“I know you did, my boy. I know you did. As you say,
there is much yet for you to learn, many skills still to
master.”
“I’m just bulling my way through. Half the time I pick
the wrong song and the other half it has the wrong result.
What else can I do?”
Clothahump looked up sharply. “There is one chance
for me, lad. There is a medicine which can cure what ails
me now. Not a spell, not a magic. A true medicine.”
Jon-Tom rose from the edge of the pile of pillows. “I
think I’d better be going. I haven’t practiced yet today and
I need to…”
Clothahump moaned in pain and Jon-Tom hesitated,
feeling guilty. Maybe it was a genuine moan and maybe it
wasn’t, but it had the intended effect.
“You must obtain this medicine for me, my boy. I can’t
trust the task to anyone else. Evil forces are afoot.”
Jon-Tom sighed deeply, spoke resignedly. “Why is it
whenever you want something, whether it’s help making it
to the bathroom or a snack or someone to go on a
dangerous journey for you, that evil forces are always
afoot?”
“You ever see an evil force, boy?”
“Not in the flesh, no.”
“Evil forces always go afoot. They’re lousy fliers.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Doesn’t matter what you meant, my boy. You have to
run this errand for me. That’s all it is, a little errand.”
“Last time you asked me to help you run an errand we
ended up with the fate of civilization at stake.”
“Well, this time it’s only my fate that hangs in the
balance.” His voice shrank to a pitiful whisper. “You
wouldn’t want me to die, would you?”
“No,” Jon-Tom admitted. “I wouldn’t.”