Liam nodded. “And I know just the pirate to ask for a ride.”
PART II
OUT TO SEA
13
AN OUTLAW NEVER GOES HUNGRY
Not all of Flargstagg smelled like an old sock stuffed with rancid pumpkin rinds. On their way through the sunny side of town, the princes passed a few cottages that carried the distinctly pleasant scent of lemon zest and one where they took in a glorious whiff of nutmeg. But as soon as they crossed into the less-desirable half of the village, they were stopped in their tracks by the odor of the Stumpy Boarhound.
“We’re here,” Duncan announced. “That is a stink you don’t forget.”
At the sewage-spattered dead end of a bleak and damp cobblestone street stood the battered old tavern at which the four princes had first officially formed their team. From behind the Stumpy Boarhound’s blade-scarred doors came the raucous sounds of what was either a party or a fight.
“Are you sure this is the best idea?” Frederic asked as Liam placed his hand on the bent dagger that served as a door handle. “The clientele here are not exactly model citizens. Need I remind you that the last time we recruited one of them, it didn’t turn out very well?”
“Believe me, I remember,” Liam said soberly. “But I have a good feeling.”
“Ha!” Gustav chuckled. “Look who’s suddenly trusting his gut.”
Liam threw open the door, and the princes stepped into a scene of utter chaos. Black-eyed thieves emptied their mugs into the faces of swearing barbarians. Goblins swung from the tusks of mounted mammoth heads. Cackling assassins broke plates over the heads of torch-waving burglars. It was still anybody’s guess whether this was a fight or a party.
But as soon as everybody saw the princes, the commotion abruptly stopped. An enormous, bald barbarian separated himself from the crowd—Two-Clubs, the bare-bellied brute known for using his pig-size fists to pound his enemies into the ground. “You four are the most wanted criminals in the Thirteen Kingdoms,” he said.
The princes braced themselves.
“Congratulations!” Two-Clubs yelled cheerfully. “That’s great!” He shook each prince’s hand as the crowd around him applauded and burst into loud hoots and howls. Boniface K. Ripsnard, the bent-nosed, stubble-faced owner of the tavern, rushed up to make sure his favorite celebrities weren’t overwhelmed.
“Give ’em space, give ’em space,” Ripsnard shouted, shoving aside a grubby bandit who was waving his autograph book in Gustav’s face. “Welcome back, princes! Follow me. I’ll get you set up with some proper food and drink. Or at least some improper food and drink . . . I don’t wanna make promises I can’t keep.”
The bartender led the princes to the Official League Founding Table in the back of the tavern. Customers continued to gawk.
“I think our outlaw status has made us more popular than ever at the Boarhound,” Frederic said.
“Oh, without doubt,” Ripsnard said, grinning. “We even framed one o’ yer Wanted posters.” He pointed over the bar, where the poster hung between one of Duncan’s old shoes (which had been mounted on a board like a hunting trophy) and a ball of discolored string that was labeled PRINCE FREDERIC’S USED FLOSS.
“My used what?” Frederic asked, aghast. “Where did you get that?”
“Outhouse trash bin,” Ripsnard said. “Knew it had to be yers ’cause there ain’t a single one o’ our regulars ever practiced dental hygiene.”
“I’m . . . honored?” Frederic said, grimacing.
“Mr. Ripsnard,” Liam said, “we need to see Captain Gabberman. Is he here?”
The bartender raised an eyebrow.
“Pirate?” Frederic tried. “Long coat, scraggly black beard?”
“Bunch of missing teeth,” Gustav said, and then slyly added, “thanks to me.”
“He preordered my book,” Duncan threw in cheerfully.
“Oh, you mean Cap’n Gabberman,” Ripsnard said, nodding. “Sure, I’ll send ’im over.”
A few minutes later, the grizzled Cap’n Gabberman trotted to the princes’ table with a giddy grin on his face.
“What can I be doin’ for you fellers?” he asked in a gruff-yet-cheerful voice. His eyes lit up when he noticed Duncan’s tricornered cap. “Ah! I’m guessin’ ye came to get me opinion on the hat. Two thumbs up, I say! Gives ye a nice bit o’ swagger. Could use a feather or two, though, to really spiff it up.”
“Feathers, eh?” Duncan muttered, fingering his hat’s undecorated brim.
“Cap’n Gabberman, we’re here on urgent business,” Liam interrupted. “You said if we were ever in need of a fast ship, we should see you. That time has come.”
“Aye,” the pirate mumbled, scratching his crooked ear. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Does the offer still hold?” Liam asked. “Is your ship for hire?”
“Might I ask what ye be needin’ her fer?” Gabberman asked tentatively.
“We need to track down another ship,” Liam said. “The Dreadwind.”
“The Dreadwind?” Gabberman gasped. “But they’re pirates!”
“You’re a pirate,” Gustav said, furrowing his brow.
“O’ course I am,” Gabberman said. “One o’ the best. I’m just sayin’ the Dreadwind’s crew are, ye know, a different kind o’ pirate.”
“Are you afraid of them?” Frederic asked. “Because I’m afraid of you. So if you’re afraid of them—”
“Afraid? Not likely.” The bearded buccaneer stood up and forced a laugh. “But even if I was—which I’m not—I ain’t passing up a chance to work with the League o’ Princes just ’cause of a little fear. Which I do not have.”
“So you’ll take us?” Liam asked. “The Dreadwind left out of Yondale Harbor a little over three weeks ago.”
“That’s perfect,” Gabberman said, nodding vigorously. “That’s exactly where me ship is docked.”
“Kinda faraway place to keep your ship, isn’t it?” Gustav asked.
“Nah,” Gabberman scoffed. “That’s where all the best pirates be stowin’ their ships these days. I’m gonna head up there and get ’er ready. Why don’t you fellers relax here for a spell, have a nice meal, and meet up with me later at . . . um . . .”
“Yondale Harbor?” Liam said.
“Aye, that’s the place. See ye there. Gotta go.” The pirate hurried off.
“Did that seem odd to you at all?” Frederic asked.
“A bit,” said Liam. “But we need a ship. Do you know another sea captain who we can trust not to turn us in for the reward?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Frederic said, standing up. “Shall we go?”
“What about dinner?” Duncan asked, rubbing his tummy. “I’m famished.”
“Pipsqueak’s right—it’s been days since we’ve had a real meal,” Gustav said. He turned and yelled, “Hey, barkeep! Whaddaya got to eat in this place?”
Frederic crossed his arms. “I would like to point out that the Dreadwind has nearly a month’s head start on us.”
“And I would like to point out that you’re still in your pajamas.” Gustav smirked.
“Zing!” chirped Duncan. He and Gustav high-fived.
Glowering, Frederic looked to Liam for support. “We are a bit short on energy,” Liam said apologetically.
Ripsnard the bartender appeared. “You want eatings, eh? All righty, lemme see,” he said, pulling a scrap of paper from his apron pocket and straining to read it. “Today’s specials are pickled gator toes, ground teeth, cream of something-or-other, and . . . um, oatmeal.”
“I’ll have the oatmeal,” Frederic said, pleasantly surprised.
“Ah, no, I misread that,” Ripsnard said, squinting closer at the paper. “It’s actually oat-meat.”
Frederic sighed.
“Give me one of everything,” said Gustav.
14
AN OUTLAW LEARNS THE ROPES
“How do we know which ship we’re looking for?” Frederic asked, trying to suppress
a yawn. After a week of hiking—and sleeping in leaf piles—the princes had finally arrived at Yondale Harbor.
“Just keep your eyes peeled for Gabberman,” Liam said. He held his hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the midday sun as he peered onto the deck of every massive galleon and sleek schooner they passed.
Duncan gaped at the forest of tall masts swaying just beyond the piers and the throngs of sailors hauling crates of cannonballs and casks of grog. Flags from each of the Thirteen Kingdoms—as well as banners from strange, unknown lands beyond—whipped in the blustery winds along the pier as gulls squawked loudly overhead. “This is so exciting,” he said. “My hat can barely wait to get out to sea!”
Aside from Duncan’s tricorne—which, courtesy of one very startled rooster, now had three long red feathers jutting from its brim—the princes had changed into entirely new clothes. Before they’d left the Boarhound, Ripsnard had been kind enough to supply them with unassuming sailors’ outfits (and they’d been polite enough not to ask why all the shirts had knife holes in them). But Frederic still felt conspicuous. “You don’t think Captain Gabberman’s going to stand us up, do you?” he asked, ducking his head from the glance of a passing fisherman.
“No, I think he’d do just about anything to work with us,” Liam said.
“Probably. It’s just that this is a very public place,” Frederic said, flipping up his collar. “I hope we find Gabberman before someone else finds us.”
“You mean those three angry guys on the giant mongoose?” Duncan asked.
“Yes, them,” Frederic said. “I’d hate to see them again.”
“Then you’d better not look left,” Duncan warned.
They all looked left.
A massive mongoose was sniffing its way down the boardwalk with Greenfang, Erik the Mauve, and Periwinkle Pete all astride its shaggy back.
“They haven’t spotted us yet,” Liam whispered. “Walk casually and don’t make any sudden moves.”
There was a sudden rush of wind, and Duncan shrieked. “Whew,” he then said calmly. “Almost lost my hat there.”
A second later, the mongoose was charging down the pier at them.
“Run!” Liam yelled. The princes took off, tearing through the harbor’s open-air market. Gustav shoved aside unsuspecting sailors and sardine salesmen, but it was impossible to move through the thick crowds with any real speed.
“There’s Gabby Capperman!” Duncan cried, jumping and pointing to a small ship just past the market area. “I see him!”
“That can’t be his ship,” Liam said, frowning. “It’s so . . . so . . .”
“Keep moving, Mr. Complainy Pants,” Gustav barked. But the snarling mongoose plowed down several screaming shoppers and slid its long, hairy body directly into the fugitives’ path. Greenfang and Pete hopped down. The four princes clustered together, while the sailors and merchants around them stepped back, whispering to one another in cautious awe.
“Thought you could get away, huh?” Greenfang snarled.
“Yes,” Liam retorted. “That would be why we ran.”
“Well,” the bounty hunter quipped, drawing his twin swords. “I hope you’ve finally figured out that’s never gonna happen.”
“Fat chance,” Gustav snapped back. “We don’t figure out anything.”
“Guys,” Frederic whispered as the bounty hunters inched closer. “There’s an opening between the crab shack and the squid-on-a-stick kiosk over there. Get ready to sprint for it. I know the perfect distraction.”
“You’re going to tell them all who we really are, aren’t you?” Liam whispered.
“Am I that predictable?” Frederic asked. Then he shoved his way to the front of their little huddle and stood tall. “Attention, harbor people!” he shouted. “Do you know why these bounty hunters are after us? We’re the League of Princes! From all those Wanted posters! Whoever turns us in gets untold riches!”
Realizing what Frederic was up to, Greenfang dove for him. But the bounty hunter was caught by two quick-acting shark wrestlers. “Hands off,” one of the men barked. “That reward is mine!” Suddenly the crowd swarmed. Greedy seafarers and fishmongers pushed and elbowed in an attempt to get their salty paws on the valuable fugitives. As the bounty hunters were swallowed by the chaos, the princes darted behind the crab shack.
“Cap’n Gabberman!” Liam cried out as they ran for the pirate’s small, single-masted boat. It was barely a quarter of the size of the large galleons they’d passed earlier and had loose planks of wood dangling from various spots on its barnacle-covered hull. The name painted on its bow read Wet Walnut.
“What a piece of junk,” Liam muttered.
“I suppose this is what we get for hiring a sea captain out of a landlocked city,” Frederic noted.
Gabberman, standing at the ship’s rail, waved down to them. “Ah, there ye are! Come on aboard, fellers!”
Fig. 11
The WET WALNUT
“Lower the ramp,” Liam called up to him, casting a concerned glance over his shoulder.
Gabberman scratched his head. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve got one of those. Try this here rope. That’s how I got meself aboard.”
The princes scrambled up the rope, shouting, “Go! Go!”
“Go,” Gabberman echoed. “Yeah. Hmm. Let’s see about that now.” He scanned the deck, biting his lower lip.
“What are you doing?” Liam screamed. “Where’s your crew?”
“Ah, the crew,” Gabberman said. “Yeah, I’ve got one of those. Crew!”
The door to the ship’s cabin opened, and the fat barbarian Two-Clubs trotted out. At his side was a big-eared, half-ogre thug—Daggomire Hardrot—whom the princes also recognized from the Stumpy Boarhound.
“That’s it? Just them?” Frederic asked, panicky.
“Pleasure to be working with you,” Hardrot rasped.
“Let’s just get out of here,” Liam said.
“Aye,” said Gabberman. “Well, we’re still moored to the dock. So, we’ll first be needin’ to untie them big ropes. If I could just figger out where they’re attached . . .”
“This is not your ship, is it?” Liam asked him pointedly. “You’ve never been on it before today, have you? You probably stole it last night.”
“Just twenty minutes ago, actually,” Gabberman said. “But, hey, stealin’ a ship—that make me a right impressive pirate, don’t it?”
“Uh, a little help over here?” Gustav, standing by the rail, was struggling to hold back the mob of greedy fishermen scaling the side of the ship.
“I’m on it,” said Two-Clubs. As each invader’s head popped up past the railing, the barbarian slammed his hefty fist down onto it, as if he were playing a game of human Whack-a-Mole. Gustav, not to be outdone, began running along the rail, punting reward seekers into the water. Duncan joined them as well, stealing feathers out of the attackers’ hats and adding them to his own.
“We need to leave—now!” Liam barked. “Hardrot, you’ve got a sword—go cut every rope tied to the stern of this ship.”
Hardrot stood and stared.
“The back,” Liam clarified. “The stern is the back of the ship.” He shook his head sadly as the half-ogre ran off. “Gabberman,” Liam continued, “do you at least know where the ship’s wheel is?”
“Aye!” the pirate said, beaming. “It’s up on that upper-deck thingy.”
“Go there and get ready while I get these sails up.” Liam fiddled with the intricately knotted ropes that held the sail rolled against the mast’s long, horizontal yardarm. “Crud,” he groaned. “I’ll never get these untied in time.”
“Pipsqueak can do it,” Gustav shouted as he kicked an attacking sailor in the face. “He’s good with knots.”
Duncan’s eyes lit up. “You remembered!”
Duncan ran to the mast and attacked the tangled rope with glee. He quickly loosed it, and—with Liam’s help—pulled it to hoist up the big, triangular mainsail. The canvas was frayed
and stain spattered, but it quickly caught a big gust of wind and billowed outward. “Woo-hoo!” Duncan crowed as the Wet Walnut surged forward into the churning waters of Tortoiseshell Bay.
“Arr! Look at me!” Gabberman cried gleefully. “I’m pilotin’ a real live pirate ship!”
“And it looks like we’ve finally ditched all our unwanted passengers,” Gustav said, brushing his hands together. But as he has been known to do, Gustav had spoken too soon. After a running leap from the end of the pier, the mongoose landed, growling, on the ship’s deck. Greenfang, Periwinkle Pete, and Erik the Mauve all slid off the animal’s back.
“I got these guys,” Two-Clubs said, stepping toward them. He raised one of his huge fists—and was promptly rewarded with one of Pete’s arrows through his palm. “Yow!” the barbarian cried, falling to his knees and cradling his injured hand. “Oh, man, they’re going to start calling me One-Club now!”
Gustav hunkered down for a charge at the archer, but he reluctantly held back when he saw Liam shaking his head.
“Turn this ship around,” Greenfang ordered.
“Er, I’m afraid I can’t be doing that,” Gabberman said.
Pete nocked another arrow and aimed it at the pirate.
“No, he’s serious,” Frederic said. “He doesn’t know how to do it.”
Greenfang huffed. “I am less and less impressed by you guys every time we meet. Hey, Pete, take the wheel and steer us back to the dock.”
The elf clenched his jaw but did not move.
“Pete!” Greenfang barked. “Go steer. You wanna collect this reward or not?”
“What I want,” Pete said, “is a little respect.”
“Aw, this ain’t gonna end well,” Erik mumbled to himself.
“Can you once,” Pete continued, “just once refer to me by my full and proper Elvish name?”
“No,” Greenfang said bluntly. “I am not going to call you Petalblossombreezesong. It’s a ridiculous name.”
The Hero's Guide to Being an Outlaw Page 9
