Maybe you’ve
noticed that many ships’ names are great exaggerations. The dirtiest and
bulkiest cargo ships might be called Sprite or Lightning. A scow
that handles like an anvil might be Lithe or Zephyr. This one
was no different. It was called Seaworthy.
The Seaworthy was
a three-masted caravel, so at least we didn’t have to row. I was immediately
put to all other manner of menial chores, though, even before we’d left the
harbor. I wouldn’t have thought they could find tasks for a man who didn’t know
a capstan from a belaying pin, but they did. I’ll put it this way: In the
annals of seafaring I shall ever be known as “Swabbo McBilgey.”
Something
about the way we weighed anchor at night led me to believe that this wasn’t
your average cargo ship. I hoped against all odds, like an idiot, that we might
be some kind of exploration ship, which would be all right, until I saw Captain
Bugsby (for that was the gentleman’s name) studying the stars with his sextant
upside down. Also, I wasn’t taken in by the decorative potted ferns along the
rail in front of a row of cannon. Something fishy about this enterprise.
As the
sailors worked, they liked to grunt out charming sea chanties. My favorite went:
Pull up the anchor, let’s
go, let’s go
Pull
up the anchor, let’s go, let’s go
We’re
not really pirates, we’re just honest sailors
And
we aren’t at all into looting and breaking
So
pull up the anchor, let’s go
Arr
arr
I worked all
night and all the next day, catching fleeting glimpses of the land as it
dwindled and was gone. I’d never been so far out on the sea. I was still puking
at every opportunity, so even when offered food I couldn’t touch it. Finally,
at sunset, I was sent to a bunk belowdecks and allowed to collapse.
As I lay
there, hoping to stop throwing up so I could sleep, I listened to the chatter
from some of the boys. It seemed like they liked their work, but I got the
feeling that they’d all been pressed into service as I had. Could that be?
Surely somebody on board had started it, unless this was some kind of
self-perpetuating bureaucracy and the Seaworthy had
not been sailed by willing men since it was launched.
I wondered.
Then I had to go use the porthole.
As you’ve
undoubtedly realized, I was very stupid at this juncture, so the next morning
when Captain Bugsby strolled by as I was swabbing away on deck, I asked,
“Begging your pardon, Captain, but what’s our mission?”
Before I
knew what was happening I was laid out on the deck with the tip of the mop
handle on my Adam’s apple and the captain holding it there. “Swabbo,” he said,
“all ye need ever know about this fair vessel is that ye must never look
in the first mate’s cabin. Am I understood?”
Great,
another overbearing authority figure, I thought, but I said, “Urk,
urk, cptn,” which was about all I could say with my throat a hair away from
being crushed.
The captain,
satisfied by my cringing, said, “Ask me questions again and I put this yar mop
handle up yer nose and into the space where yer brain should be.” He allowed me
to get up without further harm.
The one
bright spot was that I was starting to get my sealegs. I only threw up twice an
hour or so, and even choked down some blueberry soup at one point. Then I
gnawed some hardtack and threw up again. But aside from that, the sea life
wasn’t so bad. Was it my hard work at swabbing, or fresh salt air, or just
nasal fatigue that made the ship smell less horrible as I went on? I’m not
sure. But it beat army life.
The crew
were more repulsive than the Tegoran recruits had been, but none of them bothered
me. They were impressed with my little magic tricks. Maybe they left me
unharmed because they enjoyed my act, or maybe they feared I might have some
real scary magic hidden somewhere.
The captain
was a friendly enough scoundrel as long as we obeyed orders, always slapping
people on the back and then helping them up. The first mate, an old salt about
whom I learned little, wandered about in a daze and said “Um…” a lot. He never
checked the stores of grog for pilfering, and we abused said stores mercilessly,
so we liked him. He slept below with us, before the mast.
Which made
me wonder… Where was the first mate’s cabin? And if he wasn’t in it, what was?
I ought to
know better than to follow my curiosity, but it’s a streak as broad as my
cowardice. It’s how I got mixed up with the Famous Mages School, in fact. I was
a waif, running with a vicious gang of waifs when I wasn’t doing scullery work.
One day we mugged this mage—well, actually, they never let me mug anyone; I was
their cheerleader—and this mage put a curse on our leader that gave him the
runs for three weeks. I needed to know how the mage did that. I’d still like
to, actually. It wasn’t in the curriculum at the Famous Mages School. But as my
curiosity led me to enroll with Simon the Unsteady, so too did my curiosity
lead me to wonder what was in the first mate’s cabin.
Then again,
I didn’t want to go through life with a mop sticking out of my nose.
One evening,
after I’d helped the fellows with some light bailing, I noticed that Bugsby was
going down to the hold to catch rats with his teeth, a pastime to which he
credited his robust health. With no one looking at the moment, I sneaked into
the officers’ cabins under the poop deck.
The first
mate’s cabin was locked, bolted, and chained from the outside, but there was a
slot at the bottom of the door that looked pretty fresh. I assumed it had been
cut there to slide food to an occupant. I put my face to the floor and peered
through the slot, but all I saw was the opposite bulkhead. Then I heard
something strange.
A woman’s
voice, alto and mellifluous, was singing. She wasn’t singing a sea chanty,
either, but a song of yearning and love. She sang:
“I
wish I could be at home again
And
not in this stinking old ship
The
food is atrocious, I don’t feel too well
And
I have this big sore on my lip.”
Well, my
heart sang with her words, and suddenly I wished I could be home in Snyrgg. I
said, “Hi.”
She said,
“Hi.”
“Who are
you?”
“I’m Suzy.
Who’re you?”
“A friend.
You sing beautifully.”
“Thank you.
You eavesdrop beautifully.”
“Yes, it’s a
gift. So, how long have you been a prisoner?”
“Oh, for a
while. Ever since I got out of school it’s been one kidnap after another. My
father’s a prince, you know, so I’ve got connections.”
“It’s not
what you know, it’s who you know.”
“They don’t
kidnap just anybody.”
“And how do
you like it?”
“Well, the
work is easy but the hours are terrible.”
“Aye. So,
ransom?”
“I suppose.
All I know is I was doing a little shopping when someone put a bag on my head.
And here I am.”
“Being a
princess I imagine you’re gorgeous.”
“It is part
of the job description. I’m five-eight, strawberry blond hair, amber eyes, and
in as good a shape as I can be considering my constant captivity. I used to be
thirty pounds overweight but kidnappers have terrible food.”
“I’m sure
it’s the same stuff we eat, so don’t take it personally.”
“And what do
you look like, sailor boy?”
“Young,
scraggly, average height. Motley beard to cover my weak chin. Dressed in the
ragged remains of army-issue wizard robes. It’s nice to meet you. I don’t meet
many friendly people in my line of work.”
“And what
line is that?”
“Survival.”
“I see.
Well, if we ever get out of here we should do lunch. What’s your name?”
“They call
me Bob. They also call me Swabbo, Spellboy, and worse, but I answer to Bob.”
“Bob it is.”
“Well, thank
you for your time, Suzy, but I must go. People are moving around amidships and
I’d better go pretend I’m working. But I’ll be back.”
“Oh, please
do.”
“One last
thing: Would you mind terribly if I effect an amazing and highly improbably
escape for you, bring you home, and marry you?”
“Well… I
suppose. But I’d hate to think you were marrying me for my money.”
“Mmmm… nah.
Not really. I like you.”
“Good,
because I’m the eighth daughter of the prince and I’m likely to inherit nothing
but some cheap silver plate. And I think my dowry’s gone for ransom.”
“Oh, that’s
all right. I’d marry you anyway. Put me in your appointment book. Bye for now.”
“Bye for
now.”
Call me a
romantic fool, but I was smitten. Not surprising, considering most of the women
I’d known in my life were crones or brutes or charged hourly rates. The men,
too, come to think of it. But now I had to come up with an amazing rescue for
her. All I had was meager magic, and I was completely out of Frog Liver and low
on Eye of Newt again. I thought about it all night on my bunk, until I decided
I should just lie low, go about my business, and look for an opportunity.
Instead of
opportunity, though, trouble arrived. I was swabbing the deck as usual a couple
of days later when Murray in the crow’s nest yelled “Ship ho! Ship to
starboard!”
Captain
Bugsby burst from his cabin, shouting, “Avast ye, mates! Shiver me timbers!
Arr! Can ye not smell the booty, the gold? Arr! Where be my parrot? To the
guns!”
No one had
told me what I should do in these circumstances. Frankly, I wasn’t in the mood.
I had this sinus headache, the really annoying kind that just doesn’t quit.
Some of the men were knocking over ferns and readying cannon; others were
trimming sails or bringing up weapons. Someone handed me a short sword and
yelled “Arr!” at me.
I’m afraid I
didn’t acquit myself too well as we prepared for battle. I just ran amok on the
deck with the sword in one hand and my mop in the other. I tripped over a box
someone had left out that was labeled: In case of shivered
timbers, break glass. I did, and inside was a flintlock, powder, and
shot. I’d never used a firearm before, but I could figure it out, right?
Besides, better I should have it than one of these other buffoons. I’d been in
situations like this, violent confrontations of the undisciplined, and mostly
what would happen is a lot of running and screaming and people bleeding, and I
was not planning to be one of the bleeders. Hiding was out of the question, as
we were drawing close to the other ship, and it didn’t seem to be a good idea
anyway. If we won and the pirates found me cowering in the galley pretending to
be a piece of hardtack, it would not go well. I mean, I got along well with my
shipmates, but it wasn’t the kind of relationship I could push. So I decided to
stand outside the hatch to the lower decks, try to shoot the gun, and run away
screaming like a ninny if anyone got close.
If only it
had been that simple.
My comrades
were snarling and preparing to light the cannon. It was a clear, hot day, the
kind where your sweat dries immediately. We were almost in range. The general
insanity turned to torturous waiting. The only sound was the moan and creak of
the ship and the first mate saying “Um…” as the seconds ticked on. My heart
thumped so hard that each beat shook me like a hammer blow.
Then Bugsby
yelled, “FIRE!”
The cannon
roared, and everybody coughed on the smoke. When it cleared my eyes greeted
something horrible.
The ship was
pulling up the colors of the royal fleet of the city-state Tegora.
With the
sudden realization that I had a stake in this fight I started to fumble with
the gun, messing around with gunpowder and getting it everywhere. Some pirates
were getting ready to board the Tegorans, but no way was I going over there. I
had been captured a lot lately and it was getting to be a habit.
But we were
all taken by surprise by what happened next. Row upon row of panels cleverly
disguised along the side of the Tegoran ship flipped open, revealing more
firepower than I even knew existed. All those big guns suddenly blasted, and
the Seaworthy lurched.
I’d heard rumors of pirate-hunters while I was in basic training, but I didn’t
know they were real.
Moments
earlier there’d been a handful of unarmed sailors on the deck of the other
ship; now the place was flooded with armed Tegorans. They shot grappling hooks
on arbalests, arresting our ship as we tried to change tack. As soon as the two
ships got close, Tegorans swung over the gap and boarded us, clubbing and
stabbing any pirates who showed any fight. One grabbed Kevin’s peg leg and beat
him on the head with it. Talk about embarrassing.
If we’d had
a lifeboat I’d have run for it. Such frills were not found on the Seaworthy. If
I hid now, I’d just go down to the bottom when they sank the ship, which was
probably taking on water already.
Down to the
bottom? Suzy!
I had to get
her free; the pirates were too busy, and would they add kidnapping to the
charges against them by admitting she was on board? I threw down my gun,
skirted the skirmishes, and passed by the first mate; he was squinting at the
Tegorans and trying to pull a dagger from its scabbard. I jumped over an
unattached arm (ick!) and dodged a cannonball and crashed through into the
cabin area.
There was
the door I wanted, locked up tight as ever. I knew of spells that could open
locks, but of course those required magical supplies. And knowledge. And
talent. But I had something better—the keys I had just lifted from the first
mate. I tried each one in turn—there were at least a score—and one by one the
bolt, the chain, and the lock gave way. Then, praying she’d put in a good word
for me with the Tegorans, I yanked open the door and saw Suzy.
She was all
she’d said, and more. Her light red hair was the gossamer of angel’s wings, her
figure fair and sweet, her eyes, serene pools of amber, and her mouth—
Screaming.
“It’s me,
Bob!” I said. “I know I don’t look like much, but really, I think you’re overreacting—”
Then, as if
to clarify her screaming, she pointed at me.
“Well,” I
said, “If you want to be insulting about it, I—”
Everything
went black.
