more careful inspection of the prison. She did not appear
frightened. Only irritated.
“We’re in a dungeon in a town called Malderpot.”
“Nevah heard of it,” said the feline amazon. “A dun-
geon, you say. I can see that fo mahself, honey.” She eyed
his restraints. “Why ah yo tied up like that?”
“I’m a spellsinger,” he explained. “I’ve been doing a
little singing and I think I accidently brought you here.”
“So that’s it!” Jon-Tom did his best not to cower away
from those burning yellow eyes. She stepped back and
hefted both her swords. “Well then, y’all can just send me
back.”
He squirmed against the bars. “I, uh, I’m afraid I can’t
do that. 1 don’t know how I brought you here. I can try
later, maybe. But not without my duar.” He pointed into
the room. “And I can’t play it with my hands tied like
this.”
“Well, that much is obvious. Ah’ve got eyes, yo
know.”
“Very pretty eyes, too.”
“Huh,” she said, a little more softly. “Spellsingah, yo
say? Yo sound moah like a solicitah to me.” Jon-Tom
didn’t inform her about his legal training, not being sure of
her opinion of solicitors.
One sword suddenly cut forward and down. Mudge let
out a half moan, half squeak, and Jon-Tom closed his
eyes. But the sword passed between the bars to delicately
cut the chain linking his wrist cuffs. A couple of quick
twists of a clawed paw and his hands were free. He spoke,
as he rubbed the circulation back into his wrists.
“I still need the duar.” Loud noises reached them from
somewhere on the level above, and he hurried his introduc-
tions. ‘-‘That’s Mudge, I’m Jon-Tom Meriweather.” He