The Pirate's Booty (Inventor-in-Training)

by D. M. Darroch

  Ivy poked Captain Hank gently awake when she returned. He tiptoed out of the hut so as not to wake Angus.

  “I found them in the Sound. I’m not sure how far out. I flew there, rested my wings a while on deck, and then flew back,” Ivy explained.

  “We’re lucky they didn’t head out to sea.” The captain looked at the sun’s position in the sky. “You left shortly after noon. It will be dusk in another hour. You’ve been gone three and a half, maybe four hours. They’re close, really close. It will take us longer by water. Maybe twice as long.” He considered for a moment. “If we want to get there before the sun comes up, we need to leave soon. You’d better go wake Angus. I’ll pack our supplies. We set sail in ten minutes.”

  Chapter Seventeen: Ivy Saves the Day

  The dark surrounded them. The gentle splashing sound of the paddle motor was masked by the slapping waves. The boat slogged forward. It painstakingly climbed one wave and was jostled to the side by another. Sometimes a swell would lift the boat and propel it forward like a surfer riding the waves. Their progress was slow, yet steady, like the famous turtle who won the race.

  Angus settled into the relaxed motion of the boat. He rested his head against the edge of the plastic trough and gazed up at the clear midnight sky. Galaxies millions of miles away glittered back at him. Ivy was nestled at his side, her head concealed beneath a protective wing. Her soft feathery body was warm against his hip.

  Even though he’d had an afternoon nap, his body was heavy and tired. The gentle rocking of the boat would have put him to sleep if he hadn’t had to keep pulling on the rope every few minutes. Several times, his focus drifted and he forgot to wind the motor. The boat began to list to port. Captain Hank, wide awake with discomfort in his tightly-fitting side of the boat, barked “Look sharp!”

  The captain welcomed the pain in his knees and back. He had spent most of his life on the sea; it was his home, and he only felt truly alive on it. The blood coursed through his veins like hot pepper sauce. He was wide awake, his senses alert. He heard every small noise on the water. Like a nocturnal animal, he scanned the vista for movements and irregularities. Every minute that passed, every drop of water left behind in their wake, was a minute, a drop, closer to his ship. His Fearsome Flea. He was the rightful owner. It was his future, his legacy. He was honor-bound to captain her again.

  And then he saw it. Instinctively, he leaned his body forward and squinted into the night. The seascape divided into two distinct fields. The silvery black waves undulated up and down, side to side. The solid black sky was broken by tiny flecks of light, the stars. Floating between those two fields was a gray vagueness. It grew larger, and the outline was clearly that of a one-masted ship. Closer and closer it came.

  “Angus!” he breathed.

  “Wha, wha, yes Captain. I wasn’t asleep that time. Just lost track,” the boy claimed.

  “There she is. Do you see her?” Captain Hank pointed.

  Angus was instantly wide awake. He strained forward squishing Ivy against the side of the boat.

  “Ouch!” she squawked. “Get off me, you big gorilla!”

  Angus wiggled to give her room, rocking the boat precariously. In their excitement, both he and the captain had forgotten to wind the motor and the boat was at the mercy of the waves.

  “Pull your string,” stage whispered the captain. “We don’t want to capsize this thing. Not when we’re almost there!”

  The little black boat sprang to life. Disaster averted, Angus scrutinized the horizon. “I don’t see the ship, Captain.”

  “She’s just off our starboard side, lad.” He pointed. Angus followed the direction of his finger and glimpsed a pale gray shape moving toward them. At their present course, it would completely pass them by.

  “Captain, will we make it?” Angus asked.

  “We need to come about and head her off before she goes past. Pull, son. Pull like crazy,” answered the captain.

  Angus tugged on his rope, waited a moment until he felt the motor slow down, and then pulled again before it stopped altogether. Again and again he pulled, the captain anxiously nibbling his nails beside him. One more tug and the little plastic boat would be pointed in exactly the right direction to intercept the larger vessel. Angus heard a “snap!” The rope slackened and the boat stopped, once again tossed about by the waves.

  Angus gasped, not believing. The captain barked, “Pull, young lad! Pull! We’re losing ground!”

  “I … I … can’t.” Angus stared at the rope lying uselessly in his hands. His mind reeled. He scrawled through blueprints in his brain. How could he possibly fix this? And fix it in time? “It’s broken,” he gulped.

  “Broken?” The captain was incredulous. “It can’t be broken! We’re almost there! Can you fix it?”

  Angus shook his head. “No, sir. We can hope that the current takes us somewhere inhabited or someplace with enough resources to fix our boat, build another one, or catch a ride.”

  He slumped into the boat. He had been so sure of himself, of his invention, of the motor, he hadn’t bothered to consider a back-up plan. They had packed neither oars nor sail. They had worked so hard on this boat. A little more planning and they might have succeeded. And weighing on his conscience even heavier than yet another failed invention was the realization that the Insectivore Incinerator was so close. His only hope to return home, but there was no way to get to it. He felt utterly defeated.

  The captain growled, “No! I refuse to give up! Paddle with your hands! Paddle with all your might!” He reached his long arms into the water and dug with cupped hands. The boat didn’t move. “Help me, lad! Paddle!” His voice cracked, and Angus realized that the gentlemanly captain was dangerously close to crying.

  Angus reached over the side of the boat. He stretched as far as he could but was only able to touch the surface of the water with his fingertips. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s no use.”

  The captain began to sniff, then to snort, and then he howled, “No! My ship! They’ve got my ship! It’s not fair! I’m not going back to the island! No! You can’t make me!”

  Angus stared in amazement. He had never seen an adult weep and wail and throw a tantrum. Younger kids at the playground? Yes. Some of his friends during recess? Sure. Himself, on a rare occasion but only when something truly was unfair? Admittedly, from time to time, yes. But a full-grown, slightly balding, cookie-baking adult? No way. Angus had absolutely no idea how to fix this.

  “Buck up, there. Um. Buddy. It will be okay,” he tried, patting the captain weakly on the back. Captain Hank kept blubbering noisily. His tears spurted out like the water from the outdoor faucet that time Angus had tried to adjust the sprinkler system with a crowbar.

  “Squawk! Put a plug in it, Hank! And you call yourself a sailor! A captain, even? No wonder your crew stuck you on an island. You’re a pirate, for mercy’s sake! Act like one!”

  Captain Hank stopped mid-sob and looked at the indignant seagull. Ivy stood on the boat’s gunnel, wings tucked tightly against her sides, glaring at the captain.

  “It’s a good thing we aren’t heading straight for the Fearsome Flea. The crew could have heard you! You are lucky the wind is blowing from the other direction tonight. Is this how you lead a crew into battle?”

  The captain wiped his nose and mumbled, “No.”

  “You are the captain of this vessel! You are the center of the ship in good times and in bad. If you lose heart what is your crew to do?” demanded Ivy.

  “I don’t know,” sniffed the captain.

  “Well, you better figure it out! We’re going to need you when we get on that ship. And we’re getting on that ship one way or another or my name isn’t Ivy Calloway!” She squawked, and turned her attention to Angus. “Okay, science boy. Let’s hear your ideas.”

  “Remember how hard it was to work on the motor on dry land? In the water, my fingers will numb almost immediately. And I’m not even sure the motor is fixable,” protested Angus.

&nbs
p; “So you’re going to give up, like Captain Boohoo over here?” screeched Ivy.

  “Come on, now. That’s enough. You’re being too harsh don’t you think?” asked Angus, shooting a look at the red-eyed captain.

  “Maybe,” the peeved seagull said a bit remorsefully. “But someone’s got to motivate you two pessimists! I want you on that ship as much as you want to be on that ship. I’ve got something pretty important riding on that contraption of yours, too, you know!” She peered at Angus. “Or did you forget that you’re not the only one who wants to go home?”

  Angus stared at her. In fact, he had been so preoccupied by the challenge of building the boat, and then feeling sorry for himself and missing his parents, he had neglected to think about Ivy. She had been lost far longer than he had been, and she didn’t even have her own body along for comfort.

  “Sorry, Ivy,” he apologized shaking his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You have to think. We need you to use your brain. It’s the best tool we have. We’ve got no raw materials. You can’t get into the water. The Fearsome Flea is right there.” She pointed with her bill. “We need you to be inventive without inventing something. Can you do that?”

  Angus gritted his teeth and tapped his finger against his forehead. They sat in silence, the only sounds the lapping of the waves against the drifting boat and Captain Hank’s sniffling.

  “I’ve got it!” announced Angus. “But Ivy, the success of my plan depends on you.”

  “Just tell me what you need me to do,” said Ivy.

  Ivy soared above the Fearsome Flea and assessed the situation. Except for one heavy-lidded pirate at the helm the deck was empty. She landed lightly by the trapdoor, tilted her head to the side, and listened intently. Snoring rumbled below decks. Good. Most of them were asleep. Better find Maniacal Marge.

  Ivy shuffled her short legs to the captain’s quarters. A stream of light slipped through the gap under the door. Drat! She was still awake. Now what? Ivy pressed her head to the door. Nothing but silence met her ears. She flapped to the doorknob and poked at it. Well, that was pretty useless. She didn’t have fingers and thumbs in this body. She snorted. No monkeys on board to jump into so she’d have to think of something else.

  The ship took a wave and keeled slightly to starboard. The captain’s door swung open smacking the distracted seagull in the chest. She grunted from the impact, quickly recovered herself, and fluttered through the opening into the room. The door clapped shut behind her and then swung open again. The latch must be broken.

  Her eyes scanned the room. She squawked in alarm and flapped back in the direction from which she’d come. Marge sat at the captain’s desk directly in front of the swinging door. The desk lamp shone full on her face and Ivy realized that the tyrant’s eyes were closed. The ship swayed to the side, slamming the door again, and Marge slumped forward. Her head hit the surface of the desk, and she let out a large groan and began snoring.

  Ivy breathed a sigh of relief and looked around the room. There must be something here she could use to hold the door shut. This bird body wasn’t strong enough to drag something heavy. Marge’s ink-stained fingers clutched a fountain pen. Ivy tiptoed across the surface of the desk and gripped the pen in her bill. Just then, the ship rocked, and Marge flung her hand across Ivy’s feathered head. Ivy tried not to retch. The stench of fried chicken on Marge’s fingers was overwhelming. Ivy scrambled away, clutching the pen, and tumbled to the floor. She dropped the pen and gagged, then took several deep breaths to clear the repulsive burned avian smell from her nasal passages.

  “I hate pirates. Disgusting creatures,” she muttered, picked up the pen, and escaped out the swinging door.

  When she’d reached the deck again, she waited for the door to slam shut. She worked quickly, jamming the pen into the bottom hinge. She stepped back from the door and waited for the next wave. She felt the ship rock beneath her feet. This time, the captain’s door stayed shut. The solution wasn’t guaranteed to keep a truly maniacal Marge locked in but it should buy them some time.

  Next, Ivy flew back to the helm. The pirate on duty gazed fixedly forward. His body leaned heavily on the wheel. Several times, Ivy saw him jerk his head up, blink quickly, and pinch himself. He needed a little help to fall completely asleep. Ivy smiled to herself. This was too easy.

  She hovered in the shadows and threw her voice. It was a bit squeaky in this body, but it was the best she could do.

  “You are getting very sleepy, very sleepy,” she squawked softly. “Your eyes are heavy. You cannot keep them open any longer.” She tried not to giggle as she watched the man’s body relax. “You feel the need to grip the wheel. Turn the wheel to starboard. You must turn the wheel to starboard,” she droned. She continued speaking in a monotone, calmly and evenly. Within minutes the Fearsome Flea was headed straight for the captain and Angus.

  “You are too sleepy to stay on deck. You must retire to your cozy bunk. You are walking to the bunkroom.” Ivy flapped behind the slowly moving, slumbering pirate. “You are lifting the trapdoor. You are quietly closing the trapdoor. You are going to your bunk.” The door closed behind the man and Ivy listened carefully to the thump, thump, thump, as he fell down the ladder. Oh no. She strained her ears but only heard snoring. She sighed with relief. She never regretted having taught herself hypnotism.

  She looked regretfully at the closed trapdoor. Too bad she couldn’t prop something heavy against it. But anything she could move with her weak seagull body would be too easy for a crew of angry pirates to dislodge. Better to get on with it before any of them awoke.

  She flew to the gunnel and wailed with her seagull cry. She heard a response in kind, closer than she could have hoped. Other birds would be sleeping at this time of night, so there was no confusion about who had echoed her. “Angus! Captain! Is that you?” she called.

  “Just a few yards off starboard,” said the captain’s voice. “If you can bring her in a bit closer, I think we’ll be able to reach.”

  Ivy made her way to the helm and leaned against the left side of the wheel with all her might. It was heavy, and she could barely get it to budge. She flew against it hard, knocking the wind out of herself. She flew against it again and felt a welt begin to swell on the side of her body. As she gathered her strength and courage to wound herself again to save her friends, she heard a ‘chunk’ from the hull.

  She staggered to the side, and looked over the gunnel. White teeth gleamed at her from the water. Angus stood grinning in the little black boat, pulling on a rope that towed it nearer and nearer the Fearsome Flea. As the boat drew up alongside the pirate ship, he tugged hard on the rope to dislodge his screwdriver from the wood hull. The rope and tool tumbled down into the boat.

  “Step back, Ivy. I don’t want to hit you,” he called softly.

  She fluttered away quickly. The screwdriver sailed over the ship’s railing with a thud. Ivy flew to the railing and pulled on the line. Once she had enough slack, she gripped the rope and wrapped it around the railing three times.

  “Give it a tug,” she called down.

  Angus pulled several times. “Feels secure,” he said. “Captain?”

  The captain reached around from his side of the boat and tugged. “Should be good. You go first,” he said. “If the rope doesn’t hold you I’ll be here to retrieve you from the water.”

  Ivy agreed with this suggestion. It sounded like the captain was leading again.

  Angus gripped the rope. He thought back to his phys ed class, and the month Mr. Mulligan had forced them to climb rope. Even though he was a powerful swimmer, Angus had realized quickly that he had some serious upper body strength issues. It was much easier to use your arms to propel yourself through water than to climb up a vertical rope. Once Mr. Mulligan had taught him to wrap the rope around his legs and use them to grip it, he was able to inch up the rope to the ceiling.

  Now he bent his head back and looked up the long expanse of rope hanging from the side
of the Fearsome Flea. He took a deep breath and decided to focus on the little bit of rope directly in front of him.

  This is what he had to do to get his invention back. He must climb this rope if he ever wanted to see his parents again. He clenched his teeth and began to climb. He strained and pulled. His arms drew him up and his legs scooted behind. Arms, then legs, up the rope. But the more he climbed, the more he pulled, the weaker his arms became. They were on fire. He couldn’t possibly go any farther. He didn’t look down. He would get vertigo and plummet to his death. He knew it. His heart pounded faster and harder, and he began gasping for air. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t hold on. I’m going to fall,” he gasped.

  “Always drama with you men,” Ivy’s voice declared.

  It sounded close. Angus opened his eyes and looked up. One more hand and he’d be over the railing. He reached up, gave one last hard pull, and tumbled to his back on to the deck. As he lay panting on the ground, Captain Hank clambered up.

  Angus sat up and was hauled to his feet and folded into a bear hug by an exuberant Captain Hank.

  Chapter Eighteen: House Arrest

  The Booty Poker was in lock down, and Mrs. Clark was the prison warden.

  On the first day of his house arrest, BP had been forced to clean his room. Besides picking up and organizing the colorful building blocks strewn about the carpet, he’d had to alphabetize and shelve all the books standing in piles as well as sort the dirty laundry into colors and whites. Once that was done, Mrs. Clark had instructed him on proper dusting and vacumning techniques. When he’d completed his training to her satisfaction, she had made him put his newly acquired skills to use, not only in his bedroom but in the living and dining rooms as well. And then, he was expected to complete all of the classwork he was missing in school.