Four Shipless Pirates: Raft Adventure

“It ain’t working, Pete. We’re needing a ship.”

Pete ground his teeth at Nate’s most recent complaint. “Try moving your oar.” He adjusted his grip on his own makeshift paddle, which was no more than a scrap piece of wood, and thrust it into the water. The monstrous Scot to his right had chosen to forgo any sort of oar; Wee Robbie simply stuck his slab of a hand into the ocean and propelled them forward.

“We’d not be paddling a ship.”

“Lest ye happen tae have a ship in yer pocket, Nate, cease yer piddling whine and get tae work,” Robbie growled, the squirrel on his shoulder supporting the command with a series of angry squeals.

Pete winced at the noise even as he eyed the frayed lashings of their raft. Their escape from Dead Rock relied on the strength of ten short planks strapped together by strips of weathered rope he’d managed to salvage from the Prometheus’ wreck.

Nate moaned from his perch in front of Robbie. “The sun’s hot.” He dropped his paddle on Charlie’s lap beside him and used both hands to splash water on his face and hair.

Cockless Charlie blinked away the stray droplets of water flying his way and tossed the paddle back at Nate. “Hold your own piece of wood, you worthless scourge of men.”

Robbie laughed. “Has it been so long now that ye’ve forgotten how tae hold a piece, Charlie?”

“Perhaps he’s jealous of the size of my wood,” Nate suggested, grabbing Charlie’s scrap of board and placing it alongside his own, slightly longer, one. “Like his oar, I’m thinking he wasn’t having much wood to hold even ere his… uh… wound.”

Charlie tore his paddle from Nate’s hands. “Go fuck yourselves.”

Robbie grinned. “Aye, that we can.”

Without turning around, Charlie blindly jabbed his oar in the direction of Robbie. Robbie yanked it away, only to courteously pass it back. “A man in yer position ought tae take care of what little wood he’s got. Ye never know when ye might lose it.”

“Enough!” Pete ordered, cutting off whatever retort Charlie would have made. “We’ve little food and no women. Do you fools fancy dying on this island with no way to satisfy our hungers?” No one answered. “Then cease your prattle and paddle.”

The four men turned their attention back to inching their barely seaworthy vessel further away from their island prison. A splinter broke off Pete’s paddle and embedded in his palm. He bit back a curse, afraid any sound would break the tenuous peace. The sun beat upon his back. Rivulets of sweat ran down his forehead and neck, and soaked through his shirt, but he didn’t slow his pace.

“I’ll be withering beneath this heat ere long,” Nate grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at the beach not far behind them. “I’m tired and wanting nothing more than to go back and lie in the shade.”

Pete pointed toward a long, green line on the horizon. “You can relax when we reach the next island. It’s only a league or two ahead. We’ll be there soon enough. If you three could swim, we wouldn’t need the raft.”

Twisting his torso, Nate sent Pete a frown. The greater part of the lad’s nose had been lost to a navy captain’s rapier a year back and what skin remained had a disconcerting habit of curling sideways when he was upset. “Can I not be going back for a quick nap first?”

“Ye want to go back?” Robbie growled, his heavy black beard twitching with each word. He grabbed hold of Nate’s sleeve. “Then go back.”

Pete winced at the sound of tearing fabric as the Irishman was thrown overboard. The squirrel’s lips curved upward as though he enjoyed the sight of Nate’s thrashing figure. Pete shook his head at the nonsensical thought.

Nate stood in thigh deep water, his cheeks redder than before, and a strip of his right sleeve dangling at his elbow. A droplet fell from his hair, bouncing off his stub of a nose and landing on his lips. He scooped up a handful of water and hurled it at Robbie. The salty ammunition missed its target, hitting Pete in the face.

Robbie raised his hand to pat the animal on his shoulder. “Yer damn lucky ye dinnae get Squeaks wet or I’d be giving ye more than a dunking, Nate.”

Pete scrambled off the raft to physically restrain Nate from charging the much larger man. “Stop it, both of you. We’ll get nowhere if you keep fighting.” Pete shoved Nate backward when the lad swung his arm toward Robbie. “I mean it. Do you want to stay here until we die?”

“Which fer ye, Nate, might be today.”

Nate used his whole body to knock Pete out of the way and leaped onto the raft. Robbie’s fist slammed into the center of Nate’s face sending the Irishman back in the water.

“Stop hitting him, Robbie. Get on the raft, Nate,” Charlie ordered. Nate surprised Pete by silently obeying, though the boy did stop briefly to stick his tongue out at the happily bouncing Squeaks. “Now, paddle.”

Nate took his board from Charlie and all was quiet – for half a minute.

“Ow!” Nate cried, sucking on one of his fingers. “This board’s got more sharp corners than a starving wench and my poor, bleeding fingers are feeling the stab of them all.” His three companions exchanged glances, but held their silence. Squeaks slid down Robbie’s arm and settled on Nate’s lap. Nate dropped his paddle to absent-mindedly rub the furry head of his nemesis. “I’ve not had a wench in nigh unto a year. They’ve been willing, ya understand, but little Nate’s not been rising since I was losing my nose. Might as well be Cockless Charlie, I might.”

Pete placed a restraining hand on Charlie’s shoulder, all the while stifling a chuckle. Nate must be direly miserable indeed to share such a fact.

“I’ll be dying on this boat that be not a boat, my only excitement Robbie’s shoulder rubbing on my arse while I paddle.”

The harsh rumble that issued forth from Robbie’s chest should have been enough to frighten the most foolish men into silence. Squeaks scurried back to his favored position on Robbie’s shoulder. Nate glanced at a bird flying high above them. “My stomach’s grumbling. Robbie, yer taller than God himself. Stand up and grab me that thing.”

“Verra well, ye blighter. Let me serve yer every command,” Robbie sneered. The raft rocked precariously as Robbie surged to his feet. He placed one massive leg on each side of Nate’s scrawny body, crouched, then leaped off the rotting planks with surprising grace seconds before the stern soared high into the air and came back down in front to become the bow.

Pete pushed himself up out of the sea, coughing up a lung full of water he’d inhaled. Some ways off to his left, Charlie did the same. Nate stood still, his wide eyes not moving from the giant leaning over him. Pete’s spirits sank when he realized they’d only gone far enough for the water to be at Robbie’s waist-level.

“If I could reach the bird, ye blighter, I’d nae be giving it tae the likes of ye. And I would nae bother with such a wee bird for my own food; not when I might just as well feast upon the bones of a wee Irishman who kens not when tae keep his mouth shut.”

Cradling Squeaks in his hands, Robbie headed back toward the rocky shore, Charlie and Nate slogging along in his wake. Pete cast a forlorn glance at their unraveling raft and sighed.

“We’re needing a bloody ship.”