course again.”
A shaky, no longer cocky voice came from the gangway.
“What… what did we win? Who won?”
Jon-Tom remembered Folly. “Take the wheel, Roseroar.”
“Jon-Tom, if n yo want mah opinion, ah think—!”
He disengaged the autopilot. The boat heeled sharply to
port, and Roseroar was forced to grab the wheel to keep it
from spinning wildly.
Jon-Tom searched the gangway, finally discovered Folly
huddled far back in a lower bunk. Within the sloop’s
clean, quiet confines she looked suddenly fragile. The iron
collar was an ugly dark stain around her pale neck.
He studied it thoughtfully. The sloop was well stocked.
If he searched, he was certain he could find a hacksaw or
something with which to cut the metal.
“Relax, calm yourself.” He spoke gently, soothingly.
“You’re free. Just as I promised. Well, not completely
free,” he corrected himself, smiling encouragingly. “You’re
still stuck with us. But you can forget about Corroboc.
You’ll never have to worry about him again. I spellsang
them to sleep. You too. While they all slept, we escaped.”
Her reply was halting. “Then… you are a wizard.
And I doubted you.”
“Forget it. Sometimes I doubt it myself.” She was
swaying on the bunk and he was suddenly concerned.
“Hey, you don’t look so good.”
“I’m so tired….” She put her hand to her forehead
and fell over into his arms. He was acutely aware of her
nakedness. Not to mention her smell. Corroboc’s ship was
no paragon of good hygiene. Folly likely hadn’t bathed
since she’d been taken captive.
He slipped a supportive arm around her back. “Come