The Pirate's Eye

by Guy Bass

  “Are you okay, Stitch Head?” asked the Creature, trying to find a place to sit on the tiny ship.

  Stitch Head peered across the bay at a large ship on the horizon. On the ship’s ramp, two men were arguing. He could only see one of them clearly — he was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick, black beard. The other man was short and fat with skinny legs. He was dragging a large sack that writhed and squirmed.

  As the Gadabout II bobbed out of the bay, Stitch Head strained to hear what the men were saying.

  “Listen to me!” the fat man said. “It took me forever to book a ship that would take any cargo! No questions asked, you said!”

  “A human being is not cargo!” the skinny man said. “I be the cap’n of this ship! It be my neck on the line if we’re caught.”

  “It’s more money you’re after, is it?” the fat man said. “Lugs and mumbles, you drive a hard bargain, cap’n!”

  Stitch Head watched as the fat man handed the skinny cap’n a wad of money. The cap’n nodded, and the fat man began lifting the sack onto the edge of one of the empty crates. As the man turned, Stitch Head finally got a look at his face. His eye grew wide. Including the professor, Stitch Head had only met three human people in his almost-life . . . and the fat man was one of them.

  “Fulbert Freakfinder . . . !” Stitch Head whispered, his mouth agape.

  Stitch Head watched as Freakfinder emptied out the sack. A bony, silver-haired old man fell out and tumbled into the crate.

  “Oooof! You can’t treat me like this! I’m an award-winning mad professor!” the silver-haired man said.

  It was Professor Erasmus!

  Stitch Head stared in horror as Fulbert Freakfinder locked the professor inside the crate.

  “Th-that ship . . . Master . . . Freakfinder!” Stitch Head stuttered.

  “Are you okay, Stitch Head?” asked the Creature, rocking the Gadabout II as it struggled to get comfy.

  “Yeah, what are you rambling about? You ain’t making any sense,” said Arabella.

  “Fulbert Freakfinder has kidnapped the professor, and he’s on that ship!” cried Stitch Head, snapping out of his daze.

  They watched the ship raise anchor and begin to pull out of the harbor. Stitch Head grabbed their ship’s wheel and turned it frantically. “We have to save him! Hoist the sail, quickly!”

  “FULBERT FREAKFINDER? Are you SURE?” asked the Creature. “As in THE Fulbert Freakfinder, your ARCH-ENEMY!”

  “Yes, it’s Fulbert Freakfinder, I’m sure of it!” yelled Stitch Head, carefully steering the Gadabout II toward the horizon. “Follow that ship!”

  “I give the orders around here. . .” said Arabella, releasing the mainsail’s bindings. The ragged, patchwork sail unfurled and caught a strong current of air. With a great WHOMPH, the Gadabout II lurched and bobbed as they were ushered out to sea.

  “Hang on! The wind is at our backs now!” cried Arabella.

  The Gadabout II sped across the waves, rattling and creaking.

  The ship sounded like it was about to come apart. Stitch Head hung on for dear almost-life, his pirate’s eye fixed on the other ship.

  “What’s FREAKFINDER doing on a SHIP with the PROFESSOR?” shouted the Creature.

  “I don’t know . . . but I know what he wants with him,” said Stitch Head grimly. “Freakfinder needs crazy things for his Traveling Carnival of Unnatural Wonders. He’s going to force the professor to create more freaks for his shows.”

  “That pig-faced plotter!” snapped Arabella. “How did he get his hairy hands on the prof?”

  “The award! Freakfinder must have been watching the castle . . . or he knew the professor was leaving — but how? Memories flashed through Stitch Head’s mind like lightning. He took the two letters out of his sleeve and unfolded them. His eye darted to the bottom of the first letter.

  Professor K. E. Farfriend, DMP (Doctor of Mad Professoring).

  “K. E. Farfriend . . .” Stitch Head muttered. Slowly, the letters began to un-jumble in his mind.

  “FREAKFINDER!” bellowed the Creature. Stitch Head and Arabella stared at him in disbelief. “I play a LOT of SCRABBLE,” the Creature added proudly.

  “Oh, no . . . I’ve been such an idiot,” said Stitch Head, holding both letters next to each other. “I couldn’t see what was right in front of my pirate eye . . . these letters are from Fulbert Freakfinder.”

  “Swar-tikki?” yapped Pox.

  “Yeah, what are you talking about?” asked Arabella.

  “It’s a trick . . . it’s all a big trick!” cried Stitch Head. He held up the letters. “Freakfinder wrote the first letter to lure the professor out of the castle so he could kidnap him! Then he sent the second letter from the professor to me — to stop us from going after him. They’re even in the same handwriting — look!”

  “THAT means . . .” began the Creature.

  “It means we have to save the professor!” cried Stitch Head.

  “That big ol’ ship is getting away twice as fast as we’re moving,” said Arabella. “We ain’t never going to catch it at this rate.”

  Sure enough, the other ship, with its many impressive-looking sails, was speeding away across the water.

  “We have to go faster!” cried Stitch Head.

  “We can’t!” said Arabella. “This is as fast as we go unless we lose some weight!”

  “We don’t have anything to lose!” said Stitch Head. “There’s no room for anything on this ship but us!” For a moment he thought he could hear the professor’s cries, but it was just the sound of the wind.

  “Lose WEIGHT, huh?” said the Creature. It put one of its three hands on Stitch Head’s shoulder. “Rescue your master. I KNOW you can do it. I BELIEVE in you. Remember . . . you’re a real PIRATE now.”

  The Creature jumped to its feet, pinched its nose with its third hand . . . and threw itself overboard.

  “Creature! No!” cried Stitch Head.

  “What are BESTEST friends for?” cried the Creature, gurgling as it tried to stay afloat.

  “We can’t leave you! You can’t even swim!” said Stitch Head.

  “All the more REASON to practice my DOGGY-paddle,” replied the Creature, frantically thrashing all three of its arms. “Now GO!”

  Stitch Head had little choice. Without the Creature, the Gadabout II was half as heavy — a decent gust of wind was all it took to send it speeding across the water. Within moments, they were gaining on the other ship . . . and the Creature was just a speck in the ocean.

  Stitch Head held on as the Gadabout II sped through the waves.

  “Creature . . .” said Stitch Head. “Do — do you think it’s going to be okay?”

  “No point in crying about it now — we’re gaining on the ship!” said Arabella. “Get your head back in the game! You’re a pirate now.”

  “I’m a pirate now,” Stitch Head repeated, turning back to face the horizon.

  He steered the ship and felt the wind on the back of his head driving them on. The Gadabout II bounced and careened along the surface of the water like a skipping stone. With the extra speed they’d gained by losing the Creature, they were quickly catching up with the other ship — and the professor. Before long, they were neck and neck.

  “It’s now or never!” cried Stitch Head. “Arabella, grab the wheel! Bring us in as close as you can!”

  Arabella grabbed the ship’s wheel and turned it to the left. The Gadabout II bobbed nearer to the hull of the other ship, getting closer and closer, until Stitch Head feared the two ships might crash together.

  “Now what?” said Arabella, trying to hold the ship steady.

  “What would Captain Flashpowder do?” Stitch Head muttered to himself. He aimed his pirate’s eye down at the broken sword tucked into his belt.

  A moment later, an idea came to him like a fl
ash of light. He quickly untied the sail rope and rolled it up. Then he drew his sword and tied it to one end of the sturdy rope.

  “GLurK!” barked Pox.

  “Whatever you’re going to do — do it now!” cried Arabella.

  Stitch Head started swinging the rope around his head faster and faster, until it filled the humid air with a shrill whistling sound.

  Stitch Head narrowed his eyes . . . then he threw the sword as hard as he could! The broken sword flew through the air, clanking onto the deck of the other ship. Stitch Head yanked the rope and felt the sword catch hold on the deck’s edge.

  “As soon as you let go of the wheel, grab onto me!” cried Stitch Head, gripping the rope tightly. He peered over the edge of their boat into the churning water. He adjusted his eyepatch. “We have to swing for it! Prepare for boarding!”

  “Now you’re talking!” said Arabella. She let go of the ship’s wheel and grabbed hold of Stitch Head’s tiny shoulders as the Gadabout II began to veer away.

  Stitch Head closed his pirate eye — and leaped from the ship! They swung away, then crashed into the hull of the other ship.

  Stitch Head hung on for dear almost-life, his stitches ready to burst as Arabella locked her elbows around his neck. He quickly realized he wasn’t strong enough to carry them up the rope.

  “Yabbit!” growled Pox, as he flapped around them. Stitch Head opened his eye to see Arabella grasp the rope above his head and climb over him. She shimmied to the top and scrambled over the side of the ship and onto the deck. Then she leaned back over and held out her free hand.

  “We ain’t got all day — grab hold!” Arabella whispered.

  Stitch Head reached up and grasped Arabella’s hand. She pulled with all her might, hauling him onto the deck.

  “Thanks!” whispered Stitch Head, untying his sword from the rope.

  “Nice swinging — you’re really getting the hang of this pirate stuff,” she replied with a laugh. Pox landed on her shoulder.

  The ship was huge. Stitch Head led Arabella behind a large barrel on the side of the deck. He peered out from behind it and looked around.

  They were halfway between the bow at the front of the ship, and the stern. The rear of the wooden deck was piled high with crates, caskets, and barrels, while the bow was filled with a dozen burly-looking crewmen. Above them, a spiderweb of rigging stretched high above the billowing sails.

  “So, what now?” Arabella asked.

  Stitch Head’s ice-blue eye glinted in the brightening sunlight.

  “Now we find the professor,” he said in his most piratey voice.

  “Pox, fly up to the rigging and stay out of sight,” said Stitch Head, as they huddled behind the barrel. “Wait there and watch for my signal.”

  Pox stared at Stitch Head and then snarled angrily at him.

  “Uh, please?” he asked nervously.

  “Do what he says, you grump, or no hair chewing for a week,” said Arabella. Pox grunted and then flew up into the sails.

  “I say we go in, all boots kicking,” said Arabella, tightening her laces. “I’m in the mood to kick some —”

  “Let me out right now!” cried a voice. “I’ll miss the award ceremony!”

  “The professor!” whispered Stitch Head.

  “Arabella — he’s in one of those crates! Follow me . . . and please don’t pick a fight with anyone just yet.”

  Arabella gave an annoyed nod and followed Stitch Head. They crept silently along the edge of the deck toward the crates, ducking between barrels and lifeboats. Stitch Head craned his neck to listen over the sound of the whistling wind.

  “Release me, right this moment! I’m getting a cramp in my professoring hand!”

  “This way . . . no, that way,” said Stitch Head, moving along the huge stack of crates. He scurried up onto one, then another.

  “You’ll regret this! I’m quite famous

  for my madness!”

  “Does he ever shut up?” asked Arabella as she kept a lookout from the deck.

  At the top of the pile sat a crate that rattled and shook. “Un-box me this instant! I must return to my laboratory!”

  “Professor, it’s all right, we are here!” said Stitch Head, reaching the crate. It’s Stitch Head! We’re here to rescue you!”

  The crate stopped rattling.

  “Who?” asked the professor.

  “Stitch Head . . . your first creation. We’ve traveled the several seas to rescue you!”

  “Stitch Head . . . Stitch Head . . . the name sort of rings a bell . . .” mumbled the professor.

  Stitch Head sighed. He suddenly felt smaller than ever for imagining that his master would remember him . . . but then he remembered something.

  Only he had the pirate’s eye.

  “Sit tight, my master, we’re going to get you out of that big crate!” Stitch Head said. “Then we’re going to get you back to Castle Grotteskew, where —”

  “Lugs and mumbles, it can’t really be . . . Stitch Head?” a voice cried from below.

  Stitch Head spun around and looked down at the deck. The fat face of Fulbert Freakfinder was staring up at him.

  “We’ve been found! Let’s get kicking!” cried Arabella.

  Freakfinder gasped. “Impossible!” he said. He pointed his cane at Stitch Head. “How did you work out my most excellent plan? It was foolproof! Why, all that effort I went through to forge that letter from Professor Erasmus . . .”

  Stitch Head suddenly felt a burning need to confess the truth — that he had simply stumbled across Freakfinder’s fiendish plot. That he had chosen the life of a pirate over his master — but Arabella was quicker to speak her mind.

  “Yeah, well, your plan was a load of stinky rubbish, because here we are!” she shouted. “You didn’t even bother to change your handwriting, stupid fatty pig-face!”

  “I remember you, too, you rude little snot,” growled Freakfinder. “But I must admit, I’m impressed . . . leavin’ the castle, trackin’ me down, smugglin’ yourselves aboard the ship. But what’s your plan now, Stitch Head? Save your precious master and swim back to shore? HA! Lugs and mumbles, you’re such fools!”

  “You scheming slug! I’ll kick that smug grin off your face!” growled Arabella.

  “I believe you might try, little snot . . . but you can’t kick us all,” said Fulbert Freakfinder. He took a deep breath and yelled, “Intruders! Stowaways! Sound the alarm!”

  “Oh, no . . . Arabella! Up here! Climb!” cried Stitch Head.

  Arabella climbed up the crates as a dozen crewmen appeared from below the deck, each one bigger than the last. They gathered around the stack of crates, grinding their teeth and cracking their knuckles. On the other side of the crates was the edge of the ship . . . and a long fall to a watery grave.

  The tall, bearded man from the harbor stepped through the crowd and peered up at them. “Stowaways, be it?” he said. “And children, at that! Well, I be cap’n of this vessel, so what I say goes. Down you get off there. I’m sure your parents are worried sick about you.” He peered at Stitch Head. “Especially you — you look like you should be in the hospital!”

  “Leave them to me, cap’n,” Freakfinder said with a sneer. “I shall ensure that they never bother you again.”

  “Try it, you pudgy pig!” snapped Arabella.

  “Wait, do you know these characters, Freakfinder?” asked the cap’n.

  “That I do, cap’n. That patchwork rag doll calls himself Stitch Head, believe it or not,” Freakfinder said with a chuckle. “The eyepatch is new, though. You playin’ at being a pirate now, Stitch Head?”

  “I . . . I’m not playing,” replied Stitch Head.

  “These little snots think they have some claim over my precious cargo,” said Freakfinder, pointing to the crate with his cane. “They’re thieves, come to steal f
rom your ship, cap’n.”

  “Take that back, no-neck!” yelled Arabella.

  “Thieves, eh?” said the cap’n suspiciously. “We’ll see about that. Potts! Chump! Bring them down here, then lock them in the hold.”

  As the crewmen advanced on them, even Arabella looked nervous.

  “What would Captain Flashpowder do?” Stitch Head murmured, his ice-blue eye gleaming like never before.

  Stitch Head drew his broken sword and held it above his head. “My name is Stitch Head, and I am a pirate!” he cried. “I have traveled the ocean wide to take back what is mine! My quarrel is with Fulbert Freakfinder. Return his cargo to me, or face the consequences!”

  For a long moment, there was stunned silence aboard the ship. Then laughter rang out across the entire deck.

  “Lugs and mumbles, who did you borrow your backbone from?” Freakfinder said with a laugh. “Well, don’t just stand there, men — get ’em!”

  “You asked for it,” said Stitch Head. “Pox! Now!”

  Stitch Head looked up into the sails to see Pox perched on the rigging, defiantly still. Stitch Head turned to Arabella. “Uh, would you mind . . . ?”

  “No problem,” said Arabella with a grin. “Pox! It’s feeding time!”

  “GRAA–ARHH!” As fast as lightning, Pox swooped down to the crowd of crewmen. He growled madly, biting arms and legs, tearing out hair, and shredding clothes. The panicked crew scattered as the crazed creation attacked them with every ounce of his monstrous fury.

  “My eyes!”

  “My hair!”

  “My ears!” they cried.

  “Yes! It’s kick o’clock!” cried Arabella. She leaped down from the crates and started booting anything that moved.