strings, together with what remained of his confidence. “I
didn’t know that.”
“It may not be so, but it is what I have heard many
times.”
“We’ll hold it as a last resort, then.”
“Wot difference does it make, mate? ‘Alf the time it
backfires on you anyhows. If it doubles back on us I
wouldn’t want it to ‘appen while I’m stuck in this clearin’.”
“Neither would I, Mudge.” He looked out toward the
winking lights of the village. “We may not have any
choice. They don’t seem much inclined to listen to reason.”
“I think they’re all crazy,” commented Folly.
In the fading light she looked healthy and beautiful. The
impermanent bruises and scars Corroboc had inflicted on
her were healing fast. She was resilient, tough, and grow-
ing more feminine by the day. She was also making
Jon-Tom increasingly uneasy.
He turned to Mudge, saw the otter standing as close as
possible to the invisible barrier enclosing them.
“What’s up, Mudge?”
The otter screwed up his face, his whiskers twitching.
“Can’t you smell it, too, mate? Garbage.” He nodded
toward the town. “It’s everywhere. Maybe they’re enchanted,
but that’s not the word I’d use to describe their sewage
system.”
“Ah saw their gardens when we came in,” said Roseroar
thoughtfully. “They appeahed to be untended.”
“So fairy town’s gone to hell,” Jon-Tom murmured.
“Something’s very wrong here.”
“Wot difference do it make to us, mate? We ‘ave our
own problems. Dealin’ with ‘Er Crossness, for one thing.”
“If we could figure out what’s wrong here,” Jon-Tom
argued, “maybe we could ingratiate ourselves with our