Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson Page A

goodness —it made a faint moaning sound. Preston yanked the gag from Harbuckle’s mouth, which began to cough, and then spew seawater, and then, final y, to speak.
    “You idjit !” it said. “You rock-headed, lobster-brained MORON!”
    “I’m sorry, mate!” said Preston. “I forgot you was down there!”
    “You forgot I was down there?” said Harbuckle. “I untie your hands and save your worthless life and YOU FORGOT I WAS DOWN THERE?”
    “Only for a minute,” said Preston.
    “Untie my hands,” said Harbuckle, “so I can wring your neck.”
    Harbuckle calmed down as Preston untied him, and both men began to understand that, although they had escaped immediate death, their long-term prospects were not good.
    They tried using their hands to bail out the dory, but it was hopeless: for every handful of water they scooped out, the waves brought more in. Eventual y they stopped trying, as exhaustion, cold, and despair settled in.
    And then Preston saw it, on the horizon.
    “Look,” he shouted, pointing.
    Harbuckle squinted, and he saw it, too.
    A mast.
    Harbuckle said, “You don’t suppose … ?”
    “They’re coming back for us?”
    “That couldn’t be good,” Harbuckle said.
    “No,” agreed Preston. Perilous as their situation was, it was probably better than whatever Black Stache would have in store.
    “Wait a second,” said Harbuckle, squinting hard. “That ain’t the Sea Devil. ”
    Preston took a long look.
    “It ain’t the Wasp, either,” he said.
    The two pirates looked at each other, then both rose up, nearly capsizing the swamped dory, and began waving their arms frantical y.
    “Over here!” they shouted. “We’re over here!”
    With agonizing slowness, the distant ship drew closer; the two castaways, their voices growing hoarse, kept shouting and waving, desperate for a sign of recognition. Final y, Preston saw it.
    “Someone’s waving at us!” he shouted, jumping up so violently that the much abused dory final y did capsize, leaving the two pirates swimming, or trying to.
    But there was no question; the ship was steering toward them now, and as it drew close, both men could clearly see the person who’d been waving at them, the person who’d seen them first, and saved their sorry lives.
    “Why,” said Harbuckle, “it’s a boy. ”

CHAPTER 9
THE RESCUE

    P ETER LEANED OVER THE PORT RAIL to watch as the two fat, wet men, clinging to knotted ropes, were hauled slowly aboard the Never Land. The seas sweled and shifted, the fat men crying out as they swung like pendulums.
    Peter had seen the drowning men first; he’d pointed them out to a sailor, who’d run to tel Slank. Peter had kept waving as the Never Land drew closer, to let the men know they’d be rescued.
    And now, as they were hauled aboard, Peter was as curious as everyone else to learn who they were, and how they got into their predicament. He joined the crowd forming a circle around the men as they sat on the deck, dripping, panting, looking apprehensively up at their rescuers. Peter noticed Mol y on the other side of the circle. Their eyes met for a moment, then Peter looked away.
    Why do I always look away?
    “Move aside!” said Slank, shoving his way through the crowd. He stood over the two men and said: “Do you speak English?” The fatter of the two (though not by much) nodded, coughed, and said, “Yes, sir.”
    “What’re your names?” asked Slank. “What ship are you from? And how did you end up in the sea?”
    “My name is Harbuckle, sir,” said the fatter one. “This here is Preston. We thank you, sir, for saving our lives. We was surely—” Slank interrupted. “I asked you what ship you’re from,” he said. “And how you wound up in the sea.”
    “We’re from … the … ah… the Marcelle ,” said Harbuckle.
    The slightly slimmer fat man, Preston, look at his mate, puzzled. “No we’re not,” he said. “We’re from the UNH—” His sentence was cut short by a sharp blow to