^|even beyond Quasequa. Perhaps even to your forest."
•/IY "Then he better not come here," hummed Spin,
'" l?dardng and jabbing at the air, his wings a blur.
I'yFlying demons or no flying demons, we'll send him
^running without his tailfeathers."
38 Alan Dean Foster
Pandro's voice was faint now with distance. "He
doesn't have any feathers. I told you, he's a human."
Spin settled back onto his branch. "A human. Now
what would a human want with us?" He shrugged,
turned to his companion Oun, "What say we go
round up Wix and the rest and have ourselves a
good punch-up anyway?"
"Yeah, sure!" They zoomed toward the next
emergent.
The third member of the trio held back and
struggled to grasp the import of the raven's words.
Then he shrugged and flew off to join his friends,
That's the trouble with being a hummingbird.
One's attention span is so damned short.
Ill
"But I know that she loves me!"Jon-Tom spoke as he
paced back and forth in the turtle's bedroom. There
was plenty of headroom even for his lanky six feet
two inches because Clothahump had thoughtfully
expanded the internal dimension spell another foot.
For that matter, the entire tree was filled with
rooms that shouldn't have been, thanks to Clotha-
hump's wizardry. The turtle wasn't engaging in any
wizardry now, though- He was lying on his plastron
among the mass of strong cushions which served
him as a bed, his arms crossed under his horny chin.
Only his eyes moved as he followed the nervous
progress of the upset young spellsmger.
"You know, I was once in love myself, lad."
That revelation was sufficient to halt Jon-Tom in
his tracks- "What... you?"
Raising his head, the turtle peered indignantly at
|jt the tall and tactless young human through hexagonal-
pi tensed glasses-
'My "And why not me?" He looked suddenly wistful.
ij^lt was about a hundred and sixty years ago. She was
.ytquite attractive- The colors and patterns in her shell
^ reminded one of flatly faceted jewels, and her plas-
^ tron was smooth as polished granite."
m 39
Alan Dean Foster
40
"What happened?"
Ctothahump sighed. "She threw me over for a
slick-talking matamata. I believe her tastes were rath-
er kinkier than mine." His attention snapped back to
the present.
"So I am speaking from some experience, my boy,
when I tell you that this Talea does not love you.
Besides which, you are a spellsinger with a promis-
ing future and can do better- She is nothing but a
petty thief."
Jon-Tom didn't turn away from the wizard's gaze.
"It's not her profession I'm interested in. She saved
my life and I saved hers and we love each other and
that's that"
"It is not 'that' or anything else," argued the imper-
turbable turtle. "I do not for an instant deny that she
is brave and courageous. I wish I could also add that
she is thoughtful. Brave and courageous do not
automatically translate into love, however. As for
thoughtful, if she were that and she did indeed love
you, she would be here now."
Jon-Tom looked uneasy. "Well, you remember how
she is. Flighty, high-strung, nervous, especially around
you."
"Me? Now, boy, why should she be in the slightest
nervous around me?"
"You are the greatest, most powerful sorcerer in
the world. You make a lot of people nervous."
"Do I? Dear me," said the turtle, "I thought I only
made a lot of people irritable. Take my advice, my
boy, and put her out of your mind. She will interfere
with your studies, which you neglect as it is." He
brushed dust from one ot the bed pillows and frowned.
"Have to get Sorbl to clean this place up, if I can
corner the little sot long enough to put a dirt hex on
him."
"Damn it, 1 know that she loves me!" Jon-Tom
THE SSOUKMT OF TOT MAGICIAN
41
spoke with unaccustomed intensity. "I know she does.
1 can feel it. She's just... she's just not quite ready to
make it permanent, that's all. She needs more
reassurance, more encouragement." He stared at the
wood chips carpeting the floor. "Of course, that
would be easier to do if I had some idea where she
is."
"You'll never get a wild type like that to settle
down." Clothahump removed his glasses and squinted
through one eye as he gave them a perfunctory
cleaning, then set them back on his beak. "Why not
just marry her and then go your separate ways?
There's so much world left for you to see."
"I warn to see it all with her." An uncomfortable
pause followed. Then Jon-Tom moved to the bed
and knelt before it. "Look, you're the greatest wizard
alive. Can't you help me?"
Clothahump shook his head, wrestled himself into
a sitting position, and crossed his arms over the
compartments in his plastron.
"I must say it is hard to refuse the requests of one
of such perspicacity. I only wish you could find a
more stable possibility for a mate."
"Talea's the one I love."
"What about that Quintera female you brought
over into this world?"
Jon-Tom swallowed, turned, and walked away from
the bed. "Why bring that up? You know it's a sore
point with me."
"Why? Because in the end she preferred that
sophisticated hare Caz to you?" Ctothahump shook a
warning finger at him. "That's what comes of
projecting your own desires onto someone else. She
may have been your physical ideal, but mentally and
emotionally she was neither... and neither is this
Talea."
"No!" Jon-Tom whirled on the bed. "Talea's the
Alan Dean Poster
42
right one. I'm sure of that, even if our relationship is
developing a little, uh, slowly. Come on, Clothahump,
I know you can help if you want to."
"With what? You want me to mix you up a love
potion to slip into her drink?" He shook his head. "I
don't deal in those kinds of petty emotionally manip-
ulative devices and you know it. If that's what you
want, go to the chemist in Lynchbany. I'll give you a
prescription, but I won't mix you anything myself.
You'll be wasting your money, though. Ninety per-
cent of that stuffs no better than what you can buy
over-the-counter."
"I don't want your potions or prescriptions, Ctotha-
hump. I want your wise, sage advice."
"Really? All right. Get a haircut."
Jen-Tom moaned. His hair was only shoulder-
length, "Not here too. Or do you have a prejudice
against fur because you've none of your own?"
The turtle looked down at himself. "My, my, so
you've noticed that, hav
e you? I can't imagine how
one so observant hasn't been able to win the undying
affection of the woman he thinks loves him."
"It's not a question of 'winning,'" Jen-Tom muttered-
"This isn't a war."
"Isn't it now? Dear me! Perhaps after your first
two hundred years you'll learn to adjust that view."
"And don't lay any of that 'venerable ancient' shit
on me, either! I want your advice, not your sarcasm."
Clothahump peered over his glasses. "If you want
to learn what love is all about, my boy, you'd better
learn to handle sarcasm."
Jon-Tom shifted to another tack. "I've been work-
ing on a song for her,"
"If you think you can spellsing her into love with
you, my boy, then you—"
"No, no, just a friendly little song to show her how
THE MOSfCPiT OF TBS MAGICIAN
43
I feel about her. I've always been better at conveying
my emotions through music. Want to hear it?"
Clothahump muttered under his breath, "Do I
have a choice?"
Jon-Tom walked over to the comer where he'd set
down his duar and picked up the peculiar, double-
stringed instrument. He caressed it lovingly. It had
brought him through some tough spots, that duar.
It, and his ability to make magic with it, however
erratic and unpredictable.
"Just something to put her in the right mood," he
assured Clothahump. "I've been trying to remember
what she likes so I can sing about it the next time we
meet."
"Sing about a rich drunk lying alone in an alley,"
Clothahump suggested.
Jon-Tom ignored the gibe. "I remember her tell-
ing me one time how much she liked roses. She said
they were pretty. She'd never use the word 'romantic.'
Talea's not the romantic type- But she said she liked
their smell and the way they went with her hair. So
I've been trying to think of a song about roses. It
wasn't easy. It's not the sort of thing my favorite
musicians like to write songs about, and I have to be
careful or I'll wind up with that amazonic tigress I
told you about.
"Anyhow, I finally settled on this. I'd like your
opinion of it."
"Hold on a moment, boy. I want none of your
hit-and-miss spellsinging in my home. If you feel the
need to practice, do it outside."
"Oh, it's all right." Jon-Tom found himself a seat
1 on a strong shelf. "It's just a Hide tune. I'm not going
to do any spellsinging."
Clothahump eyed him warily. "Well, if you're sure.."
Jen-Tom smiled confidently at him. "Sure I'm
sure. What could be dangerous about a song about
44 Alan Dean Foster
something as innocent as roses?" He let his fingers
fall lightly across the first set of strings, then the
second, adjusted the control for tremble ever so
slightly.
The chords floated through the room, soothing
and mellow, not nearly as sharp or discordant as
Jon-Tbm's heavy metal favorites. Clothahump relented.
"All right, boy." He moved as far back on the bed
as he was able. "If you're certain you know what
you're doing and have everything under control."
Jon-Tom smiled reassuringly and began to sing.
The music was lovely, but that didn't relax Clothahump.
He was watching and listening to more than the
melody.
Sure enough, there it was: an intense red glow
near the foot of the bed.
"Boy, see there, I told you...!"
But Jon-Tom wasn't listening to his mentor. He
was transported to the kingdom of love by images of
how Talea would react to this song, composed specially
for her by the man who adored her.
The intense, blood-red ball of light hung in the
air, throwing off red sparks as Jon-Tom's voice rose
passionately. Clothahump waved anxiously at it and
was pleased to see it fall to the floor and disappear.
He let out a relieved sigh and narrowed his gaze as
he waited for Jon-Tom to finish his song. So he did
not see the branches that sprang forth from beneath
the carpet of wood chips. They grew with astonishing
speed.
Jon-Tom concluded his chorus and looked proud.
"There, you see? Nothing to worry about. I've
been working hard on my control, and I think I've
gotten it to the point where I only conjure up what I
want to." His expression changed to one of curiosity.
"That's funny. I don't remember your planting any-
thing at the foot of your bed."
TUB MOMENT or THE MAOICIAM
45
Fearing the worst, Clothahump tumbled forward
to peer over the edge of the bed. Growing out of the
floor was a small, nicely pruned collection of thin
branches. As they both watched, some two dozen
American beauty blossoms erupted from the naked
twigs.
"Hey, how about that?" said Jon-Tom, delighted.
"Now I ask you, what girl could resist that?"
"Well," Clothahump said reluctantly, "1 have to
admit that's quite a charming little bouquet you've
called up."
Jon-Tom netted the duar. "I didn't even get to the
second chorus. What color would you like this time?
How about a nice canary yellow?" He sang again,
and this time the second bush appeared sooner than
its predecessor. It was also twice as tall and, sure
enough, heavy with fragrant yellow blooms.
"Nothing to it. I told you I've been practicing my
Clothahump stared at the bush. "Good. Then you
can stop it now."
Jon-Tom's jaw hung a little slack. "Uh, stop what?"
"Stop it from growing."
"But I have stopped. I'm not singing anymore."
Clothahump pointed. "Tell it to that rosebush."
Indeed, it didn't take especially sharp vision to see
that the bush was continuing to expand. It was
almost up to the roof. When it hit the ceiling, the
branches began to spread out sideways, throwing out
shoots and blossoms in every direction.
"No sweat. I'll just sing the final chorus. That
ought to finish it." He proceeded to do so, the words
falling gentle and sweet on the now heavily aromatic
air of the bedroom.
It had absolutely no effect on the fecund rose-
bush, which continued to spread out across the walls.
Having covered ceiling and sides, branches began to
40 Alan Dean Foster
fill the room, crisscrossing and occasionally running
into one another. Some of the stems were now as
thick as birch trunks. The room was shaking.
"That's enough, boy!" Clothahump was hemmed
in against the headboard of his bed. Jon-Tom was
trying to edge his way toward the near doorway, had
to duck as two sapling-thick branches boasting three-
inch-long thorns tried to block his exit.
"I... I don't understand. I'm not singing any-
more."
"You bet your ass you're not, lad." C
lothahump
struggled with one drawer in his plastron, finally
yanked it open. "Got to lubricate these one of these
days." The drawer finally popped open and he rum-
maged around inside himself. "Hope I can stop it
before..."
"Before what?" wondered the thoroughly distraught
Jon-Tom as he stumbled back from an encroaching
branch. It vomited a three-foot-wide blossom in his
face, and the burst of perfume made him dizzy.
"Before these damned things start growing out of
us," Clothahump shouted at him.
His path to the door blocked, Jon-Tom scrambled
across the floor toward the only remaining open
section of the room . -. Clothahump's bed.
"Maybe I overdid it a little bit"
"My boy, your powers of observation and your
innate ability to intuit the blatantly obvious never
cease to amaze me. Ah, there!" He removed a small
box from his plastron, shoved the drawer shut, and
opened the box. From within he selected a pinch of
white powder and leaned forward.
"Roots and shoots and cellulose
Blossoms that be profane
Dwell in lands of malathane
THB MOMENT OF TSW MAGICIAN 47
Make thy xylum comatose
Dry up thy tannic staint"
He threw the powder into the advancing thorns. It
evaporated. The cluster of branches seemed to
shudder, to slow... and finally, to petrify.
They were surrounded, engulfed by beauty. Jon-
Tom felt sure he was going to throw up.
He took a step toward the door which led into
Clothahump's laboratory, found he couldn't move
more than a few inches off the cushions before
swordlike thorns pricked his legs. He retreated back
onto the bed.
"Sorry," he whispered morosely. The smell of roses
was overwhelming.
Clothahump sighed, gave him a fatherly pat on the
back. 'That's all right, tad. We're all a little overconfi-
dent now and again. You were right about one thing,
though. If your ladylove were here, I've no doubt she'd
be impressed with this little floral tribute of yours... if
she wasn't cut to ribbons first. I will say this for your
spellsinging: you don't seem able to do anything in a
small way" At least a thousand blossoms of all shades
and hues kept them imprisoned on the bed.
"There's nothing basically the matter with your
spellsinging, my boy. But you are going to have to
work at moderating your enthusiasm a bit." He eyed
his bedroom appraisingly. "An impressive, though
difficult to deliver, bouquet."