by Tom Banks
‘Do not presume so! There is only one here now who is fit to give orders. Hand me the contraption.’
‘Here, my lo … your highness.’
‘SUMBAROONERS. ABOUT FACE. MAKE FOR THE GREAT GALLOON OF MEREDITH ANSTRUTHER. READY ALL WEAPONS!’
Perky Luffington, the Brunt, Stanley and Rasmussen were sitting in the shade of a great spreading tree – not that it gave much relief from the all-pervading heat – while Perky and the Brunt caught up on old times.
‘And the time we nearly crashed into the Crystal Tower of PontyCloon, while that Megaduck was trying to eat us! Do you remember?’
‘Well, I was deep in the bowels of the Galloon, stoking the furnace. But yes, I heard about it, Perky Luffington …’ said the Brunt.
‘And when the Wampyr of the Gesundheights tried to infiltrate the Galloon, and bit Ms Huntley on the hat! Do you remember that?’
‘Well, I was deep in the bowels of the Galloon, stoking the furnace. But yes, I heard about it, Perky Luffington …’ said the Brunt.
‘And when …’ began Perky Luffington. Stanley felt uncomfortable, and clearly Rasmussen did too, as she jumped in.
‘So you grew up on the Galloon, Mr Luffington?’ she asked, in full ‘daughter of a countess’ mode.
‘My word no, Ms Rasmussen! I grew up here. I’m Rococan through and through, from the soles of my brogues to the tip of my brolly. I suppose I just … took on some foreign ways while I was travelling the world.’
‘How fascinating,’ said Rasmussen with a smile. ‘Then, I wonder if you still notice the drums at all?’
‘Drums? Why of course. They’re always there, of course, but one notices them. They’re a kind of news service, gossip, weather forecast and soundtrack all rolled into one. They’ve been a bit like a stuck record, of late, though.’
‘Oh, and why’s that?’ asked Stanley.
‘Well, they just keep saying variations on the same thing.’
‘And what do they say?’ asked Rasmussen.
‘Let me see …’ said Perky. ‘Well, they seem to be saying Thump-a-Dang-BonkBonk. Thump-a-Dang-CLANKBonk. Thump-a-Dang-BonkBonk. Pause Ker-Dang-BonkBonk-DerDUNK!’
Rasmussen and Stanley shared a look – polite, but exasperated.
‘And what, pray,’ said Rasmussen, in an accent so cut glass it could have actually cut glass. ‘What, pray, does that mean?’
‘Oh, just a bit of folklore, really. It’s so preposterous, it’s almost not worth repeating. Must be a slow news day.’
‘Tell us anyway, if you don’t mind, Perky Luffington,’ said the Brunt, who was now leaning forward.
‘Very well,’ said Perky. ‘It means – “Beware the Pirate Queen, scourge of the Great Brown Greasy Rococo. She returns, looking for the lost city of El Bravado. No longer is she alone – she lives in the belly of an iron eel. All will fall before her”.’
‘Just folklore, you say?’ asked Rasmussen, her jaw clenched.
‘Oh, now I come to listen, there is a new bit. PurKlank a Klang Kerkonk konk derdonk, on the end.’
‘And what does that mean?’ asked Stanley, his mind whirring.
‘Oh, I’m so terribly sorry,’ said Perky, his brown face paling with fright. ‘It says, unless I am much mistaken: “She means to destroy the city-in-the-sky, great cloud-hanger, the whale-of-the-sunrise, floating-canoe-of-the-blustery-realm”. I’d thought it was just poetic nonsense, but now I know what made that noise last night, it makes more sense. She means to destroy …’
‘The Great Galloon!’ they shouted as one.
‘Meet me back there. I will warn the Captain!’ said the Brunt.
To Stanley’s astonishment, the Brunt stood up in his thick robe and slippers, and stretched his enormous arms above his head. Then he jumped up and down twice, cracked his huge knuckles, and began to run. Before he had reached the edge of the clearing, he was moving faster than Stanley would have thought possible. As he crashed into the edge of the forest, Stanley realised that he would stop for nothing. Even with the drums and the cacophony of the disturbed birds all around, the noise of the Brunt’s progress could be heard for a good few minutes, as he crashed through the undergrowth, and no doubt through the overgrowth as well.
‘Corks,’ said Stanley.
‘Well, I guess we should follow,’ said Rasmussen. ‘Thank you, Mr Luffington.’
‘I’m so sorry … I didn’t put two and two together. The Pirate Queen … I thought she was perhaps a myth …’
‘Perhaps she is. Perhaps she isn’t. But without you we would never have known what the drums were saying. So do not apologise. We owe you. Would you care to see the Galloon once more?’ said Stanley.
‘Yes, dearly,’ said Perky. ‘And if I can help in any way …’
‘Of course you can. You already have,’ said Rasmussen, as together they set off to follow the trail left by the Brunt’s almighty charge.
Cloudier had been working hard. She had found a method of gathering the long, heavy strands of floatweed off the cliff-side, while piloting the weather balloon with one arm. Then she would pile it high in the little balloon, and fly back to the Galloon, where she would stuff it into the tear in the main balloon. Then the sewing party would sew up just enough to keep it in place, while leaving a small gap for the next armfuls. It was hard physical work, and her arms were aching. But every time she returned to the Galloon, she got words of encouragement from the sewing party, which of course included Clamdigger, and that seemed to give her strength.
As she threw her latest bundle of Liken into the balloon, where it fell for a few moments then began to rise under its own buoyancy before becoming stuck under the great red canvas, she looked down. The deck was of course many dozens of feet below. But she could see that progress was being made. Mr Wouldbegood was waving his stick at a group of people who had made a good job of clearing the decks. The Captain and her mother were leading a party of people heaving overboard anything that was giving the Galloon extraneous weight – two grand pianos and a full-size replica of Castle Eisberg had gone over so far, with more to follow no doubt. Cook had set up a kind of soup kitchen on the deck, and all seemed to be progressing smoothly. Despite the apparent difficulty of their situation, the Gallooniers as a team were coping admirably, as ever. Cloudier had no doubt that within a day or two they would be continuing their journey to … where? Would they be able to find, let alone follow, the FishTank in this landscape of rocks, water and dense forest?
Never mind, that was a problem for another day. The FishTank would be miles away now, which at least meant that for once they were relatively safe from any kind of attack.
Just as she thought these words, she noticed something extraordinary. Through the forest a few hundred yards from where the Galloon had come to rest, something huge was moving at great speed. From up here, Cloudier could see the destruction, but she couldn’t see what was causing it. Elephants? Great apes? People?
Her heart in her mouth, she began to descend, to warn those on deck in case the thing should turn out to be an enemy. As she sank, she saw that some people onboard had noticed it too. The Captain himself seemed to be the first. With relief she saw that he had stationed lookouts in the forest – crewwoman Neela was hollering from the top of the tallest tree, where she had clearly been set to look for incomers. Cloudier could not hear her, but she heard the Captain’s reply.
‘The Brunt? Stamp me library books, whoever knew he could move like that!?’
As he said this, he was leaping into the bosun’s chair. Without benefit of anybody to wind him down, he simply kicked off the safety latch and plummeted to the ground. At the last moment, he leapt from the little cradle, and landed square on his two feet. Cloudier was now drifting down the side of the Galloon, and she was in a perfect position to watch as the deep, dark undergrowth at the edge of the forest exploded in a flurry of green leaves and smashed branches. Out of it ran something that Cloudier knew could only be the Brunt, though she had never dreamed he could move s
o fast. He dug two great slippered heels into the ground, and began to slide to a manic halt. Roots and rocks and gouts of mud flew into the air as he ploughed to a halt. The Captain stood firm, until they were standing face to face – or face to belly, at least. As Cloudier touched down nearby, the Brunt leaned his massive hands on the Captain’s shoulders and bent down until they were nose to nose. He was panting, but otherwise gave no indication that he had recently been running faster than anyone would have believed possible.
‘Hello, Captain Meredith Anstruther,’ he said.
‘Hello, the Brunt, old pal,’ said the Captain. ‘Is everything quite well?’
‘Yes, Captain,’ said the Brunt. ‘Except that we may, very soon, be under attack from a Pirate Queen. So the drums say.’
‘Ah!’ said the Captain. ‘Pirate Queen, you say? Well, fear not, old boy. We’ve been working hard on the old tub, and she should be pretty well able to defend herself against a run of the mill pirate attack. We’ve seen plenty of those off before, have we not?’
‘Yes, Captain,’ said the Brunt. ‘I hope you’re right …’
At the same time as the Brunt was arriving at the Galloon, Stanley and Rasmussen were trotting along the wide path of destruction he had created. They were out of breath, and incredibly sweaty. Perky, who was trotting along beside them, seemed unperturbed by the heat, but couldn’t stop apologising for his lateness in warning them of the Pirate Queen.
‘I don’t even know if there IS a Pirate Queen!’ he was sobbing. ‘Some people say she came through here years ago, threatening everybody and looking for the lost city of El Bravado, but then they also say she gave up, and went off to marry some sailor, or explorer, or something. Turned to the good, they say.’
‘I’m sure … the Captain … will get to … the bottom of it …’ said Stanley, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come.
Rasmussen was, if anything, struggling even more than Stanley, because of the Examinator strapped to her back. She stopped for a moment and held her side.
‘I’ve … got a stitch …’ she said. ‘Do you think we could leave the Examinator here … and get it later …?’
‘Yes, of course – or not get it later,’ said Stanley, thinking this could be a way to free himself from the tyranny of lessons.
Rasmussen unstrapped the big box from her shoulders, and laid it on the ground. As she did so, she must have knocked the ‘on’ button. First a crackling noise, then a distinct voice came out of the little mesh speaker.
‘Breaker, ten four, big buddy, this is Sidney and Ragnarsson calling the Galloon. Rasmussen, are you there?’
Rasmussen sank to her knees and grabbed the speaktophone.
‘Come in, Ragnarsson and Sidney, But please only say normal things, not “breaker” or “ten four”, over.’
‘Copy that … I mean … we understand,’ said the voice. ‘We have to warn you – the FishTank, as you call it, has changed course – we’re making straight for the Galloon! They want to wage war on your captain! Over.’
Stanley, Rasmussen and Perky looked at each other in shock.
‘I can’t believe it!’ said Stanley. ‘Just as the Captain might finally get a chance to rescue Isabella, he’s going to be busy fighting off this “Pirate Queen”, whoever she is.’
‘Ah,’ said a pedantic little voice on the Examinator, who Stanley thought must be Sidney. ‘We can help you there. Your captain will not have to deal with both Isabella and the Pirate Queen.’
‘Oh?’ said Rasmussen, testily. ‘And why’s that?’
‘Because,’ said Sidney. ‘Isabella IS the Pirate Queen.’
Perky Luffington’s return to the Galloon would have been a happy occasion under any other circumstances. Even as it was, he had so many hearty slaps on the back that he felt winded by teatime. But Stanley could see that a terrible weight was on him.
‘If I had known …’ he kept saying. ‘If I had all the pieces, I would have moved sky and earth to tell the Captain the truth about this woman, however hard it would be for him …’
People consoled him, made him tea, listened to him – but it didn’t make it any easier for anybody.
In the end, cowardice had won the day. Stanley and Rasmussen had told the Countess, who had told Ms Huntley, who had, surprisingly, told Abel. Abel and the Captain had retreated to his cabin, the Captain looking drawn and haggard as he knew something terrible was going on.
Stanley and Rasmussen had not hidden in their little eavesdropping hidey-hole. They had waited on deck, with everyone else. There had been no ranting, no smashing of fists on desks. The Captain had simply returned to the deck a short while later, looking tight-lipped but resolute. Abel had his hand on the Captain’s shoulder. Stanley thought he had seen a look pass between the Captain and Ms Huntley, but as they were grown-ups and therefore continually giving each other knowing looks of little subtlety, it was hard to tell whether this one meant anything in particular.
‘I have led you across the world on a wild goose chase. My only mitigation can be that it was done for the best of reasons – love.’
This was all the Captain said, before climbing the mast to oversee the work that had been done on the balloon.
The FishTank was approaching. Onboard was not only the Captain’s brother, who now seemed as feckless as he was evil, but his onetime bride-to-be, the dread Pirate Queen Isabella. Together Stanley, Rasmussen, Cloudier and Clamdigger had painted all of these strange goings-on into one big picture. And yet here they sat in the canteen, great mugs of tea in hands, while the grown-ups around them tried to save the day. The Captain had rallied himself enough to request that anyone who still felt inclined to help him should redouble their efforts at the repairs. Everybody had. Night was drawing in once more, regular as clockwork in this tropical place, and it had been another busy day. The Galloon was in better shape than it had been, but not yet ready to fly. Ms Huntley had commended Cloudier on her peace of mind in restoring the Liken to the mainb’loon. The Captain had persuaded Clamdigger to stop sewing and fixing, climbing and repairing for a few hours, and take some rest. The Countess had told Rasmussen that her sharp thinking with the Examinator may have given them the warning they needed to prepare for the assault. No-one had spoken specifically to Stanley. For the first time since joining the Galloon almost two years before, he was missing his home and his parents. He couldn’t even talk to them – the Examinator was still out in the forest, which was now a no-go area. Everybody had been confined to the Galloon, if confined is the right word for such a massive place.
‘We don’t even know whether the FishTank is any match for the Galloon, in the air or on the ground,’ said Cloudier, hopefully.
They all nodded in agreement.
‘Though if the Pirate Queen was responsible for transforming the Sumbaroon into such a formidable vessel, then she has surely the capability to make it almost invincible,’ said Clamdigger, staring into his cup.
‘Thanks for that, Mr Sunshine,’ said Rasmussen.
‘Sorry,’ said Clamdigger. ‘But I’m just saying …’
‘This is the Captain we’re talking about!’ said Stanley. ‘Captain Meredith Anstruther and his Great Galloon! Think of all the scrapes he’s got us out of in the past!’
‘The volcano,’ said Rasmussen.
They nodded.
‘Although technically, he got us into that, and Cloudier and the Brunt got us out,’ said Stanley.
‘There were the Boomaphone noises!’ said Clamdigger.
‘Yes!’ said Cloudier. ‘Although that was Rasmussen and Stanley, wasn’t it, really?’
‘The BeheMoths?’ said Clamdigger.
‘Cloudier, if you think about it. And you, Jack.’
‘What about Fassbinder, the robot spy? The Captain knocked his block off!’
‘True! True! Hear hear!’ they all muttered.
‘But quite a lot of it’s been us, hasn’t it?’ said Cloudier.
‘Yup,’ said Rasmussen, who’d never experienc
ed a moment of self-doubt in her life.
‘So … why have we persuaded them to let us sit down here?’ said Clamdigger. ‘Let’s get up on deck and see what’s going on!’
‘Okay!’ said Stanley.
And so they did. As one, they left the canteen, and jumped on the back of Clamdigger’s dog-cart. This took them to the for’ard heckscalator. This moving walkway, an innovation of Clamdigger’s, took them all the way past the ballroom, the high street and the Royal Opera House to the upper hatchway, from where they could climb up a spiral ladder to the main deck. They travelled in silence, but as they emerged onto the deck, near the twelve great trunks of the mast, each and every one of them gasped. Stanley felt the blood rush to his ears. In the past few hours, while they had been sleeping, resting and eating, the Galloon had been transformed. It was no longer a shipwreck. It was a fortress.
The main balloon had been inflated once more, and was standing proudly above them. Smoke was billowing from the funnels, so that Stanley knew the Brunt’s work of re-stoking the furnaces was well under way. All around the rail, barricades had been built, using spare planking coils of ropes, great nets full of hammocks, furniture and mattresses. Stanley whirled around, and saw that the quarterdeck was now more like a castle turret, built up and thickened with trees from the forest. The harpoon, which Stanley had once seen used to fight off the all-devouring BeheMoths, was now a bunker, surrounded by sandbags, aiming into the forest. Perky Luffington was standing by it, and he tipped his odd hat at them as they emerged. He was surrounded, Stanley now saw, by some people who were new to the Great Galloon. Some were in shorts and sandals, some in strange robes, others in what looked like swimming costumes. Many of them had bow and arrows in their hands, and they all looked ready for a fight.
‘My friends, the Rococans!’ said Perky, proudly. ‘Once the drums put the word out, everybody comes together!’
Stanley felt a lump in his throat, fear in his heart, and a niggling thought in the back of his mind. He walked towards Claude’s outstretched finger, the size of a sofa, and touched it – but no, the tiger was still dormant. Perhaps he had had his moment. It looked to Stanley as if he had always been there – indeed some of the planks of the deck seemed to merge into the wooden fingers and claws, as if the tiger had been carved here where he lay.