Chorus Skating (18 page)

Right up until the end, his attackers uttered not a word between them.

Chapter 10

MUDGE HAD STOPPED
looking back over his shoulder.

“Still no hint o' any pursuit, mate. Ain't seen sign o' the dirty buggers for more than an 'our.” He shook his head in wonderment, grateful for the inexplicable reprieve. “Your little 'ops notwithstandin', I thought they'd be all over us by now, I did.”

“Something happened to change Manzai's mind.” Jon-Tom was cleaning the duar with a dry cloth.

“Maybe the bastard stepped on a snake,” Mudge opined hopefully. “Or maybe 'is 'appy followers finally 'ad enough o' 'im an' told 'im where to get off.”

Jon-Tom glanced over at his friend. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Mudge.”

The otter squinted up at him. “Nobody's ever presented me with no 'orse, mate, an' no one's ever likely to. An' if they did, why the 'ell would I want to look 'im in the mouth? They like to natter on about nothings, 'orses do, an' the ones I've met tend to 'ave really bad breath.”

“Yours isn't exactly scented,” Jon-Tom replied.

“That's amusin', that is, comin' from a 'uman. You'll eat anythin', you lot will.”

“if our pursuit has slackened, can't we rest awhile?” Quiquell slowed to take a seat on a fallen log by the side of the narrow road.

Naike was staring hard back the way they'd come. “Either we have somehow outdistanced them or they have truly abandoned the chase. A rest would do us all good. We should avail ourselves of the opportunity.”

“I'm willing.” Umagi took a decorous seat on a smooth-topped black rock.

“We're all exhaussted,” Seshenshe exclaimed. The remaining princesses chorused their agreement.

Feeling a light touch on his shoulder, Jon-Tom turned to fall into a pair of bright blue eyes.

“You certainly are a spellsinger, sir.”

He stood as tall as he could manage without actually rising on tiptoes and sucked in his stomach so hard Mudge expected to see his friend's intestines bulge clear out through his spine.

From her seat nearby a less awed Seshenshe spoke up before Jon-Tom could respond. “If you are ssuch a great sspellssinger, why can't you call up a royal carriage or two to carry uss from thiss place?”

“or six of them,” whispered Quiquell. “with strong teams and knowledgeable drivers.”

“For that matter,” wondered Pivver, “why can't you just magic us home?”

Beset by a small but intense storm of querulous, demanding princesses, Jon-Tom found himself backed toward a tree. Mudge looked on with considerable amusement.

“Just a minute, just a minute. It's not that easy. Magic is not a precise science.”

The otter chuckled. “Good thing ol' Clothybump ain't 'ere to 'ear you say that.”

Jon-Tom glared at him before turning his attention back to the clamoring, insistent royals. “What I meant to say was that it's true I'm conversant with magic, but only certain kinds. Defensive sorcery is one example. Conjuring up transportation, especially the kind that involves other living creatures, is very complicated, and transposition infinitely more so. Do you think
I'd
be walking if I had an easy way out? You have to be careful with such things. There are real dangers involved.” Choosing Umagi at random, he directed his explanation to her.

“Suppose I tried to sing you home, Princess, and sent you instead to Pivver's homeland?”

“Or,” added Mudge dryly, “'e might send your 'ead to Pivver's palace, your body to Aleaukauna's, an' your behind to—”

“I
beg
your pardon.” The silk-swathed gorilla glared at the otter.

“No disrespect intended, Your Ladyhulk. As me warblin' companion can tell you, I'm a great respecter of behinds.”

“I wouldn't take such a chance.” Jon-Tom spread his hands helplessly. “The risks are too great.”

“But did you not just advance us down this very road by means of your magic?” Ansibette reminded him.

“The spellsong I employed wasn't place-specific,” he explained. “When you're not place-specific the magic has a lot more leeway. It has to do with fractal lines of force as they relate to spatial interstices.”

Her perfect nose wrinkled up. “Sorcery is a very complicated business.”

Mudge ventured some clarification. “Wot 'e's tryin' to tell you lot is that 'e might try to send a zucchini someplace and end up transposin' a tomato.”

Pivver's whiskers twitched. “Why would anyone want to send a zucchini anyplace?”

“That'ss what I ssay!” added Seshenshe firmly. “And what iss a zucchini?”

“a fruit,” explained Quiquell softly, “it's round and blue, with pink spots.”

“No, no!” Umagi hastened to correct her. “It's long and purple and shiny.”

“Are you sure?” Ansibette's confusion only deepened. “I thought—”

“Ladies, please!” Jon-Tom mopped perspiration from his forehead. “If I could send a zucchini or anything else to a specific destination, I'd gladly transpose us all right out of this swamp. But I'm afraid… I'm afraid I'm just not that good. We'll have to make our way to Mashupro as best we can.”

“i understand.” Under her breath Quiquell added, “blue.”

“Purple!” Umagi glared at the anteater, who stuck out her tongue by way of response. Given the nature of its owner, it was a most impressive gesture.

“Well, what kind of a sspellssinger are you?” Crossing her arms over her furry chest, Seshenshe's face twisted into a ferocious pout. She was quickly joined in her frustration and outrage by her fellow royals.

Faced with this regal tumult, Jon-Tom didn't know what to say. This wasn't a problem, because Mudge always knew what to say.

“I'll tell you wot bleedin' kind 'e is!” The otter's uncharacteristic bellow was sufficiently violent to startle the complainers into silence. “'E's the spellsinger who just saved all your 'igh 'an mighty backsides, that's who! Instead o' gripin' at 'im because 'e can't post you 'ome directly, you might consider thankin' 'im for savin' you from a lifetime o' servitude an' captivity!”

It was Umagi who finally broke the embarrassed silence which followed. “The river-runner is right. What has happened to our manners?” She daintily flicked the tailing end of her head scarf away from her face.

“Umagi remindss uss all of our sstation.” As the one who had started the brouhaha, Seshenshe took it upon herself to make amends. This she did by walking up to Jon-Tom, drawing his head down toward her own, and planting a generous lynx lick square on his right cheek. She had a tongue like sandpaper, Jon-Tom noted.

Equally ashamed of their behavior, the rest of the former captives followed suit. He was unable to enjoy Ansibette's affectionate embrace because it followed immediately behind Umagi's. While offered with the best of intent, it left him feeling as if he'd just fallen from a twenty-foot cliff.

“If you can't provide proper transportation,” Aleaukauna said when the apologies were concluded, “or send us straightaway home, can you at least provide us with adequate sleeping quarters?”

“And ssince there aren't enough of you to carry uss, perhapss alsso ssome more appropriate footwear.” Seshenshe lifted one of her lightly sandaled feet.

“although,” added Quiquell thoughtfully, “i suppose you could take turns.”

With a sigh Mudge smiled over at the spellsinger. “Princesses 'ave notoriously short attention spans, mate.”

Naike had been silent for some time. Now he turned from studying the road. “Argue if you must, but can we at least argue and move at the same time? Just because there is presently no pursuit does not mean it has been permanently terminated. Tomorrow may bring fresh resolve to Manzai's minions.”

A good thing, Jon-Tom mused as he strode along, that there was no need at the moment to try to mask their location. The princesses seemed incapable of maintaining silence. Nor did their attire exactly blend into the sun-washed greenery of the delta.

To give himself a little peace he played light, inconsequential music on the duar. This time there was no magic in his playing—only beauty. The lost chords drifted nearby, sampling each melody with a ringing curiosity, sometimes chiming in with an attempt at counterpoint.

In the absence of any visible pursuit they made better progress than Jon-Tom expected. When Naike finally selected a campsite, Jon-Tom felt reasonably safe in attempting a homely fire spell. The soldiers carried fire-making gear in their packs, but given the saturated character of the vegetation it was felt that Jon-Tom might have better luck.

Freed of the need to supplicate the gods of friction, the soldiers and Mudge fanned out through the surrounding growth. One by one they returned with edibles: nuts and freshwater shellfish, berries and soft tubers, fish still freshly flapping, and fungi ready to fry.

An hour later Seshenshe studied the simple dish that was passed to her by the light of the blazing fire. “And what may I assk iss thiss?”

“Fish, m'lady.” Pauko looked over innocently from his station by the cookware. “Is anything wrong with it?”

“Iss anything
wrong
with it?” The lynx waved a clawed paw at the platter. “Issn't it obviouss? There'ss no
ssauce.
”

“That's right.” Umagi's lower lip curled clear up over her upper to touch the base of her nostrils. “No sauce.”

“Abject apologies, Your Highnesses.” Pauko's reply was tinged with a sarcasm that would have been absent under different circumstances. “But this was the best I could manage under the circumstances.” He indicated his cookfire. “As you can see, the facilities are not of the best.”

The Lieutenant supported his trooper. “There are conditions, ladies, under which gourmet cookery is not always possible.”

“Nonssensse!” Seshenshe focused slitted eyes on Jon-Tom, who had already gobbled half his own portion. “Perhapss you cannot ssend uss home, but you did well to ssing up thiss fine fire. Can you not sspellssing ssome sspicess and proper utenssils as well?”

“Oh, right. And who'll carry them?” Heke muttered under his breath.

“One guess,” Karaukul replied.

“Remind me again how we ended up on this mission?”

“We were volunteered, remember?” Karaukul smiled wanly in the flickering light. “It was that or lose certain vital body parts.”

“Oh, yes,” murmured his companion. “Now I recall. Glory or dismemberment.”

“Have a thought for the other poor slob—other honored soldiers of Harakun, who have been sent to dangerous lands to seek the princess and who have found nothing but travail and death. It has been our good fortune to actually perform the rescue.”

“Yes,” replied Heke expressionlessly. “Aren't we lucky?”

“Six times over.” Karaukul looked pained.

Rising from her seat, Seshenshe sauntered over to where Jon-Tom was eating and with claws retracted ran her fingers lightly over his neck and shoulder.

“It'ss not too much to assk, iss it, sspellssinger?” she cooed. “Jusst a ssmall bottle of sslightly warmed cardonaisse ssauce?”

Frowning, he looked up from his meal. “I don't know. I've never tried to conjure a specific food before.”

Aleaukauna was working her way less than enthusiastically through her own portion. Now she looked across the fire at where the lynx was plying the spellsinger. “If you're going to do that, I would rather see some keen spices. Maroon peppercorns and ground
wapani.
” Her tongue wrapped around the top of her muzzle at the mere thought of it.

“I would like just a little black cream.” Smiling tantalizingly, Ansibette leaned toward Jon-Tom, who for some reason found himself suddenly choking on a small, well-seared piece of fish.

Aleaukauna showed sharp teeth. “All in good time, but we should have
wapani
first.”

“Black cream.” Ansibette's perfect lips coiled sensuously around each syllable. Jon-Tom forced himself to swallow.

“Cardonaisse,” hissed Seshenshe.

“Who is senior princess here?” Aleaukauna's onyx-black eyes glittered in the firelight.

“Senior princess?” Using a moistened hand, Pivver was delicately grooming fish grease from her whiskers. “Who made you senior here?”

“These soldiers are mine.” The mongoose indicated the quartet of fighters, who, thus singled out, attempted forthwith to shrink back from the circle of illumination. “If not for me they would have been quite content to flee Manzai's abode in my company alone. It was at my insistence and mine alone that the rest of you secured your freedom.”

“Perhaps their sense of honor is greater than you believe.” Umagi had risen to place a friendly arm around Jon-Tom's shoulders. Her bulk was imposing. “This spellsinger and his friend owe allegiance to none here but themselves.” Squeezing tenderly, she stared into his eyes, primate to primate. “
You
wouldn't have run off and abandoned us to Manzai's mercies, would you?”

“Uh, no, of course not. And by the way, you're hurting my shoulder.”

“Sorry.” Batting simian eyelashes, she released her grip.

Rising from her own seat, Ansibette undulated toward him. The resulting wave forms were of sufficient intensity to blur any male's vision. Or possibly melt lead. Pivver spoke up before Jon-Tom could be flattered into insensibility. “No one here can claim for themselves a title as encompassing as ‘senior princess.' Some are older, some wiser, some stronger, others faster. Some come from larger, more powerful kingdoms, others from homes nearer our present locale. Only one among us is wise and experienced enough to decide such an important matter.” Turning sharply, she stared straight at Jon-Tom. “The spellsinger!”