the bottle at her. “It’s acetylsalicylic acid, that’s what’s
wrong!” Suddenly the anger went out of him, and he sat
back down heavily on a fallen tree. “Why didn’t I think
that might be it? Why?”
Mudge fought to pronounce the peculiar, otherworldly
word, failed miserably. “You mean you know wot the
bloody stuff is?”
“Know it?” Jon-Tom lifted tired eyes to the otter. “You
remember when I arrived in this world, Mudge?”
“Now, that would be a ‘ard day to forget, mate. I nearly
spilled your guts all over a field o’ flowers.”
“Do you remember what I was wearing?”
Mudge’s face screwed up in remembrance. “That funny
tight shirt and them odd pants.”
“Jeans, Mudge, jeans. I had a few things with me when
Clothahump accidently brought me over. My watch, which
doesn’t work anymore because the batteries are dead.”
“Spell’s worn out, you mean.”
“Let’s don’t get into that now, okay? My watch, a
lighter, a few keys in a small metal box, and another small
box about this big.” He traced an outline in the air in front
of him.
“The second box held a few little items I always carried
with me for unexpected emergencies. Some Pepto-Bismol
tablets for an upset stomach, a couple of Band-Aids, a few
blue tablets whose purpose we won’t discuss in mixed
company, and some white tablets. Do you remember the
white tablets, Mudge?”
The otter shook his head. “I wouldn’t ‘ave a looksee
through your personal things, mate.” Besides, he’d been
interrupted before he could get the two boxes opened.
“Those tablets were just like these, Mudge. Just like