they confronted a muscular otter a couple of niches taller than Mudge. He
inspected them cautiously, reserving particular attention for Jon-Tom.
"That one I don't know."
" 'E's a friend." Mudge smiled as he spoke. "An acquaintance from a far
province, wot?" He did not elaborate on that, nor did he mention Clothahump.
The other otter blew his nose on the floor and turned perfunctorily away. They
followed. Before long they passed a series of interlocking tunnels. These all
seemed to devolve into a much larger central cavern. It was filled with a noisy,
raunchy, squalling crowd that made the patrons of the Pearl Possum look like
nursery schoolers their first day away from home.
There was enough sharpened steel in that one room to fight a small war. A fair
amount of dried blood on the stone floor showed that those instruments were
frequently in use. In the enclosed area the noise was close to deafening. Not to
mention the odor. He'd almost come to ignore the animal smells, but in that
tight, poorly ventilated chamber, populated as it was by a less than usually
hygienic assembly, it was overpowering.
"What do we do now?"
"First we find the president of the local chapter," Talea explained, "and pay