The High-Skies Adventures of Blue Jay the Pirate Read online

  “Yeah, hell ta pay later,” echoed Cyrus.

  Henry and Billy apologized again to Poppa Fox, and the old bird seemed to warm to them. “Practice yor switchin’ if you wish,” he said, “but do it quietly. The rest of us need our sleep, and we need you to be ready and alert. This cold weather makes robbers even more reckless and desperate. Take heed!”

  “Yes, Poppa!” said Henry and Billy.

  “Yor watch will be over soon enough,” said Poppa kindly. “I’ll have breakfast ready for you in a couple of hours.”

  Poppa Fox turned and left, followed by Covey and Cyrus, who cast last threatening glances over their shoulders, as if to say, Remember, we ain’t through with you!

  Alone once again, Henry and Billy shuddered against the cold and wrapped their cloaks more tightly around their shoulders.

  “Why don’t you get some rest?” Billy grumbled from inside his hood. “I’ll keep a lookout till morning.”

  “No, I’ll stay up,” said Henry. “We need to keep each other awake.”

  “I won’t be falling asleep after that tongue-lashing!” said Billy. “I’ll be feeling the sting for the rest of the week, no doubt.”

  “I don’t think we’re in that much trouble with Poppa,” said Henry. “As a matter of fact, I think he was impressed that you were practicing at the switch.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Absolutely,” said Henry encouragingly. Then he added, “You can be sure that Covey and Cyrus don’t practice unless they’re ordered.”

  “Those idiots!” said Billy. “I swear I’ll make them pay for rippin’ my frock here.”

  Just then Billy and Henry’s conversation was interrupted by what sounded like a rattle of dry wings in the darkness.

  “What was that?” whispered Henry.

  “I don’t know!” said Billy.

  Again wings rattled in the cold night. They did not sound like sparrow wings, and a sudden chill ran down Henry’s spine. “W-what are they?” he whispered.

  “I’ll bet I know who it is!” growled Billy. Then he hollered, “COVEY! CYRUS! WE KNOW YOU’RE DOWN THERE! MOVE ON OUT OF HERE, OR WE’LL COME FLUSH YOU OUT!”

  There was no answer, but the briars on which they were perched vibrated a bit. Henry had a particularly keen sense of vibration, and while he wasn’t able to identify the source, he was certain that the vibrations were not coming from sparrows but from something else. They were too pronounced, too big, too powerful. Much too big to be either Covey or Cyrus. But before he could say anything, Billy shouted, “SHOW YERSELVES, YE COWARDS!”

  “Shhh!” warned Henry. “I have a bad feeling here. . . .”

  “I’ve had it with these blokes,” cried Billy, who grabbed his switch and spun in the air. “Let’s go get ’em, Henry!”

  “Wait! Billy, don’t!” said Henry, but it was too late. Billy dove toward the silo and was out of sight. Henry hesitated for only a moment, then reached for his switch and followed his friend.

  There was a more distant sound of flapping in the darkness followed by a sickening silence. Henry slowed his flight as he approached the silo. Billy was nowhere to be seen.

  “Billy?” he called softly. A dreadful chill coursed through his heart. “Billy?” he tried again. Henry perched himself on one of the vines that lined the silo walls. He sat very still, even though inside he was spinning like a gyroscope. He scanned the area — still no sign of Billy. His attention focused on the ground around the silo. It was covered with footprints that were easily four times the size of any sparrow’s.

  “Crows!” Henry said under his breath. Panic swept through him, and he shouted the alarm: “CROWS IN THE SILO! CROWS IN THE SILO!”

  At that, a mob of black birds erupted from the silo entrance. Henry swung his switch at one of them, but the force of the larger bird threw him to the ground and his face slammed into the dirt. He felt a sharp pain in his head and chest and could barely recover his breath. With great effort, he turned over and found himself facing a great hulking crow, dressed entirely in black except for a tall, pointed, black-and-gray-striped hat. His black beak was highly polished and bore a sharp, cruel smile. He held a sack of seed in one wing and a bludgeon in the other. Henry recognized him; Bellamy was part of a notorious gang of crows that plagued Briarloch and seemed to despise little brown birds more than anything. This mob, led by the infamous Teach, would go out of its way to harass sparrows whenever the opportunity presented itself.

  “Dirty, filthy sparra!” spat Bellamy, Teach’s brother, raising his club. “HA!” He laughed as he knocked Henry senseless with a blow to the side of the head. Henry crumpled in the dirt, and the world went black as a crow.

  Two days later, Henry awoke to find himself lying in a healing nest, his head held steady in Poppa Fox’s wings. He moved slightly and groaned as his head thumped and rattled with pain.

  “There now, lie still, me boy,” Poppa Fox said soothingly. “Don’t move. Ye need to rest. Ye took quite a punch. Cracked yor nut badly, I’m afraid.”

  Henry glanced up to see the innkeeper’s tired, kind face and tried to sort out what was happening. In the opaque predawn light, he could make out the shadowy figures of other sparrows, their movements slow and sorrowful. Beyond them Henry noticed an oblong basket draped with a black shroud. “Billy?” he said, pulling away from the old bird and sitting suddenly upright, remembering. But the pressure and pain in his head pulled him back down. “Where’s Billy?” he cried, half knowing the terrible answer.

  Poppa Fox lowered his head and shook it slowly from side to side.

  Henry persisted. “Billy! Where is he?”

  Poppa Fox said nothing, but Henry could see the answer in the old bird’s eyes. It was Billy in that black-shrouded basket.

  “BILLY!” he sobbed as he struggled to get up but fell, unconscious once more, into the wings of Poppa Fox.

  “Blast! Where is that bird?” shouted the Grosbeak’s quartermaster. Snipe was a taciturn, hard-bitten shorebird with a stocky build, strong legs, large claws, and a beak as long and as sharp as a cutlass. He was more dapper than most quartermasters, wearing a striped coat with fine piping and metal buttons. He was never without a sash around his waist, a scarf about his neck, and spectacles perched upon his beak. To give himself an added air of authority, he topped his outfit with a stovepipe hat, which made him appear taller than the other birds. As with his own dress, Snipe held the crew to high standards in their work and behavior and watched them with a relentless, critical eye.

  It was Snipe’s responsibility to make certain that each sailor did his or her fair share of the work and to dole out discipline to any who shirked his or her duties. So when Junco failed to appear for her watch the morning after the mysterious egg was brought on board, Snipe called on Creeper, a good friend of Junco’s, to go seek her out. “Creeper!” yelled Snipe. “Search this ship stem to stern! I want Junco on deck in three turns of a ship’s wheel!”

  “Aye, sir!” Creeper hurried down the hatch.

  Creeper did not take long. After a cursory search of the sleeping berths and a peek into the hold, he pointed his curved beak toward the Egg Gallery, where he found Junco sitting, of all places, on top of the stolen egg, fast asleep. Creeper chuckled at the sight, but Junco did not stir.

  Feeling mischievous and as a bit of a joke, Creeper sidled up close to his friend, put his beak right up to her ear, and in a loud whisper said, “Psssst! Hey, matey, wake up!” Creeper was not prepared for Junco’s reaction to this. Instead of simply startling awake, Junco let out an ear-piercing screech, spun around, and pinned poor Creeper to the floor, where he soon found himself with a sword and dirk pointed directly at his chest.

  Creeper was terrified. “S-s-spare me, friend!” he wailed. “I come on Mr. S-S-Snipe’s orders. Ya missed yer watch!”

  Junco relaxed, recognizing her friend. “Sorry, old boy, but you gave me a start!” she said, putting away her weapons. “You caught me in the middle of a nightmare — a gang of racc
oons was trying to steal our treasure here.” She patted the egg.

  “Thasss all right, Junco,” said Creeper as he brushed himself off. “No harm done. . . . I shouldn’t’ve s-s-sneaked up on ya.”

  “I’m just glad I didn’t hurt my old friend,” said Junco, patting him on the shoulder. “Now, let’s get back to work, shall we?”

  “Yesss!” said Creeper, relieved. “Mr. Snipe is waiting —” Junco then surprised him as she flew in the air and settled herself right back down on the egg.

  “Junco, my friend,” Creeper cautioned meekly, “you can’t s-s-stay here. S-S-Snipe’s in a s-s-snit already on account of you missing your watch.”

  Junco’s expression darkened. “I can’t leave this egg, Creeper. I can’t. The poor thing is cold!”

  Creeper shifted uncomfortably. “What sh-sh-should I tell S-S-Snipe?”

  Junco thought for a moment. “Please tell Snipe that I’m indisposed.”

  “Beg your pardon?” said Creeper.

  “Tell him that I’m sick,” said Junco.

  He tried to appeal to his friend, but finally, when it was clear that Junco would not budge, Creeper had to deliver the bad news to Snipe.

  “What do you mean she’s sitting on the egg!” the quartermaster clacked. “Does she plan to hatch the thing? I won’t stand for it, I tell you!” Snipe began to march off with long strides. “I’ll remove Junco from that egg myself!”

  “But, s-s-sir!” Creeper cried after him.

  Snipe wheeled around. “Yes, Mr. Creeper?” he snapped. “What is it now?”

  “S-s-s-sir, b-b-beggin’ your p-pardon, b-but sh-sh-sh-she’s armed, s-s-sir!”

  Snipe contemplated this for a moment, had a change of heart, and decided instead to order the two largest birds on the ship to “convey” Junco to the poop deck. Thrasher and Chuck-Will’s-Widow stood before Snipe, who held a generous coil of rope. “Tie her up if you must,” said the quartermaster. “I want that rascal on deck immediately!” And he tossed the rope to Chuck.

  “I won’t need this,” said Chuck with a sneer as he handed the rope to Thrasher. “It’s only Junco.” And with that, the two hulking birds went below to fetch their shipmate.

  Blue Jay was in his cabin with Crossbill, poring over charts and maps, planning what Jay referred to as “Ship fishin’” or “Fishin’ for ships.”

  “I can see it in me head,” he said. “A big ship under full sail in a stiff westerly wind, barely moving, so fat ’n’ heavy is she with stores and treasure! Hoo! Hoo! Crossbill, we have a profitable adventure ahead of us, I reckon! With any luck, we’ll soon have an abundance of seed and shiny objects in our possession!”

  “Shiny objects that we will, no doubt, proceed to bury underground,” said Crossbill with a bit of a smirk.

  “Of course we will!” said Jay, focusing his attention once again on the pile of charts in front of him.

  “Why do we do that?” asked Crossbill.

  “Do what?” said Blue Jay as he gazed at the map with the help of a small cylindrical looking glass.

  “Why do we bury treasure?”

  Jay looked up and laughed. “We’re pirates! It’s what we do!” He unrolled one of the maps. “Besides, we can’t bring it all with us. . . . I mean, just look at all of the locations in which we have buried booty!” Jay hopped to a rope that hung across the table directly above the map and began pecking at points where the pirates had buried treasure. “Here and here and here and, let’s see . . . here.” He pecked until the map was covered with divots made by the tip of his bill. He sat back with a satisfied smile. “It would take an armada of the largest colonial ships imaginable to carry that amount of booty!” he bragged.

  “Perhaps more, for you have forgotten Bowline Notch!” said Crossbill, tapping the map with a stick.

  “Really?” said Blue Jay, peering forward.

  “And Red Crest.”

  Tap!

  “And Spar Cove.”

  Tap!

  “You’re joking!” said Blue Jay, taking a closer look.

  “Oh, and Fog Hollow, Thunder Hole, and Long Pond.”

  Tap! Tap! Tap!

  Crossbill smiled crookedly and traced the map with the point of his stick. “That’s six you have forgotten. Let’s see if there are more. . . .”

  They were interrupted by a sudden commotion from belowdecks. They heard muffled cries, crashes, and cracks that made the hull shudder.

  “Cryee!” said Jay. “It sounds as if we’re under attack from the inside out!” They flew immediately out of the cabin and to the rail above, where Snipe was standing.

  “Status, Mr. Snipe!” said Jay as the tremors and shouts continued. “What is that racket?”

  “I’m afraid Junco’s gone mad, sir!” said Snipe. “She’s with that egg!”

  Before Jay could issue an order, the commotion ceased, and Thrasher and Chuck reappeared on deck, looking stunned and disheveled. Thrasher carried Junco’s hat, sword, and dirk, but the navigator herself was nowhere to be seen.

  Snipe frowned. “Well, where is she, then?”

  Chuck stood with his mouth clamped shut and his crop grossly distended.

  Thrasher cleared his throat. “Well, Junco, ya see . . . she put up quite a fight. . . .” he began.

  “Yes, and?” said Snipe impatiently.

  “We had to take drastic measures,” said Thrasher.

  “Yes, well, get on with it!” said Snipe. “Where is Junco?”

  Thrasher continued, “Chuck here has, ah, swallowed her, sir.”

  Chuck’s crop bulged even more, and his head jerked violently from side to side.

  “Swallowed her! Chuck!” said Snipe. “Drop her! Do you hear me, Chuck? Drop Junco at once!”

  Chuck seemed only too glad to comply. He leaned toward the deck and opened his large mouth just a crack. Junco came bursting out, angry as a boil and itching for a fight. She flew directly at Chuck and sent him reeling with a series of sharp pecks between the eyes. Next she wrestled her hat from Thrasher and pulled it onto her head, seized her sword and dirk, then stood, damp and defiant on deck, ready to fight off anyone who came near her.

  Snipe wasn’t having it. In one swift motion, he snatched Junco up by her collar while Chuck and Thrasher seized her by the wings. The sword and the dirk fell to the deck, and Snipe snapped his long beak at her. “I’ll have no more of this nonsense, do you hear me!” he said. “Settle down or I’ll have that blasted egg thrown overboard immediately!” Snipe glanced up toward Blue Jay. “With the captain’s permission, that is.”

  Jay gestured for Snipe to continue.

  Junco struggled for a moment, then quieted, hanging suspended between her shipmates. “You missed yer watch, sailor,” said Snipe. “And that won’t stand, not on my ship! I’m havin’ you lashed to the wheel, where you will stand three watches: one for yer missed watch, one for brawling with the crew, and one for insubordination!” Snipe leaned in close to Junco. “And if I hear so much as a peep out of you, why, I’ll give you three watches tomorrow as well!”

  Jay nodded, and so it was that Junco and the egg were separated. Junco was hauled away to begin the first of what would be nine miserable hours at the wheel.

  Jay turned to Crossbill. “Now that’s a shame!” he said with a sigh. “What do you suppose has gotten into Junco, eh, Bill? She’s a good bird generally, don’t you think?”

  “I can’t say what happened for sure, Captain, though it’s true that Junco missed her watch, so it is right that she be called out for it.” Crossbill then added, “Snipe is a fair quartermaster. Fair, and tough as nails.”

  Jay stroked his chin and shook his head. “I suppose you are right, but still . . .” Then Jay shrugged off the thoughts that were troubling him and said, “Let’s get back to our charts, shall we, and leave Snipe to manage the affairs of the crew.”

  With that, the two returned to their charts.

  Try as he might, however, Jay could not get his mind off his navigator’s strange beha
vior. Soon enough, he excused himself and made his way to the helm and Junco.

  Junco was steering a straight-enough course from her tether, but she was staring, glassy-eyed, and mumbling, as though deranged. “Leave me be,” she kept repeating. “Just leave me be.”

  Jay came up alongside her. “Ten degrees to port, Junco!” he said. “Bear toward that cargo ship ahead.”

  This seemed to snap Junco out of her trance. “Yes, Captain!” she said, standing up straight, gripping the wheel with authority, and turning the ship ten degrees to the left. She squinted anxiously into the distance to catch a glimpse of the ship that she had evidently missed.

  “She’s a fat one, isn’t she, Junco?” Blue Jay said. “Filled to the eyes with treasure, but, judging by the way she’s sitting low in the air, I’ll also wager she’s armed to the teeth. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Junco leaned forward, straining to see this vessel. Finally, she had to confess, “Sir, your eyes must be far superior to mine, for I can’t see a thing ahead.”

  “That’s a shame. She’s a beauty, all right. Too bad she’s still three or four days away from here.”

  Junco looked warily at the captain and then said flatly, “That’s remarkable, sir. You can see three days’ distance. That would be, let’s see . . . six hundred miles. Very good, sir!”

  Blue Jay laughed. “Crayee, Junco, no! I’m not using me eyes!” He pointed to his forehead. “I see the ship in me mind, not every detail, but I see enough.” Junco looked understandably skeptical, and Jay continued, “Remember that ship we took last week? What was it called?”

  Junco thought for a moment. “It was the Murrelet.”

  “Well, I tell you, I saw the Murrelet two days before our encounter.” Jay tapped his forehead. “’Twas in here that I knew she was carrying a load of seed. And I was right, by thunder! And where is that seed now? Why, it’s in our hold, isn’t it?”