Spellsinger 03 – The Day of the Dissonance by Foster, Alan Dean

behind.

“Which way to Snarken?” she asked as she worked the

wheel and a hand winch simultaneously. The mainsail

billowed in the freshening wind.

“I don’t know. You’re the sailor.”

“Sailor ah confess to, but ah’m no navigator, man.”

“Southwest,” Mudge told her. “For now that’s good

enough.”

Roseroar adjusted their heading, brought it in line with

the directions supplied by the compass. “Southwest it is.”

The sloop changed directions smoothly, responding instantly

to the tigress’s light touch on the wheel.

Feeling reasonably confident that at last all was right

with the world, Jon-Tom reprised the song and for good

measure added a chorus of the Beach Boys’ “Sail On, Sail

On, Sailor.” The sun was warm, the wind steady, and

Snarken seemed just over the near horizon.

Putting up the duar, he escorted Jalwar down to the

galley, there to explain the intricacies of the propane stove

and such otherworldly esoterica as Saran Wrap and can

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

91

openers to their designated chef. That and the rest of a fine

day well done, he allowed himself to be first to bed.

To be awakened by rough hands shaking him violently.

“Get up, get up, spellsinger!”

Feeling very strange, Jon-Tom rolled over, to find him-

self staring into the worried face of the ferret.

“What… whash wrong?” He was startled by the sound

of his own voice, unnaturally thick and slurred. And the

boat seemed to be rolling in circles.

“We are in bad trouble, spellsinger. Bad trouble.”

Jalwar disappeared.

Jon-Tom sat up. It took three tries. Then he tried to get