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civilization is trip on down to the local dump and fill me up a little leather
bag with the first interestin' crap I stumble over. Then I can go around
predictin' the future. The only thing wot puzzles me is 'ow I never thought of
it before."
"Mudge, this isn't a scam. This is for real."
"Scam, reality, wot's the difference? The whole universe is a scam,
perpetrated by some supreme deity, maybe. 'Tis one's perception of it that
matters. Anyway, if a lot o' soft-'eaded twits take me for a rune-caster, who
am I to dispute their opinions? I'd 'urt their feelin's by confessing, I
would. Folks don't care whether a prediction of the future is accurate or not.
They just want someone to tell 'em wot to do so they won't 'ave to think.
Besides, I'll only make predictions about wot I'm expert at: sex an' money."
"Sex and money, sex and money. What are you going to think about
when you reach a ripe old age, Mudge? Assuming you ever do reach a ripe old
age, about which achievement I have serious doubts."
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The otter solemnly raised one paw. "I'll change me ways then, mate.
Despite wot you might think, I've given that day plenty o' thought. You'll
see. When I'm bent over an' white-whiskered, with a streak o' silver down me
back, it'll be different. I'll spend all me time thinkin' about money an'
sex."
"I don't know why, but that confession doesn't surprise me." He
motioned for the otter to be quiet. Colin had finished talking to Clothahump.
Now it was the koala's turn to raise a commanding paw.
"Silence, please."
"Cheeky bugger, I'll give 'im that," Mudge whispered. Jon-Tom made
shushing motions.
Colin had closed his eyes and was mumbling something under his
breath. Abruptly a breeze sprang up where there had been no breeze. It
whistled in from the east, swirling around them, ruffling Dormas's mane and
Jon-Tom's long hair. The wind changed direction repeatedly, as though confused
and nervous, a zephyr that had lost its way.
Still murmuring in a guttural singsong, Colin leaned forward to pick
up the unimpressive fragments of stone and leather and wood in both paws.
Jon-Tom noticed his impressive claws. Keeping the runes cupped in his hands,
the koala continued his indecipherable chant. Clothahump was looking on and
nodding slowly, though whether he recognized some of what the koala was saying
or was merely offering him encouragement, Jon-Tom could not say.
No glowing points of light, no gneechees appeared. This was a
different kind of magic, ancient and simple, as alien to Jon-Tom as Republican
economic policy. Going by Colin's own description, it was as much luck as
magic,
The fur rose on the back of the koala's head. The fringe lining
those oversize ears seemed to quiver as if with an electric charge. Colin
concluded his incantation. Then he simply held his paws out over the leather
square and opened them. There was no skill involved that Jon-Tom could see.
The koala simply opened his paws and let the double handful drop.
The stones and bones bounced a couple of times before coming to rest
on the leather, which Jon-Tom could now see was crisscrossed with a network of
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fine lines that had been etched into the fabric by some kind of needle-tipped
awl or knife.
Colin inhaled deeply, opened his eyes, and leaned forward to
scrutinize the results of his casting. He did not take his eyes from the
runes, did not even blink. Such concentration was frightening. Though he tried
not to show it, it was evident that even Mudge was impressed.
Colin took another deep breath, then several short ones. Sitting
back on his haunches, he put both paws on his leather-covered knees.
"What're you trying to find out?" Dormas finally asked him.
"I wasn't casting for anything particular. Many times the throw is
uninformative. Other times it results in a pattern you can't trust. I hope
that's the case with this one."
"Why?" Jon-Tom was suddenly concerned. "What does it say?"
There was a genuine sadness in the koala's eyes. They shifted from
Jon-Tom to the otter standing next to him. "My good friend Mudge, if this
pattern is accurate, you have less than thirty seconds to live."
IX
There was dead silence from the little cluster of onlookers. Mudge
could only gape at the stranger in their midst. How did one react to a
pronouncement like that? Finally the otter tried to smile. He worked at it as
hard as he could, but for once that ready grin failed to materialize.
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"You're tryin' to scare me, you sorry sod. You're tryin' to scare
all of us so we won't find you out for the rhummy-mugger you are. Well, you
can't fool me. I don't believe in your bag o' bones for a minute, I don't." He
spat at the ground, barely missing the leather and its mute contents. Looking
around warily, he began backing away from the silent, sorrowful Colin.
"I wish it might've beertOtherwise," the koala apologized. "There's
no predicting what the runes will say."
"Say? That pile o' shit can't say boo. 'Tis a lot o' garbage,
Jon-Tom." Jon-Tom was staring wordlessly at his friend. "Wot 'e says as well
as wot 'e's tossin' around. Just garbage. Tell me 'tis garbage, Your
Wizardship."
Clothahump watched the retreating otter with a maddeningly clinical
eye, then spoke to the caster. "By what means?"
Colin looked back at the motionless runes. "Doesn't say, old one."
" 'Tis garbage, it is!" The otter's voice rose uncontrollably.
"Garbage and a bloody lie!" He was glancing around nervously, as though he
expected to be attacked at any moment. "Fakery and trickery, I ought to know.
The fat bear's a con artist. There's more snow in 'is spiel than crowns those
mountains up ahead. Oh, you're slick, you* bloated fuzzball" -he sneered at
Colin-"real slick. But you can't fool old Mudge. No one can predict the
future. No one! And if anyone could, they wouldn't do it by dumpin' a pawful
o' junk on the ground an' starin' at it while belching!" He rapped his fist
against his chest.
"I'm as 'ealthy as ever me was, surrounded by me good friends, an'
there's nothin' in the world I'm afraid of, nothin' that can touch me, nothin'
that can-"
He was interrupted by a loud cracking sound. Jon-Tom jumped
involuntarily while Dormas backed up fast. Clothahump and Colin did not move.
Only Sorbl's marvelous eyes and reflexes, even though slightly numbed by his
daily intake of alcohol, enabled him to react fast enough to shout a warning.
He gestured with a wing and yelled, "Look out!"
Mudge whirled, eyes wide. Very few creatures can move as fast as an
otter. Even so, he wasn't fast enough.
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