Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

chance.
    Just wait ’til the Ladies are raised on that mast, he thought. Not a ship in the world will outrun her.
    This pleasant thought was interrupted by Smee’s high-pitched voice.
    “Cap’n, they’re getting ready to launch a dory!”
    Stache snatched the spyglass and had a look. He drew a sharp breath; not only were Wasp crewmen getting a dory ready, but it appeared that the passenger was a man in gentleman’s clothing, and the cargo was…a black trunk!
    What trickery is this?
    Stache frowned, pondering the situation. Was the trunk a decoy? If he turned to pursue it, the Ladies would lose the wind and be useless—the Wasp would regain the advantage and quickly put water between them. But if he let the black chest escape and it proved to be the treasure…
    “Cap’n, should we…”
    “Out of my way!” shouted Stache, shoving Smee aside and striding quickly amidships, stopping at the cage holding the prisoner. He knelt, reached through the iron bars, grabbed the man by the coat of his now-filthy uniform, and pul ed him close, so that only the rusting cage separated their faces. The prisoner recoiled from Stache’s foul breath.
    Stache shoved the spyglass into the man’s hands.
    “You tel me, mate,” Stache said. “That there trunk being loaded off the Wasp. Is that the treasure?” The prisoner, weak with hunger and fear, trembled so badly that Stache had to support the spyglass for him.
    “Black and shiny she is,” Stache said, helping him find it, “wearing a gold emblem on her sides.”
    “Y—y—yes,” the man stammered. “Th—that’s it. Sir.”
    Stache leaned back, appraising the man’s terrified face. “You understand, lad, if them words ain’t the truth, they’re your last on this earth?”
    “I…I…” The prisoner tried to swal ow, but could not. “I swear, sir. That’s it.”
    “Very wel ,” said Stache, to himself. He stood, rubbing his chin absentmindedly, wondering if…
    “TROUBLE, CAP’N!” It was Smee hol ering from the upper deck, his stubby right arm pointing up.
    Stache looked up. What NOW?
    And then he saw it—
    The Ladies were burning.
    Captain Scott patted Jeff the archer on the shoulder.
    “Good work,” he said, nodding toward the Sea Devil. The right cup of the enormous brassiere was afire, the flames spreading quickly.

    “Stand ready, son,” he said. “We’l need you again.”
    The archer, a thick, bald man, nodded.
    Scott looked across the ship to where Leonard Aster stood, waiting as sailors lashed the trunk inside the dory. Aster was staring at the trunk.
    Scott al owed himself a moment’s speculation— I wonder what’s in there, to be worth dying for —then cal ed out to Aster.
    “Good luck, Mr. Aster. God wil ing, we wil have you back on board within the hour.”
    Aster looked over, his green eyes intense. He said nothing, answering only with the briefest of nods. He touched the gold chain around his neck, feeling for the locket, as if assuring himself that it was there. Then he climbed into the dory and gestured to the boatswain, who barked a command. Four sailors swung the dory out on its davits and lowered the little boat into the surging sea, carrying a passenger, and a cargo, that Scott was duty-bound to protect.
    I had no choice, thought Scott. He gave me no choice.
    Then he turned to the task of trying to save his ship.
    Black Stache knew when to cut his losses. Scott had a reputation as a clever sailor; the burning Ladies were proof that it was justified.
    “Cut loose the Ladies,” Stache ordered Smee.
    “Cut them loose, Cap’n?” said Smee. “The Ladies? ”
    “Yes, you idjit, and NOW, before the masts and rigging catch fire,” Stache said. “Attach a mooring buoy to the starboard sheet, then cut them loose. We’l come back for them later.”
    Smee relayed the commands, and the crew responded quickly. The flaming Ladies floated away from the ship like a gigantic kite, then fluttered and sank, fal ing into the sea with a