“I’m tryin’ to get at me knife. If we can cut ourselves out o’ this before the bleedin’ owners show up. …”

“Too late. Too late for sure,” said Cautious, interrupting him.

A dozen locals had materialized out of the fading flames. Slinkers, the raccoon called them. Mostly rats and mongooses averaging four feet tall. Jon-Tom picked out a few minks among the group. They wore neither civilized clothing like Mudge and Weegee nor the relaxed attire of Cautious’s people. Their fur was streaked with long splashes of blue and ochre paint. Head bands were decorated with fragments of crocodile hide and trade feathers. Other feathers were tied to short tails. Most carried spears except for a few who gripped stunted machetes. Their speech was unintelligible.

Except to Cautious. “Degenerate talk. Very primitive, these people.”

“Nothin’ primitive about their net work,” Mudge grumbled.

“They trying decide what to do with us.”

The tallest of the mongooses ordered the captives released from their prison. Someone tugged on a concealed rope and the four travelers landed in a messy heap in the shallow water. Jon-Tom tried to position his ramwood staff, but the slinkers were too fast. He found himself nose to point with an ugly-looking spear. Hands were tied and weapons appropriated. Weegee vied with Mudge to see which of them could fashion the most egregious insults to heap upon their captors as they were led into the woods.

The natives were impressed by Jon-Tom’s unusual size, but hardly overawed. Around them dozens of slinkers were slaughtering imprisoned crocodilians. They worked fast; killing, bleeding, and skinning. Jon-Tom was glad his own skin was too flimsy to be of any profit.

“What will they do with us?” Weegee sounded concerned. It was too soon to panic.

“I doen know. We try stay away from this part of the swamp, my buddies and me. They talking now about food.”

“That ain’t promisin’,” Mudge muttered to the raccoon.

“We might make a break for it when they’re not watching,” Jon-Tom suggested.

“With our hands tied?” Weegee favored him with the kind of smile one reserves for an idiot child. “Look how good they are with those skinning knives. I’m sure they’re just as quick with these spears. We wouldn’t get twenty paces.”

The river was far behind them now as their captors marched them through the undergrowth. This didn’t trouble Jon-Tom’s companions, but the needles and occasional thorns scratched and bit him.

By evening they’d reached a village. The individual huts were not as architecturally advanced as those of Cautious’s town, but they were cleaner.

The elderly mongoose who emerged from the largest hut to greet the returning hunters wore a particularly elaborate headdress. If not for the fact that this individual looked like he would gladly issue the order to have the captives cut up starting with the soles of the feet and working slowly upward, Jon-Tom would have laughed at the sight he and his attendant minks presented in their primitive garb. He kept his expression neutral. This wasn’t a play and none of the participants were acting.

The mongoose in charge of the hunting party approached this chief, or headman, local premier or boss or whatever he was, and started talking. Cautious listened closely, struggling with the awkward speech.

“They’re trying to decide whether or not we’re gods and how best to venerate us, right?” said Weegee sarcastically.

“I’m afraid not. I think maybe they talk about which one of us taste better.” He glanced up at Jon-Tom. “Trend seems to favor you, Jon-Tom, since you got most meat on you bones.”

“They can’t eat me. I refuse to be eaten. I haven’t spent a year battling perambulators and wizards and demons and pirates to end up in somebody’s cook pot.”

The raccoon shrugged. “You can tell them that but I doen think they going to be impressed.”

Jon-Tom was acutely conscious of the sharp spear points pressing close around him. “Talk to them, dammit. Tell them I’m a powerful magician, a spellsinger. Make sure they know what a spellsinger is.”

Cautious took a step forward. “I try, but doen hold your breath.”

The head hunter and the chief turned to the raccoon, who began speaking in a halting but passably forceful manner. Their expressions indicated Cautious was making himself understood.

The raccoon finished his speech. There was a pause, then the chief stepped forward, shoving Cautious aside, and examined Jon-Tom with new interest. Though he was among the tallest of the villagers, he barely came up to Jon-Tom’s waist. A finger poked him in the belly. Jon-Tom tried not to flinch.

Turning his head, the chief spoke to Cautious, who swallowed and translated.

“Chief he say he think maybe you taste pretty sweet, but he doen want to eat a magician. He want to know what kind of magic you can make.”

“Tell him I can give everyone in his village their heart’s desire, the thing they each want most in the whole world.”

Mudge’s jaw dropped. “‘Ave you taken leave o’ your senses, mate? That’s too bloomin’ big an order even for a duar, much less that piddlin’ substitute lyre you’re pluckin’ these days.”

“Don’t worry, Mudge. I know what I’m doing. Tell him, Cautious.”

The raccoon took a deep breath and relayed the reply. The mongoose’s eyes grew wide. He took a couple of steps back from the tall human as he spoke.

“He say he pretty impressed, you bet, if you can do this thing. For whole tribe?”

“For the whole tribe,” Jon-Tom reiterated, staring at the chief as he spoke.

This time it wasn’t necessary for Cautious to translate, the chief getting the gist of it from Jon-Tom’s expression and attitude. Again the head slinker chattered away and Cautious strained to make sense of his words.

“Chief say you try this thing and if you tell the truth there be no reason to keep you here. He say he want to know how you can tell what everyone want most in the world.”

“Tell him all they have to do is think of it, and I will know.”

This produced quite a commotion among the assembled hunters and every other villager within earshot. The entire population had clustered around the hunting party and its captives. They babbled among themselves until the chief raised both paws for silence. Then he sat himself down in front of Jon-Tom, crossed his short legs, and spoke briefly to Cautious.

“Chief say you go ahead.”

“I’ll need my instrument, my suar, to work the magic.”

As soon as this was translated one of the hunters quickly handed it over, after first checking the resonating box to make sure it held no concealed knives or other weapons.

As he tuned up, Mudge sidled up next to him. “I don’t know wot you ’ave in mind, mate, but it can’t work. You ain’t got the wherewithal without your duar to grant even one o’ these charmin’ fellas the thing ’e most wants in the ’ole world, let alone the ’ole bleedin’ bunch of ’em.”

“Of course I can’t. What kind of fool do you think I am?”

“I expect I’m fixin’ to find out.”

“I just want to get them thinking hard about something, anything. With everyone concentrating on his heart’s desire, I’m going to try and put the village into a trance. Remember how we put Corroboc’s whole crew to sleep? I don’t think I can do that here, especially without the duar. They’re too sharp-eyed and alert. But I do think I can put them into a hypnotic trance because they’re doing half the work for me by concentrating hard on a single thought. Then while they stand around swaying with stupid contented smiles on their happy faces, we can get the hell out of here.”

“I don’t ’ave any better ideas. But if this don’t work they ain’t goin’ to be real pleased with us. Not that they’ve exactly invited us to join ’em in song an’ dance as it is.” He stepped back.

“What’s he going to try?” Weegee asked him.

“Paralyze ’em with the sheer beauty o’ ’is voice, m’luv.”

“Tell them to start concentrating on what they want,” Jon-Tom told Cautious. “In order for the magic to work they have to think of that and nothing else. They must shut out all other thoughts. I want them thinking as hard as they can.”

The raccoon nodded, translating for the chief and everyone else nearby. The word was passed through the assembled villagers. Many of them closed their eyes to enhance their concentration while those who kept them open stared expectantly in Jon-Tom’s direction. If only they were as friendly an audience as they were attentive, he thought.

Having already settled on his song, he began to strum the suar’s strings. Almost immediately a faintly phosphorescent green cloud formed over the villagers’ heads. Whispers of astonishment and awe greeted this rapid manifestation of true magic.