might, he couldn’t remember imbibing anything stronger
than orange juice at supper. After reprising a couple of
choruses of “Sloop John #.” to make sure the boat didn’t
dematerialize out from beneath them in the middle of the
night, he’d gone to bed. Jalwar was awake and alert.
Everyone was except him.
Suddenly he found himself in desperate need of a
porthole, barely located one in time to stick his face out
and throw his guts all over the equally upset ocean. When
he Finally finished puking he was soaking wet from the
spray. He felt a little less queasy but not any soberer.
Somehow he managed to slam the porthole shut and
refasten it. He staggered toward the gangway, pulled him-
self toward the deck.
Wind hit him hard the instant he stepped out on the teak
planking, and rain filled his vision. Roseroar was holding
the wheel steady with grim determination, but Mudge and
Jalwar were having a terrible time trying to wrestle the
mainsail down.
“Hurry it up!” the tigress roared, her voice barely
audible above the storm, “or we’ll lose it fo sure!”
“I don’t care if we do,” Jon-Tom moaned, putting both
hands to the sides of his head, “just let’s not shout about
it, shall we?”
1 ‘Tell it to the sky, spellsinger,” pleaded Jalwar.
“Yeah, use your magic, mate,” added Mudge. “Turn
this bloomin’ weather back to normal!” Jon-Tom noticed
that both of them were soaked. “Get rid of this bloody
bedamned storm!”
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
93
“Anything, anything,” he told them, “if you’ll just stop
shouting.” He staggered and nearly went careening over-