Alan Dean Foster Spellsinger 04 The Moment of the Magician

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enough to crawl into.
"What else did you hear?" Memaw prompted the younger otter.
Frangel licked his lips. "I 'eard that this Markus is goin' to demand
assurances o' allegiance. Not to Quasequa, mind you, but to him direct."
"Wot an outragel... Never 'appen... got a snowball's chance in the
Greendowns if *e thinks 'e can force that on everybody...'"
Memaw turned to Jon-Tom and the cries died down. "You have still failed
to properly answer Drench's question, young human. If you are not on the same
"wavelength*-whatever that may be-as this Markus the Ineluctable, how do you
propose to convince him to stop his activites should he prove unresponsive to
your initial entreaties?"
"Naturally, our response will depend on his. If he proves stubborn and
uncooperative, well, 1 have a mandate from the great wizard Clothahump, my
instructor, to do whatever I think is in the best interests of the people of
Quasequa. As Mudge has told you, 1 am something of a spellsinger. The Plated
Folk knew that, which is why they wanted me so badly."
"Bugs ain't got no taste," Mudge grumbled. He stood off to one side,
looking surly and refusing to participate in the discussion.
"Assuming your powers are functioning, you truly believe you can
overcome this magician? It is rumored he is extraordinarily powerful. He
defeated the famous Opiode the Sly."
2X2 "Like I said," Jon-Tom told her, with a quiet confi-: dence he
didn't feel, "we'll do whatever's necessary."
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He moved through them to pick up his backpack, slung it over his
shoulders, did the same with the duar, and gripped the ramwood staff. Then he
looked significantly toward a solitary figure standing away from the others.
"Mudge?"
"Wot!" the otter growled, not looking back at him.
"Ifs time we were on our way."
The otter shook his head sadly. "Ain't it always?"
He let out a sigh, moved to follow as Jon-Tom started toward the beach.
Behind them the hunting party congressed intently, heads sucking
together in a circle, looking for all the world like an undersized rugby
scrum.
Frangel stuck his head up first. "'Ang on there, 'uman! We're comin'
with you."
Jon-Tom paused, turned. "That's damn decent of you, and we'd sure like
the company; but this isn't your fight, and you're not operating under the
kind of obligation that I am."
"Screw your obligation!" said Quorly. "We're not gonna stand 'ere and
let ourselves be taxed like that."
"That's the spirit," Jon-Tom told her. "No taxation without
representation!"
"And we don't want none o' that neither!" Sasswise said angrily.
Jon-Tom swallowed and let his simile go down in flames- Quorly sashayed
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over to him.
"Anyway, you're not goin* to do anythin' without our help, Jonny-Tom."
"And why not?"
" 'Cause you ain't got no boat anymore."
All that bouncing around must have caused him to bump his head a few
times, he reflected. That was one minor fact he'd managed to overlook.
Tmc UOMKIVT OF THE MAOJCLUT 213 "I admit we could use a raft or
something. The Plated Folk made a mess of ours. Could we borrow one of yours?"
"Don't be a fool." She winked at him and joined (he scattering of her
companions.
Jon-Tom watched dizzily as they broke camp, packed, and prepared to
depart. The entire process took about five minutes. There was only the one
craft in any case, a large, low-gunwaled boat that bobbed at anchor on the
other side of the island. Gear was stowed neatly below the single deck.
Jon-Tom followed them aboard, already out of breath. And he hadn't done
anything but watch.
"But why?" he asked Quorly. "Why risk yourselves to help us?"
"Lots o* reasons," she told him, "the principal one bein' that we're
bored. Even catchin' fish can get old, you knows."
Jon-Tom tried to adopt a serious mien as he stepped on board. "This
isn't a game. If I can't get along with this Markus, it could be-dangerous for
all of us." He remembered Pandro's description of the attack by faceless
demons almost certainly sent in pursuit of him by the magician. "I know he's
capable of using violence against those he thinks mean him ill."
'Tough titty." The delicate little Splitch spat over the side. "If 'e
gives you any trouble, we'll just 'ave to show 'im the error o' 'is ways,
won't we? A little danger'!! add some spice to the visit."
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Jon-Tom could only look on admiringly as they pushed off from shore.
There wasn't a concerned expression in the bunch. On the contrary, they acted
and sounded excited, as if they were looking forward to the coming
confrontation.
"I don't know what to say."
"Save your breath for this Markus the Ineluctable,"
Knorckle told him as he settled himself behind an oar. Muscles bulged in
his short arms. "From wot Frangel says, you'll be needin* it. This magician
bloke sounds like a thoroughly disagreeable person." Murmurs of agreement
sounded from his companions.
Jon-Tom searched the center of the boat. There was no mast and no means
for raising one, only the two sets of oars. He hunted for an unoccupied bench.
"Now what are you about, young human?" Memaw had taken up a position
next to the stem rudder.
"I like to pull my own weight."
"Kind of you, but I'm afraid there aren't any empty places. Each of us
knows what to do. So just make yourself comfortable until we get to Quasequa."
"All right, but I won't like it."
"You don't have to like it." She smiled cheerfully at him. "Now, sit
down, stay out of our way, and behave yourself."
"Yes ma'am." He did as he was told.
Everyone except Splitch, who was lookout, bent to their oars. Turning
neatly under Memaw's guidance, the boat began to move south, Jon-Tom sat and
fidgeted for as long as he could stand it before muttering to the helmsman.
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"I don't want to rock the boat, Memaw, but I can't just sit here and let
the rest of you do all the work. 1 wasn't brought up like that."
"Nonsense. There's nothing you can do in any case. There are only eight
oars."
Jon-Tom considered, then said brighdy, "I know."
He moved his duar into playing position. "I can sing some rowing songs."
"Yeah!..-great..-good idea!... let's 'ear *un sing.-.l"
the rowers chorused enthusiastically.
"No, no, no!" Mudge rushed to restrain Jon-Tom's fingers. "You might
magic us back to the 'ome o' the Plated Folk, mate, or even worse,"
THE MOMENT OF THE MACUCUM 215 "Relax, Mudge. I'm just going to make a
little music, not magic."
"I've 'card that one afore, I 'ave." He took his argument to his
brethren.
"'E'sa spellsinger all right. Trouble is, 'e 'as this sort o*
scattershot effect that..."
Jon-Tom was drowning out the otter's pleading, singing cheerfully with
the mass control on the duar turned halfway up. No way could Mudge be heard
over that volume. The otter finally gave up and moved as far away from the
singer as he could get without abandoning ship. He squatted down against the
bow and waited. His eyes never left his friend's instrument as he waited
nervously for catastrophe to strike.
Jon-Tom modified an old Dionne Warwick standard and started off with a
lilting little ditty newly titled "Do You Know the Way to Quasequa?" then
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segued into "By the Time I Get to the Quorumate."
As the boat continued to slide through the water without being
obliterated, Mudge finally allowed him- self to relax. Quorly helped him.
The words didn't rhyme but that didn't dampen Jon-Tbm's delight.
Traveling songs were always fun to sing, and sailing songs even more so. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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