“How do you feel, inside?”

“Angry. ’Urt, upset. ’Urt outside too, far as that goes. Shit. This is a ridiculous position to be in.”

“Another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Stanley?”

“Wot? Wot’s that?”

“Forget it.” He waited another minute, then turned toward the nearest gangway. “I’m going back to sleep. It’s still a ways to Orangel and I’m flat worn out.”

A furry paw grabbed him by the belt. “Now ’old on a minim there, mate. You ain’t goin’ nowheres.”

“Oh?” Jon-Tom was glad he was facing the other way so that Mudge couldn’t see the grin spreading across his face. “We going someplace else then?”

“You bet your bald arse we are. We’re goin’ after me true luv, that’s where we’re goin’.”

Jon-Tom looked back and down. “‘True love’? Am I hearing these words from that mouth or am I imagining them?”

“We’re wastin’ time. With just the pair of us in a small open boat you’ll ’ave all the opportunities you want to snigger at me an’ make jokes.”

“What do you mean ‘the pair of us’?”

“You’re comin’ with me. Remember? Friends to the end, you watch my backside, I watch yours?”

“Let me see now.” Jon-Tom struck an exaggerated pose. “Am I listening to the same otter who’s always having a fit because he’s stuck tramping all over the place with me? Who can’t stop cursing his ill luck at being my companion on similar journeys? Who is constantly bemoaning the fact that fate has made me his friend?”

“There’s only one Mudge ’ereabouts, an’ it ’appens to be the selfsame one you’re foamin’ at the mouth about, only maybe just a titch changed. Even an otter can change, you know. Let’s not babble on about past disagreements. You owe me, this time. I’ve pulled your arse out o’ the fire often enough, an’ I’ve the singe marks to prove it. You really think this boat o’ yours will run out of fuel somewheres in the middle o’ the sea?”

All business now, Jon-Tom considered. “I don’t know. I wish I’d paid more attention to Clothahump’s hydrocarbon spells. I’d take a shot at it with the duar, but with this suar I’d probably just gum up the engine.”

“Then we’ll need us a sail. As for dealin’ with me luv’s abductors, I don’t need no magic. I’ll rely on me other old friend.” Fingers flipped the short sword into the air. It did a triple twist and he caught it neatly in one paw. “Sword and longbow and don’t sing me no lullabies, pater, because it ain’t firewood I’m off to cut.” He glanced back at Jon-Tom. “Sasheem’ll be onto us the moment we put in our appearance.”

“I know that,” Jon-Tom replied solemnly.

“Wish we ’ad your striped sassyface Roseroar with us. She’d like to meet up with Sasheem ’erself.”

“And I’d like for her to also, but she’d sink the boat.” He looked over the side. The zodiac trailed alongside the catamaran like a puppy on a tether. “I’m sure we can rig a brace for a small mast. With luck we won’t need it. How are you at tracking on water?”

“I’m an otter, mate. Not a fish.”

“Then we’ll have to try and raise some porpoises because we’ve no idea which way the pirates went.” He waved vaguely at the night. “East isn’t much of a heading to go on. We need something more specific.”

Mudge came up close and put both paws on the human’s waist. “I’ll never forget this, mate.”

“Damn right you won’t.”

Even as they were helping to outfit the zodiac with a flexible mast and sail, the ship’s crew tried to discourage them from setting out on what they perceived to be a futile and possibly fatal excursion. The first mate stared out into the night.

“You’ll never find them. Too much ocean out there.”

“We’re not going completely blind. They won’t be expecting any pursuit, so they’re likely to head for the nearest landfall. Captain Magriff’s already told us there are no islands between here and the coast, so we’ll be able to track them after they make land if not before.”

“Aye,” said another sailor, “but which landfall are you talking about? That’s a lot of coastline to be searching.”

“I think they’ll head due east, give or take a few degrees. They’ll need a place where their wounded can recover. The sooner they’re put on land, the better they’ll do.”

“Perhaps your magical oar will let you overtake them and allow you to sneak up on their stern at night.” The sailor sounded dubious. “You’re both crazier than a couple of loons.”

“That’s wot luv does to you,” Mudge told him.

“Not to me.” The nimble-fingered vervet secured a package of supplies to the inside of the boat.

In an hour they were done. In addition to receiving the mast, the zodiac had been stocked to overflowing with provisions. Jon-Tom brought out his purse and turned to pay the first mate. The sloth raised both massive paws.

“The captain says that the company will absorb the difference.” He nodded toward the zodiac, winked through sleepy-lidded eyes that were nevertheless quite alert. “He’s putting it in the manifest as part of the cargo that was taken by the brigands. If you should find them and rescue the otter’s lady and by chance manage to cut a few throats in the process, he says to tell you that will be repayment enough.”

Still he hesitated until Mudge tugged insistently at his arm. “Wot are you waitin’ for, mate? Didn’t you ’ear the bleedin’ sailor? Don’t look a gift badger in the mouth.”

The money might come in handy elsewhere, Jon-Tom told himself. “Give Captain Magriff our thanks and tell him we’ll thank him in person when we get to Orangel.”

“If you ever get to Orangel, which all of us doubt most sincerely. We wish you all our luck.” He hesitated, then said in a slightly different tone, “The otter keeps saying to everyone that you’re a true spellsinger.” Jon-Tom nodded. “Good. Magic’s the only thing that might get you away from where you’re heading alive. Don’t see how it can help you track those ruffians, though.”

“But it can,” He had one leg over the railing preparatory to climbing down the sea ladder into the bobbing zodiac. “We’ll just ask the locals which way they went.”

“The locals?” Another sailor indicated the open ocean. “What locals?”

“The local yokels, o’ course,” shouted Mudge as he helped cast off.

Crew members crowded the railing as the zodiac fell behind the catamaran. A few waved farewell. The expressions they wore were not reassuring. It took three tries before the engine caught. Then Jon-Tom swung it sharply to the right and the zodiac leaped into the night like a flying fish breaking foam.

The catamaran’s running lights were swallowed up all too rapidly by the open sea. It was very empty out on the ocean. Fortunately the sea was calm, though they felt the swells more strongly in the much smaller boat. Jon-Tom hadn’t really considered how they might cope with a real storm. He prayed they wouldn’t have to.

Mudge was relaxing in the bow. “Which way, master mariner?”

“East, I guess. Until we can find some help.”

“No time like the present,” the otter said pointedly.

Jon-Tom sighed resignedly. “Here.” As they switched places he showed Mudge how to keep the zodiac on course. Then he settled himself in the bow and slid the suar into playing position.

The zodiac boasted a built-in compass. All they needed now was a proper heading. But which way in the darkness besides east? Once while sailing to distant Snarken they had encountered the only intelligent inhabitants of the open sea. Now he would have to try again, knowing that even a successful effort might be doomed to failure. Porpoises were notoriously uncooperative. They tended to spend all their time telling anyone they could get to listen to them the most excruciatingly bad jokes.

He had to try, because they could help. If they could identify the pirate ship and provide directions, he and Mudge might actually have a chance to save Weegee. But what to sing? He leaned back against the inflated wall, reflecting that if nothing else the zodiac was a comfortable boat to ride, and began to murmur a gentle seasong. His voice would not carry far, but porpoises had exquisitely sharp hearing. Perhaps they’d be lucky.

It seemed it was not to be. The sun was rising and he was nearly sung out when a surge almost lifted them out of the water. Jon-Tom’s expectations were dashed when he saw that they had been dumped not by porpoises but by a vast school of far smaller swimmers.

Doffing his clothes, Mudge went over the side, as at home in the water as he was on land. Jon-Tom was beginning to get anxious when the otter finally reappeared, licking his whiskers and holding up two small fish from which the heads had been neatly removed.

“Sardines. Tasty, but they ain’t much for givin’ directions.” Climbing back aboard, he set the rest of his snack aside as he shook himself off and picked up a towel.