Yeah, a poem, but it's meant to tell a narrative. Also, based on a true story :D

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Sometimes I forget you're a person

An easy fallible person

Who seems to sometimes forget

That I'm a person too

A pretty messed up person with a 

Pretty messed up life

Who hides beneath smiles and masks

Not in an effort to lie

But maybe it's still my fault for not

Being upfront enough

My smile can't help but falter

Crumble and fall

When you say stuff like that 'bout people

Who don't deserve it at all

It's like you forget, or maybe just don't know

That I too am a child of the slums

Grown up in a shack filled with yelling and unpleasant words

Where parents were nothing

More than dangerous landmine-ridden zones

A father who just disappeared sometimes

A floor always scattered with broken bottles

And a woman who clutched a wailing baby

'N still had to feed us children she so very hated alone;

Working nights and too poor to afford her medicine 

Never enough to eat or wear, in a dilapidated, infested house

Begrudgingly, "generously" lent out to relatives-in law

Who whispered and laughed behind our backs.

I wonder if I ever told you about how trapped I felt back then,

How alone and forsaken and miserable

How it felt like a mistake to exist

How night after night we'd fall asleep in tears, hurting.

But of course you wouldn't know. 

That was all back before you were born,

All back when you were learning to walk and talk,

With parents who loved you and brought you up well

Who were white and rich and lived in a good part of town.

Just because of that, you were brought up oh-so "perfect."

So no matter how far I've come on my own,

No matter how long we've been "friends" 

I simply cannot, will not, let you look down on them.

They just haven't managed to escape yet.

Not really sure what this is about, but I wanted to write something different from my normal style today. It actually turned out pretty good, so...here it is!

Beside a creek, burbling and churning with thoughts of summer, a cottage sat nestled in between a blanket of evergreen trees. Birds chirped in the eves, and pine sproutlings punctured the bare, earthen dirt, on a mission to reach the sky. The sun poked through gaps in the branches, radiating the cottage's roof with patches of light, as if it was a star on the stage of a theater. Smoke billowed in soft, wavy curls from a smoke stack, passing through the canopy of the forest's trees on a voyage to the stars. But most importantly of all was the boy sitting on the steps of the cottage, watching the trees rustle in the gusting wind. He could hear the tinkling of the chime his mother had hung on one of the bows long ago. He had searched for it many times, but everywhere he looked, he could not find a trace of it. It seemed to be only a sound, no body of a thing to make it. Maybe, it truly was just a noise, a memory, coming to his ears only because his brain wanted it to be that way. Or possibly, it was his mother once more, coming back for him, returning from wherever she disappeared to. Maybe he wouldn't be alone any longer. He was so, so tired of waiting.

OMG THIS IS THE THREAD FOR ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm new, btw. I'll post my intro thread on Inkwell next week. (Got to compose it.) And also next week I'll start on this thread. THIS IS LITERALLY THE THREAD I USED TO CONVINCE MY PARENTS TO LET ME COME ON CB!!!!

--Shining Star 

This is the first chapter of a story I'm writing, set in 3021. Can you tell me what you think?

--Shining Star 

d  

Boundary is a hidden country enclosed by an enormous stone wall. They say that Boundary is the only place with any life at all; that there is nothing but decaying wasteland beyond the wall. So no-one dares to see if this is true.

But within the Walls of Boundary lie secrets—secrets kept from its people for hundreds of years. Secrets that, if revealed, could tear the world apart.

This is the story of how these secrets were uncovered and made known, for better or for worse, by one boy.

Will you, reader, dare to discover these secrets along with Marty Griffin? Or will you turn away, as so many in Boundary have, in favor of a safe, yet constricted, life within its walls?

If you are one of those people, close this book now.

But if you are brave…read on.

c

A Guide

to Boundary

       Boundary is divided into different districts. Different kinds of people come from each of these places.

The Heights

The Heights themselves are divided into different territories.

       The Upper Heights: From here come the kings, princes, dukes, and wealthy people. They rule over each of their different castles and streets, and they are often devious or fighting over this and that. They live in very tall towers at the top of the Great Mountain.

       The Middle Heights: People of middling sorts live here—neither rich nor poor, devious nor honest, royalty nor commoners. They live in not grand, not dumpy dwellings and are (mostly) respectable.

       The Lower Heights: Here dwell those who barely scrape together enough money to live on and don’t care how they get it. Lying always in the shadow of the mountain, their houses are crumbling shacks or sheds on dirty streets.

The Flatlands

The Flatlands are also divided into different territories.

       The Lows: Here live snatchers and people who would steal the clothes off your back if they got half the chance. Untrustworthy thieves and scoundrels hide out within the Lows, which stretch from forests to vast savannas in their wideness. They are by far the largest section of Boundary.

       The Mudflats: The Mudflats are populated by hardworking, honest folk, such as farmers or fishermen. They live in houses handmade out of mud, and they would never steal for anything.

       The Lowlands: The Lowlands are inhabited by nosy old ladies, snooty bankers, and doctors of philosophy. They live in shiny, tall buildings that gleam in the sun and that are polished by workers every day.

The Docks

The Docks deserve their own section. There are two docks on each end of Boundary, called somewhat unremarkably Dock One and Dock Two. Dock One is on the south-eastern side of Boundary, while Dock Two is on the north-eastern side. This makes little difference to the amount of visitors, and poor people often make a living by ferrying visiting citizens from one Dock to another. Dock Two tends to be windier and rainier, with more violent people hiding in its alleys; while Dock One has a more sunny, open air. Both, however, are dangerous.

Citizens of every section in Boundary come to the Docks to trade and sail, though hardly anyone is brave enough to live there. Those with very little money can rent the big apartment buildings that line the Docks, but few do.

       The docks are a place of pubs, taverns, inns, stalls, and markets; pirates and swordfighters; respectable and unrespectable alike.

       Now on to the story.

PROLOGUE

The Unexpected Child

      It was predawn in the Lows; a quiet time of day after night’s cold encirclement but before the sun’s warm embrace. All was still outside of Apartment 13.

         Then, suddenly, footsteps echoed on the street below.

         And a light went on in the upper window.

         A figure in a flapping cloak appeared at the end of the street. He took a careful look around; then stopped before the door of the staircase leading to Apartment 13 and knocked; twice.

         Instantly, footsteps began behind the door, and a woman’s voice echoed through the passageway.

         “Who is it?”

         “The charmer of charms, the piper of piping, the hooved miracle,” he answered cheerfully.

         The door banged open. “Luke!” The woman inside glowered at him. “That is not the code we agreed upon! ‘The hooved miracle’?! You are the most conceited man I have ever met!”

         “Sorry,” he said with a slight smile. "I forgot our code, so I made one up.”

         "I could tell it was you,” she said briskly. “Only you would ever say ‘the hooved miracle’.”

         He laughed and came inside. “Too, true, Eluda. You know me so well!”

         “You are my husband,” she sniped. "A rather reckless one, at that—speaking of which, how did it go tonight?”

         “Oh, fine,” he said. “Mr. High-and-Mighty Richard Royal never even noticed us sneak out with half his treasury, and thanks to Joe’s magnificently made sleeping powder, half the homeless in the Upper Lows are now wealthy enough to buy houses in the Middle Heights!”

         “You loon!” laughed Eluda. “Sleeping powder, huh? Clever, but not the usual for the Thieves’ Den…”

         “Hey, it worked,” Luke protested. “Next week, we’re—”

         Waaah!

         They paused.

         “What was that?” Eluda demanded.

         “Sounded like a baby,” said Luke.

         Eluda frowned. “Why would a baby—”

         Waaah!

         Their eyes met.

         “Our front steps,” they said, and raced for the door.

         There it was—a baby, wrapped in a tattered blanket in a dirty basket on the front step, crying softly.

         “What the—?” Eluda whispered.

         Luke bent down. “There’s something written on the basket,” he muttered.

         Eluda leaned forwards. It was a name, scrawled in what looked like charcoal pencil, and they read it together in the dim yellow light of the oil street lamp above their door.

         No last name, just the first, scribbled messily on a bit of paper pinned to the handle:

Marty

ef

PART ONE

The Wall

CHAPTER ONE

The Advertisement

         It was a warm, still day at the Docks. Smoke spiraled lazily into the air. Hardly anyone was up yet; only a boatman reading the daily paper and a circle of men around a grill. Even the carriages that bumped over the woodwalks throughout the day, carrying people here and there, hadn’t begun their rounds yet.

         The boatman lit his pipe with a blissful sigh, took a sip of coffee, and turned the page of his newspaper.  What a lovely day for a sail! He would go out after breakfast and have a leisurely day on the water, ferrying people back and forth between Boundary’s two points of interconnection, Dock One and Dock Two.

         His peaceful morning, however, was interrupted by the arrival of a scrawny boy appearing out of, apparently, nowhere.

         The boatman jumped and attempted to conceal his yelp of surprise. “See here, kid,” he sputtered, jabbing the air with his pipe, “where’d you come from? And say,” he cried, noticing a scrap of grubby sailcloth clasped in the kid’s hand, “where’d you nick that from, eh?”

         "I didn’t nick it from nowhere,” said the kid stubbornly.

         The waves splashed softly as if in denial. The boatman raised an eyebrow.

         “Is that so?”

         "I didn’t nick it from nowhere,” crowed the kid, "I nicked it from somewhere!”

         The boatman’s eye grew wide with shock, and for a moment it seemed as if he were going to leap upon the boy. But then he burst out with a great roar of laughter that shook the docks and startled the men cooking breakfast. One of them even dropped his hat into the grill, so loud was the laughter.

         “You’ve got some nerve, kid,” guffawed the boatman. “What’s your name?”

         “Marty.” He smiled. “Well, Martin, but—just Marty, really.”

         “Well, Marty. Where’re you from?”

         “The Lows. Lowlands, I mean.”

         The boatman looked him over carefully. The Lows and Lowlands were two very different places. “Spit it out, boy. Which one?”

         Marty rocked back on his heels, trying to gauge the boatman’s preference. “Where are you from?”

         “The Mudflats,” grunted the boatman. Marty relaxed; Mudflat-landers accepted all sorts, from snooty nobles to ragged poor people on the streets.

         “Lows,” Marty admitted, relieved. “Do you know Luke the Charmer?”

         “Aye,” said the boatman around a gulp of coffee. “Half a shade he is—why?”

         “My father,” said Marty quietly.

         The boatman suddenly looked a whole lot friendlier. “Oh ho!” he cried. “You don’t mean to tell me that you are Marty Griffin, son of Luke the Charmer and Eluda the Beautiful?

         “That’s me,” said Marty.

         "I knew your dad when he was just a boy,” chuckled the boatman. “We were the best of friends. Ha! The fun we had!”

         Marty played with the scrap of stolen sailscloth. “Oh, I know you!” he exclaimed suddenly. “You must be Eddy Sherbett! My father has spoken highly of you.”

         “Aye, I’d be offended if he hadn’t,” grunted Eddy. “But tell me, young Marty, why are you here at the Docks, if not to bother an old boatman simply for fun? The Lows are rather far away, for such a trip!”

         “No, that isn’t why I’m here,” Marty said with a laugh. “No, no…I want a job.” He picked up a chunk of wood and threw it into the sea. He did not tell the boatman why he wanted a job.

         The boatman filled his pipe again and set his newspaper aside. He blew out a large puff of smoke. The men down the walk were still grilling, and the smell of breakfast wafted through Marty’s nostrils.

         The boatman chuckled again. “Well, that’s a new one,” he remarked. "A Lowtizen being respectable!”

         Marty grinned wickedly and glanced at Eddy. “Who said it was respectable?” he asked. “Who says I don’t want to be…a pirate?”

         And he drew from his pocket the sailcloth, which only 12 minutes earlier he had snatched from a signpost right under the nose of the snoozing guardsman. If it didn’t turn out, he’d return it later.

The notice read:

PIRATE APPRENTICE WANTED NOW

BOARD AND MEALS PROVIDED

GOOD JOB, GOOD PAY ABOARD THE GOOD SHIP THE TRAILBLAZER

Apply for job at the Gray Willow Inn on the 16th of December. Ask for Marren at 8:39am

“So there you have it,” said Marty. "I’m here to find a job. And it’s ten minutes to eight right now, isn’t it?” I wonder who Marren is…

         Eddy looked pleased. “So it is,” he said. “You’d better start out now, then—it’s a bit of a walk to the Gray Willow. You take care of yourself, now.”

         Just then, there was a rustle behind them and Marty’s sister, Annie Griffin, emerged slowly from the nearest alley. She had dark brown hair and beautiful green eyes, and she was somewhat feisty. At eight years old, she had given Marty exactly eighty-three black eyes and seven broken bones (he kept count) in her lifetime. Marty wasn’t quite sure what to do with her.

         “Mr. Eddy, would you take care of Annie for me while I’m at sea?” Marty blurted.

         “Why, sure!” Eddy beamed. “But where are your parents?”

         “Oh.” Marty was suddenly at a loss for words. “Um—well—they’re—busy.” He winced at how that had sounded, but the boatman did not seem suspicious.

         “Aye, lad,” he said smilingly. "I’ll take care of her for ye, you can be sure of that.”

         “Thanks, Mr. Eddy,” Marty said, relieved. He brushed some dirt of his cheek and hugged Annie.

         “You know what to do,” he said into her ear very softly. “Stay close to Uncle Eddy, never explore alone, don’t go off with strange people. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine! We’re Griffins. We know how to survive!”

         “We know how to survive!” she echoed, bumping her fist against his. Then she looked up at him worriedly. “Marty, I’m scared for you! The sea—the sea is dangerous.”

         "I know.” He kissed her head. "I’ll be fine.”

         He turned to go.

         “WAIT!”

         “What is it?” He turned around to see Annie racing towards him, her eyes glowing with worry and love.

         She took hold of his hand and put something into it. Then she kissed him one more time and ran away, back to where Eddy was waiting.

         Marty stared after her for a minute, then turned and kept walking. Only then did he realize what she had given him—her topaz stone, which she had found when she was six. She treasured it as her own and had always refused give it up—until now.

         Marty turned and softly cried, though he knew he must be brave for her. His sister could be a brat and a pest, but she had a loving heart.

         At last she was out of sight. Marty wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to go on.

         After a while, he stopped and stared down at his reflection in the water. A grubby-faced boy of twelve with dirty white-blond hair looked back at him, his gray-blue eyes bright in his lightly-tanned, freckle-scattered face. He wore brown shorts, scuffed, muddy sandals, and a very-stained grayish t-shirt. A small silver dagger was strapped to his belt, given to him by his father one day, back in Marty’s old Lows home.

         Marty could still remember that day. It had been bright and glorious, just a few weeks before the storm, and Luke the Charmer—as he was called—had given it to Marty with a few words of cation and love.

         Never go anywhere in Boundary without a weapon, he had said, his star-blue eyes grave. Even if you were in the Mudflats, the occasional Reinforcer might show up.

         Reinforcers were strange men in black who showed up now and then to reinforce Boundary’s few—but strong—laws. They were bound to get a bit too violent, and one would have to fend them off with a sword or other weapon.

         Marty touched the dagger’s rough, intricately-carved hilt. He had memorized every curve, every divot of that hilt—after all, it had been Luke’s before it was his, and now it was one of his last memories of his father.

         Marty had not told Eddy that Luke had set off on a seafaring journey, been caught in the legendary Great Storm, and never returned. Marty had been left to care for his mother, Eluda,  and his younger sister, Annie, until their mother had died. Then he and his sister had spent four years on the streets, stealing food wherever they could—but that was over now; Marty was old enough to get a job. Now he needed work; work that could pay for their expenses now that their parents were gone.

         Marty began walking. The clock started to chime: Bong. Bong. Bong. And old man with a bushel of greasy pies was setting up a stall nearby. Bong. Bong. Bong. There was the sixth bell. Six,  not nine, thank goodness—Marty couldn’t stand any more bad luck.

         Bong…

         Marty was suddenly struck by a strange feeling that this was a day he would remember forever.

         Bong!

         The hour was here. It was eight o’clock.

         It was time.

         Time to find a job.

         Time to find a path.

         Time to find a destiny.

ab

         Marty set off at a brisk pace, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face. Pausing to throw breadcrumbs to the fish in the lagoon, he glanced out at the horizon. It was such a perfect day that the Great Wall was clearly visible; a sharp black line far away. People rushed past him, no-one paying any attention to a small boy with tattered clothes and a bit of scrappy sailcloth.

         Of course, that could all change in an instant. As Luke had taught Marty, the Docks were dangerous places. Never trust anyone, he had told Marty. There are people here who’d break your neck for a little money.

         His hand going to his dagger, Marty turned away from the fish in the lagoon with a shudder. He could not relax; he could never let his guard down. He had learned how to defend himself from his life on the streets, not to mention from being the son of a thief, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be taken by surprise.

         He turned suddenly. Had he missed the posters? No, here they were right now. He slid swiftly down the gutter and alighted next to the wall of posters of his father.

         All across it, everywhere, on every open surface, there were posters of Luke Griffin. Luke the Charmer; Marty’s father. His face grinned down at them all, and his grin was just like Marty’s—teasing, with just a hint of wickedness.

         Marty couldn’t count the times he had stolen these posters; tore away the writing to leave just the picture of his lost father’s face. His room had been covered with them, before they’d had to leave—tacked to the walls, taped to the desk, pinned on the headboard of his bed. All were of his father, as if having a million pictures of him could bring him back.

         Marty’s mother used to say that having so many photos (all from wanted posters) wouldn’t help anything. Luke would not return because of them. But that didn’t stop Marty from snitching more whenever he could. He must have thousands by now—enough to fill a hundred rooms—that he had kept all in a precious trunk under lock and key. Any photos he could get his hands on. Tiny pieces of the father he had not known as well as he would’ve liked to.

         He reached beneath his tattered shirt and felt the cool comfort of the locket. In it was a four-piece picture: himself, Annie, Luke, and Eluda, all smiling from a frame of gold. He never dared show the locket in public; if it were stolen he did not know what he should do. It was not the gold he cared for but the photos of his family; of the happiness that had been theirs before fate tore them apart.

         He turned and beheld the poster that he longed for most of all.

         It was an enormous photograph of his father’s smiling face, and what’s more it wasn’t even a wanted poster. Emblazoned with faded yellow letters that had once been bright, it proclaimed: THE PIED PIPER WILL SAVE US ALL!

         Of course. The Pied Piper was the name of Marty’s father when he was a thief. At home and with friends, he’s been just Luke, but when he was on the job he was the Pied Piper. No one knew that the man wanted by all the Reinforcers had been a father; a father called Luke Griffin.

         If they knew who Marty was, would the Reinforcers want him too? That was why he had never taken the huge poster; it was much too dangerous. No one but he and Annie knew of Luke’s death—if Marty was seen carrying it away he would be taken as his father’s accomplice. As if; how he had begged to be just that! I can be the swift-hooved goat, he had said somewhat bizarrely; but the answer was always no.

         And now suddenly he did not care—he was going to sea if he got the job and the poster was coming with him! And he pulled it off of the wall, crammed it in his knapsack, and ran.

         The Gray Willow was a small tavern in a brightly-lit alley. Marty entered the alley nervously, having been told never to explore back alleys. He’d been told of the awful creatures that inhabited them—bloodworms, toothsuckers, crystachia. But they hated light, so all should be well.      

         He opened the door, wincing as a little bell jangled. He hated drawing attention to himself. He pulled at his shirt, realizing that he really should’ve brought a hooded jacket. Oops!

         He entered and blinked, finding himself in a large room lit with globes of starlight. It had a generally laid-back atmosphere: all sat laughing and talking. Marty passed unnoticed through their midst.

         Soon, despite the outward friendliness of the place, he began to spot unrest: there were knives tucked through belts; swords peeking out from beneath capes; daggers close at hand. Marty kept his own dagger hidden and tried to assume a friendly, unobtrusive stance as he clunk among them. I must be careful, he thought.

         The landlord was a very baggy little man with ragged clothing and bulging eyes. He was jittery and his breath smelt terrible!

         “Hi,” said Marty. “Is there a Marren here?”

         “Eh?” quacked the old man. “Nay. Nobody ‘ere. Jus’ a Marren; ye might try ‘er.”

         But that’s what I SAID! Marty winced at the scent of the old man’s breath. “Thanks,” he said, and set off without much hope. After asking directions of the more lucid of the drinkers, he was pushed by many hands and voices to a corner where a hooded figure sat with no glass of tankard.

         Marty went up to it. “Er, um, excuse me,” he mumbled. “Is your name Marren?”

         There was a brief second of silence.

         And then, in an instant, the person threw their hood back, at the same time drawing a dangerous-looking sword from somewhere beneath the cloak.

         Bright red hair fell free.

         The stranger was a girl!

         “Yes, I am Marren,” she said in a voice colder than ice, pointing the sword directly at his heart. “And you shall now tell me exactly why you want to know—if you want to live.”

ef

I just read the story and I rate it awesome.  It was super interesting, I can't wait for the next chapter!

Here's the next chapter! Sorry this is so long, Admin...

--Shining Star

CHAPTER TWO

Marren

      Anthony Prickett leapt from ramp to ramp, avoiding vendors with handcarts, little old ladies, and street gangs without blinking an eye. He scaled a scaffolding, slid down a pipe, and came to a halt on a three-inch window ledge.

         Tony, as he was called, didn’t have long to wait before a rope dropped a ways past him, carrying a large, heavily-padlocked chest. The rope set the chest down on the scaffolding just below Tony and then hung there, drifting gently—perfect!

         Tony snagged the rope and leaped from the scaffolding. He then plummeted down some two hundred feet to the docks below without missing a beat, and, a moment before he would’ve smashed into the Great Wall surrounding Boundary, let go of the thick, salt-encrusted rope and twisted round.

         Elated, he sailed a short distance through the air, landing lightly on his toes just at the edge of the dock. Balanced on the verge of falling into the murky water, he executed a quick 90o turn and skipped off, pleased.

         No one was better at roofskipping and roperiding than Tony Prickett!

         Smiling to himself, he remained in the shade of the tree, surveying the mood of the Docks. Things could change any minute, and one had to keep his guard up. This wasn’t the Lows, where you could at least trust people to be untrustworthy; nor was it the Mudflats, where you could sleep peacefully in the open without waking up dead.

         The Docks were unpredictable.

         Today, at least, the mood seemed upbeat and relatively friendly. There was a buzz of excitement in the air that always came with the beginning of a year. It was the first day of 3021, and the mood was jovial.

         But little did Tony know—little did anyone know—that beyond the Wall, the tides were turning.

         The wind was rising.

         Everything was about to change.

         Forever.

ab

         Tony smiled at the scene. Vendors were setting up their stalls, ringing their bells, making their deals. Passerby were beaming at the glorious sky. A light breeze was blowing, and joy had entered the hearts of every person in Boundary.

         Dock 1 stretched on into the distance. Enormous apartment buildings stood to the left of Tony, being consistently constructed higher and higher as they sank into the slightly-soggy earth. Past them, there were rows and rows of shops and pubs and whatnot. People from every corner of Boundary milled about as the Docks slowly woke up. Cloaks flapped, gowns fluttered, smiles were everywhere—

         Wait.

         Tony spotted a black cloak whisking among the crowd and for a moment thought it looked a little bit like the cloak that his best friend owned. But Marty was somewhere else, finding a job. He knew for a fact that it was past the time he was supposed to meet his hopeful-employer.

         Suddenly, the person in the cloak whipped round to stare at him. For an instant their eyes met, then the person turned away and pulled down his hood. A chill ran up and down Tony’s spine.

         He hadn’t gotten a very good look, but he could’ve sworn that person was Marty—except that he had black hair, not blond.

         And then a rasping voice came from beneath the cloak.

         A voice that sounded truly evil.

         "I thought I’d killed you.”

         And then he was gone.

ab

         Marty gulped. It was somewhat hard to think with a very sharp sword pointed at your chest. “Um. Hi, Marren. Um, um. Um. You are Marren right? Um.” As soon as he said it he regretted it—she had just SAID she was Marren, after all?

         She flicked the tip of his nose with her sword. “Who wants to

know?”

         “Um…” Was that all he could say? "I’ve come about the, you know, the notice!” he cried, producing it. “This—it—a pirate ship?”

         Marty grinned hopefully.

         Marren lowered her sword suspiciously. “You want to be a pirate?”

         “Sure. I mean yes—I mean aye, um.” Why wouldn’t his tongue work? "I do, ma’am.” She didn’t look much older than him. She could even be younger; perhaps a messenger.

         “Hmm.” Marren considered him. “Home-district?”

         “Lows,” he said recklessly. Normally he would’ve tried to gauge her preference, but the threat of a sharp sword pointed at you tended to make one strangely honest.

         Marren, however, brightened. “Name?”

         “Um…Martin. Martin Griffin.” He smiled weakly. “Marty, though, is what I like to be called.”

         She gasped, and he wasn’t sure why, until she took hold of his hand. An odd thrill went through him, and he did not pull away, although he tried to convince himself that this was because her next words were so shocking they blew him away.

         "You,” she said in a low voice, “you are the son of Luke Griffin?”

         Marty’s jaw dropped. “What. What? But, but! How, how on earth could you know his name?!”

         “He is well known among all thieves and pirates,” she replied, smiling. “Our hero, after all! A son of the Piper!” She shook her head. "I should’ve noticed the resemblance. You look just like him, only smaller.”

         Marty smiled nervously. He couldn’t count how many times he’d hid from the Reinforcers because of that exact resemblance. “My eyes are grayer,” her pointed out.

         She waved it away. “That matters little.”

Marty sighed. He always wondered where he’d got his eyes from—his mother’s had been brown, and his father’s had been blue. Anna’s were bright green, which according to Luke came from their Aunt Girda, who had vanished at a young age.

“Alright.” Marren snapped to attention, breaking into Marty’s thoughts and jolting him to the present. “Come with me, Martin Griffin.”

         And with that, she sheathed her sword and led him away.

ab

         “Killed me?!” Tony yelped. “What on earth are you talking about?”

         But the cloaked wierdo had vanished.

         And the oddest thing was, Tony didn’t see him anywhere in the crowd.

 It was as though he had disappeared, literally, into thin air.

ab

Marty hurried down the dank smelling alleyway, tugged along by his redheaded companion. A toothsucker slunk down from the rafters, teeth bared, but Marren clicked at it and it went away.

"I used to know Luke,” said Marren, “but I haven’t seen him in a while—what’s happened?”

“He’s dead,” said Marty. “Lost at sea.”

Marren looked sad. "I’m sorry,” she told him. “How long?”

Marty looked down. “Six years,” he said softly. “It’s been six years.”

“He was a good father, I’m sure.” Marren patted his shoulder comfortingly/

“Yes, he was,” Marty said with a little smile. “He gave me this dagger.” He pulled it out of its scabbard and held it up to the light, where it glinted bright silver. “He said never to go anywhere without a weapon.”

Marren took it and examined it carefully. “Wise words..” she murmured. She looked up at him. “You’ll need this.”

Marty looked steadily back at her. "I know.”

“Don’t get me wrong.” Marren handed him back his dagger. “We aren’t normal pirates.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope,” she replied, a little proudly. “Let me explain: we do not steal. Much. We rescue sinking ships. We save drowning people. Of course, from a distance it looks as though we sunk the ship, took everyone on board it prisoner, and plundered all the treasure like perfectly normal pirates.

“However,” she went on, “just because we don’t steal doesn’t mean we don’t have to fight other pirates now and then to protect the people on the ship. So you’ll need that dagger, understand? If you take the job, anyway—”

“Uh, Miss Marren?” Marty interrupted her.

“Call me Marren, please, Griffin.”

“Only if you call me Marty. Anyways, we’re being followed!”

Marty pointed. Behind them stood a disheveled boy with scraggly black hair—Marty’s best friend, Tony Prickett.

He grinned hopefully at them.

Out came Marren’s sword. “What do you want?”

“Ack! No need to be hasty,” Tony yelped. "I come in peace.”

"I’ll believe it when you prove it,” snarled Marren, maintaining her grip on the sword.

Tony glanced at the rather sharp sword. "I don’t like pointy things sticking at me,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Marren demanded. “Well you’d better run like a squirrel or you’ll find a few pointy things sticking in you.” She brandished the sword.

“Alright, alright!” Tony put up his hands and cast a help me look at Marty. Marty smirked at him, and Tony gave up and returned to Marren. “Sheesh. Fine. I just heard what you were saying. I want to be a nice pirate, too!”

Marty stifled a laugh at the withering looking Marren cast at the newcomer. “You want to be a…‘nice pirate.’”

Tony nodded so vigorously that Marty was surprised his head didn’t fall off.

“Well,” Marren said slowly, “normally I’d send you on your way with a nice smack to serve you right.” (Marty cast a surprised glance at her here—she was young but fierce.) “However, you could be useful—we’re in need of a lookout. Stygian kidnapped ours.”

“Who?”

“Stygian, the darkest pirate ever to sail the Bay,” Marren hissed. “He and his wife, Shadowheart, have been responsible for so many sunken ships…” She turned back to Tony. “Well, then. Where are you from?”

“Um.”

“Never heard of it.” Marren started to turn. “If you don’t mind…”

“No! Wait!” Tony jumped about. “My hometown’s the Lower Heights!”

It is? Marty had met Tony in the Lows, so he’d always assumed that was his hometown.

Marren’s eyes brightened. “Hmm…name?”

“Anthony Prickett. Tony, please.”

“Alright, Tony. Marty. Both of you. Come with me.”

They walked through long, cobbled alleyways, where small things scuttled and the shadows were too big and dark and active to be shadows. They walked through forests, where haunting, alluring cries echoed through the trees and spiders larger than ships hung in webs the size of apartment buildings. They walked through meadows where dragonflies swooped and bees buzzed and butterflies fluttered. They walked until they reached open air, saw the glitter of blue water ahead, and came, at last, to the sea.

In the harbor drifted a huge boat, bobbing gently in the waves. She was a beautiful brown ship, with the word Trailblazer carved into her side. Enormous sails billowed in the breeze, and a traditional pirate flag—but white, with a black skull-and-crossbones—fluttered from the mast. Marty stared in amazement; he had never seen such a ship!

“Who’s the captain?” he asked.

"I am, you dolt,” said Marren.

“You?!” Marty demanded. “But you’re not even older than I am!”

"I am obviously more mature than you if you think age matters,” she sniped. “How old are you, thickhead?” she asked, pointing at Tony.

“Twelve.” If Tony was offended at being called a thickhead, he didn’t show it. “Twelve and 30 days.”

“See, I’m still older than this dope,” said Marren calmly, jabbing a finger in Tony’s direction. "I’m twelve and a half!”

“Oh, I’m twelve and 10 months,” Marty replied gleefully. "I guess I’m better suit to be captain…”

“You dummy!” she cried. "I am older than you!” (Marty didn’t see how THAT could be.) “It’s skill, of course, though, skill that is the real measure! Sailing has been in the family for many generations! The ocean is in my blood!”

“Oh, kid am I?” he demanded gleefully. “Of course, I lived on the streets for four years, so maybe I have that lovely measure of skill that you were talking about…”

She stopped. “Wait, what? You lived on the streets?”

“For four years, in the Lows,” he answered. “With my sister. After our mother died.”

“Then you must be very good at fighting,” she replied.

“Yes.” Marty glanced at the distant rooftops of the Lows. "I had to protect my sister!”

It was two years ago. Marty was ten years old and hiding behind a dumpster, trying to find food for Annie. Unfortunately, the dump truck had just come through, and there was nothing but a soggy candy wrapper in the dumpster. Marty poked it and sighed. How long could they survive this?

Just then, he heard Annie shout from their nearby house. In a flash, he was round the corner, his heart pounding.

He found Annie cornered by three angry-looking kids, a street gang Marty had been unlucky enough to run across before. Their names were Vilfredo, Geb, and Ellis. He still had the scars.

Marty leaped down of the wall, drawing his dagger as he did so. “LEAVE HER ALONE!” he screamed.

The three thugs looked up in surprise to see a scruffy-looking ten-year-old boy bearing down on them, silver knife flashing, his eyes burning with unquenchable flame. He would’ve looked formidable, had he not been so very small.

Vilfredo laughed and put his fist up to send Marty flying. However, Marty’s speed and size gave him an advantage, and he slid to the side, diving beneath the bully. He closed his eyes and sent out a flying kick, knocking the thug’s legs out from beneath him. Eyes still closed, he hurled himself at the other two, slamming into them like a human cannonball. Minutes later, when he opened his eyes, all three gangsters were moaning on the pavement.

Annie blinked at him. “Mawty, that was amazing.”

“Oh.” He looked at her. He had trained himself to fight blind because so many of the attacks came at night, and he actually found it easier because his other senses heightened and he heard attacks before they came. “Um…thank you.”

Now, Marty came out of his split-second flashback and found he was kneeling. That’s odd. I’m sure I didn’t fall. He got up quickly, smiled a Marren and said, "I’ll take the job.”

“Dimwit,” she said unceremoniously. “You haven’t even seen the ship yet.”

They made for the ladder, and Marren placed her gloved hand on the third rung. But before they went up, she looked at them and said firmly, “Let's be clear here. No one questions my rule, least of all newbies. And,” —here she met their eyes— “everyone on this ship would give their life for our cause.”

And with that, they stepped onto the deck.

“Check it out, crew!” said Marren proudly. "I have brought back two crew members, one of them the son of the Pied Piper!”

 Half a minute later, Marty was surrounded by the crew of the Trailblazer: all of them shaking his hand, offering him their regrets, welcoming him to his new home.

ab

  “HEAVE HO!”

Shouts woke Marty from his fitful doze and for a moment he thought he was back in his home, in the rickety apartment on Floor 13…but then he heard the creaking of the ship and the slapping of the waves on the hull, and he remembered…

“Marty, get up here, you have to see this!” Tony stuck his head into Marty’s cabin. “It’s amazing!”

Marty jumped up, grabbed his satchel, and shot out of the door of the cabin. The deck was rolling, but of course Marty knew how to keep his balance. He turned towards the north.

The shores of Boundary were growing smaller and smaller behind them!

Elation rushed through him. He was sailing; sailing at last! He leapt up the deck.

Marren stood at the wheel, her lips spread in a wild grin. The salt was caking her hair and spattering her forehead, but from her face Marty could tell that there was nowhere else she’d rather be in the world.

And it was exhilarating, Marty admitted to himself. The faint line of the land as Boundary grew smaller; the distant Wall, the open ocean all…around…them…

Marty’s elation evaporated. He was on the sea, the hateful sea which had taken his father’s life—what on earth had he been thinking. But the shores were beyond. There was no going back. No escape. he could only go forward; forward upon the ocean—his father’s murderer.

And as always the Wall glowed in the distance, close but ever farther away.

Marty touched his cheek and found that it was wet with what could’ve been spray…or tears. 

  ~~~~~~~~