An enemy is
someone who will get you killed, regardless of whose side theyÕre on.
The
wind railed and screamed overhead like an angry banshee, clawing at the sails
and the clothes and hair of those caught in its fury as it gouged deep holes in
the choppy seas, creating steeply-sloping valleys of water that pitched and
churned and tossed the Bloody Mary about
like an angry child with a buoyant toy.
Lita clung to the mast with a
desperate, vice-like grip as violent rain pelted down from the blackened skies
above. The ship rocked violently
in the winds of the storm, the mast swaying this way and that like a
sapling. The sails snapped and shuddered
as the winds and rain battered them about, soaked canvas and slick rigging
slowly tearing free of their tethers to become angrily whipping tendrils in the
violence of the gale. The seas
were angry and frothed with foam, huge swells rising and falling like a
sadistic roller-coaster and pitching the hapless schooner whichsoever way they
pleased. Twice, now, theyÕd sent
the Bloody Mary corkscrewing down a
swell only to have another wave crash into her side, pitching the ship sideways
at an angle that came dangerously close to capsizing her and brought the rabbit
within inches of a raging wall of water.
All of a sudden, her perch high
aloft in the crowÕs nest didnÕt seem like such a great idea after all.
Not that coming down really seemed
like an option now, as tattered sails and snapped rigging lines flapped and
fluttered about like airborne serpents, slamming into one another with knots
and tethered iron rings that shattered wooden crossties and only seemed to tear
more debris free to add to the hellish dance below her. No, brazen as she was, there was no way
in hell the teen was about to-
A flash of lightning lit up the
darkened seascape, illuminating the raging waves and every last pelting
raindrop for an instant as and ear-splitting crack of thunder roared
overhead. A brilliant electric
fork spiked down from the clouds to the ocean surface not twenty yards away,
the winds carrying the scent of ozone, charred fish, and scorched sea salt to
her nose as evaporated steam hissed up from the point of impact and the thunder
rolled ominously overhead.
Lita paled. It didnÕt take a genius to realize the
rolling seas of the storm were swiftly carrying the ship up and down between
the highest peak on the horizon and the lowest like a sadistic sine wave Ð and
the crowÕs nest had the dubious distinction of being at the very top of the
tallest mast on the ship. All it would take would be a bit more pitch than yaw,
and her perch would be creamed with a wall of thoroughly unforgiving
seawater. She let go of the mast
and gripped the nestÕs railing, squinting through the torrential rain to peer
at the ropes whipping about between her and the deck. Swallowing hard, she grit her teeth, tensed, -
- and vaulted over the railing to
the darkness below, a split-second before a bolt of lightning split the skies
once more, snaking down to strike the abandoned crowÕs nest in an explosion of
sparks and splintered wood.
The rope bit and tore into her
hands as she grasped it, fingers wrapping around the weathered and
wind-hardened braided cord as she sought to slow her fall. But the rope and her hands were slick
with rain, and though Lita had a hold on it, her grip slid down the surface of
the rigging, guiding her fall and swinging her out along the length of the ship
like a maritime Tarzan. And then
she was grasping only air, the snapped end of the rope line slipping through
her fingers as she sailed through the air, backflipping as best she could in
freefall in an attempt to right herself.
Her fingers met the canvas of a
sail as she fell, desperately seeking purchase on its smooth surface and the
wooden crosstie holding the end of the sail in place, but her grip failed on
the rain-slicked wood, and the tie slid from her grasp as a gust of wind shook
the structure. Falling again, she
flailed out her arms, plunging one purely by chance through the wide mesh of
the rope-ladders running up the sides of the shipÕs masts. She swung her other hand up to grab the
mesh as her tangled arm jerked her around in the air, legs kicking out to
thread through the mesh and help keep her in place. She hung there for a minute, buffeted by the galeÕs winds
and pelting rain, trying to catch her breath and slow the panicked beating of
her heart.
ÒToo close,Ó she gasped, looking
back the way sheÕd come. ÒWAY too close.Ó
Perhaps it was time to add a pair of fingerless rubber-grip gloves to
her ensemble, to prevent a repeat of that terrifying flight. She cast a glance behind her at the
deck, still a staggering forty feet away.
For now, it looked as if the rope ladder was her best bet; so long as
its supports held, it would take her all the way down.
***************
Below her, Bob was busily shouting
orders to his crew as they scrambled about the deck, desperately trying to tie
off the broken rigging and roll up the sails before the gale-force winds
currently wracking the ship tore the masts from the deck. HeÕd donned a wide-brimmed hat to
shield his eyes from the rain, but with the wind blowing sheets of water nearly
horizontal, it seemed a lost cause at this point. Behind him, Beak was at the shipÕs wheel, fighting the
raging seas in an attempt to guide the schooner down the path of least
resistance, and hopefully out of this dreadful storm. Bob wasnÕt sure how much more of a pounding his ship could
take; everywhere he looked, waves were washing over the siderails, bathing the
decks in a slippery coating of seawater, tangles of seaweed, and scores of
unfortunate, flopping fish. Many
of his men had tied ropes to the mast and lashed them about their waists, and
with every violent pitch of the waves and rush of seawater, more and more of
them lost their footing, bouncing along the surface of the deck and tumbling
into their fellow crewmates as they struggled to get back to their feet. Those tethered to the mast usually
recovered, if their tumble hadnÕt knocked them unconscious or strangled them
with their own safety line, but those whose ropes snapped or who hadnÕt had the
time to secure themselves were unfailingly swept overboard, their screams
rapidly lost in the roar of the waves, the howls of the sails, and ceaseless
crashes of thunder.
The latest victim of the waves
clutched desperately at the supports on rigging ladder alongside the bowside
mast, his weight and momentum tearing three of the five ropes free before
pitching him into the churning waters below. There was a yelping shriek as the rope ladder jerked seaward
and twisted Ôround its remaining supports, and the turncoat rabbit girl hit the
deck with a thud, landing in what sheÕd probably meant to be a crouch but the
pitching deckÕs slick surface and dangerous angle turned into a sprawling
roll. Himself securely lashed to
the steps by the upper poop deck, Bob could only watch as the seawater swept
her across the deck. He saw the
flash of a knife as the teen plunged the blade into the floorboards to stop her
tumbling, watched as she slowly clawed her way along the length of the ship by
means of both her knife and whatever tangled bits of rope provided her with a
purchase.
ÒHere, now,Ó Bob scowled, shouting
over the wind as the teen sprinted for the door to below-decks, ÒJust what do
you think youÕre doing?!Ó He
angrily motioned to the sharply-snapping canvas steadily whipping itself to
shreds overhead as the heavy wooden masts screamed from the strain their wildly
wrenching tethers put on them.
ÒGet back aloft and strike those sails afore these winds bring them and the masts crashing down around our ears!Ó
The rabbit shot him a look of utter
disbelief. ÒOh, screw that! Bad
enough the stormÕs tearing through the rigging and smashing through
cross-posts, but between the rain and waves the size of office buildings you
canÕt even tell which endÕs up!
ItÕs suicide up there!Ó
ÒDonÕt argue with me, young-Ó
Yet another huge wave swamped the deck, leaving Bob newly-drenched and
sputtering between the rails and Lita clutching desperately at the swinging
door as the ship rolled beneath their feet. As the pitching ship leveled once more, Bob caught sight of
the girl dashing into the belly of the ship. ÒHey! Get back
here, you! IÕll Ð IÕll dock your
pay! Order you flogged! Sentence you to keel-haul-Ó
His words were drowned out by a
crash of thunder and cracking timber, the sound barely giving him enough
warning time to leap out of the path of a splintered crossbeam. The waves were slamming into them
broadside now, he noticed. Grasping
the shipÕs wheel alongside Beak in an attempt to turn them back into the wind
to avoid the worst of the stormÕs fury, he scowled at the door to belowdecks
that now hung agape. Did the
little turncoat feel it was safer down there, he wondered, or was she simply
rushing to his nemesisÕ side? For
as dangerous as it was up here on the decks, the levels down below would now be
a hellish maelstrom of swinging doom, tumbling debris, flooding cargo bays, and
terrified bilge rats.
Meanwhile, on the bowsprit, a
terrified Gracie screamed, choking on a mouthful of frigid saltwater as the
sounds of creaking wood and splitting ropes reached her ears ahead of yet
another racing wall of angry sea.
***************
Iiwi shrieked as the winds around
her tossed the Flier about like an errant scrap of paper. She was high enough to be above the
rains, but was caught in the midst of an endless expanse of storm clouds. Lightning lit the churning expanses of
gray both above and below her, occasionally streaking seaward in terrifically
pronged forks of brilliant light and scorching ozone, the electric static
lingering in the air standing her feathers on end. The winds up here were every bit as violent as those below,
rising and falling currents colliding all around her and buffeting her about in
an unending cycle of downspouts, updrafts, and gale-force whirlwinds that spun
her about like a top. She had no
control over her direction anymore, or even her altitude; it was hard enough
just trying to orient herself rightside-up, and knowing when to close her wings
and go limp versus riding a current that caught her and swept her along.
A sudden gust of wind shot her
skywards through another layer of clouds, pitching her end-over-end before a
swiftly-rushing gale snatched her up and dragged her after it. The air was surprisingly thin up here,
she thought drowsily, watching the violently flashing clouds flowing around the
eye of the storm like an angry milky way.
The current carried her higher, the cold temperatures of the increasing
altitude biting through layers of down feathers flattened to her side by the
windÕs speed. Her last thoughts as
darkness encroached her field of vision were of her friends down below in a
pair of rickety old boats.
Will I ever see them again? Will I even see land again?
***************
ÒGet me out of here!Ó Ivan
bellowed, rushing the bars of his cell as the churning mess of waist-high water
flooding the brig crashed around his ears once more.
ÒIÕm trying, boss!Ó the sign holder
cried, although in truth the kid had his hands full just keeping himself afloat
and away from the sharp edges of the roomÕs stairs and cell corners as the
floodwaters tossed him this way and that with every pitch and whirl of the
ship.
ÒBoss!Ó a sodden Lita appeared in
the swaying doorway, steadying herself there for a moment before pitching
herself forward over the stairs as the ship lurched with the waves. She landed with a splash, the water
softening her impact and sparing her any worries of slipping on the
treacherously slicked stairs.
ÒWhere have you been, rabbit!Ó Ivan yelled at his waterlogged ward, ÒIÕm
about to drown in here!Ó
ÒItÕs hell and a hurricane outside,
boss,Ó Lita grinned, hefting a lengthy, brush-tipped cannon-loader above her
head, ÒBut I think IÕve things figured out. Found this by the second-level cannons, and IÕm fairly
certain the staffÕs solid iron, from the weight of it.Ó
ÒYes, well, congratulations on your
new stick. Now get me out of here!Ó
The teen frowned, sliding the
cannon-loader between the loop of chain securing the battered corner of the
kiwiÕs cell with a huff. ÒYou
know, whatÕs the point of sending me off to school if youÕre not gonna let me
impart a bit oÕ that knowledge when something I learn actually proves useful,Ó she grumbled, turning the staff end over end,
twisting the rusted chain tight.
Tugging the tangle outside the bars and resting the staff against one
row of bars, she winched the staff around like a vise, glancing back at the
sign holder, whoÕd anchored himself to the stairsÕ railing. ÒSee, kid, you wind this up like so,
gradually increasing the strain on the chain links. The staffÕs thicker and stronger than the chain, so it wonÕt
break or bend to relieve that strain, and the bars hold the staff in place,
taking off most of the torque the twists in the chain are building up; thatÕs
what lets me keep twisting it one way while the strain on the chains is trying
to push it the other way.Ó
ÒIs this physics lesson going
anywhere?Ó Ivan grumbled.
ÒIn theory,Ó Lita grunted, struggling
to twist the pipe around a few more times as the chain held it fast in place,
ÒSince both the staff and the chain are iron, and the staffÕs thicker and a
single continuous piece, it can withstand more force than the chain. And since the chain is made up of
links, and each individual link in the chain has a welded joint that is its
weakest point, all IÕve gotta do is put the right amount of pressure on this
sucker, and the weakest link oughtta sna-Ó There was a metallic groan from the
chain, followed by a loud pinging sound as the chain appeared to release its
hold on the bars and lunge at the rabbit braced against the bars with her feet,
sending Lita sprawling backwards onto her tail. ÒOof!Ó
ÒWoo-hoo!Ó the sign holder cheered,
swaying with the ship as the waves pitched their world sideways again. The entire side of IvanÕs cell swung
with them. ÒYou did it, Lita!Ó
Ivan was out of the cell in a
flash, clinging to the end of a table for balance and favoring his wards with a
relieved grin. ÒStill think
schoolÕs a waste of time, Farlane?Ó
ÒI think if Mr. SchniebelÕs gonna leave out a thing like the
resultant level of recoil when the chain finally breaks, heÕs got no right to
mark me down for blowing up my circuitboards,Ó the teen grumbled, rubbing a welt
on her cheek from where the cannon-loader had sprung back and struck her.
***************
Thunder crashed outside the cramped captainÕs quarters, rattling the
panes of glass in the rows of windows lining the back wall, drops of rain
squeezing through tiny holes and misaligned joints as the wind threatened to
break right through the sashes and into the dismal and dark - but relatively
dry - sanctuary.
Bobetta cowered atop the bedÕs
tattered covers, thankful that those pieces of the captainÕs furniture not
built into the walls were apparently nailed securely to the floor. It was bad enough that those nasty
pirates had destroyed her beautiful yacht; now a terrible storm raged outside,
and her beloved was out there in it, shouting like a maniac and doubtless
getting drenched in saltwater and icky seaweed.
And on top of all that, all this
lurching about was making her seasick.
There was a loud crash as a torn
bit of rigging with a scrap of sail and metal loop at the end smashed into the
windows, shattering the lower corner of a window, bracing and all. Freezing cold rain rushed through the
opening in the window, and as she rushed over to see if there was some way she
could shutter the gap before the cold and damp completely overwhelmed the
cabin, the shipÕs stern splashed down heavily, spraying her with seawater as a
wave rushed past the windows and tossed a fish right into the heiressÕ face.
With a shriek, she jumped back, flailing at the horrid thing as it
battered her with its tail and fell away from her. It landed on the sill with a wet, slimy sound, flopping and
gasping on the rain-drenched wood as it tried in vain to flip itself back in
the water.
ÒOhhh, ewww,Ó Bobetta squealed, creeping towards the creature
with a grimace and fighting her gag reflex and a churning stomach as she batted
the fish back out the window. ÒEw,
ew, ew!Ó She backed away from the windows in
disgust, wiping her hands off on the skirt of her dress as she fled.
Then she caught herself, and stared
down in horror at the slimy blotches now marring the beautiful pink satin and
lace. And now her hands and her dress smelled of disgusting fish! With a sob, she flung herself back onto
the lumpy old bed that reeked of mildew and unwashed fur and huddled as far as
she could in her little corner, silently weeping at the stains and torn hem of
her ruined dress and at the utter miserableness of surrounding her. This was the absolute worst birthday ever.
***************
Lightning flashed across the sky,
illuminating the turbulent walls of water rising and falling all around them as
the longboat skidded and spun along the waves, rocketing up to the peaks of one
wave only to have the swell abruptly disappear beneath them and send the boat
bouncing and streaming down the sides of the next. Swells forced the boat along sideways, swamping its sides
and rocking it dangerously, the opposing forces of the crashing waves often the
only thing keeping the tiny craft from capsizing.
The gale-force winds pulled at the
rain-soaked forms of those aboard the battered boat, jostling them about as
they attempted to tie their provisions in place with fingers quickly going numb
from the unrelenting sheets of rain pounding down on them from all sides.
ÒOh, shoot!Ó Ferdia shouted as a
passing wave jarred the boat from the side, splintering an oar-lock and swiftly
carrying off the oar it had held.
She leaned over the side of the boat, trying in vain to reach the lost
oar before the sea claimed it.
ÒForget it!Ó Squeaks tugged her
back in by the back of her jacket as the waves lurched the other way, sending
the longboat careening backwards down a swell the height of a roller-coaster
drop.
ÒÕere!Ó Biggs called to the
detectives, holding two sodden lengths of rope out to them, ÒTie yeÕselves
tÕsommat sturdy afore thÕ waves knock ye intae thÕ drink!Ó
Ferdia looped the rope around her
waist, kneeling by the bow of the boat to fasten the other end around the seat
anchoring their provisions in place.
As she did so, she caught sight of the life preserver theyÕd salvaged
earlier. ÒSqueaks!Ó She held the shiny red vest up and
shouted over the roar of the driving rain.
The mouse shook his head, busy
securing his own lifeline to his belt.
ÒYou wear it!Ó
ÒButÉÓ Ferdia frowned. There was, after all, only one of the
vests. ÒIf the ship goes down-Ó
ÒDonÕt argue with me, Birdie!Ó her
partner snapped as the boat tipped dangerously on its side, ÒTrust me,Ó he
said, locking eyes with her as the three of them braced themselves against the
opposite side of the boat until the swell tossing them about dropped the boat
back to a more level position, ÒIf this boat starts to sink, you and that vest
are the first thing IÕm latching onto!Ó
Biggs paused in his hurried
attempts to bail out the water the waves were dumping inside the boat with his
hat, ÒLads, ifÕn this Ôere boat starts tae sink, tÕainÕt gonÕ matter much ooÕs got thÕ shiny vest! Now, git yer daft hides sommat tae bail out this water, or
Davy JonesÕll get us yet!Ó
With a glance back at his partner,
Squeaks shrugged, snatching up a tin cup as it floated by his ankle and
scooping out water as best he could with it as Ferdia struggled with the
awkward adjustment straps on the life preserver Ð a task made all the more
difficult by torrential rains that seemed determined to pelt down on them until
every last square inch of the castaways and their provisions were soaked to the
skin. The vinyl cording seemed
unwilling to thread through the slick plastic straps, and when it finally did so, a mere tug in the opposite direction sent it
unraveling once more. When at last
she was satisfied that it was on securely and not about to slip off, she cast
about for a makeshift bucket, gripping the sides of the pitching boat to steady
herself.
The winds were picking up now,
blasting rain and sea spray in their faces and rocking the boat almost more
violently than the churning seas beneath them. One particularly strong gust picked up the faltering rubber
raft trailing behind them and lifted it into the air like a kite, the stern of
the boat groaning in protest as the raftÕs mooring line held it fast. The raft kicked and twisted in the air
behind them, stubbornly tugging the stern of the boat off the surface as it
dragged the boat backwards. A
rushing wave caught them broadside, swamping the boat and snapping it around
dangerously before sending the raft somersaulting back into the sea.
ÒCut that thing loose before it
gets us killed!Ó Squeaks shouted to the marten, as Biggs was closest to the
stern. That last wave had knocked
most of their stowed provisions free, and the struggling longboat was sitting
dangerously low in the water as he and his partner worked frantically to bail
the boat out.
ÒAye!Ó Biggs shouted, moving to cut
the raftÕs mooring line as another gust lifted the craft into the air again.
As the pirate captain began sawing
through the tether, however, the winds carried them backwards up another swell,
knocking him back towards the bow with the line half-cut. The ragged cut in the rope began to unravel
further as the wind pulled at the airborne raft, twisting it about like a sail
only half-secured. Biggs made a
lunge for the line, but missed as the boat pitched back once more, sending him
tumbling towards the bow once more.
Ferdia leapt out of the captainÕs path with a yelp as his knife caught
the edge of her life vest, pausing in a half-crouch midway along the boat to
avoid the crisscrossing lifelines snaking along the bottom of the boat just
beneath the surface of the water.
ÒGet down!Ó
SqueaksÕ shout reached her ears
just above the near-deafening roar of wind and sleeting rain, but something
slammed into her hard from the side before she could comply. She heard the snapping of rope, felt
something pull taught, then slip free around her middle, and had just enough
time to register the scent of rubber and sensation of flight before frigid
black waves engulfed her world.
IÕm off the boat!
She surfaced in a panic, spitting
up a mouthful of seawater and frantically searching for the longboat as the
yellow raft bounced off the waves behind her with a sound not unlike that of a
beach ball. ÒSqueaks!Ó she
shouted, ÒWhere are you?!?Ó
ÒFerdia!Ó
There he was! A half a dozen yards to her left,
though that distance was increasing fast as the pitching waves swept her
further and further away from the boat.
With a strangled cry, she struck out for the boat, fighting the fierce
storm currents and angry winds that tugged at her and pushed her back. Her struggles didnÕt seem to be making
much of a difference on her heading, but maybe if she held out a bit longer,
the turbulent swells would toss her back to themÉ
ÒSqueaks!Ó A wave arched high over her head,
sweeping her up and flipping her around as it came crashing back to the
churning seas. Again, the buoyancy
of her life preserver brought her back to the surface, but it seemed as if the
distance between her and the boat had doubled just in that small amount of
time. ÒHelp me!Ó
Squeaks took a step back, then made
a running leap off the edge of the longboat Ð
- only to be caught around the waist
and hauled backwards in a modified bear hug by the hulking figure of Biggs.
ÒLet go!Ó
ÒDunÕ be daft, lad!Ó the pirate
captain shouted above FerdiaÕs cries for help as the mouse struggled to break
free, ÒeÕs been knocked free oÕ Ôis lifeline anÕ thÕ currentÕs got Ôim! YeÕll nae reach Ôim!Ó
ÒSqueaks!Ó
ÒIÕm not about to leave her to
die!Ó Squeaks retorted, pushing off the martenÕs knee with one foot and
swinging the other back as hard as he could.
Biggs winced and sagged forward a
bit as the blow connected, but kept his grip on the mouse and dodged a
head-butt all the same. So the
ladÕs a lass, eh? he
mused. These Colonials are a breed apart, indeed. Out loud, however, he
said only, ÒFight dirty all ye want, son; makes nae diffÕrence. IÕm a pirate by trade, mind, thereÕs
nae much ye kin do whatÕs nae bin done tÕme before.Ó And IÕm routinely heftinÕ shipments oÕ moreÕn
twelve stone about the ship, so keepinÕ a boyish lad like yerself in place is
simple enoughÉ
ÒHelp!Ó
The mouseÕs hand leapt to the
captainÕs own belt and pulled one of the martenÕs many knives from its
sheath. Biggs instinctively
shifted his grip to catch the arm and the sailorÕs neck in the crook of his
elbow, tightening his grip to a chokehold around his captiveÕs neck. Then again, maybe ye do have a few tricks I havenÕt seen afore,
he amended. ÒSorry Ôbout this,
lad,Ó he hissed as the mouseÕs struggles began to weaken, ÒBut I may need a
secÕnd set oÕ hands later, anÕ IÕll nae have ye throwinÕ yer life away now!Ó
A hundred feet away from them, gasping for air as
frigid waves swept her under time and time again as if unable to grasp the
concept of something staying afloat amidst their fury, blinded by stinging
saltwater and driving rain, exhausted from her efforts, and swiftly approaching
hoarse from her screams, Ferdia could only watch through the glimpses the
rising swells gave her as her partner struggled in vain with the pirate and the
waves carried her further and further away from tiny longboat, until she could
see nothing in the blackness around her but flashing lightning, cascading rain,
and crashing waves that towered above her like skyscrapers and tossed her about
like a lost childÕs toy.
ÒHEEEEEEEEEEELP!Ó
***************
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