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

"Even after the way I've been used."

He tried hard not to be angry with her. "Where I come

from, Folly, we don't sell people."

"You don't?" She looked genuinely puzzled. "Then

what do you do with people who have nothing else to

do?"

"We put 'em on welfare, social security."

She shook her head. "Those words mean nothing to

me."

He tried to explain. "We see to it that everyone is

guaranteed some sort of minimum income, some kind of

sustenance."

"Even if they're no good at anything?"

"Even if they're no good at anything."

"That doesn't seem very efficient."

"Maybe it's not efficient, but it's human."

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Alan Dean Foster

"Brock's blocks, now there you 'ave it, luv. That

explains it all. Sounds like the sort o' bizarre scheme a

bunch o' 'umans would dream up."

"Nobody gets sold," Jon-Tom announced with finality.

"Right then, mate. Wot do you propose we do for

funds?" He indicated the rows of buildings lining the

harborfront. "We need food and a place to sleep and

supplies."

Jon-Tom glanced up at the heretofore silent Roseroar.

"You wouldn't sell her, would you?"

The tigress turned away. "It ain't fo me to say." She

sniffed toward the girl. "Perhaps she's just tryin' to tell yo

she wants to go her own way."

Jon-Tom posed the question. "Is that true, Folly?"

"No. I have no place to go, but I don't want to cause

trouble or be in the way, and I do want to help."

"Sensibly put," said Mudge brightly. "If you'll allow

me, mate, I'll begin searchin* out the likely markets, and

we can—"

"Wait a minute." Jon-Tom was nodding to himself.

"We can sell the sloop."

"The magic boat?" Jalwar looked doubtful. "Is that

wise?"

"Why not? From what Clothahump told me, Cranculam

lies overland from Snarken. We've no further need for a

boat, magic or not. As for returning home, I hope to be

able to pay our way. I'm tired of sailing. I'd like to be a

passenger for a while." He put a hand on Mudge's

shoulder.

"You saw the way the wharfmaster jumped at the

chance to get those two hammers. Think what some rich

local would pay for the whole boat. There's nothing like it

anywhere around here."

"I'd rather sell the girl," he murmured, "but the boat

would fetch more. You're right about that, guv. I'm no

yacht broker, but I'll do me best to strike us the best

bargain obtainable."

Teas DAY or THE DISSONANCE

143

"Mudge, with you doing the dealing, I know we'll

come out well."

The otter concluded a sale that very afternoon. Payment

was made in gold. They left behind a delighted trader in

ships and a wharfmaster greedily counting out his commis-

sion. Jon-Tom had no regrets. He'd obtained the sloop for

a song.

By nightfall they were established in a clean, moderate-

ly priced harborfront inn.

"Wot now, mate?" Mudge dug into his dinner and

talked around mouthfuls of food. Jalwar displayed refined

table manners, while Roseroar ate with precision and

unexpected delicacy. Folly gobbled down everything set

before her and still finished well ahead of the others.

Confident she could take care of herself, Jon-Tom parceled

out a pocketful of coin and sent her off in search of attire

more suited to her new surroundings.

"We need to find out which way Crancularn lies," he

told the otter as he sipped at his own tankard, "acquire

sufficient supplies, and be on our way. Clothahump is

waiting on us, and much as I'd like to, we can't linger

here."

"Ah'm ready fo some clean countryside," agreed Roseroar.

"Ah've had enough o' the ocean to last me fo a while."

"You're bound and determined to see this insanity

through to the bitter end, aren't you, mate?"

"You know that I am, Mudge. I gave my word."

"I was afraid you'd say somethin' like that." He sighed,

wiped gravy from his lips. "Wait 'ere."

The otter vanished into the main dining room of the inn,

returned moments later. He was not alone. With him was a

finely coiffed orangutan. This individual was dressed in

old but well-cared-for clothing. Lace ruffles billowed from

collar and sleeves. His orange beard was trimmed short

and he puffed on a long, curved pipe. One earring of silver

and garnet dangled from his left ear.

"So you weesh to traveel eenland?" There was an odd

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Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

145

lilt to his voice that reminded Jon-Tom of the other orang

he'd met, the venerable Doctor Nilanthos of Lynchbany.

That reminded him of the mugging victims the good doctor

had worked on, and of the mugger, the flame-haired Talea.

He forced his thoughts back to the present. Talea was far

away.

"That's right. We need a certain medicine."

The primate nodded once. "Weel, you'll find no better

place to seek eet than here een Snarken. Eet's the beegest

city on the western shore of the Gleetergeist, and eef what

you seek ees not to be found here, eet ees not to be found

anywhere.''

"You see, lad," said Mudge hopefully. "Wot did I tell

you? Might as well start lookin' for 'is sorcerership's fix

right 'ere."

"Sorry, Mudge."

"C'mon, mate. Couldn't we at least try a local chem-

ist's shop?"

"What ees thee problem, stranger?" asked the orang.

The aroma drifting from the bowl at the end of the thin

pipe was fragrant and powerful. Jon-Tom suspected it

contained more than merely tobacco. Evidently the orang

noticed Jon-Tom's interest, because he turned the pipe

about. "Care for a heet?"

Jon-Tom forced himself to decline. "Thanks, but not

until we get this business straightened out."

"Hey guv, 'ow about me?" Mudge eyed the pipe

hungrily.

"You were not offered," said the orang imperturbably.

"The medicine we seek," Jon-Tom said hastily, before

Mudge could comment, "is available only from a certain

shop. In the town of Crancularn."

The orang started ever so slightly, puffed furiously on

his pipe. "Crancularn, ai?"

"In the Shop of the Aether and Neither."

"Weel now." The orang banged his pipe on the side of

the table, knocking out the dottle while making certain not

to stain his silk-and-satin attire. "I have neever been to

Crancularn. But I have heard rumor of theese shop you

seek. Some say eet ees no more than that, a device of the

veelagers of theese town to breeng attention upon them-

selves. Others, they say more."

"But you've never been there," said Roseroar.

"No. I don't know anyone who's actually been there.

But I do know where eet ees supposed to lie."

"Where?" Jon-Tom leaned forward anxiously.

The orang lifted a massive, muscular arm and pointed

westward. "There. That way."

Mudge tugged irritably at his whiskers. "Precise direc-

tions, why can't any of these helpful blokes we run into

ever give us precise directions?"

"Don't worry." The orang smiled. "Eef you want to

find eet badly enough, you weel. People know where eet

ees. They just don't go there, that's all."

"Why not?"

The orang shrugged, smacked thick lips around the stem

of his pipe. "Beats mee, stranger. I've neever had the

desire to go and find out. Thee fact that no one else goes

there strikes mee as reeson enough not to go. Eef you are

bound to go, I weesh you thee best of luck." He stepped

back from the table. The main room of the inn's restaurant

was jammed with diners now, and his table lay on the other