“and in any case the magic is not directed at us.”
“That’s good, guv’nor.” Mudge had to work to stifle a
yawn, blinked in surprise. “Strong stuff ‘e’s workin’.”
By the time Jon-Tom sang the final strains of “Peace-
ful Easy Feeling,” the pirate ship was sailing aimlessly. Its
bloodthirsty crew lay snoring soundly on the deck, in the
hold below, and even up in the rigging. He took a step
toward Corroboc and ran his eyes over the captain’s attire
without finding what he was hunting for. Then he joined
his friends.
“Did any of you see where he put his keyring?”
“No, mate,” Mudge whispered, “but we’d best find
’em fast.”
Jon-Tom started for the door leading to the captain’s
cabin, then hesitated uncertainly. Once inside, where would
he look? There might be a sealed chest, many drawers, a
hidden place beneath a nest or mattress, and the keyring
might not even be kept in the cabin. Maybe Sasheem had
charge of the keys, or maybe one of the other ship’s
officers.
He couldn’t go looking for them and still sing the
sleep spell. Already some of the somnolent crew were
beginning to stir impatiently. And he didn’t have the
slightest idea how long the spellsong would remain in
effect.
“Do somethin’, mate!” Mudge was tugging uselessly
on his own ankle chains.
“Where should I look for the keys? They’re not on the
captain.” Suddenly words in his mind, suggestive of
something once remembered. Not suggestions of a place to
hunt for keys, but snatches of a song.
130
Alan Dean Poster
A song about steel cat eyes and felines triumphant.