“There’s a trail that runs straight to the Mews. Sometimes, not often, folks come from there to here to buy what they can’t make or grow. I hear it is the most wonderful sort of place, full of talented, kind people. They like to keep to themselves. Seem to find their way to Chejiji lots easier than people from here can find their way there. It doesn’t make me glad telling you this, but I will be glad to sell you supplies.” And he did.
When they had been appropriately reoutfitted for the hike ahead he closed his shop and waddled to the edge of the city to make sure they didn’t miss the trail head.
“You be careful in there.” He waved a stubby paw at the wall of jungle. “Get a few leagues away from good old Chejiji and you never know what you might run into. That’s what Mews means: jungle.”
“Then what does Strelakat mean?” Jon-Tom asked him.
“Beats hell out of me. We always wondered about that here in the city. If you find out you can tell me. If you come back.”
“Now ’ow did I know you were goin’ to say that?” Mudge sighed, started up the narrow, muddy track that wound its way among the trees.
“Good luck, friends.” They left the wombat waving to them as they filed into the unknown.
Some of the flora and fauna was known to Mudge and Cautious, much of it was new and strange, but nothing challenged their progress. They carried no waterbags, for as everyone knew, jungle water is pure and palatable. There was an abundance of wild fruit and while the atmosphere was humid it wasn’t unbearably so. By the second day they were all enjoying the level, easy walk. All except Mudge, who complained incessantly. This was normal for him, however, and everyone ignored him.
One new variety of lizard in particular interested Jon-Tom. Instead of the familiar webbed or feathered wings, this aerial charmer had thin wafers of skin mounted on small bones that rotated on a gimbel-like mount. Spinning at high speed, these provided sufficient lift to raise the brightly colored reptile straight up. Not only could it hover like Teyva, it could also fly sideways and backward. They seemed to delight in bouncing up and down in the air in front of the marchers’ faces like so many snakes on yo-yos.
One exceptionally iridescent six-inch specimen buzzed along in front of Jon-Tom for five minutes before flying off into a nearby calimar tree.
“Amazing how they can stay aloft that long.”
“Not really, when you consider that anything makes more sense in this soggy country than walking.”
“What was that, Mudge?”
“I didn’t say anythin’.” And for a change, he hadn’t. Neither had Cautious or Weegee.
They were walking parallel to a five-foot-high ridge of smooth stone. As they neared the far end the ridge turned its head to block the path. It was large, reptilian, and full of sharp teeth.
“I said that anything was better than walking.” The monster let loose with an uproarious guffaw, convulsed by its own humor. The convulsion rippled down the length of the ridge, which they now saw was not fashioned of stone but of flesh and blood. The tail of the snake vanished somewhere far back in the forest. It made an anaconda look like an earthworm.
“S-s-snakes can’t talk.” It took Mudge a moment to find his voice, when what he really wanted to do was get lost with it.
“Oh no?” The massive head rose twelve feet off the ground and made a show of looking in all directions. “You think there’s a ventriloquist back in the bushes maybe?” It laughed again, its great weight shaking the earth.
Jon-Tom leaned over to whisper to Mudge. “Whatever you do, don’t make it angry.”
“Angry? Looks to me it’s ’avin’ one ’ell of a fine time.” He shut up as the head dipped down to stare at him.
“Besides, there are no such things as snakes my size. I am a dragon.”
Jon-Tom had fond memories of their occasional companion, the giant river dragon Falameezar. “I’m sorry, but you look like a snake to me.”
The monster did not take offense. “What do you think a snake is, anyway? I can see that you don’t know.” It sighed. “I’d hoped you weren’t as stupid as you look.” Another earthshaking belly laugh.
“It all happened, oh, several millennia before the first age of eons ago when a dragon offended the Ur-wizard Ivevim the Third and he placed a curse upon that dragon and all its descendants. What you call snakes are nothing but quadraplegic lizards. I am to a footed dragon as snakes are to lizards. This is a defect over which I have no control, but I am still sensitive to the misidentification.”
“That explains how you can talk.” Everybody knew dragons were capable of speech. Look at Falameezar, who talked entirely too much. “But you’re still the biggest dragon, with or without legs, I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s a pituitary condition. At least, that’s what the wizard who identified it called it.”
“I know a few wizards. Would I know this one?”
“Not anymore.” The legless dragon quivered with amusement. “I ate him. Waste of time, really. As a rule wizards tend to be stringy and sour.” It smiled at him. “Whereas you look a particularly flavorful quartet.”
Mudge took a step backward. “Not me. I’m all fur an’ bone, I am. Eat ’im, if you’re ’ungry. ’E’s big an’ slim an’ ’e’d slip down easy-like. You don’t want to eat me. I’ve got bad breath, strong body odor an’ I don’t cut me toenails. I’d scratch your throat on the way down.”
“Mudge,” said a disgusted Weegee, “you do yourself no credit by these expressions of base cowardice.”
“I know, luv, but wot am I to do? I am a base coward.”
They could see the great muscles beginning to tense beneath the skin. “A few scratches don’t bother me. There’s nothing better than a nice midday snack—except maybe one thing.”
“What that be?” Cautious had already resigned himself to ending up in the dragon’s belly.
“Why, a good laugh, of course.” The monstrous coils relaxed slightly. “Any fool knows laughter’s more nutritious than meat.”
“Doen look to me, then. Cleverness not my strong suit. Can’t recite my last will and testament and make jokes at same time, you bet.”
“Come on then, mate.” Mudge hissed at his tall friend. “Sing ’im some funny songs or somethin’. Meself, I think everythin’ you sing is silly, but this ’ere tree-sized caterpillar obviously fancies ’imself somethin’ o’ a connoisseur.”
“Mudge, I can sing rock and spells and ballads and blues. Even some classical. But I’m no Smothers Brother.”
“You’re gonna be a smothered brother if you don’t do somethin’ fast. Please, mate,” he pleaded, “give ’er a try.”
“Yes, give it a try, man.” The dragon’s hearing was evidently as acute as his vision. “Help me try to forget the unhappy circumstances engendered by that cursed distant relation.”
“Unhappy circumstances?” Jon-Tom stammered. With that gaping mouth so near it was difficult to concentrate.
“The fact that I don’t have any limbs, you limivorous biped!”
Closing his eyes to shut out the sight of that bottomless maw, Jon-Tom strove to recall a humorous tune or two. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t remember any of Newhart’s sidesplitting ditties or those of any of the other great recording comedians. He knew “Hooray for Captain Spaulding” from Animal Crackers but doubted it would have any effect on the expectant serpent coiled around them.
Part of the problem was that while he was used to dealing with serious life-threatening situations this was the first time he and Mudge had faced a threat which insisted on being amused. It was enough to throw any spellsinger off stride and off key. Difficult enough to play and sing when one’s hands were shaking and throat was tight without having to be funny at the same time. He lightly strummed the suar’s strings in the hope the music might stimulate some humorous reminiscence, but none was forthcoming.
That’s when he noticed Mudge arguing quietly with Weegee. Finally she shoved him from behind until he was standing next to Jon-Tom.
“I—I know a joke, I do.” The otter’s whiskers were quivering.
The dragon shifted his attention from Jon-Tom. “Do you now? Well let me hear it, let me hear it. If I’m sufficiently amused and not too hungry when you’ve finished I might let you go so you can tell it to another, though I warn you that I’m hard to satisfy. It usually takes more than one joke and more than one meal.”
“Is that right now, guv’nor? We’ll see, because this is the funniest, most rib-ticklin’, sidesplittin’, uproarious, knee-slappin’—skip that latter—belly-bustin’ story anyone ever ’eard.”
“Bravo. Do tell me.”
Jon-Tom looked sideways at the otter, searching for a sign, a clue that Mudge was up to something. Instead of hinting that he was trying to put something over on the dragon, the otter settled down to recite his tale. Not knowing what else to do, Jon-Tom plucked at the suar. Perhaps the music might serve to soothe their adversary somewhat while enhancing the quality of Mudge’s storytelling. Despite this determination he found he couldn’t concentrate on his playing. Even as he was still trying to think of an effective spellsong, he found himself caught up in Mudge’s tale. When he put his mind to it, the otter could be engaging to a fault, and he was pouring every ounce of personal charm and wit into what was developing into a lengthy, complex story. Cautious was listening also. So was Weegee, even though she’d played a prominent part in convincing him to tell the tale in the first place.
For its part the dragon listened intently, its initial casual indifference changing with the telling to enthralled interest. As Mudge rambled on and on, beginning to use his acrobatic body and malleable face to enhance various aspects of the story, the dragon’s smile broadened in proportion. It began to chuckle, then to laugh, and finally to bellow with amusement, its lower body whipping convulsively and barely missing Jon-Tom’s head while snapping the crowns off a pair of small trees. It laughed and shook and trembled with hilarity, and the only reason it didn’t drown in its own tears was that it had no tear ducts.
