Spellsinger 03 – The Day of the Dissonance by Foster, Alan Dean

Mudge could comment, “is available only from a certain

shop. In the town of Crancularn.”

The orang started ever so slightly, puffed furiously on

his pipe. “Crancularn, ai?”

“In the Shop of the Aether and Neither.”

“Weel now.” The orang banged his pipe on the side of

the table, knocking out the dottle while making certain not

to stain his silk-and-satin attire. “I have neever been to

Crancularn. But I have heard rumor of theese shop you

seek. Some say eet ees no more than that, a device of the

veelagers of theese town to breeng attention upon them-

selves. Others, they say more.”

“But you’ve never been there,” said Roseroar.

“No. I don’t know anyone who’s actually been there.

But I do know where eet ees supposed to lie.”

“Where?” Jon-Tom leaned forward anxiously.

The orang lifted a massive, muscular arm and pointed

westward. “There. That way.”

Mudge tugged irritably at his whiskers. “Precise direc-

tions, why can’t any of these helpful blokes we run into

ever give us precise directions?”

“Don’t worry.” The orang smiled. “Eef you want to

find eet badly enough, you weel. People know where eet

ees. They just don’t go there, that’s all.”

“Why not?”

The orang shrugged, smacked thick lips around the stem

of his pipe. “Beats mee, stranger. I’ve neever had the

desire to go and find out. Thee fact that no one else goes

there strikes mee as reeson enough not to go. Eef you are

bound to go, I weesh you thee best of luck.” He stepped

back from the table. The main room of the inn’s restaurant

was jammed with diners now, and his table lay on the other