After several hours of hard work fixing a broken
bilge pump and patching the hull, an exhausted
For Sale crew finally got to enjoy a spot of lunch
at dinner time. The time was now at hand. At last
Brownbeard would encounter the wonderful
peanut butter and orange marmalade quiche for
which Wilbert was renowned. They all said a
prayer of thanks not only for the delicious meal
before them, but also that God had seen fit to
deliver them from the traffic and rage of I-66, the
smoke and flame of a treacherous atmospheric
descent, and the near loss of the ship to the bottom
of the ocean. Bellies full of quiche and hot cocoa,
everyone crawled to bed. The next morning, the
crew gathered upon the upper deck and gazed out
upon the beautiful, blue-green water surrounding
them in all directions.
“Wow! That botched entry really put us off
course!” said Wilbert.
“Well, we have you to thank for that!” replied
Kumquat, angrily tapping at the keys of her laptop
computer.
“All right you two! Cut it!” ordered
Brownbeard.
“It seems were in the doldrums,” said Hazel.
“There’s not a hint of breeze.”
“My guess is we’re about seven hundred
nautical miles from the western shore of Sa’
Laam,” said Kumquat, examining her old charts
and trying to download the latest satellite data.
“Which, with these winds,” observed Wilbert,
licking a finger and holding it up, “we should
reach in about—oh, I’d say—never.”
“If you can’t come up with a productive
suggestion, then how about not saying anything,”
said Kumquat. “Good gravy!” hissed the cat,
“This connection is so slow!”
“Ahem,” said Brownbeard, clearing his throat,
readying to discipline these malcontents.
“Relax,” said Hazel. “At least we’re alive. We’
ve been through a lot. Now, if we can just fix the
ship’s water jets we’ll be in great shape.”
“What about my traveling box?” asked
Brownbeard.
“Well, we kind of lost it in the botched entry
we made, Captain,” said Wilbert, looking down at
his large toes.
“Ah, that’s not good. Did we lose a lot of
stuff?” asked Brownbeard.
“Two storage rooms at the lower aft of the ship
full of equipment and supplies I’m afraid,” replied
Wilbert. “Ropes burned up, grapefruits and
lemons broiled. It’s not a pretty scene.”
“But at least we’re staying afloat, right?” asked
Brownbeard.
“For the time being. The hull’s patch is only
temporary. We’re still pumping water out. We
definitely need to find a place to dry dock and do
some real repair work.”
“Okay, Hazel, would you like some help with
that ‘water whatever’ you said?” asked
Brownbeard.
“Water jet,” replied Hazel. “Sure, let’s go.”
* * *
A few hours later, the For Sale was motoring
along at about 20 knots, heading almost exactly
northeast. They sailed through the night and all of
the next day. In the evening, from the crow’s nest,
Wilbert shouted, “Land, ho!”
Looking out from the bow of the For Sale, sea
spray lightly splashed Brownbeard’s face as the
ship bucked through the waves. The sun had set
behind them nearly a half-hour before. The sky
before them was a deep purple, the sea nearly as
black as the space between the stars. But in
between the sky and sea a thin ribbon of twinkling,
beckoning lights shimmered. It looked just like
they were approaching the port of New Ferry.
Brownbeard imagined that a hot supper of clam
chowder and fish cakes awaited him at home. It
was hard to fathom that they were an
unfathomable number of miles away from New
Ferry.
* * *
Their entry into The Empire of Sa’Laam was
uneventful. A man from the port authority of The
Empire guided them to a dock. After paying the
requisite fee, they were allowed to drop anchor
and tie up.
The next day, everyone was busy at work
readying the For Sale for the final leg of the
journey to the capital city. The capital city and
The Emperor’s palace were a hundred miles
inland along the Bingabong River. The For Sale
would follow the river inland all the way to the
capital city. Schmoor and Wilbert went into town
and bought supplies to patch the hull properly and
replace other damaged goods. Kumquat
disappeared into town as well, but what it was she
was doing was anybody’s guess. Brownbeard and
Hazel tidied up and inventoried the ship. Then
they went into town as well, to look at the sights.
Brownbeard was flabbergasted at the
inhabitants of the town they were in. Many of the
inhabitants were just like themselves, but many
others were unlike anybody Brownbeard had ever
before seen. Meeting Kumquat, Schmoor and
Wilbert was quite a shock to his system, but even
that could not prepare him for the strange beings
walking and talking in this new town.
The languages flitting through the air were not
at all familiar to Brownbeard’s ears, though he
thought at times he might have heard Chinese. Not
that he had ever heard Chinese, but if he had ever
heard it before, he imagined it would have
sounded something like what he was hearing now.
Or then he heard something that was maybe
French, or Italian, or German. The town they
walked through was like something out of a
picture book he had once seen describing the
voyages of Marco Polo.
There were buildings which looked like
miniature palaces, with roof tops of strange slope
and shape bristling with spires and towers.
Bridges and walkways crossed over the streets.
And there were bridges over bridges. And bridges
over bridges, over bridges. But bizarre as it all
was, it did not feel totally different compared to
New Ferry or Charleston. Brownbeard sensed he
was in a town similar to any other small town by
the sea. Hazel laughed at him as they walked
down a street.
“Brownie! Your mouth is so wide open a bug is
going to fly right in,” she said.
“I just can’t believe all of the—the—”
“Different types of folks that are in this town,”
said Hazel, finishing his sentence.
“Yes, that’s it. I know it’s rude to stare, but I
find I can’t help myself.”
“You have to understand. The Empire of Sa’
Laam is an advanced civilization. Far beyond that
of any in the world we come from. Travelers on
business or pleasure from all over the galaxy, and
beyond even, come here. It’s a very popular
place. Just wait ‘til we get to the capital city.”
Hazel presented a small pebble to Brownbeard
as they walked.
“What’s this for?” Brownbeard asked.
“Put it in your ear,” replied Hazel. “That way
you’ll be able to understand the conversations
going on around you. Not every conversation, but
most. Visitors to or residents from advanced
civilizations such as Sa’Laam have translator
chips implanted in their auditory canals. That or
they use some other manner of device to change
one form of communicative energy into whatever
means of information sensation is their preferred
mode of reception.”
Brownbeard did as he was instructed. To his
delight, all of the conversations around him
resolved into almost completely understandable
English.
They turned down a narrow alley. There they
saw a group of boys that, on first inspection,
looked like any group of boys back home playing
a game of some sort. But many of the children
were a bit different in appearance than those from
New Ferry. One child was purple and black and
had only one eye in the middle of his forehead,
like a Cyclops. Another child was actually a large
puppy that ran around on two legs, wore clothes
like the other boys, and talked and cursed like the
other boys as well. One young boy threw up a
rock and swung at it with a stick, striking it well
as the other boys in the alley ducked for cover.
“Whoa! Nice hit!” yelled one boy.
“Good job,” admired another as the rock sailed
far into the sky, above the buildings and up onto a
roof somewhere, never to be located.
“I’m Emperor of Sa’Laam,” shouted the boy
who had hit the rock, as the other boys bowed and
waved their hands in formal salutation.
“My turn!”
“No, my turn!”
“My turn!”
The boys shouted and pushed and pulled as
they fought for the stick. A scrum began as they
piled onto one another and attacked the boy who
had hit the rock. Brownbeard and Hazel stood
aside and watched. Brownbeard was worried.
“Should we do something?” he asked Hazel.
“No, no, they’re just playing,” she assured him.
Finally, the boy who was actually a dog
emerged from the heap with the stick in his mouth
and raced away from the pack. Before any of the
other boys could get him, the dog found a broken
brick and lofted it in the air as he swung the stick
back to hit it. The dog did hit it, but it was a
weakly hit half-a-brick that skittered on the ground
to the feet of the other boys.
“You stink!”
“Give me the stick!”
“You can’t hit anymore!”
The other boys rushed the dog who had done
such a poor job. The dog dropped the stick and
ran for cover behind Brownbeard and Hazel. The
other boys ignored the dog and jumped for the
dropped stick, beating and slugging each other in
an effort to grab it.
“Maybe you’ll do better next time,”
Brownbeard said to the little dog hiding behind
them.
The dog just looked at him. Maybe this was not
a dog or cat that could talk like Kumquat. Hazel
translated what Brownbeard had said. If
Brownbeard had not been wearing the implant,
Hazel’s sentence would have sounded something
like this–“Ta ving te ha, oong snike ming ha.”
To which the dog replied, “I can hit better then
all of them. The stupid stick just slipped in my
paws.”
Hazel laughed and said to Brownbeard, “He
says he can hit better than all of them, the stupid
stick just slipped out of his hands.”
“I heard him, but he said ‘paws.’”
Hazel looked at Brownbeard with surprise.
Then she remembered the translator was in
Brownbeard’s ear.
“Smarty pants,” she said.
Brownbeard laughed. The nearby scrum ended
and yet another boy came out with the stick. This
boy raced in the other direction until he skidded to
a halt and picked up something from the alley.
The other boys in hot pursuit also halted as the
one with the stick reared back and swung in their
direction. A rock blistered off the stick and
careened off one alley wall to the other, sending
all in its haphazard path, including Hazel,
Brownbeard, and the dog, scrambling for cover.
“Whew! I think we should get out of here
before we get it!” said Brownbeard to Hazel.
“I think you’re right,” Hazel agreed.
The other boys were jeering the efforts of the
fellow who had just nearly killed all of them, and
were now proceeding to pummel him as the fight
for the sacred stick continued.
One of the boys looked up from the pile and
shouted their way, “Aren’t you still playing
Kizmir?”
To which the dog replied, “I’m coming! Hold on
a second!”
Then the dog, whose name was Kizmir, turned to
Brownbeard and said, “You sure look unusual. Is
that a fake eyebrow? Where are you from?”
“Uh, well, I’m from a place very far away,”
replied Brownbeard.
“Oh,” said Kizmir, apparently able to
understand Brownbeard without difficulty. “That’s
interesting.”
“Agrapo herwala abja. En dwef snorg on shala
boz an Friole Sa’Laam,” said Hazel, just to show
off her mastery of the native tongue.
The dog’s eyes opened wide. “You’re kidding,”
the dog said.
“Tow-tow,” said Hazel.
“Hey guys!” shouted the canine. “These guys
are going to see The Emperor! Did you hear me?
They’re going to see The Emperor!”
The current fight immediately ceased as each
boy, from top to bottom in the stack, looked over
at Hazel, Brownbeard, and Kizmir. Then the boy
at the bottom of the pile stuck out his head and
shouted, “You’re going to see The Emperor?
Whoa!”
With that, the pile broke and all of the scamps
came running up to where Brownbeard, Hazel and
Kizmir stood. They surrounded Hazel and
Brownbeard, peppering them with questions and
exclamations.
“Cool! You’re going to see The Emperor!”
“Wow! Where are your seats?”
“Do you play?”
“Can you get us tickets?”
“Have you seen The Emperor before?”
“Yes, we’re going to see The Emperor,” said
Hazel. “We have very good seats. I don’t play, but
Captain Brownbeard here does, and he’s very
good too. I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can get
you tickets. And no, this will be our first time
seeing The Emperor.”
When the boys heard that Captain Brownbeard
was a very good player, all of their attention
turned to him.
“Wow! You’re a really good player?”
“How far can you hit it?”
“I’ll bet you can hit it really far!”
“Can you hit it farther than The Emperor?”
“No! You bashbot! If he could hit it that far he’
d be Emperor!”
“Well, he’s a Captain!”
“But that’s not like Emperor!”
“So? You’re a bashbot!”
“You’re a bashbot!”
“Be quiet!”
“You be quiet!”
“So, how far can you hit it?”
“Yeah? How far can you hit it?”
“Let’s see you hit it.”
“Yeah! Let’s see you hit it!”
“Hit it!”
“Hit it!”
“Hit it!”
The boys surrounded Brownbeard and chanted.
Hit it! Hit it! Hit it!
“Ah, well, look fellas,” said Brownbeard, “I’m
not as good as Ms. Hazel makes me out to be.
Really, I’m not very good at all.”
The boys looked at Sand Witch Hazel in
disappointment.
“No,” said Hazel shaking her head. “Don’t
believe him. He’s incredible. Don’t let The
Captain tell you he’s not good. He is good. Very
good.”
Brownbeard looked at Hazel with a look that
said, “What are you doing to me?”
The boys resumed their chant.
Hit it! Hit it! Hit it!
The boy whom Brownbeard had first seen
whack the rock way over the rooftops of the alley
came and handed him the stick. Then another boy
came and presented Brownbeard with a nice sized
rock. Brownbeard looked around. All of the boys
stood around him with looks of admiration and
anticipation on their faces. Brownbeard looked at
Hazel, who smiled at him and nodded her head.
“Well, step back,” said Brownbeard.
“Yeah! Make way for The Captain!”
“Make way!”
“Make way!”
“Give him room!”
Brownbeard tossed the rock up and down in his
hand, testing its weight. Then, holding the stick
back behind his head, he tossed the rock up just
as he had seen the other boys do, and with all of
his might swung for the rooftops. The rock
plopped dead on the ground at Brownbeard’s feet.
“Whoa! That was no good!”
“Wow! That was horrible!”
“He’s not The Captain!”
“No! Definitely not!”
An embarrassed Brownbeard picked up the
rock, and glared at Hazel. She just smiled her
beautiful, sweet smile and winked at him. Hefting
the rock in his hand, he thought, “Just relax. Don’t
try to hit it so far. Just like ninepins. It’s all in the
wrists.” The boys looked at him blankly.
Brownbeard tossed the rock up and swung again.
There was a loud, crisp crack. Everyone’s head
turned as the rock sailed up, up and away, farther
and farther until finally no one could see it
anymore. Brownbeard looked at the boys. A
broad smile broke over his face. The boys’ jaws
dropped.
“Wow!” said Kizmir. “You are The Captain!”
“Yeah! He is The Captain!”
“Cool!”
“That’s incredible!”
“That’s like The Emperor!”
“How much money do you make?”
“I’ll bet your rich!”
“Can I get your autograph?”
“Yeah, me too?”
“Me too? I want an autograph!”
The boys lined up as Hazel produced an ink
pen and Brownbeard signed the shirts of the boys
who crowded their new hero.
“Gosh! I’ll bet this autograph is worth a ton of
money!”
“Yeah, I can’t wait to sell my shirt to
somebody!”
“Good idea!”
“Yeah, I’m gonna sell my shirt too!”
“You’re crazy! I’m keeping mine!”
“You’re impractical! What’s the point of
keeping it?”
“‘Cause you trafmork! He’ll make more money
when he sells it later! It’ll be even more valuable!”
“Oh, yeah! Right. That’s a good idea.”
“No, that’s not what I meant! I really am going
to just keep it.”
“Nah! Cut it out!”
“Hey! Can you hit it again?”
“Yeah? Can you hit it again?”
“Please? Please?”
“Can I get another autograph?”
“Yeah! Me too! Please!”
“Please?”
Brownbeard was dizzy trying to follow the
boys’ enthusiastic conversation.
“Uhm, sorry fellas, we’ve got to get going,”
Brownbeard said.
“Yes,” said Hazel, “We’ve got to make it to the
capital city as soon as we possibly can.”
“Aw!”
“Aw! Come on! Please!”
“Yeah, come on!”
“Sorry guys, but keep practicing,” said
Brownbeard.
“Okay, we will!”
“I will!”
“Me too!”
Brownbeard and Hazel began to walk away. As
they did, Brownbeard looked back. Already, the
pile-up was back on as the boys fought over the
stick and who would hit next. Just for a moment,
Kizmir looked up from out of the pile and waved
a paw good-bye. Brownbeard and Hazel waved
good-bye back.
bilge pump and patching the hull, an exhausted
For Sale crew finally got to enjoy a spot of lunch
at dinner time. The time was now at hand. At last
Brownbeard would encounter the wonderful
peanut butter and orange marmalade quiche for
which Wilbert was renowned. They all said a
prayer of thanks not only for the delicious meal
before them, but also that God had seen fit to
deliver them from the traffic and rage of I-66, the
smoke and flame of a treacherous atmospheric
descent, and the near loss of the ship to the bottom
of the ocean. Bellies full of quiche and hot cocoa,
everyone crawled to bed. The next morning, the
crew gathered upon the upper deck and gazed out
upon the beautiful, blue-green water surrounding
them in all directions.
“Wow! That botched entry really put us off
course!” said Wilbert.
“Well, we have you to thank for that!” replied
Kumquat, angrily tapping at the keys of her laptop
computer.
“All right you two! Cut it!” ordered
Brownbeard.
“It seems were in the doldrums,” said Hazel.
“There’s not a hint of breeze.”
“My guess is we’re about seven hundred
nautical miles from the western shore of Sa’
Laam,” said Kumquat, examining her old charts
and trying to download the latest satellite data.
“Which, with these winds,” observed Wilbert,
licking a finger and holding it up, “we should
reach in about—oh, I’d say—never.”
“If you can’t come up with a productive
suggestion, then how about not saying anything,”
said Kumquat. “Good gravy!” hissed the cat,
“This connection is so slow!”
“Ahem,” said Brownbeard, clearing his throat,
readying to discipline these malcontents.
“Relax,” said Hazel. “At least we’re alive. We’
ve been through a lot. Now, if we can just fix the
ship’s water jets we’ll be in great shape.”
“What about my traveling box?” asked
Brownbeard.
“Well, we kind of lost it in the botched entry
we made, Captain,” said Wilbert, looking down at
his large toes.
“Ah, that’s not good. Did we lose a lot of
stuff?” asked Brownbeard.
“Two storage rooms at the lower aft of the ship
full of equipment and supplies I’m afraid,” replied
Wilbert. “Ropes burned up, grapefruits and
lemons broiled. It’s not a pretty scene.”
“But at least we’re staying afloat, right?” asked
Brownbeard.
“For the time being. The hull’s patch is only
temporary. We’re still pumping water out. We
definitely need to find a place to dry dock and do
some real repair work.”
“Okay, Hazel, would you like some help with
that ‘water whatever’ you said?” asked
Brownbeard.
“Water jet,” replied Hazel. “Sure, let’s go.”
* * *
A few hours later, the For Sale was motoring
along at about 20 knots, heading almost exactly
northeast. They sailed through the night and all of
the next day. In the evening, from the crow’s nest,
Wilbert shouted, “Land, ho!”
Looking out from the bow of the For Sale, sea
spray lightly splashed Brownbeard’s face as the
ship bucked through the waves. The sun had set
behind them nearly a half-hour before. The sky
before them was a deep purple, the sea nearly as
black as the space between the stars. But in
between the sky and sea a thin ribbon of twinkling,
beckoning lights shimmered. It looked just like
they were approaching the port of New Ferry.
Brownbeard imagined that a hot supper of clam
chowder and fish cakes awaited him at home. It
was hard to fathom that they were an
unfathomable number of miles away from New
Ferry.
* * *
Their entry into The Empire of Sa’Laam was
uneventful. A man from the port authority of The
Empire guided them to a dock. After paying the
requisite fee, they were allowed to drop anchor
and tie up.
The next day, everyone was busy at work
readying the For Sale for the final leg of the
journey to the capital city. The capital city and
The Emperor’s palace were a hundred miles
inland along the Bingabong River. The For Sale
would follow the river inland all the way to the
capital city. Schmoor and Wilbert went into town
and bought supplies to patch the hull properly and
replace other damaged goods. Kumquat
disappeared into town as well, but what it was she
was doing was anybody’s guess. Brownbeard and
Hazel tidied up and inventoried the ship. Then
they went into town as well, to look at the sights.
Brownbeard was flabbergasted at the
inhabitants of the town they were in. Many of the
inhabitants were just like themselves, but many
others were unlike anybody Brownbeard had ever
before seen. Meeting Kumquat, Schmoor and
Wilbert was quite a shock to his system, but even
that could not prepare him for the strange beings
walking and talking in this new town.
The languages flitting through the air were not
at all familiar to Brownbeard’s ears, though he
thought at times he might have heard Chinese. Not
that he had ever heard Chinese, but if he had ever
heard it before, he imagined it would have
sounded something like what he was hearing now.
Or then he heard something that was maybe
French, or Italian, or German. The town they
walked through was like something out of a
picture book he had once seen describing the
voyages of Marco Polo.
There were buildings which looked like
miniature palaces, with roof tops of strange slope
and shape bristling with spires and towers.
Bridges and walkways crossed over the streets.
And there were bridges over bridges. And bridges
over bridges, over bridges. But bizarre as it all
was, it did not feel totally different compared to
New Ferry or Charleston. Brownbeard sensed he
was in a town similar to any other small town by
the sea. Hazel laughed at him as they walked
down a street.
“Brownie! Your mouth is so wide open a bug is
going to fly right in,” she said.
“I just can’t believe all of the—the—”
“Different types of folks that are in this town,”
said Hazel, finishing his sentence.
“Yes, that’s it. I know it’s rude to stare, but I
find I can’t help myself.”
“You have to understand. The Empire of Sa’
Laam is an advanced civilization. Far beyond that
of any in the world we come from. Travelers on
business or pleasure from all over the galaxy, and
beyond even, come here. It’s a very popular
place. Just wait ‘til we get to the capital city.”
Hazel presented a small pebble to Brownbeard
as they walked.
“What’s this for?” Brownbeard asked.
“Put it in your ear,” replied Hazel. “That way
you’ll be able to understand the conversations
going on around you. Not every conversation, but
most. Visitors to or residents from advanced
civilizations such as Sa’Laam have translator
chips implanted in their auditory canals. That or
they use some other manner of device to change
one form of communicative energy into whatever
means of information sensation is their preferred
mode of reception.”
Brownbeard did as he was instructed. To his
delight, all of the conversations around him
resolved into almost completely understandable
English.
They turned down a narrow alley. There they
saw a group of boys that, on first inspection,
looked like any group of boys back home playing
a game of some sort. But many of the children
were a bit different in appearance than those from
New Ferry. One child was purple and black and
had only one eye in the middle of his forehead,
like a Cyclops. Another child was actually a large
puppy that ran around on two legs, wore clothes
like the other boys, and talked and cursed like the
other boys as well. One young boy threw up a
rock and swung at it with a stick, striking it well
as the other boys in the alley ducked for cover.
“Whoa! Nice hit!” yelled one boy.
“Good job,” admired another as the rock sailed
far into the sky, above the buildings and up onto a
roof somewhere, never to be located.
“I’m Emperor of Sa’Laam,” shouted the boy
who had hit the rock, as the other boys bowed and
waved their hands in formal salutation.
“My turn!”
“No, my turn!”
“My turn!”
The boys shouted and pushed and pulled as
they fought for the stick. A scrum began as they
piled onto one another and attacked the boy who
had hit the rock. Brownbeard and Hazel stood
aside and watched. Brownbeard was worried.
“Should we do something?” he asked Hazel.
“No, no, they’re just playing,” she assured him.
Finally, the boy who was actually a dog
emerged from the heap with the stick in his mouth
and raced away from the pack. Before any of the
other boys could get him, the dog found a broken
brick and lofted it in the air as he swung the stick
back to hit it. The dog did hit it, but it was a
weakly hit half-a-brick that skittered on the ground
to the feet of the other boys.
“You stink!”
“Give me the stick!”
“You can’t hit anymore!”
The other boys rushed the dog who had done
such a poor job. The dog dropped the stick and
ran for cover behind Brownbeard and Hazel. The
other boys ignored the dog and jumped for the
dropped stick, beating and slugging each other in
an effort to grab it.
“Maybe you’ll do better next time,”
Brownbeard said to the little dog hiding behind
them.
The dog just looked at him. Maybe this was not
a dog or cat that could talk like Kumquat. Hazel
translated what Brownbeard had said. If
Brownbeard had not been wearing the implant,
Hazel’s sentence would have sounded something
like this–“Ta ving te ha, oong snike ming ha.”
To which the dog replied, “I can hit better then
all of them. The stupid stick just slipped in my
paws.”
Hazel laughed and said to Brownbeard, “He
says he can hit better than all of them, the stupid
stick just slipped out of his hands.”
“I heard him, but he said ‘paws.’”
Hazel looked at Brownbeard with surprise.
Then she remembered the translator was in
Brownbeard’s ear.
“Smarty pants,” she said.
Brownbeard laughed. The nearby scrum ended
and yet another boy came out with the stick. This
boy raced in the other direction until he skidded to
a halt and picked up something from the alley.
The other boys in hot pursuit also halted as the
one with the stick reared back and swung in their
direction. A rock blistered off the stick and
careened off one alley wall to the other, sending
all in its haphazard path, including Hazel,
Brownbeard, and the dog, scrambling for cover.
“Whew! I think we should get out of here
before we get it!” said Brownbeard to Hazel.
“I think you’re right,” Hazel agreed.
The other boys were jeering the efforts of the
fellow who had just nearly killed all of them, and
were now proceeding to pummel him as the fight
for the sacred stick continued.
One of the boys looked up from the pile and
shouted their way, “Aren’t you still playing
Kizmir?”
To which the dog replied, “I’m coming! Hold on
a second!”
Then the dog, whose name was Kizmir, turned to
Brownbeard and said, “You sure look unusual. Is
that a fake eyebrow? Where are you from?”
“Uh, well, I’m from a place very far away,”
replied Brownbeard.
“Oh,” said Kizmir, apparently able to
understand Brownbeard without difficulty. “That’s
interesting.”
“Agrapo herwala abja. En dwef snorg on shala
boz an Friole Sa’Laam,” said Hazel, just to show
off her mastery of the native tongue.
The dog’s eyes opened wide. “You’re kidding,”
the dog said.
“Tow-tow,” said Hazel.
“Hey guys!” shouted the canine. “These guys
are going to see The Emperor! Did you hear me?
They’re going to see The Emperor!”
The current fight immediately ceased as each
boy, from top to bottom in the stack, looked over
at Hazel, Brownbeard, and Kizmir. Then the boy
at the bottom of the pile stuck out his head and
shouted, “You’re going to see The Emperor?
Whoa!”
With that, the pile broke and all of the scamps
came running up to where Brownbeard, Hazel and
Kizmir stood. They surrounded Hazel and
Brownbeard, peppering them with questions and
exclamations.
“Cool! You’re going to see The Emperor!”
“Wow! Where are your seats?”
“Do you play?”
“Can you get us tickets?”
“Have you seen The Emperor before?”
“Yes, we’re going to see The Emperor,” said
Hazel. “We have very good seats. I don’t play, but
Captain Brownbeard here does, and he’s very
good too. I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can get
you tickets. And no, this will be our first time
seeing The Emperor.”
When the boys heard that Captain Brownbeard
was a very good player, all of their attention
turned to him.
“Wow! You’re a really good player?”
“How far can you hit it?”
“I’ll bet you can hit it really far!”
“Can you hit it farther than The Emperor?”
“No! You bashbot! If he could hit it that far he’
d be Emperor!”
“Well, he’s a Captain!”
“But that’s not like Emperor!”
“So? You’re a bashbot!”
“You’re a bashbot!”
“Be quiet!”
“You be quiet!”
“So, how far can you hit it?”
“Yeah? How far can you hit it?”
“Let’s see you hit it.”
“Yeah! Let’s see you hit it!”
“Hit it!”
“Hit it!”
“Hit it!”
The boys surrounded Brownbeard and chanted.
Hit it! Hit it! Hit it!
“Ah, well, look fellas,” said Brownbeard, “I’m
not as good as Ms. Hazel makes me out to be.
Really, I’m not very good at all.”
The boys looked at Sand Witch Hazel in
disappointment.
“No,” said Hazel shaking her head. “Don’t
believe him. He’s incredible. Don’t let The
Captain tell you he’s not good. He is good. Very
good.”
Brownbeard looked at Hazel with a look that
said, “What are you doing to me?”
The boys resumed their chant.
Hit it! Hit it! Hit it!
The boy whom Brownbeard had first seen
whack the rock way over the rooftops of the alley
came and handed him the stick. Then another boy
came and presented Brownbeard with a nice sized
rock. Brownbeard looked around. All of the boys
stood around him with looks of admiration and
anticipation on their faces. Brownbeard looked at
Hazel, who smiled at him and nodded her head.
“Well, step back,” said Brownbeard.
“Yeah! Make way for The Captain!”
“Make way!”
“Make way!”
“Give him room!”
Brownbeard tossed the rock up and down in his
hand, testing its weight. Then, holding the stick
back behind his head, he tossed the rock up just
as he had seen the other boys do, and with all of
his might swung for the rooftops. The rock
plopped dead on the ground at Brownbeard’s feet.
“Whoa! That was no good!”
“Wow! That was horrible!”
“He’s not The Captain!”
“No! Definitely not!”
An embarrassed Brownbeard picked up the
rock, and glared at Hazel. She just smiled her
beautiful, sweet smile and winked at him. Hefting
the rock in his hand, he thought, “Just relax. Don’t
try to hit it so far. Just like ninepins. It’s all in the
wrists.” The boys looked at him blankly.
Brownbeard tossed the rock up and swung again.
There was a loud, crisp crack. Everyone’s head
turned as the rock sailed up, up and away, farther
and farther until finally no one could see it
anymore. Brownbeard looked at the boys. A
broad smile broke over his face. The boys’ jaws
dropped.
“Wow!” said Kizmir. “You are The Captain!”
“Yeah! He is The Captain!”
“Cool!”
“That’s incredible!”
“That’s like The Emperor!”
“How much money do you make?”
“I’ll bet your rich!”
“Can I get your autograph?”
“Yeah, me too?”
“Me too? I want an autograph!”
The boys lined up as Hazel produced an ink
pen and Brownbeard signed the shirts of the boys
who crowded their new hero.
“Gosh! I’ll bet this autograph is worth a ton of
money!”
“Yeah, I can’t wait to sell my shirt to
somebody!”
“Good idea!”
“Yeah, I’m gonna sell my shirt too!”
“You’re crazy! I’m keeping mine!”
“You’re impractical! What’s the point of
keeping it?”
“‘Cause you trafmork! He’ll make more money
when he sells it later! It’ll be even more valuable!”
“Oh, yeah! Right. That’s a good idea.”
“No, that’s not what I meant! I really am going
to just keep it.”
“Nah! Cut it out!”
“Hey! Can you hit it again?”
“Yeah? Can you hit it again?”
“Please? Please?”
“Can I get another autograph?”
“Yeah! Me too! Please!”
“Please?”
Brownbeard was dizzy trying to follow the
boys’ enthusiastic conversation.
“Uhm, sorry fellas, we’ve got to get going,”
Brownbeard said.
“Yes,” said Hazel, “We’ve got to make it to the
capital city as soon as we possibly can.”
“Aw!”
“Aw! Come on! Please!”
“Yeah, come on!”
“Sorry guys, but keep practicing,” said
Brownbeard.
“Okay, we will!”
“I will!”
“Me too!”
Brownbeard and Hazel began to walk away. As
they did, Brownbeard looked back. Already, the
pile-up was back on as the boys fought over the
stick and who would hit next. Just for a moment,
Kizmir looked up from out of the pile and waved
a paw good-bye. Brownbeard and Hazel waved
good-bye back.
The Adventures of Short Stubbly Brownbeard
Alan J. Levine
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
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.