Chorus Skating (12 page)

He stuck protectively close to Jon-Tom. The soldiers thought the attention the otter paid to his friend's back admirable. What they didn't know was that Mudge chose to keep close because Jon-Tom's bulk would be first to catch any arrows or bolts or spears hurled from ambush.

Since they had no way of knowing when they might stumble into their destination, or what might lie between it and them, no one spoke above a whisper. At that, there was little in the way of casual conversation. Every man, mongoose, and otter was concerned with what lay directly ahead as well as in the immediate vicinity. Any abrupt movement within the dense green morass through which they were advancing was looked upon with suspicion, any sudden sound a cause for caution.

It was while pondering the possible edibility of a bright green and black lizard that it suddenly struck Mudge with great force that something truly horrible had happened to him over the years. Something more devastating and awful than he ever could have imagined, worse even than having his fur start to fall out. It hit him like a physical shock, leaving him terrified and wondering how he was ever going to be able to handle it. The force of the realization threatened to strike him dumb.

In spite of his strenuous and ongoing attempts at prevention, despite his best efforts down through the years to see that it never happened, in spite of iron determination, it seemed that he had developed a conscience.

“Mudge, all of a sudden you look awful.” There was real concern in Jon-Tom's voice. “Are you all right?”

The otter braced a palm against a tree. “I… I'll be okay, mate. I think.” He smiled wanly. “Got a little dizzy for a minim, there. Somethin' I swallowed.”

Don't give in,
he urged himself.
You can fight this
'
orrible development.
'
Tain't irrevocable, it ain't.
Feeling better, he straightened and resumed walking.
Why, it weren't nothin' more than a crab clamped on a toe! Shake it off, fling it from you!

But try as he would, it clung to him like a leech, bedeviling his thoughts and causing him to worry more about the Princess's fate than his own. It was a revolting development that left him nauseous and reeling, until he finally vowed to deal with the emergency at hand and take care of the other later, in more amenable surroundings.

“Seems to me,” he propounded much later that day, after hours of trekking through trailless wilderness, “that we're a long ways from anyplace.” Bent back by Karaukul, a branch whipped toward his face. He dodged it by the simple expedient of bending the upper half of his body sideways. “You bottle-brush tails sure you know where you're 'eadin'?”

Heke was closest. “We have been tracking the Princess Aleaukauna for months. Of all who were sent in search of her, only we have been able to follow her this far. Have some confidence, river-runner.”

With his short sword Pauko was slashing methodically at the dank, clinging vegetation. “Are you in a rush, otter? Would you like to approach this Manzai's abode by the main path, where he is most likely to have posted any scouts and outriders?”

“D'you think I'm completely ignorant in these matters?”

“Of course not,” put in Lieutenant Naike from up ahead. “Perhaps only a little out of practice.”

The otter's gaze narrowed. “That comment wouldn't be a reference to me age, would it?”

“Keep your voice down.” Jon-Tom bent slightly to clear an overhanging branch without having to push on it and rustle the leaves.

“Why? They bloody well like to talk so much, they can bleedin' sure listen to wot I 'ave to say.”

“And I'm sure they will.” His tall friend resorted to placating motions. “But not right now. I can see something that might be a structure up ahead.”

That silenced the otter. A little ways on, the vegetation thinned slightly and he could see as clearly as the others.

Surrounded by flawlessly manicured grounds, the sprawling complex of single-storied buildings crowned a gentle bulge in the earth. There were flowers and rock gardens, bubbling fountains and diminutive waterfalls. Meticulously laid paths of colored pebbles and ground stone lay like flattened snakes amid the cube grass. The residence radiated a peace and contentment that seemed wholly out of keeping with Manzai's ferocious reputation.

Of course, he reminded himself, all the open space would also allow anyone inside the buildings a sweeping view in every direction.

Fanciful coils of purple topiary flanked a pair of entrances, while freshwater mother-of-pearl flashed from shuttered window screens. The many roofs were fashioned of sunheart tiles and were sharply peaked to cope with the tropical downpours the region doubtless experienced on a regular basis. There was nothing resembling a wall, a moat, or camouflaged barrier of any kind. Only the comparative absence of windows suggested even a slight concern for internal security.

To all outward intents and appearances a casual visitor could step onto any of the various pathways and stroll right up to the main entrance before being challenged. Even then one would have to knock or ring a hidden bell, because there were no guards or other attendants visible, either.

The gentle slope of the hill masked the size of the complex. Covered hallways connected the numerous structures. Several of these were large, but hardly ostentatious. There were no elaborate woodcarvings, no flash use of gold or other precious metals. For a suspect warlord, Manzai presented a face to the world that could only be called subdued, if not positively serene.

Surely the pacific aspect of the domicile's exterior must belie the true nature of those who dwelled within, Jon-Tom told himself. Having expected to encounter spike-topped parapets and towers notched with arrow ports, he was more than a little taken aback.

From within the dense undergrowth they watched silently for an hour without observing a single guard or patrol.

“You sure we've got the right place?” he finally whispered to Lieutenant Naike.

“It fits all the descriptions that were given us.” The mongoose's voice was a sibilant murmur. “Poisonous snakes frequently come cloaked in appealing colors.” Jon-Tom could seen his lean muscles rippling beneath the soft fur. “Somewhere within, the Princess Aleaukauna is a prisoner. It matters not whether she wears chains of gold or brass.”

“How to free her.” Karaukul loomed over his companions, though he was still a good foot shorter than Jon-Tom. “I have to say, sir, that if this is truly a fortress, it is the most innocent in appearance I have ever seen.”

“Indeed,” the Lieutenant admitted. “Hard though I've searched, I have seen nothing to challenge an approach.”

“That's when you 'ave to be ten times as bleedin' careful.”

Everyone turned to look in Mudge's direction. “Innocence is the cleverest defense of all.”

Heke frowned as he studied the complex. “What defense? I see no defense of any kind.”

The otter barked softly. “Which is doubtless just wot those inside want any unannounced visitors who might be inclined toward a little mischief-makin' to think.” He waved at the interlinked structures. “Why, this 'ole setup practically invites attack.

“Now, I'll wager you lot know your business, which means you know how to span a moat or ladder a wall, avoid a pit-drop or tunnel under a rampart. Specified solutions for specific fortifications. But this dump is slippery, it 'tis. Like a lass I once knew, you can't get a grip on 'er. No, no, me lads. The less danger you see, the more you 'ave to watch out for.”

Naike turned a thoughtful gaze on Jon-Tom. “What think you, spellsinger?”

“I think that in matters like this,” Jon-Tom replied readily, “it's a good idea to trust Mudge's instincts. He's been in more scrapes than any live person I know.”

“Better always,” the otter added, “to be cowardly and cautious and alive than brave an' bold an' dead.”

“Honestly spoken,” Pauko avowed.

Mudge squinted at the mongoose. “You can say that for seconds, dirt-digger. Ask yourself who your Princess would rather 'ave rescuin' 'er: a live coward or a dead 'ero.”

“Then we must prove ourselves equally wily.” Naike regarded the otter. “What would you suggest?”

Mudge was taken aback by the soldier's deference. “Wot, me? You want my advice? And 'ere I was thinkin' you were against consultin' with 'istorical relics like meself.”

“Put a lid on it, Mudge,” Jon-Tom instructed his companion.

“Now, mate, let me enjoy this a little, wot?”

“I have no time to waste on sarcasm.” Naike turned away from the otter.

“Take 'er easy there, guv.” Mudge hastened to make peace with the officer. “Now then—just because there ain't no fortifications visible on the outside don't mean the inside's all embossed wall coverin's an' thick-weave carpets. Since we don't 'ave a clue as to the true nature o' the interior, an' since your informants don't seem to 'ave been particularly 'elpful on that little matter, we need to lay our 'ands on someone who knows what we needs to know.”

Heke glanced back toward the complex. “Abduct someone? But there are no guards patrolling whom we could take.”

Mudge nodded agreeably. “Clever, wot? You can't extract information from nobody, can you?” He slapped at an overhanging vine. “But someone's got to keep this creepin' green gook at bay. That cube grass don't trim itself an' these branches don't die back out o' deference to the local aesthetics.”

“Your meaning is clear.” Naike contemplated their next move. “We must curb our impatience … and wait.”

Jon-Tom shifted the bulk of the duar against his back. “It's taken you months to get this far. You can hold off a little longer.”

The Lieutenant nodded in agreement. “Where would be a good spot to place ourselves, do you think?”

“As completely out o' sight o' the majority o' the buildings as possible,” Mudge volunteered helpfully.

Slinking back into the swamp, they worked their way around to the north side of the complex as quietly as possible.

There they spent a fitful afternoon and night, sleeping in shifts so that there was always someone keeping an eye on the buildings. It was only after they had concluded a dry and (despite Pauko's best efforts) uninspiring breakfast that a wooden panel in the rear of the nearest structure slid aside and, for the first time, a figure showed itself. It wore a simple, embroidered cloak. Though it employed neither tools nor magic, it made rapid progress at trimming down the cube lawn and removing unsightly weeds.

“A goat,” observed Karaukul.

“Why not a goat?” The Lieutenant pressed close to his fellow soldiers. “Who better to trim the grasses?”

“But why only one?” Jon-Tom wondered as he watched the ungulate operate.

“We only see one,” Mudge responded. “For all we knows there may be 'alf a dozen others workin' the far reaches o' the landscapin'. But one'll do us.”

As they looked on, the quadrupedal groundskeeper stood carefully on its hind legs to reach the lower branches of a fruit tree. Resting its forelegs on the trunk, it carefully nipped off several suckers that were sprouting from the otherwise smooth-barked surface. Aberrations located higher up were doubtless the province of some other member of the groundskeeping staff: a giraffe, perhaps.

Its horns were in no way formidable, nor was it an especially robust physical specimen. Certainly the goat was no soldier.

“Let's take him.” Heke started forward.

Naike put out a short, furry arm to restrain him. “Patience, good Heke. There are weeds over here as well. He will come closer. Better for us, if there are others nearby.”

Jon-Tom admired the ungulate's skill with his teeth. “He's very good. I'd hire him myself. See? He keeps the cube grass at precisely the same height all the way around, regardless of whether it's growing on flat or sloping ground.”

“That's it!” barked Mudge suddenly.

Naike turned to stare at him. “What's it?” But the otter had evaporated into the swamp.

Moments later he returned with a long, feathery branch tucked under one arm.

“What are you going to do with that?” Pauko looked bemused.

Mudge rolled his eyes heavenward. “Preserve me from the artless.” He stepped forward. “Shut your cake-'oles and get ready.”

Everyone tensed as the otter carefully eased the branch forward until it was sticking an entire body length beyond the otherwise neatly trimmed wall of greenery.

It was a while before the incongruous protrusion caught the attention of the busy gardener. First one eye, then the other inspected the innocuous frond, as if wondering how it could have been overlooked for so long. Then he started toward it.

“Wait till 'e starts nibblin',” Mudge whispered tersely. “Then take 'im!” With quick little nods the mongooses silently dispersed. So did Jon-Tom, more slowly, as befitted his simian bulk.

Ever cautious, the gardener approached the fringes of the swamp's wild and undisciplined vegetation. A glance to the right and then to the left apparently satisfied him, whereupon he proceeded to take a sharp nip out of the base of the jutting stalk. Two or three such nips would be enough to bring the offending growth down.

It was interesting, he mused as he worked, how nearly several buds at the base of the branch resembled fingers.

He never had a chance to take the second nip. The quartet of mongooses pounced, allowing the shocked gardener time enough to utter no more than half a bleat before he found himself rolled up in several musky blankets. A strong cord quickly secured his jaws, preventing any further outbursts. Whisked into the depths of the swamp, the unfortunate ungulate could only gape in terror at his abductors.

“Are we being followed?” A worried Naike carried his portion of kidnapped goat by its left foreleg.