Read Chorus Skating for Free Online

mate.” Mudge pointed. “Wot’s that?”
    â€œThat’s right—you haven’t been here in a while, have you? It’s a concept from my own world. I described it to Clothahump and I guess he was kind of taken with the notion. It’s called a doorbell. More efficient than knocking. I wasn’t sure he could make one function here.” He jabbed the white button with a forefinger.
    From deep within the tree a choir of trumpets blared sonorously, ringing out an impressive fanfare. Simultaneously, a septet of exquisite birds-of-paradise materialized to proclaim a greeting in what sounded to Jon-Tom’s ears vaguely like avian Latin. As the resounding trumpets faded, the seven birds vanished, to be replaced by a pair of black bantam-sized storm clouds flanking the portal. Thunder pealed across the cobblestones as miniature lightning bolts struck and illuminated the nameplate fastened to the middle of the door.
    The declaratory nimbuses mellowed and turned white, whereupon a petite rainbow no wider than Jon-Tom’s waist arced from one puffy cloud to the other, forming a perfect fulgent archway over the door. As the last trumpet echoed from an unseen distance, the minuscule rainbow and tiny clouds shattered like soft glass, dusting the two visitors with a shower of pure color that adhered only to their memories.
    â€œIn retrospect,” Jon-Tom murmured as the door swung inward to admit them, “I probably shouldn’t have challenged him. I think he may have gone and overdone it a little.”
    A stocky figure clad in cloak and simple vestments stood just inside the entrance, gazing back at them. Jon-Tom sighed. Clothahump was not the easiest wizard to work for. The turtle went through famuli as fast as a pneumonic elephant went through nose drops.
    The sloth before them blinked slow eyes and spoke carefully. “I am Ghorpul, Clothahump’s famulus. I—”
    â€œYou don’t have to go through the formalities, Ghorpul. I know who you are.” Jon-Tom indicated his companion, who was eyeing the new assistant curiously. “This is my friend Mudge.”
    â€œGhorpul,” Mudge barked. “What kind of a name is Ghorpul ?”
    The sloth was slow, but not dense. “That’s pretty funny, coming from someone named Mudge.” He turned sideways in the hall and beckoned. “Enter, Master Jon-Tom. And,” he added disapprovingly, “friend.”
    Clothahump was not to be found in any of his several studies, nor in the great library. When finally he arrived in the audience chamber, it was clear he had been napping.
    â€œJon-Tom, what are you doing here today?” He yawned, his beak stretching wide.
    â€œWhy not today, Master?”
    â€œIt’s Crixxas.”
    â€œWho’s ass?” quipped Mudge.
    The wizard peered over his glasses at Jon-Tom’s companion. “Ah, the otter,” he murmured, as if that explained everything. Which it did. He returned his attention to the tall human.
    â€œCrixxas is one of the more important wizardly holidays. A time for meditation on the great mysteries, for scrutiny of the Higher Plenum, for consideration of matters of time and space most profound. For unsullied cogitation and noble reflection.” He gestured with a thick-fingered hand.
    â€œYet I see that you abjure all that in favor of traveling attire, on a morning when all responsible sorcerers and wizards and spellsingers should be devoting themselves to hermetic contemplation.”
    â€œMy apologies, Master. I guess I didn’t look at my calendar. I’ve been kind of preoccupied lately.”
    â€œSo I’ve noticed.” The turtle looked resigned. “Well, no matter. You are here. Sit and unburden yourselves.” He glanced over at the sloth. “Ghorpul, go back to your cleaning.”
    â€œYes, Master.” The sloth shuffled off into the hallway.
    Clothahump plumped himself down into a deeply