and we didn't listen."
"Now is not the time for recriminations or for the
THE MOMENT or THE MAarciAS 241
4
. ^
laying of blame. We must try to get word to the
population. A general uprising is our only hope. Or
we might try to bribe one of those close to him to
attempt an assassination."
"That will not be easy and could hasten our demise,"
said old Trendavi, "considering how carefully he
guards himself."
"Nevertheless, we must try. In matters both magi-
cal and political he grows stronger by the day. We
dare not waste a moment in trying to unseat him. I
do not intend to end up as fish food. If only
Clothahump had seen fit to send us some real help."
"All right, mates." Mudge climbed to his feet and
sauntered over. "That's just about enough. I admit
we 'aven't made much of an impression on this
Markus or anyone else in your bloomin' community,
and we did kind o' botch our intended nocturnal
visit to this Markus's bedchamber, but don't blame
your problems on Jon-Tom 'ere. We were doin' a bit
o* all right until somebody put a sword accidental-
like in the wrong place and tempers got out o' 'and
for a minim. Jon-Tom's done the best he could for
you sorry lot. We didn't get you into this mess, you
know-
"'Ere we are, come down *ere out o' the goodness
o' our "carts"—Jon-Tom gaped at the blatant false-
hood but said nothing—"to try and 'elp you folks
out o' a tight spot, and all you can do is moan and
bawl about wot you didn't get. Maybe we ain't done
so good so far but from wot I sees we ain't done any
worse than you 'ave. So let's call a halt to the mutual
name-callin' and see if we can't work together to
figure out a ways to keep our skins intact, wot?"
It was silent in the cell until Jon-Tom said softly,
"Thank you, Mudge."
The otter spun on him. "Shut your bleedin' cake-
Alan Dean Foeter
242
*ole and start thinkin' of a ways out, you bloody in-
terferin* twit." He stalked over to the bars in a huff.
"Charmin* friend you got there," Quorly told
Jen-Tom.
"He is unique, isn't he?" Feeling a little better
about himself, he turned back to the Quorum. "All
right then. We're still alive and we've still got our wits
about us. Opiode, if you're such a great wizard, how
come you haven't magicked your way out of this
prison?"
"Do you not think I have tried, man? The first
thing Markus did after we were placed in this cell
was to ensorcel it with some kind of containment
spell. My powers are useless here. Not that I think he
fears my magic, as he has already defeated me in
contest, but he is very careful and takes no chances
with any who oppose him."
Jon-Tom nodded, eyed the stone walls surround-
ing them on three sides. "What about digging our
way out?"
"With this?" Cascuyom held up a spoon and a
dull-bladed knife. "Even if we could cut into this old
rock with our eating utensils, we don't have enough
time."
Jon-Tom was about to make another suggestion
but was interrupted. Footsteps sounded on the stairs
outside their cell. Everyone turned to look.
The jaguar who had overseen their capture strode
down the steps, leading a group of heavily armed
guards. He approached the bars and peered through.
The prisoners glared back, their expressions run-
ning the gamut from defiance to contempt. The
officer ignored them.
"Which one of you is the leader here?" He grinned
nastily. "And I don't mean you, Trendavi. The only
thing you lead anymore is the procession to the
urinal." The deposed premier said nothing. He had
THK MOMENT OF THK JMAOICUHT
243
retained his dignity if not his position. "Come on,
speak up."
" T is," said Mudge suddenly, pointing toward Jon-
Tom.
Mudge shrugged. "You always said you wanted to
lead, mate. No reason to be bashful now."
Memaw stepped forward. "I am the leader, you
young hooligan. 1 will go with you." The javelina
opened the grate-
Jon-Tom pushed her gently aside. "No, Memaw.
It's all right. I'll go." He turned to face the jaguar.
"Where are we going?"
"The Great Markus wishes to know why you have
infiltrated his home and how many other traitors lie
in wait outside to cause him further mischief."
"Ain't no other traitors but us," said Knorckle.
Memaw turned and swatted him up the side of his
head, knocking his hat off. "Aren't we clever today,
Knorckle. Tell me, are you going to help them pull
the lever when they hang us, too?"
"Sorry, mum." The abashed Knorckle bent to re-
trieve his hat.
"Markus," the officer continued, "would also know
whence you came, whether any of you escaped, and
what the intentions of your allies on the outside
might be." This time none of the prisoners was
inspired to comment. The jaguar returned his gaze
to Jon-Tom.
"I advise you to cooperate and reply truthfully to
any questions Markus may ask." Jon-Tom's heart
gave a little jump but he held his silence. "Master of
the dark arts that he is, he possesses means of
making you tell the truth that are both slow and
painful."
"Then I'm to be taken to Markus?" The jaguar
nodded.
Alan Dean Foster
244
Jon-Tom could hardly believe his luck. That was
just what they'd been trying to achieve all along. He
didn't say that, of course. Instead he tried to look
defiant. "I'm looking forward to the meeting."
"Then you're either braver than you look or
dumber." The jaguar gestured. The guards formed
a semicircle around the cell entrance while thejavelina
pushed the gate inward. As soon as Jon-Tom had
been pulled out, the gate was slammed shut again.
The noise echoed through the dungeon.
"There is just one thing " Jon-Tom spoke off-
handedly.
The jaguar eyed him impatiently, paws on hips.
"Don't waste my time, man, or I'll have you dragged
into Markus's presence. He won't like that."
Jon-Tom leaned close, whispered conspiratorially.
"I'm not really the leader of this bunch. I'm a wan-
dering minstrel, see, and I was forced to join them.
Now, I know you probably think I'm making this all
up"—the jaguar nodded sagely—"but that's why I'm
not afraid of meeting the great Markus. He'll know
the truth. Only thing is, I'm afraid he won't believe
me unless he hears me sing, and I can't sing without
my duar. The one your troops took from me."
The officer considered, eyeing Jon-Tom intently.
For h
is part, the prisoner assumed the blandest
expression he could manage. Finally the jaguar glanced
toward his subofficer.
"What of what he says?"
The fox replied in a gruff voice. "Aye, there was a
duar among the supplies we inventoried."
"Was it thoroughly inspected?" Jon-Tom couldn't
breathe.
"It was, sir. Appears to be a perfectly ordinary
instrument." Jon-Tom breathed again.
The officer nodded absently toward Jon-Tom. "A
peculiar encumbrance to carry into battle. Yet you
TBK MOMENT OF THE MAOICt/W
245
say you came to talk and not to Fight." He grinned.
"Well, you can't have it back "
"But it's only an instrument," Jon-Tom pleaded,
seeing a last chance slipping away.
'Tough. Personal property of all you traitors is
confiscated. There is one way .you could regain
possession, however."
"What do I have to do^"
"Convince Markus you're innocent." The jaguar's
laughter boomed through the dungeon. "Let's go,
and let there be no more talk of what you wanti"
The otters crowded against the bars, shouting
encouragement, while the deposed members of the
Quorum hung back near the rear of the cell and
looked on sadly.
"Chin up,Jonny-Tom!... stiff upper lip, old boy...
don't let 'em get to you ... show 'em wot you're made
of, Jon-Tom!... give 'em 'ell, mate!"
Jon-Tom turned and rewarded his friends with a
hopeful smile as he started up the steps. A trio of
alert guards preceded him while three more followed.
The officer stayed close to his side at all times. No
chance to break free.
They climbed half a dozen flights of stairs until
they finally emerged onto a stone parapet. After the
heavy damp of the dungeon, the cool night air was a
shock to his system. Several stories below, the water
of the great lake glistened in the moonlight.
As they marched him toward a tower, he thought
of making a break for it, of diving over the side to
freedom. Two things restrained him. For one, if he
happened to misjudge his leap, he would splatter
himself all over the stones below. For another, he was
a much better runner than he was a swimmer. No
doubt Markus had his own allies among the aquatic
species. Armed beavers or muskrats could recapture
him in seconds.
Alan Dean Foeter
246
Besides, it might cost him his chance to finally
meet (his mysterious Markus the Ineluctable. He'd
rather have gone to the meeting with his duar nestled
reassuringly under his arm, but at least he was going
to see what their nemesis was made of. He wondered
if the officer paralleling him sensed his nervousness.
What would Markus the Ineluctable be like? Human.
yes. He already knew that. But what kind of human,
and from what world? His own, this one, somewhere
else? Was Markus nothing more than an ambitious
local wizard who'd concocted his story of coming
over from another universe solely to frighten and
intimidate his opponents? Or did he come from
some mysterious unknown dimension where evil held
sway?
What was "human" and what was not? Couldn't
something with horns on its head and a barbed tail
be described as human? And if the latter description
proved to be nearer the truth, what concern would
such a creature have with the petty problems of one
Jonathan Thomas Meriweather?
The tower they were marching toward could only
be approached by a single narrow walkway. Elsewhere,
the stone walls fell sharply toward the water far
below. The guards Hanking the entrance were the
largest Jon-Tom had seen. Both lions stood half a
head taller than six feet and were armed with mas-
sive metal axes.
The jaguar exchanged greetings with his oversized
cousins, and the party was admitted to a hallway
beyond. Once inside, Jon-Tom couldn't help noticing
that his escort abruptly lost a lot of its boldness.
They exchanged anxious, uneasy whispers and
searched the torchlit corridor with darting, nervous
eyes. Their words and reactions showed they didn't
want to proceed any farther down that singular
passageway, but the jaguar bravely led them on.
TBTJB MOMBJVT Of THE MAQICIAH 247
Until they halted ten feet from a last door. The
officer took Jon-Tom's arm and pulled him forward.
Stopping before the door, be rapped three times on
the wood with one paw. The door opened slightly.
Putting the other paw in the middle of Jon-Tom's
back, the officer gave him a shove and sent him
stumbling inward. The door was pulled shut quickly
behind him.
The room was not large, with a high ceiling and
open wooden beams from which dangled wired-
together skeletons. Whether they had belonged to
the subjects of arcane experiments or to unlucky
supplicants, Jon-Tom had no way of knowing. The
room was softly lit, and the source of the illumina-
tion was a shock.
In place of the familiar torches or oil lamps or, for
those wealthy enough to afford them, globes containing
light spells, were several battered but serviceable-
looking fluorescent light fixtures. Though he searched
hard, he couldn't see any cords or sockets. Never-
theless, the lights shone efficiently.
The furnishings were of local manufacture. Many
were decorated with gold and pewter. There was a
large table with chairs, many sculptures and wall
hangings, and several tall crystal vases full of jewels.
Of more interest than that, than even the fluorescent
lights, were the three two-foot-long model airplanes
ensconced neatly in alcoves in one wall- There was a
Fokker biplane painted red, a Cutlass WWII dive
bomber, and a miniature Beechcraft Bonanza.
"You may approach," declared a voice.
Jon-Tom whirled and stared toward the poorly lit
far end of the room. The voice was heavily accented.
Was this Markus the Ineluctable? He moved toward
the voice, ready to retreat as best he could if the
wizard reacted with blind rage.
As he crossed the room he made out a large
Alan Dean Poster
248
wooden throne resting on a dais several steps higher
than the rest of the chamber. Small tables held silver
candlesticks. Leaning up against one leg of the throne
was an exquisite, bejeweled, and quite functional
sword. Jon-Tom was cheered by the sight. It hinted
that the Great Markus didn't have total confidence
in his magical abilities-
Markus the Ineluctable slouched on his throne
and regarded his prisoner imperiously. Resting by
the wizard's right hand was by far the strangest
object in the room. Jon-Tom couldn't take his eyes
off it.
"I am," t
he inhabitant of the throne announced
grandly, "Markus the Ineluctable, Markus the Great,
Ruler of Quasequa and all the Lakes District and all
the lands that conjoin them. Soon to be Emperor of
the World."
"Yeah," Jon-Tom replied evenly, "I know who you
are. What I want to know," he said, pointing at the
alien intrusion lying next to the wizard's right hand,
"is if that's a pastrami on rye. It looks like a pastrami
on rye." He sniffed. "It smells like a pastrami on rye.
It's got to be a pastrami on rye!" His mouth was
salivating. He could smell the mustard ten feet away.
Markus's eyes widened as he stood. Jon-Tom had a
dear view of him for the First time. He wore a
strange black suit backed by a dirty white shin and
black bow tie. The tie rode the collar slightly askew.
There was a moth-eaten black top hat on his head.
In his left hand he held a stick or cane of black
plastic tipped with white at both ends. A black cape
trailed across the throne behind him.
All in all he presented a moderately impressive
appearance, except for one thing which the inhabit-
ants of Quasequa would tend to overlook. Markus's
shoes were brown brogans.
"How dare you digress in my presence!" he snapped,
THE MOMENT OF THE MAQJCIAM
249
but there was evident uncertainty in his accusation.
It lacked conviction.
Five six, maybe five seven,"Jen-Tom decided. In his
late forties and not in real swell shape. In fact,
despite the wizard's strenuous efforts to suck it in, a
' substantial paunch kept creeping .out over his belt
line. There didn't appear to be much hair beneath
the black top hat. Bushy brown eyebrows framed
deeply sunk, dark eyes. Bags sagged beneath. The
nose was flat and almost triangular. Jon-Tom couldn't
tell if the shape was natural or the result of having
been broken several times.
The mouth was thin and delicate, almost girlish.
Frizzy sideburns exploded from both sides of the
head. An enormous fake diamond ring glistened on
one Finger.
"Excuse me. It's just that the last time I saw a
pastrami on rye was in the Westwood Deli on Wilshire
Boulevard. If you knew what I've been eating these
past months, you'd understand my reaction."
Markus the Ineluctable descended from his throne
and found himself in the awkward position of having
to stare up at his prisoner.
"Where'd you hear that?"
"I've heard it all my life." He was no longer afraid.
t" Still not too hopeful, but no longer afraid. "I'm a