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flower bed over there. Sure enough, when he walked over and parted the
blossoms a pair of angry brown eyes glared back at him, blinking sleepily.
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Gone deaf, too. I said I were tryin to catch up on me sleep,
mate. Do I boot you out o bed when you re sleepin late?
Jon-Tom took a deep breath as he stepped back. I think you d
better take a good look at yourself, Mudge.
Cor, wot is it this time? The flower bed sat up slowly. No fur?
Too much fur? He glanced downward and his voice became an outraged squeak.
Oh me god, now wot s appened to me?
What had happened was as obvious as it was unprecedented. During
the night Mudge s fur had returned to its normal length and consistency but
with one notable exception. The slight thickening they had noticed at the tip
of each bristle had blossomed into well, into blossoms. Each bristle was
tipped with a brightly hued flower. Other than being a bit thicker and tougher
than most, the petals appeared perfectly flower-like.
Weegee found more than a dozen different types. Daisies,
bluebells, yellowlips, murcockles, redbells, twoclovers why Mudge, you re
beautiful. And you smell nice, too.
I don t want to be beautiful! I don t want to smell nice! The
apoplectic otter was dancing in an angry circle and waving his arms at the
injustice of it all. Petals flew off him as he flailed at the air. He looked
like a piece of a Rose Parade float making a break for freedom. Eventually he
ran out of steam and settled down in a disconsolate lump a very pretty lump,
Jon-Tom mused.
Woe is me. Wot s to become o poor Mudge?
Take it easy. Jon-Tom put an arm around a flowered shoulder. A
happy bee buzzed busily atop one ear. I m sure this conditon will pass
quickly just like all the others. And to think you re always calling me a
blooming idiot.
Mudge let out a shriek and charged his friend, but Jon-Tom had
anticipated the attack and dodged out of the way. Normally Mudge would have
run him down, but he was so encumbered by his floral fur that Jon-Tom was able
to elude him.
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Vicious, he mumbled. Vicious an evil an sarcastic, you
grinnin ape. He looked down at himself, spreading his arms. Positively
umiliatin .
Look at it this way, Jon-Tom told him from a safe distance, if
we have to hide from any pursuers you re already perfectly camouflaged.
Jokes. Ere I m sufferin terrible an me best friend as to make
jokes.
Jon-Tom put his chin in hand and studied the otter with
exaggerated seriousness. I don t know whether we should have you mowed or
fertilized.
Even Weegee was not immune. Don t worry, dearest. I ll make sure
to water you twice a week.
Mudge sat down on flowery hindquarters. I ate the both o you.
Individually an with malice aforethought. Also afterthought.
Now Mudgey.... Weegee moved to caress him but he pulled away.
Don t you touch me. He didn t retreat a second time, however.
She began plucking petals from one of his blooms. He loves me, he
loves me not.
By the time she d finished plucking him there wasn t a petal left
on his back. Nor did the flowers rebloom. The bristles that moments earlier
had doubled as stems stayed bare.
See, Mudge? Under the flowers your fur is normal. Together they
began removing the rest of the blossoms.
There was a lot of hair and a lot of petals and plucking kept them
busy the rest of the way to Strelakat Mews. By the time they were approaching
the outskirts of the town Mudge looked and felt like his old self again. The
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mysterious (if colorful) disease had run its course. A good thing, too, since
Mudge and Weegee were worn out from three days of continuous plucking.
There was no road sign, no warning. They didn t so much march into
Strelakat Mews as stumble into it.
Jon-Tom had been too preoccupied with other matters to envision
the town in his mind, so he wasn t prepared for the enchanting reality.
Neither were his companions. It cast an immediate spell over all of them. All
the dangers and travails of the long journey were behind now. They could
relax, take it easy, and let themselves succumb to the charm of this unique
community carved out of the middle of the Mews.
At the edge of the town the jungle had been pruned rather than
merely cleared away. Those trees and bushes which put forth large flowers had
been left intact to lend their color and fragrance to the periphery. No one
pointed this out to Mudge as he was still somewhat sensitive where the matter
of blossoms was concerned. Any mention of flowers tended to tilt him to the
homicidal.
A single cobblestone street wound its way through town, its very
existence as astonishing as the precision with which the stones had been set.
Jon-Tom could only try to imagine where the townsfolk had quarried perfect
cobblestones in the middle of the jungle.
The first shop they passed was a bakery, from which such wonderful
smells issued that even the grumpy Mudge began to salivate. As was true of
every establishment they passed, the exterior reflected the inhabitant s
occupation. The roofing shingles resembled slabs of chocolate. Surely the
window panes were fashioned of spun sugar, the doors and paneling of
gingerbead, and the lintels of strudel. Ropes of red licorice bound candy logs
together. Yet all was illusion, as Mudge discovered when he tried to steal a
quick lick of spongecake fence only to discover it was made of wood and not
flour.
A master sculptor s residence was hewn from white marble which had
been buffed to such a high polish not even a solitary raindrop could cling to
it. Woodworkers homes were miracles of elaborate carving, baroque with
curlicues and reliefs. Seamless joints were covered with fruitwood veneers.
Such work was normally reserved for the fashioning of fine furniture.
A painter s house was a landscape of mountains and clouds set down
amidst green jungle. A rainbow seemed to move across the face of the building.
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