Rise of the Isle of the Lost (Descendants 3)

“Let’s go,” said Uma, ignoring him and leading the way.

The motley crew headed down the wharf toward the Lost Revenge. They shambled past the rope bridge and toward the decks of the pirate ship, setting about unfurling the sails, hoisting up the jib, and removing the ropes that held it to the deck so it would be ready for launch.

Uma climbed the steps of the forecastle and turned to face the heavy wooden rail. The f

oremast stood at her back, ropes flanking her on two sides. The crew gathered on the main deck. The ship was ready to sail.

She drew her sword from its scabbard, the blade flashing yellow and orange in the evening light. This was her crew, her people. Time to put them in order. “Pirates! Somewhere on the Isle of the Doomed is a treasure chest that holds the pieces of a necklace that belonged to my mother! If we find it, I can call that fool Triton’s trident from the sea and use it to win our freedom from this island prison! Are you with me?”

“Arrrr!” cried the pirates. A few grunts followed and a shrug or two. In pirate terms, it was a good enough reception.

Uma slashed the air with her sword. “We ride with the tide!” she cried.

“We ride with the tide!” roared Harry, raising his sword just as high.

“We ride with the tide?” said Gil. He shrugged his shoulders, removed his cutlass, and waved it in the air like the rest of them. The rest of the pirates joined in, raising their blades and cheering in unison.

Harry took hold of the wheel and kicked off the motor that would power the ship until the wind took hold. The Lost Revenge solemnly pulled out of the dock and into the dark waters beyond. A curious crowd gathered by the harbor to watch as it pulled away, some tossing rotten tomatoes at the ship’s bow in the usual Isle send-off.

Harry steered the ship out past the shattered lighthouse, and through the fog he could make out the barrier over the Isle of the Lost and the waters surrounding it. But they had room to move, and when they reached the Strait of Ursula, the wind blew and the sails plumped at last. But the ocean waves were choppy and high, slamming the ship’s hull. They ran right into one, sending a spray of water onto deck, but Harry laughed as he peered through the mist and the crew seemed to take it all in stride.

At last, they were off.

Uma smiled, for once utterly gratified with how her life had turned out. She had her ship and her crew, and they were sailing to find their freedom.

Contentment didn’t last long. “Um, Harry? Is this as fast as we can go?” she asked. The Lost Revenge had only sailed a few yards, and the dock was still in view. They had inched up the archipelago, but were still miles from where they needed to be. She paced the deck impatiently. First the necklace, and then the trident was theirs for the taking, if only they could get there faster.

“It only goes as fast as the wind will take it,” said Harry. “Sorry.”

“Right,” said Uma. “I get it: the wind hits the sails and off we go.” She looked up at the billowing white cloth. A single swatch of linen fluttered in the wind, held there by four ropes and tied to the foremost mast. But just behind it were not just one but two others. “What do you call those other masts?” she asked, acting a bit coy.

“Oh, yes,” he replied, a bit sheepish, “that’s the mainmast just behind the foremast, and the one in the back is called the mizzen.”

“I see. And these masts have sails as well?” she asked, still acting coy. The boy had to know exactly where this was going, right? He told her he knew how to sail, didn’t he?

“Yes, I mean technically we do have three masts,” he allowed.

“And each one has a sail or two?”

“Three, actually.”

“So why in the world aren’t we using them all!” she yelled.

“Well, it’s the waves, you see; with all of this rocking it would be quite difficult—no, dangerous, to go up there and unfurl the rest of the sails.”

“So you’re telling me we could be going two, three times this speed, and all we have to do is climb up there and unroll the rest of the sails?”

“Something like that,” said Harry. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. Try climbing fifty feet into the air while the boat is pitching to and fro, and see if you can hold on. These things—”

“I think I will.” She was headed toward the second mast before he could make any further attempt to dissuade her from climbing it and wrestling with the sails.

How hard can it be? she thought. Climb the mast, untie some ropes, and it’s done.

She looked at Harry with disdain as she raised her foot and caught hold of the first peg. She grabbed one and then another, and soon she was seven, eight feet in the air. The ship rolled and her face promptly collided with the mast; her hand slipped from one peg, her leg from the other, and she reeled. Were it not for that fact that her shirt had caught on yet another of the pegs she would have fallen onto the deck. Or worse, she might have landed in the ocean itself.

Harry snickered.

“I suppose this is that moment when you mutter I told you so?” she asked.