Chorus Skating (Spellsinger, Book 8)
Alan Dean Foster
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The Spellsinger is back in a brand-new non-stop adventure!
To avoid boredom, Spellsinger Jon-Tom and his faithful otter companion, Mudge, embark on a quest that seems to have no end. They rescue a gaggle of spoiled princesses, wage war on a guerrilla gorilla, and escape from a mocking maelstrom before getting on the wrong side of an evil alien band.
Originally published 1994 by Aspect.
replied his tall companion cheerfully. “But if the occasion demands, I plan to take a clue from Buncan. Who says you can’t learn from your kids?” “How do you mean?” asked Mudge darkly. “I mean that I’m not just going to sing the same old songs anymore. When possible I’m going to try and do as he did and devise my own lyrics to cope with any unexpected situations.” “’Ere now, guv, I know it ain’t for me to say, but if it were up to me, I’d rather you didn’t do that, don’tcha know. You always
from the ceiling on suction-cup-shod feet. Things were worse in the master bedroom, which found itself beset by a horde of tiny imps ranging in hue from a flat vinyl white to a chocolately beige. They were a blur of activity, at times appearing organized, at others chaotic. This resulted in a tendency to run into each other at high speed, with fractious and occasionally messy results. Many were the minuscle arguments over who had the right of way through the appropriate hermetic paths. Angry
to sit on, letting the brisk wind blow through his fur and ears. As the waters of the Karrakas slid beneath the vibrating hull, everyone aboard felt cleaner and more optimistic than they had in many days. Chapter 13 AS WAS SO OFTEN the case with Jon-Tom’s spellsongs, the confidence expressed in his efforts was premature. The swamp buggy ran for all the rest of that day and well into the following afternoon before it choked, sputtered, and died. They had covered miles enough to reduce the threat
The otter licked his lips. “Come on where, mate? ’Tis seven-thirty in the morn.” “Seven forty-two.” Jon-Tom paused at the bedroom door. “To see Clothahump, of course. Surely there’s something happening somewhere. Some lesser, casual causal catastrophe just waiting to be put right with a spellsong or two.” “Some tiny blade just waitin’ to slip between me ribs,” the otter groused. “I can see you ain’t goin’ to leave me be, so give me a minim to dress an’ I’ll sacrifice a perfectly good sleep-in
glassy green sea. As the whale pods led them south and then southwest the travelers came into the lee of the isolated landmass and the agitated surface of the sea flattened out. A shattered and tumbled lava reef further muted the force of the swells. Once again the venerable humpback laid himself alongside the boat. “HERE BE THE PLACE.” “HERE IS THE PLACE!” boomed the somber cetacean chorus. “Here it is, here it is!” sang out the smaller dolphins and porpoises. Mudge turned from scrutinizing