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Tom follow in Roseroar's wake, waving his staff and yelling at the top of his
lungs. "Bloody fools!" He notched an arrow into his bow and followed.
But there was to be no fight. The assailants turned to see all seven feet and
five hundred pounds of white tigress bear-
ing down on them, waving twin swords and bellowing fit to shake the leaves off
the nearby trees. There was a concerted rush for the boat.
The four paddled like fiends and were out of sword range before she entered
the water in angry pursuit, throw-
ing insults and challenges after them. Mudge might have reached the boat with
an arrow or two, but saw no point in meaningless killing or antagonizing
strangers. As far as he was concerned, the best battle was the one that never
took place.
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Meantime Jon-Tom was bending solicitously over the exhausted subject of their
rescue. He put an arm beneath the slim furry neck and helped it sit up. It was
a ferret, and
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
83
an old one, distant kin to Mudge's line but thinner still.
Much of the normally brown fur was tipped with silver. So was the black mask
that ran across the face.
The stranger was clad in beige shorts and vest and wore sandals instead of
boots. A plain, floppy hat lay trampled in the sand nearby, next to a small
leather sack. Several other similar sacks lay scattered along the beach. All
looked empty.
Gradually the elderly ferret's breathing slowed. He opened his eyes, saw
Jon-Tom, then looked around wildly.
"Easy, easy, friend. They're gone. We saw to that."
The ferret gave him a disbelieving look, then turned his gaze toward the
beach. His eyes settled on the scattered leather sacks.
"My stock, my goods!" He broke away from Jon-Tom, who watched while the
oldster went through each sack, one at a time. Finally he sat down on the
sand, one sack draped across his lap. He sighed listlessly, threw it aside.
"Gone." He shook his head sadly. "AH gone."
"Wot's all gone, senior?" Mudge prodded one of the sacks with a boot.
The ferret didn't look up at him. "My stock, my poor stock. I am... I was, a
humble trader of trinkets, plying my trade along the shores east of here. I
was set upon by those worthless brigands" he nodded seaward, to where the
retreating boat had raised sail and was disappearing toward the horizon "who
stole everything I have man-
aged to accumulate in a short, unworthy life. They kept me and forced me to do
their menial work, to cook and clean and wash for them while they preyed upon
other unsuspecting travelers.
"They said they would let me go unharmed. Finally they tired of me, but
instead of returning me to a place of civilization they brought me here to
this empty, uninhabited shore, intending to maroon me in an unknown land where
I might starve. They stole what little I had in this world, taunted me by
leaving my stock bags, and would have
84
Alan Dean Foster stolen my life as well at the last moment had you not come
along, for I was refusing to be abandoned."
"Don't give us too much credit," Jon-Tom advised him. "Our being in a position
to rescue you was an accident."
"You can say that again, mate," growled the disgusted
Mudge as he slung his bow back over his shoulder.
Jon-Tom ignored the otter. "We're glad we could help. I
don't like seeing anyone taken advantage of, especially senior citizens."
"What?"
"Older people."
"Ah. But how can I thank you, sir? How can I show my gratitude? I am
destitute."
"Forget it." The ferret's effusiveness was making Jon-
Tom uncomfortable. "We're glad we could help."
The ferret rose, wincing and putting one hand against
his back. "I am called Jalwar. To whom do I owe my salvation?"
"I'm Jon-Tom. I'm a spellsinger. Of sorts."
The ferret nodded gravely. "I knew at once you were 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
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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
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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
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