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

self-declared first mate still stayed drunk. He swallowed

the words on his tongue and tried a second time.

“Who… who are you?”

“I’m Charlie MacReady,” said the boat’s driver cheeri-

ly, through a cannabis-induced fog of his own. He smiled

broadly, leaned down to speak to his girlfriend. “Dig that

getup that guy’s got on. Must’ve been a helluva party!”

Jon-Tom briefly considered his iridescent lizard-skin

cape, his indigo shut, and the rest of his attire. Subdued

clothing… for Clothahump’s world.

The girl in the front was having a tough time with her

sunshades. Maybe she didn’t realize that the glasses were

clean and that it was her eyes that needed washing out.

She leaned over again and nearly tumbled into the water.

Her boyfriend grabbed the strap of her bikini top and

pulled hard enough to hold her in the boat. Unfortunately,

it was also hard enough to compress certain sensitive parts

of her anatomy. She whirled to swing at him, missed badly

thanks to the effects of what the foursome had been

smoking all morning. For some unknown reason this

started her giggling uncontrollably.

Jon-Tom wasn’t laughing anymore. He was battling his

own sozzled thoughts and magically contaminated blood-

stream.

“Who are you people?”

“I told you.” The boat’s driver spoke with pot-induced

ponderousness. “MacReady’s the name. Charles MacReady.

I am a stockbroker from Manhattan. Merrill Lynching.

You know, the bull?” He rested one hand on the shoulder

of the suddenly contemplative woman seated next to him.

She appeared fascinated by the sheen of her nail polish.