The Pirate's Booty (Inventor-in-Training) Read online

  “What’s that on yer face?” asked Red Shirt.

  “What? Where?” said Angus, fumbling around to touch the safety goggles still fastened snugly around his head.

  The big female pirate swaggered across the deck.

  “Hand ‘em over,” she demanded.

  “They’re just my goggles,” said Angus.

  “Now,” she growled.

  Angus pulled them off his head, and quickly placed them in Ms. Evergood’s outstretched hand. She held them up to the sunlight, turned them over, looked through them, and flung them at him.

  “Worthless,” she pronounced. “But I will have that yeller belt ye’re wearin’.”

  Angus unbuckled his tool belt, let out a deep sigh, and gave it to the pirate.

  “And yon sparkly thing will be a nice addition to the coffer.” She pointed to the Insectivore Incinerator resting on top of the cone pile. She snatched it up quickly before Angus could protest, and marched off to the front of the ship.

  “If I catch ye hornswagglin’ the crew again, ye’ll walk the plank,” she yelled back.

  “Better get to swabbin’. Marge is in a murderin’ mood today,” muttered Red Shirt.

  Angus wobbled around the rocking deck and began swiping the mop to and fro, pushing the cedar cones from one side of the ship’s deck to the other. He saw light gleam from beneath the needles. On closer inspection, it seemed his screwdriver had been buried at the bottom. He must have dropped it when he fell onto the pile. He glanced around furtively. None of the pirates was watching him. He reached down and retrieved the screwdriver, sliding it into his pants.

  “This is some crazy dream,” mumbled Angus.

  “It’s not a dream,” replied the parrot.

  Angus stopped moving cones around and examined the bird. The yellow-breasted fowl clung to some low riggings. It stretched out its florescent blue wings and flapped slowly, swinging itself upside down. Small, intelligent eyes scrutinized him from a slightly cocked head.

  “Pretty bird,” sang Angus, reaching out to touch its soft stomach.

  “Hands off!” croaked the parrot, biting Angus’ outstretched finger.

  “Ouch! Stupid parrot!” shouted Angus, sucking on his injured digit.

  “Who are you calling stupid? And technically, I’m an Ara ararauna.”

  Angus stared wide-eyed at the talking bird.

  “Scientific term for blue-and-yellow macaw,” finished the parrot.

  Angus gaped.

  “Why are you acting so weird, BP?” asked the bird.

  Angus took a closer look at the bird. Parrots were mimics, he knew, repeating words they’d heard people say over and over again. But this animal was different. It almost seemed as though it was having a conversation with him. This was a strange dream.

  The bird cocked its head to the left and regarded him. It cocked its head to the right, half squinting its eyes. Then it jumped back, fluttered into the air as though startled, and flew just out of reach. It glared distrustfully at Angus.

  “Who are you and what have you done with BP?” demanded the bird.

  “Are you actually talking to me?” responded Angus.

  “No one else here but you, me, and the mast,” retorted the macaw.

  “Can you actually understand what I’m saying?” Angus pinched himself, hard. When that didn’t wake him up, he slapped himself across the cheek. “Ouch!”

  “Who are you, and what is wrong with you?” asked the astonished bird.

  “Why can’t I wake up?” Angus slammed the pointy end of the mop into his kneecap. “Ow!”

  The macaw grimaced. “Please stop maiming yourself! I can’t watch it anymore.” The bird hopped off its perch and glided closer to Angus, landing on his shoulder. Angus could feel its warm breath in his ear. “No, you’re definitely not BP. You look like him, but you don’t have any piercings in your ear. BP has two holes on the left side, and one on the right.” The bird flew back to the rigging.

  “So the question remains, what have you done with BP?”

  Angus answered, “I don’t know anyone named BP. My name is Angus Clark, and I’m an inventor in training. I have no idea how I wound up in this dream, since I haven’t been interested in pirates since I was six. Why would my subconscious have created this dream? The last thing I remember was being in my lab, trying to fix my Insectivore Incinerator, then I fell asleep or fainted, and now this. Wow, do I feel sick. How do I get myself to wake up?”

  “Whoa,” said the macaw. “Angus? Angus Clark! That means you did it! You actually did it! I was so hoping you’d figure it out! Do you know what this means? I can go back! You can help me get back!” The macaw leaped enthusiastically from its perch and flew in rapid circles around Angus’ head, cheering as it went. After several turns, it settled on Angus’ shoulder.

  “So what did you use? A potion, a wormhole generator? How do we get back?” The macaw peered at Angus.

  Angus stared blankly back.

  “Wait a second … do you even know what you’ve done?” asked the macaw. “Do you know where you are?”

  “On a pirate ship in the middle of the weirdest dream I’ve ever had. Maybe I’m getting the flu. I always have weird dreams when I’m getting the flu. I wonder if I’ll even remember this when I wake up,” said Angus.

  “But Angus, that’s just it. You won’t remember it when you wake up. You’re not going to wake up. You’re already wide awake. This is really happening,” insisted the bird. “You still don’t get it. Stick out your finger.”

  Angus complied, pointing his index finger to the sky. In a blur, the macaw clamped down on the finger with its beak, biting as hard as it could.

  “Ow! Get off! Let go, you rabid bird!” Angus shook the bird free. He glanced down and watched red droplets well up from his injured finger. He popped it into his mouth and tasted the salty, metallic blood. “What did you do that for?” he lisped, his tongue tripping over his finger.

  “Have you ever bled in any of your dreams? Did you ever feel pain like that and not wake up?” asked the macaw.

  Angus realized he’d never had a dream this vivid. All five of his senses were awake and alert. He gagged and pulled his finger out of his mouth. If he wasn’t dreaming, what did that mean? What was happening here?

  The macaw read the confusion and fear in his eyes. “Sit down–over there, on that cask.”

  Angus dazedly settled on a wooden whiskey barrel, the metal rim digging into the backs of his thighs. He was still holding the mop.

  “Okay, comfortable?” asked the macaw. Angus could have sworn there was concern in its eyes.

  “So tell me again, in detail, what were you doing right before you got here?”

  Once again, Angus related his tale. This time, he explained the problems he’d been having with the Insectivore Incinerator and how he had planned to modify it. The macaw listened intently, now and again nodding its head and making murmuring noises. More than once it whistled and said, “Brilliant!” When Angus had finished his account, the bird asked, “And this Insectivore Incinerator … you’re certain it was incinerating the cedar cones, and not, perhaps, merely transporting them elsewhere?” The bird flapped its wing pointedly in the direction of the piles Angus had been making.

  Angus looked at the cones and needles and an idea began forming in the back of his mind, a realization so frightening and wonderful, it made him shudder. “Do you mean,” he began, “I’ve incinerated myself? Only, the Incinerator I built doesn’t actually burn things, but just, moves them … moves them … where?”

  Angus thought back on everything he’d learned in school and read in newspapers and magazines. He knew that piracy today mainly involved the theft of digital music and computer software. And except for during Halloween, nobody wore three-corner hats and patches over their eyes. The crazies on this ship were wielding swords and daggers. There was a cannon in the front of the ship. Did anyone even use cannons anymore?

  Angus felt dizzy and nauseous. Oh no,
was he going to black out again?

  “Put your head between your legs. Breathe in. Deep breaths, Angus. Slow and steady. You’ll get your sea legs soon.” The macaw flapped its wings, fanning Angus.

  “I’m okay. Just tell me. Where am I?” asked Angus.

  “Sail ho!” yelled someone from atop the rigging.

  The macaw hopped off Angus’ shoulder and flew over his head. “Quick, get back to mopping. We’ll talk later.” It flapped off, and Angus turned around queasily. Marge was marching toward him with purpose. Angus stumbled to his feet and began pushing the mop back and forth mechanically.

  “Leave off that, ye bilge rat, and fetch me the spyglass,” she ordered, thrusting a set of keys at him.

  Angus rested the mop against the cask and took the keys, unsure what to do with them.

  “In the captain’s quarters!” she yelled at him.

  He turned in a circle, wondering which way to go. “Ye scurvy dog! Aft! To stern! What ails ye today?!”

  He turned toward the rear of the ship and glimpsed a high deck. Just beneath was a small room. He tripped to what he assumed was the captain’s cabin and worked through each key until he found one that opened the locked door. A primitive telescope rested on a heavy worm-eaten desk. It slid precariously from one end of the desktop to the other. Angus grabbed it and bumped into the doorway as the boat rocked sideways. He wobbled back to Marge as quickly as he could, feeling as though he’d just climbed off the scrambler at the state fair. He thrust the telescope into her outstretched hand, then promptly bent over and vomited all over her boots.

  Without warning, Marge struck him across the ear with her large, grimy hand. He yelped in surprise and pain, and heard the blood rushing in his ears.

  “Ye’re a poor excuse fer a pirate, ain’t ye? Outta me sight!” barked Marge. She clamped the spyglass to her eye and chortled. “Blimey! She’s a big one, she is! Let’s bring a spring upon her cable and load the chase guns with case shot!”

  She was speaking English, but Angus had no idea what she was saying.

  “Shove those cases into the cannon at the bow and then wait,” yelled Red Shirt as he ran past. “And hold on, we’re comin’ about.”

  Angus grabbed the side of the ship as it began to turn violently into the wind. Just in time, too; the angle and speed of the ship would have flung him overboard if he didn’t have a handhold. He had a sneaking suspicion that if he had fallen into the sea, the pirates wouldn’t have come to his aid. He silently thanked Red Shirt, smelly or no.

  Once he regained his footing, he set off to the front of the ship. Empty cans stuffed full of rocks, bits of wood shards, and other hard and sharp detritus rested in boxes along the side of the cannon. Apparently, he was meant to load the cannon with these cans. They were deceptively heavy, and he struggled to lift one after another into the mouth of the cannon.

  A wave crashed over the side drenching him and the boxes with bone-chilling seawater. He shivered in the wind, and shook his head to clear the water from his ear. It still ached from Marge cuffing him, but the nausea seemed to have passed, for now.

  “Stand ready, matey! We’ll run a shot across her bow,” chortled a scrappy young pirate sporting an eye patch. His curly blond hair was cut close to his head, and his brown eye sparkled. He looked remarkably like Angus’ mischievous friend Billy Roberts, especially as he bounced exuberantly from one foot to the other. Billy never could sit still.

  Angus gripped the ship’s rail and gazed into the distance. He glimpsed a two-masted ship in the distance, and was astonished to discover how rapidly they were gaining ground.

  “Are we chasing them?” he asked Billy.

  Billy stopped moving briefly, and looked sideways at Angus, brows wrinkled in bewilderment. “Are we chasing them?!” His face cleared, and a slow grin stretched across his face. His brown eyes twinkled deviously. “Arrr! Ye almost had me there, bucko! Shep’ll have us there right quick. I’m not too sure about this first shot, though. Untested ammo. Be ready to jump out of the way soon as we light her. Might be some recoil.”

  “You mean, we’re going to shoot the other ship?” Angus gasped. “But, we could hurt someone! What if it sinks?”

  “Har-har-har! Ye are a funny scallywag, BP! Most we’ll do is destroy her mast and rigging. Won’t sink her til after. No prey, no pay, savvy. Should be some good plunder in the hold. Got yer dagger ready in case we board? Ye’ve got to show Marge ye’re more than a powder monkey if ye ever want a cut of the booty. She’s on ye today though, ain’t she?”

  Angus’ mind reeled. He’d incinerated himself on to a pirate ship that was about to attack another ship, potentially causing large scale damage and loss of life. Worse, he had personally loaded the cannon that would enable this robbery on the high seas. His math teacher, normally a very strict and respectable member of the community, was a toothless pirate who smelled of bacon and wore men’s boots. His school friend, who, if truth be told, did often spend time in the principal’s office, had now completely devolved into a one-eyed explosive-crazed maniac. All Angus wanted right now was to find that macaw and get an explanation for all this insanity.

  As if it had read his mind, the bird fluttered down to his shoulder and spoke quietly so Billy couldn’t hear. “Just go with it. I’ll explain everything after the battle. We have to get you off this ship. In the meantime, you need to keep your wits about you. Do you have a weapon?”

  Angus shook his head no.

  “You need something sharp. Pointy. BP always has a dagger with him. Can you find something?”

  Angus felt the waistband of his pants. “I’ve got a screwdriver.”

  “That will have to do. Be alert once the shooting starts. Stay out of the way of the cannon or it will crush you. And whatever you do, keep clear of Marge.”

  “Fire in the hole!” yelled Billy.

  “Run!” squawked the bird.

  Chapter Three: The Plank

  Angus ran as far from the cannon as he could, and was hurled to the deck as it exploded. The blast was deafening. Wood shards and rocks hailed down around him. Angus’ head throbbed from the noise and the acrid gunpowder stung his eyes and throat. He coughed violently and looked back through teary eyes at the hole the cannon had blown through the side of the ship. Not the side of the merchant ship. The side of the pirate ship. Flames ate into the decking where it met the rails.

  “Arrrrrrrrrrrrr!” Marge was shrieking at a decibel level that could deafen a bulldog. “Where is that good-fer-nothin’ bilge-eatin’ swill-drinkin’ scurvy dog? Get me that bilge rat’s head in a noose! I’ll carve him up meself! He’ll be walkin’ the plank and no mistake!”

  “Quick! Run round the other side! She’s goin’ to kill ye this time fer sure!” gasped Billy, lying beside him.

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “Overloaded the cannon with bad shot. Too heavy. Couldn’t aim. Ye’re done fer, mate. Off to Davy Jones’ locker if Marge catches ye. Hide!” breathed Billy before he fainted.

  Angus lumbered to his feet and lurched to the side of the ship. Smoke blanketed the air, giving the impression of thick fog on deck. He slipped in water lapping against his ankles. He bent down, removed his flip-flops, and padded stealthily to the ship’s stern. Where was he going to hide on this vessel? Marge would find him eventually, and then what would happen? He couldn’t avoid her forever. He peered over the side of the ship. Jumping made no sense. There was no land in sight, none that he could see through the smoke anyway. He’d probably drown before he ever reached shore. Besides, he still hadn’t found out where he was, how exactly he’d arrived here, and how he could get home.

  “Squawk! Below decks!”

  The macaw zipped past his ear. Angus tottered along behind the bird as rapidly as possible given the listing of the ship. He heard the disembodied voices of men shouting to each other from among the riggings. Close by, Marge barked orders and cursed Angus’ existence. He couldn’t see two feet in front of his face, and he hoped he wouldn�
�t trip over her while trying to avoid her.

  The bird landed on a metal ring attached to the deck. It squawked at Angus, and he reached down and pulled at it. The deck opened, revealing a ladder built into the hull. The bird flew ahead of him down into the belly of the ship. Angus stuck the flip flops in his pockets, gripped the ladder rungs tightly, and headed below deck, careful to close the trapdoor behind him.

  Five slippery rungs, and he was standing inside the ship. The air was dank, reeking of unwashed bodies, damp clothing, and moldy bedding. Dim lanterns glowed along one wall.

  “Yuck! I hate it down here! Pirates are such filthy creatures!” complained the macaw.

  “What do you suggest I do now?” asked Angus, slipping on his flip-flops. His mom had always told him not to shower barefoot in the school locker room, and looking down at the floor of the pirates’ bunkroom, he now understood her reasoning.

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. Getting you off the ship is going to be easier than I had originally thought. If Marge finds you, she’ll toss you overboard herself. But that wasn’t exactly the method I had in mind,” said the macaw.

  Angus covered his face with his hands and sighed. What a disaster this day had become! He now fully believed that this was no dream. He was on a burning pirate ship that was dangerously close to sinking. If he survived that, a murderous giantess was keen to drown him.

  “Even though you’re a parrot, sorry, macaw, you seem to be the only one on this doomed ship I can understand. Before this day gets any worse and I wake up dead, would you please tell me where we are, and how you think I got here?” asked Angus.

  The macaw considered the closed trapdoor. “Everyone’s topside struggling to put out the fire and get the ship back under control. I can give you the three second version, but then we’ve really got to develop a plan of action.”

  The bird began. “You’re on a sloop named The Fearsome Flea. A sloop is a single-masted ship known for its speed and shallow draft. It can get in and out of tight spaces and shallow waters, and is easy to maneuver. Maniacal Marge is the tyrant running this ship. The other crew members are terrified of her.”