worth dyin’ for. You should’ve been with me, mate.”
“Well, I wasn’t, and they’re not worth dying for from
my viewpoint.”
38
Alan Dean Foster
“Calm yourselves,” said the coati. “No one’s speaking
of dying here. Cooperate and give me no trouble, and I’ll
give none back to you.” He squinted at Mudge. “And
what’s all this chattering about someone named Lorsha?”
Mudge came back from his memories and made a face
at the coati. “You ain’t ‘ere to take us back to Madam
Lorsha of Timswitty?”
“No. I come from Malderpot.”
“Malderpot?” Jon-Tom gaped at him.
“Big town,” Mudge informed him, “full of dour folk
and little pleasure.”
“We like it,” said a raccoon hefting a halberd.
“No offense,” Mudge told him. “Who wants us in
Malderpot?”
“Our master Zancresta,” said the coati.
“Who’s this Zancresta?” Jon-Tom asked him.
A few incredulous looks showed on the faces of their
captors, including the coati.
“You mean you’ve never heard of the Master of Dark-
ness and Manipulator of the Secret Arts?”
Jon-Tom shook his head. ” ‘Fraid not.”
The coati was suddenly uncertain. “Perhaps we have
made a mistake. Perhaps these are not the ones we were
sent to fetch. Thile, you and Alo check their wagon.”
Two of the band rushed to climb aboard, began going
through the supplies with fine disregard for neatness. It
took them only moments to find Jon-Tom’s staff and duar,
which Thile held up triumphantly.
“It’s the spellsinger, all right,” said the muskrat.
“Keep a close watch on his instrument and he’ll do us
no harm,” the coati instructed his men.