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near approaching Jon-Tom in height. Nearby a single older gentleman was
drinking and playing cards with a spider monkey dressed in black shot through
with silver thread. They paired off against a larger simian Jon-Tom couldn't
identify and a three-foot-tall pocket gopher wearing a crimson jumpsuit and
the darkest sunglasses Jon-Tom had ever seen.
No doubt they were as prejudiced and bigoted as the others. And where did he
come off setting himself up as arbiter of another world's morals?
"There ain't nothin' you can do about it, mate. Why would anyone want t'
change
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01%20-%20Spellsinger.txt things? Cor now, moppin' and sweepin' and such are
out, unless you want t' lose all respeet due a regular citizen. Politickin'
you're also qualified for, but that o' course ranks even lower than
janitorial-type drudgeryin'. I'd hope you won't 'ave t' fall back on your
abilities for minstrelin'." His tone changed to one of hope mixed with
curiosity.
"Now ol' Clothahump, 'e was bloody well sure you were some sort of sorcerer,
'e was. You sure you can't work no magic? I 'eard you questioning 'is
wizard-wart's own special words."
"That was just curiosity, Mudge. Some of the words were familiar. But not in
the way he used them. Even you did the business with the dancing pins. Does
everyone practice magic around here?"
"Oh, everyone practices, all right." Mudge swilled down a snootful of black
brew. "But few get good enough at it to do much more than a trick or two. Pins
are my limit, I'm afraid. Wish to 'ell I knew 'is gold spell." His gaze
suddenly moved left and he grinned broadly.
"Course now, when the situation arises I ain't too bad at certain forms o'
levitation." His right hand moved with the speed of which only otters are
capable.
How the saucily dressed and heavily made up chipmunk managed to keep from
dumping the contents of the six tankards she was maneuvering through the crowd
was a bit of magic in itself, Jon-Tom thought as he ducked to avoid the few
flying suds.
She turned an outraged look on the innocent-seeming Mudge. "You keep your
hands to yourself, you shit-eating son of a mud worm! Next time you'll get one
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of these up your furry backside!" She threatened him with a tankard.
"Now Lily," Mudge protested, " 'aven't you always told me you're always
'untin'
for a way t' move up in the world?"
She started to swing an armful of liquor at him and he cowered away in mock
fear, covering his face with his paws and still smiling. Then she thought
better of wasting the brew. Turning from their table she marched away,
elbowing a path through the crowd. Her tail switched prettily from side to
side, the short dress barely reaching from waist to knee. It was gold with a
gray lining that neatly set off her own attractive russet and black and white
striping.
"What did I tell you, mate?" Mudge grinned over his mug at Jon-Tom.
He tried to smile back, aware that the otter was trying to break the glum mood
into which Jon-Tom had fallen. So he forced himself to continue the joke.
"Mighty short levitation, Mudge. I don't see how it does her any good."
"Who said anything about her?" The otter jabbed himself in the chest with a
thumb. "It's me the levitatin' benefits!" He clasped both furry arms around
his chest and roared at his own humor, threatening to upset table and self.
Wooden shades were rolled down to cover the two windows, and someone dimmed
the oil lamps. Jon-Tom started to rise, felt a restraining paw on his wrist.
"Nay, guv, 'tis nothing t' be concerned about." His eyes were sparkling.
"Quite the contrary. Did I not promise you some entertainment?" He pointed to
the circular serving counter and up.
What looked like an upside-down tree was slowly descending from a gap in the
center of the peaked ceiling. It was green with fresh growth, only the foliage
had been tacked on and doubtless was periodically renewed. The still unseen
band segued into an entirely new tune. The percussionist was doing most of the
work now, Jon-Tom noted. The beat was heavy, slow, and sensuous.
The yelling and shouting that filled the establishment changed also. Barely
organized chaos faded to a murmur of anticipation spotted with occasional
roars of comment, usually lewd in nature.
Mudge had shifted his seat, now sat close to Jon-Tom. His eyes were on the
fake tree as he elbowed his companion repeatedly in the ribs.
"Eyes at the alert now, mate. There's not a fairer nor more supple sight in
all
Lynchbany."
An animal appeared at the dark opening in the ceiling, prompting a bellow from
the crowd. It vanished, then teasingly reappeared. It was slight, slim, and
made its way very slowly from the hidden chamber above down into the branches
of the
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file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Spellsinger%20
01%20-%20Spellsinger.txt ersatz conifer. About three and a half feet in
length, it displayed another half foot of active tail and was completely,
almost blindingly covered in snow-white fur save for a few inches of black at
the tip of the tail.
Its costume, if such so lithe a wrapping could be called, consisted of many
layers of black veils of some chiffonlike material through which the brilliant
white fur showed faintly. Its face was streaked with red painted on in
intricate curlicues and patterns that ran from face and snout down onto
shoulders, chest, and back before vanishing beneath the airy folds. A turban
of matching black was studded with jewels. The final touch, Jon-Tom noted with
fascination, were long false eyelashes.
So absorbing was this glittering mammalian vision that for several moments
identification escaped him. That slim form and muscular torso could only
belong to some member of the weasel family. When the apparition smiled and
displayed tiny sharp teeth he was certain of it. This was an ermine, still in
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full winter-white coat. That confirmed the time of year he'd arrived, though
he hadn't thought to ask anyone. About the creature's femininity he had no
doubt whatsoever.
A hush of interspecies expectancy had settled over the crowd. All attention
was focused overhead as the ermine ecdysiast began to toy with the clasps
securing one veil. She unsnapped one, then its companion. Cries of
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