is goin’ on back ‘ere?”
Roseroar stood aside, guarding the railing, and eyed the
otter uncertainly. “There ah people in a boat. We must be
neah some land.”
“I ‘card. That’s bloody marvelous. They goin’ to lead
us in?”
“I think they’re frightened of something,” Roseroar
told him.
Jon-Tom was crying, crying and jabbing away at the
starter. “You don’t understand, you don’t understand!”
The sound of the ski boat’s outboard was fading with
distance. Still the engine refused to turn over.
Then there was a deep growl. Roseroar jumped and
grabbed the rail as the boat began to move.
“Where are they?” Jon-Tom cried, trying to steer and
search the fog at the same time. “Which way did they
go?”
“I do not know, Jon-Tom,” said Jalwar helplessly. “I
did not see.” He pointed uncertainly into the fog off the
bow. “That way, I think.”
102
Alan Dean Foster
Jon-Tom increased their speed and the diesel responded
efficiently. They couldn’t be far from the town of Nassau.
The foursome from New York had been out for the
afternoon only. Hadn’t the stockbroker said so? Besides,
they wore only swim suits and carried little in the way of
supplies. Surely he was near enough to hit the island! And
from Nassau it would be a short flight to the Florida coast.
To home, to Miami, Disneyworld, hotels, and soap operas
on TV in the afternoon. Images shoved purposefully into
the back of his mind sprang back to the fore: home.
He was home.
So crazed was he with hope and joy that he didn’t think
what the reaction would be to his arriving in Nassau with