Then there was another sound in the room, a
sound that chilled Jon-Tom more thoroughly than
the touch of that annihilating fog. It was the sound
of Death laughing.
"And now you have called me back to you. And the
living say that life is full of little ironies."
THK MOMENT OF THE MAGICMJT
305
"NOI" Markus screamed. He fell to whimpering.
|"I didn't call you, I didn't. Go awaaay." The wand
.twitched feebly in the air. "I send you back to where
| you come from. 1 command you."
t The cloud was pulling away from the shivering
|Jon-Tom, dragging itself across the floor toward the
| throne. As it left him he found that he could move
i again. He started to head for the door, slowed
' thoughtfully. If Death wanted him, no door was
; going to stop it. Somehow he didn't think that was
. going to happen. What had happened was that he
had almost been the victim of a fatal case of mistaken
identity.
He turned. The fog had surrounded Markus
•completely. He could still hear the unfortunate
| magician. The shapes inside the cloud reached out
| to welcome him into their company. The torches
1 winked out and there was only the green light left to
['see by-
t There were no dramatic shrieks or screams. The
|whimpering from the throne simply stopped. Then
| the cloud began to retreat, sucked back down into
^the hat from which it had been summoned forth. An
^-innocent-looking black top hat that the late Markus
the Ineluctable had probably paid no more than ten
bucks for in some cheap magic shop in Jersey City.
Then it was gone. Fresh air hesitantly wafted into
^ the room. All that remained of Markus the Ineluctable,
the All-Powerful, Ruler of Quasequa and the Lakes
District, was a piece of white-tipped black plastic a
foot long.
Still shivering, Jon-Tom strode over to the throne
and picked up the wand. He tapped it against the
wood. It made a soft clicking noise. On the side was
the legend Made in Hong Kong. Handling it gingerly,
he descended to the floor and dropped it into the
open hat. It vanished.
Alan Dean Foster
306
Then he took a deep breath and did the hardest
thing he'd ever done in his life. He picked up the
hat. Carrying it carefully in his right hand, he walked
over to the window nearby and threw it as far as he
could. It sailed out into the night and he watched it
fall. When it hit the water it was too light to make an
audible splash. Either it would sink or the current
would carry it into the river that drained the Lake of
Sorrowful Pearls, and the river would take it out to
the Glittergeist Sea to sink in thousands of fathoms
of sunless, specterless water.
He found himself feeling sorry for Markle Kratz-
meier. But not for Markus the Ineluctable.
Something creaked behind him. He jumped.
"You okay, mate?" inquired a hesitant voice. Mudge's
face peeped uncertainly around the rim of the door.
Jon-Tom relaxed. "It's all right, Mudge. It's all
over. You can come in now." He swallowed. "Everyone
can come in now."
"Right, mate." But Mudge made a thorough sur-
vey of the empty throne room before he entered.
Weapons drawn, the rest of the band rushed in
around him.
Memaw crossed her arms over her chest. "Brrri
Young man, it's freezing in here. What happened?"
"Markus unintentionally called up an old friend of
his. They went away together." Suddenly he was very
tired, searched for something to sit on. The throne
was out of the question, so he chose a pile of richly
Trendavi waddled over to him. "What of our city?"
"It's been restored to you. You got it back." Trendavi
accepted this information solemnly. Then he bowed
before Jon-Tom, who was too exhausted to tell him
not to, and went off to tell the other members of the
Quorum.
Opiode had paced the length of the room, sniffing
THE MoJcswr or TUX MAOicxiur 307
at the chilled air. Now he peered down at the
speltsinger out of wise, knowing eyes.
"Death has been in this place. You called it forth?"
"No, not me. Markus did it- I don't think he knew
what he was doing when he did it. See, he'd died in
the other world. My world. He escaped by being
thrown through to here. Death had been looking for
him ever since."
"So in his anger and greed he called up his own
fate," Opiode murmured. "Justice." He sniffed again.
"There has been much magic worked here this night.
Great magic."
"I don't know how great it was"—Jon-Tom rubbed
his face with both hands—"but 1 feel like I've just had
the shit stomped out of me by an angry elephant."
Quorly put a comforting paw on hisr shoulder.
** 'Tis done with, spellsinger. 'Tis all over now."
A voice from across the room drew their eyes.
"Hey, you lot, look at me!" Mudge was sitting on
the throne, his short legs a foot above the floor, both
arms resting on the carved armrests. "Oi, I'm Emper-
or o' Quasequa, 1 am, and you louts can all pay me
*omage." He grinned down at Splitch. "Ladies first.
o' course."
Jon-Tom spoke casually. "That is precisely where
Markus was sitting when Death itself took him."
Mudge's legs abruptly stopped swinging. "You don't
say. If that's supposed to scare me, why, it don't." He
hopped down from the seat. " 'Tis a mite chilly up
there, though. Not really to me taste." He retreated
in haste.
"Then there's nothing more for us to worry about,"
said Memaw.
"Well, there is one thing," Jon-Tom mused. "You
all seem to have forgotten that we have a revolution-
minded dragon running loose in the Quorumate's
tower levels."
Alan Dean Porter
308
"Is that a problem?'* Domurmur frowned. "If he is
your friend, can't you tell him to leave us in peace?"
"He'll leave you in pieces if he finds out what kind
of government you're running. You're going to have
to move to eliminate bribery and corruption, stamp
out the blatant buying of public office."
Selryndi sputtered a reply. "But that's impossible!
How else do you govern?"
Jon-Tom grinned up at him. "I should let Falameezar
instruct you, but I'll talk to him and see if we can't
work out some kind of compromise that will satisfy
all the concerned parties."
"We thank you," a relieved Trendavi said humbly.
So Falameezar was permitted to run a political
reeducation center on the shore of Isle Quase, and
the citizens were taught not to run in fear from his
presence. Before too much time went by he was no
longer frightening the
m, only boring them to death
with his droning recitations of Marxist ideology. De-
spite his threats they began to drift away, and even
the city troops couldn't force them to stay and listen.
As Cherjal the innkeeper put it one day, "I'd
rather bee fried than forced to leesten to that
garbage anymore!"
So Falameezar swam off one evening in search of
more willing converts, bidding Jon-Tom and his friends
adieu, singing the "Internationale" as he disappeared
into a sunset which was, appropriately enough that
evening, bright red.
It was the following night that Jon-Tom was com-
pelled to go with a group of grim-faced police to the
end of an empty municipal pier. At the far end of
the pier was a large pile of fur. The pile sported a
bunch of eyes, many of which were closed or bloodshot,
an indistinguishable dutch of arms and legs, and
reeked of liquor.
The sergeant of police was a three-foot-tall cavy,
TBX VQMSMT OF THE MAGJCJAH
309
short and testy. He gestured at the pile. "These your
friends?"
"Uh, yes sir."
"Well, do something with them. We had to shovel
them out of the Capering Gibbon tavern. They were
being drunk and disorderly and obnoxious."
"Is that so oad? They did help save your city from
the rule of Markus the Ineluctable, you know."
"Aw, that was weeks ago," said the sergeant. "Since
then they've busted up half of what they helped save,
insulted most of the ladies and some of the males,
parlied until all hours in quiet zones, and generally
made a spectacular nuisance of themselves."
One lump of fur wiggled out of the pile and
focused rheumy eyes on the sergeant. "Who're you
callin' a nuisance, you sorry-lookin', worm-infested
lump o' snake crap?"
"Mudge, watch your mouth!" The otter twisted
'round to squint up at him.
"Hiya, mate! Say, where was you the other night?
You missed a hell of a party."
The cavy looked up at the much taller Jon-Tom, its
nose twitching in distaste- "This party has been going
on for a month now, and the patience of the Quo-
rum is at its end. So in gratitude for what you have
done for the city ofQuasequa, it was decided to send
you safely on your way." He gestured at the pile of
'otters. "We dumped them here, more or less intact.
See that they don't come back."
/'I'm sorry if they've caused you any trouble,"
Jon-Tom told him apologetically. The cavy threw
him a sideways glance.
"Trouble? Oh, no trouble, no trouble at all. At
least three dozen of my best people are stuck in
infirmaries all around the city because of run-ins
with your friends here." He jerked a tiny thumb
Alan Dean Foster
310
toward the pile. "You sort 'em out any way you want
to. Just keep 'em out of my Jurisdiction, okay?"
Jon-Tom waited until the police had left the pier.
Then he gazed down at the pile of fuzz. "Aren't you
all ashamed of yourselves? Aren't you disgusted? You
win the gratitude of an entire population, and then
you throw it back in their faces."
Sasswise appeared, waving her sword dangerously
about. "Nobody better not throw nothin* at mel"
"Ow!" Drortch emerged, flaring at her cousin.
"You stick me with that again, you sodden slut, and
I'll pull your tail out by its roots!"
"You and wot army, bitch?"
The two of them went at it enthusiastically, biting
and kicking and pulling fur. The distraction was
energetic enough to bestir their companions to action.
The hill unpiled. Knorckle crawled weakly to the
edge of the pier and proceeded to vomit violently
into the Lake of Sorrowful Pearls.
Jon-Tom stood and watched, shaking his head in
despair. Then he said something he regretted more
than anything else he'd said since he'd left the rela-
tive sanity of Clothahump's tree.
"What am I going to do with you?"
A drunken Memaw gazed up at him, "Now, don't
you worry, young fan... man, because we've taken a
vote on thish, and we decided that we couldn't possi-
bly think of letting you make that nasty old trip all
the way back up to these Bellwoodsies you come
from all by yourselves."
"Oh, that's all right," Jon-Tom said quickly. "I
mean. I appreciate the offer, but Mudge and I
managed to make it down here by ourselves, and we
can make it home the same way." He looked around
wildly for support.
A head appeared. "More company the better, mate,"
declared a thoroughly sozzled Mudge.
THE MQMBWT Of THB MACUCSAH
311
Weaving, drunken oUers gathered around the dis-
traught spellsinger, cheering and waving their swords
about with complete disregard for the bodily integri-
ty of their neighbors.
"Aye, mate.. .We're with you all the bayway!.. .Glad
to come along!.. .Three cheers for the spullspung-
er...!"
Jon-Tom dodged a sword stroke that came perilously
near taking a chunk out of his thigh. He found
himself being backed toward the otters' boat, which
the police had thoughtfully tied up at the end of
the pier.
Mudge lurched along in front, one arm around
Quorly, the other around Sasswise. "It'll be fun,
mate, to 'ave a little good company goin' 'ome. Besides.
I'd like for me friends 'ere to meet Clothagrump."
He leaned over to whisper to Quorly. "This 'ere wizbiz
'as got 'imself an apprentice name o' Sorbl who can
conjure up the best damn batch o' 'omemade 'ootch
I you never tasted, luv. Burn the linin' right out o'
your bloomin' throat."
Quorly pressed tight against him. "Sounds wonder-
ful. Mudgey."
"No, no," Jon-Tom told them, pleading desperately,
| "you don't understand. Clothahump is a very serious,
sober-minded sorcerer. It's important that he see me
in the same light or he won't send me home someday."
"Then we'll get along fine, Jon-Tome... Tom," said
Wupp happily, "because we're damn sure serious
about not stayin' sober."
Paws reached forward and lifted the protesting
spellsinger, carried him down into the boat. Hands
bent to oars, and after some initial confusion, the
boat began to slide out onto the Lake of Sorrowful
Pearls. Drortch launched into a spirited if slightly
sloppy rendition of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat!" The
melody was quickly taken up by her companions and
312 Alan Dean Foster
the boat was soon producing enough noise to attract I
every water-going predator between Quasequa and i
the river Tailaroam. E
jon-Tom lay in the bottom of the boat and won-
dered if maybe Markus the Ineluctable hadn't been
the lucky one.
FB2 document info
Do
cument ID: 83ff64a8-d332-477b-89a3-70c74d47e3e5
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 20.12.2011
Created using: calibre 0.8.18 software
Document authors :
Foster, Alan Dean
About
This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.
(This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)
Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.
(Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)
http://www.fb2epub.net
https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/