We Give a Squid a Wedgie (16 page)

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because the pirates can’t turn us into shark
food,” said Oliver. “They’d just chew us up and spit us out. They were going to turn us into shark bait, you know, to lure sharks. It’s called chum.”

“Hmm,” said Celia. “Chum. I thought that meant friend.”

“Well, I guess there’s a word I know that you don’t. Chum is shark bait.”

“I’m not sure that’s better. I don’t want to be chum.”

“Me neither,” said Oliver. “Even if it means friend.”

“Whatever,” said Celia. And they fell silent again.

There was a small porthole in their bunk, through which Oliver and Celia could occasionally catch a glimpse above the waterline. All they saw was deep blue ocean stretching out forever. The hours passed. We should not be surprised that they eventually fell into their favorite pastime, the one that they could always share, even in the midst of their most heated arguments: complaining.

“I hate this,” said Celia. “This is the worst.”

“I’d rather be stuck in a cave in Tibet,” said Oliver.­

“I’d rather be lost in the Amazon,” said Celia.

“I’d rather be watching the news,” said Oliver.

Celia shuddered. “It’s not that bad,” she said.

“But what are we gonna do? We can’t fight the pirates and we can’t, you know, duel each other.”

“I don’t know,” Celia said. “After the way you’ve been acting …”

“Hey!” Oliver exclaimed. “You
are
my evil twin!”

“I’m just kidding,” said Celia. “We’ll figure something out. We sort of have to.”

“Maybe Dad or Corey will have an idea.”

“If we ever see them again.”

“Maybe Mom will show up to save us,” suggested Oliver.

“When she shows up, things usually get worse for us,” said Celia.

“Well, I don’t see how things could get worse for us now,” said Oliver.

“Don’t say that,” said Celia.

“Why not?”

“Because whenever someone on TV says that, that’s when things get worse!”

Just then, they heard the sound of a ship’s horn blaring and they pressed their faces to the porthole to look outside.

“Oops,” said Oliver. He hated to admit it, but Celia was right. Things just got worse.

As the boat rose to the top of a swell, they saw, less than fifty yards away, a giant cruise ship covered with growths of algae and rust. Oliver realized that the “Princess” he’d heard the pirates talking about wasn’t a person. It was their pirate ship. They had taken over a Princess cruise ship, except where the logo of the fun-loving cruise company should have been grinned a white skull on a black background with bones crossed below it, the universal sign of the pirate, sometimes known as the Jolly Roger.

Oliver’s complexion changed from green to ashen.

“If we do have to duel,” Celia told him, “I’m going to let you win.”

“No way,” said Oliver. “I’m your brother. I have to let you win.”

“I’m older,” said Celia.

“By three minutes!”

“And forty-two seconds.”

“Well, you are not letting me win. I won’t be a pirate without you.”

“Well, I won’t be a pirate without you.”

“One of us has to protect Dad and Corey,” Oliver­ said. “And you’re better at that stuff.”

Celia didn’t answer him. She was trying to come up with a plan that would save them all. She wondered what her mother would do.

“Well, you landlubbers,” Twitchy Bart said as he opened the door to their bunk, “we’ve reached our destination! I’m sure you’ll enjoy all the fine amenities aboard our fair ship. We’ve got a swimming pool and a waterslide, a spa run by the finest wenches you’ll ever meet, and satellite television in every cabin.” He picked his nose and flicked what he found toward the twins, cackling when they flinched. “Of course, only one of you will get to enjoy it! Now come on deck, Big Bart wants to see you.”

As they followed Twitchy Bart on deck, Celia noticed that the bunk where Corey and her father had been held was open and empty.

“Where’s our dad?” she demanded. “And where’s Corey?”

“Relax,” said Twitchy Bart. “They’re on their way over already.” He pointed to the dinghy, which was speeding away toward the pirates’ cruise ship, being driven by a rough-looking man in a ­bandanna
and camouflage pants. Both Corey and Dr. Navel had their hands tied behind their backs and gags in their mouths. Their father was looking back at the sailboat, trying to see the twins. Corey was looking forward at the cruise ship, his hair blowing in the wind.

Oliver thought it looked just like a scene from
Agent Zero
.

“Well, children!” Big Bart called to them. “The moment has arrived! Soon you’ll be aboard your first pirate ship. What do you think of that?”

“It doesn’t look so great,” Celia said, sticking out her chin defiantly.

“None of them look like pirates are supposed to,” Oliver said.

“Oh, I like you kids.” Big Bart laughed. “You’re natural fighters!”

“Are we, like, dueling right now?” Celia asked. She hoped not. She didn’t have a plan yet, and she really wasn’t so sure Oliver would be okay without her after she let him win.

“Of course you’re not dueling right now!” said Big Bart. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll need to introduce you to the crew and let them get to know you.”

“Why do they need to get to know us?” Oliver asked.

“So they can place their bets on which of you will win! I think we’ll have a banquet in your honor. We have a whole collection of dresses and tuxedos on board, from cruise ship weddings and the like. It’ll be a real banquet. Properly formal.”

“A formal banquet?” Oliver complained. “We hate those. Couldn’t you just let us get this over with?”

“Get it over with?” Big Bart threw his hands in the air. “Oliver! We’re leaving that attitude behind. On my ship, we never miss a chance for a banquet!”

“Pirates are just like explorers,” Celia declared with disappointment.

THE BANQUET WAS
laid out in what had been the grand ballroom of the cruise ship. A glass chandelier in the center of the room made tinkling noises as the large ship swayed slightly on the water. Pirates mingled and joked with each other, all of them dressed up in what was certainly their most formal attire. For some that meant cutoff shorts and flip-flops with a new coat of polish on their guns. For others, it meant shiny suits or outdated tuxedos. Everyone carried weapons.

“None of them look like pirates,” Oliver complained. He tugged at his collar, where his bow tie was too tight. “And why can’t I ever have a tuxedo that fits?”

“At least you don’t have to wear a dress,” said Celia, who kept pulling on the puffy sleeves of the ball gown they had forced her to put on. The gown
had probably never been in style, and it was certainly much older than Celia. It smelled like it too.

She held on to their backpack filled with the snack cakes and the wet suits, and their old Pocketed Pants. The pirates let the twins keep the backpack as a prize for whoever won. Oliver managed to keep the remote control in his pocket when he changed. He had to admit that he really missed wearing Corey Brandt’s Pocketed Pants.

As the banquet wore on, the pirates munched on cheese and crackers, stale bread, pickled vegetables, and smoked fish. They guzzled rum and whiskey and told each other crude jokes about Blackbeard and a jaguar in a hot tub. They also kept coming over to Oliver and Celia to inspect them.

“Scrawny muscles,” one said, squeezing Oliver’s­ arm and shaking his head.

“
Belacan
,” another said, provoking loud guffaws­ from his colleagues.

“What was that?” Oliver wondered.

“I’m sure it wasn’t nice,” said Celia.

“It means shrimp paste.” Another pirate wandered up and gave the twins a long look. “I think
he was being too nice … I wouldn’t bet on either of you surviving.” He walked away shaking his head.

For over an hour it went like that. The twins stood off to the side of the ballroom, trying not to be noticed and being noticed by everyone.

“This is just like at the Explorers Club,” said Oliver.

“Except there, no one was placing bets on which one of us would live,” said Celia.

“Are you sure about that?” Oliver smirked.

Celia laughed. Oliver laughed too. It actually felt good to laugh together in the face of certain death.

The doors to the ballroom burst open and their father came in. He was flanked by scar-faced pirates, who had all manner of frightening tattoos peeking out from their clothes. They held knives and guns in their hands and sneers and scowls on their faces. They spoke to each other in half a dozen languages.

“Oliver, Celia.” Their father bent down and hugged them. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of all this.”

“You don’t know yet, do you?” asked Celia.

“Know what?” said their father, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. They were bent out of shape from his fall onto the deck of their boat and they slid down again immediately.

“We have to duel each other to see who gets to become a pirate and who gets thrown overboard,” Oliver explained. “But it’s okay, because I’m going to let Celia win.”

“Are not. I’m going to let Oliver win,” said Celia.

“Are not,” said Oliver.

“Am too,” said Celia.

“Are not,” said Oliver.

“Am too,” said Celia.

“No one is dueling anyone,” their father said. “Not while I’m around. I’ve dealt with worse than mere pirates before. Wait here.” He stood tall and strolled into the middle of the room, put his fingers to his lips and blew a loud, piercing whistle.

“I demand to speak to the captain!” he yelled. “Under the articles of piracy set down in olden days, I demand parley!”

Murmurs passed around the room as his demand was translated from English to French to Russian to Malay to Creole to Dutch to Chinese
to Somali to Swahili and back into English, completely mangled.

“Why does he say he wants to dance with a parrot?”­ one of the scar-faced pirates whispered to Celia.

Celia didn’t have a chance to answer, because just then Twitchy Bart came into the room holding Corey Brandt by the arm and pressing a knife to his throat. New murmurs passed around the room, but all of them were in English this time.

“
Agent Zero
,” the pirates said, and “
Sunset High
,” and “Lauren.”

Corey smiled meekly, out of instinct, and gave a nervous wave with his tied-up hands. One of the pirates giggled and waved back at him. A few took pictures with what must have been stolen cell phones. One pirate shrieked and passed out where he stood. Corey Brandt had that effect on people.

“Greetings, my friends!” Big Bart shouted, striding into the room with a grand gesture. He wore a red velvet coat and starched white shirt, with black breeches and black leather boots. He had an ornate sword tucked into his belt and a wide-brimmed hat perched on his giant head, just above a heavy black eye patch over his left eye. A huge feather
billowed from the brim of his hat, and Dennis clucked into the room behind him wearing a tiny version the same hat, feather and all.

“Is this better, Oliver?” Big Bart asked, removing his hat and making an elaborate bow. “Do I look piratical enough for you?”

“Will you say
arrr
?” Oliver asked.

“No,” said Big Bart.

“What’s with the eye patch?” asked Celia.

“It’s not easy putting a hat on a chicken,” said Big Bart.

“Rooster,” corrected Celia, with a sarcastic smile.

Big Bart snorted and put his hat back on. He strolled up onto the stage at the front of the ballroom, gesturing for Twitchy Bart to bring Corey up behind him.

“My brothers from around the world!” Big Bart shouted, raising his arms in the air.

“Don’t forget sisters!” someone in the crowd shouted.

Big Bart dropped his arms to his side and nodded gravely. “Unfortunately, our dear Bonnie did not make it back from our latest adventure.”

“What happened?” another pirate shouted.

“Did one of the weaklings get her?” someone else called out.

“Maybe they bored her to death!” Everyone laughed.

“She had the idea that I was not fit to be captain,” he said, moving his head from side to side, scanning the room. “I wonder if anyone else shares that particular sentiment?”

Silence. There was an uncomfortable cough. Big Bart raised one eyebrow.

“No, no!” said the offending cougher. “It’s just my sinuses … I didn’t mean nothing by it!”

Big Bart nodded at one of the scar-faced pirates, who grabbed the man and dragged him screaming from the room. His screams echoed down the hallway even after they’d closed the door again.

“Moving on to new business!” Big Bart con­tinued.

“I can’t believe this,” Oliver whispered to Celia. “Even pirates make speeches at these parties.”

“Our hostages!” said Big Bart, and the room burst into cheers.

“We love you, Corey!” a motley group of Samoan mercenaries shouted from the corner. Celia
couldn’t believe how much these bloodthirsty pirates were like her sixth-grade classmates.

“I’m happy to introduce a young man who really needs no introduction,” Big Bart continued.