The Tides of Avarice (59 page)

“What in tarnation's name d'ye think would induce me ever to go back to such a tedious little hole?”

“You want the treasure, the chest of the Zindars.”

“There's that.” The fox let out his breath in a long gust. “There surely is that.”

“Once we're all safely in Foxglove, I'll tell you where it is.”

“You're sure you want to go back to Foxglove, lad?”

Startled by the sudden new tack the skipper had taken, Sylvester didn't reply immediately. “Whyever shouldn't I? Why do you ask the question?”

“Because it's going home. Going back. It's the longest voyage of them all, you know, the one that takes you back to where you started.”

For a moment, Sylvester could have believed the gray fox was speaking out of genuine concern for him. Did he want to go back to the placid tranquility of Foxglove? Sylvester had discovered what roistering life on the high seas was like. He'd come within a hairsbreadth of his death more times than he could rightly remember and, though each hair-raisingly close brush with death had terrified him to his very core, he had to admit that each time it had also been fun. Perhaps not right then, but afterwards, looking back on the thrill of survival against the odds. Could he really give up the zest of adventure, the spice of not knowing each morning if you'd live to see the sunset, for the sake of the measured serenity, the small enclosed world, of Foxglove?

Could Viola?

Sylvester glanced at her. He could see the same questions racing through her head, the same indecision.

He raised an eyebrow to her. What d'you think?

She opened her paws. No one can ever take away from us the adventures we've had, but the escapades have to stop sometime. Better while we're still alive than … later. Now it's time, maybe, that we were looking forward to a different sort of adventure.

He pursed his lips, agreeing with her. They'd still have a few weeks of voyaging on the Shadeblaze before they got home, after all, and who knew what might happen during that time. After all, there was work to be done at home in Foxglove, not least exposing the truth about Mayor Hairbell and High Priest Spurge, and about the Great Exodus. And Lhaeminguas. That last was going to be the most difficult of all. The folk of Foxglove, staid and traditional as they were, weren't going to be too keen on the notion of giving up Lhaeminguas.

As he turned back to Rustbane, Sylvester felt this might be one of the hardest things he would ever had to say.

“Yes. We want to go back to Foxglove.”

“And you want me to take you?”

“Yes.”

“With the barest of skeleton crews?”

“Yes. You can manage. You have four lemming volunteers to supplement your pirates, after all.”

“And a mouse,” Rasco pointed out.

“And a mouse,” Sylvester said.

“You're all five of you lubbers,” objected Rustbane.

“Ahem,” said Mrs. Pickleberry.

“Except one,” said Rustbane hastily.

Rustbane pretended to be considering the proposition, although Sylvester could see by the gleam in those greenish-yellow eyes that the wily buccaneer had already made up his mind.

“Once I've landed you there safe and sound you promise you'll tell me where I might find the chest of the Zindars, do you?”

“I've already told you as much.”

“Your word on it.”

“You know you have my word on it.”

“Or I'll put a black spot on you.”

“Tremble, tremble. You already have. Don't you remember?”

“I wasn't counting you rotten lot. Or any man-jack among my crew who'd remain secretly loyal to me. Though there are some among the people aboard the ship right now that I'd reckon are just bending with the way the wind's blowing, and'd stab me in the back again as soon as look at me. Them – them – them'll discover the full horrific meaning of the black spot when it's applied by Cap'n Terrigan Rustbane, you can take my word they will.”

Viola shuddered. “Why always with the cruelty, Rustbane? It's easy to make people fear you. It's harder, but worth it, to earn their respect instead.”

Rustbane ignored her. Abruptly, he stuck out his paw to Sylvester. “Cap'n Terrigan Rustbane must be going soft in his dotage but, all right, you got yourself a deal, young Sylvester. Shake on it.”

Slightly warily, Sylvester shook.

With a final squeeze of Sylvester's paw, Rustbane turned away.

“Turn her prow toward daybreak,” he bellowed to any of the crew who might still be awake. “Until then, me hearties, catch yerselves some sleep if you can. Your skipper's Terrigan Rustbane again, and stab me if each new day's not going to be the best you ever had in your lives!”

The voyage home was far less eventful than the outward journey had been, which was lucky because everyone aboard the Shadeblaze had to work from dawn until dusk, and then straight on through until dawn again, just to keep the big old ship sailing on her course. Sylvester and Viola learned the old pirate trick of catching sleep a few moments at a time while engaged in the task to hand. Several times a day, Bladderbulge would appear bearing food, and Sylvester and Viola ate it where they stood. The only break they ever got from the relentless toil was when nature forced them to visit the jakes.

One advantage of the jakes aboard the Shadeblaze.

You visited them as rarely as you possibly could.

This is the life! thought Sylvester less and less frequently as the voyage wore on. A thousand times or more he cursed himself for refusing to let Cap'n Rustbane do what he wanted and stop off at Hangman's Haven to pick up more crew. But Sylvester knew in his heart of hearts what would have happened then. With his ship full of pirates, Rustbane would have felt less compelled to take the lemmings home. The hunt for Cap'n Adamite's treasure would have been put off for another day, and that other day might be a long time in coming, what with all the excitement of buccaneering with a full complement again.

Sylvester was beginning to think Rustbane might have been right, that the voyage home really was always the longest of them all.

Every few days there'd be that cry from Rasco in the crow's nest, “land ahoy!”

Eventually, Sylvester could barely be bothered to raise his head to look. They never actually put in to shore, anyway. There was no need. With so few people aboard, the Shadeblaze's supplies were more than enough for the while. And Rustbane was keen to get the journey over with, keen not just to get his paws on the treasure of the Zindars but also to get back to what he regarded as his proper business, pirating.

“Land ahoy!” yelled Rasco as Sylvester was stooping to wind some rope on a capstan.

Thrills 'n' spills, thought Sylvester wearily. The rope seemed to be getting heavier and rougher with each new minute that passed.

There was a touch on his shoulder.

He looked up.

Cap'n Terrigan Rustbane was beaming at him as cordially as a pirate could beam.

“Here, take this.”

Rustbane was holding out the ship's brass telescope.

“Wha—” blurted Sylvester.

“I think you'll want to have a look. Here, take it, I say.”

His paws numb from the rope, Sylvester had to concentrate hard not to fumble as he accepted the instrument. Raising it to his eye was an even tougher task.

He couldn't see anything but gray. Maybe a little bit of blue as well but, if so, it was a blue-gray.

“Not that way,” said Rustbane gently. “You're looking straight out to sea.”

He took Sylvester by the shoulders and turned him around.

“Now do you see?”

And Sylvester did.

The first thing he saw was the Mighty Enormous Cliff. His pulse beating faster and faster, he slowly raised the telescope, watching the rocks and fissures of the Mighty Enormous Cliff swim past his gaze. Past the top of the cliff he could see the darkness of Mugwort Forest spreading out like a stain across the low hills in which Foxglove nestled. And there, just to the right, he could see some of the rooftops of his home town. There was the library where he'd spent so much of his life reading about exploits that now seemed positively dreary beside the adventures he'd had. And there, Sylvester's mouth puckered, was the temple, the seat of his enemies' power.

“Home,” he said, at once realizing the stupidity of what he'd just said.

“Of course it's your home!” cried Rustbane, clapping him on the back. “Did you doubt for one instant the navigatory skills of Cap'n Terrigan Rustbane?”

“Er, no, but—”

“Did you doubt the word of Cap'n Terrigan Rustbane? Hm?”

“Of course not, but—”

“But what, Sylvester, my old boyo?”

“I think I need to sleep.”

Sylvester crumpled at the knees.

And slept. Right there on the deck.

Rustbane let him.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿.

“Wake up, Sylvester!”

His eyelids seemed to have a coating of glue inside them, but somehow he managed to force them open. He saw a gray sky, out of focus.

“Wha—”

“Wake up!”

“Viola?”

“Who else?”

For a split second he'd thought it was her mother shaking him into unwelcome consciousness. He didn't say so.

“What time is it?”

“Morning. Cap'n Rustbane set the Shadeblaze to anchor when dusk fell. You've been sleeping here on deck all night.”

He could believe it. One side of Sylvester felt fine and well rested. The other side felt … flattened. He must have been so exhausted he hadn't moved at all on the hard wood beneath him.

Sylvester sat up, shivering in the early-morning chill.

“We're home,” he said stupidly.

“Not yet.” Viola pointed. “We still have to climb the Mighty Enormous Cliff.”

Sylvester felt his blood run cold. “Why aren't we just rowing over to the beach? That's how we got on the Shadeblaze when we left Foxglove.”

“Apparently the wind is blowing from the east today and the surf is too rough for us to land on the beach. The only area calm enough to approach is at the base of the cliff,” replied Viola.

Sylvester gaped at the sheer stony wall. It seemed somehow even more intimidating than it had last night. Different seams of rock in different colors of gray and brown wove in and around each other. The stones jutting out from the face were angular and lethal-looking. Some appeared ready to go crashing down into the waves at the cliff's foot if disturbed by even so much as a fly landing on them.

“Climb it?” repeated Sylvester after a while.

“Can you think of any other way up?”

“Lemmings aren't very good at climbing, you know,” he began, then realized what he was saying. “Oh, of course, you do know.”

“I used to,” she said with a little laugh. “Nowadays, I'm not so sure. I've seen what adventure can do to a lemming. We're all of us – you, me, Mom, your father – much more than any of the lemmings we were when we'd never left Foxglove.”

“Still—”

“Still what, Sylvester Lemmington? You getting an attack of cold feet before you've even given it a try?”

“Well, yes, as it happens.”

She frowned, folding her forepaws in front of her. The watery sunlight seemed to give her an aura. “You remember what you discovered when we were escaping from The Monkey's Curse back in Hangman's Haven, Sylvester?”

How could he ever forget?

“I was able to run faster than any lemming has ever run before.”

“Well, possibly,” she allowed. “Certainly it was far faster than any of us had ever known a lemming could run. Whatever the case, that ability has always been inside you, Sylvester, and probably inside all of us, if only we knew it. You found out about it because you were suddenly scareder than you'd ever been before.”

“So?”

“So, what the Zindar … influence, I suppose we have to call it. What the Zindar influence did to us was open us up to the potential that had been living inside lemmings all this time. The part we notice the most is how much better we're thinking than we used to. But hasn't it dawned on you, Sylvester, that you've just been working about three weeks without a break? You didn't use to have that sort of stamina before, none of us did.”

“I suppose so.” Sylvester wondered if maybe he'd lost the power of clear thinking again. Or maybe it was that he'd just woken up. He'd never been at his best first thing in the morning. That was one part of him the Zindar magic hadn't changed for the better.

She laughed again and punched him on the shoulder. “I've got faith in you, even if you don't.”

“What about your mom?”

Viola wrinkled her nose. “What about my mom?”

“She wasn't in the Zindar ship with us. She hasn't got whatever it is we got when we were there.”

Viola didn't let this faze her. “Mom's a tough old boot. She'll cope somehow.”

“You think so?”

“I do, and if she can't we'll come down and fetch her later. 'Sides, I think Cheesefang and Rasco between them will be able to think of some way of getting her up the Mighty Enormous Cliff, don't you? I mean, it's only a measly old rock face, after all.”

Sylvester gulped, not too audibly, he hoped. He wasn't entirely convinced his unnatural turn-of-speed ability was still going to function when rotated through ninety degrees, from horizontal to vertical.

“Where's your mom?” he said, stalling for time.

“She's waiting by the longboats with your dad,” said Viola brightly. “I do think your mom ought to look to her laurels, you know. Mom and Jasper are getting on awfully well.”

Sylvester contemplated this scenario as he got groggily to his feet. He was pretty sure there must be some hereditary component to the male lemming reaction toward females. If so, his own taste would reflect, or at least bear similarities to, his father's. If that were so, Hortensia's marriage was safe enough.

On the other hand, and the thought momentarily paralysed him, I think Daphne's daughter is the cutest thing since bees' knees were invented, so isn't it possible that …?

No, he told himself firmly. That way lies madness.

He allowed Viola to lead him to the longboats. Mrs. Pickleberry and Jasper weren't the only ones standing there looking impatient. With them were Cheesefang, Pimplebrains and, inevitably, Rustbane. The gray fox had a smug look on his face as if Sylvester and the other had been expecting to skip off and leave him behind but he, Rustbane, had outwitted them through sheer cunning. In fact, Sylvester was glad to see him there. Once upon a time he'd regarded Rustbane as the most insane individual he'd ever met. Now, Sylvester thought of him as a stabilizing influence, one who might allay the hotheadedness of people like Mrs. Pickleberry.

“In yers gets, yer poxy landlubbers,” said Cheesefang, launching a gob of spittle over the side into the water as if he'd like to do the same to the lemmings.

“You're not coming with us?” said Viola.

“Nope.”

She looked crestfallen. “Oh, I'm sorry about that.”

“Well, 'im” – Cheesefang gave a derisive jerk of his head toward his skipper – “'e says I has ter stay back 'ere on the Shadeblaze and look after the old bucket like she was my own. It's a 'onor really, I s'pose.”

Viola darted forward and gave the old sea rat a peck on the cheek. “Well, I'm sure all of us will feel much safer with you here guarding our backs.”

“You is?”

“I is.”

“Hmmf,” said Mrs. Pickleberry, “you lay a digit on my daughter and you'll find yerself strangled with yer own tail.”

It was difficult to tell if Cheesefang paled under his customary layer of gray filth, but Sylvester suspected that he did.

“Right y'are, ma'am,” said the rat.

Mrs. Pickleberry was first into the longboat Cheesefang indicated, with the other lemmings following her. Then Rasco, who'd insisted that he'd rather die, oh yes, than be left out of what he called the exploratory party. Then Pimplebrains and, finally, with a crash that made the longboat threaten to collapse into a heap of splinters, Rustbane.

“You can row,” said Mrs. Pickleberry to the gray fox.

Rustbane looked as if he might object, then he saw the way Mrs. Pickleberry was staring at him and humbly reached for the oars.

Getting to the base of the Mighty Enormous Cliff took less time than Sylvester would have expected, Rustbane being a far more efficient and powerful rower than most of his crew. The fox pulled the longboat to an unsteady halt about ten yards from where the waves smashed against the jagged rocks under the vertical face.

“I suppose you'll be wanting to go first, Sylvester?” he said sardonically, raising his voice to be heard above the shriek of the breaking waves.

Sylvester felt his heart at the back of his throat and swallowed hard to get it to sink back down into his chest again.

He was saved from having to say anything by Pimplebrains.

“Reckon it's me who'll lead the way,” said the old beaver heavily, flexing his hook-bearing wrists in front of him. “Seeing as how you did the rowin' an' all, Skip.”

He winked at Rustbane.

Rustbane didn't wink back. This sort of familiarity was not encouraged among the crew of the Shadeblaze.

“Glad to hear you's in agreement,” said Pimplebrains, oblivious to the glare Rustbane was giving him. “Now, if you'll be excusing me.”

Before Sylvester could blink properly, the beaver had grabbed a coil of rope from the bottom of the longboat and was over the side and swimming strongly to where the spray of the waves was throwing up a tall, wrathfully white curtain.

“He'll drown,” said Jasper anxiously.

“Not him,” said Rustbane. Sylvester, sitting next to the fox, could have sworn he added, “and more's the pity,” in an undertone.

As they watched, Pimplebrains climbed up onto one of the larger rocks with a nimbleness that seemed incongruous with the portliness of his body. An especially large breaker tried to blast him from his perch, but the beaver clung on easily enough. As the spray subsided, he raised a hook to wave at the party in the longboat.

“That's two pirates who can swim,” observed Viola.

“You're talking in apropos of exactly what, young lady?” inquired Rustbane.

“You once said pirates couldn't swim. Except it turns out you can, and now we discover Pimplebrains can as well. I'd be reassured right now if you could tell me pirates can't climb rock faces too. Nothing like an obsessive liar to let you know what the truth is.”