impenetrable fog.
94
Alan Dean Poster
Mudge was leaning on the rail, grumbling. “We’d
better not be near any land, mates.” He glanced upward.
A faint glow suffused the upper reaches of the fog bank,
which had not thinned in the slightest. “I know you’re up
there, you great big ugly yellow bastard! Why don’t you
bum this driftin’ piss off so we can see to be on our way!”
“The words of the song,” Ja!war murmured. Mudge
snarled at him.
“And you pack in it, guv’nor, or I’ll do it for you.”
It was morning. Somewhere the sun was up there,
probably laughing at them. The compass still showed the
way, but the wind had vanished with the storm, and none
of Jon-Tom’s feeble coaxing could induce the shiny new
diesel engine to perform.
The restored sail hung limp against the mast. The sloop
was floating through glassy, smooth, shallow water. A
sandy bottom occasionally rose dangerously close to the
keel, only to fall away again into pale blue depths each
time it looked like they were about to ground. Roseroar
steered as best she could, and with an otter and a ferret
aboard there was at least no shortage of sharp eyesight.
But as the day wore on and the fog clung tenaciously to
them, it began to look as if Jon-Tom’s song was to prove
their simultaneous salvation and doom. The wind remained
conspicuous by its absence. Sooner or later the shallows
would close in around them and they would find them-
selves marooned forever in the midst of a strange sea.
The tension was taking its toll on everyone, even Roseroar.
Their spellsinger, who had conjured up this wonderful