“No, no, no, mate!” said the suddenly panicky otter.
“I meant the girl, the girl.”
Jon-Tom shrugged. “Big girl, little girl, what’s the
difference?” He started to call out to the tigress a second
time. Mudge slammed a muffling paw over Jon-Tom’s
mouth, having to stand on tiptoes to manage it.
“Okay, guv’nor. I get your point. I’ll keep me ideas to
meseif.”
“See that you do, or I’ll repeat your suggestion to
Roseroar.”
“I’d deny ‘avin’ anything to do with it.”
“Sure you will, but who do you think she’ll believe, me
or you?”
“That’d be a foul subterfuge, mate.”
“In which inventions I have an excellent teacher.”
Mudge wasn’t flattered by the backhanded compliment.
They marched steadily westward. As the days passed the
character of the country grew increasingly rural. Houses
180
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
181
were fewer and far between. Semitropical flora made way
for coniferous forest that reminded Mudge of his beloved
Bell woods. The palms and thin-barked trees of the coast
fell behind them.
They asked directions of the isolated travelers they
encountered. All inquiries were met with expressions of
disbelief or confessions of ignorance. Everyone seemed to
know that Crancularn lay to the west. Exactly where to the
west, none were able to say with certainty.
Besides, there was naught to be found in Crancularn but
trouble, and the country folk had no need of more of that.
They were busy enough avoiding the attentions of Snarken’s
predatory tax collectors.
In short, Crancularn was well-known, by reputation if