"Work 'ard and 'ave confidence, mates," he whispered
124
Alan Dean Poster
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
125
to Jalwar and Roseroar. "See that look on me pal's face?
I've seen it afore. 'E may be 'alf bonkers, but sometimes
'tis the 'alf bonkers, part crazy part that sees a way out
where none's to be seen."
"I pray it is so," whispered Jalwar, "or we are well and
truly doomed."
" 'Alf a chance," Mudge muttered. "That's all *e needs
is 'alf a chance."
"They may not give it to him," commented Roseroar.
While his companions slept the sleep of the exhausted
that night, Jon-Tom planned and schemed. Corroboc was
going to let him sing, out of curiosity if naught else. Songs
would have to be chosen carefully, with an eye toward
suppressing any suspicions the captain might have. Jon-
Tom had no doubt that the homicidal parrot would watch
him carefully.
His recital should be as bland and homogenous as
possible. Somehow he would have to find an effective tune
that would have the hoped-for results while sounding
perfectly innocent. The lyrics would have to be powerful
but nonthreatening.
Only when he'd arranged a program in his mind did he
allow himself to fall into a troubled, uneasy sleep.
The first mate had them scrubbing the base of the
mainmast the next morning. Corroboc strolled past without
looking at the work, and Jon-Tom turned slowly toward
him, keeping his tone deferential.
"Your pardon, Captain."
The parrot turned, wingtips resting on slim bird hips.
"Don't waste my time, boy. You've plenty to do."
"I know that, Captain sir, but it's very much the wrong
kind of work. I miss my chosen avocation, which is that of
minstrel. My knowledge of songs of far lands is unsur-
passed."
"Be that so, boy?"
Jon-Tom nodded vigorously. "I know wondrous chords
and verse of great beauty, can bring forth the most mellifluous
sounds from my instrument. You would find that they fall
lightly on the ears and sometimes, I am embarrassed to say
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
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.
The spellsinger was now wending his lilting way through
"Peaceful Easy Feeling." "See," whispered Jalwar ex-
citedly through clenched, sharp teeth, "even the armpit
of a captain begins to go!"
No question but that Corroboc was slumped in the chair.
Sasheem yawned and sat down beside him. They made an
unlovely couple.
All around the deck the crewmembers were blinking and
yawning and falling asleep where they stood. Only the
three prisoners remained awake.
"We are aware of what he is doing," Jalwar explained,
"and in any case the magic is not directed at us."
"That's good, guv'nor." Mudge had to work to stifle a
yawn, blinked in surprise. "Strong stuff 'e's workin'."
By the time Jon-Tom sang the final strains of "Peace-
ful Easy Feeling," the pirate ship was sailing aimlessly. Its
bloodthirsty crew lay snoring soundly on the deck, in the
hold below, and even up in the rigging. He took a step
toward Corroboc and ran his eyes over the captain's attire
without finding what he was hunting for. Then he joined
his friends.
"Did any of you see where he put his keyring?"
"No, mate," Mudge whispered, "but we'd best find
'em fast."
Jon-Tom started for the door leading to the captain's
cabin, then hesitated uncertainly. Once inside, where would
he look? There might be a sealed chest, many drawers, a
hidden place beneath a nest or mattress, and the keyring
might not even be kept in the cabin. Maybe Sasheem had
charge of the keys, or maybe one of the other ship's
officers.
He couldn't go looking for them and still sing the
sleep spell. Already some of the somnolent crew were
beginning to stir impatiently. And he didn't have the
slightest idea how long the spellsong would remain in
effect.
"Do somethin', mate!" Mudge was tugging uselessly
on his own ankle chains.
"Where should I look for the keys? They're not on the
captain." Suddenly words in his mind, suggestive of
something once remembered. Not suggestions of a place to
hunt for keys, but snatches of a song.
130
Alan Dean Poster
A song about steel cat eyes and felines triumphant.
About "The Mouse Patrol That Never Sleeps," a lethal
little bloodthirsty ditty about an ever-watchful carnivorous
kitty. Or so he'd once described it to a friend.
He sang it now, wishing lan Anderson were about to
accompany him on the flute, the words pouring rapidly
from his lips as he tried to concentrate on the tune while
keeping a worried eye on the comatose crew.
The section of anchor chain that had been used to bind
Roseroar suddenly cracked and fell away. She looked in
amazement at the broken links, then up at Jon-Tom.
Wordlessly, she went to work on the much thinner chains
restraining her companions. Mudge and Jalwar were freed
quickly as immense biceps strained. They vanished below-
decks as she worked on Jon-Tom's bindings. By the time
she'd finished freeing him, the otter and ferret had reappeared.
Mudge's longbow was slung over his shoulder and his face
was almost hidden by the burden of the tigress's armor.
Jalwar dragged her heavy swords behind him, panting
hard.
They turned and raced for the tow rope attached to the
John B. Only Jon-Tom lingered.
"Come on," Roseroar called to him. "What ah yo
waitin' fo?"
He whispered urgently back to her. "The girl! I promised."
"She don't care what yo do. She'll only be trouble."
"Sorry, Roseroar." He turned and rushed for the nearest
open hatch.
"Damn," the tigress growled. She pushed past him,
vanished below. While he waited he sang, but the spellsong
was beginning to surrender its potency. Several sailors
rolled over in their sleep, snuffling uneasily.
Then a vast white-and-black shape was pushing past
him, the limp naked form of Folly bouncing lightly on one
shoulder like a hunting trophy. Jon-Tom's heart stopped for
a second, until he saw that her condition was no different
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
131
from that of the rest of die ship's complement. His spell-
singing had put Folly to sleep also.
"Satisfied?" Roseroar snarled.
"Quite." He muffled a grin as he raced her to the stern.
Mudge and Jalwar were just boarding the sloop, Mudge
having negotiated the short swim with ease, while Jalwar
displayed typical ferret agility by walking the swaying tow
rope all the way down to the boat. Roseroar was about to
step over the side when she saw Jon-Tom hesitate for the
second time.
4'Now what's the mattah?"
"I've done a tot of running, Roseroar, and I'm a pretty
good swimmer, but the sea's rough and my shoulders are
so sore from pushing that damn scrub brush that I'm not
sure if I can make it. You go on. I'll try and catch up.
When you cast off the line you can swing her 'round and
pick me out of the water."
She shook her head. "Ah declah, ah nevah heard any-
one, not even a human, talk so damn much. Grab hold."
She turned her back to him.
Deciding this wasn't the time to salvage whatever remained
of his already bruised male ego, he put both arms around
her neck, using one to help balance Folly. Roseroar ig-
nored her double burden as she went hand over hand down
the towrope until all of them were standing safe on the
deck of the John B.
"Cast off!" Jon-Tom shouted at Mudge as he ran for the
stern. "I'll take the wheel. Roseroar, you run the sails
up."
"With pleasure." She dumped Folly's unconscious form
onto the deck. Jon-Tom winced as it hit, decided that one
more black and blue mark wouldn't show up against the
background of bruises that covered the girl's entire body.
Roseroar worked two winches at once while Mudge
hacked away with his short sword at the thick hauser
linking them to the pirate ship. In seconds the sloop swung
clear. Her sails climbed the mast, caught the wind. Jon-
132
Alan Dean Foster
Tom turned her as confused shouts and cries of outrage
began to sound from the deck of the larger vessel.
"Not a moment too soon." Jalwar spoke admiringly
from his position atop the center cabin. "You have the
gift, it is certain."
Jon-Tom shrugged off the compliment and concentrated
on catching as much wind as possible. "I didn't study for
it and I didn't plan on it. It's just a lucky combination of