springs. Now you can share in its bounty equally, as
you should have from the beginning." He smiled
beadfically down at his audience. "Blessed are the
peacemakers."
The silence he had requested before his polemic
continued after he'd concluded. Soldiers from Witten
glanced uncertainly at hereditary enemies from Fault.
Conversation between them was hesitant at first,
uneasy, but soon blossomed into earnest discussion.
General Pocknet made his way through the crowd to
greet his opposite number from Witten. They talked
rapidly and with passion before finally snaking hands.
Then Pocknet turned to gaze upward and said
clearly, with the obvious concurrence of the other
commander, "Tear out their eyes!"
The cry was taken up with great enthusiasm by
both groups of soldiers, who began scrambling
THE MOMKfiT OF THE MAGICIAN
103
detenninedly up the steep but short cliff. Jon-Tom
ducked as arrows flew over his head and spears
began to land uncomfortably close.
Mudge led him down the opposite slope. "But I
don't understand," Jon-Tom muttered dazedly as he
ran.
"I understand, mate." Mudge spared a backward
glance. "I understand that we'd better get a decent
*ead start out o' that steep spot or there won't be
nothin' left to worry about understand in'." The cries
and shouts of their enraged pursuers were loud
behind them.
"Cheer up, guv." Mudge held onto his hat with one
hand as he ran. "At least you got *em to agree on
somethin'."
"But I still don't understand," Jon-Tom murmured,
also checking behind them to make certain the recipi-
ents of his helpfuiness weren't getting any closer. "I
did what was best for them, for all of them."
"You did wot you thought were best for them,
' mate, and there's a small but important difference
there. But I 'ave to 'and it to you, you did get 'em
workin' together. Now, shut up and run."
Utterly downcast and defeated, Jon-Tom allowed
,.his legs to carry him along. - - -
Night and mist helped them to shake the deter-
mined pursuit, though for a while it seemed as
:'though the prairie dogs were going to chase them to
"the ends of the world. In addition, the Duggakurra
Hills had given way to a low-lying marshy region
thick with moss-draped trees and long-petaled flow-
ers that moaned when the slightest breeze disturbed
'.Aem. Not good country for civilized folk to be
^prowling around in at night, and so the Wittens and
Paultines reluctantly abandoned the chase.
Insects and tiny amphibians filled the air with a
steady humming and buzzing. By the time Mudge
Alan Dean Foster
104
located a little hillock that was reasonably dry, Jon-
Tom was soaked to the skin from wading through
murky water and clinging muck. He watched as
Mudge started a fire.
"Think we ought to risk that here?" He glanced
nervously into the darkness. He wasn't fearful of
catching cold. The night was warm and humid. But
the marsh might be alive with disease-carrying insects,
and he conjured up disturbing images of plague-
carrying water bugs and giant leeches-
"We're safe enough now, mate, I think." The otter
added a few more twigs to the fire. The green wood
sputtered in protest, burning only reluctandy. Mudge
eyed the surrounding landscape. "One o' your men-
tor Clothagrump's balmly tropical paradises, wot?
This country's bloody sickenin', it is. Not that I mind
the water, mind. I'm as at 'ome in it as out, and well
you know it." He plucked distastefully at his filthy
vest. "But it plays 'ell with a gentleman's wardrobe."
Jen-Tom sat down next to the fire and clasped his
arms around his knees as he stared into the flames.
He was too tired even to eat.
"I just don't understand what happened. All I
wanted to do was bring them peace and harmony."
He glared suddenly across the flames. "And all you
wanted was a piece."
Mudge was chewing reflectively on a strip of fish
stop messin* in other folks' business. Ain't nothin'
most folks hate worse than good intentions. Might be
they'll be better off now for wot you've done this
night, but that doesn't mean they'll be any 'appier.
"Seems to me they 'ad their relationship pretty
well worked out. If you're goin' to *ave a war with
your neighbors, you might as well do it on a regular
schedule. Everyone's prepared and ready and there
ain't no nasty surprises sneakin' up on you in the
Tm MOUKHT OF THE MAGICIAN
105
middle of the night. Me, I wouldn't care for the lack
o' spontaneity, but I've 'card tell o' far less civilized
ways of settlin' differences between folks."
"There's nothing civilized about it," Jon-Tom
grumbled, "but I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
That's typical of this whole stinking world."
It was quiet for a long time around the fire.
Mudge Finished his jerky, rummaged through his
pack until he found another. Like any incorrigible
philanderer, he always went to his assignations pre-
pared to travel in a hurry. He waved the piece of
dried fish at his companion as he spoke, using it the
way a schoolmaster might use a ruler.
"Well now, mate, 'tis true 1 can't comment on that
without 'avin' ever 'ad the dubious privilege of visitin'
your world, but for the sake of argument let's just
say that you 'appen to be accurate in your presump-
tions and that this world is stinkin* and uncivilized.
That accepted, it also 'appens to be me 'ome. I 'ave
to live 'ere, and the sad fact o' the matter is that you
do too. So maybe you ought to climb down off your
pulpit and quit prejudgin' folks accordin' to other-
worldly standards. You might get along a mite better
and you'll certainly save yourself a lot o' discomfort."
"I can't help it, Mudge," Jon-Tom replied softly,
staring down at his hands. "It's my legal training, or
maybe just my natural disposition, but when I en-
counter pain and unhappiness and suffering, I have
to try to do something about it."
Mudge nodded back in the direction of Witten
and Fault. "There were pain in that relationship,
that's for sure, but there's a certain dollop o' pain in
everyone's existence. Maybe even in your world. As
for un'appiness, I suspect that those folks were just
as 'appy and content as could be until you busted in
on *em."
Alan Dean Foster
106
Jon-Tom looked up at the otter. "But it was wrong,
Mudge."
"Only by your standards, mate. Mind now, I ain't
saying yours ain't better; only that they're yours and
maybe nobody else's, and y
ou'd better quit tryin' to
impose *em on every bunch you feel sorry or compas-
sionate for."
Jon-Tom sighed, moved the duar onto his knees.
When he flicked the strings, lonely notes drifted out
over the surrounding water.
"Now wot? You goin' to try and spellsing me over
to your way o' thinkin'?"
Jon-Tom shook his head. "I don't feel tike spellsing-
ing now. If you don't mind, I'm going to indulge in a
little musical sulking."
He began to play without an eye toward any particu-
lar end, to play just to amuse himself and take his
mind off their present predicament. Where was the
benign tropical land Clothahump had told him about,
the land alive with friendly people and ripe strange
fruits waiting to be plucked from low-hanging branches
and brilliant hothouse flowers? Not within walking
distance, that was for sure. They were going to have
to find a boat.
Unless he could spellsing one up- Sure, why not?
His spirits rose slightly. He'd done it once before.
This time he'd be able to avoid the mistakes which
had plagued them on their previous water journey.
He strained for the right song, a safe and proper
boat song. Mudge had been lying on his back, his
paws behind his head. Now he sat up sharpty, his
nose twitching.
"I thought you weren't goin1 to try any magic-
makin'."
"Oi, I remember. I remember it made you fallin'
down drunk for nearly a week."
THE MOMENT OF TOK MAGICIAN
107
"It won't happen again," Jon-Tom assured him.
"I'll be more careful this time. I've reviewed all the
lyrics in my mind and they're perfectly innocuous."
"That's wot you always say." He retreated behind a
large tree to watch as Jon-Tom began his song.
His first thought had been of "Amos Moses," but
there was no boat directly mentioned and the song
possessed disquieting overtones. Another Jerry Reed
ditty served fine, however- He modified the lyrics
slightly, confident he could call up a fully stocked
Everglades-style swamp skimmer to carry them speedily
southward through the marsh to distant Quasequa.
Sparkling, dancing motes appeared in the air around
him. Gneechees, the best indication that his spellsinging
was working. A different light, yellow and brown,
began to form a sheet just above the surface of the
water.
"See, no trouble at all." He concluded the song
with a Van Halenish flourish not exactly appropriate
to Jerry Reed, and waited while the object solidified
and took form.
It had a flat deck and bottom, just like the swamp
skimmer Jon-Tom had hoped for. But as he peered
into the night he frowned. There was no sign of the
airplane prop that should have been mounted aft.
He shrugged. A small oversight in the magic. Maybe
he'd confused a verse or two. An outboard would
serve adequately.
The craft bumped gently against the shore. Mudge
walked down to pick up the rope attached to the bow
end.
There was no inboard. There was no outboard.
There wasn't even a rudder. But there was plenty of
board.
The raft was fashioned of split logs. It was eight
feet wide by ten long. Mounted on each side was a
Alan Dean Porter
108
large, split-bladed oar that could be used to propel it
slowly through the water,
"An elegant example o' otherworldly technology,"
Mudge observed sarcastically.
"I don't understand. I tried so hard, I was so
careful." He strummed the duar. "Maybe if I tried
again..."
"No, no, mate!" said Mudge hastily, putting his
paws over bare fingers. "Leave us not push our luck.
So it ain't elaborate and it ain't fast and it ain't
labor-savin'. But it floats, and it beats cuttin' down
green trees to try and make one ourselves."
"But I can do better than this, Mudge. I know I
can."
"Best not to get greedy where magic's involved,
guv. You might make it better, 'tis true. Then again,
you might sink wot we 'ave, and we'd be back to
walkin'- A bush in the 'and's worth two in the bird,
right? No tellin' wot you might call up a second
time."
As if to emphasize the otter's concern, the water at
the raft's stern began to froth and bubble. Mudge
raced up the sand to grab for his bow and arrows
while Jon-Tom backed slowly away from the water's
edge. Something was materializing at the back of the
boat that had nothing to do with its locomotion or
seaworthiness.
Eyes- Eyes the size of plates.
VII
They glowed bright yellow against the night, and
each was centered with a tiny, bright black pupil.
Then there were two more emerging from the water
nearby, and another pair, until ten hung staring
down at the little islet.
Trouble was, they all belonged to the same creature.
Nor did they operate always in pairs. Instead they
drifted with a sickening looseness on the ends of
thin, flexible strands that protruded from a smoothly
rounded, glowing skull. Arms and tentacles rose
from around the raft. Two of them seemed to be
holding the bald yellow skull in place, lest it drift off
on its own.
There was a long thin slit of a mouth, dark against
the glowing bulbous head. It was a strip of solidity in
a mass of insubstantial semkransparent yellow lumi-
nosity- You could see swamp water and the raft and
trees right through it.
"Go away!" Jon-Tom stuttered. "I didn't sing you
upl Mudge, I didn't sing this up."
"Right, mate," said Mudge, his tone indicating
what he thought of his companion's disclaimer. He
held his bow at the ready, but what was there to
109
Alan Dean Foster
110
shoot at? He was confident his shafts would pass
clean through the apparition.
"I know wot it is. mate. 'Tis a Will-o'-lhe-Wisp, for
certain. I've heard tell of them livin' in swamps and
marshes and such places, if you can call that livin'."
"There is no such thing as a Will-o'-the-Wisp."
Jon-Tom held tight to his duar as though its mere
existence might protect them. "They're not living
things, just floating globes of swamp gas."
"And what are you?" said the Will-o'-the-Wisp in a
surprisingly resonant tone for such an insubstantial
creature. "An earthbound sack of water with a few
brains floating around inside one end." It nudged
the raft, which was shoved halfway up onto the tiny
beach. Swamp water sloshed over Jon-Tom's boots.
"You hit me with this," the wraith said accusingly.
"Now, why would you go and say a thing like that,
mate?" said .an injured Mudge. "Wot
would we be
doin' with a bunch o' dead logs like that when we 'ave
this nice, dry little island to spend our lives on?"
"Don't lie, Mudge." The otter threw up his hands
and looked imploringly heavenward.
The Wisp floated out of the water, hovering above
the tallest trees. Glowing eyeballs focused on Jon-
Tom, all ten of them. Then they shifted to stare
down at Mudge.
Mudge smiled ingratiatingly up at the ghostly horror.
"'E's not with me, guv'nor. I'm goin' this way, 'e's
goin' that way- Now if you'll just excuse me..." The
otter turned to dive into the water.
"I mean you no harm," the Wisp told them. "I was
only curious because this"—and he nudged the raft
all the way out of the water—"seemed to appear
from Nowhere. Nowhere is a land my kind usually
have to ourselves, except for the occasional tourist."
"It was an accident," Jon-Tom explained. "We needed
some transportation, so 1 called this up. I didn't
THB MOMENT or TSB M^OICIAM
111
know you were anywhere around." He hesitated,
asked, "Are you sure you aren't just swamp gas?"
"I should be insulted," replied the Wisp, "but I am
not, because the fact is that I am largely swamp gas."
To demonstrate this truism, several tentacles broke
free and drifted off into the distance. They were
rapidly regenerated.
"I just don't like being called swamp gas, that's all"
"No harm intended," said Jon-Tom. "We ail have
pet names that we dislike. For instance, not long ago
someone called me a preppie. Say, maybe you can
help us out. We're heading south from here for a
place called Quasequa. Anything about the country
between here and there you can tell us about?"
"1 linger longest in Nowhere," the Wisp informed
him. "Does this Quasequa lie in that region?"
"I hope not," Jon-Tom confessed.
"Then I do not know of it. But this I do know. If
you go south from here, you have the great Wrounipai
to cross, and that is very near to Nowhere."
**bu mean there's much more o* this filthy disgustin*
'ell ahead o' us? I want to be sure," Mudge added
pleasantly, "before I slit me friend's throat."
The water glowed where it foamed around the
Will-o'-the-Wisp's body.
"A great deal more, travelers. Even I do not know
its full extent."
"Tropical flowers." Mudge was staring forlornly at
the dark water. "Compliant lasses waitin' to greet you
with open arms." He turned angrily on Jon-Tom.