PIRATE COVE LOOKED LIKE a giant spiderweb. Arranged around its shore were eleven pulleys, some suspended from palm trees, others from ropes stretched tightly between trees and rocks. Connecting these were long runs of rope, strung through the pulleys and coming together in the middle of the cove, where Mollusk divers had tied the ropes together beneath the hull of the sailing ship De Vliegen. The ship, which had a huge hole in its hull, had sat on the bottom for more than twenty years, with only its masts sticking out of the water.
From the shore, a cry went out: “All hands prepare to heave!”
This was followed by a similar command in the Mollusk language, which loosely translated to “Pull until you grunt like a warthog!”
Hook and Fighting Prawn, longtime enemies brought together for this effort, stood side by side on a tall rock overlooking the water. Surrounding the cove were Mollusks and pirates, working side by side but as wary of each other as their leaders were. The men had formed into groups and were gripping the ropes with callused hands, the same hands that had spent days rigging the massive network of pulleys.
“On three?” Hook asked Prawn. It was understood the pirates and Mollusk warriors would take orders only from their own leader.
“On one,” Prawn corrected, as this was the Mollusk system. Before Hook could protest, Fighting Prawn counted, “Three…two…one.” On “one,” both men raised their arms and shouted, in their separate languages, for their men to go to work. The men heaved; the slack ropes tightened; the palm trees bowed; the pulleys creaked and cried; the men grunted and dug their heels into the sand as if locked in a giant game of tug-o’-war.
For several excruciatingly long seconds, nothing happened. The only signs of the intense effort were concentric circles of ripples dancing around the taut ropes where they entered the water. The pulleys groaned. The ropes stretched. The workers gritted their teeth. Sweat poured from their straining bodies.
“It ain’t moving,” said Hook. “Your men need to pull harder.”
Fighting Prawn shot Hook a look, but said nothing.
And then: bubbles. Just a few at first, but soon the cove was boiling with them. The water became milky, clumps of seaweed mingling with clouds of sand. And then, slowly, the masts wobbled and began to rise. The main deck railing poked through the surface, and then came a great rushing sound as the ship’s deck appeared, water cascading off the sides.
There the ship seemed to waver, the dripping ropes trembling with the strain of holding the massive weight of the ship. One of the pulleys broke; pieces of it whistled over the ship and flew far out over the cove before splashing into the water. Two men—one pirate, one Mollusk—collapsed.
Urged on by Hook and Fighting Prawn, the other men kept heaving on their ropes, backing step by agonizing step away from the water, up the beach, toward the jungle. With each step more of the ship’s dripping hull appeared. Finally the hole in the hull was visible. Water gushed from it as it cleared the cove surface. Now they could patch it.
Fighting Prawn and Hook ordered the men to stop. The ropes were tied off to trees, and a cheer rang across the cove. And the men fell silent, as they got their first good look at the ship that had been mostly underwater for more than two decades.
It looked impossibly well-preserved. Yes, there was a bit of slime on the hull, and there were fish flopping on its deck. But except for the hole, the ship looked sound. It looked almost new. None of the wood had rotted, not even the smallest piece of a rail. More incredible: all of its rigging was still intact. Every pulley and rope. Only the sails were missing.
“That ain’t possible,” said Hook. “A ship can’t look like that after sitting on the bottom.”
“A ship can’t fly, either,” said Fighting Prawn.
Hook would never admit it, but the Mollusk chief had a point. The De Vliegen had once carried a huge quantity of starstuff, which had enabled it to fly across the ocean. The starstuff had fallen out, dumped into the island’s water supply. But clearly it had left the ship permanently changed.
“So she will sail again,” said Fighting Prawn. He read the name carved across the ship’s broad transom. “The De Vliegen.”
“Yes, she will sail again,” said Hook. “And soon. But not as the De Vliegen.”
Fighting Prawn raised a questioning eyebrow.
“It’s a pirate ship now,” said Hook. “Her name is the Jolly Roger.”
From high above the cove, on the side of the steep mountain ridge that divided Mollusk Island, Cheeky O’Neal, Frederick DeWulf, Rufus Kelly, and Angus McPherson had watched the raising of the ship.
“They did it,” said DeWulf. “Didn’t think they could, but they did.”
O’Neal, his eyes on the ship, nodded.
“How long d’you think it’ll take them to repair it?” said Kelly.
“Shouldn’t take long,” said DeWulf. “Dripping wet, and she looks like she just came out of the yard. Look at that rigging! She appears to have been under maybe a day or two, discounting the slime that’s suggesting more like ten or twenty years. Any of you want to explain that to me?”
“There’s a lot on this island can’t be explained,” said Kelly.
“Looks like they’re already gettin’ started with the repairs,” said McPherson, pointing at the cove, where men, Mollusks and pirates alike, were climbing from canoes onto the ship. “Guess they really want us off this island.”
“What if they finish the repairs before we’re ready?” said Kelly. He addressed the question to O’Neal. All eyes were on the big man, waiting for an answer.
O’Neal continued staring at the ship for a few more seconds. When he spoke, his voice was a deep, determined rumble.
“It doesn’t matter what they want,” he said. “We stick to our plan.”
With a glare at the other three, he spat on the ground, turned, and started back up the ridge.