The Forty First Wink Page 8

  "Don't tell me you're not having fun," he sang enthusiastically, just as the huge ragged right hand of Mr. Peepers fell onto Marty's shoulder.

  The demonic clown was upon them, close enough to shock Marty into nearly losing his grip on the ladder. With one hand retaining purchase, he wheeled around and was face to face with Mr. Peepers, who craned closer, his grin now impossibly wide and eyes even wider. Marty winced as he caught a face full of hot clown breath.

  It smelled like candy floss, Marty thought. Candy floss and terror.

  This was quite enough incentive, were any needed in the first place, for Marty to literally get a move on. He shrugged and jolted away from the grease-painted abomination that snared him. Slipping free from its grasp, Marty threw every last ounce of strength he had into the hand which gripped the ladder as he heard a tiny pirate voice above him yell, "Hard to port!"

  With that order, the Fathom swung gracefully to the left, lifting Marty upwards and outwards in a wide arc. With eyes closed and one hand clamped firmly onto the bottom rung of the ladder, Marty heard the muffled sound of Timbers complaining about yet more spinning over the whoosh of the downdraft from Zephyr's wings and the creak of the tilting and pitching ship. Just as the drama and tension threatened to go on a little too long and become tedious, Marty felt the ladder retracting as it rattled across the edge of the deck and hoisted them towards safety. Finally, the deck was within reach. With his free hand, he dragged himself into an undignified and breathless heap with Timbers arriving in a similar fashion behind him.

  The miniature captain sprang to his feet, eyeballing the hoister of the ladder accusingly.

  Oaf looked up from said hoisting and winced at Timbers' glare, shifting his feet sheepishly.

  Timbers took a step forward, hands defiantly on hips. "Nice of you gentlemen to put in an appearance." He growled. "Now, perhaps you would like to tell me where in Blackbeard's biscuit barrel you scurvy mutineers have been?"

  Oaf's bottom lip quivered slightly but before he could speak, Whipstaff stepped out from behind him. "Stay your blade, Captain. We've been looking for you." He patted Oaf on a sizeable forearm, and the tiny giant gave a heavy sigh, nodding in agreement. "When Peepers and his uglies showed up, we set sail to come and get you. Trouble is, when we got back to where we left you it was pretty much rubble and you'd hightailed it. We've been circling ever since, on the lookout." He motioned up into the rigging where Bob and Also Bob were perched in their crow’s nests beneath Zephyr's mighty wings. They waved cheerfully back.

  The fire fuelling Timbers' tirade subsided. He held an apologetic hand up to Oaf, who was rubbing his own hands anxiously but managed a supportive half-smile in return.

  "Well, of course," the captain ventured encouragingly. "I'd expect nothing less from a crew of such fine standing." He held his hands out in approval and shot Marty a sideways glance. He had slightly underestimated them, but only for a little while. It was hardly worth mentioning, and his look suggested that he would prefer if Marty didn't.

  Marty, however, wasn't paying attention. He was clutching the rail of the deck and peering back at Stellar Island. It was some way below them but still visible from the hovering, stationary Fathom. The ship hung motionless from Zephyr's claws as the giant bird awaited new orders. He turned back to his companions, grimacing with frustration.

  "We had him!" Marty shouted, throwing his hands up. "He was so close to talking. Now we've got to start all over again. We need to find a mirror. Are there any on board?"

  Timbers shook his head. "We're pirates, Marty. We don't really have much of a makeup routine."

  "It's a good thing I do then," Kate interrupted, fishing in her pocket and producing a small round silver case. Walking over to Marty, she placed it in his hand. "Why do you think I was so quick to start smashing mirrors back there? If you're going to bluff, you better make sure you've got an ace up your sleeve." She smiled as Marty looked down at the powder compact case. He pushed the button on its side and it flicked open to reveal a tiny circular mirror on the upper lid. From it, Mirror Marty gazed back at him, a bewildered expression meeting his real reflection's now beaming face.

  Marty launched into an impromptu high five, which missed and sent him into an awkward half hug which neither he nor Kate had expected. His face flushed and he quickly retracted the accidental embrace.

  "Wow, that's thinking on your feet. Good work," he managed, attempting to take attention away from his blushes with a weak thumbs up.

  Glancing furtively at Kate, Marty was surprised to see she had adopted a similar crimson shade, and was for once glad of the untimely interjection of his pirate partner.

  "What's that? Is that a mirror?" He was hopping on one foot, trying to get a better view of what Marty held in his hand. "It is. Ha! I told you this girl was a cracker," he declared to his crew.

  Smiling again, and back to his normal color, Marty returned his attention to his reflection, who was not smiling. He was pointing. Pointing back over Marty's shoulder with a look of panic.

  Marty turned in the direction of the pointing finger just as a dozen brightly colored balloons rose into view at the edge of the deck. They continued their ascent, trailing a cluster of thick string in their wake. As a dawning realization hit Marty, the tapering string pulled a tattered white glove into view. Then an arm. Then a pair of bulging eyes set atop a ragged, manic grin.

  Mr. Peepers sailed into full sight before releasing his balloons and dropping to the deck in front of Marty. Giggling and chomping his teeth, the nightmarish clown lunged at Marty with languid, exaggerated movements. Out of sheer instinct for self-preservation, Marty threw his leg out in front of him in what he hoped would result in another accidental martial arts move. Although it appeared to be more like the hokey pokey, it still connected with the advancing Peepers and sent the gibbering freak staggering backwards.

  Behind him, Timbers was already delivering orders. "Look lively men, we've got a boarder," he barked. As Peepers steadied and raised his hands menacingly, the little captain had already leapt onto his back, and a tilting brawling mass of clown and pirate lurched its way towards Marty. Amid the frantic howls and gruff cries of, "Avast!" Marty sidestepped and made a grab at the pirouetting chaos. Catching a handful of something, he pulled and fell backwards as Peepers' arm came away from the melee, separated from its owner. Mid-scuffle, Peepers craned his head impossibly to one side to eyeball Marty as he sat clutching the detached arm. Timbers struggled valiantly in the grip of the devilish clown's remaining claw as more of the shrill giggling filled the air.

  Peepers, his gaze still locked on Marty, reached and pulled an arm from behind his back. An arm identical to the one Marty was holding, which now filled the void that the other had left. As the new arm flexed and stretched, Marty realized the limb he held was also flexing and stretching, searching for something to grasp, something to capture in its disembodied grip. In a split second, Marty also became aware of movement in his peripheral vision.

  Kate lunged for Peepers' blindside where Timbers still dangled, and the lumbering shape of Oaf heaved one of the cannons, which flanked the deck, to bear on the cackling harlequin. The arm that Marty held arched backwards, seeking purchase, and in an instant, he grabbed it at its shoulder and hurled it into the face of his giggling tormentor. It connected with a dull smack and Peepers shrieked as he punched himself squarely in the face. He pinwheeled sideways as a thunderous boom shook the deck.

  Oaf's cannon rocked wildly backwards as a cannonball screamed towards the stumbling clown. Again, time fell to a maddening crawl as the lead orb streaked across the deck. As it approached its target, Marty felt sure he could see a sneer of knowing contempt take hold of Peepers' nightmarish features as the dreadful clown spun to face the onrushing barrage.

  In slow motion, Peepers flung out an oversized foot, which connected with the cannonball, sending it skywards, and bringing time rocketing back to normality with sickening clarity.

 
Ricocheting upwards through the rigging, the cannonball plunged past the Bobs in their crow’s nests, and Zephyr let out a gear grinding squawk, letting go of his perch to veer away from the arcing shot.

  Now, anyone who has dabbled in physics will tell you, anything that is held in the air by something, even a giant mechanical parrot, has only one direction to turn if it is not held up anymore. Even Marty, who could never lay claim to being a scholar, had a fair idea of what was going to happen next…and he was correct.

  Dislodged from its mighty metal bearer, the Flying Fathom dropped like a vast wooden hailstone from the heavens, its passengers clinging desperately to rigging, railings, and each other as they fell.

  Peepers however, stood unaffected on the deck, as though detached from the surrounding calamity, the wind whipping around his bright baggy trousers, with Timbers still clutched in his unyielding white claw. From where he crouched, hanging onto the deck railing as the world whipped past him, Marty watched while Peepers' waistcoat billowed and bulged. More garishly colored balloons issued, seemingly from within the still grinning clown, and flew back up into the sky. Peepers caught the trailing strings and laughing balefully as he rose from the plummeting deck and away from the crashing Fathom.

  Timbers pounded with tiny cloth fists against the constricting hold of his captor, a string of colorful suggestions as to Peepers' lineage peppering the deafening sound of crashing ship around him, but to no avail. Marty caught a final glimpse of his miniature compatriot as he was carried into the sky, struggling against Peepers' unrelenting grasp. Both clown and pirate rapidly became a giggling, cursing dot above the Fathom, as it hurtled ever downwards.

  #

  Dropping out of the clear blue sky, the no longer Flying Fathom lurched and skewed like a hang gliding brontosaurus, sending its passengers skittering across the deck. Marty clung to a section of rigging, the breakfast he had consumed earlier clamoring to make an encore appearance. Across the deck, Oaf was anchored to one of the masts with Whipstaff flailing wildly from one of his lumbering crewmate's giant paws. Above them, the Bobs were braced in their respective crow’s nests, only their identical faces visible from the deck below. Marty craned his head, searching for Kate, just as she skidded past him, scrambling for purchase and seizing Marty's outstretched hand to halt her perilous progress.

  Hauling her back towards him, Marty tried to focus and to not think about the ground, which was undoubtedly looming fatally below them. In certain death scenarios, it is quite difficult to think of anything other than your own certain death, and yet Marty's whirling montage of thoughts still managed to factor in the image of Timbers' savage clown-napping, as well as a vaguely contented feeling gleaned from a tight embrace with the object of his affections. The latter thought was of course completely inappropriate given their current situation, but had popped up nonetheless.

  From high above them, Marty thought he could detect the sound of the Bobs squealing; a high-pitched wail which grew in pitch and intensity. He looked up towards the source of the cry, just as the realization hit that it wasn't the Bobs that were making it.

  Arrowing towards the descending Fathom, Zephyr let out another shriek while he swooped down on Marty and his fellow plummeters. As he drew closer to the ship, the mighty bird stretched out his gleaming claws and grasped the central perch-like mast, heaving his huge metallic wings backwards as he did so. The mast groaned and the Fathom's descent slowed, its bow pitching and swinging like a giant pendulum, dislodging Marty from where he had been fastened to the rigging. Both he and Kate slid free of their mooring, coming to a clumsy but merciful halt just short of the edge of the deck. Peering over the side, Marty's eyes widened as the ground came into sharp clarity, looming ominously and way too quickly below them.

  He could not see Zephyr, but Marty could feel the colossal parrot fighting to bring the Fathom under control as buffeting gusts of wind sprang down on him in waves from the flapping wings of the laboring bird.

  The Fathom tilted sharply sideways, and suddenly a glinting expanse of water was visible beneath them as the ship continued its haphazard descent. It was the ocean, spanning invitingly out from the edge of Stellar Island, reaching out to the harbor in the distance.

  Curving in a wide, rakish arc, Zephyr heaved his unwieldy payload out of its nosedive, but the descent continued with alarming velocity towards the waves below. The Fathom swooped at an angle into the tossing waters, lurching back up and vaulting forward, like an oversized wooden pebble skimming across a pond. Twice more it connected with the lashing tide, before finally running out of ocean and carving a sandy scar through the beach that framed the harbor. Trees and dunes gave way to the plunging bow of the Fathom, and a flock of seagulls, hitherto enjoying a civilized game of hopscotch on the shore, scattered like squawking pins in a bowling alley.

  As the ship screeched and groaned along its freshly furrowed path, Marty covered Kate with a protective arm, shielding her from shredded branches, bouncing coconuts, and startled sea fowl. With a sickening, tearing crash, the Fathom skidded to a shuddering standstill at the cusp of one of the larger sand dunes.

  For what seemed like several seconds, and what was indeed several seconds, there was nothing but silence while the chaotic scene dissipated, punctuated by the lapping of the tide against the shore. There was also a hissing sound from above, and from his fetal position at the edge of the deck, Marty squinted up into the rigging. On his perch, Zephyr sat motionless. Steam and smoke issued from his beak and beneath his wings, escaping with a high pitched whistle as though someone had tried to boil too much water in a huge, parrot-shaped kettle.

  Next to Marty, Kate untangled herself from a clump of rigging, shaking sand and debris from her hair. Across the deck, a small barrel rolled into an upright position, sprouted feet and scuttled waywardly towards them, pinballing off masts and railings as it approached. Two hefty cloth hands poked out of an open hatch beside the pirouetting barrel, and Oaf hauled himself back up onto the deck. He steadied himself against the large central mast, wiping the dazed expression from his face with a giant paw, before lumbering over to where the barrel had come to rest on its side, tiny feet still poking out from its base and waggling frantically. Oaf grabbed a flapping foot and heaved its owner out of the tiny wooden prison. Whipstaff popped out like a cork from a bottle and landed nimbly on the deck, dusting himself off and patting the tiny giant's broad shoulder gratefully.

  Marty picked his way through the wreckage of the Fathom to where the two tiny shipmates stood, still spluttering as the dust and sand settled. "Are you guys all right?"

  Whipstaff straightened, wiping dirt from his face and patting his tiny cloth body. "Yep, everything seems to be where I left it."

  Oaf glanced down at his lumbering frame before nodding and delivering what appeared to be his favored method of communication. A large, battered paw that rose in a shaky thumbs up. A weak smile followed in support.

  Whipstaff was scanning the deck as the Bobs shimmied down from their lofty nests to join the group.

  "Where's the captain?" one of the Bobs barked at nobody in particular.

  Since nobody in particular answered, Marty spoke up. "Peepers. Mr. Peepers took him." The words rang out like a church bell, and all eyes turned to Marty. He raised a grimy hand to his face, grimacing as the words continued to flow. "He's gone. When the cannonball hit, Peepers just took off, literally. I don't know where he went, but he took Timbers."

  Whipstaff kicked the mast he had been leaning against angrily, and next to him, Oaf dropped to his knees, big glistening tears forming impossibly in his button eyes. Marty's words trailed off as Kate appeared at his side, her hand resting on his shoulder. At their side, the two Bobs held each other up, an identically desolate look framing their faces. The crew sat amongst the debris of the Flying Fathom, as lost and broken their stricken vessel.

  As Marty searched for words of comfort, or some sort of stirring speech which would galvanize his devastated com
rades, he realized his problems were no longer the overriding concern. Since events had given him a reason to step up to the plate, Timbers had been unwavering. Since reality had done ten rounds in a blender, he had been his guide and his friend, and he had done so without question. For the first time in his life, Marty saw his plight for what it was, and realized there were bigger fish to fry. More important battles to fight. And with people relying on him for the first time, even tiny sackcloth, not altogether real people, Marty dug deep and found the words he had heard in countless movies but had hitherto never fully comprehended.

  Striking the best action hero pose he could muster, he cleared his throat. "Look!" he squealed, rather too highly pitched for his liking, but he had started, and again, all eyes were on him. "We're a man down, well, not a man, erm, a toy I suppose."

  "Not a toy!" a voice sprang up anonymously from the group.

  "Sorry, sorry, not a toy," Marty added hastily. "Your captain and my friend. I wouldn't have made it this far if it hadn't been for him. I wouldn't have a clue what I was doing here if the truth be told."

  Murmurs of approval rose around Marty, and heartened, he pressed on. "Timbers stuck by me when I needed him, and I am not about to stand by when he needs me, when he needs all of us. I know that you won't either!"

  The murmurs had turned to fervent growls of agreement. Oaf was holding his hammer over his head and wiping away tears, and the Bobs were jumping up and down feverishly. Marty continued.

  "Timbers raised his sword for my cause without hesitation, and I will be damned if I won’t raise my sword to his. He wouldn't go down without a fight, and neither will we." Marty was at full speed now and ignored the nagging insistence in his brain that he was just wildly ad-libbing here.

  "What we need is a plan. A plan to get our captain back. Who's with me?"

  He left the last words of his stirring speech hanging in the air, but they did not hang for long. Whipstaff stepped forward brandishing his blunderbuss. Oaf hefted his weighty mallet onto his shoulder, and wiping a tear from his eye, took a step forward to join his shipmate. The Bobs clearly had no idea how epic speeches worked and simply stood their ground, applauding approvingly. It was good enough.