Free The Tides of Avarice by John Dahlgren Page A

out to touch his heart.”
    Sylvester shuddered. Just hearing Doc Nettletree talking about it was making him feel sick.
    â€œWhat punched the hole in him?”
    â€œThis,” said Doc Nettletree, fishing in a pocket of his coat and producing a small black metal object. He put it into Sylvester’s outstretched paw.
    This was inside Levantes, inside the body of a living person, thought Sylvester, feeling sick all over again. Even so, he couldn’t help but stare at the thing. It was roughly a sphere, but looked as if it had gotten a bit squashed at some stage.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œIt’s made of lead,” said the doctor. “That’s about all we know. How did it get into his shoulder? Don’t ask me, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
    â€œCan I keep this?”
    â€œIf you want to, but why in the world would you?”
    â€œBecause at least I know where it came from. Knowing that much, maybe one day I’ll be able to find out the rest about him and who killed him.”
    â€œHow and where?”
    â€œHe told me himself, while the two of us were by the river waiting for you to arrive. He said he’d come from the far side of the Great Wet Without End, and he’d been injured while sailing the sea.”
    Doctor Nettletree smiled sympathetically. “You’ve had a lot of stress, young fellow, and very little sleep. The shock of a wild rescue, your vigil beside a dying creature – no wonder your memory’s getting a little jumbled. It won’t last and if it does, come back here in a couple of days’ time and I’ll give you a tonic that’ll soon have you sorted out.”
    â€œBut there’s nothing wrong with my—”
    â€œOh, and I’ll give you a note to give to Master Celadon. You must be exhausted. Go in to work at the Library in the afternoon if you feel up to it, but as your physician I insist you spend the morning at home. You’re something of a hero, young Sylvester, and even if I didn’t think the relaxation was required medically, I’d still think you deserve a morning in bed!”
    Patting his stomach, he beamed at Sylvester.
    Perhaps it’s as well that he doesn’t believe me, thought the younger lemming. If he did, then I might have to tell him all the other things Keelhaul Levantes told me, and I’m not sure I want to do that. I’m not sure it’d be wise. Until I know a little more, I should keep it to myself, and maybe Viola. She deserves to know.
    â€œI s’pose I am a little tired after all,” he muttered.
    â€œGood night, Doctor Nettletree,” said Sylvester as he rose from his uncomfortable bed and made his way to the door. “Thanks for everything you’ve done, and tried to do. It’s just a shame death took him.”
    â€œYou win some, you lose some,” said the physician, spreading his paws. “It’s that horrible fact every doctor has to face.”
    You win some, you lose some, thought Sylvester as he made his way home through the night. Keelhaul Levantes lost one and it was one too many. Why do I get the impression that from here on I’d better win everything there is to win, or I’ll go the same way as Levantes?

3 Mr. Fourfeatherd
    News spread swiftly around the town about the mysterious visitor and his equally mysterious demise. In bars and eateries, huddles of people formed and dissolved as everyone wanted to exchange news and views about what had transpired. Of course, there wasn’t any real news to share beyond the bare bones of what had happened, but that didn’t stop anyone. The tale was embellished and further embellished, until a newcomer might have guessed that an army of ferocious weasels had arisen from the west and marched upon the land of the lemmings, only to be beaten back by a citizen militia led by the doughty Doctor Nettletree.
    Luckily for Sylvester, no one could believe that somebody as