All of them feared the worst; she was just so responsible.
When they were full out on the river, a good breeze sprang up. Dirk suddenly clanged a bell, calling attention to the show that was about to start. It began with Dirk and the parrot as he told his tale of being a poor lad, shanghaied into the ways of pirate life. He spoke to individual members of the crowd, asking questions, interacting. The parrot was perfectly trained to make wisecracks to him and he responded, bringing delighted giggles from the children aboard. Then he picked up his guitar and sang a sea shanty—and as his rollicking song came to an end, his two key pirates, Jack and Blake, began a loud and boisterous argument, cutting into Dirk’s territory.
“I say you leave her be—the wench is mine!” Blake shouted.
“Not so says the wench!” Jack argued.
“That’s you!” one of the crew whispered to Abby.
She strode forward between them. “Ah, cut the whining, ye scurvy lot!” she told them. “This wench belongs to no man!”
“Um, yes, you do!” Blake said.
“I don’t belong to any man. I can sail these seas on my own!” she declared.
“Technically,” Jack said, addressing the crowd, “we’re not sailing the seas at all. This is a river.”
Abby waited for the laughter to die down. “River, lake, ocean, sea—mud puddle! I can manage it on my own. However...” She walked to each man and touched his face. “I don’t mind bringing on a mate who can prove his prowess should we be boarded!”
“Ah, fight!” Jack cried.
“To the death!” Blake roared back.
Dirk stepped between them. “First touch!” he commanded. “Jeez, it’s hard to get good help these days, even for a pirate! Just first touch—I need you wretched blackguards alive!”
Abby watched as the two of them went into their swashbuckling duel. In the end, Jack made the first contact, and while Blake muttered and the parrot ridiculed him, he sheepishly began to ask people where they were from, and what their opinions of the fray might have been.
“Hey,” Blake called. “This group is from Florida. They’re demanding a recount!”
Dirk knew right when to let the laughter fade and step in. “Recount? Recount? How can I recount? The count was one!”
Abby moved around the crowd. “We have a birthday here!” she called, after speaking with a wide-eyed little girl. “Her name is Jade.”
“A birthday? A birthday?” Dirk shouted. “Well, then!” He picked up his guitar and began to strum “Happy Birthday,” and everyone on the ship seemed to sing along.
Blake found a couple celebrating their anniversary; she ran over with more grog. Jack spoke to a young man about to head off for basic training; she rushed over with two cups of grog as they all assured him he might need both, and then applauded his service to his country.
Abby came upon a young man with wild dark hair, sunglasses and a ridiculous shirt. “And what are you celebrating, sir? Where are you from?”
She couldn’t really see his face—not with the glasses he wore and the baseball cap that sat low on his forehead. Despite that, she could tell he had heavy dark eyebrows.
“Just vacation,” he said. “And I’m from the great Commonwealth of Virginia.”
“Virginia!” Dirk said, and broke into, “Carry me back to old Virginny.”
They continued with the festivities, Jack hauling out a pirate chest next and providing young and old alike with trinkets. Handing a pack of chocolate doubloons to a small child, Abby noted the Virginian had left his seat and was chatting with crew members.
Then he disappeared down the steps into the galley and snack bar below.
A passenger asked her a question about Dirk’s pirate flag and she took the time to explain how pirates created their own flags. When she could, she slipped toward the steps and made a quick getaway to the deck below.
There was a counter at the far end. The price of the cruise included one glass of grog or soda and chips; hungry passengers could buy hot dogs, hamburgers, veggie burgers or salad—and beer or other beverages if they weren’t fond of grog. There were tables alongside a central shelf that held pirate flags, eye patches, “doubloons” and other souvenirs. She glanced at the tables, which were empty. People tended to gather there while the ship moved out to the river and back, rather than during the height of the pirate festivities.
No one on either side.
Abby walked up to the man tending the snack bar and asked, “Hey, I just saw one of the passengers wander this way. Did you see where he went?”
“Um, yeah, below, down to the magazine. Of course, we don’t really carry any powder or guns down there now. It’s food storage, mostly,” he said cheerfully.
“Why would a passenger go down there?” Abby asked.