image [https://i.imgur.com/rc6FpZ5.png]

The ceiling of the boathouse tore and splittered. The thunderous roar of exploding wood rang in our ears as debris fell all around us.

We dove for cover, although I was moving slower than I would have liked. Mr. Underbrook immediately grabbed at me and attempted to cover my head with his large fur coat.

“Morpo, that madman!” shouted Cassa as he dove to the floor.

“Get this thing moving!” Mr. Underbrook bellowed to Cassa.

“Aye, aye,” he yelled back.

Cassa dashed to the starboard side, leaping overboard onto the boathouse floor. He cranked down on a level, which started a system to open the boathouse main doors. Until those were open fully, we were like mice in a foxhole.

Once the door’s opening mechanism was locked in place, the door started slowly creaking open, second by agonising second. Cassa didn’t wait; he immediately got to work untying the ropes that kept the boat secured.

By this point, Mr. Underbrook and I had made our way up to the forecastle and were waiting nearby where Renna still lay.

“Underbrook!” yelled Cassa. “Get to the engine and wait for my signal. When I say so, hit the main switch on the left-hand side.”

Mr. Underbrook looked down at me. “Stay here with Renna, Chip,” he said.

He dashed off back down onto the main deck and towards the engine on the opposite side. It was still letting out its purr, waiting to crack into action. He got along side it, crouched down, and began to wait, hyperventilating and praying to whichever god he thought could keep him safe in the moment.

“The main switch on the left,” he whispered to himself as he scanned the panel in front of him and settled on the large green switch in question.

No sooner had he found the switch than a second cannon ball burst through the wall of the boathouse and sailed right past the port side of the sloop.

“Holy light!” I exclaimed in shock.

“Almost there!” yelled Cassa back to us. He was working on the last of the ties. Suddenly, I saw the line of the tie go slack and fall into the water.

“NOW!” I shouted as Cassa leapt back onboard.

Mr. Underbrook didn’t care who yelled it; it was the signal he was waiting for. Just as instructed, he hit the switch on the engine dashboard, and the previous hum was replaced by a loud whir. The boat lurched forward and then began to glide steadily.

He had done it—we were finally moving. Although, much too slowly.

We cleared the opened doors of the boathouse doors, and the light of the stars spilt out upon us. It was a magnificent feeling, although one that was short-lived. As we looked behind us, we saw the true threat we were facing.

All along the shoreline was a whole army of angry, jeering pirates who were waving their swords in a threatening display. The starlight glinted off their blades in what would otherwise have been a sight most beautiful. We were just four against a small army. At the centre of the group were two large cannons, both about half the size of the ship we were riding.

Between these two impressive weapons was the one and only Captain Morpo, brandishing his sword and pointing it straight in our direction. I saw his mouth open, and, although I was too far away to hear him, I knew exactly what he was saying: "Fire".

One of the cannons let out a primal roar, and another massive cannonball came screaming towards us. Now that we were out of the boathouse, they weren’t taking potshots anymore. They were shooting to kill.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Cassa acted quickly. He ran out to the centre of the deck and stared the cannonball down. I thought he had a death wish, but you know what they say, Mr. Dormand, fight fire with fire.

He planted his feet, arms outstretched, as two brilliant orbs of fire erupted from each hand. He pointed both towards the incoming cannonball and two white-hot streams of flame shot towards it. It was hot; I could feel the heat from where I was standing.

He would have been a fool to think he could destroy the cannonball with flame alone. However, when his fire hit it, it did so on the side. His intention was not to overpower the projectile but to alter its course enough that it would miss us and crash harmlessly into the ocean. He managed to get it off-course enough that it did just that.

Almost on cue, as soon as the first cannonball touched the water, we heard the sound of the second cannon firing. Cassa readied himself again and braced for another battle with the incoming cannonball.

He managed to divert this cannonball successfully, too, but the first cannon was already firing its next shot. It was to be an unending volley, and, just as fast as we could divert them, they could send them our way. Although Cassa was holding his own for the moment, we knew our time was running out. Soon, his energy would deplete, and when that happened, we would be as good as dead.

“What do we do, sir?” I asked Mr. Underbrook, who was now back in the forecastle, attempting to comfort me. As brave as I wanted to be, I was absolutely trembling by this point.

He had a stern look on his face. It was not one of fear but of focus. He was staring at the cannons, and the gears in his head were turning much faster than they were used to. After what felt like forever, he looked down at me.

“Dear lad, do not fear,” he said reassuringly. “I have a friend who can help.”

With that, he reached his arm out in front of his, palm turned to the sky. A white orb materialised in his hand, which shined for a time before collapsing into shape. As the light began to dissipate, I could start to make out a form, followed by detail and colour. It was a bird—a parrot, to be specific. It’s feathers were blue on the head and wings, with its belly made up of red.

“I believe,” he continued, “that you might remember Petunia.”

Indeed, I did. I had met Petunia in Mr. Underbrook’s first few days in the jailhouse. However, at the time, I was petting her from the inside of a cell while she hovered outside my window in the dead of night.

“She’s a magic bird?” I asked with a gasp.

Mr. Underbrook chuckled despite the looming danger, not for the first time that day.

“Something like that,” he said. “Now, stand back.”

He walked to the edge of the forecastle with Petunia still in his hand. Once he got clear of the ceiling, she immediately took off, high into the air and much faster than any bird I’d seen before.

I leant over the edge and looked up to get a clear view of her. She just kept going upwards, far, far upwards. Soon, she was so high up that she was barely a pinprick against the dark night sky. Then she started to get bigger.

I thought she was flying back down to us again, but that’s when I saw her change position and point right towards the cannoneers.

Suddenly, she shot down fast as a bullet. Not only that, but she was bigger than before. With each beat of her wings, she grew until she was ten times her original size. In a matter of seconds, she had become an absolute monster—a very angry one, at that.

She dive-bombed the first cannon, grabbing it with her immense talons and lifting it clear off the ground. The cannoneer that had been manning in tried to hold on for dear life but lost his grip about 10 metres up and fell to the ground below.

Petunia flapped her huge wings and created some distance between the pirate and her, the whole group of whom had completely lost focus of us and were now trying to either attack or scramble from the gigantic bird. She suddenly turned back, her eyes fixed on the second cannon. She swooped back in, then pulled back. The force of her motion created a swing, which launched the weapon in her claws forward. Then, she just let go.

The cannon was thrown through the air straight down towards its target. The two cannons collided with a thunderous clang that could be heard for miles around us. Both now lay buckled in a crater, utterly useless and successfully disposed of.

Petunia started to glow white again and then dissolved in front of my eyes.

I shook my head in disbelief.

“Is she...?” I began to ask.

Mr. Underbrook looked back at me with the face of a proud father.

“Not to worry,” he said. “She just needs a rest.”

As he said this, I could see a trail of white particles flying through the air back towards him. It was then that I realised that Petunia and Mr. Underbrook were connected in a very deep way. She was more than just a magic bird.

With the cannons destroyed, we were finally safe—for now. Cassa collapsed to his knees, clearly exhausted from all the action. I followed suit, sitting down on the ground where I stood and letting out a sharp exhale.

“Underbrook,” said Cassa wearily from the deck, “help me with the sails.

The two men unfurled the sails together, and, with the combined power of wind and steam, we went faster than I thought a ship possible. As we sailed off into the night, Morpo’s enraged cries faded behind us, leaving him to pick up the pieces of his broken army.