breast. Sun glinted off the dozen tiny stilettos it held.
A member of the crew later informed them that the
captain could throw four of the deadly little blades at a
time: one with each flexible wingtip, one with his beak,
and the last with his remaining foot. All this with lethal
accuracy while balancing on the artificial leg.
The remaining bright blue eye flicked back and forth
between the prisoners. Above and below the eye patch the
112
Alan Dean Foster
skin showed an unwholesome yellow where feathers were
missing.
“These be all the crew of our prize?” He looked up at
the first mate, and Jon-Tom was surprised to see the
powerful leopard flinch back. Corroboc made eye contact
with each of his own crew in turn.
“A brave bunch you are. A bloodthirsty death-dealing
collection… of infants!” His tail quivered with his anger.
“Infants, the lot of you!” Not only Sasheem, but the rest
of the cutthroats were completely cowed by this battered
green bird. Jon-Tom determined not to cross him.
“Four against nearly a hundred, was it? A fine lot you
are!” He cocked his head sideways to gaze at the prison-
ers. “Now then. Where be you four bound?”
“Just a few days out from the Tailaroam,” Mudge
volunteered ingratiatingly. “We were just on a little fishin’
trip, we were, and—”
The wooden leg was a blur. It caught the otter between
his short legs. Mudge turned slightly the color of the
captain as he grabbed himself and collapsed on the deck.
Corroboc eyed him indifferently.
“The Emir of Ezon has a tradition of employing eu-