The Landlubbers

“Oscar!” Charles hissed. “Do you know how much trouble we’ll be in if the prefects find us out of bed?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot.” Oscar’s lantern creaked as he stepped over knotted tree roots, tangled into the damp soil of the ravine. “We need some fun.”

“I was having plenty of fun before this.”

“We go to boarding school, Charles. Our lives are stifled! We need adventure.”

“I wouldn’t very well call expulsion an adventure,” Charles grumbled.

“We’ll be back before morning check-ins. They’ll never know we left. Besides, Ralph’ll be too drunk to notice.”

“And what if there’s a fire drill?”

“It’s past midnight.”

“Suppose there’s a real fire?”

Oscar raked a hand down his face. “Then the school will have more to worry about than two troublesome students.”

“One troublesome student. And one unwilling accomplice.”

At the top of the ravine, Oscar grinned at the sight of the empty field. Even here, he could smell the salty ocean air he’d been craving.

He was sick of it. The crisp, freshly ironed uniforms, the tight-lipped instructors, the cold, hardwood halls that echoed with every step. All of it. He was even tired of his parent’s approving smiles. He needed adventure. Some fresh air, some life. Anything besides another two hours in the library, listening to the rustle of pens on paper.

Charles huffed. “You know, I’d be much better off if you’d just tell me where we’re going.”

They took off across the field. “Remember those children in the town square?”

“The ones we were giving supper to?”

“Yes. Remember all the places they had been? Remember how free they were? They could wake up whenever they wanted and go wherever they wanted.”

“They were homeless, as far as I recall. It was hardly a choice.”

“Yes, well . . . you see the point. Come on, we’ll never be back on time if you keep complaining.”

Loafers dragging in the dewy grass, they reached the end of the field. Oscar inhaled, taking in the smell of driftwood. Below them, the rocky outcroppings were just visible, the seawater shimmering in the moonlight. A wispy mist hung in the air. With its sharp rock formations, this beach was commonly known as the Beast’s Den.

“Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” Charles said, hands on his hips. “The moon is delightful tonight, at any rate.”

“Oh, we’re not staying here,” Oscar pointed down to where the jagged rocks met the beachside. “We’re going down there. To the old shipwreck.”

Charles choked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The shipwreck.”

“The one everyone says is cursed?”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Please, Charles. It’s been there for two years. I’m sure there’s nothing in there but sea sponges.”

“And rusted nails, broken glass, poisonous fish, decayed corpses-”

“Okay, fine. We’ll watch where we step.”

“I heard a ship was raided last week out here, only a few miles from this beach.”

“Charles.”

“And haven’t you heard the legend? The fishermen say the old captain of that shipwreck- Captain Crabbe, I believe- hid his treasure nearby. Suppose we run into some deranged treasure hunters?”

Oscar sighed. “Didn’t you say you wanted to sneak out?”

“I thought you meant to play cricket on the lawn, or to sneak into the library.”

Oscar stared at him. “Why would we . . . never mind. Just come on, if we keep arguing, we won’t make it back before morning check-ins.”

Charles tightened his jacket over his plaid pajamas. “I’m quite content sitting here and admiring the view, thank you very much.”

Oscar shrugged. “Well, then I’ll just go by myself. Better hope I don’t step on a rusty nail.”

Charles sighed. “I can’t have your death on my hands. Or your amputated limbs, for that matter.”

“Ever a slave to your conscience.”

“At least I have a conscience.”

Oscar grinned and started running. “I’m sure I’ve got one, it’s just buried too far down to find.” He sprinted down the steep hill and hit the beachside, kicking up cold sand and hopping over scattered seaweed and driftwood.

He stopped as the shipwreck came into view, towering above him. The prow lay partially sunken in the sand, the starboard side battered up against the scraggly rock formations. Its three masts lay snapped and splintered, the sails tangled around them. The whole thing had collapsed like a huge animal at the end of a journey.

It was exactly what he was looking for. Danger, mystery, questionable legality.

“Oscar,” Charles said as he drew up beside Oscar. “It’s barely intact.”

 “Nonsense. It’ll be fine.”

Charles adjusted his glasses, squinting at the water. “Oscar, I think I see a ship out there.”

Oscar waved his hand. “The fog is thick tonight. It can play tricks on your eyes.”

“No, I’m serious. I see a sail, and a mast, and-”

“Charles, just come on!” Oscar spotted a point where the wood had burst open. Reaching up, he grabbed onto the splintered planks and hoisted himself through.

He poked his head back out. “Coming?”

Charles uncrossed his arms. “Fine. Only to spare you from tinnitus.”

Oscar spun the knob of his lantern, making it flare brighter.

If the outside of the ship was a disaster, the inside was [worse]. He stood in what must have once been the lower deck, now caved in on itself. Damp sand coated the snapped beams and planks. Barnacles and starfish hung on every surface.

Charles stepped beside Oscar. “This is what you were excited for? It looks like an octopus ate a ship and regurgitated it.”

“It’s perfect,” Oscar hopped onto what may have once been a bed- or perhaps a rowboat.

He grinned up at Charles. “Come along, let’s see if we can climb to the crow’s nest.” Before Charles could protest, he stepped through the bottom of the wreck, avoiding the shards of glass. A sweep of the lantern revealed barrels half-buried in the sand, torn fabrics that may have once been hammocks, and a disarray of snapped oars pointed every which way.

He spotted the staircase- or at least, what once had been a staircase. Despite being tilted at an angle, the steps seemed roughly intact. He started up it. Charles followed, muttering something about poisonous anemones.

“Ye locals?” a gruff voice suddenly came from behind.

Oscar screamed and stumbled back, his foot breaking through the plank beneath. His leg fell through, toppling him onto his back and colliding him into Charles.

On the ground, Oscar groaned and rubbed his forehead. Where had that voice come from?

He screamed again as a face appeared above him. Whoever it was had a scraggly beard, sunken jawbones, and a red scarf tied around his head. A thin scar crossed over his eyes, and he grinned, displaying silver, yellow, and black teeth.

“Blimey, I got two landlubbers here!” the man yelled. “An’ they’s in nightclothes too!”

Oscar tried to scramble back, but he hissed in pain as his leg dug into splinters of wood. “Who are you?” he asked, failing to hide the tremor in his voice.

“The name’s Pete, Pete Peg-leg, on account o’ me foot here.” The man stuck his foot out, which was, indeed, a wooden peg.

Another face popped up beside Pete, this one rounder and covered in pockmarks of different sizes.

“Sink me!” the second man exclaimed.

“This here is Louie,” Pete said.

Oscar’s mouth went dry. “Are you going to hurt us?”

Pete chewed on a glob of tobacco. “Depends,” he said. “If ye not local, then yes. If ye a local, then we’ll spare ye. See, what we need here is a local to read this here map.”

“We’re locals,” Oscar snapped, his voice wavering. Gingerly, he pulled his leg out of the hole and stood. He held out a hand to Charles, and with a sigh, Charles took his help and brushed off his pants.

“An’ can ye read?” Louie asked.

“Nope. Not a word,” Oscar said. At the same time, Charles huffed, “Of course we can read.”

Oscar shot Charles a glare. “We can’t read a word,” he repeated.

Pete scratched his beard. “Well, reckon we’ll have to kill ye, then, since ye can’t help us.”

Charles glared back at Oscar. “We most definitely can read.”

“Oh, good. Ye see, we’ve been hornswaggled,” Pete said. “We’ve got a map, a good map, but it’s got no marking for the loot. All we’ve got is a poetry here, and it’s more confuddling than Louie after a bottle o’ rum. Even for literate folk. So Cap’n sent us to find a readin’ local.”

Louie nodded. “We saw ye lads a-rowing in, so we a-followed ye.”

“And where is this captain?” Charles asked.

“On our ship, a few miles out. Crew’s havin’ grub an’ they sent us out.”

Charles and Oscar exchanged glances.

“What is it you’re looking for?” Oscar asked.

“The booty, young laddie,” said Louie. “Tales have it that Cap’n Crabbe was the only survivor of his ship- this one right here- and that he buried his treasure near before he laid down to feed the fish. Our cap’n’s been on the lookout for years, until we got our hands on this poetry.”

Pete held out a yellow crumple of parchment. Oscar took it and unfolded what looked to be an aged map, and a single square of paper with three lines of writing.

In the tiger’s claw

Toward the queen’s crown

In the belly of the beast

Oscar’s heart sank. Nonsense. Pure nonsense. Would they die here, simply because they couldn’t discern a madman’s scrawling?

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure what the tiger’s claw is.”

Charles cleared his throat. “There’s a nearby rock formation called the Cat’s Claw,” he said. “At least, according to my Geography instructor.”

“An’ can ye take us to there?” Pete asked.

“I suppose so,” Charles said. “Though we may need to climb it.”

“Brought ourselves a ladder, we did,” Pete said, “Let’s get a move-on before Cap’n comes to shore.”

Charles studied the map. “Very well,” he said. “If this map is anything accurate, the Cat’s Claw should be a half mile or so North of here.”

“Let’s go for a walk then, aye?” Louie said.

Charles lifted the lantern and led them out the hole in the wreckage. Outside, Louie picked up something thin and long. “Ye landlubbers carry this for a stretch, aye?” He held out a configuration of birch sticks and rope, tied into what could barely be called a ladder.

With trembling hands, Oscar took the ladder, Charles grabbing the other end, and they took off along the beach. Pete and Louie followed, squabbling about what the rest of the crew was going to say when they saw the treasure.

The ladder creaked between them until Oscar broke the silence. “Everything’ll be fine,” he said under his breath. “It’ll all be fine. The prefects will notice we’re gone. They’ll come looking for us.”

Charles shot him another glare. “They would if they knew where we were!” he hissed.

Oscar ducked his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for getting us into this mess. I’m sorry for forcing you to come along. I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

“You didn’t force me to come along,” Charles said. After a moment, he added, “But I appreciate your apology.”

“Is this here the Tiger’s Claw?” Louie yelled from behind.

Charles held up the lantern. “I believe so.” A rock formation jutted twenty feet out of the water. With its thin, pointed shafts of stone, it really did resemble a claw.

The four drew to a stop. “Let’s get a-climbin.” Pete asked.

“One moment.” Charles unfolded the parchment and frowned “Toward the queen’s crown,” he muttered, repeating the phrase over. Finally, his glanced up. “Oscar. Remember Queen Mary’s College?’

Despite his trembling voice, Oscar still had it in him to scoff. “Remember? Of course I remember. The proctors only parade us through it every month. Jabbering that it’s the-” His eyes widened. “The crown jewel of the city. Charles, you’re a genius!”

“That’s only my best guess,” Charles said. “But suppose it’s correct. The poem says toward the crown, so that would point us . . . in that direction.” He pointed at the side of the beach where a steep hillside mangled with pockets of rocky outcroppings.

“In the belly of the beast,” Charles murmured, squinting at the parchment. “This entire area is called the Beast’s Den, so that’s hardly useful.” He tapped his finger on his chin. “Perhaps there’s a cave up there?”

Oscar squinted at the steep cliffside. In the darkness, he could just make out the forms of rocks and grass, but he didn’t see an opening. “I don’t think-”

“Yes, yes,” Charles interrupted him. “I’m positive there’s a cave. See that ledge up there? With the pile of rocks? Someone must have put those rocks there to cover up a cave.”

Pete rubbed his scraggly beard. “Blimey, yer right. That’s mighty clever, and Cap’n Crabbe was clever, they say.”

“Then let’s hurry,” Charles took off across the sand, leaving Oscar to haul the ladder. Oscar craned his neck to look up. Here, the hillside was so steep it shot straight up. True to Charles’ word, there was a stone ledge that jutted out, and a pile of rubble sat on it, likely left over from a landslide. But Oscar knew if there was anything behind the pile, someone would have found it years ago. He propped the ladder up against the hillside, flinching as it bowed and bent.

“So ye laddies want to get up on that there ledge and move those rocks?” Louie said.

“Precisely,” Charles said.

“Whadda that mean?”

“It means yes.”

“Then let’s get a-movin.”

Oscar placed his hand around the ladder.

“Ah ah ah.” Pete rapped Oscar’s hand with the flat of his cutlass. “Louie an’ me first. Ye lads are me matey’s, now, but we still can’t trust ye.”

Oscar glanced at Charles, who gave a single nod. Oscar stepped off.

Pete slid his cutlass into its sheath and hoisted himself up, Louie following. Oscar stepped forward, but Charles put a hand on his chest. “Wait.”

At this point, Oscar didn’t question why.

When Pete and Louie reached the ledge, they stood, their backs to Oscar and Charles.

“Now, try to pull those rocks out.” Charles called up.

“Aye,” Pete responded. Oscar shielded his face as a stream of pebbles flew off the ledge.

The muffled sound of rough voices came from a distance. “Charles, the rest of the crew is coming,” Oscar hissed.

Charles nodded and called back up, “Keep digging! The treasure’s right behind those rocks.”

“Aye!” Pete called back.

Charles yanked the ladder back, tipping it over. “Grab that end,” he whispered. “And run.”

Oscar sighed with relief. “Charles, you’re a genius.” He took hold of the ladder, and the they took off running toward a less steep part of the hill.

They were halfway up when Pete’s voice came yelling from the ledge. “Avast ye!” he cried. “That’s our ladder, it is! Come back ye scurvy dogs!”

Oscar spared one glance to see Pete and Louie leaning over the ledge, waving their cutlasses in the air.

“Move faster!” Charles hissed. “The crew’s coming!”

They crested the hill, and Oscar didn’t look back as the beach disappeared.

Oscar was panting by the time they crossed the field and reached the ravine. “On three,” he said. He counted, and they hurled the ladder into the ravine. It disappeared into the darkness with a satisfying, splintering crack.

“Well,” Charles said between heavy breaths, “You asked for an adventure.”

Oscar laughed, tension draining from his limbs. “Charles, listen, thank you for-”

Charles held up a hand. “It’s fine. All is forgiven. We’re alive, aren’t we? And now we have a story to tell our grandchildren when we’re old.”

Oscar smirked. “If they’ll ever believe us.”

. . .

The sun peaked over the horizon as they scurried onto the lawn behind the residential buildings. Gripping the thick layers of ivy covering the side of the building, they hoisted themselves to the second story, tumbling through their window.

Inside, Oscar collapsed on his bed and exhaled. “I can’t believe we made it,” he said into his pillow.

A sharp rap came from the door. Per usual, it flew open before they could respond.

Oscar shot up in bed. Ralph. The prefect. Did they look suspicious? He swallowed. “Good morning,” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

“Morning,” Ralph snapped, and then wrinkled his nose. “Why does your room smell like seawater? And-- rotten fish? And why are you so dirty?”

Oscar froze. What would they say now? Why hadn’t he thought this through?

To Oscar’s surprise, Charles straightened his back and lifted his chin. “Good question,” Charles said. “I was just about to ask why you smell like whiskey. Come to think of it, I’m curious as to why you smell like whiskey every morning.”

Ralph’s eyes widened.

“I’m sure the headmaster would love to hear your excuses as well,” Charles said.

Ralph’s face flushed a bright red. “Just – clean up before breakfast.” He slammed the door shut.

Oscar exhaled. “Thank you, Charles. I don’t know what I would have done.”

“You’re quite welcome. But we really should clean up. We smell worse than those pirates.”

Oscar laughed. “Fine. Whatever you say. From now on, you make the decisions.”