thin bar to the log. It would cut through like butter.
There were other worlds, then, and this Snooth appar-
ently had access to goods from many of them. As they
made their way through the town, he thought back to his
companion’s reaction to the ATC. To someone unfamiliar
with internal combustion devices on a world where magic
held sway, it certainly must have looked and sounded like
a demon. Crancularn was full of such alien machines. No
wonder it had acquired an unwholesome reputation.
But the townsfolk themselves were open and friendly
enough. In that they were no different from the inhabitants
of the other cities and villages Jon-Tom had visited. As for
their blase” acceptance of otherworldly devices, there was
nothing very extraordinary about that. People, no matter
their shape or size or species, were infinitely adaptable.
Only a hundred years ago in his own world, a hand-held
television or calculator watch would have seemed like
magic even to sophisticated citizens, who nonetheless
would have made use of them enthusiastically.
For that matter, how many of his contemporaries actual-
ly understood what made a computer tick or instant replay
possible? People had a way of just accepting the workings of
252
Alan Dean Foster
everyday machinery they didn’t understand, whether it was
powered by alkaline batteries or arcane spells.
Then they were leaving the town again, fog drifting lazily
around them. They had attracted no more than an occa-
sional cursory glance from the villagers. Huge trees hugged
the fertile lower slopes of the volcano, which simmered