chapter 24

Freedom

They contemplated how they could break the glass bottle. Twig wandered through the piles of debris, lost in thought. He scrambled over what he thought was a pile of sticks and driftwood, but something else caught his eye. The handle of a hammer, long ago separated from its claw, poked out from the mass of wood pieces. Twig’s mind raced: What if they made a hammer, then used it to smash the glass?

“Hey! Over here!” he squealed as he pulled at the wooden handle.

Basil took one look, and his whiskers lit up. “Got it!” he exclaimed.

“Got it!” Lily joined in. “We find something to use as a weight, fasten it to the handle, and create a glass smasher. Right?”

“Right,” Twig replied. “Lily, you find all the rope and vines we’ll need. Basil and I will search for the right weight. Let’s go!”

Lily scrambled over logs and rocks and debris, searching for the long lengths of twine and fishing line and honeysuckle vines that she’d need. Basil and Twig unearthed a long, oddly shaped rock that seemed perfect. It took them a while, but pushing in unison, they got it into position. Then, tying one end of the rope to the rock, they made a swinging hammer. After many attempts, they had the hammer suspended, dangling from an overhanging tree limb.

The other end of the rope was tied down. The three of them pulled the rock up a slope, then let go. The rock swung in a deep arc, swooshing through the weeds and hitting the glass bottle with a hard whack!

After several blows the thick glass cracked, then cracked some more, then shattered in hundreds of shards. Twig and Basil tied the larger pieces with ropes and dragged them away from the area. Lily gingerly cleared the deck of broken pieces, tossing them over the side, and then swept the planks of the deck clean.

The ship was finally free from the bottle. For the first time, a breeze rippled and caressed the sails softly. The setting sun glinted off the shiny brass fittings and polished deck before sinking below the trees.

“It’s magnificent,” Lily said, reverently looking up at the ship.

“Agreed,” Twig replied.

“We did it!” Basil added.

They stood watching as a magnificent, golden-orange full moon tiptoed above the treetops; Twig couldn’t remember it ever being so huge, feeling so near. He scampered to the rope ladder, and almost immediately splashed into ankle-deep water.

“Wha . . . ?” he gasped. “Water here?” Only a short time before, it had been a muddy path.

He thought quickly. “Okay, everyone, we need to move fast. You two grab all the food and supplies you can. Make as many trips as you need to. Find some sticks and rags. . . . We’ll make torches so we can see better. I’m getting Char. We have to get on the boat!”

Lily looked wide-eyed. “Now?”

“Yes. The river is rising. Look—you can see stuff floating in. We have to move fast!”

IN A MATTER OF MINUTES THE THREE WERE GATHERING food and all the extra supplies they could handle and were transferring them, like a bucket brigade, onto the deck of the Captive.

“Elderberries,” Lily said, handing up a woven grass basket of the dark-purple fruit. Then she tossed acorn after acorn to Basil, like it was a game of catch, until the hold of the ship was nearly full.

Char climbed nimbly up the rope ladder, with Twig’s help, flapping his wings to keep balance. Meanwhile the water rose higher still, coming up to Lily’s chest, as she struggled to keep the supplies over her head, high and dry.

“Why are we doing this? In the middle of the night? Why don’t we wait for the water to drop again?” Basil asked, lifting a canteen of fresh water onto the deck.

Twig glanced at him seriously. “If my guess is correct, you’ll see why in about half an hour,” he replied.

The moon was relentlessly pulling at the river water, which lapped at the base of the Captive. The wooden stand with the brass nameplate was now a dozen centimeters under water, and still the water rose. Suddenly, the ship shifted with a jerk, sending Twig and Basil sprawling on the deck. Lily grabbed the railing and looked down.

“Uh-oh!” she shouted.

“What happened? What was that?” Basil called out.

“The water is moving against the ship. . . . It’s lifting the ship up.”

Another jerk, this time harder than the first, sent the boat sliding and scraping along the muddy bottom and lifted it free from the wooden base.

The three friends gathered at the bow, staring off into the darkness. Tall weeds, a jungle of obstacles, surrounded them. “This is it!” Twig yelled out. “Everybody, man your station! Char, hang on! Lily, Basil, hold the torch out in front, left and right. I’ll take the wheel. Call out directions so we don’t hit anything.”

“Floating log, straight ahead!” shouted Basil. He pointed to the left. “Turn that way! Nasty-looking tree branch up ahead!”

All through the early-morning hours they dodged and meandered their way through the forest of weeds, driftwood, and rocks. Somehow, even as the treacherous branches and debris threatened them, Twig realized that this was his dream: gripping the wheel of the Captive and steering his way, returning Char to his home. He thought of how proud his father would be of him now, confidently guiding a ship through obstacles into open water.

Twig thought to himself: Sometimes the things we want and the things we love get tangled up in our hearts like bramble when we try to do what’s right.

He glanced at the dragon. The river air was working like a tonic. Char still looked frail, but it was encouraging to see him lift his head from the deck and sniff into the breeze and flutter his wings a bit.

Lily seemed to read his thoughts. “Char’s looking better already,” she called out, smiling. Twig grinned back and nodded.

The tide, now slowly returning the river to the sea, was pulling them out, into a stronger current. The sky opened up above them. A pale mauve dawn emerged in the east as the Captive made its way through the last of the river’s-edge obstacles. The dangerous rocks and piles of flotsam were behind them now. An early-morning breeze fluttered its way onto the canvas sails. Twig turned the wheel, and the ship pointed toward the dawn.

There was a mist hanging low on the river, and tiny dew droplets clung to Twig’s fur. Lily moved beside him, handing him a small wild cherry, and he happily munched at the sweet fruit.

The breeze picked up. The sails billowed out, and the Captive danced lightly over the green-gray water. The first birdcall of the day, a woodpecker far off in the shrouded woods, echoed across the water. The mist was dissipating. Twig looked at Lily, and she smiled.

The river was calling them.