It was smooth sailing as Brownbeard and his
troops freed another workroom full of slaves and
soldiers. This particular room was where rocks,
already polished, were inspected for weight,
balance, roundness, smoothness, and just plain
excellence. Then, they would be delivered for
engraving with Pewtrewsha’s seal of approval.
Next, they would be packaged individually and
shipped to The Empire of Sa’Laam. The patrol
presently watched over a room full of boys and
girls no longer sitting and studying perfectly
rendered rocks. Rather, they now chewed lumpy,
bumpy, yummy cookies.
“Good job gang!” said Brownbeard, arms
satisfyingly crossed over his chest as he watched
the scene. “In a moment we need to hightail it
back to the hole.”
A tired but happy Brownbeard leaned back to
recline against the wall. Schmoor, who had been
smiling broadly at his captain, began to wave his
arms frantically.
“Hee-hee! You’re funny Schmoor,” said
Brownbeard.
“Brownie! No!” cried Hazel.
Brownbeard’s eyes opened wide in horror as
he realized what he was about to do. His body fell
against the red alarm button. Not a sound emerged
from anywhere, but the children were visibly
terrified. Yet, there were no deafening alarms.
“See,” said Brownbeard to the children. “You
don’t have anything to worry about. The alarm
system must be broken.”
The children’s eyes were still wide with fright.
Hazel looked at Brownbeard in confusion, not sure
what to make of the situation. The thought
occurred to Brownbeard that maybe Pewtrewsha
did not even exist. None of the children he spoke
with had ever seen her, though they had heard her
voice. Maybe the sorceress was just a recording.
Maybe she was just a rumor used to keep the
children working. Maybe Amnesia was automated
and not really owned and operated by some
sorceress and her hen-pecked husband. Instead of
being a mom and pop business, maybe Amnesia
was a relatively small facility that was part of a
far larger, multi-galactic corporation!
A soft, sweet, sultry sound began to pipe
through the intercom above Brownbeard’s head.
The sound was unlike anything Brownbeard ever
heard before.
“What is that?” he asked.
“It’s her,” moaned a scared sick soldier.
“It sounds like ‘Pennies From Heaven,’ ” said
Kumquat.
“My! Oh, my! That sounds like some smooth
sax!” said Squire Bob in admiration.
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Hazel.
“That’s Pewtrewsha,” said Felix. “Sometimes
she plays ‘Loot to Boot’ or ‘Duty Free’ when she
wakes up. She can play lots of other stuff. Her
repertoire is extensive.”
“Her chops are polished,” acknowledged Goat.
“Wow,” said Hazel. “She’s good—and bad.
Wow.”
A mesmerized Brownbeard tapped his foot
involuntarily to the rhythm.
“Who’s that on bass?” asked Squire Bob.
“That would be Morlox,” answered Pedro.
“Nice.”
“We’re in trouble now, ” Felix warned.
“Pewtrewsha and Morlox are up and on the prow.
We’ve got to get out of here. I can hear it. She’s
playing angry. She intends to eat us alive.”
“C’mon,” said Goat. “There be ten of us to
two of them. I like them odds.”
Felix, Pedro and Pickles shook their heads.
“No, you don’t get it. She’s a sorceress. We’re
doomed,” said Pickles.
“I doubt even the people who have made it to
the shore on the other side of the lake are going to
make it through the night,” added Pedro. “I’m
afraid it’s over.”
A single tear dropped down Pedro’s cheek,
sending a shiver through Goat and everyone else.
“Okay then, let’s get a move on,” ordered
Brownbeard.
With that, the liberators and the liberated
began the long, winding journey through the
catacombs of the ship, hoping to reach the others
at the hole without getting caught or lost. There, in
the company of everyone else, they would make
their final stand.
Over the ship’s sound system, Pewtrewsha was
cutting through Dexter Gordon’s ‘Settin’ the Pace’
as the gang raced through the twisty passages.
Brownbeard and Hazel were bringing up the rear
of the retreating bunch. As they rounded a turn to
the left, some stairs to his right caught
Brownbeard’s eye.
“Hazel!” said Brownbeard in a loud whisper.
Hazel whirled about.
“What?” she said.
“It’s going to take all night to get everyone off
Amnesia and back to shore. You know we’ll
never last just waiting at the hole for dawn to
come. This entire ship is Pewtrewsha’s stronghold
after all,” said Brownbeard.
“Yes, I know that,” said Hazel, her eyes
beginning to narrow with suspicion.
“So, you go and tell Blackbeard and everyone
else to row like mad, fight like mad, and do
whatever it takes to get everyone out of here as
quickly as possible. Don’t leave one spot of bare
wood on a raft. Load ‘em up. They won’t sink.”
“You tell him! Now quit wasting time and let’s
go!” said Hazel.
“No. I’m going up these stairs,” said
Brownbeard pointing to the right. “She’s there. I
know it.”
“Brownie! No! You can’t go up there! She’ll
tear you to pieces!”
“I don’t think so. I’ll smack her over the head
with a couple of your magic cookies. That should
knock anyone out.”
“Brownie, stop it,” said Hazel very quietly. “I
am not letting you go. Now you stop it and come
on.”
“Hazel, you stop. Now go and do what I said,”
ordered Brownbeard. “If someone doesn’t delay
Pewtrewsha, then the whole mission is done for.
The children need to cross that lake tonight, and
be taken over the mountain. Tomorrow, or the next
day, maybe you and the others can come free the
remaining children.”
“Brownie, no! I’m going with you!” said Hazel.
“No, Hazel. You’re needed back with the rest.
Pewtrewsha will be especially savage with you. In
your weakened state you’ll be—you’ll be
useless.”
Hot tears of sadness and rage streamed down
Hazel’s beautiful face. It pained Brownbeard to be
so mean. But not as much as it would pain him to
see his beloved hurt.
“You crumb! You lousy, rotten crumb!” wailed
Hazel in misery.
“Get going, Hazel,” said Brownbeard
dismissively. “If you’re too stubborn to save your
own skin, then remind yourself what was the
whole point of this endeavor. Do you think you
can manage that? Or would that prove too difficult
for you?”
“I hate you,” said Hazel.
“I know you do,” said Brownbeard.
Hazel and Brownbeard stood there looking at
one another.
“I love you,” whispered Hazel.
“I know you do,” said Brownbeard.
Hazel dropped her face into her hands. The
thought of never seeing those beautiful eyes again
crushed Brownbeard’s heart. He walked over to
his lady and held her gently. He kissed her cheek
and whispered in her ear, “I love you too.
Always.” With that, he lifted her chin and took
one last look into her eyes.
“Now go,” he said and gently, but firmly,
turned her around and pushed her away. Hazel ran
to join the others. She did not once look back.
Brownbeard drew a deep breath and headed for
the stairs disappearing up into the deep, dank,
dark.
* * *
“Pewtrewsha! Pewtrewsha! Morlox! Come out
and fight you big chickens!” bellowed Brownbeard
as loud as possible. “Pewtrewsha! Come on now
stinky-poo! Don’t be afraid of little ole me!”
It had been nearly an hour since Brownbeard
had watched Hazel turn and return to the others.
Brownbeard hoped that his instincts had not
misled him—that rather than being a decoy to give
the rest of the troops some time, Pewtrewsha and
Morlox had run an end-around and were now far
below where he stood, tearing his comrades to bits.
Far above the main deck of Amnesia, he was
climbing tall, steep, rusty and creaky metal stairs
at a height that seemed as high as The Emperor of
Sa’Laam’s palace. In the twilight, Brownbeard
could not see what transpired below on the lake,
whether the ferrying was going well, or instead a
pitched battle ‘tween pirate and sea serpent raged.
In the distance, he could barley make out tiny,
yellow pinpricks of light where the shoreline
should be. Brownbeard tried to convince himself
that what he was seeing were campfires, and that
their numbers were slowly growing. A chill wind
smacking his face brought him back to task.
“Pewtrewsha! Cautious little coward. Come
out and play! I promise I won’t hurt you—much!”
Brownbeard laughed at himself.
“Ah! Brownie, you’re so silly!” he said out
loud to himself.
Looking over the railing his fingers grasped so
tight, Brownbeard saw moonlight in the lake
below. He gulped.
“Gosh. That must be thousands of feet down to
the water!” he thought with a shudder.
Brownbeard was far above the decks and
rigging and other structures of Amnesia. Just a
few smoking refinery stacks still towered above
him, their tip-tops only another hundred feet or so
above. The swinging jazz, which had been playing
hotly for the last hour, disappeared. There was
only wind and the sound of his own voice to hear.
“Morlox! You hen-pecked rascal! Grow a
backbone and come out from Pewtrewsha’s
shadow—if you can!”
“Hee! Hee! Ooooh, Brownie! You are such a
card!” said a voice. It spoke with a sound similar
to that of Brownbeard’s own speech inside his
own head.
“Ah, did I say that?” Brownbeard asked
himself.
“Oh! Brownie! You’re so dumb!” said another
voice.
Those words were warm and soothing, as if
shaped by the lips of his beloved—only not quite
the same. Bunching up, the skin at the small of
Brownbeard’s back made a hurried crawl up his
spine to the tippy-top of his head.
“No, I did not say that. And no, that was not
the voice of my love,” said Brownbeard, turning
about slowly and with dread. Brownbeard had just
walked across a decrepit walkway far above the
main deck. At the end he had come from stood
two visions alloyed into one, themselves each a
patchwork quilt of the tattered nightmares of the
Cosmos—Pewtrewsha and Morlox. Brownbeard’s
knees turned to jelly.
“Oh, God,” he prayed. “Please give me
strength.”
“Oh, God,” said Pewtrewsha mockingly,
“Please give me strength. The great Brownbottom
is scared silly. How sweet!”
A trembling Brownbeard fought back to his
feet and tried not to look at the hideous monster
before him, lest he sicken and faint. The great and
terrible Pewtrewsha held within and upon her body
the ugliness of her deeds. It was a grotesque,
sluggish body heavy with the weight of woe. A
savage, mean, razor fanged head stuck out from
one side of her body, as did a pair of stumpy arms
and legs. Bulging from its host was Morlox the
warlock! Indeed, he could not emerge from
Pewtrewsha’s shadow. Such a powerful warlock
was he that Pewtrewsha could not digest him
completely, but the two formed a symbiotic
relation. He was melded into her—she enveloped
him like a spider protecting her silk-wrapped
supper. Pewtrewsha and Morlox were one and the
same.
Brownbeard raised his quivering sword in one
hand, a cookie in the other. The beast before him
cackled from both mouths. From under large folds
of leathery skin, the monster produced a shiny
golden horn unlike any Brownbeard had ever seen,
and a guitar or violin of large size. Heaving itself
upon the rickety walkway, Pewtrewsha and
Morlox began to dance and shimmy over to
Brownbeard. Brownbeard did not recognize the
jazzy rhythm and blues tune by ‘Lucky’
Thompson—‘Fillet of Soul.’
Dropping his sword and cookie, Brownbeard
ran. His mind was not capable of handling such a
disgusting diorama of devilment coupled with
such a pleasant presentation of audio perfection.
He came to another flight of stairs and scampered
up. Pewtrewsha and Morlox followed without
hurry. Brownbeard ran and ran, but he was running
out of places to run. Ashamed, he admitted to
himself that he had no courage for this. He could
not bear the thought of coming into physical
contact with the monstrosity plodding its way up
to where he cowered.
He leaned to one side and burned himself upon
the hot wall. Brownbeard found himself up against
the taller of Amnesia’s two tallest smoke stacks,
nesting side by side. Sitting down, legs drawn up
to his chin, Brownbeard scooted back into the
shadows as far as he could go, staring in dismay
at the edge of curved wall from where the devil’s
own dog would appear. The path he had followed
ended at the point where the two smoke stacks
touched. The shadows deepened behind
Brownbeard, but he could squeeze no further.
There was another possibility. Across the
narrow walkway from the burning wall was the
guard rail. Brownbeard decided right there and
then. He would jump. Where he would land he had
no idea. It did not matter. He would escape the
approaching evil and perhaps he had provided his
loved ones and friends the time they needed to
make their escape. Among Pewtrewsha and
Morlox’s various talents, speed did not appear to
be one of them. Brownbeard fought back tears as
he crunched as far as possible into the curved
corner. As soon as he heard the weight of
Pewtrewsha and Morlox press down upon this
uppermost walkway, he would give himself over
to God, whom he prayed would take his soul.
A sharp tap touched Brownbeard upon the
right shoulder. Brownbeard launched himself over
the rail, jumping out of his skin with terror. But a
strong hand grabbed the back of his collar and
snapped him backwards. Turning to look at his
assailant in a final act of bravery, Brownbeard’s
breath came rushing out of his lungs in surprise.
But the fear flooding every cell in his trembling
body left. Calmness washed over him.
“You two! What in the world are you doing
here?” asked Brownbeard.
One of the skeletons handed Brownbeard a
mirror.
“Huh! The mirror from Ye Olde Gift Shoppe.
So, Ludwig finally sold it to you. Good. But I’ve
got problems right now, so I can’t really look.”
Brownbeard went to hand back the mirror, but
the skeleton pushed it back. The other skeleton
motioned to Brownbeard that he should look into
it.
“Okay,” said Brownbeard, shaking his head in
disbelief.
Brownbeard looked. It was an excellent mirror.
No facial feature was withheld. Brownbeard
frowned.
“Hmmmm. Dang! I’m not as good looking as I
thought I was.”
The skeletons trembled a bit. Were they
laughing at him?
“But,” Brownbeard added, “I’m not as ugly as
some people say I am.”
One of the skeletons patted Brownbeard on the
back. The other skeleton pointed at the mirror, and
then in the direction from which Pewtrewsha and
Morlox would be coming.
“Are you nuts! Have you seen them! What
good is a mirror going to do against that?” asked
Brownbeard.
But the skeletons were insistent. Brownbeard
was to use the mirror when Pewtrewsha and
Morlox were upon him.
“All right. All right. You’re skeletons, so I
guess you know what you’re talking about.”
One of the skeletons then motioned to
Brownbeard to hold out his hand. He did as
instructed and felt several small, hard objects pour
into his palm. He took a look.
“Hey! Thanks! These rocks are just like the
ones that were in the traveling box!” said
Brownbeard excitedly. Then, glumly added, “I
doubt I’ll ever get to use them.”
Again, the skeletons motioned Brownbeard to
hold out his hand. He did so, and was given a
small, toy rocking horse.
“What in the world is this supposed to do?”
asked Brownbeard.
But the skeletons did not indicate what was the
point of the small child’s toy. Instead, they waved
good-bye and somehow managed to disappear into
the shadows beyond where Brownbeard could
mash himself.
“Wait!” cried Brownbeard. “I don’t get it! How
can any of this stuff help? Can’t you give me
some hint?”
The skeletons were nowhere to be seen or
heard. They were gone. Replacing them was the
small sound of squeaking stairs and swinging sax.
The trembles returned to Brownbeard.
“I can still jump,” he said to himself. “I don’t
have to waste time with this silly mirror. Oh, Lord!
What should I do?”
Pewtrewsha and Morlox were at the top of the
stairs. If he did not jump now, it would be too
late. Slow as she was, Pewtrewsha could whip out
a long tentacle or her lolling, snaky tongue, grab
Brownbeard, and do with him as she pleased.
Brownbeard looked longingly at the precipice.
Every fiber in his body ached to propel him over
the edge. In confusion and dismay, he turned his
gaze to the edge of the smokestack from where
personally would arrive Nightmare.
Then, there they were—that jazzy, jostling,
jiggling jumble of atrocity—the queen of slavery
and savagery—the king of cruelty and cretins—
Pewtrewsha and Morlox. As they drew within
sight of their prey, the two stopped swinging and
just looked with derision and amusement at the
quivering Brownbeard.
“Do you think the little piece of rot will give
us indigestion, my love?” Morlox asked
Pewtrewsha.
“No, not at all. I will tenderize him well for
you my dear. For you, nothing tough and stringy.
Only delicious juice,” answered Pewtrewsha.
“The rot freed our slaves!” said Morlox with
contempt.
“Not to worry my sweetheart,” soothed
Pewtrewsha. “We will recapture all and make
examples of many. The rest will never dare
escape again. None of the babies will leave here
until we dispose of them properly.”
Morlox made crude, whimpering sounds of
pleasure.
“Remember my prince,” crooned Pewtrewsha,
“a good rancher never liquidates the whole herd at
once. We still have many calves in the little
villages which will soon be ready. Harvest time is
always at hand.”
“Yessssss—” said Morlox.
Pewtrewsha and Morlox stepped up and over
Brownbeard. The stench of unclean breath washed
over him and he became ill. Hiding his face in the
crook of one arm, Brownbeard thrust out towards
Pewtrewsha and Morlox the mirror dangling at the
end of his other shaking limb.
“Ah, look here,” said Pewtrewsha. “The little
cur has a gift for us. I do like presents.”
“What is it, my love?” asked Morlox.
“Oh! It’s a mirror! I do like to look at myself.
Shall we look at ourselves, my dearest?”
“Yessss,” concurred Morlox. “But let’s eat
first.”
“Mmmmm my sweet. I agree. I agree. Still, I
can’t resist a peek. Just a peek.”
She snatched the mirror from Brownbeard’s
quivering hand. Holding the mirror close, she
gazed upon herself.
“Ahhhhh!” she said. “Yes. Yes. Ahhhhh!
Hmmmm! Ahhh! Ha! Ha! Haaa! Haaaaa!
Aaaaaagh! Aaaaaaaagh! Ha! Aaaaaaaaaaaagh!”
Brownbeard’s eyes were shut tight. He was not
sure what he was hearing. At first, he thought that
maybe Pewtrewsha was quite pleased with the
mirror and that she might leave him alone. But
now, it sounded as though she were vexed and
might do something more vicious then anything he
could imagine. Without will of his own,
Brownbeard looked up at the monster before him.
“Aaaaaaagh!!! No!!!! No!!!!! Nooooooo!!!!!!!!!!
Nooooooooo!!!!!!!!” screamed Pewtrewsha.
The sorceress’ eyes were locked into her
reflection. She could not break free from her own
gaze. Whatever it was that she saw, it was
apparent to Brownbeard she was not pleased.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” screamed the sorceress.
“Honey! Honey! Put it down! Put it down!”
yelled Morlox in desperation.
But Pewtrewsha would not, could not drop the
mirror. She shook and shook, all the while
screaming in a most severe fright. She spun and
spun like a gyro. Now Morlox shrieked in fright.
“Sweetie! Dearheart! Watch it! Be careful!”
Pewtrewsha, large and slow as she was, threw
herself over the guard rail into the dark infinity on
the other side. Brownbeard watched in
amazement. For an instant, Pewtrewsha and
Morlox spun in the blackness, suspended over the
abyss. Then there was nothing but quiet night for
many, many long seconds until—
KABOOM!!!
A tremendous splash sent tidal waves through
all the waters of the lake.
Brownbeard had no idea that the amazing,
terrible sounds he heard far below were those of
Pewtrewsha and Morlox being dragged under by
their very own weremonsters Grobrom and
Vulderburp. Looking around, Brownbeard pushed
himself up.
“Thanks,” he said quietly to the silent night
high above the water.
But the skeletons were gone. He walked down
the stairs, still not sure if the battle was over. He
heard nothing. Perfect stillness hung in the air,
wrapping Brownbeard like a blanket. Amnesia’s
cold industrial lights illuminated Brownbeard’s
way. Turning from one flight of stairs to the next,
Brownbeard looked up and saw two figures
standing high above him, right where he had been
cowering just moments before. At first, his brain
would not register what his eyes reported.
Expecting to see his skeleton friends with flaming
red eyes and black robes, instead Brownbeard saw
above him a young man and a young woman.
They were maybe the same age as he and Hazel.
They wore not black, but white, and light shone
about them.
“Angels!” said Brownbeard. “You’re really
angels!”
The two just smiled and laughed and waved
good-bye. Then they disappeared somewhere
behind the smokestack tower of the deposed slave
ship. Exhausted, but very, very happy,
Brownbeard continued his way down the many
stairs and passages to return to the others.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s over. It’s finally over.”
* * *
“And so,” roared Blackbeard as he stood over
the fire which had been built in the central plaza of
the little village, “there we were in pitched battle
with Grobrom and Vulderburp—bodies like sea
serpents, faces like a man and woman, teeth like
vipers, eyes white like the dead, voices like the
end of the world! Rafts be flyin’ through the sky!
We be avoidin’ their lashin’ tails’ and bitin’ teeth
just barely. We be a-grabbin’ one another outta
the water as fast as we bein’ a-knocked in!”
The large gathering of pirates and freed
children, some of whom were lucky enough to find
long lost parents, or aunts and uncles, or sisters
and brothers, ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ as the famous
pirate regaled them with details of the perilous
battle. Of course, hot chocolate and cookies were
being enjoyed by all.
“Now things be lookin’ purty rough, like
maybe all be lost, when lo and behold, me cuz
here sends the savage slug of sea snot
Pewtrewsha, and her consort Morlox, down upon
our heads!”
This detail drew lots of ‘booing’ of
Pewtrewsha’s and Morlox’s names, as well as
much cheering of Brownbeard’s heroism.
Brownbeard did try to explain that he had really
been cowering throughout his face-off with the
sorceress, and that it took some kind of magic
mirror to defeat her. But no one seemed interested
in these details. Blackbeard’s version of the fight
won out.
“With his bare hands I tell ya!” cried
Blackbeard. “Such anger had me cuz at the
rottenness of the two evil doers that he threw the
beasts clear over the railing and into the water!”
“Yeaaah! Yeaaah! Yeaaah, Brownbeard!”
Hazel squeezed his arm. She knew how things
really went. She did not care. She was just glad to
have her Brownbeard back.
“An’ a good thing it t’was he a-sent them on
over, cause just like that, Grobrom and
Vulderburp, they abandon us and latch on to their
hide!” laughed the pirate.
“They all dragged one another down to the
bottom of the lake!” added Kumquat.
“Aye! They did mate! That they did!” agreed
Blackbeard.
Late into the night went the party. No one
cared that an early start was planned for the
morrow. There were other villages to visit, other
homes to return children to, more stories to tell,
and more hot chocolate to drink and cookies to
eat. Then there was home home to which to return.
Brownbeard thought longingly of his parents and
New Ferry.
Walking away from the festivities for a
moment, no one seemed to notice that Brownbeard
had left for a stroll. Too good a time was being
had by all. No one noticed excepting Felix, who
ran after Brownbeard.
“Brownbeard! Brownbeard!” called Felix. “Can
I walk with you?”
Brownbeard turned.
“Sure, Felix. I just need to get away for a
moment. You know, all that stuff my cuz is
saying—it didn’t quite happen that way.”
“I remember you said something about angels,”
said Felix. “No one else seemed to hear you, but I
remember.”
Brownbeard chuckled.
“Tell me more about them. What did they do?
What did they look like?” asked Felix.
Brownbeard did the best he could to relay all
of the details.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” said Brownbeard.
“They gave me this toy rocking horse, too. That
was before they turned into angels. Or, at least
before they stopped looking like skeletons and
started looking like angels.”
Brownbeard offered Felix the toy horse. Felix
took it and looked it over intently.
“Do you want it?” asked Brownbeard.
Felix did not answer, but became lost in
thought. They walked on, not saying a word for
some time. Finally, Brownbeard asked, “Are you
okay?”
Felix nodded his head, but his little body was
shaking.
“Felix! Felix! What’s wrong?”
“Look Brownbeard! Look here!” said Felix
pointing to a pair of small marks on the toy horse.
“Oh, I didn’t see those,” said Brownbeard.
“Hmmm. ‘F.T.’ ”
“Yes, F.T.,” said Felix.
“Oh my!” exclaimed Brownbeard. “Felix
Tookesberry! This was—I mean—is it? Is this
your horse from before you were kidnapped?”
“Yes,” said Felix.
“Then, those two were—they were your
parents?”
“I think maybe so,” cried Felix.
“Oh, my. Oh, my,” was all Brownbeard could
say. He put his arm around Felix as the two found
a place to sit and just look at the little toy rocking
horse.
troops freed another workroom full of slaves and
soldiers. This particular room was where rocks,
already polished, were inspected for weight,
balance, roundness, smoothness, and just plain
excellence. Then, they would be delivered for
engraving with Pewtrewsha’s seal of approval.
Next, they would be packaged individually and
shipped to The Empire of Sa’Laam. The patrol
presently watched over a room full of boys and
girls no longer sitting and studying perfectly
rendered rocks. Rather, they now chewed lumpy,
bumpy, yummy cookies.
“Good job gang!” said Brownbeard, arms
satisfyingly crossed over his chest as he watched
the scene. “In a moment we need to hightail it
back to the hole.”
A tired but happy Brownbeard leaned back to
recline against the wall. Schmoor, who had been
smiling broadly at his captain, began to wave his
arms frantically.
“Hee-hee! You’re funny Schmoor,” said
Brownbeard.
“Brownie! No!” cried Hazel.
Brownbeard’s eyes opened wide in horror as
he realized what he was about to do. His body fell
against the red alarm button. Not a sound emerged
from anywhere, but the children were visibly
terrified. Yet, there were no deafening alarms.
“See,” said Brownbeard to the children. “You
don’t have anything to worry about. The alarm
system must be broken.”
The children’s eyes were still wide with fright.
Hazel looked at Brownbeard in confusion, not sure
what to make of the situation. The thought
occurred to Brownbeard that maybe Pewtrewsha
did not even exist. None of the children he spoke
with had ever seen her, though they had heard her
voice. Maybe the sorceress was just a recording.
Maybe she was just a rumor used to keep the
children working. Maybe Amnesia was automated
and not really owned and operated by some
sorceress and her hen-pecked husband. Instead of
being a mom and pop business, maybe Amnesia
was a relatively small facility that was part of a
far larger, multi-galactic corporation!
A soft, sweet, sultry sound began to pipe
through the intercom above Brownbeard’s head.
The sound was unlike anything Brownbeard ever
heard before.
“What is that?” he asked.
“It’s her,” moaned a scared sick soldier.
“It sounds like ‘Pennies From Heaven,’ ” said
Kumquat.
“My! Oh, my! That sounds like some smooth
sax!” said Squire Bob in admiration.
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Hazel.
“That’s Pewtrewsha,” said Felix. “Sometimes
she plays ‘Loot to Boot’ or ‘Duty Free’ when she
wakes up. She can play lots of other stuff. Her
repertoire is extensive.”
“Her chops are polished,” acknowledged Goat.
“Wow,” said Hazel. “She’s good—and bad.
Wow.”
A mesmerized Brownbeard tapped his foot
involuntarily to the rhythm.
“Who’s that on bass?” asked Squire Bob.
“That would be Morlox,” answered Pedro.
“Nice.”
“We’re in trouble now, ” Felix warned.
“Pewtrewsha and Morlox are up and on the prow.
We’ve got to get out of here. I can hear it. She’s
playing angry. She intends to eat us alive.”
“C’mon,” said Goat. “There be ten of us to
two of them. I like them odds.”
Felix, Pedro and Pickles shook their heads.
“No, you don’t get it. She’s a sorceress. We’re
doomed,” said Pickles.
“I doubt even the people who have made it to
the shore on the other side of the lake are going to
make it through the night,” added Pedro. “I’m
afraid it’s over.”
A single tear dropped down Pedro’s cheek,
sending a shiver through Goat and everyone else.
“Okay then, let’s get a move on,” ordered
Brownbeard.
With that, the liberators and the liberated
began the long, winding journey through the
catacombs of the ship, hoping to reach the others
at the hole without getting caught or lost. There, in
the company of everyone else, they would make
their final stand.
Over the ship’s sound system, Pewtrewsha was
cutting through Dexter Gordon’s ‘Settin’ the Pace’
as the gang raced through the twisty passages.
Brownbeard and Hazel were bringing up the rear
of the retreating bunch. As they rounded a turn to
the left, some stairs to his right caught
Brownbeard’s eye.
“Hazel!” said Brownbeard in a loud whisper.
Hazel whirled about.
“What?” she said.
“It’s going to take all night to get everyone off
Amnesia and back to shore. You know we’ll
never last just waiting at the hole for dawn to
come. This entire ship is Pewtrewsha’s stronghold
after all,” said Brownbeard.
“Yes, I know that,” said Hazel, her eyes
beginning to narrow with suspicion.
“So, you go and tell Blackbeard and everyone
else to row like mad, fight like mad, and do
whatever it takes to get everyone out of here as
quickly as possible. Don’t leave one spot of bare
wood on a raft. Load ‘em up. They won’t sink.”
“You tell him! Now quit wasting time and let’s
go!” said Hazel.
“No. I’m going up these stairs,” said
Brownbeard pointing to the right. “She’s there. I
know it.”
“Brownie! No! You can’t go up there! She’ll
tear you to pieces!”
“I don’t think so. I’ll smack her over the head
with a couple of your magic cookies. That should
knock anyone out.”
“Brownie, stop it,” said Hazel very quietly. “I
am not letting you go. Now you stop it and come
on.”
“Hazel, you stop. Now go and do what I said,”
ordered Brownbeard. “If someone doesn’t delay
Pewtrewsha, then the whole mission is done for.
The children need to cross that lake tonight, and
be taken over the mountain. Tomorrow, or the next
day, maybe you and the others can come free the
remaining children.”
“Brownie, no! I’m going with you!” said Hazel.
“No, Hazel. You’re needed back with the rest.
Pewtrewsha will be especially savage with you. In
your weakened state you’ll be—you’ll be
useless.”
Hot tears of sadness and rage streamed down
Hazel’s beautiful face. It pained Brownbeard to be
so mean. But not as much as it would pain him to
see his beloved hurt.
“You crumb! You lousy, rotten crumb!” wailed
Hazel in misery.
“Get going, Hazel,” said Brownbeard
dismissively. “If you’re too stubborn to save your
own skin, then remind yourself what was the
whole point of this endeavor. Do you think you
can manage that? Or would that prove too difficult
for you?”
“I hate you,” said Hazel.
“I know you do,” said Brownbeard.
Hazel and Brownbeard stood there looking at
one another.
“I love you,” whispered Hazel.
“I know you do,” said Brownbeard.
Hazel dropped her face into her hands. The
thought of never seeing those beautiful eyes again
crushed Brownbeard’s heart. He walked over to
his lady and held her gently. He kissed her cheek
and whispered in her ear, “I love you too.
Always.” With that, he lifted her chin and took
one last look into her eyes.
“Now go,” he said and gently, but firmly,
turned her around and pushed her away. Hazel ran
to join the others. She did not once look back.
Brownbeard drew a deep breath and headed for
the stairs disappearing up into the deep, dank,
dark.
* * *
“Pewtrewsha! Pewtrewsha! Morlox! Come out
and fight you big chickens!” bellowed Brownbeard
as loud as possible. “Pewtrewsha! Come on now
stinky-poo! Don’t be afraid of little ole me!”
It had been nearly an hour since Brownbeard
had watched Hazel turn and return to the others.
Brownbeard hoped that his instincts had not
misled him—that rather than being a decoy to give
the rest of the troops some time, Pewtrewsha and
Morlox had run an end-around and were now far
below where he stood, tearing his comrades to bits.
Far above the main deck of Amnesia, he was
climbing tall, steep, rusty and creaky metal stairs
at a height that seemed as high as The Emperor of
Sa’Laam’s palace. In the twilight, Brownbeard
could not see what transpired below on the lake,
whether the ferrying was going well, or instead a
pitched battle ‘tween pirate and sea serpent raged.
In the distance, he could barley make out tiny,
yellow pinpricks of light where the shoreline
should be. Brownbeard tried to convince himself
that what he was seeing were campfires, and that
their numbers were slowly growing. A chill wind
smacking his face brought him back to task.
“Pewtrewsha! Cautious little coward. Come
out and play! I promise I won’t hurt you—much!”
Brownbeard laughed at himself.
“Ah! Brownie, you’re so silly!” he said out
loud to himself.
Looking over the railing his fingers grasped so
tight, Brownbeard saw moonlight in the lake
below. He gulped.
“Gosh. That must be thousands of feet down to
the water!” he thought with a shudder.
Brownbeard was far above the decks and
rigging and other structures of Amnesia. Just a
few smoking refinery stacks still towered above
him, their tip-tops only another hundred feet or so
above. The swinging jazz, which had been playing
hotly for the last hour, disappeared. There was
only wind and the sound of his own voice to hear.
“Morlox! You hen-pecked rascal! Grow a
backbone and come out from Pewtrewsha’s
shadow—if you can!”
“Hee! Hee! Ooooh, Brownie! You are such a
card!” said a voice. It spoke with a sound similar
to that of Brownbeard’s own speech inside his
own head.
“Ah, did I say that?” Brownbeard asked
himself.
“Oh! Brownie! You’re so dumb!” said another
voice.
Those words were warm and soothing, as if
shaped by the lips of his beloved—only not quite
the same. Bunching up, the skin at the small of
Brownbeard’s back made a hurried crawl up his
spine to the tippy-top of his head.
“No, I did not say that. And no, that was not
the voice of my love,” said Brownbeard, turning
about slowly and with dread. Brownbeard had just
walked across a decrepit walkway far above the
main deck. At the end he had come from stood
two visions alloyed into one, themselves each a
patchwork quilt of the tattered nightmares of the
Cosmos—Pewtrewsha and Morlox. Brownbeard’s
knees turned to jelly.
“Oh, God,” he prayed. “Please give me
strength.”
“Oh, God,” said Pewtrewsha mockingly,
“Please give me strength. The great Brownbottom
is scared silly. How sweet!”
A trembling Brownbeard fought back to his
feet and tried not to look at the hideous monster
before him, lest he sicken and faint. The great and
terrible Pewtrewsha held within and upon her body
the ugliness of her deeds. It was a grotesque,
sluggish body heavy with the weight of woe. A
savage, mean, razor fanged head stuck out from
one side of her body, as did a pair of stumpy arms
and legs. Bulging from its host was Morlox the
warlock! Indeed, he could not emerge from
Pewtrewsha’s shadow. Such a powerful warlock
was he that Pewtrewsha could not digest him
completely, but the two formed a symbiotic
relation. He was melded into her—she enveloped
him like a spider protecting her silk-wrapped
supper. Pewtrewsha and Morlox were one and the
same.
Brownbeard raised his quivering sword in one
hand, a cookie in the other. The beast before him
cackled from both mouths. From under large folds
of leathery skin, the monster produced a shiny
golden horn unlike any Brownbeard had ever seen,
and a guitar or violin of large size. Heaving itself
upon the rickety walkway, Pewtrewsha and
Morlox began to dance and shimmy over to
Brownbeard. Brownbeard did not recognize the
jazzy rhythm and blues tune by ‘Lucky’
Thompson—‘Fillet of Soul.’
Dropping his sword and cookie, Brownbeard
ran. His mind was not capable of handling such a
disgusting diorama of devilment coupled with
such a pleasant presentation of audio perfection.
He came to another flight of stairs and scampered
up. Pewtrewsha and Morlox followed without
hurry. Brownbeard ran and ran, but he was running
out of places to run. Ashamed, he admitted to
himself that he had no courage for this. He could
not bear the thought of coming into physical
contact with the monstrosity plodding its way up
to where he cowered.
He leaned to one side and burned himself upon
the hot wall. Brownbeard found himself up against
the taller of Amnesia’s two tallest smoke stacks,
nesting side by side. Sitting down, legs drawn up
to his chin, Brownbeard scooted back into the
shadows as far as he could go, staring in dismay
at the edge of curved wall from where the devil’s
own dog would appear. The path he had followed
ended at the point where the two smoke stacks
touched. The shadows deepened behind
Brownbeard, but he could squeeze no further.
There was another possibility. Across the
narrow walkway from the burning wall was the
guard rail. Brownbeard decided right there and
then. He would jump. Where he would land he had
no idea. It did not matter. He would escape the
approaching evil and perhaps he had provided his
loved ones and friends the time they needed to
make their escape. Among Pewtrewsha and
Morlox’s various talents, speed did not appear to
be one of them. Brownbeard fought back tears as
he crunched as far as possible into the curved
corner. As soon as he heard the weight of
Pewtrewsha and Morlox press down upon this
uppermost walkway, he would give himself over
to God, whom he prayed would take his soul.
A sharp tap touched Brownbeard upon the
right shoulder. Brownbeard launched himself over
the rail, jumping out of his skin with terror. But a
strong hand grabbed the back of his collar and
snapped him backwards. Turning to look at his
assailant in a final act of bravery, Brownbeard’s
breath came rushing out of his lungs in surprise.
But the fear flooding every cell in his trembling
body left. Calmness washed over him.
“You two! What in the world are you doing
here?” asked Brownbeard.
One of the skeletons handed Brownbeard a
mirror.
“Huh! The mirror from Ye Olde Gift Shoppe.
So, Ludwig finally sold it to you. Good. But I’ve
got problems right now, so I can’t really look.”
Brownbeard went to hand back the mirror, but
the skeleton pushed it back. The other skeleton
motioned to Brownbeard that he should look into
it.
“Okay,” said Brownbeard, shaking his head in
disbelief.
Brownbeard looked. It was an excellent mirror.
No facial feature was withheld. Brownbeard
frowned.
“Hmmmm. Dang! I’m not as good looking as I
thought I was.”
The skeletons trembled a bit. Were they
laughing at him?
“But,” Brownbeard added, “I’m not as ugly as
some people say I am.”
One of the skeletons patted Brownbeard on the
back. The other skeleton pointed at the mirror, and
then in the direction from which Pewtrewsha and
Morlox would be coming.
“Are you nuts! Have you seen them! What
good is a mirror going to do against that?” asked
Brownbeard.
But the skeletons were insistent. Brownbeard
was to use the mirror when Pewtrewsha and
Morlox were upon him.
“All right. All right. You’re skeletons, so I
guess you know what you’re talking about.”
One of the skeletons then motioned to
Brownbeard to hold out his hand. He did as
instructed and felt several small, hard objects pour
into his palm. He took a look.
“Hey! Thanks! These rocks are just like the
ones that were in the traveling box!” said
Brownbeard excitedly. Then, glumly added, “I
doubt I’ll ever get to use them.”
Again, the skeletons motioned Brownbeard to
hold out his hand. He did so, and was given a
small, toy rocking horse.
“What in the world is this supposed to do?”
asked Brownbeard.
But the skeletons did not indicate what was the
point of the small child’s toy. Instead, they waved
good-bye and somehow managed to disappear into
the shadows beyond where Brownbeard could
mash himself.
“Wait!” cried Brownbeard. “I don’t get it! How
can any of this stuff help? Can’t you give me
some hint?”
The skeletons were nowhere to be seen or
heard. They were gone. Replacing them was the
small sound of squeaking stairs and swinging sax.
The trembles returned to Brownbeard.
“I can still jump,” he said to himself. “I don’t
have to waste time with this silly mirror. Oh, Lord!
What should I do?”
Pewtrewsha and Morlox were at the top of the
stairs. If he did not jump now, it would be too
late. Slow as she was, Pewtrewsha could whip out
a long tentacle or her lolling, snaky tongue, grab
Brownbeard, and do with him as she pleased.
Brownbeard looked longingly at the precipice.
Every fiber in his body ached to propel him over
the edge. In confusion and dismay, he turned his
gaze to the edge of the smokestack from where
personally would arrive Nightmare.
Then, there they were—that jazzy, jostling,
jiggling jumble of atrocity—the queen of slavery
and savagery—the king of cruelty and cretins—
Pewtrewsha and Morlox. As they drew within
sight of their prey, the two stopped swinging and
just looked with derision and amusement at the
quivering Brownbeard.
“Do you think the little piece of rot will give
us indigestion, my love?” Morlox asked
Pewtrewsha.
“No, not at all. I will tenderize him well for
you my dear. For you, nothing tough and stringy.
Only delicious juice,” answered Pewtrewsha.
“The rot freed our slaves!” said Morlox with
contempt.
“Not to worry my sweetheart,” soothed
Pewtrewsha. “We will recapture all and make
examples of many. The rest will never dare
escape again. None of the babies will leave here
until we dispose of them properly.”
Morlox made crude, whimpering sounds of
pleasure.
“Remember my prince,” crooned Pewtrewsha,
“a good rancher never liquidates the whole herd at
once. We still have many calves in the little
villages which will soon be ready. Harvest time is
always at hand.”
“Yessssss—” said Morlox.
Pewtrewsha and Morlox stepped up and over
Brownbeard. The stench of unclean breath washed
over him and he became ill. Hiding his face in the
crook of one arm, Brownbeard thrust out towards
Pewtrewsha and Morlox the mirror dangling at the
end of his other shaking limb.
“Ah, look here,” said Pewtrewsha. “The little
cur has a gift for us. I do like presents.”
“What is it, my love?” asked Morlox.
“Oh! It’s a mirror! I do like to look at myself.
Shall we look at ourselves, my dearest?”
“Yessss,” concurred Morlox. “But let’s eat
first.”
“Mmmmm my sweet. I agree. I agree. Still, I
can’t resist a peek. Just a peek.”
She snatched the mirror from Brownbeard’s
quivering hand. Holding the mirror close, she
gazed upon herself.
“Ahhhhh!” she said. “Yes. Yes. Ahhhhh!
Hmmmm! Ahhh! Ha! Ha! Haaa! Haaaaa!
Aaaaaagh! Aaaaaaaagh! Ha! Aaaaaaaaaaaagh!”
Brownbeard’s eyes were shut tight. He was not
sure what he was hearing. At first, he thought that
maybe Pewtrewsha was quite pleased with the
mirror and that she might leave him alone. But
now, it sounded as though she were vexed and
might do something more vicious then anything he
could imagine. Without will of his own,
Brownbeard looked up at the monster before him.
“Aaaaaaagh!!! No!!!! No!!!!! Nooooooo!!!!!!!!!!
Nooooooooo!!!!!!!!” screamed Pewtrewsha.
The sorceress’ eyes were locked into her
reflection. She could not break free from her own
gaze. Whatever it was that she saw, it was
apparent to Brownbeard she was not pleased.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” screamed the sorceress.
“Honey! Honey! Put it down! Put it down!”
yelled Morlox in desperation.
But Pewtrewsha would not, could not drop the
mirror. She shook and shook, all the while
screaming in a most severe fright. She spun and
spun like a gyro. Now Morlox shrieked in fright.
“Sweetie! Dearheart! Watch it! Be careful!”
Pewtrewsha, large and slow as she was, threw
herself over the guard rail into the dark infinity on
the other side. Brownbeard watched in
amazement. For an instant, Pewtrewsha and
Morlox spun in the blackness, suspended over the
abyss. Then there was nothing but quiet night for
many, many long seconds until—
KABOOM!!!
A tremendous splash sent tidal waves through
all the waters of the lake.
Brownbeard had no idea that the amazing,
terrible sounds he heard far below were those of
Pewtrewsha and Morlox being dragged under by
their very own weremonsters Grobrom and
Vulderburp. Looking around, Brownbeard pushed
himself up.
“Thanks,” he said quietly to the silent night
high above the water.
But the skeletons were gone. He walked down
the stairs, still not sure if the battle was over. He
heard nothing. Perfect stillness hung in the air,
wrapping Brownbeard like a blanket. Amnesia’s
cold industrial lights illuminated Brownbeard’s
way. Turning from one flight of stairs to the next,
Brownbeard looked up and saw two figures
standing high above him, right where he had been
cowering just moments before. At first, his brain
would not register what his eyes reported.
Expecting to see his skeleton friends with flaming
red eyes and black robes, instead Brownbeard saw
above him a young man and a young woman.
They were maybe the same age as he and Hazel.
They wore not black, but white, and light shone
about them.
“Angels!” said Brownbeard. “You’re really
angels!”
The two just smiled and laughed and waved
good-bye. Then they disappeared somewhere
behind the smokestack tower of the deposed slave
ship. Exhausted, but very, very happy,
Brownbeard continued his way down the many
stairs and passages to return to the others.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s over. It’s finally over.”
* * *
“And so,” roared Blackbeard as he stood over
the fire which had been built in the central plaza of
the little village, “there we were in pitched battle
with Grobrom and Vulderburp—bodies like sea
serpents, faces like a man and woman, teeth like
vipers, eyes white like the dead, voices like the
end of the world! Rafts be flyin’ through the sky!
We be avoidin’ their lashin’ tails’ and bitin’ teeth
just barely. We be a-grabbin’ one another outta
the water as fast as we bein’ a-knocked in!”
The large gathering of pirates and freed
children, some of whom were lucky enough to find
long lost parents, or aunts and uncles, or sisters
and brothers, ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ as the famous
pirate regaled them with details of the perilous
battle. Of course, hot chocolate and cookies were
being enjoyed by all.
“Now things be lookin’ purty rough, like
maybe all be lost, when lo and behold, me cuz
here sends the savage slug of sea snot
Pewtrewsha, and her consort Morlox, down upon
our heads!”
This detail drew lots of ‘booing’ of
Pewtrewsha’s and Morlox’s names, as well as
much cheering of Brownbeard’s heroism.
Brownbeard did try to explain that he had really
been cowering throughout his face-off with the
sorceress, and that it took some kind of magic
mirror to defeat her. But no one seemed interested
in these details. Blackbeard’s version of the fight
won out.
“With his bare hands I tell ya!” cried
Blackbeard. “Such anger had me cuz at the
rottenness of the two evil doers that he threw the
beasts clear over the railing and into the water!”
“Yeaaah! Yeaaah! Yeaaah, Brownbeard!”
Hazel squeezed his arm. She knew how things
really went. She did not care. She was just glad to
have her Brownbeard back.
“An’ a good thing it t’was he a-sent them on
over, cause just like that, Grobrom and
Vulderburp, they abandon us and latch on to their
hide!” laughed the pirate.
“They all dragged one another down to the
bottom of the lake!” added Kumquat.
“Aye! They did mate! That they did!” agreed
Blackbeard.
Late into the night went the party. No one
cared that an early start was planned for the
morrow. There were other villages to visit, other
homes to return children to, more stories to tell,
and more hot chocolate to drink and cookies to
eat. Then there was home home to which to return.
Brownbeard thought longingly of his parents and
New Ferry.
Walking away from the festivities for a
moment, no one seemed to notice that Brownbeard
had left for a stroll. Too good a time was being
had by all. No one noticed excepting Felix, who
ran after Brownbeard.
“Brownbeard! Brownbeard!” called Felix. “Can
I walk with you?”
Brownbeard turned.
“Sure, Felix. I just need to get away for a
moment. You know, all that stuff my cuz is
saying—it didn’t quite happen that way.”
“I remember you said something about angels,”
said Felix. “No one else seemed to hear you, but I
remember.”
Brownbeard chuckled.
“Tell me more about them. What did they do?
What did they look like?” asked Felix.
Brownbeard did the best he could to relay all
of the details.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” said Brownbeard.
“They gave me this toy rocking horse, too. That
was before they turned into angels. Or, at least
before they stopped looking like skeletons and
started looking like angels.”
Brownbeard offered Felix the toy horse. Felix
took it and looked it over intently.
“Do you want it?” asked Brownbeard.
Felix did not answer, but became lost in
thought. They walked on, not saying a word for
some time. Finally, Brownbeard asked, “Are you
okay?”
Felix nodded his head, but his little body was
shaking.
“Felix! Felix! What’s wrong?”
“Look Brownbeard! Look here!” said Felix
pointing to a pair of small marks on the toy horse.
“Oh, I didn’t see those,” said Brownbeard.
“Hmmm. ‘F.T.’ ”
“Yes, F.T.,” said Felix.
“Oh my!” exclaimed Brownbeard. “Felix
Tookesberry! This was—I mean—is it? Is this
your horse from before you were kidnapped?”
“Yes,” said Felix.
“Then, those two were—they were your
parents?”
“I think maybe so,” cried Felix.
“Oh, my. Oh, my,” was all Brownbeard could
say. He put his arm around Felix as the two found
a place to sit and just look at the little toy rocking
horse.
The Adventures of Short Stubbly Brownbeard
Alan J. Levine
* * *
Chapter Forty-Five
Buy yer hard copy
at . . .
at . . .
Want to support
children's literature?
That's great! But
instead, why don't you
go to the followin'
links to buy yer own
miserable copy of
Brownbeard and
support Pirates
Anonymous? We've
been assisting pirates
with mental health and
hygiene issues since
1633. Brownbeard is
also available to
schools and libraries
through wholesalers
like Follett, Ingram,
and Baker & Taylor.
children's literature?
That's great! But
instead, why don't you
go to the followin'
links to buy yer own
miserable copy of
Brownbeard and
support Pirates
Anonymous? We've
been assisting pirates
with mental health and
hygiene issues since
1633. Brownbeard is
also available to
schools and libraries
through wholesalers
like Follett, Ingram,
and Baker & Taylor.
