Robots and Moon Rockets

by Mark Douglas Stafford

CHAPTER 9

  STALEMATE

  The fog-dimmed sun was low in the West as the tiny Windrush blindly cut the peaks and skipped the troughs of the gentle ocean swell that looked like bottle-green glass. Bound tight to the mast and gagged, Flossy pounded the bottom of the boat with the heel of one bare foot. Fang looked up from the map he was drooling over, a compass strung from his neck. It was the map she had taken from Pirate Pratt’s cabin.

  ‘Mm-mmm-m,’ she said through her gag.

  Fang tilted his head and raised an ear, a dog’s way of showing he was listening. She wriggled violently in her restraints. ‘Mm-mmm-m,’ she insisted, making her eyes wide.

  Fang looked down again, deliberately ignoring her, and continued to study the map. He was a rusty brown dog of no discernible breed with pale eyes and two prominent fangs. There had been larger dogs aboard the Interloper before Harry Possum and Larry Monkey had rescued her, but none as self-possessed as Fang. She thought for a while that he was in fact Pirate Pratt. He would trot up and down the deck barking orders without doing any of the work himself. The other dogs in the crew got suddenly busy when he glanced in their direction. But he had his own small cabin and only rarely entered the captain’s cabin, so she soon decided he must be Pirate Pratt’s first mate.

  Her throat and mouth were dry, her lips were chaffed and she needed water badly. A little food would also be nice as long it wasn’t a hunk of meat. She thought differently about meat now she knew that animals could talk and feel like people; that animals were people.

  Back at the wreck, Iscariot Snake had effortlessly disarmed her and threatened to swallow her whole if she didn’t cooperate. She had considered fighting with her bare hands despite knowing she had no chance of winning but in the end decided to wait for a better opportunity for escape and revenge. The dogs then expertly tied her to the Windrush’s mast and gagged her so she couldn’t call for help. Her hands and feet were bound so tightly they hurt. Dogs were surprisingly good with knots. Once the fast little skiff had left the wreck behind, Flossy had further endured the horror of watching Fang semaphore instructions that would wreck the Hammer on the reef. The pirate had used her flags to send false instructions to Larry. Gagged and bound there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  She hoped Larry, a clever monkey by anyone’s standards, was able to see through the fog and subterfuge and know it wasn’t her. If he had, the Hammer would have avoided the trap and would be looking for her. If he hadn’t, it would be up to the Ghost Fleet to find her and set things right. The fall back plan, having two fleets instead of one, had been Iscariot’s idea and now it would go against him. When he was captured they would punish him for his treachery. Harry and Sally would be saved and Harry free to set off in the newly completed Serendipity; surprised, no doubt, to see the ship finished by the town while he was held captive. She would sail with him to find her parents aboard the Enterprise using the drool-covered pirate map. She longed to see the surprised expression on her parent’s faces when she introduced Harry, a talking animal! And to throw her arms around them, and be picked up and thrown into the air by her father. She would have to be careful what she told them of her adventures and her new friends, and how soon. As there were no talking animals in Australia, the shock might be too much for them. She grinned beneath her gag at the thought.

  Flossy pounded the bottom of the skiff again, her ankles chaffing painfully against her ropes as she struck the rough boards.

  The pirate she called Blackpaw, for obvious reasons, approached from behind and looked up at her blankly. ‘Mm-mmm-m,’ she said again.

  She knew Blackpaw from her time as a prisoner aboard the Interloper. He was a heavyset dog with rolls of excess skin, a flat nose and a short tail that almost never wagged. He had sad eyes and his fur was patched black and white. He was one of the few dogs she’d almost liked. He wasn’t very bright but he was kind-hearted, to her at least. Soon after being captured she had attempted to escape one moonless night. The attempt had failed before it truly began and she ended up in the ship’s brig. For three days she was to be given no food or water. Despite this, Blackpaw secretly dropped a raw fish head through the bars of her cage each night during his watch. A fish’s head, even when slightly rotten, tasted fabulous when the alternative was starvation. She had hungrily devoured each offering, eyeballs and all, thankful for the small mercy.

  Flossy twisted her head as best she could and rubbed her gag against the mast. ‘Mm-mm-mm,’ she said.

  Blackpaw growled something at Fang who woofed back.

  With one paw, Blackpaw slipped the gag from Flossy’s mouth. She breathed deeply, tasting the invigoratingly salty sea breeze.

  ‘Thanks, Blackpaw! I need water and I need to wee,’ said Flossy, with a friendly but determined smile. ‘Would you mind untying me, please?’

  Blackpaw growled something at Fang. Fang growled back and looked up from the map. Blackpaw woofed. Fang woofed. If she hadn’t have spent months aboard the Interloper she wouldn’t have known they were actually talking in dog-language. She didn’t understand any of the words but from the tone she could tell Fang was in command and Blackpaw was asking, on her behalf, for leniency.

  As soon as the barking stopped Blackpaw untied her wrists, which tingled with pins and needles. She stretched and wiggled her fingers luxuriously.

  Blackpaw fetched a water flask and dropped it at her feet. She drank deeply. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Can I untie my ankles now?’ she asked, reaching down.

  Blackpaw growled.

  ‘How then shall I…? I need to use the toilet and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not built like a dog; I can’t just lift a leg, you know? I have to squat over the edge of the boat in a much undignified manner or you’ll have a smelly mess swilling about underfoot. Oh, I mean under-paw.’

  Blackpaw and Fang growled and barked at each other as they discussed the predicament. She guessed that untying her required them to disobey orders but that her bathroom needs weren’t anticipated by the orders. Presumably Blackpaw would be arguing to untie her—he was a nice dog despite his chosen occupation of piracy—and Fang insisting that it was his job to make sure that orders were followed to the letter.

  ‘Guys, if you don’t make a decision soon there’ll be no need to make a decision at all. I’m sailing very close to the edge here and I can’t hold on much longer.’

  Blackpaw stooped and released the ropes binding her ankles with a sharp yank. Flossy stood and stretched her legs as the skiff changed direction. The boom swung about and Flossy ducked. Sea foam hissed as the bow slammed into the swell, cool mist spraying over them.

  ‘I’m just going up to the prow,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘You’ll give a girl a little privacy, won’t you?’

  As she made her way forward she looked desperately for something that would help her turn the tables and take back the Windrush. Behind her she heard her sword being drawn from its scabbard and glanced back to see Fang struggling to hold it in his mouth; it was made for human hands, not jaws. Blackpaw sat near the mast watching her passively with big, dopy eyes.

  The sails weren’t full but the skiff was making good speed—you could say a lot of bad things about pirates, but they sure knew how to sail. In the evening fog and without a map and compass it was impossible to know for sure but she thought they might be heading for a rendezvous at sea north of the reef. Since leaving, Fang had frequently referred to the map and compass, more than would normally be required this far from land. He had made many small course corrections, which showed he knew where they were going and that their destination was a precise location. As they would still be a long way from land the most logical reason for needing such precise navigation was a rendezvous at sea. Perhaps the pirates had another ship already.

  Upon reaching the prow and hanging unladylike over the side, Flossy quickly completed her business. The slap of seawater and sea spray helped her clean up. Her mother would be horrified!

  Flossy need
ed to find some way to turn the tables. At most she had only hours left; at the least, minutes. When the Windrush reached her destination she would be outnumbered and her chance of escaping would be greatly diminished. If she could take the Windrush now, she could circle back and meet up with the Hammer, or at least the surviving boats. If she could dispose of Fang and Blackpaw and then get a decent bearing, she could try to meet up with the Ghost Fleet. They would be out there, scouring the ocean around Kidney Reef looking for the Hammer. She might hear them sounding off in the fog or literally bump into them.

  She thought through her options. If she allowed them to tie her to the mast again she wouldn’t have another chance to overpower them before arriving wherever it was they were going. There were now only two dogs to outsmart, when they arrived there might be more, even Pirate Pratt himself. Pirate Pratt would be mad about the loss of the Interloper. Her escape shortly before the ship’s grounding on the reef would make her a prime suspect and therefore a natural object for Pirate Pratt’s wrath.

  Having never actually met him, she was curious about the pirate captain and wondered what kind of dog he was. The other pirates had looked nervous whenever she asked them anything about him, as if there was some secret they might be accused of revealing if they answered. She had once asked Blackpaw about the dread pirate but he had cringed and slunk away. This made her think he might be a Pit Bull Terrier or a Rottweiler, two of the most deadly dogs known. But he could be a Miniature Poodle with a mean streak for all she knew. She just had nothing to go on, which was surprising given how infamous the dread pirate seemed to be and how long Harry had said he had terrorized the Gulf of Mexico.

  Flossy knew she couldn’t overpower the two dogs, nor could she surprise them. She had no weapon and they were bigger and stronger. There were two of them and each had razor sharp teeth. And Blackpaw had her sword. Even if it was difficult for him to wield, her sword was deadly sharp. They were too heavy to push over the side and too experienced at sea to be knocked overboard by a well-timed, fast swinging boom. Negotiation was useless as she had nothing to offer them and couldn’t understand them anyway. She couldn’t bribe them, nor could she threaten them. She smiled as she thought of Harry’s and Larry’s small victory. How humiliating it must have been to be stopped by cheese jammed into rudder rope holes.

  ‘Woof!’ barked Fang impatiently.

  ‘Just a minute, I’m almost done.’ Except she wasn’t almost done; she still had no plan, nor had she the essence of one that had any chance of success.

  The Windrush hurtled inexorably towards its secret destination. Darkness would soon overtake them. The swell was up and the boat slammed into the emerald waters showering her with salty mist. She tightened her grip on the thin wooden rail and grabbed hold of the flapping edge of the spinnaker that ballooned above her. He fingers were pale with cold.

  She knew Blackpaw wouldn’t put up much of a fight. He always seemed to look for ways to avoid one. Fang was a different matter. He was smart and he was vicious, the worst combination.

  ‘Grrrr,’ growled Fang. He had moved back to the tiller, her sword still in his mouth. She could see it flashing in the twilight.

  ‘Coming. I won’t be long now,’ she said, trying to buy a little more time.

  ‘There has to be something I can use!’ she thought. She ran through what she knew was on board: Fang had her sword, the map and a compass; Blackpaw was friendly towards her, a possible ally; fishing rods were strapped to the mast, one with the dried remains of a shellfish still attached to a small hook—hard to see how these could be useful; there was a canvas bag under the seat behind Fang with what might be a sextant protruding, good for navigation but little else; a coil of rope; the skiff; the sails; a waterproof box. None of these items were readily accessible or obviously useful to aid in her escape.

  Her fingers stung with cold. She rubbed them. ‘There has to be something that would give me an advantage, something I could use,’ she thought.

  Fang had tied off the tiller after adjusting course and was making his way towards her from the stern. He held her sword tightly in his mouth, his eyes fixed on her as if she were prey. ‘It can’t be easy for him to hold my sword in his mouth like that, could that be an advantage?’

  She rubbed her cold fingers again, and then looked at them. ‘That’s it! Fingers! I have fingers, they don’t,’ she said out loud.

  Flossy looked up as Fang approached. She could just make the jump if she used him as a stepping stone.

  As the Windrush was lifted by the next wave, Flossy leapt with all her might. This caught Fang completely by surprise. Her right foot came down heavily on the pirate’s back, laying him low. Flossy pushed upwards and landed on the boom, which swung about, knocking the sword from Fang’s mouth. Blackpaw dropped flat to avoid being knocked overboard.

  Before either dog had time to recover from their surprise, Flossy had scaled the mast and hooked herself in. At the top, well out of reach, she went to work untying the ropes that held up the heavy sails. Down below, Fang barked and howled. Without fingers or the special rope ladders used by dog sailors he was unable to climb. They had stolen the Windrush and had not time to make it dog-friendly. Flossy had the means to stop them all along. In fact, she had ten and they were staring her in the face: fingers!

  One of the sails flapped to the deck, then another. When the spinnaker dropped it completely covered Fang. Flossy giggled to see him struggling beneath.

  The Windrush glided to a sweet stop and rolled gently on the glassy ocean swell. Fang paced below growling and howling in frustration. He wasn’t going anywhere with the sails down so he wouldn’t make his rendezvous. Blackpaw sat at the base of the mast and quietly watched, tongue panting, eyes drooping.

  Flossy straddled the top of the swaying mast. She was cold, hungry and damp but determined to hold out until morning when rescue was more likely. If she couldn’t win, she could at least force a stalemate. She tied herself securely to the mast and made herself as comfortable as possible.

  When she was little, Flossy had played in the rigging high above the Enterprise’s deck and had fallen asleep swaying in a tangle of ropes that she had thought a hammock. When she was found she could see that her parents had been frantic with worry. Her mother’s face was red and swollen from crying. Her father’s glowing with relief and the exertions of the search. By her reckless actions she had hurt her parents and distressed the crew. They had searched the ship for hours and even circled back in case she had fallen overboard. Flossy had expected a scolding for the trouble she’d caused. Instead, she received an extra ration of jam pudding and was allowed to stay up late so she could dance and sing with the adults. Until then, she had taken for granted that her parents loved and cared for her; after, she understood just how much. Even at her young age she knew she wasn’t being rewarded for recklessness, she had simply been swept up in a celebration held in her honour. She was not, as everyone had feared, lost. She was found.

  Her parents, the crew of the Enterprise and her new friends were out there on the dark ocean. They were looking for her, and they would find her. Soon she would be safe in her parent’s arms once again. The thought warmed her.

  ‘Goodnight Fang! Goodnight Blackpaw,’ Flossy called out cheerfully, yawning.

  ‘Grrrr,’ was Fang’s only reply as the Windrush rolled on the gentle ocean swell.

  Blackpaw either didn’t care or was secretly pleased. She couldn’t yet tell which.

  As the sun set in the West the ocean fog thickened and the temperature dropped. It would be a long, cold night but she hoped that sleep might eventually come and that the morning would present fresh opportunities for escape, rescue and sweet revenge.

  Hours later, shivering from cold but smiling grimly, sleep crept up like a thief and stole her away to unconscious oblivion.