craft, was of no use to anyone, least of all himself.
Thankfully he no longer threw up. Yet despite his unarguable
abstinence from any kind of drink, he remained falling-
down drunk. Smashed. Potted.
If anything, his condition had worsened. He strolled
about the deck muttering songs so incomprehensible and
slurred none of his companions could decipher them.
Just as a precaution, Mudge had sequestered Jon-Tom’s
THE DAY OF THK DISSONANCE
95
duar in a safe place. He’d gotten them into this situation
while sober. It was terrifying to contemplate what might
happen if he started spellsinging while drunk.
“We have one chance,” Jalwar finally declared.
“Wot’s that, guv’nor?” Mudge sat on the port side of
the bow, keeping his eyes on the threatening shallows.
“To turn around. We aren’t that far yet from the beach
where this unfortunate turn of events began. We can return
there, land, or use this craft, provided the wind will return,
to take us back to the mouth of the Tailaroam and
civilization.”
“I’m tempted, guv, but ‘e’ll never stand for it.” He
nodded back to where Jon-Tom lay sprawled on his back
on the deck, alternately laughing and hiccuping at the fog.
“How can he object to stop us?” wondered Jalwar. “He
has the gift, but no control over it.”
“That may be, guv. I’m sure as ‘ell no expert on
spellsingin’, but this I do know. ‘E’s me friend, and I
promised ‘im that I’d see ‘im through this journey to its
end, no matter wot ‘appens.”
Besides which, the otter reminded himself, if they
returned without the medicine, there would be no rich