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THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
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The mountain rattled and the shelving shook. The floor
quivered underfoot and stone powder fell from the ceiling
as the two spellsingers threw incisive phrases and devastat-
ing rhymes at each other. Charrok sang of acid tongues
and broken hearts, of mental anguish and crumbling self-
esteem. Jon-Tom countered with appropriate verses by
Queen and the Stones, by Pat Benatar and Fleetwood Mac.
Charrok's clashing chords smashed violently against Jon-
Tom's chords by the Clash. The mockingbird even resorted
to calling up the defeated warriors of the Plated Folk, and
Jon-Tom had to think fast to fight back with the pounding,
sensual New Wave of Adam Ant.
As the two singers did battle, Mudge struggled to get a
clear shot at Zancresta. The wizard had witnessed several
demonstrations of the otter's prowess with the longbow,
however, and was careful not to provide him with a decent
target.
Jon-Tom was finally forced to pause, no matter the
consequences. He was panting hard and his fingers were
numb and bloody from nonstop strumming. Worse, his
throat stung like cracked suede and he feared creeping
hoarseness.
But the arduous duel had taken its toll on his opponent
as well. Charrok no longer fluffed out his feathers proudly
between songs, nor did he appear quite as confident as he
had when the battle had begun.
At which point Jon-Tom thought to try another line of
attack entirely.
"That last tune, the one about the drunken elephant with
the knife? That was pretty sharp. You got some good riffs
in there. I couldn't do that."
"Sometimes," Charrok croaked, "it's harder with fin-
gers than with feathers." He held up his right wing and
wiggled the flexible tips for emphasis. "You're not doing
too badly yourself, though. What was that bit about dirty
deeds done dirt cheap?"
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THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
275
"AC/DC," Jon-Tom replied tiredly. "I thought it might
conjure me up a few berserk assassins. No such luck."
"Good try, though," Charrok complimented him. "I
could almost feel the knife at my throat."
Zancresta stepped forward, careful to keep the body of
his hired instrument between himself and Mudge.
"What is this? I am not paying you to indulge in casual
conversation with this man. I am paying you to kill him!"
Charrok turned. His gaze narrowed as he stared up at
the sorceror. "You hold on a minute there, Mr. Zancresta,
sir. You hired my spellsinging, not my soul."
"Don't get existential with me, you warbling bumpkin!
You'll do as you're told!"
Charrok was unperturbed by the sorcerer's outburst.
"That's what I've been doing." He nodded toward Jon-
Tom. "This fella's mighty damn good. He might, just
might, be better than me."
"I don't know who's best and I don't care," Jon-Tom
said hastily, "but you sing like a storm and you play like a
fiend. I'd appreciate it a lot if you could show me that last
song." He strummed an empty chord on the duar. "Maybe
I've only got five fingers here, but I'd damn sure like to
give it a try."
"I don't know ... a duar only has two sets of strings and
my syreed three. Still, if you dropped a note here and
there...." He started to walk over. "Let's have a looksee."
"No fraternizing with the enemy," Zancresta snapped,
putting a restraining paw on the mockingbird's shoulder.
Charrok shook it off.
"Maybe he ain't my enemy."
"Of course I'm not," said Jon-Tom encouragingly,
moving forward himself. "A gig's a gig, but that shouldn't
come between a couple of professionals." When Charrok
was near enough, Jon-Tom put a comradely arm around
the bird's shoulders, having to bend over to do so. "This
isn't your fight, singer. Two musician-magicians of our
caliber shouldn't be trying to destroy each other. We
work! This shouldn't be a duel, it should be a jam
session."
"I'd like that," said Charrok. He searched the aisle
beyond. "Where are the berries?"
"Not that kind of jam. I mean we should play together,
make music and magic together."
A hand reached out and clutched in frustration at the
mockingbird's vest. "1 won't have this!" The ferret was
jumping up and down on short legs. "I tell you, I won't
have it! I've paid you well to serve me in this matter. We
have a contract! There is too much at stake here."
"Yea, including my reputation," Charrok told him frosti-
ly. "But," he glanced up at Jon-Tom, "that can always be
settled between friends. As for your money, you can have
it back. I've decided I don't want.. ."
"Look out, mate!" Mudge yelled. The otter threw
himself forward, hit Zancresta just in time to make the
subtle knife thrust the ferret had been aiming at Jon-Tom
beneath Charrok's wing miss. The two went rolling over
together on the floor.
"Hold him, sun!" Roseroar thundered as she advanced,
ready to remove Zancresta's head from his neck as easily
as she would a stopper from a bottle.
But the ferret was scrambling to his feet, leaving a
bleeding Mudge lying on the floor. Displaying incredible
agility, the sorcerer dodged under Roseroar's wild rush and
started climbing up the nearest shelf. Boxes and cartons
came flying down at the tigress, who batted the missiles
aside impatiently as she tried to locate her quarry. Then
she was climbing after him, slowly but relentlessly.
Jon-Tom was bending over Mudge, whose paws were
clasped over the knife wound. The otter's eyes were
half-closed as he stared up at his companion.
"This is it, guv'nor. I'm on me way out. I'm dyin'. I
knew it would come someday, but 1 never thought it'd be
like this, wot? Not in some bloody store 'alfway across the
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world. I was meant to die in bed, I was." The limpid
brown eyes were full of sadness and regret. "We 'ad some
good times, though. A few laughs 'ere, narrow escape
there. Cor, 'twere much to be sung of." The eyes closed,
reopened weakly.
"Sorry it 'ad to end like this, mate. If you 'ave a song
left in you to sing you might sing one for old Mudge. Sing
me a song o' gold, spellsinger. If I can't die in bed maybe
I can die under a pile o' gold. Bury me in the damn stuff
and I'll slip away 'appily."
Jon-Tom knelt alongside the limp otter, holding his head
up with one hand. "Mudge," he said quietly, "that knife
didn't go in more than half an inch, and you're not
bleeding that bad. If you want to get gold out of me you're
going to have to do better than that."
The otter fixed him with pleading eyes. "Go
ld? Why, I
wouldn't try to trick you into conjurin' up me some gold at
a time like this, mate. Would I?" Jon-Tom didn't reply.
Mudge moved his hands, and his eyes went wide with
surprise. "Crikey, would you 'ave a look at this! It's
'ealin' right over, it 'tis! Thanks be to your magic, mate.
I'll never forget this, guv, never!"
"I'll bet you won't," said the disgusted Jon-Tom. He
stood, and Mudge's head bounced off the floor.
"Ow! Damnit, you bloody smart-arsed, know-it-all,
over-sized, shallow-voiced son of a... !"
Jon-Tom didn't hear the rest. He'd turned to look down
the aisle. It was full of smoke from conjured lightning and
dust fallen from the ceiling. There was no sign of Zancresta
or the vengeful Roseroar. The fight had moved to another
aisle, another row of shelving. Snooth had also vanished,
which was understandable. The proprietress had retreated
to a place of safety to await the outcome of the fight,
exactly as Jon-Tom would have done had their positions
been reversed.
"Get up, Mudge," Jon-Tom said impatiently. "We've
got to help Roseroar."
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
277
The otter rose, still holding a paw over the light wound.
"That she-massif doesn't need any 'elp, mate. I'll 'elp you
look for 'er, but odds'll get you she finds that bastard
Zancresta first." He winced, inspected his knife cut.
"Ruined a good vest, 'e did."
"Wait." Jon-Tom squinted into the haze that filled the
aisle. "I think she's coming."
But it wasn't Roseroar. It moved on four legs and its
golden coat glowed even in the weak light. Clinging to the
broad back was the naked form of a young woman toasted
pink as a boiled lobster.
Drom trotted to a halt beside them. He was foaming at
the mouth and soaked with lather.
"Hot," he told them unnecessarily. "Excruciatingly
hot." Folly slid off the unicorn's back into Jon-Tom's
arms, barely conscious. "She was walking blindly toward
an open lava pit. I got there just in time."
"Jon-Tom." He held her carefully, acutely conscious of
the first-degree burn that covered her whole body. "I.. .1
didn't know what was happening, what I was doing.
Jalwar... he made me feel so strange. I couldn't think my
own thoughts anymore." She leaned against him.
"That morning when he woke me and made me follow
him out of our camp, I wanted to cry out, to warn you, but
I couldn't. He made me go with him, and he made me fetch
and cook and carry for him, but it wasn't me, it wasn't
me! It was like I was a prisoner in my own body and I
couldn't get out." She was sobbing now, the tears wet
against his chest. She leaned back and looked up at him in
astonishment.
"I'm crying. I didn't think I could cry anymore."
"You were hypnotized," Jon-Tom told her. When she
continued staring at him in puzzlement he explained fur-
ther. "A kind of magic. You couldn't help yourself." He
hugged her to him and when she moaned in pain he was
quick to release her. "We'll have to do something about
your burn. Maybe Snooth has something. We can buy
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medicine for you, too. I still have the three gold pieces
that Mudge didn't lose in Snarken."
"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm all right now."
She turned to Drom. "I wouldn't have been if he hadn't
shown up. I didn't know what to think when he came
galloping down the corridor after me. Then he told me
who he was and that he was a friend of yours and you
were all here inside the mountain with him. That you were
fighting Jalwar-Zancresta." She ran to the unicorn and,
putting her arms around his neck, hugged him gratefully.
Drom tolerated the attention briefly before stepping back
and pulling free. "I am glad to have been of assistance,
madame, but leave us not get carried away with our
emotions."
"But I thought..." Folly looked hurt and Jon-Tom
hastened to reassure her.
"Drom's not being unfriendly, Folly. He's just being
himself. I'll explain later." He looked at the unicorn. "It
was a fine bit of rescue work, Drom."
"1 try." The unicorn searched the aisle. "Where is the
evil one? And the great feline? Did you defeat him during
my absence?"
"No." Jon-Tom smiled at the mockingbird. "This is
Charrok. When Zancresta discovered that he couldn't de-
feat me with his own magic, he tried to do it with another
spellsinger. Charrok and I conjured up quite a musical
storm before we came to the conclusion that harmony is
better than dissonance. As for Roseroar, she's gone after
Zancresta."
"I should pity the ferret, then."
"That's the truth, mate," said Mudge. "That's some
broad. If she were only a fourth 'er size."
"You have to learn to think big, Mudge." Jon-Tom
became serious. "Zancresta's as fast on his feet as he is
with his mind. He might give her the slip in here."
" 'E can't get out, though, mate," Mudge commented.
"Unless there's another way in, and I'd bet me tool there's
THE DAT OP THE DISSONANCE
279
only the one. I'd say the best we can do now is find that
oversized she-rat who runs the place. She 'ad the medicine
when the fight started, and I'd wager she's kept it with
'er."
It was a long hike back to the entryway, and Jon-Tom's
appraisal of the ferret as being fleet of foot turned out to be
accurate, for when they turned up the last aisle Zancresta
was already there.
"Ah just missed him in a side aisle," Roseroar rumbled
angrily, having rejoined them only moments earlier. "He
won't get away this time."
Zancresta's clothes were shredded, and he looked very
unwizardly as he stood panting heavily before the exit.
A glance down the side aisle showed his tormentors
approaching rapidly. There was nothing, however, to pre-
vent his escaping to plot against them from the outside.
Nothing except an old female kangaroo.
"Get out of my way, hag! My time is precious and I
have none to waste in argument."
"I'm not here to argue with you." Snooth spoke calmly,
the pipe dangling from her lips. Her right hand was
extended, palm upward. "You owe me payment."
"Payment? Payment for what?" Zancresta snarled impa-
tiently. His enemies were hurrying now, the ferocious
tigress in the lead. He did not have much time.
"For damage done to stock and fixtures."
"I was trying to escape from that insane female who
even now approaches. You can't hold me responsible for
that."
"I hold you responsible for everything," she replied
darkly. "You initiated conflict. You interrupted a sale. I
forgive you all that, but you must pay for the damage
you've caused. I'm not running a philanthropic organiza-
tion
here. This is a business." She gestured with the palm.
"Pay up."
"Fool! I said I've no time to argue with you. This little
store you have here is a very clever piece of work, I'll
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admit that. But I am Zancresta of Malderpot and I am not
impressed. I give you one chance to get out of my way."
Snooth did not move. The wizard's paw dipped into an
intact pocket and he flung something small and round at
her as the kangaroo's hands went to her belly. There was a
crump as the small round thing exploded, filling the
portal with angry red smoke. Jon-Tom had tried to shout
a warning. It came too late.
"Now I will leave over you, hag!"
But there was something else in the doorway now,
something besides the uninjured and glowering Snooth. It
rose from her pouch, the pouch where Jon-Tom thought he
had detected hints of movement before. It rose and grew
and it was immediately clear it was no joey, no infant
kangaroo. It was far larger, and it expanded as Jon-Tom
and his companions slowed to a halt.
Zancresta backed slowiy away from the apparition. It
enlarged until it reached the roof forty feet overhead, and
still it grew, until it could only fit in the cavern by bending
low against the rock ceiling.
It had the shape of a red kangaroo, but its face was not
the face of a gentle vegetarian like Snooth. The ears were
immense, sharply pointed, and hung with thick gold rings.
The long snout was full of scimitarlike teeth, and sulfurous
eyes centered on tiny black pupils glared downward. Gray
smoke encircled and obscured the behemoth's waist, rising
lazily from Snooth's pouch. Gorillalike arms hung to the
floor, where backturned knuckles rested on the smooth
stone.
A bright crimson band encircled the huge forehead. It
was inscribed with glowing symbols drawn from an an-
cient place and time. A thin silken vest flapped in an unfelt
wind against the mountainous chest.
And there was the voice. Not gentle and matronly like
Snooth's, but awesome in its depth and richness. The
apparition spoke, and the earth trembled.
"BEHOLD, ODIOUS IMP, TOILER IN OBSCURITY, MED-
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
281
DLER IN INEFFECTUALITY: I AM HARUN AL-ROOJINN,
MASTER OF ALL THE SPIRITS OF TIME PAST AND TIME
FUTURE WHERE MARSUPIALS RULE AND ALL OTHERS ARE
BUT TINY SCURRYING THINGS THAT HIDE IN ROCKS AND