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

minutes last night ‘e might ‘ave been ‘ome, back in ‘is

own world. Now, me, I don’t believe we went from one

world to another that simple, even if that was a peculiar

boat full of mighty odd-lookin’ ‘umans. The birds were

sharp enough lookin’, though. I’ll give ’em that.”

Roseroar gave him a look of distaste. ” Y’ all are disgustin’.

Yo friend is heartsick and all yo can thank of, yo scummy

little degenerate pervert, is intercourse.”

“Blow it out your striped arse, you self-righteous bitch!

I’d swear on me mother’s ‘ead that ‘alf an army’s done

proper work under that tail.”

Roseroar lunged for the otter. A ghost of a voice made

her pause.

“Don’t. Please.” For the first time in days a familiar

face swung around to face both of them. “It’s not worth it.

Not on my behalf.”

Roseroar reluctantly returned to her station behind the

wheel. “Blimey, mate,” said Mudge softly, “you really

do think we went over into your world, don’t you?”

He nodded. “It was in the song. I didn’t mean it to

happen that way, but yes, I think we crossed over. And I

was too drunk to do anything about it.”

“Maybe we’re still in yo world,” said Roseroar.

Mudge noticed movement in the water. ” ‘Ang on. I

think I know ‘ow to find out.” He headed toward the bow.

Jon-Tom rose, swayed slightly. Roseroar put out a hand

to steady him but he waved her off with a smile. “Thanks.

I’m okay now. Stone-cold sober.”

“Yo drunkenness did come from yo song, then?”

“Something else I didn’t plan on. It’s worn off. That’s

why I don’t think we’re still in my world. The good wears