CHAPTER 20

THE CRUISE TO PIRATE HAVEN

      There was nobody about but the bridge’s imaginary defenders, against whose advantage of height the pirates planned to exploit surprise. They climbed the cliff at the foot of the embankment in silence, then, when their presence was discovered, swarmed up the steep slope above, dodging from tree to tree with daggers between their teeth, covering each other’s feints and dashes with carefully placed musket balls; one by one the defenders fell or surrendered in a brief but bloody affray. As they were reveling in their triumph a cyclist coasted onto the bridge, and pulled up among them. It was Trapper Small, a friend of Tim and Roger, also known to Will.
      “What are you guys doing here?” he asked. “What’s with the get-out? It’s not Halloween.”
      The boys were not wearing their full pirate regalia, but Will had his eye patch, and the others their three-cornered hats, and of course they were bristling with weaponry. “We’re pirates,” said Tim, a little sheepishly.
      “Playing pirates?” Trapper snorted. “I’ve got a pirate game for my PlayStation. It’s got real cool graphics. You want to play pirates, you should come and see it. Where did you get the toy swords?”
      “Will made them.”
      Trapper snorted again. “I’ve got a real Samurai sword. And a hunting rifle. It’s a Remington 0-30.” This was not really true; the rifle was his father’s, although he had been allowed to fire it at a target. “How did you get here, anyway?” he went on, looking around. “Did you think someone was going to steal your bikes?”
      “We came up the river in our boat, the Buccaneer,” said Tim.
      “We’re going to stay the night. Will’s rigged her up so we can sleep on board,” Roger added.
      “Yeah, right.”
      “We are. We’ve got sleeping bags and food and everything.”
      “I don’t see any boat.”
      “It’s down the river. Come on, we’ll show you.”
      The three pirates set off for the embankment; Trapper hesitated, then parked his bike and followed. They made their way quickly along the rapids, jumping from rock to rock, until they pushed through the bushes screening Pirate Haven from their approach.
      “There she is, see,” said Roger, as they drew up on the quay.
      There, indeed, was the Buccaneer; floating in her reflection in the quiet pool; the awning snug about her gunwale and varnished mast, her name in black and gold letters on the transom, the white mooring lines running ashore from stem and stern, she made a picture that might impress even the hardboiled Trapper. Will could not but reflect with pride that though their daggers and muskets might be of wood, the Buccaneer was, if not a full rigged pirate ship, a real boat. And what could you do with a Samurai sword, anyway?
      Tim was already unfastening the mooring line. He hauled the Buccaneer into the quay. “Come aboard, it’s real cool,” he said to Trapper.
      They climbed over the transom one by one, ducked under the awning, and crawled into the sleeping quarters. Will went last. There was not room for him inside; he knelt outside between the coolers instead. A new, dense, low layer of cloud had moved in under the high overcast, and the daylight was already fading. With Will blocking the opening aft it was dusky below, and Tim switched on the lantern which hung from the boom. A bright pool of light, reflected from the varnished deck, picked up the green of the awning, and gave a slightly eerie ambience to the cramped enclosure.
      “See, there are our sleeping bags,” said Roger, “and our backpacks are in the foc’s’le. Our food’s in the coolers. That’s the quarter deck.”
      By now Trapper was quite wide-eyed with wonder. He looked about the tiny space, at the varnished wood, the furled mainsail on boom and gaff touching his head, the oars and daggerboard stowed against the planking, then from Tim to Roger, now recumbent on their sleeping bags, hands behind their heads, every inch contented ship’s officers in their own great cabin.
      “Wow!” he said. “It’s awesome.”