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 ci-
vilians lounged next to the front wagon and chatted amia-
bly with the officer in charge of the cops.
Jalwar drew back into the shadows. "I saw them ar-
rive," 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
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
177
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 moah 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."
Jon-Tom wiped grime from his own pack. "Jalwar,
you're a wonder. Thanks."
"A small service, sir." Jon-Tom didn't bother to correct
the ferret anymore. Let him say "sir" if it pleased him. "I
only wish I could have informed you sooner, but I could
not follow your path quickly enough." He smiled apologeti-
cally. "These aged legs of mine."
"It wouldn't have mattered. We were occupied with
saving Folly."
"What now?" Roseroar wondered as she hefted her
own massive pack.
Jon-Tom considered. "We can't hang around here. Now
the cops have two reasons for picking us up. They might
go easy on us over the Friends of the Street business, but
not about this. For one thing, that officer in charge is a
178
Alan Dean Foster
little too chummy with the citizens Mudge cheated. I'm
not anxious to tour the inside of Snarken's prison."
"Give me a break, mate," whined the otter. "If you
'adn't been so set on goin' after "er"—he pointed toward
Folly—"we'd 'ave cleared this dump 'ours ago." He
glared disgustedly at the girl. "I blame meself for it,
though. Should've kept me concerns to meself." He added
hopefully, "We could still sell 'er."
"No." Jon-Tom put an arm around her shoulders. "Fol-
ly stays with us until we can find her a safe haven."
"I could suggest something," she murmured softly. He
moved his. arm.
"Right then," he said briskly. "No point in hanging
around here waiting for the cops to find us." He started
back the way they'd come. Mudge followed, kicking at the
garbage.
"Suits me, mate. Looks now like we're goin' to 'ave to
walk all the way to this bleedin' Crancularn. Might as well
get going. Only don't let's go spend the 'ole trip bJamin'
poor oP Mudge for the fact that we ain't ridin' in comfort."
"Fair enough. And you don't blame me for this." So
saying, he booted the otter in the rump so hard it took
Roseroar's strength to extract him from the pile of barrels
where he landed.
They slunk out of Snarken on foot—tired, anxious, and
broke. Mudge grumbled every step of the way but ac-
knowledged his mistake (sort of) by assuming the lead. It
was also a matter of self-defense, since it kept him well
out of range of Jon-Tom's boot.
Mudge also partly redeemed himself by returning from
one short disappearance with an armful of female clothing,
a bit of doubtful scavenging which Jon-Tom forced himself
to rationalize.
"Lifted it from a drunken serval," the otter explained as
Folly delightedly traded her black nightdress for the frilly
if somewhat too-small attire. "The doxy I took it off won't
miss it, and we've need of it."
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
179
They moved steadily through the city's outskirts. By the
time the sun rose over the horizon to illuminate the now
distant harbor, they were crossing the highest hill west-
ward. There they traded some goods from Jon-Tom's pack
for breakfast at a small inn, as he wanted to try and
hold on to their three remaining gold pieces for an emer-
gency. Midday saw them far from the city, hiking between
rows of well-tended fruit trees.
Mudge was rubbing his belly. "Not bad for foreign
cookin', mate."
"No, but we're going to have to eat lightly to conserve
what money we have left."
"We could sell the girl's favors."
"Not a bad idea," Jon-Tom said thoughtfully.
Mudge looked at him in surprise. "Wot's that? You
agrees?''
"Sure, if it's okay with her." He called ahead. "Hey,
Roseroar! Mudge here has a suggestion about how you can
help us raise some cash."
"No, no, no, mate!" said the suddenly panicky otter.
"I meant the girl, the girl."
Jon-Tom shrugged. "Big girl, little girl, what's the
difference?" He started to call out to the tigress a second
time. Mudge slammed a muffling paw over Jon-Tom's
mouth, having to stand on tiptoes to manage it.
"Okay, guv'nor. I get your p
oint. I'll keep me ideas to
meseif."
"See that you do, or I'll repeat your suggestion to
Roseroar."
"I'd deny 'avin' anything to do with it."
"Sure you will, but who do you think she'll believe, me
or you?"
"That'd be a foul subterfuge, mate."
"In which inventions I have an excellent teacher."
Mudge wasn't flattered by the backhanded compliment.
They marched steadily westward. As the days passed the
character of the country grew increasingly rural. Houses
180
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
181
were fewer and far between. Semitropical flora made way
for coniferous forest that reminded Mudge of his beloved
Bell woods. The palms and thin-barked trees of the coast
fell behind them.
They asked directions of the isolated travelers they
encountered. All inquiries were met with expressions of
disbelief or confessions of ignorance. Everyone seemed to
know that Crancularn lay to the west. Exactly where to the
west, none were able to say with certainty.
Besides, there was naught to be found in Crancularn but
trouble, and the country folk had no need of more of that.
They were busy enough avoiding the attentions of Snarken's
predatory tax collectors.
In short, Crancularn was well-known, by reputation if
not by sight, and that reputation was not enticing to
potential visitors.
Two days after the road had become a mere trail, they
settled down to enjoy the bright sunshine. A clear stream
followed the track, tumbling glassily on its course down to
the now distant Glittergeist. An octet of commune spiders
were busy building a six-foot-square web between two
trees. They would share equally in any catch.
Jon-Tom studied the pinecone that had fallen near his
feet. It was Jong and slim, and the scales shone like
bronze. Mudge had slipped out of his boots and was
wading the stream, wishing it were deep enough for him to
have a swim, while Jalwar had wandered into the woods in
search of berries and edible roots to supplement their
meager diet. Roseroar catnapped beneath an evergreen
whose trunk grew almost parallel to the ground, while
Folly, as always, stayed as close to Jon-Tom as he would
allow.
"Don't look so discouraged," she said. "We'll get
there."
Jon-Tom was picking at the cone, tossing the pieces into
the stream and watching the little triangular brown boats
until they disappeared over slick stones.
"How can we get there if nobody can give us direc-
tions? 'West' isn't good enough. I thought it would be
easy once we got out of Snarken. I thought at least a few
of the country folk would know the way to Crancularn.
From what Clotharmmp told me, this store of the Aether
and Neither is supposed to be pretty famous."
"Famous enough to avoid," Folly murmured.
"Some of them must be lying. They must be. I can't
believe not a soul knows the way. Why won't they tell
us?"
Folly looked thoughtful. "Maybe they're concerned and
want to protect us from ourselves. Or maybe none of them
really do know the way."
"Mebbee they don't know the way, boy, because it
moves around."
"What?" Jon-Tom looked back to see an old chipmunk
standing next to a botherbark bush. He pressed against the
small of his back with his left paw and gripped the end of
a curved cane with the other. Narrow glasses rested on the
nose, and an ancient floppy hat nearly covered his head
down to the eyes. A gray shirt hung open to the waist,
and below he wore brown dungarees held up by suspend-
ers. He also had very few teeth left.
"What do you mean, it moves around?" Roseroar
looked up interestedly and moved to join them. The
chipmunk's eyes went wide at the sight and Jon-Tom
hurried to reassure him.
"That's Roseroar. She's a friend."
"That's good," said the chipmunk prosaically. Mudge
turned to listen but was reluctant to abandon the cool
water.
The oldster leaned against the tree for support and
waved his cane. "I mean, it moves around, sonny. It never
stays in the same place for very long."
"That's crazy," said Folly. "It's just another town."
"Oh, it's a town, all right, but not like any other, lass.
Not Crancularn." He peered out from beneath the brim of
182
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
183
his hat at Jon-Tom. "Why thee want to go there, tall
man?"
"We need something from there. From a store."
The chipmunk nodded. "Aye, the Shop of the Aether and
Neither."
"Then you've heard of it!" Jon-Tom said excitedly.
"We need something, a certain medicine, that can only be
purchased in that store."
The oldster grunted, though it came out as more of a
rusty squeak. "Well, that's thy business."
"Please, we've come a long way. From across the
Glittergeist. We need directions. Specific directions."
Another grunt-squeak. "Long way to come to make
fools of thyselves."
"It's not for us. A friend of mine, a teacher and a great
wizard, is very sick and badly needs this medicine. If you
can tell us how to get to Crancularn, we'll pay you,
The oldster shook his head sadly. "I'd tell thee if I
could, boy, but I can't help you. I don't know where
Crancularn is." Jon-Tom slumped. "But there's them that
do. Only, I wouldn't be the one to go asking them."
"Let us worry about that," said Jon-Tom eagerly. "Who
are they?"
"Why, the enchanted ones, of course. Who else?"
"Enchanted ones?"
"Aye, the little people of the magic. The fairy folk. You
know."
Folly's eyes were wide with childlike wonder. "When I
was a little girl, I used to hear stories of the fairy folk. My
mother used to tell me." She went very quiet and Jon-Tom
tried to rush the conversation to take her thoughts off more
recent memories.
"Where would we find these fairy folk?" The thought
of meeting real honest-to-Tinker Bell fairies was enough to
motivate him. Getting directions to Crancularn would be a
bonus.
"I wouldn't advise anyone to risk such an encounter,
sonny, but I can see that thee art determined." He indicat-
ed the steep slope behind them. "They hide in the wet
ravines and steep canyons of these hills, keeping to them-
selves. Don't much care for normal folk such as us. But
thee art human, and it is said that they take human form.
Perhaps thee will have better luck than most. Seek the
places where the water runs deep and clear and the rocks
are colored so dark they are almost black, where the moss
grows thick above the creeks and..."
" 'Ere now, grandpa." Mudge spoke from his roc
ky seat
out in the stream. "This 'ere moss, it don't 'ave^no mental
problems now, do it?"
The chipmunk frowned at him. "How could mere moss
have mental problems?"
Mudge relaxed. Their near-disastrous experience in the
Muddletup Moors was still fresh in his mind. "Never mind."
The chipmunk gave him an odd look, turned back to
Jon-Tom. "Those are the places where thee might encoun-
ter the fairy folk. If thee must seek them out."
"It seems we've no choice." Rising, Jon-Tom turned to
inspect the tree-fringed hillside.
The elderly chipmunk resumed his walk. "I wish thee
luck, then. I wish thee luck. Thee will need it to locate the
enchanted ones, and thee will need it even more if thee
do."
The ridge above gave way to a heavily wooded slope on
the far side that grew progressively steeper. Soon they
were fighting to maintain their balance as they slipped and
slid down the dangerous grade.
At least, Jon-Tom and Roseroar were. With their inher-
ent agility and lower centers of gravity, Jalwar and Mudge
had no difficulty at all with the awkward descent, and
Folly proved lithe as a gibbon.
A stream ran along the bottom of the narrow gorge. It
was broader than the one they'd left behind, but not deep
enough to qualify as a river. Moss and many kinds of ferns
184
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
185
clung to logs and boulders. Insects hummed in the cool,
damp air while dark granite and schist soaked up the rays
of the sun.
They spent most of the day searching along the creek
before deciding to move on. An insurmountable waterfall
forced them to climb up the far side of the gorge. They
topped the next ridge, climbed down still another slope
where they camped for the night.
By the afternoon of the following day they were explor-
ing their fourth such canyon. Jon-Ton was beginning to
think that the fairy folk were a myth invented by an
especially garulous old rodent to amuse himself at the
expense of some gullible travelers.
They were finishing up a late meal when Mudge suddenly
erupted from his seat on a thick patch of buttery yellow
flowers. His bark of surprised pain echoed down the creek.
Everyone jumped. Roseroar automatically reached for
her swords. Folly crouched ready to run while Jalwar's fur
bristled on his neck. Jon-Tom, who was more familiar
with the otter's overreactions, left his staff alone.