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The screams of terrified peasants filled the air, blending with the clank of sword upon sword and the occasional whoop of delight from a pirate setting fire to a building.
All of these sounds were drowned out every few seconds by a cannon blast from the pirate ship standing in the harbor. The pirates were here to loot the island of its gold. In the process, they might also free the island from British rule.
Six pirates raced out of a two-story building into the marketplace. In the lead was their cabin boy, Bruce Wayne, who carried a bag of gold doubloons taken from a strongbox in the building.
Four British soldiers raced out after the pirates, relieved to be out of the burning building. The soldiers brandished their swords over their heads and screamed curses at the pirates.
"Captain!" Bruce shouted.
Bruce and the men reached the center of the marketplace and halted. Six more soldiers rushed at them from the front.
Thinking fast, Bruce got behind a vegetable cart and tipped it into the square. That slowed the oncoming soldiers down long enough to allow the pirates to dash into another building.
Seconds later, they could be seen backing out onto the veranda of the second story of the building. Each pirate was engaged in a sword fight with a British soldier. Bruce had two to contend with.
The 17th Century British Army had some of the best swordsmen in the world. No ordinary swordsman could last long against one such soldier. Fending off two together called for the skills of a world-class expert.
Bruce not only kept the two soldiers busy. He also scanned the general chaos below. Then he found what he was seeking.
There stood the pirate captain and a woman, cowering against the outside wall of a burning building. The flames licked around them while the captain fought off three British soldiers.
Bruce lunged with his sword, causing both soldiers to back off. He used the few seconds left to give his full attention to the impending disaster below.
The captain and the woman both shot a glance in his direction. She looked up at Bruce gratefully. The captain, his attention back on the three swords threatening to finish him off, responded with a fierce yell.
"We need your help, son!" the captain pleaded. "Hurry!"
Bruce ducked to the side, narrowly escaping a sword headed straight for his heart. Still holding his own sword, he leaped up and grasped an awning bar with both hands.
He swung his body back, lifted his feet in the air, and then shot forward in the direction of the chins of the two soldiers.
Both soldiers fell back, off the veranda and onto a tomato cart below. Bruce dropped to the veranda and grabbed a clothesline that would carry him down to the captain.
"Be quick, my son!" the captain yelled. "I can't hold them off much longer!"
Holding the clothesline, Bruce left the veranda and sailed into space. A British soldier stepped into the spot Jeff had just left. Grinning, the soldier lifted up his sword and hacked at the clothesline.
Bruce looked back in horror as the rope came free. Falling to the ground, he reached out his hands toward the captain.685Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7XwsiWxQg8
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"Father!" Bruce screamed.
The bedroom was dark and silent. "Father," Jeff said softly. Then he opened his eyes. He turned his body a little to the left, and his book fell to the floor.
Pirates of the Spanish Main, it was called. Bruce had been reading it when he fell asleep.
The thump of the book on the floor startled him out of the dream. It also woke up his dog, Joker, who'd been sleeping at the foot of the bed.
Joker stirred and lifted his head. Bruce sighed, climbed off the bed, and opened the blinds. The sunlight hurt his eyes, so he closed the blinds and switched on a small light.
He picked up his book and carried it to his wall-length bookcase. He slipped the book into its vacant slot on a shelf that was jammed with other history books.
Then he stared at the photograph on the top shelf. It showed the cabin boy, the captain, and the woman. But they were wearing 20th century clothes now. The burning building and the pirate ship were replaced by a suburban house and a lawn.
Bruce sighed again and threw himself back onto the bed. He could hear his Aunt Harriet in the living room talking with her boyfriend, Mark.
Bruce had been living with her for eight months, since his parents had been shot dead by a mugger while walking home from the theater. She wasn't crazy about the arrangement. After all, what single woman likes to get stuck with someone else's eleven-year-old kid.
Bruce wasn't crazy about it either. But Aunt Harriet was his only relative.
Ms. Thompson, his social worker, had given him the choice of staying with her or trying his luck with foster parents. It wasn't much of a choice---for either of them. But they'd both agreed to give it a try.
Now she was out there, probably arguing with Mark about taking on the responsibility of an orphan. He thought about opening the door and listening. But he'd heard it all before. He wasn't up for hearing it again.
He wiped a tear away with his sleeve and closed his eyes. Then he heard a rattling sound at the window. Joker, the world's most pathetic excuse for a watchdog, jumped up on the bed for protection.
There was the rattling noise again. Bruce got up, walked to the window, and raised the blinds. Just as he did, a huge hand smashed through the window, holding a thick black book of some kind.
Bruce tried to shout, but no sound came out. A booted foot kicked out the rest of the glass. Bruce looked away to defend his face from the flying glass.
When he turned back, he saw a six-foot man wearing a getup that might have been assembled by a drunken costume designer.
Bruce had already seen the pirate boots, and he recognized them as 17th century Spanish. Tucked into the boots was a half tightly-fitting trousers, probably from early 19th century Russia.
Running from the waist up and over the shoulders was a gun belt. Bruce guessed that it was once worn by one of Pancho Villa's men in Mexico. The man's deep chest was bare, and the crisscross gun belt covered most of a saber scar.
Over the gun belt, he wore a leather vest that Bruce couldn't identify at all. It was probably from ancient England. All this was partly covered by a coat like the one Napoleon Bonaparte wore, although it was moth-eaten and filthy.
Altogether, he looked like a combination of every adventure movie hero Bruce had ever seen. His powerful head possessed the fine features of the Caucasian race. His well-knit frame seemed built for the performance of feats of strength. He possessed a fine nose, with large nostrils; and a well-shaped mouth, with the slightly-projecting lips that denoted a generous and noble heart. Locks of thick curly hair fell over his broad, massive forehead like rivulets of water.
But the man had some faults. His pale face was the most frightened Bruce had seen in a long time. His deep blue eyes bulged in fear, as the man looked out the broken window into the 30-story drop to the ground.
"Shazbot!" he said in a stage whisper. "That fall could have killed me!"
He turned to face Bruce, who stood gawking and holding Joker by the collar. Joker had never faced any real danger before, and Bruce wasn't sure how the dog would react to all this.
"When did they start building them this high?" the man boomed at Bruce.
"Just a minute!" he said. "This isn't 1862. Where's Robert E. Lee? Where am I?"
He began to stride into the room. At his first step, Joker broke free and leaped at the intruder.
"Joker!" Bruce called. "Down, boy!"
But Joker's sense of danger to his master was stronger than his sense of obedience. He bared his teeth and gave it his all to bring the man to the floor.
"Hey!" the man yelled. "Get him off me!"
Bruce ran over and yanked at Joker's collar. The dog had gripped the man's black book in his teeth, and he was too heavy for Bruce to pull.
"Joker!" Bruce said. "Leggo of him!"
As they tussled, the man threw out an arm that hit Bruce instead of Joker. The force sent Bruce back toward the window. He lost his balance and began teetering backward.
The man had recovered his book now. He turned and saw what was happening to Bruce. Forgetting all else, he dropped the book and leaped to save Bruce.
But Bruce was already too far out the window. That, and the man's forward motion sent the two plummeting towards the street.
As their screams quickly faded away, Joker went to the window, put his paws on the sill, and looked down.
There was nothing there! The space between the window and the street was empty. 30 stories below, the traffic moved as it had been doing.
Bruce and the strange visitor had disappeared. Joker whimpered. Then he turned back into the apartment and sniffed at the book the man had left behind. 685Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBM7LWFRo9P
