being beaten. As you may find out.”
He lowered his voice to make certain the helmsman
couldn’t overhear. “I don’t intend to. We’re getting off this
ship. Will you come with us when we do?”
“No.” She stared straight back at him. “No. I won’t. I
don’t want to be hurt anymore.”
“That’s why I’m taking you with us.” She turned away
from him. “What’s wrong?”
Mudge gave him a gentle nudge. “Watch your mouth,
lad. ‘Tis the captain, may ‘e rot in ‘is own excrement.”
“How goes she, Pulewine?” Corroboc inquired of his
helmsman.
“Steady on course, Captain.”
Jon-Tom kept his attention on his scrub brush, heard the
thunk of the captain’s wooden leg move nearer.
“And how be our fine cleaning crew this bright morn-
ing? Are they working like the elegant fighters we brought
aboard?”
“No, Captain.” The helmsman allowed himself a grunting
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Alan Dean Foster
laugh. “As anyone can see, they’re working like the scum
that they are.”
“That’s good.” Corroboc walked around Jon-Tom until
the parrot was standing between him and Folly’s shelter.
He turned his good eye on the man. “Now then, mayhap
we each understand our place in the order o’ things, har?”
“Yes, Captain,” murmured Jon-Tom readily enough.
“Aye, that be the way to answer. Keep that tone about
you and you’ll live to do more service.” He cast a glance
into the shelter and Jon-Tom went cold as he saw the look
that came over Folly’s face as she drew back into the
shadows.
“Chatting with the young she, have you?”
Since the helmsman had been privy to much of their
conversation, Jon-Tom could hardly deny it had taken