Chorus Skating (28 page)

Mashupro would be an awkward place in which to be drunk, Jon-Tom told himself. You could be staggering from one bar to another only to have them suddenly go their separate ways, taking their individual porches and walkways with them and unceremoniously dumping you in the drink.

Though he'd throttled down the swamp buggy as far as he could without bringing it to a complete stop, the whirring props still generated enough noise to draw the curious of Mashupro out of their buildings. Stares followed them until he and Mudge decided they might as well berth themselves beneath the most accessible of the waterfront structures. He found one which boasted a spiral stairway reaching down to the water, which would be far easier for the princesses to ascend than some swaying, unstable rope ladder. A curious shed sniffed at them as it ambled past.

Understandably, the majority of the population consisted of those creatures most comfortable with living in proximity to the water. The travelers saw muskrats and beavers, otters and tapirs, ocelots and primates of all kinds. There was also a large community of waterbirds. Hardly pausing long enough to bid them farewell and safe journey, Felgrin had flown off to join a trio of speckled storks. He'd fulfilled the terms of his agreement.

“i should think the locals would be more excited by our presence than they are.” Quiquell eyed the spiral staircase skeptically.

“This is the principal port on the southern Karrakas,” Ansibette reminded her. They must see many strange craft here, and many equally strange travelers.”

“Just so long as they don't think us too strange, and get too curious.” Umagi flexed rippling royal muscles. “I don't want to have to deal with unwanted suitors. I just want to get home.” Jon-Tom found the notion of anyone putting a move on the intimidating scion of Exalted Tuuro highly unlikely.

“Same 'ere,” barked Mudge tersely. “I don't like bein' the center o' attention in a strange place. Unless”—he winked— “it 'appens to 'ave a light o' the red persuasion 'angin' out front.”

Jon-Tom helped Karaukul secure a line. “Mudge, you're incorrigible.”

“Can't be, mate. I ain't never met the lady.”

“Lady? What lady?” Frustrated, he left the knot-tying to the more experienced and adept mongoose.

“Why, your theoretical Miss Corrigible, o' course.”

“Commoner,” sniffed Seshenshe.

“Uncommoner, I should say.” No less one hundred percent otter than Jon-Tom's companion, the princess of Trenku struggled to repress a grin.

Moving to the stern, Mudge clung to the propeller cage with one paw as he studied the harborfront. “Seem to be a number o' empty boats lyin' to, mate. Burn me for a sun-struck mole if I don't think we can trade this berserk tin shingle for somethin' a tad more seaworthy.”

“Why?” Aleaukauna moved to join them. “Why can we not continue on in this magical craft, which has served us so well until now?”

Jon-Tom explained. “The swamp buggy is intended for high-speed travel over flat, shallow, still water. A single modest wave would flip it, or swamp it.”

The mongoose nodded understandingly. “I see. Forgive my ignorance. I am not a person of the water.”

Mudge turned to call back to Naike. “'Ere now, quick-tooth: 'Ow'd you and your mates manage your ocean crossin'?”

“Aboard an old merchant vessel, on which we had booked passage.” The Lieutenant neatly whipped a line around a cleat welded to the swamp buggy's bow. “Finding one that came anywhere near this place was hard. Locating one that just happens to be going back the way we wish to return I think will prove far more difficult.” He spread both paws. “Also, we are nearly broke, and now we must secure passage not merely for four soldiers but also for two fellow travelers and six princesses who would not, I think, be comfortable traveling in steerage.”

“I should say not!” Umagi stuck out her lower jaw. As it already protruded a goodly distance, it was quite an impressive gesture. “Then we'd best arrange for some sort of charter,” said Jon-Tom. “At least on a boat of our own choosing we'll have some privacy.”

“Ah, I like the way you think, spellsinger.” Umagi ran a hand playfully along his neck caressing him with fingers that were quite capable of unscrewing his head like a cork from a perfume bottle. Her touch, however, was light. Very assiduously, he avoided her eyes.

“Wot d'you think, mate?” Mudge wondered. “Can we make a trade?”

Jon-Tom regarded the swamp buggy. “I don't know, Mudge. This is a craft of my world, inveigled here by spellsinging. For one thing, I'm sure my last fueling spell must be running low. I wouldn't want to trade with someone under false pretenses.”

“That's no problem. Let me look after the details.”

“Didn't you hear what I said? Mudge, you never had a pretense that wasn't false.”

The otter put a hand to his chest. “Oi! Pierced through the 'eart again!” He did not seem especially offended. “If she'll run on any kind o' alcohol, mate, you needn't worry about puttin' 'er off on some local merchant. If there's one thing port towns keep in ample stock, 'tis an adequate quantity o' distillates.”

“I expect you're right.” They didn't have much choice. They needed an oceangoing craft and, save for the swamp buggy, had little with which to barter.

Inquiries led them to a weathered but imposing structure located midway up the harborfront. Upon presenting themselves and explaining their intent, they were shown to an inner office occupied by a typically corpulent capybara. Samples of his company's wares consisting of ship's stores from rope to brass fittings decorated the walls and hung from the ceiling. One dirty, four-paned window looked out over the water.

Just as Mudge had surmised, the capy was very interested in the swamp buggy. After several hours of intense haggling, an exhausted Jon-Tom conceded control of the negotiations to Mudge. Not only was the otter better suited temperamentally to such commercial conflict, he positively relished the resulting ruckus.

Only when both voices and the sun had begun to set was a bargain finally struck. In return for the swamp buggy they received title to a small, older, but sturdy single-masted ship. From what little Jon-Tom knew about boats he decided it would be slow, but would hold together in bad weather. And it was capacious enough to accommodate all of them in some comfort. The single belowdecks had multiple cabins and a nice high ceiling, though the soldiers would have to sleep out on deck. There was a galley, space for modest stores, and even a few comfortable benches permanently affixed fore of the mast. Naike was confident it could be handled by their comparatively inexperienced crew.

Even the lost chords approved, the luminescent cloud of music climbing all over the ship, ringing approvingly from the hand-carved wheel to the tip of the bowsprit.

The capybara leaned on the walkway's railing and nodded at the acquisition. “You won't inspire no looks of envy sailing her into distant ports, but she'll get you there. She's an old deep-water interisland trader, built to run up on a beach or break her way through a narrow reef. You'd have to work hard to capsize her.”

“She will do,” declared Naike from nearby.

“Mudge and I have spent some time on the water,” Jon-Tom added. “We can help. Once we reach the distant coast we'll leave you to your own devices, but by then you'll be able to take aboard sailors from Harakun.”

The capy stepped back and extended a dark-furred hand. “No need for a solicitor to witness a straight-up trade. Besides, it would take his office an hour to walk here from across town. Rush-hour, you know.”

Jon-Tom took the proffered paw. “I just want to make sure that you understand what you're getting. Our craft was magicked here. I can't vouch for how long it will continue to function, no matter what grade of alcohol you fill its tank with. Also, impurities could ruin the engine and strand you somewhere. Maybe deep in the Karrakas.” Mudge was tugging hard on his sleeve. As was usual at such moments, Jon-Tom ignored the otter.

The capy looked surprised. “Oh, but I've no intention of using it for transportation.” His whiskers hid much of his mouth.

Jon-Tom frowned. “Then what do you want with it?”

“As you may have noticed, our climate here is somewhat on the humid side.”

“'Umid 'ell,” Mudge snorted. “There's more water in the air 'ere than lies under any boat.”

Jon-Tom mopped at his face. “So you perspire. I've been perspiring for so long I'd stopped thinking about it.”

“The great fan which pushes your craft? I'm going to turn the vessel on its bow and secure it beneath my building. I'll have baffles built into the floor and on the worst days run your wondrous engine.” His chest expanded. “I'll have the coolest and most comfortable place of business in all of Mashupro. My friends as well as my competitors will envy me.”

“Deuced clever,” Mudge had to admit. Evidently just because many folk lived in Mashupro didn't mean they all found the climate equally salubrious.

“Just don't operate it at full speed,” Jon-Tom warned him. “That way the engine will last longer, and you'll cool your place of business instead of blowing it away.”

“We'll need supplies.” Naike gazed longingly across the twilit water, past the heavily vegetated sandbar and toward the distant sea. “It's a long, long ways to Harakun, much less to the kingdoms of our other passengers.”

“I've seen the elegant ladies who travel with you.” The capy made too much of seeming indifferent. “They are a striking bunch.”

“Simple travelers affected with pretense,” Naike explained. It wouldn't do for word to get around a place like Mashupro that their party included a number of eminently ransomable princesses.

“You could provide a minimal quantity of supplies as part of the agreement,” the Lieutenant suggested. “Food, ship's stores, the basics necessary for an ocean voyage.”

Mudge let out a barking hoot. The capybara glanced only briefly in the otter's direction before folding his short, thick arms across his chest.

“Aye, and I could be anointed a Prince of Benefaction, and give away all my worldly goods, and become a traveling monk, bestowing blessings upon the spiritually bereft and unfortunate. It remains, however, that I am a merchant, with staff and their own families to support.” The billowing sleeves of his deeply V-cut silk shirt hung damp and limp against his fur. “I don't give anything away. Have you nothing else to barter?”

“Well, now.” Mudge deliberated. “I suppose we might could do without a lady or two. That prissy lynx, for example, gets on me nerves sometimes, she does.” Jon-Tom shot him an admonishing glare and the otter subsided. “Well, it were just an idea, it were.”

Taking a deep breath, Jon-Tom brought the duar around in front of him. “How's this? I'll sing another spellsong and fully fill the fuel tank. It's bound to run smoother on my spell than on whatever you eventually end up using, and it'll cost you less as well.”

The capy didn't hesitate. “You're a fair man, tall human. I'll see to it that you cast off decently, if not extravagantly, stocked. The Farraglean is full of islands where you'll be able to replenish your supplies.”

When they had shaken hands all around, it was Mudge who indicated the darkening sky. “Now that we're all agreed, is there anyplace in this ambulatin' warren where a curious traveler might find a little excitement?”

“Mudge, aren't you exhausted? Don't you want to get a good night's sleep in a bed that doesn't rock before we head out tomorrow?”

The otter winked salaciously. “Oi, you know me, mate. A rockin' bed can be more than adequately comfortin'. And if we're goin' to be at sea for a few weeks I'd like to spend a bit o' time in the company o' those sportin' legs instead o' fins. I ain't one much for cavortin' with dolphins.”

“I thought you'd put your cavorting days behind you.”

Full of rising anticipations, Mudge peered hopefully down the length of the uneven raised walkway. Music and good-natured shouts in numerous dialects were beginning to issue from flickering doorways.

“See 'ere, mate, if you're so enthusiastic about relaxin', consider the good a bit o' 'armless diversion will do us. Take your mind off wot we're about, it will.”

“My soldiers could do with some recreation.” Naike was nodding understandingly. “For that matter, so could I. We have just completed one arduous journey across the Karrakas and are about to embark on another equally fraught with danger.”

Jon-Tom weakened. Maybe it was the music, or perhaps the rich aromatic smells that were beginning to emerge from the depths of several of the ramshackle structures. “I suppose a little partying couldn't hurt, so long as we watch ourselves.”

“You watch yourself, mate. I've other ocular interests in mind, don't you know.” The otter looked hopefully at the knowledgeable capybara.

Formalities concluded, their host became positively fraternal. “Now that is information I'll share gladly, and at no charge.”

Chapter 16

THE HARBORFRONT TAVERN
shimmied gently on its pilings. A number of small boats were tied up below, close to several rope ladders which dangled conveniently from the elevated walkway. These were used for ascent by travelers and locals alike.

Staring out toward the vastness of the unknown Farraglean, Jon-Tom noted how the moon cast lazy shadows on water and marsh. As if sensing his mood, the cluster of drifting chords muted their singing. He thought of Talea and how she would have appreciated the view, not to mention the romantic ambiance. Then a bottle shattered somewhere inside the tavern, someone growled a guttural curse, and the mood was broken. Mildly depressed, he followed Mudge and the others inside.

Though not very impressive by Jon-Tom and Mudge's worldly standards, the tavern was spacious and packed with patrons who gave every appearance of enjoying themselves. Sweating profusely in the crowded, slightly swaying room, he looked on as Naike and his companions melted into the surging, jostling throng. Reluctant at first but with increasing enthusiasm, the princesses allowed themselves to be whirled about in time to the infectious music as one after another of the eager male patrons asked them to dance.