Helga: Out of Hedgelands - Rick Johnson (a court of thorns and roses ebook free TXT) 📗

well tonight, and sleep snug on shore!” the greasy-haired Wrackshee called out after the departing catamaran. “And thanks to you all for that! Leavin’ us poor seabeasts here in this wreck all by ourselves—with nothin’ to eat but soggy biscuit!”

“Ah, don’t take it bad,” the Wrackshee on the catamaran called back. “Why that skiff of yours has got plenty of fishhooks! HAR-HAR-HAR! And we left you a bag of dried shark meat and a jug of Bummer Bitters! That’ll tide you over ’till tomorrow. HAR-HAR-HAR!”

In two minutes more, the skiff was alongside the ship. Grabbing a boarding rope left dangling, the Wrackshee with the twisted nose sprang up the side of Daring Dream, followed by his comrade.

“Here, mate, tie up the skiff and come on up,” the greasy-haired Wrackshee called down to Bem.

Making no effort to catch the rope, Bem instead grabbed an oar and pushed off from the ship. As the skiff floated away, she turned the sail to catch the wind. In a few moments the skiff was moving at good speed away from the Daring Dream.

“Treachery! Rogue and rascal! We’ve been tricked!” the Wrackshees roared, flinging curses after the escaping skiff.

“Divide my part of the victuals between ya!” Bem called back. “It’s the least I can do ta return yer hospitality!”

“SLAVE ESCAPING! SLAVE ESCAPING!” the Wrackshees yelled, trying to attract the attention of their comrades in the catamaran.

“Now don’t ya go blamin’ me,” Bem called back. “You’re the ones as went runnin’ off and left the boat to me—and givin’ me your bows and arrows, too! I can’t thank ya enough. Ah, yes, I’m sure the Bozz will be right pleased with two such fine idiots as yourselves!”

At hearing Bem’s last comment, the Wrackshees stopped wailing for help, and the gaze of those on the catamaran was toward the shore, not back to the wrecked ship. Bem, in high spirits at the success of her ruse, set her course away from the ship.

As she watched Daring Dream receed into the distance, she turned her thoughts toward what she could do to help its enslaved crew. She knew she could not directly take on the Wrackshees. Needing a plan, she decided the best thing was to sail down the coast for a distance to safeguard her escape and think. Whatever came her way would be whatever came her way. Let her future be as it would be.

 

Bem Madsoor In Command

Bigger Black leaned against the rail of the forecastle of the Lost Hope, Sabre Tusk d’Newolf’s flagship, thinking. The lapping of waves and the sound of a shipmate playing an accordian were the only sounds. A sea chart lay unrolled before him.

“Hey, Big Man, what are you looking at?” It was his messmate, Haf-Tusk.

“Haf, keep it down!” Bigger was deeply annoyed.

“So Sabre Tusk is gone?” Haf-Tusk asked.

“Yeah, he’s gone to shore to see what’s up with the group he spotted there. But don’t you get any ideas—I’m not crossing Sabre Tusk on your account.”

“Hey, Big Man, just calm down. I’m not crossing His Tuskiness. Let’s just say there’s possibilities.”

“What possibilities?” Bigger said coldly. “You know I don’t want trouble.”

“So Bem almost got the job done—”  Bigger did not let Haf finish.

“Bem! What about her? Can’t we just forget about her? We’re lucky the rest of us didn’t end up in the ocean like she did.”

“Whoa, there, Big Man—you’re right. There’s no point thinking about what might have been if the mutiny had succeeded. But, interesting isn’t it—you have nothing to do with sailing this ship, but here you are studying that sea chart like you’re going somewhere.”

 “O.K.,” Bigger answered. “You were almost a hero. But you ended up in irons and just short of His Tuskiness throwing you to the sharks. And, oh, yeah, I almost forgot—you and Bem nearly got the rest of us killed, just for good measure. So, forgive me if I don’t too get excited when you have some new idea. But, no way the crew’s happy, so—sure—I’m thinking. That doesn’t make me crazy enough to follow another hare-brained scheme of yours—but, you got guts and I trust you—what possibilities you got in mind?”

There was a long silence. “We go for it, Big Man. Now. The crew has had it with His Tuskiness—I’m sure they’d go with us if we put the question to them. Sabre Tusk and his goons are on shore. We raise sail and get the blazes out of here.”

“I hope you can sail this thing better than I can,” Haf-Tusk said. “Sabre Tusk always takes the navigator with him when he goes ashore—he doesn’t want no one thinkin’ of leavin’ while he’s gone.” 

“Haf!” Bigger Black suddenly exclaimed, “See that skiff off yonder—looks to be headin’ toward us. What do you make of it?”

Haf-Tusk took out a small spyglass he kept in his pocket and peered at the skiff. “Take a look!” Haf said, handing the glass to Bigger.

“Bem Madsoor!” Bigger exploded. “She’s alive!”

“And likely comin’ to avenge herself,” Haf added.

“Regardless of why she’s comin’,” Bigger replied, “it’s a powerful, powerful omen!”

“Too dangerous to wait for her,” Haf said excitedly. “If His Tuskiness sees a skiff coming to Lost Hope, he’ll be back here in a flash. Call the crew to us—we act now!”

“What you talkin’ quiet and sneaky about up there?” The unexpected question startled Bigger and Haf and they whirled around, instantly on the defensive.

“Just saw you two talking secret-like up here in the fo’castle,” Fat-Mouth said. “What’s up?”

“Fat,” Bigger Black responded, looking relieved, “you startled us—but, that’s OK. We were actually just talking about you.”

“You were?” Fat replied.

“Sure,” Bigger said. “See that skiff out there? The beast in it is Bem Madsoor! She’s comin’ here to take over the ship—finish the work she started earlier. Now I know you were with her last time—just like Haf and I were. Sure as we’re all here together, her comin’ back from bein’ a dead beast is a sign that the time’s run out for Sabre Tusk and his goons. We don’t know if Bem’s comin’ with angels or demons at her back, but a dead beast showin’ up is an omen. We say it means take the ship!”

“I’m in,” Fat-Mouth responded. “What do you want me to do?”

“You’ve the biggest talker on the ship,” Bigger said with a smile. “We want you to go quick as speedin’ cutlass slash to every beast on the ship and tell ’em Bem Madsoor wants them on the main deck double quick.”

“That will get their attention,” Fat-Mouth chuckled.

“And tell ’em to keep the noise down,” Haf added. “We can’t give His Tuskiness any hint about what’s up.”

“Aye!” Fat-Mouth said.

Moving quickly around the ship, Fat-Mouth quickly spread the message. Within minutes, the Lost Hope crew filled the main deck, casting astonished looks toward the skiff approaching the ship.

Standing on the steps leading up to the forecastle, Bigger and Haf looked out across their shipmates. Exchanging a determined look, Bigger stepped forward.

“Mates,” he began, “Bem Madsoor is returning to the Lost Hope. Whether she’s a dead beast come back to life or not we don’t know. But she’s comin’ and she’ll be steppin’ onto this very deck in a few minutes.” Bigger paused, allowing the impact of his words to sink in.

“I say by brain and heart, we owe three cheers to Bem Madsoor! I say we call her Capt’n Madsoor as she comes aboard and pledge our lives and future to her!” He looked around at his mates, seeing the face of each sea-beast take on a look that said, ‘AYE!’ without saying anything.

Then one sea-beast in the back called out, “THREE CHEERS FOR BEM MADSOOR!”

“THREE CHEERS FOR BEM MADSOOR!” another responded.

“THREE CHEERS FOR BEM MADSOOR!” yet another called.

“Well then, you silly sea-beasts, give the blasted cheers for her!” Bigger yelled.

“HUZZAH-HUZZAH-HUZZAAAUH!” the crew called out in a tumultuous yell.

Within a few minutes, the skiff came alongside, and Bem Madsoor sprang on board. Known to every sea-beast aboard the Lost Hope, either by serving together, or by legend, Bem was warmly welcomed. “HUZZAH-HUZZAH! HUZZAH-HUZZAH-HUZZAH!”

Everything was confusion for a few minutes, as the crew surged around Bem. Some, no doubt, wanted to touch her to assure themselves she was a real, living, flesh-and-blood sea-beast. Most, however, merely wanted to congratulate her on her safe return and pledge their loyalty to their new captain.

After taking in the situation and expressing her joy at seeing her shipmates again, Bem calmly gave orders. “Hottin’ the briny cup!” she said, calling on the cook to heat up pots of Seafoam Mutter for the crew to enjoy. “The rest of you—up sails, we’re leaving immediately.”

Turning to one of the youngest sea-beasts, Printy, she asked, “want to take a turn at the wheel and sail us out of here?”

“Yes, Captain!”

“Good! Bring ’er ’round, then keep ’er toward that point of land on the horizon.”

“Where’re we going, Captain?”

“First, we’re leavin’ Sabre Tusk to ’is own troubles. He’s made ’nough troubles for other beasts—let ’im take it in ’is own chops for awhile. Next, we’re goin’ to see about helpin’ some friends in trouble.”

“Who’s in trouble, Captain?”

“Well, as I’m seein’ it,” Bem replied with a smile, “the mates on this ship are rascals as most beasts see’s ya. So, there’s no goin’ to Port Newolf for a rest. First thing’s we gotta get you far away to new lands that’s not knowin’ ya—then, once we’s away from here, we’ll make some plans. For now, firsts firsts, we spend some time forgettin’ about Sabre Tusk. Set a course that takes us out o’ sight of Port Newolf—then, before dark we’ll cut back in down the coast a piece. I want to check over the ship for a long voyage—then we’ll set off for far horizons.”

“Aye, Capt’n!”

 

A Memorable Feast

The long column of escapees from Mis’tashe and their liberators marched haphazardly through lengthening shadows cast by the mountains as the sun began its decent. The mountains, however, were not high and forbidding, but more like a staircase descending to some yet invisible landing. No one among the troop of beasts was familiar with the landscape or knew exactly where they were heading. The most seasoned beasts in the group had decided that it was best to simply escape by the most obvious route as rapidly as possible, hoping for the best.

“By the Ancients!” Helga exclaimed as she walked along, “that was a near miss!”

“What’s amiss?” Christer asked.

“Ayeeiii! Christer!” Helga snorted in disgust. “Are you not conscious of how narrowly we’ve escaped? Why, with you and that Darin’ Dream crew makin’ silly and loud as brainless twits, it’s a miracle we’re not already back in chains! Don’t you know you were runnin’ around and hollerin’ at the top of your lungs—and there’s Captain Gumberpott and the rest who had a lick of good sense, tryin’ to make you hear and get us all safely away from Mis’tashe, while you were callin’ attention to us like hammer and gongs! I swear, if the Creation depended on the likes of you for smarts, we’d be about equal to worms guzzlin’ dirt!”

Christer, walking beside Helga, turned his face toward her and, with wide eyes nearly overflowing with fake tears, wailed sorrowfully, “My mouth! My mouth! I’ve sunk into my mouth and can’t get out! Save me! Oh, Miss Scold-Me-Again, please save me! I’m jabberin’ and can’t stop!” Breaking into laughter, Christer gave Helga a playful punch in the arm.

“Will you hush up!” Helga fumed. “Don’t you understand we’re still in danger?”

“Oh, okay,”