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

we ran afoul of these bastards. They killed my father along

with the rest of the males and later, my mother. Since my

little sister was too young to be of any use to them, they

threw her overboard. They killed everyone, except for me.

For some reason that unmentionable thing they call their

captain took a fancy to me. I imagine he saw ftiture profit

in me." She shrugged. "I've taken care to give them

nothing but trouble since. Hence my name, a gift of the

crew."

"Been less troublesome lately," grunted the helmsman

significantly.

"Have you tried to escape?"

"Escape to where? Yes, I tried anyway. Better drowning

or sharks than this. At least, I tried before they put this

chain on me. I only tried once. There are worse things than

being beaten. As you may find out."

He lowered his voice to make certain the helmsman

couldn't overhear. "I don't intend to. We're getting off this

ship. Will you come with us when we do?"

"No." She stared straight back at him. "No. I won't. I

don't want to be hurt anymore."

"That's why I'm taking you with us." She turned away

from him. "What's wrong?"

Mudge gave him a gentle nudge. "Watch your mouth,

lad. 'Tis the captain, may 'e rot in 'is own excrement."

"How goes she, Pulewine?" Corroboc inquired of his

helmsman.

"Steady on course, Captain."

Jon-Tom kept his attention on his scrub brush, heard the

thunk of the captain's wooden leg move nearer.

"And how be our fine cleaning crew this bright morn-

ing? Are they working like the elegant fighters we brought

aboard?"

"No, Captain." The helmsman allowed himself a grunting

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laugh. "As anyone can see, they're working like the scum

that they are."

"That's good." Corroboc walked around Jon-Tom until

the parrot was standing between him and Folly's shelter.

He turned his good eye on the man. "Now then, mayhap

we each understand our place in the order o' things, har?"

"Yes, Captain," murmured Jon-Tom readily enough.

"Aye, that be the way to answer. Keep that tone about

you and you'll live to do more service." He cast a glance

into the shelter and Jon-Tom went cold as he saw the look

that came over Folly's face as she drew back into the

shadows.

"Chatting with the young she, have you?"

Since the helmsman had been privy to much of their

conversation, Jon-Tom could hardly deny it had taken

place.

"A word or two, sir. Harmless enough."

"Har, I be sure o' that! A cute little specimen of her

species, though not marketable in her present condition,

fears I. A consequence of noncooperation." Jon-Tom said

nothing, scrubbed harder, trying to push the brush through

the wood.

"That's it, boy. Scrub well and we'll see to giving you a

chance to entertain us when you've finished." He shared a

laugh with the helmsman. "Though not the kind you

think, no. The two of you can entertain us together."

"I wouldn't get under that whey-faced stringbean if you

shot me with pins," Folly snapped.

Corroboc turned that merciless eye on his prisoner.

"Now, what make you think you'd be having any choice

in the matter, Folly? It'll be a pleasant thing to work out

the geometry of it." He lashed out suddenly with his one

good foot. The sharp claws cut twin bloody gouges up her

thigh and she let out a soft cry.

Jon-Tom dug his fingernails into the wood of the brush.

"That be better now, and we'll be having no more

arguments, will we?" Folly clung to the shadows and

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

123

whimpered, holding her injured leg. "You've been disap-

pointment enough to me. As soon as we make land I'll rid

myself of you, and I'll make certain your buyer is of a

similar mind when it comes to staging entertainments.

Then perhaps you'll yearn for the good old days back

aboard Corroboc's ship, har?" He turned back to the deck

cleaners.

"Keep at it, slime." He addressed his helmsman. "When

they've finished the deck, run them forward and set them

to scrubbing the sides. Sling them over in nets. If one of

them falls through, it will serve as a fine lesson to the

others."

"Aye, Captain," said the helmsman.

Corroboc rose on bright green wings to glide down to

the main deck. The warthog cast a wizened eye at Jon-

Tom.

"Watch thy tongue and mind thy manners and thee

might live as much as a year." This admonition was

finished off with a thick, grunting laugh. "Still going to

escape?"

You bet your porcine ass we are, Jon-Tom thought

angrily as he attacked the decking. The wood was the only

thing he could safely take out his fury on. We'll get out of

this somehow and take that poor battered girl with us.

Without his realizing it, the sight of Folly had done

something their own desperate situation had not: it forced

him to realize how selfish he'd been these past hours,

moping around bemoaning his fate. He wasn't the only

one who had problems. Everyone else was depending on

him—Mudge and Jalwar and Roseroar, and Clothahump

sick and hurt back in his tree, and now Folly.

So he hadn't made it back to his own world. Tough.

Self-pity wouldn't get him any closer to L.A. He had

friends who needed him.

Mudge noticed the change in his friend's attitude imme-

diately. He scrubbed the deck with renewed enthusiasm.

"Work 'ard and 'ave confidence, mates," he whispered

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THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

125

to Jalwar and Roseroar. "See that look on me pal's face?

I've seen it afore. 'E may be 'alf bonkers, but sometimes

'tis the 'alf bonkers, part crazy part that sees a way out

where none's to be seen."

"I pray it is so," whispered Jalwar, "or we are well and

truly doomed."

" 'Alf a chance," Mudge muttered. "That's all *e needs

is 'alf a chance."

"They may not give it to him," commented Roseroar.

While his companions slept the sleep of the exhausted

that night, Jon-Tom planned and schemed. Corroboc was

going to let him sing, out of curiosity if naught else. Songs

would have to be chosen carefully, with an eye toward

suppressing any suspicions the captain might have. Jon-

Tom had no doubt that the homicidal parrot would watch

him carefully.

His recital should be as bland and homogenous as

possible. Somehow he would have to find an effective tune

that would have the hoped-for results while sounding

perfectly innocent. The lyrics would have to be powerful

but nonthreatening.

Only when he'd arranged a program in his mind did he

allow himself to fall into a troubled, uneasy sleep.

The first mate had them scrubbing the base of the

mainmast the next morning. Corroboc strolled past without

looking at the work, and Jon-Tom turned slowly toward

him, keeping his tone deferential.

"Your pardon, Captain."

The parrot turned, wingtips resting on slim bird hips.

"Don't waste my time, boy. You've plenty to do."

"I know that, Captain sir, but it's very much the wrong

kind of work. I miss my chosen avocation, which is that of

minstrel. My knowledge of songs of far lands is unsur-

passed."

"Be that so, boy?"

Jon-Tom nodded vigorously. "I know wondrous chords

and verse of great beauty, can bring forth the most mellifluous

sounds from my instrument. You would find that they fall

lightly on the ears and sometimes, I am embarrassed to say