that.”
“I hold you responsible for everything,” she replied
darkly. “You initiated conflict. You interrupted a sale. I
forgive you all that, but you must pay for the damage
you’ve caused. I’m not running a philanthropic organiza-
tion here. This is a business.” She gestured with the palm.
“Pay up.”
“Fool! I said I’ve no time to argue with you. This little
store you have here is a very clever piece of work, I’ll
280
Alan Dean Foster
admit that. But I am Zancresta of Malderpot and I am not
impressed. I give you one chance to get out of my way.”
Snooth did not move. The wizard’s paw dipped into an
intact pocket and he flung something small and round at
her as the kangaroo’s hands went to her belly. There was a
crump\ as the small round thing exploded, filling the
portal with angry red smoke. Jon-Tom had tried to shout
a warning. It came too late.
“Now I will leave over you, hag!”
But there was something else in the doorway now,
something besides the uninjured and glowering Snooth. It
rose from her pouch, the pouch where Jon-Tom thought he
had detected hints of movement before. It rose and grew
and it was immediately clear it was no joey, no infant
kangaroo. It was far larger, and it expanded as Jon-Tom
and his companions slowed to a halt.
Zancresta backed slowiy away from the apparition. It
enlarged until it reached the roof forty feet overhead, and
still it grew, until it could only fit in the cavern by bending
low against the rock ceiling.
It had the shape of a red kangaroo, but its face was not
the face of a gentle vegetarian like Snooth. The ears were