“’Ave a care for the familiarities, luv. We ain’t been properly introduced.”

“Doen flatter youself, water rat. I already married.” She looked up at the fox. “Smell clean, no blood on ’em. Not recently, anyways.”

“You’re not pirates,” said Jon-Tom.

The fox and the squirrel looked at each other and then burst out laughing. The porcupine let out a gruff guffaw.

“Us, pirates?” said the fox. “We fisherman, crabbers, swampfolk. What you?” He had to lean back to look up at Jon-Tom, since he was no taller than Mudge. “Big man; never seen one big like you. Pirates. You hungry?”

The thought of a hot meal overcame Mudge’s initial hesitations. Also his second and third ones. “Now that you mention it, mate, I could do with a spot o’ tea an’ fish.”

“Good!” The fox turned to yell over his shoulder. “Play-on music! Get the food ready.” He grinned up at Jon-Tom, showing sharp teeth. “Time to eat anyway, an’ now we got company time.” Putting a paw on the tall human’s arm, he gently led Jon-Tom toward the roaring, crackling blaze.

“Hey, Porge, what you stop playin’ for?” The field mouse who sat in the front of the band was staring at Jon-Tom.

“Hey, I doen know.” He put his lips to his double harmonica. The other musicians resumed their serenade and a few of the villagers struck up a brisk dance, but most were moving toward a line of roughhewn tables laden with food. There was a lot of red and yellow in the food, though whether from spices or natural coloring Jon-Tom couldn’t tell. He didn’t care. Not after a day eating cold rations in an open boat.

One thing they didn’t have to worry about was poison. All the food came out of common pots and portable ovens and casseroles. Jon-Tom and Mudge joined the other villagers in heaping it on individual plates.

“So where you two funny fellas come from?” the fox asked him.

“Up north.” Someone shoved a ladle full of vegetables and two or three different kinds of meat onto his plate. He hunted around until he located a cut-off stump that would do service as a chair. “North by a roundabout route.” Since no one profferred a fork or any other silverware, he dug in with his fingers.

The first bite nearly blew his palate off. There was a big pitcher of cool water nearby and he gulped a third of it without wasting time hunting for a glass.

“Take small bites,” the lady squirrel advised him. Jon-Tom nodded, picked carefully at his plate as he enviously watched Mudge downing huge mouthfuls of the fiery concoction. The otter saw him staring, sidled over to sit on the ground next to the stump. He gestured at the village, the fire, the inhabitants.

“Wonder who these people are and where they came from? Whichever, they sure as ’ell can cook.”

“So you think we pirates?” The fox sat on Jon-Tom’s other side. “That pretty funny, man. What you want to find pirates for? Most folk want to avoid them.”

It was hard to talk, what with his mouth having been thoroughly numbed by the steady barrage of peppers and other spices. Everything between his lips and upper alimentary tract had been blitzed by a combination of food and liquid that most closely resembled carbonated turpentine. He made an effort to communicate.

“Last night some of them attacked the ship my friend and I were on and made off with his intended.”

The fox looked solemn. “I see now. Nasty goingson. Take a little money and goods, that business, but people-stealin’ we doen agree wid.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any idea where this particular bunch of cutthroats might have their landing, would you? We were assured it was right around here someplace.”

For an instant Jon-Tom thought he saw a spark of recognition in the fox’s eyes. Then his host was leaning backward and staring at Jon-Tom’s pack. “Hey I never see instrument like that before. Funny-lookin’ thing. You musician? Maybe you give folks a little music, who know, maybe you jog somebody’s memory.” He winked.

Jon-Tom smiled back. “Sure, I’d be happy to.”

“Careful now.” Mudge put his plate aside. “We don’t wish to scare the lot o’ them into the woods.”

Jon-Tom gave his companion a sour look as he strode past the fire to join the village band. They welcomed him curiously, checking out his suar. Rather than launching into some alien tune, he chose to listen until he could pick up on their own music. It wasn’t difficult. The rhythms were simple and the melodies straightforward. He jumped in at an opportune moment and let the beat take him, his fingers moving faster and faster over the suar’s strings. He found he was enjoying himself immensely, almost wished for a real guitar instead of the suar he was forced to make do with.

If his duar had been intact he could have given them some magic to go along with his music, but the latter seemed more than enough. Villagers set their food aside to join in the dancing; swirling and flying around the fire. One egret executed a move that had Jon-Tom laughing off and on for half an hour.

Still, despite his best efforts to blend in and make himself a part of the band the suar didn’t sound right. If only he could play it differently, the way he’d seen similar instruments in identical circumstances played. Then there it was, just as he wished for it, near at it. From a terrapin tapping his feet nearby Jon-Tom plucked a device that looked like a cross between a saw and a cheese slicer but was less biting than either. Bowed across the suar’s strings it made the instrument sound very much like a country fiddle.

The dancing and singing didn’t slow down even when a muskrat and a drunken mongoose fell to fighting. The battle only inspired Jon-Tom’s fellow musicians to play faster.

Eventually the celebration petered out as couples wandered off into the woods or back to their cabins. Soon Jon-Tom and the terrapin were the only ones still playing. By mutual agreement they halted together. It was time to call it a night. Jon-Tom was plumb tuckered, but also elated. Making music was as good as making magic, especially when one had an appreciative audience.

The grateful fox escorted the visitors to an empty cabin.

“About these pirates now, friend.” The fox ignored the otter’s query.

“You had enough to eat?”

“Yeh, plenty, but. …”

“Good. You be hungry all over by morning, you see. Maybe you get rid of supper quick-like unexpected in middle of night. Light up swamp.” He chuckled. “Just watch out for gator an’ snake or maybe you lose more than your food.” Laughing to himself, he sauntered back out toward the clearing. Jon-Tom noticed that he was slightly bowlegged. A couple of lady mice were raking out the coals from the fire.

He leaned back on the bed which was soft and almost long enough to accommodate his gangling frame. Mudge sat on the edge of a nearby cot.

“What do you make of that?”

“I dunno, mate,” said the otter thoughtfully. “Friendly enough. Never met a chummier bunch. Never saw so many people ready to drop everythin’ an’ ’ave a good time with strangers.”

“Never saw any folks it was so hard to get a straight answer out of, either.”

“Too many good spirits maybe, lad.”

“Possible. Or maybe they don’t like talking about pirates because it’s unhealthy. That would make sense if the schmucks we’re after hang around this part of the country a lot. We’ll find out in the morning if we have to corner one of these happy chappies and tie him to the breakfast table.”

“Until then, let’s try and get some sleep.”

A paw on his shoulder woke Jon-Tom. He couldn’t hear anything over the din of night critters from within the swamp, but he could see a furry shape standing in the darkness staring down at him.

“Mudge?” His eyes were reluctant to open.

“No. You be quiet, man.”

The silhouette turned and approached the otter’s bed.

“Don’t worry about me, stranger,” Jon-Tom heard his friend whisper. “I’ve been awake ever since you set foot to board.”

“So I see.” No doubt their visitor also saw the glint of moonlight on Mudge’s knife.

“’Tis a bit early for breakfast and a shade too late for sweet goodnights. Wot is it you want?”

“To help you. I listen during dancing and talking and bullshitting, hear whole story. Got one for you.”

Jon-Tom was sitting up on his cot now. As his eyes grew used to the light he saw that their nocturnal visitor was about Mudge’s size and shape. At first glance he thought the stranger wore a mask to disguise his identity, then he realized the mask was part of the face.

“Name is Cautious.” The raccoon was looking out the cabin’s front window as he spoke. “I hear much of what you talk with fox and others. You looking for your beloved.”