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

reward from a grateful Clothahump. Mudge had endured

too much already to throw that promise away now.

“But what else can we do?” Jalwar moaned. “None of

us is a wizard or sorcerer. We cannot cure his odd

condition, because it is the result of his own spellsinging.”

“Maybe it’ll cure itself.” Mudge tried to sound optimis-

tic. He watched sadly as Jon-Tom rolled over on the center

cabin and tried to puke again. “I feel sorry for ‘im. ‘Tis

clear ‘e ain’t used to liquorish effects.” As if to reinforce

the otter’s observation, Jon-Tom rolled over again and fell

off the cabin, nearly knocking himself out on the deck.

Lifting himself to a sitting position, he burst out laughing.

He was the only one on the boat who found the situation

amusing.

Mudge shook his head. “Bleedin’ pitiful.”

“Yes, it is sad,” Jalwar agreed.

Alan Dean Foster

“Cor, but not the way you think it is, mate. ‘Ere ‘e is,

sufferin’ from one o’ the finest binges I’ve ever seen

anybody on, and ‘e ain’t even had the pleasure o’ drinkin’

the booze. Truly pitiful.” A glance downward showed

sand looming near.

“Couple o’ degrees to starboard, luv!” he called stemward.

“Ah heah y’all.” Roseroar adjusted the boat’s heading.

The sandy bottom fell away once again.

“It’ll wear off,” the otter mumbled. “It ‘as to. Ain’t

nobody can stay drunk this long no matter ‘ow strong a

spell’s been laid on ‘is belly. I wonder when ‘e did it?”

“The same tune he did everything else,” Jalwar explained.

“Don’t you remember the song?”

“You mean that part about it bein’ ‘the worst trip I’ve

curiosity: