“Maybe we ought to just leave,” said Cautious. “Go back to town, try find somebody else.”
“There is no one else. That’s what Clothahump told us. That’s why we’ve come here. We have to see him.”
“Wot if ’e ain’t receivin’ no visitors, mate? Blimey, wot if ’e ain’t even receivin’ air no more?”
“We have to try.”
As they approached the front door the stones on which they trod rang like the plates of a gamelan. The doorbell was a flurry of flutes with an echo of panpipes. It was opened by a matronly possum. Her wise old eyes flicked over each of them in turn, stopping to rest on Jon-Tom.
“Strangers by the look of you. We don’t get many visitors. I don’t know from whence you come or why, but this is a house of the dying.”
Jon-Tom looked to Mudge for advice, found none available. He had come to this place for reasons of his own. Now he would have to deal with the results of his decisions in the same way.
“It’s about an instrument. Just one instrument. I don’t know where else to go or what else to do. I’ve come so far in the hope that Master Coulb might be able to fix it.”
“Master Coulb cannot rise from his bed, much less replace a reed in an oboe. I am Amalm, his housekeeper.” She started to close the door.
“Please!” Jon-Tom took a step forward, forced himself to be patient. “The wizard who teaches me insisted only Coulb could repair my duar. I must have it fixed or I can’t spellsing.”
The door opened a crack. “You be a spellsinger, young human?” He nodded. The door opened the rest of the way. “A wizard sent you here?” Another nod. “Then there is magic involved. Truly only Master Coulb could help you. If he were capable of helping anyone.” She hesitated, then sighed resignedly. “Because you have traveled far and magic is involved I will see if Master Coulb will speak to you. But be warned: he can do nothing for you. Perhaps he can recommend another.”
As they entered Jon-Tom had to bend to clear the opening. Their guide continued to talk. “There are other master instrument makers, but none like Master Coulb. Still, he may know of one I do not. After all, I am only the housekeeper. This way.”
She led them into a living room which was dominated by a tall stone fireplace. The wind whistled mournfully down the chimney, perfectly in tune with the melody the house was playing. There were several couches, each fashioned in the shape of some stringed instrument.
“Rest yourselves while I see to the Master.”
They sat and listened and stared. Wind whistled through the rafters while loose floor slats chimed against one another. The windowpanes resonated like drumheads.
“Gloomy sort o’ place,” whispered Mudge. “Too bleedin’ dignified for me.”
“What did you expect?” Jon-Tom asked him. “Bells and laughter?”
The housekeeper returned. “He is worse today, but then he is worse each day.”
“What kind of disease is he suifering from?”
“Maybe ’e’s just old,” Mudge said.
The possum eyed him sharply. “Aye, old he is, but in the prime of health before this affliction brought him down. It is no normal sickness that afflicts the Master. Potions, lotions, painkillers and pills have no effect on it. He is haunted by demons.”
“Right.” Mudge sprang from his chair. “Thanks for your ’ospitality, ma’am. Time to be goin’.”
Jon-Tom caught him by the collar of his vest. “Don’t be so quick to panic, Mudge.”
“Who’s quick? I’ve thought it right through, I ’ave. See, all I ’ave to do is ’ear the word ‘demon’ an’ it don’t take me but a minim to carefully an’ thoughtfully decide I’d be better off elsewhere.”
“They’re not very big demons.” The housekeeper sniffed. “Quite small, actually.” She held her thumb and forefinger apart. “Such strange demons as have never been seen before. They wear identical raiment and they all look something like—you.” And she shocked Jon-Tom to the bottom of his heart by pointing at him.
“Not you personally,” she said hastily, seeing the effect her words had produced. “I mean that they are all humanlike.” Her eyes rolled ceilingward. “Why they picked on poor Master Coulb, who never did anyone any harm, none of the experts in town have been able to divine. Perhaps it was just his time. Perhaps it was the special trumpet he sold to another traveler who passed by this way not long ago.
“One thing we know for certain: Something angered these demons enough for their own master to set them upon poor Coulb. Every attempt by our local wizards and sorcerors to exorcise them has failed. We even imported an urban wizard from Chejiji but his efforts were no more helpful than those of our own. The evil of these demons is insidious and slow. They kill gradually by poisoning the mind and the spirit rather than the body. Most demons suck blood, but these are worse, far worse. They suck the will out of a person. I feel the Master has little left with which to resist them. They will claim him soon.”
“Life’s irony,” said Mudge. “’Ere stands me friend, a special spellsinger if ever there was one, but ’e can’t ’elp cure your master because ’is instrument is broke. An’ if it were ’ole, we wouldn’t be ’ere now.”
“I still have this.” Jon-Tom displayed the suar. “My spellsinging’s not as effective with this as it is when I’m playing the duar, but I can still rouse a gneechee or two. Let me try. Please?”
“I don’t know.” She was shaking her head slowly. “Little enough peace has Master Coulb. I’ve no wish to make his last days, perhaps even his final hours, uncomfortable ones.”
“Let us talk to him,” Weegee pleaded. “I’ve seen Jon-Tom’s powers at work.”
Jon-Tom started but managed to hide his surprise. Exception to the rule she might be, but Weegee was still all otter. When the need arose she could lie as fluidly as Mudge.
“I suppose it can’t hurt letting you see him,” Amalm murmured. “Perhaps some company would do him good. I will put it to him—if he’s awake and able to respond. We’ll see what he says.” She turned to leave the room.
“Tell him not only am I a spellsinger, but I’m a spellsinger from another world. My magic, if I can make any, might be effective against these demons where that of local practitioners might not.”
She looked back at him. “I will tell him, but I don’t think it will matter.” She vanished into the next room.
“Wot do you think, mate? Can you really do ’im some good?”
“I don’t know, Mudge, but even if he can’t help me we have to try.”
“You mean you can try.” Weegee was studying the weakly pulsating windows. “The rest of us can only watch. I want nothing to do with any demons, no matter how small they may be.” She shuddered. “Suppose they take offense at our intrusion and decide to strike us as well?”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take.”
“Don’t you love the way ’e uses the word ‘we’?” Mudge walked over to stand close to Weegee. He felt as if the house was beginning to close in around him. Or maybe it was just the tightness in his throat. “Whenever ’e runs into trouble or danger, suddenly ’tis ‘we’ this an’ ‘we’ that.”
