by Steven Bohls
“As long as I am not the only one looking for cans every time we land.”
“Don’t you mean find ? Because I’m pretty sure you looked for cans last time. We need to work on your finding skills. That’s why the rest of the crew will look with you from now on. Sound reasonable?”
“Sounds reasonable.”
Captain Bog gave a small smile and turned back to the bowl of fruit.
Which was now empty.
“Hey, Golden Boy,” he said, “what’s for lunch?”
“Lunch?”
“Yes. It’s the name of a meal. One that comes before dinner and follows breakfast. That’s how it works between the fringe and the fog, at least. What about your glittertale Denver? Do folk have lunch there?”
“Thanks for the explanation. I had no idea what lunch was. But now that I’ve had a vocabulary lesson, I feel so much smarter. You realize that, by your definition, lunch comes between breakfast and dinner, yes? Not right after breakfast.”
“Ship’s can masher probably wasn’t the most accurate title. It probably should be ship’s can masher who mashes cans slower than a salted slug with belly rot climbing a frozen wall upside down on its back using only its face.”
“That sounds like one pretty incredible slug,” Jed said.
“I’m not bad-mouthing our little slug’s efforts. It’s doing a clunk better job than expected. But by the time our slug scrubs the dishes, washes the deck, cleans the fire tub, and mashes more cans, it’ll be time to start again for dinner. What do you think?”
Jed gave the captain a confused look. “Wait a second…that slug with belly rot can mash cans? I thought it was just climbing a wall.”
The captain laughed once. “And if it doesn’t climb fast enough…it just might fall off.” He picked up a deck rag and tossed it to Jed. “Best get scrubbing.”
As Jed gathered dishes and returned to the mess, he noticed the red light again, blinking on Spyglass’s head.
What are you up to?
Once again he dragged the crate to the stack and pressed the button. The light shut off. Nothing else happened.
He walked into the mess while the crew scrabbled for the last remains of the caramel. He emptied the dishes into a basin and opened the spigot on a water barrel to let them soak.
The cabin below was silent. Shay was perfectly quiet.
Once the crew had returned to their duties, Jed opened the stowaway panel and climbed inside.
Shay was scraping the last of her charcoaled nubs into another picture of a lemon.
“Why the lemons?” Jed asked.
“Lemons are happy. Don’t you think?” she said.
“They’re actually my favorite.”
She paused and looked excitedly at him. “Yes! They should be everyone’s favorite! I wish I had one right now. No lemons around here.”
Jed pulled out the lemon in his pocket.
Shay scrambled over and pressed her nose into the rind. “Mmmmm…so nice. So yellow. Yellow smells the best of all the colors.”
“You’ve seen one of these before? I thought the junkyard didn’t have trees.”
She giggled. “Of course I have, silly. It’s a rather big mouseyard, wouldn’t you say?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been to many places.”
“Oh, well…” She leaned close to his ear as if sharing a secret. “It’s a rather big mouseyard.”
“That must make it hard to find things.”
“What things? I’m the best at finding things! What are you looking for?”
“My grandfather.”
“That’s easy. He’s on the Red Galleon. It took him.”
“And if you looked for the Red Galleon, where would you go?”
“Why would I do that? I don’t want to be taken too! That doesn’t sound like fun at all. Not at all.”
Jed rubbed his eyes. “I know. But I’m trying to find my grandfather. If he’s on the Red Galleon, that’s where I need to look.”
“Does he hit you with pipes too?”
Jed winced. “I haven’t seen him since I was a baby.”
Shay tapped her chin. “Maybe he doesn’t hit baby mice with pipes. I’ve never seen him do it, at least. But you’re not a baby anymore, so maybe now he’ll hit you with a pipe!”
“Maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll be nice. But I won’t know if I can’t find him. So if you could just tell me—”
“Yes!” Shay said, excitement filling her eyes. “If you never find him, you’ll never find out! Very well, I agree.”
“Agree with what?”
“That we should never, ever, never look for mean mice that hit not-baby mice with pipes.”
“No, that’s not what I—” Before Jed could finish, footsteps clomped down the steps to the lower decks. “I have to go. Someone’s coming. Stay quiet.”
“Quiet like a sleepy lemon.”
“Exactly.”
Jed hurried back to the mess and shut the hatch just as the mess door opened.
Captain Bog eyed the still-dirty plates.
“See? What did I tell you? At the rate you work, you won’t have lunch finished until dinner.”
“What do you want?” Jed asked.
“Lunch. But that might not happen for another day or two.”
“Captain!” Sprocket shouted. “Schooner’s one scope and closing!”
He turned around and walked back to the main deck.
Jed followed.
White ship sails sliced through a puffy cloud ahead and turned toward them.
“Riggs!” the captain called.
“Aye, sir?”
“The tinker’s schooner is five minutes away. Do you have our inventory log ready?”
“Aye.” Riggs removed a leather book from one of his pockets. “Here.”
The captain stuffed the log into his own pocket.
“Might I remind you—” Riggs began.
The captain nodded before he could finish. “I know. I know. Defluxor core. Death and regret. Pobble gave me the message.”
Jed gripped the tug’s railing and squinted at the ship. “What’s going on?”
“Kizer,” the captain said, “assemble the crew. When we land, scout for cans. Negotiations shouldn’t take longer than an hour, but I want everyone back in half that time for loading.”
“Loading what?” Jed asked. “Where is everyone going?”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Captain Bog said. “I want my lunch. Can a salted slug with belly rot make lunch in five minutes?”
“If I remember, the slug was climbing up a wall backward using only its face, right? Compared to that, a five-minute lunch is easy.”
“Get it done.” He turned to the rest of the crew. “Golden Boy will make the rest of you slugs lunch after we’re finished here.”
Pobble scowled and held his belly in both arms as if it were a weeping baby.
Jed tapped him on the shoulder. “What’s a tinker?”
“He’s…he’s the tinker,” Pobble said. “You know, for trading goods?”
“Like a store?”
“Sure. Like a store but with better stuff.”
Jed hurried to the mess and grabbed ham, hominy, and green chilies. The tub still had coals from the morning, so he heated up the skillet and made a hasty potatoless hash. By the time he finished, the white schooner was almost touching Bessie.
The ship had a sleek, expensive look, like the kind of ship the rich hero sails into the sunset at the end of a movie. The triangular sails were clean and bright white. Sunlight glowed against them, giving an angelic touch.
“You’re coming with me,” Captain Bog said.
Jed thought of Shay. This would be a perfect time to ask her more questions. “Why don’t I just get started on dinner for the crew?”
“Ha! You think I’m going to leave a kid alone on my ship? Especially one who needs just such a ship to stroll around looking for his missing grandpop? I don’t think so.”
“You th
ink I’d steal the tugboat? I can’t even drive a car! What makes you think I can fly a boat using a bicycle handlebar and a wrench?”
“I have no idea what you just said, but it doesn’t matter. You’re coming with me. End of discussion. And bring my lunch.”
Jed followed the captain to the edge of the ship where the schooner approached. Captain Bog tied the boats’ railings together.
The captain snatched the plate of food and pointed to the schooner. “After you.”
Jed climbed the railing and hopped to the schooner.
Planks of clean wood and metal paneled the deck in a tidy design. It was still a hodgepodge of junk, but each strip of material either matched or complemented the others.
By the time Jed turned around, the captain had finished his food. He tossed the plate overboard and waved Jed forward. “Over here.”
The schooner’s helm was a four cushion–wide sofa behind polished metal levers and pedals. The white leather cushions looked pristine and even had a new-leather scent.
A man—probably the tinker—stood from the couch. Everything about him was somehow disproportioned. Waist too high. Belly too round. Hands too wide. Arms too thin. Eyes too beady.
“Ah, ifit aint the mitey cap’nbog,” the tinker said.
The words came out in a jumbled heap.
“Good to see you,” Captain Bog said. “Looks like trade’s well.”
“Bin doonjus fin thankye.”
“Good to hear.”
“Howstha roadbin longthaway?”
“Fine. Haven’t seen trouble since Brillagate.”
“Goodgood,” the tinker said.
Jed perked up. Something he understood.
“Got meself plintee of chrezures ijus noyool luv.”
“Wonderful. Shall we conduct business, then?”
The tinker nodded and waved them to an open staircase. “Goodgood.”
The cargo hold wasn’t much different from the junkyard. Perhaps more organized. The rows and rows of gears and gadgets made Jed think of the Home Depot. Some looked like they belonged on one of Sprocket’s shatterlances; others looked like engine-room parts. There were crates of springs, ball bearings, and sheets of glass.
The tinker babbled on, his lips barely moving as he spoke. Captain Bog nodded and pointed here and there and asked about Riggs’s defluxor core.
They talked for nearly a half hour. Well, the captain talked, at least. Jed still didn’t know what the noises from the tinker were. He picked up a bolt the size of a breadstick.
The tinker glanced at him. He was about to look away when he froze. His too-big eyebrows scrunched into a bush. “Sthat wat ithink itis?” He pointed at Jed’s watch.
Jed dropped the bolt. It clanged against the floor. He twisted his wrist to hide the watch’s face.
Not again.
Captain Bog rocked back and forth, trying to see.
“Answer the man,” he said to Jed.
“Answer him what? I don’t know what he said.”
“Isthat boy def er sumpin?”
“Nah, not deaf…” Captain Bog said. “Just a straggler who can’t seem to hear a scrap thing I tell him.” He walked over and slapped Jed’s shoulder with the crushing weight of his palm.
“Ah itsnot a bituva wury. But ayestill wantano. Wut thatbe theron isrist?”
Captain Bog squeezed. “Start talking.”
“I—I can’t understand him,” Jed whispered.
“You keep acting like a fool, I’ll toss you down to the piles. Understand that? Tell him what’s on your wrist.”
Jed squirmed. “Just something my parents gave me.”
“Thochu said eewaz a straggler?”
“I did say he was a straggler. Found him stranded.”
“Thenwats he doon withat?” The tinker poked his finger at Jed’s wrist three more times.
“Jed? Tell the tinker what you’re doing with whatever you’ve got there.”
“I’m not doing anything with it.” He clutched the copper band so tightly it dug into his wrist. “My parents gave it to me.”
“You said that already. Bring it over here; let’s have a look.”
“I—I’d prefer not to.”
Captain Bog’s eyes burned. He slowly lifted one eyebrow. “Bring. That. Watch. Here. Now. Please.”
Jed swallowed and stepped forward. The tinker grabbed his arm and yanked him closer. He held Jed’s wrist an inch from his eye.
“Whcha wantfer this?”
“It’s not mine to offer,” Captain Bog said. “I couldn’t say a price.”
The tinker spoke slowly for the first time. “Try me.”
“Ask the boy. It’s his,” Captain Bog said. “How much you want for that watch?”
“It’s not for sale,” Jed said.
Captain Bog shrugged. “Guess it’s not for sale, then.”
The tinker’s grip tightened. “But—but—” he stammered. “Lisnere boy. Ilpay ya twntee thowsnd btries.”
“Twenty thousand batteries?” Captain Bog’s jaw sank. “For that?” He snatched Jed’s wrist and reached for the clasp.
Jed yanked away. “I said it wasn’t for sale.” He covered it with his other hand.
“Jed.” Captain Bog patted the air with his hands as if Jed were holding a human hostage instead of a wristwatch. “I don’t think you heard what he’s offering.”
“I heard. I don’t care. This isn’t for sale.”
“You don’t understand.” Captain Bog’s breathing turned deep and labored. “Our scrap tug isn’t even worth twenty thousand batteries. It’s not worth ten!”
“No.”
“Thaboy aintno straggler.”
“What do you mean he’s no straggler?”
“Whakinda straggler walksroundwith a relk?”
“A what?” Captain Bog’s voice cracked in the air. “A relic? You brought a relic onto my ship?” The scars around his eyes drew together. “Who are you and where did you get that?”
“I’m not a thief!” Jed yelled so loud the tinker flinched. “I’m tired of being accused of stuff I didn’t do!” He took a breath and started over, lowering his voice. “I’m only going to say this once more. My parents. Gave me. This watch. I didn’t steal it. I don’t know what it does. They left it for me with a note that said to never take it off. Ever. And now they’re gone—lost. I don’t know if they’re in prison. Or if they’re dead. You think I want to be here? I don’t!” His voice felt like fire. “This is a nightmare, and there’s nothing I can do about it! So, no! I’m not selling the only piece of scrap I have left of my parents!”
Something glinted in Captain Bog’s eyes. Something sincere. Empathetic. “I guess that’s your answer,” he said to the tinker. “The watch is out.”
“Jusripitoff isrist antoss himoverboard!” The tinker spit at Jed.
Captain Bog shook his head. “I’m not a thief either. That’s not how I do business.”
“Idun karbout nonthat! Brinmee that relk—er…er…er tha deelsoff!” His shiny forehead was slick with sweat and red as a cherry tomato.
“I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not mine to trade. If the boy won’t sell it, there’s nothing I can do.”
The tinker’s cheeks lit up in a splotchy red to match his forehead. He stamped his foot. “Youdont do sumpin bout this, I wontever tradewithyou nevergain! An iltell evry tinkr ta doothasame!”
Captain Bog grabbed the man by his throat. The force rippled through the tinker as the captain slammed him against the nearest wall. The tinker’s belly bobbled up and down. “Do I seem like someone you can threaten?”
The tinker tried to speak, but only squeaks of air escaped. He shook his head.
Captain Bog tossed him to the floor. “I’ve always been fair with you. Treated you right. Paid more than I should on occasion.” He squatted beside the tinker. “You ever threaten me again, I’ll burn your ship to scrap. How about you tell the other tinkers that?”
The tinker held his throat and star
ed at the floor.
“Okay, then. Sounds like things are all wrapped up here.” He slapped a box of screws off a shelf, sending them sprawling across the floor. “Let’s go, Jed. We’re done.”
They walked up the stairs and hopped back to the tug. The captain unlashed the ropes and shoved the schooner’s railing. It floated away lazily.
Jed touched his watch. “Thank you.”
Captain Bog lifted an eyebrow. “Thank you? For what? Not smacking around some kid and stealing his toy?”
“Um, I guess?”
Captain Bog released a weary breath. “You realize what just happened?”
“I know. I’m sorry I messed up the trade. I know how important it must have been.”
“You do?” The captain folded his arms. “Enlighten me.”
“Um, well, I guess you need supplies to fix up the ship and…”
“And?”
“I don’t know.”
“I didn’t think so. Remember the defluxor core Riggs was whining about? It’s not something you find lying around. And it’s not cheap. This was the first tinker in a month who had one at a price we could afford. So when we’re plummeting in a burning fireball of death and regret, remember who put us there.”
“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”
“There is. You’re wearing it.”
“Oh, right. I mean…”
“Stop babbling empty apologies to make this less uncomfortable. It’s uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. And how comfortable will it get when the crew hears? How about when falcons and wasps are hunting this scrap tug because some petty tinker told them what we had on board?”
Jed looked at the deck. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You say, ‘Sorry I’m a scrawny, incompetent fool, Captain,’ and then shut up.”
“I’m sorry I’m a scrawny, incompetent fool, Captain.”
The captain knocked the side of Jed’s head with his palm.
“You and I aren’t done. I can’t just unhear what I heard back there.”
“I know.”
“And if the crew finds out? Well…I might be able to stop a weak, lazy tinker, but I wouldn’t bet half a battery on your life against my crew. You understanding what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
