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then, mate. Long as our course 'as been determined, we might as well be on our
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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 buried. The goal o' their life is death. 'Ardly seems
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.
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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 without 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
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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
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