“Looks like we ain’t finished with ol’ Corroboc yet.”
IX
“Gel below, Jalwar,” Jon-Tom told the ferret. “You’ll be
of no use to us on deck.”
“I must disobey, sir.” The oldster had picked up a long
fishing gaff and was hefting it firmly. “I am not going
back onto that floating purgatory. I’d rather die here.”
Jon-Tom nodded, held his staff ready in front of him. In
planning and executing their subtle flight from the pirate
ship he’d forgotten one thing. Forgotten it because he’d
been in mis strange world so long he’d come to think of it
as normal. So when he’d planned their escape he hadn’t
considered that they might have to deal with the fact that
Corroboc and several of his crew could fly.
There were only six of them. The captain must have
threatened all of them with dismemberment to force so
small a group to make the attack. Behind the parrot flew a
couple of big ravens, a hawk, and a small falcon. They
were armed with thin spears and light swords.
Jon-Tom set the sloop on automatic pilot, which left him
free to join the fight. Jalwar thought the flashing red light
of this new magic fascinating.
The fliers were fast and agile. Corroboc in particular
135
136
Alan Dean Foster
might be short an eye and a leg, but there was nothing
wrong with his wings. He dove and twisted as he thrust,
keeping just out of range of his former prisoner’s weapons.
Nevertheless, it soon became clear that the pirates were
overmatched.
Corroboc’s strategy was good. It called for his crew to
stay just beyond sword range while striking with their