had the sloop John B. been going?
The stockbroker from Manhattan pointed to his right.
“Just out for the afternoon from the Nassau Club Med.
You know, man. The Bahamas? You lost out of Miami or
what?” He jiggled the chain of polyethelene beads that
hung from his neck.
“Wanna come back in with us?”
“It can’t be,” Jon-Tom whispered dazedly. “It can’t be
this easy.” The song he’d repeated over and over, what
1OO
Alan Dean Foster
was the phrasing? ‘ ‘Around Nassau Town we did roam… I
wanna go home, I wanna go home… this is the worst
trip, I’ve ever been on.”
“7 wanna go home,” Jon-Tom sang in his mind. “Around
Nassau Town. Yes… yes, we’ll follow you back! We’ll
follow you back.” He clung to the rail for dear life, his
eyes locked on the big Evenrude rumbling at the stern of
the ski boat.
“You coming over here or you just going to follow us
in?”
“We’ll follow you,” Jon-Tom mumbled. “We’ll fol-
low.” He turned to the helm. “Roseroar, put on all
sail… no, wait.” It was still windless. “The engine. I’ll
get that engine started and we’ll follow them in!” He took
a wild step toward the hatchway, felt himself going back-
ward over the rail, tumbling toward a waiting pane of glass
that wasn’t there.
An immense paw had hold of him, was pulling him
back on deck. “Watch yourself, sugah,” Roseroar told
him quietly. She’d cleared the distance to him from her
position at the wheel in one leap.
Now she stared across the water. “Who are these
strange folk? Ah declare, ah can’t make top no bottom of
their words.”
“Tell them,” Jon-Tom moaned weakly toward the ski