Tail Winds Episode #1 of Tale Spin: High Flight written by Constance "Eilonwy" Cochran with contributions from the High Flight crew Send comments to eilonwy@earthlink.net Illustrations by Lar DeSouza, available at http://www.geocities.com/~highflight/series/tshf.html Tale Spin and its characters are the property of Buena Vista Television/Disney, and is borrowed with the utmost affection and respect. Any new characters are the property of the fan fiction series "Tale Spin: High Flight" and the author and may not be used without permission. This story originally released on the DAFT Hatchlings mailing list in a slightly different form. ---------------------------------------------------------------- PART II He has made his choices, both right and wrong All from this single source Vagabond and corsair he has been before Each he might be again.... His long journey is just started Final port is not in sight But he continues his journey without ever a doubt That his dream will one day be reality. --from "To Dare To Dream" copyright 1992 by Steve Martindale used with the author's permission ---------------------------------------------------------------- When The Sea Duck landed at Higher For Higher, Becky was on the dock, arms folded, foot tapping angrily as her hair blew back in the wind. "Twelve hours," she said coldly, after the propellers gasped to a stop. "Twelve hours late!" Becky yelled. "And I suppose you have some elaborate excuse. What happened, did you run into a mad horde of lovesick Gorilla Birds? Or perhaps you were shot down over New Zumbria, captured, and interrogated as spies?" Inside the cockpit, Baloo motioned to Winger to stay hidden inside the plane. "Hey, we delivered the cargo," Baloo protested, opening the cockpit door and climbing out. Kit followed silently. "Well," Becky said acidly. "We'll just have to nominate you for the Employee of the Year award then, won't we. Of all the irresponsible, self-serving, lazy...." "All right!" Baloo growled. "That's it, lady. For your information, we ran into a storm and made an emergency water landing. I tried to call or radio, but the storm put up too much interference." Becky blinked. "You crashed?" With barely a breath, she switched gears. "Oh no, are you two all right? Was anyone hurt? How bad was the storm? Is The Sea Duck in one piece?" Becky peered first at Baloo, then at Kit, then ran over to the plane and walked along its hull, looking for damage. "Easy, boss lady," Baloo said, following her. "We're all right, and so's The Sea Duck." "Well, thank goodness," said Becky. She began to march towards the Higher For Higher office, Baloo in her wake, still talking. "Luckily I had our insurance paid up. And to think, all this time I thought you --" Alone on the dock, Kit stood listening to the fading voices, the hum of a plane winging in over the cliffs, the ring of the buoy out in the bay. Then he climbed back up into the cockpit. "Winger?" "Kit?" Winger cautiously put his leonine head around the door leading to the cargo hold. "Who was that?" He asked, sounding almost awed. "Oh, that's Miz Cunningham," Kit said, joining Winger in the hold. "Don't worry, she's okay, she just yells sometimes. But we should probably hide you. I'm not sure she'd be too happy with a stowaway." Winger shrugged, glancing around the hold. "I've never lived in a plane before. Fine by me." "I should probably go in," Kit said, heading back for the cockpit. "I'll come visit you later, bring you some dinner." Winger flopped onto the bottom bunk and picked up the comic Kit had hidden under the pillow. "Sure," he said. "Thanks for not rattin' on me." Kit returned to the cockpit, picked up the box full of Starfinder's postcards, and went inside the Higher For Higher building. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- A few days later, Kit sat with winger on the docks siding the west wall of Higher For Hire, well out of sight. There was a faint tug on Kit's bamboo fishing line. He pulled, and felt more resistance. "Hey, I think you've got one," Winger said eagerly. So far, they'd had little trouble hiding Winger from Becky. Winger slept in the plane and hung about unobstrusively with Kit. If Becky noticed the missing carton of milk from the office cooler, or the extra servings of food that seemed to disappear, she didn't comment. "I don't understand what's gotten into him." Becky's voice drifted in through the window above the cubs' heads. "He does his work just fine, but he's too quiet. I'm worried." Kit's eyes widened. Then, embarrassed, he looked away at the green hills rising beyond Cape Suzette. Winger elbowed him in the ribs and turned his ears to the window. "Aw, he's okay, Becky. Just has a lot on his mind." "Ever since that crash....Baloo, you don't suppose it upset him?" Baloo chuckled. "Come on, Beckers, that kid probably teethed on a propeller. No, it's....well, something else happened that night, part of the reason we were late. You'll have to ask Kit about it," he added, as Becky let out a sound as if to speak. "It's his personal business." "You're right, of course. I would never dream of intruding on a child's privacy just because they're not an adult....but..." Ms. Cunningham paused. "I would have thought he could tell _me_ about it...." "Hi, Kit!" The bear and the lion cub jumped. "Uh...Molly!" Kit regarded the small, golden-yellow bear cub. She stood a few feet away, regarding the two older cubs steadily. Molly was wearing her customary blue overalls, pink ribbons tied around her furry ears. "Kit, who's that?" Molly pointed at Winger. "Oh, uh, that's just a friend of mine," Kit said. "From school." He watched Molly carefully. If there was one thing he knew about Molly Cunningham, it was to watch that cute, sweet exterior carefully. The girl cub was a miniature version of her mother, with a mind as sharp as coral. "Oh," Molly said innocently. "But I saw him come out of The Sea Duck early this morning, and the morning before that." Kit sighed. Well, that's that. "Look, Molly, you can't tell anyone. Winger's....I met Winger at the orphanage. He doesn't want to stay there anymore. Promise you won't tell?" "Orphanage?" Molly sat down on the dock next to Kit. "You were in an orphanage?" "Yeah," Kit said quietly. "Yeah, I was." He turned, and took Molly by the shoulders. "Promise you won't tell?" "I promise. Cross my heart," she said solemnly, swiping her paw over her chest. "Hey, thanks, kiddo," Winger said. "You're okay for a little kid." Molly frowned, but didn't say anything right away. At last she said, "Kit?" "What, Molly," Kit answered patiently. "If someone was in an orphanage, doesn't that mean their parents are..." "Yeah," Kit said shortly. "It does. Now go away and stop asking me so many questions." The small yellow bear cub was silent for about five seconds. "Kit?" Kit rolled his eyes at Winger. "What?!" Molly rested her small paw on the forearm of Kit's sweater "I'm sorry." "Me too," said a voice, soft, familiar. Simultaneously, Kit, Molly, and Winger looked up. Ms. Cunningham stood at the corner of the Higher For Hire building, watching them. Her arms were folded, but she didn't look...angry. "It's not that I approve of stowaways," she said coolly, fixing a brown-eyed glance on Winger. "But in this case, I suppose...." "Becky, I...." Baloo came around the corner of the building and noticed the group. He slowly began to back away, making a "shushing" motion at the cubs. The owner of Higher For Hire turned suddenly. "Hold it, Baloo." Baloo stopped. "Young man," Ms. Cunningham stepped forward so she loomed over Winger. The lion cub gulped and scrambled to his feet, dropping his fishing pole into the water. "What's your name?" She asked, friendly. "Winger, ma'am." Kit felt his jaw drop. He'd never heard Winger use the word "ma'am" before. "Well, Winger, since you're a friend of Kit's, I suppose it's all right if you stick around. But you'll have to earn your keep. Why don't you and Kit go fix the broken lock on the filing cabinet?" "Sure thing," Winger said easily. "C'mon, Kit." "Baloo?" Ms. Cunningham said sweetly, her teeth clenched. "Can I see you privately for a moment?" Baloo sent a despairing look at Kit. Kit gulped. So did Baloo; then he followed Ms. Cunningham back around the corner of the building. "Becky, I can explain...." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- He couldn't sleep. Kit stared at the ceiling of the room he shared with Baloo. He couldn't block out the faces, the image of two bears in a sepia photograph, standing in front of an airplane. In his mind he saw the flames licking at the tail of a plane, saw the aircraft plunging towards the uneven surface of the ocean. Grayclaw. Kit pictured him as a more wolven version of Don Karnage, with silver fur instead of red but with the same volatile temper and frenetic laughter. There was a snort from the other bed as Baloo turned over, murmuring in his sleep. Ms. Cunningham had been extremely nice about Winger. After dinner, Kit had invited her on a short walk along the dock and told her about Jack and Katie, and that a pirate had shot down their plane. She'd hugged him and told him he always had a home at Higher For Hire, then had gone back inside to leave him to his thoughts, which were suddenly pleasant. But then the imagined image of a gray wolf would float into view, against a backdrop of gleaming metal and flame and water. There were things he knew, from the time spent on his own. Places, names. If he searched, he would find him. And then.... Well, he hadn't thought that far yet. In the darkness, Kit sat up and pushed off the covers. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kit collapsed the air board, tucking it out of sight under his sweater, then removed his navigator's cap, also tucking it out of sight. He stood in the shadow of a large, gray, beat-up plane moored to the dock. Thin wisps of clouds partially concealed the stars overhead, and the palm fronds on the shore rustled in the night breeze. The plane rocked gently on its moorings with a sloshing, creaking sound. Its pilot had already gone inside, unaware he had brought a hitchiker. The pilot's destination was a nightclub/food joint that had seen better days. It nested among the palm trees before a beach of white sand. The building was two stories tall, of weatherbeaten, dull gray slat boards. The only splash of color was from the sign that hung over the door, swaying back and forth in the wind. Kit couldn't see the sign from the dock, but he already knew what was on it Voices and raucous laughter came from inside, mixed with some kind of tinny music -- a polka, Kit thought with a wince. He had a sudden longing to hear "I Got Them Flat-Broke Sticky-Shoed No Bananna Boogie-Woogie Blues." A lump formed in his throat, and he quickly swallowed it down. Kit started along the dock, moving towards the light and music. After he had stepped across the soft sand and reached the nightclub's porch, he could see the sign: "The Parrot's Claw," it read in black lettering. Beneath it was a bird's talon, gruesomely detached, curled viciously. When he had first seen the inside of The Parrot's Claw two years ago, it had seemed dangerous and mysterious, in a glamorous sort of way that reminded Kit of the Saturday movie matinees he used to sneak into for free. Kit pushed open the main door. The music and laughter rushed out at him, louder. He coughed, waving at the haze of smoke that hovered in the dimly lit air. Louie's Place had its disreputable edges, but it was never like _this_. And Louie's crowd mostly consisted of honest pilots, mechanics, musicians, and their various girlfriends. The bunch inside the Parrot's Claw looked seedy, down on their luck, or were -- quite obviously from their garb -- pirates. No one looked up, and no one noticed him. What had happened to the glamor? The mystery? Over in one corner, a dog with a torn ear picked up a smaller companion by the scruff of his coat and slammed him up against the wall. "Care to repeat that to my face?" He growled. The bartender Kit remembered, a tawny dog with an eyepatch who had seemed to wear the cynical wisdom of the ages and a rakish grin, was gone, replaced by a dumpy, bored looking weasel with a beer gut, dressed in a greasy, once-white bartender's apron. Kit noticed that the swords hanging crossed over the fireplace were rusted, and that a doubtful odor wafted from the kitchen. Rusty, the cook, must be gone, too. The music came from an old phonograph perched on the bar. The Pirate's Claw had never been a haven for musicians. Kit let the muscles of his face harden, as he put on, like a Halloween mask, the don't-mess-with-me JD face. The act had always worked...except with Baloo. At first, the bartender didn't see Kit; he was too busy pocketing cash from the register. Kit cleared his throat, and the weasel turned. "Whaddya want, kid?" "Root beer. And make sure it has a head on it," Kit snarled. The bartender stared stupidly at Kit for a moment. Then he grinned nastily, flashing yellowed fangs. "Minors aren't even allowed in the door." He gestured towards the direction of the exit. "Get lost." "I'm not a minor," Kit shot back. "I'm just a _very_ small adult. Now gimme a root beer." "You got money to pay for that, tiny?" Kit slapped a coin on the counter. The weasel took it, then produced a root beer that had lost much of its fizz. Kit took a sip through the straw, and the bartender began wiping down the bar in a half-hearted fashion. "You know where I could find Grey Claw?" "Never heard of em." But Kit had come prepared, delving into the savings he had accumulated from his allowance. He put six coins on the counter, and added, "Sorry, I mean The Silver Wolf." The bartender hesitated, then reached out a paw and slid the coins towards him. "The Silver Wolf, huh?" He glanced around at the crowded tables. Then his eyes returned to Kit. "What would a pipsqueak like you want with Grey Claw?" "I've got business with him." Kit placed two more coins on the bar. The bartender took them and shrugged, much as if to say it was none of _his_ concern if some smart-alecky kid wanted to get himself torn to shreds. "Door behind the bar. They're holding a private poker game." As Kit started to slide from the barstool, the weasel reached out and grabbed him back roughly by the collar. "And if you tell him I sent you, it'll be the last thing you tell anybody." Kit swallowed. The weasel's breath smelled sour. He jerked Kit once, then released him. Feeling a bit less confident, Kit went around the bar and stood before the door, trying to figure out what to say when he went in there. The last time he'd been in The Pirate's Claw, Kit hadn't been in search of a pirate. But one had certainly found him..... --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Two years earlier... No one took much notice of the small, bare-headed cub in the patched green sweater. Occasionally some soul in a good mood from drinks or a decent haul would tip him for wiping down the table or bringing more drinks. But so far, no one had offered to take the cub up in an airplane. He'd been there a few weeks, the usual thing. Hang around, be persistent, earn what money he could while he waited for someone to take pity on him and show him the cockpit of an airplane. He hadn't had any luck at the pilot's hangout in San Flamingo, so he'd moved on. By luck, he'd found this place. Pirates. The very word had a rakish, salty, adventurous appeal. Surely here he'd find someone to teach him. Pirates had to be less uptight than cargo pilots. He took a tray of dirty glasses and headed back towards the swinging kitchen door. As he did so, he passed the poker game in progress at the corner table. The ferret in a worn leather bomber jacket and a bright red bandana was cheating. The cub paused, watching curiously. Somehow, although his card hands weren't stellar, he always managed to have a greater pile of coins that the other three at the table. He watched the ferret's movements, trying to figure out how it was done. Someone called him from the kitchen, and he reluctantly carried his tray through the swinging doors. Rusty, a lean, hearty-voiced, light brown dog, gestured at a pile of potatoes. He took the tray from the cub and handed him a peeler. "What, do I have to do everything myself?" Rusty demanded. "You've got your head in the clouds again, don't you, kid?" "Farthing's cheating," he told Rusty. Rusty sighed. "Kiddo, it's not a good idea to tangle with old Farthing. Besides, I don't know what you expect -- pirates are pirates." "Yeah, but Farthing steals from other pirates," the cub replied. "It's a violation of The Code." The Parrot's Claw chef chuckled, then sighed. "The Code, eh? Glad to hear someone believes in it." Looking up at Rusty, the cub waited for the cook to explain what he meant by that. "There are some things you don't need to know, kid," Rusty said. The cub peeled the potatoes. Then Rusty hit the bell, and he got up to carry out a tray of food to a customer. This time as the cub passed the corner table, he noticed something. The ferret's pocket twitched. A small, pointed, whiskered head poked out. Farthing's finger touched the white rat's head, and the little creature crawled out of the jacket pocket, and vanished. Being small, the bear cub in the green sweater had a good view under the table. He saw the rat scurry up another pant leg, onto the table. Unnoticed, it took a coin in its sharp teeth, and vanished again. A moment later Farthing added another coin unobtrusively to his pile, then glanced up, and spotted the cub. Their gazes locked. The cub froze. "Hey!" Farthing lumbered to his feet, as his companions looked up, surprised. The ferret came around the table, towards the cub. He reached out and yanked the tray of food from the cub's paws. There was a clatter of broken dishes, and stew, potatoes, and soup spilled across the dusty wooden floor. Before the cub could move, Farthing grabbed the front of his sweater and hauled him off his feet. "You saw NOTHING," he growled under his breath. "Understand?" Over at another table, a red fox with a flamboyant tail, a torn ear, and a handsome captain's coat was watching the proceedings with amusement. "Farthing, what'd the kid do?" A hound dog with a cutlass at his belt demanded. "Mind your own bees wax, Hopper," the ferret called over his shoulder. "Then let him be and come back and sit down. I wanna finish the game," another pirate insisted. "C'mon, Farthing!" Despite the fact that his heart was pounding almost too hard for him to hear or see, the cub glanced over Farthing's shoulder at the other pirates. The cub's eyes narrowed, his black eyebrows drawing downward. It darkened his innocent face. Then a crafty look came over the cub's features as he looked back at Farthing, followed by an exaggerated expression of terror. "Okay," the cub gasped, speaking very loudly. "I won't say anything to wreck what you've got going at the card game." "Farthing?" Hopper got to his feet. "What've you got going?" The ferret turned his head. "Nothing," he snarled. That was his chance, while Farthing was distracted. The cub bit down on Farthing's wrist, hard. The ferret yelled, dropping the cub, who landed lightly on his feet in a crouch, then sprang away like quicksilver. "He's cheating all of you," the cub called out, hopping up on the next table to evade the furious ferret. "Count his coins. He hasn't really won that much!" "You miserable little --" the ferret ran after the cub, who had already jumped from the table to the bar and was running along its length while the bartender gaped. "You violated The Pirate's Code!" Kit yelled at Farthing, and at the room at large. "You don't deserve to be a pirate!" When the ferret reached the bar, the cub froze again, staring with an expression of transfixed horror at a spot just above Farthing's head. "Oh no..." he gasped breathlessly. "B--behind you...LOOK OUT!" Farthing whirled, drawing his sword. The cub jumped down behind the bar and crawled back the way he had come, then scuttled under a table. There was nothing behind Farthing. Confused, the ferret looked around the nightclub. The other pirates roared with laughter. Crouched under the table with his knees drawn up to his chin, the cub smiled to himself, breathing hard. That would teach Farthing to violate the Pirate's Code of Honor. "Gotcha!" The cub felt paw grab him from behind. Kicking and struggling, he felt himself being dragged out from under the table. Somehow, the ferret had snuck around behind him. It didn't occur to the cub to wonder why no one had bothered to call out and warn him. Holding the cub dangling with one hand, Farthing raised his sword with the other, and pointed it at the cub's chin. "You know what happens to stool pigeons, kid?" Breathing shallowly, his eyes wide with genuine fear now, the cub desperately tried to find a way out. But the sword gleamed in the artificial light, and it was two inches from his throat. "Ah, just a minuet, my good pirate." A voice, thick with some foreign accent broke in. A paw reached out and pushed down Farthing's sword. The cub let out a long sigh of relief. Farthing dropped the cub abruptly, looking at the newcomer with fear in his face. "Oh...uh, hello, Karnage." From the floor, the cub watched the proceedings with great interest. The voice belonged to a red fox. He was tall, dressed in a blue coat with red trim and shining buttons, and handsome breeches and shining black boots. He stood out against the other pirates like lightning against storm clouds. His cutlass was drawn, held with the point downward, ready. "That ees Don Karnage to you. I understand that you ave been pulling a speedy-queek one, yessno?" The fox held Farthing with a sharp stare. "Well, I, uh..." Looking down, the fox's glance fell on the cub, who felt himself pinned by the gaze. "Tell us, my boy," the fox said, his voice deepening under the accent. "How did e pull ze fast wool over our eyes?" The cub felt many eyes upon him, waiting expectantly, but all he saw was the fox's face. "If you check the left pocket of his jacket you'll find a white rat. The rat is trained, on his command, to crawl out and take pieces of gold between his teeth, then carry the piece to Farthing." "Maddog," the fox barked out an order. "Check him." A lean, hungry looking ferret obediently stepped over to Farthing and patted his pockets. His expression changed, and he reached into the left pocket. The lean ferrret pulled out a squirming white rat by its tail. "Look cap'n," Maddog said eagerly, in a grating, whining voice. "The kid's tellin' the truth!" "That's just my pet rat, Whiskers," Farthing protested. "Twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five...blimey!" One of Farthing's fellow card players finished counting the pieces. " es got twenty more than e should ave, with the cards e's ad tonight," the pirate announced. The fox cocked his head to one side, eyes glinting. "Maddog, Dumptruck, take Meester Farthing on a long walk off a short pier. If he ever returns, he will ave ze fox to deal with. Comprendez?" Maddog and a heavy-set gray dog with a stupid expression and a silly hat dragged Farthing across the room and out the door. Then the fox looked down at Kit. "Fine work, my boy. Fine work indeed. We cannot let anybody mess with ze Pirate's Code of Honor, yessno?" The fox offered a paw to the cub. The cub took it, and the fox pulled him to his feet. "You are ze sharp tack one, queek like ze fox himself." Karnage put a paw to his chin, regarding the cub speculatively. "You know, I ave been looking for a...how you say...a prot‚g‚. Someone to follow in de bootsteps of de great one, which is me, Don Karnage. De most honorable pirate to plunder the seven seas." Whirling, his tail flickering behind him like a flame, Karnage raised his sword dramatically above the cub's head. Squeezing his eyes shut, the cub waited for the blow. Then he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and opened his eyes. The blade of the fox's cutlass just rested against the fabric of his sweater. "Swear fealty to the fox," Karnage said, his voice deepening again with seriousness. "Join my band of noble pirates." The cub looked up into the fox's face. Here, at last, was someone who might understand. He was brave, and honorable, and needed a prot‚g‚...and of course, a prot‚g‚ would need to know how to fly a plane, in order to be an Air Pirate. "I swear fealty to the fox," the cub said, and a resounding cheer went up around the bar..... --------------------------------------------------------------------------- He'd been so gullible. He'd found out, slowly, over the following eleven months, just what Rusty had meant, and how little the Pirate's Code of Honor really meant to the Plundering Wonder, Don Karnage. Kit stepped up to the door behind the bar, and turned the knob. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- A bare lightbulb dangling above a round table lit the room beyond the door. Seated around the table were four pirates, playing poker. In contrast to the laughter and noise out in the bar, the atmosphere in here was silent, almost intense. A squat bulldog chewed fiercely on an unlit cigar, a gold hoop earring in one ear. A slender ferret stared craftily at his companions over the top of his cards, dressed in a tattered navy pea coat. A female, a white ermine, sat next to the ferret, dressed in a close-fitting black tunic and a black sword belt. The fourth player was a wolf with dark silver, almost pewter-colored fur. He was taller than the others, but sinewy and thin. Sharp, intelligent eyes gleamed above his snout. There was a scar along his left forearm. He wore a loose-fitting white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black breeches, and short, scuffed brown boots. His face was unreadable as he considered his cards. The wolf's left paw was large and strong, with deft-looking claws. His right...Kit caught his breath. The right was mangled, too bony, save only for the rich silver fur that mercifully covered it. "I'll see your twenty, Slammer, and raise you ten," he said, looking at the ferret. His voice was a surprising tenor, used to giving orders. Well, there he is, a voice in Kit's head said softly as he pushed the door open wider. You wanted to see him. Now get out of here while you're still in one piece. Yes, Kit thought. But I also want him to know. Kit shut the door behind him and put on his hardest, toughest expression. He leaned against the door jamb, arms folded, as the four around the table looked up. "Grayclaw!" Kit said challengingly. "Who let this kid in here?" Grayclaw asked. The other three shrugged. "I know who you are, I know what you've done." Kit's voice went cold with genuine anger. He straightened and began to walk towards the table, the bare bulb casting his shadow sharply across the wooden floor. "I may not look like much of a threat to a pirate like you, but I'll grow. And one day...one day you'll fear the name Cloudkicker." The wolf chuckled, white teeth gleaming. "Don't know how you expect to grow bigger with an approach like that." He pulled a dagger from his belt and turned it in his good paw, contemplating the blade. "Don't play with the pirates, kid. You could get hurt." "Hey," Kit said, with a bravado he didn't feel. "I used to be a pirate." One of the wolf's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I wasn't aware the air pirates had a Boy Scout division," he said mildly, and the other three laughed. Kit could feel his face growing warm. This wasn't going quite as he had imagined. Grayclaw was supposed to... What? The voice asked. Quail in terror at the very sight of you? Fall down on his knees and plead for forgiveness? "About ten years ago," Kit began, struggling to keep his voice steady, "You shot down a plane carrying a cargo of silver. But you made a mistake, and the plane went down too fast. You lost the loot, and the pilots were killed. Their names were Jack and Katie Windward. They were my parents." The group seated around the table stilled into a shocked silence. "Oh man," Grayclaw breathed. "I always knew that one would catch up with me." "But Grayclaw," the ermine spoke up, in a faint French accent. "Do you not remember? Dat one waz not your doing. In fact, small one," she said to Kit, "De Silver Wolf, 'e does not harm ze pilots ever. It 'is not 'is way. Dat one..." "Stop using the present tense, Oni," Grayclaw said, oddly gentle. "The Silver Wolf is no more." "Ah, poof," Oni said, throwing down her cards in a dramatic gesture. "Dat self-pity, it makes me mad. But tell ze child what really 'appened, mon ami. Oderwise 'e will never leave us alone." Grayclaw nodded. "Okay, kid. But if I do tell you, you leave, understand?" Kit put his hand behind his back and crossed his fingers. "Understand." "We brought down a lot of planes," he began. "But that T-14, blue with red trim, I remember. The sea was rough that day -- it was just after a big hurricane. But the sun was shining off the water. It should have been an easy hit --" "It was de trecherous one, not de Wolf, dat shot down de plane..." Oni put in. "Shh, Oni, let him finish the story," Slammer whispered reverently. "As I was saying," he continued, shooting Oni a look, "it should have been nice and clean. But my second in command, he was always a bit of a loose cannon, he got a bit trigger happy, fired too soon. The plane went down fast, and sank." The bulldog chuckled deeply. "Grayclaw sure chewed him out for that one." "I should have banished him then," Grayclaw went on, staring down at the pile of chips on the table as if seeing something else. "He betrayed me. Built a ship in secret and turned many of my crew against me. Always did have delusions of grandeur...I understand he calls himself Don Karnage now, the megalomaniacal loon." "Don...Karnage?" It crossed his mind that Grayclaw was lying, putting blame elsewhere to protect himself...but he wasn't afraid of Kit. And it seemed unlikely that he would invent such a story. Kit stumbled backwards, thinking only of getting out of that suddenly claustrophic back room, out of The Pirate's Claw, away from the smoke and the laughter and the tinny music...away from any memories. He felt sick. He had sworn fealty to the fox. "Kid..." He heard Grayclaw call after him, "Kid, you all right?" "Aw, let 'im go," said the bulldog. "I want to finish the game." "Poor little one," said Oni. Outside on the beach, Kit took huge gulps of the sea air, trying to rid himself of the sordid feeling. He wanted to go home, with a wave of longing that washed over him all at once like the waves breaking on the sand. But he wouldn't go home, not yet. In a way, things were easier now. He knew exactly who he was dealing with. All he needed was a plan. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Baloo was having a pleasant dream. It had something to do with clouds and hot fudge sundaes. He was reclining on a cloud, eating a sundae piled high with whipped cream, nuts, and butterscotch sauce. When he finished that one, another one magically popped into his hands out of thin air. Becky stood on another cloud, hands on her hips, glaring at him. "What do you think you're doing?" She demanded. "You know very well bears can't fly unless they're in an airplane. Now stop wasting time and get back to work. We've got deliveries to make, schedules to keep, clients to impress...Baloo, are you listening to me?" She was actually kind of cute when she was like that...fired up. "Baloo, can you hear me?" She continued, angrily tapping one foot on the fluffy surface of the cloud. "Baloo? Baloo! Baloo...Baloo, wake up..." The clouds and Becky vanished with a *poof*. Baloo blinked awake at the early morning sunlight. Becky was shaking his shoulder. "Baloo, wake up. Where's Kit? Why didn't you set your alarm?" "Kit?" Baloo sat up, suddenly wide awake. He looked over at the other bed. It was neatly made. "I did set the alarm," he said, rubbing his eyes with his paws. Becky, hair neatly coiffed, not a bleary eye in sight at seven-thirty am, picked up the clock. "Well, the alarm switch is set to off.'" She showed it to him. "Baloo, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times..." "Now, hold on, Beckers." He stood up, scratching his stomach through the fabric of his pajamas. "I swear I set the alarm to on' last night. And if I forget, Kit always does it..." "Where is he?" "That's what I came up here to ask you. You two were supposed to take off a half hour ago." "Kit?" Baloo called. There was no answer. "Kiiiiiit!" He bellowed, while Becky clapped her paws over her ears. Glancing at the dresser, Becky lowered her paws. "What's this?" She said, moving across the room. There was a white envelope lying on the dresser. Becky picked it up. "Uh-oh," she said. "Uh-oh?" With one stride, Baloo was beside her. "Gimme that." He grabbed it from her paws. Written across the front of the envelope in careful, large, grade-school print, was the word "Baloo." He tore open the flap and pulled out a folded white sheet of paper. Printed on it in Kit's large, grade-school scrawl was a note. Baloo read it aloud, sounding the words out carefully. "Dear Baloo, I'm sorry to just run off like this without saying good-bye, but I'll be back real soon, promise. Don't worry about me. I know what I have to do. --Kit." Baloo stared bleakly down at the letter. "Oh, no," he said weakly. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Oh, no." "I'm sure there's some reasonable explanation," Becky said brightly, but her voice was strained. Baloo opened his eyes and saw the worry behind her pathetically hopeful smile. "Where could he have gone?" Baloo began to pace. The fact that Becky looked worried just made him more scared. "That stupid kid," he growled. "Just wait til he gets back, he'll get a good talkin' to. What is he up to? What could he possibly --" Baloo broke off, then threw his head back and bellowed, "Winger!" He raced out of the room, and down the wooden steps leading to Becky's office. He could hear Becky's lighter steps following rapidly. Stepping out into the bright, warm, Cape Suzette morning, he was vaguely aware he was still in his pajamas and doing quite a bit of yelling, but didn't care. A terrible feeling of deja vu swept over him. Winger was crouched on the roof of The Sea Duck, watching while Wildcat pointed out the different parts of the engine too him. Naturally, with Baloo and Kit late, Wildcat had assumed there would be time to tinker, his favorite past time. "You see, the hydro-cog hooks up to the main fan belt, and that makes it go chug-chug-chug-chug-whir,'" the Higher For Higher mechanic explained delightedly. "Winger!!" Wildcat stopped talking, and turned. "Mornin' Baloo. Uh...are you sure you want to make the delivery run in your pajamas? That could be pretty embarrasing if you ran into someone you knew," the mechanic said earnestly, without a hint of irony. Baloo ignored the lion. "Winger, get down here, now!" Surprise flickered across the young lion cub's cool features. Getting to his feet, he jumped from the roof of the plane to the dock and landed gracefully without shaking a board. The movement reminded Baloo of Kit. "Do you know anything about this?" Baloo shoved the letter in Winger's face. The young lion took it, read it, then let out a long, impressed whistle. "Oh, boy," he breathed. "Kit told me he was thinking about it...I didn't think he would actually do it." Becky rested her paw on Baloo's arm, perhaps to steady him, more likely because Baloo had a sudden urge to shake the young cub. "DO WHAT?!" Baloo yelled again. "That pirate, the one Kit said killed his parents -- Grey Wing -- something like that -- Kit told me that he would give almost anything to make him pay somehow." Winger's eyes widened as he looked down at the letter again. "Wow. I can't believe he's really gone and..." Turning abruptly, Baloo banged his fist against the side of the sea plane with a hollow, resounding *bang*. Winger, Becky, and Wildcat started. "How could he do this to me?" Baloo asked, of no one in particular. "Baloo," Becky began. "No time to talk now, Beckers," Baloo said, suddenly galvanized. He knew what he had to do. "Can't stand around all day in me pj's. Wildcat, you have that engine running in thirty seconds, got it?" "Sure thing, Baloo." The mechanic gaped as Baloo ran back along the dock towards the Higher For Higher building. A few minutes later he re-emerged, dressed in his habitual yellow flight-shirt and red pilot's cap. The engine hatch was shut securely, and Wildcat was just packing up his tools. "All set, Baloo," Wildcat said. As Baloo marched towards the sea plane, Becky stepped in his path, pushing her paws against her chest to stop him. It didn't do any good. The large gray bear kept walking, pushing Becky backwards before him. "Baloo, listen to me," Becky pleaded. "If you go off all upset now, you won't do Kit any good. Right now he needs us t be clear-thinking, because he isn't." "Fine," Baloo said implacably. Gently, he took her wrists in his paws and removed her fingers from his shirt. "You stay here and do the clear thinking, and I'll take The Sea Duck and do the searching." He unlooped The Sea Duck's mooring rope, heaved open the cockpit door, and climbed in. The engines sputtered into life, the propellers started to spin. Becky, Wildcat, and Winger staggered back as water began to slosh furiously against the pilings of the dock. With a rumbling hum, The Sea Duck pulled away from the dock, sunlight glinting off the bright yellow wings. Inside the cockpit, Baloo heard Becky yelling something, her dark brown hair blowing around her face. But he couldn't hear her over the wind and the engines. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kit spent the night curled up in the shadow of the mechanic's shed on the docks. In the morning, he managed to talk the new cook into giving him a job as a dishwasher. Sometime around mid-day, Grayclaw and his cronies drifted in again, as Kit thought they would. Kit was up to his elbows in suds and warm water, keeping one eye on the window in the swinging door. When he spotted the pirate, Kit dropped the dish he was holding. It splashed into the deep metal sink, splattering suds everywhere. He ran out of the kitchen, letting the swinging door flap back and forth in his wake. "Hey!" The cook bellowed. "Get back here!" "Be back in a minute," Kit called. Once he reached the dining room, Kit skidded to a halt, realizing he had soap all over his hands. He quickly wiped them on the corner of a dingy, red-and-white checked table cloth, took a deep breath, and sauntered in Grayclaw's direction. Oni spotted him first, and moved away from the others to greet him. "Well, 'allo there, leetle one." She wore a sky-blue scarf tied around her neck, just above an old bomber jacket she had put on over the tunic, and looked quite pretty. Her tail, he noticed, was ebony at the tip. "You are feeling better?" "Uh...yeah," Kit said, forgetting to use his tough-guy act. He looked up at Oni. "I need work. Something better than washing dishes. You suppose Grayclaw needs someone to run errands, stuff like that?" The white ermine shrugged. "I doubt eet, but you can ask 'im yourself." She led him over to Grayclaw, who was deep in conversation with Slammer and the bulldog. "Well, look who's back," the bulldog rumbled. Grayclaw sighed. "Kid, what do you want now?" Kit folded his arms. "Actually, the question is what you want. You said Karnage betrayed you and took over your band of pirates. How'd you like to be the top pirate again?" The wolf chuckled. "And I suppose you can arrange that." "I can help you go after Karnage." "Right. Kid, we're very busy, so shove off." Grayclaw gave Kit a gentle push on his back. Kit stumbled forward a few steps, then turned back, opening his mouth to speak. "I said..." Grayclaw got to his feet suddenly, his face darkening, "Get lost." There was a note of menacing finality to the wolf's voice. Kit regarded the other three faces for a moment. Slammer and Bulldog, as Kit began to think of him, regarded him coolly. Oni had her head cocked to one side, watching him more sympathetically. Grayclaw took a step forward, a snarl rumbling down in his chest. Kit turned and hurried back to the kitchen. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "And you're sure none of your pilots has spotted anything?...yes, well, thank you for your time. Good bye." Seated on the bottom of the wooden steps, Molly watched her mother talk on the phone, solemnly clutching Lucy to her side. But the stuffed doll was small comfort today. Molly actually felt kind of angry. She watched as her mother dialed another number and began talking. The least Kit could have done was say good-bye. When she saw him, she just might never talk to him again. Maybe. The door to the office opened, and Molly looked up eagerly. Then she saw that it was only Winger. Winger was nice, but he didn't know how to talk to her like Kit did. Winger thought he was too important to bother with little kids. Typical. "Hey, Mrs. C.," Winger said smoothly. "I finished washing the docks. Any word about Kit?" Molly's mother put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "Not yet, Winger. Thank you. Why don't you take Molly outside for a while?" Winger shrugged. "Sure thing. Hey, Molly, wanna play hide and go seek?" "Okay," said Molly. "As long as this isn't just a ploy so you can run off and do whatever you want to do alone while I'm hiding." The lion cub blinked at her. "Uh...no. Of course not." When they were halfway to the door, Molly heard a low, distant hum, growing steadily louder. Her eyes widened. She knew what that meant. "Mommy!" She cried, turning around. "I think Baloo's back!" She dashed past Winger, out the door and onto the docks. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Becky heard her daughter's cry and looked up. "Mr. Hornwing? I'll call you back." She hung up, and saw Winger running after her daughter out of the office. If it was Baloo, she was going to have words with him. Why, he was no better than Kit, just going off like that. And she had somehow thought he would assume they should work together -- instead of going off alone, the way he did after they had first met. "Pilots," she said bitterly, aloud, and hurried out after the kids. She reached the dock in time to witness The Sea Duck's graceful landing on the water. Its hull threw up spray that sparkled in the early morning sunlight. The plane pulled in alongside the dock, then purred into silence. Becky stood several yards back, arms folded, letting the kids run forward to the cockpit door. It opened, and Baloo stepped down, looking subdued, for Baloo. "Hey, pig-tails," he said, picking Molly up for a hug. "Hi, Winger." "Hey," said Winger. Baloo turned and spotted Becky. She glared at him. "Rebecca..." he began, as Molly watched them both curiously. Someone else was climbing out of The Sea Duck, a tall, red squirrel with a great bush of a tail, wearing an old, dark sea-captain's coat. Although his fur was streaked with white, he still moved agilely. "Hello," he said, coming over take her hand politely. "The name's Harry, Harry Flynn, but everyone calls me Starfinder." Baloo set Molly down. "I'm sorry, Becky. I realize I went off only half-baked. I was just flying around aimlessly, hoping I'd get lucky...and then I remembered Starfinder." "But...you're the navigator? The one who knew Kit's parents?" "Retired navigator," Starfinder corrected. "And I am indeed." He looked around, at the watch-tower above the office, at the Higher For Higher sign swinging in the breeze. "I figured Starfinder knows more than anyone about Grayclaw and what happened to Jack and Katie, thought he might think of something we would miss." "Nice place you've got here," said Starfinder, nodding. "Thank you, Mr. Flynn," said Becky. "That's Starfinder," he said absently, looking around at the docks. "Only the one plane, I see. Well, no matter. I'll rent a second one, we can cover more territory that way. Used to fly a bit myself, before I settled on navigation." He noticed Winger, who stood lounging against the side of the plane, arms folded. "And who have we here?" "Starfinder, this is Winger, a friend of Kit's from the orphanage." Baloo chuckled. "This one's got fire," he said. "He ran away too." "Nice to meet you, son." Starfinder held out his paw to shake. The lion cub regarded it in a bored fashion, then shook briefly. "Hey, pops." The red squirrel blinked, but didn't reply. Instead, he turned to Baloo. "Are you sure Kit didn't say anything to give a clue to where he was headed?" Baloo sighed heavily. "Nothin'. Just that there was something he had to do." Starfinder rested his paw on Baloo's shoulder. "Well, don't worry, Baloo. We'll split up, start searching. And we'll find him." The squirrel looked out at water and sky, where white clouds ran swiftly above the distant cliffs like sleek airplanes. "We'll find him," he added quietly. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - TO BE CONTINUED...