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

nakedness. Not to mention her smell. Corroboc's ship was

no paragon of good hygiene. Folly likely hadn't bathed

since she'd been taken captive.

He slipped a supportive arm around her back. "Come

with me." He helped her stumble toward the ship's head.

"We'll let you get cleaned up. Then we'll find some way

to get that chunk of iron off you. While you're showering

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Alan Dean Poster

I

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

139

I'll see if I can find something for you to wear. There must

be clothes in one of the ship's storage lockers."

"I thank you for your kindness, sir."

He smiled again. "That's better. Just call me Jon-Tom."

She nodded, leaning against him. For a minute he thought

she was going to break down in his arms. She didn't. Not

then, and not later. The first thing she'd lost on Corroboc's

ship was the ability to cry.

While she washed, he searched the ship's cabinets. One

contained familiar clothing. Familiar to him, but not to any

of his companions. He made a few selections and left them

outside the shower, along with a hacksaw and a file.

He'd expected to see an improvement, but he was still

shocked when she reappeared on deck later that afternoon.

She'd removed the iron collar. Her hair was combed out

and pulled back behind her. She stood there and looked

down at herself uneasily.

"I must look passing strange in these peculiar garments.'*

"You'll get no argument on that from me, luv." The

flabbergasted Mudge moved closer to inspect the odd

attire. "Strange sort o' material." He ran a paw over one

leg, reached higher. " 'Ere too."

"That's not material," she said angrily, knocking his

questing fingers away.

Mudge grinned as he dodged. "Fine-feelin' material to

me, luv."

"You try that again, water rat, and I'll..."

Jon-Tom ignored them. The argument wasn't serious.

Mudge was being his usual obnoxious self, and he thought

Folly realized it. Besides which he was busy enough trying

to sort out his own jumbled feelings.

Folly was gorgeous. There was no other word for it.

Young, but beautiful, standing there on the deck in old

JLevi's and a worn sweatshirt that had SLOOP JOHN B.

printed across the back. She looked so achingly normal, so

much like any girl he might encounter on the beach back

home, that for a moment he was afraid he would be the

one to cry.

Only the fading but still visible bruises on her face and

the ring the collar had left around her neck reminded him

of where he'd found her. He would have to hunt for the

sloop's first-aid kit. Or maybe he could think of a good

healing song, something more effective here than bandages

and ointments,

Roseroar gave the new arrival a cursory once-over and

snorted. "Skinny little thing. Yo humans..." She turned

her gaze to the stars mat were coming out. Jalwar was

already asleep somewhere below, the poor old ferret exhausted

by the strenuous events of the past few days. The horizon

astern was clear, the pirate ship having dropped out of

sight long ago. The wind off the waves still blew them

steadily toward Snarken, a goal temporarily lost and now

within reach again.

Snarken itself proved easy to locate. As soon as they

sailed within fifty miles of the city there was a perceptible

increase in the volume of surface traffic around the sloop.

All they had to do was hail a couple of merchant ships

bound for the same destination and follow them in.

A long range of hills that rolled down to the sea was

split by a wide but crowded inlet. Once through they found

themselves in a spacious bay ringed by lush green slopes

that climbed several hundred feet above the harbor. Still

higher land was visible off in the distance.

Wharves and docks crowded together on the far side of

the bay. These were home to dozens of vessels that docked

here from lands known and alien. Snarken was the princi-

pal port on the Glittergeist's southwestern shore.

Jon-Tom steered them through the merchantmen, in

search of an empty dock. Many of the wharves were

constructed of stone. The rocks were smooth and rounded,

evidence mat they had been carried down to the beach by

glaciers some time far in the past. The stones were

cemented tightly together and topped with planks.

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Alan Dean Foster

They finally located an open slip. Mudge dickered with

the dockmaster until a fee was settled on. This brought up

the matter of their Malderpot-induced impecuniousness. A

solution was found in the form of several stainless steel

hammers taken from the sloop's toolbox. These the avari-

cious dockmaster eagerly accepted in payment.

"What do you think, Mudge?" Jon-Tom asked the otter

as they walked up the pier. "Will he leave the ship

alone?"

"An 'onest bloke's easy enough to spot, bein' a rare sort

o1 bird. She'll be safe in our absence. For one thing, the

greedy bugger's terrified of 'er."

Jon-Tom nodded, paused as they stepped off the pier

onto the cobblestone avenue that fronted the harbor. Lizard-

drawn wagons piled high with goods clanked and rumbled

all around them. Strange accents and aromas filled the air.

"That bit o' business do bring one problem to mind,

mate."

"What's that, Mudge?"

"Wot are we goin' to do for money? We can't keep

tradin' away ship's tools."

Jon-Tom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Right you are.

We're going to have to buy supplies for the trek to

Cranculam, too. We're going to need a lot."

"I'll say!" said Folly impatiently. "I need some real

clothes. I can't walk around in this silly otherworldly stuff.

People will laugh at me. Besides"—she ran her hands over

the too-tight seat of her jeans—"it binds me most strangely."

Mudge stepped toward her. " 'Ere now, luv, let me 'ave

a looksee. Might be we could loosen this 'ere...."

She jumped away from his outstretched fingers. "Keep

your hands to yourself, water rat, or you're liable to lose

them."

Mudge pursed his lips hurtfully, turned to Jon-Tom.

"Now, 'ere's an idea, mate. Why don't we sell 'er? That

were probably the best idea that ever occurred to that

rancid bag o' feathers Corroboc. Now that she's cleaned

THE DAY OF THK DISSONANCE

141

up 'alfway decent, she'd likely bring a nice bit o' change.

It would solve two of our problems at once, wot?"

Despite his speed, the otter barely succeeded in ducking

under Jon-Tom's swing. The chase shifted to a cluster of

big wooden barrels, but Jon-Tom was unable to run the

tireless otter down. He wore him out pretty good, though.

"Take it easy, mate." Both man and otter fought to

catch their breath. Mudge looked out from behind a barrel.

"Let's not kill each other over it. It were just a thought."

"Okay. But let's not have any more idiotic talk about

selling Folly or anyone else."

The object of this exhausted discussion gazed curiously

up at her rescuer. "Why don't you sell me? I'm nothing to

you. I'm nothing to anyone except myself. Don't think I'm

being ungrateful. I wouldn't have lived another month on

that ship. I want to help you. I can't think of any other

way to repay you for your kindnesses." She threw a

warning glance the otter's way. Wisely, Mudge said nothing.

"All I have, though, is myself. If you need money so

badly, selling me should solve your problem. I'm worth

something." She turned away, unable to meet his eyes.