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

“Practically everything I know is hard rock.”

Mudge gestured at the walls. “Strikes me as damned

appropriate.”

“Not like that,” Jon-Tom explained impatiently. “It’s a

name for a kind of popular music. You’ve heard me sing

it.”

“Aye, an1 I don’t pretend to understand a word o’ it.”

“Then you have something in common with my parents.”

Footsteps coming down the stairs interrupted them

momentarily.

“You’d better think up somethin’ quick, mate.”

“I’ll try.” He stuck his arms out between the bars,

waiting expectantly. His spirits were boosted by the sight

of the undamaged duar dangling from one of the jailer’s

paws.

“There was no gold,” the porcupine declared sourly.

“Sorry.” Mudge sighed fitfully. “About wot one would

expect from a snurge like Zancresta. Still, ’tweren’t no

‘arm in lookin’, were there?”

“What were you two talking about while I was gone? I

heard you talking.” The porcupine looked suspicious.

“Nothin’ much, mate. Just makin’ conversation. We

talk while you’re right ‘ere, too, don’t we?”

“Yes, that is so. Very well.” He stepped forward and

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

49

made as if to hand the duar to Jon-Tom, then hesitated. “I

do not know.”

“Oh, come on,” Jon-Tom urged him, a big smile

frozen on his face. “A little music would be nice. Not

everyone has the chance to hear an apprentice spellsinger

make music just for pleasure.”

“That is what concerns me.” The jailer stepped back

and rummaged through a wooden chest. When he returned

it was to clap a pair of thick leather cuffs on Jon-Tom’s

wrists. They were connected to one another by a chain. He