Free Anton and Cecil by Lisa Martin Page A

sails don’t get anywhere.” He pointed to the sleeping sailor. “No food, no water. Your sailors will be skeletons soon. I’ve seen that happen.”
    Cecil’s ears twitched. Skeletons? He sat up straight and studied Shag, who continued.
    â€œYou want my advice, you best get off this ship and I mean pronto,” Shag said, lowering his beak and looking fixedly back at Cecil.
    Get off the ship? A spark of panic lit inside Cecil for the first time. He had been assuming they’d get going eventually, but what if they stayed stuck? He was a cat, surrounded by miles and miles of ocean. If the ship didn’t move, he’d be a skeleton soon, too.
    Shag extended his wings again and beat them a few times to test them out. “Good to go.” He turned on the railing to face the sea. “Well, best of luck to you, Cecil.”
    â€œHang on!” cried Cecil. “Can you . . . take me with you? Carry me, I mean?” It sounded crazy, even to Cecil, but he felt desperate.
    Shag turned back and looked at Cecil’s generous frame. “Don’t think we’d get far, would we?” His eyebrows fluttered in the breeze as he gazed out to the horizon. “Somebody’ll come along for you, I’m betting. Somebody smarter than a little old bird.” He looked sidelong at Cecil again, then sighed. “Here, I can leave you something to eat, at least.” He leaned his head forward and made a coughing sound in his throat, and out of his beak and onto the deck flopped two good-size fish.
    Cecil was astounded—this strange bird had been talking all this time with a couple of fish in his craw. “Thanks,” he said weakly.
    â€œSo long,” said Shag. In one powerful motion he launched himself from the rail.
    Cecil watched him go, trying not to think about what the bird had said. The ocean looked endless and he felt lonelier than ever. With the ship drifting like a cork in a water barrel, he could see no means of escape, so he had to put the idea out of his mind for now.
    Besides, the fish, it turned out, were still quite fresh.

    Two days later, on a blazing hot morning, Cecil went belowdecks in search of a cooler resting spot, always mindful of staying quiet and out of sight. Food and water were running low, and even the mice had disappeared—he had spotted one actually jumping overboard yesterday, shrieking incoherently, an unsettling sight. The repairs on the mainmast were not yet complete, so the ship was still drifting aimlessly.
    At the sound of men clomping toward him from just beyond a corner, Cecil pushed past a slightly open door to his left into a small candlelit room. The room contained only a bed, a small desk, and a large, decrepit-looking sea chest on the floor. In the hallway the boots stomped nearer, along with the sound of arguing voices. Cecil slipped under the bed, the only place to hide, just as a man entered the room alone. The man shut the door, stepped to the chest, and, groaning with effort, lowered himself to his knees in front of it. Cecil piled all of his bulk into the farthest dark corner, trying to stay absolutely silent. He could see large rings on the man’s fingers and lace sleeves on his coat and knew it must be the captain.
    An uncomfortable quiet settled in the little room as Cecil held his breath, concentrating on not being discovered. He could only hear the raspy breathing of the captain and the small clicks of his rings as he placed his hands on the top of the chest. Finally Cecil breathed out slowly and crept forward to get a closer look. The chest was dented and scuffed on its painted surface. On the front face hung a large metal contraption with a loop on top threaded through a bolt, but the captain ignored that entirely and focused on the raised and decorated top. Cecil saw him trace the outline of a painted yellow fish with his finger, then turn his thumb down onto the fish and push. There was a sharp click inside