The Moment of the Magician: A Spellsinger Adventure (Book Four) Page 21

  “When’s all this supposed to have happened?”

  “Only a few days ago.” Cherjal rubbed his flat black nose, sniffed. “Nobody really knows nothing. When asked, word come back that thee members of thee Quorum are engaged in long and deeficult deescusions about the future of the city. But that what they always say when they want to have private party and geet smashed.”

  “So the government of Quasequa is either overthrown or drunk,” Jon-Tom decided.

  Cherjal nodded. “About thee size of eet that ees. Those of us who fear thee first worry that Markus may solidify his power on the Quorum with thee help of those who support heem until eet ees unbreakable becoming.” He stared up at Jon-Tom. “You gots strong eenterest in thees even though you not coming from Quasequa, man. Why?”

  “I think it’s also rumored that Markus claims to come from another world.” Cherjal nodded. “I think he may come from mine. If I can meet with him, I may be able to straighten a lot of things out.”

  Cherjal glanced at Memaw. “Is true? He from another world?”

  “Who’d lie about a thing like that?”

  “Maybe a magician,” Cherjal suggested.

  “That’s exactly why I need to talk to him,” Jon-Tom said. A paw came down on his shoulder.

  “’Ere now, mate,” Mudge mumbled, “if this ’ere bloke’s the type to go around deposin’ rightful governments, it don’t sound to me like ’e’s the kind who’d be ready and willin’ to ’elp you find your way ’ome.”

  “I admit it doesn’t sound promising, but we don’t know anything for certain yet and we won’t until I meet this Markus. Like I said before, if he is doing these things, he may be doing so to protect himself because he’s in a strange place and he’s afraid for his safety.”

  “So hee protect heemself by taking control of everybody else?” Cherjal made a disgusted sound. “Doesn’t matter no ways. No ways you can meet heem. Hee sees nobodies. Lots of people have tried to see heem. Nobody do it, and those who try too hard disappearing.”

  “Isn’t there an appointments secretary for the Quorum, or something?”

  “For thee Quorum, there is. For Markus is nothings. Only Quorum members themselves have seen heem. Appointments secretary will tell you to lost be getting.”

  “I see.” Jon-Tom considered for a long moment before saying, “Then we’ll just have to make our own appointment. Where is Markus staying?”

  “Een a private apartment in the Quorumate Complex. So the rumors saying.”

  Jon-Tom leaned as close to the koala as he could. “You wouldn’t happen to know of a service entrance that’s lightly guarded, would you?”

  Mudge broke out in a broad grin. “Bugger me, mate, can it be that you’re finally comin’ ’round to seein’ things the way the world is instead of ’ow you’d like ’em to be?”

  Jon-Tom replied primly. “I am always pragmatic, Mudge.”

  “Oi, is that wot you calls it? I always thought it were called breakin’ and enterin’.”

  “We’re not going to break anything,” Jon-Tom snapped, leaving the second half of Mudge’s definition uncommented upon.

  “There are several serveece entrances,” Cherjal informed them, “but all are being guarded.”

  “Who does the guarding?”

  “Eet vary from place to place.”

  Quorly spoke for the first time, grinning over at Jon-Tom. “Don’t you worry none about the guards, luv. You just leave that little problem to Sasswise, Splitch, and meself.”

  “I don’t know—” he began uncertainly, but she cut him off.

  “We’ll handle things … so to speak.” Twin giggles came from the table nearby.

  “I wouldn’t ask anything like that of you if this wasn’t really important, Quorly. I wouldn’t want you to do anything that’s…” Mudge leaned over, his nose inches from Jon-Tom’s.

  “Now, you shut up, mate,” he murmured, “or you’re goin’ to make the ladies feel bad. They’re volunteerin’ for this little caper and they damn well know wot they’re about. Might even ’ave themselves a good time doin’ it.”

  “We always ’aves ourselves a good time doin’ it,” Sasswise commented from the neighboring table.

  Not for the first time since he’d fallen in with this remarkable gaggle of otters, Jon-Tom blushed.

  “It could be very dangerous.”

  “Now, didn’t you already say that?” Quorly sounded exasperated. “That were ’alf the point in our comin’ along.”

  “That is right, dear.” Memaw looked over at Jon-Tom. “We shall help you gain entrance to the Quorumate so you may meet with Markus the Incomprehensible.”

  “Ineluctable,” Jon-Tom corrected her. “But why?”

  “We already told you, I believe. We do not care for this new wizard’s politics. We stand ready to fight anything that infringes on our freedom, including each other. Can’t just allow this sort of thing to slide by.”

  “Not bloody likely!” snorted Knorckle.

  “Damn right on!” Norgil agreed.

  “Then it is settled,” she finished, smiling warmly at him.

  “We thank you all from the bottom of our hearts. Don’t we, Mudge? Mudge?”

  There were more giggles from the other table, indicating that at the moment, Mudge was more interested in getting to the heart of somebody’s bottom.

  XIV

  A SLIVERED MOON helped to conceal their approach as they paddled toward the Quorumate. The complex was constructed on a narrow, rocky peninsula that extended like a crooked finger out into the lake. This made it nigh impossible to approach without being seen, hence the decision to sneak up on it via the water.

  It was a much more impressive edifice than Jon-Tom had imagined, rising some six stories above the lake. Numerous towers and walls had been enlarged over the years until the original buildings had merged in a single rambling structure that covered nearly all of the Quorumate grounds. Flying buttresses braced several towers from the outside. These were capped by flagpoles from which fluttered pennants signifying the main islands which composed the city.

  The boat they’d borrowed from Cherjal drifted toward the single pier. Several other small craft were already anchored there, bobbing like metronomes in the gentle swell.

  Quorly, Sasswise, and Splitch adjusted their feath ered hats as they slipped out of the boat. All three were dressed to kill, so to speak. Making no attempt to hide their presence, they staggered straight toward the guard station, giving a perfect imitation of three drunken, carousing ladies of the evening out for a good time. Meanwhile Jon-Tom and the others lay low in the boat and waited.

  Half the night seemed to go by. Jon-Tom found himself staring at the moon. It looked like the same moon he used to watch set over the Pacific. There was the same pattern of mares and mountain chains. How could that be in this world, so different in so many other ways from his own? There was so much he still didn’t understand.

  The sounds of running feet interrupted his reverie. Hands on ramwood staff, he tensed, as did his companions.

  But the face that peered down at them, hat askew over one eye, was a familiar one.

  “Come on then!” Quorly whispered urgently at them.

  They piled out of the boat and ran up the pier. Jon-Tom was something of a runner, but already he saw he was going to have a hard time keeping up with this bunch.

  Quorly led them up a succession of steep stone steps until they reached a circular patio that overlooked the pier. Lying side by side were an unconscious wolf and weasel. Their armor was stacked haphazardly off to one side. Sasswise and Splitch stood over them, daintily readjusting their attire.

  Sasswise was swinging a weapon in circles. It looked something like a cast-iron nunchaku. She gestured with her free paw at the weasel.

  “Belongs to ’im, this does. After we got acquainted I asked ’im if I might ’ave a look at it. He was afraid I might ’urt me delicate self with it, but I promised ’im I’d be careful.” She put a finger
to her lips and assumed an innocent look. “’Pears I wasn’t careful enough. Wot a shame.”

  Right then, let’s hop to it.” Memaw directed Knorckle, Drortch, and Wupp as they bound the two guards. They snored on peacefully, dreaming perhaps of happier moments. They were going to be more than a little upset when they came to and realized what had been done to them.

  “We can’t just leave them here.” Jon-Tom peered carefully through the open doorway into the building. “Another patrol might come along and find them.”

  “Right,” said the petite Splitch in her little-girl-cub voice. “Let’s dump ’em in the lake.”

  “No, no, I want to try and avoid any unnecessary killing.”

  “Told you ’e was weird,” Mudge whispered to Quorly.

  “We can put them in the boat,” Memaw suggested.

  Jon-Tom waited anxiously while half the otters proceeded to dispose of the guards. The hallway which led invitingly inward remained empty.

  Several minutes passed. He was startled to see their boat moving slowly away from the pier, its sail raised. Sasswise gave him an explanation when she rejoined the others.

  “We compromised, Jonny-Tom. Nobody’ll find ’em now. The wind’ll carry ’em out into the lake proper.”

  “What happens if they run into another boat? Fishermen or something?”

  “Won’t make no bit o’ difference,” Splitch assured him. “I mean, if you were told to guard an important place and somebody found you tied up and sailin’ away from that place with your pants missin’, would you be in a ’urry to report it to your superiors?”

  “I guess not.” He turned his attention inward. “Let’s find this Markus.” He called down the hall, where Memaw had stationed herself behind a table. “All clear?”

  She nodded and waved. They crowded in, commenting on the elegant furnishings and marble floor. The ceiling was impressively high, which meant that Jon-Tom could move without having to walk hunched over. His oft-bruised head was grateful for the clearance.

  They trotted down the long hall and turned left. Cherjal had provided them with what was generally known of the Quorumate’s floor plan, but no one was certain of the location of the residential rooms where Markus was likely to have his headquarters. They’d have to find that themselves.

  Everything went smoothly until Sasswise leaped into the air grabbing at her backside. When she came down she started haranguing the innocent Norgil.

  “Will you watch wot you’re doin’ with that damn sword!”

  “Now, look ’ere, m’lady, I’m just keepin’ it ’andy in case we’re attacked … if you don’t mind.” Norgil gestured with the stubby but sharp offender. “Why don’t you give a body a little room to move about?”

  “Move about? I’ll give you room to move about, you fat slob. I’ll move you…!”

  “Quiet!” Memaw said sharply. “Be quiet, you two!”

  Already too late, Jon-Tom saw despairingly. A pair of halberd-wielding foxes had crossed their path a safe distance down the corridor. The noise brought them back to investigate. Now they were staring straight at the tightly packed clutch of invaders.

  “You there, where did you come from?” one demanded to know.

  “Cur’s cockles!” Memaw muttered. She glanced right, then left, and led them up a side corridor. Not knowing what else to do, Jon-Tom followed. Shouts and yells rang out behind them.

  “So much for the element o’ surprise,” groused Mudge.

  “It’ll be all right,” Quorly assured him. “You’ll see. We’ll lose that pair of fools quick enough”

  Mudge skidded to a stop. “Righty-ho, but wot about this new lot o’ fools?”

  A whole platoon of soldiers had appeared in the hall directly ahead and were now charging toward them. The platoon was an interesting mix of species, varying in size from armed rats and mice to two great cats and one ape.

  “Listen,” Jon-Tom said innocently, “can’t we talk about this?” The ape stabbed at him and he jumped aside, bringing down his staff on the other’s spear. Instead of listening to reason, the ape reversed his weapon and tried to shove the butt end through Jon-Tom’s teeth.

  He ducked and the blow passed over his head. A swipe with the ramwood took the ape’s legs out from under him. The sound of fighting was deafening in the narrow corridor. The otters found themselves at a disadvantage in such confines, where they couldn’t make use of their quickness. But the guards’ reinforcements couldn’t get at their quarry and kept bunching up against each other in the corridors. Superior numbers couldn’t be brought to bear against the invaders, but neither could they escape.

  Jon-Tom saw Mudge cut a tendon in a vizcacha’s leg, saw blood spurt, and watched as the stripe-faced soldier went down, too stunned to scream. Then something whacked him on the back of his neck and he staggered. He whirled, hunting for his assailant, and saw nothing but stars before his eyes.

  The stars grew brighter as he was hit again. He blinked and shook his head. As he did so he leaned slightly backward, and saw his attacker. An armored possum hung by its tail from one of the rafters. Iron weights were strapped to its waist and it was taking its time picking out targets among the otters below. Nobody could reach him and Mudge was too busy defending himself with his sword to unlimber his bow.

  The possum wasn’t used to fighting someone as tall as a human, however. Jon-Tom tried to knock the dangling fighter loose with his ramwood staff but couldn’t quite reach him. For its part, the possum decided to stop playing around. The next iron ball it selected was lined with short, sharp spikes. It struggled to draw a bead on Jon-Tom as he bobbed and dodged below.

  Jon-Tom thumbed the concealed switch set in the staff, and the ramwood lengthened by six inches of sharp steel. A sudden jab pierced the possum’s throat. It looked very surprised, hung for a moment longer from the ceiling, and then dropped like a stone.

  The otters fought well, but no matter how many they cut down, there were always more soldiers to take the places of the fallen. By now the whole complex must be alerted, Jon-Tom thought grimly.

  Still, it was Memaw who finally called a halt to the fighting when she saw the twisted form of poor Norgil lying limp against the marble. The otter had taken half a dozen sword thrusts and his life was leaking out on the floor. Already blood made the footing treacherous. That would take away the otters’ one advantage: their quickness.

  So Memaw put up her sword and said, “Enough. We surrender.”

  “Surrender? Wot’s that mean, surrender?” said Quorly, panting hard. Her fine clothing had been shredded by sword cuts but otherwise she appeared unharmed.

  “No, Memaw’s right, she is.” Knorckle tossed his sword aside. “Better to gather strength and wits in jail than to perish here.”

  The guards moved among them, collecting knives and scimitars and searching briskly for any concealed weapons. Jon-Tom prayed they might leave him his duar, but they confiscated it also, along with his backpack.

  When this was done, a massively muscled jaguar shoved his way to the fore. His leather armor was streaked with sword cuts.

  “Explain this outrageous intrusion,” he growled.

  Jon-Tom stepped forward and growled right back at him. “Outrageous is the word for it. Here we arrive on time for our appointment and instead of receiving a courteous greeting, we are brutally attacked. What kind of troops do you station in here, anyways? Cutthroats and murderers!”

  The jaguar’s eyes narrowed and he stroked his chin. “An appointment, you say. With whom?”

  “Markus the Ineluctable,” Jon-Tom told him defiantly. “And is he going to be pissed when he hears how we’ve been treated.”

  “Markus, you say?” The officer pushed his helmet back off his ears. He looked tired. “Next I expect you’re going to tell me that this is all a misunderstanding and that it’ll easily be straightened out as soon as I take you to the advisor?”

  “Of course,” Jon-Tom replied easily.

  The jaguar seemed to consid
er. “The master is sleeping and would not wish to be disturbed. This casts something of a shadow over your story, tall man. It may be that the appointment you seek will be with the Chamber of Official Torments … but that is not for me to decide. The Great Markus will do that.”

  “Fine with us. If you’ll just take us to him, I imagine he forgot all about our visit tonight. He’ll straighten this out fast.” Jon-Tom glared at the soldiers bunched together behind the officer. “When he learns what’s happened, heads will roll.”

  “I prefer to bounce them myself,” said the jaguar evenly. “As a point of interest, some bounce nicely for a while, while others just go smash. I wonder which yours would do.”

  Jon-Tom went slightly weak in the knees, but didn’t let it show. “Why not ask Markus?”

  “Why not, indeed?” replied the officer surprisingly. “As I said, only he will know the truth of your words. If you’ll be so kind as to follow me?” He gestured with a paw.

  “That’s more like it.” Jon-Tom strode confidently past the jaguar, continuing to glare at the guards.

  They descended several levels until the air began to grow thick and moist. They were below lake level, and moisture seeped relentlessly through ancient stonework.

  “Markus the Ineluctable lives down here?” he asked their guide.

  “No,” rumbled the jaguar. “As I told you, he sleeps and would not wish to be disturbed. I will notify him of your arrival. As he’s expecting you, I’m sure he’ll be right down. Meanwhile, I thought you would enjoy explaining yourselves to the leading members of our government, who are at this moment awaiting your presence in their new conference chamber.”

  “We’ve heard that some members of the Quorum weren’t getting along too well with their new advisor.”

  “Is that so? A vicious, unfounded rumor. So much gossip in the city marketplaces these days. You really shouldn’t pay attention to such idle chatter. Ah, the Quorum doorman. You there!” he roared at a dozing javelina. “Visitors for the Quorum!”