by Henry Cole
The three sat on the embankment, nibbling on sweet green grass, staring at the scene stretching out in front of them. Char lay in the weeds, his nose pointing into the breeze. Lily scanned the river far below them.
“Is this where you found Char?” she asked.
“Near here,” replied Twig. “By the way, be careful. The edge of the embankment can collapse in a second. I don’t want to fall into the river again.”
Basil and Lily exchanged a nervous glance, and then backed slightly away from the cliff.
“Well, what do we do now?” Basil asked.
“We figure out a way to get Char back home, wherever that is,” Twig answered. The three of them studied the river as it flowed at the bottom of the steep cliff. They noticed the huge piles of flotsam that had accumulated and piled against the riverbank. Tons of driftwood and debris had been deposited over the years and years of high tides, creating dunes and hills and floes . . . a scavenger’s delight.
Char lifted his nose into the air as though smelling something familiar, but his wings hung limp and frail and his coloring had become worse, even more ashy and dull. The seriousness of their adventure suddenly hit them hard.
“Well,” Twig said finally. “We aren’t helping Char get better by sitting here.” He nodded at the river and the piles of debris. “This is a tidal river. It ebbs and flows. That’s how we’re getting Char home. All that stuff floated in and was left here. I bet Char’s egg floated in the same way. We need to follow the tide back out.”
“I don’t know anything about rivers,” Lily said.
“Hey, me neither,” added Basil. “This looks dangerous. What makes you think we can just float out to sea, like it was nothing?”
“I didn’t say that,” Twig answered. “I just know we have to. We may have to build a boat.”
“Build a boat,” Basil grumbled. “Just like that. Build a boat and float down the river.”
Lily giggled.
“Yes,” Twig replied calmly.
“We don’t know anything about building a boat,” Basil snorted.
“What about supplies?” Lily asked. “Materials? And food? We’ll have to take food with us, so we’ll have to store some up. There’s no telling how far we’re going. Or for how long,” she added wistfully. “But I can see boards . . . and pieces of rope . . . and vines. We’ll have stuff to use. I bet we can find all sorts of materials in those piles of debris.”
Basil’s tail twitched. “Won’t that take quite a while?” he pondered. “Seems like that’d take forever!”
“Then we’d better get going,” Twig replied. “Come on, Char.” He patted the dragon gently.
chapter 22
A Discovery
Char was weak and frail, but he lifted his nose into the salty breeze and stretched his wings. It seemed to stir something in him, and he looked a bit more alert and eager. The fresh air was doing him good.
Lily stared down the embankment. “Now the tough part,” she said. “Getting down the cliff.”
“Yeah, believe me, you don’t want to do it like I did it last time,” Twig said grimly. “Let’s space ourselves out, so we don’t put too much weight in one place, or else the dirt may cave in. Hang on to sturdy weeds and roots.”
Off the group started, single file, carefully creating a switchback trail as they went. Overhanging vines and branches created handrails, and jutting rocks and roots helped with footing.
They crisscrossed their way downward, the air growing cooler and darker in the shadow of the riverbank. A forest of ironweed, goldenrod, and joe-pye weed towered over them, their flower heads waving in the wind, riotous with magenta and yellow and pink, thick with bees and beetles, butterflies and bugs.
At last the ground leveled out and they began to see, up close, the sea of flotsam around them. It was a landscape of every floatable object imaginable: uncountable plastic cups and plates, wooden boards covered with barnacles, bottles and cans, fishing nets, foam ice chests. . . . It was all here, washed up with the tide and waiting for thousands of years to biodegrade.
Twig, Lily, and Basil stared at the sea of debris around them.
“Imagine what could be made with all these parts,” Lily pondered.
“We should have no problem making a boat out of this stuff,” Twig agreed. “There must be a million boards and other pieces to use.”
“This is craziness,” Basil said. “What do we use to put the boards together? To actually build the boat?”
“Well, rope, or cord, to start with,” Twig answered. “There’s so much stuff . . . we’ll be able to figure something out, I’m sure of it.”
“Me too, Twig,” said Lily. “If we spread out, looking for good supplies, we can cover more territory. Let’s bring anything useful back here. If it’s too big for one, then give a yell and we’ll all come to help.”
Off they went, in different directions, Char lying in the shade of some mallow. Soon, from inside a thicket of reeds, Basil gave a yell.
“Over here!” he cried.
Twig and Lily raced over to find Basil perched on a large, irregularly shaped piece of packing foam, lodged in the weeds.
“See?” he said happily. “It’s light, we can carry it, and it will float beautifully. Perfect!”
Lily looked dubious. “You really think? Will it hold all of us?”
“One way to find out,” Twig said. “Let’s get it to the water and test it out.”
The three friends lifted the Styrofoam piece easily and started toward the water’s edge.
“Almost there!” urged Twig. He felt himself slip a little. “Hey! My feet are sliding! It’s muddy! We must be close!”
Snagging on weeds and driftwood pieces, they pulled the Styrofoam craft to the riverbank. It floated, but it proved too unsteady to be used as a boat; it rolled and pitched at the slightest movement, throwing all three of its crew into the water. Disappointed, they sat on the bank, studying the problematic boat.
“What if we added a float on each side, to steady it?” suggested Twig.
Lily thought for a second. “That might work,” she said.
“I saw some other pieces of the foam, out in the piles of stuff,” Basil added. “I bet if we find some other pieces and attach them to sticks, we could make side boats that would keep everything steady. Steady enough to take us downriver, anyway.”
The three of them set off into the mountain of debris, eyes peeled for possible pontoons. And then they saw it.
A huge glass bottle sat in front of them, partially tilted to one side, half in mud, half in the water, a giant cork in the neck end. Barnacles and algae grew along the bottom of the bottle, crusted and thick from ages spent floating in the water. The glass was dirty after sitting in the silt and mud, but the treasure inside was clear enough.
The tall, dark shape of a beautiful sailboat loomed above them.
“Do you see what I see?” Lily gasped.
“It’s . . . a ship!” murmured Twig. “Like a picture in a book, but much better . . . because it’s real!”
Lily spit on her paw and wiped away a bit of the mud. “I can see little round windows. And ropes going down the side. It’s even got a flag!”
Twig and Basil hurried to Lily’s side and wiped their own windows in the glass.
“And it looks like it’s in good shape,” Twig added.
Lily raced around to another spot. “Over here!” she called out. “I can see a name on it.”
“Captive,” Twig whispered. “It’s beautiful!”
“It looks like one of the sails collapsed,” observed Basil.
“That can be fixed, I’m sure,” said Twig. “It’ll work!”
Basil jerked his head around. “Work how?”
“It’ll work for our boat, of course,” Twig replied. “To get Char home.”
“You mean float down the river in this?” Basil gasped.
“Sure! Why not?” Twig said. “It’s the perfect thing! A boat already made for us! I saw one just
like it in a book.”
“Yeah, well, maybe, except for one thing,” Basil said. “It’s trapped in a bottle.” He tapped the glass. “This stuff is thick. We couldn’t break it open if we tried.”
Twig let out a sigh of disappointment. The three sat in silence, pondering the situation, gazing at the towering boat.
Suddenly Lily let out a little chirp. “Hey! What about Char?”
“What?” Twig asked.
“Char! Char can blast through this glass. This is nothing to him. We’ll use him to free the boat.”
“That’s it!” Twig chittered.
“We don’t know if it even floats,” Basil said.
“We’ll test it,” Twig replied. He looked at Char a little doubtfully, gently stroking the dragon’s neck. “Char, buddy? Are you well enough? Can you handle this job?” He looked at the others. “We can try using Char to free the boat, but if he gets much worse, we’ll have to find another way. We can’t risk his life. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Lily and Basil said in unison.
Twig grinned. “Let’s free the Captive!”
chapter 23
Getting Things Shipshape
They got to work.
“Idea,” Twig said. “What if we cut through the cork of the bottle first? That will let us go in, check out the Captive, and see what needs to be done.”
“Sounds good,” Basil agreed.
Lily found honeysuckle and creeper vines and deftly wove them into a rope ladder, looped on one end. She tossed the looped end over the bottle’s neck, and in several tries, the ladder was finally in place. Twig climbed up and tapped on the cork.
“This will be a cinch for Char,” he called down. “Lily, show Char where to aim.”
Lily coaxed Char, who made a clicking sound in his throat, and then coughed, but there was only a bit of yellow flame. He gasped and panted. It was enough to weaken the cork, but only that.
Twig examined the remaining cork. “I think I can handle the rest of this!” he shouted down. “But Char can’t take on the glass bottle. We’ll have to have another plan for that.”
Twig chewed and clawed at the rest of the cork stopper. The crumbly bits of cork fell away, and soon he could poke his head inside. The air was musty, but dry. He slid down into the inside of the bottle, landing with a thump against the bow of the boat. The proud ship arched above him. He felt a tingle up his tail.
He turned and tapped the glass. “It’s okay!” he hollered. “Come on in!” Basil and Lily could hear his muffled voice behind the thick glass. They scrambled up the ladder, then slid down the glass as Twig had done.
“A little beat up, but I think maybe we can work with this,” said Basil, looking up. “Some of the ropes are dry-rotted, but the sails look good.”
“And this part seems sound as a nut,” said Twig, tapping on the hull.
The boat was perched on a wooden platform, which had its brass nameplate tacked to it, barely legible under a mask of tarnish. Some of the rigging had come loose, cascading down the side of the bow, and they climbed up.
“It’s magnificent!” Lily sighed as they explored the deck. “Look at the craftsmanship. The carving. And the brass! Imagine how this ship would look after a good overhauling.”
Basil found the wheel and gave it a turn. A loud squeak came from behind and below, and Twig and Lily scurried to the stern.
“Do that again!” Twig yelled out. Looking down, he and Lily could see the brass rudder, stiff from inactivity, squeaky and grumbly, but still very much in working order.
“I bet that’s how you steer it,” Lily said. “A little work and we’ll have the Captive good as new. First, the rope work. I’ll handle that.” She made a mental list of what needed repair or replacing and then got to work refitting the rigging.
With her mastery of knots and ropes, the work went quickly. She used old fishing nets and nylon line to create a rope bridge from the ground to the bow, new rope ladders to the tiny crow’s nest, and new lashings and bindings so the sails were tight and strong.
Twig and Basil gave the hull a good going-over, looking for any cracks or holes that could cause leaks when the Captive was afloat.
Basil found an old tube of toothpaste, mostly squeezed out. With a bit of rag he used it to polish the old brass to a new gleam.
They found a vegetable oil bottle floating in the debris and used the remaining dab of oil inside to lubricate the rudder. They polished and wiped and swabbed and dusted until the Captive was as majestic as the day she was built. With everyone working, it wasn’t long before the ship was refitted, stem to stern.
“How do you figure we’ll get her in the water?” Basil asked.
Twig nodded solemnly. “I know. . . . The Captive is a big boat. But I’ll think of something.”
“We’ll think of something,” Basil replied. “Three heads are better than one.”
Twig grinned. This is better than any Naming Ceremony, he thought. Building friends is better than building things.
Char, who had spent the time mostly napping in the shade, still looked gray and frail, but the fresh breeze was working a bit of magic on him; his health had not greatly improved, but it had not declined, either. His eyes seemed a bit clearer, and he looked repeatedly toward the east. Twig felt that, somehow, Char knew he was nearer home, and that was keeping his decline at bay. And that made Twig work all the harder at preparing the Captive for its maiden voyage.
Now it was just a matter of getting the Captive into the water.
chapter 24
Freedom
They contemplated how they could break the glass bottle. Twig wandered through the piles of debris, lost in thought. He scrambled over what he thought was a pile of sticks and driftwood, but something else caught his eye. The handle of a hammer, long ago separated from its claw, poked out from the mass of wood pieces. Twig’s mind raced: What if they made a hammer, then used it to smash the glass?
“Hey! Over here!” he squealed as he pulled at the wooden handle.
Basil took one look, and his whiskers lit up. “Got it!” he exclaimed.
“Got it!” Lily joined in. “We find something to use as a weight, fasten it to the handle, and create a glass smasher. Right?”
“Right,” Twig replied. “Lily, you find all the rope and vines we’ll need. Basil and I will search for the right weight. Let’s go!”
Lily scrambled over logs and rocks and debris, searching for the long lengths of twine and fishing line and honeysuckle vines that she’d need. Basil and Twig unearthed a long, oddly shaped rock that seemed perfect. It took them a while, but pushing in unison, they got it into position. Then, tying one end of the rope to the rock, they made a swinging hammer. After many attempts, they had the hammer suspended, dangling from an overhanging tree limb.
The other end of the rope was tied down. The three of them pulled the rock up a slope, then let go. The rock swung in a deep arc, swooshing through the weeds and hitting the glass bottle with a hard whack!
After several blows the thick glass cracked, then cracked some more, then shattered in hundreds of shards. Twig and Basil tied the larger pieces with ropes and dragged them away from the area. Lily gingerly cleared the deck of broken pieces, tossing them over the side, and then swept the planks of the deck clean.
The ship was finally free from the bottle. For the first time, a breeze rippled and caressed the sails softly. The setting sun glinted off the shiny brass fittings and polished deck before sinking below the trees.
“It’s magnificent,” Lily said, reverently looking up at the ship.
“Agreed,” Twig replied.
“We did it!” Basil added.
They stood watching as a magnificent, golden-orange full moon tiptoed above the treetops; Twig couldn’t remember it ever being so huge, feeling so near. He scampered to the rope ladder, and almost immediately splashed into ankle-deep water.
“Wha . . . ?” he gasped. “Water here?” Only a short time before, it had been a muddy p
ath.
He thought quickly. “Okay, everyone, we need to move fast. You two grab all the food and supplies you can. Make as many trips as you need to. Find some sticks and rags. . . . We’ll make torches so we can see better. I’m getting Char. We have to get on the boat!”
Lily looked wide-eyed. “Now?”
“Yes. The river is rising. Look—you can see stuff floating in. We have to move fast!”
IN A MATTER OF MINUTES THE THREE WERE GATHERING food and all the extra supplies they could handle and were transferring them, like a bucket brigade, onto the deck of the Captive.
“Elderberries,” Lily said, handing up a woven grass basket of the dark-purple fruit. Then she tossed acorn after acorn to Basil, like it was a game of catch, until the hold of the ship was nearly full.
Char climbed nimbly up the rope ladder, with Twig’s help, flapping his wings to keep balance. Meanwhile the water rose higher still, coming up to Lily’s chest, as she struggled to keep the supplies over her head, high and dry.
“Why are we doing this? In the middle of the night? Why don’t we wait for the water to drop again?” Basil asked, lifting a canteen of fresh water onto the deck.
Twig glanced at him seriously. “If my guess is correct, you’ll see why in about half an hour,” he replied.
The moon was relentlessly pulling at the river water, which lapped at the base of the Captive. The wooden stand with the brass nameplate was now a dozen centimeters under water, and still the water rose. Suddenly, the ship shifted with a jerk, sending Twig and Basil sprawling on the deck. Lily grabbed the railing and looked down.
“Uh-oh!” she shouted.
“What happened? What was that?” Basil called out.
“The water is moving against the ship. . . . It’s lifting the ship up.”
Another jerk, this time harder than the first, sent the boat sliding and scraping along the muddy bottom and lifted it free from the wooden base.