“It’s funny, but while I was here all I could ever think about was going home, and once I got home I couldn’t stop thinking about coming back here.” He smiled at the woman sitting beside him. She was resting her head against his arm. “Of course, Talea’s presence here made my return imperative.
“Once home I had a life I’d left behind to clean up. I told everyone that I’d been away on a secret mission for my government and that I was going to have go away again soon, probably for a longer period. They were puzzled and confused, especially my parents, but in the end they understood. As long as the money was good and I was happy, they said.”
“At least you’ll be ’appy,” Mudge chortled.
“While I was home I discovered that in my heart and maybe also in my mind I wasn’t cut out to be a lawyer. A solicitor, you call it. I also found out that playing lead in a rock band was pretty dull stuff after spellsinging. I thought of trying my hand at spellsinging in my own world, but I’m afraid they don’t take very kindly to magic over there unless its packaged in cellophane, advertised on TV, and equipped with a government sticker.
“But I wanted to be sure. The passageway between our worlds might close up some day and if it does I wanted make certain I ended up on the right side. So I took my time exploring my options and learning about myself. Then when I decided this was where I really belonged, I scoured my world in search of those truly important things I would want to bring back with me. Items of value and importance. I had to be very selective because I knew I could only bring what I could carry on my back.”
Rising from the chair and walking over to the pile of overstuffed backpacks, he began loosening straps and buckles. The otterlings stirred excitedly.
The first thing he extracted was a large tin containing twenty pounds of his world’s finest chocolate chip cookies. “Got the recipe, too,” he declared proudly. Setting the tin aside, he wrestled free a small bucket with a crank attached to the top. “Hand ice cream maker. All we need is rock salt, sugar, flavoring and the cooperation of a contented cow.”
The next sack disgorged several strange and wondrous objects. “Portable television, VCR, pedal-powered generator. Had to find the last in a surplus store.” From a third pack came two cases filled with videotapes of classic cartoons: Disney, Warner Brothers, Fleischer and some new Japanese features. Sandwiched in among the tapes were music books full of songs old and new.
“For spellsinging,” he told them.
Clothahump surveyed the bounty spread out on the floor before him. “I know of your world only what you have told me, my boy, but based on that little information I have I should say you have made excellent choices.”
“I want you to be proud of me, Clothahump. Here, let’s get the big stuff out of the way.” He picked up the TV. Talea moved the VCR and Mudge fought with the generator.
As he was shoving it along the floor it caught a rising plank. Generator and wood collapsed and Mudge barely escaped tumbling down with them. Everyone moved to the edge of the unsuspected cavity.
The secret compartment Mudge had accidentally revealed was the size of several bath tubs. Reaching down, he brought up a handful of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls and fireines. The compartment contained a hoard that would have to be measured in bushels instead of karats.
Years had passed but Jon-Tom had not forgotten. He turned furiously on the wizard.
“I knew I should have put in that extra closet last year,” Clothahump murmured. “One can never have too much storage room in a tree.”
Jon-Tom grabbed himself a handful and shook it in the wizard’s face. Precious stones went bouncing across the floor as they slipped from between his fingers.
“Look at this! You lied to me. All the danger and pain, all the travails of that nearly fatal journey of years ago could have been avoided. Mudge and I nearly got killed a dozen times on that trek to Strelakat Mews, and for what?”
“Calm yourself, my boy. I honestly don’t know what you’re raving about.”
“You don’t, eh? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the night those thieves broke in here and I had come over to and rescue you, breaking my duar in the process.”
“Of course I remember.” Clothahump’s expression was placid, his demeanor composed.
“All that risk to protect a few lousy jewels.”
Mudge’s eyes were popping out of his head as he stared at the treasure. “Let’s not dismiss old ’ardhshell’s motives out o’ ’and, mate. ’Tain’t like ’e didn’t ’ave anythin’ worth risking a life or two for.”
“I did not lie. As you may recall, my nocturnal visitors specifically asked to be given gold. Not once did they demand gems. Only gold. If you will look carefully you will find no gold. If I’d had any I most assuredly would have given it to them. But surely you wouldn’t expect me to volunteer information about what I did have, now would you? That wouldn’t have been sensible.
“Now consider this: If you hadn’t been forced to intervene on my behalf your duar would not have been damaged. Consequently you would never have been compelled to travel to Strelakat Mews. Mudge would never have encountered his Weegee. You would not have discovered the gate between your world and mine. You would not have been able to return to your home to learn where your true destiny lies. Consider.”
Putting aside his initial anger, Jon-Tom did just that. It wasn’t easy. He didn’t want to consider the matter logically and dispassionately. He wanted to stomp about and yell and shout imprecations. Unfortunately he knew he was doomed to lose from the start. Not only was Clothahump right, the turtle had two hundred and fifty years of debating experience on him.
“I resent having to admit it, sir, but you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” said Clothahump blandly. “You are a spellsinger; not a solicitor, not a ‘rock singer,’ whatever that may be, not anything else. I am your teacher and you are my student. That is your fate and that is your mate.” He nodded toward Talea, then gestured around the room.
“These are your friends.”
Jon-Tom took a deep breath and returned their stares: Mudge and Weegee, the four otterlings, a sober Sorbl, and back again to Clothahump. Talea completed the circle. So many things seemed to have come full circle. He thought of all the delightful companions he and Mudge had encountered; of massive but ladylike Roseroar, of Teyva and Colin the koala, of Clothahump’s first famulus Pog, the transmogrified bat.
For company they sure as hell beat hanging around the pre-yuppies at the student union.
“I guess you can’t argue with the world’s greatest wizard.”
“Not advisable,” said Clothahump.
He smiled down at Talea. “Will you have me back? If love can be magnified by traveling, then mine’s big enough to encompass the whole world.”
“Have you back? A big, ugly, clumsy, catastrophe-prone freak like you? On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“That you shave that grotesque fuzz off your face as soon as we’re back in our own tree. It makes you look like a damn otter.”
He bent to kiss her but Wicket bit her on the leg.
A BIOGRAPHY OF ALAN DEAN FOSTER
Alan Dean Foster (b. 1946) is the bestselling author of more than one hundred science fiction and fantasy novels. His prolific output and accessible style have made him one of the nation’s foremost speculative fiction writers.
