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

lynx in mock horror. “Wot, and mar me perfection?

Crikey, why would you want to muss up me perfect self?”

He started to turn, abruptly leaped at the monitor.

The lynx wasn’t slow, but Mudge was a brown blur in

the dim light. The whip snapped down and cut across the

back of the otter’s neck. Mudge’s sword was faster still,

slicing through the.whip handle just above the big cat’s

fingers.

The monitor bolted for the open door. “Mudge, no!”

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

169

Jon-Tom yelled, but Mudge didn’t hear him in time. Or

perhaps he did. The short sword spun end over end. It was

the hilt that struck the lynx in the back of the head with a

gratifyingly loud thump. The monitor dropped as if poleaxed.

Jon-Tom breathed a sigh of relief. “Smart throw, Mudge.

We don’t need a murder complicating our departure.”

Mudge retrieved his sword. “That’s right, mate, but I

can’t take the credit. I was tryin’ to separate ‘is ‘ead from

‘is shoulders.”

“Quick now!” Jon-Tom instructed the youngsters as he

headed for the storage closet. “Everyone out, before

someone else shows up to check on you.” He led them

through the storage closet. “Don’t push, everyone’s going

to get out… don’t shove in the back….”

Roseroar strained to see better as shadows moved against

the open window. So far no one had appeared to spot the

dangling rope of pastel linen, but it would take only one

passing pedestrian to give the alarm.

She expected to see Jon-Tom or Mudge or even the girl.

What she did not expect to see was the silent column of

cubs who began descending the sheets. Some species were