by Rick Johnson
Walking over to where the monitor steed was tethered, Red Whale patted the faithful lizard on the head and said, “Now don’t take what’s going to happen as if I don’t care for you, ol’ beast—I just need you to take a bit of a chance with me.” Mounting up, Red Whale looked around as his friends and, giving the monitor a deep dig in the flanks, shot forward to meet Little Puss.
Scuttling rapidly across the open area toward the iron doors, Red Whale’s monitor steed was reaching full speed, when Helga and Helbara threw the iron doors open. The monitor suddenly stopped dead in its tracks just at the open doorway, looking straight at Little Puss. Flicking its tongue rapidly, it moved forward slowly. Red Whale, who had been urging his steed on, kicking its flanks, realized that something strange was happening. Little Puss also dropped its battle stance at the sight of the much smaller monitor. Rapidly flicking its tongue, the giant monitor seemed to greet the smaller lizard with what Red Whale could only think of as welcome.
“Crinoo!” Red Whale gasped. “They like each other!” Indeed, the two monitors did like each other. The presence of the smaller monitor seemed to calm Little Puss completely—and soon Red Whale felt able to take a tentative step toward the two monitors. The smaller monitor was now lying on top of Little Puss’s back and both monitors seemed content in each other’s company. Stepping bravely forward, Red Whale cautiously stepped past the two monitors, with neither of the great lizards showing any sign of interest.
Let the Future Be as It Will
When the Wrackshees had counted the crew taken captive when they boarded the Daring Dream, the total did not match the list of the crew found in the ship’s logbook. Six of the crew were missing: Red Whale, Fishbum, Katteo Jor’Dane, Roolo Tigg, Bomper Spits, and...also, Bem Madsoor.
When the battle with the Ogress ended and Red Whale told the crew to take a rest, most of the sea-beasts gratefully followed those orders. Bem, however, rather than drop into her hammock like her comrades, crept quietly to the oar-deck and, pushing open an undamaged oar-port, leaned out into the fresh night air. Breathing in great gulps of fresh air, Bem felt as if her head was clearing for the first time in days. Ninety beasts packed into close quarters, condemned to work and live in the same soaked clothing for days on end, sloshing around in ever-more stinking water, created a mind-bending stench. Breathing fresh air at last, Bem relished the opportunity to be alone and clear her mind of the recent hardships. Pushing a broken plank out through the oar-port, she tied it securely so that she could lie on it, hanging outside the ship in the delightful sea breeze.
Lying on her back on the plank, Bem lounged lazily, enjoying the fresh night air, and gazing at the amazing show of stars above. During the crisis of the storm, she had not had time to wonder where the storm might carry Daring Dream. Now, however, lying under the stars, Bem realized the ship had been driven a long distance by the wind. As pilot on a Rummer Boar ship she’d gained a solid sense of the relation of sea and land. “Capt’n Gumberpott will take a proper reading and fix our location,” she thought, “but it looks like we’re not far from Port Newolf.” With that thought, Bem flipped over on her stomach, let her arms drop on each side of the plank, and slipped off to sleep.
She had slept only a short time when she awoke with a start, alert in all her senses. Sensing danger, she slowly lifted her head enough to look around. In the early morning dawn, she could make out a ring of kayaks and skiffs around the ship. Stealthy figures were tossing grappling hooks over the sides of the ship and rapidly scuttling up ropes to board. Knowing all the raiders and pirates that cruised these waters, she had no doubt what was happening. Only Wrackshee raiders used kayaks—Daring Dream was being boarded by slavers.
ZING! STRACKKK! An arrow shot past her, gently grazing the side of her head, and stuck in the side of Daring Dream. Wrackshee archers, providing cover for the boarding party, had spotted her. Rolling off the plank, Bem dropped into the ocean as additional arrows thudded into the ship around her. Just before hitting the water, Bem took in a deep suck of air and flexed her legs to soften the blow in case she hit the rocks.
SPLASH! Finding that she’d landed where the grounded ship hung clear of the reef, Bem did not surface. Instead, she swam powerfully under the ship to escape targeting by Wrackshee arrows. Clearing the bottom of the ship, Bem continued swimming with all her might, hoping to come up far enough away from the ship to escape notice. Battling against the increasingly urgent need to breathe, Bem continued on, stroke after stroke. At last, lungs bursting, she broke water as quietly as possible, doing all she could to stifle her gasping desire for air.
To her amazed delight, Bem could see that she’d surfaced some few yards behind the ring of Wrackshee boats! The nearest Wrackshee boat was one of the single-sail skiffs. The archers aboard the skiff had their eyes trained on Daring Dream, bows at the ready, watching for trouble. Bem carefully surveyed the situation. Two Wrackshees in the skiff. The main attack force of Wrackshees was now all at the ship, grappling up the sides. Bem retreated a bit further away from the nearby skiff to wait, watch, and make a plan.
Within minutes, the surprise attack had been completely successful, and Daring Dream was under Wrackshee control. As the catamarans moved toward the ship to allow the prisoners to be loaded, the skiffs stayed in position, continuing to provide cover. The Wrackshee’s preoccupation with the loading of the prisoners gave Bem the chance she needed. Once again filling her lungs with air, Bem submerged and swam under water until she was once again in front of the skiff. While still under water, she reversed her direction, then surfaced some yards in front of the skiff.
“How now! Who laughs first?” Bem called out to the surprised archers.
Looking at her with amazement, the archers kept their bows trained on Bem as she swam toward the skiff. As she reached the skiff, Bem could now see that one of the Wrackshees was tall, bald, and had a twisted nose; the other was shorter with long greasy hair.
“I said,” Bem called out again, “How now! Who laughs first?—Are ye deaf or don’t you know the counter-sign?”
Exchanging puzzled glances, the archers lowered their bows, although keeping them at the ready. “No one laughs at the Five Friends!” the Wrackshee with the twisted nose replied.
“Ah, good!” Bem laughed as she grabbed the side of the skiff. “A Rummer friend requests permission to board,” she said.
“Permission granted,” the Wrackshee responded, helping Bem climb into the skiff.
“Where are you from?” the Wrackshee asked. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m a Rummer—captured in a raid and pretending to play along with those scurvy devils to save my skin. I’m sure grateful that the Wrackshee Friends showed up. Those rats would’a bumped me off sooner or later. So, firsts I see the kayaks comin’ I skedaddle over the side and come to join you.”
“Ya sure d’ startle us,” the shorter Wrackshee said. “You poppin’ up and spoutin’ out the Five Friends passwords—I thought you were an apparition—some drowned mate Davy Jones tossed back from his Locker!”
“Nay, I’m naught but meat and bone, like yr’selves!” Bem laughed, happy that her ruse seemed to be working. “I eat n’ drink just like any good sea-beast!”
“Oh-Ho!” one of the archers exclaimed. “Now wouldn’t it be a pretty thing to have some good food and drink!”
“Har!” the other agreed. “Why we ain’t had decent victuals since two days ago. And it’ll be another day leasts we see good grub—we’re assigned to guard this here ship ’till the Bozz decides whether to fix her or torch her.”
“And, mark me words—the Bozz and his gutt-for-brains buddies will eat and drink well tonight, while we sits out here damp and shiverin’. That’s a big lot o’ slaves they’ll be bringin’ to to shore today—lots of eatin’ fine and drinkin’ plenty tonight—for them’s as gets to shore that is. Which won’t be us.”
“Oh, don’t be so sure about that,” Bem replied. “You say you’re on guard duty tonight? You and
who else?”
“No one else,” the Wrackshee with long greasy hair said. “The Bozz doesn’t expect trouble over a wrecked ship, but he’s not takin’ chances either. We’re just going to keep an eye on things.”
“And what would ya say if I told you I know where the Capt’n’s special grub and drink are stored?” Bem asked slyly.
The Wrackshees’ eyes lit up eagerly. “Special grub and drink?” the bald one repeated.
“Oh, aye,” Bem responded. “Ya don’t think the fine Capt’n eats and drinks like a mere common sea-beast, do ya now? And bein’ so, you don’t think he just let’s any beast know where he keeps his good stuff, now do ya?”
Overjoyed that the Wrackshees seemed to be entirely taken in by her trickery, Bem spun out a long yarn explaining how it was she knew the whereabouts of the Capt’n’s fine victuals. Her detailed description of the delights enjoyed at the Capt’n’s table nearly caused the hungry Wrackshees to faint away in ecstasy.
“Nah,” the Wrackshee with the twisted nose suddently said, his smile fading away. “That boarding party over there will pick that ship clean—that’s their job. There won’t be anything of value left—and they’ll eat everything in sight!”
“The Capt’n’s fine goods won’t be found, you can be sure of that,” Bem finished. “Unless you know exactly where it is, you’ll never find it. Now, I’m mighty tired,” she said, lying down in the bottom of the skiff. “I’m just going to nap a while. When the ship is empty and you’re ready to head over there and board it, just wake me up and I’ll show you the grub—we’ll have a splendid feast tonight! No one else but us invited!”
The Wrackshees contendedly settled back at their posts watching the activities on the Daring Dream while Bem pretended to drop off to sleep. Not trusting her companions, however, she only appeared to sleep, wanting only to lie low and stay out of sight from the ship.
Bem carried on with the pretended nap, tossing and turning and mumbling as if sound asleep, until the Wrackshees cried out, “The red banner! It’s time!”
One of the Wrackshees, nudging Bem with his foot, said, “Wake up, you lazy varmit! The Bozz’s red banner is flying from the ship. That’s our signal to move in.”
Still not wanting to show herself to the rest of the Wrackshee force, Bem yawned and rolled over, saying sleepily, “That’s very pretty—but wake me up when it’s time to board.”
“If you don’t wake then and show us the victuals, we’ll show you no mercy,” the greasy-haired Wrackshee threatened with a chuckle.
“My mercy’ll show nothing but teeth if ya fools mess up our plan,” Bem said sternly, through a half-yawn. “Now don’t go showin’ so much eagerness that ya make yer mates wonder what they might be missing. No—let’s just move in slowly. So we board when we know the rest are gone. Now, please let me finish my nap—you’ve nearly ruined the best rest I’ve had in weeks.”
Waving a small red flag, the Wrackshees in the skiff returned the signal from their comrades departing from the Daring Dream. Then, they raised the sail, put the skiff about, and began slowly moving toward the ship.
The last catamaran was just pulling away from the ship, surrounded by an escort of kayaks, as the skiff came alongside Daring Dream.
“What prize?” the greasy-haired Wrackshee called to his comrades.
“Bah! Not a gold coin to be found—only a bit of silver here and there, and that mostly in utensils and cups!” one of the departing Wrackshees responded.
“No millions on board this old wreck,” another Wrackshee added. “A good haul in slaves, but beyond that, not even a skinny bone to be found to gnaw on. Biscuit—and that soggy—that’s all we found to eat!”
“Not to worry—you’ll eat well tonight, and sleep snug on shore!” the greasy-haired Wrackshee called out after the departing catamaran. “And thanks to you all for that! Leavin’ us poor seabeasts here in this wreck all by ourselves—with nothin’ to eat but soggy biscuit!”
“Ah, don’t take it bad,” the Wrackshee on the catamaran called back. “Why that skiff of yours has got plenty of fishhooks! HAR-HAR-HAR! And we left you a bag of dried shark meat and a jug of Bummer Bitters! That’ll tide you over ’till tomorrow. HAR-HAR-HAR!”
In two minutes more, the skiff was alongside the ship. Grabbing a boarding rope left dangling, the Wrackshee with the twisted nose sprang up the side of Daring Dream, followed by his comrade.
“Here, mate, tie up the skiff and come on up,” the greasy-haired Wrackshee called down to Bem.
Making no effort to catch the rope, Bem instead grabbed an oar and pushed off from the ship. As the skiff floated away, she turned the sail to catch the wind. In a few moments the skiff was moving at good speed away from the Daring Dream.
“Treachery! Rogue and rascal! We’ve been tricked!” the Wrackshees roared, flinging curses after the escaping skiff.
“Divide my part of the victuals between ya!” Bem called back. “It’s the least I can do ta return yer hospitality!”
“SLAVE ESCAPING! SLAVE ESCAPING!” the Wrackshees yelled, trying to attract the attention of their comrades in the catamaran.
“Now don’t ya go blamin’ me,” Bem called back. “You’re the ones as went runnin’ off and left the boat to me—and givin’ me your bows and arrows, too! I can’t thank ya enough. Ah, yes, I’m sure the Bozz will be right pleased with two such fine idiots as yourselves!”
At hearing Bem’s last comment, the Wrackshees stopped wailing for help, and the gaze of those on the catamaran was toward the shore, not back to the wrecked ship. Bem, in high spirits at the success of her ruse, set her course away from the ship.
As she watched Daring Dream receed into the distance, she turned her thoughts toward what she could do to help its enslaved crew. She knew she could not directly take on the Wrackshees. Needing a plan, she decided the best thing was to sail down the coast for a distance to safeguard her escape and think. Whatever came her way would be whatever came her way. Let her future be as it would be.
Bem Madsoor In Command
Bigger Black leaned against the rail of the forecastle of the Lost Hope, Sabre Tusk d’Newolf’s flagship, thinking. The lapping of waves and the sound of a shipmate playing an accordian were the only sounds. A sea chart lay unrolled before him.
“Hey, Big Man, what are you looking at?” It was his messmate, Haf-Tusk.
“Haf, keep it down!” Bigger was deeply annoyed.
“So Sabre Tusk is gone?” Haf-Tusk asked.
“Yeah, he’s gone to shore to see what’s up with the group he spotted there. But don’t you get any ideas—I’m not crossing Sabre Tusk on your account.”
“Hey, Big Man, just calm down. I’m not crossing His Tuskiness. Let’s just say there’s possibilities.”
“What possibilities?” Bigger said coldly. “You know I don’t want trouble.”
“So Bem almost got the job done—” Bigger did not let Haf finish.
“Bem! What about her? Can’t we just forget about her? We’re lucky the rest of us didn’t end up in the ocean like she did.”
“Whoa, there, Big Man—you’re right. There’s no point thinking about what might have been if the mutiny had succeeded. But, interesting isn’t it—you have nothing to do with sailing this ship, but here you are studying that sea chart like you’re going somewhere.”
“O.K.,” Bigger answered. “You were almost a hero. But you ended up in irons and just short of His Tuskiness throwing you to the sharks. And, oh, yeah, I almost forgot—you and Bem nearly got the rest of us killed, just for good measure. So, forgive me if I don’t too get excited when you have some new idea. But, no way the crew’s happy, so—sure—I’m thinking. That doesn’t make me crazy enough to follow another hare-brained scheme of yours—but, you got guts and I trust you—what possibilities you got in mind?”
There was a long silence. “We go for it, Big Man. Now. The crew has had it with His Tuskiness—I’m sure they’d go with us if we put the question to them. Sabre
Tusk and his goons are on shore. We raise sail and get the blazes out of here.”
“I hope you can sail this thing better than I can,” Haf-Tusk said. “Sabre Tusk always takes the navigator with him when he goes ashore—he doesn’t want no one thinkin’ of leavin’ while he’s gone.”
“Haf!” Bigger Black suddenly exclaimed, “See that skiff off yonder—looks to be headin’ toward us. What do you make of it?”
Haf-Tusk took out a small spyglass he kept in his pocket and peered at the skiff. “Take a look!” Haf said, handing the glass to Bigger.
“Bem Madsoor!” Bigger exploded. “She’s alive!”
“And likely comin’ to avenge herself,” Haf added.
“Regardless of why she’s comin’,” Bigger replied, “it’s a powerful, powerful omen!”
“Too dangerous to wait for her,” Haf said excitedly. “If His Tuskiness sees a skiff coming to Lost Hope, he’ll be back here in a flash. Call the crew to us—we act now!”
“What you talkin’ quiet and sneaky about up there?” The unexpected question startled Bigger and Haf and they whirled around, instantly on the defensive.
“Just saw you two talking secret-like up here in the fo’castle,” Fat-Mouth said. “What’s up?”
“Fat,” Bigger Black responded, looking relieved, “you startled us—but, that’s OK. We were actually just talking about you.”
“You were?” Fat replied.
“Sure,” Bigger said. “See that skiff out there? The beast in it is Bem Madsoor! She’s comin’ here to take over the ship—finish the work she started earlier. Now I know you were with her last time—just like Haf and I were. Sure as we’re all here together, her comin’ back from bein’ a dead beast is a sign that the time’s run out for Sabre Tusk and his goons. We don’t know if Bem’s comin’ with angels or demons at her back, but a dead beast showin’ up is an omen. We say it means take the ship!”