The Tides of Avarice (66 page)

“Five!”

Maybe Jasper and Hortensia would shed a tear for him as well, but of course they had each other, and that would dilute their grief until it was just a tiny sting.

“Six!”

He could almost welcome death. He just hoped that the physical pain of the bullet's impact wouldn't be too great.

“Seven!”

Better to die than to go back to living the way he had been, spending each and every day translating lies that smelled of ancient dust.

“Eight!”

Except there was no reason he had to do that, if he were living with Viola. There'd be nothing to stop him going back to sea, with her by his side, so they could find new adventures on islands and continents where no lemming had ever trod before.

“Nine!”

There was quite a lot to live for perhaps. What had made him so foolhardy as to challenge a wily old campaigner like the gray fox to a duel? How could he, Sylvester Lemmington, hope to survive against the famous Cap'n Terrigan Rustbane, renowned in every corner of the world for his skill in fighting and his cruelty? This was truly the—

“Ten!”

He heard the click as Rustbane cocked his flintlock.

Sylvester spun around, raising his own pistol, tugging back the hammer as he did so.

In some ways it's been a good life. In some ways, not so much. This is a rotten time to be leaving it, though, just when everything seems to be opening up in front of me. But when is there ever a good time for one's life to finish?

Suddenly everything seemed to slow down, as if he'd entered a dream.

Rustbane, twenty paces away, looked enormous, bigger than the sky.

The gray fox was slowly, slowly raising his pistol.

Sylvester had never fired a gun in his life, he suddenly realized. He didn't know how to aim this thing.

He aimed it anyway, closing his eyes so he wouldn't be able to see all the things he was doing wrong.

BANG!

That was Rustbane firing. Already the pirate's bullet was dashing relentlessly through the air. Rustbane had virtually been born with a gun in his paw. There was no way his aim could miss. The best Sylvester could hope for was to get off a shot of his own before death took him.

Eyes still tightly shut, he squeezed the trigger.

And that was what saved him.

No one had ever told Sylvester that pistols pack a recoil when you fire them.

The recoil threw him backward more than a yard to land in a tangle of limbs on the mossy forest floor. Something that buzzed like a wasp flew angrily past him to bury itself noisily in the undergrowth. The gun jolted itself free of his grip and rocketed somewhere further behind him. He was defenseless for when Rustbane came to finish him off, as surely the gray fox would now do.

But why was Rustbane taking so long about it?

Certain that he was about to stare directly at his own doom, Sylvester raised his head.

No one was looking at him. Instead, Jasper, Doctor Nettletree and Rasco were all gazing at an untidy pile of gray fur on the far side of the glade.

“What's happening?” Sylvester croaked.

“You've shot him,” Jasper said without turning his head.

As if reminded by Jasper's words that he was a physician, Doctor Nettletree strode to where Rustbane lay.

“He's still alive!”

“Too foul for even Hell to take him, I expect,” said Jasper.

“No,” said Doctor Nettletree in a cold fashion. “Wherever he's going to go, he's going there soon. It's a miracle he's clinging on to life at all and he won't be able to keep it up for long.”

Sylvester felt every muscle in his back protesting as he groped his way to his feet.

“Let me speak to him. I need to speak to him before he goes. I owe him that much. He was right when he said that, if only things had turned out a little bit differently, we could have remained friends for the rest of our lives.”

“Yes,” said the voice of the gray fox, sounding like a breeze turning over autumn leaves. “Yes, let Sylvester come to me. I never thought he'd be the one to usher me into the darkness, but I'm glad it's him.”

Sylvester rested on his haunches by Rustbane's side.

“You sure this isn't a trick?” he said.

“No tricks this time,” whispered the fox. “I've run out of all my tricks.”

“You didn't give me much choice but to kill you, you know.”

“I know, and you're a grand marksman, young Sylvester. For a hamster, anyhow.”

“A lemming. Not a hamster. A lemming.”

“Have it your own way.”

For a few moments, Rustbane said nothing and Sylvester thought life had departed him, but then, “Jeopord nearly did for me, back on Vendros, you know.”

“What're you talking about.”

“I hid it well but he managed to wound me. No one's been able to do that to Cap'n Terrigan Rustbane for many a long year. The wound wasn't serious, just a tickling of the ribs, but it told me the time had come that I should start thinking of letting my life run down. For a while, I thought that maybe the prospect of the treasure would get my old juices flowing again, but even that wasn't enough. The show I put on about forcing you to open the casket? It was just a show. All of my life has been, in a way, just a show. I've been very skilled at making sure no one but me can see behind the scenery I've erected on my life's stage. That no one discovered that the props are made of paper and string. But I've known.”

“Stop talking so much. You don't need to.” Sylvester tried to take Rustbane's paw. Even using both his own, the paw was too large for him to hold comfortably, but he held it as best as he could.

“Oh, but I do,” said Rustbane, rallying yet again. “I've let my greed, my avarice, rule me all my life. Each new day I've let the tides of avarice pull my ship away from shore and out into the seas of adventure but the tides aren't flowing anymore, at least, not for me. The tides are tired, like I am. I'm an old pirate who's lived years longer than any pirate could expect to. I should've had my gizzard slit a thousand times or more, yet each time I've been able to sidestep the blade. Not now, though. It's fitting it should have been one of my own bullets that killed me. Fitting that the bullet should have been fired by someone I so sorrowfully underestimated. If there's really another life after this one, like some folk say, I'll know not to make that mistake again.”

The fox made a curious half-coughing noise that Sylvester realized was laughter.

“You saved my life,” Sylvester said. “More than once.”

“I didn't have any choice. I thought the only surviving copy of old Throatsplitter's map was the one inside your head. I had to keep you alive. It was pure selfishness, I assure you.”

“I think it was more than that.”

“Then you think wrong.”

Neither of them said anything for a few heavy seconds. Sylvester could almost feel the gray fox's life tugging at the cords Rustbane desperately held on to.

But the cords were already stretched to the limits of their endurance. They couldn't last much longer.

“I didn't do all of the things you think I did,” said the fox at last. His voice was now so hoarse Sylvester could barely make out the words. “Some of them, yes, but not all.”

“I think it'd have been impossible for a single person to commit all the crimes you're supposed to have done,” said Sylvester, trying to soothe him.

Again that horrible half-coughing noise. “I tried, though, believe me, I surely did try. There wasn't an evil I didn't think about doing. It was just that there were some I didn't have the time or ability to put into practice. Even so, I took my pleasure more times than could be counted in making pipsqueaks squeak.

“I wish it hadn't been like that, now I look back on it, but it was too late.
Word of mouth had made me into a legendary, almost mythical pirate captain who was unkillable. Who would've thought it could happen to an abandoned fox cub, found on the doorstep of an orphanage a long, long time ago. Violence and abuses were common practice back then for someone weak and left alone in this vast world. A slap instead of a pat. A kick instead of a hug. Abuse instead of a kind word. I remember once, that in a silly, naive way to gain affection, I plucked some flowers and gave it to the matron of the orphanage. She trampled them underfoot, slapped me in the face and told me that bribery didn't work with her. I should've known better. That day I made a promise to take revenge on the world that had put me there. The world was the enemy. I trained my mind and my sword arm and designed the most fearsome weapons ever made. It paid off, didn't it? I've left a mark, haven't I? Even though it's a mark of death and fright.” The fox coughed slightly. Sylvester could feel grip of his paw grow weaker. “Well, we've all got to play our roles and choose our path in this world, don't we? Now, I wish I'd played the other role. I should've held out and chosen the other path. The one you took, Sylvester. I toyed with the idea of leaving it all behind and starting anew but the legend had grown out of all proportion and my enemies would've sought me out for revenge wherever I went. I would've never been safe. I decided to ride it out until the end. But at night, it was in my dreams. Dreams of another life. That's why I set out for the treasure, I wanted a new life. That would've been my wish. But I understand now. The wounds I had caused this world would never heal just because I became someone else. As I said before, the monster inside of me would never have been truly expelled. It would always remind me of the bricks upon which I had built my new life. A perhaps likeable exterior but a rotten foundation, which was bound to collapse. I would never have gotten that beautiful and simple life I longed for. Not until I had paid for my deeds.
What was that name I told you when we first met?”

“Robin Fourfeathers. You said you were called Robin Fourfeathers.”

The gray fox settled himself more comfortably for death. “That's it. Robin Fourfeathers. I think I'd have liked to have been Robin Fourfeathers in real life, not Cap'n Terrigan Rustbane. I wish I'd been liked by many, loved by some, always sought out in the tavern by people who wanted an evening of good company, jokes and song. It would have been a better way to live than being feared by half o' Sagaria, and that half the better half.

“One more thing, Sylvester.”

“Yes?”

“That black spot I put on the crew of the Shadeblaze when Jeopord was making me walk the plank and everyone else except Three Pins and Rasco was just letting him do it, you remember?”

“I remember only too well,” said Sylvester quietly.

“Well, I rescind it. Let it never be said that Cap'n Terrigan Rustbane went to his grave leaving people alive he'd intended to kill. I forgive 'em all, present company included.

“Oh, and I abandon my claim to the Zindar treasure, even though it's mine by rights according to the pirate code. Whatever's in that chest is yours, young Sylvester. Yours and your sweetheart's, to do with as the pair of you see fit. Just, when you're enjoying it as you go down the years, spare a thought from time to time for old Terrigan Rustbane, who wished it to you on his deathbed out of the goodness of his heart.”

Sylvester smiled wryly. The gray fox had perhaps seconds to live but he still wanted to believe it was out of his grace and charity that he was allowing others to have his treasure.

“And the Shadeblaze,” said Rustbane, scrabbling at Sylvester's arm. “See it goes to a good home, will you?”

Suddenly Rustbane stiffened, and his eyes opened wide with amazement. To Sylvester it looked as if the gray fox were staring into another world, somewhere as far from and as near to Sagaria as could possibly be. The fox's grip on Sylvester's arm tightened, painfully so.

“It's you, isn't it?” said the pirate in an unearthly hiss. “Come to welcome me, have you, Throatsplitter?”

Cap'n Adamite promised he'd be here at the end to give Rustbane a surprise he wouldn't like receiving, thought Sylvester, feeling ice travel down his spine.

“Two old pals together, are we, Josiah? Aye, the two of us'll make merry wreaking a swathe of destruction across the face of the next world together, won't we?”

This may not prove to be as much fun as you think, Rustbane. But Sylvester said nothing out loud. Why make the gray fox's last moments of life any more miserable than they already were? Time enough for Rustbane to discover the truth. Besides, the old buccaneer might have relented, although Sylvester, remembering the Cap'n Adamite he'd come to know through the journal, somehow doubted it.

“I'll be with you as soon as I can, me … old … hearty …” The last two or three words came out of Rustbane's mouth as a series of spitting noises and were followed by a rush of dark red blood. Those unique yellow-green eyes slowly lost their focus and then closed for the final time. With a sigh that seemed to have been brought up from the deepmost pits of the world, Cap'n Terrigan Rustbane fell back against the forest floor and expired
.

“Took his time about doing it, didn't he?” said Jasper heartlessly.

Sylvester looked up at his father's face through a blur of incipient tears. “How can you say that?”

“Easily. He's not worth your pity, son. He caused misery and suffering all his life long, and the world's a better place without him in it. Any good you saw in him, Sylvester, was your good being reflected back at you by someone too wicked to absorb any of it himself.”

“He meant a lot to me!”

“Then I'll not take that away from you, Sylvester.”

And, he was the one who closed the circle, thought Sylvester, wiping his eyes. The circle Madame Zhania was talking about. Was I really saved by that recoil when I fired that gun or did he miss me on purpose? If the latter is the case, then it would explain another of Zhania's mysterious foretellings. That there would come a time when one of us would have to give the greatest gift of all to close the circle. Did Rustbane give that gift? By sacrificing himself? He realized that he would never know the answer to these questions for as long as he lived.