his lips. They were alone on the deck except for the old
helmsman. He risked whispering.
“Who are you, girl?” No reply. Only those empty blue
eyes, staring. “What’s your name?”
“Leave ‘er be, mate,” said Mudge softly. “Can’t you
see there’s not much left o’ ‘er? She’s mad or near enough,
or maybe they cut out ‘er tongue to keep ‘er from screamin’.”
12O
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
121
“None of those,” said the helmsman. He spoke without
taking his eyes from the ship’s course. “That’s Folly, the
captain’s toy. He took her off a ship that sank several
months ago. She’s been nuthin’ but trouble since. Uncooper-
ative, unappreciative when the captain tried bein’ nice to
her. I don’t know why he doesn’t throw her overboard and
be done with it. It was folly to bring her aboard, and folly
to keep her, so Folly’s been her name.”
“But what’s her real name?”
A thin, barely audible reply came from within the
shelter. “I have no name. Folly’s as good as any.”
“You can talk. They haven’t broken you yet.”
She glared bitterly at Jon-Tom. “What do you know
about anything? I’ve been watching you.” Her mouth
twisted. “You’re hurting now. I watched when they took
your boat and brought you aboard. The tigress will be
around awhile. The old one won’t last two weeks. The
otter a little longer, if he keeps his mouth shut.
“As for you,” she eyed Jon-Tom contemptuously, “you’ll
say the wrong thing and lose your tongue. Or worse.”
“What happened to you?” Jon-Tom was careful to keep
his voice down and his arms moving lest Sasheem or one