“If I could get back home and then return here with a good cassette recorder and a crateful of blank tape I could set the music world on its ear forever.”
“Ah, but you can’t hear anything if you’re standing on your ear.” Coulb laughed softly. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Jon-Tom?” He blinked sleepily despite his recent rest. The sun was rising higher outside and the nocturnal craftsman would be wanting to retire, his guest knew.
“Just one thing. Can you recommend someone to guide us safely back to Chejiji? Preferably by a roundabout route? We had a minor altercation with some locals on our way here and I’d rather not have to deal with them again.”
“Ah, the ogres. Yes, we can find someone to escort you around their territory. I wish you could stay longer. I have so much music to share with you.”
“I’ll be back, I promise. I’ve got to come back here with a tape recorder.”
“I could loan you some bottles.”
“I’d feel safer with a recorder. It won’t break as easily if I fall on it.” He grinned ruefully.
Together they exited the workshop. “What will you do once you get back to Chejiji?”
“Try to charter a boat to take my friends and I back to a certain section of the eastern Glittergeist. We found what I think is a permanent gate between our worlds. If it’s still there I’m going back for that recorder—and other things.”
“Then I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you again. And hearing you play.” Man and kinkajou shook hands.
True to his word Coulb had Amalm locate someone to lead them safely through the Mews. There Weegee suggested they look up Teyva before bothering with an uncertain ship and unreliable crew.
They located the flying stallion in an aerial stable on the far side of town. He was delighted to see them again. With his fear of flying permanently cured, he readily agreed to carry them back to the eastern swamplands. Nor did he have to strain to transport them alone. Having won a substantial amount at cards, he called in his debts among his friends. So Jon-Tom and his companions each had their own mount.
From the air most forest looks alike, but eventually Mudge’s sharp eyes spotted a certain tree, and from the tree they managed to locate the rocky ledge and the subterranean orifice it concealed. They landed, and while the flying horses chatted of alfalfa wine and cloud dancing Jon-Tom made his final preparations.
He was taking his duar and ramwood staff, neither of which should draw any unusual attention. His iridescent lizard-skin cape he would leave behind. As for the rest of his unusual clothing he had concocted various explanations with which to satisfy the curious until he could purchase sneakers, jeans and a shirt to match. It shouldn’t take long to convert Clothahump’s gold coins into ready cash at any pawn shop.
Cautious was regarding him fondly. “You be careful for sure now.”
“You too. What are you going to do now?”
“I think maybe my hometown friends still pretty mad at me, you bet. So I think I go back with your otter fella and see what this Bellwood country is like.”
“We’ll be waiting for your return.” Was Weegee crying? “I’ll have a talk with your lady Talea, female to female, and explain what you’re about. How will you make it home when you come back this way, Jon-Tom? You don’t know how long you’re going to be and Teyva can’t wait here forever.”
“I don’t expect him to wait at all. Mudge and I have traveled a fair portion of the world. I’m not worried about getting home from here.” He took a last look around, checked to make sure he had several torches handy. “I guess that’s everything. Teyva and his friends will fly you back to the Bellwoods and . …”
A large furry mass struck him square in the chest. He staggered backward with Mudge clinging to him. The otter was sobbing uncontrollably.
“You ain’t comin’ back!” Black nose and whiskers were inches from his face and tears were pouring down fuzzy cheeks. “I know you ain’t. Once you get back to your own world through that bloody ’ole in the ground you’ll be back in familiar surroudin’s, back among your own kind, an’ you’ll forget all about us. About poor ol’ Mudge, an’ Weegee, and that senile ’ardshell Clothahump who needs you to look after ’im in ’is old age, and even about Talea. You’ll get back to where everythin’s comfortable an’ safe an’ relaxin’ an’ you won’t be comin’ back ’ere.” He grabbed the vee of Jon-Tom’s indigo shirt and shook him.
“Are you listenin’ to me, you ugly, ignorant, naive bald-faced monkey? Wot am I goin’ to do if I never see you again?”
“Take it easy, Mudge.” Feeling a little teary-eyed himself, Jon-Tom disengaged the otter’s fingers from his shirt. “I wouldn’t run out permanent on my best friend, even if he is a liar, a cheat, a thief, a drunk and an incorrigible wencher.”
Mudge wiped at his eyes and nose. “It does me ’eart good to ’ear you talk like that, mate.” He stepped back. “Maybe you will come back, but I ain’t goin’ to ’old me breath. I’ve seen wot ’appens to folks when they gets back to where they belong. I sure as ’ell ain’t goin’ to take any bets on you returnin’.”
“If for some reason I don’t, I don’t want you lying around moping and moaning about it all the time.”
“Wot, me?” The otter forced a cheery smile. “Not a bleedin’ chance!”
Jon-Tom looked at the entrance to the cave. “We had ourselves an interesting time, didn’t we? Set some evil back on its heels, met some special folks, spread some goodwill and generally shook up the status quo. No reason for regrets.” He dropped to his knees and lit the first torch, crawled toward the opening beneath the ledge.
“I’ll be back, you’ll see. Tell Talea not to fret. I’ll be coming for her.”
“Sure you will, mate.” Mudge stood next to Weegee. Cautious waved farewell along with the otters while Teyva pawed the earth. The only thing absent from Mudge’s goodbyes was a feeling of conviction.
Jon-Tom stumbled down the familiar tunnel until he could stand. Shouldering his backpack he held the torch close to the floor, following the damp footprints he and his friends had left on their previous subterranean excursion as well as those of the pirates who had pursued them. Within an hour he was following the crumbling wire back to the cleft in the rocks that led to his own world.
Halfway through the narrow passage he extinguished his torch. Light and voices reached him from the other side. He was able to use the distant glow to guide him the rest of the way through the defile.
Soon after he emerged, a voice yelled at him.
“Hey, you there!” He blinked as his eyes received the full force of a multicell flashlight, put up a hand to shield them as he tried to locate the speaker.
“What is it?”
The light was lowered along with the voice. “Don’t lag back there. This cave’s full of dangerous dropoffs and unexplored dead ends. We ain’t lost anybody yet and I don’t want to start today.”
“Sorry.” As his eyes adjusted he found a dozen people staring at him. A couple of families, some young couples, one or two younger people traveling on their own. One shouldered a backpack as grungy as his own.
The guide resumed his well-worn spiel. “Now over here, folks, we have a formation called the bashful elephant.”
The faces turned away. Children oohed and aahed. No one questioned Jon-Tom’s sudden appearance. Those in the front of the guided party assumed Jon-Tom had been in the back, and those in the back assumed he’d entered with the guide. He simply fell in step with the tour and followed it back out into the bright warm sunshine of a Texas afternoon. There was the old building where he and his companions had battled Kamaulk’s pirates and then drug runners, behind him the stone entrance to the cavern below, at the end of the dirt road the sign identifying this as the location of the Cave-With-No-Name, and off in the distance the highway where a passing eighteen-wheeler had startled his friends. South of the highway lay San Antonio. Twelve hundred odd miles to the west was the megalopolis of Los Angeles, his home.
He turned to watch the old guide latch the gates which sealed the cave entry. Not too many yards below lay a small twist in space-time. Through that inexplicable, tenuous passage could be found a land where otters talked and a certain turtle practiced at sorcery, where he had battled armies of intelligent insects, ferocious ferrets and parrot pirates.
As Mudge would say, it was bloody unreal.
