Exceptions to Reality_ Stories - Alan Dean Foster [74]
“My word on it.” Instinctively Jon-Tom found himself starting to edge toward the rear exit, wondering as he did so if there would be enough time to vacate the room before it was too late.
Fishing into the mob, the bear came up with the battered, bleeding body of the puma who had first attacked him. When smacking the sagging feline across its limp face failed to produce any reaction, Stromagg let out a grunt and casually tossed the cat into the roiling crowd.
“Hurry!” Jon-Tom pulled on the bear’s forearm to urge haste. He might as well have been tugging on a sequoia. But the ursine moved.
They did make it out just before the police tactical squad let loose, so to speak. An cacophonous chorus of mass retching filled the air behind the escapees as they fled down a rear alley.
As soon as they were safely clear of all noxious olfactory intrusions, they slowed to a walk. Mudge guardedly eyed the mountainous newcomer in their midst. Stromagg endured the inspection thoughtfully. Or perhaps, Jon-Tom mused, “thoughtfully” was not the appropriate description. The bear’s attitude hinted at a combative nature, but one that only infrequently strayed into the alien realm of higher cogitation.
“Wot’s with the meat-mountain, mate?”
His breathing at last beginning to ease, Jon-Tom beamed and put a reassuring hand on the grizzly’s immense arm. “I’ve just taken on a little extra muscle.”
“Wot for?” the otter snapped. “The job we ain’t goin’ to take?”
Ignoring his friend, Jon-Tom turned to the somewhat bedraggled Wolfram. “Now then, good sir. What was the nature of the task for which you desired to employ my services?” He steeled himself for the reply.
It was not anything like what he expected.
Pulling his gaze away from the looming immensity of the bear, their benefactor gathered his wits. “I wish you to serenade a lady with whom I am deeply and hopelessly in love.”
Jon-Tom and Mudge exchanged a glance. The graybeard’s request fell somewhat short of requiring them to slay bad-breathed dragons, save the world, or some equally life-threatening exercise. The stunned otter was too relieved to offer his usual ill-mannered comment.
“That’s all?” Jon-Tom wondered aloud.
Wolfram nodded slowly. “That’s all. And for that I will pay you well. You see, I am a very wise man, but a terrible singer.”
Mudge jerked a furry thumb in Jon-Tom’s direction. “Then this be a good fit, guv, as me mate ’ere is an improving singer, but terrible stupid.”
Ignoring the slur, Jon-Tom proved the otter wrong by asking, “If all that’s needed is an amorous song, why not hire any wandering troubadour? Why seek out a spellsinger like myself?”
Wolfram nodded approvingly. “A song to Larinda is all that is required. It is the reaching her that may require the application of some magic in concert with the music.”
“Oi, I knew it were too good to be true,” Mudge muttered under his breath.
“Calmness be upon you, my peripatetic friend,” Wolfram tried to reassure the otter. “A simple spellsong should suffice. Nothing too elaborate. I would attempt it myself except that I, as previously stated, cannot carry a tune in a bucket.”
“’Ow simple a spellsong, guv’nor?” the otter inquired warily.
“That is for the singer to decide. I shall provide you with directions. I will also pay your expenses and hand over half your fee in advance.” Extracting a heavy purse from within the depths of his cloak, he proceeded to spill a clinking pile of gold coins into Jon-Tom’s cupped hands. Mudge’s eyes widened while Stromagg looked on appreciatively.
“’Alf, you say, guv’nor?” The otter eyed the golden flood greedily.
Wolfram nodded as he slipped the now empty purse back into his cloak. “The other half when the object of my affection responds.” Turning, he gestured with his staff. “Do you know the lands of the Agu Canyon, which lies between here and Hygria?”
Jon-Tom’s expression wrinkled with concentration. “I know the direction, though I’ve never been there.”
“Nor I,” Mudge added. “I ’ave ’eard ’tis a dry and homey place.”
“There is an unclimbable cliff,” Wolfram explained. “I will