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Bellwoods?"
"I am." He had to risk the falsehood. It was true enough now, anyway.
The parrot blew his nose on the deck, sniffed. "Fortunately for you I am in a
good humor this morning." Jon-Tom decided he did not want to encounter him
when he was in a bad mood. "You two" he indicated Mudge and Jalwar
"can start cleaning out the bilges. That's a job long overdue and one I am
certain you'll find to your liking.
Won't you?'*
Uncertain whether to say yes sir, no sir, or nothing at all, Jalwar stood and
shook in terror. Mudge wasn't up to commenting. Corroboc was apparently
satisfied, because he nodded absently before moving down to stare fearlessly
up at the towering Roseroar.
"As for you, I'd be pleased to make you one of my crew. Tis plain enough to
see you're no stranger to a life of fighting. You'd make a valuable addition."
"Ah'll think it ovah, sun."
Good girl, Jon-Tom thought. There was no point in making the pirate parrot mad
with an outright refusal, though he found himself wishing her reply hadn't
been quite so convincing. Surely she wasn't seriously consider-
ing the offer? But why not? Nothing bound her to Jon-
Tom. In fact, she had reason enough to abandon him.
Hadn't he yanked her unwillingly from her homeland and involved her in dangers
in which she had no interest? If she were forced to throw in with some
stranger, why not this captain as easily as some unsteady, homesick
spellsinger?
Spellsinger! He'd almost forgotten his own abilities. Not a one of this band
of murderers knew of his avocation. He prayed his companions would keep the
secret and not blurt
it out in a thoughtless moment. He was particularly wor-
ried about the elderly Jalwar, but the trader stood petrified and volunteered
nothing.
As if reading his thoughts, the pirate captain turned his
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Alan Dean Poster attention back to him. "And you, tall man. What be you good
for?"
"Well, I can fight, too." Corroboc glanced toward his
First mate.
Sasheem muttered an opinion, reluctantly, "Passing well."
Corroboc grunted and Jon-Tom added, "I am also an entertainer, a troubadour by
trade."
"Huh! Well, 'tis true we could do with a bit o' song on this scow from time to
time." He gave his crew a look of disgust- "I gets tired o' listening to the
drunken prattling o' this uncultured bunch."
Fighting to conceal his anxiety, Jon-Tom went on. "My instrument's on board
our ship, along with the rest of our personal effects."
"Is it, now?" Corroboc was sweating him with that one piercing eye. "I expect
we'll find it in due course. You in a rush to demonstrate your talents?"
"At your leisure, sir." Jon-Tom felt the back of his indigo shirt beginning to
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cling damply to his skin. "It's only that it's a fine instrument. I'd hate to
see one of your refined crew reduce it to kindling in hopes of finding gold or
jewels inside. They wouldn't."
Corroboc snorted. "Rest assured they'll mind their stink-
ing manners." He addressed the leopard. "Take 'em below and lock 'em in the
brig. Let them stew there for a bit."
"These two also?" Sasheem pointed to Jalwar and
Mudge.
"Aye, the bilges will wait. Let them share each other's filth for a while. By
the time I decide to let them out they'll be clamorin' to get to work."
This sophisticated sally brought appreciative laughter from the crew as they
sloughed away to their posts. The pirate ship turned westward with the sloop
trailing obediently behind it.
As they were herded below, Jon-Tom had his first glimpse of the rowers. Most
were naked save for their own
THE DAY OF THJE DISSONANCE
115
fur. They were a cross section of species, from humans to rodents. All
exhibited the last stages of physical and mental degeneration.
That's where we'll all end up, on the rowing benches, he thought tiredly.
Unless we can figure out some way out of this.
At the moment, entry into paradise seemed the more likely route. If he could
only get his hands on his duar, there might be a chance. However fickle his
spellsinging, however uncertain he was of what he might sing, he was sure of
one thing: he'd fashion some kind of magic. And the first try would be his
last. He was sure of that much.
Corroboc wasn't stupid, and the captain would give him no second chance to try
his hand at wizardry.
Roseroar suddenly twisted to look back over her shoul-
der, one paw going to her rump. The first mate was grinning back at her.
"Put yo hands on me like that again, cub, and ah'H
make music with yo bones."
"Gentle now, big one," said the amused leopard. "I
have no doubt you'd do just that if given the chance. But you won't be given
the chance. It'll go easier on you in the long run if you mind your manners
and be nice to Sasheem.
If not, well, we have an ample supply of chain on this boat, we do. Your heart
may be made of iron, but the rest of you is only flesh and bone. Nice flesh it
is, too. Think over your options.
"If I ask him nicely, Corroboc will give you to me."
She glared back at him. "Ah won't be a comforting gift."
Sasheem shrugged. "Comforting or unforgiving, it won't matter. I aim to have
you. Willingly if possible, otherwise if not. You may as well settle your mind
to that." They were herded into a barred cell. Sasheem favored Roseroar with a
departing smirk as he joined the rest of his compan-
ions in mounting the gangway.
Roseroar sat down heavily, her huge paws clenching and
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Alan Dean Foster
unclenching. "That furred snake. Ah'd like to get my claws into his "
"Not yet, Roseroar," Jon-Tom cautioned her. "We've got to be patient. They
don't know that I'm a spellsinger.
If I can just get my hands on my duar, get one chance to play and sing, we'll
have a chance."
"A chance at wot, mate?" Mudge slumped dispiritedly in a comer. "For you to
conjure up some poor dancin' girl to take Roseroar's place? To bury this slimy
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tub in flowers?"
"I'll do something," Jon-Tom told him angrily. "You see if I don't."
"I will that, guv." The otter rolled over, ignoring the fact that the floor of
their cage was composed of rank straw stained dark by the urine of previous
captives.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm goin' to 'ave a sleep, mate."
"How can you sleep now?"
"Because I'm tired, mate." The otter glanced up at him. "I am tired of
fightin1, tired with fear, and most of all I'm tired o' listenin' to wot a
wonderful spellsinger you are. When you're ready to magic us out o' this 'ole
and back to someplace civilized, wake me. If not, maybe I'll be lucky and not
wake up meself."
"One should never ride the wave of pessimism," Jalwar chided him.
"Close your cake 'ole, you useless old fart. You don't know wot the 'ell
you're talkin' about." Hurt, the old ferret lapsed into silence.
Jon-Tom had moved to the barrier and held a cell bar in each hand. They were
fixed deep into the wood of the ship. Small scavenger lizards and dauntingly
big bugs skittered about in the dark sections of the hold while others could
be heard using the rafters for pathways.
Then he turned to walk over to Roseroar and put a comforting hand on her head,
stroking her between the ears. She responded with a tired, halfhearted purr.
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
117
"Don't worry, Roseroar. I got you into this. Maybe I
can't get myself home, but I can damn well get you out of
it. I owe you that much. I owe all of you that much."
Mudge was already asleep and didn't hear the promise.
Jalwar squatted in another corner picking resignedly at strands of hay.
I just don't know how I'm going to get you all out of this, Jon-Tom mused
silently.
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
119
VIII
Somehow the concept of "swabbing the deck" was tinged with innocence; a
reflection of childhood memories of stories about wooden ships and iron men.
The reality of it was something else.
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