Stormy Seas On Dry Land

By EJ Fredrickson

THERE IS A STORM COMING... A mysterious tale of TREASURE lost & found.

What happens when a ten-year-old pirate finds herself MAROONED on dry land with a step-family of landlubbers and a school bully who looks just like BLACKBEARD?

Can she discover the secrets of the caves under the Red Cliffs, which are rumoured to conceal the plunder of Grace O’Malley the Pirate Queen?

And will she ever DIG-UP the truth about her own ship-shape jewels, that are disappearing one shiny piece at a time?

There is a storm coming...so get ready for a HEAVYWEATHER ADVENTURE!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387855025

Book preview

Stormy Seas On Dry Land

Stormy Seas on Dry Land

The first Heavyweather adventure

EJ Fredrickson

Published by EJ Fredrickson

<2018>

Copyright © <2018> by

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: <2018>

ISBN <978-1-387-76844-8>

www.ejfredrickson.com

Chapter One: The unwanted pirate

There is a storm coming. Angry clouds gather together. The waves are wearing white caps and the water is swirling in circles as if someone has pulled out the plug. I can taste the salt on my lips. Our wooden house sits snuggly between the sand dunes. We call it The Boathouse but most of the boats are long gone. All except for a passenger cruiser called Wooden-leg Winifred, who carries a cargo of pink-faced landlubbers around the bays of Brinyville three times a day while Ma points out Pirate Heritage sites, such as the inlet where Blackbeard used to anchor his ship and the caves which are rumoured to conceal the plunder of Grace O’Malley the Pirate Queen. Usually, I love a good storm, but for some reason, I hope this one will blow over as fast as it blew in!

Ma comes into the boathouse and forces the door shut against the howling wind. I help her secure the bolt and pull a fat velvet snake across the bottom of the door to stop the draft. Ma unzips her sou'wester and hangs it on a hook. The drips make puddles on the floor.

‘Let’s have a hot chocolate, my angelfish. I need to talk to you about something.’ I love hot chocolate, so usually I would be over the moon about this, but Ma never calls me ‘angelfish’ so I can’t help feeling nervous as she pulls out a heavy-bottomed saucepan and a fresh block of Dairy Milk.

‘What’s the matter, Ma?’ My voice wobbles like a jellyfish, ‘is it bad news?’

‘Don’t be daft!’ Ma says, grinning like a great white shark. I know I should feel better. But I don’t. The chocolate begins to bubble in the pan. I grab a wooden spoon and stir it impatiently, sending chocolate flying from one corner of the boathouse to the other. ‘Watch out!’ says Ma, with a strange giggle. We perch like parakeets on rickety wooden stools. I hug my mug in both hands. Ma takes a deep breath. ‘Nigel has asked me to marry him.’ Ma blows the words out of her mouth like a breathless puffer fish. I am confused.

‘Nigel?’ I can feel one of my eyebrows creeping upwards like a sea slug across my forehead.

‘You know, he’s the fella’ who rides the Pirate Tour every Tuesday?’ Suddenly I am grinning.

‘Oh, that’s funny, Ma!’ I chuckle. ‘Imagine if all your passengers asked you to marry them! I hope you didn’t make him walk the plank!’

‘No, Bonny lass,’ Ma’s face is suddenly serious. ‘I didn’t make him walk the plank! I said yes.’ Her voice is gentle.

‘Yes?’ I repeat quietly.

‘Yes, my angelfish! I am going to marry Nigel Longfellow! But don’t worry! You don’t have to change your name! You will always be Bonny Heavyweather! But we are going to get out of this drafty boathouse and move into Nigel’s place in Dryland!’

‘DRYLAND?!’ This is the moment when the storm really hits me. I think I must be dreaming. How could pirates like us move to a landlubber town like Dryland? I know it’s only twenty minutes’ drive away from Brinyville but, to me, it’s another world! ‘What about Wooden-Leg Winifred?’ I squeak.

‘There’s room for her in Uncle Jim’s boat shed next to the ol’ dingy.’ Ma explains. ‘I’ll still do the Pirate Tour around the bays of course - I’ll just have to drive from Dryland to Brinyville every day that’s all!’

‘And I guess I’ll be coming with you!’ I say gloomily.

‘Why?’ Ma looks confused.

‘I still need to go to school!’ I snap.

‘Yes... but you’ll be going to a new school, down the road from Nigel’s place!’

‘I’ll be going to a new school?’ I am as stunned as a mullet. Ma puts her arm around my shoulder and smiles her great white smile.

‘You’re going to a mighty-fine school called Dryland Academy!’ My mouth hangs open like a traumatised trout. Ma ruffles my unruly curls. ‘Don’t worry, lass! You’ll love it!’

‘But I love Brinyville!’ I whimper. ‘I love the sand dunes! I love Wooden-leg Winifred! I love the boathouse! But I do not love towns that are crawling with landlubbers!’ Ma says nothing, but her great white smile doesn’t change.



My new stepbrother is a landlubber. He is a lump-of-a-lad called Lancelot Louis Longfellow. He is nine years old, just like me. I think Lancelot is a stupid name and I tell him so.

‘What sort of name is Lancelot?’ I ask as I struggle through the door with a rusty sea chest full of my precious cargo. I know I’m being rude but I feel like a fish out of water in this grand three-storey townhouse in the middle of Dryland. Lancelot snaps back,

‘Well it’s not as stupid as Bonny!’ I dump my sea chest in the middle of the hallway with a thump.

‘Actually, I’m named after Anne Bonny, the most ferocious female pirate who ever lived!’ I tell him proudly.

‘Well, I’m named after one of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table!’ Lancelot tells me, puffing out his chest like a pompous pigeon.

‘Well, I’m going to call you, ‘Landlubber-Lancelot!’ I mumble to myself.

‘And, I’m going to call you the ‘Unwanted Pirate!’ mutters Landlubber-Lancelot, ‘because you blew in on the wind like a piece of stinky seaweed!’ I stick out my tongue and stomp up the stairs dragging my sea chest behind me. My new room is on the third floor.

‘Who needs three floors?’ I grumble to myself, thinking sadly of our single-storey boathouse that is now standing empty among the sand dunes. The top floor landing has a tiny window and two bright-white doors. One of the doors has a sign hanging on it in that says ‘Lancelot Louis Longfellow’ in swirly scarlet letters and there is a crown drawn in pencil on top of the first L. It looks as though Landlubber-Lancelot made this sign himself when he was about five years old. I try the door directly opposite and it glides open easily.

‘Shiver me Timbers!’ I whisper under my breath. The room is bigger than a blue whale! The carpet is bubble-gum pink with a fluffy heart-shaped rug in the middle of the room. The bed has a frilly curtain hanging over it. My heart sinks like