standing still. "Me sainted mother always told me
that if I ever found meself in a fight with somebody
bigger than me, to find meself a rock big enough to
make things equal. So the lot o' us did some 'untin'
until we found a really nice 'unk o' stone lyin' loose
on one o' the larger islands 'ereabouts. No easy job
in this muddy slop. it were.
"We wrestled it into the toughest fishin' net they'd
brung with 'em, and then the bunch o' us swam over
with it this mornin' and dropped it square on top o*
their precious dome." He grinned at the memory.
"Busted it all to 'ell"
"It could have crushed me, too," Jon-Tom murmured
thoughtfully.
Mudge shrugged. " 'Ad to take a couple o' chances,
mate. As soon as they saw us comin', which was
mighty late, for which I'm grateful, the Plated Pricks
started organizin* a defense. But the last thing they
expected were an attack, and they didn't make a very
good job o' 'andlin' it. For one thing there ain't the
THE MOMKWT OF THE SSAOJCIAM
205
bug alive that can outswim one o' us otters. Ain't
much o' anythin* that can, especially when we put
our minds to a specific job-
"And if we'd caught you accidentally under our
little gift^ weli, you wouldn't 'ave been any worse off
than if we 'adn't dropped the rock at all."
"True enough," Jon-Tom had to admit.
"We were a little woftried," Quorly told him, "that
it might not be big enough to break your prison."
"Sure made a mess o' it," said Norgil with satisfaction.
"It was fun! We swam circles around 'em, though we
did 'ave that bad time when we couldn't find you
inside."
"The surge of water when the dome collapsed
pushed me over the side," Jon-Tbm explained.
"Right, mate," said Mudge. "Memaw spotted you
and then we lowtailed it out o* there before those
bugs we didn't crack on the 'eads could get their wits
together. Oh, and you remember our charmin* 'ost,
the speaker? I 'ad the distinct pleasure o* seein* 'is
'ead caught under our rock. As 'e were the only one
o' that lot who seemed to 'ave any brains much, I
don*t think they'll be comin' after us anytime soon."
Jon-Tom digested this, nodded. When he finally
stood, the movement prompted waves and shouts of
greeting from the rest of the band. "You really think
we're safe here?"
"Ought to be," Quorly told him. "Besides them
losin* their leader, as Mudge just said, we took a
roundabout ways back to our camp and 'id our
scents well. And we're a long ways from their town."
She shook her head, her words full of disbelief.
. "Plated Folk, right 'ere in the Lakes District. Who
would 'ave thought it possible?"
"Lakes District? Then we're not in the Wrounipai
anymore?"
Alan Dean Foster
206
She gestured northward. "Boundary kind o' wan-
ders about, but we're right on the edge."
"How do you tell where one stops and the, other
starts?"
"Use our noses," she informed him. "When it
smells clean we know we're in the Lakes. When it
starts stinkin' we know we're in the Wrounipai."
Jon-Tom considered this, said almost inaudibly, "1
don't know how we can thank you for what you've
done"
She shrugged. "No big deal. Like Norgil says, it
were kind o' fun. Got to do somethin' once in a while
for excitement or life gets downright borin'."
Jon-Tom shook Norgil's hand, then Mudge's, and
moved to do the same with Quorly. She ignored his
outstretched palm, threw both paws around his neck,
and yanked him down with surprising strength to
plaster a couple of dozen short, sharp kisses on his
face. He fought to pull clear. It was like being
attacked by a wet machine gun.
Mudge thoroughly enjoyed his friend's discomfiture.
"Now, don't go gettin' all flustered, mate. That's just
the way we otters is. Real friendly- and affectionate-
like." He hugged Quorly to him. "Ain't that right,
luv?" She generated that exceptional giggle again
and Jon-Tom eyed her warily lest she ambush him a
rammed one of the Plated Folk through the thorax
with her fishing spear.
"Come on then, mate, and meet the rest o' the
gang." Mudge put one arm around jon-Tbm's waist
and guided him toward the camp, kept the other
locked securely around Quorly.
It was more like dumping him into a blender full
of nuts, Jon-Tom mused as he tried to sort out his
mob of new friends. The hyperkinetic fishing party
swarmed over him, prodding, poking, hand-shaking,
THB MOJMBMT OP THB MAoiCLUr
207
kissing, and asking questions at a rate only slightly
this side of supersonic. Over the past months he'd
finally managed to learn how to cope with one otter.
Trying to deal simultaneously on a coherent basis
with eleven of them was beyond the capability of any
sane being. So he finally gave up trying and let their
inexhaustible energy and excitement wash over him
in a flood of fur, faces, and emotion.
Some were taller and thinner than Quorly; none
were as heavyset as Norgil. They were divided evenly
between male and female- Everyone mixed freely,
and while several shared obvious bonds, none were
joined in a formal relationship akin to marriage.
Leader of this anarchistic amalgam was an elderly
silver-tinged female named Memaw. She examined
the resurrected human with a sharp eye.
"Well," she finally declaimed in an elegant tone,
"you are a bit short of fur and long in the leg, but
then, I'm long in years and short of tooth and I get
by." She grinned up at him, her mouth displaying an
alarming absence of the full complement of otterish
orthodontics. Jon-Tom doubted if it slowed her down.
Watching Memaw, he doubted much of anything
would slow her down-
"You're welcome to join us."
"I appreciate your offer, ma'am. Mudge and I.
we..." He broke off, staring past her. Stacked neatly
against the inner wall of one of the lean-tos, dry and
apparently unharmed, were his ramwood staff; his
backpack; and most important of all, his irreplace-
able duar. "You saved our stuff!"
"Naturally, mate," said Mudge. "Or did you think I
went lookin' for you first?" Appreciative laughter rose
from the assembled otters.
"No wonder you get along so well with this bunch,"
Jon-Tom shot back, "they even laugh at your execra-
ble jokes."
Alan Dean Foster
208
"Wot'd 'e say?" Knorckle asked Splitch. He was the
biggest and strongest of the band, barely half a foot
shorter than Jon-Tom. Splitch, on the other-hand,
was the picture of pe
tite furred femininity.
"I don't know. Mudge says he was studying to be a
solicitor."
"Oh," Knorckle grunted, as though that explained
everything.
Mudge stepped in Jon-Tom's path. "'Old on a
minim, guv, let's not practice any singin' now, wot? We
just made friends 'ere. Don't want to go drivin* 'em
off already, do we?"
Memaw wagged a warning Finger under Mudge's
nose. "Now, you be nice to your human friend, even
if he is a bit slow at times! He's had a more difficult
time of it than you have, he has, having nearly been
killed by those dreadful Plated Folk." She turned and
smiled maternally up at Jon-Tom. "Don't you worry
none, young one. I'll see that this other youngster
minds his tongue while he is around me."
"It's all right, Memaw. I'm used to it. It's just
Mudge's manner. Sarcasm's as natural to him as
breathing."
"Humph. Sharp teeth I don't mind, but 1 can't
stand a sharp tongue. Nevertheless, if you don't
mind. then 1 will stay out of it."
"Look, about what you said about us joining your
hunting party, that's real nice of you. and I like
fishing as much as the next guy, but I'm afraid we
can't accept." There were a few moans of disappoint-
ment, none of which came near to matching the
anguished expression that came over Mudge's face.
"Aw, mate, can't we at least stay with 'em for a little
while? It's a pleasant change to be among friends
and safe for a change." He stepped forward, took
Jon-Tom by the arm, and led him away from the
THE MOMXffT Of THE MAOICIAM
200
cluster, making him bend over so he could whisM-r
in his friend's ear.
"There's food 'ere for the askin', guv. We're safe
from the Plated Folk, and there's plenty o' good
companionship, laughter, and song; and besides"—
he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur—
"the three youngest ones—Quorly, Splitch. and
Sasswise—they're as hot as that pool you busted the
Mulmun in. I'm tellin' you, mate, all we 'ave to do
is—"
Jon-Tom rose, stared coldly down at the otter. "I
might have known that your reasons would all derive
from your baser instincts. Mudge. You're acting on
the advice of your glands instead of your brain."
"You bet your arse I am, mate, and if you think
you're gonna drag me away from this crowd o' willin'
lovelies so we can go parley with some ill-dispositioned
magician in a strange city, you're sadly off."
"Maybe they'll come with us, show us the way."
Mudge shook his head violently. "Not a chance.
This is a 'untin' party, remember? They move all
over the country, only go into the smaller towns to
trade. Never make it into the big cities like Quasequa."
"Never?" Jon-Tom turned and strolled back to his
milling, chattering saviors. Mudge trailed along be-
hind him, hurrying to catch up and tugging anxiously
at his friend's sleeve.
"Now, wait a minute, lad, wot be you goin' to say
now? Just that they're friendly-seemin' now don't
mean you can't make enemies o' the lot o' them with
a misplaced word 'ere and there. Listen to me,
mate!"
Jon-Tom ignored him, halted in front of Memaw.
**Your offer is beguiling, but we really -can't go with
you. You see, we are on the final leg of a vitally
important mission."
Mudge put both hands over his face and fell
Aian Dean Foster
210
backward with a groan. "Oh, blimey. 'E's goin' to tell
'em everythin', 'e is... the bleedin' idiot!"
The spellsinger proceeded to do precisely that.
His audience listened raptly until he Finished.
"... And so," he concluded, "that's why I'm afraid
we can't take you up on your offer. We have a job to
do, much as I'd love to exchange it for a few months of
hunting and Fishing."
The otters immediately fell to arguing and discuss-
ing among themselves. The vehemence of their de-
bate tookJon-Tom a bit aback, but all the ear-pulling
and nose-biting and cursing seemed, remarkably
enough, to eventually produce a consensus free of
dissension.
Drortch spoke first, fiddling with her necklace as
she did so. It was fashioned of some heavy, silvery
braid which shone in the sun. "Wot can the two of
you do against the rulers o' Quasequa?'
"Whatever we can. Whatever we must. There may
be no danger at all, no problem to deal with if this
Markus the Ineluctable and I turn out to be on the
same wavelength. If we can communicate with each
other and reach an understanding, then we can do
all the fishing we want."
"I wouldn't count on that," said Frangel slowly.
"Not from wot I've 'eard o' this bloke. Word is this
Markus 'as been 'avin' taxes raised not only in the
city but in all the outlyin' districts as well."
"That would mean the tax on our catch would be
raised." muttered Wupp angrily.
"Well, we ain't never paid no taxes to Quasequa
and we ain't never goin' tol" declaimed Flutzasar-
angelik.
"Right.,. yeal., - never... t" The rest of the band
took up the first cry of defiance.
Memaw raised a paw for silence. "Where'd you
hear of all this, Frangel?"
TSK MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN
"When we were leavin' Quasequa the last time we
were in for supplies. Couple o' blokes on a street
comer were reading the paper aloud."
Jon-Tom pursed his lips as he stared down over
his nosc^at Mudge. "So they never go into the city, eh?"
The otter offered up a wan smile by way of reply,
hunted for a hole big 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 fa-
mous Opiode the Sly."
Alan Dean Foster
2X2
"Like I said," Jon-Tom told her, with a quiet confi-:
dence he didn't feel, "we'll do whatever's necessary."
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 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