---

        Sunlight glistened off the waves, warming the seawater even as a light, refreshing breeze drifted by, cooling the midday heat and filling the flowing sails. The yacht cut a stately pace across the water, wandering nowhere in particular several leagues off the southern California coast. The yacht's owner wasn't really concerned with the lack of a destination – they were, after all, just out on a brief pleasure cruise. And the yacht's passengers couldn't have minded less.


        Blue sky. White clouds. Warm sun. Light breeze. Following sea. All in all, the perfect day for sailing, Ivan thought to himself. It was refreshing in and of itself – and it was so nice to be aboard a ship meant to traverse water instead of space for a change. True, he could have done without some of the company – but then, it was Bobetta's boat, and Bobetta's party, so he really had no say in who was invited. Heck, he was still trying to figure out why he'd been invited.


        The rest of the partygoers mingled down by the stern, oblivious to the gray kiwi at the bow. It was Bobetta's birthday, and she had invited the group to a party she was throwing for herself on her yacht. Everyone – or almost everyone, rather – had jumped at the chance to get away from the city for a bit, and things had been quiet enough lately that their presence would not be missed. So there they all were – Bobetta, Bob, Beak, Ferdie, Ferdia, Squeaks, Iiwi, and Ivan. And the Hooties, who had stopped by Earth to see how their doubles were doing.

        Bobetta, trussed up in her frilly birthday attire, was reclining amongst her gifts, listening as Bob related their latest adventures to her. Beak hung around nearby, embellishing the tale and filling in other details for the Hooties. Ferdie had positioned himself near the back railing, avoiding as much food as possible and turning interesting shades of green with every slight bob and lurch of the ship. Ferdia was making the most of this rare opportunity to rest, napping in the sun by the helm. Squeaks alternated between watching the dolphins trailing the yacht and - since no one else was bothering to - actually sailing the yacht, keeping them reasonably on-course. Iiwi, well aware that the wealthy socialite kiwi had only invited her because she was one of Bob's friends, had decided at the onset that the best way to keep from killing Bobetta's annoying, refreshment-laden maid, Gracie, would be to stay out of her way. Therefore, while Gracie strutted about the deck, Iiwi cavorted about the clouds, performing light aerobatics and enjoying the sea breeze caress through her feathers. Lita and the Sign Holder had appropriated lounge chairs for themselves, and were gleefully obliterating each other in some cable-linked hand-held video game. And then there was Ivan, sulking at the bow, invited, he supposed, only because Bobetta seldom missed an opportunity to flaunt her superior wealth under his nose.


        All in all, the partygoers made quite an interesting picture. Which was, of course, only enhanced by the fact that Bobetta had requested her guests show up in costumes – this was, according to her, a “themed party.” And so it was that Bobetta was dressed as a turn-of-the-century lady, trussed up in all the frills and lace and petticoats that defined the Victorian era. Gracie, far less interested in historical accuracy, posed as a portside barmaid whose costume looked as if it had been repeatedly shrunk in the wash. Bob and Beak were two of the most ridiculous pirates ever to grace the planet, decked out in tattered clothes, eye patches, bandanas, peg legs, and fake jewelry. They'd even gotten their Hooties in on the act, talking the tiny kiwis into wearing a smattering of greenish feathers and perching on their double's shoulder as 'parrots'. Ferdie had patched together a costume based on the scraps the two kiwis had rejected, and - had he not been doubled over the railing - would have looked like a veteran pirate. Ferdia and Squeaks had evidently reached the costume shops after the private detectives had raided them, and wore mock-ups of revolutionary-war-era naval uniforms. Or at least they had, until the afternoon heat had led them to shed their jackets; now they looked more like old-style deckhands. Iiwi had dismissed the costume idea altogether, but at Bob's request had donned a vaguely pirate-y vest and belt. Ivan hadn't dressed up at all, and the Sign Holder had followed his lead; Lita had at least made a token effort at pirate clothing, which amounted to a worn pair of jean cut-offs and a striped tank top.

        Presumably, if anyone saw them and questioned them about it, the whole crew would have to admit the whole thing was rather ridiculous. At some point in time, Gracie decided that she would pilot the yacht from there on, shooing Squeaks off to doze by the railing as the 'barmaid' took the helm. Which made the whole crew look even more ridiculous – an effect that Gracie's erratic steering and zigzag course only served to heighten. The Coast Guard would have written the lot off as idiots, had they come across them. But, then, if you can't get away with being silly in front of your friends, what fun is there in life?

***************

        Iiwi saw them first.

        She was, after all, flying this way and that, streaking up towards the clouds and spiraling back earthward in wide, figure-8-shaped loops. Gracie's unpredictable path was making it harder for the flier to keep an accurate idea of just where, exactly, the yacht should be in her loops, and she mistook their ship for the yacht for the briefest of instants - before the difference in amount of masts alerted her to her error. But the ship's design resembled that of old schooners', and that made for a rare and interesting sight, so she opted for a low-altitude flyby to quell her curiosity.

        The ship was an old schooner. But that's not what grabbed her attention. And, while it was arguably the absolute last thing she should have done in the situation, she flared her wings out, jerking herself backwards into a steep bank and coming around for another look at the banner the ship flew.

        This was not a wise thing to do. The schooner was far enough from land so as to be well beyond the range of fliers like herself. Long-distance migratory birds like terns or albatross could make it this far from shore without a ship, but not songbirds. Not iiwis. And bright red stands out against a blue sky like no other color, so one would have had to be blind not to see her streak by. The ship's crew could not have missed seeing her, or missed realizing that she meant that another vessel was close by. Or missed the fact that the flier had spotted the skull and crossbones they flew.

        And, rather than immediately putting as much distance between herself and the pirates as possible, Iiwi was so shocked by their presence – and their appearance – that in an effort to discover the reason behind this farce, she banked again, climbing in an arc to higher altitudes. Which was probably what saved her, as the pirates pulled out pistols and began firing at her. She was fast enough, high enough, and far enough away, to make a pretty poor target. But by virtue of marksmanship or just blind luck, one of the pirates' shots buried itself in her wing.

        With a shriek of pain, Iiwi dove away from the ship, making a beeline for where the yacht should have been. With a wounded wing, this was the best thing to do from a survival standpoint; however, with a shipload of pirates behind her, the easy-to-follow straight path she cut was perhaps not the wisest strategical move she could have made.

***************

        Ivan jerked his head up, jarred back into reality by a familiar squawk of pain. He scanned the seas in front of the yacht, catching sight of a screeching Iiwi desperately winging her way towards the yacht. He was vaguely aware of a scrambling behind him, as the rest of the yacht's crew crowded the bow.

        Ferdia made it there first, leaning over the railing and peering through a set of binoculars she'd picked up goodness-knows-where. Oh, wait. Squeaks dangled from the binoculars' strap, tugging at it in a rather futile attempt to remove the binoculars from around his neck - or at least loosen them enough to be able to breathe again. His blue-feathered partner remained oblivious to all this, however, her attention riveted to the sky ahead.         “She's losing altitude,” she observed, pointing out the struggling flier's erratic flight.

        “We should get closer to her, then,” Bob decided, darting back to the helm and starting up the yacht's internal engine, “So she doesn't have as far to fly.”

        Squeaks managed to free himself from the binoculars. Taking a minute to enjoy his newly-regained ability to breathe, he frowned, squinting at the horizon behind Iiwi. “There's a ship following her,” he pointed, wresting the binoculars away from Ferdia, “They're chasing her.”

        “Who's chasing her?” Ferdia grabbed at the binoculars, commandeering one of the eye-holes and looking out toward the ship with her partner, “I can't make out a flag.”

        “She's bigger than we are,” the mouse volunteered, “two masts, six sails…and…are those cannons?!?”

        “She's an old sailing ship!” Ferdia cried. “And they're flying…a pirate flag?”

        “Aaaaaah! It's the pirates of the Caribbean!” Ferdie yelped.

        Ivan reached over and smacked the still-green-tinted bluebird upside his head. “The Caribbean is on the East Coast, idiot!”

        “Well, they've got to be the pirates of something, right?” Ferdie retorted, then darted for the opposite railing as the yacht lurched suddenly.

        ***************

        At the helm, Bob was steadfastly boosting the engine's power, speeding toward Iiwi. The realization of the ship chasing after her and what it might mean had yet to dawn on him, and he was cheerfully singing “Here I Come to Save the Day” in his best heroic voice.

        So it came as a complete surprise to him when the others ran up to him, shouting for him to turn around.

        “But that'll make it harder for Iiwi to catch up to us,” he pointed out, “and we have to help her.”

        “Bob, those are pirates out there!” Bobetta whimpered, “We can't let them catch us! Your friend is doing fine, she'll reach us in no time, even if we're not headed toward her!”

        A sudden thundering split the air around them, followed by a handful of distant splashes.

        “Cannonballs!” Ferdia yelled from the bow, “They're firing at us!”

        “We'll be in their range in a matter of minutes,” Squeaks added, “especially if we keep heading their way.”

        ***************

        Iiwi couldn't believe her eyes. A shipload of pirates bearing down on them, and the yacht was heading towards her, not away! What, were they all daft?

        Perhaps Gracie was still in charge of steering.

        As she neared the yacht, she saw that Bob, not the annoying maid, was at the helm, arguing with the rest of the crew. Well, that figured. Ferdia and Squeaks were used to being obeyed in crisis situations, but Bob insisted on deciding courses of action whenever Bobetta was involved. The two officers were probably trying to convince Bob that their chances were better if the yacht turned tail and fled; Bob was no doubt playing the hero and trying to 'rescue' her.

        Well, she'd put a stop to that. Folding her wings in close – ow, ow, ow! Not that close, not with that wing! – she dove at the yacht's deck, crashing more than landing amongst the lounge chairs and cushions.

        With Iiwi in the yacht, Bob's reason for heroically charging into danger was gone, and survival mode kicked back in. He spun the wheel, turning the yacht around. Now they would make a break for it.

***************

        At the helm of the Bloody Mary, Captain Biggs laughed heartily after the fleeing ship. He didn't recognize the flag she flew, but it looked a bit like the ones the Colonies used, and that was good enough for him. She was a bit pretty for a Colonial ship, and rather small for a trader, perhaps, but he wasn't picky about his prey. As long as ships were afloat and in his path, things like size, crew, cargo, and even flags didn't matter. Biggs had never really been much of a patriot, he supposed - but heck, as long as the Brits were out to hang a body, ye might as well rack up as much of a profit as possible. And if that meant sacking every ship he came across, so be it.

        The schooner cut to the right, making the most of the wind. Her sails caught the air current and billowed outward, boosting the swift ship's speed and bringing her to a course parallel with their fleeing quarry. Biggs ordered shots fired across their bow once they were within range of the cannons, and brought his spyglass up to his eye. Might as well get an idea of their defenses….

        He almost choked at what he saw through the spyglass. The 'Silver Princess', as her shimmering letters proudly boasted, had no discernable defenses to speak of! No guns, no cannons, not even whaling spears to hurl at intruders! How ridiculously stupid of them!

        The Silver's crew was even more ridiculous. Besides the flier, who he assumed was a sort of lookout or scout, the crew appeared to be composed of two deckhands, three buffoons, two cabin boys, a wench, and a lady passenger. Upon closer inspection, the 'deckhands' actually appeared to be clad in a variation of British Naval attire – probably part of some Colonial unit. At any rate, they seemed to be the only two aboard that would be capable of putting up any sort of fight. Oh, and perhaps the gray fellow at the bow – he had an air of superiority and power about him, which meant he was most likely the ship's owner, if not its captain.

        How wonderful! A nearly helpless ship, with nothing but a tiny crew! This would be an easy raid. Perhaps they could sell the ship at Barbados. The crew, too – well, whoever survived, that was. Although…from the quality of her gown, he figured the lady to be of a wealthy family. Perhaps they could ransom her for a few hundred pounds of her daddy's gold.

        Warning shots rang out from his ship, and when the Silver refused to yield, he allowed a round be to fired off with light damage in mind. This resulted in stray cannonballs plowing into the small ship's mast and forebalance, sending mast and sails plummeting into the sea. As the Silver floundered, Biggs shouted at the weapons-master, ordering his crew to mind their aim with the cannons. The crippled ship was apparently too frail to take much more damage without sinking, and he sensed his crew's desire for a good fight. He just hoped the Silver's crew could put up at least a mediocre one.

***************

        Ferdia yelped as cannonballs tore through the mast, sending it toppling down at her. She dove out of the way with just enough room to spare as the wooden mast came crashing down onto the port side of the yacht, smashing in a good portion of the yacht's side as its base splintered. The base did not break cleanly, though, and the fallen mast rested half in the sea and half in the trough it had pounded into the portside run of the yacht. Though their waterproofing stemmed the tide a good deal, the sails nonetheless began absorbing seawater, adding even more weight to the heavy mast currently tugging the ship off-balance.

        Ferdia got to her feet – a task made more difficult by the fact that the yacht was listing rather heavily to port, the weight of the fallen mast pulling it off-balance – and sought to see if the crashing mast had cracked the ship's side and the yacht was taking on water. She sincerely hoped that wasn't the case….

        …but her hopes were dashed when a soaked Gracie ran up from below-decks screaming “We're Sinking!” at the top of her lungs.

        Ignoring the panicked maid, Ferdia ran to the others. Bobbetta was in hysterics, and Ferdie was still dangling from the starboard railing, but Beak was at least trying to help, frantically flipping dials on the radio while Bob yelled “S.O.S.” nonstop. Squeaks, Lita, and the Sign Holder were searching the deck for life rafts and emergency flares, and Ivan was trying to calm Bobetta down enough so that she could tell them just exactly where she had hidden these necessary items. Iiwi was desperately trying to steer the yacht, since the engine and rudders were still functional, but between her wing injury and lack of opposable thumbs, the flier wasn't getting very far. Ferdia took control of the helm, motioning the wounded bird to the bow to advise her on exactly which direction was away from their attackers.

        Which turned out to be a rather useless thing to do, since, moments later, several dozen unkempt, unwashed, and altogether unpleasant-looking pirates leapt onto the deck.

***************

        It would be perhaps too gracious to suggest that all hell broke loose. In all honesty, all hell did NOT break loose. But a rather peculiar type of pandemonium did.

        First off, the sudden arrival of three dozen pirates on the small luxury yacht effectively shot its weight capacity to hell. Which would have been bad enough if the yacht had been intact. Damaged and water-logged as it was, the extra weight on the starboard side swung the yacht back into a level bearing again – and then began to hasten its sinking, as water gushed in through the cracks in the damaged hull.

        This caused a great deal of screaming from Gracie and Bobetta – but, on the upside, it did cause the heiress to remember where her liferaft was. She fished it out of the box she had been sitting on, pulled its cord, and lobbed it over the yacht's portside. Which caused no small amount of dismay among those of her crew that realized the raft was now rather impossible to reach.

        That realization was secondary, of course, to their primary concern, which was that three dozen pirates had just boarded the yacht and were charging at every living creature already on the yacht, waving cruelly-shaped sabers and blood-encrusted daggers as they did so.

        That's when the fighting began. Despite the fact that Bobetta had explicitly forbid them to do so, Ferdia and Squeaks had brought their firearms with them, and picked off any pirate that showed too much homicidal aptitude. Lax to shoot every pirate, however, the pair stood back-to-back and kick-boxed any pirate that got within their reach. Iiwi stayed close to the cops – her fighting skills were almost entirely dependent on flight, and with her wounded wing, she couldn't build up the speed and altitude she needed to effectively stoop her opponents, and was left with kicking and clawing with her talons and stabbing with her beak. Across from them, Ivan, Lita, and the Sign Holder held their attackers at bay with an interesting combination of martial arts, knife-fighting, gunplay, and some rather vicious sign-swinging. Bob and Beak had taken it upon themselves to defend Bobetta and Gracie; Bob booted anyone who came near his fiancé, and Beak had drawn his lightsaber.

        For the curious, Ferdie had stopped dangling over the railing – his seasickness completely cured - and was now screaming with such vigor that he put Bobetta and Gracie to shame.

***************

        Biggs was rather impressed. Though the Silver Princess boasted no ship-to-ship defenses, she was proving rather difficult to subdue once boarded. Despite the fact that they were hopelessly outnumbered –and, apparently, sinking - her crew refused to surrender, fighting with a ferocity he had not anticipated. Moreover, they were using tactics and weapons he had never seen before – and even those he could identify, like the naval officers' firearms, were notably more sophisticated than any others he'd come across. And Biggs had taken on more than his share of military persons.

        There was no getting near the naval officers. They had felled – or at least wounded – no less than half the force that had originally boarded the boat, and were steadily picking off those still boarding. Moreover, they were rather devastating any man that approached them - and when none approached, the pair would charge into the nearest group of pirates, beating them away from the lesser-capable members of the crew.

                The red Flier that one of his marksmen had shot down was holding her own. He didn't recognize her species, but he did recognize the dangers of her sharp beak and talons. She fluttered about a bit, hobbled by her injured wing. If she was anything like the Fliers Biggs was accustomed to, most of her attack strategies relied on flight, which was a rather painful and difficult process for her at the moment. For the most part, she avoided his crew, defending herself as best she could and staying close to the naval officers.

        The gray bird he took to be the boat's owner also seemed to be its captain, as the two cabin boys defended him. Oh, he was doing a fine job of doing that himself – Biggs wondered if the bird was, perhaps, a privateer himself, despite the defenseless state of his current vessel. He certainly looked to be, with all the weapons he carried. He directed the cabin boys from the helm, desperately trying to fend off enough pirates to allow him to steer the boat away from the never-ending supply aboard the Bloody Mary. The avian cabin boy had started off with a large wooden object that looked like – but could not possibly have been – a sign. This had broken rather quickly, and he now fought with the splintered, club-like remains. He'd taken out quite a few of Biggs' men, either with a solid blow to the head or a hearty smack into the ocean. The second cabin boy, an odd-looking mammal of sorts, was most assuredly from the East Indies, as the tall youth fought with amazing martial-arts skill and a rather frightening capacity for knife-play.

                Two of the buffoons were defending the lady and serving wench, and proving to be a lot more capable than they looked. While the third, a blue fellow with no wits about him, had run about screaming – at least until a pirate had bopped him silly – the other two were doing an admirable job of holding their ground. The taller, brown bird brandished a saber the likes of which Biggs had never seen – it seemed to glow with light – and calmly repelled all who ventured too close. Moreover, the awkward false hand both he and the yellow bird wore were obviously clever ruses, as neither appeared to be lacking an appendage. However, as mean as the yellow one's kicks looked, they were avoidable, making that group the most vulnerable cluster. Moreover, the fighters were all visibly beginning to tire, and that meant victory was drawing near.

***************

        Ferdia gasped in dismay as her gun clicked, firing only empty air. Out of ammo. Or, more accurately, effectively out of ammo. She still had a magazine or two on her, but the pirates were coming at them too fast for her to pause and reload again. As she jammed the automatic back in its holster, her left hand instinctively went for her nightstick. It wasn't there, of course – she had left it, along with the rest of her uniform, back on shore. While she may not have liked the things very much, she had to admit one would have come in handy now. Ah well. The rest of this fight would have to be fought with fists and feet.

        Which hardly seemed fair, given that their enemies had pistols, daggers, and cutlasses.

        Still, she and Squeaks managed to keep them at bay – for a while, at least. Then she heard another hollow click, followed by an oath as Squeaks also ran out of bullets. Reduced to street-fighting, the two pulled into a more defensive stance as the pirates closed in.

        The flutter of wings and a strangled cry announced that Iiwi was in trouble. Risking a glance in her direction, Ferdia saw that a group of pirates had cornered the flier. Iiwi leapt in the air, beating her wings to stay airborne long enough to claw at her attackers with her talons. One of the pirates managed to get a hold of her right foot, jerking the flier off-balance as another stepped behind her to catch her in a full-nelson. Iiwi screeched, and kicked, and struggled, but was hopelessly caught.

        And, as Ferdia looked around at the ever-increasing horde of pirates surrounding her and Squeaks, so were they.

***************

        They were in trouble.

                Any idiot could see that. They had been in trouble from the very start – from the instant the pirates first boarded the ship. But as Ivan watched a mob of pirates overwhelm Birdie and Arcadia, he realized that they were in even more trouble than he had thought. Those two cops were an army in and of themselves, and while he had seen them fought to a standstill before – on very rare occasions – he'd never seen them defeated. Oh, there was still quite a bit of kicking and yelling and struggling going on over there, but the pair were essentially defeated.

                And the Evil Sir Ivan Kiwi was no fool. If those two couldn't beat the odds, then he certainly stood no chance of doing so. But since they – and Iiwi – were still alive, it stood to reason that the pirates were taking prisoners. Great! Being a prisoner was, in his opinion, much better than being shark bait.

                He pushed his way in front of his faltering wards, causing their attackers to pause just long enough for him to surrender.

***************

        Had Ferdie been conscious at this moment, he would have uttered a single, blood-curdling shriek, 'urk'-ed, and fainted dead away. But Ferdie had been conked unconscious soon after the start of the attack. Fortunately, Gracie's reaction was the exact same thing, so the world was not deprived of its occurrence.

        Bobetta reacted not much better, turning and fleeing as Ferdia and Squeaks fell and Ivan surrendered to the pirates. Unfortunately, she ran right into a waiting pirate.

        Bob heroically ran to her aid, leaving Beak behind. However, before he reached her, he was snatched up from behind by a rather large pirate, who held our hero beyond booting-length a frightening distance from the ground. Beak would have gladly helped get Bob out of this predicament, but he himself was in a choke-hold, courtesy of a pirate who had stepped in when Bob darted off to help Bobetta. The Hooties tried their best to boot the pirates away, but even from their doubles' shoulders, they were no more than an annoyance to the pirates.

        Bob frantically looked around for someone else that could help him. Hadn't they brought anyone else? They had to have brought someone else. They were the Good Guys, and someone always arrived in the Nick of Time to help the Good Guys win, right? The Good Guys always won, right? They didn't lose. They never lose.

        Right?

***************


        Captain Biggs took a moment to survey his catch as they were dumped onto the deck of the Bloody Mary. The Silver Princess, his men informed him, hadn't been carrying any cargo – well, none aside from the crystal gifts on deck, and those had all been demolished in the battle. Moreover, the Silver herself had just slipped beneath the ocean's surface, leaving only bits of flotsam and a small yellow thing bobbing on the surface.

        That meant the only true catch they would get from the raid consisted of the prisoners on the deck in front of him.

        He surveyed them critically. For all the damage they had done to his crew – and they had done some considerable damage to those that had boarded the Silver – they were not all that worse for wear. He had to give their captain credit - as ferociously as they'd fought, the bird had surrendered as soon as his best fighters had been overwhelmed. The gray captain and the cabin boys were relatively unscathed – although the odd mammalian boy's knuckles were bleeding, and he was pretty sure the lad had hurt his wrist. The lady was completely unharmed, cowering timidly behind the yellow bird that had protected her, who boasted a handful of cuts and bruises but nothing else. The brown bird beside him had rather nasty bruises from the choke-hold the crew member who caught him put him in, and his left eye was swollen shut. The flier had no injuries aside from her wing – although that might change, he noted, as she was still diligently trying to squirm out of the hold her captor held her in. The serving wench had fainted, and the blue buffoon would wake up with a headache and little else to complain about.

        In truth, the only members of the captured crew he worried about were the naval officers. They had fought the hardest, and had thus invited the most fighters. Moreover, they hadn't stopped fighting even after it became obvious that they had lost. While that spoke well of their training, it hadn't treated them well. Bruised and bleeding, their unconscious forms drew no small amount of concerned attention from their colleagues, but aside from a newly-nicked ear and a tattered array of tail feathers, there appeared to be no long-term injuries.

        As Biggs paced the deck, debating the best course of action from here, the two began to gradually come to. By the time they were aware of their surroundings, Biggs had made his decisions. The gray bird, captain of the sunken vessel, carried himself as one with money would. Biggs was certain the bird would pay his way – and that of his cabin boys, whom he seemed rather protective of – to freedom. He had no real use for the wench, but he was certain his crew would object if he proposed tossing her out to sea, so he supposed he would have to keep her aboard, bad luck or no, until they came to port. Judging by the unfriendly glares he was getting from the naval officers – not to mention how desperately and dedicatedly they had fought off his crew – he would be putting them to sea in a longboat. His crew might prefer they walk the plank, but Biggs felt they deserved at least a sporting chance. If they fought the sea half as well as they had fought his crew, he was certain they would make it to some shore safely. The lady would, of course, be ransomed to her father for a hearty sum of money. Her two protectors, however, were of no real use to him, and he needed to make someone walk the plank, or his crew was likely to mutiny. They hadn't made anyone walk the plank in ages.

***************

        “They broke my sign,” the kiwi cowering behind him whimpered.

        “It's okay, kid,” Ivan sighed, giving his sign holder a reassuring pat on the head when he was certain none of the heroes were watching. “We'll get out of this.”

        “I dunno, sir,” Lita whispered, tugging at her cut-offs in an unsuccessful attempt to make them more substantial, “I've seen what pirates are like. We're probably only alive now because they've got something extra-nasty planned for us later. Especially since we didn't have any cargo for them to loot…”

        Ivan suppressed a groan. “Thanks ever so much for those words of encouragement, furball. You've really rallied the troops here.” He indicated the sign holder, who was now visibly trembling.

        “But I've seen-” she began.

        “-Nothing of this world's pirates,” Ivan cut her off, “These thugs may look a little strange by modern standards, but they're still out for money. And they won't kill anyone they can ransom.”

        “And they can ransom us?” the sign holder finished.

        “-Actually, no,” Ivan conceded. “But they'll probably send you ashore to collect a ransom from my associates,” he theorized, “And they'll need you alive for that.”

        “But your friends-” Lita began.

        “Can take care of themselves,” he nodded confidently. “Bob's an ex-spy, Beak's some big-shot Magi, Bobetta's obviously rich, and Iiwi's not as lame as she looks. She won't be able to fly far, but given the chance, she would be able to fly away.”

        “And the others?”

        Ivan cast a somewhat concerned glance at the two still-unconscious cops. “They can fend for themselves well enough. There's still a raft within swimming distance, if they can make it over the ship's side…”

        “And they're not my friends,” he added, glaring reproachfully at the rabbit.

***************

        Sounds came first – muffled, garbled, but gradually drawing nearer, louder, clearer. The smell of salt, sweat, and blood came next, borne on a light breeze that brought with it an awareness of the sun's heat. And light. Bright, stabbing light. Scrunching his eyes shut tighter and flattening his ears back didn't help much – the sensory input just kept coming. And the newest arrival was a dull, throbbing pain.

        Squeaks awoke to a devil of a headache.

        He was certain there was more to it than that – injuries he'd feel later, when he did something brazenly foolish, such as attempting to move. But the headache was more than enough for now. It reminded him that, last he could remember, he and Ferdia were being overpowered by a bloody bunch of….well...badly-dressed thugs. He opened his eyes slowly, wincing as the bright sunlight made his head throb even more.

        He was on the deck of a ship – an old wooden sailing ship that most likely belonged to the aforementioned badly-dressed thugs. The others were clustered nearby, somewhat worse for the wear but none really injured aside from Iiwi. Bob and Beak were guarding Bobetta, Gracie, and a still-unconscious Ferdie; Ivan was hovering protectively over his wards (while trying his best not to look like he was hovering protectively over his wards); Iiwi was squawking indignantly as some thug held her in a full-body hold. Somebody – it had to be Ferdia, as she was the only one unaccounted for – was thrown across him. He turned his head, trying to get an idea of how badly injured they had emerged from the battle on the yacht. They were battered and bruised, but there seemed to be no broken bones between them, as far as he could tell, and with luck most of the drying blood belonged to the thugs that had attacked them. And while Ferdia still wasn't moving, he could feel her breathing, and that was reassuring.

        A low murmur went through the thugs nearby as he slowly pushed himself into a half-sitting position – as far as he could rise without disturbing Ferdia. Squeaks rubbed at his temples, trying to will the headache away. It worked to an extent, retreating to become more of a general whole-body ache. He glanced around at the thugs. They were all clad in clothing that was best described as tattered, faded, and very similar to but much less colorful than the costumes Bob, Beak, and Ferdie wore. They looked, in short, like Hollywood pirates. Filthy, sunburned, murderous Hollywood pirates, whose battle scars looked rather frighteningly real. The battle-weary skull and crossbones flying from the mizzenmast didn't help much, either. It occurred to him that, given all he'd yet to learn about this world and the endless ingenuity and stupidity most criminals were capable of, these pirates just might be real. He scowled, glaring at the world in general. The pirates around him shifted nervously, edging away from him a bit. Well, good. At least he and Ferdia'd put up enough of a fight earlier to command some sort of respect – or at least wariness – now.

        Ferdia stirred, causing more nervous skittering amongst the pirates nearest them. Some even found excuses to move to another part of the ship. She awoke with a groan, blinking the world into focus much as he had and shaking her head clear as she sat up.

***************

        Rats. Wharf rats, prairie rats, water rats, wood rats, tube rats – you name it, the crew had it. And shrews, ferrets, mongoose, otters, a variety of sooty gulls, and a sandpiper or two. All caked and filthy. All looking mean and nasty and generally unfriendly. And all surrounding them.

        She didn't remember losing. Oh, sure, she remembered running out of ammo and not having enough time to snap in another clip. And she remembered Squeaks running into the same problem moments later, joining her in the now hand-to-heavily-armed-filth-encrusted-hand brawl. And she remembered the number of brawlers swelling beyond her line of sight, to the point where she'd stopped focusing on targets simply because she couldn't miss connecting with an attacker, regardless of where she aimed a punch or kick. A rather nasty bruise at the base of her skull was the only evidence she had as to the means of her defeat. Although it hardly looked like it mattered now.

        She shifted her hip, testing to see if her gun was still there. It was – stuck in her waistband, and no doubt hidden from view by the costume jacket she'd grabbed as the ship was boarded. The jackets were, after all, where she and Squeaks had stashed their holsters and extra ammo. She glanced over at Squeaks – he had his jacket as well. Good. Judging from the fact that she still had her piece, they evidently hadn't been searched, which meant there just might be a way out of this, if they got the chance…

        Scanning the crowd of pirates again, she caught sight of a large, muscle-bound marten standing off to the side of the rear deck, thoughtfully scanning the clustered captives. Judging by his relative cleanliness – his clothes were worn, but not tattered and filthy, and she was fairly certain the grayish-brown color of his fur was real and not just an artifact of grime – this was their leader. Their captain, as it were.

        Good. She needed to yell at someone.

        She'd just opened her beak when Squeaks' hand clamped it shut again. She shot him a warning glare, but the look turned curious at his concerned expression. He nodded his head in a barely-perceptible 'no,' slowly withdrawing his hand.

        “What?” she queried softly, glancing around. What had she missed?

        “I'd be quiet if I were you,” he advised, “I don't think they've figured you out yet.”

        Now she was just confused. “What?”

        He nodded towards where Bobetta and Gracie were huddled. “Look at how they look at them, versus how they look at us.”

        “They're afraid of us, but not of them,” she shrugged, “So what? We put up quite a fight; they didn't.”

        He shook his head. “Look again.”

        She did. The pirates clustered closely around the kiwi and her maid, laughing as Bob and Beak swatted them away. The pirates nearest her and Squeaks seemed more interested in staying out of their reach. She cocked an eyebrow at Squeaks. “Still not getting it. What am I missing?”

        The mouse sighed. “They don't know you're female.”

        Ferdia blinked. Well, that would be another way of explaining the thugs' behavior. Her feathers ruffled in anger. Not feminine enough for them, eh? Too masculine in a pair of trousers and a jacket, was she? Well, let's just see how manly they felt after she'd kicked them in the-

        Squeaks noticed her glowering. “Don't take it the wrong way, eh? All I meant was, these costumes are a bit bulky, and our captors seem to be the sort that identify women and men based on who's swathed in skirts and who's carrying weapons.”

        She looked skeptical. “What about Iiwi? They're not ogling her, and judging by the shouts of 'shut up, wench!' they know she's female.”

        “She's already proved she's dangerous. No one that's gone near her has gotten away without a set of talon-marks slashed deep into their hides. Besides,” he shrugged, “She's a Flier. Most of this crew's mammalian. I doubt she's more than an oversized parrot to them. She'll be fine. You, on the other hand, would be putting yourself in even more danger than we're already in.”

        Ferdia pondered this for a moment. “Squeaks, that is really touching.” She blinked. “I'll have to smack you for it later.”

***************

        Bob was worried. Not *too* worried – they were the Good Guys, after all, so there was no doubt that things would work out just fine in the end – but worried, nonetheless. These pirate-y villains were rather mean-looking, and their rescue fleet was nowhere in sight. Oh, he didn't doubt for a second that help was on the way. But he did wish it would hurry.

        He and Bobetta and Beak would be fine, of course. He was a Hero, after all, and Bobetta was his fiancé, and everybody knew that nothing bad ever happened to the Hero's fiancé. Beak was more of a comedic sidekick than a hero, but he was still a Good Guy, and therefore would doubtless also be fine, although perhaps there would be a bit of wacky and somewhat scary hijinks beforehand. Ferdie and the cops would probably be fine, too. Ferdie was the comic relief, after all, and would no doubt escape certain doom simply by running around and screaming and falling prey to no end of hilarious mishaps that somehow swung him out of harm's way. The cops were backup, reinforcements, even allies. Good Guys, but not the main Heroes. If he had his movie plots right, they'd probably wind up on some side adventure, still fine in the end but separated from the rest of the group for most of the adventure.

        He wasn't so sure about Gracie, though. She was more of an extra, after all, and reminded him of the girl that generally got killed in the first ten minutes of a horror movie. He'd have to make sure Beak protected her. Ivan was most likely doomed, him being Evil and all. He might last a while, seeing as how he sometimes helped out the forces of Good, but he was and would always be Evil, and everyone knew Bad Guys got it in the end. Even if they converted to Good, they sometimes didn't make it. It was one of the hazards of being Evil. He almost felt sorry for the sign holder and rabbit, but they knew Ivan was Evil, so there really was no excuse for them.

        Nope, Evil was Doomed. And these pirates were all undeniably Evil. And thus Doomed. The forces of Good would triumph once again, and all would be well. Soon, he hoped. After all, Good always triumphed over Evil in the end, regardless of how spectacularly Evil seemed to be doing up to that point.

        Still. He was getting worried.

***************

        Well, the naval officers were up. And planning their escape already, he saw. That was quick. Idly, Biggs wondered if any of the imbeciles that had hauled them onto the deck had actually bothered relieving them of their weapons. He continued observing the pair from the rear deck, masked by the rest of the crew, but it quickly became apparent that they had already spotted him and deduced his rank. As had the Silver's grey-feathered owner, who was openly glaring at him. The two cabin boys stood behind him, steadily getting bolder – the small kiwi snapped at the crew nearest him, and the taller lad went so far as to backhand a pirate that had tugged at his curiously long ears. The rest of the captured crew remained oblivious to all but those pirates nearest them, struggling to keep the women out of reach.

        First things first, then. If they were armed, there was no reason to give the officers time to reload. Biggs made his way down to the middle deck and approached them. They were on their feet the instant he moved.

        “Well, now,” he began, waving his men back, lest another battle break out. He turned to the officers, giving them his most winning smile and spreading his hands in a gesture of good faith, “Ye two certainly put up a fight back there! Speaks well of yer training, it does. I take ye for men of reason, so ye've no doubt already realized the fightin' part's over with, now. It'd only get you killed, after all. And if we'd wanted that, we'd've left ye to sink with yer ship.”

        The bluebird muttered something under his breath. Biggs couldn't make it out, but the pair's glares were enough to tell him it was doubtless an expression of contrary belief. They didn't believe him. Well, he wouldn't have believed it himself, in their place. It was, after all, only meant to be an opener. “Ye needn't worry o'er yer mates; there's nothing ye could do to alter their fates now. But I assure ye, we wouldn'ae bring a soul aboard just to end them – well, not unless they had besmirched us, which is hardly true of that lot there. They be bound for ransom and servitude, nothin' more.” No response.

        “Enough pleasantries, then. I can see ye can't be bothered with such. Straight to business. I'll say me piece, and ye'll let me know where ye stand.” Gods, how this accent bothered him at times. It made him sound uneducated, and always snuck into his words somehow. But if they didn't understand him, it would be easy enough to find someone on board who spoke a different tongue.

        The cold stares continued. “Ye *do* speak the King's English, yes?” he ventured. Two curt nods answered him. “Ah, I thought so. I figure ye for navy men, but yer colors are wrong for Britannia. Colonials, perhaps?” A brief glance between the two, then the slightest nod from the bird. And yet the glares continued. “Not much fer manners, are ye?” he prodded.

        Still no response. Biggs sighed. No manners at all, these Colonials. Perhaps the Americas were simply unfit for something so civilized. “Very well then. I tender ye an offer to join my crew.”

        “And we reject your offer,” the mouse cut in. Beside him, the bluebird nodded his assent.

        “Ye should at least take a moment to consider my offer,” Biggs chided them. But his suggestion was met with the same hate-filled glares; it was obvious they'd made their decision long before he'd asked. “So be it, then,” he sighed. “If ye'll not join us, ye'll be put to sea again. Boatswain!” he called to a scraggly hamster on the lower deck, “Fetch down a longboat!”

        He turned back to the naval officers as his crew set to work preparing the longboat, ushering them down the deck more by subtle herding and sword-point than manhandling. “Ye'll be given a flask o' drinking water and a day's rations,” he informed them as they reached the hastily-prepared boat being slowly lowered into the water, “Ye defended yer ship well; ye've earned that much.”

        His crew clustered around them expectantly, pressing the two in a defensive stance. Biggs imagined neither of them was too keen on the idea of getting run through or thrown overboard. Still, this was the most action his crew had seen in weeks, and he was hardly about to stop them. He'd given the officers their chance, after all. He watched as one of the younger pirates removed the bit of wood that blocked the break in the side rail an instant before the massed crew charged the two captives. Both took an instinctive step back, and would have taken another, had their heels not met with the end of the deck. Cornered, they tried to meet the attack – but last-minute bloodletting was not the charging crew's objective. They simply bull-charged into the pair, knocking them backwards off the side of the ship.

        Biggs heard their startled cries as they tumbled over the edge – and the muted thuds as they landed in the forgotten longboat still tethered in the water at the ship's side. His crew pressed against the side rail, peering over the edge and laughing uproariously at the officers' surprised expressions. Had they truly believed they were being thrown to the sharks? Really, now. If nothing else, Biggs was a man of honor – when he promised a longboat, he kept that promise. Making his way to a clear patch of railing, he leaned over to address them once more. “I wish ye a safe journey,” he bade them, cutting the line tethering the longboat, “May the sea treat your courage with kindness.”

***************

        Okay. Bob was really worried now. Those Evil pirates had just thrown Ferdia and Squeaks overboard! And now they were headed for him! The forces of Good were in peril!

        This called for drastic measures. He shouted to Beak (over the sounds of Bobetta and Gracie's renewed screaming) that perhaps the Magi might want to wake up Ferdie. The tall kiwi looked rather unconvinced that this was a good idea, but what Beak failed to realize was that a screaming, panicking Ferdie was a brilliant diversionary tactic, as it put one more person between them and the pirates. He debated letting Beak in on this piece of information, but decided against it in the end. Beak would probably object to it on moral grounds.

        A few feet away, Beak was busily slapping Ferdie in an effort to wake him up. Now, Bob would have thought Magi had special mind-speaking ways of waking someone up, but perhaps Beak was conserving his energy.

                As Bob surveyed the area for more people to place in the line of fire – er, for more survivors of the pirates' attack - he noticed a tiny, saucer-shaped ship zoom up from the water and into the clouds. Well, count the Hooties out of this adventure. He supposed it was for the best – they were too small to really be effective against the pirates; and besides, they couldn't just let their ship sink. They'd never find it again…

***************

        Ferdie woke up to the sound of someone screaming.

        Now, normally, this would have been no big deal – had he been the one screaming. Professional coward that he was, he never let little things like the possible absence of actual danger stop him from being prepared, so he often woke up screaming even if he hadn't had a nightmare. It would, after all, have been utterly unprofessional to awaken from a nightmare without screaming. And there was always the chance that some maniac or what-have-you would be in his room, standing over him, ready to maim him in some way once he woke up. The screaming could possibly startle said maniac, or at least make him feel appreciated. But, I digress. The point is, Ferdie waking up to the sound of someone screaming is not unusual if it is Ferdie doing the screaming. All other scenarios mean definite trouble.

        He quickly realized it was Bobetta and Gracie screaming, then noticed Bobetta's yacht had evidently undergone quite a growth spurt while he was unconscious, for it now sported three masts, dozens of sails, and a great deal of filthy men that could not possibly – under any situations at all, regardless of charitable intentions – be Bobetta's servants. It then occurred to him that Beak was still slapping him, so he took a minute to inform the Magi that he was fully awake now and if the kiwi hit him again, he would be forced to throw Beak overboard. This had its desired effect, as it made Beak drop him and begin laughing uncontrollably. Feeling slighted, Ferdie took stock of their situation.

        Hmm. A horde of smelly pirates was striding rather menacingly towards him, and Bob and Beak were already busily forming a protective shield around Bobetta and Gracie that they would not let him join. The Hooties were nowhere to bee seen, but Ivan was standing off to one side with his wards, and Iiwi was busily sharpening her talons on every living creature that approached her or the pirate that held her. He couldn't locate his sister and Squeaks; a few seconds of listening to Gracie's screaming and looking in the direction of Bobetta's frantic gesturing in clued him into the fact that their primary offensive weapons had been set adrift in a rowboat.

        Well. Surrounded by pirates on an enemy vessel in the middle of nowhere, with no weapons, no phone, and your two best fighters rapidly approaching a mile off the port bow. Only one thing to do in a situation like that, he decided.

        He promptly started screaming.

***************

        Biggs turned his attention away from the strange silvery object flying high above when the screaming started anew. The blue bird had apparently awoken and begun screaming again, which only led the women to scream more hysterically and point off to the longboat. The bird was not simply screaming; he was shouting something at the longboat - though what, Biggs couldn't quite hear. It occurred to him that this young man – while rather clownishly dressed, like the two protecting the women – bore a strong resemblance to the avian naval officer. A younger brother, perhaps?

        No matter. He gave the order to knock the bird out again, and began making his way over to the huddled group. Time to split them up, he decided. They needed to be shown escape was not an option, and that wailing would do nothing other than give everyone headaches. *Especially* the wailer. He began instructing his crew on what to do with the various captives. The lady would, of course, be kept in his cabin, as it was the most luxurious room aboard the ship, and thus the one her refined sensibilities would have the least problems with. He didn't need her Daddy thinking she'd been mistreated, after all. He had enough of a price on his head as it was. The wench would go down below – he didn't care where. He knew his crew would know where she was, even if he didn't, and he doubted she'd remain in the brig even if he ordered that she not be moved from there. The captain and cabin boys would of course go to the brig, as would the other men – if the crew didn't decide to simply torment those three. At present, it looked as if the two defending the women might simply walk the plank; the screaming lad was swiftly becoming a candidate for keel-hauling. He didn't much care what became of the red Flier, either; she would be harmless once her wings were clipped.

        As his crew moved to surround their captives, the bluebird did something wholly unexpected: he broke for cover, dodging across the line of pirates in a mad flight to the other side of the ship. Looking back on it, Biggs swore the move had been part of a coordinated effort, a bizarre fighting strategy of sorts. The unexpected move startled the crew, and they – thinking the bird armed – jostled out of his path, trying to find the logic in the move. The moment's confusion was enough, however. The grey captain leapt at the pirate restraining the Flier, knocking the man's hold loose enough to free her wings, and she fluttered about madly as her former captor clamped an iron grip on her talons. The man knew better than to let go of the bird - the damage she had dealt out while captured had been bad enough; the damage to his person should she break free now would be much worse. As she half-dragged the man across the deck, the grey captain and the cabin boys made their way to the longboat on the far side of the ship; no easy task, as pirates blocked their path every step of the way. Meanwhile, the second the bluebird had broken for cover, the two birds defending the women had sprung forward, knocking their immediate captors out of the way.

        For the first time, Biggs got a good look at the tall brown bird's sword: it glowed as if it were a blade of pure light. It cleft most of his pirates' blades in twain like a hot knife through fresh butter, and pistols fared no better. He decided it would be best if he avoided this blade; as if anticipating this, the bird deliberately sought him out, weaving through the crowded battle now in full swing on the poop deck. Biggs was so caught up in avoiding that fearsome light-blade that he failed to pay attention to where his path was leading.

        He heard a shriek as he trod on the dress – and delicate foot – of the lady, and as she fell to the deck, clutching her ankle, he saw naught but a swiftly moving yellow blur. The yellow bird plowed into him, knocking him off-balance and making the wind rush out of him; but the bird was still moving, booting away at incredible speed and loudly shrieking an avian battle-screech. One of his crew got a pistol shot off, nicking the back of the bird's head an instant before a particularly beefy pirate landed a solid punch to the bird's temples. However, Biggs' momentum and that imparted by the attacking bird sent him into the railing, precariously balanced and desperately flailing to regain his footing.

        The tall brown bird, however, was having none of that. As Biggs' pirates countered the yellow bird's attack, the brown bird suddenly appeared in front of the captain, swiftly delivering an elbow punch that sent the marten toppling over the rail.

        Biggs flew through the air briefly before hitting the cold water with a large splash. The height of his fall and the speed he hit the water at – not to mention the near belly-flop he landed in – stunned the pirate captain, and when his prone form surfaced, it was by virtue of sea and buoyancy alone. By the time Biggs came to his senses, the Bloody Mary was a good three hundred feet away. By the sounds emanating from her, the battle still raged; no one had noticed his fall, or they had been too occupied to do anything about it.

        The ocean was far colder and saltier than he remembered it, and it sapped his energy quickly. He could feel his strength waning. The Bloody Mary was traveling too fast for him to catch up, he realized. Turning, he struck out in the direction of the ruined Silver Princess. The frail ship herself had sunk, but she had left behind bits of driftwood and floating barrels and whatnot that just might support his weight.

        His crew would notice his absence in a matter of minutes, and turn back to reclaim him. This he knew. And he would be there. He just needed a floating bit to rest on first.

***************

        Booting the nearest pirate away, Beak took a minute to look around for Bob. It had been a while since he'd fought so many tough opponents, and the day's battles were quite invigorating. However, Bob was his friend, and he felt he should make sure the kiwi was all right. He had taken a rather nasty blow to the head, after all.

        He found Bob lying unconscious on the deck near Bobetta. Evidently the large pirate's rather hefty fisticuff had knocked the smaller kiwi right out. Beak made a decision then – this battle was over. He sent out the mental command immediately, yelling it in MindSpeak to every last pirate. Seizing control of their tiny, under-stimulated criminal brains, he inserted the instruction that Beak Must Be Obeyed; seconds later, the fighting ground to a halt as pirates froze in the act of attacking, looked about themselves in confusion, and turned to look at him for instruction. All but a few individuals complied with the command. Ivan and his wards – and, surprisingly, Gracie, who wielded her stiletto heels like a pair of Japanese Sai – quickly dispatched the remainder, until the only pirate still fighting was the one clinging desperately to Iiwi. Evidently his mind was strong enough to reject the call to peace in favor of the will to live (or at least the desire to not be horribly maimed), for he could not be pried off the Flier.

        Satisfied that no attacks would be coming soon, Beak turned back to Bob, slowly prodding the wounded kiwi back into consciousness. Bob had a rather nasty gash just above one eye – from the bullet that nicked him, no doubt – and Beak moved the kiwi's fake eye-patch over that eye to keep the blood out of it until the wound stopped bleeding. Aside from that, the kiwi appeared to have nothing more than what was most likely a rather nasty, headache-inducing concussion.

***************

        “Bob?” a voice called. “Are you okay? Bob?”

        Bob. Yes. That was him, wasn't it? He supposed he should get up and answer the person calling him. Just to tell them to shut up and get him something for this headache…

        Ah. There. A tall brown kiwi in pirate gear, with about 10 pounds of silver chains draped around his neck. Beak, his mind supplied. This is Beak. Beak is your friend. He's a bit of a stupid kiwi, and he's obsessed with bananas, but at least he can fight, which is more than, say, Ferdie can do.

        He glanced around, taking stock of his situation. He was on the middle 'poop' deck of a huge, three-masted ship. Pirates milled around everywhere, looking to him and to Beak for some indication of what exactly it was they should be doing. Halfway up the mizzenmast, fifty feet above the deck, his arms and legs wrapped around the mast in a fashion that reminded the kiwi of a frightened bear cub, was Ferdie. The bluebird appeared to be meekly mentioning that things looked all clear from up there, but he didn't think he could get down without getting a tail-full of splinters, and could someone maybe lend him a hand? Next to him, the beautiful lady, Bobetta, wept, clutching at her foot while a wench – Gracie? Yes, that was her name – tried to calm her down. Further down the deck, a red bird – Iiwi – kicked at a pirate that refused to let her go, while a his arch-nemesis, Ivan, ordered his wards to prepare a longboat. These were the only people that were not dressed in pirate gear, which made sense, of course - obviously, they were not pirates.

        He looked down at his own pirate clothing, dusting it off as he stood and adjusted his eye patch. He took a minute to collect his thoughts before coming to a startling conclusion: he had none. He could not remember what had happened, or what it was he had been doing, or even what it was he generally did. He felt a strong urge for coffee, and was aware that he personally knew everyone his mind had named. These were obviously the important people. Beak was his friend. Ferdie worked for him, doing bookkeeping and research and other vaguely important things that did not require a spine. Iiwi helped them out, when it suited her. Ivan was his arch-nemesis, his biggest enemy.

        Okay. First thing's first. One: he loved Bobetta. Two: Ivan was his enemy. Three: Ivan and Iiwi were trying to get off the ship. Four: the ship was a pirate ship. Five: he was obviously a pirate. He had the clothes, the eye patch, the fake leg, and some green feathers on his vest that suggested that, until recently, he had also had a parrot.

        This led to two obvious conclusions. One: since his and Beak's clothes weren't as badly torn and faded as the rest of the pirates' (with the exception of Ferdie, but he didn't really count since he was obviously a pirate librarian or accountant or something), they must be the two ranking officers on this ship. Which meant he was the captain. Two: since Ivan and Iiwi were obviously trying to get off his ship, they must be escaping. And since Ivan was his enemy, this was a thing that must be stopped.

        “Fiend!” Bob yelled, leveling an accusing finger at Ivan, “Seize him!”

        The pirates, who really had nothing better to do, moved to obey. Most looked to Beak first, as if looking for permission, but then went ahead and seized an irate Ivan and his sign holder and Lita, the rabbit. As an afterthought, Bob ordered a handful of pirates to get Ferdie down from the mast. He left Iiwi alone for now; the pirate holding her looked like he had things pretty much under control.

***************

        Bob was acting strangely, Beak noted. He seemed confused. Like he had just walked in on the battle and was trying to figure out who people were and what they were doing and what should be done about it. Beak supposed that must be something that the concussion was causing. Still, why seize Ivan, he asked Bob.

        “Because he is my enemy!”

        It occurred to Beak that, in Bob's confusion, he might be forgetting some things, like who had attacked him. He quickly reminded Bob that Ivan hadn't attacked him, and that a mammal had.

        Bob looked thoughtful. “Was it an attempted mutiny?” he asked.

        “Mutiny?” Beak repeated.

        “Absolutely. I am obviously the captain of this ship. Therefore, if a pirate attacked me, it must have been mutiny.”

        Now Beak was confused. Was this part of Bobetta's birthday game? He was a little unclear as to how these things were supposed to work. Birthdays and birthday parties he understood. Themed birthday expeditions, however, were something new. Bob had explained earlier in the day (several times, in fact) that they were going to pretend to be pirates at Bobetta's birthday party. This had confused Beak – pirates were supposed to be bad – but Bob had said it was all okay because it was all pretend. Now, the attack on the yacht had seemed pretty real to Beak – but, he supposed, so did a lot of movie scenes, and he was vaguely aware of the fact that Bobetta had enough money to hire movie people if she wanted to, so maybe it was like that. If it was, he was really going to need to apologize to some of the pirate actors. He hoped he hadn't maimed anyone too permanently….

        The whole thing made no sense to Beak. But he knew Bob was good, and Bob was smart, and that the whole themed birthday party thing had made sense to Bob, so Bob was of course right. So if Bob said they were pirates, then they were pirates. He'd just keep control of the pirate actors' minds right now, so they wouldn't do anything that would surprise him and cause him to hurt any of them further. He didn't want Bobetta to get sued or anything.

        Wait. If he controlled the other pirates, didn't that make him captain?

        “I thought I was captain,” he said.

        Bob cocked his head to the side, frowning. “No, I'm pretty sure I was.”

        “I was captain before you woke up,” Beak ventured. Technically, he supposed. Besides, Bob had a head injury, and might have to go lie down. What fun would the party be then? Beak himself was still in excellent health, so he could be captain longer.

        “Well, not anymore.”

        “I'm the captain!” Beak protested.

        “No, I am!” Bob yelled.

        “No, *I* am!” Beak insisted.

        “I have a peg leg!” Bob pointed out.

        “Well, *I* have an eyepatch!”

        “So do I!”

        “But I have TWO of them!” Beak boasted, pointing to the eyepatch above his other eye. It wasn't down over his eye, but he supposed he could bring it down and be a blind captain if Bob insisted. The Great BaNAna would guide him.

        “Look, I'm obviously the captain,” Bob was beginning to get annoyed, “I even have a hook!”

        “Oh, yeah? *I* have a cheese grater!” Beak retorted, proudly displaying the device mounted on his left hand.

        Bob looked at the cheese grater incredulously. “A cheese grater?!? Whoever heard of a pirate captain with a cheese grater for a false hand?!?”

        “What?” Beak shrugged. “I was running out of utensils!”

        “I gotta admit,” Ferdie chimed in, “Bob certainly looks more like a pirate captain, Beak. You look more like the First Mate.”

        “Excellent!” Bob cheered. “Give yourself a little extra gold next pay, Ferdie!”

        “Really?” Ferdie asked, amazed at Bob's sudden generosity, “Thanks!”

        Now Beak was *really* confused. But controlling all those pirates was a real strain on his brain, making it harder for him to think clearly or abstractly. Besides, Ferdie was playing along with the game too, so he supposed it was all right.

        And all those pirates' minds….their pirate-y thoughts….he could play-act this easily.

***************

        Ferdie wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but he would've bet his paycheck Bob really did think he was a pirate captain. It was the only thing that explained what he was doing, and it also accounted for the 'gold' comment. And Bob *had* gotten a rather solid whack upside the head during their brief second battle. He might not have his books to consult, but he was fairly certain that the most common injury resulting from a blow to the head was a concussion – and the best-known side-effect of a concussion was, of course, amnesia. Varying levels of it, to be certain, but he was fairly certain cases like this weren't completely unheard of.

        He couldn't remember how you cured amnesia. In movies, they whacked the amnesiac upside the head again, and that cured them, but that sounded ridiculous. How could inflicting a second head injury clear up the problems caused by the first one? That just wasn't sound science. He could vaguely remember some stories where they had psychics come in and use Ouija boards to reverse the effect. He could also remember numerous accounts of it just wearing off as time went by and the concussion healed, and times where showing the person familiar places and photos jarred their memory.

        And a few times where the person never got their memory back at all.

        Well, until he figured out how to fix Bob's amnesia, he was just going to have to play along. Beak was obviously mind-controlling the pirates, so they were no real danger – but it also meant the Magi's IQ was largely in use, and that much like a computer running out of memory, Beak would be about as intelligent as a potted plant. Ivan was obviously getting pissed, but he'd try to explain things to the villain later. Right now, he really needed to get Iiwi to go bring back his sister….

        ….before they lost track of her and Squeaks and that tiny boat forever.

***************

        Iiwi was furious. This was ridiculous! Amnesiac or not, Bob was out of control and needed to be stopped!

        Nobody was listening to her. Ivan had been dragged below, his two wards trailing behind the pirates, protesting loudly, and by the sounds that had followed, a fight had broken out. The pirates had later returned, bruised, and informed them that Ivan and the others had been shut up in the brig. They'd then asked what to do with her, and Bob had suggested putting her in the brig as well. She'd had none of that. There was no force on this earth that was going to get her down in that dark, dank little box, and nothing in creation that would get her into an iron-barred cage on top of that. She shrieked and kicked and clawed and made as much of a nuisance of herself as possible. The pirate holding her leg kept her from escaping to the crow's nest or some other out-of-reach perch, but the rest of the crew had gotten the general idea: they approached her at mortal peril. At that point, Bob had changed his orders to allow for simply shooting her.

        Bobetta and Gracie had, surprisingly, come to her rescue there. Good. It was nice to see they had some sense between them. However, while their panicked shrieks and flailing about had distracted the pirates for a time, they were quickly subdued. It was obvious that Bob remembered his love for Bobetta, but he apparently had no idea who or what Gracie was, and didn't really care for her at all. And Bobetta's slapping him across the face hadn't helped his mood any. She was currently tied to the mast, piteously pleading with Bob to untie her. Ferdie looked worried, but he was too much of a coward to do anything about it. That would, after all, put him in danger, and he'd never do that unless he was already in danger. Beak, for his part, looked wholly unconcerned about the whole thing. He'd apparently decided to go along with whatever Bob said, and Iiwi was fairly certain he was the one controlling the suddenly-obedient pirates, who had yet to object to their captain's disappearance or Bob's sudden authority.

        In all the screaming and slapping, Bob seemed to have forgotten about her. She perched on the ship's rail quietly, keeping an eye out for any pirates that took it into their heads to try to capture her, and continued to pry her captor's fingers off her leg. While this was proving more difficult than it ought to be – she half-wondered if he had locked up his tendons or had a wooden hand or something – it was something she could do while keeping a low profile. And, up to that point, if that was all that was going to happen, she'd almost have been accepting of Bob's behavior. Furious, perhaps, but as long as no harm was coming to anyone – or at least not to her - she could have tolerated it long enough for them to have put in to port. Then she would have beaten Bob and Beak and Ferdie senseless.

        However, Bob had just ordered Gracie lashed to the bowsprit – the long, pointed lead at the front of the ship. It seemed the Bloody Mary had no proper figurehead, and Bob aimed to fix that. And as securing Gracie to the bow of the ship would be rather difficult on open sea, what with all the bobbing and pitching of the waves, the bowsprit would simply have to do. This met with no objections from Beak or the crew, and while Ferdie did attempt – however timidly – to persuade Bob not to go through with it, the kiwi didn't listen. No one, in fact, seemed to mind at all. Well, except for Gracie, who was screaming and kicking and had beaten the pirates with her stilettos so desperately that the heels had snapped off.

        This. Was. Madness.

        As she squawked her protests, however, Bob seemed to remember he had ordered her shot, and sicced a fresh set of pirates on her. This was too much, really. She could take this sort of thing from Ivan, or Ozzie, or any one of hundreds of villains and cheats and evildoers and what-have-you, but not from Bob Kiwi. Villains were supposed to backstab and double-cross and turn on you. Heroes weren't. She felt betrayed.

        She also felt incredibly angry. Like hell he was going to shoot *her*! She leapt into the air, beating her wings to gain some altitude and ignoring the pain as best she could. Between the pain and the pirate dangling from her leg, however, her leap over the rail got her about a meter over the side of the ship before she began plummeting. Normally, this would have been a bad thing; however, her captor landed with a rather heavy crunch! on the railing. In a rather sensitive area. With a cry of agony, he released her, oozing back over the railing and curling into a ball, whimpering.

        Iiwi cupped her wings, turning her fall into a dive, snapping them open a few feet from the ocean's surface and quickly speeding away from the ship. A couple hundred feet out – sufficiently far away to be out of the pirates' firing range, she wagered – she tilted her wings back, climbing along an updraft. Powered flight was agony on her injured wing, but gliding would at least be sustainable for a while. As she climbed, she cast a glance back at the ship. Returning now was out of the question – they'd shoot her as soon as she was in range. And she did not need another bullet lodged in her wing. Gliding was hard enough as it was right now. She'd just have to hope Beak and Ferdie could rein Bob in before he did any real damage to the rest of the group.

        The updraft fizzled, and she leveled out, gliding away from the ship. Where to go? She couldn't see land from here – they were too far out – and she'd gotten far too turned around in all the confusion. The sun hung a bit off-center in the sky, but that didn't help her much. As far out as they were, and with her injured wing, she doubted she could make it to the mainland – or even far enough in to be rescued by fishermen. She circled slowly, debating what to do. Fly to the ship and face certain death, or fly eastward to certain death?

        Wait. There was one other option. Fast as she was, the schooner was still much slower than the yacht had been. And she was fairly certain they'd been traveling southwest. So….the wrecked Silver Princess would be northeast of here.

        And the rowboat should be somewhere between her and it.

***************

        “What's that?” Ferdia cried, pointing at something in the distance.

        Squeaks paused in his rowing to glance at the bit of red floating amongst the waves. “Too far away to tell,” he ventured.

        Ferdia stood, shielding her eyes from the sun as she squinted out at the object. “Wish we still had those binoculars,” she muttered.

        “*I* wish we had a compass,” Squeaks replied. “We could be going in circles for all we know.”

        “Don't be silly. It's past noon, and we're keeping the sun at our backs – well, when it's not hidden behind a patch of clouds. We should be going east. It'll be easier once the stars are out.”

        “Perhaps.”

                “In the meantime, I want to know what that red thing is.”

        “A waste of time and energy.”

        “I don't think so. I mean, it's too bright for driftwood, too small for a buoy, and too buoyant to have been out here long. It's probably something from Bobetta's yacht. And the only thing I can think of from the yacht that would fit that description is a life preserver.”

        Squeaks arched an eyebrow at her. “You want to salvage a life preserver? We're in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean. If it sinks, we'll die of exposure or hypothermia long before anyone finds us, life preservers or no.”

        “You're forgetting something,” she smiled, wagging a finger at him, “This is *Bobetta* we're talking about. She stocked that yacht with deluxe, super-expensive *everything*. I'll bet that life preserver has everything from sunblock to satellite phones packed into it. And if it's got all that, I figure there might be survival gear hidden in there too. Rope cutters…signal flares…a compass…”

        “This would go faster if you'd help with the rowing, you know.”

        “Point.” She sat down again, taking up the second set of oars. This was a longboat, after all. And unlike rowboats, longboats were specifically designed for multiple rowers. They'd been rowing on and off for hours, but had yet to catch sight of anything – no ships, planes, or bits of land. This bit of floating junk was the first thing they'd come across, and if it was from the yacht, it at least meant they were getting somewhere. The Coast Guard would come looking for them when the Silver Princess failed to return in a day or so, and she wanted to be as close to the downed yacht's radio transmitter as possible.

        They rowed steadily towards the floating object, gaining on it slowly. It took a while, but they finally drew close enough to see what it was, and after a few more minutes' rowing, they were able to snag it with an oar and drag it aboard.

        Ferdia rummaged through the red preserver's many pockets. “Let's see…. flask of drinking water….vacuum sealed food packets….pack of gum…aspirin…ah! Here we go! A knife, some flares, and a compass.” She frowned. “No satellite phone or radio transmitter, though. That's a little disappointing.”

        “The compass is good, at least,” Squeaks volunteered, “we might not know where the yacht went down, but we do know that there's a several thousand miles of coastline to the east, and now we'll be able to keep an accurate heading.”

        “Great. Eastward-ho!” Ferdia yelled, packing the jacket with their meager pirate-supplied rations and resuming her post at the oars. “Say, Squeaks, how far out are we, you figure?”

        The mouse shook his head. “No idea. We were off-course before Gracie took the helm, and between rushing to meet Iiwi and running from the pirates – not to mention the time we were out on their ship – I lost track of which direction we were sailing.” He thought over the day's events as they rowed in silence for a few minutes, then turned to face his partner. “To be honest, though – given the ocean's currents, the wind, and the fact that we're going to slow down as we get tired – ”

        “You're not going gloom and doom on me, are you?” she frowned.

        Squeaks gave her a small smile. “It's a losing battle. We need to get as far east as possible, and preferably as close to the yacht as we can, before we tire out – because once we do, we'll be fighting just to stay in place.”

        Ferdia winced. “And here I thought this was supposed to be a vacation.”

***************

        “Damn!” Ivan swore, tossing the ruined dagger aside, “That's three blades this lock has snapped. Three!” He gave the barred door a sharp kick, then slammed shoulder-first into the chained break in the bars, jarring the lock. The rusted lock shuddered, but held the chain fast.

        “Maybe it's broken, Sir,” his sign holder volunteered, pausing in his search of the brig, “Or rusted so tight you have to be as big as a gorilla to pry it open.”

        “It certainly doesn't seem to have a key,” Lita added. “Nothing on any of these key rings fits it.”

        “Not even the one I lifted from the guy that threw us in here,” the sign holder grumbled.

        “Figures,” Ivan muttered. “A bunch of criminals would use a lock that couldn't be picked…damn them. Any luck with the door?”

        Across the brig, Lita paused in her attempts to kick down the heavy, half-rotted wooden door. “They must've barricaded it with something. I've *almost* got it off its hinges, but unless we can move it and whatever's piled in front of it, we'll still be stuck in here.”

        Ivan swore, slamming his fist into his cell's bars in frustration. He needed to know what was going on outside of the brig. The noise level had rose considerably for a time there, and there had been a rather alarming amount of shrieking, screeching, shouts, and gunfire filtering down from the decks above – and then a few hours ago it had just suddenly…stopped. Filtered bits of conversation and muffled sobs still worked their way down from above, but that was all. It was…unsettling. Ivan was used to being in control of any given situation, and being shut up in a dimly-lit room deep within a ship while gods-knew-what transpired above was not something he was enjoying. And until he could jimmy open his cell's lock, he was essentially stuck in the brig – a concept he liked even less, given that they had no idea just what had occurred above. Bob might not be in control of the ship anymore. He had to know what was going on out there.

        And, like all men of power, he was smart enough to realize that what this situation called for was a hefty serving of delegation. As soon as the brig's door gave way, he'd send his wards on their missions – the sign holder to locate a firearm or crowbar or some other thing that would facilitate the breach of this cell, and Lita to reconnoiter the top deck.

***************

        “So,” Ferdie ventured, cautiously picking at the food in front of him, “remind me again, where are we heading?”

        “Back to de island, of course,” the cook laughed, “Where else we be goin'? We been at sea fer weeks, mon. Need fresh wat'r. Fruit too. We stay out here much longer, we start getting' de scurvy. Eat now, mon. Yer all puny and setch. A wonder th' wind don' jus' blow yer right overboard.”

        “Er…right,” Ferdie managed, abandoning his attempts to break a chunk of bread off the hunk on his plate in favor of simply chomping on it. This proved to be a bad idea; had he any teeth, he most likely would've cracked a few in the process, as the black bread refused to crumble. Oh, sure, now he understood why pirates carried knives – it was the only way to eat these bricks of bread! He resorted to pecking at the chunk until it was small enough to dip into the stein of water in front of him. He would gladly have drank ale or sour wine or whatever it was the other pirates all seemed to have to drink, but evidently the cook felt his liver was too white to handle alcohol.

        The heavyset cook continued chatting idly away, apparently unused to a visitor that stayed after receiving food. He talked of the islands, the “estupeed Spaneesh,” and how much more fun it was to pillage up and down the islands and neighboring seaboard than to sail all the way across the ocean to Tripoli, where most of the business apparently was. Ferdie couldn't quite place the accent – it sounded almost Jamaican, but leaned to both French and Spanish. While the portly finch was certainly from the Carribean, and English was obviously far from his native tongue, his accent was an almalgam derived from a childhood serving as a cook or cabin boy for any old ship that came to port, regardless of nationality.

        Moreover, he seemed entirely truthful in everything he said, leaving Ferdie to conclude the obvious: these were real, 17^th Century pirates. Their ship was not a restoration, and they were not historically insane devotees of traditional piracy. They were the real deal. Now, your everyday Joe might scoff at this notion of past-meets-present and time-travel and what-have-you, but scholars of the supernatural and paranormal (and the occasionally just downright weird) have an entirely different way of looking at things. To Ferdie, his presence on an actual 17th Century pirate vessel, complete with vintage crew, was an extraordinary event that meant one of two things: either Bobetta's yacht had passed through a time wrinkle and wound up in the 17th Century Carribean - in which case he should find out whether or not Bob meant it when he said he'd shoot Ferdie the next time the bluebird screamed, as he was really rather overdue for some quality freaked-out screaming - or a shipload of 17th Century Carribean pirates had somehow wound up off the coast of 20th Century California, which would be incredibly cool if they could just convince the crew not to sail into port with cannons blazing.

        This warranted more investigation. Provided, of course, that said investigation would not require him to eat that rancid greenish strip of leather the cook was trying to pass off as freshly-trapped rodent meat.

***************

        Sunset. Reds and purples and vibrant oranges and pinks. A nice, healthy sunset that eased his concerns over the clouds massing near the horizon. Tonight would be peaceful. The wind might pick up a bit, and the clouds might mask the stars – but his crew had candles, a compass, and positioning equipment, and thus had little need for Polaris and her kin. Bob didn't exactly know himself where it was they were headed, but the crew went about their tasks with a certainty that bespoke the fact that they had a specific destination in mind.

        Things had calmed noticeably since the flier's departure. Bobetta had calmed enough that he'd ordered her ropes loosened, and the wench Gracie had eventually screamed herself hoarse, drastically reducing the noise level. The villainous Ivan had yet to resurface, so he could only assume the fiend had been safely secured below-decks. The rabbit that worked for him had gotten loose and expressed a desire to join the crew – and this was most fortunate, as he somehow seemed to be lacking skilled climbers to tend the rigging.

        Across the deck, Beak caught his attention and began striding over, pausing every now and again to let the odd pirate pass. His crew was so busy and dedicated to their work that they scarcely seemed to notice their commanding officers' presence! Being captain certainly was easy – he simply gave Beak his orders, and the tall kiwi in turn instructed the crew in how to best go about carrying them out.

        “The crew expects an easy night,” Beak stated, falling into step with Bob as he made his rounds on deck. “They're content, for the most part, though Ferdie wished me to reiterate the importance of recovering those the mutineers put to sea in a longboat.”

        Bob peered at his second-in-command carefully, studying him with his good eye. “Our chances of finding them are nearly nonexistent. They're adrift somewhere, leagues behind us. It would be a waste of time and effort. We might as well start looking for Iiwi as for the castaways. It would yield the same results.”

        Beak blinked, tired. “If those are your orders,” he replied, shrugging. His wrist no longer bore the false hand he had worn earlier, and Bob found himself wondering why anyone with two perfectly good hands would wander about with a false one. Certainly, he would never do such a thing. Why, if he still had his left hand….but there was no use in thinking that way. He had his hook, and that would do fine. He did wonder just what had happened to him in the past, as he also seemed to be missing his left eye and a leg. Shark attack, he decided. Possibly a stray cannon.

        “Are you certain we should leave Bobetta tied to the mast like that?” Beak queried.

        “Of course,” he replied. “We could hardly put her in the brig. Not without moving Ivan into the bilge decks or cargo area, and I doubt the crew wishes to unlock the blackguard's cell any time soon. Bobetta is too delicate for crew quarters, and far too much of a landlubber to spend a night on the deck without getting washed overboard. And she certainly cannot be placed in my quarters – can you believe it, she's threatened to maim me! And she used rather coarse language to do so!”

        “I've asked the crew to be mindful of their tongues. She should hear no more oaths such as those.”

        “That's not the point! She should have no knowledge of such words! Clearly, she's spent too much time as my arch-nemesis' captive! I've a mind to keel-haul him right here and now!”

        Beak's left eye twitched. “Are you certain that's wise? It would…uh…impede our progress, and distract the crew…”

        “Hang him from a yardarm, then!”

        “But…we really do need to conserve rope, B- -er, Captain. Our supplies are low and we recovered next to none of the rope used in the day's raid.”

        Bob sighed. Justice would simply have to wait. “Very well then. Leave him as he is. We can always make him walk the plank tomorrow, I suppose…”

        Beak uttered a low sound. A gurgle, almost. It looked as if he had paled a bit, too, but then the kiwi was probably simply tired. Bob left orders for him to get some rest as soon as the night watch had settled into their shift, then bid good night himself, heading for the captain's quarters. He had to make an entry into the ship's log, after all, and the view from his quarters was so much more pleasant than that from the deck, where wood and rope and sails obstructed the horizon.

***************

        “Ferdia. Wake up.”

        Someone was trying to shake her awake, but she was having none of that, clinging tightly to the last vestiges of sleep. Burrowing her beak to shield her eyes from the gaining sunlight, she curled into a tight ball, ignoring whoever it was. She was lying on an uncomfortably hard floor, which she supposed ruled out the station's sofa, but her head was propped on something vaguely pillow-y, which suggested she'd crashed on one of the booking benches instead.

        “Come on. It's your shift.”

        Which, of course, meant the person trying to wake her was either Trevor or Squeaks. Oh, it might be Casey, but she tended to think otherwise. The finch had taken to tossing balled wads of paper at her instead of shaking her to wake her up, as the former gave him several yards' head start, which was generally all he needed to avoid reprisal. The lack of references to her as “Blue” tended to suggest that it was Squeaks, but then Trevor had been getting better at mimicking the mouse ever since he realized Squeaks tended not to get pummeled for waking her up.

        She was still debating her list of suspects when she caught the scent of saltwater and sun-bleached wood. She snapped awake, taking in her surroundings a moment before giving her life preserver / pillow a frustrated punch. “Crap.”

        Squeaks cocked his head, curious.

        “Sorry,” she shook her head, “Half-hoped the lost-at-sea bit was a dream. I mean, aliens and starships are one thing, but dyed-in-the-wool, skull-and-crossbones flying, swashbuckling pirates? Unreal.”

        The mouse shook his head. “I won't pretend it makes sense to me. But we need to keep moving.”

        Grudgingly, she took her position at the oars. “You really want to try shifts again? That didn't work before…”

        “We both rowed most of yesterday. It stood to reason we'd fall asleep during our night shifts. We're just lucky we didn't lose any oars. I've been rowing since right before dawn, and I think we're on an easterly course again. But we probably drifted most of the night, and the wind's picked up.”

        “More clouds, too,” Ferdia noted, then shrugged. “But then it's still early, and it tends to be misty and cloudy over the ocean in the morning anyway.”

        “Sky's pink.”

        “You're not going to tell me you buy into that old sailors' adage, are you?”

        Squeaks shrugged. “It came about for a reason. Besides, I'm from the Navy. We like sailors' adages.”

        “Squeaks, we're on open ocean in a dinky little dry-rotting rowboat that's centuries old and was probably built by a pair of drunken fishermen anyway. I forbid you or your adages to be right.”

        “I hope they're wrong, too, but if they're not, with luck we might just skirt the edges.”

        “All this because the Chief thought we deserved some time off. I hate vacations.”

***************

        Beak wandered along the deck, willing a headache away and noting happily that the pirates' minds were still wholly under his control. His own mind was feeling rather tired and overtaxed, as his headache attested to, but he was pleased to note his abilities weren't waning on this world. He'd loosened his control on the pirates a bit, leaving instructions to obey him and Bob and not to harm anyone else in their group, but otherwise letting them do as they pleased. They were acting much more naturally now – running late, getting drunk, scrapping in tussles, taking sloppy readings, etc. – and because he was no longer controlling their every whim, he was under considerably less strain. He could think more clearly now, and had thus “persuaded” Bob to move Bobetta to the captain's quarters. However, the yellow kiwi was still resisting all attempts to convince him to move his 'figurehead' off the bowsprit and onto the mast.

        Ferdie had caught up with him earlier and attempted to explain something important to him. Apparently Bob really did think they were all pirates, but Ferdie wasn't entirely certain how to fix this, and forbade Beak from trying on the grounds that he'd rather have all the pirates under control than risk overtaxing the Magi and losing control of the crew altogether. Ferdie had also told him these pirates were real, and from an earlier time. This made little sense to Beak, but Ferdie's explanation only confused him more. Yes, he knew the bluebird had taken a spyglass and observed the stars last night. But he didn't quite understand what satellites and space junk had to do with pirates. Whatever it was, Ferdie seemed to think it was good news.

        He walked over to where Bob stood on the rear deck, observing the activity on the decks below. Bob was intensely scrutinizing every last pirate and their actions, shouting out reprimands and new orders as the need arose. The yellow kiwi looked a bit worried, though Beak could not begin to think why. Everything was going well. Was Bob getting bored, maybe, or did he just miss his morning coffee?

        “Good day, captain,” he greeted Bob.

        “For now,” the smaller kiwi allowed. “Did you see the sky this morning? All reds and pinks.”

        “Yes. Very nice.”

        “No! Not nice! Bad!”

        “Bad?” Beak was confused. It had been a pretty sunrise. Why did Bob think that was bad?

        “'Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.' Haven't you ever heard that?” Bob demanded, snorting with surprise as Beak shook his head. “Well! See, that's why you could never be captain! Captains need to know these things!”

        “I don't get it,” Beak said. “It's just a rhyme.”

        “It means we're in for a storm! Don't you see the clouds? Can't you feel it in the air? Look, even the wind's picked up!”

        “Maybe it's just going to be a little rain shower.”

        Bob shook his head in disbelief. “And I made you my second in command. Why? Why, why, why?...”

***************

        “Ahoy! Ship ahoy! Ahoy there!”

        Ferdia looked up from the hard tack she was currently trying to make her lunch. “Hey! There's someone out there!”

        “I hear them,” Squeaks replied, swiveling his ears around to try to pinpoint the call. Ferdia rose from her spot in the longboat and stared out, scanning both sea and sky.

        The sky held an ever-increasing amount of clouds, but seemed devoid of life. The ocean around them also seemed empty, as no ships or shadows were evident anywhere. For a few moments, the two wondered if the calls had simply been a bizarre trick of the wind, or an auditory illusion created by ears that longed to hear that very phrase. But the calls continued steadily, until at last Squeaks caught sight of something bobbing amongst the waves.

        “There they are! Off to starboard, in the swells!”

        Ferdia peered in the direction he indicated, catching sight of a snatch of color as the ocean's waves shifted their undulation with the wind. “That's Bobetta's raft!” Bracing herself on the bow and one of the starboard oar locks, she leaned forward, waving madly. “Hey! Hey there! Hey!”

        “Ahoy! Ship ahoy!” the raft's occupant bleated.

        “Ahoy!” Squeaks yelled, “We see you! Stay your course, we're coming!”

        With that, the pair took up their oars, rowing furiously to meet the bobbing yellow raft, which had no oars and thus continued drifting in the waves, complicating their task. The raft also appeared to be sinking, and it sat so low in the water that it wasn't until they were 10 feet apart that the two recognized its occupant.

        “You!” Ferdia screeched, pausing in her rowing to glare at their would-be rescue-ee.

         “Good noontime to ye!” Biggs waved, “Fine day fer sailin', wouldn't ye say?”

        Ferdia shook her head. “All that rowing….wasted…” she grumbled.

***************

        “Many thanks fer pullin' me aboard,” Biggs grinned, taking a seat near the stern as the pair made an effort to tether the bright yellow craft to the longboat. “I wouldn'ae bother wit' that,” he admonished them, “Strange thing. Floats well, but ripped righ' through th' bottom when me swordbelt got caught.”

        “Of course it did!” the bluebird glared at him, “It's only rubber and air! With all the sharp edges on that thing, it's a wonder you didn't puncture the sides!”

        “What're you doing off your ship?” the mouse asked calmly. It was a rhetorical question. A barb meant to hurt.

        “Well, ye two're doin' better'n I expected. Hope I'm not too much o' an inconvenience,” he grinned.

        “Oh, not at all,” the bluebird said, a wicked grin flashing onto his face, “In fact, you're actually *quite* convenient!”

        Dumbfounded by the sudden change in the bird's mood, Biggs could form no reaction. The mouse, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what it was the bird meant.

        “Oh, absolutely,” the mouse nodded. “In fact, you've solved a bit of a problem, even!”

        “Which almost makes up for the fact that you interrupted lunch!”

        “Almost,” the mouse agreed.

        Biggs found himself at a loss for words. “What are you two on about?”

        The bluebird unlocked a set of oars, leaning forward and pressing them into the marten's chest. “As long as you're here, you might as well make yourself useful.”

        Biggs blinked, staring dumbly at the oars.

        “We're tired,” the bird explained, grinning wickedly, “You row, we rest.”

        At that, the two took up comfortable seats near the bow, rifling through their supplies of food for lunch. The absurdity of the situation amazed Biggs. Or at least it did, until a tiny voice in his mind reminded him that the Colonies *were* British, after all. He should probably just be thankful they didn't upbraid him for the lack of tea and crumpets in the survival rations.

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Run Away! Run Away! | Home, James!

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