someday and regale me with the gory details. For that I
pay you myself.”
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
17
“I’ll be sure to make it my business,” Jon-Tom said
dryly. “Now, where might I find my friend?”
“Not here. North.”
“Oglagia Towne?”
“Hay nay, farther west. In Timswitty.”
“Timswitty,” Jon-Tom repeated. “Thanks. You know
what business he has there?”
She let out a short, sharp bark, a koalaish laugh. “Same
business that otter he have any place he go: thievery,
deception, debauchery, and drunkenness. I wager you find
him easy enough you keep that in mind.”
“I will. Tell me. I’ve never been north of Lynchbany.
What’s Timswitty like?”
She shrugged. “Like heah. Like Oglagia. Like any of
the Bellwoods towns. Backward, crowded, primitive, but
not bad if you willing stand up for your rights and work
hard.”
“Thank you, madame. You’re sure I can’t pay you
anything for the information you’ve given me?”
“Keep you money and make you journey,” she told
him. “I look forward to hearing about the otter’s slow and
painful death upon you return.”
“Don’t hold your breath in expectation of his demise,”
Jon-Tom warned her as he turned to leave. “Mudge has a
way of surviving in the damndest places.”
“I know he do. He slip out of heah without me smelling
his going. I tell you what. If he don’t get himself killed on
this journey of yours, you can pay me his back rent when
you return.”
“I’ll do better than that, madame. I’ll make him pay it
himself, in person.”
“Fair enough. You have good traveling, man.”
“Good day to you too, madame.”
Jon-Tom had no intention of walking all the way to