Mouse by Jeff Stone Page B

squirming around, trying to get out. It tickles.”
    ShaoShu sucked in his stomach to give the mouse a little more room, and it stopped squirming. How ever, its lack of motion was replaced with something else—the sound of tiny teeth gnashing together.
    “Hey!” ShaoShu whispered. “He's trying to chew his way out!”
    LoBak glanced at ShaoShu's ropes. “Are you sure?”
    ShaoShu nodded.
    “It looks like your major bindings converge right over your midsection,” LoBak said. “If he makes it all the way through, there is a good chance you might be able to wriggle free!”
    ShaoShu grinned. “That's exactly what I was thinking.”

CHAPTER
17

    “A hoy, friend!” Charles shouted in Dutch to the fishing boat drifting across the mouth of Smuggler's Island cove. “Permission to enter your sheltered waters?”
    “Why, Charles!” one of the fishermen replied in the same language. “What have you done to your sloop? Come in! Come in!”
    Charles steered his newly changed sloop toward the cove's calm waters in the fading daylight. He'd modified his boat's rigging so much and painted it such a different color that even he had a hard time recognizing it.
    The fishing boat gave way, and the fishermen began hoisting several flags in quick succession. Charleswaved to the man who'd greeted him, and while he recognized his face, he didn't recall his name. Nor could he interpret the signal flag messages that were flying up and down the fishing boat's mast.
    It had been a while since Charles had had to interpret signal flags, but he should have been able to decipher at least some of the message. The fact that he couldn't meant that Captain Henrik wasn't there. Some one else was in charge.
    As Charles’ sloop slipped through the cove, he saw only one ship moored there—a schooner that belonged to a Captain Rutger. No other boats were in sight, which was odd. Charles had never seen fewer than three ships in the cove at any one time. Usually there were five or more.
    Hok walked over to his side. “Is everything all right? You look concerned.”
    “Everything is fine,” Charles replied.
    Hok scanned their surroundings and pointed toward the vessel patrolling the mouth of the cove. “That's not really a fishing boat, is it?”
    “Sure it is,” Charles said. “They're trolling for tomorrow's breakfast. Fish like to inhabit the narrow breakwater where the cove meets the ocean. As you've guessed, the fishermen are also sentries. They are the first line of defense in case there is an attack.” He pointed to a cluster of trees on each side of the cove's rocky mouth. “The second line of defense is the cannons positioned in those two tree groupings. If the fishermen were to give the signal, we would be blown out of the water.”
    Hok nodded and looked back at him, staring with unblinking eyes.
    “What?” he asked.
    “There is something troubling you. I can sense it. I thought you would be happy to be back among your friends.”
    “I am happy,” Charles said. “Sort of. I didn't say anything earlier because I didn't want to get your hopes up, but I had thought your father, Captain Henrik, would be here. I thought his crew would be, too. My crew.”
    Hok continued to stare at him, her expression unchanged.
    “I am certain he is not here, though,” Charles went on. “His ship is not in the cove, and they aren't using his signal book. Another captain is in charge right now. Captain Rutger is a good man. You'll like him.”
    Hok looked away, over the side. “I remember you once told me that my father was conducting business in the south. I guess I hoped he would be here, too. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever see him again.”
    “We'll know more after we talk with Captain Rutger. Look, there he is, aboard his schooner.”
    Charles pointed to a slender man in his forties with bright intelligent eyes. He had brown hair, broad shoulders, and a strong chin. He stood like a rock, grinning, upon the poop deck.
    “Ahoy, Captain