leave on a long trip tomorrow, as I told your assistant.
Could we come in for a moment and have a look around?
We just want to make sure that Folly’s going to be well
looked after. We place no claim on her and I’m sure she’ll
be much better off here than with us.”
156
Alan Dean Foster
“Why, certainly, do come in,” said the Headmaster.
“My name is Chokas, by the way. Ishula, the gate.”
The squirrel unlocked the iron grille as Jon-Tom made
his own introductions.
“Delighted, ah am sure,” said Roseroar as she ducked
through the opening.
They found themselves in a long white hallway. Chokas
led them down the tiled corridor, chatting effusively and
not at all upset by their presence or the lateness of the
hour. The squirrel trailed behind, occasionally pausing to
dust a bench or vase with her tail.
Jon-Tom made polite responses to the Headmaster’s
conversation, but he was only paying partial attention. The
rest of him searched for indications of subterfuge or
concealed maleficence. He was not rewarded.
The corridor and the rooms branching off it were spot-
less. Decorative plants occupied eaves and niches or hung
in planters from the beamed ceiling. There were skylights
to admit the warmth of day. Without being asked, Chokas
volunteered a further tour of the Friends of the Street.
Beginning to relax, Jon-Tom accepted.
Padded benches paralleled clean tables in the dining
room, and the kitchen was as shiny as the hallway.
“We pride ourselves on our hygiene here,” the Head-
master informed him.
The larder was filled to overflowing with foodstuffs of