A tall glass of murky, aged pond water stood nearby.
Heat rose from the iron cookstove where Sorbl la-
bored diligently over two bubbling pots and baking
bread. As he watched, the owl dropped from the
perch welded to the front of the stove, slid a couple
of fried mice out of the oven -and slipped them
between slices of fresh bread, and began to munch
on his own breakfast. The bread smelled delicious.
At the moment, though, his thoughts were not on
food. Instead, he stared openmouthed at the con-
struction which had appeared in the middle of the
floor.
It was a cage, and not a very elegant cage at that.
Six feet tall and three or four square, it seemed to
hover in midair a foot or so above the kitchen tiles. It
had six sides instead of four. Instead of bars, thin
threads connected top and bottom. They did not
ripple in the heat of the room. They did not move at
all.
Not even when the berserk, spitting, squalling
creature caged within chose to bang against them
with its body. It bounced off as if the threads were
fashioned of inch-thick steel. It used its shoulders
because its arms were tied to its sides. In fact, the
occupant of the cage wore a mummylike cylinder of
heavy rope that encased him from ankle to neck.
"Good morning, my boy," said Clothahump cheerily,
as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
"Have some breakfast?"
"In a minute." Jon-Tom put his staff aside. He
moved into the kitchen and walked slowly around
the hovering cage, never taking his eyes from it.
TBE MOKBNT OF THE MAOJCJAM
67
With a finger, he tested one of the threads. It
refused to move no matter how hard he pushed or
pulled on it. He had to pull away fast because the
bound creature inside tried to bite off his finger.
Sharp teeth just managed to nick his skin. He sucked
on the thin cut.
"I'm sorry, Mudge," he said, "but I didn't have
anything to do with this."
"Oi now, didn't you, you stretched-out offspring of
an otherworldly bitch? You slippery sliver-tongued
bastard. Of course you didn't 'ave nothin' to do with
it, you and that calcified lump of solid bone wot calls
'imself a sorcerer."
Clothahump ignored this tirade and continued to
slurp daintily at his meal.
"Don't give me that crap, matel You and 'im *ave
always been in league with one another against me.
Don't try to deny it! 'Tis been that way all along."
Jon-Tom continued to suck on the Finger his friend
had attempted to amputate, spoke quietly. "He was
just supposed to find you and send you a message."
He turned to face the wizard. "You were just sup-
posed to send him a message."
Clothahump considered, the spoon halfway to his
mouth. "I did send a message, my boy, and you were
correct in your concerns. He was quite a distance
away, in a town near Kreshfarm-in-the-Geegs."
"It weren't far enough!" Mudge howled. He tried
to sit down, but the enveloping ropes prevented the
maneuver, and he had to settle for leaning up against
the threads. "Seems it'll never be far enough to get
me away from you two arseholes! It won't stop me
from tryin', though. I'll never stop tryin'l" He glared
accusingly at Jen-Tom.
"Why, mate? I thought after that little sea voyage I
*elped you out with we were even up."
Jen-Tom found himself unable to meet the otter's
Alan Dean Foster
68
gaze. "We were... as far as that particular trip was
concerned. Unfortunately, something new has come
up." He tried to smile. "You know how highly I value
your company and assistance."
"And you want good old 'appy-go-lucky Mudge
along to 'old your bleedin* 'and, right? Or maybe to
push you along in your pram?"
When Jon-Tom didn't reply, the otter turned his
attention back to the kitchen table. "Untie me, you
disgustin' ball of reptilian corruption, or when I get
out of 'ere, I swears I'll shove you in on yourself and
cement up all the openin's!"
mouth with a linen napkin. "Let us remember who
we are talking to."
"Oh, I know who I'm talkin' to, all right. The
world's master meddler. I don't care anymore, you
see? So I can say wotever I want. Turn me into a
snake, turn me into a worm, even turn me into a
bloody 'uman. See if I care. Because you've gone too
far this time, the two of you, and I've 'ad it! I'm not
goin' anywhere." He nodded in Jon-Tom's direction.
"Especially not with 'im. Not across any oceans, not
into any fights, not to the local market to buy chestnuts.
Nowhere, nohow, no way!"
Jon-Tom switched to rubbing his bitten finger.
"Ever hear of Quasequa, Mudge?"
The otter frowned down at him. "Qua wot?"
"Quasequa. It lies far to the south of the Bellwoods.
Exquisite country, a beautiful tropical city built out
on a vast lake. The kind of place an otter, it seems to
me, would find downright paradisaical."
"Charming, friendly inhabitants;' Clothahump added
without glancing up from his meal, "who know how
to make a stranger feel at home. Especially, I am
told, the ladies."
TBS MOMENT OF TJXE MAGfCUUr
69
Mudge seemed to waver, but only for an instant-
Then his determination returned.
"Oh, no, you ain't goin' to smooth-talk me into it
again. Not this time. I know 'ow you two operate, I
does." He nodded again toward Jon-Tom. "This one's
*alf solicitor and 'alf devil. Between the two of you,
you could sell ice to polar bears- No, I'll 'ave none of
it this time. Do what you want to me."
Jon-Tom approached the cage, his best profes-
sional smile fairly lighting up the dim kitchen. He
was careful, however, not to get within biting dis-
tance of his best friend.
"Aw, c'mon, Mudge. One more time. For old times*
sake. Be a friend." The otter didn't reply, stared
stolidly at the far wall.
"I know you're upset right now, and I can under-
stand why. I sympathize, really. I meant it when I
said I had nothing to do with bringing you here like
this. I was going to come out and meet you, but
Clothahump decided that it was important to try and
save time, I guess, so he brought you here this way
without telling me of his plans."
*Time. Let me tell you somethin' about time, mate.
Do you 'ave any idea where I was when 'is sorcerership
there yanked me out of reality and into nothingness?
Do you 'ave any idea what five minutes in Chaos is
like?"
"There are somewhat smoother methods of generat-
ing the transition," Clothahump murmured, "but
they take too much time."
"Do they now? Time, wot? I'll tell you about time."
A wistful expression came over his face. "There I
was, sittin* in Shorvan's Gambling Palace in down-
town Toothrust... which is a good place for a gam-
bling chap like meself to be... 'oldin* twelve of a
kind. Twelve of a kind!" He almost broke out sobbing,
but managed to restrain himself.
Alan Dean Foster
70
"And the pot... there was enough gold in that pot,
me friends, to set me up for three, four years o*
comfort. So I'm gettin' ready to make me play, see,
because I know wot the score is and that the one
chap with a chance to stop me 'as to be bluffin'
because 'e ain't 'oldin' diddly-squat in 'is paws. This
bum's a foxie with no moxie, see? I can read 'is
bloomin' whiskers, and I know I've got 'im beat, I
know I dol So I push in all me chips, a great
galumphin' pile won at great labor and pain, and
wot do you think 'appens to me and me twelve of a
kind, eh? Wot?" Jon-Tom said nothing.
"I'm jerked bodily into Unfamiliar Chaos, which
ain't no garden spot, I can tell you, and then finds
meself bound up like a B&D 'oliday gift in this
bloody cage so's that tuft o' blotchy, moth-eaten
feathers over there can tell me that I've been sum-
moned hence because you, mate, needs me 'elp on
one of your forthcomin' suicidal excursions."
Jon-Tom glared at Ctothahump, who appeared
not in the least distressed. "You did say, my boy, that
you wanted his company on this journey. If anything,
I expressed a dissenting opinion."
"I said that I wanted his help, his willing help."
"Best not to waste time," the turtle harrumphed,
"debating semantics."
"If you don't want to waste time," Jon-Tom said,
**why not send us to Quasequa tlie same way you
brought him here?"
"It's not quite that simple, my boy. Bringing and
sending are quite different things. The spells are
more complex than you can imagine. Bringing takes
enough out of you, and 1 am not at all adept, I
confess, at sending. If I were better at either, I'd
bring this Markus person here. That would simplify
everything, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, 1 cannot do
TUB MOUKKT OF THE SS.AOIC3AM
71
that. I was only able to manage this recall because of
your strong association with this creature and—"
"Who're you callin' a 'creature,' you fat-brained..."
Mudge hesitated, latched onto a new thought. "Wait
a minim. Who's this 'Markus' you're talkin' about?"
"Someone I have to talk to," Jon-Tom explained.
"In beautiful Quasequa."
"Ain't nowheres as beautiful as a gamin' room with
a big pot o* gold lyin' in it waitin' for the takin'.
Twelve of a kind. The draw o' me life." He looked
back to Clothahump again. "The least you could've
done, your sorcerership, was to 'ave brung me 'ere
first-class instead of economy."
"I am not one to indulge in frivolous, unnecessary
expense."
"Right, guv, and I'm sure you travels steerage
every time you transpose, too. At least let me out o'
these blasted ropes!"
"Yes, I believe 1 can do that, now that you have
calmed down somewhat and decided to act halfway
civilized. All that screaming and cursing, tch." He
mumbled something under his breath.
Nothing happened. "Well," Mudge asked, "is that
it?"
"Not quite. You have to sneeze."
"Oi, I do, do I? Just like that? You think sneezin*
on cue's as simple as talkin'? As simple as drawin* to
twelve of a kind? Right then!" He inhaled sharply,
tickled his nose with a whisker, and blew messily in
Jon-Tom's direction. No question but that his aim
was deliberate.
The ropes turned to dust at his feet. He stood and
rubbed his arms to restore the circulation.
Same old Mudge, Jon-Tom mused, cleaning him-
self up as he inspected his old friend. The otter
boasted a new vest of gray shot through with silver
thread together with matching silver-and-black shorts.
Alan Dean Foster
72
His new boots were bright metallic blue. The famil-
iar longbow and quiver of arrows were slung across
his back. On his head rode the same battered green
felt cap. New feather, though.
"That's an improvement, guv'nor. Now 'ow about
this bloomin' cage?"
"What cage?" asked Clothahump with a half smile.
"There is nothing barring your path save a few
flimsy threads."
"Few they may be but flimsy they ain't. Don't think
I 'aven't tried." He pushed out with a hand, casually,
and several of the threads snapped. He had to rush
to jump clear as the wooden roof started to collapse
on top of him. Then he was standing unrestrained
on the kitchen floor staring at what up until a
moment ago had been an impenetrable prison but
was now nothing more than a couple of blocks of
wood lightly linked together by a few cloth threads.
"The only thing worse than a bloody wizard," he
mumbled, "is a bloody wizard who likes to play
jokes."
"I do not play jokes," declaimed Clothahump with
dignity. "Such mundane exercises in plebeian amuse-
ment are beneath my stature." He coughed lighdy. "I
do admit to some slight subtle sense of humor,
however. At my age you pass up no opportunity for
some mild amusement.
"As for your late lamented twelve of a kind, for
that 1 am sorry. I have reason to believe that the
wizard Opiode the Sly, whom you travel to visit, will
be willing to reimburse you fully."
"Yeah, that's wot you always say, guv."
"In any case, you will surely have the run of lovely,
exotic Quasequa, whose climate and virtues the poets
extol beyond—"
"Oh, come off it, guv'nor, I've 'eard all this before."
He sniffled once. "Twelve of a kind." A glance up at
TBC MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN
73
jon-Tbm. "You know 'ow long a player waits for a
'and like that, mate?"
"No, I don't. I thought the most you could get in a
game was four of a kind."
Mudge mulled this over. "I can see we're talkin'
different games 'ere, mate. You wouldn't understand,
then." He turned to face Clothahump. "Right then;
this brotherly dabbler in the back o' beyond may or
may not pay me for me time and trouble, but wot
about me own 'ard-earned money I put on the table?
Wot about the loss o' me gamblin' stake? Or don't
you think you're responsible for me losin* that?"
"I am not responsible for your gambling debts,"
said the turtle slowly, "but I agree it would be wrong
were you to suffer the loss of your own money on my
account."
"Well now, that's more like it." Mudge looked sur-
prised and somewhat mollified. "You know, guv, if
you wouldn't treat me like an old 'ammer and saw all
the time, I might be a mite more inclined to partici-
pate willingly in these charmin' little diversions you
and the 'airless one 'ere come up with. Quasequa,
wot? Never been there, 'tis true. Wot is it we're
supposed to do there?"
"Check out a new chief advisor to the local rulers,
a newly arrived wizard who calls himself Markus the
Ineluctable," Jen-Torn told him.
"Sounds straightforward enough to me." His gaze
narrowed and darted back and forth between Jon-
Tom and Clothahump. "You're sure that's all, now?
You two wouldn't be concealin* somethin' from old
-Mudge, now would you?"
"Certainly not," said Clothahump, obviously insulted.
"Would I do something like that, Mudge?"
"I don't like it. You two are too chummy. I feel
safer when you're arguin'." He focused on the turtle.
Alan Dean Foster
74
"Wot's the land like between 'ere and this -Quasequa
place?"
"Tropical, friendly, largely uninhabited and un-
spoiled. I would be coming along myself if my arthri-
tis were not acting up. That, and the fact that this is
really a minor business, precludes my accompanying
you"
"There's something else." Jon-Tom put a comradely
hand on Mudge's shoulder. The otter moved out
from under it, but at least he didn't try to bite. "This
Markus the Ineluctable claims to have come from
another world. If he comes from my world and the
two of us strike up a friendship, it's a chance for me
to get home. Maybe for both of us to get home."
"Well now, that would be worth the journey, to see
the last of you, mate, though I don't know as 'ow I
could stand more than one of you otherworldly twits
in the same place at the same time. Nothin' personal,
but if you get back to your 'ome, maybe I can get
back to 'aving a normal life o' me own."
"A normal life," said Clothahump dryly, "rich with
thieving, fighting, wenching, and being in a condi-
tion verging on permanent inebriation all the time."
"Yes, that's wot I said," agreed the otter blithely,
missing the wizard's sarcasm entirely.
Clothahump eyed him sadly. "I fear there is no
hope for you, water rat." He looked suddenly
thoughtful. "I was led to believe that the most you
could hold in a game of artimum was eleven of a
kind."
"I thought artimum was a spice," said Jon-Tom.
"A spicy game of chance, my boy. Spices are in-
volved as well as dice and cards." He gave the otter a