A distant rumble became audible. Cautious’s eyes grew wide. “Run!” He turned to his right and started splashing wildly downstream. “This way quick, you bet!”
Jon-Tom followed without knowing why he was doing so. “I don’t understand. We’re in the middle of a stream. This is as safe a place to be as any. Why are we running?”
“The slinkers are burning the water!”
Jon-Tom almost stumbled as he put his foot in a hole, managed to regain his balance. “That’s insane. Why would anyone want to burn the water, even if they could?”
“Doen you hear, man?” Indeed, the rumble was growing steadily louder. The raccoon turned and headed toward the nearest bank. It was still a good distance away.
At last they could see the smoke. A peculiar pale blue smoke preceded by a tremendous commotion in the water. The approaching blur began to separate into individual shapes and the hair on the back of Jon-Tom’s neck stiffened.
The water was indeed on fire, though whether the liquid itself burned or the smoke rose from some volatile substance that had been dumped on top of it he couldn’t say. As to the disturbance preceding it, this was a stampede of epic proportions. Driven before the advancing flames was a huge herd of alligators and crocodiles, gavials and other toothed denizens of the shallow stream. Hundreds of them half swimming, half running, pounding their frantic way toward the smokeless sea. A few managed to escape onto the banks, but most continued to flee downstream.
“They catch them this way, the slinkers do, and cut them up for the meat and hides. This must be how they drive them, you bet.” Cautious had more to say but not the chance to say it as all four of them found themselves wrenched upside down and lifted skyward. Hanging in the big net they were able to watch the reptilian stampede thunder by beneath them. Nearby, other nets held batches of furiously spasmodic crocodilians.
“Get off me ’ead, luv,” Mudge was shouting.
“I’m not on your head, dammit.”
“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.”
