262
Alan Dean Foster
unguents, bandages and bindings, scattered among less
recognizable items.
Snooth regarded the shelving for a moment, consulted
her blue metal bar, and hopped a few yards farther down
the aisle. Then she climbed one of the motorized ladders
that ran from the topmost shelf to tracks cut in the stone
floor and ascended the shelving halfway.
“Here we are,” she said, sounding gratified. She opened
an ordinary cardboard box and removed a small plastic
container. “Only one. I’ll have to restock this item. I don’t
have the room to keep more than one of any item on the
shelves. There are instructions on the side which I presume
your wizard will know how to interpret.”
“I’m sure he will,” Jon-Tom said, reaching relievedly
for the container.
“Stop right there, please.”
Jon-Tom whirled. Roseroar growled and reached for her
swords as Mudge tried to ready his longbow.
“Don’t!”
A figure emerged from behind a translucent crate
containing frozen flowers and came toward them. In his
hands Jalwar held something resembling a multiple cross-
bow. At least three dozen lethal-looking little darts were
clustered in concentric circles at the tip of the weapon.
“Poison. Enough to kill all of you at once. Even you,
mistress of long teeth.” Roseroar continued to glower at
the new arrival, but let her paws fall slowly from the hilts
of her swords.
“A wise decision,” Jalwar told her.
Jon-Tom was staring past him. “Folly. Where’s Folly?”
When the ferret did not immediately reply, Jon-Tom felt a
surge of excitement despite the precariousness of the