stern. “I’ll take the wheel. Roseroar, you run the sails
up.”
“With pleasure.” She dumped Folly’s unconscious form
onto the deck. Jon-Tom winced as it hit, decided that one
more black and blue mark wouldn’t show up against the
background of bruises that covered the girl’s entire body.
Roseroar worked two winches at once while Mudge
hacked away with his short sword at the thick hauser
linking them to the pirate ship. In seconds the sloop swung
clear. Her sails climbed the mast, caught the wind. Jon-
132
Alan Dean Foster
Tom turned her as confused shouts and cries of outrage
began to sound from the deck of the larger vessel.
“Not a moment too soon.” Jalwar spoke admiringly
from his position atop the center cabin. “You have the
gift, it is certain.”
Jon-Tom shrugged off the compliment and concentrated
on catching as much wind as possible. “I didn’t study for
it and I didn’t plan on it. It’s just a lucky combination of
my musical training and something I’ve picked up in this
world.”
“Nonetheless, it cannot be denied. You have the gift.”
For an instant it was as if the years had left the ferret
and a different being entirely was standing next to the
mainmast looking down at Jon-Tom. He blinked once, but
when he looked again it was just the same Jalwar, aged
and stooped and tired. The ferret turned away and stum-
bled toward the bow to see if he could help Mudge or
Roseroar.
The tigress had the rigging well in hand, and at Jon-
Tom’s direction, Mudge was breaking out the sloop’s
spinnaker. Behind them, furious faces lined the port side