Life's Golden Ticket by Brendon Burchard Page B

any chance you can teach this kid how to be a real swashbuckler?”
    Willy eyed me up and down and smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. “ Aye! ” he cheered happily. He put an arm around Henry and the other around me and led us up into the hull of the ship.
    The ship’s deck was about twenty-five feet wide and fifty feet long—much bigger than I would have imagined. The entire deck had recently been sanded, and the floor was covered in dust and wood shavings. The mast rose in the center, and toward the stern a spoked wooden wheel four feet across rose from the deck. The only other feature of the deck was the hatch, a square hole on the starboard side that led to the belly of the ship below.
    Willy strapped a wooden shield tightly to my left forearm with two thick, rough straps of leather.
    â€œHow’s it feel, mate?”
    â€œFine,” I said. The shield was wider than a large pizza, and definitely heavier, but it felt secure and oddly natural on my arm.
    Willy showed me how to hold the shield and bow my head behind it to protect myself from an attack. “Keep your shield up,” he said, “and you’ll always minimize the risk of being hurt.”
    He offered me the hilt of a heavy wooden sword—it fit squarely in my palm. “Easy for a tight grip?” he asked.
    I nodded.
    He taught me how to squint around the shield and spot the weaknesses in an enemy’s defense. He also showed me the best crouching position, one in which my legs were flexed, ready to leap forward and thrust my sword when my enemy was vulnerable.
    â€œAlways strike first and strike hard,” he said. He spent about a half-hour teaching me how to block and thrust and parry and counterattack. A crowd of people had gathered below, wondering what was going on—they were able to view just the top half of our bodies.
    â€œOkay, Willy,” Henry said, watching us from behind the captain’s wheel. “He’s ready. Let’s go.”
    Willy and Henry walked over to the hatch. Willy threw his shield and sword onto the deck and descended below; Henry started to follow.
    â€œHey!” I called out. “Ready for what? Where are you going?”
    â€œIt’s time we left you alone,” Henry said, “to fight your enemies.”

    M inutes passed, and I peered over the port side, down into the crowd. Henry and Willy were down there talking. I watched them for a moment until I heard something behind me.
    I turned around . . . and froze in terror.
    My father stood just in front of the hatch. He strapped Willy’s shield onto his left arm.
    I squeezed my eyes shut hard in disbelief.
    When I opened them, he still stood there. He looked exactly as he had the last time I had seen him, when he walked away from me outside Mom’s hospital room: black trousers, white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, narrow black tie loosened around his collar.
    I found myself moving toward him.
    He adjusted the strap of his shield.
    As I drew closer I could smell the stench of whiskey oozing from his pores.
    He bent down, picked up the sword, and looked at me for the first time. His eyes glowed red.
    â€œIf you hadn’t made her throw you that damn party . . .”
    â€œ No! ” I heard myself scream, and I lunged at him with hatred. I forgot Willy’s coaching and just tried to slam my sword down onto him like a hammer. He threw up his shield and blocked my sword, then kicked me in the stomach. I fell backward onto the deck.
    He yelled and charged at me. “You stupid little shit, I’ll teach you to raise a hand to me!”
    I scooted frantically backward, pushing myself away with my hands and heels. In a flash he was on me.
    As he pounded at me with his sword I instinctively blocked it with my shield, pivoting and kicking him in the thigh. He cursed and stumbled in pain.
    I scrambled to my feet and backed up into the port rail.
    Dad charged me again, yelling, “You