Egg Marks the Spot by Amy Timberlake

Author:Amy Timberlake [Timberlake, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2021-09-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

That voice—Badger froze.

“Isn’t that dinosaur adorable? Ho-ho! Egg marks the spot indeed!”

“Fisher,” Badger hissed. He turned. Skunk and Augusta turned with him.

“Cousin!” Fisher said, shielding his eyes from the spot of light beaming from Augusta’s headlamp. “What happened to your Important Rock Work? Wasn’t it agates? Where’s that focus, focus, focus?”

Badger clenched a paw and swallowed hard. Then he gave Augusta a nod and stepped forward. “Fisher, listen. This isn’t a treasure to—”

“Treasure? What would you know about treasure?” Fisher interrupted. “Anyway, dinosaurs, fossils, eggs in amber are hardly your thing. Remember what you told me at the Weasel Family Reunion?”

“Fisher, the egg isn’t to be taken and sold,” Badger said with urgency.

“Now why can’t I remember your exact words?” Fisher’s eyes drifted into the dark depths above them.

“Fisher—the egg! It’s personal. It has significant meaning for an entire group of animals. They’ve been caring for this egg for a long, long time. You must leave the egg here!”

“Bock! Bock-bockle bock bock!”

Fisher snapped his claws and pointed at Badger. “Got it! You said dinosaurs, all that fossil-ly stuff, was too juvenile, too adolescent, not old enough to be of interest. You said you only studied rocks before dinosaurs. I recall a sneer. I did think it snooty of you. But no matter, plenty of clients adore this stuff. They are—I grant you—romantics every one.” He looked at the egg and moaned. “Aw, a baby dinosaur? Irresistible. Ho-ho! Have you ever seen such a beauty? Badger, I am happy to take your castoffs. You can have the agates, the lava, and the Precambrian slime.”

Badger huffed. “Precambrian stromatolites are living rocks, rocks made up of cyanobacteria that secrete lime. They are not slime. Show some respect.”

Beside him, Skunk said to Augusta, “Why does he only talk to Badger? We are here too. Are we invisible? I do not think so!”

“Bock!”

Badger saw Skunk’s tail flip off the floor and hissed, “Skunk, let me take care of this.”

Badger faced Fisher and dropped to his knees. “I beg you, Fisher. Leave the egg.” He raised his clenched paws and shook them. “Please, Fisher, please.”

Shocked silence followed.

Then: “Ho-ho-ho-ho! Ho-ho-ho!” Fisher wiped his eyes with a silk hankie, then pocketed it. “On your knees? Pretty please, Fisher? Ho! If Aunt Lula . . . Ho-ho! . . . could see you now! Ho!”

Badger got up off his knees.

“Enough chitchat.” Fisher met Badger’s gaze with eyes sharp as tacks. “Badger, it’s time for you and your little friends to skedaddle. The professionals have work to do. Now that passage there,” Fisher gestured at the passageway where they’d arrived, “. . . leads in and out. If the three of you leave now, I’ll let you use it. Otherwise, I cannot be responsible if you accidentally get in the way.” Fisher settled both paws on his walking stick and raised an eyebrow.

Skunk stepped forward. “We are not going anywhere. You are not taking that egg.”

Augusta fluttered onto Skunk’s shoulder, headlamp blazing. “BOCK.” (Right eye.) “BOCK.” (Left eye.) “BOCK.” (Up-down.

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