[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
talk with the elder. The dray lizards munched contentedly on rich riverbank
growth.
The old otter put aside his fishing pole and studied them.
His short whistle indicated he didn't think much of either man or turtle,
unseen mental talents notwithstanding.
"Sorcerers ye may be, but the passage through the Teeth by way of the river is
little but a legend. Ye can travel b\
legend only in dreams. Which is all that's likely to be left of ye if ye
persist in this folly. Sixty years I've lived on the banks of the
Sloomaz-ayor-le-Weentli." He gestured fondly at the flowing water behind him.
"Never have I heard tell of anyone fool enough to try and go into the
mountains by way of it."
"Sounds convincin' enough for me, 'e does." Mudge leaned out of the wagon and
spoke brightly. "That settles that: time to turn about for 'ome."
Ion-Tom looked over his shoulder at the green-capped face
"That does not settle it."
72
THE HOUR Or THE GATE
Mudge shrugged cheerfully. "Can't biff a bloke for tryin', mate. I ought t'
know better, I knows it, but somethin' in me insists on tryin' t' fight
insanity in the ranks."
"Ya ought ta have more faith in da master." Pog fluttered above the wagon and
chided the otter. "Ya oughta believe in him and his abilities and great
talents." He drifted lower
above Mudge and whispered. "Frankly, we all been candi-
dates for da fertilizer pile since we started on dis half-assed trek, but if
da boss tinks we gots to go on, we don't got much choice. Don't make him mad,
chum."
But Jon-Tom had overheard. He walked back to stand next to the wagon.
"Clothahump knows what he's doing. I'm sure if things turned suicidal he'd
listen to reason."
"Ya tink dat, does ya?" Pog's small sharp teeth flashed as he hovered in front
of Jon-Tom. One wing pointed toward the turtle, who was still conversing with
the old otter.
"Da boss has kept Mudge from runnin' off and abandonin'
dis trip wid t'reats. What makes ya tink he'd be more polite where you're
concerned?"
"He owes me a debt," said Jon-Tom. "If I insisted on remaining behind, I don't
think he'd try to coerce me."
Pog laughed, whirled around in black circles. "Dat's what you tink! Ya may be
a spellsinger, Jon-Tom-mans, but you're as naive as a baby's belly!' He rose
and skimmed off over the river, hunting for insects and small flying lizards.
"Is that your opinion too, Mudge? Do you think Clothahump would keep me from
leaving if that's what I wanted?"
"I wouldn't 'ave 'alf a notion, mate. But since you say you want to keep on
with this madness, there ain't no point in arguin' it, is there?" He retreated
back inside the wagon, leaving Jon-Tom to turn and walk slowly back down to
the riverbank. Try as he would to shove the thought aside, it continued to nag
him. He looked a little differently at
Clothahump.
73
Alan Dean Foster
"There be only one way ye might get even partway s through," continued the old
Page 32
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
otter, "and if yer lucky, out again alive. That's to have a damn good boatman.
Qne who knows how to maneuver on the Second river. That's the only way ye'll
even get inside the mountain."
"Can you recommend such an individual?" asked
Clothahump.
"Oh, I know of several good boatfolk," the oldster boasted.
He turned, spat something brown and viscous into the water, then looked from
the turtle to Jon-Tom. "Trouble for ye is that ain't none of 'em idiots. And
that's going to be as important a qualification as any kind of river skill,
because
only an idiot's going to try and take ye where ye wants to go!"
"We have no need of your sarcasm, young fellow," said
Clothahump impatiently, "only of your advice. If you would rather not give us
the benefit of your knowledge, then we will do our best to find it elsewhere."
"All right, all right. Hang onto ye shell, ye great stuffed diviner of
catastrophes!
"There's one, just one, who might be willing to help ye out. He's just fool
enough to try it and just damnblast good enough to bring it off. Whether ye
can talk him into doin' so is something else again." He gestured to his left.
"Half a league farther on you'll find that the riverbank rises steeplike.
Still farther you'll eventual come across sev-
eral large oaks overlooking a notch or drop in the cliffs. He's got his place
down there. Goes by the name of Bribbens
Oxiey."
"Thank you for your help," said Clothahump.
"Would it help if we mentioned your name to him?"
Jon-Tom wondered.
The otter laughed, his whistles skipping across the water.
"Hai, man, the only place me name would help you is in the
74
THE HOUR OF THE GATS
better whorehouses in Wottletowne, and that's not where ye are going!"
Clothahump reached into one of his plastron compart-
ments, withdrew a small silver coin, and offered it to the otter. The oldster
stepped away, waving his hands.
"No, no, not for me, friend! I take no payment for assisting the doomed." He
gathered up his pole and gear and ambled crookedly off upstream.
"Nice of him to give us that name," said Jon-Tom, watching the other depart.
"Since he wouldn't take the money, why didn't we try to help his arthritis?"
"Arth.. .his joint-freezes, you mean, boy?" Clothahump adjusted his
spectacles. "It is a long spell and requires time we do not have." He turned
resolutely toward the wagon.
Jon-Tom continued to stand there, watching the crippled otter make his loping
way eastward. "But he was so helpful."
"We do not know that yet," the turtle insisted. "I was willing to chance a
little silver on it, but not a major medical
spell. He could simply have told us his stories to impress us, and the name to
get rid of us."
"Awfully cynical, aren't you?"
Clothahump gazed up at him as they both scrambled into the wagon. "My boy, the
first hundred years Of life teaches you that no one is inherently good. The
next fifty tells you that no one is inherently bad, but is shaped by his
surround-
ings. And after two hundred years... give me a hand there, that's a good boy." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl karpacz24.htw.pl
talk with the elder. The dray lizards munched contentedly on rich riverbank
growth.
The old otter put aside his fishing pole and studied them.
His short whistle indicated he didn't think much of either man or turtle,
unseen mental talents notwithstanding.
"Sorcerers ye may be, but the passage through the Teeth by way of the river is
little but a legend. Ye can travel b\
legend only in dreams. Which is all that's likely to be left of ye if ye
persist in this folly. Sixty years I've lived on the banks of the
Sloomaz-ayor-le-Weentli." He gestured fondly at the flowing water behind him.
"Never have I heard tell of anyone fool enough to try and go into the
mountains by way of it."
"Sounds convincin' enough for me, 'e does." Mudge leaned out of the wagon and
spoke brightly. "That settles that: time to turn about for 'ome."
Ion-Tom looked over his shoulder at the green-capped face
"That does not settle it."
72
THE HOUR Or THE GATE
Mudge shrugged cheerfully. "Can't biff a bloke for tryin', mate. I ought t'
know better, I knows it, but somethin' in me insists on tryin' t' fight
insanity in the ranks."
"Ya ought ta have more faith in da master." Pog fluttered above the wagon and
chided the otter. "Ya oughta believe in him and his abilities and great
talents." He drifted lower
above Mudge and whispered. "Frankly, we all been candi-
dates for da fertilizer pile since we started on dis half-assed trek, but if
da boss tinks we gots to go on, we don't got much choice. Don't make him mad,
chum."
But Jon-Tom had overheard. He walked back to stand next to the wagon.
"Clothahump knows what he's doing. I'm sure if things turned suicidal he'd
listen to reason."
"Ya tink dat, does ya?" Pog's small sharp teeth flashed as he hovered in front
of Jon-Tom. One wing pointed toward the turtle, who was still conversing with
the old otter.
"Da boss has kept Mudge from runnin' off and abandonin'
dis trip wid t'reats. What makes ya tink he'd be more polite where you're
concerned?"
"He owes me a debt," said Jon-Tom. "If I insisted on remaining behind, I don't
think he'd try to coerce me."
Pog laughed, whirled around in black circles. "Dat's what you tink! Ya may be
a spellsinger, Jon-Tom-mans, but you're as naive as a baby's belly!' He rose
and skimmed off over the river, hunting for insects and small flying lizards.
"Is that your opinion too, Mudge? Do you think Clothahump would keep me from
leaving if that's what I wanted?"
"I wouldn't 'ave 'alf a notion, mate. But since you say you want to keep on
with this madness, there ain't no point in arguin' it, is there?" He retreated
back inside the wagon, leaving Jon-Tom to turn and walk slowly back down to
the riverbank. Try as he would to shove the thought aside, it continued to nag
him. He looked a little differently at
Clothahump.
73
Alan Dean Foster
"There be only one way ye might get even partway s through," continued the old
Page 32
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
otter, "and if yer lucky, out again alive. That's to have a damn good boatman.
Qne who knows how to maneuver on the Second river. That's the only way ye'll
even get inside the mountain."
"Can you recommend such an individual?" asked
Clothahump.
"Oh, I know of several good boatfolk," the oldster boasted.
He turned, spat something brown and viscous into the water, then looked from
the turtle to Jon-Tom. "Trouble for ye is that ain't none of 'em idiots. And
that's going to be as important a qualification as any kind of river skill,
because
only an idiot's going to try and take ye where ye wants to go!"
"We have no need of your sarcasm, young fellow," said
Clothahump impatiently, "only of your advice. If you would rather not give us
the benefit of your knowledge, then we will do our best to find it elsewhere."
"All right, all right. Hang onto ye shell, ye great stuffed diviner of
catastrophes!
"There's one, just one, who might be willing to help ye out. He's just fool
enough to try it and just damnblast good enough to bring it off. Whether ye
can talk him into doin' so is something else again." He gestured to his left.
"Half a league farther on you'll find that the riverbank rises steeplike.
Still farther you'll eventual come across sev-
eral large oaks overlooking a notch or drop in the cliffs. He's got his place
down there. Goes by the name of Bribbens
Oxiey."
"Thank you for your help," said Clothahump.
"Would it help if we mentioned your name to him?"
Jon-Tom wondered.
The otter laughed, his whistles skipping across the water.
"Hai, man, the only place me name would help you is in the
74
THE HOUR OF THE GATS
better whorehouses in Wottletowne, and that's not where ye are going!"
Clothahump reached into one of his plastron compart-
ments, withdrew a small silver coin, and offered it to the otter. The oldster
stepped away, waving his hands.
"No, no, not for me, friend! I take no payment for assisting the doomed." He
gathered up his pole and gear and ambled crookedly off upstream.
"Nice of him to give us that name," said Jon-Tom, watching the other depart.
"Since he wouldn't take the money, why didn't we try to help his arthritis?"
"Arth.. .his joint-freezes, you mean, boy?" Clothahump adjusted his
spectacles. "It is a long spell and requires time we do not have." He turned
resolutely toward the wagon.
Jon-Tom continued to stand there, watching the crippled otter make his loping
way eastward. "But he was so helpful."
"We do not know that yet," the turtle insisted. "I was willing to chance a
little silver on it, but not a major medical
spell. He could simply have told us his stories to impress us, and the name to
get rid of us."
"Awfully cynical, aren't you?"
Clothahump gazed up at him as they both scrambled into the wagon. "My boy, the
first hundred years Of life teaches you that no one is inherently good. The
next fifty tells you that no one is inherently bad, but is shaped by his
surround-
ings. And after two hundred years... give me a hand there, that's a good boy." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]