sky. Only when the moon was well past its zenith and had
begun to set again did the volume decrease and finally
peter out.
Then the geyser fell silent. The chatter of the refugees
and the cityfolk filled the air, replacing the roar of the
tower. A glance revealed that the bottomless moat was
empty once again.
Beyond the wall, beyond the moat, the Timeful Desert
once more was as it had been. All was still. The absence
of life there despite the presence of water was now explained.
“Great magic,” said Roseroar solemnly.
“Lethal magic.” Mudge twitched his nose. “If we’d
been a few minutes longer we’d be out there somewhere
with our ‘earts stopped and our guts full o’ sand.”
Jon-Tom stopped a passing fox. “Is it over? What
happens now?”
“What happens now, man,” said the fox, “is that we
sleep, and we celebrate the end of another Conjunction.
Tomorrow we return to our homes.” She pushed past him
and started down the stairs.
Jon-Tom resorted to questioning one of the guards. The
muskrat was barely four feet tall and wore his fur cut
fashionably short.
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
219
“Please, we’re strangers here.” He nodded toward the
desert. “Does this happen every year?”
“Twice a year,” the guard informed him, bored. “A
grand sight the first time, I suppose.”
“What’s it for? Why does it happen?”
The muskrat scratched under his chin. “It is said that
these are the sands of time. All time. When they have run
their course, they must be turned to run again. Who turns
them, or why, no one knows. Gods, spirits, some great