Praise for The Imagination Station® books
Imagination Station books are exciting. I like all the action and how Mr. Calvert told people about Jesus.
—Matthew, age 7, Colorado Springs, Colorado
These books will help my kids enjoy history.
—Beth S., third-grade public school teacher
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Our children have been riveted and on the edge of their seats through each and every chapter of The Imagination Station books. The series is well-written, engaging, family-friendly, and has great spiritual truths woven into the stories. Highly recommended!
—Crystal P., Money Saving Mom
These books are a great combination of history and adventure in a clean manner perfect for young children.
—Margie B., My Springfield Mommy blog
More praise for The Imagination Station® books
My nine-year-old son has already read [the first two books], one of them twice. He is very eager to read more in the series too. I am planning on reading them out loud to my younger son.
—Abbi C., mother of four, Minnesota
[The Imagination Station books] focus on God much more than the Magic Tree House books do.
—Emilee, age 7, Waynesboro, Pennsylvania
Battle for Cannibal Island
Copyright © 2012 Focus on the Family.
ISBN: 978-1-58997-674-0
A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188
Focus on the Family and Adventures in Odyssey, and the accompanying logos and designs, are federally registered trademarks, and The Imagination Station is a federally registered trademark of Focus on the Family, Colorado Springs, CO 80995.
TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of Focus on the Family.
With the exception of known historical figures, all characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations.
Cover design by Michael Heath | Magnus Creative Cataloging-in-Publication Data for this book is available by contacting the Library of Congress at www.loc.gov/help/contact-general.html.
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 / 16 15 14 13 12
For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call 1-800-323-9400.
Contents
1 The Ice-Cream Shop
2 The Ship
3 Stowaways
4 The Captain
5 The Man in Irons
6 The Cannibal King
7 Overboard
8 The Storm
9 Shark!
10 The Canoes
11 The Cave
12 A Prisoner
13 The Turtle Shell
14 Drumbeats
15 Toki’s Last Battle
16 Good-byes
17 The Workshop
Secret Word Puzzle
To Joe Terrell, who walked through fire
—MKH
1
The Ice-Cream Shop
Beth walked inside Whit’s End, a popular ice-cream shop in Odyssey. A long line of Saturday customers stood waiting to order. A dozen other people sat at tables eating ice cream.
Beth looked around for her cousin Patrick. He had said he would be there, but she didn’t see him.
Mr. Whittaker waved at her from the counter. Then he pointed to the stairs leading to the basement.
“Beth, if you’re looking for Patrick,” he said, “he went down to the workshop.”
“Thank you,” Beth said.
“Is everything all right?” Whit asked.
“Patrick seemed unusually quiet.”
“We’ve been busy,” Beth said. “See you later, Mr. Whittaker.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” Whit said.
Beth walked down the staircase that led to the workshop.
The lights were off.
“Patrick?” she called out. There was no answer.
She flicked the light switch.
Whit’s workshop was a large room and took up most of the basement. It was filled with electronic gadgets and parts of broken machines. One of his inventions was called the Imagination Station. It sat in the center of the room.
And so did Patrick. His legs stuck out of the machine’s open door.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Beth said. She moved closer to the machine.
Patrick was sitting sideways in one of the seats. His eyes were closed. “Go away,” he said. “Can’t you see I’m trying to take a nap?”
Beth didn’t move. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Patrick sighed. “My mom is making me miss my soccer game tomorrow,” he said. “I have to go to a birthday party at Grandma’s instead.”
“What’s wrong with Grandma?” Beth asked. “I like being with her.”
“She always lectures me about how I should eat more prunes,” Patrick said. “And she says I don’t work as hard as she did when she was my age. Plus she pinches my cheeks … I have to give up my soccer game for that.”
Beth nodded. She sat in the seat next to Patrick’s. “I know how you feel,” she said. “I had to miss a sleepover with my best friend because of a school project.”
Patrick didn’t seem to be listening. “It’s an important game,” he said. “But my mom said they’ve had this birthday party planned for a long time.” He slumped in his seat.
Beth was quiet. She tried to think of a way to cheer him up. Then she said, “Don’t forget I’ll be there too. We can sit next to each other.”
Patrick snorted. “That won’t make it any better,” he said. “It’ll still be boring.”
Beth felt as if the unkind words were a slap in the face. She fought back the urge to get angry or to say something unkind in return.
Patrick didn’t seem to know what he’d said. He reached up and touched a few of the buttons on the dashboard of the Imagination Station.
“What are you doing?” Beth asked.
“Don’t worry,” Patrick said. He kept touching the buttons. “I think the machine is unplugged.”
Beth watched the dashboard for flashing lights. “It’s a good thing,” she said. “We need to ask Mr. Whittaker before we use this.”
“An adventure would be fun,” he said softly. “That would take my mind off of how bugged I am.”
Beth asked, “Why don’t we go get some ice—”
The hum of the Imagination Station interrupted her. The lights on the dashboard blinked.
“What’s going on?” Beth asked.
“I don’t know,” Patrick said. But his eyes lit up. “Maybe the Imagination Station wants us to have an adventure.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Beth said.
Patrick pushed a button, and the doors slid closed.
“Patrick!” Beth cried.
“I want to see what’ll happen,” Patrick said. “Don’t be such a baby.”
So now I’m boring and a baby, Beth thought.
The lights on the control panel began to flash rapidly.
“But we don’t know what it’s programmed to do,” Beth said.
“It probably won’t do anything,” Patrick said. “Even if I push the—”
“No, Patrick!” Beth shouted.
It was too late. Patrick pushed the red button.
The Imagination Station began to shake. Then it rumbled. It rocked back and forth.
Suddenly everything went black.
&n
bsp; 2
The Ship
The rocking motion continued. Patrick looked down. He and Beth were standing on wooden boards. The Imagination Station was gone.
He felt wind on his face and heard a flapping noise. He looked up. Three tall masts held up several square, white sails. Rope ladders and nets crisscrossed the masts like spiderwebs.
The cousins had landed on a large ship.
Patrick looked around. A half-dozen sailors rushed around on the deck. One of them shouted orders to the others. The men had on light-blue shirts and white pants.
Two of the sailors rolled barrels across the deck. A few others were climbing like monkeys up the rope ladders.
Beth yanked Patrick down behind a set of crates. “Stay down,” she whispered. “Don’t let the sailors see us. They could be pirates.”
“Not pirates,” he said. “I think it’s a British ship. Look at the flag.” He pointed to the front of the ship.
Beth looked. A blue flag with a red cross flapped from a short mast. She frowned and said, “It could be a trick. Sometimes pirates flew fake flags to fool other ships.”
It was then Patrick noticed Beth’s clothes. She now wore a blue knit cap. Her shirt was made of white linen with the sleeves rolled up. She had on red woolen trousers cut right at the knee. Her feet were bare.
“Look at you,” Patrick said.
Beth pointed at him. “You, too,” she said.
Patrick looked down. He was dressed the same as Beth. “At least these clothes are comfortable,” Patrick said.
“What’s this?” Beth asked. A spyglass hung on her belt loop.
Patrick checked his clothes to see if he had anything special. He shoved his hands inside his trouser pockets. From one pocket he pulled out a small object. “Cool,” he said. “A pocketknife.”
He held it out to Beth. She studied it. “It’s kind of old. I think the handle is decorated with some kind of wood.”
Patrick opened the blade. The blade was thin. He frowned as he held it up. “That’s it? I’d be lucky to pop a balloon with this.”
He closed the blade and shoved the knife back inside his pocket. He remembered other adventures in the Imagination Station. He and Beth had been given mysterious gifts.
“Do you think Mr. Whittaker knew we’d take an adventure?” he asked.
Beth shrugged. “How could he know when I didn’t know?” she asked.
“He seems to know everything,” Patrick said.
“Which means there’s a reason we’re on this ship,” Beth said.
Patrick groaned. A “reason” meant learning a “lesson.” And he didn’t want to learn a lesson today.
Beth peeked around the crate. Patrick crawled next to her and looked around.
“No one’s watching us,” he said.
“That is,” she said and pointed. A bright green bird sat on a mast pole. Its head was cocked. It looked at them with one eye.
Patrick stood up and gazed at the horizon. In the distance he saw an island. It was hilly and green with a gray haze around it.
Beth stood next to him. “Be careful,” Beth said. “We don’t want the sailors to see us.”
“Let’s go up, and they won’t,” Patrick said.
“Up?” Beth asked.
Patrick grabbed a nearby rope ladder. The rope felt dry but not too scratchy. He climbed up to a small wooden platform. The the view of the island was better. It was lush and beautiful.
Beth followed Patrick onto the platform.
“How would you like to take a vacation there?” Patrick asked.
Beth took the spyglass from her belt loop. She put it to her eye. “Something’s wrong,” she said.
“It looks all right to me,” Patrick said.
“I see a lot of people getting into canoes,” Beth said. “It looks like they’re trying to get off of the island.”
“Why?” Patrick asked.
Beth pointed to the right. Patrick saw smoke rising.
“I think the island’s on fire,” Beth said.
3
Stowaways
Patrick reached for the spyglass. “Please?” he asked.
Beth handed it to him. “See for yourself. It looks terrible.”
Patrick looked through the lens. Colorful birds were flying at crazy angles in the sky. Villagers with dark skin and hair were running away from burning huts.
The men pushed canoes into the water. The canoes were doubled-up and joined together by wood platforms. It had one large triangle-shaped sail.
A sailor rushed to the side of the ship. He shouted, “The cannibals are coming! Get to the ready!”
Patrick gasped and looked at Beth.
“Cannibals?” Beth asked. Her face was pale. “The ones who eat people?”
“I don’t think there’s any other kind,” Patrick said. He looked through the spyglass again. “Big men are on the canoe raft. Some of them are holding huge clubs.”
“Are they coming to attack?” Beth asked.
Before Patrick could answer, a sailor shouted up at them. “Hey! Ye lads up there on the foremast.”
Patrick looked down.
“Check the spar,” the sailor said. “Looks like it be slippin’.”
“Did you hear that?” Beth whispered. “He said ‘it be.’ Only pirates say things like ‘it be.’ ”
“Shh,” Patrick whispered to her.
The sailor below waited for them. He was a young man. His shirt was white. He had a dark blue jacket. His blue hat had a wide brim and a ribbon on the back. A pistol was shoved into the waistband of his white pants.
Patrick noticed that the sailor wore one brown shoe. The other shoe was missing. In its place was a wooden stick that looked like a broom handle.
A peg leg, Patrick thought. Beth might be right after all. He looks like a pirate. Maybe a shark got his leg.
“Be quick about it!” the man shouted. “The spar be slipping. Check the rigging!”
“What’s a spar?” Beth whispered to Patrick.
Patrick shook his head and shrugged. He called back to the man, “What’s a spar?”
“Did me ears hear right?” the man asked. “Ye don’t know what a spar be? Who be ye?”
He squinted at Patrick and Beth. He said, “Ye look young … and one of ye looks like a girl!”
The sailor thumped his wooden leg on the deck. “Stowaways!” he cried out. “Get down from there. Or I’ll see ye thrown into the sea as fish food!”
Patrick and Beth looked at each other. Patrick looked up at the towering mast. He considered climbing farther up to find a way to escape.
“No, Patrick,” Beth said, as if she knew what he was thinking. “They might shoot at us! Let’s go down.”
They climbed down the mast. Rough hands grabbed them. “Ouch!” Beth cried. “You don’t have to pull my arm so hard.”
The sailor tugged harder. He began to drag them across the deck. The man’s wooden leg pounded loudly on the boards below.
“What are you going to do to us?” Beth asked the man.
“What do you think they’re going to do?” Patrick asked. “They’re pirates. We’ll probably walk the plank.”
“Pirates!” the man laughed. “Her Majesty’s Navy ran down the last pirate ships ten years ago. But stowaways still be a problem.”
“We’re not stowaways,” Patrick said.
The man stopped and looked them both in the face. “Ye be on the ship, and ye don’t belong,” he said. “That makes ye stowaways.”
Patrick met the man’s gaze. The sailor’s eyes were brown. His hair was too, but the sun had streaked it blond. The man didn’t seem mean, just angry.
The sailor dragged the cousins across the deck. He nodded toward the large canoe raft headed their way.
“See that canoe raft?” the man asked.
Patrick looked. The cannibals were rowing fast. The raft’s triangle sail was full of wind. The ripples around the twin canoes were wide and wavy.
“Yes,”
Patrick said.
“Those cannibals will keep the captain busy enough. So he’ll not be happy to see ye.”
“Will he put us to work?” Beth asked.
“Ye may wish for work, but that’s not what ye will get,” he said. “Naval law says that stowaways must be dropped off on the nearest shore.”
“What?” Patrick asked.
“With the cannibals?” Beth cried out. “But he can’t!”
The sailor shook his head. “The captain be a good man, but he follows the law,” he said. “He won’t like turnin’ ye over to the cannibals. Especially on a holy day.”
“What holy day?” Patrick asked.
“Sunday, of course,” the sailor said.
“Then the captain is a Christian?” Patrick asked.
“Aye,” the sailor replied. “Are ye?”
“Yes!” Patrick said. He hoped his answer would make the sailor be nicer to them. “My name is Patrick, and this is my cousin Beth.” “Hi,” Beth said nervously.
“And I be surgeon’s mate Newland Nettleton,” he said. “Glad to know ye. And I’m glad to know ye be Christians too.”
“Oh, good,” Patrick said, relieved.
Nettleton continued, “If ye be Christians then ye can pray to God for help. Because ye will not get any from the captain—or the cannibals.”
4
The Captain
Surgeon’s Mate Nettleton led the cousins to the end of the ship. Along the way, they passed a man sitting with his ankles locked in iron bands. The bands were chained to the deck.
“Hello, me darlin’s,” the man said, leering. The prisoner truly looked like a pirate. He wore a red-striped shirt and torn pants. He even had a scarf on his head and blackened teeth.
Beth sidestepped him.
“Mind yerself, Ambrose,” Nettleton said to the man. He pulled Beth and Patrick along.
“As you wish, Peggy,” the man called out.
Nettleton stopped and scowled. “Don’t call me ‘Peggy,’ ” Nettleton said. “Ye know better than to address yer betters with disrespect.”
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