Sketchy lowered its bulbous head and let out a sad trill.
“You have a more important job to do,” Petula said, patting it on the back. “You need to guard the hotel until we return.”
“What do you say, Sketchy?” Warren asked. “Can you stay here and keep an eye—er , eyes—on things?”
Sketchy nodded and let out a short whistle, although it still watched forlornly as the pair walked off. Warren felt bad leaving his friend behind, but it was for the best.
No sooner had he and Petula entered the jungle than the temperature seemed to rise by several degrees and the air moistened with humidity. Warren fussed with his golden curls, which were getting frizzier by the second. He knew it was vain, but his hair was the one part of his appearance that made him proud. Unfortunately, this climate was not conducive to a handsome coiffure!
All around them were the sounds of chattering birds and critters, but it was nearly impossible to actually see anything, so camouflaged were they amidst the dense vegetation. Warren’s and Petula’s feet squelched over the rotting undergrowth that blanketed the jungle floor as they navigated around protruding vines and roots. They walked mostly in silence, keeping their eyes and ears open for danger, but also appreciating the symphony of sounds as well as the perfumed air.
Suddenly, Warren heard a distinct rustling coming from behind them and froze. Petula paused, too, and looked at him questioningly.
“I thought I heard something following us,” Warren whispered. “But it may have been my imagination.”
They stood as still as statues, waiting and watching. But they heard no sound, other than the noisy animals still chattering and chirping in the trees above.
After a few moments, they continued walking, slightly warier than before. But Warren did not hear the sound again.
“Maybe we ought to turn back,” Petula said after a while. “My portal may not be able to reach the hotel from here.”
Over the past few months, Petula had been practicing her magical abilities and managed to increase the distance her portals could reach from one hundred feet to almost a mile, but the farther the distance, the riskier it was.
Warren stopped and squinted. He saw something—a slash of white through the tangled web of branches ahead. “Wait. What’s that?”
They crept forward, cautiously, and used their hands to part the thick waxy leaves blocking their path.
It was…a building. But not the type of building that Warren ever would have expected to see in a place like this. It was a pristine and modern structure, with smooth white walls and turquoise trim and a red stucco roof. The area around it was clear of vines and unruly vegetation, with the building sitting on a perfectly manicured lawn. Situated nearby were a patio table and chairs, complete with brightly pattered cushions and a colorful beach umbrella. Petula pointed toward a large sign that stood near the building’s entrance, but it was angled and Warren couldn’t quite make out what it said. In any case, it all looked perfectly welcoming and safe, and Warren and Petula relaxed.
“I guess we better go check it out!” Warren said cheerfully. “With a nice building like that, whoever lives there is bound to have some supplies that could help us.”
They straightened from their crouched position and walked across the soft grass toward the building.
Suddenly, they heard a loud WHOOSH! and Warren and Petula cried out as a large woven net fell over them. In an instant, they were swooped up into the trees, where they dangled helplessly, all jumbled together.
“A trap!” Warren cried, trying to adjust his body so that Petula’s elbow wasn’t digging into his side.
“Hey, watch it!” Petula grunted, pushing Warren’s heel out of her face.
“Ahoy, there!” a gravelly voice shouted from below. “What scoundrels dare trespass upon our turf?”
Through the lattice of the netting, Warren could see several burly and grizzled pirates standing below. The men had tough, wrinkled, leathery skin and white beards. The women had frizzy gray hair and sinewy, well-muscled arms. Though they were elderly, they looked strong. And angry. One of them snarled at Warren and Petula, revealing a mouth with no teeth, only pale gums.
“We mean no harm!” Warren cried back. “We’ve been shipwrecked upon your shores and were simply looking for help!”
One of the pirates spat. “A likely story! Hah! You were clearly sent here to scout our hiding spot and bring your crew to take it over! Well, we may be old, but we weren’t born yesterday!”
Petula frowned. “That’s exactly what it means to be old.”
The pirates exchanged confused looks.
“No lip from you, young lady!” snapped the lead pirate. His beard was plaited into a thick white braid, and tufts of hair poked out from his ears. His head, however, was as bald as an egg and gleamed in the sunlight. His most frightening feature was his teeth. They were filed into sharp little points, making him look like a shark.
“Arr, what should we do with them?” one of the other pirates asked. He wore a tattered bandana and a leather jerkin. His skin was covered in faded tattoos depicting anchors and other nautical subjects.
“I say we feed ’em to the jungle wolves,” one of the lady pirates hissed.
“The jungle wolves!” Warren cried in horror. He had read all about the terrible jungle wolves in a Jacques Rustyboots novel, Jacques Rustyboots and the Shiver Me Timber Wolves.
“Let us down!” Warren said in his most managerial tone. “We’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want!”
“Arr, I don’t think so,” the bald, sharp-toothed pirate said with a menacing grin. “You be in our territory now, which means you belong to us!”
Warren swallowed nervously.
the pirate said to his companions. “I’ll check the surroundings, make sure they be alone!”
“Aye, aye, Sharky!” the other pirates said, and began pulling on a rope to lower Warren and Petula to the ground.
“You mean, that guy’s not the boss?” Warren whispered to Petula. This “Sharky” was so scary looking, Warren dreaded finding out what the actual boss looked like.
“As soon as they let us out of this bag, I’ll be able to draw a portal,” Petula whispered. “It may not reach all the way to the hotel, but I can get us as far away as possible. Be ready!”
But the pirates did not seem to have any intention of letting Warren and Petula out of the netted bag. Instead, they dragged the two like a sack of potatoes toward the building.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Warren and Petula yelped as they tumbled about, kicking and poking each other accidentally.
Once inside the building, they were relieved to be dragged over a more forgiving surface, for the interior had smooth tiled floors. The pirates pulled them through a lobby into a large room filled with comfortable easy chairs that were occupied by a number of elderly pirates.
Warren’s captors dumped the bag containing him and Petula in the middle of the floor and Warren was surprised to see many of the pirates pause from reading newspapers, knitting, or sipping cups of tea as they turned to watch the commotion. They seemed nothing at all like the mayhem-loving scoundrels he had read about in his Jacques Rustyboots books. What was this place?
“Where’s the boss?” demanded one of their captors.
“I’m right here!” a young voice replied.
To Warren and Petula’s astonishment, a girl, who looked even younger than they were, strode into the room. She had tanned skin and a cloud of curly black hair, and she was dressed like a true pirate, with a fancy buttoned coat and shiny black boots. A bright-red parrot perched on her shoulder, eying them suspiciously.
“What have we here?” she demanded.
“Filfy treshpashers!” the toothless pirate said. “Spiesh!”
“We’re not spies, and we didn’t mean to trespass!” Warren said. “We were shipwrecked on the
beach and are simply looking for help!”
“How’d you know where to find us?” the girl asked, her dark eyes narrowing. “We like to stay off the beaten path.”
“It was pure chance!” Petula said. “We’ve been wandering the jungle for hours and were about to turn back when we stumbled upon your…place. Whatever it is.”
“This place,” the girl said haughtily, “is called Calm Waves Retirement Home for the Formerly Sea-Faring and Adventurous. Or CWRHFSFA for short.” Warren thought it was a rather difficult acronym, but he kept his opinion to himself.
“CWRHFSFA!” squawked the parrot.
“I’m the manager, Bonny. And I happen to be the youngest manager in the world,” she said proudly.
“My name is Warren the 13th and I’m a manager, too!” Warren said. “Of a traveling hotel.”
Bonny frowned. “How old are you?”
“I just turned thirteen.”
“Ha! I’m ten. I’m still the youngest!”
“That’s great,” Warren said. “We young managers should stick together! Now can you please set us free?”
“Not until you tell me why you’re really here. You’re not trying to take over my business, are you?”
“No!” Warren said. “I told you: we’re shipwrecked. We need to fix our hotel so we can leave.”
“Arrgh, what be this?” came a familiar voice. Warren gasped as an old friend walked into the room, his peg leg clacking on the tile.
“Captain Grayishwhitishbeard!” he cried.
“You know each other?” asked Bonny.
“Yes! He was once a guest at my hotel!”
“Yarr, set these two free,” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard said. “They mean no harm.”
“Hmph. You’re not the boss here, even if your first name is Captain.”
Captain Grayishwhitishbeard unhooked the cutlass from his belt and held it aloft. “If you won’t set them free, I will!”
“You dare go against me?” Bonny said, unhooking her own cutlass. It seemed a sword fight was about to occur, and Warren couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. Finally! Pirates acting like, well, pirates!
But suddenly, Sharky burst into the room. “Bonny! They’ve been followed!” Oddly, as he announced this news, Sharky didn’t look upset at all. In fact, he looked almost delirious with joy.
“Ha! I knew they were lying!” Bonny said, instantly forgetting her feud with Captain Grayishwhitishbeard. She pointed her cutlass toward the entrance.
“Bring the trespassers in here at once!”
Sharky stepped aside and flung open the doors. With a loud whistle, Sketchy entered, waving its tentacles threateningly.
“Sketchy!” Warren cried.
What happened next, Warren could hardly believe. All the elderly pirates in the room let out a collective gasp and dropped to their knees, their old joints popping and snapping. Then they began bowing and chanting as though Sketchy were royalty.
Sketchy blew a confused whistle and lowered its tentacles. Its many eyes blinked as it took in the scene.
Warren was confused, too. He instantly recognized the term from his books. A common theme throughout the series was Jacques Rustyboots searching for a mythical sea deity called the Great Eight.
“Oh, Great Eight, we welcome you!” the bald pirate blubbered, prostrating himself before Sketchy. “You grace us with your presence!”
The only person who seemed unaffected by Sketchy’s appearance was Captain Grayishwhitishbeard. He was using the current distraction as an opportunity to cut the ropes encircling Warren and Petula. Bonny didn’t even notice; she, too, was staring at Sketchy with her jaw hanging in shock.
“What is going on?” Petula murmured.
“That’s what I’d like to know!” Warren replied.
“It is real,” Bonny whispered in awe.
he pirates joined together to hoist Sketchy into the air and parade it around the room. Sketchy let out a pleased whistle. It seemed to enjoy the attention. Bonny’s eyes were as wide as saucers and she was whispering something into her parrot’s ear. She seemed to momentarily forget that Warren and Petula were there and didn’t even seem to care that they had been freed from the net, thanks to Captain Grayishwhitishbeard.
“GREAT EIGHT! GREAT EIGHT!” Bonny’s parrot cheered, flapping its wings.
“Why are they calling Sketchy the Great Eight?” Warren asked, turning toward Captain Grayishwhitishbeard, who appeared almost bored by the strange scene.
“And why aren’t you acting like the other pirates?” Petula added.
“Because I’m no pirate!” he said, huffing.
“Oh, right. You’re an importer exporter,” Warren said.
“But mostly importer,” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard reminded him.
“Very well,” Petula said. “Why are the pirates acting that way about Sketchy?”
“Arr, I’ll explain on the way back to yer hotel,” Captain said. “It needs some fixing, right? These pirates may be old, but they’re the best at making a vessel seaworthy. It’s in their blood!”
He raised his voice and waved his cutlass in the air. “Yarr, if ye want to please yer Great Eight, come and repair its boat! This group’s been shipwrecked, and they need a hand or two!”
The pirates cheered, eager to help.
“Wait a minute!” Bonny cried, snapping out of her trance. “You can’t just leave! There are release forms…and liability clauses!”
But the pirates ignored her. With Sketchy firmly resting upon their shoulders, they marched out the door, chanting and cheering. Some pirates hobbled ahead to scatter tropical flower petals on the ground, carpeting Sketchy’s path.
“Make way! Make way for the Great Eight!”
“Come back! That’s an order!” Bonny yelled, but not a single pirate took heed, not even the cronies who had captured Warren and Petula.
“You can come with us, if you want, Warren suggested to Bonny. “We could always use another hand, and we’ll make sure everyone returns here once the job is done.”
“I’m not leaving, and neither are you!” Bonny said, brandishing her cutlass and stepping in front to block their exit. “You’re my prisoners, remember? I forbid you!”
“You heard her!” screeched the parrot.
“Sorry,” Petula said, and with a flick of her wrist, she drew a portal and yanked both Warren and Captain Grayishwhitishbeard through it.
They emerged in the jungle, several yards ahead of the procession carrying Sketchy.
“Yarr, that was topsy-turvy!” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard said, clutching his stomach.
“You never quite get used to it,” Warren agreed.
“Stop complaining. I got us out of there, didn’t I?” Petula said. “Oh, what an annoying girl that Bonny was! She’s not very bonny at all, if you ask me.”
“It’s tough being a young manager,” Warren said. “I feel a little sorry for her.”
“After the way she treated us?” Petula scoffed.
“Arr, she’s not too bad…usually,” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard said. “She runs a tight ship at yar retirement home, but she cares, she truly does.”
“Speaking of which, how did you end up in a place like that?” Warren asked.
“Mutiny!” Captain said, sighing bitterly. “Months ago, me crew rallied against me and gave me the boot. Said I was too old to be an importer exporter. They dumped me on this here island to live out me days.”
“That’s terrible!” Warren said. “Especially since you don’t look old at all.”
It was true. Despite his name, Captain Grayishwhitishbead had a lustrous and thick black beard, though Warren knew his secret: hair dye. Even so, he seemed more robust and energetic than the elderly pirates wobbling and gasping under Sketchy’s weight.
“Hey, you can put
Sketchy down!” Warren yelled to them. “It’s perfectly capable of walking on its own.”
Sketchy belted out an offended whistle.
“Now, don’t let all this attention get to your head,” Warren scolded as Sketchy was lowered to the ground. “I’m still upset that you followed us when I told you to stay put.”
Sketchy replied with what sounded like a haughty whistle, but it began to slither on its own. The pirates surrounded it adoringly, still scattering flower petals.
“You never explained why the pirates are worshiping Sketchy,” Petula said. “It’s so very odd!”
“Arr, pirates believe in a sea deity called the Great Eight,” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard explained. “They pray to it for calm seas and luck finding booty. Some say it guards over the biggest treasure hoard in the world. It seems they think your tentacled friend is the Great Eight itself!”
“I always thought the Great Eight looked like a giant whale with eight fins,” Warren said. “At least that’s how I imagined it while reading my Jacques Rustyboots books.”
“Bah! Rustyboots!” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard spat. “The worst importer exporter I ever met. And my most hated rival!”
“Knew him,” the Captain grumbled. “And what a relief it was when he disappeared all those years ago. Some say he was lost at sea searching for the Great Eight. ’Twas all he ever cared about, the old fool.”
“I don’t believe it!” Warren cried. “He’s—he’s my hero! I’ve read all his books. He’s the greatest pirate who ever lived!”
Captain Grayishwhitishbeard snorted. “He’s no hero, he’s a scoundrel. Yarr, and with a huge ego, at that! Half o’ his stories are lies.”
“What did he ever do to make you dislike him so much?” Petula asked.
“He swiped all my imports before I had a chance to export them! That and he never shut up about the Great Eight. It was the Great Eight this, and the Great Eight that. He was obsessed with the number eight. Mighty tiresome, if you ask me!”
Warren the 13th and the Thirteen-Year Curse Page 3
