Chinese food, and—”
“All right, mate, I believe you. Spare me your memo-
ries. So it’s a contract, is it? At least you’re learnin’ ‘ow to
stick up for your rights.” He smiled and tapped the staff.
Jon-Tem was taken aback. He’d acted almost exactly the
way Mudge would have if their situations had been re-
versed. The thought was more than a little appalling.
“You’ll keep your end of the bargain, then?”
“Aye.” Mudge spoke with obvious reluctance. “I gave
me word, so I’m stuck with it. Well, a short life but a
happy one, they say. Tis better than dyin’ in one’s bed.
Alone, anyway.”
“There’s no need for all this talk of dying.” Jon-Tom
sipped at the mug of cold cider in front of him. “We are
going to get to Cranculam, obtain the necessary medica-
tion, and return here. All we’re doing is running an
errand.”
“That’s right, mate. Just an errand.” He belched derisively,
to the unconcealed disgust of the well-dressed diners
nearby. “Wot a day it was for me when you tumbled into
that glade where I was huntin’ so peaceful. Why couldn’t
you ‘ave settled on some other poor bloke besides old
Mudge?”
“You were just lucky. As for your ill fortune, we don’t
know yet who’s the fool in this play: you for agreeing to
come with me or me for wanting you to.”
1
34
Alan Dean Foster
“You singe me privates, mate,” said Mudge, looking
wounded, an expression he had mastered.
“A wonder there’s anything left to singe, after three
days in that brothel. Finish up and let’s find a place to
sleep. I’m bushed.”
ill
It took six tries to finally wake Mudge. After three days of