Dean-Na and the Hairless Rose

by Robyn Fraser

  Deanna had never actually had tea before, preferring fruit juice, so she wasn’t sure how to reply. “Yes, please,” she said, deciding it might be the politest response. To be honest, she was feeling a little woozy from all the motion and was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep any food and drink down. The captain added both to each mug, stirred them with a spoon and handed one to Deanna.

  “Thank you,” Deanna said, then waited for a lull in the rocking to take a sip. Still, half of it sloshed onto her chin and down her neck. She’d tasted enough of the tea, however, to be glad for the added sugar.

  “Help yourself to the cookies,” said the captain. “Plundered from Concreta’s own Royal Resources ship.” There was a gleam in her eye.

  As Deanna eyed the delicious-looking cookies, the captain continued. “And speaking of Concreta, I’m thinking you might like to know just why I’ve kidnapped you.”

  Deanna, who had just chosen a chewy, jelly-filled cookie and taken a large bite, could only nod. She was feeling decidedly relaxed about her kidnapping. She’d always thought it was a bad thing done by horrible people, but Captain Capitan was really quite nice. If anything, Deanna was more worried about the storm and just how much the ship was rocking. But the captain didn’t seem concerned, so she supposed she shouldn’t either.

  The captain continued. “First off, I should make it clear that this is business. It’s nothing personal, you understand?” Again, Deanna nodded, still chewing what she thought might be the best cookie she’d ever eaten. “I’ve been hired by the Leader of Concreta, Mr. Sactual. Have you heard of him?”

  “Yes,” said Deanna, having just swallowed the last of the cookie.

  “Of course, he has no idea it was Mother Puck who plundered his ship,” she said, pointing to the plate of cookies. “But anyway, it is Mr. Sactual, or at least his people, who have hired me to kidnap you and bring you to them. Or, more specifically, a young girl around age eleven or twelve with curly brown hair who seemed to be not of this land. We’ve been staking out Port Potty for the past few weeks now, thinking you’d likely travel through. Luckily for us, Bob, the Carnivorous Cavern’s barkeep, is Redhorn’s brother. He let us know you were there.”

  Deanna’s temporarily lightened heart grew heavy again. Mr. Sactual was the bad guy. The guy who wanted to invade her parents’ realm and take over Magitoria. “Why does he want me?” she asked, the leftover cookie crumbs causing her mouth to feel desperately dry. Or maybe it was nerves.

  “Well, they didn’t actually share that information with me, Deanna,” said the captain with a sympathetic frown. “But my best guess is that Mr. Sactual either wants to hold you for ransom, torture you, or perhaps just kill you. It’s usually one of those three.” She smiled again and gestured to the cookies. “So you might want to enjoy yourself while you’re still on my ship. Please, help yourself. The lemon drop angel’s hair is particularly delicate and delicious.”

  As the captain selected a long, cakey cookie, it was all Deanna could do to keep the one she’d eaten from coming back up. She had to escape before Mr. Sactual got hold of her. But how?

  Chapter Eight

  Where We Learn Why Swimming Lessons are a Good Thing

  As Deanna was politely munching on a lemon drop angel’s hair cookie but not really tasting it given the new information that she was being taken to the evil Mr. Sactual, there was another knock on the captain’s door.

  “Come in,” said Capitan.

  The door opened and Bullgod stepped in. “’Scuse me, cap’n, but Gator says ‘e needs ta’ see ya straight away. Storms pick’n up summin fierce an’ ‘e needs ta’ know what ya’ wanna do.”

  Deanna’s captor sighed, took a last swig of tea, most of which ended up on the front of her black shirt, and stood. “A Captain’s work is never done, Deanna,” she said, adjusting the belt to which her scabbard and walkie-talkie thing were attached. “If you somehow survive Mr. Sactual and ever decide to navigate the lakes professionally, you’ll do well to remember that.” She gestured to the pot of tea and plate of cookies, which were rattling with the rocking of the boat. “Stay here and help yourself. I’ll be back when I’m able.”

  The captain strode to the door, leaning into the sways like a true professional, then stopped in her tracks and turned back to Deanna. “And on the chance you’re thinking of trying to run and hide, well, I’d suggest you forget that right now.” She held up her palm. “I know every nook and cranny of this ship like the back of my hand, and jumping overboard in a lake that’s over three-hundred miles long and half as wide is basically suicide. Especially in this weather.” She smiled. “Now please enjoy my space while I go speak to Gator.”

  With that, she and Bullgod left the room, shutting the door behind them.

  Deanna sat alone with her thoughts. It might have been the ever more violent rocking, but the thoughts came like waves, each one crashing in on top the next, almost drowning her ability to focus: Where was Rose? Was the chicken trying to find her? What was going to happen to Deanna when the pirates handed her over to Mr. Sactual? Would he hold her for ransom, like the captain had suggested? If so, why? She could only guess that the Concreta leader somehow knew who Deanna was—daughter of the Magitorian Queen and her King by Marriage—but how did he know? And what did he think he could get from ransom since neither of her parents could even remember anything about this place or who they really were? Though perhaps Mr. Sactual didn’t realize that.

  And (as the waves of thoughts continued smash into one another), what if she, Deanna, were tortured for information? She couldn’t even imagine what that might entail, but she knew it wouldn’t be good. Was there a way to escape? Could she make her way to the deck, jump into the water and swim for some distant shore? Could—

  Crrrraaaacccckkkk. The boat tilted so much that the resilient teapot finally gave way and crashed to the floor, a dozen cookies flying into its newly born shards.

  Crrrrraaaaaccccckkkkk. What Deanna assumed was an even bigger wave hitting the ship sent her tumbling to the ground, still in her chair. “Oomph!” she cried out. It really hurt.

  I’ve got to get out of here, she thought, her mind suddenly sharp and focused on survival. I’ve got to get onto the deck.

  Desperate now, Deanna clambered to her feet, pulled on her backpack and made her way to the door, looking rather like a drunken sailor.

  Thankfully, Deanna’s captors had not bothered to lock it. After crashing into the swinging door three times she finally made it through, then staggered her way along the corridor, and climbed on all fours up the creaking and soaked staircase to the deck.

  Waves roared and pirates shouted at one another as the boat pitched and rolled in the storm. Though it was still afternoon, the sky was as dark as the outside of an Oreo cookie and the deck was a chaos of slamming waters, scurrying deckhands and creaking boards. At the far end of the ship, Deanna caught a glimpse of Captain Capitan shouting orders and waving her hands wildly in one direction or another as she tried to manage what Deanna was beginning to realize might be a life or death situation.

  She also realized that there was nothing she could do up here and that it might be at least somewhat safer to be below deck. She’d just turned and was wondering how she could possibly make it back down the stairs without breaking her neck, when a wave so big it blocked out all light came crashing over the ship. As Deanna clung to a railing she heard a prolonged ripping, snapping noise.

  “There’s a gash in the hull!” someone cried out. “It’s a big ‘un! Abandon ship! Abandon ship!”

  The bow of the boat began to list to one side and the lake poured onto the deck, wanting ever so much to make the ship its own. All around Deanna, pirates were throwing rowboats and themselves into the churning waters. Deanna clung to the staircase wall, petrified with fear.

  “Ya gotta git off,” said a deep voice from directly behind her.

  The next thing she knew, Measley was lifting her into his arms. “’Old ‘onter me,” he added
, and not knowing what else to do, she obeyed, wrapping her arms around his thick neck. He smelled sour and salty and like too much hair product.

  As the bow continued to sink and the deck continued to fill, the giant-like man somehow managed to carry Deanna to the far railing in one arm, picking up a wooden crate in his other. He threw the crate overboard, as far away from the ship as he could, then hefted Deanna high, so the upper half of her body was over his head.

  “Swim ter the crate, it’ll float. Get gone fast from tha ship or she’ll pull ya under when she goes down. Try ta find an islan’ er rock er some’in and maybe you’ll get found.”

  With that, Measley flung Deanna overboard, in the general direction of the crate.

  Her crash into the cold, rugged waters hurt, but it was the rush of water into her mouth and lungs that panicked Deanna the most. Desperately, she clawed her way to the surface, her mouth finding air just long enough to spew up the water and take a gasping breath before an impossibly large wave smashed over her, sinking her once again. It was several seconds—too long—before Deanna found more air.

  The crate, she thought, every ounce of mind and body now in survival mode, I’ve got to find it. After another wave took her under, Deanna resurfaced and searched desperately for the wooden lifeline that Measley had thrown out. It took two more waves, spews, and full turns in the water before she found it. The crate was bobbing recklessly about a hundred feet away.

  As the boat creaked and heaved behind her, Deanna put the swimming lessons she had once hated attending to good use. Between waves, she pulled herself toward the moving target with the best front crawl she’d ever done. But it seemed for every five feet forward, a wave would push her six back. She persevered anyway, arms burning, lungs choking, mind desperate, and finally, there it was, only an arm’s length away. She lunged for the crate and caught on, hugging the hard box with all her might.

  When the next wave had passed over and she’d caught another breath, Deanna dared to look back at the ship. It was now over two hundred feet away and was a nightmare: the front half was completely underwater and the whole vessel was listing dangerously to the right. Pirates were scattered around it in the water, screaming and splashing. Though she couldn’t be certain, she thought she saw Captain Capitan at the stern, still waving her arms, directing the last few pirates who were still on the ship. Measley was one of them—his great size gave him away.

  Then another wave crashed over Deanna and she lost sight of the ship. She remembered what Measley had said: get as far away from the boat as possible or it would suck her under and take her with it to its gloomy grave. With that in mind, Deanna kicked her legs with all the strength she had, pushing herself and the crate away from the wreckage.

  Chapter Nine

  Where Deanna Gets Schooled

  The storm let up quickly—within the half hour. The sun even came out, low now on the horizon. Deanna was glad for it; she was chilled to her bones even though she’d been non-stop kicking away from the wreckage. Her legs were like lead and she really needed a break. So she floated, still clinging to the wooden lifesaver Measley had thrown. Deanna hoped the giant had somehow made it off the ship safely. Even though he’d helped to kidnap her, he’d also saved her life. And really, he seemed rather a nice person.

  Glancing back, Deanna tried to glimpse the boat, or a pirate, or anything related to Mother Puck, but all she could see was water. Water, water, and then more water. I’m going to die out here, she thought.

  But there was resilience in Deanna, a certain independence that she’d had to teach herself given her absentee parents and her social outcast status at school. She considered her options and, remembering that Magitoria was to the west, she decided to paddle in the direction of the setting sun.

  She continued this way for another hour, much slower now, her legs as heavy as anchors, threatening to pull her down to the lake bottom if she let them. Too soon, the sun became barely visible as it dropped beyond some far off horizon. As Deanna stared into what was left of the burning orange sphere, she realized that there was a distant dark bump above the water line. Could it be land? It wasn’t that big, maybe it was an island? She squinted into the sun, trying to be sure, hoping that this wasn’t some sort of mirage that her desperate mind was creating. But the more she looked, the more certain she was that something solid was ahead. Far, far ahead.

  With renewed strength, she kicked forward, keeping the bump in her sight. The sun plopped out of her vision a short while later, leaving a dusky sky that, Deanna knew, would soon be black. The bump was getting bigger now and she was almost positive it was an island. But it was still so far away—she’d never make it before nightfall. And then, well…then she’d have nothing to keep her on track. She could end up floating miles away from it overnight. She could be lost at sea—well, lake—forever.

  Deanna kept kicking though, and just as the shadows of the island thickened and blended with the darkened sky, she felt something nudge her foot.

  “Ahhh!” she cried. She had tried to keep her mind off all the things that could be lurking under the lake, waiting to take a bite out of her, but now all these fears came flooding in. Just ahead, a huge fin appeared above the water. An instant later, a head the size of a large wheelbarrow followed. It had a long snout and, curiously, a thick black moustache, which curled up on each side. The eyes were huge and widely spaced on either side of the head and, when the creature opened their mouth, dozens of sharp pointed teeth gleamed in what little remained of the light.

  “Ah, mademoiselle, you are lost?” The voice that emanated from the creature had a distinctly French accent.

  Deanna hugged the crate even harder, her only shield against all those teeth. Had the creature—was it a shark? A tuna?—actually just spoken to her?

  “Ah, quelle surprise, yes? I understand completement,” continued the beast when Deanna didn’t reply. “It is the moustaches, I know. They...how do you say? Take the breath away, non?” With a fin, the creature groomed his right moustache, rearranging the curl, which was sagging just the slightest bit.

  “Are…are you going to eat me?” asked Deanna. She was feeling done with this world. With the fear and the exhaustion and the almost certain death. “Because if you are, I’d rather you just get it over with now. In one single day I’ve traveled with a chicken to this strange world that I didn’t even know I was born in, then I was kidnapped by pirates and taken on their ship, which was wrecked in the storm, and I was only saved because a giant helped me out.”

  Anger began to overtake her panic. “I’ve been out here for hours, trying to find land, and now that I finally have,” she waved a hand in the direction of the mostly invisible island, “it’s too dark for me to get to it.”

  Deanna’s heart pounded aggressively in her chest. In her exhausted state, everything she’d been through suddenly seemed to be the fault of this fish in front of her. “And now…and NOW, you have the nerve to pop up out of nowhere and threaten to kill me? Well, just do it please. I’m tired of being in this god, or dog, or puck…whatever, forsaken lake.”

  She was yelling full out now. “I’m thirsty and hungry and tired and I’m going to die out here anyway, so just eat me and get it over with.” She glared at the fish-creature with a mix of disgust and frustration. With one last burst of energy, she pushed the wooden crate away, closed her eyes and held up her hands in surrender, waiting for the first bite, hoping it would be the only one she’d feel.

  “Mon Chien! But you have had a day most difficult, mademoiselle,” said the creature. “But of course, I have not properly introduced myself. How reprehensible of moi. My name, it is Hercules Poisson.”

  Deanna, slightly bewildered, opened one eye, her exhausted legs moving just enough to keep her head above water. The fish was staring back, bowing his head slightly as though in greeting. With his mouth closed, he looked much less fearsome. The eyes that took her in were filled not with predatory bloodlust, but with warmth and intelligence.

/>   Deanna opened her other eye. “So, you’re not going to kill and eat me?”

  The fish shook his head. “No, ma petite, I eat not the children. Or the adults, for that matter. No, I prefer greatly a large bowl of creamy curried squash soup with the thickest of crusty breads.” He patted his chest, or whatever the area was called that was attached to his head, and though there was almost no dusk left, Deanna could almost swear he was straightening a bowtie, vest and jacket.

  “In fact I thought that I, Hercules Poisson, might be able to give to you some of the assistance. As you said, you seem to be having a day most terrible.”

  “Oh.” Deanna was shocked at the offer. It was not at all what she had expected. “Well…I…yes, I could use some help, thank you for offering.”

  Hercules bowed again. “It is nothing, mademoiselle. Perhaps I might know your name now that we are better acquainted?”

  “Oh. Sorry. It’s Deanna. Deanna Doomore.” For some reason, she felt that Hercules would appreciate the formality of a surname.

  “Deanna Doomore, it is my pleasure to meet your acquaintance. Would you care for a ride to the Insufferable Isle? It is only a kilometer or two from here and there is fresh water to drink and mangoes most delectable to eat.” He pointed a fin in the direction Deanna had been headed. “I believe that it was your destination?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes it was.” Deanna could not quite believe her good fortune, but Hercules seemed genuinely concerned for her wellbeing. “And yes, I would very much appreciate a ride. Do you mean on your back?”

  The fish chuckled. “Mon chien, no, mademoiselle. One moment, if you please.” With that, he dipped under the water and was gone. A minute passed, then two, and Deanna, her arms and legs so weary, the wooden crate lost to the darkness, began to worry that Hercules had left her for good. But another minute on and there was a splash.

  “I return, Mademoiselle Deanna, with something for you to lie on. Here.”