“What? What are you doing Angus?” She laughed, pleasantly surprised by the affection. He’d never been a boy for cuddles and kisses.
“Jist wanted to say thanks fer everthin’. Ye’re a grand lady, and I willna forget ye,” he said as he hugged her.
“Well, Angus, I sure hope not! I am your mother after all!” She hugged him back and kissed the top of his cowlicky head. “Now, go have some fun! Before I wonder who you are and what you’ve done with my son!”
He released her and ran to the doorway where he’d left his sneakers. During his stay with the Clarks, he’d decided that he liked his feet to be clean and warm. He wedged his left foot into a sneaker without untying it first. He picked up the right sneaker and pushed his foot into it. He felt something warm, soft, and wet ooze through his sock.
“What the?” he mumbled to himself, and pulled the shoe off. A brown smudge was pressed to the bottom of his sock, and an acrid smell struck his nose. He peered into the sneaker and saw a small, squashed, stinky log.
“Black hearted fiend!” he roared.
Sir Schnortle had pooped in his shoe.
After scrubbing his foot, changing his socks, and grabbing a clean pair of shoes, BP gave Mrs. Clark another tight hug and set off for the port. The Clark home was two miles directly uphill from the harbor. BP alternately walked and ran down the steep streets until he reached the shore. From there, he kept the water on his right side as he jogged along the sidewalks to the dock.
He passed joggers, dog-walkers, and children riding bicycles. He was surprised to see so many landlubbers this close to the harbor. This area tended to be very unsafe what with all the roving pirates and bands of pickpockets. He grew increasingly amazed when he realized that the seaside shanties had been rebuilt and were now shining apartments and condominiums.
As he neared the harbor, he was astounded to see the clothing boutiques and expensive restaurants. Shiny cars promenaded slowly down the street, their drivers looking for parking spots. He watched a man and woman push some buttons on a machine at a corner building. His jaw dropped when the machine discharged money. He waited for them to leave, looked around to be sure no one was watching him, and hurried over to the machine. But it was no use. No matter which buttons he pushed, no money appeared. He gave up and moved on down the street.
He turned a corner and hurried to the dock. He scanned the horizon but didn’t see the skull and crossbones anywhere. He slapped himself on the forehead. Of course! What was he thinking of? Maniacal Marge wouldn’t be flying the Jolly Roger while they were in port. That would alert the police that a crew of pirates roamed among them. He’d have to search a little harder. The Fearsome Flea was probably camouflaged.
He prowled one wooden pier after another. He saw motor boats with one and two motors. Inner tubes and skis rested inside. He counted a dozen varieties of sailboats, from small dinghies to J boats, and several cutters. Large and small kayaks were tied to the piers and even one or two canoes. He saw a fireboat and hid his face behind his hand as he passed a police boat. BP scurried from pier to pier, but nowhere did he see the familiar face of a crew member or the welcome sight of the Fearsome Flea.
He wandered up and down the harbor, peering across the water, wondering whether the Fearsome Flea had just set sail. He fingered the money in his pocket. If he’d just missed her, he might be able to encourage a sailor to transport him. Would ten dollars be enough?
A white-haired man sat on a bench by the piers looking through a pair of binoculars. BP hurried over to him.
“Ahoy, matey!” said BP.
The old man turned his gaze to BP and lowered his binoculars.
“Did you say something, son?” he asked loudly.
“Aye. What sees ye through yer spyglass?” asked BP.
“Pardon me? My hearing’s not as good as it once was,” shouted the old gentleman reaching his pinkie finger into a hairy ear. He wiggled it around a bit, pulled it out, and inspected the tip of his finger.
“I’m looking fer me hearties. Old One-Eyed Billy’s run a rig on me and marooned me. Can I look through yer spyglass?” BP shouted back.
“Talk into my good ear,” yelled the old man pointing to his right ear.
BP leaned down and yelled into the man’s ear. “See ye a sail over yonder?”
“Sally sells seashells? What are you talking about son?” the deaf man cried.
“Can I look through yer spyglass?” shouted BP.
“You may not loot my pie grass! What is pie grass anyway?” yelled the befuddled old man.
“Not pie grass! Spyglass!” shouted BP.
“Don’t shout at me! Is that how your mother raised you? To yell at your elders?” shouted the man.
“Beg pardon, Sir. I’m marooned and lookin’ fer me pirate ship,” mumbled BP.
“Oh, your pirate ship. Why didn’t you say so? I was a pirate in my youth. Haven’t seen a Jolly Roger all day,” said the old man. He winked at BP and creakily stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a sword duel.”
BP watched the elderly man shamble off. It seemed he had missed the Fearsome Flea. But instead of desperation and disappointment, BP felt a sense of relief. He thought about his warm bed and full stomach. He thought about Mr. Clark, and Mrs. Clark, and even that wretch Sir Schnortle. It wasn’t entirely awful to have to live by the family rules. Not when there were chocolate cake and hot baths at the end of the day.
Maybe he wouldn’t go back to the Fearsome Flea after all. Maybe he’d stay on land for a while. Get to know the Clarks again. Get to know his parents again.
His mind made up, BP clambered to his feet. He must have stood too quickly, because his head began to spin. He fell back to the bench, grabbed his head, and blacked out.
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Bucket
Angus retreated to the captain’s quarters to inspect the Insectivore Incinerator. Ivy oversaw the operation from a safe distance. Angus was still unsure how he had propelled himself into this dimension. She didn’t trust that he wouldn’t make the same mistake again, this time at her expense.
Hidden behind a chest, she shouted out what she thought were helpful suggestions. “Are you sure the red wire goes there? Wouldn’t the green one look better next to the yellow one? What if you remove that doohickey from the other thingamabob?”
Angus didn’t hear her. Ivy’s squeaky words floated around his head. They never made their way into his ear canal. He focused all of his attention on his beloved invention.
Despite the time it had spent rolling around inside the cannon, the Insectivore Incinerator was not damaged. Angus reconnected the colored wires and tightened some tiny screws. He peered into the component case and noticed a whitish film. He pulled a cotton swab from his tool belt and cleaned the inside of the case. He blew on the tip of the swab, dispersing a fine white powder into the air. The case was now clean, and he closed it and retightened the screws on the back.
He looked around the cabin. “I need to test it on something.”
Ivy squawked and fluttered farther away.
“Not on you, silly! Let’s find something useless that no one will miss. Any ideas?” said Angus.
“How about Marge?” suggested Ivy.
Angus considered this solemnly and then shook his head. “No. We don’t want to dump her on an unsuspecting dimension. Best to leave her here.” He thought a moment. “I might have just the thing!” He swung open the cabin door and called to Captain Hank. “Permission to enter the hold, sir?”
“Permission granted,” beamed the blissful sailor standing at the helm. “What for? There’s nothing down there but my baking soda and some rotten cabbage.”
“I want to test my invention, Captain. If it works, the crew won’t need to clear out the vegetables by hand,” said Angus.
“Ye’ve got me marker if ye can do that!” said Shep, who was organizing the crew to perform some much overdo ship scrubbing.
Ivy and Angus sidestepped a bucket, a mop, and a deck-swabbing
sailor, and went below decks. One sailor was stripping rancid sheets off the bunks while another scrubbed the floor with a thick, white substance. “Captain’s Cleanser?” asked Angus. The sailor nodded and continued his work.
The door to the hold was propped open. Shep had ordered the molding produce to be piled into one corner for quick removal when the ship docked. The sacks of sodium bicarbonate were stacked neatly to the ceiling nearer the bow. The seagull wedged her body behind the bags and peeked around the corner.
“I’m ready,” she called.
“Here goes nothing,” said Angus. He pointed the Insectivore Incinerator at the vegetable pile and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Angus dropped his arm to his side, and he bowed his head to his chest. “I was afraid of that.”
“Is it broken?” asked Ivy venturing warily from her hiding place.
“I dropped it at home, and it stopped working,” Angus said gloomily.
“But it must have been working, or you wouldn’t have crossed dimensions,” insisted Ivy.
“That’s true,” admitted Angus. “It stopped working and I brought it into my lab.”
“Okay. Let’s think this through. Try to remember everything that happened from the time you dropped your invention to landing on the Fearsome Flea. What did you do when you came into your lab?” asked Ivy.
“I opened up the machine and fiddled with some wires,” began Angus.
“Do the wires look the same way they did the day you traveled?” interrupted Ivy.
“Yes. I checked them in the Captain’s cabin,” said Angus.
“Good. Then what did you do in your home lab?” asked Ivy.
Angus wrinkled his brow and tried to remember. It was so long ago. “My mom came in.”
“And?” pressed Ivy.
“She told me to clean up my lab before my dad came home from work,” answered Angus.
“And did you?” asked Ivy.
“What difference does that make?” asked Angus.
“I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t. But maybe it does,” said Ivy. “Well? Did you clean up your lab?”
“No,” said Angus.
“Oh,” said Ivy.
Angus’ face brightened as he remembered. “But some of the cleaner fell into the Insectivore Incinerator.” That must have been the white film he had cleaned out with the swab!
“What kind of cleaner was it?” pressed Ivy.
Angus looked around the hold and a slow grin spread over his face. “It was a box of baking soda.”
Ivy let out a large wail. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
“I’m not going to just dump baking soda into my machine,” he protested.
“Do you want to get home or don’t you?” Ivy asked.
“Of course I want to get home, but that last time was an accident. I need to consider how to control it.” Angus thought for a moment. “I think I can build a compartment within the Incinerator that will release the powder in tiny increments whenever the trigger is pushed.” He pulled several tools out of his belt and began working on the machine as he talked. “By elongating this here and adjusting this here … I can tighten this. Okay, just a bit of powder, a little more. Close it up. There!”
He looked brightly at Ivy. “Here goes nothing!” He pointed the machine at the pile of vegetables. Ivy squawked with fear and dove behind the sacks. She peered out. Angus stood blinking at the rotten cabbages.
“Didn’t work?” asked Ivy.
“Nope,” said Angus.
“Okay. Was there anything else? After you spilled the baking soda, did anything else happen?” probed Ivy.
Angus leaned against the tower of baking soda. He was rapidly losing confidence. “Ivy, what’s the use? I may as well just get used to the idea that I’m going to live on a ship the rest of my life.”
“Well, I’m not! We’re going to figure this out and leave this world!” The seagull clenched her wings against her sides with conviction. “Now, what else happened that day?”
Angus sighed and closed his eyes. He dug into the back of his brain trying to remember. The day he traveled to this world passed through his mind like a movie. There he was at school. Ms. Evergood at the board. He shuddered, thinking of Marge. Escaped hamster. Bus ride home. Mom at the sink. Lab. Cedar cones. Broken Incinerator. Baking soda. That was it. There was nothing else.
He opened his eyes and twirled his screwdriver around his neck. “That’s it, Ivy. There’s nothing …” He stopped in the middle of a twirl and held up the screwdriver. His eyes sparkled. “Except for my screwdriver. I dropped it under the lab table.”
“I can’t imagine that would make a difference,” said Ivy.
“And when I picked it up, I hit my head, and bit my tongue.” Angus rested his hand against his lips.
“So?” asked Ivy.
“So I put my finger in my mouth. It was wet … and then I shocked myself on the Incinerator,” finished Angus.
“Moisture. We haven’t tried that yet. Do you think you need that for the baking soda to work?” asked Ivy.
“I don’t know. I didn’t need moisture to transport the cedar cones,” he said.
“True,” said Ivy. “But that was before you dropped the Incinerator. Did you ever point it at yourself before you dropped it?”
“Why on earth would I do that? I thought it was burning up the cones, not transporting them. I certainly didn’t want to scorch myself!” said Angus.
“Oh, yeah. Right,” thought Ivy. “Maybe it’s time to change the name of your machine. Seeing as it doesn’t incinerate insects.”
Angus bit his lip and thought a moment. “How about the Interdimensional Travel Device?”
Ivy shook her head. “Too long and sciency sounding.”
“The Cross World Movement Machine?” proposed Angus.
Ivy giggled. “Movement. Sounds like you’re transporting poop from one world to another. Like bowel movement. Get it?”
Angus stared at Ivy, thought for a moment, and burst out laughing. “Cross World Movement Machine! Hilarious!”
“Dimensional Doody Device!” chortled Ivy.
“The Poop Scooter!” guffawed Angus, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Angus and Ivy howled with laughter until they’d exhausted all their potty jokes.
“Okay, seriously though,” gasped Angus wiping his eyes. “How about the World Jumper?”
The seagull took a deep breath to still her giggles and then considered this latest suggestion. She nodded her head. “I like it. It sounds like what I do, body jumping. But you jump whole worlds. It’s a good name.”
“So, let’s assume my World Jumper needs water to work. How do I get it a little wet without ruining the components?” Angus looked at Ivy.
“My specialty is potions. I don’t do electronics,” she said.
Angus was staring at the palm of his hand. “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. Ivy looked at him blankly. “Ivy, think back to when you were a human. I don’t know if it’s the same with girls, but when I get scared or nervous, my hands start sweating like crazy. Look, even now, my palm is a little damp. If I can reconfigure the palm grip of the World Jumper, it can use the moisture from my hand and the little puff of sodium bicarbonate to create the charge! Follow me!”
Angus clutched his World Jumper and ran recklessly from the brightly-lit hold. He didn’t wait for his eyes to adjust to the dim bunkroom, and so he did not see the bucket of water left unattended by the sailor who had been washing the floor. Angus raced along, tripped over the bucket, and sailed through the air. The water spilled all over the floor. Angus involuntarily squeezed the trigger as he landed in the middle of the puddle. There was a flash and Angus sat stunned on the floor rubbing his head.
Ivy had watched it all from the hold. She strutted out of the room, toward the dazed boy. “That was a nasty fall. Are you all right, Angus?”
“Sink me! A talkin’ bird! Wonder what ye’re worth.” He chuckled and reached for her. As his hands wrapped around
her flapping wings, she noticed the holes pierced into his earlobes.
“Oh great. Welcome back, BP.” She poked his forehead hard with her bill. He cried out and released her to grab his head. She flew rapidly up the stairs.
Now she was going to have to search for Angus all over again.
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Next World
Cold pricked his ears. Cold numbed his nose and cheeks. Cold tweeked his fingers and the tips of his toes. He shivered and opened his eyes. He was surrounded by snow. He felt the wet soak into his blue jeans and his shirt. In fact, he was lying face down in the snow.
Angus rolled over and looked around. White crystal powder as far as the eye could see. Evergreen trees in the distance drooped under its weight. The sky above shone radiant and blue.
“I’m not on a pirate ship anymore,” he said aloud.
He looked frantically about him and exhaled a sigh of relief when he realized his World Jumper lay in the snow beside him. He stuffed it into the top of his pants and shivered as the cold plastic and metal touched his skin.
“Ivy? Ivy! Are you there? Ivy!” he called, looking about him. He heard nothing. No birds, no human voices, not even the sound of wind reached his ears. It appeared he was totally alone in this beautiful wintery world. At least for now.
He stood, wrapped his arms about his body, and shivered. First, he’d find some shelter and a way to stay warm. Then, he’d figure out where he was and what to do next. He smiled. He was looking forward to his next adventure. He was ready to invent.
Angus’ Pirate/English Dictionary
Aft (adv.) toward the stern of a ship
Bilge rat (n.) a rat living in the bilge of a ship; an insulting name
Blimey! (colloq.) Wow!
Booty (n.) stolen goods or treasure
Bow (n.) the front of the ship
Bring a spring upon her cable (v.) come around in a different direction
Case shot (n.) a collection of small items put in cases to fire from a cannon
The Pirate's Booty (Inventor-in-Training) Page 15
