Warren the 13th and the Thirteen-Year Curse

by Tania del Rio

  “So, does this mean Sketchy really is the Great Eight?” Warren asked, looking back at his friend. It was hard to believe that such a funny-looking creature could be so venerated within the pirate community. At the moment, Sketchy was chirping and preening under all the attention.

  “Harr! Not at all!” Captain laughed. “First of all, yer friend isn’t all that big, is it? Though I dare say it resembles what the Great Eight is said to be. But that’s a legend, matey. No truth to it at all. Pirates are a hopelessly superstitious lot. They’ll believe just about anything.”

  As if on cue, the men began to sing in unison. Warren listened to the lyrics as Sketchy whistled along, clapping its tentacles to the beat.

  “That doesn’t sound like Sketchy at all,” Warren said, slightly relieved. If his beloved pet really was an all-powerful sea deity, he was pretty sure he would have figured it out by now.

  Before long, the motley group reached the hotel. The pirates needed no instruction: they instantly set to work like industrious ants, hammering loose planks into place, patching holes, and replacing the broken rudder with a jungle tree wood that was stronger and more flexible than the original. True to Captain Grayishwhitishbeard’s word, they did an expert job of repairing the hotel, and Warren was touched by their charity.

  * * *

  By the time the repairs were finished, night had fallen and it was too late to set sail, so Warren made an announcement.

  “In thanks for your hard work making the Warren Hotel seaworthy again, I invite you to spend the night as my honored guests! There are plenty of rooms for everyone, and I hope you’ll find them comfortable!”

  The pirates cheered loudly, and Warren’s heart burst with pride. Even if it was only for a night, nothing made him happier than extending hospitality to others.

  “I say that calls for a celebratory feast!” Chef Bunion said. “Fortunately, I have just the thing prepared!”

  With Mr. Vanderbelly’s help, a banquet table laden with food was brought out and set up on the beach. Petula used her magic to light torches all around, giving the surroundings a warm and festive glow. The pirates cheered again as they gathered around, eager to eat. Tears of joy streamed down Uncle Rupert’s sunburned face, even though he had barely lifted a finger to help with the repairs.

  The meal was especially delicious, thanks to the unusual foods that Chef had discovered on the island, and the pirates ate hungrily and noisily.

  “Arr, this be much better than the slop served at the retirement home!” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard said, biting into a spiced meat roll wrapped with charred tropical vegetables.

  “Chef Bunion is the best!” Warren agreed, nibbling on a skewer of grilled island fruit.

  Sharky seemed to have completely forgotten his earlier hostility toward Warren. “Say, young lad,” he said, “I hear it was yer birthday yesterday. I say we celebrate the pirate way!”

  He pulled a flute from his pocket and began playing a merry tune. More flutes emerged as other pirates joined in.

  Before long, a jig had started. The pirates played other improvised instruments, tapping on logs and barrels as percussion and blowing into jugs like woodwinds. Even Mr. Friggs was drawn out from the confines of his library, though Beatrice was absent, still recovering inside.

  Petula and Sketchy spun in a circle, twirling and dancing as the pirates cheered and clapped along. Warren sat on a barrel and sketched the two of them in his sketchbook. He wanted to always remember this moment.

  “Ahh, what a lovely sketch,” Mr. Friggs said, sitting down on a wooden crate.

  “Thanks!” Warren said, blushing.

  “Your father would be so proud, not just of your artistic abilities, but of the manager you have become. He would be pleasantly surprised to see how well you’ve managed the hotel at only twelve years of age!”

  “Thirteen, now!” Warren reminded him.

  “Of course,” Mr. Friggs said, his smile faltering. “About that…” His voice trailed off and he fell so silent that Warren thought for a moment the elderly man had fallen asleep.

  “Mr. Friggs?”

  “Er, yes,” Mr. Friggs said, “I have a gift for you. In fact, it’s not from me. It’s from your father.”

  Warren shut his sketchbook with a snap, his attention now fully upon his tutor.

  “He was planning to give this to you when you turned eighteen, the age at which he would have handed over the reins to the hotel. I’ve thought long and hard and I think that, given the circumstances, he would agree that I should give it to you now.”

  “What circumstances?”

  “Turning thirteen and…all that comes with it.”

  Mr. Friggs was acting strangely, but Warren was so excited to receive a gift from his late father that he barely noticed. His tutor reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box. He handed it to Warren.

  Upon lifting the lid, Warren found a ring nestled on a velvet cushion. It was a gold band set with a domed sapphire on top. Visible through the gem was a “W” stamped at the bottom.

  Warren’s eyes grew wide as he took the ring and slipped it over his knuckle of his squat finger. It fit perfectly. Wearing something his father had once owned gave him goosebumps.

  “It’s wonderful!”

  “It suits you well,” Mr. Friggs said, smiling wanly.

  Warren ran his fingers along the edge of the gemstone and found a little latch. When he pressed it, a small glass disk swung out from the side.

  “What’s this?” Warren asked.

  “I believe it is a magnifying lens, called a loupe,” Mr. Friggs said. “I imagine your father must have used it to examine the fine print in all the contracts and documents he worked with while he was the manager.”

  Warren raised the loupe to his eye, the curved glass distorting Mr. Friggs’s face. It was rather funny to see the man’s nose expand and his eyes shrink.

  “Wow!” Warren giggled. “Thank you, Mr. Friggs! This is the best birthday gift ever!”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retire to my room,” Mr. Friggs said, easing to his feet. “Goodnight.”

  Warren continued to stare at the ring. It looked so important, so official. He felt like a grown manager now, not just a boy.

  A rustling movement in nearby bushes drew his attention away from his gift. He could see a young face among the foliage, barely obscured by the leaves.

  Bonny!

  Warren’s heart lurched in sympathy. She was watching the party from her hiding spot, no doubt sad to be excluded from the fun. She may have been a little difficult earlier, but Warren understood her predicament. She was just trying to be a good manager. He tucked his sketchbook in his pocket and hurried over. Bonny winced when she realized she had been discovered.

  “It’s O.K.,” Warren said. “You don’t need to hide. Please, join my party!”

  “I don’t want to! That’s not why I’m here,” Bonny said stubbornly. “I—I’m just checking on my pirates. They’re my responsibility.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” Warren said, holding out his hand. “I think we should be friends! I bet as the world’s youngest managers we have a lot in common.”

  “I’m the youngest,” Bonny insisted, though she accepted Warren’s hand as he helped her to her feet.

  “And the smartest!” screamed the parrot, still clinging to her shoulder. Warren grimaced. He had almost forgotten about the noisy bird.

  He led Bonny over to the festivities. The pirates, who were all in good spirits, cheered when they saw her. Only then did she manage a small smile.

  “Who invited her?” Petula said. She had finished her jig with Sketchy and was refreshing herself with a sip of tropical juice.

  “I did. No one deserves to be left out,” Warren said.

  “Hmph.”

  “
Don’t be upset,” Warren said, taking Petula’s arm. “Tonight is about having fun! Now, let’s join the others and dance!”

  Petula smiled and let him pull her toward the dance ring. “I thought you’d never ask!”

  he next morning, Warren stood on his freshly repaired roof and yanked on a rope, pulling his new flag up the mast. He admired his sparkling ring as the flag inched higher and higher. The hotel crows croaked appreciatively, being fans of shiny objects. When the flag reached the top, it flapped in the breeze, looking very official, indeed. It was the perfect finishing touch to his beloved hotel.

  A cheer rose from the beach below and Warren waved to Petula and the pirates, who were squinting up into the morning sunlight. The party had gone rather late the night before, but they all looked well rested, thanks to Warren’s signature hospitality. Warren would feel a little sad to see them all go. It was nice to have a hotel full of guests again, even if only for one night.

  Using a rope, Warren rappelled down the side of the hotel and landed with a light thump upon the sand.

  “Well, I suppose this is farewell!” he said, bowing respectfully to Captain Grayishwhitishbeard, Bonny, and the others. “Thank you for making my birthday so special.”

  “Yarr, whersh the Great Eight?” asked the toothless pirate. “We wanna pay our reshpecths!”

  Warren looked around. Not seeing his tentacled friend, he yelled out, “Sketchy?”

  There was no response. Petula frowned. “Where could it be?”

  “I don’t know,” Warren said, a queasy feeling wriggling in his stomach. “I can’t believe Sketchy isn’t here to bask in the pirates’ praise one last time.”

  “Oh, dear!” Mr. Vanderbelly said, rushing forward with his notebook ready. “We might have a scandal on our hands! I must document it!”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Petula said. “Though, come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing Sketchy at breakfast, which is very unusual.”

  “Nor did it help me prepare the morning’s meal,” Chef Bunion added. “I assumed it overslept after all the festivities last night. I’ll go check the hotel.” He hurried up the gangplank, calling for Sketchy.

  A chill settled over Warren. He realized with horror, and a fair share of guilt, that he hadn’t seen Sketchy since the night before. How had he managed to overlook his friend’s absence all morning?

  “I remember dancing with Sketchy at the party last night,” Petula said. “But the rest is a blur.”

  Warren nodded, feeling numb. He, too, was so busy dancing that he couldn’t even say for sure when he had last seen Sketchy. Where could it have gone?

  “Don’t panic,” Petula said. “This island isn’t very big. Sketchy has to be somewhere!”

  The pirates jumped into action, fanning out across the beach amid Bonny’s protests. “Stop this at once!” she sputtered. “I’m the one in charge here, and we’re going home! Let them worry about finding that creature!” But no one paid her any heed—the pirates were on a mission.

  “Warren, look!” Petula said. “Those look like they could be Sketchy’s tracks.”

  She was pointing to a distinctive wavy pattern in the sand that led into the jungle. “Why would Sketchy go in there?” Warren asked, hurrying toward the foliage.

  “Wait for me!” Mr. Vanderbelly cried, huffing and puffing after them.

  As they entered the jungle, Warren could see Sketchy’s tracks more clearly. It had snapped branches and pressed into the mossy jungle floor as it slithered along.

  “There was a struggle!” Mr. Vanderbelly gasped, scribbling in his notebook.

  “Don’t get dramatic,” Petula said with a sigh.

  “No, he’s right,” Warren said. “Look.”

  He pointed to a section of foliage that was even more battered than the rest. Small trees had been pulled from their roots, and heavy tracks were gouged into the spongy ground.

  “The trail continues over here!” Petula said.

  It seemed that something large had been dragged through the jungle. Gone were Sketchy’s floppy prints; now, the foliage was completely flattened, as though a boulder had been dragged across it.

  Warren and Petula ran faster and faster, following the tracks, as Mr. Vanderbelly struggled to keep up with them. Before long, they emerged on the windward side of the island. The beach was more rocky than sandy, but Warren could still make out the tracks heading in the direction of the water.

  “The trail leads into the ocean,” Warren observed. He noticed an indentation where a rowboat must have sat, and a chill ran down his spine.

  “Sketchy wasn’t alone.” Petula pointed to a flute half buried in the gravely sand.

  Warren picked it up and played a note. It made a shrill noise that sounded an awful lot like Sketchy’s signature whistling.

  Warren was filled with dread. “Someone lured it away. A pirate, by the looks of it.”

  “A KIDNAPPING!” Mr. Vanderbelly exclaimed with joy and horror.

  “But who?” Petula asked. “All the pirates were at the party.”

  Warren sank to his knees in despair. Someone had kidnapped his beloved pet. Sketchy and its captor could be miles from the island by now, and he didn’t even know which direction they had gone. The ring on his finger suddenly felt heavy on his hand. What kind of manager would lose his best friend? He didn’t deserve such a precious gift.

  By now, Captain Grayishwhitishbeard and the rest of the search party had arrived, panting and groaning about sore joints. For senior citizens, they certainly were resilient. Bonny trudged after them, looking irritable. Chef Bunion brought up the rear, shaking his head sadly. “Sketchy’s not in the hotel. I’m sorry, Warren.”

  “Does anyone know who could have taken Sketchy?” Warren asked the assembled pirates. “We found a flute in the sand.”

  “You dare accuse MY pirates?” Bonny exploded. “My crew would never do such a thing!”

  “They’re not even that clever!” screamed her parrot.

  “I’m not accusing anyone!” Warren cried. “I just want to find my friend. If anyone has any information, please…”

  “Arr, lad,” Sharky said gently. “We Calm Waves crew all be accounted for. It not be one of us, that’s for sure.”

  “Sketchy could be anywhere by now,” Warren said, looking out at the vast ocean. “How will I ever find it?”

  “Arr, there may be someone that could help,” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard said. “There be an old sea witch who lives underwater. She has a magic pearl that reveals lost things. I reckon she could show ye a glimpse of yer pet.”

  Bonny scoffed. “Witches can’t be trusted. Everyone knows that.”

  “Excuse me?” Petula said. “You do realize I’m a witch, right?”

  “Yeah, and I don’t trust ya!” Bonny snapped.

  “Please, don’t argue,” Warren said, stepping between them. “I’ll go anywhere if I can find a clue to Sketchy’s whereabouts. How do I find this sea witch?”

  “I’ll give ye the coordinates,” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard said, “as long as ye let me join yer crew. I miss a life at sea, and that thar hotel is a fine ship.”

  “It’s a deal!” Warren said. “We’d be honored to have you.”

  “Us, too!” the elderly pirates chimed in. “We want to help!”

  “No! No! Absolutely not!” Bonny protested. “We are all going back to Calm Waves right NOW!”

  “But Bonny! This be the Great Eight we’re talking about!” Sharky said. “If it be in danger, we have a duty to save it!”

  “No, we don’t!” Bonny countered. “You are all retired, remember? Your adventuring days are over! You’re too old to go back to sea!”

  “Positively ancient!” screeched the parrot.

  “Very well. You leave us no other choice.” Sharky’s face darkened and then he cried:
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  Bonny’s eyes went as wide as saucers.

  “No!”

  “We’re going, and thatsh that!” retorted the toothless pirate. “And Warren be our new captain!”

  A cheer rose up: “YAARRR!”

  The mob of old pirates charged back in the direction of the hotel, leaving Bonny in the dust. Warren hesitated, seeing the young girl’s stricken expression.

  “Come on, Warren,” Petula said. “Let her be. She deserves it.”

  “No one deserves to be left alone,” Warren said. “Especially on an island in the middle of nowhere.”

  Petula sighed. Warren did have a point.

  “Bonny,” Warren said, “please, come with us.”

  “But I can’t abandon Calm Waves,” Bonny said, her eyes shimmering. “It’s my home.”

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that home is more than just a building,” Warren said. “It’s the people that live in it. As long as you have them near, you’ll always be home.”

  “Wow, that’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard,” Bonny said, and Warren blushed.

  “Cue the violin!” the parrot squawked.

  Bonny gave Warren a light sock in the arm. “Fine, I’ll go, if only to keep those pirates in line. They may be old, but they’re still a rowdy bunch.”

  “Welcome to the crew,” Warren said. “Now, let’s go find Sketchy!”

  arren sat with Mr. Friggs in his library, poring over the maps and coordinates that Captain Grayishwhitishbeard had given them.

  “Hmmm,” Mr. Friggs said, as he used a compass to measure angles across a faded map.