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

she’d bend without breakin’. They make ship’s ribs out o’

this stuff.” He glanced back at Roseroar. “Any time you’re

ready, lass.”

“Yoah sure about this?”

162

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

163

“No, I’m not, but I ain’t doin’ no good sittin’ ‘ere on

me arse talkin’ about it.”

“That ain’t the part that’s goin’ to get smashed,” she

said as she stepped away from the quivering branch.

The wortyle wood whipped upward so fast the air

vibrated in its wake. Mudge was thrown with tremendous

force into the night sky. The otter did a single flip and

described an elegant arc as he began to descend.

As it developed, his judgment was only slightly off. He

didn’t reach the roof, but neither did he smash into the side

of the building. He fell only a little short.

At first it looked as if he was going to land hard on the

cobblestones, but at the last instant he grabbed with his

right hand. Short, powerful muscles broke his fall as his

fingers locked onto the iron grating barring one window.

He hung there for a long moment, catching his breath.

Then he reached up with the other hand and pulled himself

on to the iron.

His companions stood beneath the window, staring up at

him. “Can you get in?” Jon-Tom asked softly.

Mudge responded with a snort of contempt, fiddled with

the grate. Seconds later a metallic click reached Jon-Tom

and Roseroar.

“He’s very clevah, yo friend.”

“He’s had a lot of experience with locks,” Jon-Tom

informed her dryly. Another click from above signified the

opening of the window.

They waited below, feeling exposed standing there on

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Categories: Alan Dean Foster
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