The Pirate's Booty (Inventor-in-Training)

by D. M. Darroch

  “Ye always were a good-fer-nuthin’ layabout! Ye could have killed us all!” said the first voice.

  “Them’s fightin’ words! I’ll have me due!” squabbled the second voice.

  Two arguing crew members emerged from below decks. Angus stood frozen in place, mouth hanging open.

  “Hide! Hide!” hissed the seagull, but it was too late. One of the pirates stopped mid-oath.

  “Well lookee here. Who’s come a-callin’ but our former powder monkey,” grinned the pirate, none other but Baldy, the one who had captured Angus the last time.

  The other pirate turned around, startled. It was Shep, no longer wearing the bad-smelling red shirt.

  “What a surprise,” he said, shooting a sideways glance at Baldy.

  “Well, well, well. Looks like our little cannon boy survived his fall from grace, don’t it?” sneered Baldy. “Wonder how that happened? Maybe we oughta try again, only this time I’ll walk ‘im down the plank, eh?”

  His terrified eyes glued to Baldy’s malevolent ones, Angus backed away slowly. The entire crew was slowly spilling out of the bunkroom. Angus watched their heads appearing one after another in the deck. It reminded him of the overflowing toilet that time he flushed five dinosaur hatching eggs. But instead of colorful stegosaurus and brachiosaurus toys floating to the surface, menacing pirates surrounded him on all sides.

  Angus clutched the screwdriver tightly and yelled, “Keep your distance! I have a sharp tool, and I’m not afraid to use it!”

  Hearty laughter exploded around him.

  “Ah, look at the wee lad!”

  “Fondly it is I remember me first tool!”

  “He’s gonna ward us all off with a screwdriver!”

  Angus felt a hand grab his elbow, and he wheeled around jabbing frantically.

  “Ouch! Watch it, BP! You almost stabbed out me good eye!” Billy Roberts dodged out of range of Angus’ screwdriver, and readjusted his eye patch. “Now hold up, ye scallywags!” he called to the crew. “Our old friend BP has shown plenty of pluck. First, he survived yon dip in the drink. That deserves respect, don’t it? And he stowed aboard our great ship under all our noses. He’s a sneaky one is our Booty Poker. Me thinks he’s a fine addition to our fearsome crew.”

  Many of the pirates surrounding Angus and Billy nodded their heads in agreement. There was much grumbling and chuckling among the crew. One voice called from the back, “I’ll bet Marge’ll have somethin’ to say about that.”

  “The mangy wench will have to answer to me!” roared a voice from the riggings.

  All eyes turned upward. Down to the deck leapt Captain Hank, a brown leather three-point hat atop his head. He landed lightly beside Angus and Billy and brandished a jewel-encrusted sword. Disbelieving gasps escaped the crew.

  “Shiver me timbers! It’s the cap’n!”

  “But, he’s dead! I saw his lifeless body with me own eyes!”

  “A ghost walks among us!”

  “Run fer yer lives! He’ll kill us all!”

  Chaos reigned aboard the Fearsome Flea. Burly pirates tripped over themselves trying to escape the captain. Scrawny, half-dressed pirates scrambled into the riggings. Several even jumped overboard.

  One-Eyed Billy tugged desperately on Angus’ arm. “Quick! Get away! Everyone knows sailors that return from Davey Jones’ locker devour the bodies of the living!”

  Only Shep stood his ground, alone and unafraid. He solemnly saluted the captain and said, “Welcome home, Cap’n.”

  “Thank you, sailor. I hereby appoint you my new quartermaster. From the looks of this vessel, we have some work to do. Let’s start by throwing out the trash.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n,” grinned the sturdy pirate. “I believe she’s still in her quarters.”

  Chapter Twenty: The Pirate’s Booty

  Ivy approached Angus, who was leaning over the ship’s railing helping One-Eyed Billy tow a shivering, bedraggled pirate to safety.

  “That was weird,” she observed.

  “I know. I didn’t realize pirates were so unscientific,” said Angus.

  “Superstitious,” corrected Ivy. “Why did they all think the captain was dead?”

  Angus remembered what Captain Hank had told him when they were marooned together. “I think One-Eyed Billy tranquilized him with chamomile tea. Maybe they thought he was dead when he was only asleep.”

  “Pirates are so superstitious,” said Ivy.

  “Unscientific,” corrected Angus.

  The seagull flew off in search of the captain.

  She found him with Shep standing outside the captain’s quarters. The closed door shuddered as heavy fists pounded from the inside.

  “Release me, you scurvy knaves! I’ll keelhaul whoever’s responsible fer this!” Marge yelled from within.

  “We don’t know how to open the door, Marge. She’s stuck, she is,” called Shep.

  “Well take an ax to it you bilge rat! Have I got to do everthin’ meself?” she bellowed back.

  Ivy fluttered to the deck and squawked to attract attention. She pointed her bill at the pen jamming the door’s hinge.

  “Well, lookee here,” said Shep bending over. “Yon gull is tellin’ us somethin’.”

  “That’s no gull. That’s Ivy,” responded Captain Hank. “That’s Angus’ pet. For some reason, he calls them all Ivy.”

  “Who’s Angus?” asked Shep pulling the pen from the door hinge. The door banged open smashing the thickset pirate in the face.

  “Who’s bloody idea was it to lock me in me quarters?” spat Maniacal Marge as she emerged from the room, dreadlocks hanging down into her face. She stopped when she caught sight of Captain Hank. “Look who’s decided to set foot on me ship,” she jeered. “Old fancypants hisself. What, ain’t we keeping the Flea clean enough for ye?”

  “As a matter of fact, the deplorable condition of this ship is an outrage, both to me and to my mother’s memory,” the captain said quietly. His eyes blazed and he pointed his sword at Marge’s throat. “And in truth, we both know whose ship this is.”

  He withdrew his sword and stepped back, allowing Marge to exit the cabin. “Despite your behavior and demeanor, you are a lady, and I cannot, in good conscience, battle you.”

  “Yer mistake,” snarled Marge and she lunged at him with her dagger.

  Captain Hank dodged away, but the point of Marge’s dagger had grazed his cheek and blood flowed freely. The captain’s hand flew to his injury, and his face contorted into a grimace of pain and fury. He held his sword down at his side and backed away from Marge dodging each thrust with agility.

  “Get her, Cap’n!” called Shep. “Fight!”

  The captain shook his head. “She may deserve it, and I am more furious than I’ve ever been, but my dear departed mother, God rest her soul, raised me to be respectful to women.”

  “She’s not a woman. She’s a monster!” called Ivy.

  “Coward!” chortled Marge. “That’s why your crew didn’t follow ye! Ye’re not a real pirate!”

  “Not true,” called Billy resting against the ship’s hull after having pulled five men to safety. “I jist didn’t wanna clean the head nomore.”

  “Marge promised us untold riches,” called a toothless pirate. “Didn’t get those, did we?”

  “Lucky to have a bite to eat of an evenin’,” snorted a bone-thin pirate.

  “She don’t honor the pirate’s code,” yelped a scrawny peg-legged pirate.

  “The ship’s a cesspool. I can’t live in this filth no more,” grumbled a white-haired pirate.

  “When ye stop to think about it, things weren’t so bad when Cap’n was in charge, were they?” suggested Shep.

  “Quiet! All of ye! Ungrateful wretches!” roared Marge. “I’ll get ye all! First, I’ll kill this coward of a cap’n once and fer all!”

  “Not if I can help it,” Angus sang out, as he plunged his screwdriver into Marge’s posterior.

  Marge lay moaning on a mattress across the Fear
some Flea’s deck, a white bandage wrapped around her rear-end. Her hands and feet were tied behind her back. “I’ll get ye, ye filthy powder monkey!” she howled. “And ye, too, Shep! Ye’re a traitor, and no mistake.”

  One-Eyed Billy watched her wordlessly as he peeled off a sweaty gray sock. “Oh Marge, put a sock in it,” he said with a twinkle in his eye and stuffed it into her mouth. She gagged and spat but was unable to speak another word.

  “What’s the plan now, Captain?” asked Angus.

  Captain Hank stood at the ship’s wheel and focused on the horizon. “We’re heading in to port and turning Marge in to the police. I will testify to her theft of my ship. I’ve spoken to several members of the crew, and they claim she sold much of the treasure they stole. I’ve sent Shep to the hold to tally the remaining items. The crew will probably have to do community service to pay for their crimes. They’ll have plenty of time on land. We have to put the Flea in dry dock to repair her. And I plan to pick up where I left off, marketing my Captain’s Cleanser.”

  Angus gazed out sadly at the waves.

  “What about Angus?” squawked Ivy.

  “Well, he’ll help me, I hope.” The captain gazed down at him. “You know that you’re welcome to live here as long as you like. Those inventions of yours would be a great addition to my business.”

  “Thanks,” Angus muttered twirling his screwdriver between his fingers.

  “No!” argued Ivy. “That’s not right! He helped you get your ship back. You have to help him get home!”

  “Get home?” asked the uncomprehending captain. “I told you, I’m bringing the Flea into dock. Of course, you can go home anytime you like.”

  “Squawk!” Ivy flapped her wings angrily. “He needs his machine! He can’t go home without it! You need to help him find it!”

  The captain considered Angus for a moment. “What do you mean you didn’t find your machine? It wasn’t in the hold?”

  “No,” mumbled Angus.

  “Well, what did you find?” prompted the captain.

  At that moment, Shep strode purposefully across the deck. “Captain!” he saluted.

  “Yes, Quartermaster?”

  “I’ve just been to the hold, Cap’n. There ain’t no booty.”

  A collective gasp was heard across deck.

  “How is that possible?” asked one pirate.

  “Where’s all the loot we stole?” said another.

  “Marge ain’t allowed any of us into the hold since we mutinied. We all thought she was hoardin’ the plunder,” said Shep.

  “Take the wheel,” the captain ordered a sailor. “Come with me.” He waved at Shep and Angus to follow him and set off in the direction of the captain’s quarters.

  Angus looked over the captain’s shoulder at Marge’s account books strewn across the desk. Smudged fingerprints and inkblots stained the pages. Stick figure drawings with eye patches, swords, and pirate hats decorated the empty pages. Captain Hank thumbed through page after page. They were all the same. Neither letters nor numbers appeared in the book.

  “What’s the meanin’ of this?” gasped Shep.

  “Looks like Marge hasn’t been keeping records,” said Captain Hank. He turned on his heel and marched out of the cabin, Shep right behind him.

  Angus watched them go and then began looking through the desk’s drawers. He pulled books out of the short shelves built into the wall. He peered under the bed and tossed the bedclothes. He tore the cabin apart looking for his Insectivore Incinerator, but it was nowhere to be found. Shoulders sagging hopelessly, Angus left the room.

  “What do ye mean, ye don’t need no accounts?” demanded Shep. The sock had been removed from Marge’s mouth and a group of pirates hovered over her.

  “Jist what I said. I’m a pirate, not a bloody banker!” shouted an irate Marge.

  “But surely ye have our loot!” pleaded Baldy.

  “I sold it fer food. Or did ye want ta starve?” said Marge.

  “But we ain’t had a decent meal fer weeks,” argued Shep. “Surely, our plunder was worth more than that measly amount!”

  “Ye do know what it was worth, don’t ye?” asked another pirate.

  Marge glared at them but said nothing.

  Angus couldn’t help himself. “Give her a pen. I want to see her write the number five.” Marge shook her head. “How about four? Three? Can you write me a one?” Marge said nothing. “Come on, Marge,” urged Angus. “Any number will do. Write!”

  The pirates liked the sound of this. A chant started, “Write! Write! Write!”

  Marge let out an earsplitting yell. “QUIET!” As one, the pirates stopped chanting.

  “Tell them, Marge,” said Angus. “Tell them you can’t write numbers. You can’t add. You can’t subtract. You don’t know how much money you had or what your treasure was worth. When it was time to sell it, did you even know how to count the money?”

  Marge gave him a sullen look.

  “You can rob all the innocent people you want, but if you can’t understand even basic math they can rob you right back,” concluded Angus.

  Marge growled at him, opened her mouth, and let out a string of oaths. One-Eyed Billy stuffed the sock back into her mouth.

  “She can’t count?”

  “Whose idea was it to make her the boss?”

  “I knew somethin’ was fishy.”

  The pirates stood around, arguing with each other.

  Ivy sidled over to Angus. “How’d you know Marge couldn’t do arithmetic?” she asked.

  “Just a guess. I remembered how you said I was a different version of myself in each of the worlds. BP’s a buffoon in this one.” He looked at her. “In my world, there’s a woman who looks a lot like Marge. I call her Ms. Evergood, and she’s my math teacher.”

  The seagull nodded. “Ironic.”

  Angus shrugged. “It would be funny if I didn’t fear she’d sold my Insectivore Incinerator for apples.”

  “Ah come on bucko, it’s not so bad as all that,” said One-Eyed Billy clapping his hand on Angus’ shoulder.

  “Actually Billy, it is. I need to get back to my parents. And I can’t get there without …” Angus stopped mid-sentence and stared at Billy’s pants. A mustard yellow tool belt wrapped around his hips. He pointed a shaking finger. “Hey, where’d you get that?”

  The one-eyed pirate glanced down at the toolbelt. “Easy. I ran a rig on old Marge over there.” His cheek crinkled as he winked his eye. “She never was a worthy opponent.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t understand,” asked Angus.

  “Come on, I’ll show ye,” said Billy heading for the bow. The two boys walked to the cannon. “Help me push,” said Billy leaning into a crate of case shot. “Put yer back into it.”

  Angus grabbed a corner of the heavy crate, and he and Billy shoved it along the deck. “Good enough,” said the patched boy. He pulled a hammer from the tool belt. “This should do the trick.”

  He worked the claw into a gap between two decking planks and pulled up. One of the planks was dislodged. He took it in his fingers and removed it from the deck revealing a deep cavity beneath.

  Angus stared. “Aw, shut yer mouth, BP. Yer gonna catch flies,” chuckled Billy. “Take a look.” Angus peered down into the hole. The morning sunlight sparkled off of whatever was inside. He reached his hand into the cavern and pulled out a handful of coins and jewels. “Wow!” he breathed.

  “Someone had to watch out fer the crew. I set aside what I could and snuck the rest out of Marge’s cabin whenever I had the chance. Easy enough to hide it. No one wants cannon duty. After you walked the plank, no one dared come up here,” explained Billy.

  Angus’ heart began to race. Billy had the pirate booty. Billy had the tool belt. Was it possible? Had he swiped the Incinerator before Marge could sell it? Eyes round as Spanish doubloons, Angus asked, “Would you happen to have the other thing, my machine? The one Marge stole from me the day I arrived, I mean, the day of the battle, when
the cannon blew through the ship. The day I walked the plank.”

  Billy stood and reached into the nose of the cannon. “Are ye talkin’ about this gadget?” he asked and pulled out Angus’ Insectivore Incinerator. “Wasn’t sure what it was. Figured it was worth somethin’.” Angus snatched the refurbished barcode scanner from the pirate’s hand and examined it. It looked in good shape, but it had been at the bow of the ship for days. The salt spray could have damaged the electronic components. He regarded One-Eyed Billy for a moment, and then he embraced the surprised pirate.

  “You don’t know what this means to me. Thanks, Billy! You are a good and true friend.” A worried look crossed his face. “I hope it still works.” He pointed at the tool belt. “Would you mind?” he asked.

  “I never could hornswaggle a mate,” sighed Billy unfastening the belt and handing it to Angus.

  Chapter Twenty-One: At the Pier

  Saturday morning came, and Mrs. Clark announced that The Booty Poker was released from house arrest. She even handed him two five dollar bills.

  “Why don’t you get out of the house for a while? Go see if Billy’s around and get an ice cream or something,” she said.

  He stared at the money in her hand and grabbed it before she changed her mind.

  “Just a minute, Angus.” She took his wrist, and forced him to look at her. “What you did at school this week was unacceptable. I never want a call like that from Mrs. Quigley again. Understood?”

  BP nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Use that big brain of yours.” She tapped his head. “Think first, okay? Now, go.”

  BP ran gleefully to his room, eager to finally get back to the Fearsome Flea. He pulled on a pair of blue jeans, a t-shirt, and a sweater. He packed a change of clothes into the book bag and stuffed the money into his pocket. He looked around the room one last time and realized he’d forgotten to make the bed. He fluffed the pillows, neatly arranged the comforter, and then threw the bag over his shoulder and raced down the stairs.

  He hurried into the kitchen and grabbed Mrs. Clark around the middle.