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"We have reason to believe that an acquaintance of ours was recently " he
searched for the right word, "enrolled
at the orphanage."
"You mean you don't know for certain?"
"No. It would have been within the last day."
"I see. Visiting hours are at nightfall only." Again the attempt to close the
door, again Jon-Tom rushed to fore-
stall her.
"Please, ma'am. We have to depart on a long difficult journey tomorrow. I just
want a moment to assure myself that your institution is as admirable on the
inside as it is from without."
"Well," she murmured uncertainly, "wait here. The
Headmaster is at his late-eve devotions. I will ask if he can see you."
"Thanks."
The wait that ensued was long, and after a while he was afraid they'd been
given a polite brushoff. He was about to use the bell-pull a second time when
she reappeared trailing an elderly man.
As always, Jon-Tom was surprised to see another human in a position of
authority, since they didn't seem to be among the more prolific groups here.
In Clothahump's
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
155
world mankind was just one of dozens of intelligent species.
The man was only a few inches shorter than Jon-Tom, which made him unusually
tall for a local. With the exception of a radically different cut, his attire
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was identi-
cal with that of the much smaller squirrel: all black with lace cuffs and the
same golden medallion. He held his hands clasped in front of his chest. His
gray hair was combed neatly back at sides and forehead. A gray goatee
protruded from his chin, and he wore thin wire glasses with narrow lenses. To
Jon-Tom he resembled a cross between Colonel Sanders and a contrabassoon.
His smile and words both spoke of kindly concern, however. "Greetings.
Welcome, strangers, to Friends of the Street." He gestured toward the
squirrel. "Ishula tells me you have a friend among our flock?"
"We think so. Her name's Folly."
The Headmaster frowned. "Folly. I don't know that we have anyone staying with
us by that... oh, yes! The young
woman who was brought in the previous evening. She told us her terrible tale
of being captured by pirates on the high seas. You are the ones she described
as her rescuers, are you not?"
"That's right."
"To think that such awfulness is abroad in the world."
The Headmaster shook his head regretfully. "The poor girl has endured more
than any intelligent creature should suffer."
Jon-Tom had to admit that so far all of his concerns and fears looked
unjustified. Still, he couldn't leave satisfied without at least a fast look
at the facilities.
"I know it's late, and it's cold out here. We have to leave on a long trip
tomorrow, as I told your assistant.
Could we come in for a moment and have a look around?
We just want to make sure that Folly's going to be well looked after. We place
no claim on her and I'm sure she'll be much better off here than with us."
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Alan Dean Foster
"Why, certainly, do come in," said the Headmaster.
"My name is Chokas, by the way. Ishula, the gate."
The squirrel unlocked the iron grille as Jon-Tom made his own introductions.
"Delighted, ah am sure," said Roseroar as she ducked through the opening.
They found themselves in a long white hallway. Chokas led them down the tiled
corridor, chatting effusively and not at all upset by their presence or the
lateness of the hour. The squirrel trailed behind, occasionally pausing to
dust a bench or vase with her tail.
Jon-Tom made polite responses to the Headmaster's conversation, but he was
only paying partial attention. The rest of him searched for indications of
subterfuge or concealed maleficence. He was not rewarded.
The corridor and the rooms branching off it were spot-
less. Decorative plants occupied eaves and niches or hung in planters from the
beamed ceiling. There were skylights to admit the warmth of day. Without being
asked, Chokas volunteered a further tour of the Friends of the Street.
Beginning to relax, Jon-Tom accepted.
Padded benches paralleled clean tables in the dining room, and the kitchen was
as shiny as the hallway.
"We pride ourselves on our hygiene here," the Head-
master informed him.
The larder was filled to overflowing with foodstuffs of every kind, suitable
for sustaining the energetic offspring of many races. Beyond, the reason for
the interlocking architecture became apparent. It circled to enclose a broad
courtyard. Play areas were marked out beneath several bubbling fountains, and
tall trees shaded the grounds.
Roseroar bent to whisper to him. "Come, haven't y'all seen enough? The girl
will be well cared fo heah."
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"I have to admit it's not the kind of place I expected,"
he confessed. "Hell, I'd be half-tempted to move in myself." He raised his
voice as he spoke to the Headmas-
ter. "Terrific-looking place you run here, Chokas."
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
157
The man nodded his thanks. "We are privileged to serve as guardians and
protectors of the homeless and those who have lost their way at a tender age.
We take our responsi-
bilities seriously."
"What sort o' schooling do they get?" Roseroar asked.
"Histories, geographies, mathematics, training in the social verities,
domestic subjects such as cooking and sewing. Physical education. Instruction
in discipline and courtesy. A well-rounded curriculum, we believe."
"I've seen enough." Jon-Tom glanced toward the second-
floor dormitories. "So long, Folly. It was interesting know-
ing you. Have a full and happy life and maybe we'll meet again someday." He
turned back toward the entry hall.
"Thanks again for the tour, Chokas."
"My pleasure. Please come visit us anytime, sir. The
Friends of the Street encourages visitation."
The front door closed quietly behind them, leaving the trio standing on the
cobblestone avenue outside. Roseroar started down the hill.
"That's done. Now we can get down to mo important business."
"I admit she's better off here than with us," Jon-Tom said. "Certainly it's a
more stable environment than any alternative we could come up with."
"Hang on a minim, you two." Jon-Tom and Roseroar turned, to see Mudge
inspecting the entrance.
"What's the matter, Mudge?" Come to think of it, Jon-Tom hadn't heard a single
comment from the otter during the tour. "I'd think that you, of any of us,
would be anxious to get back to the inn."
"That I am, mate."
"Come on, then, ottah," said Roseroar impatiently.
"Don't tell me you miss the cub? You liked her no mo than did ah."
"True enough, mistress of massive hindquarters. I thought
'er obstinate, ignorant, and nothin' but trouble, for all that she went
through. Life's tough and I ain't me sister's
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Alan Dean Poster
THE DAY OF THE
159
keeper. But I wouldn't leave a slick, slimy salamander who'd ooze all over me
in a place like this."
"You saw something, Mudge?" Jon-Tom moved to stand next to him. "I thought it
was neat, clean, and well-equipped."
"Bullocks," snapped the otter. "We saw what they wanted us to see, nothin'
more. That Chokas chap's as slick as greased owl shit and I'd trust 'im about
as far as I
can piss." He turned to face them both. "I don't suppose either o' you
sharp-eyed suckers 'appened to note that there are no windows on the first
floor anywheres facin' the streets?"
Jon-Tom looked left, then right, and saw that the otter was correct. "So? I'm
sure they have their reasons."
"I'll bet they do. Notice also that all the second-story windows are barred?"
"More decorative wrought iron," murmured Jon-Tom, his eyes roving over the
upper floors.
"Decorative is it, mate?"
"This is a rough city," said Roseroar. "Orphans are vulnerable. Perhaps the
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bans are to keep thieves from breakin1 in and stealing youngsters to sell into
slavery."
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