Chorus Skating by Alan Dean Foster

been blessed
    Even though it’s built of something less
    Than stones.”
    From the start, Mudge kept his paws over his ears. The lost chords swirled about madly, like an overstressed typhoon. Tack winced, and even Phembloch looked as though he were wondering if his request had been a good idea.
    A lustrous radiance cast shadows on the ratal’s powerfully muzzled face. With a look of awe and then delight, he turned to watch the spellsong at work. So did Tack, though the shrew had to half close his more sensitive eyes in order to be able to look directly at the glow. Jon-Tom warbled on, pleased with his efforts, while Mudge hunted desperately for some thick moss with which to plug his ears.
    So it was that when they finally took their leave of the two inherently inefficient, would-be con artists, they left behind them a gate that was rather more impressive than the pole and pivot arrangement they had originally encountered.
    Arching over the narrow causeway of comparatively dry land, it plunged into the depths of the swamp on either side. The soaring, curved marble seemed to blaze from within. Leaves of gold fringed the multiple arches, which boasted mosaics fashioned from semiprecious stones. Red, blue, and yellow searchlights transfixed the air above the gate, in the center of which ten thousand twinkling glowbulbs spelled out the words REST STOP . Animated cherubs darted back and forth beneath the arch, beckoning visitors to ease their burden by pausing awhile. Flanking this were a pair of prominent, cone-crowned turrets. Over each hung a captive dark cloud from which flashed bolts of blue lightning.
    The pole and pivot had been replaced with a translucent rail composed of strands of neon tubing. This burned so bright it was difficult to look at directly. The glow from the entire outrageous construct would be visible for miles in every direction, even at high noon.
    Tack shaded his eyes as Jon-Tom concluded the spellsong. “Well, now. A gate that is.”
    â€œWe are indebted for this wonder,” added Phembloch. “Accept our deepest thanks.”
    â€œOi, it ’tis incredibly vulgar, ain’t it?” Mudge felt a certain pride in his friend’s efforts as he eyed the flamboyant garishness.
    Jon-Tom was less certain. “Maybe I overdid it a little.”
    â€œWot, you, overdo a spell?” The otter was the very picture of mock outrage. “Not a chance, mate. Just to reassure you, you should know that it suits me taste perfectly.”
    â€œThat bad, huh?”
    â€œBetter you turn back the way you’ve come.” Phembloch couldn’t resist offering one final bit of advice as the two travelers prepared to be on their way again.
    Mudge glanced back over a shoulder. “Blimey, guv: If we tended to turn back the way we’ve come, we’d never ’ave gotten nowhere except where we’d already been.” Ratal and shrew were left to mull this impenetrable profundity as man and otter strode off toward the southern horizon.
    â€œTell me truthfully, Mudge,” Jon-Tom asked after they had left the gatekeepers far behind. “It’s not that gaudy, is it?”
    â€œOh, ’tis unbelievably tawdry, mate. You can rest assured on that. A grand job, wholly in keepin’ with your spellsingin’ skills.”
    The glow from the ostentatious gate was still visible off to the north, rising above the treetops. “I tried to keep the lyrics simple. Not that it matters. Eventually the power of the spell will fade. Maybe by that time our erstwhile gatekeepers will have found gainful employment.”
    â€œErstwhile? Wot the ’ell kind o’ word is erstwhile? ”

Chapter 6
    THEY DEBATED JON-TOM’S choice of words while hacking at the vegetation with their swords, for the path through the wetlands soon grew more difficult, and it quickly became an effort to keep to dry land. Phembloch and Tack had not been lying when they’d told