Disaster Diaries_Cursed! Page 6

  “No,” cried Sam. “We won’t let you do this!”

  Sam clambered up onto the main deck, where Tweedy stood manning the steering wheel. He tried to yank it in the other direction, but Tweedy had other ideas. He gave Sam an almighty shove, which sent him flying backward, and continued on his course.

  “Nice try, little one,” he cackled. “But just not good enough.”

  Tweedy brought a match out of his pocket and scratched it against his corduroy trousers. The little flame burst into life. He carefully lit a fuse, which led all the way to the dynamite that was bundled up on deck and throughout the ship.

  “And now,” he declared, “time for some fireworks!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sam looked around frantically for something he could do, but he was fresh out of ideas. It was like his brain had gone into early hibernation for the winter. Very early, in fact, as it was summer.

  “Arty, Phoebe,” he said, “if we don’t do something quick, Sitting Duck is going to be the next lost city of Atlantis!”

  Sam and Arty looked at each other in alarm as the ship sailed toward doom. They’d never let Sitting Duck down at its time of need before, and if they couldn’t get Tweedy off that wheel, they’d never get a chance again. Because they’d all be washed out to sea, living with the know-it-all dolphins and the smelly tuna and, worse, the evil merfolk.

  “Erm, yoo-hoo,” Phoebe piped up. “I think I, like, have an idea?”

  Sam and Arty pricked up their ears. It wasn’t normal for Phoebe Bowles to have one idea. So to have two ideas in one day was very unusual indeed.

  “Just a little something I learned at the dog show,” she explained. Phoebe let Glitterpuff down from her handbag and whispered something in his ear. Whatever she said had an almost hypnotic effect. Glitterpuff twirled around a few times like a dizzy ballerina, yipping cheerfully. But then he landed on all fours, growled, and took a long hard look at Tweedy.

  “Go get him, Puffy Wuffy!” Phoebe yelled.

  The Chihuahua motored across the ship like a tiny, furry remote-controlled car. He ran up to the main deck, where Tweedy was manning the steering wheel and, with a howl, clamped his teeth onto the villain’s ankle and sunk them in deep.

  “Yarrgh!” Tweedy yelled. “What in the name of holy moly? Get this monstrous beast off me!”

  Tweedy had to lift his hands off the steering wheel in an attempt to bat the dog away. He flailed about on the top deck, but Glitterpuff held strong. Soon, Tweedy decided that it made sense to make a run for it—he couldn’t stand the yapping little critter anymore. As Tweedy made a dash for it, Glitterpuff let go and chased him around the deck, yipping madly.

  Eventually, Glitterpuff trapped Tweedy up against a mast; his eyes were darting madly for an escape route. There was nowhere left to run. With one last look at the dog’s tiny but powerful chompers, Tweedy turned and climbed up the central mast for dear life.

  “Yeah!” Arty yelled. “Good dog!”

  Phoebe smiled proudly. “He can be kind of ferocious when he wants to be!”

  Glitterpuff did a little victory dance and cocked his leg for a celebratory wee on the mast.

  Tweedy leered down from the crow’s nest, way up high. “You might be smiling now, you beastly children, but you won’t be in a minute!”

  Sam looked up. Sure enough, the ship was still on a collision course with the dam, and the explosive fuse was shining bright. Any second now, it was about to blow.

  “C’mon,” Sam yelled to Arty. “Help me steer this thing.”

  Sam and Arty ran up onto the top deck and yanked on the wheel. Together, they pulled hard to the port side. For a minute, Sam had visions of sailing the high seas and fighting off pirates and sea monsters and man-eating octopuses. He would ride the waves and face down fierce storms, weather the craziest weather, and discover new lands and exciting mythical—

  “Sam!” Arty yelled. “Quit daydreaming!”

  Sam shook off the fantasy and yanked even harder on the steering wheel until it twirled in front of him. At last, the ship began to creak and turn. Its vast wooden bulk heaved up and down, and the water churned beneath it as the Leaky Tap River’s current helped the ship turn ninety degrees to safety. Arty held on to statue-Emmie so she wouldn’t roll across the deck.

  “Phoebe!” Sam yelled. “Man the sails!”

  Phoebe rushed to the other side of the deck to yank the sails into position. With the ship out of danger from smashing into the dam, they went full speed ahead and powered the ship back down the Leaky Tap River and into the harbor as fast as they could.

  However, Arty, because he was clever like that, decided he simply had to point out a small problem that everyone else had seemed to have forgotten about.

  “Sam, buddy,” he said. “There is still about a ton of explosives on board the ship, which are, erm, currently about to explode. Do you think maybe we should get off of this ship right this instant?”

  “I’d say that is a pretty fine idea, Arty,” Sam said. “A pretty fine idea indeed.”

  Together they raced back down the deck and hollered at Phoebe to “abandon ship!” She yelped in panic and grabbed Glitterpuff and stuffed him into her bag. The trusty dog quit his yapping and got ready for a nice bath in the chilly depths of the river.

  “What about Emmie?” Arty asked frantically.

  Sam racked his brain and suddenly it woke from early hibernation. He was not only going to save Emmie; Emmie was also going to save him. He grabbed his best pal and, together with Sam and Phoebe, prepared to jump.

  “Farewell, farewell!” Tweedy intoned, from atop the mast. “Parting is such sweet sorrow.…”

  “It is for you, pal,” said Sam.

  With an almighty leap, just like in a pretty darn cool action movie, Sam, Arty, and Phoebe jumped off the ship. A gigantic BANG erupted behind them and the explosives burst into life. Sam, Arty, Phoebe, and statue-Emmie were flung high into the air as the Silver Mallard exploded into oblivion.

  The sky burned with fiery orange, and Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck singe as the powerful explosives ripped across the sky.

  Before they knew it, the four friends were splash landing in the Leaky Tap River. As they came up for air, Sam saw plumes of smoke billowing out behind them and wooden debris littering the surface of the water. He took a mental photograph as the once-proud Silver Mallard disappeared under the water, gurgling and groaning as it went. Mr. Tweedy was nowhere to be seen. A scoundrel all the way, but at least he went down with the ship.

  “Blurgh!” Phoebe cried, coughing up a mouthful of water.

  Glitterpuff yapped and doggy paddled to keep afloat. His execution was flawless because he was a dog. You’re not about to see him do the butterfly stroke. That’s almost exclusively for butterflies.

  Arty struggled in the water, flapping his arms around like a windmill in a hurricane.

  “Argh,” he yelled. “Gimme a hand.…”

  “Here,” said Sam, who noticed his friend struggling. “Grab on.”

  Sam had turned Emmie over so she was on her back, her stone face pointing toward the sky. Arty and Emmie paddled over to join Sam. Glitterpuff climbed onto Emmie and curled up on her belly. The three friends held on tight to Emmie as they kicked their legs and slowly headed for shore.

  “We did it,” Arty cried, gasping for breath. “Sitting Duck is safe!”

  Sam’s face beamed with pride. On the anniversary of Sitting Duck’s founding, they’d managed to save it from catastrophe once again. “Not bad for a bunch of kids!” he yelled as the water lapped against them. “Not bad at all.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sam, Arty, and Phoebe hauled themselves back onto dry land, just by the Sitting Duck Harbor. They pulled Emmie up with them and lay on the cobblestones for a few seconds, catching their breath. Being a hero is a tiring affair, and it’s always important to rest afterward.

  Phoebe groaned as she pulled a long piece of seaweed out of her hair. “Eww,�
� she cried. “I need a shower, like now!”

  Sam, who was used to all manner of smells and until recently had been using anti-zombie deodorant that quite literally smelled like the undead, figured they had more important things to worry about.

  “We got rid of Tweedy,” Sam said. “But what about the ‘curse’? We still have a town full of statues for residents, including Emmie!”

  “Eww, I know,” said Phoebe. “Like, some of us managed not to get ill off that stupid grog. People should really be more considerate.”

  Arty scratched his chin. “Hold on a minute. You drank that stuff?”

  “Yeah,” Phoebe said. “At the fair.”

  “And you didn’t get ill?” he asked.

  “What does it look like?” she huffed proudly. “No disgusting green spots for me.”

  “Well, we know it wasn’t a real curse,” Arty reasoned. “It was just an illness. But somehow Phoebe is uninfected.…”

  Arty caught a whiff of something coming from Phoebe’s direction. Despite being dunked in the dirty water of Sitting Duck, she still smelled of oranges and lemons and cosmetic gunk.

  “You don’t stink at all,” he said. “That’s so odd.”

  “I think you’ll find it’s not odd,” Phoebe said. “I keep myself, like, smelling fresh, you know? Which is more than I can say for you.”

  Suddenly, Arty pumped his fist in the air. “I’ve got it!” he shouted.

  Sam and Phoebe looked at him curiously.

  “We know that the curse was spread by bacteria in the grog, just like Mr. Tweedy said. But it also broke out on the Silver Mallard back when Caruthers was captain. But Caruthers didn’t get ill—he was fine and dandy when he wrote that letter.…”

  “So…?” Sam asked.

  “So, don’t you see a connection? He mentioned eating limes. And Phoebe here is slathered in fruity cosmetics and won’t stop talking about juice.”

  “I do love juice,” Phoebe admitted.

  “If it’s just an illness,” Arty finished, “then it can be cured. And I think a simple fruit juice can cure it. Sailors on long journeys often couldn’t get hold of fresh fruits, and it’s possible that’s how the illness has managed to spread.”

  Sam looked on thoughtfully. “But that would mean all of Sitting Duck has been avoiding healthy food that could have saved them all along.”

  “Well, yes,” Arty replied. “People here live almost exclusively on pie and quadruple burgers.”

  Phoebe rummaged around in her backpack and pulled out a carton of juice. Glitterpuff jumped off Emmie and shook his body around, trying to get dry.

  “Here,” she said. “Let’s try it on Emmie.”

  Phoebe put the carton up to Emmie’s mouth and tipped it upward, dribbling the juice into her mouth. At first nothing happened, and Emmie remained motionless. But then her eyes flickered and her little fingers twitched. The gray pallor that had completely covered her started to recede, and the little green spots on her face smoothed themselves out.

  Sam, Arty, and Phoebe gathered around.

  “Emmie!” said Sam. “Are you okay?”

  “Can you hear us, Emmie?” asked Arty. “We made it off the ship.…”

  Emmie stretched out her legs and arms like a flower opening in spring, accidentally knocking Sam in the face. He didn’t care. He and Arty gave her a huge hug before filling her in on what she’d missed and how Sitting Duck was saved. Emmie looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, quick as a flash, she punched Sam, and then Arty, in the ribs. Not so accidentally. They doubled over like deflating balloons.

  “Heyyy!” Sam shouted. “What was that for?”

  “YOU USED ME AS A LIFE RAFT!” she cried angrily.

  “Oh, that,” said Sam. “But you were very buoyant.…”

  “I don’t care how buoyant I was,” she said. “I’m not a ship!”

  Arty just laughed. It was good to have the old Emmie back. “Speaking of ‘ships,’” he said, “the Silver Mallard is no more.”

  “And now we know how to cure the Sailor’s Sleep,” Sam continued. “We can put everything back to normal.”

  “Oh,” Emmie muttered. “Even Great Aunt Doris? Because it’s been nice and quiet lately without her around.…”

  “Well, we’ll consider it on a case-by-case basis,” Arty agreed.

  Together, Sam, Arty, Emmie, and Phoebe made their way out of the harbor, determined to reawaken the town’s statuesque inhabitants.

  Sam knew that saving the day today didn’t guarantee that something wild wouldn’t happen tomorrow. But that didn’t matter to him. With Arty and Emmie by his side, he was ready to face down whatever Sitting Duck had to throw at him.

  He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a golden coin. On one side was the Silver Mallard, riding high on a dramatic wave. On the other, Armitage Caruthers appeared in profile, looking heroic and dashing and charismatic, all at the same time. He flicked it up in the air and caught it again.

  “No harm in keeping just one piece of ‘cursed’ treasure,” he laughed to the others. “No harm at all!”

  DISASTER DIARIES

  SPIDERS!

  Read on for a sneaky look at the disaster-defeating wisdom you don’t want to miss out on in this other book.…

  When new student Felicia Forrester arrives in Sitting Duck, she quickly becomes the star of science class. But Felicia secretly runs dangerous science experiments on the side that soon have the town completely overrun with giant man-eating spiders! Sam, Arty, and Emmie will have to face the eight-legged crawlies—or their town will be totally infested!

  To make matters even worse, spiders are Sam’s greatest fear. Can Emmie and Arty help him overcome his phobia so together they can zap the creepy critters?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sitting Duck was quiet.

  I mean, really quiet. Like, have you ever heard a mouse play the drums? No? Well, that’s because they’re incredibly quiet. They just can’t get a proper grip on the drumsticks and they only have tiny little arms, so …

  Yep. They’re quiet.

  However, Sitting Duck was even quieter than that. And that was unusual. Because despite Sitting Duck being a boring kind of place, with seriously boring events like the world’s largest stare-into-space competition and the watching-paint-dry Olympics taking place every four weeks, some really unusual things had happened.

  First there were the zombies. You know, dead people with bad skin coming back to gnaw people’s faces in a not-very-friendly way? Then it was the aliens, who were trigger-happy and smelled like a butt blast mixed with a cabbage burp. And then came the evil scientist and the giant robot, both of which made quite a lot of noise. So, without all those things destroying the town, things were pretty quiet, let me tell you.

  Although, things do tend to change quite quickly in Sitting Duck. For instance:

  “Dull, dull, dull!” a voice cried, shattering the quiet. It was as if someone had heard what I was writing and decided to prove me wrong; it sliced the air like a knife through a balloon. And it wasn’t just a voice. If you look closely, you’ll see that the voice was actually attached to a real-life person.

  Hitching up his backpack, Sam Saunders came wandering around the corner. Sam was an all-out good guy and floppy-haired hero champion. Up until recently he’d been saving Sitting Duck from all the noisy threats that came its way and leading the town with his general kick-butt nature in the face of danger. But ever since it got quiet—not so much.

  “Dull is a good thing,” his friend Arty Dorkins said, walking alongside him.

  “Yeah,” said Emmie Lane, his other best pal. “It wasn’t dull recently when we nearly got our heads blown off by a superintelligent robot.” She raised an eyebrow in Arty’s direction.

  “For the love of dogs,” said Arty. “Anyone could have made a maniacal robot bent on destruction. It was an honest mistake!”

  Emmie grumbled under her breath. She was pretty sure that only big-brained Arty could do something as du
mb as that. (To be honest—and I like being honest—I’m on her side. Emmie is tough, and I don’t want to argue with her because she will definitely win.)

  Sam remembered how fun it was fighting off the killer robot and sighed. They were on the way to school, and there was definitely nothing to be excited about there. As they made their way through Sitting Duck, the sun shining down and the smell of wet paint drifting through the air from this month’s paint-drying competition, they passed the main square. Sam looked up and sighed again.

  “I want to be more like him,” he said, staring at a statue on top of a tall column.

  “Really?” Emmie asked. “Made of stone and covered in pigeon poo?”

  “Because that can be arranged…,” Arty added.

  “No!” Sam cried. “Don’t you know who that is?”

  He pointed up at the statue. It depicted a man on top of a galloping horse, staring out into the distance. He wore a wide-brimmed hat set at a jaunty angle and had a crooked smile that made him look like he was about to tell a joke. He thrust out a sword with one hand, and in the other he held a duck proudly to his chest.

  “Armitage Caruthers!” Sam gasped. “The greatest Sitting Ducker ever to live. They say he sailed the seven seas looking for a place to call home—fighting pirates, gorillas, mermaids—all so he could create our amazing town!”

  Arty and Emmie looked at each other and frowned.

  “Mermaids?” Emmie asked.

  “Yes! Mermaids are evil.”

  (Just for the record, I can confirm that that’s true. I’ve met one. He stole my lunch money and spent it on tuna. In general, a good rule of thumb is that if it has scales but also talks to you, it’s not friendly.)