Jon-Tom was so furious he was shaking. “If you got out of this place,” he asked the trembling, altered youngsters, “where would you go?”
Again a flurry of desperate pleas. “Anywhere … anyplace … the waterfront, I want to be a sailor … I can sew, be a steamstress … I’m good with paints … I want to be … !”
He shushed them all. “We’ll get you out. Somehow. Mudge, what about the dorm we came through? Can we risk going back that way with all these kids?”
“Fuck the risk, mate.” Jon-Tom had never seen the otter so mad. “Not only are we goin’ back into the other dorm, we’re goin’ to break every cub out o’ this pit o’ abomination. Come on, you lot,” he told them. “Quietlike.” Jon-Tom followed behind, making sure no one was left and shepherding them along like a giraffe among a flock of sheep.
The hallway and the stairs were silent. Once in the other dorm those awake went from bed to bed waking their friends and explaining what was happening. When they were through, the center aisle was full of milling, anxious young faces.
Mudge opened the door to the supply closet. At the same time the door at the other end of the dorm burst open. Standing in the opening was the powerful figure of a five-foot-tall adult lynx. Green eyes flashed.
“What’s going on in here?” He started in. “By the Eight Levels of Purity, I will have the hide off whoever is responsible!” Then he caught sight of Jon-Tom standing like a pale tower above the heads of the youngsters. “How did you get in here?”
Jon-Tom faced him with a broad, innocent smile. “Just visiting. A little late, I know. Special dispensation from Chokas.”
“Just visiting be damned! Where’s your pass? These are not visiting times.”
Jon-Tom kept smiling as the cubs crowded close around him. “Like I said, friend, it’s a special occasion.”
The monitor carried a short, ugly black whip which he now drew back threateningly. “You’re coming with me to see the Headmaster, whoever you are. I do not know how you got in here, or you either,” he added as he espied Mudge, “but you are not leaving without making proper explanation. The rest of you,” he roared, “back to your beds!”
The youngsters milled around uncertainly. Many of them were starting to bawl.
“’Ere now, guv’nor, there’s no reason to get upset.” Mudge toddled toward him, smiling broadly.
The whip cracked just in front of the otter’s nose. The children started to scatter for their beds, whimpering loudly.
“Now, hold on there, friend.” Jon-Tom put his ramwood staff in front of his chest. “Let’s be careful with that whip, shall we?”
“Cute little gimcrack, snake master,” said Mudge, still grinning and walking toward the monitor. The lynx eyed his approach warily.
“That is far enough, trespasser. Take another step toward me and I’ll have one of your eyes out.”
Mudge halted, threw up both hands and gaped at the lynx in mock horror. “Wot, and mar me perfection? Crikey, why would you want to muss up me perfect self?” He started to turn, abruptly leaped at the monitor.
The lynx wasn’t slow, but Mudge was a brown blur in the dim light. The whip snapped down and cut across the back of the otter’s neck. Mudge’s sword was faster still, slicing through the whip handle just above the big cat’s fingers.
The monitor bolted for the open door. “Mudge, no!”
Jon-Tom yelled, but Mudge didn’t hear him in time. Or perhaps he did. The short sword spun end over end. It was the hilt that struck the lynx in the back of the head with a gratifyingly loud thump. The monitor dropped as if poleaxed.
Jon-Tom breathed a sigh of relief. “Smart throw, Mudge. We don’t need a murder complicating our departure.”
Mudge retrieved his sword. “That’s right, mate, but I can’t take the credit. I was tryin’ to separate ’is ’ead from ’is shoulders.”
“Quick now!” Jon-Tom instructed the youngsters as he headed for the storage closet. “Everyone out, before someone else shows up to check on you.” He led them through the storage closet. “Don’t push, everyone’s going to get out … don’t shove in the back… .”
Roseroar strained to see better as shadows moved against the open window. So far no one had appeared to spot the dangling rope of pastel linen, but it would take only one passing pedestrian to give the alarm.
She expected to see Jon-Tom or Mudge or even the girl. What she did not expect to see was the silent column of cubs who began descending the sheets. Some species were built for climbing and climbed down quickly and gracefully, while others had a more difficult time with the descent, but all made it safely. She dropped clear of the tree and rushed toward the building. The cubs largely ignored her as they ran off in different directions, small dark shapes swallowed by the shadows.
The prepubescent exodus continued for some time. Finally Jon-Tom, Mudge, and Folly appeared at the open window.
At the same time, lights began to wink on throughout the orphanage complex.
XI
SO THE OTTER’S SUSPICIONS had been well founded, she decided. That was the only possible explanation for the mass escape in progress. She waited anxiously as Mudge slipped down the rope. Folly followed closely.
Jon-Tom had just stepped through the window opening and was climbing over the iron grate when something whizzed past his head. It struck the street below. Roseroar picked it up, found herself inspecting a small club. The knobbed end was studded with nails. Not the kind of disciplinary device one would expect a dormitory supervisor or teacher to carry.
The last fleeing cub vanished down a narrow alleyway. Within the orphanage, bells were clanging violently. Mudge reached the bottom of the rope and jumped clear. Folly slipped, fell the last five feet, and almost broke an ankle. The reason for her fall was clear; a pile of pink linen spiraled down on top of her.
“Bloody ’ell!” The otter looked upward and cursed. “I ’ad the other end tied to a bedpost. Someone must ’ave cut it.” He could see Jon-Tom hanging on to the grating with one hand while trying to defend himself with his staff.
From within the storage closet outraged shouts were clearly audible down on the street. The grating creaked loudly as it bent on its hinges.
“They’ll ’ave ’im in a minute,” the otter muttered helplessly, “if that old iron doesn’t break free first.”
Neither happened. Someone inside the supply room jabbed outward with a spear. Jon-Tom leaned back to dodge the deadly point, lost his grip, and fell. The staff dropped from his fingers as he tumbled head over heels, wrapped up in his lizard skin cape. Folly screamed. Lesser wails came from dark shadows nearby as those few children who’d paused to catch their breath saw their benefactor fall.
But there was no sickening thud of flesh meeting stone. Roseroar grunted softly. It was the only hint of any strain as she easily caught the plunging Jon-Tom in both arms. He pushed away the cape which had become wrapped around his head and stared up at her.
“Thanks, Roseroar.” She grinned, set him down gently. He adjusted his attire and recovered his staff. The duar, still slung across his back, had survived the fall unscathed.
“’Ell of a catch, luv!” Mudge gave the tigress a complimentary whack on the rump, darted out of reach before her paw could knock him silly. There were several faces staring down at them from the open window, yelling and issuing dire promises. Jon-Tom ignored them.
“Y’all okay?” Roseroar inquired solicitously.
“Fine.” He slung the cape back over his shoulders, brushed at his face. “If you hadn’t caught me, Clothahump would have a longer wait for his medicine.”
“And y’all brought out the girl, ah see.”
Folly stepped toward her. “I am not a girl! I’m as grown-up as you are.”
Roseroar lifted her eyebrows as she regarded the skimp of a human. “Man deah, no one is as grown-up as ah am.”
“Depends on whether someone prefers quality to quantity.”
“’Ere now, wot’s all this?” Mu
dge stepped between the ladies. “Not that I mind if you two want to ’ave a go at each other. Just give me a ten-minute ’ead start before the fireworks commence, yes?” He gestured to his right. “I don’t think now’s the time for private digressions, though.”
At least a dozen black-clad adult shapes had appeared near the main entrance. Jon-Tom couldn’t see if Chokas was among them, but he had no intention of hanging around to find out.
They headed off in the opposite direction, and Jon-Tom saw they needn’t worry about pursuit. The black-clad gestapo maintained by the Friends of the Street wasn’t after them. They were fanning out toward the alleys and side streets in search of their escaped flock.
Jon-Tom considered intercepting them. It was difficult not to, but he had to tell himself that they’d done everything possible for the children. Most, if not all, of them ought to make it to the safety of the crowded city below, and he suspected they were wise enough to discard their incriminating black-and-lace night clothes at the first opportunity.
One of their own was faced with the same dilemma. “You’ve got to get out of that nightdress, Folly,” he told her. Obediently, she started to pull it over her head, and he hastened to restrain her. “No, no, not yet!”
They were racing down a steep street that led back toward the harbor area. It had begun to drizzle. He was grateful for the rain. It should aid the fleeing children in their escape.
“Why not yet?” Folly eyed him curiously. Curiosity gave way rapidly to a coy smile. “When you first saw me on Corroboc’s boat I wasn’t wearing anything but an iron collar. Why should my nakedness bother you now?”
“It doesn’t bother me,” he lied. “It’s raining and I don’t want you contracting pneumonia.” Citizens of Snarken out for an evening stroll watched the flight with interest.
“I don’t mind if you see me naked,” she said innocently. “You like me a little, don’t you, Jon-Tom?”
“Of course I like you.”
“No. I mean you like me.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re still a child, Folly.”
“You don’t look at me the way you’d look at a child.”
“She ain’t built like no cub, mate.”
Jon-Tom glared over at the otter. “Stay out of this, Mudge.”
“Excuse me, guv’nor. None o’ me business, right?” He skittered along next to Roseroar, running fluidly on his stubby legs and trying to hide a grin.
“I’m concerned for your welfare, Folly.” Jon-Tom struggled to explain. “I don’t like to see anyone taken advantage of. You noticed that we freed everyone from the orphanage and not just you.”
“I know, but you didn’t come to free everyone. You came because I was there.”
“Of course. You’re a friend, Folly. A good friend.”
“Is that all?” As she ran there was a lot of movement beneath the damp nightdress. Jon-Tom was having a difficult time concentrating on the street ahead. “Just a good friend?”
Roseroar listened with one ear to the infantile dialogue while trying her best to ignore it. Idiot humans! She made certain to inspect every side street they passed. Surely, as soon as the Friends of the Street finished rounding up as many escapees as they could, they’d contact the police about the break-in.
Besides worrying about that new problem, she had to endure the banalities mouthed by the adolescent human female who was flirting shamelessly with Jon-Tom.
So what? She considered her discomfiture carefully. Why, she asked herself, should she find such harmless chatter so aggravating? Admirable the spellsinger might be, but he wasn’t even a member of a related species. Any relationship besides mutual respect and strong friendship was clearly out of the question. The very thought was absurd! The man was a skinny, furless thing less than half her size. It made no sense for her to concern herself with his personal business.
She assured herself her interest was only natural. Jon-Tom was a friend, a companion now. It was just as he’d said to the girl: it hurt to see anyone taken advantage of. Roseroar wasn’t about to let this scheming adolescent take advantage of him. And take advantage of him Folly would, if given half a chance. Roseroar was sure of that much. She shook her head as Jon-Tom allowed himself to be smothered with verbal pap, astonished at the naiveté displayed during courtship by the human species. She’d thought better of him.
She ignored it for as long as she could, until she was unable to stand the veiled remarks and coy queries any longer.
“Ah think we can slow down some now.” Jon-Tom and Mudge agreed with her. Everyone slowed to a fast walk. Roseroar moved close to the girl. “And ah also think it would be a good ideah if we all kept quiet foah a while. We don’t want to attract any undue attention. In addition to which, if ah’m forced to listen to any moan o’ yoah simperin’, girl, ah may vomit.”
Folly eyed the tigress. “Something bothering you?”
“Nothin’ much, little female. It’s just that ah have a great respect foah the language. Hearin’ it used so foolishly always upsets man digestion.”
Folly turned to Jon-Tom. She flashed blue eyes and blonde hair in the reflected light from storefronts and street lamps. Her skin, wet with drizzle, sparkled.
“Do you think I’m talking foolish, Jon-Tom?”
“Maybe just a little, yes.”
She responded with a much practiced and perfectly formed pout. Roseroar sighed and turned away, wondering why she went to the trouble. The spellsinger had shown himself to be a man of intelligence and insight. It distressed her to see him so blatantly manipulated. She increased her stride so she wouldn’t have to listen to any more of it.
“You don’t like me,” Folly murmured to Jon-Tom.
“Of course I like you.”
“I knew you did!” She turned and threw her arms around him, making him stagger. “I knew you liked me!”
“Please, Folly.” Jon-Tom reluctantly worked to disengage himself. Roseroar would have been happy to help, though she might have broken both of the girl’s arms in the process. “Folly, I already have a woman.” Her expression fell abruptly. She moved away from him, once more concentrating on the street ahead.
“You never told me that.”
“It was never necessary to tell you. Her name’s Talea. She lives near a town called Lynchbany, which lies far across the Glittergeist.”
Otter ears overheard and Mudge fell back to join them. “O’course, she ain’t really ’is woman,” he said conversationally, thoroughly delighting in Jon-Tom’s discomfort. “They’re just friends is all.”
Folly’s delight returned upon hearing this disclosure. “Oh, that’s all right, then!”
“Besides, you’re much too young for what you’re thinking,” Jon-Tom told her, impaling Mudge with a stare promising slow death.
“Too young for what?”
“Just too young.” Strange. The right words had been there on his lips just a moment earlier. Odd how they vanished the instant you needed them.
“Bet I could convince you otherwise,” she said coquettishly.
“Here’s the right cross street,” he said hastily, lengthening his stride. “We’ll be back at the inn in a couple of minutes.”
A short furry shape jumped from an alcove ahead of him. Roseroar reached for her swords. Folly hid behind Jon-Tom as Mudge put a hand to his bow.
They relaxed when the shape identified itself.
“Jalwar!” Jon-Tom couldn’t conceal his surprise. “What are you doing out here?” He tried to see past the ferret.
The oldster put a finger to his lips and beckoned for them to follow. They crept along behind him, turned down a long narrow alley. It was ripe with moldering garbage. Jalwar pointed to the main street beyond.
Both of their heavily laden wagons were still hitched to the rails outside the inn. Idling around the wagons were at least two dozen uniformed skunks and civet cats from Snarken’s olfactory constabulary. Several well-dressed civilians lounged next to the front wagon and chatted amiably
with the officer in charge of the cops.
Jalwar drew back into the shadows. “I saw them arrive,” he whispered. “Many have stayed outside with our wagons. Others went upstairs searching for us. I was drinking and overheard in time to sneak away. I listened when they came back down and talked to others and to the innkeeper.” The ferret’s gaze shifted from Jon-Tom to Mudge. “They were talking about you.”
“Me?” Mudge squeaked, suddenly sounding defensive. “Now, why would they be talkin’ about me?”
“Because,” Jalwar replied accusingly, “it seems you spent some time playing at dice with several of them.”
“So wot’s wrong with a friendly little game o’ dice. Blimey, you’d think one o’ them caught me in the sack with ’is bleedin’ daughter.”
It came to Jon-Tom in a rush: the finely fashioned wagons, the handsome dray animals, the new harnesses, the mountainous stock of supplies.
“Mudge …” he said dangerously.
The otter retreated. There was little room to maneuver in the alley, a fact he was acutely conscious of.
“Now, mate, take it easy. We needed them supplies, now, didn’t we? ’Tis in a good cause, ain’t it? Think o’ ’is poor sickly wizardship lyin’ and waitin’ for us way back in Lynchbany and all the folks who need ’im well and ’ealthy again.”
“How did you manage it, Mudge? How did you cheat so many of them at the same time?”
“Well, we otter folk are known for our quickness, and I’ve always been quick as any.”
“Y’all must’ve been a little too quick this time.” Roseroar peered toward the inn. “Judgin’ from the number o’ police about, ah’d say you defrauded moan than a few idle sailors.”
“Wouldn’t be much point in defrauding poor folks, now, would there, luv? Wot we got from sellin’ the ship weren’t near enough to buy supplies an’ equipment for a proper expedition, but ’twere plenty to buy me into a handsome game o’ chance with a few leadin’ citizens.”
“Fat lot of good those supplies do us now,” Jon-Tom muttered.
Jalwar was rummaging through a pile of broken crates. “Here.” He dragged out their backpacks. “I was able to throw these from our rooms while they were still searching for us below. It was all I had time to save.”