Masters of Fantasy Part 22

A second surging blackness emerged from the duar, drifted past the combatants, and struck the stone barrier. Once more a tunnel appeared. Fending off a.s.sailants, Jon-Tom raced toward it. "Come on! This is the right one, for sure. I was just a bit off on the rhythm the first time."

"A bit off? You've always been a bit off, mate!" Fighting a ferocious rearguard action, the otter and the grizzly followed the spellsinger into the new tunnel.

Unlike the first, this one was filled with a dim, indistinct light. Floor and walls were much smoother than those of their predecessor, devoid of sand, and harder. The tunnel looked to be composed of worked stone; an excellent sign, Jon-Tom decided. It was exactly the sort of access that might lead to a hidden underground entrance in something like a distant castle. Its dimensions were impressive.

Then they heard the roaring. Rising and coming toward them. "There!" Mudge pointed. A burning yellow eye was visible in the distance. As the roaring intensified, the fiery illumination grew brighter, was.h.i.+ng over them.

"I think I liked the other critters better," an awed Mudge murmured.

Jon-Tom was looking around wildly. "Here, this way!" Turning to his right, he dashed up the stairs that

lay in that direction. As they ascended, they could hear the monster approaching rapidly behind them. To everyone's great relief, it rushed past without turning, keeping to the main tunnel.

"The castle must be right above us." s.h.i.+fting his duar around to his back, Jon-Tom slowed as new light

appeared above them. Light, and a familiar, unthreatening noise. The sound of rain on pavement.

"Probably the courtyard. Keep alert."

"Keep alert, 'e says." Gripping his sword tightly, Mudge strove to see through the brighter gloom above.

They emerged into a light rain that was falling, not on a castle courtyard, but on a narrow street.

Storefronts, darkened and shuttered, were visible on the opposite side. There was no one in sight.

The otter's sensitive nose appraised their surroundings as his sharp eyes continued to scan the darkness.

"No castle this, mate. Smells bleedin' nasty, it does." He looked up at his friend. "Where the blood 'ell are we?"

"I don't know." Thoroughly bemused, Jon-Tom walked out onto a sidewalk and turned a slow circle.

"This should be Namur Castle, or its immediate vicinity." His eyes fell on a pair of rain-swept signs.

Across the street, one hanging from an iron rod proclaimed the location of the Cork & Castle-pub.

Light from within reached out into the street, as did muted sounds of polite revelry. The second sign hung above the entrance to the stairway from which they had emerged. It was a softly illuminated red and white circle with a single red bar running horizontally through it. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stiffen.

They had stumbled into an unsuspected path back into his own world.

-III-.

Sounds of casual conversation reached the three stunned travelers. Retreating to the top of the gum- spotted, urine-stained stairway, he peered back down. Two young couples were mounting the steps from the underground, chatting and laughing about the casual inconsequentialities of a life he had long ago relinquished He looked around worriedly.

"We can't go back down this way. We've got to hide."

Stromagg looked baffled. "Why? More monsters come?"

"No, no. Somehow the song has broken through into my world. You and Mudge can't be seen here. Only

humans talk and make sense here."

Unimpressed, Mudge let out a snort. "Who says 'umans make sense anywhere?" His nose twitched. "I

thought this place stank.""Hurry!" Espying an alley off the main street, Jon-Tom led his friends away from the subway entrance.It was dark in the rain-washed pa.s.sageway, but not so dark as to hide the overcoated sot standing with his bottle amid the daily deposit of debris expelled by the establishments that lined the more respectable street on the other side. Leaning up against the damp brick, he waved the nearly empty container at the new arrivals. Jon-Tom froze.

"Evenin' t'you, friends." The drunk extended the bottle. "Want a swig?"

Stromagg immediately started forward, forcing Jon-Tom to put out an arm to restrain the bear. "You two

stay here!" he whispered urgently. Approaching the idling imbiber, he adopted a wide smile, hoping the man was too far gone to notice Jon-Tom's strange attire.

"Excuse me, sir. Can you tell us exactly where we are? We're kind of lost."

Squinting through the rain, the inebriated reveler frowned at him. His breath, Jon-Tom decided, was no

worse than what he had experienced numerous times in the company of Mudge and his furry drinking

buddies.

"What are you, tourists?" The drinker levered himself away from the wall. "b.l.o.o.d.y ignorant tourists!

You're in Knightsbridge, friend."

"Knightsbridge?" Jon-Tom thought hard. The name sounded sufficiently castle-like to jibe with his

spellsong, but it didn't square with what he had just seen. "Where is that?"

" 'Where is that?' " the drunk echoed in disbelief. "London, man! Where did you think you were?"

Squinting harder, he finally caught sight of the very large otter and far larger leather-armored grizzly standing silently behind his questioner. His bloodshot eyes went wide enough for the small veins to flare. "Oh, gawd." Letting the nearly empty bottle fall from his suddenly limp fingers, he whirled, stumbled and nearly fell, and vanished down the alley. They heard him banging and cras.h.i.+ng through a.s.sorted trash receptacles and boxes for several minutes.

Picking up the bottle, Mudge sniffed the contents, made a disgusted face, shrugged, and promptly downed the remaining contents before Jon-Tom could stop him. Wiping his furry lips, he eyed his friend meaningfully.

"You spellsang us 'ere, mate. Now you bleedin' well better sing us a way back."

Jon-Tom looked helpless. "We could try the way we came. Maybe the creatures in the other tunnel have

gone. I don't know what else to do." Discouraged and tentative, he started back toward the street. The rain was beginning to let up, turning to a heavy mist.

The exit back onto the street was blocked.

"A minute of your time, friend."

There were three of them. All younger than Jon-Tom, all more confident, two clearly high on something

stronger than liquor. The speaker held a switchblade, open. The larger boy flashed a small handgun. The

girl between them wielded a disdainful smirk.

Jon-Tom scrutinized them all and did not much like what he saw, or what he sensed. "We don't want any trouble. We're just on our way home."

The boy with the blade nodded contentedly. "American, is it? Good. I knew I heard American accents at the party. You'll have traveler's cheques. Americans always carry traveler's cheques." He extended the hand that was not holding the switchblade. "Hand 'em over. Also any cash. Also your watch, if you're

wearing one. Your friends, too. Then you can go safely back to the stupid costume ball that your snooty

friends wouldn't let us into."

Jon-Tom tensed. "I haven't got any traveler's checks on me. Or any cash, either. At least, not any you could use here."

"American dollars suit me just fine, friend." The kid gestured agitatedly with the open hand. "Hurry it up. We ain't got time for talk." His gaze flicked sideways. "Maybe you'd like me to cut the kid, here." He lunged toward Mudge.

Effortlessly, the otter bent the middle of his body out of the way. As the switchblade pa.s.sed harmlessly

to his left, he drew his short sword. Steel flashed in the dim light of the street.

Alarmed, the bigger boy raised his pistol. Emerging from the mist behind him, an enormous paw clamped over both weapon and hand. Stromagg squeezed. Bones popped. Startled, the big kid let out a subdued, girlish scream. Bared teeth dripping saliva, the grizzly put another paw around the punk's neck, lifted him bodily off the ground, and turned him. As he got his first glimpse of what had a hold of him, the street kid's eyes bugged out and gurgling sounds emerged from his throat. The bear drew the boy's face closer to his own. Low and dangerous, his voice was that of imminent death.

"You make trouble for Stromagg?" the grizzly growled.

"Urk . . . ulk . . ." Straining with both hands, legs flailing at empty air, the punk fought to disengage that huge paw from around his neck. Looking like white grapes, his eyes threatened to pop out of his head.

Holding his sword, Mudge easily danced around each swipe and cut of the switchblade that was thrust in

his direction, not even bothering to riposte. Once, he ducked clear of a wild swing and in the same motion, bowed elegantly to the now incredulous and dazed girl, doffing his peaked cap in the process.

Furious, the boy threw himself in the unstrikable otter's direction. Still bowing to the girl, Mudge brought the flat of his sword up between his young a.s.sailant's legs. All thoughts of combat suddenly forgotten, the kid went down onto the street and curled into a tight ball, moaning.