By J. M. Allison
I clung to the yardarm as wind whipped across the deck of Brume de Mer, spraying ocean mist into the captain’s face.
“With a stiff wind and a swift current, we’ll be in the West Indies in no time, lads. Where rum and our profits await!”
The crew cheered as they scurried about their duties, eager to return to the treasures they’d been promised for contributing their cut from our last raid to the captain’s scheme. A crew like this would do a lot for a guarantee of rum and a two hundred percent return on investment.
Captain Hautbert grinned. “Come along, Polly.” He raised one arm, signaling to me. As if I could be summoned like any common sailor.
I shifted so the sea air rifled through my feathers.
“Polly! Want a cracker?” He waved a piece of hardtack in the air. Disgusting. I had a refined pallet that demanded consideration.
“Polly! Mon perroquet. Get down here!”
No. No more. It was time for a change. I spread my wings and soared down to land on his shoulder.
“Fernando want a melon,” I chirped, then clicked my beak and strutted down his arm.
“Good girl.” Hautbert stroked two fingers down my back.
“Fernando, good boy.”
Hautbert frowned then scanned the deck. “Santiago!”
A thin man with dark hair and a yellow and red striped shirt scurried over and snapped to attention. “Sí, mi capitán?”
“Have you been confusing Polly again?” Hautbert shifted his weight to one foot, pulling back his long coat to perch one fist on his hip.
“No, mi capitán.” Santiago shook his head furiously.
“Last time the stupid bird stopped responding to its name, it took weeks to retrain.” Hautbert raised his hand, lifting me into the air between them.
Retrain? Ha! I simply refused to answer to Polly. Hardly a crime. If he knew how many of my kind suffered under such a name, he’d never have suggested it. Not that he’d had the decency to ask what my name might be before labeling me with the first moronic moniker to enter his mind.
“Lo siento, capitán.” Santiago bowed his head.
“Get her straightened out. I’m not arriving in the West Indies with a defective parrot. How would it look for a French pirate captain to show up with a Spanish bird? One who refers to herself as Fernando? Fix it, now!”
Hautbert gave his hand a small toss, forcing me to flutter to Santiago’s shoulder. The first mate snapped a salute as Hautbert stomped off to his cabin.
“Well, mi lorito, see what a fix you got us in now?” Santiago scratched gently against my colorful breast.
“Fernando fine.” I bobbed my head.
“No, mi amigo. You must learn to respond to Polly, or el capitán will no’ be pleased.” Santiago wagged one bony finger at me.
What did I care if the old blowhard was upset? Life was better when we ignored him. I tipped my head to look sideways at Santiago.
“He is el capitán.” Santiago gave me a warning glare.
“No.”
“Sí.”
“No. Capitán Fernando.”
Santiago raised an eyebrow. “You think you want to be a capitán someday?”
I bobbed my head. If Hautbert could do it, I most certainly could. “Capitán Fernando now.”
Santiago stilled. “You do no’ mean that.”
“Sí.” I fluttered up to the railing across the front of the quarterdeck and strutted down the beam.
Santiago glanced around quickly. “No, you do not!” he hissed. “That’s…” He looked over his shoulder, as if Hautbert might reappear at any moment, then sprinted up the stairs to join me. “You’re talkin’ mutiny! Keep it up and el capitán will think I put the thought in your head. Then it’ll be me that walks the plank or is swingin’ from the yardarm!”
“Fernando want mutiny!” I crowed. “Fernando better capitán than Hautbert.” The dunce wouldn’t know a sheep from a goat, even if it rammed him in the backside. Besides, I knew the Caribbean like the back of my wing. If this crew wanted good things, I knew where to get them.
“The crew’ll never follow a lorito capitán. We really would be the laughingstock of the Caribbean then.” Santiago folded his arms.
“Free rum for crew. Free rum for crew.” I chirped. Santiago held the crew’s loyalty. If he championed my plan, the crew would too.
Santiago’s frown turned thoughtful. “Sí, that’d probably win ‘em over.”
“First mate Santiago. El Tirano del Mar! Big hat. Big sword. Very famous.” I hopped up to Santiago’s shoulder.
The Spaniard eyed me, the wheels in his head turning slowly. “How big?”
“Big, big hat. Big feather.” I inched closer. “Big treasure.”
“Treasure?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Hautbert lie. Buried treasure. El Tirano del Mar,” I squawked as I fluttered over to land on the helm, drawing the eyes of several additional sailors.
Instead of investing their shares as promised, Hautbert had taken all the treasure and stashed it on his own. But he never went anywhere without me. After all, no self-respecting pirate should ever be seen without his trusted parrot.
Santiago wandered slowly over to me, joined by a few other burly scallywags. “What do you mean, ‘Hautbert lied’? Are you saying there’s no return, no rum?”
I whistled an affirmative. “Big liar. El Tirano del Mar. Big hat. Free rum. Big treasure!”
Anger and greed sparked in the eyes of the men around me.
“We’d have to move fast,” piped up a squat man.
“Fernando signal,” I chirped.
The men looked to Santiago, who looked to me.
“Big hat,” I chattered.
Santiago smiled. “Sí. Be ready. We attack at the first opportunity.”
The sailors grinned and moved into position.
“El Tirano del Mar…” Santiago nodded toward me as he sauntered away, his fingers playing at the hilt of his blade.
I spread my wings and launched into the air. El capitán Fernando, el Tirano del Mar. Soon to be the most famous parrot of all!
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