“The big green chicken. Hey, look man, we didn’t know he belonged to anybody. He just sorta came hoppin’ down here and, well, some of us ain’t had a square meal in three days. He was big enough to feed the bunch of us and what with him all trussed and ready for the fire, well—hey, don’t cry, man. What was it, somebody’s pet?”
Cruz couldn’t answer. He just put his face in his hands and sobbed. His partner stared past the fire at the small pile of bones on the far side. “That weren’t no cheeken, mon. It were a parrot. A talking parrot. A special talking parrot.”
The younger bum leaned back, shrugged, and picked at his upper left bicuspid. “I don’t know about special, but he sure was delicious.”
The agent sighed. “Sorry, boys. I’ve got another act to review.”
“That’s all you got to say, mon?” Cruz stared blankly at the ground. “You’re sorry? Somebody ate the most unique act in the history of this town and you’re sorry?”
“Hey—that’s show business.”
With the pure white sand beach gleaming beneath their feet, the pale blue sea on their right and the warm sun shining down through a perfect cloudless sky it was impossible to believe anything was wrong with the world, Jon-Tom reflected.
“Wonder ’ow far from ’ere it ’tis to this Chejiji.” Mudge kicked a shell aside. “Not that I’m complain’ about the walk. This is charmin’ country. Plenty to eat an’ easy to catch, but even paradise can get borin’ after a bit.”
“I’ve no idea, Mudge. All I remember is that it lies southwest of here and we haven’t begun to turn west yet. It might take weeks to hike there.”
“Months,” put in Cautious.
Weegee was cleaning her lashes. “I, for one, have no intention of hiking hundreds of leagues. If we don’t find a village where we can buy or rent a boat pretty soon, I think we should seriously consider stopping and trying to make one.”
“A raft’s not out of the question. There are plenty of straight palms we could use.”
“Sure thing, mate,” said Mudge. “An’ while you’re at it, ’ow about singin’ up some saws an’ ’ammers an’ nails. Come to think o’ it, why not sing up a couple o’ ships’ carpenters as well. Because speakin’ for meself, I don’t know a damn thing about shipbuilding.”
“Come on, Mudge, we built ourselves a raft once before.”
“When we were travelin’ to fair Quasequa? You’re forgettin’ one thing, mate. You spellsang that one up.”
“Oh, that’s right. Well, we’ll do something soon. I promise you won’t have to walk all the way to Chejiji, Weegee.”
Mudge leaned over and whispered to her. “’E’s always makin’ promises like that, ’tis Jon-Tom. Sometimes, through no fault o’ ’is own, ’e actually keeps one or two.” He raised his voice. “Anybody ’ungry besides me?”
“You’re always eating. I don’t think it has anything to do with hunger.”
“’Tain’t much to life if you don’t indulge, mate.” The otter scampered into the palms, returned a few minutes later with several large chunks of real breadfruit. It peeled apart in flat, faintly green sections.
“Now for somethin’ to put on it.” His eyes fastened on the water’s edge. “Ah, the very thing.”
Jon-Tom observed the otter working with his knife and flinched. Mudge was dicing several large, pale-hued jellyfish which had washed up on shore.
“You can’t eat those, Mudge. They’re poisonous.”
“Now mate, when ’ave you ever known me to eat anythin’ that weren’t ’ealthy, much less bloomin’ delicious?” So saying, the otter slipped several quivering slabs of coelenterate between two pieces of breadfruit and commenced chewing noisily. Despite Jon-Tom’s fears, he didn’t fall over kicking and twitching. Instead, he handed a sandwich to Weegee, who bit into it with obvious gusto.
She looked up, dripping jelly from her whiskers, her muzzle smeared. “Mudge is right, Jon-Tom. It’s lovely. Have some.”
“I don’t know.” He warily approached the sandwich the otter proferred. “Where I come from jellyfish are anything but tasty.”
“We’ve already ’ad a taste o’ ’ow perverse your world is, mate. Now ’ave a taste o’ ours.”
Feeling queasy, Jon-Tom took the sandwich. Droplets of jelly oozed from the edges. His stomach jumped.
“Go on, mate,” Mudge urged him. “If I wanted to poison you I’ve ’ad a dozen better opportunities than this.”
Jon-Tom closed his eyes and took a deep bite out of the sandwich. His mouth froze and his taste buds exploded. Raspberry. He chewed, swallowed the wondrous concoction, and took another bite. Grape. To his utter astonishment each bite had a different flavor. Huckleberry, cherry, lingonberry, pear and so on.
“Mudge this is marvelous!”
“O’ course it is. Didn’t I recommend it? Would I suggest indulgin’ in anythin’ that weren’t absolutely amazin’?”
“Given your degenerate and occasionally despicable life, yes you would. But I’ve forgiven you such history.” Weegee tapped his nose with the sandwich.
Mudge put his arm around his ladylove as they strolled down the beach. “That’s a dear.”
“I just don’t understand.” Jon-Tom was on his second sandwich.
“Wot don’t you understand, mate? Why the ’ell do you suppose they’re called jellyfish?”
“That’s just not the way it is in my world.”
The otter made an obscene noise. “Your world don’t work proper. ’Tis smelly an’ impolite an’ brutal. One day I expect you’ll be goin’ back through your tunnel or cave or wotever that passageway we found is, but you’ll ’ave to make the trip without me.”
“Or me.” Weegee shuddered slightly. “I don’t think I could take that again.”
“I understand. I don’t expect you to go with me.”
Cautious had moved out ahead, scouting for the shellfish which constituted his favorite food. Now he beckoned for them to join him, having found something less tasty but far more significant. Jon-Tom saw the prints right away. There were quite a few. They were similar but subtly different.
