“Not among the elves it isn’t!” Pete snapped, his eyebrows rising so high, they nearly hovered over his head.
Liam looked to Gustav—who was bobbing from side to side like a puppy desperately trying to behave long enough to earn a treat—and gave him a silent nod. The big prince kicked hard against the sail’s yardarm, sending the heavy wooden beam swinging in an arc across the deck. It smashed into Periwinkle Pete, sending the elf backward over the rails. He landed in the sea with a splash.
Everyone on deck staggered as the ship made a sharp and sudden turn. A stiff wind kicked up, filled the newly angled sail, and started the Walnut moving forward at a faster clip. Gabberman spun the wheel wildly, trying to get back on course, and everybody—except Greenfang, who jammed one of his swords into the deck to steady himself—slid to one side of the ship.
“And I thought the canoe was bad!” Frederic cried.
As bodies piled up along the railing, Hardrot let out a joyous whoop. “A brawl!” the half-ogre howled. “Now this I understand!” He bit down hard on the mongoose’s long tail. The animal yipped and leapt into the air, at which point Hardrot rammed his shoulder into the beast and sent it flailing into the surf.
“My mongoose!” Erik the Mauve scrambled to the edge of the deck, looking for his animal. A belt from Two-Clubs’s one good fist sent him in for a dip.
“All righty,” Cap’n Gabberman said as the swaying and dipping of the deck finally calmed. “I think I’m gettin’ the hang of ’er.”
The princes and their allies chased Greenfang to the pointed bow of the boat. “Aha!” said Duncan. “Looks like the bounty hunter has become the bounty hunted.”
Up against the front rail, Greenfang turned and faced his pursuers, brandishing his remaining sword. Liam drew his rapier and stepped up to meet him.
“Go home, Greenfang,” Liam said. “This hunt is over.”
“I never give up,” Greenfang said with a sneer. Then he hopped overboard.
They were several miles from shore, and by the looks of it, the mob at the docks had been too frenzied to launch any ships in pursuit of them.
“We did it,” Liam said. “We’re on our way. Now we just need to find Briar.”
“And hope that Lila gets her message safely to Harmonia,” Frederic added.
So the girl’s in Harmonia, eh? thought Greenfang as he clung, unseen, to the side of the ship. He let go, splashed into the water, and began swimming back to shore as a new plan formulated in his mind.
15
AN OUTLAW DOES SOMETHING RASH
The Wet Walnut bobbed among the waves of Tortoiseshell Bay, heading westward into the sunset. By morning they would reach the open ocean, and they’d be forced to make a decision: Turn northward into the Frigidian Sea, a body of water known for its icebergs, frost dragons, and snow shrimp (which are, admittedly, the least impressive of the three)—or southward toward the warm, crystalline blue waters of the Aurelian Sea. The princes all hoped they’d be turning south (except Gustav, who had no sense of geography).
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but do you know where we’re going?” Liam asked Cap’n Gabberman.
“That way,” Gabberman said, pointing toward the front of the ship.
“Thanks,” Liam said. “But what is it that’s out that way?”
“Nothin’, far as I know,” Gabberman said. “Just miles and miles o’ briny blue, far as the eye can see.”
“How are we going to find the Dreadwind?” Liam asked.
“Oh, we won’t need to,” Gabberman stated with certainty. “They’ll find us. Like I was tryin’ to tell ye back at the Boarhound, them Dreadwind pirates are a mean lot. There’s no ship that comes into or outta Tortoiseshell Bay without them scallywags stakin’ their claim to it. If we just float around out there long enough, the Dreadwind’ll come to us.”
Liam didn’t like that plan, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. The only way to find Briar Rose was to find the Dreadwind. So when they got far enough west that they could no longer see even a trace of the far-off shore, they lowered the sails and simply floated.
Life at sea was a bit of an adjustment for the passengers (and “crew”) of the Wet Walnut. Frederic’s face was a ghostly shade of green for the first several days until his body finally, slowly began to adjust to the constant rocking motion. Hardrot, the half-ogre, on the other hand, had quite the opposite problem—he found the swaying of the waves a tad too soothing and was asleep for approximately twenty-one hours a day. Once Frederic felt well enough to stagger away from the rail, he called upon his sprite-taught first aid skills and bandaged Two-Clubs’s injured hand. Which was a good thing, since the barbarian turned out to be a decent fisherman and began providing hefty meals of halibut, sea bass, and skunkflounder.
Gustav was the only one who still went hungry. After his first bite of fish, his skin broke out into itchy, red blotches.
“Don’t eat the fish!” he yelled. “It’s poison!”
“Mine’s delicious,” said Duncan, licking flaky white pieces of mahimahi from his lips.
“I’ve got to say, mine’s a right tasty bit o’ business, too,” added Gabberman.
“Starf it all!” Gustav yelled, throwing his plate to the deck. While he scratched at his back with one hand, he pointed accusingly at Two-Clubs with the other. “You did this to me, Chef Roundbelly! You put some kind of barbarian curse on my fish! You’re jealous of my hair, aren’t you?”
“Gustav, I think you might be allergic to seafood,” Liam said, trying to calm him down.
“I’m not allergic to things,” Gustav growled. “Things are allergic to me!” He kicked over a bucket full of fish scraps and stomped off. Frederic scrambled after him and found him alone on the moonlit rear deck, angrily scratching at his elbows.
“Is everything okay, Gustav? You seem agitated,” he said gingerly. “Well, more agitated than usual.”
“Yeah, what of it?” Gustav barked. Then, more softly, he added, “Does agitated mean itchy?”
“It doesn’t,” Frederic said. “It means upset . . . or irritated—and it’s not surprising that you would be either of those things right now: You have a horrible rash, we’re stuck at sea waiting for dangerous pirates to find us, our kingdoms might be under attack as we speak, and our loved ones have been locked away.”
“Loved ones, eh?” Gustav said, loosening the collar of his shirt to reach in and scratch at his chest. “Blondie’s gotten to you that much, huh?”
“What? Rapunzel? No. I mean, yes, of course. But I care about Ella and Snow, too,” Frederic blurted. Then he paused and let out a long, slow breath. “But yes, I do care about Rapunzel deeply. Is that what this is all about? Are you upset with me because—”
“Because Lady Longhair likes you better?” Gustav interrupted. “C’mon, give me more credit than that. I’m irrigated because I’m tired of being on the run.”
“Agitated,” Frederic corrected. “Or irritated. I’m not sure which one you meant.”
“Either,” Gustav continued. “Look, you know me—I’m itching to take the fight to the Darians. I wanna knock some heads, kick some behinds—I don’t wanna sit on a boat all day, catching seagulls so Pipsqueak can put their feathers in his hat.”
“So that’s where those feathers have been coming from,” Frederic mumbled.
“Yeah, so, it’s the boredom that’s getting to me,” Gustav continued. “My mood has nothing to do with me being the only one of us who doesn’t have a ‘loved one’ to save. I could care less about that.”
Frederic desperately wanted to tell him that the phrase was “couldn’t care less,” but he held back, feeling that a grammar lesson might seem insensitive at the moment. “Gustav, you’re a great guy,” he said instead. “A little rough around the edges, perhaps, but loyal, and protective—”
“Don’t forget strong,” Gustav added.
“And strong. Plus, you’re a prince—and that never hurts. There’s a girl out there for whom you will be the perfect man.
Maybe you just haven’t met her yet. In the meantime, you have us.”
“And a rash,” Gustav grunted.
Duncan walked up, carrying an armful of what appeared to be crumbling bricks.
“Hey, Gustav,” he said. “Since you can’t eat the fish, maybe you can try these. They’re a special kind of sailor’s biscuit called hardtack—which I know doesn’t sound very appealing, but I assume the sailors just call it that because it’s so tasty they don’t want us landfolk stealing it. Anyway, the whole area downstairs is stacked with them. So, bon appétit!” He dropped the pile of hardtack biscuits, which clattered loudly on the deck next to Gustav.
“Don’t you two have a handkerchief to fold or something?” Gustav said. “Let me grumble in peace.”
Frederic and Duncan nodded and walked away. Gustav tried some of the hardtack and discovered that the name actually made it sound better than it was. It was like chewing a brick of salt sprinkled with sand and broken glass. But at least it didn’t make him break out in hives.
“Yes, sir, Your Highness, sir.”
“You really need to stop that,” Lila said.
“Sorry, sir, Your H— I mean, sorry. Just sorry.”
“It’s okay,” the young princess replied. She looked, with a mixture of sympathy and uncertainty, upon the flush-faced teenage messenger standing before her, the boy—only a few months older than herself—who was clad in an unseasonably thick wool sweater and unseasonably short, above-the-knee pants. “Are you sure you can handle this, Smimf? You look a little strung out.”
It wasn’t the messenger’s odd attire that gave her pause (Smimf always dressed that way). Nor was it his penchant for calling everybody “sir” (although she did grow somewhat tired of it after the thirty-fifth time). Nor even that the boy apparently lived in his tiny messenger shop (there was a wadded-up blanket in the corner, dirty plates on the floor, and several worn-out pairs of shorts draped over the counter). It was Smimf’s behavior—the entire time she’d been speaking to him, he’d been shifting his weight from one foot to the other, wringing his scarf in his hands, and nodding almost nonstop. His obvious anxiety was rubbing off.
“Is this job too much for you?” she asked.
Fig. 12
SMIMF, recruited
“No, no, not at all,” Smimf said. He tossed the end of his scarf and let it dangle loosely over his shoulder. “I can deliver all those messages—Sylvaria, Hithershire, Sturmhagen, Frostheim, Jangleheim, Svenlandia, Carpagia, Valerium, and Avondell. Shouldn’t take me more than two or three days. I’m your man. Well, not your man, but, well . . . heh . . . ah, you know.”
You’re blowing it, Smimf, he said to himself. For half a year he’d dreamed of the chance to see Princess Lila again, and now that he was with her, he was bungling it big-time.
“You sure?” Lila asked. “Because without those boots of yours . . .”
Thanks to his Seven-League Boots—the shiny, red, flame-emblazoned footwear that allowed him to magically travel great distances in seconds—Smimf had been an incredibly useful ally during the League’s assault on the Bandit King’s castle. And it was those amazing boots that would give him the power to quickly spread word of Dar’s invasion.
“Don’t worry, I can do it,” Smimf said. “If I seem a little . . . off, it’s only because it’s never easy to deliver bad news. You know? It’s like that time I had to tell my grandmother that I’d accidentally fed her wig to a goat.”
Lila stared at him.
“But you probably don’t need to hear about that,” he continued. “I should get going, seeing as you need me to help you save the world. Not that you need me. In fact, I’m sure you don’t need me. Not that I’m not going to do the job! Of course, I’m going to do the job. I know you need me for that. I just mean you probably don’t need anyone—generally speaking. You’re a very capable girl—woman!”
Lila grinned. “Yes,” she said, amused. “I’m a very capable girl-woman.”
“I’m going to stop talking now,” said Smimf, his face redder than his scarlet knit cap. “Good-bye, sir, Your Highness, sir!”
With a muffled whoosh, the messenger vanished, and Lila felt a rush of wind as the shop door flew open. “Well, that was . . . interesting,” she said aloud to herself. She headed for the door. It was only a couple of miles to the Harmonian royal palace, and she planned to personally warn Frederic’s father of the Darian threat.
But the moment she stepped outside, she found herself face-to-chest with Greenfang. She stumbled back a few feet and glared up at his crooked-toothed grin.
“Princess Lila,” Greenfang said. “The little girl who fancies herself a bounty hunter.”
Lila’s eyes widened.
“Word travels fast,” he said. “We all know you were old Ruffian’s apprentice. And I know what happened to the mopy mumbler, too. I guess I’m now the most dangerous bounty hunter in the world—and the best.”
“Ruffian was better than you’ll ever be,” Lila spat. She tried to dart away, but Greenfang caught her by the wrist and twisted it enough to make her wince.
“Unh-uh, little lady,” he sneered. “You’re coming with me. Your brother may have slipped away for the moment. But you’ll make a nice consolation prize.”
16
AN OUTLAW ROCKS THE BOAT
“What are you doing with those chum buckets?” Liam asked Cap’n Gabberman as the old pirate tipped two wooden pails over the side of the boat, spilling out loads of rotting fish heads, bones, tails, and other assorted uneaten chunks. He stopped midpour.
“Chum buckets?” he said, looking suddenly delighted by the slop he carried. “Is that what these are? I’ve heard of those. We’re supposed to use ’em somehow to catch us some king-size sea beasties.”
“You mean there’s a reason we’ve kept all those scraps?” Frederic asked. “I thought it was just because sailors are disgusting.”
“The chum buckets are bait, Frederic,” Liam said.
“Bait for what?” Frederic asked.
“Sharks,” Gabberman said with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Or as we old salts like to call ’em, tooth barrels.”
“Ooh, I’d like to make a tooth barrel soufflé,” said Duncan. “How do we use these chump buckets?”
“I think we just lower the buckets over the side—”
There was a loud splash as Gabberman dropped both buckets into the water.
“—after we’ve spotted sharks nearby,” Liam finished, shaking his head.
“Ah, I know what yer thinkin’,” the grizzled pirate said. “Ol’ Cap’n Gabberman just wasted our shark bait. And more’n likely, yer right. But—”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Frederic interjected. “Let’s take a look.”
Everybody ran to the rail to stare down at the fish guts bobbing on the foamy swells.
“I think I just saw one fishtail wiggle a bit,” Frederic noted hopefully.
Suddenly there was a loud bang, and the whole ship shook. People gripped the railing to remain upright.
“Did a shark do that?” Gustav asked. “Because if so, sharks are even more awesome than I thought.”
Another bang and crash, and the Wet Walnut was rocked hard for a second time. Everybody turned around.
“No shark,” said Gabberman. “Those would be cannonballs rockin’ us. And that would be the Dreadwind firin’ ’em.”
An enormous wooden galleon floated not half a mile to the west. It was easily six times the size of the Wet Walnut, practically a floating castle. Its four tall masts seemed ready to scrape the bottoms of the clouds, and twelve portholes along the ship’s starboard side were open to reveal the tips of smoking cannons. Fluttering from a pole, just above the Dreadwind’s sky-high crow’s nest, was a bloodred flag with a laughing, jewel-eyed skull at its center.
“How did it get so close without us noticing?” Liam asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Gabberman said. “Hardrot’s on lookout.” He gestured toward the Walnut’s bow, whe
re the half-ogre was snoring loudly in a laundry basket.
“Let’s not give him that job again,” Liam said.
“And let’s get out of here!” Frederic cried. “Raise the sails, everybody! Captain Mr. Gabberman, please hurry to the wheel!”
“But wait!” Liam said. “We can’t just run! This is the day we’ve been waiting for. We’ve finally found the Dreadwind!”
“Yes, and they’re shooting deadly balls of iron at us,” said Frederic. A whistling sound filled the air, followed by a thunderous crash as a third cannonball slammed into the Walnut, this one cracking straight through the center of the deck, mere feet from where Liam and Frederic were standing.
“Okay, I see your point,” Liam said. The crew rushed to unfurl the sails (they’d gotten much better at it after weeks at sea), and Gabberman hustled off to the ship’s wheel. Minutes later, the Walnut was moving—just in time for five more shots from the Dreadwind to splash harmlessly into the water behind them.
“Woo-hoo!” Duncan cheered as the Dreadwind became nothing more than a speck on the horizon. “We’re outrunning them!”
“I guess we finally have reason to be happy for the tiny size of this ship,” Frederic said.
“I told ye she was a fast ship,” Gabberman said.
“No, you didn’t,” Gustav retorted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Liam said with a sigh. “I’m not exactly in the mood for celebrating. After all this time, we finally found what we were looking for, and it almost killed us.”
“I guess this is what they mean when they say ‘Be careful what you wish for,’” Frederic added.
“Yes. A few days ago, I wished we had a swimming pool,” Duncan announced, peering down into the Walnut’s hold through the hole in the deck. “And now the inside of the boat is turning into one.”
“I don’t know much about ships,” Gustav added. “But I’m pretty sure the water’s supposed to stay on the outside.”
“We’ve got to plug that hole or we’ll sink! Duncan, head down into the hold and find a way to stop the leak,” Liam ordered. “The rest of you, start tossing things overboard! With all the excess water we’ve taken on, we’ll need to lighten the ship’s load in order to keep up our speed. If you see anything heavy, toss it.”