part0028

She didn’t have chests of gold to pay Blackburn, and from the questioning glance her friend threw her, Bolt knew it.

Of course, she would only have to pay the pirate if they were successful in their mission, which was far from certain. But she felt their chances were better with a fearless pirate than without one. She would gladly enlist all the fearless people in the world if she could to free her father, whether they were fearless pirates or fearless Vikings or fearless ballerinas.

She had never met a fearless ballerina, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there, dancing violently.

And if they failed? She looked at Bolt with lingering regret. He had no idea the Earl was expecting him.

Her shoulders sagged. She was nothing but a liar, first to Bolt about, well, everything, and now to Blackburn about chests of gold. Bandits didn’t lie, at least not usually. It was bad enough that she and Bolt were friends, which was against all bandit rules, but now this? What would she do next—write letters of apology after robberies? She would never be the greatest bandit of all time at this rate.

“Are you OK?” Bolt asked. “You look sad.”

Annika coughed and looked away. “It’s nothing.”

Bolt put his arm on her shoulders. “I’m not sure if this pirate can help us, but I’m proud of you for trying. I used to think bandits couldn’t do heroic deeds, but I was wrong.”

Annika coughed and looked away again. Bandits didn’t feel guilty. That was in the code, too, although at the very end and in a footnote.

Annika and Bolt sat down at the cramped kitchen table, where Blackburn was already sitting. He gave them both a tall mug of brown cider. “Grog,” he said. “Have some. It’ll grow hair on yer chest.” He drank his mug in one gulp and then refilled it from a tall pitcher.

Annika pushed her mug to the side, as she had no desire to grow hair on her chest. Bolt took a sip, cringed, and pushed his aside, too.

The pirate downed another mug of grog, poured himself more, and stared at Annika with narrowed eyes, as if trying to read a secret etched in the lines of her face. “Tell me, missy,” he said. “Why do ye want to free the people of Sphen? I thought bandits only cared about kidnapping and robbing.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” said Bolt, smiling at Annika. Annika nodded back, but without conviction, trying to ignore that horrible and lingering guilty feeling.

The pirate guzzled his mug of grog and burped. “Well, I suppose the why matters far less than the how , aye? The Earl of Sphen is well protected in the grand palace. We need a plan.”

“We have a secret weapon,” said Bolt, winking at Annika.

The pirate leaned back in his chair and almost tipped over. “Plunder the poop deck, ye scurvy dog.” He cursed at the chair and then stopped leaning. “Anyway, ye won’t be the first with a secret weapon, ye know. One fellow, a few years back, brought a flaming catapult to town. That was his secret weapon. But catapults are made out of wood, and that flaming catapult was a hill of ashes before it could fire a single boulder. Last year, a mighty warrior came to Sphen. He stood seven feet tall! Oh, he seemed like a powerful adversary. He brought a secret weapon, too. A large cotton ball!”

“What did he do with that?” asked Annika.

Blackburn shrugged. “Nothing. It wasn’t a very good secret weapon. Secret weapons aren’t necessarily good weapons just because they are secret. On the contrary, they might be secret because they are such worthless weapons that no one wants to mention them.”

“Our secret weapon is much better,” promised Annika.

“Well, whether it is a cotton ball or flaming wood, it probably won’t do any good,” said the pirate. “People say the Earl is practically invincible.”

“Being practically invincible is not the same as being definitely invincible,” said Bolt. He spoke with such confidence, Annika wondered if her own boldness was contagious. Maybe it was.

“Wise words,” said the pirate, who then poured himself one more mug of his brownish liquid and drank it in one gulp. “Good grog.”

“Why do they call it grog ?” Bolt asked.

“Because it makes ye groggy.” He poured himself another mug, yawned, and offered them some salted biscuits to eat. The biscuits were dry and tasteless, but Annika was too hungry to care, quickly stuffing them into her mouth. Bolt politely declined the meal and instead asked if Blackburn had any raw fish. If Blackburn found this a strange request, he didn’t say; he just replied that fish was too expensive nowadays. He and Annika ate in silence for a while, Annika deep in thought contemplating the mission ahead, the only sound the occasional belch from Blackburn after another swig from his mug.

Finally, the pirate stood up, yawned, and ran his fingers through his dark locks. “I’ve had too much grog, I’m afraid. Time for me to turn in. One of ye can sleep on the uncomfortable, lumpy sofa and one of ye on the dirty, chipped wooden floor. I know ye claim to have a secret weapon, but even the best secret weapon still needs a plan. I know of someone who might be able to help us, though. We will talk more in the morning.” He motioned to the window and yawned, stretching his arms. Annika was surprised it was so late. “Good night. I hope the light from the always-full Sphen moon won’t keep ye up.” He slipped into his bedroom and closed the door, leaving Bolt and Annika at the table.

“Do you think he can help us?” asked Annika.

“I doubt it,” said Bolt bluntly, shaking his head. He looked out a window that revealed the dark night sky overhead. “But did he just say the always-full Sphen moon ?”