mighty ones."
Jon-Tom indicated the disgruntled Mudge. "That ball of
fuzzy discontent is my friend Mudge." The otter grunted
once. "And this tower of cautionless strength is Roseroar."
"I am honored to be in your presence," said the ferret
humbly, proceeding to prostrate himself on the beach and
grasping Jon-Tom's boots. "I have nothing left. My stock
is gone, my money, everything save the clothes I wear. I
owe you my life. Take me into your service and let me
serve you."
"Now, wait a minute." Jon-Tom moved his boots out of
the ferret's paws. "I don't believe in slavery."
" 'Ere now, mate, let's not be 'asty." Mudge was quick
to intervene. "Consider the poor suck—uh, this poor
unfortunate chap. 'E's got nothin', 'e 'asn't. 'E'll need
protection, or the next bunch 'e runs into will kill Mm for
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
85
sure, just for 'is clothes." He eyed the ferret hopefully.
"Wot about it, guv? Can you cook?"
"I have some small talent in the kitchen, good sir."
"Mudge..." Jon-Tom said warningly. The otter ig-
nored him.
"You said you washed clothes."
"That I did, good sir. I have the ability to make even
ancient attire smell sweet as clover again, with the slightest
of cleansing materials. I am also handy at repairing gar-
ments. Despite my age, I am not a weakling. I can more
than carry my weight."
Mudge strutted about importantly. " 'Ere then, friend, I
think we should take pity on you and admit you to our
company, wot"?"
"Mudge, you know how I feel about servants."
"It wouldn't be like that at all, Jon-Tom. 'E does need
our protection, and 'e'll never get out o' this place without
our 'elp, and 'e's more than willin' to contribute 'is
share."
The ferret nodded enthusiastically. "Please accept my
service, good sir... and madame. Allow me to accompany
you. Perhaps being proximate to such mighty ones as your-
selves will improve my own ill fortune."
"I'll bet you were a good trader," Jon-Tom commented.
"Okay, you can come with us, but as an equal. Not as a
servant or slave. We'll pay you a decent wage." He
remembered the purse filled with gold, stolen by Zancresta's
thugs. "As soon as we can afford it, that is."
"Food and shelter and protection is all I ask, great sir."
"And stop calling me sir," said Jon-Tom. "I've intro-
duced you to everyone by name."
"As you wish, Jon-Tom." The ferret turned to look
down the beach. "What do we now? I presume you are
bound to the east, for if one walks long enough one will
come 'round again to the lands bordering the Bellwoods
and the River Tailaroam, where civilization is to be
encountered."
"Don't I wish," Mudge grumbled.
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Alan Dean Poster
Jon-Tom shook his head. "We don't go to the east,
Jalwar. We go southwest, to Snarken."
' 'Across the Glittergeist? Sir... Jon-Tom... I have lived
long and seen much. The voyage to Snarken is long and
fraught with danger and difficulty. Better to begin the long
trek to the mouth of the Tailaroam. Besides, how could
one take ship from this deserted land? And north of here
lie the Muddletup Moors, where none may penetrate."
"We penetrated," said Mudge importantly.
"Did you? If you say it so, I doubt it not. Still, this far
north places us well away from the east-west trade routes.
We will encounter no vessels here."
"You won't get any arguments from me on that score,
mate," said Mudge. "Best to do as you say, go back to the
Bellwoods and the Tailaroam and start over. Likely
Chenelska's give up on us by now."
"No," said Jon-Tom firmly. "I am not going back and I
am not starting over. We've come too far."
Mudge squinted up at him. "Well now, you've just
'eard this wise old chap. 'Ow do you propose to get us
across that?" He pointed to the broad, sailless expanse of
the Glittergeist. "I like to swim, lad, but I prefer swimmin'
across water I can cross."
"What can yo do, Jon-Tom?" Roseroar asked him.
He stood fuming silently for a moment before blurting
out, "I can damn well conjure us up a boat, that's what!"
"Uh-oh." Mudge retreated toward the trees, searching
for a boulder of appropriate size to conceal himself behind.
" 'Is nibs is pissed off and 'e's goin' to try spellsingin'
again."
Roseroar eyed the otter curiously. "Isn't that his busi-
ness, fuzzball?"
"That may be wot some calls it. Me, I'd as soon brush
a crocodile's teeth than 'elp 'im with 'is work."
"Ah don't understand. Is he a spellsinger or not?"
" 'E is," Mudge admitted. "Of that there's no longer
any doubt. 'Tis just that 'e 'as this disconcertin' tendency
THE DAT OF THE DISSONANCE
87
to misfire from time to time, and when it 'appens, I don't
want to be in the line o' fire."
"Go on, Roseroar," Jon-Tom told her. "Get back there
and hide behind a rock with him." He was mad at the
otter. Hadn't he, Jon-Tom, helped to bring about the great
victory at the Jo-Troom Gate? Purely by accident of
course, but still...
"No sun," said the tigress, offended. "If n y'all don't
mind, I'll stand right heah."
"Good for you." Jon-Tom unlimbered his duar, turned
away to confront the open sea, where soon he hoped to see
a proper ship riding empty at anchor. Turning also kept
Roseroar from seeing how nervous he was.
Once before on a far-distant river he'd tried to bring
forth a boat to carry himself and his companions. Instead,
he'd ended up with Falameezar, the Marxist dragon. That
misplaced conjuration had produced unexpectedly benign
results, but there was no guarantee he'd be as fortunate if he
fouled up a second time.
It was too late to back down now. He'd already made his
boast. He felt Roseroar's gaze on the back of his neck. If
he backed down now he'd prove himself an incompetent to
Mudge and a coward to the tigress. He had to try.
He considered several songs and discarded them all as
unsuitable. He was beginning to grow frantic when a song
so obvious, so simple, offered what seemed like an obvi-
ous way out,
His fingers tested the duar's strings and he began to
sing.
Flecks of light sprang to instant life around him. It was
as though the sand underfoot had come to glowing life.
The lights were Gneechees, those minute ultrafast specks
of existence that were drawn irresistibly to magic in
motion. They coalesced into a bright, dancing cloud around
him, and as usual, when he tried to look straight at any of
them, they vanished. Gneechees were those suggestions of
88
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAT OF THE DISSONANCE
89
something everyone sees out of the corner of an eye but
aren't there when you turn to look at them.
But he sensed their presence. So did Roseroar and the
others. It was a good sign, an indication that the spellsinging
was working. Certainly the tune he played seemed harm-
less enough, even to the wary Mudge, whose opinion of
Jon-Tom's musical tastes differed little from that of the
average PTA president.
The otter had to admit that for a change the otherworldly
ditty Jon-Tom was reciting was easy on the ears, even if
the majority of the words, as was true of all of Jon-Tom's
songs, were quite incomprehensible.
Jon-Tom had chosen the song as much out of despera-
tion as need. The song was "Sloop John 5.," by the
Beach Boys. Given their present needs, it was a logical
enough choice.
Nothing happened right away. But before long, Jalwar