Spellsinger 03 – The Day of the Dissonance by Foster, Alan Dean

“I never knew me grandmum, mate, so I couldn’t guess

at ‘er worth, but I swears on me works that as far as I

know the girl’s done only wot you said she could do: gone

tshoppin’ for some respectable coverin’ for that skinny

naked body o’ ‘ers. Well, not all that skinny.”

Jon-Tom had a sudden thought, turned on the largest

member of their party. “Roseroar?”

The massive torso shaded the table as the tigress daintily

set down half a roast lizard as big as the duar. She picked

with maddening slowness at her teeth before replying.

“Ah will pretend ah didn’t heah that insult, suh. Ah

think it’s obvious enough what has happened.”

“What’s obvious?” He frowned.

“Why, you gave her some gold. As she told yo herself,

you owe her nothing and she owes you little, since you

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

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turned down her offah to sell herself. It’s cleah enough to

me that she’s gone off to seek her own fortune. We’ve

given her her freedom. She held no love fo us and ah must

admit the feelin’s mutual.”

“She wouldn’t think of it like that,” Jon-Tom muttered

worriedly. “She isn’t the type.”

Mudge let out a sharp, barking laugh. “Now, wot would

you know about ‘er type, mate? I didn’t know wot ‘er

‘type’ was, and I’ve forgotten more about women of more

species than you’ll ever think on.”

“She’s just not the type, Mudge,” Jon-Tom insisted.

“This city’s as new to her as it to us, and we’re the only

friends or security she’s got.”

“A type like that,” said Roseroar disdainfully, “can find

friends wherevah she goes.”

“She just wouldn’t run off like that, without saying