by Nette Hilton
He’d almost finished by lunchtime and needed just a little more information about pirates’ ships so Auntie Mor said she’d take him down to the town library. Pyro thought it would be easier if he could just go online and look it up. He even suggested doing it from Min’s house, or the internet café in town. Mr Stig agreed but Auntie Mor won because, according to her, they weren’t in a hurry to do anything, it was a nice day for a walk and books in libraries were good enough for her.
‘And,’ she added, ‘I can find out a bit more about how to draw and I can’t do that online!’
Mr Stig and Pyro both assured her that she could but it made no difference. Auntie Mor was in a library sort of mood and off they went.
Pyro found some great stuff and Auntie Mor found her art books. Mr Stig found a book about a lady pirate called Grace who, he said, looked a bit like Mor. He said she sounded a bit like her, too. Except Mor was bossier.
Pyro made lots of photocopies and the librarian gave him a piece of cardboard and an envelope to stop them creasing on the way back to camp.
Auntie Mor forgave Mr Stig for saying she was like Grace O’Malley and took them to lunch at the RSL Club where Mr Stig had a lovely time looking at the horse-racing while Pyro dangled over the railing at the edge of the club feeding his chips to the fish who were swimming around under the pylons.
There were zillions of them. He bet they didn’t know what was on the menu up here.
He couldn’t wait to tell Min about them but Min’d probably know anyway. Min’s gran said they sometimes went to the club on Friday night for fish dinner.
So did Pyro’s nan.
He giggled all by himself when he thought about having one more thing the same.
The afternoon cooled and clouds appeared. There was even the distant sound of thunder and big storm heads built up on the horizon. Auntie Mor and Mr Stig took time to make sure the annex was secure and that all the bits that would get wet were moved in closer to the old bus.
Pyro took his project inside to finish it. He cut out the best bits from his photocopies and stuck them in. He was pretty excited that he had a lady pirate as well. Mzzz Cllump would be pleased because she was always going on about making sure there were girls involved in everything. Yuk! Girls were a big fat nuisance most of the time. Jenna was so dopey she put daisies around the border of their pirate project. Daisies! As if pirates and pirate fighters were going to be decorating their galleons with flowers. And by the look of Grace O’Malley or Mary Read, they didn’t have too many frilly curtains on the windows of their ships either.
‘Let’s have a look, then,’ Mr Stig said as Pyro finally packed up his pencils and put the container back in the cupboard.
Pyro spread his project out on the table. They had to put the light on but, even in the darkening day, it looked splendid with bright colours and neat arrows pointing out special features of pirates’ ships.
The clouds had moved closer to the land but still Min hadn’t turned up. Pyro had wandered down to the entrance and back again several times but there simply wasn’t any sign of him at all.
‘Perhaps he’ll come up the beach way,’ Auntie Mor suggested.
So Pyro went down the path and back up again. He took care to avoid the row of seats where the Worries liked to sit, but there was no sign of them.
Nor was there any sign of Min.
‘I could go to his house,’ Pyro suggested as the day began to get even darker. It wasn’t late though. Not too late to duck down and see why Min hadn’t appeared.
Auntie Mor wasn’t too sure about it. ‘It’s going to chuck it down soon. You’ll get soaked.’
She looked out at the sky. So did Pyro. The sky growled at them.
‘It’s not cold,’ Pyro pointed out. ‘And I’ve got my anorak to keep me dry.’
‘You’ll cook inside that – you’ll be wet from the inside out,’ Auntie Mor said when Pyro produced the jacket his mum had put in. ‘Here, take my old plastic raincoat. Crumbs, that jacket of yours has got more pockets than the legs of fifteen soldiers.’
Pyro took the raincoat. It was clear plastic and smelt a bit like the inside of an old lunchbox. It had ‘The Queen Mother’s 100th’ written on the back and Pyro rather hoped he wouldn’t have to put it on. Normally he wouldn’t dream of going out in a thunderstorm but the whole evening stretching out ahead of him without knowing why Min hadn’t turned up wasn’t the best thought in the world.
So he set off. The raincoat was shoved in the folded bag that had held Auntie Mor’s drawing book. It didn’t anymore. The drawing book was snug and dry up in Pyro’s sleeping space and Auntie Mor had bought new ones. Several, actually. All different sizes with different names on the front.
He hurried now. Over the bridge and up the main street. He didn’t even consider going all the way to the far end of town and arriving at Min’s by the back gate. He turned at the pub corner and pelted down the hill. There was a little street that he had to follow along to the right and then an even narrower little street that took him directly to Min’s gran’s house.
He was puffing as he went and trying not to hear the thunder that rumbled across the sky, each rumble coming closer and closer. He thought he saw flashes of lightning too and ducked in under the trees. He wasn’t sure if it was safest under the trees or out on the road. If a tree got hit he’d be sizzled but, on the other hand, if a tree got hit it’d probably fall right over and splat, there’d he be, under it in the middle of the road.
He was worrying about trees and thunder and lightning and forgot to keep an eye out for the Worries. It had been there in the front of his head as something important to do when he was up on the main road.
Somehow it had slipped out of his mind under the worry of thunder and lightning and so, when he felt his way blocked by something that seemed to lift itself out from the shadow of a paling fence, he simply walked further out onto the path.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
Plonker.
Pyro’s heart stopped and his mouth dried up so he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to.
‘He asked you a question, sissy boy!’ Sausage Lips was breathing close to his ear. It was a hot breath and smelled like his teeth hadn’t been cleaned in a while. He delivered a push that sent Pyro stumbling into Plonker’s fat front.
Quickly then, before Pyro could find his feet, Plonker shoved him back.
Pyro fell back and was, once again, shoved forward. He was a human basketball.
His bag slapped at his side and he knew that they’d take it as soon as they tired of shoving him back and forth. It was a special old raincoat though. Not like the drawing book that could be replaced. The Queen Mum was dead and Auntie Mor had marched in a special parade while she was still alive.
‘Spin ’im,’ cried Sausage Lips and shoved harder on Pyro’s shoulder sending him into a sideways twist. Before Pyro could get his balance properly he was shoved around again by Plonker who thumped on his other shoulder.
And then his ankle caught and Pyro fell in a heap on the ground. It hurt him. Hurt his hands and twisted his foot. But more than that, it made him angry.
He was even angrier because he could feel tears smarting at his eyes. They’d really let him have it if they saw him cry.
‘Get off me!’ he yelled.
‘Oooooo! We’re scared, sissy boy!’
‘What’re you going to do, sissy boy!’
‘Just leave me alone!’ Pyro was holding the satchel close to him as he pushed himself up. He felt a hand on his back and knew they’d shove him straight back down. ‘Get off!’ he yelled as loudly as he could. Someone might hear him and come out if he was loud enough. Bullies weren’t all that brave when anybody else turned up.
Ahead of him he could see Plonker’s ankles and his trainers with fat shoelaces trailing in the dirt. If only he could reach.
Like the little shift from a blurred image to a clear, sharpened one, Pyro understood what he had to do.
He si
mply let go. Collapsed. He fell as they pushed and, except for a quick whoosh when all the air was squeezed out of his body, it didn’t hurt too much. Above him he heard grunts and thuds as Sausage Lips hit the ground. Pyro grabbed out and tugged the shoelaces in front of him and heard the satisfying thud as Plonker landed fair on his fat rear.
Pyro was up and off. Gone. Down the road and round the corner and in through the front gate of Min’s gran’s house. He wanted to yell out things like ‘open the door’ and ‘coming through’ or ‘quick’ but he didn’t need to. When he checked behind him the Worries were nowhere to be seen. He was sure, though, that they were out there somewhere hanging back behind a treetrunk or in the shadow of the frangipanis that grew all over the corner block.
‘I couldn’t come up,’ Min said as soon as he flung open the door. ‘Gran’s got to go up to Sydney tomorrow and I have to go with her and we had to get ready.’
Pyro felt like a balloon that’s been allowed to slowly leak all its air out. ‘Will you be gone long?’ he asked.
‘Back Wednesday arvo. We’re staying in a proper hotel with a pool on the roof.’
‘Brilliant.’ Pyro tried to sound thrilled but he just felt flat. ‘It’ll be really good.’
‘Only problem …’ Min’s face lit up. ‘Hey, Gran,’ he yelled. ‘I think I solved our problem.’
Gran hurried in from the kitchen. She had washing from the line draped over her shoulders and pegs in her mouth. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw Pyro though and she tried to smile. The pegs dropped onto the floor.
‘Thank goodness,’ she said and made little spitty noises. ‘Those pegs taste like a cat’s bu– bottom.’ She rubbed her mouth. ‘Not that I’ve ever tasted one of them but I reckon it’d be as bad as those pegs. Now, fella-me-lad, what problem have you solved?’
Becks was leaping around diving at pegs and tossing them into the air. It was really clever the way she did it and Pyro giggled when he saw her dance in circles looking for one that had landed on the bench.
‘G’day, good girl,’ he said and got it down for her. ‘Here, catch.’
‘I reckon,’ Min was saying, ‘I reckon that Pyro could look after Becks for us.’
Pyro couldn’t believe his ears. Look after a dog? An actual dog? A breathing one, not just a stuffed one like his mother and father preferred him to have?
‘Could I?’ he said, before he even had time to think about it. ‘I’d love to and she could sleep on my bed and we could go for walks. It’d be great. It’d be really really great. Oh, please, could I?’
Min’s gran was still holding her washing. She turned around and put it on the dining-room table and picked up the few pegs that had fallen to the floor.
‘You’re in a caravan park, lovey. They’re not going to be too thrilled with Becks in there, are they? And what about your auntie and uncle?’
‘We could ask,’ Pyro said. ‘We could, couldn’t we?’
‘Come on, Gran.’ Min was already getting his raincoat. ‘We’ll go and ask and then if it’s okay we’ll come back and get Becks.’
‘No. Let’s take Becks with us and then –’ Pyro couldn’t really believe it was happening. ‘– If she can stay, well, Auntie Mor’ll walk back with us to collect her stuff.’
‘Yeah, Gran. You can pack her bag.’ Min giggled.
‘Don’t forget her nightie and her toothbrush,’ Pyro joined in.
‘Oh, off you go then.’ Gran was grinning, too. ‘I hope your poor old auntie’s ready for this. If she says no …’
Min grinned back. ‘Then no’s the answer!’
‘She won’t say no.’
‘And make sure you give your auntie our phone number.’
‘And she’ll give you her mobile,’ Pyro yelled, ‘when she comes back with us.’
Nothing would go wrong though. Nothing. It was going to be so excellent to have a dog holiday with them.
They set off. The storm was sending sheets of rain to land in the ocean. They could see which way it was headed and started to run, hoping to arrive before the big soak.
There was nothing cosier, Pyro decided, than a sturdy, warm little doggy body. He lifted his hand out from under the sheet and touched Becks to double-check he wasn’t dreaming.
She was truly here.
She was going to be here for another whole day, a whole night and then half-a-day Wednesday.
Becks hadn’t minded staying at the camper, which surprised Auntie Mor. ‘I reckoned she would’ve bolted,’ she said and fed her another sausage.
‘Perhaps it’s your good cooking,’ Mr Stig said and gave Becks a bit of a scratch. ‘She’s a beaut, though, isn’t she?’
Becks was the centre of attention. The park manager said it was okay because Gran Mitchell was an old girlfriend of his and anything he could do to help out. And, he said, the caravan park was allowed to have dogs, he just didn’t like noisy ones.
Or noisy boys, he’d added.
Pyro drifted off, letting his dreams weave in and out of the waves and the dog snores at his feet. He wouldn’t have to worry about the Worries because he’d be too busy with Becks. And they’d be at school anyway. He hadn’t even told Min about their latest encounter, he’d been so excited about Becks.
And now, here, in the camper in the middle of the night with the waves and the moon darkened by thunder clouds and a little dog at his feet, the world felt safe and good and very fine indeed.
San Simeon watched the sky. It was dark and menacing and would keep the moon hidden so ships with evil at their helm would be making their way out of the coves where they’d been hidden.
There’d been no sightings of pirates.
His crew had stayed on shore and the Olga, anchored in the sheltered bay on this foreign island, was nearly ready to leave.
There was no rush though. It was only a storm and it would pass. Pirates on their journeys this night wouldn’t be seeking them.
‘Permission to speak, Cap’n?’ Sneeze the First had wandered away from the campfire to join him.
‘Permission granted.’
‘Does that mean I can talk now?’ Sneeze asked. ‘Cause it properly lonely down yonder with me mates all sittin’ around and me not able to even say a howdy-do.’
San Simeon looked at his old faithful First Mate. Surely he could trust him. ‘Sneeze,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking there’s a traitor come aboard.’
‘Never! I’s never, ever would’ve thought! So, who’d you be thinkin’ it is then?’
Simeon shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He told Sneeze about the flashing of a mirror that day he’d fought Roaring Roy Bistro. ‘I thought I’d find out if I stopped everyone from talking. I reckoned I’d see who it was sneakin’ off.’
Sneeze scratched his whiskers. ‘Where’d they sneak off to then, Cap’n? I’m not doubtin’ yer, mind, but I’m just not sure why’s anyone here’d want to go anywhere else, if you take my meaning.’
Simeon was beginning to see that he had a point.
‘And,’ Sneeze went on, ‘nobody’s wantin’ to join up with that Bistro! He’s never as good a cap’n as you and we’s all know it. So’s what you thinkin’ they’d be sending secret messages there for?’
Simeon was about to try to find an answer when they were interrupted by the lovely Calamity. She wandered across the beach and up to the little shack that the crew had built for her to protect her lovely soft skin from the midday sun. She was holding a mirror to check the berry red lips that she’d just stained with raspberries and bush blackberries brought back from her walk. And every time the lightning flashed across the sky, the mirror flashed, too.
Simeon started to smile.
‘I think I sees the error of me ways,’ he said.
Sneeze, who wasn’t sure what that meant, nodded. ‘I’m glad about that then, Cap’n. So’s, can we have a bit of a chat again now, do you reckon?’
‘Talk all you like, my good friend!’ San Simeon did a little leap, then he did a little jig. Then he rigga
-jig-jigged all the way down to the beach. ‘Speak up, lads!’ he cried. ‘The worst of it is over!’
For a few minutes nobody said anything at all. It wasn’t often the captain came careering out of the hills doing a dance. Perhaps he was getting a bit touched with too much sun.
‘You feelin’ orright then, Cap’n?’ asked one.
‘You not got the collywobbles, ‘ave yer?’ checked another. The collywobbles were desperate things to have.
‘I’ve not got anything, my good men!’ Simeon cried. ‘Strike up the music and let’s all have a dance.’
And dance they did, together and alone, round and round the fire and Simeon wondered how he could ever have thought that keeping his men apart was going to be the best thing for the good ship Olga.
Together they would stand … HA HA!
San Simeon danced up a storm and then, when he was taking a little breather, felt himself blush.
Fancy thinking one of his men was not true. His men were true through and through. It wasn’t them that stopped trusting everyone else and started sneaking around teaching all tricky codes and signals to try to catch ‘em out. He was the sneaky one! Him. Sad ol’ San Simeon.
Someone who was not true was a fraidy-cat as well. Someone, he was sad to have to say, who was a bit like him and had to know where everyone was all of the time, and what everyone was saying about everything.
San Simeon blushed a brighter red.
‘You feelin’ orright?’ Smit the Cabin’s Boy’s Father asked.
‘I am now,’ San Simeon said. ‘I truly am.’
Having a dog meant a very, very early start to the day. It was a quick start too because everyone had to get out in time to take Becks for a walk so she didn’t puddle on the floor. Or worse.
The baker’s shop wasn’t open and the newsagent was still putting out the boards that advertised the headlines.