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some of her former arrogance. "We also find it helpful now and then to bathe
in the blood of a virgin."
Folly digested this and collapsed, rolling about on the ground while laughing
hysterically. Grelgen saw the tears pouring down the helpless girl's cheeks,
grunted, and looked back over a shoulder. Jon-Tom followed her gaze.
On the far side of fairy town a bunch of muscular, overweight enchanted folk
were sliding an oversized wooden bowl down a slope. At the sound of Grelgen's
voice they halted.
"Right! Cancel the bathing ceremony!"
Cursing under their breath, the disappointed bowl mov-
ers reversed their efforts and began pushing their burden back into the
bushes.
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Alan Dean Foster
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THE DAY OF TBE DISSONANCE
195
"So you think it's funny, do you? Right then, you're first on the fire instead
of the water rat."
That put a clamp on Folly's laughter.
"Why her?" Jon-Tom demanded to know.
"Why not her? For one thing she's already depelted."
"Oh, no you don't." Folly braced herself against the bare granite wall, as far
from Grelgen as she could get.
"You just try and touch me! I'll squash you like a bug."
Grelgen looked disgusted, waved her wand almost indifferently, and whispered
something under her breath.
Folly leaped away from the wall, clutching her backside.
The stone had become red-hot.
"Might as well resign yourself to it, girl," said Grelgen.
"You're on this morning's menu and that's all there is to it. If there's
anything that gets my gall it's an uncooperative breakfast."
"Please," Jon-Tom pleaded with her, dropping to his
knees to be nearer eye level with their tormentor. "We mean you no harm. We
only came into your lands to ask you for some information."
"Sorry. Like I said, we've got the craving, and when it comes upon us we've
got to have meat."
"But why us?" Mudge asked her. "These woods must be full o' lizards and snakes
enough to supply your 'ole village."
"Food doesn't wander into our custody," she snapped at him. "We don't like
hunting. And the forest creatures don't stage unprovoked assaults on our
person."
"Blimey," Mudge muttered. "'Ow can such small
'eads be so bloomin' dense? I told you that were an accident!"
Grelgen stared silently at him as she tapped one tiny glass slipper with her
wand. Jon-Tom absently noted that the slipper was three sizes too small for
her not-so-tiny foot.
"Don't give me any trouble. I'm in a disagreeable mood as it is." She whistled
up a group of helpers and they started through one archway toward Folly. Her
initial defiance burned out of her, she hid behind Roseroar.
Jon-Tom knew that wouldn't save her.
"Look," he said desperately, trying to stall for time as he swung the duar
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into playing position and tried to think of something to sing, "you said that
meat isn't usually what you eat, that you only have this craving for it
occasionally?"
"What about it?" Grelgen snapped impatiently.
"What do you eat normally? Besides what you told me earlier."
"Milk and honey, nectar and ambrosia, pollen and sugar sap. What else would
fairy folk eat?"
"So that's it. I had a hunch." A surge of hope rushed through him.
"What's it?" she asked, frowning at him.
He sat down and crossed his legs, set the duar aside. "I
don't suppose there are any professional dieticians in the village?''
"Any what?"
"No, of course not. See, all your problems are diet-
related. It not only explains your unnatural craving for protein, it also
explains your, uh, unusually rotound fig-
ures. Milk's okay, but the rest of that stuff is nothing but pure sugar. I
mean, I can't even imagine how many calories there are in a daily dose of
ambrosia. You proba-
bly use a lot of glucose when you're flying, but when you stop flying, well,
the problem only compounds itself."
One of the Elder fairies waiting impatiently behind
Grelgen now stepped forward. "What is this human raving about?"
Grelgen pushed him back. "It doesn't matter." She turned back to Jon-Tom.
"What you say makes no sense, and it wouldn't matter if it did, because we
still have our craving." She started to aim her wand at the trembling
Folly. "No use in trying to hide, girl. Step out here where
I can see you."
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THE DAY OF TOR DISSONANCE
197
Jon-Tom leaned sideways to block her aim. "Wait!
You've got to listen to me. Don't you see? If you'd only change your eating
habits you'd lose this craving for protein."
"We're not interested in changing our eating habits,"
said another of the Elders. "We like nectar and honey and ambrosia."
"All right, all right!" Jon-Tom said frantically. "Then there's only one way
out. The only other way to reduce your craving for protein is for you to start
burning off all these extra ounces you've been accumulating. You've got to
break the cycle." He picked up the duar.
"At least give me a chance to help you. Maybe I can't do it with spellsinging,
but there are all kinds of magic."
"Consider carefully, man," Grelgen warned him. "Don't you think we're aware
that we have a little problem? Don't you think we've tried to use our own
magic to solve it?"
"But none of you is a spellsinger."
"No. That's not our kind of magic. But we've tried everything. We're stuck
with what we are. Your spellsinging can't help us. Nothing can help us. We've
experimented with every type of magic known to the enchanted folk, as well as
that employed by the magic-workers of the greater world. We're trapped by our
own metabolisms." She
rolled up her sleeves. "Now let's get on with this without any more
bullshitting, okay?" She raised the wand again.
"Just one chance, just give me one chance!" he pleaded.
She swung the wand around to point it at him, and he flinched. "I'm warning
you, buster, if this is some sort of trick, you'll cook before her."
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"There's one kind of magic I don't think you've tried."
She made a rude noise. "Worm dung! We've tried it all."
"Even aerobics?"
Grelgen opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned to conference with the
Elders. Jon-Tom waited nervously.
Finally she stuck her head out of the pile and inquired almost reluctantly,
"What strange sort of magic is this?"
Jon-Tom took a deep breath and rose. Putting aside the duar, he began
stripping to the waist.
Roseroar came over to whisper in his ear. "Suh, are yo preparin' some trick ah
should know about? Should ah be ready with mah swords?"
"No, Roseroar. No tricks."
She shrugged and moved away, shaking her head.
Jon-Tom started windmilling his arms, loosening up.
Grelgen immediately retreated several steps and raised the wand threateningly.
"All you need is to learn this magic," he said brightly. "A regular program of
aerobics.
Not only will it reduce your unnatural craving for protein, it should bring
back your old aerodynamic figures."
"What does that mean?" asked one of the younger fairies.
"It means we'll be able to fly again, stupid," replied one of the Elders as he
jabbed the questioner in the ribs.
"Fly again." The refrain was taken up by the rest of the crowd.
"It's a trick!" snapped Grelgen, but the weight of opinion (so to speak) was
against her.
"All right." She tucked her wand under one arm and glared up at Jon-Tom. "You
get your chance, man. If this is a trick to buy time, it better be good,
because it's going to be your last one."
"It's no trick," Jon-Tom assured her, feeling the sweat starting to trickle
from beneath his arms. And he hadn't even begun yet.
"Look, I'm no Richard Simmons, but I can see we need to start with the
basics." He was aware he had the undivided attention of several hundred sets
of eyes. He took a deep breath, thankful for the morning runs which kept him
in decent condition. "We're going to start with some deep knee-bends. Hands on
hips... watch those
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Tarn DAY or THE DISSONANCE
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