Eventually the storm broke, as all
storms do, and dawn found the battered longboat swept ashore on a beach by the
last of the galeÕs angry waves, cast far beyond the normal high tide mark as
the ocean receded once more, the past nightÕs fury long forgotten save for the
unusual bits of debris and driftwood left strewn about the sand.
The sun beat down on the occupants
of the boat, warming their bodies and drying their waterlogged clothes as
seagulls flew overhead in search of beached fish and other tasty morsels. After a while, one particularly brave
gull alighted on the ruined oar-lock along the boatÕs rim, peering into the
storm-delivered beach curiosityÕs depths in search of food.
There was a big white thing lying
inside the storm-fishÕs belly.
(Seagulls do not understand the concept of boats. They do, however, understand the
general principle of fish carcasses floating ashore.) The white thing didnÕt look like a fish, but by seagull logic, just because something didnÕt look like a fish didnÕt mean it was actually not a fish.
In fact, from the seagullsÕ point of view, they got
fish-that-didnÕt-look-like-fish on this beach all the time Ð especially
after storms. A smarter creature might have attached names like octopus, shrimp,
and giant sea-monster to these
un-fish, but your garden-variety seagull has a brain the size of a macadamia
nut, and at any rate thinks itself quite sophisticated with its three-tiered categorization scheme (fish,
not-fish, and not-food). After
all, there were bunches of tiny twittering finches further inland on the island
that could only group things in two
categories: food and things-to-poop-on.
This particular seagull thought of
itself as a kind of prodigy, because it had come up with a hypothesis that some
things that looked like fish were
actually not fish. (Again, a brighter bird might have
termed these things whales and dolphin, but weÕll let that go for now.) It had run into quite a bit of
resistance to its theory, however, and thus tended to scavenge its meals
alone. Perhaps, it thought to itself, if I find some
especially tasty fish, and share
it with the others, they will stop trying to drive me into the sea. Which, in seagull, translates into
approximately, ÒKree?Ó
That said, the seagull leaned
forward for an experimental taste of the white possibly-not-fishÕs
possible-fin. It tasted like sea
salt. But, then, so did most of
the things that storms washed ashore.
The seagull reached over for a more informative nibble.
The thing in the storm-fishÕs belly
jerked awake with a start, sending the seagull screaming away in alarm.
Squeaks rubbed his nipped ear
sourly, scowling after the bird that had roused him for a moment until the
sunÕs rays and the beachÕs tall, rustling sea-oats awakened him to another
reality: land.
He was out of the boat in a flash,
landing on cramped leg muscles that protested all this sudden movement and
threatened to buckle beneath him unless he stretched them properly. This he did, grudgingly, sore muscles
resisting the movement at first before fading to a dull ache. His throat hurt as well, and as the
memories of why returned to him, he
turned and dashed toward the sound of the oceanÕs wavesÉ
Éand was promptly jerked back onto
his tail by the forgotten lifeline.
The knot looped around his belt was so completely encrusted with dried
sea-salt that it wouldnÕt budge; he had to undo the belt latch and thread the
rope off manually to free himself.
That done, he sprinted down the beach to the waterÕs edge, eyes scanning
the wide stretch of sea and shoreline Ð half of him wanting desperately to find
some sign of a red life preserver; the other worried about just what such a
find might entail.
Ò Ôtis a fine beach,Ó a voice broke
through his thoughts. Squeaks
rounded on its source, ears swept back and stance poised to attack the graying
marten strolling casually out of the tropical forest behind the longboat,
causing the pirate to pause halfway down the tide slope. ÒEasy, now, lad,Ó Biggs cajoled,
raising his arms in mock surrender, ÒÕreÕs naught tÕbe gained by fightinÕ now,
is there? IÕm sorry about thÕ
lass, truly I am - but ifnÕtÕwerenÕt fer me stoppinÕ yer then, thereÕd nae be a ye tÕbe mad at me now, ye ken?Ó
SqueaksÕ scowl deepened, glaring at
the pirate captain. Logic was not
what he wanted to hear at the moment, and the marten was a person he wanted to
see even less. He found himself suddenly roiling for a fight, and with a
sort of detached clarity realized that a lifetime of training and discipline
was steadily losing out to the more visceral and primitive desire to rush the
grinning pirate in a primal rage.
His hindbrain absolutely insisted the latter would make him feel better, despite the more rational
portion of his mindÕs cold reminder that even vengeance-killing was
murder. He wavered for a moment, pitting
his gut reaction against professionalism and self-control, and in the end conceded
that an immediate tactical withdrawal was going to be necessary to avoid
bloodshed. Very deliberately, he
straightened out of fighting stance, forcing the look of anger from his
face. He was a professional, after
all, therefore he would act like
one.
At least, that was the plan. But one look at the bedraggled pirate
captainÕs infuriatingly complacent grin set his blood boiling again, and no
amount of self-control seemed about to remedy that. ÒIÕve
nothing to say to you,Ó he spat,
stalking off down the beach as fast dignity and an inner voice bellowing a call
to arms allowed.
ÒWill ye nae be wantinÕ a bit oÕ fresh water afore settinÕ off on a
hike like that?Ó the marten called after him, shaking the half-filled flask of
drinking water heÕd allotted them back on the ship.
ÒIÕll find my own.Ó I hope.
ÒOh, aye? AnÕ I suppose yeÕll wash off all that sea-salt then, too, eh?Ó
ÒI suppose I will.Ó Absolutely. StuffÕs
caked on like dried mud.
ÒItches somethinÕ terrible, donÕ
it?Ó
ÒIt doesnÕt.Ó Ohhh yes it does.
But we seem to be the only one
caked in it, a voice at the back of his
mind piped up. Squeaks halted briefly,
turning around to look back at the smug-looking marten. It was true; the pirate didnÕt appear
to have so much as a speck of sea-salt on his coat. That seemed like a terrible waste of limited drinking water,
unlessÉ ÒYou know where thereÕs water,Ó he ventured.
ÒThet ye didnae have anythinÕ ter
say tÕme,Ó the marten grinned.
ÒThatÕs right Ð I donÕt.Ó His
anger rushed back as swiftly as it had abated, a heady rush of blood pounding
so loudly as to blot the sounds of the beach from his ears, hands clenching unbidden
into fists at his side as a voice like black velvet whispered to him from the
past. Revenge is not
about getting something back, it purred, revenge is about getting even.
HeÕd hoped to never make sense of
those words.
ÒÕey, now, wait a minute, lad,Ó
Biggs called after him as the mouse bolted down the beach at a dead run, intent
on distancing himself from the pirate as much as possible lest he act against
his better judgment, ÒI was only joshinÕ with ye, I was!Ó
Despite his entreaties and
protestations, the pirate remained where he was as Squeaks raced out of sight. Joshing or no, Biggs wasnÕt about to
chase after the mouse Ð the old pirate knew his limits, after all, and if the
younger man wanted to run along the beach like a madman at nigh onto midday,
then that was his own fool business.
Odds are weÕve come ashore on one oÕ the many lonely little islands
oÕ the Caribbean, he nodded to himself, in
which case, the ladÕll lap the beach anÕ be back at the boat by sundown.
Perhaps by then, the mouse would have
sufficiently cooled down, and regained enough of his senses to work with his
fellow castaway again. Survival on
a desert isle was difficult enough when one was alone; but survival on a desert
isle when the only other soul for miles refused to speak to a body Ð now that was torture.
***************
Iiwi awoke to the rather disconcerting
feeling of not knowing where she was; a feeling made all the worse by the fact
that she couldnÕt remember what it was sheÕd been doing before falling
asleep. It was a disorienting
sensation she didnÕt experience very often, and for good reason: she hated it! In
her experience, it generally meant sheÕd been hit with some kind of
tranquilizer dart, knockout gas, or an equally unfriendly form of greeting Ð
and like most in her line of work, she always liked to know where she was and
how sheÕd gotten there. It could
mean the difference between life and death at times.
Like now, for instance. She was reasonably comfortable, and
could feel something supple but supportive beneath her outstretched wings and
across her torso Ð and yet she also had a sensation of weightlessness. There was nothing within reach of her
dangling talons, as if she were being suspended in the air somehow, and the
scent of seawater and palm oil permeated her senses, bringing back memories of
her nestling home and OzzieÕs oceanfront bungalow.
A beach, then. Except
it didnÕt quite feel like she was in a hammock - the pattern of support was too
random. And at any rate, she never
slept with her wings outspread; like any flying bird, she folded them carefully
at her sides, mindful that any other position would net her nothing but bent
primaries and a morning-ful of preening the next day. Besides, her home was gone, and Ozzie was dead.
A breeze rustled through her
feathers just then, and in a flash, she remembered the past nightÕs nightmare
ride aloft in what had very likely been a small hurricane. Her eyes snapped open.
A short, involuntary gasp escaped
her throat as she took in her surroundings. She was dangling some thirty feet above a tropical forest
floor, held in place by an umbrella of overlapping palm fronds. A stream burbled over ferns and loose
river stones a mile or so to her left, and a beach just was visible through the
fronds to her right, at the far edge of the lush forest.
Oookay, she blinked, drawing her feet back towards her body
because having them dangle in the air felt odd, as if she were landing but had
gotten stuck in the air halfway to the ground. Now, how to get down from hereÉshe glanced around: nothing
but palm fronds on her level, and nothing but air at her feet. She was too far from the palmÕs trunk
to kick off of it, and she couldnÕt quite reach the fronds across her chest
with her feet either. That left
her suspended largely by her wings on springy fronds. With nothing to push off from, she doubted she could launch
herself into flight; the fronds would probably absorb the motion of her wings,
robbing her of the lift her wingbeats produced. And she wasnÕt about to try sliding off the fronds; if sheÕd
sustained any further injuries to her wings during her unconscious landing than
she had in her tumultuous struggle amidst gale-force winds before blacking out,
thirty feet above the ground in freefall was not the time to find out about it.
Perhaps she could flutter her wings
a bit, just enough to lift and drag herself a little bit further forward onto
the fronds Ð enough to grasp at a them with her talons, and find a place to
perch properly.
She tried flapping her wings, and
almost immediately regretted doing so.
To be sure, nothing felt as if it were broken, thankfully Ð but oh, how they ached! It felt
as if sheÕd strained and pulled every last muscle in her wings Ð and, given the
beating and buffeting sheÕd taken at the mercies of the storm winds, she very
likely had. Still, hamstrung or not, a wounded
runner can limp to safety; likewise, she managed to struggle up onto the fronds,
gingerly folding her tender wings as she debated her next course of action.
ÒWhat I could really use now,Ó she
sighed to herself, Òis a little help.Ó
Not ten heartbeats after the words
were out of her mouth, a white form in tattered navy rags jogged into view
along the line of debris on the beach.
Iiwi blinked, incredulous. Redbird,
someone is really looking out
for you today, she mused.
It isnÕt perhaps DaÕs birthday, is it?
ÒOmigosh,Ó she chirped anxiously as
the mouse continued on along the beach, ÒSqueaks! Squea-eeks! Squeaks! Over here!Ó she yelled,
standing up on tip-toe and flaring out her wings as much as she dared as the
mouse paused and looked out over the ocean. ÒHeeeeeey!Ó
His ears flicked back towards the
forest, and he turned, finally catching sight of her amongst the treetops. ÒIiwi!Ó
ÒYes! Yes,Ó she shouted as he
trotted up the sandy slope, ÒWho else?Ó
ÒItÕs good to see you again,Ó he
greeted her, slowing as he neared her tree.
ÒYes, well, youÕre a sight for sore
eyes, let me tell you,Ó she grinned through the palm fronds, ÒHelp me down,
willya? That storm did a number on
my wings.Ó
ÒIÕll bet it did. I havenÕt got any rope, though; think
you could manage a jump?Ó
ÒJump?Ó She peered at him critically. ÒAre you serious?Ó
ÒAbsolutely. YouÕre, what, thirty pounds?Ó (AuthorÕs
Ornithology Note: Birds have hollow bones, and thus only weigh about a third of
a similarly-sized mammal. IiwiÕs
only about 4Õ6Ó; the mammalian weight range of a petite female, i.e. 90 Ð 100
pounds. Though as an active athlete,
sheÕs mostly fluff and muscle, and if anyone tells her I said that, I will deny
it under oath and send you my hospital bills...)
ÒPlease,Ó the Flier snorted, ÒTwenty-eight. Possibly less, after a day and a half
of hard flying and no food.Ó
ÒStill fairly light by mammalian
standards,Ó he smirked. ÒReally,
now, we do this all the time with kids that get themselves stuck up a tree-Ó Ð here
she stuck her tongue out at him Ð ÒJust drop down, and IÕll catch you.Ó
She hesitated. ÒSqueaks, falling like that goes
against everything IÕve learned since before I was a fledgling.Ó
ÒSo flare your wings out, if it
helps you rationalize it. I
promise, IÕll catch you.Ó
ÒTrust games go against my better
nature as well,Ó Iiwi muttered, slowly edging forward on the fronds. ÒReady?Ó
ÒIÕm ready.Ó
ÒAlright, then, here I go!Ó she
pushed herself off the fronds, flaring her wings out but keeping them limp to
minimize the strain on her muscles.
She felt a brief rush of air whistle through her feathers Ð and, as
promised, Squeaks caught her, and set her gently on the ground. ÒNice catch,Ó she commented, folding
her wings gingerly across her back and peering past him to the shore
beyond. ÒSo, what, you making a
circuit of the beach, picking up salvage?Ó
ÒSomething like that,Ó the mouse
allowed, brushing a layer of salt crystals off his arms somewhat distractedly.
Iiwi looked at him more
closely. ÒHey, youÕre covered in
that stuff. Wanna wash it
off? Or at least stop for a drink
of water? I caught sight of a
stream running through the forest just a bit further inÉÓ
SqueaksÕ ears perked up at the
mention of water. ÒSounds good.Ó
ÒGreat. Follow me, then,Ó the Flier hopped around, striking out in
the direction of the stream.
At least my legs are fine, she
noted with relief. Hiking may have
been a far cry from her list of favorite pastimes, but it was better than the
alternative, which was being carted around like an invalid while she waited for
her torn muscles to knit. She set
a leisurely pace across the underbrush, pausing every now and then to check her
bearings Ð her orienteering skills were predominantly wired for aerial maneuvers,
not pedestrian ones Ð or carefully pick her way around this or that thorny
outcropping. Several times she made an attempt at
idle conversation, none of which lasted more than a few moments as the task of
finding the stream required most of her concentration and her companion seemed
disinclined to keep the conversation going on his own. Eventually she gave up and shifted all
her attention to locating freshwater as Squeaks followed her wordlessly; and
after another fifteen minutes of walking in somber silence, the two of them
reached the trickling stream, and traced it back to a small cascading waterfall
and pool.
By now, however, Iiwi, a detective
by training if not entirely by trade, had picked up on her companionÕs
distracted state of mind. It
wasnÕt like the mouse to be so unfocused, even when he was tired to the point
of exhaustion, and she couldnÕt think of a time when he hadnÕt had a string of
wry comments on-hand to lighten the mood of any situation, lest morale take a
hit and fears or fatalism begin to take a hold on the group. It was, as heÕd explained once, a
carry-over from his Arellian training.
But, then, he usually had Ferdia to join in on the banter, and right
now, the bluebird was nowhere in sight.
A very worrisome thought crossed
the FlierÕs mind.
ÒSay, Squeaks?Ó she queried, as he knelt
at the edge of the pool and splashed cool water on his face before beginning to
scrub at the dried sea salt caking his arms, ÒWhereÕs Ferdia?Ó
The mouse froze for an instant,
then looked away.
ÒOh,Ó Iiwi blinked. Caught
on open ocean in a hurricane, in that rickety old boat and no lifejacketsÉ ÒOh, Squeaks, IÕm sorry. IÕm so, so sorryÉÓ
***************
ÒI am going to kill Bob,Ó Ivan growled, shouldering open the door to the
cramped but empty livestock closet and brushing grungy chicken feathers off his
arms, ÒMake me hide in a chicken
coopÉ.Never been so insulted in my lifeÉÓ
His wards knew better than to point
out that it had been IvanÕs own idea to stow themselves in the wooden niche
during the storm - at the time, it had seemed to be the only self-contained,
leak-free shelter devoid of deadly ordinance, bone-crushing unsecured cannons,
or dangerous flying objects (either the pirates had no chickens, or the fowl
had fled their dark coop when the door had opened earlier). But that didnÕt mean they wouldnÕt
argue with him.
ÒAw, come on, boss,Ó Lita
protested, ÒWhy kill him now, when we
can wait just a bit longer for him to regain his memory? I mean, ÔPirateÕ Bob is borderline
psychotic; imagine what ÔHeroicÕ Bob will think of how heÕs acted?Ó
Ivan kicked at the remnants of a
nest of twigs that had somehow gotten caught on his foot. ÒSorry, Farlane, but the mental torment
of my nemesis just isnÕt going to cut it this time.Ó
ÒWhat
about Bobetta?Ó the teen countered, following behind Ivan and the sign holder
as the Mafioso splashed through thigh-high puddles of stagnant water and climbed
over piles of broken debris, splintered support beams, and the occasional squashed
pirate, ÒShe anÕ Gracie are gonna be so pissed at him-Ó
ÒAnd just what makes you think I
give a flying-Ó he checked himself with a glance at the Sign Holder, muting the
curse but continuing his tirade without missing a beat, Ò-about San VianoÕs
fluff-brained little neophyte princess?Ó the kiwi snapped. ÒI only associate with her to annoy
Bob!Ó
ÒI thought you liked annoying her, too.Ó
ÒSide benefit, but not enough to save him. In addition to the indignity of forcing me to take shelter in a chicken coop, according to you he ran an injured Iiwi off the ship
and left the detectives adrift in a rowboat. Do you honestly believe any of them made it through last nightÕs storm?Ó
ÒWell, yeah,Ó the rabbit frowned,
following her boss up damp-smelling stairs coated with slime and seaweed, ÒI didÉÓ
Ivan smirked condescendingly. ÒAh, to be young and stupid again.Ó
ÒHey!Ó she yelled, hands angrily balling into fists at her side.
The sign holderÕs head snapped back
and forth between the two of them like a spectator at a ping-pong match. ÒBut boss, I thought you said they werenÕt our friends.Ó
ÒThat doesnÕt mean I wanted them dead!Ó Ivan snapped. ÒIf nothing else, I always knew where I stood with the
detectives! Probably the only two cops
in the city who could stop me for a broken tail light and not use it as an excuse to search the limo and bring me
in for questioning. And Iiwi Ð
Iiwi wasÉuseful, if not entirely bipartisan. SheÕd get any info you asked for, then half the time, turn
around and put it to use before you did!
ItÕs people like that what help keep a business like mine running,
whether they know it or not, and if Mister Look-At-Me-IÕve-Got-A-Peg-Leg wants to go around throwing them to the wolves-Ó
ÒWouldnÕt it be sharks?Ó the sign holder interrupted quietly, ÒI mean,
seeing as how itÕs pirates an all-Ó
ÒWhatever,Ó Ivan growled. ÒPoint is, heÕs got an appointment with a pair of cement
shoes, and IÕd hate for him to
miss it.Ó
ÒWhat about Beak?Ó Lita tried as
the kiwiÕs hand closed on the door to the upper decks. ÒHe may have no clue whatÕs going on
half the time, but heÕs not about to let anything happen to his friends.Ó
ÒHeÕs already let something happen to them.Ó
ÒYeah, butÉheÕs not going to let
anything happen to Bob, and if you make something happen to him, the pirates will get their memories back, and weÕll
be facing keel-hauling all over again.Ó
Ivan paused, hand still resting on
the doorknob. ÒYou do have a point
there,Ó he admitted with a grimace, after a long moment of searching for a
rebuttal argument that didnÕt come.
ÒAlways happy to play DevilÕs
Advocate, boss,Ó she grinned, arms draped along the length of the iron
cannon-loader she carried propped across her shoulders.
ÒYes, well, go up there and advocate to ÔCaptain BobÕ that he and his merry band of
lunatics might want to rethink their stance on keeping me prisoner.
And then bring the
conspiracy theorist and the bananabrain back down here so we can talk strategy.Ó
He paused, considering the gleam of mischief in his wardÕs eyes. ÒPolitely, if at all possible.Ó
Lita laughed. ÒBoss, when am I not polite?Ó
***************
The ship had weathered the storm
beautifully, Bob observed, scanning the flurry of activity below as his
remaining crew collected the lifelines and swabbed the debris and seawater from
the deck. Towards the rear poop
deck, the cook was merrily smoking the fish that had been washed up on the deck
over a stone barrel, occasionally stopping pirates passing by laden with
armloads of seaweed and splintered timbers to pluck out this or that
ÔsucculentÕ strand of weed or the tiny clinging crabs or strings of oysters or
whatnot caught up in the muck. The
bravest of the men were repairing the rigging lines and fetching down the torn
sails, tossing the tattered sailcloth down to pirates armed with needles and
thread and the hidden talent of darning.
Those aloft also had the unpleasant task of untangling their brethren
that had become caught up in the rigging the night before, and a growing number
of bodies lay stacked at the bow, the youngest pirates relieving them of
valuables, weapons, boots, and any clothes that took their fancy. These dead were easy enough to count,
but Bob wasnÕt entirely certain what score of men had been swept overboard in
the storm; heÕd assigned Ferdie the task of comparing names and numbers with
the shipÕs ledger to get an idea of how many lives had been lost in the
fearsome gale.
The Bloody Mary herself was in manageable condition Ð much better
than heÕd had any right to hope sheÕd be after such a fearsome gale - but sheÕd
need a fair amount of work before sheÕd be rightly seaworthy again. The top ten feet of the central mast
had been split by lightning, and it was doubtful any number of taught iron
bands could bolster its strength into something that could withstand the stress
of the shipÕs sails. And their
grievances didnÕt stop there - a good deal of the crossties on each mast had
been partially or totally ripped apart and twisted askew, there was hardly a
scrap of canvas not in need of darning, and a good deal of the crew quarters
and cargo holds were flooded Ð so much so that some areas were completely
underwater. The bilge pumps were
helping ease that hardship somewhat, but the sheer amount of water told him his
ship had sprung more than a few leaks from the pounding waves. No doubt about it - theyÕd have to
beach the ship and haul her aground the first chance they got.
ÒFerdinand!Ó he shouted, waving the
damp bluebird up to the rear poop deck, where an array of charts had been laid
out upon a table.
ÒYeah, Bob?Ó
ÒNot ÔYeah, Bob.Õ ÔAye, captain,ÕÓ he corrected the bluebird.
ÒOh, right. Aye, captain?Ó
ÒMuch better.Ó
ÒSo?Ó
Bob blinked. ÒSo what?Ó
ÒSo, what did you call me up here for?Ó
ÒAh, yes. ThatÕs right.Ó
He indicated the maps on the table. ÒIÕm afraid last nightÕs storm has knocked us off-course and
cost me my navigators. Since I
distinctly remember you looking out at the stars the night before last, and First
Mate Deadeye assures me you know how to take longitude readings, you will take over navigational duties from here on out
- starting with finding me a nice, uninhabited island on which to repair my
ship.Ó
Ferdie blinked. ÒUm, okayÉÓ He looked at the antiquated
maps of the Central American coastline laid out on the table, frowning. ÒFirst off, weÕre, ah, no longer in this part of the Caribbean,Ó he said nervously, reaching
into his pocket and pulling out a sodden square of multi-colored paper. (Having hidden below-decks for the entire
storm - and remained there until
the cook had found him hiding in a stewpot when said pot floated past the
flooded kitchen - Ferdie had not yet had a chance to dry off as completely as
those pirates that had been above-deck since shortly before sunrise. Bob would have upbraided the coward for
his actions, had they come at any surprise at all to the kiwi.) Unfolding the soggy map and spreading
it out flat on the battered table - making sure to keep the section that showed
California folded over, lest ÔCaptain BobÕ spot it and ask any number of inconvenient
questions about it - he pointed to the mass of blue between the Hawaiian island
chain and the Californian coastline.
ÒAll right; generally speaking, weÕre somewhere in this region here.Ó
ÒWhatÕs that strip of land there?Ó
Bob frowned, indicating the thin strip of coastline peeking out from under the folded
seam of the map, ÒAnd why isnÕt it on any of my charts?Ó Delusional
amnesiac or not, the kiwi was still a detective.
ÒThatÕs a, ahÉnewly-discovered territory,Ó Ferdie stammered,
scrambling for a passable lie.
ÒHasnÕt really made it onto most maps yet.Ó
ÒIt looks rather large,Ó the kiwi
remarked critically. ÒIÕve been
sailing these waters all my life; IÕd like to think I wouldÕve run into
something like that long ago Ð or at the
very least heard whispers about it in Tortuga.Ó
FerdieÕs eyebrow twitched. Give him the regular Bob Kiwi any day
of the week; at least that one wasnÕt as
swift on the uptake all the time.
ÒItÕs, ah, not all that big, really. The mapÕs just a large-scale enlargement of the area.Ó
ÒEven so-Ó
ÒLook, itÕs the lost continent of
Atlantis, okay?Ó the bluebird snapped, ÒAnd it only surfaced recently. ThereÕs no way you wouldÕve seen it
before, because it was underwater. Now, can I continue?Ó
Bob scowled. ÒIf
you watch your tone.Ó
ÒFine, then. Now, the night before last, I took
readings that put us around here,Ó he pointed
to a square on the map, ÒAnd at least until the storm, we were sailing about 15
degrees southwest at somewhere around 20 knots, which puts usÉÓ he frowned,
mentally working through the calculations, Òaround here when the storm hit.Ó
ÒI donÕt care about any of that,Ó
Bob interrupted, ÒAll I want to know is, where are we now, and whatÕs the heading to the nearest desert isle?Ó
Ferdie sighed, pulling out his
pocket compass. ÒWell, I can tell
you weÕre currently heading just south of due west,Ó he frowned, ÒBut I wonÕt
be able to say exactly where the storm
dropped us until I can see the stars tonight.Ó
Bob scowled.
ÒAll the same,Ó the coward
continued, gesturing to Hawaii, ÒThereÕs a pretty large island chain nearby, so
even without an exact location, we ought
to be able to reach a desert isle, or at least get significantly closer to one,
simply by continuing to sail west.Ó
Bob muttered something about bloody
useless fools.
ÒSpeaking of useless,Ó Lita called
from the middle deck, ÒWhy donÕt you cut down your ÔfigureheadÕ before she dies
of exposure, eh?Ó
ÒYou!Ó Bob rounded on her, ÒTraitorous dog! Where have you been?!?Ó
ÒBelow-decks, attempting to
convince Ivan to join your rather-diminished crew,Ó the teen replied through
clenched teeth. To think, I
argued against killing this idiotÉ ÒAnd you
really should pull BobettaÕs girl back into the boat. She is a maid,
after all; IÕm sure she could help with the sewingÉÓ
ÒPerhapsÉÓ the kiwi allowed, ÒAll right, the maid can go free. Put her to work on the sails,Ó he
instructed Beak, who hurried off to order the bedraggled Gracie cut loose, ÒBut
IÕm not about to release that blackguard Ivan!Ó
ÒFor the record, heÕs already
released himself,Ó Lita interjected, looking bored. Her eyes flicked over to Ferdie. ÒAnd heÕd like to speak to you.Ó
ÒNever!Ó Bob pushed the bluebird
into the table full of maps, ignoring his squawk of protest, ÒI wonÕt hear of
it! Why, IÕll-Ó
ÒOy!Ó one of the pirates shimmying
out along the bowsprit in order to untie the unconscious Gracie from her
bindings set up a commotion, waving wildly to his fellows as they glanced up
from what they were doing and crowded to the bow for a look, ÒThereÕs sommat
shiny up ahead! Could be salvage!Ó
***************
There were voices in the darkness.
ÒCareful, now, not so rough!Ó
ÒAye, more gentle-like!Ó
ÒOi, IÕse a pirate, aye is. Aye dunt know fer gentle!Ó
ÒAye, only Deadeye sez nae so ruff,
anÕ ÔeÕs got Ôisself Ôat demon sÕard, Ôe does, so I sez, heed thÕ capÕnÕs mate.Ó
She felt herself being lifted, then
stretched out on her back along something flat and dry and warm Ð which only
her realize just how very cold and
drenched she was.
And the stimulation of at least two senses often
brings the others around just to see what all the fuss is about.
ÒOi! SheÕs movinÕ, she
is!Ó
ÒAr, see? TolÕ ye she wuzÕnae
dead! Ye owe me a sack oÕ
pipeweed!Ó
ÒAch, crivens!Ó
Her eyes opened to the sight of a
dozen sunburned, battle-scarred faces with bad teeth peering down at her with
varying degrees of concern. And if
thatÕs not enough to awaken one up and bring
them bolting upright, very little is. Squinting in the sunlight, Ferdia had
just enough time to vaguely identify her surroundings as a ship before a mass of blue feathers and mismatched
clothing plowed into her shoulder with all the force of a guided missile.
ÒSis!Ó Ferdie cried, enveloping her in a hug so tight it fell shy of
crushing by virtue of the bulky foam life vest alone, ÒYouÕre alive!Ó
ÒNot if you donÕt let go, I wonÕt be,Ó she
gasped.
Sheepishly, her brother released
her, rocking back onto his heels and sitting beside her on the sun-warmed deck
as Ferdia glanced around at the bustle of activity just beyond her row of
curious onlookers.
ÒThis is the pirate ship?Ó she
asked her brother.
ÒYep.Ó
ÒAnd the pirates areÉhelping us?Ó
ÒYep,Ó Ferdie nodded again,
grinning. ÒBeak ÔaskedÕ them to,Ó
he clarified, winking conspiratorially.
ÒOÉkayÉÓ Ferdia nodded doubtfully, slowly getting to her
feet. Ferdie rose with her, trying
to support her as she wobbled unsteadily on legs that, if her tattered costume
was any indication, were covered in tiny fish bites. She blinked down at her trousers Ð and at her jacket
sleeves, which seemed to have suffered similar wear Ð and smiled weakly. ÒI suppose I about look the part now,
donÕt I?Ó
ÒWellÉminus the life vest, maybe,Ó
her brother grinned.
ÒSo, whereÕs Squeaks?Ó
FerdieÕs grin faded, and he
suddenly refused to meet her gaze.
ÒYouÕre the only one weÕve picked up, sis. No oneÕs seen the longboat at all.Ó
ÒHey, itÕs okay, bro,Ó she
reassured him with a pat on the shoulder, putting on her best ÔBig SisterÕ
face, ÒLast I remember, the storm was sweeping us off in different
directions. HeÕs probably halfway
to Maui by now.Ó ThatÕs right;
heÕs got a compass and all those supplies, and if the Coast Guard hasnÕt found
him yet, I know a whole squadron
of ducks thatÕll champion a search once I get Ôem on the phoneÉ
ÒDetectives!Ó Lita appeared at the edge of the stairs leading
down to the main deck below, using the side railings to vault over a handful of
pirates in transit. A confused
frown tugged at the corners of her mouth as she noted the lack of a third
familiar face atop the front poop deck.
ÒSay, whereÕs your other half?Ó
Ferdia blinked, fighting back whatever her initial response had been
with a resolute shake of her head.
It was too easy to spiral from rational conjecture to panicked
what-if-ing on that line of thought.
ÒSqueaks was still safely lashed to the longboat when I got knocked
out.Ó
ÒWaitaminute,Ó the teen gaped, falling into step with the
siblings, ÒYou tied him d- ow!Ó
she yelped as Ferdia smacked her upside the head.
ÒIt is not funny!Ó the cop snapped at the
glowering rabbit.
ÒNot anymore it isnÕt, no,Ó Lita grumbled, rubbing at an
imaginary welt on the back of her head and following after them as they
traversed the stairs. ÒDonÕt see
what youÕre all worked up about Ð
mouse ought to be resourceful enough to weather a storm like that, no
problem. Arellians train on
seacraft from birth, you know.
Gets Ôem ready for spaceflight, the old capÕ used to say.Ó Her gaze flicked to the kiwi across the
ship, manning the helm. ÒSo, uh,
you guys happen to see Iiwi before that?Ó
Ferdia glanced back at the girl
over her shoulder with a confused frown. ÒNo, why?Ó
ÒBecause Bob chased her off, and
since weÕre too far out for her to make landfall, we thought she might have
gone looking for you guys,Ó Ferdie explained.
ÒWe never saw her,Ó Ferdia
frowned. ÒShe probably just headed
for a shipping route or something Ð theyÕdÕve been far easier to spot from the
air than the longboat. ButÉBob chased her off?Ó his sister frowned. ÒWhy would he-Ó
ÒBecause Ôel capitanÕ up there got clocked upside the head and thinks
heÕs a pirate,Ó Ferdie grumbled.
ÒBeakÕs going along with it, too, which puts us in a fix.
Took a helluva lot of trying just to convince him to let you come
aboard.Ó
Lita grinned, patting the wirebrush-tipped iron rod
braced against her shoulders. ÒMr.
Cannon-Loader anÕ I helped.Ó
ÒNaming our sticks now, are we?Ó Ferdia teased, scanning the
deck of the ship as the teen tossed her head with a mock huff. ÒSo whereÕs Ivan?Ó
ÒDown below-decks,Ó Lita informed her. ÒBob had us thrown in the brig, and now
that weÕve busted out, IÕm the only one allowed on deck. Still, the bossÕll wanna see you, I
bet; been eulogizing Ôthe loss of San VianoÕs only sensible copsÕ for hours
now, but you didnÕt hear that from me.Ó
ÒNo, but IÕm flattered
nonetheless. What about Bobetta?Ó
ÒHer, heÕs got considerably
less flattering things to say about,Ó the rabbit shrugged. Ferdia frowned.
ÒSheÕs in the captainÕs cabin,Ó Ferdie supplied. ÒLocked herself in there the minute Bob
untied her from the mast.Ó
ÒHe tied her to the mast?Ó
ÒYeah, well, ÔCaptain BludÕ up thereÕs kinda psychotic,Ó Lita jerked
her chin at the kiwis on the rear deck behind the rudder wheel, where Bob was
apparently taking Beak to task over yet another of the brown kiwiÕs unthinkable
nautical oversights. ÒWeÕve tried
askinÕ Beak to get Bob his memory back, butÉÓ
ÒHe doesnÕt think he can keep the
suggestion that BobÕs are their captain in the minds of the crew and poke around BobÕs mind for his lost memory at the
same time,Ó Ferdie clarified. ÒAnd
BobÕs not showing any signs of shaking this amnesia on his own. So, since we need the crew docile and cooperative to avoid getting
killed, weÕve been giving Bob free rein of things.Ó
ÒWhy not just knock him
unconscious?Ó
ÒBeak wonÕt let us,Ó Ferdie
sighed. ÒBesides, the crew think
heÕs their captain, so any move we make against him will be interpreted by them
as mutiny, and BeakÕs too tired to switch their perception of whoÕs captain.Ó
ÒWhich begs the question Ð how much
longer can he keep up this ruse?Ó Ferdia frowned, ducking her head as the pair
led her through the door to the shipÕs interior.
ÒDetective!
Welcome back!Ó Ivan greeted her tactly as the three of them rounded the
wooden stairs and filed into the brig Ð ironically enough, IvanÕs base of
operations now that he was free.
ÒCome to join our little mutiny, have you? Please, take a seat.Ó
He waved her over to the opposite end of the wooden table he and the
sign holder were using as a seat, as the tabletop was one of the few things in
the leaky brig not soaked with brackish water. ÒAny ideas on how to get around the ÔmutinyÕ angle?Ó
ÒWhatÕs wrong with a plain vanilla
mutiny?Ó Lita scowled, the pilfered cannon-packing brush that made up her
latest weapon of choice slung lazily about her shoulders.
ÒAbout forty pirates, thatÕs what,Ó
the Mafioso said, in a tone that indicated the two of them had covered this
ground before, ÒAnd while IÕm sure youÕre sure you could take them, IÕd rather it not come to
that.Ó
Lita huffed, pouting.
Ferdia watched the scene with a
bemused smirk, giving their options a mental rundown. ÒIf we could get him off the ship,Ó she said after a moment,
Òand away from the crew, then it wonÕt matter if Beak loses his hold on them; in all likelihood, theyÕd sail away,
or get too embroiled in a power struggle over the next captain to remember us.Ó
ÒKinda hard to take a leisurely
stroll at sea anÕ all, though,Ó Lita muttered.
ÒWellÉwe are headed for an island,Ó Ferdie piped up, ÒEr Ð more
or less. IÕm not entirely certain where we are, but we should be fairly close to Hawaii at
this point; desert isles are supposed to be a dime a dozen out there. And Bob already said he wants us to
beach the ship for repairs, so he wonÕt object landing somewhere - as long as
itÕs remote.Ó
ÒBut will he object to getting
off?Ó Ivan countered. ÒI might, in his place Ð itÕs far too easy to leave a man behind Ð intentionally or
otherwise - if he strays off the ship.Ó
Lita frowned. ÒWell, itÕs a pirate ship, so captain
or no, he might be expected to help gather wood for lumber and drying fires,
and scrape barnacles off the hull, and stuff, just like the rest of the
crew. But heÕll have other pirates
with him for all that.Ó
ÒWhat if we went with him instead?Ó
Ivan shook his head. ÒWonÕt work. He might not have a problem with consigning that fool maid
to manual labor, but can any of you see any
incarnation of ÔDanger KiwiÕ making his beloved fiancŽe gather firewood and
scrape barnacles?Ó
There was an assortment of sullen
ÒnoÕsÓ.
ÒPlus thereÕs the fact that heÕs
not about to go anywhere with me,Ó the
Mafioso added.
The sign holder looked
thoughtful. ÒSay, boss?Ó
ÒHm?Ó
ÒWhat if we just followed him out of the ship? WeÕll still get him away from most of the crew, and we could just knock out the rest,
right?Ó
ÒBy Jove, I think heÕs got it!Ó
Lita snickered in a mock British accent, clapping the small brown kiwi on the
back so hard the boy nearly pitched forward off the table. ÒCongratulations, kid! WeÕll make a criminal mastermind out of
you yet!Ó
ÒButÉwhat if Bob doesnÕt go out with the other pirates?Ó Ferdie queried,
interrupting their celebrations, ÒWhat if he stays behind to, I donÕt know, supervise, or something?Ó
ÒOh, thatÕs where Plan B comes in,Ó
Ferdia shrugged, lifevest squeaking with the gesture.
ÒPlan B?Ó her brother repeated,
ÒWhatÕs Plan B?Ó
ÒWe tell Ôim LitaÕs making off with
his treasure,Ó the bedraggled cop grinned.
ÒAnd heÕll believe that, will he?Ó Ivan smirked.
She nodded at the teenÕs sagging cargo
pockets. ÒTake a better look at
your ward, Ivan Ð because she jingles when she walks.Ó
The gray kiwi eyed the young thief
appraisingly. ÒExploring the cargo
hold, are we, Farlane?Ó
ÒHad to find some way to pass the
time, Boss,Ó she shrugged unashamedly.
***************
Darkness fell some hours later, and
to FerdieÕs immense relief, very few clouds marred the starscape. He took as many readings as he felt he
needed to correctly triangulate their present position Ð and just to be absolutely certain, he took three different sets of readings
and ran said calculations three different times - then jotted down a slight
course correction and handed it to the ferret behind the rudder wheel.
Then he paused, reclaimed the scrap of parchment
from Twitch as the pirate turned it this way and that, and carefully explained
their new heading using as few words as possible. After about four repetitions, the ferret seemed to
understand just what it was he was supposed to do, and Ferdie turned back to
his maps, mentally scolding himself for forgetting Ð however briefly Ð that the
main reason Bob had made him navigator was that the bulk of the surviving crew was
about as literate as a stuffed radish.
He sighed.
He had half a mind to sail them right into Maui, or to the big island
itself Ð but, he chided himself, the Bloody Mary had nearly forty cannons, and he didnÕt want to run
the risk of Bob getting it in his head to sack a harbor town just because some
overly-observant pirate spotted a port city cop or the lights of a commercial
pier. Instead, he aimed to skirt
most of the larger islands, and land on one of the tiny uncharted ones at the
western fringe of the chain. There
was less of a chance of running into innocent civilians that way Ð but it still
meant theyÕd be within sight of the airlines headed in and out of Honolulu if
they lit a signal fire.
And if they really were going to risk marooning themselves on a desert isle
somewhere, he wanted to at least think there was a chance of them being rescued.
***************
Iiwi sat across the driftwood fire
theyÕd built along the beach, studying the mouse sitting across from her as he stared
out at the dark expanse of ocean, chin in hand and lost in thought.
ÒShouldnÕt we make the fire
larger?Ó she ventured, breaking the silence and rousing him from his trance,
ÒMake it easier for anyone nearby to notice?Ó
ÒThereÕs a pirate somewhere on this
island that IÕd rather not notice us,Ó
he replied, eyes still fixed on the sea.
ÒAnd we can always build it up quickly if we spot an airplaneÕs trace
lights.Ó
ÒYouÕre not going to spot any
planes staring at the ocean,Ó Iiwi chided gently.
He whipped his head around and
straightened, looking affronted.
ÒBut, then, youÕre not looking for
planes, are you?Ó she sighed, watching the crackling fire for a moment. ÒIs there any point in telling you not
to beat yourself up over this?
That itÕs not your-Ó
ÒI told Biggs to cut the rope!Ó the mouse snapped angrily.
ÒA thing like that can tear a boat
in half, or smash it in two!Ó she fired back. ÒYou had no way of knowing it was going to-Ó
ÒMaybe not, but then I couldnÕt fight him off; I couldnÕt do anything
to help her!Ó
ÒNot for lack of trying!Ó
ÒYou werenÕt there, all right! You didnÕt have to watch; didnÕt have
to listen-Ó
ÒLook, you said she had a life preserver on, right?Ó Iiwi
frowned, mind racing for some possible scrap of hope for her to cling to as
much as for Squeaks, ÒMaybe she made it though-Ó
ÒYes,Ó the mouse hissed, rising to
his feet, ÒAnd if you think thatÕs a
kindness, IÕd suggest you try it
for a few days. Drifting along an
endless expanse of sea and sky, half freezing, half burning, and slowing dying
of thirst, blinded by the light reflecting off the waves and gnawed on by the
fish beneath them. Yes, thatÕs far better than simply drowning!Ó
ÒWell!Ó Iiwi huffed, feathers ruffling as Squeaks angrily
stalked off into the night, ÒI was only trying to help!Ó
***************
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