The Swashbuckling Ballad of a Vandagyre

     A mighty Eyrie—Bloodhook? No...

     did sneer upon the stowaway.

     “It's off to lonely plank ye go.”

     But Giacomo, his face a slate,

     refused acceptance of his fate.

     “Why Captain, I just overslept.

     When I found I was late, I wept

     and flew right to your vessel blest.

     I did sustain a blow to test

     my loyalty to you, disguised

     myself among the Pterikind.

     So frankly, Captain, if I may,

     your accusation hurts today.”

     The Eyrie paused, considering.

     “What skills ye got that ye can bring?”

     A cinder did ignite with hope

     inside the Vandagyre's chest.

     “I've mastered all the pirate arts,

     can swab a deck, and all the rest.”

     Silence reigned,

     tightrope taut.

     Captain Razor stroked his beard.

     “My crew,” he rasped, “fer sure is no

     Meri Acres Pick Your Own.

     That said,” continued Razor,

     “The new guy showed up on his own,

     just when we'd given up all hope.

     Yer late, so you're still on thin rope.

     If ye don't get it, I'll make ye get it.”

     The Vandagyre bowed his head.

     “I'll serve you well.

     You won't regret it.”

     “I knows jes how to keep a crew.

     Ye grassy lad, yer room's below,

     next to the prison quarters.”

     Blink.

          “You, Vandagyre, that's you. Go!

     Before I change me mind, that is.”

     The feathers that I sport are not

     a shade of green at all! he thought.

     That Eyrie's head is full of rot,

     and water from the bilge as well.

     If skill in spelling, colours, shapes,

     were this neglected by the crew,

     with Narwhool Knaves, he soon could jape.

     The pirate stepped in feathered tracks.

     He had already tricked them all!

     With giddy hoot, and petpet treats

     for Fred, he sped straight down the hall.

     But on the way to his new room,

     brave Giacomo's acute, sharp ears

     picked up a hiss. Then more. Then more.

     The lad detected whispered fears.

     As quiet as the moon by night,

     an ear was pressed to heavy wood.

     At once, the hisses turned to words,

     and every phrase was understood.

     “So whatcher sayin's every isle

     within the Mirglepelago

     will be a smoking ruin, like

     we should have done so long ago?”

     “Precisely, friend. The Tax Beast's Tooth

     and Heart of Nuria's all there,

     as well as riches, never found.

     And if we find a few who swear

     their fealty to our noble cause,

     then they can join once and for all.”

     “But,” Hesitation in this voice.

     “The Mirglepelago will fall?

     The Neopets and petpets both?”

     “Now look 'ere, Browntooth, ye gone soft?!

     If they work for us, they'll be safe.”

     The other paused, then quickly coughed.

     “Of course, of course.” There was still doubt

     within the voice. The hisses did

     continue, but he'd heard enough

     Of these swashbucklers, he'd be rid.

     No time to think at all remained.

     With every haste, his legs afire,

     swift Giacomo searched every room.

     Determined was the Vandagyre

     to find a room containing what

     he needed, such as to set free

     the island dwellers and petpets.

     Aft several cabins, he did see

     a door, 'twas labeled, “Armurie.”

     The Vandagyre, still half-dressed

     in Pteri costume, with his beak,

     sliced up the fabric, did his best

     to make a near eternal string.

     A row of barrels, stacked three high,

     carrying “Black Powder” signs.

     The pirate knew the time was nigh.

     On impulse, Giacomo pulled up

     the makeshift rope of cloth and string,

     inserting it into a hole,

     prepared like Kougras coiled to spring.

     “Always bring a flint and steel,”

     the Vandagyre whispered. “Thanks,

     o grandfather of Hannah Bright.”

     On such a chance, the pirate banked.

     Small fireworks from fuse’s end.

     At such a noise, Fred leaped right out.

     “We've got some time, but let's move fast!”

     “Hello?” a voice came from without.

     The mission ere he'd heard the plans

     did enter his thick head again.

     “Oh, Hannah?” Giacomo did call.

     “The next room, where the light shall wane.”

     The Vandagyre exited,

     but nearly crashed into a foe.

     “Betrayal is the thanks I get?

     To think I thought I would bestow

     a chance of crewmanship with me!”

     The Eyrie towered o'er his head.

     “You've stabbed me in the back just now,

     I'll do the same to you instead.”

     The Vandagyre grit his beak.

     “It’s you who’s stabbing all the backs

     Within the Mirglepelago!”

     “Aye, nothing there will hold me back!”

     “Grab the mop!” Tied Hannah cried,

     as Captain Razor drew his sword.

     Within her cell, the Usul gasped.

     “But do be careful!” she implored.

     But telltale smirk of hers was there,

     as if it were a far-off cloud.

     The Vandagyre saw the mop

     and bucket, vowed to make her proud.

     Within his wing, the mop did weigh,

     a hefty burden unlike most,

     but Hannah, from behind her bars,

     her eyes were filled with hope, engrossed.

     The Eyrie slashed

     the pirate swerved

     the air was charged

     with slash and verve

     the half-healed cuts

     did burn

     did burn

     New ones formed

     The Eyrie's turn

     Scared Giacomo

     knew it would end

     untimely if

     he'd not befriend

     the wood terrain,

     the battlefield

     He dumped the bucket:

     makeshift shield.

     The soapy, scummy water spread

     This time, aloft, a hovered stance

     was mirrored by both Giacomo

     and Razor, in a combat dance.

     “Lad, yer so green, I bet yer dung

     is grass!” the Eyrie spat contempt.

     “Well, that makes sense,” smirked Giacomo,

     the smile fading as he went

     a-flying in attempt to dodge

     a slashing blow. “It's cause you fight

     much like a Kau yourself!” He pressed,

     a slash of mop, a blow mid-flight.

     The Petpet jostled, fluttered out

     of toasty down, as if to cheer

     its master on. “A faerie-kin?

     That's way too sissy.” Razor sneered.

     A swift response unbidden came:

     “So that is why you like to gaze

     upon his 'sissy', rotund form.

     His face has made you smile for days!”

     A growl arose from Razor's throat.

     “Oh please. Yeh've only barely learned

     the pirate arts. It's done. You've lost.

     Your little ploy is overturned.”

     The Vandagyre turned to stone,

     and slipped all over soapy ground.

     Was it all true? He was still new,

     his confidence no more was sound.

     No witty comeback could he give,

     not one, unless...he looked behind

     the Eyrie's shoulder, at his friend.

     She nodded, knowing being kind

     would never save him now. He flew,

     returned to his place in the air.

     “I'll bet that's what old Bloodhook said,

     ere being chased by Usul fair!”

     The Eyrie was too stunned to speak.

     His wings did falter, in a trance.

     He slid, and Giacomo rose high

     to use the mop and end the dance.

     “Are you all right?” he stepped right o'er

     the incapacitated one.

     “I'm fine, but that was quite a show!”

     Fair Hannah giggled. “That was fun!”

     Her face went blank as keys were fished

     from Razor's pocket. “Hey, uh, Giack?”

     Fair Hannah shuffled paws behind

     the closed cell door, behind her back.

     “I see you made a little friend,”

     The Usul tickled Fred’s round chin.

     “When did you meet him? He’s so cute!

     Oh, I forgot, I must begin

     to tell you of my plans,” she said,

     but Giacomo paid her no heed,

     for he had seen the ropes behind

     her back were broken. She'd been freed,

     with no apparent aid at all.

     “It was my plan. I told no one,”

     Fair Hannah started, but was hushed.

     “Wait! Hang on! We must outrun

     the powder black, it's bound to blow!”

     The Usul gasped. “What did you do?!”

     The Vandagyre shrugged. “Their plans

     are not what I would want to do,

     as pirate of the several seas,

     or just plain Giacomo.” “That's fair,

     but this development mucks up

     the plan I had stitched up with care.”

     “Um, Hannah, could you maybe just

     explain it all once we're away

     from peril imminent?” “Good point.

     I really wouldn't want to stay.”

     No time had they to loot the bow,

     the galley, captain's quarters, stern.

     Through scores of pairs of paws they dodged,

     until at last, someone did learn

     of danger that the crew was in.

     “Abandon ship! She's gonna blow!

     The powder black's gone premature!”

     From mast above, to deck below,

     No one had questioned this at all.

     “Land ho!” came one lone plaintive cry.

     Both Fred and Giacomo did grip

     the Usul's vest, and lifted high.

     The ground had rumbled, grown quite warm,

     And wings had beat so fast they blazed.

     Ka-BOOM!! The ship turned into chaff,

     while clouds of wood were set ablaze.

     “I can't believe that I did this...”

     the Vandagyre, looking back,

     did marvel at the smoking ship,

     a future stopped from turning black.

     “Well, I can't either. And my plan

     went up in flames just like the ship.”

     “What was your plan?” “To stow away,

     beat them to treasure, then I'd skip

     the towns, the islands, get away.

     I penned some notes, so I'd be bait.

     And after you faced Snowy, well,

     from there I only had to wait

     until those Knaves had run aground.

     At any point, I could have freed

     myself, but seeing you so brave,

     to stay and watch, I'd had the need.”

     The Vandagyre sighed, a long,

     forlorn, forgotten kind of sound.

     “Would you have stopped the burning?” “What?”

     “They said they'd raze it to the ground.”

     “Oh.” Hannah stared down at her paws.

     “You saved the isles, but they won't know.”

     “It matters not. I'm glad they're well.

     Now let's just get to land.” “You know,”

     the Usul pondered. “How did you

     know or plan to fetch me back?”

     “The note, the Guild of Thieves, and wings.”

     The tired Vandagyre quacked.

     “We need to land, and wait for them.”

     “It's not much farther—whoa!” she cried,

     for Giacomo had dropped her straight

     into the shore, where he did slide.

     For minutes naught but ragged breath

     was heard from Fred and Vandagyre.

     Both Hannah and brave Giacomo

     did watch, against the night, the fire.

     “Say, didn't your first lesson start

     on sandy shores as well?” she teased.

     “With time, we both have changed a bit.

     You've new scars now, you should be pleased.”

     The Vandagyre wrinkled up

     his feathered brow. “I should?” he asked.

     “They're symbols of your triumphs and

     all you've endured, marks of your past.”

     Those scars will stay for quite some time,”

     Mused Hannah. “That's the truest mark

     one bears of fierce adventure. Look.”

     And Ta-Kutep shone in the dark.

     “Looks like you've got a tale to tell!”

     “And you as well, but let's just rest.

     The Pteri guard among the Thieves

     should take us back when they know best.”

     Not caring how the sand would hide

     inside her chestnut curls, she sprawled

     across the gently lapping wave.

     “By the way, you've done it all

     successfully,” she breathed, and closed

     both eyes. “You are a pirate now.

     And not just any, you've finesse,

     and normal pirates need to bow.”

     “Is that because I like to read?”

     the Vandagyre flopped, in kind,

     and let the shoreline wash away

     his heavy work and laden mind.

     “One day,” said Hannah, “We'll return

     and plunder loot so secretly,

     the Mirglepelago inhabitants won't know a thing.

     “Wait, we?”

     The Usul opened up an eye,

     and looked in his direction.

     “Aye.”

     So Hannah, Giacomo, and Fred

     decided to stay put instead.

     ((On the other side of the Mirglepelago...))

     Unbeknownst to pirate-thieves,

     an inconspicuous group, a flock

     of Pteri roosted on palm trees,

     observing all and taking stock.

     Kanrik slept in shelter safe,

     awaiting his next move to take.

     With whispers rust’ling in the night,

     the Pteri did their palm trees shake.

     “Hey boss?” A Pteri dared to ask.

     “Did that tall Vandagyre say

     which isle of Mirglepelago

     he'd end up on?”

     A silence.

     “Nay.”

     …

     “Do you think that he's okay?”

     “You bet.”

     “What should we do?”

     “Just wait. No sweat.

     That Vandagyre's sure to find

     the guard if all of us stay put.

     For, after all, he'd need to fly;

     he cannot get too far on foot.”

     And so, on very different isles

     they paused.

     …

     Egress would take a while.

     The End.