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

the bottle at her. “It’s acetylsalicylic acid, that’s what’s

wrong!” Suddenly the anger went out of him, and he sat

back down heavily on a fallen tree. “Why didn’t I think

that might be it? Why?”

Mudge fought to pronounce the peculiar, otherworldly

word, failed miserably. “You mean you know wot the

bloody stuff is?”

“Know it?” Jon-Tom lifted tired eyes to the otter. “You

remember when I arrived in this world, Mudge?”

“Now, that would be a ‘ard day to forget, mate. I nearly

spilled your guts all over a field o’ flowers.”

“Do you remember what I was wearing?”

Mudge’s face screwed up in remembrance. “That funny

tight shirt and them odd pants.”

“Jeans, Mudge, jeans. I had a few things with me when

Clothahump accidently brought me over. My watch, which

doesn’t work anymore because the batteries are dead.”

“Spell’s worn out, you mean.”

“Let’s don’t get into that now, okay? My watch, a

lighter, a few keys in a small metal box, and another small

box about this big.” He traced an outline in the air in front

of him.

“The second box held a few little items I always carried

with me for unexpected emergencies. Some Pepto-Bismol

tablets for an upset stomach, a couple of Band-Aids, a few

blue tablets whose purpose we won’t discuss in mixed

company, and some white tablets. Do you remember the

white tablets, Mudge?”

The otter shook his head. “I wouldn’t ‘ave a looksee

through your personal things, mate.” Besides, he’d been

interrupted before he could get the two boxes opened.

“Those tablets were just like these, Mudge. Just like