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

rabbit, be he real or wraith, did not put in an appearance.

Once Jon-Tom glanced back to reassure himself that he’d

actually been in Crancularn, but instead of a crumbling old

town, he thought he saw a vast bubbling cauldron alive

with dancing, laughing demons. He shuddered and didn’t

look back again.

By evening they were all too exhausted to care if

Al-Roojinn and a dozen vengeful cousins were hot on then-

trail or not. Mudge and Roseroar built a fire while the

others collapsed.

“1 think we’re safe now,” Jon-Tom told them. He ran

both hands through his long hair, suddenly sat up sharply.

“The medicine! What about the—!”

“Easy, mate.” Mudge extracted the container from a

pocket. ” ‘Ere she be, nice and tidy.”

Jon-Tom examined the bottle. It was such a small thing

on which to have expended so much effort, barely an inch

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

289

high and half again as wide. It was fashioned of plain

white plastic with a screw-on cap of unfamiliar design.

“I wonder what it is.” He started to unscrew the top.

“Just a minim, mate,” said Mudge sharply, nodding at

the container. “Do you think that’s wise? I know you’re a

spellsinger and all that, but maybe there’s a special reason

for that little bottle bein’ tight-sealed the way it is.”

“Any container of medicine would be sealed,” Jon-Tom

responded. “If there was any danger, Clothahump would

have warned me not to open it.” Another twist and the cap

was off, rendering further argument futile.

He stared at the contents, then held the bottle under his

nose and sniffed.