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

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