of you yet?" She spread both hands and turned a half circle. "Where's Mudge?"
Jon-Tom eased Flor off his shoulder. She blinked sleepily and then, becoming
aware of her position, slid to one side. Her cat stretch made it difficult for
him to concentrate on the problem at hand.
"Mudge is gone," he told her as he rose, trying to work the kinks out of
shoulders and legs.
"So da fuzzy little bugger up and split." Pog used the tip of one wing to clean
an ear, grimacing as he did so. "Don't surprise me none. He as much as said he
was gonna do it first chance he got."
"I thought better of him." Jon-Tom looked disappointedly at the surrounding
woods.
Talea laughed. "Then you're a bigger fool than you seem. Don't you realize, the
only thing that kept him with us this far was wizardry threats." She jabbed a
thumb toward Clothahump.
"I am most upset," said the wizard quietly. "Despite his unfortunate
predilection for illegal activities, I rather liked that otter." Jon-Tom watched
the turtle's expression change. "Well, I cannot bring him back, but I can fix
him, where he is. I'll put a seekstealth on him."
Inquiry revealed that a seekstealth was something of a magical delayed-action
bomb. Possessed of its own ethereal composition, it would drift about the world
invisibly until it finally tracked down its assigned individual. At that point
the substance of the spell would take effect. Jon-Tom shook at how devastating
such a Damoclean conjuration could be. The unfortunate subject could
successfully elude the seekstealth for years, only to wake up one morning having
long since forgotten the original incident to discover that he now had, for
example, the head of a chicken. How could this happen to his friend Mudge? Wait
one hour, he begged the wizard, who reluctantly agreed.
One hour later Clothahump commenced forming the complex spell. He was halfway
through it when a figure appeared out of the forest. Jon-Tom and Flor turned
from preparing breakfast to observe it.
Several small, bright blue lizard shapes dangled from its belt, their heads
scraping the ground. In all other respects it was quite familiar.
Mudge detached the catch from his waist and tossed the limp forms near the
cookfire. Then he frowned curiously at the half circle of gaping onlookers.
" 'Ere now, wot's with all the fish-faces, wot?" He bent over the lizards,
pulled out his knife, and inserted it in one of the bodies. "Take me a moment,
mates, t' gut these pretties and then we can set t' some proper fryin'. Takes a
true gourmet chef, it does, t' prepare limnihop the right way."
Clothahump had ceased his mumbling and gesticulating. He looked quite angry.
"Nice mornin' for huntin'," said the otter conversationally. "Ground's moist
enough t' leave tracks everwhere, so wakin' up early as I did, I thought I'd
'ave a go at supplementin' our larder." He finished the last lizard, began to
skin them. Then he paused, whiskers twitching a touch uncertainly as he noticed
everyone still staring at him.
"Crikey, wot's the bloomin' matter with you all?"
Jon-Tom walked over, patted the otter on the back. "We thought for a moment that
you'd run out on us. I knew you wouldn't do that, Mudge."
"The 'ell I wouldn't," came the fervent reply. Mudge gestured toward Clothahump
with the knife. "But I've no doubt 'Is Brainship 'ere would keep his wizardly
word t' do somethin' rotten t' meself, merely because I might choose t' exercise
me own freedom o' will. Might even do me the dirty o' puttin' a seekstealth on
me."
"Oh, now I don't know that I would go that far," muttered Clotha-hump. Jon-Tom
looked at him sharply.
"Now don't get me wrong, mate," the otter said to Jon-Tom. "I like you, and I
like the two dear ladies, even if they are a bit standoffish, and even old Pog
'ere can be good company when 'e wants to." The bat looked down from his branch
and snorted, then returned to preening himself.
"It's just that I'm not lookin' forward t' the prospect o' possible
dismemberment. But then, I've said all this before, 'aven't I." He smiled
beatifically. " 'Tis the threat that keeps me taggin' along. I know better than
t' try and run off."
"It is not that we believed you had actually done that. Which is to say, we were
not entirely certain that..."
"Stow it, guv'nor. I don't pay it no mind." He set the fillets on the fire,
moved to a mossy log, and pulled off one boot. Furry toes wiggled as he turned
the boot upside down and tapped the heel with a paw. Several small pebbles
tumbled out.
"Some bloody deep muck I 'ad t' slop through t' run that set down. Twas worth
it, I think. They're young enough t' be sweet and old enough t' be meaty. Truth
t' tell, I was gettin' tired o' nuts and berries and jerky." He shoved his foot
back into the boot.
"Come on, now. Surely none o' you seriously thought I'd taken the long hike?
Let's get t' some serious business, right? Breakfast!" He ambled toward the
fire. "I may be ignorant, foul-mouthed, lecherous, and disreputable," he reached
for the proximate curves of Talea's derriere and she jumped out of the way, "but
there be one thing I am that's good. I'm the best camp cook this side or the
Muddletup Moors." He winked at Jon-Tom.
"Comes from 'avin' t' eat on the run all your life."
There was no more talk of desertion. The lizards looked rather more ghastly than
the average hunk of cooked meat. Flor bit into her seetion with obvious gusto,
so Jon-Tom could hardly show queasi-ness. Meat was meat, after all, and he'd
eaten plenty of reptile in the past weeks. It was just that they'd been such
cute little blue things.
"Muy bueno," Flor told Mudge, licking her fingers. "Maybe one of these days I'll
have a chance to make you my quesadillas."
Mudge was repacking his gear. "Maybe one o' these days I'll 'ave a chance to
sample some quintera."
"No,no. 'Quesadilla.' Quintera is my..." She gaped, and then to Jon-Tom's
considerable surprise, she blushed. The flush was very becoming on her dark
skin. He wanted to say something but somehow the idea of admonishing an otter
about a ribald remark upset him. He simply could not visualize the furry joker
as a rival. It was inhuman....
They shouldered their packs and started across the glade. Jon-Tom chatted with
Mudge and Clothahump while Flor engaged the gruff but willing Pog in
conversation. She was curious about the functions of a famulus, and he readily
supplied her with a long list of the mostly unpleasant activities he was
regularly required to perform. He spoke softly, out of the wizard's hearing.
Water occasionally lapped at their boots. The night's rain had littered the
glade with little pools. They avoided the largest without anyone noticing that
several of the depressions were identical in outline: the shape of hooves had
been melted into the rock.
Jon-Tom was not prepared for his first sight of the river. The Tailaroam was
anything but the modest stream he'd expected.
It was broad and wild, with an occasional flash of racing white water showing
where the current ran from east to west. He had no way of knowing its depth, but
it seemed substantial enough to support a very large vessel indeed. It reminded
him of pictures he'd seen of the Ohio in colonial times. Not that he expected to
see anything as technologically advanced as a steamship or sternwheeler.
Possibly it was the contrast that made the river seem so big. This was the first
time he'd seen anything larger than a rivulet or creek, and the Tailaroam was
enormous in comparison. Willow and cypress clustered thickly along the banks.