Foster, Alan Dean - Spellsinger 06 by Foster Alan Dean

Author:Foster, Alan Dean
Language: eng
Format: epub

“Mudge—Mudge, you okay?”

“Okay? Okay ? Okay ain’t the word mate. Weegee m’luv, have yourself a sniff, but just a bitty one.”

Curious, she did exactly that and let out a whoop as she jumped halfway to the roof.

“Hey, what is that stuff? Take it easy, you two. We don’t want to let our friends up front know what we’re doing back here.” He had to forcibly keep Mudge away from the open suitcase.

“What is it? I’ll tell you wot it is, mate. That there is pure stinger sweat, that’s wot it be. More than I’ve ever seen in one place. More than ever were in one place. It explains a lot to me. I expect ‘tis worth as much in your world as in mine.”

“Stinger sweat?” Jon-Tom frowned, thought hard. He didn’t have to think too hard.

Shotguns. Business in Chicago. Stop to pick up some luggage. Clear bags of funny smelling stuff.

“What color’s the powder, Mudge?”

“Why, ‘tis white, mate. Wot other color would it be?”

“Christ.” Jon-Tom sat down in a conveniently close-by chair. It bounced and rocked as the truck fought its way down the dirt road but his mind was on something other than the smoothness of the ride. “It sure does explain things. This whole deal: the van, the furniture, it’s just cover. Those two guys are coke runners. Two suitcases full of cocaine. Jesus.” He got out of the chair and against Mudge’s protests shut the suitcase. They they checked its mate. It was just as full. He lifted first one, then the other.

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Allowing for the weight of the suitcases, he estimated that between them they contained between eighty and a hundred pounds of pure uncut “stinger sweat.”

“I need you thinking straight, Mudge. That stuff will mess up your head.”

“I know, mate, but wot a delightful mess.”

“Jon-Tom’s right,” Weegee admonished him. “Besides, you told me you were going to stay away from thosesuch temptations.”

“Aye, luv, but blimey, a whole case full!”

“Keep an eye on him,” Jon-Tom instructed her. “Mudge has a good heart, but where temptations are concerned he’s weak.”

“Weak? Like ‘ell I’m weak. I can resist anythin’ if I put me mind to it.”

“It’s your nose I’m worried about you putting to it.” He tapped the suitcase. “If I left you alone with this for five minutes you’d snort your brains out. Everyone needs to be sharp if we’re going to get out of this.”

“And ‘ow might we be goin’ to get out o’ this, your magicship?”

“I want to go home,” said Cautious suddenly. “Back to sane world.”

“So do I. I mean, I want to help the rest of you get home.” What did he want, he asked himself abruptly? Did he even know?

“Hey, I can hear what they two fellas saying up front.” Cautious was leaning against the front wall of the truck.

“Impossible,” Jon-Tom said. Then it occurred to him he was arguing with a raccoon, a creature who could hear a beetle crossing a dead leaf thirty feet away in the middle of a forest.

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