Troll Overboard Page 2

  The prince nearly fell out of his chair. “What did you say to me, troll??”

  Mr. Hirsch snapped out of it and stepped up to Gramps, whispering into his ear. Gramps listened before speaking to Hirsch in a low voice that we all still heard. “But, he is. I mean, we all know it. He’s not worth the paper ’e wipes his—”

  Mr. Hirsch cut him off. Gramps just shrugged his big shoulders and went on.

  “All righ’. Whatever. I’m here ta tell yeh ’bout mog divin’.”

  There was a low groan from the class, and I couldn’t completely blame them. But as my gramps started in about all the years he’d spent as a diver, something else happened. Something completely unexpected.

  Suddenly Prince Roquefort was fascinated. Like, leaning-forward-on-his-desk, eyes-wide-open into it.

  Gramps sighed as he looked over at him. “Yes. I did.”

  The prince looked like he could barely contain himself. “And you know how to drive a boat? You know how to read maps and use compasses and stuff like that?”

  Gramps cleared his throat and stared at the prince for a long moment. “Yes, lad. Tha’s what I’m sayin’.”

  He went on. I’m pretty sure the rest of the class went on autopilot at this point, but Roquefort hung on every word my gramps said. Now . . . I’m suspicious of everything that kid does—so my first thought was that he was messing with us—but as gramps went on, he sure seemed excited about the diving life.

  Some kids like dinosaurs, some like robots, some like horses. Seemed like the prince’s thing was the ocean. Who knew?

  After class, the prince made a beeline for my gramps. When I hurried over to see what he was up to, he turned to me excitedly.

  “Oh, hey Zarf! Sorry about all that business before.”

  Gross! This chummy, sincere version of Roquefort was sending up red flags in my brain—and making my skin crawl. He turned back to Gramps.

  “I had no idea your family were mog divers! I’ve always been fascinated by diving—since I was a little prince-in-training!”

  Gramps and I were both staring at him with the same blank look.

  “Seriously!! I know that sounds weird, but as the Royal Offspring, I live a terribly sheltered life. I’ve always wanted to go out on a boat.” Then his eyes went wide like Kevin at a Mutton Festival. “OH! Could we go out on a boat?? Could you take us, sir?? Maybe tomorrow?? I’d just be so super-duper honored, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself!”

  I think it was the “sir” that got to Gramps. He’s pretty smart as far as trolls go, but he’s not immune to flattery. He chuckled.

  I shot him a big “What the heck are you doing??” look, but I could see that Gramps was already lost in the thought of a day at sea. He had that faraway look in his eyes, like when he tells his old diving stories.

  The prince started clapping his little hands excitedly. “Oh goodie! Yes! Can I bring a friend?”

  Gramps was sold. “Why not? An’ Zarf’ll come along too.”

  The smile on Roquefort’s face faded—just for a moment, but I saw it. Then that thousand-watt smile was back.

  Gramps told him to meet us at six a.m. at the harbor, and the prince ran off like it was the night before Christmas. I looked up at Gramps as he watched him go.

  “You know he’s not on the up-and-up, right?”

  Gramps laughed. “I wouldn’t trust tha’ li’l weasel any further’n a gnome hop.”

  “Maybe some fresh air ’n’ hard work’ll do th’ little snot some good.”

  • 4 •

  SOMETHING FISHY

  Kevin was in full meltdown mode at lunch. Sierra was listening patiently and rubbing his back. We got a little worried when he wouldn’t eat, so I got our lunch lady and good friend Goldie Locks to whip him up a little mutton pudding.

  “Maybe a wet willie or two.”

  The pudding helped—a little. Rebb came over and put a quick Soothing Spell on Kev. Then he thanked me for interfering in the hall earlier.

  The Soothing Spell started to calm Kev down and I was about to bring up the prince’s new nautical fascination when the bell rang.

  We all agreed to head to the tree house after last period.

  * * *

  The very first signs of fall were arriving, and the Wishing Tree was freaking out about losing his leaves (as he did every year).

  I pulled out a jar of peanut butter and fed some to the tree to keep him occupied and quiet. I had some things to discuss.

  Kevin seemed calmer, and maybe a bit woozy from Rebb’s Soothing Spell.

  Sierra had brought a few cans of Flumpfruit Splash from her aunt’s house. As we cracked those open, I told them all about the prince’s sudden interest in mog diving.

  Sierra took a sip and looked off over the hills, thinking. “Well, bottom line, he’s up to something.”

  “Right??” I was getting worked up again. “But what? I mean, he seemed genuinely excited. I don’t think that part was an act.”

  Chester was fiddling with one of the bells on his jester hat and mumbling to himself. “Rotten little over-cologned, no-good . . .”

  Kev looked like he had something to add, but the thought faded away and he flopped back on the tree house floor.

  Might need to tell Rebb to give him a half-spell next time.

  Chester launched into a long story about his fifth- period gym class. He’d forgotten his gym clothes and was forced to suffer through volleyball wearing a pair of Mr. Lump’s enormous shorts.

  We were all laughing—Sierra snorted so loud, it startled the Wishing Tree—except for poor Kev, who could barely keep his eyes open.

  Just before he nodded off, I got the three of them to agree to go along on the big boat ride. Chester seemed especially into it.

  I started to groan when Sierra’s phone rang. She pulled it out and checked the caller ID. “It’s my aunt.”

  You could see her brace herself as she answered—and suddenly we could all hear her aunt’s shrill voice screeching from the other end. Sierra actually had to hold the phone away from her ear.

  She hung up and started zipping her bag, chewing at her bottom lip like she does when something’s bothering her. “I’ve gotta go. I forgot I had a Finishing Class this afternoon.” She rolled her eyes and started down the rope ladder.

  “Finishing what?” Chester asked, letting out a fairly impressive belch.

  “It’s a class to turn me into a proper young lady.” Sierra hopped the rest of the way to the ground.

  Sierra chuckled, stuck her tongue out at me, and gave a sarcastic curtsy. “I’ll see you gentlemen at the boat. I need to go get ‘finished.’”

  * * *

  That night, my dad and I helped Gramps organize the supplies we’d need for the dive. My dad apologized all over himself that he couldn’t come—mog diving is a seven-days-a-week job—while Gramps squeezed into his old diving suit to make sure it still fit.

  Not exactly. My dad ran off to borrow an XXXL suit from a friend while my mom and I worked to slice the old one off Gramps before it cut off his circulation. I was looking for a second pair of scissors when my phone lit up. It was Sierra.

  • 5 •

  HARBOR DAY

  Gramps and I picked up an unhappy Kevin on the way to the harbor. He felt it was unfair that he’d been roped into this trip while under the influence. “That little wizard Rebb gave me a temporary lobotomy!!”

  Kevin was loaded down with a bracelet, necklace, and three or four patches, all designed to prevent seasickness.

  He wasn’t letting up. “Do they make a sunblock higher than three hundred SPF? If I get too much sun, I start to look like a football.”

  We were walking up to the harbormaster’s office when Chester arrived. He pounced out of the bushes wearing a full pirate costume and waving a little wooden sword.

 
Gramps just shook his head and knocked on the weathered office door.

  Chester was all kinds of jazzed up. “I’ve always wanted to be a pirate! Like Jack Sparrow or Redbeard the Unapproachable. They’re so cool!” He got into his joke-telling stance. “Do you know where pirates get their tattoos?” He looked around at us, a huge expectant grin on his face.

  The office door creaked open, and standing there was the skinniest, oldest living man I’d ever seen. His scraggly beard looked like it had bits of porridge and fishing line in it. He was sporting a stretched- out pair of dingy red long johns.

  Gramps lit up. “Jack Sprat, ya old dog! How are yeh? How’s tha’ lovely wife a’ yours?”

  Sprat looked us all over. “She’s fine. Likes the sweets a bit too much, but you know that.” He spit into his fist and wiped it on his long johns before breaking into a startling, mostly toothless grin. He gave Gramps an exaggerated handshake before going in for the hug. “How ya been, Belford, ya old bilge flinger?”

  I wasn’t sure what a bilge flinger was—or sure that I wanted to know. They carried on for a few minutes before Gramps reminded him he needed to borrow a boat.

  “Right, right, right! I’m gettin’ sketchy upstairs these days.” He tapped his head. “I got a beauty for ya. Pick o’ the litter.”

  He turned and was locking up the office when the prince and a huge ogre bodyguard came around the corner.

  If Chester looked ridiculous, Roquefort looked insane. He was fully decked out in old-timey naval finery. I tried to stifle a laugh, but couldn’t.

  Harbormaster Sprat stood there sucking on one of his few remaining teeth and looking the prince up and down before giving a sarcastic salute.

  Sprat let out a wheezy laugh as we followed him down the dock, giving us pointers in his raspy voice.

  “You boys listen to every word this ol’ troll here tells ya, right? ’E’s one a’ the best mog divers this kingdom’s e’er seen.”

  I looked over at Gramps. He looked back and waggled his eyebrows at me. Sprat went on as two gnomes walked past us struggling to carry a lobster trap twice their size.

  “Now, the sea ain’t no place fer horseplay. There’s real pirates out there.” He turned his squinty eye on Chester. “One misstep and you can end up in trouble. That’s how ships get lost in th’ dreaded Berundi Rectangle. Or smashed against th’ rocks.”

  I heard Kevin swallow loudly beside me.

  Suddenly Sprat stopped and turned. “An’ you all know about Ol’ Lady Seaweed an’ her offspring, right?”

  The prince let out a rude laugh.

  Sprat stopped. Suddenly he was right in the prince’s face. “Like mud, she is. She’s as real as this scar, ya chubby little turnip.” Sprat pointed a crooked finger at a bumpy scar that nearly circled his throat.

  “Big as a dragon and twice as nasty, she is.”

  I heard a flump and realized Kevin had passed out on the wooden planks beside me.

  Then, just as suddenly, Sprat straightened back up. “Anyhow, you prob’ly won’t see her. And here we are! Slip 96-Z.” We all turned and looked at the boat. At least, I guess you’d call it a boat. My first thought was, Floating Pile of Scrap Wood.

  It had the shape of a boat, but barely. Paint was chipping off every warped, weather-beaten board. There were barnacles and what looked like oyster shells growing on the hull at the waterline. The name was so faded you could barely make it out. Once Upon a Brine.

  Kevin groaned as he came to. Then he took one look at the boat and passed right back out.

  The prince was outraged. “We’re going on . . . on THAT?? Do you have any idea who I am??”

  Sprat spit in his fist again. “I do, Yer Highness. I do, indeed. An’ she’s a fine vessel.”

  Roquefort stood there sputtering and making exasperated noises until Gramps stepped forward. He shook Sprat’s hand and smiled. “It’s perfect, Jack. Absolutely perfect.”

  The prince continued to stomp around in a huff.

  Before he walked away, Sprat leaned in and spoke to my gramps. I barely heard him over the prince’s complaining. “Make sure ya have these kids back in a coupla hours. There’s a storm comin’ this afternoon, an’ not a nice one, at that.”

  • 6 •

  ANCHORS AWEIGH

  We pulled away from the dock just after seven a.m., with my gramps at the wheel, singing a series of off-color sea chanteys that probably shouldn’t be repeated here.

  As we left the harbor, I stood at the back of the ship, smelling the ocean air and watching our village grow smaller. I’d never realized just how picturesque it was, and a feeling of peace and calm washed over me. For about a second.

  Now that we were on the water, the prince was peppering Gramps with a stream of questions. “How do you steer? Where are we going? Can you show me on a map? Does the compass tell you how to get there? How do you use a compass?” Roquefort’s ogre stood by glaring at Kevin and Chester and me in a way that was making my troll senses send up flares.

  Kevin suddenly spun around and bolted for the railing, yelling, “I’m gonna boot!!” He got there just in time, and I grabbed on to a hoof so he wouldn’t end up overboard.

  Chester patted him gently on the back. “Atta boy. Get the bad stuff out and you’ll have your sea legs in no time.”

  We stood there listening to the poor guy turn himself inside out for a few minutes before Chester spoke again.

  “You know what sound pirates make after drinking bad rum?”

  I shot him a stern “Not now” look.

  Eventually, Kevin’s Dramamine kicked in. He hunkered down in the back of the boat looking dazed but less green. Chester grabbed him a bottle of water out of the cooler as I went up to check in on Gramps and Roquefort.

  The lesson was still in full swing. I walked up as Roquefort was asking about the Berundi Rectangle.

  “Which way is it? Can you show me?”

  Gramps looked at the prince like he’d grown two more heads.

  “Are yeh soft in the head, boy? Yeh don’ wanna go near there if yeh value yer life. Unless you’d enjoy dyin’ in th’ belly of a sea beast.”

  The prince wasn’t deterred.

  “I get that. But if you show me, then I can be sure I don’t go near it!”

  Gramps stared at him. “Yeh don’ need ta worry about it. It’s way out here.” He stabbed a huge finger at the parchment map the prince was holding.

  The prince grabbed a pencil from behind his ear and circled the spot Gramps had indicated. “So, right here??” He looked way too eager.

  Gramps rolled his eyes. “Wha’ever. Yeah. Tha’s where it is. But it’s a couple hours past where we’re goin’.”

  Chester walked up. “So! Grampsy! Whattaya got on this thing? Couple of Elven-rude 660s back there?”

  Gramps looked surprised. “Ya know boat engines? I thought you was jus’ the comic relief.”

  Chester sniffed and leaned against the railing.

  Roquefort made a scoffing noise. “Pssh. You probably googled that just now.”

  Chester looked hurt. “I did not.”

  Gramps chuckled. “Not likely, Yer Princeness. There’ll be no Internettin’ today. There’s no reception once yeh get past th’ breakers.” He closed his eyes and took a long sniff of the salty air.

  Somehow, Kevin heard all of that over the engines.

  “No phones?!?! Oh, no no no!”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Gramps cut the engine. He looked over at the prince’s guard. “Hey, um . . . ogre. What’s your name?”

  “Course it is. Can yeh throw the anchor over th’ side, Trunk?”

  Without a word, Trunk walked over and tossed the enormous thing into the water like it weighed nothing.

  Gramps turned to us all and put his paws on his hips.

  The prince
started jumping up and down. “OH!! Oh, will you show us how it’s done??!?”

  Gramps glared at Roquefort until he settled down. “If I can continue . . . The first thing tha’s gonna happen is I’m gonna suit up ’n’ show you the drill while you watch. M’kay?”

  The prince rolled his eyes and gave a sarcastic little snort. What was that about? I thought he was all sea-happy.

  I helped Gramps into his huge suit as Kevin paced the length of the deck, muttering.

  “Oh, this is awful. You can barely see land from here! And the sky’s getting dark over that way!”

  Gramps quieted him down and started explaining his diving helmet.

  “So this hose that comes out th’ top? Tha’s what I breathe through. Any prankster decides to plug it up or drop their gum in there as a joke, I’ll come up ’n’ pound yeh into weak porridge, ’kay?” His eyebrow shot up as he gave Roquefort and his ogre a pointed look.