of fighting. You’d make a valuable addition.”
“Ah’ll think it ovah, sun.”
Good girl, Jon-Tom thought. There was no point in
making the pirate parrot mad with an outright refusal,
though he found himself wishing her reply hadn’t been
quite so convincing. Surely she wasn’t seriously consider-
ing the offer? But why not? Nothing bound her to Jon-
Tom. In fact, she had reason enough to abandon him.
Hadn’t he yanked her unwillingly from her homeland and
involved her in dangers in which she had no interest? If
she were forced to throw in with some stranger, why not
this captain as easily as some unsteady, homesick spellsinger?
Spellsinger! He’d almost forgotten his own abilities. Not
a one of this band of murderers knew of his avocation. He
prayed his companions would keep the secret and not blurt
it out in a thoughtless moment. He was particularly wor-
ried about the elderly Jalwar, but the trader stood petrified
and volunteered nothing.
As if reading his thoughts, the pirate captain turned his
114
Alan Dean Poster
attention back to him. “And you, tall man. What be you
good for?”
“Well, I can fight, too.” Corroboc glanced toward his
First mate.
Sasheem muttered an opinion, reluctantly, “Passing well.”
Corroboc grunted and Jon-Tom added, “I am also an
entertainer, a troubadour by trade.”
“Huh! Well, ’tis true we could do with a bit o’ song on
this scow from time to time.” He gave his crew a look of
disgust- “I gets tired o’ listening to the drunken prattling
o’ this uncultured bunch.”
Fighting to conceal his anxiety, Jon-Tom went on. “My