Oliver had lost count of how long it had been since Scuttle and Walleye locked him in the brig. The ship pitched and dove in the storm; every now and then, Oliver felt the timbers shake with the force of the lightning and thunder.
Whatever rescuing a princess entailed, he was pretty sure that becoming a pirate captain’s sacrificial slave was not part of the deal.
He tugged at his chains, but they held fast. On the floor was the dinner tray he’d refused-the one with crackers that were moving. Or rather, the crackers weren’t moving. Just the worms baked into them.
He wondered why they would bother to feed a prisoner who was ultimately being transported as a gourmet peace offering for a very cranky, very hungry dragon. The same one that Rapscullio had conjured sixteen years earlier-the one that had killed Oliver’s father-now nested on the Cape of Passing Tides, preventing the ship from continuing its journey. Maybe Oliver had to put on some weight in order to qualify as a tasty morsel.
He wondered what had become of Socks and Frump, whom he’d last seen on the shoreline as the shipmates dragged him into the brig. He wondered how long it would be before Captain Crabbe himself showed up to bring his prisoner abovedecks, to make Oliver walk the plank onto the waiting fiery tongue of the dragon.
There was a strafing of metal against metal as the door to his cell slid open. The pirate captain stepped inside and narrowed his eyes. “My boys tell me ye aren’t cooperatin’,” Captain Crabbe said. “Ye know what we do to slaves who don’t cooperate?”
He crossed to the table that was bolted to the floor so that it wouldn’t overturn as the boat pitched and tossed. From his spot chained to the wall, Oliver watched the captain take out a velvet roll. He untied it, spreading the fabric open to reveal pockets full of gleaming instruments of torture.
Except they weren’t daggers and thumbscrews and knives.
Last year, Queen Maureen’s tiara had fallen off while she was horseback riding through the unicorn meadow. Although it was retrieved, it was badly dented and in need of fixing. She put out a call for crown repair, and the man who came to the castle, to everyone’s surprise, asked her to take a seat in her throne and open her mouth wide.
Apparently, there were the sorts of crowns one wore on one’s royal head… and then there were the sorts of crowns that sat on one’s teeth when one had severe dental problems.
In Captain Crabbe’s velvet pouches were explorers, extractors, probes, and mirrors.
“You’re… you’re a dentist?” Oliver asked.
At first Captain Crabbe’s eyes bugged out, surprised. Then just as quickly he recovered. “Nay. I’m a fearsome pirate, and you, my lad, are an appetizer.”
“Maybe,” Oliver said, “but you’re also a dentist.”
Captain Crabbe gasped and rushed over to Oliver, clapping a hand across his mouth. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? I have a reputation on the high seas to uphold!”
“That depends on whether you let me go,” Oliver said.
“I can’t,” the captain said, shaking his head. “If I don’t feed you to Pyro, I’m likely to wind up as a meal myself.”
Oliver considered this. “What if,” he suggested, “I told you there was a way to get you around the Cape of Passing Tides… and at the same time, to find you the best dental patient you’ll ever have in your life?”