Tigerheart (14 page)

“
Coward!
” said The Boy, startled for a moment, but only a moment, and then he flew in pursuit of the snow tiger.

Paul had no idea what to make of this sudden turn of events. If there was one thing upon which he would have staked his life, it was that his tiger was incapable of pusillanimity and would never flee a battle save as some sort of trick.

As it so happened, Paul was absolutely correct.

The tiger reached the edge of the clearing at full speed, but he did not exit it as The Boy had expected. Rather than running between the trees to escape, the snow tiger instead ran about halfway up the nearest tree. The tree bent back, elastic like a palm tree rather than rigid like an oak. The tiger, using both his own momentum and the tree’s flexibility, catapulted himself backward, twisting in midair and angling upward.

The Boy, meantime, had headed downward, anticipating having to get below the tops of the trees in order to keep an eye on the snow tiger. Consequently, he was caught completely by surprise when he found himself looking straight at the oncoming teeth and outstretched claws of the snow tiger. The Boy hesitated a split instant, not sure which direction to go, and that was all the opportunity the snow tiger needed. He collided with The Boy in midair. The Boy, knowing he was in dire straits, thrust hard and true with his sword. The point glanced off one of the tiger’s ribs, leaving a cut and a trail of blood, but otherwise doing the tiger no serious harm.

The tiger thudded to the ground, The Boy directly beneath his paws. The impact was so bone jarring that Paul felt it from where he was standing a short distance away.

The tiger roared in triumph. The Boy tried to bring his sword around again, to drive it into the tiger’s throat. But the tiger whipped his head around, catching the flat of the blade and sending the sword tumbling from The Boy’s hand. The Boy tried to squirm out from under the tiger and grab for his weapon; but he had no chance. The tiger brought his left forepaw down hard on The Boy’s chest, immobilizing him. The Boy looked straight up into the wide-open mouth of the tiger, the mouth that would—within seconds—close upon his face and likely tear his head from his shoulders. Not once did The Boy cry out, and there wasn’t a hint of fear in him. Instead he seemed almost fascinated, as if he were wondering what it would feel like to be eaten alive by a raging tiger.

But if The Boy was mute, Paul was far more vocal. “
Get away from him!
” he screamed at the tiger. Acting completely from instinct, with no other goal than to get the tiger’s attention, Paul threw his sword as hard as he could toward the tiger’s head. His intent was to bounce the weapon off the beast’s skull, in the increasingly vain hope that he could distract him. Perhaps even talk sense into the beast and salvage the situation.

His aim was both terrible and providential.

The blade came nowhere near the tiger’s skull, nor to striking it with the flat of the blade as had been Paul’s admittedly meager plan. Instead, the sword pinwheeled through the air and, with the blind luck that had not been accorded The Boy’s more seasoned thrust, embedded itself in the snow tiger’s side. It slid between the third and fourth ribs and skewered the mighty creature’s heart.

Never in the whole history of the animal kingdom had any creature looked quite as surprised as did the snow tiger. He lifted his paws clear of The Boy, who lay on the ground and appeared as stunned as the snow tiger himself over the turn of events.

The tiger looked up at Paul, who was stricken by what he had done. “I’m—I’m sorry,” said Paul softly. He had read any number of times that one should never get near a wounded animal; that that was when they were the most dangerous. That didn’t stop him from approaching the snow tiger. “I—I was just…”

“You’ve killed me,” rumbled the snow tiger, sounding hurt and confused but also somehow resigned to the fact. He slumped over. “I’ve run with you…since before you remember. You’ve killed your childhood.”

“I didn’t mean to….”

There was a low noise in the tiger’s throat that sounded almost like a laugh. “No one ever means to. That’s usually how it happens…by accident.”

Paul reached for the tiger’s great muzzle, and there were tears rolling down the lad’s face. The tiger’s head was heavy and Paul sank to the ground. The tiger rested his head in Paul’s lap, and Paul started scratching him behind the ears. “You were a good tiger,” he whispered.

“You were a good friend,” said the tiger, and then he closed his eyes.

The Boy was about to airily inform Paul that he had never truly been in any danger. That he had a handle on the situation and was simply trying to lure the tiger into a false sense of security so that he could make the decisive strike at exactly the moment when the tiger was certain of his triumph. In short, in order to salve his ego, The Boy was prepared to lie through his pearly white teeth.

But he did not do so. Instead he simply stood there in silence.

Nothing stirred in the Anyplace for some time, and the only sound to be heard in the entirety of the island was the soft sobbing of Paul Dear.

Chapter 13

Slash on the Rocks

I
n order to accord Paul a respectful mourning period, let us draw a curtain upon the previous scene and instead shift our attentions to the schemes of Captain Slash and her tormenting of Fiddlefix.

Pity poor Fiddle. The torment resulted in her betrayal of The Boy, but we must not upbraid her overmuch for this. All of us like to believe that—were we to have torment inflicted upon us in order to encourage our turning upon those whom we love or are loyal to—we would remain steadfast in our convictions. Everyone is the hero of his own personal story. But I think we are all honestly aware that no man (or pixie or sprite, for that matter) knows his true measure until confronted with the reality. To that end, we again ask that you extend some degree of compassion to Fiddle rather than judge her harshly, since you never know when you might find yourself in a similar situation and crave the indulgence of others after the fact.

Fiddlefix had been through an emotional roller coaster. First she had thought that The Boy had betrayed her. Then she had been restored to the land of the living, burning for revenge against he whom she had loved more than herself. Then she had learned that the betrayal was a false one and that he himself had been a dupe…only to be left behind when The Boy, Paul, and his companions fled the
Skull n’ Bones.

Now we know that the others were unaware that Fiddlefix had been captured by the evil Slash. Had they known, they would have returned for her straightaway. But as you saw, there was a great deal of hugger-mugger involved in the retreat (a word that, even now, The Boy bristles over) and, well…the Anyplace tends to play tricks with the memory of its residents. Consequently, The Boy, Paul, Gwenny, and the others were so caught up in their immediate need and their involvement with the Picca Indian tribe that Fiddlefix had—temporarily—slipped through the cracks of their attention.

Given enough time, surely they would have realized that her absence was far too prolonged to be chalked up to the flighty nature of pixies. They would have put their collective deductive power together. It would have been insufficient to—for instance—capture the Napoleon of Crime. But it would have been enough to make them realize that Fiddlefix was very likely in the hands of the pirates and needed immediate succor.

But events conspired to overtake our heroes, as events often do.

We are, however, getting slightly ahead of ourselves.

Let us focus, instead, on Fiddlefix in her prison.

The prison was a simple metal box, with no light and only a tiny hole drilled in the top to allow air to seep through. So stale was the atmosphere within the box itself, even with the ventilation hole, that Fiddle was reduced to pressing her tiny nose right up against the hole in order to try and take in a few draughts of fresh air. She repeatedly choked back sobs over her situation, while at the same time angrily pounding on the interior of the box with her fists. Fiddlefix’s strength was formidable. But the box was quite durable and easily able to withstand her pounding, even though she kept hitting it until her knuckles started to bleed. Once that happened, she sat there with her legs curled up, miserably sucking on the wounds and lamenting her lot in life.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst was the shaking.

With no warning, at random times, whether she was awake or asleep, Fiddle’s box would suddenly be lifted and shaken violently. The poor pixie would be thrown around inside; slamming up, down, and sideways; helpless to do anything about it except cry out in protest. Her protest was, naturally, ignored by her tormentor. And her tormentor, as you’ve undoubtedly surmised, was Captain Slash.

Fiddle completely lost track of time. Her life had been reduced to darkness, confinement, stale air, and violent shakings. So, as strange as it may seem, the unexpected sound of Captain Slash’s purring voice was something Fiddlefix actually welcomed. If nothing else, it was a break from everything else.

“Poor thing,” cooed Slash. “Trapped here by pirates. Helpless to control your destiny. Not much of a life for you, is it?”

Fiddlefix uttered some relatively foul curses in pixie language. Either Captain Slash didn’t understand them or else she simply ignored them.

“You know you’re at my mercy, don’t you?” Slash said. “The Boy has forgotten you, as he tends to do. Gwenny never liked you in the first place.”

“Paul…” Fiddlefix managed to say.

“You mean that other lad?” said Slash, who, as it happened, was quite conversant in pixie language. “He’ll do what the rest of them tell him to do. He was just as eager to fly away as any of them. You’re on your own, my dear pixie. They’re not coming back for you.”

Fiddle slammed her open hands against the interior of the box, and she was trembling with indignation. But she was also as helpless as Slash claimed her to be, and she knew it; and, worse, Slash knew that she knew it.

She barely had time to ponder her situation before she was being knocked about all over again. She tried to grab something to hold on to, but it was purely instinct. She knew that there was nothing there upon which she could seek purchase.

Then the shaking stopped. The box was being held sideways, so Fiddlefix had slid down into a far corner of it. Her legs were drawn up tightly to just under her chin. She was trying not to cry because she didn’t want Slash to hear her sounds of despair, and she knew that Slash was still holding the box.

“I could, of course, just toss you over the side,” Slash said. “That little hole I’m sure you find so inadequate for air will be more than adequate to let water through. It would take a while, although not quite as long as you probably think. And then you would drown, down in the briny deep, alone and lost and forgotten. Farewell to Miss Fiddlefix. Not exactly the end you had in mind, is it, my pretty pretty? Or would you just like me to keep repeating ‘I don’t believe in you know whats’ until you drop dead once more…this time forever, I assure you?”

Fiddlefix clapped her hands over her ears, not wanting to even chance hearing the forbidden phrase. As a result she didn’t initially hear Slash’s next comments, but then took the chance and lowered her hands just enough.

“—have to be that way,” Slash was saying to her. This caught Fiddle’s attention. “If you help me,” Captain Slash continued, “I would be happy to help you. Just tell me what The Boy fears. What is his weakness?”

“He fears nothing. He has none. Now let me go.”

“Then let’s take it from another angle,” Slash said, making her voice sound sweet as honey. “Who hates The Boy? Who would ally with me to dispose of him for good? Who would stop at nothing, care about nothing, if it meant ending him?”

“Well, that would likely be everyone in the Anyplace,” Fiddle said. “After all, you and your despicable brother turned him into a pirate. He’s likely feared and loathed by the entire population.”

Captain Slash laughed at that. “I think you underestimate The Boy, pretty pretty. I would venture to guess that, even now, he is reforging old alliances with such former friends as the Indians. Once he has recaptured their goodwill, it’s only a matter of spreading word to everyone else on the island that The Boy was treated ever so badly by cruel, heartless pirate folk. Cast us as the villains once more. We’re used to it.”

“You
are
the villains.”

“Eye of the beholder, pretty pretty.” She shook the box once more, more violently than ever, and was rewarded with more squeaks and squawks; and she didn’t cease doing it until she actually heard Fiddlefix beg for mercy. Even then, she kept it going for a few moments more, just to drive home the point that she was completely in charge of the situation. Then she stopped, although she heard Fiddlefix’s body rattling around for a short time before it rolled to a stop. “You know The Boy better than anyone. You know the island of the Anyplace better than anyone. Your wings, your tiny size give you free rein to move about as you see fit. And now I’m asking you to tell me: Who will help me destroy him?” She paused and then added, “There’s no point in loyalty, you know. He’s not coming back for you. None of them are. None of them care.”

We will condense this back and forth for you, for in fact it went on for quite some time. We don’t want you to underestimate Fiddlefix’s resistance to Slash’s words or to think that the pixie gave in so easily to the pirate queen. But we don’t want to belabor matters either, or dwell excessively on poor Fiddle’s torment. It will provide excessive stage time for a nasty egg such as Captain Slash and certainly diminish your enthusiasm for the tale we have to tell. So, without telling you how long it took, except to say it was a long time, Fiddlefix finally broke down and told Captain Slash exactly what Slash wanted to know. Fiddle did this in exchange for a promise of her freedom. That should give you some idea of just how desperate the beleaguered Fiddlefix was that she capitulated to Slash on the basis of a promise from a pirate…a promise that was worth about exactly, not one farthing more or less, what you would think it was worth.

Consequently, Fiddle and her locked box were set safely back in storage in the captain’s cabin. The captain then set sail for the far side of the island, heading straight for the individuals whom Fiddlefix had named.

She stood upon the forecastle, the wind whipping past her, and she saw her brother’s shadow stalking the deck. Big Penny was giving the shadow a wide berth, as were the other Bully Boys; and even the fiercest of the Moriscos seemed disconcerted by the disembodied silhouette’s presence. This didn’t surprise Captain Slash all that much. Pirates were generally averse to the unnatural. So although the shadow of their former captain had been initially welcome, particularly when it gave them leverage in the battle against The Boy and his cohorts, the shadow’s continued presence tended to discomfit them.

It might have helped if the shadow had had voice to accompany it. If it had stalked the ship being verbally abusive, that would have seemed a more customary state of affairs. But it just hung about, eerie in its silence. Captain Slash, however, felt no need to address the matter. As long as her crew got its job done, it was all she required.

Caveat, the craftiest of the Bully Boys, approached Slash at one point and said in a lowered voice, “Captain…begging your pardon, but…I know this particular route. It puts us in severe peril of drawing too near the Seirenes. Their nests are—”

“I am very aware of that, Caveat,” she said. “That is where we are heading. I have it on”—and she smiled that terrible smile—“good authority…that they would be willing to aid us.”

“But their song…”

“I know that as well. It does not concern me, though, and I have made allowances.” She had a pumice stone and was calmly sharpening the curve of the blade upon her arm. She looked askance at Caveat. “Are you doubting the wisdom of my decisions?”

“No,” Caveat said quickly, as she knew he would, for he was far too craven for any sort of direct confrontation. Quickly he scuttled off toward the far part of the ship, leaving Slash smiling to herself.

Some minutes later, she ordered the ship to drop anchor. She was sure she could hear sighs of relief from the crew, since the word had spread that they were coming within range of the Seirenes and no man aboard was ecstatic over that prospect.

Once the ship was anchored, Captain Slash ordered a longboat to be put into the water. What with her being the captain, it would have been unseemly for her to row herself. But bringing any male within proximity of the Seirenes represented unconscionable risk. Fortunately, there was an easy solution. Remember that there are some pirates we have not yet named. We will name one of them now: Fearless Earless, a buccaneer who had the misfortune to run afoul of the East India Trading Company early in his career. His ears had been severed in punishment for his piratical practices. It didn’t make him entirely deaf; just mostly deaf. So the only way he was able to hear orders was if someone walked up and practically shouted them into the side of his head. Since that was far too much effort, mostly he was left alone to sit around and deal hands of solitaire.

He was particularly useful in hand-to-hand assaults, since he was usually unable to hear shouts of “Retreat!” As a result, he would keep on fighting beyond all sense of reason, and had single-handedly turned the tide on several occasions simply because he literally didn’t know when to quit. Thus had “Fearless” been tacked onto the more obvious sobriquet of “Earless.”

In this case, though, force of arms was not going to be required. Instead, Fearless Earless simply served as oar master for Captain Slash as the longboat set course for the nesting area of the Seirenes.

The longboat bobbed atop the water as Fearless Earless drew the ship closer to the shore. The sun was rising high. At that moment elsewhere in the Anyplace, the Piccas were having a grand celebration at which Paul was looking rather morose while The Boy and the others danced and gyrated around the Piccas’ blazing campfire. So Captain Slash’s assessment of The Boy returning to the good graces of the Anyplace’s other denizens was being proven quite correct. But that was of little moment to her. Only her business with the Seirenes concerned her now.