Disclaimer: I own Jonny, but I don't own Jack. Hmm. I also own Sam, Stormwind, and Kelly. And I actually do own the poems. Yes, I am a poet, a published poet, and not just on the internet either. My poem, "Balance," has been published in an anthology. Any resemblance to real people and places is entirely coincidental. Hablabo hablabo hablabo.
A/N (7/12/04): I'm finally getting around to typing this. I'm not sure how long it's been in my backpack, but it's been there quite a while. Luckily Mithrander didn't eat it. Mithrander is my mini-Balrog. He eats things. Like my homework and the One Ring.
Late one evening during what came to be known as the Golden Age of Piracy, a young man named Jacob Kingsley sat hunched over his desk, stydying a map by lamplight. The map showed the West Indies. He ran his finger across the islands. Ah, there it was: "Here There Be Dragons," in the same spot as on all the other maps.
Dragons. Figments of the mapmaker's imagination. All it meant was that ships tended to disappear in that area. But why?
The room was quiet, the only noise being the whisper of breath and the clunk of toys as they hit each other. Three people occupied the room, two children and their mother, who embroidered as she watched them play. The elder, the boy, began to grow restless, viewing the light pink walls with disgust. Girl colors. "I'm bored," he whined.
"Here," his mother said. "It's a letter from your brother." She handed him a slip of parchment she had been saving to give to him when he finished playing.
The boy, Jonathan Kinsley, opened the letter and read it.
Dear Jonny,
I hope you're having a good time. Work here in the shop has been tedious, but I've discovered a phenomenon I want to investigate.
"What's a phenomenon?" Jonny asked.
"I'm not sure," his mother replied. "Ask your father."
Jonny nodded, then began to read again.
I'll be leaving England to-morrow. I'm sorry I can't take you with me, but I'm sailing to the Caribbean, and it would be too dangerous for you to come. There are pirates in the Caribbean, lots of pirates. However, do not worry about me. I'll be fine. Remember, I'm Jacob Kingsley. Nothing can happen to me.
I'm searching for a place that's only labeled "Here There Be Dragons" on all the maps I've seen. I might be gone as long as a year. If you don't hear from me in a few months, don't worry. It just means I'm busy, or, more likely, the ship carrying my letter got attacked by pirates and is now in the bottom of the sea. Take care of Becca for me, and try not to anger Carlos, all right?
Becca was their younger sister, Rebecca, and Carlos was their older brother. Carlos had a temper to match no other, and it was partially to separate Jack from Carlos that their father sent Jack off to be apprenticed to a cartographer.
Tell Mother not to worry about her little sparrow. I'll be fine.
Your brother,
Jack
Jonny refolded the letter and put it in his coat pocket. Jack was seventeen, while Jonny was only eleven, but they were still very close, closer than most brothers. "Mommy," he said, "Jack says 'e's goin' to the West Indies, but he says not to worry. Can I go now? I promised my friends I'd meet them by the river."
His mother looked at him and said, "Go on outside, then. But come back before dark." Her son was always like this, wild, wanting to be free. Just like his older brother, Jacob, who'd been her little sparrow and Jonathan's idol, until his father had him apprenticed to a cartographer.
Revived, Jonny sprinted down the stairs, past beautiful tapestries done in bright golds and reds and greens, out the giant oak doors that served as the main entrance, down the dirt path to the stream. There he slowed, waiting for his friends to show up, letting the cool water trickle over his bare feet. Moments later, the single-masted sailboat he'd seen out the window appeared around the bend, and he leapt aboard.
"We're pirates today," announced Kelly, the only girl among them and a right bossy lass, "so we've got to vote on who's our Captain. Brian says so, an' he should know, 'cause his dad's a pirate."
His father would be furious to know that Jonny was consorting with such low-lifes as the son of a pirate, but Jonny didn't care. They were his friends, and that was all that mattered.
"What're we waiting for, then, mates?" Jonny asked. "Let's vote!"
"I nominate Jonny as Captain," Kelly declared. "All in favor, say 'aye'!" There was a chorus of "ayes." "All opposed, say 'nay'!" Silence. "Jonny is Captain!"
They set off down the river, laughing and shoving each other playfully. Suddenly, the boy, Jonny, was shoved into the water. He came up spluttering, shivering from the cold, then immediately plunged back under. His feet touched the bottom, sand and stones smoothed by decades of erosion. He opened his eyes. The view was strange, enlarged but blurred. His lungs screamed for air. Something glinted in the sand, and he reached down to pick it up. It was a gold ring. Impulsively, he put it in his pocket.
Then thin arms dragged him up, up towards the life-giving air, and he gasped, filling his lungs, gulping in oxygen. He looked at his rescuer, and saw that it was Kelly. More arms lifted him back into the boat.
Kelly shoved Brian, who spat at her. "No fighting aboard the ship."
"Mutineer!" someone accused. "He attacked the Captain!"
"Who do you think you are, givin' orders on my ship?" Jonny demanded of Brian. "Think yer a better Captain, eh? We'll settle this once an' fer all! Lower the anchor! This upstart an' I are gonna mudwrestle!"
"Yay! Mudwrestling!" the others cheered. It was their favorite sport.
Kelly leapt over the side with a rope and swam to shore, where she tied the rope around a tree.
"Witch!" Brian accused.
"She's no witch. She saved my life, after you tried t' kill me. After I beat you, she's gonna teach th' whole crew how t' swim." Jonny balanced on the prow of the ship for a moment before jumping to shore.
They tramped a good ways through the grass before they reached a good mud pit. There the two boys rolled up their sleeves and began to wrestle. Brian was taller and stronger, fro helping unload ships, and at first it seemed that he would win. But then Jonny hooked one of his legs around Brian and tripped the older boy, thereby winning the fight. "Cheater!" Brian accused. "He's even tryin' t' cheat th' sea!"
When he got home that afternoon, drenched and splattered with mud, Carlos was waiting for him. Carlos was his oldest brother, and their father's favorite, despite his tendency to gamble away any money that came into his hands. Carlos was the only one who resembled Father physically: heavily muscled and more prone to sunburn than tan. Both Jacob and Jonny had more slender builds (Carlos called them delicate), and tanned so darkly they resembled the mulatto slave children. What with Jacob's appearance and his swaying walk that was supposed to be a swagger, their father would have suspected him of being fey were he not such a womanizer. That was bad enough; worse was the fact that they were about ten times as smart as their parents.
'Oh, look," Carlos sneered. "It's the little piglet come back from rolling in the mud."
Jonny was gathering himself together for a scathing retort when he remembered Jack's words: Try not to anger Carlos. Meaning: Don't show off how smart you are.
In that case, thought Jonny, all I need to do is pretend that he's actually getting to me, and it'll make him happy.
I hate him! he thought to himself, over and over, letting his rage overcome the calm, logical part of him that was usually in control. Tears of frustration began rolling down his cheeks, and Carlos laughed. He almost lost it then, as the logical part reasserted itself. This was actually fun, deceiving Carlos. Certainly Carlos would now pick on him more often, but Carlos's insults were amusing, whereas the beatings he gave when Jonny stood up to him were painful. He fled upstairs to his room before he could give himself away.
The next morning he met Kelly by the lake which fed the river where they normally played. Nobody else was there. "They didn't want to incur Brian's wrath," Kelly explained.
That day she showed him several strokes and taught him to tread water. He was a quick learner, especially after he understood the dynamics of swimming. He had some trouble with the front crawl—it took several months before he got the hang of breathing to the side—but other than that, he learned at an amazing pace. Soon they would swim to the deeper water to try to dunk each other under, and shortly after that they took to swimming down the river to splash their playmates.
His father thought he was growing too wild, and so had him placed in school with the other highborn children. He marched Jonny to the school one morning and informed the teacher that he was to use any means necessary to teach the boy proper behavior. The teacher simply nodded and continued the lesson, which was on long multiplication.
"Can anybody tell me the product of sixty-four and sixteen?" he asked, writing the problem on the blackboard with a piece of chalk.
Jonny raised his hand.
"Yes, Kingsley? Did you have a question?"
His condescending tone struck Jonny's smart-alec nerve. "Aye. May I enlighten this extraordinary class about the answer to your problem?"
The teacher's expression made it clear that he was simply humoring this upstart newcomer, and expected to cut him down to size when he gave the wrong answer. "Go ahead." He held out the chalk, expecting Jonathan to come to the front of the room and try to work it out on the board.
"One thousand twenty-four," Jonny responded without rising from his seat.
The teacher began to shake his head, then caught himself when he realized Jonny had given the correct answer. "How did you get that?" he demanded.
Jonny shrugged. "Counted doubles, sir."
"Excuse me?" the teacher said. "What do you mean, 'counted doubles'?"
Jonny explained, "Sixteen is one doubled four times, so I simply doubled sixty-four four times to get the answer. It's really quite simple," he added with a deprecating shrug.
He took to studying maps in his spare time at school, thinking to become a cartographer like his brother. The older ones were full of places marked "Here There Be Dragons." He spent long hours fantasizing about the giant reptiles until he found newer maps, marking the areas as coral reefs or rocky islands.
One dreary day, not mysterious or misty but overcast, with a drizzling sort of rain that managed to find every single leak, the teacher brought up the subject of poetry. Jonny was all set to ignore him as he usually did (poetry, in his opinion, was tediously boring), when the teacher began to read a poem that caught his interest.
My mogher calls me Sparrow, and my father calls me Lad;
One brother calls me Hero and the other calls me Bad;
To Sister, I'm Protector; but it matters not to me;
I'm a sailor, pure and simple, and I'm going out to Sea.
Obviously the poem had been written by his brother Jack, and it was the best poetry Jonny had ever heard. If the rest of the lesson was to be like this, it might just be worth the effort to pay attention.
However, amid sniggers from most of the students, the teacher explained that this was bad poetry, and proceeded to read an example of good poerty (more of the boring stuff Jonny despised). Meanwhile, Jonny set to writing his own poem.
The day before, he'd received a letter from his brother, and he thought about it as he wrote.
Dear Jonny,
Sorry I didn't write you sooner, but I've been rather busy. It's no excuse, I know, but I hope you'll understand. First the search, and then—but best not trust that to paper; there's no knowing who might read this before it gets to you.
That set off alarm bells in Jonny's head. His brother Jack was carefree, had no worries. Why was he now worrying about who might read the letter?
I wrote to tell you that I found the island marked "Here There Be Dragons." No dragons, I'm sad to say, just an island with a great number of hidden dangers, and a great deal of gold.
I am now learning to be a sailor. I've made two friends, Samuel and William—you could've guessed the latter, since every other tar's name is William. Good men, both of them.
I don't know when I'll be coming home, but it probably won't be soon. Take care.
Your brother,
Jack
"Here There Be Dragons,"
The old map proclaims.
For many lost ships,
These "dragons" it blames.
The ships can't return,
To tell the true tale
Of storm-winds that drove
The ship like a gale.
The ship can't return,
To tell of the reef;
The reef, not dragons,
That brought so much grief.
So "Here There Be Dragons,"
On maps it does show:
These are the places
Where ships must not go.
He didn't realize that the class had gone silent until a large shadow obscured his light. He looked up to see the teacher looming over him. "What are you doing?"
"I'm writing poetry, sir. What does it look like I'm doing?"
"It looks like you're not paying attention. Class dismissed. Kingsley, stay."
The others filed out, smirking at Jonny. When they were gone, the teacher took out a paddle. "Bend over." He gave Jonny three good, hard whacks, then let him go.
Mother noticed his slight limp, despite his efforts to conceal it. "Are you all right?"
"Fine, fine," he assured her, leaning against a wall because his backside was too tender for him to sit.
Meanwhile, he had still been visiting the lake every day to swim with Kelly. They were becoming good friends—more than friends—and he hoped his father would approve, though he doubted it. Perhaps, when they got older, they could elope.