isn’t one of them.”
“Ah well, then.” Mudge leaned back against the hard
back of the bench, put his arms behind his head, and gazed
through the tinkling branches at the morning sun. “If you
don’t trust me, then to ‘ell with you, mate.”
“At least if I end up there it’ll be with our money
intact.”
They stopped for lunch beneath a tree with bell leaves
the size of quart jars. Mudge unpacked snake jerky and
fruit juice. The appearance of the fruit juice made the otter
shudder, but he was intelligent enough to know that he’d
overdone his alcoholic intake just a hair the past week and
that the percentage in his blood could not be raised much
higher without permanent damage resulting. He poured
himself a glass, wincing as he did so.
Something glinted in the glass and he looked sharply to
his right. Nothing amiss. Bell leaves making music with
the morning breezes, flying lizards darting from branch to
branch in pursuit of a psychedelic bee.
Still… Carefully he set down his glass next to the
wagon wheel. The dray lizard snoozed gratefully in a
patch of sunlight, resting its massive head on its forelegs.
Jon-Tom lay in the shade of the tree. All seemed right with
the world.
But it wasn’t.
“Back in a sec, mate.” Mudge reached into the back of
the wagon. Instead of food and drink he grabbed for his
bow and quiver. The crossbow bolt that rammed into the
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
37
wood between his reaching hands gave him pause. He
withdrew them slowly.
“A wise decision,” said a voice from the trees.
Jon-Tom sat up fast. “Who said that?”