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

the only master o’ strange arts around ‘ere, mate.”

They followed him around the side, until they were far

from the entrance. As they walked Jon-Tom noted that no

other doors were visible in the complex. There was only

the single entrance. Still, there might be other doors

around the back. And the Friends of the Street were not

constrained by, say, the Los Angeles Fire Code.

Mudge halted near a tree that grew closer to the build-

ings than any of the others.

“Now then, my petite purr-box, I ‘ave a little job for

you.” He pointed up into the tree. “See that branch there?

The second one up?” She nodded. “Can you climb up

there and then climb out along it?”

She frowned. “What foah? It won’t hold man weight.”

“That’s precisely the idea, luv.”

Jon-Tom immediateiy divined the otter’s intent. “It’s no

good, Mudge. That branch’11 throw you headfirst into the

wall. I’ll end up with a furry Frisbee on my hands instead

of a valuable friend.”

“Don’t worry about me, guv. I knows wot I’m about.

We otter folk are born acrobats. Most o’ the time there’s

nothin’ more to it than play, but we can get serious with it

if we need too. Let me give ‘er a try.”

“One try is all you’ll get.” He swing the duar around

until it rested against his chest. “Why don’t I try spell-

singing you onto the roof?”

Mudge looked unwilling. “That would work fine, wouldn’t

it, mate? With you standin’ ‘ere below these barred win-

dows caterwaulin’ fit to shiver a bat’s ears.”

“Ah resent the comparison, watah rat.” Roseroar ad-

vanced up the tree trunk.