ever been on’?”
“Not just that. Remember that he made the tigress
captain because she was the best sailor among us? That
would leave him as next in command, would it not?”
“Beats me, mate. I’m not much on ships and their
lore.”
“He reduced himself to first mate,” Jalwar said posi-
tively. “That was in the song, too. A line that went
something like “The first mate, he got drunk.’ ”
“Aye, now I recall.” The otter nodded toward the
helpless spellsinger, who remained enraptured by a hyste-
ria perceptible only to himself. “So ‘e spellsung ‘imself
into this condition without even bein’ aware o1 doin’ it.”
“I fear that is the case.”
“Downright pitiful. Why couldn’t ‘e ‘ave made me first
mate? I’d ‘andle a long drunk like this ten times better than
‘e would. ‘E’s got to come out of it sometime.”
“I hope so,” said Jalwar. He glanced at the sky.
“Perhaps we will lose this infernal fog, anyway. Then we
might pick up a wind enabling us to turn back.”
“Now, I told you, guv,” Mudge began, only to be
interrupted by a shout.
What stunned him to silence, however, was not the fact
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
97
of the shout but its origin. It came from the water off to
starboard.
It was repeated. “Ahoy, there! You on the sloop! What’s
happenin’!”
“What’s happenin’?” Roseroar frowned, tried to see
into the fog. “Jon-Tom, wake up!” The sails continued to
luff against the mainmast.
“Huh? Wash?” Jon-Tom laughed one more time, then
struggled to stand up.
“Ahoy, aboard the sloop!” A new voice this time,
female.
“Wash… whosh that?” He stumbled around the center