by Kate Davies
“Those rats are as stupid as the rest of my family,” said Imogen, watching the rats splash around in the ocean.
“What?” said Ava, pulling out one of her earplugs.
But Imogen didn’t reply, because her father had grabbed on to one of the ropes hanging from the pirate ship’s mast and swung onto the deck of the cruise ship, legs swinging wildly, with an “ARRRRRGGGHHHHH!” that was oddly terrifying for a man whose idea of danger was doing equations without a calculator. He landed with a plunk, smoothed down his pirate costume, and pointed his cutlass at Ava and asked, “Would you care for a duel?”
“Not really,” said Ava, pointing her cannon at him again.
“Wait!” said Imogen, jumping between her father and the cannon. Sure, her father was being much more irritating than usual, but she didn’t really want him to be blown to pieces in front of her eyes. Or even behind her eyes. “I’ll fight you,” she said to Al.
“What with?” he asked.
“Good question,” said Imogen. “You don’t happen to have a sword on you, do you?” she asked Ava.
“Of course I do,” said Ava, pulling one from her jacket pocket—she was like Mary Poppins, but with weapons.
Imogen took the sword and pointed it at her father. “I took fencing lessons at Lilyworth,” she explained to Ava.
Al pointed his cutlass at Imogen. “En garde!” he shouted.
And they were off.
The Crims cheered and jeered and stroked their pirate beards while Imogen and Al swiped and parried and shouted “Touché!” at each other.
“Oh, Al,” simpered Josephine, batting her false eyelashes. “You’re so attractive when you’re fighting our only daughter to the death!”
But Ava didn’t seem impressed. “This is all very entertaining,” she said, “but I hope you don’t mind if I spice things up a bit.” And she threw a grenade onto the Crims’ ship.
The Crims shrieked and ran pointlessly about as flames spread across their ship.
“Help!” screamed Freddie “There’s a fifty-fifty chance the ship will sink before we have a chance to escape!”
Al looked over at the Crims, who were clearly waiting for him to tell them what to do.
“Please don’t tell me I’m going to have to tell you what to do while I’m in the middle of a sword fight,” said Al.
“Darling,” said Josephine, climbing up the rigging to escape the fire, “you’re going to have to tell us what to do, even though you’re in the middle of a sword fight.”
Al sighed. “Fine,” he said, looking up as his sword clashed against Imogen’s. “Nick and Nate, untie the rigging and swing across to the cruise ship.”
“But it’s really hard to climb the rigging with a peg leg on,” said Nick.
“I CAN DO IT!” shouted Knuckles, scrambling up the knotted ropes, but halfway to the top, he looked down and started shaking. “I FORGOT THAT I’M SCARED OF HEIGHTS! MUMMY! CAN YOU HELP ME DOWN?”
“No,” said Big Nana.
And then she ducked, because Ava was firing an anti-aircraft gun at the ship. (Ava should really have been shooting an anti-ship gun, but that was the one thing she didn’t have in her arsenal.)
Delia ran out onto the deck, waving a pistol. She actually looked pretty good in her pirate costume—red trousers, a fake mustache, a very convincing hook. “Hey,” she said, “you’re not playing fair. We’re trying to bring authentic pirate culture back. Real pirates kill one another at close range, instead of shooting at one another from a distance.”
“Well, I’m part of the authentic supervillain culture,” said Ava. “And we don’t care about being fair. We care about destroying our enemies, by any means possible. And then eating their snacks. But if you really want to kill me in close quarters, be my guest. Come over here and fight me.” She stopped firing and stood with her hands up. The pirate-y Crims looked at one another. “Come on,” called Ava. “There are two of us, and, like, way too many of you. . . . Or is Al the only one brave enough to board our ship?”
“I BRAVE!” shouted Isabella, strolling to the edge of the deck and ripping off the huge inflatable straitjacket Uncle Clyde had dressed her in.
“No, darling—” called Josephine.
But it was too late. Isabella had already hurled herself over the side of the boat. Luckily, unlike Sam’s rats—and the other Crims—Isabella could swim. She butterfly-stroked over to the cruise ship and hauled herself up its side with her freakishly strong nails and teeth. She plopped onto the deck . . . and clapped her hands. “What I do now?” she asked, looking at Al.
It wasn’t really surprising that Isabella didn’t have much of an attack plan, seeing as she was three years old. And it wasn’t really surprising that Ava did have a plan. She scooped Isabella up, tied her up with a rope, and plonked her in the middle of the deck.
“Right,” she called across to the Crims. “Who’s coming to rescue her?”
“Me!” shouted Freddie, swinging across to the cruise ship. But Ava was waiting for him. She caught him in a headlock as soon as he landed on the deck and tied him up with Isabella.
One by one, the other Crims swung across to try to save Isabella. And one by one, Ava tied them up. Even Big Nana—who tried to swing from the rigging and attack Ava from above—ended up bundled in between Henry and Delia. Soon, only Al was left, out of breath but still fighting Imogen. Imogen used all the tricks she was taught at school—the Korean defense, the Irish feint, the Belgian waffle distraction—and eventually, she managed to back her father into a corner until Ava could tie him up, too. He didn’t seem to mind that much; he was still distracted by the waffle, which was cinnamon flavored.
Ava had tied all the Crims together with a pretty bow. She smiled at Imogen. “Pretty bows are part of my personal brand,” she said, standing back to admire her handiwork.
Imogen, once again, felt humiliated to be a Crim. She caught Big Nana’s eye and mouthed, “What were you thinking?”
Big Nana looked hurt, though that was probably because Nick’s cutlass was jabbing her in the back. “We had to get you back,” she mouthed back.
Imogen felt guilty, and she didn’t like feeling guilty, so she looked away and thought about Latin poetry until she felt bored instead.
Meanwhile, Ava prowled around the clump of Crims. “The question is, how will I kill you?” muttered Ava, twirling her eyebrows.
“Wait,” said Imogen.
The Crims gasped. Imogen had broken Big Nana’s cardinal rule: “Never interrupt a friend’s evil monologue unless they’re in danger of being eaten by a wild boar.”
But Imogen ignored them. “You can’t kill my family,” she said.
“Yes I can,” said Ava. “Have you seen the number of weapons I’ve got on this ship? Plus, I want to kill them. They’ll just slow us down. And it’s too late to take them back to Dullport now.”
“Just put them back on the ferry!” Imogen pleaded.
Which is when the ferry exploded.
“Oh,” said Imogen.
“It’s for the best,” said Ava. “The other Crims are like oversized gnats. If we let them go, they’ll just follow the cruise ship and keep attacking us until they get what they want.”
Imogen looked around, desperately trying to find a way to save her family. “We can lock them in the hold,” she said. “We can make them wait on us hand and foot. And face. And torso.”
Ava waved her hand. “You’re overcomplicating things. You know most criminals only get caught when they’re stupid enough to leave their victims alive, right?” She patted Imogen’s head, as if Imogen were a pony, or a dog, which she wasn’t. “I’ve been waiting to give you something,” she said. “Now seems as good a time as any. . . .” She reached into her pocket. Imogen flinched—so far, the only things Ava had pulled out of there had been weapons—and she was very relieved when Ava held out a bracelet with beads that spelled out “WWASVD?”
“It stands for ‘What Would a Super Villain Do?’” Ava expla
ined as she tied it around Imogen’s wrist. “If you really want to achieve your full criminal potential, you have you ask yourself this question, over and over again. And then act on the answer.”
“I’m not sure even a supervillain would allow their best friend to murder every single member of their family, though,” said Imogen.
“Hey,” said Delia. “I thought I was your best friend?”
Imogen ignored her. She didn’t have time for Delia’s jealousy. She looked at Ava and asked, “How would you feel if I killed all the Kruks?”
“That’s so sweet!” said Ava, giving Imogen a patronizing hug. “As if you could! Look—go and have a piña colada or something. I’ll take care of this.”
“No thanks,” said Imogen. “We’re out of paper umbrellas, and everyone knows they’re the best part. The point is, I know my family better than anyone. If you’re really going to kill them, I should be there. To . . . help.” I have to come up with something, she thought desperately. If my family gets killed trying to “save” me from Ava, it will be my fault. . . . Maybe I don’t have what it takes to be a supervillain. . . .
Ava shrugged. “Okay,” she said. “But this might be hard to watch.” She clapped her hands. “Right, guys. Seeing as you’re so keen on authentic pirate culture, I’m going to give you all an authentic pirate death. You’re going to walk the plank.”
“Hooray!” shouted Uncle Clyde. “I’ve always wanted to do that!”
“You can’t swim, you great big unripe mango,” pointed out Big Nana.
“That’s a good point,” said Uncle Clyde, starting to look appropriately, i.e., extremely, worried.
The other Crims looked worried too. Aunt Bets was biting her nails. Isabella was biting Delia. Imogen tried to hide how worried she was by smiling and saying, “Right, then! What are we going to use as a plank?”
Ava fetched a surfboard from the onboard sports equipment store and strapped it to the edge of the cruise ship with a piece of rope. Imogen peered over the edge of the boat as Ava worked. They weren’t that high above the water . . . but everything’s high when you can’t swim. . . .
“You first,” said Ava, pointing to Uncle Clyde.
Uncle Clyde edged his way along the surfboard, which wobbled precariously as he walked along it. Imogen said a silent prayer to the universe as he reached the end. He closed his eyes and said, “Life, it’s been real,” and stepped off into the sea.
It took a while for the splash to come. When it did, everyone looked over the edge. Uncle Clyde had disappeared . . .
And then bobbed to the surface, as if he were inflatable, which he was, sort of. He had taken off his ridiculous pirate shirt, and underneath, he was wearing a blow-up swimming costume. He looked a little disappointed. “So those weren’t my last words?” he asked.
“You should be grateful they weren’t,” said Imogen. “They were terrible.”
Ava gave a nasty laugh. “I hope the rest of you aren’t planning to pull a stunt like that,” she said.
The Crims looked at one another. They had, of course, been planning to pull exactly the same stunt—originality wasn’t a Crim strong point—so Ava patted them all down and confiscated the rubber ring that Delia had been hiding under her pirate skirt, and the water wings that Nick and Nate had concealed beneath their silly balloon sleeves, and the buoy that Sam was keeping under his hat.
“Oh buoy,” he said as he handed it to Ava.
“I’m looking forward to killing all of you,” Ava mused. “Not only will there be one less criminal family in the world, but there won’t be nearly so many terrible puns.” She pointed at Aunt Bets. “You next,” she said.
“All right, dear,” said Aunt Bets, picking up her handbag and smoothing down her wiry gray hair. Imogen felt a pang of affection for her, which was odd, because the pangs Aunt Bets usually caused were hunger pangs (she had a tendency of locking the Horrible Children in the cellar when they were being particularly annoying or flammable, feeding them only bread and water). Aunt Bets looked very old and very vulnerable as she wobbled her way to the end of the surfboard. She blew her family a kiss as she reached the end. “I love you all,” she said. “Well. Most of you.” And then she plunged into the ocean.
Aunt Bets took longer to bob to the surface than Uncle Clyde had. And as soon as she did, all her sweet-old-lady vulnerability disappeared, and she turned back into the psychopath they knew and loved. She swam over to Uncle Clyde and tried to rip his inflatable swimming costume off him.
“Give it to me!” she shouted.
“No!” he shouted back.
“I’m too young to die!” she yelled.
“That is definitely not true!” cried Uncle Clyde. He looked up at Imogen and Ava and shouted, “Please! Take pity on me! This is a terrible way to die! I’ve always had nightmares about Bets drowning me. Please don’t make them come true!”
Imogen glanced at Big Nana, who widened her eyes, as if to say “Do something!”
Imogen widened her eyes back, as if to say “Got any ideas?”
Big Nana widened her eyes even more—so wide that Imogen was slightly concerned her eyeballs might fall out—but Imogen couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. Her eyeball interpretation skills weren’t that good.
Ava pointed to Big Nana. “Captain Itchybritches,” she said. “It’s your turn to walk the plank.”
Imogen’s chest tightened. Once again, it looked as though she were about to lose her grandmother. The one consolation was that Big Nana didn’t look that scared. She just looked slightly irritated. She stepped confidently onto the plank, as if she did this sort of thing all the time. And as she started walking to the end of the surfboard, Imogen had an idea.
She leaned against the railing at the edge of the cruise ship—attempting to look casual—and said, “It’s a real shame we’re killing all the Crims. Now, no one will find the priceless treasure that our ancestor Captain Glitterbeard buried on that private island. . . .”
Big Nana turned back to look at her, widening her eyes again. Imogen knew what she was trying to say this time: “Well done.”
Ava turned to Imogen. “What?” she said.
“Yeah,” Imogen continued. “Whatever the treasure is, it’s meant to be truly, insanely valuable—the kind of fortune no one can assemble anymore, because of taxes and laws against turning elephants into necklaces, and things like that.”
“I’ve always wanted an elephant necklace,” said Ava.
“I know, right?” said Imogen. “And only Big Nana knows where the treasure is hidden. And how you compress an entire elephant into a tiny pendant . . .”
“That’s right!” said Big Nana, teetering on the edge of the surfboard. “I’ve got a treasure map and everything. I’d be happy to tell you all about it . . . but first I’ll need to fish my relatives out of the sea.”
7
THE CRIMS ALL held their breaths, waiting to her what Ava would say. And then they stopped holding their breaths, because, as you yourself may have found out, humans need oxygen.
Ava crossed her arms. “Fine,” she said. She stomped over to the cruise ship’s sports equipment store again (it was extremely well stocked) and came back holding a huge fishing net. She fished the Crims out of the water, one by one.
“Want a hand?” Imogen asked her.
“No, I’ve got it,” said Ava, dropping a very wet Uncle Clyde onto the deck. “Elsa used to make me practice weightlifting with white rhinos. Everyone thinks they’re basically extinct, but there are, like, twenty living in the gym at Krukingham Palace. Except that just got bombed, didn’t it? So they probably are extinct now.” She plunged the net back into the ocean and heaved Aunt Bets onto the ship. Aunt Bets was clutching a couple of haddock that she had caught with her bare hands.
“In case we get hungry later,” she explained.
Ava opened the door to the cruise ship’s cabaret theater and marched all the Crims inside. “You’re staying here,” she said. “And don’t e
ven think about putting together a song and dance routine to the Chicago soundtrack to entertain yourselves. I find jazz hands very triggering.” She slammed the door and locked them in.
Out on the deck, Ava raised one eyebrow at Imogen (all supervillains raise one eyebrow at least twice a day). “Are you serious about finding this treasure?” she asked. “I mean, obviously we have to defeat the Gull, but we could take a detour, if Captain Glitterbeard’s hoard is really that valuable. . . .” She frowned. “But if it is, how come you’re only just mentioning it now?”
Imogen shrugged. “You’re so rich already,” she said. “Your family invented diamonds. You get royalties every time someone types the letter K. I didn’t think you’d be interested. But I guess you can never have too much treasure. . . .”
Ava laughed. “Tell that to my great-uncle Fernando Kruk. He drowned in a vat of liquid gold after melting down the crown jewels from seventy European countries.”
“I don’t think there are seventy European countries,” said Imogen.
“There were, until Luka stole twenty of them and turned them into golf courses.”
Imogen shuddered (subtly, so Ava wouldn’t notice). She had forgotten how brilliantly evil the Kruks were. Imogen knew that Ava would want to kill her family eventually; if Captain Glitterbeard’s treasure didn’t exist, she’d murder them to punish Imogen. But if the treasure did exist, she’d murder them anyway, so that they wouldn’t get in the way of her plan to confront the Gull. Imogen would just have to cross that extremely unpleasant bridge when she came to it. . . .
“So,” said Ava, “what shall we do with your weirdo relatives once we’ve found the treasure? We don’t want them messing up my plan to confront the Gull.” It was as if she could read Imogen’s mind. Perhaps she could; mind-reading technology was just the sort of thing the Kruks would develop to entertain themselves on a boring Sunday afternoon.
Imogen beckoned Ava away from the cabaret theater so that the Crims wouldn’t be able to hear her and said, “Maybe we could maroon them on the island where the treasure is. Then we could go and attack the Gull, save the world from justice, and pick them up afterward.”