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

little degenerate pervert, is intercourse."

"Blow it out your striped arse, you self-righteous bitch!

I'd swear on me mother's 'ead that 'alf an army's done

proper work under that tail."

Roseroar lunged for the otter. A ghost of a voice made

her pause.

"Don't. Please." For the first time in days a familiar

face swung around to face both of them. "It's not worth it.

Not on my behalf."

Roseroar reluctantly returned to her station behind the

wheel. "Blimey, mate," said Mudge softly, "you really

do think we went over into your world, don't you?"

He nodded. "It was in the song. I didn't mean it to

happen that way, but yes, I think we crossed over. And I

was too drunk to do anything about it."

"Maybe we're still in yo world," said Roseroar.

Mudge noticed movement in the water. " 'Ang on. I

think I know 'ow to find out." He headed toward the bow.

Jon-Tom rose, swayed slightly. Roseroar put out a hand

to steady him but he waved her off with a smile. "Thanks.

I'm okay now. Stone-cold sober."

"Yo drunkenness did come from yo song, then?"

"Something else I didn't plan on. It's worn off. That's

why I don't think we're still in my world. The good wears

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

105

off along with the bad." His voice fell to a whisper. "I

was home, Roseroar! Home."

"Ah am sorry fo yo, Jon-Tom. Ah really and truly am."

"You've got a big heart, Roseroar. Along with every-

thing else." He smiled at her, then walked toward the front

of the boat. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe there was still a

chance, however faint that seemed now.

The otter was leaning over the side. "How are you

going to find out where we are?" Jon-Tom asked.

Mudge glanced up at him. "That's easy enough, guv'nor.

All you 'ave to do is ask." He turned his face to the water

racing past the prow and shouted, "Hey, you, where are

we?"

Jon-Tom peered over the railing to see the playful,

smooth, gray-backed shapes sliding easily through the

water, hitching a free ride on the boat's bow-wave. One of

them lifted its bottle-nose clear of the surface and squeaked

a reply.

"You're at half past a quarter after." Giggles rose from

around the speaker as the rest of the dolphins vented their

appreciation of the little joke.

Mudge gave Jon-Tom an apologetic look. "Sorry, mate,

but tain't easy gettin' a straight answer out o' this bunch o'

sea-goin' comedians."

"Never mind," Jon-Tom sighed. "The fact that it

answered at all is proof enough of which world we're in."

"Hey:ya," said another of the slim swimmers, "have

you guys heard the one about the squid and the Third

Mistress of Pack Thirty?"

"No." Mudge leaned forward, interested.

The dolphin now speaking sidled effortlessly up to the

side of the speeding sloop. "It seems she..." Jon-Tom

abandoned the ongoing display of oceanic vulgarity and

climbed the central cabin to contemplate the horizon.

No, he wasn't home anymore. Maybe he'd hallucinated

the whole incident. Maybe there'd been no ski boat full of

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stoned stockbrokers from New York. Maybe the entire

episode was nothing more than the result of his drunkenness.

Except that Mudge and Roseroar and Jalwar had seen

them also.

The last vestiges of inebriation left him frighteningly

cold inside. It was bad enough that fate had dumped him

in this alien otherworld. Now it had chosen to tease him

with a glimpse of reality, of home. He felt like a poor kid

forced to stand in front of the main display window at

FA.O. Schwarz the night before Christmas.

Slipping the duar around in front of him, he tried the

song again, tried altering the inflection in his voice, the

volume of each stanza. Tried until his throat was dry and

he could hardly speak. Nothing worked. The song remained

a song and nothing more.

He tried other songs, with the same result. He sang

everything he could remember that alluded however vaguely

to going home, to returning home, to longing for home.

The sloop John B. cut cleanly through the waves, running

southwestward under Roseroar's expert guidance. There

was no sign of land to cheer him. Only the dolphins with

their endless corny jokes.

"Sail ahead!" Jalwar yelled from the top of the main-

mast. Jon-Tom shoved his own concerns aside as he joined

Mudge near the bowsprit. Stare as he might, he saw only

empty horizon. Mudge had no difficulty in matching the

ferret's vision.

"I see 'er, mate."

. "What does she look like?"

"Rigged normal, not like this thing." The last of

Jon-Tom's hopes vanished. Not a speedboat, then. "Big,

two rows of oars. That I don't like."

"Why not?"

"Think about it, mate. Only a fool would try rowin'

across an ocean. Only a fool... and them that's given no

choice in the business."

The visitor was bearing down on them fast. Soon

Jon-Tom could make out the silhouette. "Can you see a

flag?"

Mudge stared hard. Then he began to shake. "That's all

she wrote, mate. There's a 'eart with a knife through it

flyin' from the yardartn. Pirates." He raced sternward,

Jon-Tom hurrying after him.

"I thought only traders traveled the Glittergeist."

"Aye, traders and them that preys on 'em." The otter

was dancing frantically around Roseroar. "Do somethin',

you bloody great caricature of a courtesan!"

Roseroar put the wheel hard over, said evenly, "They've

probably seen us already."

"Jon-Tom, spellsing us out o' 'ere!" By now the huge,

swift shape of the pirate ship was bearing down on then-

stern. Strange figures lined the rails and the double rows of

oars dipped in unison.

"There's not enough wind," Roseroar observed. "What

there is, is at our back, but they're supplemental' their

own sails with those oahs."

Jon-Tom was trying to untangle his duar from around

his neck. "Our engine's out of diesel." He found himself

eyeing the approaching behemoth in fascination. "Interest-

ing lines."

"Interestin" my arse!" Mudge was saying frantically.

"You'll see 'ow interestin' it can be if they take us!"

"I'm afraid I don't know many songs about boats,"

Jon-Tom muttered worriedly, trying to concentrate, "and

none at all about pirates. See, where I come from they're a

historical oddity. Not really a valid subject for contempo-

rary song writers."

"Screw wot's contemporary!" the otter pleaded with

him. "Sing something!"

Jon-Tom tried a couple of hasty, half-remembered tunes,

none of which had the slightest effect on the John B. or the

approaching vessel. It was hard to remember anything,

what with Jalwar moaning and genuflecting to the north

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and Mudge hopping hysterically all over the boat when he

wasn't screaming in Jon-Tom's face.

Then there was no time left to think as Roseroar rum-

bled, "Stand by to repel boarders, y'all!"

Jon-Tom put the duar aside. No time for playing. The

upper deck of the pirate ship loomed over them. Arrayed

along the rail was the oddest assortment of creatures he'd

encountered since finding himself in this world.

One massive dirty-furred polar bear missing an ear stood

alongside three vicious-looking pikas armed with four-

foot-long lances. A pair of lynxes caressed chipped battle-

axes and prepared to swing down on ropes dangling from a