“Of course I’m not,” said Jon-Tom encouragingly,
moving forward himself. “A gig’s a gig, but that shouldn’t
come between a couple of professionals.” When Charrok
was near enough, Jon-Tom put a comradely arm around
the bird’s shoulders, having to bend over to do so. “This
isn’t your fight, singer. Two musician-magicians of our
caliber shouldn’t be trying to destroy each other. We
should be collaborating. Imagine the wizardry we could
work! This shouldn’t be a duel, it should be a jam
session.”
“I’d like that,” said Charrok. He searched the aisle
beyond. “Where are the berries?”
“Not that kind of jam. I mean we should play together,
make music and magic together.”
A hand reached out and clutched in frustration at the
mockingbird’s vest. “1 won’t have this!” The ferret was
jumping up and down on short legs. “I tell you, I won’t
have it! I’ve paid you well to serve me in this matter. We
have a contract! There is too much at stake here.”
“Yea, including my reputation,” Charrok told him frosti-
ly. “But,” he glanced up at Jon-Tom, “that can always be
settled between friends. As for your money, you can have
it back. I’ve decided I don’t want.. .”
“Look out, mate!” Mudge yelled. The otter threw
himself forward, hit Zancresta just in time to make the
subtle knife thrust the ferret had been aiming at Jon-Tom
beneath Charrok’s wing miss. The two went rolling over
together on the floor.
“Hold him, sun!” Roseroar thundered as she advanced,
ready to remove Zancresta’s head from his neck as easily
as she would a stopper from a bottle.