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

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-