Adventures Of Myhr Part 2

I tore off Terrin's blanket, slipped my hands under his arms, and hauled him backwards from the room.

The hall was little more than shoulder wide, making it hard to maneuver, but I got us both clear, then kicked the door closed. The whispering faded slightly; the shutter racket remained strong. My heart banging a good counterpoint, I dragged Terrin downstairs, his rump catching on the steps, thudding all the way. Eventhat didn't wake him.

Clem heard the ruckus though, emerging from some back area of the inn, candle in hand. "What's going on?"

"There'sstuff ," I said, none too coherently as I pulled Terrin toward the common room, in too much of a hurry to pick him up. "Street, black mist, creeping, talking, wants inside real bad."

He stared down his long nose like I'd gone simple. "Uh-huh."

"Just look out and see-no! Don't look out and see! I mean, my friend won't wake up."

"Is he sick? I don't hold with sick boarders."

"It's some kind of nervous fit, nothing catching."I hoped . "Help me get him on a table, bring that candle over. You got some smelling salts? What's that stuff crawling along the streets?"

"What stuff?"

"The black stuff trying to get inside." I glanced at the windows, but they were closed for the night.

"Nothing out on the streets this hour," Clem a.s.sured. "Just city watch." "Is the city watch a bunch of black mist?"

Clem shot me a sideways "are you nuts" kind of look. I gave up to focus on Terrin. Clem's wife came out next and, having had several kids, was used to dealing with late emergencies. Greta had to admit this was a new one for her, but was willing to help. Clem and I got Terrin on one of the long serving tables and had to unfold him. He was still locked in his cross-legged position.

"Sure he ain't died?" asked Clem. He wasn't too alarmed at the prospect.

"Hush," said his wife, waving an open bottle of something under Terrin's nose. It smelled like cleaning fluid, heavy on the ammonia. I pinched my muzzle in reaction and fell away a few steps, ending up by a window. It had cracks around the edges like the one upstairs, but no signs of any black mist seeping through. Good, so far as it went.

Terrin suddenly mumbled, tried to move his head away from the bottle, then his face screwed up as though for a huge sneeze. It never happened, but his lids did finally peel apart. His eyes had gone from dark gray to ghost-pale silver.

"Argh! Agh! Foo!" he said, trying to wriggle away.

Clem held him down. "Easy there, son. Greta, I think he's had enough fumes."

Greta stoppered the bottle with a triumphant smirk. "Works every time."

I quit the window, along with its temptation to peek out, and came over. "What theh.e.l.l was that about?"

I was scared, which translated as severe annoyance.

Terrin blinked at me, at all of us standing around the table gawking down at him. "You're not Auntie Em," he said to me with great certainty.

"I'm not Bert Lahr, either. 'Fess up. You weren't just asleep, were you?"

"Huh? What am I doing down here?" He shrugged off Clem's restraining hands and sat up, violently rubbing his nose. "Phew!"

"Were you dreaming?" Sometimes Terrin's dreams were more real to him than being awake. It took time for him to shake off the cobwebs.

"Dreaming? I was-why'd you interrupt my meditation?"

"Because there's this black misty stuff outside and it was coming in the window like the Marines landing."

"How much beer did you have?" asked Clem, conversationally.

"Notthat much! Go see it for yourself." Now that Terrin was up and almost running I had more confidence about dealing with the heebie-jeebie fog river.

Clem shrugged and went to the door, the rest of us following. He unlocked and opened up.

The black mist still flowed strongly, but was retreating fast, beginning to shred into sooty wisps. "There!

Just like I said." "Where?" asked Clem. There was no way he could miss it, even with his normal eyesight.

I pointed. "There!"

Clem began to squint. "Sorry, friend, but I don't see nothing. You see anything, Greta?"

"Just a lot of dark street," she said. Neither of them struck me as faking; no one could be that oblivious.

Terrin tugged at my shirt sleeve. I looked. He shook his head once, lips pursed. I got the message and backed down, though it griped me. "Okay, maybe it was the beer. Maybe I'm having an allergic reaction and hallucinating." That was a total lie. I have a weird body chemistry. Alcohol doesn't affect me as much as it does other people. It takes alot to get me drunk. I'd not had nearly enough tonight for that.

"Sometimes the brewings don't set right with some people," Clem said generously. "Now what about you, Mr. Terrin? You were doing poorly for a bit there. Mr. Myhr here was in a state about it, and I don't blame him. What's your ailment?"

Terrin shrugged. "I'm just a really heavy sleeper. Sorry if this dude got hyper about it. Sometimes he's jumpy as a cat."

"Hey!" I said, miffed at the wholesale cliche.

The dig and my reaction to it did the job, distracting Clem and Greta, letting them know that the situation wasn't serious. I tendered apologies for the disruption, then we all went back to our rooms; I hung behind so Terrin walked in first.

"Is it clear?"

"Yeah, come on," he said.

"You saw that stuff outside. Tell me you saw that stuff."

"I saw that stuff."

"What was it? I didn't smell anything off it so it couldn't have been river mist."

"You didn't smell anything because it's not wholly on this plane of reality. That's why those two didn't see it. You did, probably because of the cat in you, and I saw because that's what I do."

"I was freaking out because it came up to our window and tried to get in. What is it?"

"Could be a lot of things." He opened the window. "Street's clear now."

"Think that's why they have a curfew? To keep people from running into that junk?"

"Maybe."

"So what are the lot of things it could be? A short list is fine."

He shrugged. "I don't want to commit until I know more. Could be restless souls, an astral river, a rip inthe s.p.a.ce-time continuum . . ."

"Don't soap me with the techno-babble, this ain'tStar Trek !"

"I know. I'm serious."

That's what I didn't want to hear; I hate it when he's serious. It's the only thing worse than when he's kidding around. "What do we do? It might come back."

"I wouldn't worry. Nothing got in, did it?"

"Well, no . . ."

"And nothing will without me knowing. I put the usual wards up all around this place soon as we settled in. We're safe."

"Safe" is often a relative term with Terrin. He shifted away from the window and stooped to pick up his blanket. He straightened, halting in mid-motion, making a face. "Day-um! My a.s.s hurts!"

"That happened when I took you downstairs."

"Next time wake me up."

"I tried. Clem thought rigor had set in. That wasnot your usual meditative state by a long shot."

"Huh. I'll have to find out about that. See if it has to do with the mist. Are there any other wizards in town? They might know something."

"I heard of a few at dinner. Don't know if they're real, though. People seem pretty neutral about magic here, but I wouldn't push it."

"We'll find out in the morning." He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders again and settled down, cross-legged.

"You're going tosleep ?"

"Meditate. Do some astral-travel to see what's in the neighborhood. Chill out, don't sweat it. We're safe.

Get some sleep yourself, and don't bother me until I wake up on my own."

I grumped-quietly-knowing more questions wouldn't get me anywhere. Between the leftover adrenaline and the fading beer buzz I was developing a headache. If I lay down now I might make myself conk out before it really kicked in. One last look outside, though. Terrin hadn't locked the window. He was way too trusting at times.

The street was empty. I had a bad feeling it was only temporary.

Morning came too soon. It always does. I almost wish it would tiptoe up, sweet and soft, and give me a gentle little warning of approach, but I'd have only beat it to a pulp.

This world didn't seem to have coffee, but Greta recognized the signs of sore need as I made my waygingerly to one of the common room tables. She brought a cup and poured in some kind of herbal tea alternative. Not the same as a triple espresso, but it was sweet and hot and helped restore me to life.

"No beer for you tonight," she said with a smile. "Perhaps some soft cider instead?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. Bet I need the vitamin C, anyway."

She smiled again; the language spell seemed to be translating my nonsense perfectly. I sometimes wondered how it was at translating the Beatles' songs, if those still rhymed or not. No matter, they were usually a big hit. If the crowd was up to it I might attempt a version of "Hey, Jude." It worked best with accompaniment, but sometimes I could get people to join in on the chorus part, clapping hands.

Audience partic.i.p.ation is a must in the business.

"Have you seen Terrin?" I asked. He'd left his blanket on the floor. I'd caught my feet in it when I first staggered awake.

"Went out early. Didn't say when he'd be back."

He wouldn't.

"He didn't eat anything, either," Greta added. "He could use some fattening. Looks poorly, he does."

Terrin was short and his build on the spare side, a swimmer's bod. When we hit medieval-type worlds the well-fed locals took it as a sign of ill-health. He wasn't much for food unless he was doing supernatural stuff, then he sucked the chow down like a starving bear, so I was puzzled. He'd done a load of magic lately and should have been stuffing his face.

Revived by the hot tea, I charmed a sweet roll of some kind from Greta, then went out to explore a little before lunchtime when I'd have to be back for my act.

The inn's front door was wide open to a bright, sunny lane full of people. Not one sign of that black-fog river. I went around the building to check the window. The shutter was locked fast as I'd left it and seemed none the worse for last night's a.s.sault. No three-toed gouges, dents, leftover ectoplasm, or related supernatural junk had been left behind. I was almost disappointed, as any of that would have proved I wasn't a nutcase. Terrin believed me, at least. I think. I'd have to find him, and see what his astral trip turned up. Time to hit the streets.

My face is my fortune. Its impact on Rumpock's population was wonderfully flattering.

Those who had seen yesterday's show called and waved to me, telling their friends about the singing cat-guy at Clem's. I'd amble over and talk, asking questions of my own, making more jokes, gathering up a parade of kids as I went. Of course I'd have to stop and say h.e.l.lo to each of them as well. They were great, all wanting touch my fur and rub me behind the ears. I never got tired of it.

I love kids. Sometimes they had cute big sisters or single mommies.

After asking around I got directions to an apothecary, the usual place to go to pick up a trail that might lead to a Talent. I didn't have much interest in the magical arts, but did want to eventually get home again.

Terrin and I always made the rounds hoping to find someone with a line on astral maps.

Those are really hard to come by. Our bad luck. The way things work for Terrin is that he ha.s.some control over his travel spell. He can bounce us to physically compatible worlds, keeping clear of spots with poisonous air or all-ocean planets. Except for one place where everyone had these weird b.u.mps all over their foreheads, the people looked like people, dogs looked like dogs, and cats looked like me.

What Terrin had no control over was direction. He'd explained the ins and outs of astral jumps or whatever it was we did, but tech stuff, even the magical kind, never stays in my head very long. I'm more of an artsy-fartsy kind of guy. Sing a song to me and I can remember it. Abstract concepts-and magic is full of those-usually put me into a state of "Hah? Whazzat?"

So we'd blip out of one place and pop into another, all of it fairly random. Terrin said we were more or less heading in the right direction for home. He'd also explained how he knew that, but I'd forget and ask him again. After the third or fourth time he'd only say "It's magic, okay?" to get me to lose interest. I had the idea our journey was like Columbus being more or less headed in the right direction for China. If all these other worlds weren't in the way we'd get there. A map would be a big help, the astral kind, which I took to mean it wouldn't be printed out on parchment like some medieval Mapsco.

Terrin said that once we had a map, he could figure how far we had to go and plot our jumps accordingly. It might take awhile since it was usually weeks before the quartz crystals charged back up again. Magical energy levels fluctuated from stop to stop.

Now if we really wanted a shortcut out, a fast exit before the crystals were ready, then gems were the medium to use. Precious gems. They carried a powerful charge naturally, and the bigger and more flawless the stone the farther we could go. But they vanished after the spell took effect. Terrin said they were completely consumed by the energy conversion, whatever that meant. Traveling first cla.s.s is expensive. Quartz was more mundane, but had staying power.

The other problem with gems was coming by them. They're universally hard to find. Expensive.

A couple of times on worlds where magic was a cool thing Terrin would hire out as a wizard to some rich person. He'd take diamonds in payment, then off we'd go. The problem was finding a rich person willing to pay for services rendered. If they were rich enough to afford magic, then they usually had a Talent on call. I'd suggested to Terrin he stand on a corner and hold a sign: "Will Cast Spells for Gems."

His reply was creatively obscene.

He's a heck of a wizard, but doesn't know a d.a.m.n thing about carving a niche in a compet.i.tive market.

That, or he trusts in the Multiverse a lot more than I do to provide for us. I'd long ascertained the big M to be unfair, mostly crazed, and possessing of a very warped sense of humor.

It sure explainsmy existence.