"Nonetheless, I cannot take the chance."
"Wait!" Jon-Tom called desperately. "If you know
what spellsinging's all about, then surely you know that a
spellsinger can't make magic without his instrument."
"That is so." The porcupine eyed him warily.
"Well then, how about this? You bring down my duar,
my instrument, but after you give it to me you chain my
hands so I can't pull them back through these bars. That
way if I tried to sing anything that sounded dangerous to
you, you could yank the duar away from me before I could
finish and I couldn't do a thing to stop you from doing
so."
The jailer considered, wrestling with unfamiliar con-
cepts. Jon-Tom and Mudge waited breathlessly, glad of the
darkness. It helped to conceal their anxiety.
"Yes, I think that would be safe enough," the jailer said
finally. "And I am curious to hear you sing. I will see if
your instrument is with your other possessions. While I
look for the sack of gold."
"You won't regret it!" Jon-Tom called after him as he
disappeared up the stairway. As soon as he'd left, Mudge
looked excitedly at his friend.
"Cor, mate, can you really do anythin' tied like that?"
"I don't know. I have to try. It's clear he wasn't just
going to hand me the duar without some kind of safeguard.
I just don't know what I could sing that could help us out
of here before he decided it sounded threatening and took
the duar away from me. Not that I ever know what to sing.
48
Alan Dean Foster
I had the same problem in my own world. But it was all I
could think of."
"You better think o' somethin', mate, or it'll be two
worlds that'll be missin' you permanent. I don't know
what this Zancresta has planned for us, but as much as 'e
hates Clothahump, I don't figure on 'im bein' overly polite
to a couple o* the turtle's servants."
"We're not his servants. At least, you're not."
"Aye, an' you saw 'ow far that got me with Chenelska,
I'm stuck with the bedamned label just like you are, like it
or not. So think of somethin'. Somethin' effective, and
fast."
"I don't know." Jon-Tom fought with his memory.
"Practically everything I know is hard rock."
Mudge gestured at the walls. "Strikes me as damned
appropriate."
"Not like that," Jon-Tom explained impatiently. "It's a
name for a kind of popular music. You've heard me sing
it."
"Aye, an1 I don't pretend to understand a word o' it."
"Then you have something in common with my parents."
Footsteps coming down the stairs interrupted them
momentarily.
"You'd better think up somethin' quick, mate."
"I'll try." He stuck his arms out between the bars,
waiting expectantly. His spirits were boosted by the sight
of the undamaged duar dangling from one of the jailer's
paws.
"There was no gold," the porcupine declared sourly.
"Sorry." Mudge sighed fitfully. "About wot one would
expect from a snurge like Zancresta. Still, 'tweren't no
'arm in lookin', were there?"
"What were you two talking about while I was gone? I
heard you talking." The porcupine looked suspicious.
"Nothin' much, mate. Just makin' conversation. We
talk while you're right 'ere, too, don't we?"
"Yes, that is so. Very well." He stepped forward and
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
49
made as if to hand the duar to Jon-Tom, then hesitated. "I
do not know."
"Oh, come on," Jon-Tom urged him, a big smile
frozen on his face. "A little music would be nice. Not
everyone has the chance to hear an apprentice spellsinger
make music just for pleasure."
"That is what concerns me." The jailer stepped back
and rummaged through a wooden chest. When he returned
it was to clap a pair of thick leather cuffs on Jon-Tom's
wrists. They were connected to one another by a chain. He
also, to Jon-Tom's dismay, tied a thick cord around the
neck of the duar.
"There," he said, apparently satisfied, and handed over
the instrument. Jon-Tom's fingers closed gratefully over
the familiar wooden surface, lightly stroked the double set
of strings.
The porcupine returned to his chair, keeping a firm grip
on his end of the cord. "Now if you try anything funny I
don't even have to run over to you. All I have to do is pull
this rope." He gave the cord an experimental yank, and
Jon-Tom had to fight to hold onto the duar.
"I need a little slack," he pleaded, "or I won't be able
to play at all."
"All right." The jailer relaxed his grip slightly. "But if I
think you are trying to trick me I will pull it right out of
your hands and smash it against the floor."
"Don't worry. I wouldn't try anything like that. Would
I, Mudge?"
"Oh, no, sor. Not after you've all but given this
gentlebeing your word." The otter assumed an air of mock
unconcern as he settled down on the floor to listen. "Play
us a lullaby, Jon-Tom. Somethin' soothin' and relaxin' to
'eip us poor ones forget the troubles we face and the
problems o' the world."
"Yes, play something like that," asked the porcupine.
Jon-Tom struggled with himself. Best to first play a
couple of innocuous ditties to lull this sod into a false
SO
Alan Dean Foster
sense of security. The trouble was, being mostly into
heavy metal, he knew about as many gentle tunes as he did
operatic arias. Somehow something by Ozzy Osbourne or
Ted Nugent didn't seem right, nor did anything by KISS.
He considered "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" by AC/DC,
decided quickly that one stanza would cost him control of
the duar permanently.
He decided to take a chance with some golden oldies.
Maybe a few of Roy Orbison's songs, even if his voice
wasn't up to it. It seemed to work. The porcupine lazed
back in his chair, obviously content, but still holding tight
to the cord.
Jon-Tom segued into the part of one song where the
lyrics went "the day you walked out on me" and the jailer
didn't stir, but neither did the walls part to let them
through. Discouraged, he moved on to "America" by Neil
Diamond. A few faint images of the Statue of Liberty and
Ellis Island flickered fitfully in the cell, but Jon-Tom did
not find himself standing safe at either location.
Then he noticed Mudge. The otter sat back in the shad-
ows making long pulling and throwing motions. It took
Jon-Tom a moment to understand what his companion was
driving at. In the middle of humming "Won't Get Fooled
Again," he figured the otter's movements out.
The porcupine had tied the cord to the duar in order to
be able to jerk it quickly out of Jon-Tom's hands. If they
could somehow gain control of the rope, they might be
able to make a small lasso and cast it toward a weapon or
even the big keyring lying on the table.
In order to try that, of course, they had to somehow
incapacitate their jailer. Since he seemed half-asleep al-
ready, Jon-Tom softened his voice as much as possible and
sang the sweetest ballads he could think of, finishing with
"Sounds of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel. That par-
ticularly apt selection set the porcupine to snoozing. To
make sure, he added a relaxing rendition of "Scarborough
Fair."
I
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
51
Carefully, he tugged gently on the cord. Two half-witted
eyes popped wide open and the line went taut.
"I told you not to try anything," the porcupine growled.
For an instant Jon-Tom was sure they'd lose the duar
along with their last hope. "I didn't mean anything!" he