Back aboard the repaired For Sale, the crew
prepared to weigh anchor and sail up the
Bingabong River into the heart of The Empire of
Sa’Laam. While Wilbert and Schmoor had been
hard at work on the ship, Kumquat had been
sneaking down alleys and side streets looking for
small native creatures to add to her collection of
squirrels, parakeets, ferrets and such. She came
back empty handed. This, on top of the fact that
she had not contributed to helping repair the For
Sale, was the subject of hot argument between her
and Wilbert when Brownbeard and Hazel arrived
back at the ship.
“Not only don’t you help with the work, but
you can’t catch anything anyway! What’s the
point?” asked Wilbert.
“First of all, I did my work before I went
ashore!” said Kumquat. “My charts are all in
order and I’ve updated all of the maps and data
banks with the most current navigation
information. You on the other hand—well, we saw
the results of your high quality troll-work on that
plunge through the atmosphere.”
“That’s a cheap shot cat!” snapped Wilbert.
“You heard Hazel! The tiles were defective. Like
your hunting abilities!”
“I’m not a hunter!”
“That’s my point! What kind of cat are you!”
“Lucky for you, I’m a non-violent kind of cat
my dear troll! But I’m thinking of changing my
ways, so watch it!”
“Ooooo! Don’t threaten me cat!”
An agitated Schmoor was jumping up and
down.
“Give it a rest!” cried Brownbeard. “Don’t you
two ever stop?”
“Please!” said Hazel. “You’re upsetting poor
Schmoor.”
Hazel patted the sock gremlin’s sock covered
head.
“There, there, little Schmoor. It’s all right.
They’re just playing.”
Schmoor calmed a bit and smiled at Hazel.
“Now, can we work as a team and get ready to
move on?” asked Brownbeard.
Apparently, Hazel had been planning this
escapade for a long time. The required papers
were all in order. The local authorities expedited
the final approval that would allow the For Sale to
sail through the gates of the capital city.
The motor hummed gently as they left the town
of Too Poo Loo. Buildings gave way to what
looked like farms and gently rolling hills. But for
Brownbeard, there were subtle reminders that this
was not the same world with which he was
familiar. Strange flying ships would cruise through
the air above. No fewer than three times
Brownbeard saw the roof of a farmhouse levitate
from its walls with no visible means of
propulsion. Then, one of the airships might enter
into or leave from the farmhouse, and then the roof
would settle back down.
Along the banks of the Bingabong were large,
beautiful trees with silver leaves that shimmered
in the gentle breeze. On the trees were marvelous
signs with strange letters and pictures of people
and other creatures. But before Brownbeard could
soak up the details of a particular sign, its picture
would change into something entirely different.
Hazel explained that the signs were
advertisements for all sorts of things.
“They’re in the native language of The Empire,
Sa’Laami,” Hazel continued. “If things go as
planned, we won’t be here long enough for you to
learn Sa’Laami. At least not very well. They grow
the trees along the banks of the river so that there
will be a nice place to put each advertisement.
The leaves have been genetically modified so that
if you go and pluck one off a tree, you’ll see you
have a printed coupon to use. That way if you
wanted to buy a new sword, or wanted your
eyebrows done, you could get a discount on the
regular price.”
“That’s ingenious!” exclaimed Brownbeard.
“Unlike some places I’ve been where they cut
down trees to put up a sign, here in Sa’Laam, trees
and commerce go hand in hand,” said Hazel.
Brownbeard nodded and said, “That seems like
a good way to do things. I’m starting to see what
you mean. Compared to this place, the world I
come from is a bit—ahhh—”
“Quaint?” asked Hazel, trying to help
Brownbeard finish his sentence.
“Yes, I guess that’s a good word for it.”
* * *
The For Sale, with its quiet and efficient water
jets, passed more boats than passed it. The
occupants of the other boats were friendly and
waved or made other gestures that Hazel assured
Brownbeard were of a salutary nature.
Nigahayloo grot popeeswee?
“Where are you headed?” asked a large,
orange cat aboard a skiff that the For Sale slowly
passed.
“To see The Emperor,” responded Kumquat.
Chee! Chee! Tapa dom froop ongla mala moo!
“Of course! Of course! Perhaps we’ll see each
other there!”
“Yes! That would be nice!” purred Kumquat.
Everyone else aboard the For Sale looked at
one another with smiles on their faces.
“Kumquat,” said Hazel, “Why didn’t you ask
his name? I think he liked you.”
“Oh, what are you talking about Hazel?” asked
Kumquat.
“Smoochie! Smoochie!” said Wilbert.
Kumquat gave Wilbert one of her patented
glares.
“Don’t give me that my little cat,” teased
Hazel. “That was a fine looking tom and we both
know it.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” was Kumquat’s
reply.
“Please!” laughed Wilbert.
Schmoor hiccupped with the giggles.
“I agree with Hazel,” interjected Brownbeard.
“I think he liked you, too.”
“You are all crazy!” howled Kumquat.
“Crazy! Crazy! Crazy!” yelled Wilbert as he
and Schmoor locked elbows and danced about in
circles.
“All right,” said Hazel in a relenting tone.
“Leave Ms. Kitty alone.”
“I’m going to talk to my real friends,”
Kumquat hissed as she ran down below deck.
Everyone stared after their navigator.
“Maybe we were too hard on her,” said
Brownbeard.
“Ach! She needs to lighten up!” protested
Wilbert. “We were just joking! Besides, anyone
could see the two kitty cats liked each other.”
“Hmmmm,” mused Hazel. “We may have been
a bit rough on her. Kumquat’s a peculiar girl. On
the other hand, Wilbert’s right. She does have a
thin skin. I’ll give her some time and then go talk
to her woman to woman.”
“Good idea,” said Brownbeard.
Schmoor nodded in agreement.
Wilbert shook his head and sighed, “Such a
touchy little puss.”
* * *
As they continued up the Bingabong, still not
halfway to their destination, Brownbeard stood
aboard the deck watching the scenery drift by.
Every so often he would see a group of children
smacking rocks just like the boys in the Too Poo
Loo alley. This gave him an idea. Brownbeard
snuck down to the room where Kumquat kept her
pets. He looked around. Kumquat was not there.
He went in and looked at all of the cages.
“Phew! Kumquat must have a hundred pets in
here!”
He saw a cockatiel perched on a stick.
Carefully opening the door to the cage,
Brownbeard slowly reached in. The little bird
scampered down the stick away from his hand,
protesting the whole way.
Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!
“Shhhh!” said Brownbeard. “It’s okay. I’m just
borrowing your stick.”
Brownbeard pulled the stick out and shut the
cage. He held the stick. It was too small. It would
probably break if he tried to hit a rock with it.
Well, maybe if the rocks were small, like pebbles,
it would work. Now, where to get pebbles?
Brownbeard went down to the bottom floor of
the For Sale—the one Hazel had somehow added
to the ship without making it look any larger.
There, amongst the supplies burnt and charred
from the disastrous entry, he found the little box
he had bought at Ye Olde Gift Shoppe. It was in
bad shape. The heat of their descent through the
sky burnt the beautiful fabric with which it was
covered. The dragon’s head peeked out from
black smoke obscuring the rest of its long body.
Brownbeard opened the lid and poured out the
little turquoise rocks. He stopped and thought
about this for a moment.
“I wonder if this is a good idea?”
He was about to place the rocks back, but then
decided the traveling box was probably too
damaged to be of any use. And besides, they
could just get more rocks for it later. He went
back to the upper deck and began tossing the
rocks up one at a time, swinging for the clouds.
When he was not missing the tiny rocks all
together, he would get a weak click! And then the
little pebble would sail overboard. But he was
barely clearing the bank of the river, which was no
more than a couple of ship lengths away.
Actually, more pebbles plunged into the water
than reached dry land. He heard laughter behind
him. Turning around he saw Hazel.
“What are you laughing at?” he asked.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Well, I guess not much. I can’t seem to hit
very far. I don’t know how I hit that one as far as I
did.”
“Hmmm, that’s a good question.”
Brownbeard tossed up another pebble. Click!
It sailed into some reeds growing just at the edge
of the river.
“Dang!” said Brownbeard.
“Try keeping your elbow up,” said Hazel.
“What?”
“Here, like this,” said Hazel as she walked
over to him, taking Brownbeard’s right arm. “Get
in your hitting stance,” she said.
Brownbeard’s heart raced. He wanted to kiss
this wonderful, gorgeous woman who had charmed
him so. But he dared not.
“Relax, will you? Here, keep your right elbow
up and ready to move forward as you toss the
pebble. Good. Bend your knees. No! Not that
much, just a little.”
Brownbeard did as he was told. He tried
swinging again. This time, he did not even hit past
the rails of the ship on the fly. The pebble
skittered over the edge of the deck, disappearing
into the Bingabong. Hazel ran her fingers through
her hair, her lips curling and eyebrows furrowing
as she thought about how to help Brownbeard.
“Look here, Brownie. Try standing on one leg,
curling your tongue, and crossing your eyes,” she
said.
“What!”
“Try standing on one leg, curling your tongue,
and crossing your eyes,” she repeated.
“Come on, Hazel! Be serious,” said
Brownbeard.
“I am,” she said. Then she showed him what
she meant. Brownbeard laughed.
“You’re crazy!” he said.
“Yes, I am. Now do it,” she ordered.
Brownbeard shook his head in dismay. He
curled his tongue, pulled up his left leg, and
crossed his eyes just as Hazel had done. Not able
to see what he was doing, he tossed up another
pebble and swung blindly for the little rock. He
heard an authoritative smack! He uncrossed his
eyes in time to watch the pebble sail far and high
into the sky, gradually disappearing from view
while beginning its descent, tracing an elegant arch.
“Very nice!” said Hazel. “See?”
“Strange,” said Brownbeard.
“Try again,” said Hazel.
Brownbeard looked at her curiously. Hazel
gave him that beautiful smile which melted his
heart every time. He picked up a pebble, pulled
up his left leg, crossed his eyes, curled his tongue,
tossed and swung. Smack!
Brownbeard’s jaw dropped. As impossibly far
as the first one had gone, this one went even
farther. Hazel laughed and clapped.
“By gosh! I think you’ve got it!” she said.
“Wow! You’re a good coach!” said
Brownbeard.
Brownbeard hit several more. As the For Sale
proceeded on up the Bingabong, a group of kids
smacking rocks in a nearby field watched as
Brownbeard crushed a shot far over their heads.
They ran as fast as their legs could carry them
over to the river bank, shouting and waving their
arms.
“Hey! Hey! That’s cool!”
“That was great!”
“Are you The Captain?”
“Yeah! Are you The Captain?”
Brownbeard just waved and laughed.
“How do they know about The Captain?”
Brownbeard asked Hazel.
“I don’t know. Word travels fast I guess.”
“Do it again!” shouted one of the boys.
“Yeah, Captain! Do it again!”
Brownbeard went into his routine. One leg up,
eyes crossed, tongue curled, then toss and launch.
The boys cheered and applauded as the For Sale
cruised by. Brownbeard saw the boys trying to hit
like he had as they disappeared into the distance.
“That’s a really good technique, Hazel,” said
Brownbeard.
“Yes, it is,” she said, bursting into tears and
buckling over in convulsions.
“Hazel! Hazel! What’s the matter?” shouted
Brownbeard. “What’s wrong? Kumquat! Wilbert!
Schmoor! Come quick! Something’s wrong with
Hazel!”
Hazel grabbed at Brownbeard to stop his
shouting.
“No—no,” she said gasping for air.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh—oh,” Hazel said in a pant. “Oh, my!”
Then she burst into convulsions again, tears
pouring from the corners of her eyes as she bent
over, holding her sides.
Then it dawned on Brownbeard. Hazel was
fine. It was he whom with something was the
matter. It was he who was the butt of a big joke.
“You! You!” shouted Brownbeard in fury.
“You!”
Hazel looked up from where she was doubled
over, still trying to catch her breath and regain her
composure.
“I can’t hit! I’m not The Captain! I can only hit
because you’ve been making the stupid rocks sail
like that!”
Hazel picked herself up and went to pat
Brownbeard on the arm, but he drew away.
“Oh no you don’t! How humiliating! And—
and—‘Look here, Brownie! Try standing on one
leg, curl your tongue, and cross your eyes!’ Yeah!
That’s really hilarious!”
“Brownie,” said Hazel gently. “Please don’t be
mad. It was just a little joke. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it! I don’t like being made a fool of
Hazel! You’ve been manipulating me since—since
before I even met you! That night at the office! At
Snookie, Pitts and Fropenheimer! When you
nearly murdered me! That big, vicious, scimitar
wielding 4 that you sent to jump me! Nearly
taking my head off! Just to what? Test me!”
Hazel looked at Brownbeard. For a moment, he
thought she looked genuinely remorseful.
“No! Don’t!” Brownbeard thought. “She’s a
witch. A sand witch! Don’t let her fool you. Don’t
give in!”
Brownbeard took one step toward her, lifting a
finger in admonishment and accusation.
“Listen to me, Hazel,” Brownbeard said in a
low, hoarse whisper full of anger and hurt. “I’m
through with it! I will not be toyed with! I am the
captain of this ship! You may be smarter, more
clever, craftier, more intelligent, worldlier, more
cunning—”
“Funnier,” Hazel said helpfully, with just a hint
of her winning smile.
Brownbeard looked at her, smoke blowing out
his ears.
“Sorry,” said Hazel.
“Leave me be,” said Brownbeard.
Throwing the stick and the remaining pebbles
overboard, he turned on a heel and stormed below
deck to his private quarters. Hazel’s long, silky
brown hair blew in the wind as she watched after
Brownbeard. One lone tear slowly fell along her
beautiful cheek.
prepared to weigh anchor and sail up the
Bingabong River into the heart of The Empire of
Sa’Laam. While Wilbert and Schmoor had been
hard at work on the ship, Kumquat had been
sneaking down alleys and side streets looking for
small native creatures to add to her collection of
squirrels, parakeets, ferrets and such. She came
back empty handed. This, on top of the fact that
she had not contributed to helping repair the For
Sale, was the subject of hot argument between her
and Wilbert when Brownbeard and Hazel arrived
back at the ship.
“Not only don’t you help with the work, but
you can’t catch anything anyway! What’s the
point?” asked Wilbert.
“First of all, I did my work before I went
ashore!” said Kumquat. “My charts are all in
order and I’ve updated all of the maps and data
banks with the most current navigation
information. You on the other hand—well, we saw
the results of your high quality troll-work on that
plunge through the atmosphere.”
“That’s a cheap shot cat!” snapped Wilbert.
“You heard Hazel! The tiles were defective. Like
your hunting abilities!”
“I’m not a hunter!”
“That’s my point! What kind of cat are you!”
“Lucky for you, I’m a non-violent kind of cat
my dear troll! But I’m thinking of changing my
ways, so watch it!”
“Ooooo! Don’t threaten me cat!”
An agitated Schmoor was jumping up and
down.
“Give it a rest!” cried Brownbeard. “Don’t you
two ever stop?”
“Please!” said Hazel. “You’re upsetting poor
Schmoor.”
Hazel patted the sock gremlin’s sock covered
head.
“There, there, little Schmoor. It’s all right.
They’re just playing.”
Schmoor calmed a bit and smiled at Hazel.
“Now, can we work as a team and get ready to
move on?” asked Brownbeard.
Apparently, Hazel had been planning this
escapade for a long time. The required papers
were all in order. The local authorities expedited
the final approval that would allow the For Sale to
sail through the gates of the capital city.
The motor hummed gently as they left the town
of Too Poo Loo. Buildings gave way to what
looked like farms and gently rolling hills. But for
Brownbeard, there were subtle reminders that this
was not the same world with which he was
familiar. Strange flying ships would cruise through
the air above. No fewer than three times
Brownbeard saw the roof of a farmhouse levitate
from its walls with no visible means of
propulsion. Then, one of the airships might enter
into or leave from the farmhouse, and then the roof
would settle back down.
Along the banks of the Bingabong were large,
beautiful trees with silver leaves that shimmered
in the gentle breeze. On the trees were marvelous
signs with strange letters and pictures of people
and other creatures. But before Brownbeard could
soak up the details of a particular sign, its picture
would change into something entirely different.
Hazel explained that the signs were
advertisements for all sorts of things.
“They’re in the native language of The Empire,
Sa’Laami,” Hazel continued. “If things go as
planned, we won’t be here long enough for you to
learn Sa’Laami. At least not very well. They grow
the trees along the banks of the river so that there
will be a nice place to put each advertisement.
The leaves have been genetically modified so that
if you go and pluck one off a tree, you’ll see you
have a printed coupon to use. That way if you
wanted to buy a new sword, or wanted your
eyebrows done, you could get a discount on the
regular price.”
“That’s ingenious!” exclaimed Brownbeard.
“Unlike some places I’ve been where they cut
down trees to put up a sign, here in Sa’Laam, trees
and commerce go hand in hand,” said Hazel.
Brownbeard nodded and said, “That seems like
a good way to do things. I’m starting to see what
you mean. Compared to this place, the world I
come from is a bit—ahhh—”
“Quaint?” asked Hazel, trying to help
Brownbeard finish his sentence.
“Yes, I guess that’s a good word for it.”
* * *
The For Sale, with its quiet and efficient water
jets, passed more boats than passed it. The
occupants of the other boats were friendly and
waved or made other gestures that Hazel assured
Brownbeard were of a salutary nature.
Nigahayloo grot popeeswee?
“Where are you headed?” asked a large,
orange cat aboard a skiff that the For Sale slowly
passed.
“To see The Emperor,” responded Kumquat.
Chee! Chee! Tapa dom froop ongla mala moo!
“Of course! Of course! Perhaps we’ll see each
other there!”
“Yes! That would be nice!” purred Kumquat.
Everyone else aboard the For Sale looked at
one another with smiles on their faces.
“Kumquat,” said Hazel, “Why didn’t you ask
his name? I think he liked you.”
“Oh, what are you talking about Hazel?” asked
Kumquat.
“Smoochie! Smoochie!” said Wilbert.
Kumquat gave Wilbert one of her patented
glares.
“Don’t give me that my little cat,” teased
Hazel. “That was a fine looking tom and we both
know it.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” was Kumquat’s
reply.
“Please!” laughed Wilbert.
Schmoor hiccupped with the giggles.
“I agree with Hazel,” interjected Brownbeard.
“I think he liked you, too.”
“You are all crazy!” howled Kumquat.
“Crazy! Crazy! Crazy!” yelled Wilbert as he
and Schmoor locked elbows and danced about in
circles.
“All right,” said Hazel in a relenting tone.
“Leave Ms. Kitty alone.”
“I’m going to talk to my real friends,”
Kumquat hissed as she ran down below deck.
Everyone stared after their navigator.
“Maybe we were too hard on her,” said
Brownbeard.
“Ach! She needs to lighten up!” protested
Wilbert. “We were just joking! Besides, anyone
could see the two kitty cats liked each other.”
“Hmmmm,” mused Hazel. “We may have been
a bit rough on her. Kumquat’s a peculiar girl. On
the other hand, Wilbert’s right. She does have a
thin skin. I’ll give her some time and then go talk
to her woman to woman.”
“Good idea,” said Brownbeard.
Schmoor nodded in agreement.
Wilbert shook his head and sighed, “Such a
touchy little puss.”
* * *
As they continued up the Bingabong, still not
halfway to their destination, Brownbeard stood
aboard the deck watching the scenery drift by.
Every so often he would see a group of children
smacking rocks just like the boys in the Too Poo
Loo alley. This gave him an idea. Brownbeard
snuck down to the room where Kumquat kept her
pets. He looked around. Kumquat was not there.
He went in and looked at all of the cages.
“Phew! Kumquat must have a hundred pets in
here!”
He saw a cockatiel perched on a stick.
Carefully opening the door to the cage,
Brownbeard slowly reached in. The little bird
scampered down the stick away from his hand,
protesting the whole way.
Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!
“Shhhh!” said Brownbeard. “It’s okay. I’m just
borrowing your stick.”
Brownbeard pulled the stick out and shut the
cage. He held the stick. It was too small. It would
probably break if he tried to hit a rock with it.
Well, maybe if the rocks were small, like pebbles,
it would work. Now, where to get pebbles?
Brownbeard went down to the bottom floor of
the For Sale—the one Hazel had somehow added
to the ship without making it look any larger.
There, amongst the supplies burnt and charred
from the disastrous entry, he found the little box
he had bought at Ye Olde Gift Shoppe. It was in
bad shape. The heat of their descent through the
sky burnt the beautiful fabric with which it was
covered. The dragon’s head peeked out from
black smoke obscuring the rest of its long body.
Brownbeard opened the lid and poured out the
little turquoise rocks. He stopped and thought
about this for a moment.
“I wonder if this is a good idea?”
He was about to place the rocks back, but then
decided the traveling box was probably too
damaged to be of any use. And besides, they
could just get more rocks for it later. He went
back to the upper deck and began tossing the
rocks up one at a time, swinging for the clouds.
When he was not missing the tiny rocks all
together, he would get a weak click! And then the
little pebble would sail overboard. But he was
barely clearing the bank of the river, which was no
more than a couple of ship lengths away.
Actually, more pebbles plunged into the water
than reached dry land. He heard laughter behind
him. Turning around he saw Hazel.
“What are you laughing at?” he asked.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Well, I guess not much. I can’t seem to hit
very far. I don’t know how I hit that one as far as I
did.”
“Hmmm, that’s a good question.”
Brownbeard tossed up another pebble. Click!
It sailed into some reeds growing just at the edge
of the river.
“Dang!” said Brownbeard.
“Try keeping your elbow up,” said Hazel.
“What?”
“Here, like this,” said Hazel as she walked
over to him, taking Brownbeard’s right arm. “Get
in your hitting stance,” she said.
Brownbeard’s heart raced. He wanted to kiss
this wonderful, gorgeous woman who had charmed
him so. But he dared not.
“Relax, will you? Here, keep your right elbow
up and ready to move forward as you toss the
pebble. Good. Bend your knees. No! Not that
much, just a little.”
Brownbeard did as he was told. He tried
swinging again. This time, he did not even hit past
the rails of the ship on the fly. The pebble
skittered over the edge of the deck, disappearing
into the Bingabong. Hazel ran her fingers through
her hair, her lips curling and eyebrows furrowing
as she thought about how to help Brownbeard.
“Look here, Brownie. Try standing on one leg,
curling your tongue, and crossing your eyes,” she
said.
“What!”
“Try standing on one leg, curling your tongue,
and crossing your eyes,” she repeated.
“Come on, Hazel! Be serious,” said
Brownbeard.
“I am,” she said. Then she showed him what
she meant. Brownbeard laughed.
“You’re crazy!” he said.
“Yes, I am. Now do it,” she ordered.
Brownbeard shook his head in dismay. He
curled his tongue, pulled up his left leg, and
crossed his eyes just as Hazel had done. Not able
to see what he was doing, he tossed up another
pebble and swung blindly for the little rock. He
heard an authoritative smack! He uncrossed his
eyes in time to watch the pebble sail far and high
into the sky, gradually disappearing from view
while beginning its descent, tracing an elegant arch.
“Very nice!” said Hazel. “See?”
“Strange,” said Brownbeard.
“Try again,” said Hazel.
Brownbeard looked at her curiously. Hazel
gave him that beautiful smile which melted his
heart every time. He picked up a pebble, pulled
up his left leg, crossed his eyes, curled his tongue,
tossed and swung. Smack!
Brownbeard’s jaw dropped. As impossibly far
as the first one had gone, this one went even
farther. Hazel laughed and clapped.
“By gosh! I think you’ve got it!” she said.
“Wow! You’re a good coach!” said
Brownbeard.
Brownbeard hit several more. As the For Sale
proceeded on up the Bingabong, a group of kids
smacking rocks in a nearby field watched as
Brownbeard crushed a shot far over their heads.
They ran as fast as their legs could carry them
over to the river bank, shouting and waving their
arms.
“Hey! Hey! That’s cool!”
“That was great!”
“Are you The Captain?”
“Yeah! Are you The Captain?”
Brownbeard just waved and laughed.
“How do they know about The Captain?”
Brownbeard asked Hazel.
“I don’t know. Word travels fast I guess.”
“Do it again!” shouted one of the boys.
“Yeah, Captain! Do it again!”
Brownbeard went into his routine. One leg up,
eyes crossed, tongue curled, then toss and launch.
The boys cheered and applauded as the For Sale
cruised by. Brownbeard saw the boys trying to hit
like he had as they disappeared into the distance.
“That’s a really good technique, Hazel,” said
Brownbeard.
“Yes, it is,” she said, bursting into tears and
buckling over in convulsions.
“Hazel! Hazel! What’s the matter?” shouted
Brownbeard. “What’s wrong? Kumquat! Wilbert!
Schmoor! Come quick! Something’s wrong with
Hazel!”
Hazel grabbed at Brownbeard to stop his
shouting.
“No—no,” she said gasping for air.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh—oh,” Hazel said in a pant. “Oh, my!”
Then she burst into convulsions again, tears
pouring from the corners of her eyes as she bent
over, holding her sides.
Then it dawned on Brownbeard. Hazel was
fine. It was he whom with something was the
matter. It was he who was the butt of a big joke.
“You! You!” shouted Brownbeard in fury.
“You!”
Hazel looked up from where she was doubled
over, still trying to catch her breath and regain her
composure.
“I can’t hit! I’m not The Captain! I can only hit
because you’ve been making the stupid rocks sail
like that!”
Hazel picked herself up and went to pat
Brownbeard on the arm, but he drew away.
“Oh no you don’t! How humiliating! And—
and—‘Look here, Brownie! Try standing on one
leg, curl your tongue, and cross your eyes!’ Yeah!
That’s really hilarious!”
“Brownie,” said Hazel gently. “Please don’t be
mad. It was just a little joke. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it! I don’t like being made a fool of
Hazel! You’ve been manipulating me since—since
before I even met you! That night at the office! At
Snookie, Pitts and Fropenheimer! When you
nearly murdered me! That big, vicious, scimitar
wielding 4 that you sent to jump me! Nearly
taking my head off! Just to what? Test me!”
Hazel looked at Brownbeard. For a moment, he
thought she looked genuinely remorseful.
“No! Don’t!” Brownbeard thought. “She’s a
witch. A sand witch! Don’t let her fool you. Don’t
give in!”
Brownbeard took one step toward her, lifting a
finger in admonishment and accusation.
“Listen to me, Hazel,” Brownbeard said in a
low, hoarse whisper full of anger and hurt. “I’m
through with it! I will not be toyed with! I am the
captain of this ship! You may be smarter, more
clever, craftier, more intelligent, worldlier, more
cunning—”
“Funnier,” Hazel said helpfully, with just a hint
of her winning smile.
Brownbeard looked at her, smoke blowing out
his ears.
“Sorry,” said Hazel.
“Leave me be,” said Brownbeard.
Throwing the stick and the remaining pebbles
overboard, he turned on a heel and stormed below
deck to his private quarters. Hazel’s long, silky
brown hair blew in the wind as she watched after
Brownbeard. One lone tear slowly fell along her
beautiful cheek.
The Adventures of Short Stubbly Brownbeard
Alan J. Levine
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
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.