shrewd look. "You didn't, by any chance, cardamom
your hand?"
"Oh, wonderful!" Mudge threw up his hands and
beseeched the heavens for understanding. "I'm snatched
Tas MOMENT w THE MAGJCIAJV
7S
r T
; ?
away from the biggest winnings of me ^hort life so's I
can be accused o' cheatin' by someone who wasn't
even there."
"Did you cardamom your cards?" Clothahump
persisted.
Shaking his head, Mudge turned to Jon-Tom, put
a hand around his waist. "Right then, mate. Long as
our course 'as been determined, we might as well be
on our way. Sooner we gets there the sooner we can
start *ome, right?"
"Might as well wait another day, since I've saved so
much time what with Clothahump bringing you
straight here. We can leave tomorrow morning." He
was taken aback by the otter's sudden enthusiasm.
"Let's 'ave a chat then, must be a lot you 'ave to tell
me, and I've plenty to tell you." He eased Jon-Tom
toward the doorway.
"Twelve of a kind." Clothahump was rubbing his
lower jaw and gazing speculatively after the hurried-
ly departing otter.
Mudge made sure to close the door behind him.
v
It was raining when they departed the following
morning. Mudge appeared to have undergone a
complete change of heart and was all but pushing
Jon-lbm out the door.
"No reason to wake 'is nibs," the otter told him,
smiling reassuringly. "Let the poor bugger 'ave 'is
rest."
"Tell me about this game called artimum. I've
heard of it before but I don't really know how—"
"Now don't you start, mate. Tell you about it when
we're well on our way. Wouldn't want anyone else to
get the wrong idea about old Mudge, would you?
Besides, there's more interestin' tales I've yet to tell
you. Did I mention yesterday about the vixen in
Tenwattle who... ?"
The rain slid offJon-Tom's waterproof iridescent
lizard-skin cape, which he kept well over his head,
while Mudge merely placed his felt cap in his pack to
protect it. Other than that he ignored the rain, for
otters are as comfortable soaking wet as they are
bone dry.
Heavier drops rang some of the bell leaves which
gave this country its name, but for the most pan the
trees were quiet. A tendaria rested on a nearby
76
THE MOMEHT OF TBB MAGICIAN 77
branch. The blue-and-puce flying amphibian sat with
its mouth agape and head back as it collected rainwa-
ter in the flexible sac attached to its lower jaw. It
would carry the fresh water back to the clay-sealed
nest it had made in the trunk of some hollow tree
and add it to the growing basin therein. In time the
female of the species would lay her eggs in the nest.
The young flying amphibians would eventually hatch
and mature in the protected pool, remaining there
until they were old enough to fly and breathe air.
"Really, Mudge, don't you think it's about time you
gave some thought to altering your life-style?"
"And wot's wrong with me life-style?"
"For one thing, you couldn't exactly call it productive.
You're a sharp guy, Mudge. Yet you choose to spend
your life as a wastrel."
"I calls it freedom, mate. And it's a challenge
walkin' the fine line between the legal and the
debatable, leavin' it to everyone else to guess which
side o' the line you're on, on any particular day." He
winked broadly. "Of course, the trick o' such livin* is
to 'ave one foot on each side o' the line at all limes,
and to be able to dance back and forth without
gettin' caught on the one side or the other. Never a
dull moment."
"I know it's an exciting way to live, but it doesn't
seem to have much of a future to it. I'll bet you don't
even have enough put aside to pay for a decent
funeral."
"Funeral? Hell, mate, I know them that spends
their 'ole lives worryin' about 'ow they're goin' to be
worth livin' at all. Might as well slit your throat and
miss out on all the worryin'."
"Go ahead and make light of it, but there'll be no
one to cry at your funeral. No pallbearers, no
Alan Dean Foster
78
mourners. Or do you think your thieving acquain-
tances will take the trouble to show up?"
Mudge shrugged. "I don't worry about it none,
but 1 do know there'll be at least one there to weep
for me passin'."
"Yeah, who?"
"Why, you, mate," and the otter grinned up at him
so infectiously that jon-Tom had to turn away lest
Mudge see his own smile-
"Maybe, just maybe, but I still think you could do
more with your life."
"Plannin' takes all the surprise out o' life, mate.
Me, I'd rather take it as it 'its me, even if it some-
times *its kind o' 'ard."
They marched on, arguing about life and mean-
ings and directions. Mudge cited chapter and verse
from personal experience—always frenetic, often foul,
but never dull. jon-Tom countered with quotes from
everyone from B. F. Skinner to Woody Alien. None of
his arguments had the slightest impact on the free-
living otter.
They passed the glade where the footprints of
M'nemaxa still showed as deep depressions in solid
granite; passed through dense, familiar woods; and
finally emerged on the banks of the river Tailaroam.
Westward the great river tumbled and churned on
its way toward the distant Glittergeist Sea, while far
off to the east lay the impressive range of mountains
known as Zaryt's Teeth, which gave birth to the
Tailaroam's tributaries.
Their immediate concern was the broad section of
fast-running river directly in front of them. It flowed
from east to west, and their course led due south.
"How do we get across?"
"As for me, mate," Mudge told him, "I'd as soon
swim it in a couple of minutes- I'd enjoy it more than
these past days' trek." He glanced around, searching
THB MOMEMT OF THE MAWCUN
79
the shoreline. "If we can find a nice dry log, I'll give
you a push across. Wouldn't want 'is nosyness to
think I weren't takin' good care o* you."
They hunted for and found a suitable log. Jon-
Tom sat astride the fallen tree with his long legs
stretched out in front of him, clinging to the otter's
clothing and his own belongings while struggling to
balance himself as Mudge pushed out into the river.
Fortunately, the otter's sense of equilibrium was bet-
ter developed than his own. Every time it looked like
he was about to tip over, Mudge adjusted from
behind. They arrived on the opposite shore of the
Tailaroam witho
ut Jon-Tom's getting his toes wet.
Mudge climbed onto the sandy bank, shook him-
self off, and then lay down in the sun until his slick
fur was completely dry. As soon as he'd dressed, they
started south along a well-trod and easy-to-follow
trail.
Soon they found themselves in the Lower Dugga-
kurra Hills, a landscape of rounded boulders worn
smooth by the action of wind and rain. Thick brush
thrived in pockets of dark soil between the rocks.
Already they were starting to leave behind the larger
conifers that dominated the expanse of forest called
the Bellwoods, and the tall tropical hardwoods of the
lake region would not put in an appearance for some
time yet.
Jon-Tom took his time breaking camp the follow-
ing morning, quenching the embers of their camp-
fire and scattering the ashes. Time was important,
but he didn't want to arrive in Quasequa too exhausted
to think.
The trail had grown more and more obscure the
deeper they'd penetrated into the rocky terrain, so
he wasn't surprised to see the confused expression
on the otter's face when Mudge returned from scout-
ing the path ahead.
Alan Dean Foster
80
Or was there more there this morning than just
confusion? He rose,-kicked the last splinters of smok-
ing wood apart, and brushed dust from his hands.
"Something wrong? If it's the trail -.."
" Tisn't that, guv. It's... well, you'd better come
and 'ave a looksee for yourself."
"A looksee at what?"
Mudge said evenly, "I think the ground ahead's on
fire."
Jon-Tom swallowed his ready retort as he saw that
the otter was in dead earnest. Hurriedly he slipped
into his backpack and followed his companion
southward. Mudge underscored the seriousness of
his claim by not talking as they marched.
Sure enough, as they topped a small pass between
the boulders, Jon-Tom could see vapor rising off to
the left. It was only after they'd hiked another mile
that he could be certain it wasn't smoke-
Mudge could see the difference, too. "Sorry, mate-
1 turned back to camp before comin' this far. That
ain't smoke from no fire. 'Tis steam."
"That it is/'Jon-Tbm agreed, "but what's the source?"
They found out when they crested the next rise.
Stretched out before them was a most wonderful
panorama. Hot pools of varying depth and hue
bubbled and growled in the cool of morning. Steplike
terraces of calcium carbonate climbed the rocks,
each one like the entrance to a sultan's palace. Steaming
water cascaded down them from hot springs above,
constantly adding to and altering an already spectac-
ular sight. Brown-and-yeUow bands of travertine en-
closed emerald-green basins. Everywhere could be
seen the blue, green, and yellow of heat-loving algae.
"Just like Yellowstone," Jon-Tom murmured. "1
feel privileged to see this."
"And I feel like a moron," muttered Mudge. ** 'Earth
on fire' indeed!"
THE; MOMENT or THE MAQICSAM
81
"Don't feel bad. It could look that way from a
distance." Jon-Tom removed his backpack, then his
shirt, and started on his belt,
Mudge eyed him curiously. "Now wot are you up
to?"
"I haven't had a hot bath since we left Clothahump's
tree."
"A hot bath. Now there's a novel idea."
"Find yourself a cool pool tf you want to join me,*'
Jon-Tom told him, slipping his pants down his legs.
"I enjoy hot water, Mudge. Keep in mind that I
haven't got your insulating layers of fur and fat."
"Wot fat?" snapped the indignant otter. "I ain't
fat"
"It's a subcutaneous layer and it's there to keep
you warm when you're under water."
"Sounds bloody disgustin*." Mudge lifted a flap of
skin from his left arm, eyed it as though seeing it for
the first time. But he was damned if he was going to
sit and watch while Jen-Torn enjoyed himself. The
water in the pool the human had chosen was much
too warm for his taste, but another nearby was
pleasant enough. Stripping quickly, he dove into the
natural basin, found he had to float. The sand at the
bottom was too hot to touch.
"A hot bath. You 'umans are burstin* with weird
notions"
Jen-Torn didn't reply. He was too comfortable,
drifting on his back in the warm water, listening to it
bubble and tumble down the hillsides surrounding
them. There were no geysers in evidence, suggesting
that this was a relatively calm thermal area-
"Back where I come from," he told Mudge lazily,
"there's a tribe of humans called the Maori who live
in a place just like this. It's called Rotorua and it
steams all year round."
Mudge sniffed, paddling across the surface of his
Alan Dean Foster
82
own pool. "It ain't for me, mate. Give me a nice
ice-cold mountain stream to go swimmin' in any day.
Though this stuff does," he admitted, "clear out your
sinuses." He dove in a single flowing motion, a grace-
ful curve that belied the presence of a stiff backbone.
As he did, something struck the water just behind
him.
Jon-Tom stood, the heat of the bottom sand tick-
ting his feet, and tried to see what had entered the
water aft of the otter's submerging backside. As he
stared, something went spang against the boulder
behind him and flew to pieces. Some of the pieces
floated. He picked them up and identified them
instantly.
When Mudge broke the surface again, it was to see
his companion huddled in a narrow cove formed by
overhanging rocks. He paddled toward the adjoining
pool. "Wot*s up, mate?"
"Didn't you see?"
"See wot?" Mudge frowned, pivoted in the luke-
warm water.
"It went right over when you dove."
"Wot went right over me when 1 dove?" Something
whizzed past his right ear and he jerked around
sharply in the water, his eyes wide. "Cor, somebody's
shootin' at us!" He ducked just in time, and a second
arrow struck the water directly behind him.
He emerged as if shot from some subterranean
gun, leaping completely over the stone barrier sepa-
rating the two pools, and swam over to huddle next
to Jon-Tom. Their weapons and clothes lay on a nice,
dry slope on the opposite side of the water, in a
sunny spot completely devoid of cover.
"We'll 'ave to make a run for it, mate." Mudge spat
out warm water. "We can't just squat 'ere and let 'em
pick us off." He took a deep breath and started to
submerge.
THB MOMENT OF THK MUMClAW
83
^
i >.
Jon-Tom grabbed him by the fur on top of his
head and pulled him up again. "Hold
on a minute."
A half dozen arrows whizzed past, far overhead.
"Listen"
High-pitched squeaks sounded from the far ridge.
More arrows went past. None landed near the ner-
vous bathers.
"Maybe they're not shooting at us." He paddled
out just far enough to see around the rocks beneath
which they were hiding, trying to follow the flight of
the arrows.
Sure enough, moments later other cries and shouts
came from that direction, and several small spears
arced past overhead, retracing the path of the mis-
siles which had initially panicked the two travelers.
The shouts and screams grew steadily louder, and
soon both groups of combatants revealed themselves.
The opposing war parties clashed in the middle of a
single natural causeway which wound its way across
the hot springs. Spears, stones, and arrows filled the
air, flying through the steam- Mudge and Jon-Tom
strove to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.
There were a few gophers and moles among the
fighters, but the large majority on both sides were
prairie dogs ranging between four and five feet in
height. They slashed and stabbed with quick, short
movements, their high-pitched battle squeaks rising
above the hiss and rumble of the springs. They
fought with a determination and ruthlessness that
Jon-Tom found appalling in such, well, cute creatures.
There was nothing comical about the carnage they
wreaked on one another, though. Body after body
tumbled into the steaming water, limbs flew through
the air as swords made contact, and the perfect
clarity of the springs was soon stained dark by the
blood of the fallen.
This went on for the better part of an hour before
Alan Dean Foster
84
the war party on the left began to retreat. Their
opponents redoubled their efforts and in minutes
had gained complete control of the causeway. They
fanned out over the opposite hillside, dispatching
those of the opposition too weak or badly wounded
to join their comrades in flight. They did so with a
matter-of-fact bloodthirstiness that chilled Jon-Tom
despite the surrounding hot water.
Something pricked his shoulder and a voice sounded
from behind them.
"You two there. Out of the water!"
Jon-Tom turned. Four of the victors stood looking
down at them. The one holding the spear on him
wore a helmet fashioned from the skull of an
opponent. It was bright with beads of many colors,