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

ears. She responded with a tired, halfhearted purr.

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

117

“Don’t worry, Roseroar. I got you into this. Maybe I

can’t get myself home, but I can damn well get you out of

it. I owe you that much. I owe all of you that much.”

Mudge was already asleep and didn’t hear the promise.

Jalwar squatted in another corner picking resignedly at

strands of hay.

I just don’t know how I’m going to get you all out of

this, Jon-Tom mused silently.

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

119

VIII

Somehow the concept of “swabbing the deck” was tinged

with innocence; a reflection of childhood memories of

stories about wooden ships and iron men.

The reality of it was something else.

You rested on your hands and knees on a rough planked

deck, stripped to the waist beneath a hot sun that blistered

your neck and set the skin to peeling off your back. Sweat

flowed in streams from under your arms, from your fore-

head and your belly. Anything small and solid, be it a

speck of dust or one of your own hairs, that slipped into

your eye made you want to run screaming for the railing to

throw yourself over the side.

Salt air worsened your situation, exacerbating the sore

spots, making them fester and redden faster. Splinters

stung the exposed skin of hands and ankles while your

palms were raw from pushing the wide brushes soaked

with lye-based cleaning solution.

Meanwhile you advanced slowly the length of the deck,

making sure to remove each bloodstain lest some laughing

member of the crew remind you of its presence by pressing

a heavy foot on your raw fingers.