"This'un behind us, 'e's gainin'."  The Giant looked bemusedly at the black sails of the ship that was, unmistakably, sailing toward their own.  Buttercup was frightened of the strange men with her.  But somehow, the sight of the man in black, standing so tall on the deck of his black ship, frightened her more than she could explain.

"Inconcievable!  You!  Inigo!"  The hook-nosed man, now far past the boundaries of "ruffled" and bordering the realm of "utterly distressed".  "Mind that—thing" he gestured vaguely at the rigging.  And you!"  he hissed at the Giant.  "Stop staying that, he is not gaining!"

"'o course 'e's not," he said, throwing a grin at the quick-handed man with the scar.  "'e's jus' gettin' closer, ain't he?"  His partner chuckled. 

With a furious spew of cursing, the sallow-faced, hook-nosed man pulled out his wand and pointed it at the pair of men.  "I did not hire the two of you for your entertainment value."

Buttercup ignored them.  The Cliffs of Insanity were very close now. She was vaguely aware of the hook-nosed man blustering around, and of the man with the scar maneuvering their craft onto the beach.  The breaking of the sea spray on the rocks was blinding, and as she shielded her eyes, she could barely make out the distant outline of the top of the Cliffs.  She shuffled off of the ship while the man with the scar held the ropes binding her hands, all the while staring at the horizon where the rock of the cliffs met the bleary sky. 

Wand still drawn, the hook-nosed man pointed it high and said, "Rassio cordera!"  And from the end of his wand flew a spiraling rope, which traveled close up the side of the Cliffs.

"Fast now," he ordered, tugging on the rope, which appeared to be tied to a rock or something far above them.  "If that man is following us…which is still, I say, completely unlikely, than we must make it up the Cliffs and sever the rope before he can climb after us."

Buttercup couldn't help but laugh.  "Up the Cliffs?  I knew you were mad, but I didn't know you were insane."

"Insane, m'lady?  Now, either you're quite daft or you're trying to make a clever pun, neither of which we have the time for now.  You shall ascend the Cliffs of Insanity and we shall do it now."  He pulled the ropes binding her hands from Inigo and she nearly fell.

"No.  There is no sodding way you're going to make me climb those Cliffs, and I pray to Merlin that you try.  Oh, if I had my wand, you—you…I can't think of a thing bad enough to curse you with, but oh, it would be simply wretched."

The hook-nosed man laughed.  "I won't make you climb the Cliffs, mark me.  Inigo, take her."

The thin man with the scar lifted Buttercup and draped her body around the Giant's shoulders.  "Sorry," he whispered to her.  She sniffed indignantly and a wisp of hair flew up.  This was certainly a most unflattering position for an intellectual-woman-of-the-now-independent-princess to be in.

The man with the scar then tied himself to the Giant's waist.  But the hook-nosed man showed no signs of loading himself onto the ridiculous make-shift human elevator.  "I shall meet you at the top," he said shortly, and with that, and a loud "pop!", he was gone.

"Ruddy bastard, if only I could Apparate…" The man with the scar looked wistfully up at the top of the Cliffs.  "All right?" he asked Buttercup.

She looked up.  "Never better," she gulped.

"'old on, you two.  We're leavin'."

With that the Giant began to climb. 

Buttercup closed her eyes tight and clung to his neck.

Up he climbed, arm over arm, arm over arm, two hundred feet above the water, then three hundred feet above the water.  Buttercup couldn't help but be mildly impressed. 

The man with the scar spoke.  "You're doing wonderfully, Fezzik."

"Thanks—" he grunted, still climbing.  "It's 'most easy without tha' slimy git hissin' orders at me.  I might not be able to Apparate or nothin', but Merlin, I ain't hopeless."

The scarred man sighed.  "I know, Fezzik.  I know."

"Um, excuse me?  Gentlemen?"  Buttercup's small voice peaked through the veil of hair that draped over her face.  "Our friend in black seems to have reached the beach."

A hush fell over the trio.

"Just thought you should know."

It was true.  The man in black was closing in on the Cliffs. 

Six hundred feet now.  The arms continued their rapid ascent, pulling, over and over.  Six hundred and twenty.  Six fifty.  Seven hundred.

The man with the scar whistled.  "He's left his boat," he said, obviously impressed.  "He's jumped onto our rope.  He's…well, blimey!  He's starting up after us!"

"I can feel 'im!  'e's weighin' down th' rope!"

Buttercup opened one eye and used her pinky finger to pull over the veil of hair—the man in black was flying.  Already he had cut their lead by a hundred feet.  Maybe more.  "Uh, sorry, don't want to be a bother here, or give any cause for, uh, sweaty palms, but is there a chance we can go a bit faster?!"

"I'm carryin' three people, 'cludin' myself, 'ighness!  He's on'y got 'imself.  I'm goin' as fast as I'm likely t' go."

The man in black had gained another hundred feet.  Buttercup looked up.  Perhaps a hundred and fifty more feet to go and they would be safe.

Tied hand and foot, sick with fear, Buttercup wasn't sure what she wanted to happen.  She only knew that, given her wand and a few moments to look up a really disgusting curse, that the hook-nosed man would have it from her, and it would be good.

"He's over halfway!" the man with the scar said in awe.  Fly, Fezzik, just another fifty feet to go."

Forty feet.

The Giant pulled.

Twenty.

Ten.

It was over.  The Giant had done it.  Had he not been one of the men plotting to kill her, Buttercup would have kissed him right on his enormous lips.  She crawled quickly away from the edge of the Cliffs, but not before seeing that the man in black was no more than three hundred feet away. 

"It took you long enough," the hook-nosed man sneered as the Giant rolled onto the cliff, catching his breath. 

"Fat lot you did to help!" said the man with the scar, tending to his friend. 

"I intend to help right now."  The hook-nosed man pointed his wand at the rope.  "Severus!" 

"No!"  cried the scarred man. 

But the hook-nosed man had done it.  The rope seemed almost alive with how quickly it fled from the top of the cliff, and flew over the edge.

"Shame," gasped the Giant.  "Don' seem—right.  Such—a climber—deserves—better."

The man with the scar's harsh laugh punctuated the silence.  "He did it!"

The hook-nosed man glared at him.  "What did he do?"

"He released the rope in time!  See?"

The man in black was hanging in space, clinging to the sheer rock face, seven hundred feet above the water. 

The scarred man grinned at his sallow-faced counterpart.  "So, how's that for inconceivable?"

The hook-nosed man looked hard at the man in black for a long time before reaching a conclusion.  "It is of no importance.  He will fall, he will die, he is no threat."

It was at that moment that the man in black started to climb.  Not quickly and not without great effort.  But there was no doubt that he was, indeed, rising.

"Inconceivable!" whispered the sallow-faced man. 

The thin man with the scar whirled on him.  "Stop saying that word!  It was inconceivable that anyone could follow us, but when we looked behind, there was the man in black.  It was inconceivable that anyone could sail as fast as we could sail, and yet he gained.  Now this too is inconceivable, but look—look!" and the man pointed down through the misty night.  "See how he rises!"

"SILENCE!"  The hook-nosed man's eyes glittered wildly as he whispered.  "I have the keenest mind that ever was.  So when I tell you something, it is a fact.  So kindly keep your bloody guesswork inside your leaking head, will you?  A logical explanation is that he is simply an ordinary sailor who dabbles a bit in mountain climbing and has the same general final destination as ourselves.  Still."  He looked around the area shrewdly, and finally turned to the man with the scar, who was staring at him in loathing.  "Inigo, you shall stay here.  If he falls, smashing.  If he doesn't—which would be utterly and in all other ways inconceivable—finish him with the wand.  You—" he pointed to the giant.  "You will carry her."  

The thin man glared, but said nothing. 

The man with the hook nose slinked away, and the giant hoisted the girl on his shoulders.  "G'bye, Inigo."  He looked quickly over the edge of the cliff and at the man in black.  "Be careful, y'hear me?  People wearin' masks ain't to be trusted.  Seems ter me they've summat to hide.  Take care."  And he was gone.

The scarred man wandered around the top of the cliff, his footsteps as undecided as his mind.  He was a good man; he didn't want to kill anyone.  He wouldn't.  To appease Vizzini, he would stun the man in black and send up a flare to attract the attention of the Prince, who was, undoubtedly, tracking his beloved.  Inigo was quite of the opinion that Prince Humperdinck was a complete arse, but didn't dare doubt his tracking abilities. 

Having a grip on a plan, he quickly jumped to his feet, his thin body ready for action.  Only, the man in black was still many feet away.  There was nothing to do but wait for him, and Inigo was a very impatient young man. 

He paced the cliff edge.  Fifty feet below him, the man in black still climbed.  Inigo began to idly use his wand to conjure faint wisps of smoke, hoping to amuse himself.  It didn't work. 

Forty-seven feet to go. 

Forty-six.

"All right, there?"  Inigo hollered when he could wait no more.

The man in black glanced up and grunted.

"I've been watching you."

The man in black nodded.

"Slow going, yeah?"

"Look, mate," the man in black finally said, "I'm a bit busy here trying not to plummet to my death.  Mind shutting up a bit?"

"Sorry," Inigo said.  A moment passed.  "Hey, d'you…well, can I help at all?"

The man in black snorted.  "Yeah, throw me a piece of rope or something.  Fat lot of good that'd do.  I know which side you're on."

"I could do that."

"Says the man waiting on the edge of a cliff to kill me."

"Hey," Inigo said, indignant.  "I'm not planning on killing you, mate."

"Ah, Merlin bless you and your moral fiber," the man in black wheezed, inching up the side of the cliff.  "Kidnapping is fine, but murder!  Perish the thought."

Inigo took the remaining rope from the boulder and dragged it to the side of the cliff.  "Would you rather climb the entire cliff with just those arms, or do you want to trust me?"

The man in black paused.  "Why should I?"

"I swear on the souls of my parents, you'll make it to the top alive."

Without hesitation, the man in black said, "Throw down the rope."

It took twenty minutes of hard climbing, even with the rope, and Inigo's help to overtake the edge of the cliffs, but the man in black finally made it to the top safely.  Panting, he bent over to catch his breath and went to draw his wand.  Inigo waved it down.

"Put that away.  We're not going to fight."

The man in black looked at him in the face for the first time and grinned broadly.  "I should've known it'd be you.  Cliffside moral fiber and criminal nobility has Harry Potter written all over it."  Inigo was puzzled, but assumed that the exertion was affecting the man's mind.

"So, who are you working for?" the man in black asked, settling himself down on a rock.

"Can't tell you that, mate.  He might be a certifiable arse, but he's protecting a good friend of mine at the moment." 

"Fair enough."  The man in black paused.  "So, what's your name supposed to be here?"

Inigo looked strangely at the man, but told him nonetheless.  "Inigo Montoya."  He paused and looked uncomfortable.  "Hey, I hate to ask, but…do you have six fingers on your right hand?"

The man in black stared at Inigo and held up his right hand.  Five fingers.  Damn.

"What's that about?"

Inigo sighed.  "My parents were murdered by a man with six fingers.  I was eight.  I saw it happen."  He hung his head for a moment.  "I vowed I would avenge my parents and find the six fingered man and do what I couldn't do when I was a boy.  I went away and studied dueling for many years, and now I'm searching for the six-fingered-man."  He shrugged.  "It's slow going.  I never really thought it would take this long."

"How long has it been?"

"Well, first I trained for six years.  Then I set out on my mission.  So, I'm going to say…"  He thought a moment.  "About five years.  And a few months."

The man in back gaped at him.  "And that's all you've done, search for your parents' murderer?"

Inigo shrugged.  "And I've picked up odd jobs for change.  You know, there's not a lot of money in the revenge business.  That's where I met up with Vizzini, and that's why I'm in this big kidnapping mess."  He sighed.  "Should've stayed in Italy."

The man in black stood up.  "Speaking of kidnapping, I really had better go after that princess."

"Why?  Do you know her?"

The man in black grinned and pulled off the black scarf covering his hair to wipe sweat from his brow.  His hair was a flaming red.  "She'd say no, but I happen to know better." 

"I'd like to help, if I can.  I feel terrible, I never should've gotten mixed up in this…"

"Thanks, but I think I have to do it alone.  Just…don't go for the prince.  Disappear for a while, then find your friend.  I'll make sure he isn't harmed."

"Thanks."  Inigo looked at the man in black, as he started to leave.  "Wait!  I never got your name!"

The man in black looked back and smiled, remembering a train compartment and the smell pumpkin pasties, several years and a whole different world away.  "Call me Ron, okay?  It's not quite right here, but it's who I am."  And with that, he turned and ran towards a rocky hillside.