Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance

of existence that were drawn irresistibly to magic in

motion. They coalesced into a bright, dancing cloud around

him, and as usual, when he tried to look straight at any of

them, they vanished. Gneechees were those suggestions of

88

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAT OF THE DISSONANCE

89

something everyone sees out of the corner of an eye but

aren't there when you turn to look at them.

But he sensed their presence. So did Roseroar and the

others. It was a good sign, an indication that the spellsinging

was working. Certainly the tune he played seemed harm-

less enough, even to the wary Mudge, whose opinion of

Jon-Tom's musical tastes differed little from that of the

average PTA president.

The otter had to admit that for a change the otherworldly

ditty Jon-Tom was reciting was easy on the ears, even if

the majority of the words, as was true of all of Jon-Tom's

songs, were quite incomprehensible.

Jon-Tom had chosen the song as much out of despera-

tion as need. The song was "Sloop John 5.," by the

Beach Boys. Given their present needs, it was a logical

enough choice.

Nothing happened right away. But before long, Jalwar

was making protective signs over his face and chest while

cowering close to Mudge for protection, while the otter

waited nervously for the unexpected to manifest itself.

Despite her own awe at what was taking place on the

beach, Roseroar stood her ground.

Mudge was worrying needlessly. For once, for the very

first time, it looked like Jon-Tom's efforts were to be

rewarded with success. For once it appeared that his

spellsong was going to produce only what he wanted. The

otter moved hesitantly out from behind the shelter of the

boulder, while simultaneously holding himself ready to

rush for the trees at the first hint of trouble.

"Bugger me for a blue-eyed bandicoot," he muttered

excitedly. "The lad's gone an' done it!"

Rocking gently in the waves just beyond the breaking

surf was a single-masted sloop. The stern faced shoreward

and on the name-plate everyone could clearly make out the

words JOHN B.

Jon-Tom let the last words of the song trail away. With it

went the Gneechees and the cloud of blue fog from which

the boat had emerged. It bobbed gently at anchor, awaiting

mem.

Roseroar put a proud paw on Jon-Tom's shoulder. "Sugah,

bless man soul if it isn't a spellsingah yo are. That's a

fine-looking ship, for all that her lines are strange to me,

and ah've sailed many a craft."

Jon-Tom continued to pluck fitfully at the duar as if

fearful that the sloop, solid as she looked, might disappear

at any moment in a rush of fog.

"Glad you think so. Me, I've never been on anything

il bigger than a surfboard in my life."

13 "Not to worry. Ah don't recognize the mannah of ship,

but if she sails, ah can handle her."

"So can I." Jalwar appeared behind them, "hi my

youth I spent much time sailing many kinds of ships."

"See?" said Mudge, joining them on the beach. "The

old fur's provin' 'imself valuable already."

"Okay." Jon-Tom nodded reluctantly. "Let's see what

:^ she's like on board."

13 Mudge led them out to the boat, as at home in the water

]1 as he was on land. The others followed. By the time

•\ Jon-Tom reached the bottom of the boarding ladder, the

-'?. otter had completed a preliminary inspection.

^ "She's fully stocked, she is, though the packin's bloody

jl strange."

iJ "Let me have a look." Jon-Tom went first to the galley.

| Cans and packages bore familiar labels like Hormel,

~i Armor, Oscar Mayer, and Hebrew National. There was

,| more than enough food for an extensive journey, and they

! could fish on the way. The tank for the propane stove read

full. Jon-Tom tried a burner, was rewarded with a blast of

blue flame that caused Roseroar to pull back.

"Ah don't see no source of fire."

"The ship arrives already fully spelled for traveling,"

Jalwar murmured appreciatively. "Impressive."

"hi the song she's supposed to be on a long voyage,"

Jon-Tom explained.

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Alan Dean Foster

There was a diesel engine meant to supplement the sails.

Jon-Tom didn't try it. Let it wait until they were becalmed.

Then he could dazzle them with new magic.

"Roseroar, since you're the most experienced sailor

among us, why don't you be captain?"

"As you wish, Jon-Tom." She squeezed through the

hatchway back onto the deck and began familiarizing

herself with the unusual but not unfathomable rigging. As

with any modern sailing ship, the sloop would almost run

the sails up and down the masts all by itself. It didn't take

the tigress long to figure it out.

An electric winch made short work of the anchor.

Roseroar spun the wheel, the sloop hove around with a

warm breeze filling its sails, and they headed out to sea.

Within an hour they had left the gravel beach and the

Muddletup Moors with its confused fungoid inhabitants far

behind.

"Which way to Snarken?" she asked as she worked the

wheel and a hand winch simultaneously. The mainsail

billowed in the freshening wind.

"I don't know. You're the sailor."

"Sailor ah confess to, but ah'm no navigator, man."

"Southwest," Mudge told her. "For now that's good

enough."

Roseroar adjusted their heading, brought it in line with

the directions supplied by the compass. "Southwest it is."

The sloop changed directions smoothly, responding instantly

to the tigress's light touch on the wheel.

Feeling reasonably confident that at last all was right

with the world, Jon-Tom reprised the song and for good

measure added a chorus of the Beach Boys' "Sail On, Sail

On, Sailor." The sun was warm, the wind steady, and

Snarken seemed just over the near horizon.

Putting up the duar, he escorted Jalwar down to the

galley, there to explain the intricacies of the propane stove

and such otherworldly esoterica as Saran Wrap and can

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

91

openers to their designated chef. That and the rest of a fine

day well done, he allowed himself to be first to bed.

To be awakened by rough hands shaking him violently.

"Get up, get up, spellsinger!"

Feeling very strange, Jon-Tom rolled over, to find him-

self staring into the worried face of the ferret.

"What... whash wrong?" He was startled by the sound

of his own voice, unnaturally thick and slurred. And the

boat seemed to be rolling in circles.

"We are in bad trouble, spellsinger. Bad trouble."

Jalwar disappeared.

Jon-Tom sat up. It took three tries. Then he tried to get

out of the bunk and discovered he couldn't tell the floor

from the ceiling. The floor found him.

"Wot was that?" said a distant voice.

He struggled to get up. "I don't..." He reached for the

railing of the lower bunk and tried to pull himself upright.

"Wheresh the... ?" Somehow he managed to drag him-

self to a standing position. He stood there on shaky knees

that felt determined to go their own way, exclusive of any

contrariwise instructions from his brain.

"Whash wrong with me?" he moaned.

Two faces appeared in the doorway, one above the other.

Both were blurred.

"Shee-it," said Roseroar. "He's drunk! Ah didn't see

him get into any liquor."

"Nor did I," said Mudge, trying to push past her.

"Give me room, you bloody great amazon!" He put his

hands on Jon-Tom's shoulders and gripped hard. Jon-Tom