Barf of the Bedazzler Read online

  We all nod grimly.

  “Look, guys. I know we had a rough day yesterday,” I tell them. “But we’ve got a big job to do today. And we’re probably going to die. But there’s nobody I’d rather die with!”

  Pan rolls her eyes. “Worst pep talk ever.”

  Moxie manages a small smile. Her eyes are still sad. But I’ll take it.

  We head toward the harbor, paying careful attention this time. No more getting lost. And robbed. And emotionally scarred.

  The shadow from the enormous statue falls across us as we enter the harbor. The North Twin.

  “Look,” says TickTock, pointing.

  Near the base, tucked behind some scrub, is a small, planked path.

  It meanders into a small, secluded cove. And there, parked in its reserved spot, is a ruthless-looking ship.

  Crud on a cracker. That is one pirate-y ship. I expected that. What I didn’t expect is the line of people. Apparently word has gotten around that Diremaw the Dread is holding tryouts.

  We join the crowd. And that’s when I spot a familiar lumbering form at the end of the line.

  “Bucket?” I gasp.

  A runty ogre turns around at the sound of his name.

  Bucket stares at us with concern. “How you know Bucket?”

  The masks! I lift my mask so he can see my face. “It’s us! Remember?”

  A look of realization washes across his face. “Little magic man!” he says. “It you!”

  “Hello, Bucket,” says Pan, raising her mask slightly in greeting.

  “Elf-girl!” says Bucket in recognition. “You naughty! Put Bucket to sleep last time I see you!”

  “I did,” Pan admits.

  “Frog boy! Hi, orange-hair girl!”

  “Hey, Bucket,” says Moxie. “What are you doing here?”

  “After Bucket wake up, other ogres never come back,” he says. He pulls out a little sketch pad and opens it up. “Look! Bucket draw’d a comic about his adventures!”

  He smiles. “Now Bucket here! And seeing old friends!”

  Aw. I don’t know if I’d call us friends or not. Still. You gotta love his attitude.

  “You drew that?” asks Moxie. “That’s really good.”

  “Thanks, orange-hair girl!” The little ogre is all smiles.

  “ALL RIGHT, YOU LUBBERS! LISTEN UP!” We turn. A tiny gnome looms over us from the ship. “I BE FIRST MATE TIDEPOOL!” she roars. “AND THESE … are the Death Knell crew tryouts!”

  The crowd cheers.

  “We’ve only got five open spots,” Tidepool yells. “FIVE! So break yourselves up into teams of five. Then come on board!”

  “But friends!” TickTock hisses. “We are being only four!”

  Pan turns to the ogre. “Bucket, would you care to join our team?”

  A big goofy grin washes across his face. “Bucket like that! Bucket never on a team! Only on potty bucket duty.”

  Potty. Doody. Heh.

  “One thing though,” whispers Bucket. “Where you get cool masks? Bucket wants one too.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  We’re the only team wearing masks. I think it gives us that extra something special.

  The pirate crew gathers around to watch the fun. They snicker behind their hands and boo us.

  And that’s when a door slams open. A barrel-chested dwarf swaggers out. His wild red beard glistens with sea spray and his hands clutch a terra-cotta pot. “I’ve arrived!” he cries. “We can begin!”

  “Perhaps this is Diremaw the Dread,” says Pan, eyeballing the dwarf.

  The other pirates howl with laughter.

  “Hear that?” shouts a one-armed pirate. “She thinks Cookie is Diremaw the Dread!”

  “Aye, Captain Cookie!” cries one with an eye patch. “Man the frying pan!”

  “What do you say to that, Cookie?” yells a third pirate, slapping the dwarf on the back.

  Cookie hugs the flowerpot closer. “I says that Diremaw the Dread is captain of this ship!” he growls. “And I be captain of me kitchen!”

  “Um…” I point at the pot. A small red plant sprouts from the dirt. “What’s with the flowerpot?”

  The dwarf guffaws loudly. “Hear that, lads? The lubber thinks I’m holding a flowerpot!” He holds up the pot proudly. “This here is no flower,” he says. “It’s a devilfern. It’s the most ruthless, savage, cold-blooded potted plant ever to sail the fourteen seas! And his name … is Ferny.”

  “He loves that plant more than life!” groans one of the pirates. “Waters it every day at six o’clock! No matter what! Nothing comes before that plant!”

  The plant suddenly points a leaf at Pan. “Who let this elf in here?” it squawks. “She looks like a goblin with too much hair gel!”

  The dwarf bellows with laughter. “HA! I told you he was ruthless!”

  “ALL RIGHT!” roars First Mate Tidepool. “LISTEN UP, YOU MANGY DOGS!”

  “Belay that, Ms. Tidepool!” interrupts Cookie. “I need one of these newbies to help me in the kitchen! I’ve got potatoes to peel and the captain’s feast to prepare! Plus Ferny will need watering won’t you, Ferny? Won’t you?”

  The devilfern squawks loudly. “Six o’clock! Don’t be late!”

  “Who’s a smart devilfern?” coos Cookie. “Who knows what time he gets watered?”

  “Ferny does! Ferny does!” yells the plant.

  Tidepool scans the line of new recruits before her eyes fall on our little group.

  “Dwarf!” she stabs a finger at Moxie. “Judging by that sorry sword on your belt, you’ll be no good in a fight. Perhaps you can put it to better use in the kitchen!”

  Moxie looks at us anxiously.

  “Let’s go, lass,” Cookie cries to Moxie. “You’ve been assigned to me! And those potatoes aren’t going to peel themselves!” The dwarf opens the door and heads belowdecks. And Moxie slowly follows.

  “Moxie!” I cry.

  “Hammer-girl!” cries TickTock.

  I wait for her to put up a fight. But the fight has gone out of her.

  Moxie holds up her hand in some silent signal. Like she’s saying it’ll be okay. She shoots us a sad smile and the door slams to a close behind her.

  We’ve been separated. This is not part of the plan. I barely have time to wrap my brain around it. Because First Mate Tidepool is ushering us down some steps.

  “THIS WAY, YOU SCURVY LUBBERS!” she cries. “And be quick about it!”

  We follow her into the belly of the ship. Rats skitter in the shadows. The whole place smells dank, like a swamp and a bog had a baby and that baby ate a whole pot of fish heads and did diarrhea in its diaper. Which is what you get when you feed a baby fish heads. Honestly, who does that?

  First Mate Tidepool stands before us in the swinging lantern light.

  “All right, recruits!” she yells. “We have three teams. What are your team names?”

  “We’re the Fluffy Unicorn Gang!” croaks a huge half-orc.

  “We be the Bad-Breath Bandits!” says a hairy guy who looks like a weasel.

  Tidepool looks at us. “What about you lot?”

  Pan doesn’t hesitate. “We are the Skullduggery Crew.”

  “Ooh,” says Tidepool. “Cool name.”

  The gnome points to a bunch of hammocks. “Bad-Breath Bandits! You’ll bunk here for the duration of the tryouts. Fluffy Unicorn Gang! You’re here! And Skullduggery Crew! That puts you over there.”

  “Bunking?” asks the weasel guy. “How long are these tryouts going to take?”

  “Well, that’s up to you!” Tidepool roars out a laugh. “You’ll be given a complex challenge. The team that performs the challenge best, wins!”

  The half-orc raises her hand. “What happens if we don’t win?” she asks.

  “Ah,” says Tidepool with a smile. “You’ll all get gold ribbons for trying your best.”

  “Really?” says Weasel, smiling.

  “NO, NOT REALLY!” the first mate roars. “You’re going to receive
this challenge from Captain Diremaw the Dread personally! And, aside from his crew, NOBODY has ever seen Diremaw the Dread and lived to tell the tale.”

  She picks something from her teeth and flicks it away. “Which means the team that wins will join the crew! And the teams that don’t…”

  We all look at one another. Whispers of confusion move among us.

  Tidepool snickers. “Well, like I said. Nobody meets Diremaw the Dread and lives to tell the tale.”

  Weasel looks like he might wet himself. “I—I—I think I changed my mind,” he stutters. “I don’t think I want to try out after all.”

  Tidepool nods. “Of course, I understand.” She looks around. “If anyone else feels that way, there’re no hard feelings. I’ll just take you up to the main deck and you can get off the ship.”

  The peg-legged gnome leads us up the stairs.

  I look nervously at Pan and TickTock. “A challenge to the death?” I whisper to them. “Are you kidding me?”

  “That is an unexpected development,” Pan says softly.

  “This was a terrible idea,” I hiss.

  Pan and TickTock nod in agreement.

  We emerge into the sunlight, and Tidepool gestures grandly toward the dock. “Any that wish to leave may certainly part company with us at this time. And good luck to you.”

  I turn to Pan. “I’ll go find Moxie. And then we’ll get out of here.”

  “No need, Fart-boy,” says TickTock. “Looky-look.”

  There is no dock.

  There is no land.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention,” says Tidepool with a smile. “We set sail a wee bit ago. Wetwater is a five-mile swim thataway.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  We are prisoners on a pirate ship.

  That pirate ship is led by the most fearsome pirate captain ever to sail the fourteen seas.

  And that pirate captain never leaves prisoners alive.

  I may puke.

  I wonder if Kevin would be able to tell the difference if I brought him back a bag of my own barf instead of bedazzler barf. Probably. He seems to know way too much about barf.

  Stupid Kevin.

  In the meantime, Tidepool has put us to work swabbing the deck. Which is just a fancy word for scrubbing fish guts off the floor. The pirates stand around jeering and throwing things at us.

  Stupid pirates.

  Suddenly Tidepool claps her hands together. “All right, lads and lassies! Eyes on!” she roars.

  The jeers have stopped. Every pirate stands at attention before the tiny first mate.

  “We make for the Hag’s Hangnail!” she calls. “Lower the yard! Furl sail! Sheet home! And full speed ahead!”

  “Aye, Ms. Tidepool!” the pirates yell in one voice. And they sprint into action.

  A few seconds ago these smelly, rowdy pirates were picking their noses and flicking boogers at us. Now they are a unified orchestra of movement. Sailors scuttle up ropes in unison. Sails unfurl and catch the wind in perfect harmony. It is a concert of movement. A symphony of productivity.

  “Wow,” Pan whispers in awe. “That’s impressive.”

  “Back to your swabbing, recruits!” Tidepool calls to us. Pan continues scrubbing. But she can’t pull her eyes away from the flurry of coordination around us.

  * * *

  Hours later, we lie in our hammocks. The other teams are as exhausted as we are from all the swabbing. I hear nothing but snores from the Bad-Breath Bandits and the Fluffy Unicorn Gang.

  Bucket makes little scratch-scratch marks in his sketch pad. What could this ogre be doing? I crane my neck to look.

  He’s drawing Moxie.

  “That’s incredible,” I tell him.

  The ogre blushes. “Really think so?” he asks. “Bucket always like to draw. Bucket wish ogres could get paid to make pictures. But ogres only get paid to be mean. And to empty potty buckets.”

  He sighs and closes his pad. “Maybe being a pirate be different for Bucket.”

  “Don’t count on it,” I say. “These pirates are plenty mean. And they all smell like potty buckets.”

  “Perhaps,” says Pan. “But you have to admire the sense of order. It is quite soothing.”

  I chuckle. “You’re defending them? They’re filthy. They stink. And they made you scrub fish guts all day.”

  “True,” she says. “But there is a hierarchy of command on this ship that leads to efficiency. It is a balm to my road-weary soul.”

  I’m not sure what this elf is jabbering about. “You’re a balm,” I say. “A weird one.”

  “The adventuring life has proven to be quite chaotic,” she confesses. “I’m simply noting that the Death Knell is truly a well-oiled machine. That sense of reassuring order appeals to me greatly.”

  TickTock nods approvingly. “TickTock does appreciate a well-oiled machine.”

  I shake my head. “Regardless, we’ve got bigger problems. How are we going to win this challenge?”

  “And without orange-hair girl?” Bucket adds.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Without Moxie!”

  “You’re right,” says Pan. “We need her. But we cannot adequately form a new plan until we know what the challenge is.” She shrugs grimly. “You know how I hate improvising. But I think we must do as Moxie so often suggests: Let’s burn that bridge when we get to it.”

  I’m starting to hate that saying.

  The three of them roll over, and soon I hear soft snores. But I’ve got a knot in my gut about what tomorrow may hold. Whatever it is, I want to be ready.

  I pull out my spellbook and plunk it onto my hammock. It flops open to a first-level spell.

  Huh. It’s a little like Mind Control. A beginner version. A baby version.

  It’s so easy. Snap my fingers. Twirl my wrists. Touch my enemy. Give a command. I’m not sure why I haven’t learned it before.

  Because it’s useless, that’s why. What good is a three-word suggestion?

  I flip to the Mind Control spell.

  I try to focus on the confusing and complex symbols. I mumble them, trying to get my tongue to pronounce them correctly. I think I’m making progress, but it’s slow, wearisome work.

  I drift off to sleep. I dream of magic. I dream of power. I dream of being able to make people do exactly what I want them to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I wake up to clanging bells.

  Shouts come from the upper decks. “Hangnail ho!”

  And suddenly my stomach knots up again. Because I’ve only been around all this boat lingo for a day. But it’s long enough for me to guess what that means.

  It’s time for our challenge.

  “I want all three teams up on the main deck in ten minutes!” yells Tidepool, blustering back upstairs. “It’s time to meet the captain!”

  “Bucket so excited!” the little ogre says. “Bucket never been part of a team before!”

  “Well, you’ll get your chance today,” says Pan encouragingly.

  “Have you ever died before, Bucket?” I ask.

  “No. Bucket never died before.”

  I smile grimly. “Well, you may get your chance for that today, too.”

  “OVER HERE, YOU LUBBERS!” roars Tidepool. Her arms rest on the hilt of her barnacle-encrusted sword. The gnome grandly gestures to an iron-plated door behind her.

  “Behind this door is the dread of the high seas. The scourge of the Fourteen Realms. The bane of the lily-livered and the mackerel-hearted. These are the personal quarters of Captain Diremaw himself!”

  I feel a chill run up and down my spine that has nothing to do with the crisp morning breeze.

  “Captain Diremaw has requested your presence.” Tidepool pulls the door wide. “Beware, all ye who enter here,” she says ominously. Then she busts out laughing. “I’m just joking! Come on in!”

  I take one more glance at the bright blue sky. And then we follow the gnome into the darkened chamber.

  Cookie fusses around a small table, his pet devilfer
n at his side.

  The plant points a leaf at me as soon as it spots me. “Ready your pacifiers! Diaper baby off the port bow!”

  Gosh, I hate that plant.

  “Pipe down, Ferny,” hisses the dwarf. Then I spot Moxie. Her armor is gone, replaced by a black apron. The hand-me-down sword on her belt has been joined by an assortment of kitchen utensils. That mucky cape still covers her shoulders, which is probably a serious health code violation. She’s helping Cookie set up an elaborate snack tray. But not for us.

  For Diremaw the Dread.

  “So!” A deep voice rolls from the far end of the cabin. “Are these our new recruits, then, Ms. Tidepool?”

  “Aye, Captain,” says Tidepool. “That they are.”

  I look to the voice. Behind a large desk sits a high-backed chair of red leather. It faces away from us. But there’s no doubt who sits there.

  “I always look forward to meeting potential crewmates,” comes the voice. “My crew is like my family. And families share secrets.”

  In this strange moment, I think of Kevin. He said we would find the answers we seek with this man. I hope, for all our sakes, he knows what he’s talking about.

  “You will be treated like family today,” says the voice. “You will learn a terrible secret. The identity of Diremaw the Dread. Unfortunately, only five of you will be around long enough to appreciate such a secret.”

  The chair spins slowly around. And there he sits. Diremaw the Dread.

  I look at Pan. And gulp.

  Stupid Kevin.

  Once more, he has given us some serious misinformation. “There’s one man alive who knows the whereabouts of a living, breathing bedazzler,” he had told us. “And that’s Diremaw the Dread.”

  But he was wrong.

  Diremaw the Dread doesn’t know the location of a bedazzler.

  Diremaw the Dread IS a bedazzler.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO