“What about Jon-Tom?”

“Wot about ’im?” Mudge was less than sympathetic. “’E got ’imself into this lovely fix, wot with ’im ’avin’ to go on singin’ about luv an’ friendship an’ intelligent species an’ all that rot. Let ’im sing ’imself out o’ it. We can’t ’ang around after the weddin’ to find out wot’s goin’ to ’appen to ’im. Got our own lives to think about, we does, and we ’ave to make a break for it while our charmin’ ’osts are still in a good mood.” He whispered to the raccoon standing nearby.

“Wot about you, Cautious old chap?”

“Afraid I must agree with you this time time for sure. Poor Jon-Tom got himself in one great galloping mess. I don’t see way out of, you bet.” He chuckled ruefully. “Better he do something before tonight. Making love to mountain could be dangerous. She get carried away, he find himself in pieces like his duar.”

Mudge and Weegee concurred with the raccoon’s assessment of their friend’s connubial prospects.

They put Jon-Tom and his intended in a cave of their own. The floor was of clean sand. There was a table and chairs and a brace of unexpectedly modern looking chaise longues. Not knowing what else to do he lay down on one. The lady ogre immediately settled into the other. It creaked alarmingly.

The official waiting room, he told himself. Just like waiting for surgery. He wasn’t allowed to leave the cave but he could see his companions strolling about outside. Apparently they’d been given the freedom of the encampment. This forced his thoughts to work faster still because he knew Mudge wouldn’t hang around waiting for him to extricate himself from this new predicament forever. The otter was a friend but not a fool. Jon-Tom knew if he didn’t try something fast he’d find himself completely on his own. Meanwhile the female ogre lay in her longue and stared across at him in what could only be described as an affectionate manner.

Frustrated by the continuing silence as much as his unhelpful thoughts he said, “This isn’t going to work, you know. I told your father that.”

“How you know? Haven’t tried it yet.”

“Take a good look at us. I see you, you see me. I see different.”

“I see two. What more is needed?”

With that kind of axe logic Jon-Tom saw he was in for a long conversation.

“Ever been married before?”

“Once. Was fun.”

“But you aren’t married now?”

“Nopes.”

“What happened to your first husband?”

“He got broke.”

“Oh.” Better shorten the conversation somehow, he thought rapidly. But his usually fast if not always accurate wits had deserted him. Since his suar and spellsinging had gotten him into this situation it was unlikely he’d be able to use them to extricate himself from it. If only his duar was intact. If only, if only—he wondered if another ogre would find her attractive. He couldn’t imagine what she saw in him. Of course, it wasn’t him, it was his haunting sweet songs which had enchanted the entire tribe.

“What’s your name?” he asked her, not really caring but unable to stand any more silence between them.

“Essaip.”

He almost smiled. Cute moniker for an uncute lady. “What should we do now?”

“Anything you want. You to be husband, me to be wife. If you want anything you must tell me. Is wife’s duty to wait on her husband, even on husband-to-be. That is the way of things.”

“You don’t say?” A hint of an inkling of a thought was beginning to take shape in his brain. “You mean that if I wanted you to do something for me, anything at all, you’d have to do it?”

“Except help you run away.”

Dead end. Or—maybe not. “Are all the females of your tribe required by custom to act that way?”

“Certainly. Is way of things. Is what’s right.”

He sat up and faced her. “What if I were to tell you that it’s not only wrong, it’s unnatural.”

That lengthy jaw line twisted in confusion. “I don’t understand what you say.”

“Suppose I told you—and you have to believe me, remember, because I’m your husband-to-be—that males and females are equal, and that it’s wrong for one to wait on the other all the time.”

“But that not right. Has always been this way.”

“I see. I wish I had some Kate Millet or Gloria Steinem to read to you.”

“I don’t know such names. Are they names of magical deities?”

“Some people think so.” He rose and walked over to her. It was an awesome body. Those enormous paws with their long heavy claws could tear out his throat with one swipe. The parody of a bear face was frightening. But behind those large, even attractive eyes he sensed an emptiness waiting to be filled, an eagerness to learn. Would she be receptive to new ideas, especially as propounded by an outsider?

“I think you like me, Essaip, even though we are not the same.”

“Like you much.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to live as a slave. It doesn’t mean that any female of your tribe has to live in servitude to any male. This is a fact that holds true whether one is talking about otters or ogres. Times they are a-changing, Essaip, and it’s about time you and your sisters changed with them.”

“How you mean, change?”

“Well, it’s kind of like this. …”

Mudge was trying to see into the depths of the wedding cave. “I don’t ’ear no suar music but I can see ’is mouth movin’. ’E’s talkin’ up a storm, old Jon-Tom is. I know ’im. ’E can work a different kind o’ magic just with words. ’E’s sharp enough to confuse a magistrate. You’ll see, luv. In a few ’ours ’e’ll ’ave ’er spoutin’ sweat reasonableness.”

Before long Essaip emerged from the cave spouting, all right, but she didn’t sound very reasonable. She sounded steamed. When the two guards refused to let Jon-Tom exit behind her she knocked both of them into the bushes.

Another warrior, a large jaguar ogre, stepped in her path and tried to halt her.

“Is not good for bride to leave wedding cave before feast.”

“Ahhhh, shaddup you, you—male!” The jaguar’s jaw connected with a paw only slightly smaller than a 725-15 radial ply tire.

Other warriors came running to try and quiet the chief’s daughter, who had apparently gone berserk. No one bothered to stop Jon-Tom. He strolled past the battle royal toward the staring otters, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Mudge turned to his lady. “Get ready to leave.”

“What? But just because she’s fighting with the guards doesn’t mean they’re going to let us walk out of camp.”

“Just be ready. ’Tis like I told you: Jon-Tom don’t always need to sing to work magic.”

Behind them the rest of the tribe’s females had put aside domestic tasks and emerged from their caves. They listened intently as Essaip recited the feminist litany Jon-Tom had relayed to her while she simultaneously fought off half a dozen hunters. Most of the male ogres were off preparing the wedding ground for the nighttime ceremony. They would have found Essaip’s speech most interesting. Growls and grunts began to issue from the tightly packed cluster of females.

Weegee picked up a few sentences. “This is very interesting.”