The Forty First Wink Read online

  Casting a glimpse over his shoulder, Marty thought he detected a hint of admiration from Kate as she looked on, smiling slightly and nodding her head. The moment was perfect. They would rescue Timbers, defeat Peepers, and sail off into the sunset. And then reality interjected, even here, where at best it was likely to be laughed and pointed at.

  "Erm, that's fine and all," Whipstaff piped up, "but do we know where we're going? Or what we're going to do when we get there?"

  The Bobs, silent until now, offered up a double barreled, unified query. "Yes. Where and what?"

  Marty raised a finger to interject. Quite where this finger was going to interject to, and with what, he wasn't sure. As had already been made clear, the plan had been to seek out his mirror self and get some answers. His head hurt at the thought of formulating more complex and foolproof heroics. Perhaps it was time to admit he was a one-plan-a-day kind of guy.

  At that moment, a muffled voice saved Marty from any further soul searching. "I know where he is," offered the tiny metal disc still clutched in Kate's hand. Since all eyes were currently in the habit of turning to focal points, the compact Kate held suddenly became the center of attention. She opened it, bringing mirror Marty officially into the conversation. "I know where Peepers took Timbers," he imparted smugly.

  All eyes moved closer as their owners took several paces towards the source of the hopeful declaration. "Tell us!" Whipstaff blurted. "Tell us, or I'm stuffing you down Oaf's pants right now." The tiny giant blushed at the sudden threat and hoisted his trousers up firmly.

  The miniature mirrored face smiled knowingly. "Why would I tell you? Everything I've done so far, I've done on his orders." The little figure giggled. "This is my neighborhood, too, remember? When you're here I can do what I like and go where I like. He knows that, and we made a deal. He's got a plan and you're all following it, and I'm not going to say any more." He folded his arms defiantly and stuck out his tongue to emphasize the point.

  Whipstaff lunged for the compact, just as Kate snapped it firmly shut. She held her hand up to ward off the approaching first mate and spun on her heels. Keeping the hand raised, she calmly strode to the edge of the deck, leaping from it onto the sandy beach a few feet below.

  As she disappeared over the side, Whipstaff glanced at Marty, who shrugged and peered over the railings of the ship.

  Holding the compact up, apparently so that Marty was still reflected in its mirror, Kate was seemingly engaged in a heated discussion with his mirror counterpart on the beach below. After a few seconds and wild gesticulations she stopped, closed the lid and returned to the side of the ship. Scaling the rigging, she hopped nimbly back onto the deck, offering the tiny metal case to Marty with a wry smile.

  Popping the clasp on the compact, Marty again faced his uncooperative reflection, who now peered back sheepishly, the fire and purpose gone from his eyes. "Okay. All right, I'll tell you," he whimpered. "Just keep that one away from me." He nodded at Kate, who was doing her best to look innocent, while unable to stop from looking smug at the same time. Marty pitched an impressed half-smile at her before returning his attention back to his tiny reflection.

  Mirror Marty sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "He will have taken your friend Downtown. They all hang out there, Peepers and his clowns. He wanted you really." He motioned at Marty before continuing. "He just took Captain Fun Size because he knew you'd go after him."

  Kate interjected. "Wait, how could you know that?"

  Rolling his eyes, Mirror Marty continued. "It's a contingency. Peepers just wants you, Marty." He narrowed his eyes and seemed to step back from the pane of the tiny mirror as though waiting for a response.

  Marty looked up from the compact, searching the azure blue sky for something to say. Looking back across the deck at the crew of the Fathom, he was met with expectant eyes, and in them, he found his answer.

  Shaking his head, he sighed. "I said we would go after him, and I meant it."

  Kate attempted to weigh in with the voice of reason. It was the same voice Marty was trying to ignore in his own head. "You heard him, he's expecting you. It's a trap. It's actually not even a trap because you know he's waiting for you." She turned to face Marty's reflection with a look of scorn and derision. "We just have to get Marty out of this place. Then it won't matter." The look faded. "Right?" she added, betraying more than a hint of uncertainty.

  The face in the mirror snorted a strained chuckle. "That's not how it works. Even if he gets out, this place and everything in it will still be here. And you have no idea the things that Peepers will do to your friend." The end of the sentence tripped out of the compact like a sickeningly gleeful afterthought which made Marty feel nauseous.

  Steeling himself, Marty felt the urge to put on the hero hat again, no matter how ill-fitting it felt. "Trap or no trap, we're not leaving him. And besides, since I woke up this morning, he's been my best shot at getting out of this nightmare."

  Mirror Marty cast his gaze around the tranquil bay in which the Fathom lay. Waves lapped, the sun blazed, and palm trees wafted enticingly. "Not really a nightmare is it though?" he suggested. "It's quite nice actually."

  Marty grimaced. "Whatever. I don't belong here, and I need to get home. Timbers hasn't steered me wrong yet, and I'm not about to leave him hanging ten with the giggle bunch from Hell." Dramatic music swelled inside his head as his heroic speech reached its climax. "We're going for Timbers," he shouted defiantly as cymbals crashed and the brass section surged in his mind.

  "Erm…bit far to walk though isn't it?" the compact pointed out, drawing bum notes and snapped strings from the imaginary stirring soundtrack of Marty's heroism.

  Before Marty could reply, Whipstaff cleared his tiny pirate throat behind them. "If I might offer a suggestion. We could use the lifeboat."

  Marty turned to face the first mate, his face framed in a ‘please explain’ expression. Whipstaff was way ahead of him and was already pulling the tarp from a boat-shaped mound at the edge of the deck. Flung aside, it revealed a small boat, maybe ten feet across, but an exact replica of the Fathom. "The lifeboat," Whipstaff declared proudly. "It should still be in working order. I mean, we haven't used it since the great badger invasion."

  Off to his left, Oaf winced and shook his head disapprovingly. "So…many…badgers."

  Disregarding his shipmate's utterance, Whipstaff hopped into the lifeboat and hoisted three miniature sails. "Are we off, then?"

  Marty met Kate's doubtful expression with a shrug and leapt into the boat, beckoning for her to follow. As she embarked, Oaf scrambled clumsily in alongside them, and Whipstaff turned to the remaining crew of the Fathom, still stood amongst the debris of the torn deck. "Bobs!" he announced. "Stay here and get the Fathom ready to set sail, and try and do something about Zeph. He's in worse shape than a three day old lobster."

  The Bobs snapped off a salute in stereo and turned their attention to the splintered mast.

  Sitting in the lifeboat, Marty felt as though he was a passenger on a children's funfair ride, waiting for it to start. "How do we…set sail exactly?" he enquired to Whipstaff.

  The little first mate winked and patted Oaf on the shoulder. The lumbering buccaneer obliged, loping over to the aft of the boat, opening a hatch in the deck. From it, he produced an enormous set of bellows and gave them a practice squeeze. A mighty blast of air, far more than there should have been, sprang forth from the nozzle of the bellows, and Oaf chuckled in approval. He heaved the massive apparatus into the center of the deck and secured it on struts which were fastened in place.

  "Right then!" Whipstaff cried. "If we're all aboard, let's be off." With that, Oaf pushed the mighty bellows together, pushing a gargantuan gust of air into the main sail. The tiny boat shuddered, and then lifted off the deck of the Fathom, hanging in the ether for a second before a second gust from Oaf sent them soaring like a kite in a crosswind into the sky.

  Gripping the sides of the boat, Marty ventu
red a look overboard and watched as the deck of the Fathom grew smaller beneath them, the Bobs busily carrying out their repairs to its broken frame. Having finally gotten his 'air legs' (sea legs were obviously redundant on this ship), Marty felt both exhilarated and confused as the lifeboat continued its ascent.

  "This shouldn't work. Should it?" He shouted over to Kate over the billowing vents of air from the bellows.

  "No," interrupted Whipstaff with a cheeky glint in his eye, "but it does."

  Marty was unable to suppress a laugh, borne half from nerves and half from the realization that the nonsense this world continued to present him with continued to catch him off guard. He leaned closer to Kate. "What did you say to him?" he asked. "My reflection. How did you get him to talk?"

  Kate smiled as the sky around them shot past at an impossibly increasing rate of knots. Her hair covered her face, but Marty could see she was winking. She tapped her nose with her finger. "Let’s find Timbers."

  #

  It was dark when Timbers opened his eye. Since it was dark, it didn't help much. Instinctively, he patted himself down, and was dismayed to discover that his trusty cutlass was gone. His trusty hat, however, was still perched trustily on his head. He reached out into the darkness and felt the coarse grain of sack cloth against his fingers. After a few seconds, he realized he was not in fact groping himself and felt around for the neck of the sack. Finding it, Timbers poked out his head, feeling slightly discouraged as he emerged into a slightly less dark room, barely six feet across. Scrambling out of the sack and to his feet, he kicked at the straw, which covered the ground, and scouted his surroundings.

  There was a rickety wooden bed in the corner, and a bucket worryingly marked slop next to it. "En suite," Timbers muttered to himself. "Nice."

  On a table next to it perched a tiny lantern that cast a weak, flickering light out into the gloom. Timbers hobbled over and picked it up, casting spooky shadows across the walls as he did so. Unable to contain his boundless enthusiasm for all things fun, and in spite of his predicament, Timbers let out a mock ghostly, "Woooooo," and chuckled to himself. Silence greeted him, and he cleared his throat before setting the lantern back on the table. Above the bed a small, barred window offered no additional light, and was far too high for a tiny pirate to affect an escape.

  On the far wall, he spied a small door with a barred window set into it. He snatched up the lantern again and scuttled over to investigate. Craning up to the aperture, Timbers peered out into the darkness beyond, angling the lantern to get a better view. There was nothing to see aside from a stone corridor which spanned off into the blackness to the left and right. On the far wall, however, a hook glinted in the paltry light cast from the lantern. From it hung his cutlass. He gasped and suddenly wished he had massively long arms. Or a key. A key would probably be better.

  Timbers traipsed back over to the bed and sat down. He bounced a few times and the wooden struts creaked. "Hmm, not exactly five star," he grumbled.

  "I'm sorry it doesn't meet with your approval." The voice slithered through the bars of the door he had only moments ago peered through. It sounded like a rattlesnake being interviewed for the position of a used car salesman, and Timbers jumped back in surprise.

  In the dim light of the cell, Timbers could see two frantically bulging eyes peering at him from between the bars of the door. One of the eyes winked and Timbers felt whatever passed for tiny pirate toy bowels loosen. This was not externally evident, however, as the little captain stood and puffed out his chest. "Who's there? Show yourself, ya scurvy dog."

  The voice behind the door cackled. "No, if it's all the same to you I think I'll stay here. And I think that, for the time being, you'll stay there, too." Another cackle punctured the stale air. It was a sound that poured into the room like oil spewing from a broken engine. Even though he could not see the owner of those eyes, the perpetrator of that foul emission, Timbers knew this was Mr. Peepers, and he wished more than ever that he had his cutlass at his side.

  Peepers continued. "He's coming for you, and when he gets here, you're both going to have ringside seats to the show. And you're never, ever going to leave." The last words were spat with such venom they sounded like steam escaping, and Timbers struggled to compose himself.

  "Yeah? Well come in here, and I'll give you something to laugh about. Erm, no, I mean, I'll paint your face a different color. Yeah, that one."

  Timbers' more effective follow up put down was lost, however. The eyes had disappeared from the hole in the door, and only the demonic giggling of the horrendous clown filled the room, slowly receding as Mr. Peepers departed, leaving Timbers to lament his frankly woeful trash talk.

  Hunched on the bed, Timbers sighed forlornly. He lay back and wondered how one went about concocting fiendishly clever escape plans.

  "Has he gone?"

  The voice issued from the window descended hoarsely on Timbers, startling him anew. He jumped up from where he lay, eyeing the barred window suspiciously. "Who's there?" He demanded.

  "Listen, just sit tight," the voice commanded, ignoring Timbers' question. "I'm here to get you out."

  Timbers brightened. "A jailbreak? Fantastic! I knew you wouldn't leave me high and dry, Marty," he beamed.

  The voice from the window replied tonelessly.

  "Who's Marty?"

  #

  Another billowing plume of air shot into the lifeboat's sails, pushing it upwards through a bank of clouds. They parted as the tiny boat continued its ascent, reaching an apex before diving again. On cue, Oaf heaved the handles of his bellows and blew another mighty blast, taking them out of the descent. Each time momentum was lost, the tiny giant delivered another gust and the lifeboat continued its journey across the heavens, alternating between soaring and plummeting. It was a motion that lacked any kind of discernible grace, but was, in all fairness, propelling them like the proverbial clappers.

  Whipstaff gripped the ship's bow, peering over the edge to get a better idea of their progress and location. Occasionally, he would bark directions to his lumbering shipmate, who in turn piped bellowed air into the left or right sails to adjust the course of the vessel. He turned to Marty, who was sat with Kate, the compact lying open in his hands.

  "We're past the harbor, we should be there in no time," Whipstaff shouted over the whistle of passing sky.

  Marty nodded and returned his attention to the tiny reflection of himself that stared guardedly back at him. "Right, we have some time, so I think you'd better start talking."

  Mirror Marty shrugged, "What would you like to talk about? It's nice up here isn't it? Sunshine, sea air, windy pirates." Oaf overheard and blushed.

  "Now, now," Kate interrupted. "Remember what we talked about?" Her voice was unerringly calm and bled the smugness from Mirror Marty's tone.

  Marty continued. "You know what I want you to talk about. Why does Mr. Peepers want me, where has he taken Timbers, and how do I get out of here?" His question carried an urgency and sharpness he hadn't expected or intended, but it seemed to have the desired effect on his reflection. Either that, or the mysterious threat that Kate had delivered was enough to gain his compliance.

  A sigh rose from the tiny compact. "I already told you." A few moments of silence passed, punctuated by an overtly 'Get on with it, then' cough from Kate.

  "All right! All right," came the protesting cry from the mirror held in Marty's hands.

  "It's like this," Mirror Marty began. "You go to sleep and you have a scary dream. Who is it that invariably pops up to guarantee you wake up in a cold sweat? I guarantee nine times out of ten, people will tell you that it's a big freaky clown. I know you know what I'm talking about. I mean, here we are sitting in your dream and, for the better part of the day, what have you been steadfastly legging it from?" He paused for a moment to allow Marty to absorb the truth of those words.

  Marty hated clowns. In that regard, he counted himself in the select, elite group of 'Everybody
in the World' since it was universally agreed that clowns spectacularly failed in their one and only purpose in life. Clowns were supposed to make people happy, but they didn't. They made people cry, and shudder, and run away screaming. It was an undeniable fact of life that the thing whose sole purpose is to make us laugh, basically just makes us soil our collective undergarments.

  Marty shifted in his seat as the lifeboat lurched into another surging ascent. "So he's just after me because he knows I hate clowns?"

  Mirror Marty rolled his eyes. "It's more than that. Peepers exists to scare the bejesus out of you in your dreams. He probably does it to countless others, too, but now he's found someone that is actually awake in their own dream." He waved a hand towards Marty to emphasize his point. "If he's got you, he can do what he does, what he is here to do, and he never has to stop. Instead of receding into the shadows when you wake up, Peepers will have his own captive audience to torment and terrify whenever he wants, for as long as he wants." Further emphasis was not required, but was nonetheless forthcoming. "That's you, buddy."

  Marty's head reeled. Unwilling to comprehend the full meaning of those words, it continued to spin and search for a happy place. He felt cold and clammy and just a few short steps away from panic. Before it took hold, however, Marty felt a hand gently grasp his. It was Kate's, pushing back the fear and replacing it with a comforting warmth that steadied the tornado in his mind.

  "That's why he took Timbers," Marty murmured, relieved that his voice at least wasn't shaking. "Bait."

  Mirror Marty nodded. "Even if you didn't go after him, he would find you eventually. And kidnapping does fall somewhat under his remit anyway, so it was probably an added bonus for him." The tiny reflection sniggered, stopping as he spied the stern and humorless eyes staring down upon him. "Sorry," he mumbled.