ful feet. She was as tall as he was. The rickety porch
boards squeaked under her weight.
“I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve come a
long ways to do your shopping. Except for the Crancularni-
ans, most of my customers travel far to buy from me,
some by means most devious. Some I sell to, others I do
not.” She turned and pointed toward a thin scrawl on a
worn piece of wood that was nailed over the doorway. The
sign said:
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE 255
WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYTHING
“It’s not for ourselves that we come seeking your
help,” Jon-Tom told her. “We’re here at the behest of a
great wizard who lives in the forest of the Bellwoods, far
across the Glittergeist Sea. His name’s Clothahump.”
“Clothahump.” Eyes squinted in reflection behind the
granny glasses. She put out a hand, palm facing down-
ward, and positioned it some four feet above the porch.
“Turtle, old gentleman, about yea high?”
Jon-Tom nodded vigorously. “That’s him. You’ve met
him?”
“Nope. But I know of him by reputation. As wizard’s
go, he’s up near the top.” This revelation impressed even
the skeptical Mudge, who’d always thought of Ciothahump
as no better than a talented fakir verging on senility who
just happened to get lucky once in a while. “What’s
wrong with him?”
Jon-Tom fumbled with the vial around his neck, removed
the small piece of paper from within. “He says he’s dying,
and he’s in terrible pain. He says this can cure him.”
Snooth took the fragment, adjusted her glasses, and read.
Her lips moved as she digested the paper’s information. “Yes,