Heads turned to Two-Clubs.
“What are you looking at me for?” the barbarian whined.
“Anything, not anyone!” Liam clarified, rolling his eyes. He added softly, “Two-Clubs, why don’t you go down and help Duncan. Just in case.”
The big barbarian rushed downstairs to find Duncan already waist deep in the flood, struggling against the foamy seawater that was gushing in at an alarming rate. “It’s like the ocean is spitting at us,” Duncan said, gripping his hat tightly.
“What do we stuff it with?” Two-Clubs asked, pondering the gaping hole in the Walnut’s hull. “There’s nothing down here but hardtack.”
Duncan snatched one of the rocklike biscuits and jammed it into the hole. It was immediately washed back at him.
“Hmm,” Duncan mused. And then, “Aha!”
He tried again with two pieces of hardtack. Equally useless.
“Heh-heh,” Two-Clubs chuckled. “The only place those biscuits will do any good is in my belly.”
Duncan’s face lit up. “Mr. Clubs! You’ve given me the perfect idea!”
“Snack break?” The barbarian shrugged his big, bare shoulders. “Okay.”
“No, your belly!” Duncan chirped. “Stick it in the hole! It’s just about the right size!”
Two-Clubs pouted. “But I’d have to stay down here for the rest of the trip.”
“You’ll be a hero,” Duncan said, patting the barbarian’s hairy back.
Two-Clubs rubbed his belly, pondering the idea. “All right,” he said. “But only if you promise to bring snacks down to me. I’ll need a bite every ten minutes.”
“Hmm, that’ll be a lot of going up and down for me,” Duncan minced. “I wouldn’t want to miss anything exciting upstairs. How about every fifteen minutes?”
“Twelve.”
“It’s a deal!” Duncan said as he helped Two-Clubs jam his colossal gut into the opening and cut off the inrush of water.
“Ooooh, I think I got a splinter!” the barbarian wheezed. “Or thirty.”
Up on deck, Liam, Gustav, and Frederic ran about, tossing overboard anything that wasn’t nailed down (and in Gustav’s case, some things that were). Old barrels, broken lanterns, spools of rope, and crates of hardtack splashed into the sea. Gustav ran to the rail with an armload of long, steel-tipped harpoons.
“Hey, Gustav,” Frederic said. “Maybe we should hold on to a few of those.”
Gustav chucked the harpoons into the waves. “Capey said toss, I toss.”
“Problem solved!” Duncan popped up from belowdecks and took a bow.
“Where’s Two-Clubs?” Liam asked.
“In the hole,” Duncan said. “Speaking of which, what can I give him for a snack? He’s going to need something in about eleven minutes.”
“This might not be the best situation, but at least we seem to have stopped sinking,” Liam noted.
And then the whole ship shuddered.
“Oh, no,” Frederic moaned. “Cannonballs again?”
But the Dreadwind was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey, guys,” Two-Clubs called up through the hole in the deck. “Something’s tickling my belly. Something outside the boat.”
“Eh . . . ye all might want to be holdin’ on to something,” Gabberman said. “If the stories I’ve heard are true . . . er, I mean, if I remember correctly from the last time I was sailin’ these waters, there are things nastier than pirates swimmin’ out there.”
An enormous silver-white head burst from beneath the sea foam looking like a cross between a python and a barracuda (with maybe a touch of vampire porcupine thrown in). The serpentine creature spouted a fog of salty mist from between its knifelike teeth before wrapping its long, scaly body around the Wet Walnut and beginning to squeeze.
“Cecil!” Duncan shouted.
Gustav looked at him askance. “Seriously? You’re naming it?”
“Brace yerselves!” Gabberman cried. “We’ve got a sea dragon on top o’ us!”
Liam took a swipe at the monster with his sword—promptly snapping the rapier’s blade in half. “Drat!” Liam spat. “If only we had some harpoons!”
Gustav shrugged sheepishly and began pounding his bare fists against the beast’s metallic scales, snarling, “Let go of our boat, you big, fat eel! I hate eels!”
A series of terrifying crunches sounded as the sea serpent tightened its coiled grip on the ship. The Walnut’s bow and its stern both rose as its center crumbled into an avalanche of splintered boards.
“Arrgh! Me ship!” Gabberman screamed. “Or, well . . . somebody’s ship!”
“Look, I found another chum bucket!” Duncan cried, running at the sea serpent. “Maybe we can use it to lure the—” Slip, trip, tumble. And the bucket was firmly lodged over Duncan’s head. “Don’t worry about me!” he announced, standing back up. “I’ll be—” And then he stepped through the hole in the deck.
The dragon thrashed its silvery tail, toppling the mast like a lumberjack felling an oak. It crashed down, shattering deck planks and cracking the rail.
“Huh? Whuzzat?” Hardrot said, popping upright in his laundry basket. And then the basket slid off the shattered deck into the ocean below.
As Gustav continued to beat fruitlessly against the sea monster’s side, the floor fell out from beneath him, and he splashed into the darkness belowdecks.
Clinging to the rear railing, Frederic was wild-eyed with terror. “Have I mentioned that I can’t swim?”
“You’ll be all right, Frederic,” Liam said. “Just try to keep your head above—”
The dragon’s tail thwapped down between them, practically disintegrating the chunk of boat on which they’d been trying to stay afloat. Suddenly, Frederic found himself surrounded by water. It was above him, below him, left and right; in his mouth and in his nose. What would Sir Bertram do? What would Sir Bertram do? he thought, before concluding sadly, Sir Bertram would drown.
Then he felt strong hands grab onto his wrist, and soon he was being dragged upward, the sea rushing past him, until finally his head broke through to the surface. He coughed and sputtered as Gustav shoved him up onto a floating door.
“You alive?” Gustav asked, treading water a few feet away.
Frederic nodded, still dazed. The Wet Walnut was gone, reduced to nothing more than a scattering of cracked planks and broken beams bobbing among heavy waves. He hoped the others had managed to find their way onto makeshift rafts as well; but between the wind, the choppy seas, and his foggy head, he couldn’t spot any of them. Happily, there was no sign of the sea serpent either. Frederic did, however, see what appeared to be a turkey swimming toward him.
Fig. 13
NEVER LET GO
“Oh, no,” Frederic whispered. The “turkey” was actually Duncan’s many-feathered cap. He snatched it out of the water as it drifted by.
“Stay here,” Gustav said. “I’ll go find him.”
But as soon as Gustav turned, the dragon’s spiny, shimmering head burst out of the water in front of him. Frederic screamed as the huge creature opened its mouth wide and, in a split second, snapped its jaws closed again, enveloping Gustav. But an instant later, the frustrated dragon’s mouth began to slowly reopen. Gustav was standing on the beast’s tongue, forcing its jaws apart with brute strength.
“No way,” the brawny prince grunted. “If I can’t eat seafood, seafood’s not gonna eat me.” But Frederic could see that his friend was struggling. The dragon’s teeth began to close down on him again.
Then—BOOM! A cannonball smacked into the side of the dragon’s head. Gustav catapulted from between the creature’s scaly lips and plunked into the water yards away. Frederic watched the dragon sway dizzily as its eyes slowly closed and it slipped beneath the surface. What just happened? he thought.
It grew suddenly dark as a vast shadow fell over the area. A rope appeared, dangling inches from Frederic’s face. He craned his neck back, his eyes following the rope upward for what seemed like mile
s, all the way to the rail of the hulking Dreadwind.
“Coming aboard?” a scar-faced pirate called to him. “Or would you rather we leave you down there until the sea dragon comes back? I’m happy either way.”
Frederic grabbed the rope.
17
AN OUTLAW SPEAKS POLITELY TO A LADY
Too afraid to move or speak, Frederic simply sat, dripping and shivering, as he watched brawny pirates haul the other shipwreck victims up onto the deck of the Dreadwind. Duncan immediately grabbed his hat back, hugged it, and put it on, its dozen wet feathers dangling limply.
Sopping, Gustav struggled to his feet. “I had that oversize worm right where I wanted it, you know.” He swept his wet, drooping hair out of his eyes, revealing a face newly covered in bright-red blotches.
“He’s got the pox!” one of the pirates shouted, and they all backed away.
“Don’t worry, he’s just allergic to seafood,” Duncan offered.
The scar-faced pirate chuckled. “So . . . you bit the dragon?”
Gustav glared at him. “What of it?”
Don’t you dare start a brawl, Gustav, Liam thought. There were twenty armed buccaneers surrounding them, and probably more working in other, unseen areas of the enormous vessel. There was no way he and the other princes would win in an open fight. And if it came to that, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure whose side Gabberman, Two-Clubs, and Hardrot would take. But he had to do something. Briar could be on that ship with them. They needed the opportunity to search for her—and that would require a little diplomacy. “We appreciate you not leaving us to drown, Captain,” he said as he and the other refugees—except Hardrot, who was already snoozing again—rose to their feet. “But I must ask what you plan to do with us now.”
The scar-faced pirate chuckled. “Oh, I’m not the captain of the Dreadwind,” he said. “Though I see how you could make such a mistake on account of the fine tailoring of my coat. Not to mention my nineteen golden earrings and my handsomely rugged jawline. People say it’s my best feature.”
“If only I had me a jaw like that,” Gabberman said, nodding with admiration.
“I am the first mate of this glorious vessel,” the pirate went on. “Key’s the name—Roderick Key. As for what’s to be done with you, that will be—”
“That will be up to me,” said a tall woman who appeared at the top of a short flight of steps behind the first mate. She stood nearly as high as Gustav, with broad shoulders, a steely gaze, and frizzy black hair that was tied back in a loose ponytail. She wore a long coat similar to Gabberman’s (though much fancier, with swirling gold embroidery on the cuffs and lapels) and a tricornered hat similar to Duncan’s (though with a more reasonable number of feathers). A gleaming, curved cutlass hung at her belt, and countless jeweled rings adorned her rough-skinned fingers.
“Captain Jerica,” Key said, stepping respectfully to the side.
The pirate commander looked her prisoners up and down, frowning. She turned to her first mate. “This can’t be them, Mr. Key,” she said. “They’re pitiful, for Triton’s sake. Did you see the little one with the drowned bird on his head?”
Fig. 14
Captain JERICA
“Actually,” Duncan began—and Liam’s hand clamped over his mouth.
“We do not want them to find out who we are,” Liam whispered.
“I know that,” Duncan whispered back. “And anyway, it’s usually Gustav who blows our cover.”
“You two make a great team for that,” Liam replied.
Duncan spun around and hugged Gustav. “Did you hear that? We make a great team!”
Gustav pushed him off. “I miss the troll,” he said.
For several minutes, Captain Jerica huddled with Mr. Key and her crew members. Then she turned to address the prisoners again. “Well, fellas,” she said, her fists resting on her hips. “It seems we’ve got a bit of a disagreement here as to what should be done with the lot of you. Mr. Key thinks you may be important types, worthy of a hefty ransom. But Mr. Flint over here thinks you’re just bumbling tradesmen who were stupid enough to pass through our territory.”
“Bumblers! Bumblers!” squawked a rainbow-hued parrot that sat on the shoulder of a slouchy, gray-haired pirate.
“I’m Mr. Flint, by the way,” the old pirate said, pointing to himself. “Not the bird. Just to be clear about that.”
“Sadie Squawkins has beautiful feathers,” Duncan called out.
“Why, thank you,” Flint said. Then he blinked. “Wait, her name isn’t—”
“Ahem! Mr. Flint,” Captain Jerica said sternly.
“Oh, aye,” said Flint. “Anyway, Sadie Squawkins and I reckon these men are just a bunch of bumblers. They’re no princes, anyhow.”
“Well, uh, which do you think, Captain?” Frederic asked, forcing a smile.
Jerica stepped closer. “I think they might both be right,” she said coolly. She stared down at her prisoners once again, her eyes lingering on Gustav the longest. “But I’ve got to be sure, right? So I’m going to ask you fellows a few questions.”
“Ooh, I love trivia games!” Duncan shouted, stepping forward. “If the category is ‘Awesome Pirate Hats,’ I know the answer: Mine, yours, and the striped one on that guy with the curly mustache over there.”
Liam grabbed the hem of Duncan’s jacket and yanked him back. “What do you want to know?” he asked Jerica.
“Based on the lack of flotsam out there,” she began, “your ship was basically empty. If you weren’t transporting cargo, what was the purpose of your voyage?”
Frederic thought fast. “We are scientists. Ours was a research vessel.”
“Without equipment?” Jerica asked.
“Our equipment sank,” Liam said. “I’m sure an experienced seafarer like yourself understands that heavy machinery doesn’t float.”
“And what, pray tell, were you trying to do with these great machines?” she asked.
Liam and Frederic both opened their mouths to answer, but Jerica raised a hand to shush them. “I’ve heard enough from you two.” She pivoted and locked her green eyes on Gustav. “I want to hear from him.”
“Why me?” Gustav asked. He felt strangely flustered, but shook it off. “I’m not scared of you, you know.”
“I would be sorely disappointed if you were,” the pirate captain said.
“Then why are you picking on me—I mean, picking me?” Gustav asked. “Why not just let, um, those two guys answer the questions?”
“Because they’re lying to me,” Jerica said. “And I believe I can get the truth out of you. I know your type.”
“Ha! Good luck, lady!” Gustav laughed and tapped his thick index finger against his temple. “No one knows what goes on inside this head. Not even me.”
Jerica grinned slyly. “Let’s see, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s,” Gustav replied. He flexed his shoulders, that old, fired-up feeling rising in his gut.
Frederic and Liam exchanged worried glances (while Duncan stared enviously at Mr. Flint’s parrot.)
“So do you still contend that you and your friends were on a research vessel?” Jerica asked.
“No,” Gustav said firmly. “We were on a research ship.” He crossed his arms and gave a decisive nod, as if he’d just won the argument.
“And what does a research ship do?”
Gustav cleared his throat.
“Did you swallow a jellyfish out there?” Jerica asked, smirking.
Gustav locked eyes with Jerica. “You want to know what a research ship does? We research,” he said. “When you search for something and you can’t find it, you call us. And we re-search for it.”
“And, um, what were you re-searching for?” As several of her men snickered, Jerica tried to stifle a laugh. Gustav watched the corners of her lips turn upward, and he was filled with anger. At least he assumed it was anger—that was the main thing he was used to feeling. And he was pretty sure that that’s what Jerica’s smile made
him feel, too. Pretty sure.
“You!” he barked. “We were searching for you!”
“Gustav, don’t—” Liam started.
“Shut up, Capey!” Gustav snapped.
“He’s not wearing a cape,” Jerica said.
“No, really, Gustav—” Frederic sputtered.
“Not now, Tassels!”
“And he’s not wearing tassels,” Jerica mused.
“But wait, Gustav,” said Duncan. “I think—”
“Pipe down, Pipsqueak!”
“Okay, that one I get,” said Jerica, nodding.
Gustav focused his fury on the pirate captain. “Yeah, you were right,” he said. “We’re not really a re-search crew. We were after you. We’re pirate hunters!”
“Fascinating,” Jerica said. “Pirate hunters with no cannons. No weapons of any kind, apparently.”
“It’s called being undercover,” Gustav snarked. “Look it up.”
A tall, bandanna-wearing pirate whistled to get their attention. “Captain, we actually did find this jammed into a hunk of wood that was floating out there.” He tossed a gleaming, curved sword to Jerica—one of Greenfang’s blades. She caught the weapon and examined it.
“Yeah, that’s mine,” Gustav said. “That’s my pirate-hunting sword. ’Cause I’m a pirate hunter. And I finally tracked down the notorious Deadwind.”
“Dreadwind,” Jerica corrected. “But okay, let’s go with this story. You lot are big, bad pirate hunters. And now you’ve caught up to us—your ultimate quarry. What are you going to do about it?”
Please don’t yell “Sturmhagen” and charge at them, Liam repeated over and over in his head. Please don’t yell “Sturmhagen” and charge at them.
And to Gustav’s credit, he did not. He yelled, “Piiii-raaaate hunnnn-terrrrs!” and charged at them. He managed to bowl over seven buccaneers who were taken by surprise. However, that still left another fourteen or so.
Liam turned to Frederic and Duncan. “We’re going to lose this fight,” he said quickly. “So don’t even try to win—try to find you-know-who.” They nodded and darted off in different directions, narrowly avoiding the grabbing hands of pirates who tried to stop them. Liam kicked a short pirate in the gut and stole his sword before dodging blows from two others. “Are you with us?” he called over to Gabberman and Two-Clubs (Hardrot was lying across their laps, fast asleep).
The Hero's Guide to Being an Outlaw Page 11
