most of the population are workers."
"It means naught if they willingly condone the system which exploits them."
"How much choice does an oppressed worker have, comrade? It is easy to speak of
revolution when you're twenty times bigger than anyone else and can spit fire
and destruction. You expect an awful lot of some poor worker with a family to
take care of. You don't have those kinds of responsibilities, do you?"
"No, but..."
"Then don't condemn some poor bear for protecting his family. You're asking them
to sacrifice cubs and children. And besides, they don't have your education.
You're expecting revolutionary sophistication from uneducated workers. Shouldn't
you try and educate them first? Then if they reject the True Path and continue
to accept the capitalistic evils they live with, then it will be time for
cleansing."
And by that time, he thought hopefully, we'll be safely away from Polastrindu.
"They still willingly countenance an antibourgeois life," said Falameezar
grumblingly, but with less certainty.
Meanwhile Jon-Tom was still furiously trying to recall an anti-dragon song. He
didn't know any. "Puff the Magic Dragon" was pleasant but hardly restrictive.
Think, man, think!
But he had no time to think of songs. He was too busy trying to tie the dragon's
tale into semantic knots.
"But would it not be best for all concerned if a warning was to be given?"
Falameezar's head rose high against the glowing night. "Yes, a warning! Burn out
the evil influences so that the new order can be installed. Down with the
exploiting industries and the factories of the capitalists! Build the commune
anew, beneath the banner of true socialism."
"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Jon-Tom took a worried step backward.
"You'll destroy the homes of the innocent, ignorant workers."
"It will be good for them," Falameezar replied firmly. "They will have to
rebuild their homes with their own hands, cooperatively, instead of living in
those owned by landlords and the bosses. Yes, the people must have the
opportunity to begin afresh." He turned his attention speculatively to the
nearest multistoried building, considering how most efficiently to commence
"cleansing" it.
"But they already hate their bosses." Jon-Tom ran parallel to the loping dragon.
"There's no reason to put them out in the rain and cold. What's needed here now
isn't violence but a sound revolutionary dialectic!"
Falameezar's claws scraped on the cobblestones like the wheels of a vast engine.
"Remember the workers!" He shook his fist at the unresponsive dragon. "Consider
their ignorance and their personal plights." Then, without thinking, his fingers
were flying over the duar, the necessary words and music having come to him
abruptly and unbidden.
"Arise ye pris'ners of starvation!
Arise, ye wretched of the Earth.
For justice thunders condemnation, a better world in birth.
No more tradition's chains shall bind us.
Arise, you slaves, no more in thrall!"
At the first stirring words of the "Internationale," Falameezar halted as if
shot. Slowly his head swung around and down to stare blankly at Jon-Tom.
"Watch 'im, mate!" sounded the faint voice of Mudge. Similar warnings came from
Caz and Flor, Talea and Pog.
But the dragon was utterly mesmerized. His ears remained cocked attentively
forward as the singer's voice rose and fell.
Finally the anthem was at an end. As Jon-Tom's fingers trailed a last time over
the duar's strings, Falameezar slowly emerged from his stupor, nodding slowly.
"Yes, you are right, comrade. I will do what you say. For a moment I forgot what
is truly important. Compassion was lost in my desire to establish proper dogma
among the proletariat. I had forgotten the more important task before us in my
rage at petty injustice." His head drooped low.
"I lost control of myself, and I apologize for the damage."
Jon-Tom whirled and frantically waved his arms, shouting the all-clear.
Immediately the wagons of the Polastrindu fire brigade trundled forward,
trailing hoses like brown slugtracks. Hands and paws were laid to pumps, and
water was soon attacking the burning barracks. Thicker dark smoke filled the sky
as the flames were pushed back and hot embers sizzled.
"I shall cause no more trouble," said the downcast dragon. "I will not forget
again." Then the great lean skull turned to one side, and a crimson eye locked
on Jon-Tom. "But before long we will make revolutionary progress here, and the
bosses will be thrown out."
Jon-Tom nodded rapidly. "Of course. Remember that first we have to defeat the
most repressive, most brutal bosses of all."
"I will remember." Falameezar sighed and a puff of smoke emerged from his mouth.
Jon-Tom winced instinctively, but there was no flame. "We will strike to protect
the workers." He curled up like a great cat, laid his head across his right
foreleg.
"I'm very tired now. I leave the night in your hands, Comrade." With that he
closed his eyes, oblivious to the activity and smoke and yelling all around him,
and went peacefully to sleep.
"Thank you, Comrade Falameezar." Jon-Tom turned away. He was starting to shiver
now, recalling the feel of heat on his face and the fury in the dragon's gaze
when he'd first confronted him.
His friends were cautiously running to him. Their expressions were a mixture of
relief and awe.
"What in hell did you sing?... What spell did you use?... How did you do it?"
were some of the amazed comments.
"I don't know, I'm not sure. The words just came to me. Old studies that stick,"
he muttered as they walked back toward the city gate.
Clothahump was waiting there to greet him. The old turtle solemnly offered his
hand. "A feat worthy of a true wizard, whether you believe yourself that or not,
my boy. I salute you. You have just saved our journey."
"I'm afraid my principal motivation was to save myself, there at the last." He
couldn't meet the wizard's eyes.
"Tut, motivation! It is accomplishment and result that count. I welcome you to
the brotherhood of magicians." Jon-Tom found his fingers clasped in the cool but
emphatic grasp of the elderly sorcerer.
"Perhaps it would be a good thing if you were to teach me the words to that
spellsong, in case something were to happen to you. My voice is not particularly
melodious, but at least I would have the words. It sounded especially powerful,
and may serve to control the beast another time."
"It specializes in control, for all sorts of beasts," Jon-Tom replied.
The others listened as well, but the words had no special effect on them. Across
the courtyard the fire brigade was bringing the last of the blaze under control.
Falameezar snored unconcernedly nearby, his rage spent, his conscience assuaged.
Possibly it was because of Falameezar's tantrum, but in any case the summons to
council came the following day. A much subdued beaver informed them that the
representatives they'd wished to meet were already assembled and waiting for
them.
Jon-Tom had spent much of the previous night coaching Caz in socialist jargon,
realizing that Clothahump could not remain behind this time. The fact that the
rabbit had volunteered to remain behind and keep a watch on the still somnolent
dragon pleased Jon-Tom.
The fact that Talea and Flor had decided to remain and assist him did not. So he
was in a foul mood as they neared the city hall.
"My boy," Clothahump was telling him, "if ever you live to be half my age you
will learn that love is a lasting thing, while lust is but transitory. Are you