"The feathers don't run the right way."
"They do too'" The reversed birds all stared at
Jon-Tom. "Tell us, human, do they look right to
you?"
He was slowly repacking his kit. "It's hard for
me to say. Not really my area of expertise. I guess
they're okay, for feathers." He started toward the
beach where they'd left their raft the night before.
Mudge was right behind him.
"Oh, you don't have to be an expert." Three vines
interlocked to block their retreat. "All you have to do
is bring a fresh perspective, to be a new audience.
You're the best we've had in a long time. Much too
long. We can't let you go now. We have so many
imitations stored up. We need someone new to evalu-
ate them for us"
Jon-Tom eyed the intertwined vines and took an-
other cautious step forward. The vines sprouted
clusters of six-inch-long, poisonous thorns.
"What do you think, Mudge?"
"I don't know, mate. 1 'aven't judged any contests
in a day or so,"
"It won't take long," several other vines assured
them.
"Our repertoire isn't infinite."
"We should Finish in a couple of years," said four
giant rats.
The rapid changes were making Jon-Tom slightly
queasy as his brain struggled to keep up with his
eyes.
"We'd love to watch you perform," he said slowly,
Alan Dean Foster
140
"but we have important business of our own to attend
to and I'm afraid we can't quite spare a couple of
years."
"Oh, come on," said two versions of himself, using
their ramwood staffs to push him back toward the
center of the circle, "you'll enjoy it. Be good sports.
We'd go hunting an audience if we could, but we
can't. We're stuck to our trees."
"Yeah, don't you sympathize with us?" said some-
thing Jon-Tom couldn't even give a name to.
"Sure I sympathize," he said quickly. "We just
don't have the lime to spare, that's all." He spoke
politely, white wishing he had a family-sized bottle of
weed killer in his backpack.
"Just sit back and relax," said five startlingly volup-
tuous naked ladies from off to one side. "You'll get
used to it after a couple of months and then you'll be
with us in spirit as well as body."
"Be with you in spirit?" Mudge squeaked.
"The spirit of the performance."
"Oh." He let out a sigh of relief.
"I'll start, I'll start'" declaimed one of the women.
It became, quite remarkably, three fish swimming in
empty air- This was only the first of countless
astonishing imitations, as the stage shifted from one
vine or group to another, the duplications traveling
around the circle in dizzying profusion.
If either Jon-Tom or Mudge showed signs of
boredom, they found themselves rudely jostled back
to attention by shouts or smells,
Morning became afternoon and afternoon wore
on into evening. When night crept over the island,
the mimevines turned to mimicking creatures capa-
ble of bioluminescence.
"This is all very entertainin'," Mudge commented to
his companion, "but I'd rather not make it me career,
mate."
TBS MOMS/IT OF THK SSAGICIAN 141
"Me neither. There has to be a way out of this."
*"0w about makin' a show o' inspecting one of
their bioomin* imitations close-up-like and then makin*
a break for it between 'em? They're stuck 'ere. Once
past *em, we ought to be able to make it easy to the
Wt."
"I'm not sure what they'd be capable of if agitated,"
Jon-Tom muttered. "Maybe they can imitate things
that throw toxic darts. I don't want to find out. Not
that it matters. They're watching us too closely, and I
don't think we could surprise them as you suggest.
Actually, they're pretty decent folks, for a bunch of
art-obsessed vegetables, but I think this is what's
meant by a captive audience.
"They're going to keep us here. judging their
worth of imitations."
"We won't be much use as judges if they let us
starve."
"I don't think they'll let that happen. But we're
stuck here, unless,. -"
"Unless wot?" wondered Mudge, flinching as a
huge luminous crustacean materialized behind him.
"That was a good one, wasn't it?" asked the eight-
pincered crab-thing. The vines flanking it opted to
become delicate orange anemones.
"Unless I can get them to imitate a certain
something." He climbed to his feet and found he was
the center of attention. Ghostly glowing things eyed
turn intently.
"Okay, everybody, listen upl" The vines swayed
toward him. They'd been nothing short of polite, in
their childlike fashion, but he didn't think he'd get a
second chance at this. Better get it right the first
time.
"You claim you can imitate anything?"
"That's right... that's right...!" they chorused back
Alan Oean Foster
142
at: him. "Anything at all. Just name it. Or describe it."
They rippled and flared in the darkness, displaying
everything from gymnastic feet linked to, long arms
to a talking rainbow.
"Not bad." Jon-Tom showed them his duar. "But
how are you at reacting to a musical description
instead of a verbal one? How are you at listening and
imitating what you hear?"
"How's this?" said a giant, fleshy ear.
"That's not exactly what 1 mean. Can you mimic
only what you hear in the music? Pure music, with-
out descriptive words? Can you imitate feelings, for
example?"
"Try us, try us!" urged a chain of worms.
So Jon-Tom sang the song he'd selected, a gentle,
easygoing, relaxing song. He'd sung it once before,
and it had put an entire pirate crew safely into the
arms of Morpheus.
It seemed-to work here, too. The vines slumped,
resembling for the moment nothing more complex
than vines. When the song ended, he shouldered his
backpack and nodded for Mudge to follow.
They were almost to the edge of the clearing when
two vines suddenly rose to interlock in front of him.
They formed a very authentic-looking wall of g^ant
razor blades.
"Nice try," said a couple of sarcastic Mudges from
nearby. "We thought you might try and trick us. It
won't work. We're as alert and aware of what's goin'
on around us when we're imitatin' as we are when
we're not."
"So you might as well relax and enjoy the show,"
four Jon-Toms told them. "When you're hungry
we'll bring you berries. Real berries, not imitation."
Jon-Tom and Mudge reluctantly returned to their
seats of honor in the center of the clearing. The
kaleidoscopic procession of imitation
s resumed.
143
THE MOUEHT OF THE MAGICIAN
Mudge leaned over to whisper to his companion.
**I like those berries, mate, but if I 'ave to eat *em for
the next two years, I'll turn into a bloomin' berry
meself. Unless I go bonkers first. You're goin' to 'ave
to try some stronger kind o' spellsingin'."
"I don't know," he murmured. "Next time they
might take my duar away." He made placating motions,
raised his voice.
"Okay, okay, you've convinced me we can't get
away, just as you've convinced me that we're in the
presence of the all-time masters of mimicry." Mutters
of appreciation came from around the circle. "But so
far everything I've seen you mimic has been alive.
Almost everything, anyway."
"Live things," said a three-foot-tall cornflower, "are
much harder to mimic than not-live things. There's
no challenge in imitating dead things."
"Then you haven't been properly challenged. For
example"—he bent to pick up a piece of feldspar—
"can you imitate this? Not just any chunk of rock,
but this specific piece, perfectly?"
"He asks if we can imitate it," said an irritated
moose. Instantly Jon-Tom and Mudge were sur-
rounded by a wall of feldspar slivers.
"I have to admit, that's pretty good." Jon-Tom
rose, tossed the fragment of rock aside. "Though I
do see a little movement here and there. You're all
supposed to be rock-steady. So you think mimicking
not-live things is easy, do you? Here's a tough one for
you." He paused for effect. "Let's see all of you
mutate water."
This generated a flurry of uncertainty from the
encircling vines, mixed with excitement at the pros-
peo; of a real challenge. They twisted and jerked,
Struggling with the necessary physical and mental
contortions demanded by the request, until applause
sounded from behind Jon-Tom.
144 ALan Dean Foster
He turned. Several of the vines were applauding
one of their colleagues- This vine had vanished. In
its place was a stable, very narrow waterfall. The
water never touched the earth, but the illusion was
remarkably real.
"Congratulations! That's more like it." Mudge gave
him a nudge.
" 'Ere now, mate, let's not go gettin' too interested
in this business, wot?"
Jon-Tom ignored him, spoke to the rest of the
mimics. "Come on, surety that's not the only one
who can do it!"
The vines continued to struggle. Soon he and
Mudge were surrounded by waterfalls, bits of lake
and pond and swamp.
"I didn't think you could do it," he told them. "I'm
impressed, I admit it."
"Don't stop now," said several of the vines, caught
up in the spirit of the moment. "We can go back and
finish our stored illusions anytime. Challenge us
again."
"Yes, something harder this time!" said another.
"I'll try." Jon-Tom rubbed his chin and tried to
look intense. He already knew what he was going to
say, but he didn't want his captors to know he'd
thought it out carefully beforehand. If this was going
to work, it had to appear spontaneous. Even to
Mudge.
"Okay," he said, as though the idea had just oc-
curred to him. He turned a slow circle, gesturing
eloquently with his hands as he spoke. "You thought
water was hard? Try this. I want you all to imitate..."
and he let it hang tantalizingly for a moment, "emotions."
That froze the vines. Then they began contorting
and jerking as they launched into vigorous discus-
sion among themselves. Jon-Tom heard whispers of
"Can't be done... never been tried" interspersed with
THE MOMENT OF TSSK MAOICIAfi 145
more positive assertions such as "Can we mimic
anything or can't we?... Can't let the human think
he's stumped us... Sure it can be done.. -Just takes a
lot of work..."
"And 10 make it worthwhile," Jon-Tom went on,
"no more of this hanging around waiting for one of
your companions to come up with the solution. You
all take a chance on it simultaneously or it isn't fair.
Otherwise you're just imitating the first one of you to
be successful." He indicated the initial waterfall. "You've
•got to try and do it together."
One of the vines fluttered toward him. "Fair enough,
man. Go ahead and try us!"
"Right- First emotion is... anger."
A brief hesitation, and then the vines began to
darken. They turned deep, violent shades of crim-
son and yellow and orange. Some sprouted barbs
and thorns that twitched and cut at the air.
"Good. Very good," Jon-Tom complimented them.
The vines relaxed, congratulating themselves and
conversing as they faded to their normal green hue.
"No time to relax. I'll go faster now and make it
harder on you. Next emotion is laughter."
Vines ballooned, drifting in the air tike pennants
despite the fact that there was no breeze. Some
displayed polka dots, others were checkered, some
boasted stripes like barber's poles, and one enterpris-
ing vine turned plaid.
"Sadness!" Jon-Tom barked.
The laughter vanished as the vines immediately
went limp and stringy, turning deep pea-soup green
or mauve or lavender. They began to drip false
tears, swaying plaintively to an unheard dirge. They
were getting better with practice and Jon-Tom changed
emotions with increasing rapidity. Surprise, fear,
elation, suspense, uncertainty...
"'Ere now, guv," said Mudge, "this party's lots o'
Alan Dean Poster
146
fun, but don't you think we ought to—?" Jon-Tom
put a hand on the otter's shoulder and squeezed
hard, continued to shout suggestions.
Faith, hope, charity, insanity...
He spoke the last in the same tone as all the
others, with the same inflection. The effect on the
primed and responsive mimevines was shocking.
For the first time, there was no rhyme or reason to
their imitations. Colors shifted wildly. Some vines
expanded while others bulged. A couple shrank all
the way back down into their underground, hidden
trees. Two flailed the earth until they came apart,
beating themselves to pieces on the hard ground-
He didn't have time to observe all the damage his
challenge had caused, however, because he was
running like mad for the beach where their raft lay.
He had to pull Mudge at first, but the otter
caught on quickly enough. This time no imitation
steel materialized to block their retreat. As they
crossed through the circle, Jon-Tom looked back.
Those vines that were still intact were slamming into
each other, beating the air, the ground, whistling
and moaning and shrieking. The noise was worse
than the sight.
"I had
to get them going," Jon-Tom explained as
he ran panting toward the water. "Had to get them
to doing their imitations fast, one after the other,
barn, barn, bami Had to get them working without
thinking, acting reflexively on my challenges, so that
it would become a point of pride for each individual
to keep up with its neighbors.
"I didn't think my earlier lullaby was going to
work, but it was worth a try. They'd probably been
watching out for just that kind of trick on our pan,
so I figured the worst that could happen was that
they'd get to show us we couldn't escape. I let them
believe we were resigned to our fate and then tried
THB MOMENT OF TVS MAGICIAN
147
to make it look like I was caught up in the spirit of
the contest."
They were on the raft now, pushing hard on the
paddles, sliding out onto the water of the Wrounipai
and putting some distance between themselves and
the floral asylum they'd left behind.
Mudge glanced back toward the island. "You think
they'll ever come out of it, mate?" Distant shouts and
moans could still be heard, though they were fainter
now.
"I think so. Gradually one of them will realize that
they're doing it to themselves and cure itself. Then
the others will imitate its return to sanity. Those who
aren't too far gone. I could've left them with that
thought, but I'd rather they discover it on their own,
after we're safely on our way."
"Right. You sure 'ad me fooled, mate." He frowned.
Jen-Tom's expression had turned sorrowful. "Hey,
wot's wrong now?"
"Oh, I don't know." He turned back to concentrat-
ing on his paddling. "It's just that... this is silly, I
know... but while we were trapped back there 1 had
thoughts of... you remember Flor Quintera?"
"The dark-'aired lady you brought over from your
own world? The one who went off with that smoolh-
talkin' rabbit?"
"Yeah, that's her. 1 thought for a minute back
there about asking the mimevines to imitate her.
That would have been an interesting sight, thirty
perfect copies of that perfect body all dancing around
us."
"Blimey," Mudge whispered, "now, why didn't I
think o' that? Not to do up your ideal, o' course, but
some o' me own favorite fantasies."
'Too late now," Jon-Tom said with a sigh. "Unless
you'd like to go back. I could wait for you on the
Taft. Maybe the same trick would work again."
148 Alan Dean Foster
"Not bloody likely. No thanks, mate, but I've 'ad