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

gray neck was a single golden medallion on a gold chain.

Several letters had been engraved on it, but they were too

small for Jon-Tom to make out.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Are you the master of this orphanage?” Jon-Tom

asked.

“Me?” She did not smile. “No. What do you wish with

the Headmaster?” She was watching Roseroar carefully.

“Just a couple of quick questions.” He put on his most

ingratiating grin.

“Office hours are from mid-morning to nightfall.” She

moved to shut the door.

Jon-Tom took a step forward, still wearing his grin.

“We have reason to believe that an acquaintance of ours

was recently—” he searched for the right word, “enrolled

at the orphanage.”

“You mean you don’t know for certain?”

“No. It would have been within the last day.”

“I see. Visiting hours are at nightfall only.” Again the

attempt to close the door, again Jon-Tom rushed to fore-

stall her.

“Please, ma’am. We have to depart on a long difficult

journey tomorrow. I just want a moment to assure myself

that your institution is as admirable on the inside as it is

from without.”

“Well,” she murmured uncertainly, “wait here. The

Headmaster is at his late-eve devotions. I will ask if he can

see you.”

“Thanks.”

The wait that ensued was long, and after a while he was

afraid they’d been given a polite brushoff. He was about to

use the bell-pull a second time when she reappeared

trailing an elderly man.

As always, Jon-Tom was surprised to see another human

in a position of authority, since they didn’t seem to be

among the more prolific groups here. In Clothahump’s