“Impossible,” Jon-Tom said. Then it occurred to him he was arguing with a raccoon, a creature who could hear a beetle crossing a dead leaf thirty feet away in the middle of a forest. Trying not to make any noise, he and the two otters clambered forward to stand close to their masked companion. They waited silently, hardly daring to breathe while he listened.

Finally Jon-Tom couldn’t stand it anymore. “What are they saying?”

“They laughing a lot. Talking about what they going to do when they get to a place called Vegas.”

“Vegas? Las Vegas? I thought they said they were going to Chicago.”

“Won’t you ever learn anythin’ about life, mate?” Mudge shook his head in the dim light. “Why should they tell us where they’re ’eadin’?”

It made sense, Jon-Tom mused. Logical destination, empty interstates, plenty of loose cash for making big deals, and people visiting from all over.

“Quiet,” said Cautious. After a minute, “They talking ’bout us now.”

“Us? You mean, the rest of you?”

“Yeah. they going to sell us. To zoo or something like whatever that be. Sure they can get lot of money for us.”

A pair of five-foot-tall otters, an equally big raccoon and a parrot that could swear a blue streak certainly would tempt any zoo or circus director, Jon-Tom thought.

“What about me? Are they saying what they’re going to do with me?” He could see Cautious’s eyes glint in the darkness.

“They ain’t going to sell you. Ain’t going to let you go, neither.”

“I thought as much.” That’s why they hadn’t worried about the possibility of him finding their cocaine shipment. If by some miracle or an otter he stumbled across it, he wouldn’t live long enough to tell anyone about it. They’d dump him along some lonely stretch of desert road, between Flagstaff and Las Vegas would be a likely place, and the buzzards would do their autopsy long before the Highway Patrol.

“We’ve got to break out of here. Even if they decide to let me go I’m damned if I’ll see my friends sold to some rotten sideshow.”

He could visualize Mudge and Weegee stripped of their clothing, put on display in a glass cage in a Vegas casino, poked and probed by double-domed researchers and callous zoologists. See the amazing talking otters! See the giant talking raccoon!

On the other hand, if he didn’t get lonely for their own kind, Mudge might do rather well living in the lap of luxury surrounded by gambling and liquor. Best not to mention such a possibility to his impressionable and occasionally mentally erratic friend. Certainly Weegee wouldn’t opt for such a life.

Would she?

An answer to his unasked question took the form of soft sniffling from nearby. “Mudge, I don’t like this world. I want to go home.”

“So do I, luv, so do I. Mate, you’ve got to do somethin’.”

With these confessions in hand he felt better about his chosen course of action.

“Mudge, they think they’ve locked our weapons away from us. Have they?”

The otter bent over the steel footlocker. “Give me three minutes, mate.”

Actually Mudge was wrong. He needed four. Once they were rearmed Jon-Tom ordered everyone to move to the back of the truck.

“That way those guys up front won’t hear me spellsinging.”

“Spellsinging, fagh!” Kamaulk rocked back and forth atop a dresser. “Don’t expect us to believe in that, har. That’s a feeble joke you’ve been fooling people with all along.”

“Believe in what you want to believe in, Kamaulk. The rest of us are getting out of here.”

“Think you that? Well, on the off chance you may be right…” he turned and started hollering toward the driver’s compartment. “Hey you humans up front! Your captives are preparing to—mmmpff!”

Using a couch for a trampoline Cautious had landed on the parrot in a single bound. Mudge gave the raccoon a hand subduing the spitting, snapping parrot. Kamaulk’s intent was clear enough: he’d hoped to secure his own freedom by spoiling their attempt to escape. Jon-Tom almost felt sorry for the bird. He had no idea what kind of world he’d stumbled into. Much of the furniture was secured with rope and they soon had the pirate bound and gagged to a chair.

“That takes care o’ ’im.” Mudge turned to look grimly up at Jon-Tom. “Now let’s take care o’ us, mate. If you can.”

“Everybody keep close together. I’m not sure what’s going to happen if this works.” As they crowded tight against his legs he let his fingers fall across the suar’s strings, wishing desperately it was his trusty duar instead. One good solid spellsong. That’s all he needed from his store-bought instrument. Just one hefty spellsong.

Nothing for it but to begin.

“Hang on, everybody. I’m going to try and sing us home.”

“That means you’ll go back with us, mate.” Mudge looked up at him. “Wot about you? You wanted to come back to your own world more than anythin’. Now you’re ’ere.”

“Shut up, Mudge, before you talk me out of it. I’m not going to stand for having you and Weegee and Cautious doped up and treated like a bunch of freaks.”

“Well, if ’tis good dope. …”

“Mudge!” Weegee looked up at Jon-Tom. “Why would anyone want to do that to us, Jon-Tom?”

“To find out why you’re intelligent. To find out why you can talk.”

She shuddered. “This world of yours is a horrible place.”

“Not horrible, really. There are some good people in it, just as there are bad. It’s not all that different from your world.”

“Hush now,” Mudge told her, drawing her close. “Let the man concentrate on ’is spellsingin’.”

Jon-Tom sang beautifully, softly. His voice and the dulcet tones of the suar rang through the truck. He sang until his throat was raw and his fingers were numb as they rumbled over rough roads and smooth. And nothing happened.

They were on a highway now. The truck hardly vibrated and their speed had increased. He finally gave it up.

“I’m sorry. Not surprised, but sorry. Clothahump told me time and again it wasn’t easy to bounce people from one world to another. But I had to try.”

“Don’t take it too ’ard, mate. Maybe if you ’ad your duar. …”

“I’m not sure it would make any difference. I’m not sure magic works in my world.”

“Dull place then. Don’t worry about Weegee and me. We’ll make out all right. Won’t we, luv?”

“Sure. We’ll manage.”

They wouldn’t, he knew. If they kept silent whenever anyone else was around they might be able to slip away to freedom one day. But what kind of freedom would that be? The freedom to roam an alien world, cut off from others of their kind, unable to go home? Fugitives in a strange land.

“I hear a new sound.” Cautious pressed his ear to the rolling door that sealed the back end of the truck. “Some animal is chasing us.”

Jon-Tom frowned. “Dogs maybe.” On the highway? They were doing at least fifty. “Is it still there?”