“How did you track us?”
Mudge snorted. “Ain’t you lived long enough in our world to figure that by now, mate?” He tapped his glistening black nose.
Jon-Tom had forgotten. In the pristine atmosphere of the cave their scents must have lingered in the air like road markers. Even so it had taken guts for Kamaulk and his crew to follow them through that black underworld, up the obviously alien concrete stairway. How many of them had that kind of courage? He tried to see past Sasheem into the den. How badly were they outnumbered? Surely the whole crew hadn’t agreed to follow their captain into darkness.
Of one thing he was certain: If Kamaulk was able to march Mudge, Weegee and Cautious back to their world he’d have a permanent hold on Jon-Tom. He’d have to do exactly as the pirate directed in order to keep his friends alive. Eventually Kamaulk would grow sated with the products of Jon-Tom’s world, or else he’d figure out some way to derive what he wanted from it without any help. Then Jon-Tom and the others would become expendable. He had to do something now.
As bemused and amazed as they were by this new world they’d stumbled into, Jon-Tom didn’t think Kamaulk was dazed enough to allow him to try a song on the suar. For that matter he had no idea if his spellsinging would work in his own world. As he thought furiously, time and opportunity were slipping away. The pirates were divesting their captives of their rewon weapons. With sorrow Mudge watched his longbow and short sword taken by other hands. Jon-Tom was relieved of his ramwood staff and suar. Their backpacks were not touched. Apparently Kamaulk was convinced they contained nothing likely to present a significant danger to him or his crew.
The parrot was inspecting the gas range, determined not to show hesitation or fear in front of his troops. He sniffed at the stove, picked up the skillet Jon-Tom had dropped and placed it back on the open burner.
“Cooking device. Very interesting.” He peered beneath the skillet. “Where does the fire come from?”
“Gas.”
This brought forth laughter from several of the pirates. Kamaulk made a face and whipped out a long stiletto with a hollowed handle. “Do you take me for a fool?” He ran the tip of the blade up one leg of Jon-Tom’s pants, not cutting the material but letting him feel the edge. “I said I didn’t want to kill you. That does not mean I am adverse to marking you a little.”
Jon-Tom found he was starting to sweat. “Dammit, it’s a gas stove!”
“Even Kizewiz doesn’t make that much gas.” A bulky anteater guffawed from his place in the doorway.
“It’s not that kind of gas. See?” He reached for one of the stove controls and almost lost a finger as Kamaulk brought the blade down against the plastic.
“Be careful what you do, man. I am sure you can guide me in the use of these devices with nine fingers as well as with ten.”
Very slowly Jon-Tom adjusted the flame. “See how it works? A special kind of gas enters the house through pipes and runs into this stove. You use a small fire to light the gas.”
“How do you stop it?” Jon-Tom demonstrated. Kamaulk nodded, satisfied.
“And this?” He tapped the refrigerator handle with his knife.
“It keeps food from spoiling.” Maybe Kamaulk wouldn’t get bored with his survey of modern inventions. The longer he could stall the captain the more time there was to think of something. Not that there seemed much anyone could do with a bunch of heavily armed pirates milling around in the other room. “Pull the handle.”
Kamaulk did so and jumped back as a puff of chilled air struck him. He blinked, then waddled forward to study the porcelain-on-steel interior.
“Wonderful.” He looked back at Sasheem. “We’re going to take some of these marvels back with us. Trade will make us the wealthiest company of buccaneers the world has ever seen.” He glanced curiously at the portable TV that sat atop one of the kitchen cabinets. “And what is that thing?”
“Television. Magic picture box.” He tried not to reveal the sudden surge of excitement that raced through him as he winked at Mudge. The otter’s expression did not change, but Jon-Tom saw him stiffen slightly.
Kamaulk squinted at the blank screen. “What does it do?”
“Turn the knob on the bottom right all the way to the left, then pull it out ‘til it clicks.” He gathered himself. Maybe they would get lucky. If a sufficiently loud, violent show flared to life it might startle or frighten the pirates enough to enable Mudge and himself to get their hands on some weapons. Starsky and Hutch, a war movie, the evening news, anything really repellent and noisy.
What they got instead was a tape of the Royal Ballet doing the pas de deux from the Nutcracker Suite. He cursed helplessly.
“Lovely.” Kamaulk turned the volume down to an acceptable level and grinned at Jon-Tom. “You see how quickly I adapt to new things. But why are there only humans in the picture?”
“That brings up something about my world you aren’t going to like.” As he began to explain, the lights went out.
“Freeze! Everybody!”
There was barely enough time for Jon-Tom to identify the accent as Spanish before a number of things happened all at once. Kamaulk yelled an oath, Jon-Tom leaped toward his friends and shouted for them to drop to the floor, Sasheem roared and charged and thunder and lightning echoed through the little house.
“Great rubbing post of God, what was that?” Weegee whimpered.
Jon-Tom shushed her. “Quiet. Whatever you do, don’t breathe another word when the lights come back on. Understand? Say nothing unless I give you a sign, no matter what happens. Mudge, Cautious, that goes for you, too.”
Mass confusion reigned in the den as the remaining pirates practically broke down the screen door in their anxiety to flee. Jon-Tom could visualize them scrambling in panic to reach the tunnel that led back to their own world. The air in the kitchen stank of gunpowder and blood. Then the lights camp back on.
Standing by the back door was a swarthy man in his late thirties. He had curly black hair, a thin mustache, and one finger on the light switch. Jon-Tom thought he was a dead ringer for one of the extras who composed the background of Miami Vice. The sawed-off twelve gauge he cupped against his forearm was no prop.
Directly across the floor Sasheem lay sprawled on his back with a gaping hole in his chest. Kamaulk had flown up onto a cabinet and perched there, staring wide-eyed at the body of his first mate and wondering whence his brave crew had fled.
“Madre de dios.” The intruder took his hand off the light switch and stared down at the dead leopard. Another Latino paused in the den door, a large pistol dangling from his fist. His eyes flicked over the spotted corpse before coming to rest on Jon-Tom and his friends.
“What thee hell ees going on here?” He looked to his buddy. “I was comeeng een thee front door an’ theese damn zoo nearly run over me.”
“Big cat jumped me.” The other man’s accent was not as thick as that of the pistolero. “What’s with all these animals in clothes?”
Mudge made as if to reply, clammed up as Jon-Tom frantically put finger to his lips. The otter nodded imperceptibly and both movements went unnoticed by the armed intruders. They were too busy examining Sasheem’s body.
The pistolero muttered the name “Cruz” and that worthy turned to point the sawed-off in Jon-Tom’s general direction. “You. You tell me what’s going on here. Where the hell did all these animals come from?” He leaned to his left and saw Cautious squatting under the kitchen table. “That’s the biggest damn raccoon I’ve ever seen.”
“They’re mine.” Mudge nipped him on the leg but he winced and ignored it. “They belong to me. I’m an animal trainer. These are all specially trained performers.” He nodded at Sasheem. “When you turned on the lights you panicked the leopard. He’s really quite harmless. A great loss.”