and he puffed on a long, curved pipe. One earring of silver
and garnet dangled from his left ear.
“So you weesh to traveel eenland?” There was an odd
144
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
145
lilt to his voice that reminded Jon-Tom of the other orang
he’d met, the venerable Doctor Nilanthos of Lynchbany.
That reminded him of the mugging victims the good doctor
had worked on, and of the mugger, the flame-haired Talea.
He forced his thoughts back to the present. Talea was far
away.
“That’s right. We need a certain medicine.”
The primate nodded once. “Weel, you’ll find no better
place to seek eet than here een Snarken. Eet’s the beegest
city on the western shore of the Gleetergeist, and eef what
you seek ees not to be found here, eet ees not to be found
anywhere.”
“You see, lad,” said Mudge hopefully. “Wot did I tell
you? Might as well start lookin’ for ‘is sorcerership’s fix
right ‘ere.”
“Sorry, Mudge.”
“C’mon, mate. Couldn’t we at least try a local chem-
ist’s shop?”
“What ees thee problem, stranger?” asked the orang.
The aroma drifting from the bowl at the end of the thin
pipe was fragrant and powerful. Jon-Tom suspected it
contained more than merely tobacco. Evidently the orang
noticed Jon-Tom’s interest, because he turned the pipe
about. “Care for a heet?”
Jon-Tom forced himself to decline. “Thanks, but not
until we get this business straightened out.”
“Hey guv, ‘ow about me?” Mudge eyed the pipe
hungrily.
“You were not offered,” said the orang imperturbably.
“The medicine we seek,” Jon-Tom said hastily, before