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."
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
Alan Dean Porter
214
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." Mur-
murs 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 be-
have 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.
"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's^a 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 stan-
dard and started off with a lilting little ditty newly
titled "Do You Know the Way to Quasequa?" then
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. Occasionally
the otters would join in, their high-pitched squeaky
tones gathering in strength as they picked up on the
lyrics. It didn't seem to matter that no two of them
could harmonize. That blended in nicely with Jon-
Tbm's erratic tenor, which is to say, not at all. But
what they lacked in talent they made up for in
enthusiasm. Somehow the boat stayed on course.
By the time Jon-Tom wrapped up a final chorus of
"We Were Sailing Along on Moonlight Bay" and
launched into "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," Mudge
was prepared to spend the rest of the cruise tied to
the stem with his head underwater.
Alan Dean Foster
216
"There's one consolation for me in all this, mate,"
he told Jon-Tom shakily between verses. .
"What's that?"
"There ain't no torture too cruel, no 'on-or too vile
to contemplate, no death so slow that Markus the
Ineluctable can inflict on me that'd be any worse
than 'avin' to endure this terrible tintinnabulation."
"Why, Mudge"—Jon-Tom let loose with a couple
of fresh riffs—"anyone would think you were some
kind of music hater."
" 'Ow could they think that, mate, when there ain't
no music around for me to 'ate?"
Quorly traded places with SpUtch and put both
arms around the otter's neck. "Why, Mudgey-Wudgey,
don't be such a sourpuss." She brushed his whiskers
with hers and he was forced to relent.
"Aw, welt," he allowed, "maybe there is a kind o'
music on this boat."
Pinching ringers made Jon-Tom jump. He turned
to see Sasswise grinning at him from her bench as
she pushed steadily on her oar. "Quorly was right
about you, Jenny-Tom- You are cute."
Jon-Tom thought of another song very quickly.
XIII
As the days passed and the miles accumulated be-
neath their keel, the character of the land they were
passing through began to undergo a drastic change.
The huge emergents dripping with moss and vines
gave way to rust-colored palms and house-sized bushes
erupting with rainbow-hued flowers. The water grew
clear enough for them to see the sandy bottom fifty
feet below. Even the sky changed as fog and mist
fell behind them. The humidity dropped to a
tolerable level and the light of midday became bearable.
They began to encounter communities constructed
on stilts, and clusters of small fishing boats. The
Otters waved at the inhab
itants and they waved back.
The dark cloud that hung over this beautiful land
was thus far only metaphorical. Everywhere Jon-
Toiri looked he saw signs of abundance and cheerful,
busy people. There were even a few human beings.
Gradually, much larger islands replaced the smaller
outlying ones. Buildings of reed and palm gave way
to more permanent structures of wood and stone.
Smoke curled from the chimneys of structures that
climbed steep cliffs, while the homes of avians clung
precariously to the topmost crags.
217
Alan Dean Foster
219
Clothahump had been vindicated. This was a
magnificent, prosperous land. He told Mudge so.
"Oi, 'e was right about this much," the otter
reluctantly conceded. "All 'is wizardship did was ne-
glect to tell us about that little stretch o' filth and
slime we 'ad to slog through to get 'ere- A triflin'
oversight, wot?"
Jon-Tbm stared over the bow. "I just wish I knew
more about this Markus."
"Still think 'e's come over from your world, mate?"
The expression on the spellsinger's face reflected
his uncertainty. "I don't know what to think anymore,
Mudge. I'm not as certain as I once was. I'd feel
better about it if we could hear someone say some-
thing nice about him." He took a deep breath. "Well,
we'll know all about him soon enough."
Around him the otters were still singing, booming
out all the songs he'd taught them during the past
days with a vocal ferocity that was beginning to wear
even on their instructor. His fingers were too tired
for him to accompany them on the duar anymore,
but that didn't seem to matter.
"Don't they ever slow up? Don't they realize how
serious this business could turn out to be?"
"They know 'tis serious, mate, and they're actin' as
serious about it as they can be. See, one otter can be
serious. Two otters can't look at one another without
crackin' up. Get three or more o* us together in one
place for more than two minutes and you've got a
nonstop party. Don't worry about 'em, guv. They're
'ell in a fight."
"I can believe that. I've seen you fight."
"This lot ain't no different."
*Tt is nice to have allies. Surely they'll quiet down
when we reach Quasequa. We don't want to make a
spectacle of ourselves when we pull into town."
"Don't count on getdn' any quiet or decorum out
THE MOMKHT OF THE SSAOICSAM
219
of this lot. And remember, you're the one who
talked 'em into this."
**I didn't talk them into it." Jen-Tom sounded
defensive even to himself. "They volunteered"
"Sorry, mate. You don't get off that easy."
"It's just that if they don't quiet down some, we'll
attract a lot of attention. I don't want this Markus to
know I'm around until I'm ready to meet with him."
**0h, I wouldn't worry too much about that, guv.
From wot sweet Quorly's been tellin' me, Quasequa's
a mighty big place, and plenty rowdy when 'tis on its
good behavior. So we're likely to blend right in.'*
"You don't care what happens anyway, do you,
, Mudge? Not so long as there are a couple of compU-
^ ant ladies around."
^ "Now don't go gettin' on me case because o* that.
mate. Just because you 'ave this peculiar puritanical
. streak in you that keeps you from enjoyin' the atten-
'tion o' others and because you ain't 'ad much luck
'with your favorite red'ead."
* "Talea's just taking her time before making a
commitment," Jon-Tom replied frostily.
- "Lad, lad, she's a free spirit, that one. Maybe she'll
come back to you and maybe she won't. You might
know about spellsingin', but I knows about females.
That's a special kind o' knowledge all its own."
"You know how' to talk, anyway." He lapsed into
silence for a while, found himself watching Memaw
steer the boat, her paws steady on the rudder as she
led her friends in the umpteenth rendition of "Anchors
Aweigh."
"As for this mob, I don't guess I could get rid of
them now even if I wanted to."
"Not bloody likely," Mudge agreed. "1 keep tellin'
you to quit worryin' about 'em. Remember, they
didn't ^ave no trouble stealin' you away from the
Plated Folk."
Alan Dean Foster
220
"I know, I know. It's just that I'd feel really guiky if
any of them got hurt on my behalf."
"This ain't no bunch o' cubs on this ship," Mudge
said somberly. "They know wot they're gettin' into."
They were interrupted by Splitch's shout from the
front of the boat. "Quasequal" Jon-Tom and Mudge
rushed toward the bow as the rest of the otters
pulled harder.
If Clothahump had underestimated the travails of
their journey, he'd also underestimated the beauty of
their destination. Three of the Five main islands that
composed the city proper were visible dead ahead.
Multi-storied buildings built of quarried white lime-
stone climbed the sides of each island's central peak.
Palm trees rustled in the gentle wind, and here and
there a copper-clad roof showed bright bronze in the
sun.
They were traveling among heavy traffic now. Most
bulked larger. The Isle Drelft lay off to port, Isle
Sofanza to starboard, and the central island called
Quase where the Quorumate Complex was located
loomed straight ahead. Massive stone causeways con-
nected all three islands, their multiple arches high
enough for the majority of boat traffic to pass freely
underneath. Carved shells and animal faces decorat-
ed each.
Crowds filled the causeways, the constant hum of
their conversation reaching out across the water.
The babble bespoke a vibrant community, full of life
and commerce. Quasequa certainly didn't strike Jon-
Tom as a city about to fall under the domination of
some alien tyrant. As yet, though, the citizens were
not at war with their own government. As yet. If
luck, skill, and charm were with him, the face of this
exquisite metropolis would remain always as it was
this morning.
THE MOMENT OF THE MACHCIAff
321
Flowers. He'd never seen so many Howers in one
place. There were blossoms floating past on the
water thai were the size of his hand, shiny lavender
striped with yellow. He lifted one from the surface
and inhaled deeply of its lingering fragrance: pure
peppermint.
Smaller boats hove alongside. They were populat-
ed by the familiar extraordinary assortment of intelli-
gent species, all hawking handicrafts, dried fish,
fresh fruits and vegetables, drinks chilled by ice
spells, erotic art, and ship's supplies. Mem
aw steered
through them, ignoring the familiar pleas of the
floating hawkers.
Flowers grew from the tops of trees, from the
sides of buildings, out of neat green hedgerows that
lined the streets, and even out on the open lake.
Rubbery-looking Ulylike pads slid past, their centers
startling with clusters of tiny blue blossoms no bigger
than Jon-Tom's little Fingernail. Still-smaller blos-
soms hung from silk balloons that floated through
the warm air. When the breeze stilled they would
settle to the water, only to rise again on the next puff
of wind. They made the sky look as if it were full of
flying rubies.
Memaw leaned on the rudder, and the boat turned
slightly to port, angling for the low quays that lined
the shore of Isle Quase.
"There is an inn we frequent during our visits
here," she told him. "A good place to eat and rest
while digesting the newest rumors and juiciest gossip."
"Everything seems so normal," he told her. "The
people look content. Maybe this Markus and I will
get along after all."
"Sometimes healthy fur can conceal rotting flesh.
We shall see. Regardless, it will be nice to sleep in a
real bed again" She adjusted their course minutely
and gestured at a two-story-tall rock ediFice that lay
Alaa Dean Foster
222
dead ahead. It was built right down to the edge of
the water.
"The chap who runs this place, Cherjal, is privy to
just about everything that happens in Quasequa. He
should be able to tell us whether there will be danger-
ous work awaiting you here or whether you can relax
and enjoy the sights of the city."
As they drew near, the reason for the inn's loca-
tion became clear. With its siting right on the lake, it
catered freely to water- and land-dwellers alike. They
tied up to an empty slip, and Jon-Tom's newfound
allies ushered him inside.
The single large eating and drinking room had a
low-domed ceiling and was crammed with chattering
muskrats, beavers, nutrias, and capybaras in addition
to unfamiliar otters. Water entered via an opening to
the lake, permitting the easy entry of an occasional
freshwater porpoise.
Thunder boomed outside. They'd arrived just ahead
of a tropical thunderstorm. Through the openings
to the lake, Jen-Tom could see the heavy drops
churning the smooth surface and was glad they'd
pulled in when they had. Inside the inn, all was snug