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

it, risquely." He risked a knowing wink.

"I see," was all Corroboc said at first. Then, "Can it

be that after only a day you know where your true interests

lie? Har, truth and a little sun can do that to one. You'd

rather sing for your supper now than scrub for it, har?"

"If you would allow me, Captain." Jon-Tom tried to

look hopeful and compliant at the same time.

"Far lands, you say? Tis been a longish time since

there's been any music aboard this tub other than the

screaming of good citizens as they made their way over the

side." He glanced to his left. Mudge, Jalwar, and Roseroar

had been set to varnishing the railings.

"And what of your mates? How do you think they'll

react if they have to do your labor as well as their own?"

Licking his lips, Jon-Tom stepped forward and smiled

weakly, concealing his face from sight of his companions.

"Look, sir, I can't help what they think, but my back's

Coming apart. I don't have any fur to protect me from the

sun the way they do, and they don't seem to care. So why

should I care what they think?"

"That be truth, as 'tis a poor naked-fleshed human you

be. Not that it matters to me. However—" he paused,

considering, while Jon-Tom held his breath, "we'll give

you a chance, minstrel. Har. But," he added dangerously,

"if you be lying to me to get out of a day's work, I'll put

you to polishing the ship's heads from the inside out."

"No, Captain, I wouldn't lie to you, no sir!" He added

disingenuously, "If I weren't a minstrel, what would I be

doing carrying a musical instrument about?"

' 'As a master practitioner of diverse perversions I might

suggest any number of things, har, but I can see you

haven't the necessary imagination." He turned and shouted.

"Kaskrel!" A squirrel with a ragged tail hurried to obey.

"Get belowdecks and fetch the instrument from my cabin.

The one we took from this man's prize."

126

Alan Dean Poster

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

127

"Aye sir!" the squirrel squeaked, disappearing down a

hatch.

"Come with me, tall man." Jon-Tom followed Corroboc

up onto the poop deck. There the captain settled himself

into a wicker chair that hung from a crossbeam. The top of

the basket chair doubled as a perch, offering the captain a

choice of resting positions. This time he chose to sit inside

the basket.

The squirrel appeared momentarily, carrying Jon-Tom's

duar. He tried not to look at the instrument with the

longing he felt, particularly since a curious Sasheem had

followed the sailor up the ladder. The squirrel handed it

over and Jon-Tom caressed it lovingly. It was undamaged.

He was about to begin playing when a new voice

interrupted him.

At first he thought both of the dog's ears had been

cropped. Then he saw that they were torn and uneven,

evidence of less refined surgery. The dog limped and

leaned on a crutch. Unlike Corroboc he still had the use of

both legs. It was just that one was a good foot shorter than

the other. Jowls hung loosely from the canine face.

"Don't do it, Cap'n."

Corroboc eyed the arrival quizzically. "Now what be

your objection, Macreeg?"

The old dog looked over at Jon-Tom. "I don't like it, sir.

Better to keep this one swabbing the decks."

Corroboc kicked out with his wooden leg. It caught the

sailor's crutch and sent him stumbling in pursuit of new

support, only to land sprawling on his rump, accompanied

by the derisive laughter of his fellow sailors.

"Har, where be your sense of refinement, Macreeg?

Where be your feeling for culture?' *

Neither perturbed nor intimidated, the old sailor slowly

climbed back to his feet, stretching to his full four and a

half feet of height.

"I just don't trust him, Cap'n. I don't like the look of

him and I don't like his manner."

"Well, I be not in love with his naked features either,

Mister Macreeg, but they don't upset me liver. As for his

manner"—he threw Jon-Tom one of his disconcertingly

penetrating glances—"what of your manner, man?"

"Anything you say, Captain sir," replied Jon-Tom as he

dropped his eyes toward the deck.

The parrot held the stare a moment longer. "Har, that be

adequate. Not quite servile enough yet, but that will come

with time. You see?" He looked toward the old sailor.

"There be nothing wrong in this. Music cannot harm us.

Can it, tall man? Because if I were to think for one instant

that you were trying to pull something peculiar on me..."

"I'm just a wandering minstrel, sir," Jon-Tom explained

quickly. "All I want is a chance to practice the profession

for which I was trained."

"Har, and to save your fragile skin." Corroboc grunted.

"So be it." He leaned back in the gently swaying basket

chair. Sasheem stood nearby, cleaning his teeth with what

looked like a foot-long icepick. Jon-Tom knew if he sang

anything even slightly suggestive of rebellion or defiance,

that sharp point would go through his offending throat.

He plucked nervously at the duar, and his first words

emerged as a croak. Fresh laughter came from the crew.

Corroboc obviously enjoyed his discomfiture.

"Sorry, sir." He cleared his throat, wishing for a glass

of water but not daring to chance the request. ' "This... this

particular song is by a group of minstrels who called

themselves the Eagles."

Corroboc appeared pleased. "My cousins in flight, though

I chose to fly clanless. Strong, but weak of mind. I never

cared much for their songmaking, as their voices be high

and shrill."

"No, no," Jon-Tom explained. "The song is not by

eagles, but by men like myself who chose to call them-

selves that."

"Strange choice of names. Why not call themselves the

128

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

129

Men? Well, it be of no matter. Sing, minstrel. Sing, and

lighten the hearts of my sailors and myself."

"As you command, Captain sir," said Jon-Tom. And he

began to sing.

The duar was no Fender guitar, but the words came

easily to him. He began with "Take It Easy." The long

high notes rolled smoothly from his throat. He finished,

swung instantly into the next song he'd carefully chosen.

Corroboc's eye closed and the rest of the crew started to

relax. They were enjoying the music. Jon-Tom moved on

to "Best of My Love," then a medley of hits by the

Bee Gees.

Nearby, Mudge blinked as he slapped varnish on wind-

scoured wood. "Wot's 'e tryin' to do?"

"Ah don't know," said Roseroar. "Ah heah no mention

of powerful demons oah spirits."

Only Jalwar was smiling as he worked. "You aren't

supposed to, and neither are the ruffians around us. Listen!

Don't you see what he's up to? Were he to sing of flight or

battle that leopard would lay open his throat in an instant.

He knows what he's doing. Don't listen to the words.

They're doing as he intends. Look around you. Look at the

crew."

Mudge peered over his shoulder. His eyes widened.

"Blimey, they're fallin' asleep!"

"Yes," said Jalwar. "They wait ready for the slightest

hint of danger, and instead he lulls them with lullabies.

Truly he is a master spellsinger."

"Don't say that, mate," muttered Mudge uneasily. "I've

seen 'is nibs go wrong just when 'e thought 'e 'ad it

right." But though he hardly dared believe, it was looking

more and more as if Jon-Tom was going to bring it off.