Pirates Versus Ninjas

by Andy Marlow

little landing party now. Thirteen was not ideal, but it was enough, and the assembled crowd contained enough variety of skill to make the mission successful.

  Whatever the mission was. The basic idea was obvious: get onto the island and recover the treasure. Yet the specifics remained shrouded in darkness. Precisely what was on this island, who they would meet and how many, was unclear. Cutthroat Island sounded like a pirate name, but the fact that it was hidden from all maps and even from a look-out as sharp as Bottle-Neck Saunders implied that it had very ninja-like qualities. And ninjas were very tricky customers indeed.

  The pirates of the Merry Martin had fought off Scottish clansmen, English uniformed solders, French revolutionaries and Irish dartsmen. They had wrestled with the yeti to steal his fur and they had come into conflict with topless Russian beasts fuelled by vodka, and on every occasion they had won. Yet on every occasion they had also known their enemy. Their strengths and weaknesses had been obvious: the Scots wore no armour, the English were not flexible, the French were disorganised, etc. The very nature of a ninja, that he can hide in open spaces and essentially become invisible, was unnerving. All they knew of their new foe had been handed down in second-hand fairytales about hidden bogeymen which kept pirate children awake at night. Beyond that, they knew nothing.

  So a little Dutch courage was called for. The ship’s resident barman and brewer, Simon the Holy, had brought with him the obligatory bottles of rum to share between the landing party before they went. It may seem strange for them to be drinking so soon after recovering from their whiskey hangovers, but it must be remembered that these are pirates we’re talking about. It’s quite likely that none of them have had a sober day in years.

  “To victory, and recovering the gold, and smashing those ninja cads to tiny pieces!” toasted the Captain. The landing party cheered and greedily drank down their share of the rum. Then, merrily tipsy, they stumbled towards the little rowing boat attached to the side of the ship and hopped in.

  Well, they would have done- except it wasn’t there. In one horrific moment of realisation, the crew discovered that the boat which had been used by the ninjas to escape with the gold had been their boat; the escape raft attached to the side of the Merry Martin.

  The implications were chilling. Literally, for the first realisation was that they would have to swim for shore through the freezing waters rather than sail or row in the relative comfort of a dry boat. The second realisation, though, was more so: for as he contemplated the second theft, the Captain realised that the ninjas must have been on board all this time to have stolen the boat, at least since the Scottish raid fifty miles and twenty four hours back. On a relatively small ship with a crew of thirty, three ninjas had managed to hide undetected for at least one day, maybe longer.

  He did not need to explain this to his crew, for they had all realised too, despite their slow wit.

  “Look sharp, lads,” he said quietly. “There may be more of them.”

  The assembled pirates drew their weapons: guns and swords, knives and spears, in preparation for an attack. Bluebeard went for his cutlass but found it missing. Then, in a blaze of rage at himself, he cursed his stupidity and realised that he had left his weapon in his cabin.

  From whence came a scream: the unmistakeable shriek of Liu. He, and the twelve other pirates with him, rushed to his cabin to see what was happening. He kicked the door in off its hinges and saw, to his horror, his window open with Liu standing on the ledge. She was not alone, however, for a fourth ninja was standing with her holding Bluebeard’s cutlass to her throat.

  “Don’t follow us,” warned the stranger. He spoke almost in a whisper, yet the whole room heard him. “Or your beloved Liu will face the chop.”

  With that, he leapt out of the window into the waiting waters below and dragged Liu with him. Bluebeard rushed to the precipice to see his Eastern enchantress being dragged away by the masked stranger, still screaming.

  “Captain!” she called out desperately. “Captain, save me!”

  “I’m coming!” he replied. His voice was different with her; it was tender, caring, almost compassionate- a sharp contrast to the gruff voice with which he spoke to his crew. “Well, what are you waiting for?” He yelled to his landing party. “Let’s get after her!”

  So the thirteen pirates formed a haphazard queue before the window and began to leap into the water one by one: first Bluebeard, then Marley, then Princess Alice and the rest of them, until, at last, as Yellowbeard fell into the cold Atlantic water, all thirteen of them were out.

  The water was deeper than it looked. It was not deep enough for a ship the size of the Merry Martin to sink in it, but when the pirates landed in the water their feet could not touch the bottom. This was fortunate, for as Bluebeard belatedly realised shallow water would have meant certain death for them- or at least broken bones. In his passion, he had forgotten the height of the fall from his cabin and thoughtlessly ordered his men to leap into the unknown. As usual. He grinned- this was the pirate way, taking life as it came and chancing it every time.

  He was just about to give the order to swim for shore when a fourteenth splash came from somewhere behind him. He turned, surprised, to see Bottle-Neck Saunders in the water far behind him and his small crew, bobbing up and down and gasping for breath. She was barely visible in the dark waters: the only thing illuminating her was the weak light from the moon and the warm glow of the lamps on deck. Her form was just a floating black shape distinguishable only through the shadow it was casting on the water.

  She had walked the plank herself, of her own accord. Apparently fearful of being dashed upon the rocks or made a public mockery of, she had downed a bottle of rum for Dutch courage and thrown herself into the deep when she thought nobody else was looking. She had always been a proud individual: the thought of being publicly humiliated in front of her crew would have been more horrifying to her than that of death in the icy sea.

  Which of course meant that her current situation was mortifying for her.

  “Bottle-Neck!” thundered Bluebeard. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

  She turned suddenly to see her audience. The twitch of her silhouette was enough to see that she had recognised her onlookers, and, although darkness shrouded her entire figure, you could be sure that her cheeks had turned a deep shade of scarlet.

  “Swimming,” came the sheepish reply. She dared not admit what she had really been doing, despite the fact that everybody knew. “Thought I’d look for some fish.”

  The thirteen pirates glanced at each other and roared with laughter at their friend’s humiliation. Saunders had been lucky, for she had evaded death in the fall and the water, but she wished she hadn’t. Anything would be preferable to the mockery she was now receiving.

  Bluebeard was livid. Yet as he noticed the merriment in his crew, the lightening of an otherwise tense and fearful atmosphere, his spirit lifted and he chose to give his treacherous crewmate a second chance.

  “Come over here, you daft cod,” he called. “There’s no need for you to walk the plank now. Besides, we need an extra set of legs.”

  Bottle-Neck did not move; she remained a silhouette in the distance. After a short pause came the reply: “You mean I’ve been pardoned?”

  “Yes, you great lump!” said Bluebeard. “Now get over here before I change my mind. We’ll need you on Cutthroat Island, anyway. You’ll be good for a laugh.”

  Another pause. Then: “Cutthroat Island? Where’s that?”

  Bluebeard was beginning to get annoyed. “It’s that great rock you crashed my ship into!” he roared. “Liu did a much better job of navigating than you. She at least knew what it was called.”

  “Oh,” replied the Bottle-Neck, voice full of wounded pride. “I’ll be on my way then.”

  The thirteen watched as the silhouette began to draw nearer. When she was within five yards of them, her face became visible and it was as crimson as any of them had expected. She was met by jeers and friendly
pats on the back by her crewmates, who were all glad to have her back, at least for the continuous stock of jokes she could provide. In a bored moment they could all think back and laugh once more at the pirate who went “swimming” off the traitor’s plank.

  In all the intrigue, the pirates- now fourteen of them- had forgotten where they were. Now Bottle-Neck had joined them, they began to notice the cold nipping at their feet and stabbing their sides like a myriad of knives. It had not been so bad at first, but continued exposure to Jack Frost’s icy claws was beginning to tell and they were eager to be on their way.

  So they swam. Bluebeard led the party in a synchronised front crawl along the short distance to the shore. It was not so short for some of them, however: Jake the Peg struggled considerably, for swimming with a wooden leg is, as you would expect, quite an effort. Ethelred, too, lingered near the rear of the pack, still winded from the assault he had suffered from the Captain’s foot. Nevertheless, even these two managed to keep up so that the pack of them arrived at the same time on the sandy stretches of the beach.

  It was an eerie sight in the moonlight. The sand, normally golden and sparkling, was an odd luminescent grey colour, a haunting backdrop to a strange landscape. In contrast to the sea, the beach seemed to stretch out for about a