1 Aqua Major
The night was still when Claire Clearbrook, age 18, made her move. She’d planned her escape from the family estate for weeks, coinciding with the day before she was to board the train escort for that stuffy boarding school. She gathered her travel pack, equipping herself with a stun gun and a can of mace, just to be safe.
You never knew what to expect in the big city, after all. She was distracted a moment by her own reflection in the vanity mirror, and took a moment to twirl her blond bangs in her fingers.
She stuck out a hip, winked, and pointed a finger gun at the mirror. “Aqua Major won’t know what hit it.” she smirked.
Open skies, salty sea air, a vast panorama of potential, so different from this cramped gilded cage and stifled, recycled air. She’d spent all her life already in this lavish room decorated like a little girl’s, canopy bed crowded with stuffed animals, the walls painted in pink. If she didn’t break away now, she’d never see the world for herself.
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she checked the empty hall beyond her door, then closed and barred it. The night air filled her nostrils as she threw the window open and looked down over the courtyard and estate gardens.
Claire took a deep breath, savoring the fresh night air. She felt giddy with excitement at the thought of finally being able to explore the world outside the sheltered estate walls. She took one last look at her bedroom, lingering briefly over the pink lace coverlet of her canopy bed, the stuffed animals lined up on the shelves. She smiled to herself, knowing they had accompanied her through the years since childhood.
She knew they would be waiting right there for her return, but that tonight she was set on a new adventure. With a quick, decisive step, she swung her leg over the window ledge and climbed out into the night.
She sidled the ledge, ducking under the glow of a lattice window as one of the servants made their rounds. She dropped onto the roof of a garden storage shed, and then into the hedge maze, with silent, cat-like grace. The wrought-iron bars of the gate were latched shut, chained with a padlock.
It was of no concern. She removed a cube she had pre-cut from the hedge wall, and crawled through the gap, rear end wiggling like a slinking cat who’d spotted a hummingbird and prepared to give chase.
Claire’s freedom tasted even sweeter after her narrow escape. She felt her heartbeat quicken as she darted into the bustling night, determined to make up for all the years of constraint and oppression. She melted into the crowd, savoring the thrill of anonymity while secretly basking in the knowledge of having outsmarted the guards at the estate gates.
As she hurried along, she took in her surroundings; the crowded streets teeming with late night revelers, the brightly lit shops and pubs, the air thick with smoke and the din of music and raucous laughter.
The world was her oyster.
“Good riddance.” she flipped off the distant mansion at her back.
Her charmed life was rudely awakened by her first night spent slumming it on a park bench. Her eyes were bleary in the early morning sun as she rubbed her sore back, but the warmth felt nice on her face, and the melody of songbirds was sweet music in her ears.
The dew-kissed grass seemed so inviting. She guessed it was true that the grass was always greener on the other side. She counted her provisions to make sure nothing had been stolen in her sleep, then hoofed it downtown.
It was a seaport city, huge swathes of docks and rigging stretched across the ocean coastline. Several channels cut deeper inland formed a crowded backwater where seawater lanes took the place of streets, and gondolas stood in for carriages.
Nestled in the back of this flooded district was a series of sky-blue duplexes, the ocean at their back beyond a tall perimeter of black bars built into the seafloor. She’d scouted these apartments in advance, and budgeted for first month’s rent. The angular buildings seemed somehow nostalgic in Claire’s soft blue eyes.
She strolled into the courtyard, savoring the briny sea air and the sight of the sky-blue duplexes. They reminded her of home in a way, with their cheerful hue and proximity to the ocean.
As she approached the building, a feeling of eagerness rose within her. This was where she would begin her new life; a life that was her own, free from the obligations and constraints of her family estate.
With determination, she mounted the steps leading to the main entryway and rang the bell.
This ideal hit a few snags though. She’d never had to manage her own money, which was an issue when a family of invading wharf rats ate all of her supplies and half her wardrobe in the night.
“Dang wharf rats!” Claire uttered, “Not again!”
As if on cue, a small family of wharf rats scampered out from beneath the deck, gnawing on scraps of food and bits of cloth.
“You little bastards!”
Claire vs Varmints: Round 1
Claire set a rat trap inside the hole in the wall, baiting it with a delicious chunk of cheese. She was sick of the varmints nibbling at her food and supplies, and decided to take matters into her own hands.
Just as she expected, the rats soon gathered around the trap. They were hungry and looking for any easy meal they could scavenge.
As they entered the trap, they mimicked the sound of it going off. When Claire reached inside to take a look, she unfortunately got her own hand caught in the trap instead.
The conniving little rogues had set her up. Claire yelped and yanked her hand out of the rat hole, flailing it about, trying to dislodge the trap.
The rat trap dug deep into Claire’s hand, and she cried out in pain as she tried to free herself. The rats scurried away, cackling among themselves at their trickery.
She struggled with the trap, finally managing to break the spring open. Free at last, she sat down on the floor, nursing her sore hand.
Round 2
Claire had heard that using water was an effective way of evicting the rats from their den, so she set about trying to flush them out.
She grabbed a hose and shoved it into the rat hole, turning the tap on. It seemed to be working at first, as water started seeping through the opening, but suddenly the flow slowed to a drip.
Claire was puzzled by the water pressure until she looked down at the hose in her hands. To her horror, she saw that the rats had chewed through it!
Round 3 - Fight!
Claire was determined to get these vermin out of her apartment, so she set another trap.
Claire had given up the idea of trying to evict the rats through brute force, but was still intent on getting rid of them somehow.
So, she laid a piece of rat poison in front of their den. The rats seemed wary at first, but slowly approached. When one of them edged near the poison, Claire’s heart raced with anticipation.
Surely one of them would chomp down on it, right?
Suddenly, the rat she was watching lunged at her, picking up the block and hurling it at her forehead!
Thunk!
Claire fell backwards onto the ground.
She felt her head buzzing as the rat scampered off and all the others gathered around her, hissing and chittering, eager to see what they’d done to their foe.
Claire lay on her back, rubbing her bleeding forehead, staring skywards in shock. She could not believe she’d been bested by those meddling rodents once more!
She’d come up with something new... right after she went to the hospital to get an antidote for inadvertent rat poison in a cut.
A few hours later, she was down another massive chunk of money. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the rats or public healthcare.
Claire was back in her apartment, her forehead still bandaged from the rat attack. She wondered how much worse it could get. After a moment of reflection, she smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief.
That’s right, Claire thought, I know what I can do. Just wait, you filthy vermin, you are in for a real reckoning.
She put a plan into action, eagerly awaiting the moment when those pesky rats would taste the wrath of her revenge…
Her plan was simple - recruit a cat.
Lots of strays frequented the alley downtown, raiding the fish market or picking through dumpsters for scraps. They could use each other.
“Ok, Duchess, this is your new home.” Claire gave the fluffy gray Persian the tour.
Duchess blinked one vacant eye at her at a time.
“You have room and board provided for, and will be compensated in belly rubs for your service. Now go bring me their heads!” Claire held her hips, cackling.
Duchess eventually plodded off on floppy feet.
“Yes, yes, go, my minion!” Claire cheered, pumping a fist.
30 minutes later, Duchess returned with a sponge in her mouth, and laid it at Claire’s feet.
Claire picked up the sponge, confused for a moment until she looked up to see Duchess the Persian cat looking at her with a bored expression.
“Did... did she just bring me a sponge?” Claire sighed, feeling a bit silly, as she put down the wet sponge and turned to Duchess with an exaggerated serious expression.
“Duchess, that was not the item I had in mind when I said ‘bring me their heads’.”
Duchess remained unfazed, as if it was commonplace for her to bring sponges to her mistress in lieu of dead rats.
After several more trial and error retrievals, Duchess finally seemed to get the idea. Claire walked out to her living room as she heard their scurrying, eager to see her victory.
Instead, Duchess was grooming the rats, and several of them were nestled in her fur.
The cat had gone native.
“You had one job!” Claire bemoaned.
She could not believe her eyes.
Duchess, the cat who was supposed to be her secret weapon against the rat infestation, had become one with the enemy.
Tears of frustration welled up in Claire’s eyes as she watched the rats cavort with the Persian cat in her living room.
“You were the chosen one! It was said that you’d destroy the rats, not join them! Bring balance to the apartment, not leave it in darkness!”
Claire’s face contorted with despair and rage. It seemed that her battle with the rodents was well and truly lost.
She resigned herself to this fate.
She had roommates now.
Whatever.
She could almost let it go, forgetting herself in a video game and some remaining snacks. It was nice to have time to herself after all the intensive schooling and etiquette drills, which had never left her much leisure time.
“Final boss, yes!” she chirped, thumbs frantically mashing buttons.
She paused the game as she heard a bloated rat seep into her room. She looked over at it. The wee beast had grabbed the console’s power cord in its tiny hand.
“Don’t you dare!" Claire twitched.
A chill ran down Claire’s spine as she realized her worst fear was about to come true.
The little shit chewed through the cord. The console sparked, then went completely dark as the power was cut.
Claire stared at the dead console in disbelief, then looked at the grinning rat beside it.
She let out a bloodcurdling scream, which only seemed to encourage the bloated rat further.
It was official, the rat war was over, and Claire had lost.
She sent several pics of the infestation in a text to her landlord.
He replied a while later with “No pets. Also, rent is due.”
Claire looked at her phone in disbelief, feeling a surge of anger at her landlord’s cold indifference towards her plight. She fired off another text to him, this time including a photo of the bloated rat lounging on her couch like a king.
“Landlord, these are NOT pets! My apartment has been invaded by a swarm of vermin! I demand immediate action.”
She hit send and waited for his response, feeling her heart racing with anticipation.
No response came. Then she lost service, having been unable to pay her phone bill. She resisted the urge to throw her phone against the wall. Her money was already almost depleted.
Grumbling, she went to town in search of a job.
Claire walked out of the service provider’s store feeling disappointed and defeated.
After her latest encounter with her landlord, she was determined to find a job so she could afford the money for rent and the exterminator.
A montage of failure played out over her eyes.
She was fired from the local café immediately, her cooking skills so in the negative that it verged on food poisoning.
“What the hell is this?!” the head chef pointed to a dish of escargot.
“Snails, sir.” Claire said.
“Why are they sweet?" he demanded.
“I like sugar better than garlic, so I improvised. Do you like it?” Claire chirped innocently, looking excited for praise.
“Sweet and sour escargot?!” the head chef raged, “Your cuisine is a travesty and your logic is even more questionable! You’re fired!”
Claire’s eyes widened, shocked at her sudden and unexpected dismissal. She had thought that she would be allowed to cook to her heart’s desire, but it seemed that even her culinary attempts fell flat.
She left the café, head hung low, feeling utterly defeated. It seemed like no matter what she tried, she only ended up making a mess of things…
Her job taking a survey of bald men for a wig company was lost when she couldn’t keep her giggles in check. The laundry mat fired her when she mixed the colors and shrank the clothes.
The servants usually did all this shit, was it always this complicated?!
Claire was walking down the street, feeling a bit deflated after all her recent failures.
Then, out of nowhere, a handsome man in a suit and some stylish shades approached her, claiming to represent a modeling agency.
“Excuse me, miss. My name is Roger Berkins, CEO of the Berkins Modeling Agency. You have an exceptionally unique look, and I believe you would be perfect for our upcoming photoshoot aboard our yacht. I would like to invite you to attend a selection process this evening at 7:00.”
Claire beamed. “Damn straight. You have a fine eye for beauty.” she struck a pose, basking in her sex appeal and ego. “I’d be delighted to attend your selection process.” she winked. “Who can say no to such a compliment?”
She turned on her heel, looking confident and eager to attend her first modeling gig.
“Duchess, momma’s going out to blow some minds with her radiant beauty. Stay off the furniture. Dinner’s in the kitchen.” Claire told the Persian, locking up for the evening out.
She followed the docks to the appointed place, and wondered if she had the wrong address. It didn’t look like a yacht, more of a standard merchant ship or something. But then she saw the soft glow of mood lighting, smelled the enticing aroma of delicate catering, and heard the excited laughter and chatter of her fellow models.
Roger met her at the gangplank.
“You look ravishing, milady.” he took her hand and kissed it.
“I know, right?” Claire grinned, strutting in her finest blue silk dress.
Roger escorted Claire down the ramp, introducing her to her fellow models and giving her a quick tour of the yacht.
As they walked, Claire took in her surroundings and began to feel a bit uneasy. The yacht was not what she was expecting, and the laughter and chatter did not seem genuine.
Soon, she found herself on deck, looking out over the ocean. Roger was nowhere to be found, only a handful of male models surrounding her.
Suddenly, a loud crash was heard below deck, followed by a scream and faint whimpering.
Acting on instinct, Claire darted down the stairs below deck to see what the commotion was. Her heart sank and she clamped a hand to her mouth. Wide eyes locked onto a sight that didn’t make sense.
A heavyset man in a white chef’s outfit complete with tall hat and curly Frenchman mustache stood over the crumpled form of a young woman. The back of the woman’s head seemed saggy. There was a sound like a shower drip as what looked like jam dripped from a long rolling pin in the chef’s grip.
After a few moments, Claire realized that the woman’s skull had been caved in. A smudge rubbed off from the pin revealed that it was made of solid iron, painted beige.
“Well, there goes one piece of merchandise.” the man cursed under his breath.
“You... killed her...” Claire stammered.
The man looked up, mustache twitching. “Who let this one out?”
Claire felt a shadow behind her, and looked around. Roger had a sly grin, and pocketed his shades. “Apologies for the deceit, miss Clearbrook. This is something of a slave ship. Your beauty truly is marvelous though, I’m sure you’ll fetch a high price.” he said.
He hardly had time to finish speaking this before Claire was upon him. She crushed her leg into Roger’s crotch, and jammed her stun gun into his Adam’s apple without a moment’s hesitation.
Roger gurgled, dropping his cane as he collapsed to the floor, writhing and clutching his spasming throat.
Claire looked at Roger with satisfaction, but it quickly turned to shock as the chef grabbed her by the throat, his giant hands tightening like vises around her neck.
“You’re no trouble after all.”
The chef’s grip tightened and Claire felt her throat tighten and her vision dim away.
She tried to think back to the things she’d learned in her self-defense classes, but the pain was too overwhelming, and she was already losing consciousness.
She pepper sprayed him in his beady eyes, and he growled, dropping her. Claire flew up the stairs, but stopped mid-stride, realizing that an untold number of women were probably trapped down here, lured in by the same ruse. If she fled, the slavers would set sail with their human cargo before the authorities could do anything about it.
Claire didn’t have long to debate with herself before a cloth soaked in chloroform was pressed to her mouth and nose from behind.
Claire felt her eyes fluttering, her vision blurring and her thoughts fogging as the chloroform worked its magic. She tried to fight it, but it was useless. Her last coherent thought was a deep fear for the safety of the other women trapped on the ship.
She felt herself slumping helplessly into unconsciousness.
She woke in the brig, chained, with dozens of other girls who’d bought the modeling agency rouse hook line and sinker.
Claire’s eyes snapped open, dazed and disoriented from the chloroform. She looked around and saw the rows and rows of other women, chained in darkness and misery. She tried to shout but it only came out as a faint whisper.
“Is anyone there? Help...”
The other women turned to look at her with hollow eyes, some of them sobbing, others staring numbly as they realized their situation.
Oh god we’re at sea. Claire thought.
Outside the bars, “Roger” was nursing his swollen balls.
“Well played, milady, but your luck’s run out. You should have kept running when you had the chance. Then again, you’d have run into these savages.” - he gestured to an entourage of wild, scraggly men with cutlasses and pistols.
One of them lewdly licked his blade, giggling.
“So you’re a bunch of filthy pirates?!” Claire growled.
“Guilty as charged. Down on our luck. Fleet was lost at sea to the Navy. Sub-division Captain Pontier made the call to expand our trade into human trafficking. I’d like to personally thank you for helping recoup our losses.”
Claire felt her blood boil as she heard Roger talking about her and her fellow captives as if they were nothing more than cargo to be traded for gold.
She looked over at the band of wild and scruffy men, their cutlasses and pistols looking all too ready to be used.
Claire took in the band of pirates around her, taking note of who seemed the weakest or most reluctant.
Then she turned to her fellow captives, and began whispering to them, encouraging them to rise up against their oppressors.
She began to organize a rebellion, telling them what to do and what their roles would be in the revolt.
She worked quietly and secretly, hoping to catch the pirates off-guard…
It always paid to keep lockpicks handy. She had used them to unlock forbidden passages of the mansion, and escape its windows, more times than she could count.
Claire managed to secretly pick the lock of the cage, and she and the other women stepped out into the dimness of the ship.
The pirates were completely unaware, busy playing cards and drinking rum. Claire and the other women crept carefully past the unsuspecting pirates, making sure to remain silent.
When they were in position, Claire nodded to the others and they all charged at the pirates with surprise and fury, taking advantage of their drunkenness and lack of preparation.
After a short but vicious fight, they were able to overcome the pirates and seize control of the ship.
Not.
“What have we got here?” Pontier’s bulk filled the door frame, twirling his iron rolling pin. “Some sows sneaking out of their pen?” - he shattered a table under his bludgeon for emphasis.
“Well, well,” Claire hissed at Pontier. “What do we have here? A slavemaster ready to meet the blade?”
Pontier smirked, a crazed light in his eyes.
“The ladies want a fight?” he challenged, swinging his rolling pin at them menacingly.
Claire was determined not to back down from this threat, and she nodded solemnly at her comrades.
“Come at us.”
She sprang, expecting to lead the charge, only to realize she hadn’t been followed. She crashed into Pontier’s bulk, and he didn’t budge
“Eh?” she looked at her back and saw that her sisters in arms were disarmed, held at sword and gun point.
“I don’t like mutinies.” Pontier said, and clubbed Claire’s stomach with his rolling pin.
She coughed, the wind knocked out of her, and dropped to her knees. The world was murky. When she came to her senses, she heard a distant bubbling. She realized she was upright, slumped against something. The brim of that tall chef’s hat cast a shadow on her shoulder.
“Let go of me!” she demanded, struggling.
Her wrists were locked behind her, her ankles clamped with weights. She had no leverage.
The other girls were in rows, lined up like a choir in chains, watching with numb terror.
“Need to make an example of you, lass. There will be no rebellious sentiment on MY slave ship.” the pirate chef sneered.
“What? You gonna flog me? Make me walk the plank?” Claire sassed.
“You wish. I am a chef.” he cupped her chin and directed her attention to a big black kettle of boiling soup, suspended over a boxed bonfire in the middle of the deck.
“It’s got onions, potatoes, carrots - just needs one more ingredient - you.” he chortled.
Claire blanched. “I hate carrots.” she whimpered.
The pirate chef laughed as he pushed Claire’s face close to the boiling pot of soup. He leaned in even closer, the smell of the soup filling her nose as he whispered into her ear.
“You’ll make a fine soup, lass. A fine meal, and a nice serving of revenge for the crew.”
Claire’s eyes welled up as she thought of her fate, of dying a painful death as the feast for others.
“Aw, aww, come on, Captain, I was just playing with you! Don’t be so sensitive-” Claire forced a smile.
“Ye ain’t talking your way out of this. It’s the broth for you.” Pointier signaled for someone to lower the crank and pulley.
“Hey, you hear that noise?” the crankman said.
“What noise?” Pontier barked. “Your ears ringing?”
“Nah, I hear it too, Cap.”
“Aye. S’getting louder.”
It was a high pitched sound, a - a yell.
And it was getting louder.
They looked up.
“Avast! Something’s falling out of the sky!”
It hit the deck, crashing floorboards and kicking up dust. The pirates and their captives alike coughed.
“What the blazes?!” Pontier waved away the curtain of smoke.
A person was lying on the splintered deck. A teen boy in a green and blue striped turtleneck shirt, and a head of spiky, fiery red hair tucked under a white baseball cap.
“The hell did this whelp come from?”
Claire stared in shock, her horror forgotten. “Did that boy just drop out of the sky?”
There was silence, then gasps as the boy sat up, clutching the back of his head and neck.
“That smarts. Alley-oop!” he flung himself back onto his feet, and began cracking out his neck.
He looked up toward the sky, fanning his face, and squinted. “Dropped me quite a ways, huh? Guess I landed on a ship. Well, saves me the trouble of swimming for one.”
Pontier twitched. “Hey!”
The boy turned. “Yes?”
“This crew is invite only! Git yer ass off my ship!”
The boy scratched the back of his neck. “Believe me, I’d love to, so could you give me a lift back to port?”
Pontier’s face swelled up, red and purple with constipated fury, mustache twitching. “I don’t think you understand the situation here, brat.”
The pirates assumed battle stations. The boy looked around the ship, saw confusion turn to bloodlust. His eyes turned to steely flecks as he saw the girls in chains.
He looked into Claire’s eyes - and flashed a toothy grin. Somehow, it comforted her.
The boy whistled. “So that’s the situation. Got it ” he tipped his cap, then began stretching out his legs as if getting ready to fight.
“What are you doing, boy? If you try anything, we’ll have your throat!” Pontier seethed.
The boy ignored Pontier and continued to stretch his legs.
“Did you hear me, boy? Don’t do anything foolish!”
The boy continued to ignore Pontier and his crew, and began pacing back and forth.
“We have cannons. We have blades. What do you have, boy?” Pontier challenged.
The boy rotated his shoulder cuff. “There we go, got all the kinks worked out.” he said.
“Hey! Are you listening to us?!” Pontier demanded.
Claire could feel his pudgy but strong fingers digging into her shoulder in trembling rage. She hissed a little.
“Hey, lady!” the boy called to Claire. “Duck!”
Claire blinked. Duck? What was…
The boy pivoted a foot then swung his hips. Claire didn’t think, just acted. She stomped Pontier’s foot and broke free from his grasp, crouching and nearly face-planting.
The boy’s leg thinned to a green tendril spotted at intervals with broad leaves. His leg had become a jungle vine ending in a sneaker.
Pontier’s eyes bugged out of his head as the vine whiplashed into him.
Claire watched with wide eyes as the boy struck Pontier with his vine leg, causing the pirate master to go tumbling backwards.
The pirate crew stared at the boy in surprise, quickly recovering as they readied their weapons.
The boy let his vine leg retract and stood up, facing the armed pirates with a grin on his face.
Claire looked at him in astonishment, feeling a surge of hope within she didn’t think she would feel again.
The boy took two steps towards the pirates, and then he burst into action, moving with incredible speed and agility.
Claire watched things in snapshot, a flurry of fists and feet as the boy parried sword swipes and clumsy shots, tripping, tackling, and decking pirates. A cutlass embedded itself in a mast as the boy ducked, and broke the offender’s jaw. He tipped a barrel and kicked it down the stairs, watched it bowl over pirates. At one point, he was encircled by men with pistols.
“Get him!” they cocked and fired.
The boy jumped straight up as the triggers were pulled, and his would-be firing squad ate their own bullets, dropping. The boy lashed a vine arm to the rigging of the mast, and shot up to the crows nest. Seafaring thugs scrambled after him, climbing the net, swords and knives clenched in teeth.
The first to surmount the climb looked up at the boy, hands on his hips, foot cocked back.
“Please don’t.” the pirate whimpered, before he took a football kick to the face that flung him from the mast.
Claire winced as the fallen pirate shattered a wooden crate under his body.
The boy dove from the nest, flipped, and landed in a squat, deck groaning.
He can jump from that high? Claire thought.
“Hey boys!” the boy called up, then touched a torch to the ropes, and watched the rigging go up in flame.
He cackled, clutching his belly as the stranded pirates panicked and tried blowing out the flames.
“Eh?” he ducked as Pontier swung the club at him, smashing the doors to the below deck area.
The boy took off, cackling like a gremlin. He vaulted over the bubbling kettle of stew as a swarm of pirates pursued.
“Ow! Hot!” he grit his teeth as he pressed his palms to the scorching metal.
The pot groaned, then toppled over. The pirates in pursuit screamed as the overturned kettle unleashed a burning tsunami on them.
The slave girls blanched and watched their feet, clinging to the railing.
Pontier looked on in disbelief. His entire crew steamrolled as though it were child’s play.
And that plant freak was just blowing on his burnt palms, the only injury he had taken.
Pontier grimaced and stepped forward, smacking his iron rolling pin into his open palm, feeling its weight.
“Hey, kid!” Claire called to the boy.
“Yeah? What’s up?” he grinned.
“Keys. Get the keys. You know, so I can get out of these dumb shackles?” she pleaded.
The boy scratched his head. “Ok, but who has the keys?” he asked.
“They’re right here.” Pontier dangled them, then replaced them in his coat pocket.
The boy’s smile broadened, and he stepped toward the chef.
“Where the blazes did you come from? Why did you just fall out of the sky? You slingshot yourself or something?” Pontier asked.
“Nah. Was wrestling with a big bird when it took off. The jerk tossed me off midair.” he said.
“Don’t give me your tall tales. We’re miles from shore. Surely you didn’t surf a bird all the way here? What do you want, anyway?” Pontier said.
“I don’t know. I kind of worked up an appetite beating up all your men. Might loot your food.”
Pontier twitched. “You runt. You picked a fight with pirates. You don’t even have a good reason for dropping in on us? What’d we do to you? Burn your village to the ground? Slit the throat of a loved one, perhaps? Steal a treasure from you?” Pontier questioned, turning his rolling pin.
“No, really. I was just in the neighborhood.” the boy cracked his knuckles. “You can call me Umon by the way.”
Pontier scoffed. “I don’t need your name. Dead men have no use for names!” he lunged and brought the rolling pin down.
Claire cringed as she saw Umon’s forearm take the hit. She heard the sickening crack of bone - no.
It was groaning wood.
Umon’s arm was encased in bark, stood firm like an ironwood tree.
“Heh.” Umon tutted. “If you want to compare clubs, mine’s a lot harder!” he raised his other arm.
They watched, Pontier in horror, and Claire in awe, as Umon’s arm became a solid ironwood bludgeon.
He slammed it down.
Pontier’s tall chef’s hat crumpled, and the blow put him through the floor. Claire heard him crash through supplies below deck, and watched a churning dust column twirl up from the hole in the deck.
Umon’s arms reverted, and he pumped his fists to the sky.
“I win!” he cheered, basking in his victory like a little kid.
Claire laughed as Umon celebrated his victory, feeling a wave of relief over the change of fate.
The battle may have been won, but there was still the matter of being stranded at sea with no way home.
“So, I guess we can be rid of these shackles now?” Claire said, shaking the iron bound to her wrists.
“Oh, right, the keys!” Umon said in sudden realization.
He looked around at the destruction of the pirate ship, then to Claire.
“I suppose I could break you out, can’t I?” he chuckled.
Claire balked. “Uh uh! You’d sooner snap my wrists! Why’d you have to go and plant the tubby sea chef through the floor?”
Umon chuckled, then revealed the key ring.
“How did you-”
“I snagged them off his coat after he tried to bean me with that weird club.” Umon said.
“Are you a pickpocket?” Claire asked.
“Yes.” Umon nodded cheerfully.
He proceeded to uncuff Claire, then tossed her the key rings.
“Hey, where are you off to?” Claire asked as the boy skedaddled across the deck, examining cannons and telescopes and such.
“Well, there’s just the one key ring. Kind of a one-person job.” Umon shrugged.
Claire watched as Umon bounded across the deck of the pirate ship, examining the various weapons and tools with the curiosity of a child.
Eventually, he spotted the pirate captain’s quarters and rushed into the room.
Claire followed him inside, and watched as he began ransacking the cabin, looking for a way off the ship.
After a moment, he emerged with a strange object in his hands, a small stone statue of a man in a somersaulting pose.
“What do you think?” Umon said, holding up the statuette.
“I think the ship is on fire.” Claire sweat, working to free each girl down the line.
“Then help me with these life rafts.” Umon said, scurrying over to free one of the yellow inflatables and watch it drop to the waves.
Claire passed on the keys to the last women she’d freed. “Figure it out amongst yourselves.” she said.
Claire stood next to Umon as he fiddled with the next crank. “Want to tell me why we’re not just sailing back to the coast before the ship burns down?”
“There.” Umon pointed.
Claire looked out over the horizon where a Navy ship drew near.
“So?” Claire asked.
A cannonball flew over the deck, shattering a wooden rail and parting Claire’s hair with the gust.
“Oh, riiiiight, we’re still flying a pirate flag.” Claire realized.
Umon rallied the girls. “Anyone who doesn’t want to stick around, pick a raft.” he chirped, then darted up to the bow of the ship.
“Wait, what are you doing now?" Claire asked.
Umon gripped the wheel. “Ima ram them.”
“W-What?!” Claire panicked.
Without waiting, Umon pulled hard right, and sledged the burning ship into the Navy vessel.
Claire watched in horror as the pirate ship plowed into the Navy ship, sending shockwaves throughout the deck and spilling the crew into the sea.
The two ships became entangled in a wreckage of blazing rubble and broken wood as the pirate ship began sinking into the depths.
Claire stared at the carnage in disbelief, wondering how the day could get any worse.
Then, more cannonballs started flying towards her.
“Umon!” Claire screamed, trying to dodge the cannonballs.
He slid onto the deck. “There’s got to be one somewhere.” he mused. “Ah, there we go. Now that’s a cannon.” he chirped, noting the navy-issue gunner.
He sprinted toward it, weaving in between deckhands who swung at him as they boarded the side of the wrecked pirate ship, engaging the dazed remnants of Pontier’s crew.
“W-Wait a minute! I’m not really part of this! Back me up, girls!” Claire looked around, only to find that the prisoners had indeed vacated the doomed vessel.
She watched the yellow rafts float away, great distance already between them.
“Eat lead, pirate!” a soldier decreed, aiming a rifle at Claire.
“Eep!” Claire took cover.
“Here we go.” Umon manned the cannon, tossing aside the officer he’d conked out for getting in his way.
He flipped the barrel over and pressed his eye to the reticle thingy, scanning the sky.
“Uh huh. There you are, you molty bastard.” Umon grinned, noticing the gigantic seagull, still soaring overhead, a mile out.
The dumb thing had swooped in on Umon’s fish haul - with Umon still in it.
His valiant struggles were kneecapped in the air. Now, the pendulum swung in Umon’s favor. Things always seemed to work out one way or another.
“Kaboom!” he fired the cannon.
Seconds later, he watched through the scope as the giant seagull exploded into a cloud of burning black smoke and flame, and tailspun out of the sky. He watched it crash onto a fishing boat, shattering the mast and deck.
“Oops. Sorry.” he scratched the back of his neck, already trying to figure out how to get to that ship to retrieve his dinner.
“What. the hell. Are you DOING?!?" an officer demanded, a saber at Umon’s throat.
“Listen buddy, I just did most of your job for you, ok? Took out some pirates and freed a bunch of slave girls. What were you doing, patrolling for shrimp poachers?” Umon said, sounding utterly annoyed. “Don’t point sharp things at me.”
The sailor pressed the saber tighter against Umon’s throat.
Moments later, Claire squeaked in terror again as the marksman literally gunning for her was floored under the officer Umon had just flung. Pontier’s ship went down along with its crew, and Claire jumped onto a rail of the navy ship, panting. She hugged the deck, very ready to go home and forget all of this with a nice warm bath.
“Umon? Umon, where’d you go?” she asked, scanning the place for her mysterious floral savior.
He was gone.
She frantically looked about, but saw no sign of him. Did he already abandon ship, to go bag the big bird he was talking about?
“Freeze!” a huddle of men encircled Claire, weapons trained on her.
“Uh, yeah, ok.” Claire stuck her hands up in surrender.
What a day.
