Rise of the Isle of the Lost

“Mal just didn’t want to share,” said Jay with a grin.

Mal shrugged, but Jay was right: she hadn’t wanted Uma to be part of her crowd. She’d pushed her away, even though Uma was fiercer than Ginny Gothel and much scarier than Harriet Hook. The truth was, Uma was real competition, and Mal hadn’t wanted any of that back then.

Evie squinted at the picture of Uma in the magic mirror. “Why do you hate her so much?”

Mal was taken aback. “I don’t hate her. Actually, since we’ve been in Auradon, I’d forgotten all about her. She’s the one who’s always been obsessed with me.”

Carlos and Jay nodded. “Uma loathes Mal,” said Carlos.

“I mean, I get it, you dumped a bucket of shrimp on her head. You can’t be her favorite person,” said Evie. “But it’s also not any different from what people on the Isle do to each other every day. Couldn’t she get over it?”

Mal smiled ruefully at the memory of that fateful day. “I think it bothered her more because we were close once, best friends actually. But then she…”

“She laughed at you,” said Carlos, who had turned away from the magic mirror and had zipped open his backpack to get a head start on his homework. “I was with my mom that day at the docks. I saw what happened. Uma laughed at you when you tripped and fell and slid down the dock.”

“Yeah, I didn’t like it,” said Mal, eyes glazing at the memory. “So I took my revenge. Her hair never smelled the same again. In fact it smelled…”

“Shrimpy,” Jay said with a laugh.

Evie shuddered, thinking of how terrible that would be. “Yikes.”

“I wasn’t the nicest person back then,” said Mal, frowning at the image in the magic mirror.

“You were only doing what you were taught,” said Evie supportively. “What we were all taught on the Isle.” She picked up a piece of fruit from Jay’s tray and took a bite, glad that it was fresh and not rotten like they were used to on the island.

“But how does she think she’s going to find that trident? She doesn’t have a magic mirror at her disposal, like we do,” said Jay.

“Maybe everyone who’s looking for it is working for her?” guessed Evie.

“No, the goblins only work for themselves,” said Mal. “The only ones who could possibly be loyal to her are the pirates.”

“A bunch of thieves and thugs,” said Jay.

“Harry and Gil? You used to run with them,” Carlos chided. “Didn’t you?”

“I sure did,” admitted Jay. “That’s how I know they’re all a bunch of scoundrels.”

“But if any of them found it, they’d definitely give it to Uma,” said Mal. “They always follow orders. Especially Harry Hook.”

“We don’t have much time; King Triton will notice the trident’s missing by tomorrow, so we need to get it back tonight,” said Evie.

“And Uma’s after it, so you all know what that means.” Mal stood up from the table, ready to take action.

“We need to find it before she does,” said Evie.

“And hurry,” added Carlos.

Jay smiled. “Here we go again.”





Uma paced the top deck of the Lost Revenge confidently. With Harry and Gil at her side, she’d assembled a solid squad—a bona fide pirate ship with a bona fide crew. No matter that Gil was so dim he often forgot not to call her by that horrid nickname; Harry and his wharf rats were ready to cut up anyone who stood in their way. She surveyed the work the pirates were doing to bring the ship up to task.

They were busy provisioning the ship, bringing on food and water from Ursula’s as she’d ordered, as well as a whole host of supplies. All sorts of things could go wrong at sea, and you couldn’t exactly head home if you had a problem, so they needed extra lengths of rope and sail, boards that could be used to fix the hull, and all the tools and hardware to make those repairs. Plus, Harry insisted that every inch of the ship had to be checked. Every length of rope was inspected for rents or frayed edges. Rats loved to chew on ropes, and they tended to choose the most undesirable places to snack on them. If the pirates didn’t check every inch of the ropes, their main sail might just sail free the moment the wind caught it, or their anchor line might snap in two just as it took hold.

The crew went over every length of sail, and they checked all the winches and pulleys as well, making certain that each was sound, replacing a few, fixing others. They checked the mast for cracks and the rudder for soundness, and made certain it worked in proper coordination with the captain’s wheel. Things seemed to be coming together. But there was one particular problem that caught Uma’s attention. Apparently the Lost Revenge had as many holes as the ship had boards. Wooden sailing ships always take on a bit of water, she knew. But the Lost Revenge took on water by the bucketful, and when they’d tried to push off the dock the problem had only increased, with more water rising faster, threatening to turn her sailing vessel into a gigantic bathtub.

“So what do we do?” she asked Harry, who, coincidentally, had experience sailing in a bathtub.

“Well,” Harry started, clearly excited that she had decided to consult him on the matter. “We should have her lifted out of the water, the hull scraped clean and repainted, then—”

“Stop. That’s not happening. We need to do something about the state of this ship, but we don’t have time to lift it or do anything major. Be serious.”

“Yeah, I guess. Okay, so then maybe it’s just a matter of resealing the boards. When the ship was built, the joints were all watertight, you know, fitted together closely so no water could pass through them. But ships age, and boards flex and rot and chip, and pirate ships have a way of getting rammed into or ramming into things, taking cannon shot, the usual stuff. It ruins the hulls and the boards that make them up.”

“Wonderful history of sailing, thanks, but I have no interest. Get to the point, will you?” she growled.

“We caulk the joints. There’s an adhesive that’s fitted between the boards and then it’s all slathered over with pitch.”

“Pitch? As in singing on key?” she asked.

“Pitch as in tar or mastic—what we call sludge: that black sticky stuff that water can’t penetrate.”

“Gotcha. Get on it,” she said, pushing at his chest.

“Me?” he asked, stumbling back.

She crossed her arms. “Well, you do seem to be the expert, and I recall seeing a barrel of something black and sticky down there in the hold. I reckon you’ll find all the supplies you need down there, so grab a few of the crew and get working.”

“Great. I’ll be covered in sludge for days.”

“It beats bailing water every time we sail.”

“It does,” said Harry as he headed down into the hold. “I’ll have this ship watertight in no time.”

When Harry had disappeared out of sight, she headed to the wooden bridges and trudged back to the fish shop. Her shift was up. It was time to put away her captain’s hat and put on an apron.