‘Quick, Nev,’ Rubella said, creeping to the edge of the landing platform. ‘I can hear shoutin’. I think the other guards are on to us!’
Neville’s heart was practically in his throat. He could hear it now too – the deep TROMP … TROMP … TROMP of marching troll-feet and raised voices.
‘They’re going to throw us in jail,’ Neville snivelled.
‘Not if you get me out,’ Jaundice interrupted impatiently. ‘HURRY UP!’
Suddenly the trollevator jumped into motion.
‘They’ve called it,’ Rubella said, running back to Neville and Jaundice. ‘The guards are on their way!’
‘I’m going as fast as I can, Rubella.’
‘Well, go faster,’ Rubella snapped.
Neville picked a heavy, twisted key with a wiggly pattern up the side. ‘Maybe this one,’ he said. ‘No.’
Then he tried a short stubby one with a silver handle. ‘No,’ Neville groaned hopelessly. Which one was it?
Finally, Neville picked a rusted key with a skull and crossbones carved into the end. He pushed it into the lock and twisted it … and the door swung ajar with a loud click.
‘WELL DONE, NEV!’ Jaundice yelled. She darted out of the cell, then wiggled her bottom and flapped her arms. ‘Ugh, it feels good to have some space.’
‘But what are we going to do?’ Neville said. He could see the trollevator winch turning, which meant the guards were heading straight for the top floor. ‘How are we going to get out?’
‘Watch and learn, Nev.’ Jaundice cackled wildly. Then she picked him up and swung him on to her shoulders.
‘BUT –’ Neville barely had time to think. What if Jaundice double-crossed them? He opened his mouth to protest just as Jaundice ran towards the landing platform and took a flying leap off the edge without a second’s thought. Neville clung to her wrinkled neck so tightly he was worried he’d choke her, but he was too afraid to loosen his grip.
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!’ Neville looked round as they fell and saw Rubella tumbling behind him. In the excitement, she’d jumped straight off the platform after them!
‘HERE WE GO!’ Jaundice screeched with delight. They were falling straight towards the trollevator that was now filled with brutish guards.
‘THERE THEY ARE!’
‘GET ’EM!’
‘DON’T LET HER OUT OF YER SIGHT!’
Jaundice soared straight past the guard-filled basket and swung on the underside with Neville flapping around her neck like a human cape.
‘THIS IS WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT!’ she called over her shoulder. Neville blubbed in reply. His grandma was crazy!
OOOOMF!
Suddenly the trollevator jolted and the guards above all screamed in alarm. Rubella had plummeted straight into the basket and landed on top of them. Neville watched as one guard, then another, then another, flew from the basket and leapt to the squish-free safety of the spiral of sentry posts, howling and cursing as they went.
‘PULL THE LEVER!’ Jaundice shouted to Rubella above. ‘TAKE US DOWN!’
‘RIGHT YOU ARE!’ Rubella yelled back. The trollevator ground to a halt, then instantly started falling towards the floor below. ‘AAAAAAAGH!’
Jaundice bounded free just before the trollevator hit the floor with a crash, but Rubella wasn’t so quick. She lay in a daze among bits of broken basket and knotted chain. Jaundice grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet.
‘Come on, you porker!’
‘Oy,’ Rubella snapped, rubbing her boulder bottom. ‘Who are you callin’ porker?’
‘NOT NOW!’ Neville shouted. ‘Look!’ He pointed up the tower. The guards were all climbing down the walls and it wouldn’t be long before they reached the ground.
‘RUN!’ Jaundice bellowed.
The Rigor Mortis
Jaundice burst straight through the metal gate, sending bits of lock and hinge flying in all directions.
‘Ha ha!’ she cackled. ‘FREEDOM!’
Neville squeezed against his grandma’s carrot shoulders as tightly as he could and closed his eyes.
‘This is stupous,’ Rubella huffed as she stumbled along behind. ‘We’re on an island … There’s nowhere to go.’
‘NONKUMBUMPS!’ Jaundice shouted. She grabbed Rubella by the hand and pulled her down the hill, running faster and faster. ‘The first rule of being a truccaneer is … NEVER GIVE UP!’
She started leaping down the steps, ten at a time.
‘You’ve gone crooked in the clonker,’ Rubella groaned, but Jaundice was ignoring her.
‘BARNACLE?’ Jaundice shouted. ‘BARNACLE, WHERE ARE YOU?’
‘What?’ Neville said into his grandma’s ear. ‘How did you know Old Barnacle was down here?’
‘The second rule of being a truccaneer is … know where your crew is at all times. BARNACLE!’
‘WHO?’ Old Barnacle came lumbering over the rocks, waving his ear trumpet. ‘WHAT’S OCCURINATIN’?’
‘OVER HERE!’ Jaundice called.
‘OH, IT’S YOU, CAPTAIN! I DID WHAT YOU TOLD ME TO, I DID.’
‘What’s going on?’ said Neville. ‘How do you two know each other?’
‘This is Old Barnacle – first mate on the good ship Rigor Mortis,’ Jaundice said. Old Barnacle saluted.
‘I DID WHAT YOU SAID,’ Old Barnacle mumbled like an excited schoolboy. ‘AS SOON AS WE GOT ’ERE AND YOUR NIPSTER WENT IN LOOKIN’ FOR YOU, I STOOD ON THEM THERE ROCKS AND SENT OUT A MESSAGE TO ALL THE CREW.’
‘Good work, Barnacle,’ Jaundice said. ‘Now … where’s my ship?’
‘WELL, IT’S JUST –’
‘Hold on a minute,’ Neville interrupted. He’d had about as much as he could bear. ‘Are you telling me that this was all planned? You got our parents eaten by a fish so you could make us rescue your stupid captain?’
‘Don’t forget who his captain is,’ Jaundice snapped, dumping Neville on the wet sand.
‘YES, AND NO …’ Old Barnacle said, grinning nervously. ‘THE PLAN WAS TO BRING YOU LOT OUT ’ERE, LET YOU SEE LADY JAUNDICE AND THEN I’D SNEAK IN AND RESCUE HER MESELF. NO ONE PLANNED FOR THE GUNDISKUMP PART.’
‘So all that stuff about savin’ our mooma and dooda was all a load of grubberlumpin’?’ Rubella said.
‘A truccaneer never breaks her oath,’ said Jaundice. ‘You got me out of the Clunk, so I’ll get your parents out of the gundiskump. A deal’s a deal.’
Neville’s head was swimming; this was all too much.
‘First mate Barnacle,’ Jaundice said in a leader-like way. ‘Call my ship.’
‘HA HA! INDEEDY, CAPTAIN!’ Old Barnacle laughed. He pulled the whistle out of his pocket and blew it with all his might.
‘What now?’ said Neville.
‘Watch,’ said Jaundice.
Old Barnacle blew the whistle again. There was a moment of silence until …
HOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNKKKKKKKK!!
A ship’s horn sounded a little way out to sea. Neville jumped and nearly screamed. All at once, hundreds of lanterns were lit and an enormous pirate ship flashed into view.
‘Oh, my beauty!’ Jaundice beamed. ‘I’ve missed you.’
Neville couldn’t believe his eyes. The ship had been moored so close and yet was completely hidden in the darkness. There were pirate-trolls all over the deck and swinging in the rigging, each one carrying a milk-bottle lantern.
‘AHOY!’ Jaundice shouted.
‘AHOY, CAPTAIN!’ came the reply.
Old Barnacle turned to Neville and gave him a friendly nudge.
‘HOW’S ABOUT THAT THEN?’
Meanwhile
‘Mmmm, lummy!’ beamed Clod. He was sitting with Pong on the bank of a thin stream of water that ran out of the darkness towards the back of Great Gurty’s gullet. In the putrid water, bits of chewed-up fish and long strands of seaweed bobbed slowly past. ‘I’ve found din-dins!’ he shouted.
Malaria watched in delight as Clod and Pong started picking things out like greedy diners in
a sushi restaurant. She sat next to her family and pulled a big globule of jellyfish from the stream. ‘Oh, lummy,’ she said, grinning. ‘It’s fresh!’
Roll Call
Neville stumbled up the gangplank with wobbly legs and butterflies in his tummy.
‘Welcome aboard the Rigor Mortis, boy!’ Jaundice laughed as he tripped and fell on to the deck. ‘This is my ship, and this … is my crew.’
Neville looked up and saw a gaggle of troll-feet ahead of him. ‘Be brave,’ he told himself. ‘You’re the captain’s grandson and no one is going to harm you.’ He peeked a little higher and braced himself to meet the stare of hardened, scary, bloodthirsty … Oh.
‘Well?’ said Jaundice. ‘Say ahoy to me crew!’
Neville stared at them. Lady Jaundice’s pirate crew weren’t quite what he had in mind. They were all as ancient as she was. Instead of cutlasses, most brandished walking sticks. One of them had a patch over both his eyes and another was even in a troll-sized mobility chair with big wheels made out of barrel lids.
‘Ahoy,’ Neville said in a small voice.
‘WHAT?’ said the troll in the chair. ‘IS IT BEDTIME?’
Neville said nothing and tried to hide his disappointment. Scary pirates would have been bad enough, but how were these old gurnips going to rescue his parents?
Lady Jaundice placed one hand on Neville’s shoulder and the other on Rubella’s as she clomped up the gangplank behind him. Rubella caught sight of the crew and burst out laughing.
‘Ha ha!’ she yelled.
‘It’s a truccaneer’s life for you two … well, until we get your family back,’ Jaundice said. ‘From now on you’ll be known as Blood-gulpin’ Brisket,’ she said to Neville. ‘And you,’ Jaundice said to Rubella, ‘will be known as Big-bottomed Belly.’
Rubella scowled at Jaundice, but said nothing. Even she was a bit scared of the old pirate captain.
‘OK, YOU SEWER RATS,’ Jaundice yelled over the crowd, ‘IT’S TIME FOR ROLL CALL.’
A deckhand, with weeds growing where his eyebrows should be, shuffled forward and handed Jaundice a scroll of yellow paper. Jaundice unrolled it and started to read.
‘Old Barnacle?’
‘Ahoy!’ Old Barnacle shouted, waving his ear trumpet.
‘Blood-gulping Brisket? BLOOD-GULPING BRISKET!’
Rubella nudged Neville in the back. He jolted as he realized his grandma was talking about him.
‘Erm … Ahoy!’ Neville yelled.
‘Big-bottomed Belly?’
‘Ahoy!’ Rubella grunted. She was not amused.
‘Bilge, Spit and Blister?’ Jaundice barked.
Three deckhands, including the one that had handed Jaundice the scroll, hobbled forward.
‘Ahoy!’ they croaked in unison.
‘Rickety Spleen?’
‘AHOY!’
‘Mumps?’
‘Ahoooooy!’ cried the troll in the chair.
‘No-eyed Ebola?’
‘AHOY!’ cried the pirate with two eye patches.
‘Big Blurty?’
‘BLLUUUURRRGGGHHH!’ came the reply from a tall, skinny troll with his head lowered over a bucket.
‘He never did find his sea legs, that one,’ Lady Jaundice whispered to Neville.
‘Poor thing,’ Neville said. He didn’t really know what else there was to say about a blurty troll.
‘Canker?’ Jaundice yelled.
A short, round troll, wearing an apron, stepped forward. Neville gasped when he saw him. Both Canker’s hands were missing. Where his left hand should have been was a filthy old frying-pan, and where his right should have been was a ladle.
‘He must be the ship’s cook,’ Rubella whispered in Neville’s ear.
‘Ahoy!’ Canker shouted and clanged the frying-pan and ladle together. Neville suddenly realized how hungry he was.
It had been ages since breakfast and even then he’d only eaten half his bowl of pickled fish eyes. He looked glumly out to sea and wondered if his parents were safe in the gundiskump.
‘Squibbly,’ said Jaundice, rolling up the scroll and tucking it away. ‘We’re off on an adventure, you rambunkin’ rumpscallions. Set sail for the deepest part of the Undersea. We’ve got a gundiskump to catch!’
‘RIGHT YOU ARE!’ the crew all shouted together and dashed about, tying ropes and hauling sails.
Neville watched as the gnarled, grizzled crew clambered up and down the mast, unfurling Trolly Roger flags and singing as they went. Neville couldn’t hear too clearly over the noise of the waves and the loud click-crunch of elderly troll-pirate joints, but their song went something like this.
‘WITH A HI AND A HEY
AND A QUICK HEAVE-HO,
WE’LL HOIST THE SAILS
AND OFF WE GO!
COS TRUCCANEERS ARE ALL PURSUIN’
ANY TROUBLE THAT’S A-BREWIN’.
SHOW US YOUR TREASURES,
AND WE’LL TAKE ’EM.
TELL US THE RULES,
AND WE’LL BREAK ’EM.
BOUNDERS, ROTTERS, GONKERS, WE,
SWASHBUNGLIN’ BANDITS ON THE SEA!
WITH A HI AND A HEY
AND A QUICK HEAVE-HO,
WE’LL HOIST THE SAILS
AND OFF WE GO!’
Jobs
In no time at all, the Rigor Mortis was creaking calmly and rolling out over the bulbous, purple sea. Jaundice looked at Neville and Rubella as they stared into the darkness, and smiled. ‘Don’t you go worryin’ your noggins off. I’ve got a score to settle with Great Gurty. We’ll get him.’
‘I hope so,’ said Neville.
‘I know so,’ said Jaundice. ‘But while you’re onboard you’ll work with the rest of us.’
‘I’M NOT WORKIN’,’ said Rubella.
‘Oh, yes, you are, chublin’,’ Jaundice said sternly. ‘And, just for that, you can march straight off to the laundry. Plenty of panty-bloomers down there that need a-scrubbin’.’
‘I AIN’T SCRUBBIN’ NO PANTY-BLOOMERS!’
‘THEN YOU WON’T EAT!’ snapped Jaundice.
‘I hate you!’
Rubella pulled a face like someone who had just swallowed a porcupine, and stomped down the stairs to the decks below.
Jaundice turned and looked at Neville. ‘As for you, Blood-gulping Brisket, you can head off to the kitchen and help with dinner.’ Then she turned to everyone else and screamed, ‘SQUIBBLY SAILIN’!’ and stormed off into her cabin.
Canker’s Kitchen
Neville stood outside the door and listened. Inside, he could hear Canker banging pots and clinking his ladle. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. At least he’d get to eat something, working in the kitchen. He opened the door slowly.
‘Hello,’ Neville said. ‘Canker?’
‘Well, if it ain’t my overling assistant!’ Canker shouted, his head half buried in a barrel of rotten fruit and vegetables. ‘You took your time, littl’un.’ He emerged holding a mangled orange peel in his ladle hand. ‘Mmmmm, exotic.’
‘Erm … I … uh … I’m supposed to help you with the cooking,’ Neville said.
‘Indeed you are, my trainee truccaneer, indeed you are.’
Neville stood in the doorway and stared. He wasn’t sure what to do next.
‘Well, come on then,’ Canker said with a cheeky smile. ‘Lots of ’ungry mouths to feed.’
‘Aye-aye, sir,’ Neville replied and darted into the kitchen. Canker chuckled to himself.
‘Sir?’ he said in his raspy voice. ‘You don’t have to call me sir! Just good ole Canker will do. Now then … up you get.’
Neville clambered on to an upturned crate and looked out over the room. He’d never seen such a disgusting kitchen before. Back at home, Marjorie had a fit every time someone left a spoon on the worktop. Here, Neville couldn’t even see the worktop. Every bit of space was covered in splatters of old food and drips of dried cooking grease. There were jars and buckets everywhere filled with the most horrendous-looking ingredients and
the smell was unbearable.
At the far end of the worktop, nearest to Neville, was an open cookery book. It was like one of the books his mum kept on a shelf at home, only this one was covered in stains and wrinkly from getting wet too many times. Neville looked at the page and read aloud.
‘Sounds lummy, eh?’ said Canker. He put his frying-pan hand over the stove and turned on the flame. ‘Right then, what’s first?’
Neville gulped and tried not to look too disgusted. He’d make sure he sneaked something a little less revolting when Canker wasn’t looking.
‘Erm …’ said Neville, glancing through the recipe, ‘it says fry the barnacles in a pan of sizzling hair-grease.’
‘Ha ha, I love cookin’ barnacles,’ Canker laughed. He threw a ladleful of the little creatures into his frying-pan hand and they hissed and spat angrily. ‘Makes Old Barnacle squirm, it does.’
Neville smiled a nervous smile. ‘Then it says to drizzle the puréed fish heads from a great height.’
‘From a great height? Um …’ Canker thought for a moment, then, before Neville could stop him, he squirted a great arc of fish-head purée into the air.
‘I don’t think that’s what the recipe meant,’ Neville said as Canker ran round the kitchen catching globs of the stuff as it dripped off the ceiling.
‘Course it did!’ Canker smiled. ‘So, little Blood-gulping Brisket, do you want to skin the rats or shall I?’
‘You can,’ Neville whimpered. He watched in horror as Canker pulled the ladle hand off with his teeth and replaced it with a blunt, rusted potato peeler.
‘There,’ said Canker with a grin. ‘That should do the trick. Now … where did I put those rats?’
Nowhere to Sleep
By the time Neville had served dinner to the crew and Canker had licked all the pots and pans clean, it was extremely late.
‘Good job, Blood-gulper,’ Canker rasped, hanging up his apron on a hook by the door. ‘S’pect you’ll be snizzlin’ off to your hammock soon, eh?’
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