by Lisa Doan
“It’s pretty simple,” Charlie said, “though it’s gonna take some practice on your part so you better start now. Listen when other people are talking, say something nice about them, be helpful, and follow directions. If you do all that, you should be fine.”
Olive wiped her nose on her sleeve and counted on her fingers, “Listen, nice, helpful, follow. That’s like the kind of stuff Mrs. Peach says. Does it really work?”
“Of course it works,” Charlie said. “That’s why she told you to do it.”
Olive stood up with a look of determination and marched over to Cinderalla smoking at the porthole. “I like your hair. Do you want my mommy to braid it for you? Do you want to talk about your hair while I listen? Do you have any instructions about your hair that I should follow?”
Cinderalla did not appear to recognize this transformation of Olive Pennypacker, but Charlie did. Fingers crossed that it would hold for more than five minutes.
* * *
The sun had just dropped below the horizon and the sky had gone from dusk to dark. Mr. and Mrs. Pennypacker were safely ensconced in their cabin becoming acquainted with the new Olive Pennypacker. Charlie had left them as Olive told Mr. Pennypacker that he had pretty hair and asked him if he wanted to talk about it while she listened. Mr. Pennypacker, unlike everybody else who had been asked to talk about their hair, actually did have a few things to say about it. He had lectured his daughter on the cheap prices found at his barbershop compared to the highway robbery of Mrs. Pennypacker’s salon and how the average Joe was an idiot to spend more than ten dollars on a haircut and how it was all a total rip-off anyway because you could cut your hair all day long and it would just grow back. At that point, Olive came to the end of her listening skills. She shouted, “Where are the hundred lost Dalmatians?”
Charlie figured Olive had a pretty realistic chance of getting through the first grade by complimenting everybody’s hair and asking them if they wanted to talk about it. As long as they didn’t actually want to talk about it.
Chapter Fifteen
Captain Wisner had brought all the supplies on deck. Cankelton brooded in his sanctuary, as he was not needed for this part of the mission. “I’d worry that he’d go missing,” the captain said, “except now I know he’s always holed up in his groovy man cave.”
Charlie used a screwdriver to pry the top off a can of white paint. “Did you really have no idea what he did or where he slept?”
“None,” the captain said. “There were times I thought he didn’t even go on the trip. Like maybe he slipped off the boat before we left and slipped back on when we got back. I called him the ‘useless phantom.’”
The captain shrugged. “Family. What are you gonna do? My sister spent thirteen hours in Vegas drinking mai tais and then married her bartender at a drive-through wedding chapel, now I got to pay the price.”
Charlie had to agree with Captain Wisner’s idea about family. You might wish you got a dad who was a big spender, but you got what you got. And anyway, except for the whole money-hoarding problem and Olive’s plans to cook everybody, his family was pretty okay.
The captain screwed on the extension arm of the paint roller. Charlie poured white paint into the tray, and Gunter pointed the flashlight over the side. As the captain rolled the paint over “Wisney Cruises” and “Aladdin’s Dream,” he said, “I really thought this idea would take off. I mean, who doesn’t like Disney?”
“Everybody likes Disney,” Charlie said. “That’s why the lawyers are after you. Not only would they not want anybody to steal their characters, but your version has to have them out of their minds. What Disney princess smokes Marlboros? Mickey Mouser has red hair and only knows how to cook eggs. Minnie Mouser isn’t even here because she moved into the House of Pancakes. Cankelton hides out in a weird and disturbing lair and his costume is creepy—not exactly the charming and witty Jiminy Cricket we all know and love.”
“These crew were the only people I could talk into it. Brad and Clarissa both threw their notice at me the minute I mentioned Mickey Mouser and Cinderalla. But hang it, I watched those Disney ships with their thousands of paying passengers leave the docks a hundred times,” the captain said. “All the while, I was losing my shirt on fishing trips. It seemed like a no-brainer—the Disney game was working for them, so it should work for me. Now, I’ll have to sell up and get a job at Walmart.”
Charlie was not so sure Captain Wisner would make a successful Walmart associate. He could just imagine some poor shopper asking where to find paper towels and being told the depth of the nearest body of water and what kind of sharks were in it. Still, he could see how the captain had been lured by the idea of patching up his finances with beloved Disney characters.
“You should’ve asked for advice from your regular customers,” Gunter said. “I could have told you it was a bad idea.”
“All right, you’ve both told me enough times already what a bad idea it actually was.” The captain rolled over the last bit of blue paint. “That should do it.”
“Now all we have to do is let it dry and repaint the name,” Charlie said.
“All we have to do?” The captain staggered backward, like Charlie had said all they had to do was set the boat on fire. “Have you gone mad?” he asked. “Just change the name without appealing to Poseidon and Neptune?”
The captain shook his head. “I keep forgetting you’re a swabbie new to the seafaring game. You can’t just go willy-nilly changing a boat’s name. Not on my watch!”
Charlie glanced at Gunter, who was pressing the top of the paint can back in place. Gunter nodded. “Obviously, you’ve got to appeal to Poseidon and Neptune.”
“Obviously?” Charlie said. He supposed this was one of the things he’d missed when he’d been forced to take Olive in to dinner.
“Son, we’ve got to take care of the rolls,” Captain Wisner said. “Poseidon and Neptune keep careful lists of every boat on the sea. Now, how’s it gonna be if they notice one is gone and start inquiring?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “How would that be?”
“They’d unleash their wrath on us,” Gunter said.
The captain nodded. “We’d be sinking to the bottom before you could say ‘Bob’s your uncle.’”
Charlie did not have an uncle named Bob, but he got the idea. “What are we supposed to do to fix the rolls?” he asked. “We don’t have to sacrifice anybody, do we? Because I realize Olive irritates people, but I just couldn’t allow that.”
“Hah!” the captain said. “If human sacrifices were required, she’d be the first one over the side—helped in by pretty much everybody. No, my boy, we’ve got to speak a language the gods can understand. I’ve already removed all other traces of Aladdin’s Dream, which wasn’t hard since I can’t afford to print names on everything. You’re not gonna find monogrammed life jackets on this boat! Now, I have this, see,” he said, drawing a small metal rectangle from his shirt pocket, “and I’ve written Aladdin’s Dream on it in soluble ink.”
Captain Wisner took a piece of paper from his pants pocket and began to read:
“Oh mighty and great ruler of the seas and oceans, to whom all ships and we who venture upon your vast domain are required to pay homage, we implore you in your graciousness to expunge for all time from your records and recollection the name Aladdin’s Dream, which has ceased to be an entity in your kingdom. As proof thereof, we submit this ingot bearing her name to be corrupted through your powers and forever be purged from the sea.”
The captain threw the metal overboard. Charlie watched it swallowed up by the black water.
“In grateful acknowledgment of your munificence and dispensation,” the captain continued, “we offer these libations to your majesty and your court. Hand me that bottle, Gunter.”
Gunter jogged over to the bulkhead and brought back a bottle of Welch’s sparkling grape juice. Charlie had assumed it was refreshment for all their work, but apparently it was for Poseidon and Nept
une.
The captain examined it and heaved a sigh. “It ought to be good champagne, but this is all we’ve got.”
He twisted off the cap and poured it over the side from east to west. “Now we’ve done our duty. The gods are appeased, and we can ease them into going back to the Kingfisher later.”
“Uh-oh,” Charlie said. “Going back to the Kingfisher.”
“What uh-oh?” the captain asked.
“Manthi and Flynn might already know that the boat used to be the Kingfisher,” Gunter said. “Is that it?”
“That’s it exactly,” Charlie said. “Manthi and Flynn might already be checking for boats named Aladdin’s Dream and Kingfisher. To really disappear, we need a totally new name.”
“Blast it,” the captain said. “I always miss one crucial detail! It’s just like the time I got on the Tower of Terror. I was approaching the big drop when I remembered I was afraid of heights. That realization was, as they say, too little too late.”
“How about we rename her the Octopus?” Gunter said.
“Too many appendages for a boat,” the captain said. “I’m thinking the Barracuda.”
Charlie thought barracuda wasn’t half bad, but an idea had occurred to him on how Captain Wisner might be able to salvage his business. If he was right, barracuda wasn’t going to be the right name. “How about the Captain Kidd?”
Captain Wisner rubbed his chin. “Captain Kidd? A loyal captain unjustly treated by those with power? It sounds eerily like myself, if you ask me.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go with the Octopus?” Gunter asked.
“The Captain Kidd it is,” the captain said. “We meet back here at midnight.”
* * *
Charlie had slipped below deck and silently entered his cabin. His mom and dad thought he’d been in there reading since after dinner. He’d already read most of the only book in his room—A Bloody History of Caribbean Pirates—so if they asked him about it he could recite some facts. He doubted he would be asked about it though; it sounded like they had their hands full with Olive.
It turned out that once she had expressed an interest in her father’s hair, and then heard more about it than she wanted to know, Olive was done being considerate. There were complaints about the missing Dalmatians, complaints about the Dalmatian that was there, complaints about the eggs/baby birds situation, and finally, accusations about who stole Kooky Cookie, her favorite Shopkin. Mr. Pennypacker was singled out as the perpetrator of the crime, and as Olive did not believe in juries, she convicted him on the spot.
The hours ticked by, and Olive finally gave up threatening Mr. Pennypacker with jail time if Kooky wasn’t returned unharmed and went to sleep. His parents talked quietly for another half hour and then all was quiet. Charlie waited another forty-five minutes until it was close to midnight. Time to dangle Cankelton over the side and turn this boat into the Captain Kidd.
* * *
The deck was eerily quiet. Charlie had grown used to the way it sounded during the day—the muffled noises of people talking below and Mickey Mouser banging pots and pans around in the galley. All aboard the boat were asleep except him, Gunter, the captain, and Cankelton.
Cankelton had shed his insect costume. He wore jeans and a thin white T-shirt tucked in tight. He looked smaller than ever—it was like the more layers you peeled back, the more he shrank. In a bathing suit, he was probably no bigger than one of Olive’s Shopkins.
Cankelton’s expression, upon being wrangled into a life jacket, was one that said he had known all along that his life would come to this sorry conclusion.
“Now, have a look at my handiwork,” the captain said, holding up a rigged harness, “and tell me if this captain doesn’t take care of his crew.”
The seat of the harness was a boat cushion, the kind with a loop on either side. Charlie knew from Mickey Mouser’s three-minute safety briefing that it was a flotation device. If a person found themselves in the water without a life jacket, that person should look around and hope a cushion floated by them. They could then grab the cushion and put their arms through the loops to stay afloat until the sharks got them. (Mickey had not actually said anything about sharks—Charlie had gathered that particular fact from Olive’s chumming expedition.)
Captain Wisner had run a long, thick rope underneath the cushion and knotted it on both of the loops. Some kind of seatbelt ran underneath the cushion and threaded through the loops.
“A weight belt to hold him in,” Gunter said, looking over the contraption. “Good idea.”
“Now,” Captain Wisner said, “let’s get a move on before old Cankelton faints on the spot.”
Cankelton did, indeed, appear as if he might hit the deck. Charlie patted him on the shoulder. “You’re going to be fine,” he said. “Just think, your whole job tonight is to do something you’re already good at. All those signs in your cabin were practice leading up to this.”
Cankelton did not seem cheered by the idea that it was his moment to shine. He stared at the captain and whispered, “I’ll tell my wife, your own sister, what you did to me.”
The captain guffawed. “Right,” he said. “Then she’d call me and scream, ‘You had a chance to lose him at sea and you didn’t take it?’”
The captain had run the loose ends of the rope to the other side of the deck and threw them around cleats. “Gunter, Charlie, grab a rope each. You’ll use the cleats as leverage. If you feel the rope slipping from your grasp, throw on a hitch knot double time.”
“Slip?” Cankelton whispered. “Nobody said anything about slipping from grasps.”
“Show me your hitch knots,” the captain said.
Both Charlie and Gunter stood with the rope hanging limply in their hands.
The captain stared at their motionless ropes. He sighed and took Charlie’s from him, expertly demonstrating a hitch knot. He made them practice it until they could do it fast enough to stop Cankelton from crashing into the sea. After a dozen tries, they were finally ready.
Charlie and Gunter grabbed hold of their ropes. The captain directed them to feed out the line until the seat cushion harness was just over the side.
“Ready, Cankelton? Remember, that’s Kidd with two ds. Now, steady, boys.” The captain picked up Cankelton like he was a toddler being put into a car seat. He dangled him over the side. “There you go,” he said, cheerfully, “right into the harness like it was made for you. Which it was.”
Charlie felt the rope tighten as Cankelton’s weight settled into the harness.
“On my count,” the captain said, “we lower him one foot at a time. Ready, one-two-three—lower.”
Charlie nodded to Gunter and they slowly fed out the ropes, using the cleats as leverage. They had to work together to lower the ropes at the same speed, otherwise, the seat cushion would be higher on one side and Cankelton would tip over.
“Now another foot,” the captain said.
They lowered Cankelton, foot by foot, until the captain said, “Far enough. Tie off the cleats.”
Charlie carefully tied his hitch knot, then slowly loosened his grip on the rope to be sure it would hold. Gunter did the same and they raced to the other side of the boat.
Charlie could just see the top of Cankelton’s head below him, accompanied by soft whimpering. The captain threw a flashlight to Charlie and lowered down a bucket with the paint can and a brush, inch by inch, careful not to bang it against the hull. It landed in Cankelton’s lap.
In the beginning, Cankelton’s movements were sloth-like. He reached for the brush like he hoped his hand would never get there. But something took over when he first touched paint to the hull. It was as if he forgot all about dangling on a seat cushion, only held up by knots tied by two people who had just learned them. Cankelton was an artist, and his talent kicked in.
Cankelton began directing to be pulled to the right and left and lower and higher. He worked for over an hour and then gave the thumbs-up to be hauled back on board. After h
e tumbled over the rails, Charlie leaned out as far as he could and shined the flashlight along the hull. The lettering was expert and had a nice, old-timey flair. It was the name that came as a slight surprise.
Captain Kidding
Chapter Sixteen
Charlie really didn’t want the captain to see the Captain Kidding. They had enough problems to deal with, and the ing could come off later. He was sure there was a lesson in there somewhere, like don’t underestimate the smallest guy in the room, even if he’s dressed as an insect and lives in a groovy man cave. If that insect cave-dweller wants to make a point about his unhappiness, he will find a way.
“It looks great,” Charlie said, snapping the flashlight off. “And just in time, too; the batteries are dead.”
* * *
The next morning, Charlie stared at his soft-boiled egg. The twins had picked theirs up, shook them, and then thrown them out a porthole. Claire had already cracked hers open, snapped a photo, and said, “Hashtag: not even cooking them now.”
Olive sat down with toast. “I told Mickey, do not give me one more baby bird. Just do not.”
The intercom crackled. The captain was about to make the announcement.
“Morning, morning, morning, folks!” the captain said. “And what a beautiful morning it is! Now, there is one little hiccup, but isn’t there always? We had to burn through more fuel than expected last night, what with the rough seas and all, so we’re gonna nip back into the Turks and Caicos, fill her up, and be on our way. No need to even get off the boat. We are in and then we are out. Meanwhile, enjoy Mickey Mouser’s astounding cuisine!”
“It’s astounding all right,” Charlie said.
“What rough seas?” Olive asked, crunching on the toast she had demanded from Mickey Mouser.
“You probably slept through it,” Charlie said.
