We Give a Squid a Wedgie (25 page)

The surface.

She swam gently upward, hoping with every kick that she wasn’t about to set off a booby trap or wake a sleeping sea monster.

Her head broke through into a large cavern with a roof of rock and spiky stalactites. Crushed up against the rock on the far side of the cave, she saw a sight that took her breath away: a grand wooden ship lying on its side, its sails torn and tattered, its hull broken open.

She swam over to it and hoisted herself onto its tilted deck. She sat along the rail, what sailors called the gunwale, and pulled her fins off.

“I found a ship,” she said into her mask. “I’m getting out of the water.”

“Keep your microphone on!” Sir Edmund spluttered, but Celia took the mask off and couldn’t hear him anymore. She wriggled out of her vest and left all her scuba equipment on the deck. Then, in a chilly wet suit, she climbed up toward the bridge of the ship where the captain would have sat, hoping she’d find what Sir Edmund was after.

Hoping she could save her family with it.

When she reached the captain’s chair, she gasped.
She turned and ran back down again, grabbed her mask, and panted into the microphone without putting it back on.

“I found him,” she said. “I found P.F.”

“Does he have it?” Sir Edmund sounded gleeful even through the static of the wet speaker. “Does he have Plato’s map?”

“I didn’t look,” Celia said.

“Well, get up there and look for it, right now!”

Celia dropped the mask again and trudged back up to the chair, dreading what she would see: a skeleton in a ragged khaki outfit and pith helmet, like old-time explorers wore, clutching a leather journal to his chest.

He was surrounded by old tools and empty cans of food. His feet rested against a wooden steamer trunk. Celia didn’t need to look at the brass plate on the top of it to know that it belonged to P.F., the explorer who had found the Lost Library before anyone else and then vanished. This was his final resting place.

“SOMETHING’S WRONG,”
Big Bart said as he stepped onto the forward deck of the Princess cruise ship. “I left the Somali guy and the Norwegian guy out here.”

“I’m the Somali guy!” one of the scar-faced pirates complained. “My name’s Yusef! We’ve sailed together for five years!”

“And there is no Norwegian guy,” said the other scar-faced pirate. “He’s Swedish.”

“I can’t keep track of all of your countries,” Big Bart groaned. “I’m not the United Nations.”

The Malaysian said something in Malaysian and all the pirates but Big Bart laughed.

“Oh, if you think Twitch would be a better captain, by all means, say so,” Big Bart bellowed, grabbing the handle of his knife. The other pirates
stopped laughing. “I thought so,” said Big Bart. He turned to Oliver and Corey and bent down.

“The pirate’s life is no pleasure cruise,” he said gravely. “There are a lot of languages to learn.”

Big Bart’s men dumped Ernest and Sir Edmund’s henchman, both bound and gagged, onto the deck with two loud thuds. The pirate named Yusef bent down and snatched the plastic parrot off Ernest’s shoulder, then he knocked Ernest’s fancy hat into the ocean.

“Hey,” Ernest whined, but Yusef put his boot on Ernest’s neck. “I didn’t want to dress like a pirate anymore anyway,” he wheezed from underneath the boot.

Big Bart stood back up and called out for Twitchy Bart. He called out for the Swede. There was no answer. In fact, the ship was silent. Oliver noticed Big Bart’s lips pursing in alarm.

For those of you who have never been on a pirate ship, I can assure you that they are not usually quiet places. Parties go all night with loud music and singing and shouting. Shouting often turns to yelling. Yelling often turns to fighting. And fighting sometimes turns to singing again. Everyone turns their televisions up too loud.

“Let Oliver go!” someone shouted from above. Oliver looked up to see his father standing outside the door to the bridge, where the captain and his officers steered the ship. He was holding Twitchy Bart in front of him by the elastic band on the ­pirate’s underpants.

“Ow!” said Twitchy Bart.

Dr. Navel gave his wedgie a tug. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Oliver wondered why his father was wearing a fuzzy pink robe, but he was so happy to see him again that he didn’t make any sarcastic comments.

“Hey, Dr. Navel!” Corey called out.

“Hi, Corey!” Dr. Navel called back. “Release Corey too, or I’ll give your friend the Tiger Wedgie of Doom.”

“No one can perform the Tiger Wedgie of Doom!” Big Bart shouted.

“I learned it from the Shaolin monks in China,” said Dr. Navel. “They performed it on me almost every day.”

The other pirates gasped.

“You kidnap my chicken, you escape, and now you wedgie my first mate!” Big Bart said. “I am very fed up with the Navel family.”

He snatched Oliver by the back of his pants and lifted him off the ground with one hand. The wedgie was instantaneous.

“Ow! Leggo!” Oliver kicked and squirmed, but Big Bart didn’t so much as bend his arm.

“I could toss Oliver overboard this second,” Big Bart called to Dr. Navel. “I don’t imagine he could survive the fall.”

“Why is everyone always trying to kill me?” Oliver yelled. “I just want to be left alone and watch TV!”

“Don’t worry, Oliver,” his father shouted. “I’ll get you home!”

“Let go of Twitch,” said Big Bart, “and I might spare your son.”

“Let go of Oliver first,” said Dr. Navel.

“Do it, Cap’n,” said Twitchy Bart. “I can’t take much more o’ this wedgie!”

“It looks like we’ve got a Bulgarian standoff,” said Big Bart. “Wedgie to wedgie.”

“Guess so,” said Dr. Navel.

“Where’s the rest of my crew?”

“They’re hanging out in the banquet hall,” said Dr. Navel. “Just like you left me.”

“How did you—” Big Bart was astonished.

“I learned a lot from those Shaolin monks,” said Dr. Navel. “In between wedgies they taught me martial arts.”

Oliver was impressed with his father for maybe the first time ever. Or at least he would have been impressed if he didn’t feel like his underwear was climbing into his lungs.

“You have one problem, Dr. Navel,” said Big Bart.

“What’s that?” Dr. Navel called.

“I don’t care if you wedgie Twitchy Bart right off this ship. I’m not giving up my hostages.”

“Hey!” Twitchy Bart objected. “No! How could you?”

“Sorry, Twitch,” said Big Bart. “It’s just ­business.”

“That ain’t right, Captain,” one of the men behind Big Bart said.

The Malaysian said something in Malaysian. The others agreed.

“Now, fellas, just a second.” Big Bart sounded shaken. “Don’t get crazy … I’d never let him do that to any of you … you guys are my favorites!” He started to reach for the knife in his belt with his free hand, but the Somali caught him tightly by the wrist and stopped him.

“What’s my name?” he asked.

“Why … it’s … I know it … just hold on.” Big Bart stammered as he struggled to free his wrist.

“It’s Yusef!” Oliver called out. “Your name is Yusef! And Big Bart would throw you overboard too, just like he did to Bonnie. Don’t trust him!”

“Why you little—” Big Bart started to yank Oliver’s­ wedgie, but the waistband broke away and Oliver crashed onto the deck just as the other pirates pounced on Big Bart.

“My wedgie-proof pants worked!” Corey was thrilled. He helped Oliver up and they climbed the metal ladder to Dr. Navel on the bridge while the pirates were fighting each other.

Dr. Navel hooked Twitchy Bart’s underpants on the railing hanging over the side of the ship and bent down to embrace his son.

“Don’t leave me like this, Navel!” Twitchy Bart yelled. “I swear I’ll get you if you leave me like this.”

“Thank you, Corey,” Dr. Navel said, without letting go of Oliver. “I thought I might never see him again.”

“No problem, Dr. Navel,” said Corey.

“Please, call me Ogden,” said Dr. Navel. He looked down and saw Big Bart holding one of the pirates in a headlock and keeping the others at bay with a knife. Yusef was trying to sneak up behind Big Bart with a big metal pipe. Ernest and Sir ­Edmund’s henchman were watching the scene wide-eyed, trying not to get stepped on in the scuffle. Dr. Navel looked toward land and saw the black smoke belching from the volcano. “We have to get back to that island and find Celia.”

“And Mom,” said Oliver.

“You found your mother?” Dr. Navel’s face flushed. “She was really on that island?”

“Yeah,” said Oliver. “She was waiting for us to come and rescue her, I guess.”

“She’s not … behind all this, is she?” Dr. Navel grimaced.

“Not this time,” said Oliver. “And I think she might be in trouble. She and Celia were supposed to save me and Corey from Sir Edmund’s thugs. They never showed up.”

“All right,” said Dr. Navel. “We’ll take the dinghy and leave these pirates to their fight.”

“Dad?” Oliver suggested. “Maybe you should get some clothes first.”

Dr. Navel nodded and looked back over at Twitchy Bart.

“Oh no!” said Twitchy Bart. “No way!”

Minutes later, Oliver, Corey, and Dr. Navel, who was now dressed in Twitchy Bart’s shirt and Pocketed Pants, crept along the deck, past the ­waterslide and the swimming pool. Big Bart was chasing the Malaysian on the other side of the deck with a knife in each hand, and Yusef was chasing Big Bart with his big metal pipe swinging.

As Oliver climbed onto the dinghy, he saw Ernest­ spit his gag out.

“Don’t leave us here,” he called out from where he was tied up. “Don’t you leave us here!”

“You tried to kill me!” Oliver yelled, and hopped into the boat.

Dr. Navel hit the button that lowered the dinghy slowly into the water and he jumped aboard.

“I’m happy you could come with us this time,” Oliver told his dad.

“Thanks for coming back to rescue me,” said Dr. Navel.

“But we didn’t,” Oliver answered. “They kidnapped us … it was an accident that we rescued you.”

“Shh.” Dr. Navel put his fingers to his lips and smiled. “That’s not how I remember it. I remember you being a hero.”

Oliver looked at Corey. Corey nodded. “­H-E-R-O,” he said.

The boat settled in the water; Dr. Navel ­unhooked its chain and started the motor. They sped back toward the island, where the volcano rumbled and spat red-hot lava.

“Look,” said Oliver. “It’s erupting! Everyone’s running away.”

Sir Edmund’s men were rushing from the brush, sprinting across the beach, and clamoring onto their boats to flee. Janice, covered in mud, kicked one of the men out of the way as she flopped onto one of the boats.

Oliver didn’t see Sir Edmund, Bonnie, his mother, or Celia anywhere.

CELIA MOVED CLOSER
to the explorer’s skeleton one squishy-wet footstep at a time. Even though his eye sockets were dark and empty, he looked like he was watching her approach, and grinning at her because she was afraid.

She thought about her brother and Corey and her mother in need of rescue and her father aboard the pirate ship. She didn’t want any of them to end up like this skeleton. She had to be brave. She took another squishy step.

“You’re not so scary,” she told the skeleton, trying to trick herself into being brave. “You look ridiculous in that hat.”

She marched right up to the skeleton and leaned in to look it right in the eyes. Or at least right where its eyes used to be.

“You hear that?” she said. “I’m not afraid of you.
Now you have to help me save my family. Where’s Plato’s map?”

Celia pursed her lips and waited. Of course nothing happened; she knew nothing would happen. In fact, she felt pretty dumb scolding a skeleton the way she scolded Oliver. But feeling pretty dumb was better than feeling pretty terrified, so she stood up straight and slid the leather notebook out of the skeleton’s hand. Sometimes doing something silly could conquer being afraid.

“Excuse me,” she told the skeleton. “I suppose you don’t need this anymore.”

She opened it carefully, knowing from what her parents always told her that old books fell apart easily. The pages of this one were brittle and faded, but she could make out the writing in ink on the first page.