"Who's they?" asked Fiona, ungrammatically.
"Friends at Court, friends at Court," said the finner. "What a thing to have. 'No need of the old sailorman,' said I. But they said I must go. And I've scraped the barnacles off my precious tail. Will it run to some tobacco?"
"Will what run?" said the girl. "Your tail? What is it you want?"
"Hints are wasted, I see," said the whale. "'One question,' said I. Only one. But magic is magic, you know, even for a tough old sailorman. Come now, one question. I'm too far inshore for my liking."
"Is it about my treasure?" she said.
"Yours, or that boy's there, whichever you like," said the whale. "But only one, only one."
For about two seconds Fiona did some hard mental drill. Then she said:
"Will you please tell me where the Urchin can find his treasure?"
"You do have luck," said the finner. "Think of it, then. O you little fishes, think of it. If you'd asked the other, I didn't know the answer. Wouldn't have got an answer, and my tail all scraped for nothing. And this one, my great-great-grandmother saw it all, and nobody knows here but me and the seals and one man, and he's too fat to count. West cave, Scargill Island; and bring you luck, my dear. Will it run to some tobacco?"