downstream. Bribbens tested the lines to make certain both
anchors were fast on the bottom.
Then he Vanished belowdecks for several minutes. Soon
me boat began to sink. Shortly only the mast was visible
above the surface. Then it too had sunk out of sight. Mudge
swam above the spot where it had gone under, occasionally
dipping his head beneath me surface. The amphibian Bribbens
was as at home in the river's depths as he was on land.
Mudge was almost as comfortable, being a faster swimmer
but unable to extract oxygen from the water.
Soon the otter waved to those remaining on shore. He
shouted something unintelligible. They saw his back arch as
he dived. He repeated the dive-appear-dive-appear sequence
several times. Then Bribbens broke the surface alongside him
and they both swam in to the beach.
They silently took turns convoying the floatable supplies
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THE HOUR OF THE GATE
(carefully packed in watertight skins) out to the center of the
stream, disappearing with them, and then returning for more.
Finally Bribbens stood dripping on the beach. "Good thing
the river doesn't come out of the mountain. Be too cold for
this sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?" a thoroughly bemused Flor wanted
to know.
"Let's go and you'll find out."
"Go? Go where?"
"Why, to the ship, of course," said Talea. "You don't
know, do you?"
"No one explains things to me. They just look." She was
almost angry.
"It will all be explained in a minute," said Clothahump
patiently.
The boatman held out a watertight sack. "If you'll put
your clothes in here."
"What for?" Flor's gaze narrowed.
Bribbens explained patiently, "So they won't get wet." He
started to turn away. "It's no difference to me. If you want to
spend the journey inside the probably cold mountain in wet
clothing, that's your business. I'm not going to argue with
you."
Jon-Tom was already removing his cape and shirt. Talea
and Caz were doing likewise. Flor gave a little shrug and
began to disrobe while the wizard made sure his plastron
compartments were sealed tight. Physically he was the weakest
of them, but like the boatman, he would have no difficulty
going wherever they were going.
There was one problem, though. It took the form of a black
lump hanging from a large piece of driftwood.
"Absolutely not! Not on your life, and sure as hell not on
mine." Pog folded his wings adamantly around his body and
looked immovable. "I'll wait for ya here."
"We may not return this way," explained Clothahump.
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Alan Dean Foster
"You may not return at all, but dat ain't da point dat's
botherin' me," grumbled the bat.
"Come now." Clothahump had elected to try reason on his
famulus. "I could make you come, you know."
"You can make me do a lot of tings, boss," replied the
bat, "but not you nor anyting else in dis world's going to
drag me into dat river!"
"Come on, Pog." Jon-Tom felt silly standing naked on the
beach arguing with the reluctant bat. "Ror, Talea, Caz, and I
aren't water breathers either. But I trust Clothahump and our
boatman to know what they're about. Surely we're going to
reach air soon. I can't hold my breath any longer man you."
"Water's fit for drinking, not for living in," Pog continued
to insist. "You ain't getting me into dat liquid grave and dat'p
final."
Jon-Tom's expression turned sorrowful. "If that's the wa;»
you feel about it." He'd seen Talea and Mudge sneaking
around to get behind the driftwood. "You might as well wai
here for us, I suppose."
"I beg your pardon?" said the wizard.
Jon-Tom put a hand on the turtle's shell, turned him toward
the river. "It's no use arguing with him, sir. His mind i-;
made up and—"
"Hey? Let me loose! Damn you, Mudge, get off m>
wings! I'll tear your guts out! I'll, I'll...! Let me up!"
"Get his wings down!... Watch those teeth!" Hor and
Jon-Tom rushed to help. The four of them soon had the bat
neatly pinned. Talea located some strong, thin vines and
began wrapping the famulus like a holiday package.
"Sorry to do this, old fellow," said Caz apologetically,
"but we're wasting time. Jon-Tom's right though, you know
I'm probably the worst swimmer of this lot, but I'm willing
to give it a go if Clothahump insists there's no danger."
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THE HOUR OF THE GATE
"Of course not," said the wizard. "Well, very little, in
any case. Bribbens knows precisely how far we must descend."
The boatman stood listening. He eyed the bat distastefully.
"Right. Bring him along, then."
They carried the bound and trussed famulus toward the
water's edge.
"Let me go!" Pog's fear of the river was genuine. "I can't
do it, I tell ya! I'll drown. I'm warning ya all I'll come back
and haunt ya the rest of your damn days!"
"That's your privilege." Talea led the way into the river.
"You'll drown all right," Bribbens told him, "if you don't
do exactly as I say."
"Where are we going, then?" Jon-Tom asked, a little
dazedly.
The frog pointed out and down. "Just swim, man. When
we get to the spot I'll say so. Then you dive ... and swim."
"Straight down?" Jon-Tom kicked, the water smooth and
fresh around him. A little shiver of fear raced down his back.
Clothahump and Bribbens and to a lesser extent Mudge need
have no fear of the water. It was one of their environments.
But what if they were wrong? What if the underwater cave (or
whatever it was they were going down into) lay too deep?
A friendly pat on one shoulder reassured him. " 'Ere now,
why the sunken face, mate? There ain't a bloomin' thing t'
worry about." Mudge smiled around his wet whiskers. " 'Tain't
far down atall, not even for a splay-toed 'uman."
Bribbens halted, bobbing in the warm current. "Ready then?
Just straight down. I've allowed for the carry of the current,
so no need to worry about that."
Everyone exchanged glances. Pog's protests bordered on
hysteria.
"Here, give the flyer over." A disgusted Bribbens gripped
one side of the bat, locking fingers tightly in the bindings.
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Alan Dean Foster
Pog resembled a large mouse sealed in black plastic. "You
take the other side."
"Righty-ho, mate." Mudge grabbed a handful of vines
opposite the frog.
With the two strongest swimmers holding their reluctant,
wailing burden, Bribbens instructed the others. "Count to
three, then dive." The humans nodded. So did Caz, who was
doing a good job of concealing his fears.
"Ready? One... two... better stop screaming and take a
deep breath, bat, or you'll be ballast.. .three!"
Backs arched into the morning air. T
he howling ceased as
Pog suddenly gulped air.
Jen-Tom felt himself sliding downward. Below the surface
the water quickly turned darker and cooler. It clutched feebly
at his naked body as he kicked hard.
Around him were the dim forms of his companions. A
slick palm touched one fluttering foot, pushed gently. Looking
back he could make out the plump shape of Clothahump. He
was swimming casually around the nonaquatics. The water
took a hundred years off his age, and he moved with the grace
and ease of a ballet dancer.
The push was more to insure that no one lost his orienta-
tion and began swimming sideways than to speed the swimmers
in their descent.
Even so, Jon-Tom was beginning to grow a mite con-
cerned. Increasing pressure told him that they'd descended a
respectable distance. Both he and Flor were in fairly good
condition, but he was less sure of Pog and Caz. If they didn't
reach the air pocket they had to be heading toward shortly,
he'd have to turn around and swim for the surface.
The surface he broke was unexpected, however. He felt
himself falling helplessly, head over heels, windmilling his
arms in a desperate attempt to regain his balance.
A loud splash echoed up to him as someone else hit the
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THE HOUR OF THE GATE
water. Then he landed with equal force, sank a few feet, and
fought his way back to the surface and fresh air.
He broke through and inhaled several deep breaths. Nearby
Talea's red curls hung straight and limp as paint from her
head. She blinked away water, gasped, and sniffed once.
"Well, that wasn't bad at all. I'd heard it wasn't, but you
can't always trust the tales people tell."
Her breasts bobbed easily in the current. Jon-Tom stared at
her, more conscious now of her nudity than he'd been when
they'd first removed then- clothes up above.
But they were above. Weren't they?
Something shoved him firmly between the shoulders.
"Let the current carry you."
Jon-Tom turned in the water, stared into the vast eyes of
Bribbens. Looking past him he saw the ship. It was neatly
anchored and sat stable in the middle of the stream, perhaps
ten yards away. They were drifting toward it.
Following the boatman's advice he relaxed, his body grate-
ful for the respite after the dive, and let the current push him
toward the boat. Mudge was already aboard, restocking
supplies. He leaned over the side and gave Jon-Tom a hand
up, then did the same for Talea.
There was a large, flopping thing on deck that Jon-Tom
first thought to be an unfortunate fish. It flipped over, and he
recognized the still bound and outraged body of Pog. He
accepted Mudge's preferred towel, dried himself, and began
to untie the famulus' bonds.
"You okay, Pog?"
"No, I'm not okay, dammit! I'm cold, drenched, and sore
all over from that fall."
"But you made it through all right." Jon-Tom loosened
another slipknot and one wing stretched across the deck. It
jerked, sent water flying.
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Alan Dean Foster
"Not much I can do about it now, I guess," he said
angrily.
With the other wing unbound the bat got to his knees, then
his feet. He stood there fanning both wings slowly back and
forth to dry them.
Mudge joined them. His fur shed the water easily and,
almost dry, he was slipping back into his clothes.
"Wbt's up, mate?" he asked the bat. "Don't you 'ave no
word for your old buddy?"
The large sack of clothing lay opened nearby. Jon-Tom
moved to sort his own attire from the wad.
"Yeah, I got something to say ta my old buddy. You can go
fuck yourself!" The bat flapped hard, lifted experimentally
off the deck, and rose to grip the right spreader. He hung head
down from there, his wings still extended and drying.
"Now don't be like that, mate," said the otter, fitting his
cap neatly over his ears and fluffing out the feather. "It was
necessary. You were 'ardly about t' come voluntarily, you
know."
Pog said nothing further. The otter shrugged and left the
disgruntled apprentice to his huff.
Jon-Tom buttoned his pants. While the others continued
dressing around him, he took a moment to inspect their
extraordinary new surroundings.
There was a dull roaring as if from a distant freight train. It
sounded constantly in the ears and was a subtle vibration in
his own body. His first thought was that they were in a dimly
lit tunnel. In a way they were.
The ship rode easily at anchor. On either side were high,
moist banks lush with mosses and fungi^ That they were not
normal riverbanks was proven by the peculiar habits of the
higher growths clinging to them. These fems and creepers put
out roots both upward and down, into both running rivers.
Above was a silver-gray sky: the underside of the upper
100
THE HOUR OF THE GATE
river. Jon-Tom estimated the distance between the two streams
at perhaps ten meters. The mast of the boat cleared the watery
ceiling easily.
How the two rivers flowed without meeting, without smashing
together and eliminating the air space between them, was an
interesting bit of physics. More likely of magic, he re-
"Easy part's over with." Bribbens moved to wind in the
bow anchor, using the small winch bolted there.
"The easy part?" Jon-Tom didn't hear the boatman too
clearly. Water still sloshed in his ears.
"Yes. This much of the Sloomaz-ayor-le-WeentIi is known.
Little traveled in its lower portion, but still known." He
pointed with a webbed hand over the bow. Ahead of them the
river(s) disappeared into darkness.
- "What's ahead is not."
Jon-Tom walked forward and gave the boatman a hand
with the winch. "Thanks," Bribbens said when they were
finished.
A strong breeze blew in Jon-Tom's face. It came from the
blackness forward and chilled his face even as it dried his
long hair. He shivered a little. The wind came from inside the
mountain. That hinted at considerable emptiness beyond.
Here there was no mass of water-soaked debris to prevent
their continued traveling. The mouthlike opening could easily
swallow the logs and branches bunched against the mountain-
side above. The cliff did not descend this far.
When they had the second anchor up and secured and the
boat was drifting downstream once more, Bribbens moved to
a watertight locker set in the deck. It offered up oil lamps and
torches. These were set in hook or hole and lit.
The wind blew the flames backward but not out. Oil light
flickered comfortingly inside conical glass lamps.
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Alan Dean Foster
"Why didn't you explain it to us?" Flor brushed at her
long black mane while she chatted with the boatman.
Bribbens gestured at the squat shape of Clothahump, who
rested against the railing nearby. "He suggested back at my
cove that it'd be a good idea not to say anything to you."
Jon-Tom and Flor looked questioningly at Clothahump.
"That is so, youngsters." He pointed toward the flowing
silver roof. "From there to here's something of a fall. I
wasn't positive of the distance or of what your mental
reactions to such a peculiar dive might be. I thought it best
not to go into detail. I did not wish to frighten you."
"We wouldn't have been frightened," said Flor firmly.
"That may be so," agreed the wizard, "but there was no
need to take the chance. As you can see we are all here safe
and sound and once more on our way."
A muttered obscenity fell from the form on the right
spreader.
They were interrupted by a loud multiple splashing to
starboard. As they watched, several fish the size of large bass
leaped skyward. Their fins and tails were unusually broad and
powerful.
Two of the leapers fell back, but the third intersected the
flowing sky, got his upper fins into the water, and wiggled its
way out of sight overhead. Several minutes passed, and then
it rained minnows. A huge school of tiny fish came shooting
out of the upper river to disappear in the lower. The two
unsuccessful leapers were waiting for them. They were soon
joined by the descending shape of the stronger jumper.
Jon-Tom had grown dizzy watching the up-and-down pur-
suit. His brain was more confused than his eyes. The new
optical information did not match up with stored information.
"The origin of the name's obvious," he said to the
boatman, "but I still don't understand how it came to be."
Bribbens proceeded to relate the story of the Sloomaz-ayor-
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le-WeentIi, of the great witch Wutz and her spilled cauldron
of magic and the effect this had had upon the river forevermore.
When he'd finished the tale Plor shook her head in disbe-
lief. "'Grande, fantastico. A schizoid stream."
"What makes the world go 'round, after all, Flor?" said
Jon-Tom merrily.
"Gravitation and other natural laws."
"I thought it was love."
"As a matter of fact," said Clothahump, inserting himself
into the conversation, "the gravitational properties of love are
well known. I suppose you believe its attractive properties
wholly psychological? Well let me tell you, my boy, that
there are certain formulae which..." and he rambled off into