The PriZin of Zin (16 page)
Authors: Loretta Sinclair
“Ups thar,” Peg Leg pointed. High atop the tallest mast sat a basket. “That be the crow’s nest. Him which got’s the bestest eyes be’s the crow. Protectin’ us, watches fer danger, the crows does.”
Ian nodded.
“We gives ye a try up thar tomorree. Tonights,” Peg Leg threw his hands up in the air and twirled around, “we celebrates.” He danced off with the others, rocking the boat, and leaving Ian, smiling, in the center of the party.
Slosh.
Slop.
Plop.
Pop.
“Help.”
“Ian.”
Pop.
Slop.
“Help.”
crow's-nest
[krohz-nest]
noun
Nautical
. a platform or shelter for a lookout at or near the top of a mast.
Day 3
The musket shot rang out.
Ian scurried up the mainsail mast as fast as he could. Faster than climbing a ladder, he tried not to be reckless, but still he had to beat Ruben to the top.
“I’s on yer tail, laddie! Hahahaha!”
Ian dared not speak or turn around. He didn’t want even the simplest movement to slow his progress. Another test, yes, but it felt more like a game at this point. It was no longer against his enemies, but his fellow pirates; his brethren; his new friends.
Ian grabbed the nail pegs hammered into the sides of the mast. They were barely wide enough for a handhold, or a foothold, yet were staggered and spaced up the post like the rungs of a ladder. One by one, Ian grabbed hold and pulled himself up toward the reward at the top — the coveted position in the crow’s nest. It was the prized position on the ship, and it had been offered by Peg Leg to Ian for his loyalty. That was, providing he could beat Ruben to the top. Loser had to hoist and secure all the sails for the day.
“Me Gran kin move faster ‘en ye can, Ian. Ye climbs the likes of a girl, ye does. Move on ov’r, lad, and lets the man git up thar!”
Cheers from below floated up. The entire crew lined the decks, cheering the two on.
Ian wanted to laugh and make a snide comment back at Ruben but, at the same time, he had to prove he could do it. He had to prove it to Ruben and to the rest of the crew. More than anything, he had to prove it to himself. Rung after rung, he raced to the top. He had to win. He had to.
Almost there
.
He almost had it. Ruben was just a few rungs below. Ian reached for the next peg near the top. Pulling his weight upward against it, the rung came out in his hand. Ian fell back, losing his balance, both feet slipping from the rungs they were on. He dangled by his one remaining hand, clenched in a death-grip on a single nail.
Ian panicked. His mind went blank. He screamed, but no sound came out. Gasps and moans came from the deck below. The ship spun beneath him. “Ahhhhh!”
A big hand grabbed his thigh and stopped him from flailing. “Grab the next peg.”
Ian faltered for a brief moment, trying to get his bearings. The hand squeezed his thigh and guided his leg to the safety of a rung. “Grabs it, I say!”
His mind cleared and Ian let go of the loose peg in his hand, grabbing the next rung. He held on, trying to regain his senses.
“Holds on, lad,” he heard Ruben say. “I got ye.”
The peg finally crashed onto the deck. Ian mentally calculated how high up they were, based on how long it took the peg to fall. He dared not look down. Not now, when his nerves and his senses were so shaken.
“Steps up, lad.”
Ian could feel Ruben’s body behind him, almost sheltering him against the mast, preventing another fall.
“Reach,” he commanded.
Ian couldn’t move. He closed his eyes against the sun and the wind, not daring to look at anything. All he could manage was to shake his head.
“I’s not’s gonna stands here holding yer scrawny behind up forever. Ye got’s to git up, ‘er down. Sae picks one. Up’s shorter.”
“I can’t,” Ian whispered.
“Sure’s ye kin.” Ruben’s words were kinder now, softer. Ian felt a gentle tap on his right elbow. “Move this ‘un.”
Ian cracked his eyes open and looked for the next peg above the one that had fallen out. He reached a shaky hand up and grasped the peg. The sweat on his palms made it hard to hold on, but he gripped it with all his might.
“Now, moves this ‘un.” There was a tap on his right leg.
“Thar’s ye goes.”
Ian pulled himself up a few inches against the mast.
“This ‘un.” His left hand was tapped.
“This ‘un.” His left leg.
Tap by tap. Hand over hand. Foot after foot, Ruben and Ian climbed the remainder of the mast to the crow’s nest.
At the top, Ian was the first into the nest. Ruben followed. The two leaned against the relative safety of the small enclosure. Cheers rose from the deck below as the two reached safety.
“Why did you do that?” Ian asked.
“Friendship is thicker ‘en blood on this here ship. The bonds of yer brothers runs deep as the oceans. Their bond fer ye be the same.” The two pirates took turns, reciting their vows back to each other.
Ian smiled. “We tie our souls to one another, and to this ship. We swear our oath to the Captain, save none.”
“We lives together. We fights fer our own. We dies as one for ‘er brothers and ‘er Cap’n.” Ruben smiled back. “Wayfarin’ souls be we.”
“No friend left behind.” Ian perked up. “No one dies alones.”
“Be’s we ‘gether, or be’s we ‘part;”
“No one can tear us from our brother’s heart.”
“Aye," Ruben smiled, "‘tis the pirate’s code.”
Rested somewhat, Ian stood. “So I guess I’ve lost, then.” He made for the gateway out of the nest.
“Hold it thar, laddie. Where does ye thinks yer goin’?”
“I have to string the sails. That was the bet.”
Ruben smiled. “If’n ye thinks I’s gonna lets ye swing ‘round outs thar after whats we jus’ done, yer crazier than ye looks.” He winked and smiled again. “’Sides, ‘twer kinda unfair to race ye on yer firs’ day likes that.” Ruben stood and moved to the gateway. He turned and started to back down the ladder. “Stays here and catch the rope when I’s tells ye. Ye’s gits ‘nother chance te beats me after ye practices up a bit.”
Ian smiled back at his new friend. “Thank you, Ruben. I won’t let you down.”
“Ye did not yesterday, lad. Ye stepped up te helps me, so’s tis the leas’ I’s kin do back.”
Ian nodded. Yesterday was such a long time ago. He had almost forgotten about the fight he’d stepped in on, and the beating Ruben was taking for no reason at all. Ian nodded again. There was one person he could fully trust on this ship.
Save
[seyv]
verb (used with object)
to rescue from danger or possible harm, injury, or loss:
to save someone from drowning
Ruben swung from mast to mast, guiding the ropes while the crew below hoisted the sails. He fed the lines through the rigging, and dangled as the sails raised, making sure there were no bunched lines or tangled ropes. Ian watched, mesmerized, as Ruben floated from boom to boom with a practiced ease that he staunchly admired.
Perhaps one day
. As each sail unfurled and caught wind, the ship lurched forward, swinging the boom and the masts with exaggerated motion. Ian grabbed his stomach against the queasiness rising up the back of his throat.
Sail by sail, Ruben threaded his way back up the main mast toward the crow’s nest, and a waiting Ian.
“What do you want me to do?” Ian yelled down, not taking his eyes off Ruben.
“Jus’ stays thar, lad.”
“I want to help.”
“Ye kin raise the flag, then.”
Ian looked around the nest. Folded up off to the other side of the small landing was the black and white pirate flag. He gently unfolded it. Reaching up the flagpole in the center of his perch, Ian tied the bottom end of the flag on to the rivet. The top rivet was just out of his reach. He tried to stand on his toes, but didn’t quite make it.
One foot perched on the top of the crow’s nest, Ian stretched his arm out as high as he could, reaching for the rope to attach the top of the flag. He wavered a little as the ship pitched and rolled in the surf, but held on tight to the rope and the flag. No pirate ship was ever caught without its flag. Beneath him, Ruben swung from rigging to rigging, stringing the sails to get the ship under way.
“Wacha doin’ thar laddie?”
“Raising the flag, like you said.”
“Good jobs, yung’un. Raise it high and proud.”
Ian stretched again, the flag unfurled and flapping in the wind directly in front of him. He fought to keep the untethered corner close to him and still reach the upper clasp.
Almost
. Ian reached out with his other arm.
Just another inch
.
I know I can
.
I know—
The ship pitched and rolled sharply to the side. Ian hung on to the rope with one hand and the flag with the other. With one foot on the ledge and the other on the floorboards of the crow’s nest, he swung back and forth with the sea. Laughing, Ian was at ease in the perch, knowing that Ruben was right below
him.
A pirate always defends his own. No brother left behind. The pirate’s code
.
Ruben would protect him.
Ian was proud of where he was. He belonged now. He was part of something. He had a purpose and a direction to his life. He was a pirate.
He looked back at the flag in his hand. Again he stood, reaching, stretching for the clasp to hold the upper corner in place. He was so very close now. Ian braced against the main mast with one arm, and lifted his other leg to the rim of the crow’s nest. Hoisting himself up, he stood tall against the backdrop of the ocean billowing below him. Smiling, he reached for the clasp to tether the flag. Fastening the loop securely, Ian released the flag, letting it flap in the wind. The mainsail caught the wind at the same time and the ship lurched forward. The flag whipped backward as the ship turned, slapping Ian in the face. The sting against his skin was sharp and painful. He grabbed his cheek to ease the sting. The second he released the mast, Ian toppled backward and fell from the crow’s nest. He jerked hard, with his foot tangled in a rope. Ian hung precariously, upside down, peering downward toward the deck below.
“Help! Save me!”
“Hold on, lad. I’s comin’.” It was Ruben’s distinctive drawl. Ian could see him scampering up the rigging to his aid. Others were also beginning the ascent to his side, but they were significantly farther away. Dangling by one foot, spinning in the breeze, Ian closed his eyes to keep the waves of dizziness and nausea away.
Help me, please. Anybody.
“Almos’ thar, lad. Keep holdin’s on.”
Ian wanted to answer, but was afraid he could not hold his nausea down, or up. In his predicament, he didn’t know which.
What he did know was that the rope he’d managed to get himself tangled in was firm around his ankle. It felt almost like a hand grabbing him. Funny, he thought. It’s warm.
Ian cracked open one eye and dared to look back up toward the crow’s nest.
The blood was rushing to his head. His temples felt like they would explode. His head throbbed, his eyes hurt, and the world sounded like it was filtered through a tunnel.
“Comin’, kid.” Ruben climbed faster. “Hold’s ye on, thar, boy.”
“Help! Ian.” Another voice. Faint. Familiar.
Help? Is that
- - - “Mr. Welch?”
Ian spun around, held by the single rope twisted around his ankle.
“Ian. Get me out! Find Hunter!”
“Hold on, Mr. Welch! I’m coming.”
“Ian?” It was his best friend. He knew Hunter’s voice anywhere.
“Hunter! Hunter, I hear you!”
“Believe in yourself. You can do it.”
“Soar!”
“Aeryn?” Now he heard Hunter’s little sister.
“Let go and soar.”
“Aeryn, where are you?”
The echo in his head throbbed louder. His head was splitting. If he didn’t get back upright, Ian felt like his brain would explode. Reaching both arms out, he tried to grab for the first thing to stop his world from spinning and hold his body still. He managed to grab a peg on the main mast. Holding on, he opened his eyes and tried to pull his body back upward.
Ruben scampered up underneath him and steadied Ian’s body against his massive chest.
“I’s gots ye. Yer safe, lad.”
Ian breathed easy and felt the throbbing ease between his ears. Slumping against his fellow pirate, Ian took a deep breath.
“Best be gittin’ ye—” Ruben’s voice trailed off into nothing, then gasped.
“What?” Ian opened his eyes again and looked up. When it registered in his mind what he was seeing, Ian gasped, too.
Wound tightly around his ankle was the rope that he had felt. It was not a rope from the ship’s rigging.
Descending from the clouds above was one end of a long silvery rope, with the other wound securely around Ian’s ankle. The glistening threads sparkled in the sunlight from his foot, right up to where it disappeared into the clouds above.
Ruben stared, holding his little friend, unsure what to do next.
“What is it?” Ian whispered.
“I be’s not sure, lad.”
“Get it off.” He jerked his foot around, kicking and yanking, but the rope held firm.
“Do it hurt ye?” Ruben asked.
“No.” Ian stared at the anomaly, not sure what to make of it. He shook his foot again, angrily trying to get the thing off.
“Weel, it saved ye, sure. Mus’ be not from evil, then.”
Another kick.
Nothing.
“Aaahhhh!” Ian lashed out, jerking and kicking to release his captive foot.
“Stop, lad! We both be fallin’, sure.” Ruben grabbed the mast again, more securely.
“What am I supposed to do now?” Ian snapped.
“Weel, did ye ask it to be releasin’ ye?”
“Ask it? Are you kidding me? It’s a stupid rope.”
“Aye. A rope that saved ye, and holds ye safe still. Did ye ask it to save ye?”
Ian thought for a second. “I think I said ‘help’.”
“Weel, then. If’n ye asked fer help and it came, then ye’d best ask to be released.”
“Let me go!” Ian belted out toward the sky. The rope released him. Ian teetered backward. “No!” he screamed. The rope wound back around his ankle, securing him again.
Ian and Ruben stared at each other.
The others scaling the mast were now at their side.
“Matey, what be thar?”
Toothless smiled. “I’s thinks that be the Great Cap’n hisself.”
“The Great Captain?”
“Aye,” Toothless smiled again. “Lookin’ down on his sailors, he does.”
“How do I get down?”
“Weel, first ye thanks hisself fer savin’ ye.”
“Thank you,” Ian said to the rope, feeling more than a little stupid.
“Thens ye jus’ asks hisself to brings ye down.”
“That’s it?”
“Aye.”
Ian looked at the attachment to his leg. The warmth crept up his leg and toward his heart. “It can’t be that simple,” he whispered.
“Aye, lad. But it is.” Toothless moved in closer. “Sometimeses things be’s harder than they aught ‘cause of angers. If’n we kin let’s that angers go, and jus’ asks hisself to helps us, we kin gets farther, sure.”
The warmth turned into a tingling sensation. There was an excitement growing in his chest. “Just ask, huh?”
“Try’s it, lad.”
Ian looked at the sparkling silver thread that kept him attached to something above. “Will you please let me go?” he asked – quickly adding “after I am safe.”
The rope grew taught against his leg. Pulling skyward, it jerked him back up, out of the reach of his friends.
“Aaahhhh! No!” he screamed. “Put me down!”
The rope wiggled slightly, then lowered an upside-down Ian slowly down to the deck. Ruben, Toothless, and the others descended at about the same pace, keeping an eye on their protégé as they came down. When they were down low enough, Ian put out his hands and lay down easily on the deck. The rope unwound to release him, then zipped back up into the sky, leaving the pirates surrounding a shaken Ian lying at their feet.
Step.
Thump.
Step.
Thump.
Step.
Thump.
“On yer feet, swaby. Gits to work, all of ye’s.” Peg Leg glared at the idle crew. “Throw’s ye in the brig, I will, if I catches ye layin’ ‘round a’gin.”
Step.
Thump.
Step.
Thump.
Step.
Thump.