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

where none’s to be seen.”

“I pray it is so,” whispered Jalwar, “or we are well and

truly doomed.”

” ‘Alf a chance,” Mudge muttered. “That’s all *e needs

is ‘alf a chance.”

“They may not give it to him,” commented Roseroar.

While his companions slept the sleep of the exhausted

that night, Jon-Tom planned and schemed. Corroboc was

going to let him sing, out of curiosity if naught else. Songs

would have to be chosen carefully, with an eye toward

suppressing any suspicions the captain might have. Jon-

Tom had no doubt that the homicidal parrot would watch

him carefully.

His recital should be as bland and homogenous as

possible. Somehow he would have to find an effective tune

that would have the hoped-for results while sounding

perfectly innocent. The lyrics would have to be powerful

but nonthreatening.

Only when he’d arranged a program in his mind did he

allow himself to fall into a troubled, uneasy sleep.

The first mate had them scrubbing the base of the

mainmast the next morning. Corroboc strolled past without

looking at the work, and Jon-Tom turned slowly toward

him, keeping his tone deferential.

“Your pardon, Captain.”

The parrot turned, wingtips resting on slim bird hips.

“Don’t waste my time, boy. You’ve plenty to do.”

“I know that, Captain sir, but it’s very much the wrong

kind of work. I miss my chosen avocation, which is that of

minstrel. My knowledge of songs of far lands is unsur-

passed.”

“Be that so, boy?”

Jon-Tom nodded vigorously. “I know wondrous chords

and verse of great beauty, can bring forth the most mellifluous