In an Adventure With Napoleon

by Gideon Defoe; Richard Murkin

  ‘Thanks, Scurvy Jake,’ said the Pirate Captain, wiping Exciting Beach Fun off his coat. Scurvy Jake was an old friend who had retired from pirating because his gigantic sausage fingers made him clumsy. Since then he’d had a series of jobs that had worked out a bit better for him, providing they didn’t involve holding easily crushed things like eggs or baby rabbits.

  ‘All the best people aren’t appreciated in their lifetimes,’ Scurvy Jake continued. ‘Look at Baby Jesus – nobody took him seriously. They thought he was a tramp!’

  ‘Oh, let’s not talk about me, Jake. I don’t think I can face it,’ said the Pirate Captain. ‘What have you been up to lately? Still working as a grill chef?’

  ‘No, I gave that up. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the grilling. I could grill all day. But I hated going home smelling of burnt fat.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said the Pirate Captain, although he couldn’t really imagine why that would be a problem because as far as he was concerned most of the best smells involved meat grease.

  ‘It stays in your hair, you see.’ Scurvy Jake was very particular about his hair, which he wore in a permanent wave that he had set every few weeks. ‘So I’ve got a new job now. It’s a real money spinner.’

  Scurvy Jake leaned closer to the Pirate Captain’s ear and whispered loudly, ‘I sell baby clothes door-to-door.’

  The Pirate Captain didn’t know what to say to that, so he just said ‘baby clothes’ and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘That’s right. The great thing is …’ Scurvy Jake beckoned the Pirate Captain closer and whispered even louder, ‘babies grow so quickly that they need a new set of clothes every few weeks. It’s practically a licence to print doubloons!’ He paused for a moment to drain his cocktail in one gulp. ‘Have a guess how long it takes a baby to outgrow a brand new set of woollen bootees.’

  ‘A month?’ said the Pirate Captain.

  ‘Two weeks!’ said Scurvy Jake happily. ‘Babies are a gold mine!’6

  ‘Good for you,’ said the Captain, glad his old friend was doing so well. He almost began to cheer up despite himself, but suddenly there was an excited hubbub, and a pack of young pirates with neat clothes and good teeth walked into the lounge bar carrying a trophy-laden Alan Hinton BA, Hons on their shoulders. They were all wearing matching pirate blazers and looked extremely pleased with themselves. Alan Hinton BA, Hons waved a glass of Pimms in the Captain’s direction and then went back to discussing quarterly yields with the earnest pirate holding his leg. The Captain slumped again.

  ‘Take a look at that,’ he said. ‘That’s the future of pirating right there, all haircuts, spreadsheets and retractable pencils.’

  ‘Aarrr …’ said Scurvy Jake, who still did pirate noises despite having retired. ‘Pirating’s a young man’s game. Like Twister or spin the bottle.’

  ‘Exactly,’ nodded the Captain. ‘With my carefree attitude and frank disinterest in ironed clothes, I’m nothing more than a dinosaur.’

  Several pirate crew nearby jumped out of their seats and dropped their cocktails in fright.

  ‘Not an actual dinosaur,’ said the Pirate Captain, rolling his eyes. The pirates breathed a sigh of relief and sat back down again. ‘But my point stands – maybe pirating isn’t really suited to me any more. Perhaps I should turn my hand to something new. I need to evolve from being a dinosaur into … what came after dinosaurs? Chickens? Or was it mice? One of those.’

  Before long, the pirates were all having a heated argument about evolution, with one side coming down on the side of chickens and the other mice. A breakaway faction proposed tardigrades, but it was suggested that they were simply showing off their knowledge of creatures. Just as chickens were getting the upper hand, the debate was interrupted by an overpowering smell of seaweed, and then Jennifer appeared through the crowd pulling a familiar fearsome figure with her. ‘Pirate Captain!’ she exclaimed. ‘Look who I found, it’s Black Bellamy! Your old friend!’

  Black Bellamy beamed, in as much as you can beam when your beard goes all the way up to your eyeballs of darkest pitch and you carry a knife between your teeth.

  The Pirate Captain swore under his breath. ‘He’s not my friend, Jennifer. He’s my eternal nemesis, whom I have sworn to defeat or die trying. Hello, Black Bellamy.’

  ‘Hello, Pirate Captain,’ said Black Bellamy. ‘Bad luck about the awards.’

  ‘Listen, BB, that was a pretty low stunt you pulled with the fake whale business on our adventure before last. I haven’t forgotten that.’ The Pirate Captain frowned. ‘So I’m not talking to you. In fact, don’t even look at me.’ He pointedly swivelled his chair around to face the other way.

  ‘Can I look at Jennifer instead?’ asked Black Bellamy. ‘She’s as lovely as ever, radiant like the moon on a clear night.’

  ‘That’s enough of your sexy metaphors,’ said the Pirate Captain.

  ‘Similes, Pirate Captain. Sexy similes.’

  ‘All right, you can look at me,’ huffed the Captain, turning back round again. ‘But I’d rather you didn’t. And I’m not really in the mood for your tricks right now. I suppose you’re here to con me into buying something that explodes and/or turns out to be full of snakes?’

  Black Bellamy looked hurt. ‘Pirate Captain! It’s so very painful to hear you talk like that. All I wanted to know,’ he paused and fought back a grin, ‘is what kind of pirating you have planned next and whether it involves splicing the mainsail at all?’

  The Captain glowered. ‘Actually, I don’t have any kind of pirating planned next.’ He leaned back in his chair and pulled the most resolute face he could do. ‘Because from this day forth, I am no longer a pirate!’

  He waited for the reaction. A couple of the pirates made gasping sounds, but there was something unconvincing about them. The Captain wondered if he should perhaps make a dramatic gesture to go with his dramatic statement, like stamping on his pirate hat and flinging it into the sea. But it was an expensive hat so he just mimed it instead.

  ‘I really, really mean it,’ said the Pirate Captain, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Jennifer. ‘Pirating is brilliant fun. And besides, what would you do instead?’

  Black Bellamy seemed bemused. ‘Yes, Pirate Captain, what’s it going to be this time?’

  The Pirate Captain puffed out his hairy cheeks. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He looked about the cocktail lounge. Failing to find inspiration there he looked at his crew. One of them was wearing a fashionable yellow and black striped top.

  ‘Bees!’ exclaimed the Pirate Captain, surprising himself a little. ‘I will raise bees.’

  ‘Really?’ said Black Bellamy and Jennifer in unison.

  ‘Oh yes. You’re probably thinking that I just said “bees” because I happened to look at that pirate in the stripy top and it was simply the first thing that popped into my head, but actually I’ve been interested in bees all my life. Fact is I’ve spent many a pleasant afternoon dreaming about the simple life of a beekeeper. Tending to them one by one, washing their little bee faces, drawing them pictures of hexagons. Later, perhaps, singing them to sleep under the stars with a tender rustic ballad of times gone by.’

  ‘But, Pirate Captain, you love being a pirate,’ said Jennifer. ‘You’re always pointing out the myriad lifestyle benefits. Getting to travel the world, catch exotic diseases and learn about bloody murder and all that stuff.’

  ‘That’s because I was looking at piracy through rose-tinted spectacles,’ the Captain replied. ‘In fact, there’s very little job security. The hours are terrible. And those barnacles get everywhere. I found one in my belly button the other day.’

  The crew didn’t look convinced. The Captain reflected that if they were as good at pirating as they were at not looking convinced he would be a very rich man, probably with a solid-gold pirate boat. He tried another tack.

  ‘Also, lads, in today’s world, given the industrial revolution and all, you have t
o start thinking ecologically. Remember that adventure we had with those Aztecs? Where, when they wouldn’t give us that big diamond skull, we burnt their entire jungle to the ground? Our carbon footprint must be gigantic. Not like bee-keeping. Once we’re up and running we’ll be entirely self-sufficient. That’s the great thing about bees. We’ll get a constant supply of nutritious honey. We can use their little bee pelts to make warm clothes. And they’re a ready source of beef.’

  ‘Beef?’ said Jennifer.

  ‘Beef. Beef from the bees. Hence the name.’7

  The pirate crew fell silent for a moment, because it was difficult to argue with environmental matters.

  ‘It sounds like a fine plan, Captain,’ said Black Bellamy. ‘But you’ll be needing some land.’

  The Pirate Captain shrugged. ‘I was thinking I could just grow them on my boat. Use the cannons as beehives, something like that.’

  ‘Can’t keep bees on a boat,’ reasoned Black Bellamy. ‘There are no flowers at sea.’

  The pirates nodded and thought to themselves how the phrase ‘there are no flowers at sea’ sounded very poignant and would make a nice tattoo or maybe a good lyric for a sad shanty.

  ‘But by sheer good fortune I think I might have just the thing,’ said Bellamy, his eyes lighting up. Don’t go anywhere, Pirate Captain, I’ll be back in a tick.’

  Black Bellamy hurried off across the bar to another table where his crew were playing an old pirate drinking game that involved making up names for the Royal Navy, and returned a moment later waving a couple of pieces of paper.

  ‘I know that in the past I’ve not always been strictly above board with you, Pirate Captain,’ said Black Bellamy, looking serious. ‘But if you’re really giving up pirating then I’d like us to part on good terms. And to show bygones are bygones, I’m going to help you in your new life, because it just so happens that I recently acquired some prime real estate. It’s a beautiful tropical island in the Atlantic called St Helena. These are the title deeds.’

  Bellamy handed the papers to the Pirate Captain, who looked at them suspiciously.

  ‘Wait a minute, BB. If I know one thing about oceans it’s that the Pacific is the nice warm one and that the Atlantic is the rubbish cold one.’

  Black Bellamy smiled. ‘Oh, Pirate Captain, I can see you’re as sharp as ever. But you see, there’s a trade wind which keeps the whole island at the delightful ambient temperature of … what’s your favourite temperature?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Thirty-two degrees?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it – thirty-two degrees. Perfect bee-keeping weather. Famed for its bees, St Helena is. I hear they grow to the size of dachshunds.8 I had been hoping to hold onto it for myself, as a relaxing winter holiday home. But I see now that you’ll make much better use of the place than me. So I want you to take these entirely bona-fide deeds, Pirate Captain, for nothing more than a nominal friends-only bargain price.’

  The Pirate Captain looked again at the papers which Black Bellamy had produced.

  ‘It does look quite nice,’ said the Captain thoughtfully. ‘And I suppose I should give you a chance to make up for your past behaviour. How much are you after, you rogue?’

  ‘Oh, again with the hurtful names. But I won’t hold it against you, Captain. So why don’t we just say …’ Black Bellamy paused and stroked his beard for a moment. ‘A hundred doubloons. After all, you won’t really be needing treasure now you’re a bee-keeper.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said the Captain. ‘This island. Any inhabitants?’

  ‘Just a full complement of indigenous ladies.’

  ‘Winsome?’

  ‘Very.’

  The Pirate Captain mulled things over for a moment. He tried to picture a pie chart in his mind of ‘good reasons to stay in pirating’ and ‘good reasons to go and live on a lush tropical island’. And to his surprise the pie chart didn’t even have a missing piece of pie, it was just a big circle, full of relaxing evenings, bucolic bees and native ladies.

  He drew himself up to his full height and shook Black Bellamy’s hand manfully. ‘All right, BB, you’ve got yourself a deal.’

  ‘You won’t regret this, Pirate Captain,’ said Bellamy, turning round to give his crew, who all seemed to be suddenly overcome by a fit of giggles, a thumbs up. ‘I think it’s the start of a brilliant new career.’9

  ‘Of course,’ added the Pirate Captain, ‘you can’t really go on being my nemesis now that I’m a bee-keeper. Unless you fancy giving up pirating too? You could raise wasps.’

  6 The biggest baby ever born in Britain weighed 15lb 2oz. But in 1879 an Ohio woman is recorded as giving birth to a 241b baby. That’s 0.0109 double-decker buses!

  7 Another use for bees, as developed by the US Military, is to get them to sniff out bombs. By applying Pavlovian conditioning techniques the bees have been trained to stick their tongues out whenever they smell explosives.

  8 The largest bee in the world, the Megachile pluto, is actually 1.5 inches long – that’s 0.00416 double-decker buses, or about the length of one giant baby’s ears.

  9 Don’t worry if you haven’t found your ideal career yet. Lots of famous people were late starters. Buster Merryfield from Only Fools And Horses didn’t take up acting until he was in his sixties.

  Four

  UNDER BRAZIL BY

  SUBMARINE

  ennifer watched the seagulls circle lazily around the mast of the pirate boat, flicked a barnacle off her cutlass and frowned. She’d expected the other pirates to be distraught at the prospect of becoming a bee-keeping crew. But if anything they were more relaxed than ever. The pirate with gout and the pirate in green were having a competition to see who could look most louche. The pirate with asthma was telling the pirate with a nut allergy about the different kinds of gravy boat you could get nowadays. The albino pirate was trying to train a whelk to do tricks. Even the pirate with a scarf didn’t seem particularly bothered. It was, Jennifer decided, obviously up to her to take action.

  ‘Come on, you lot!’ she exclaimed, kicking a cannon with her steel-tipped pirate boot to get the crew’s attention. ‘We can’t just muck about when our entire way of life is under threat thanks to the whims of that … that man. It’s time to stand up and be counted and fight like proper pirates for everything we believe in!’

  A few of the pirates clapped because they felt that was what was expected, but none of them showed any signs of action.

  ‘Listen, do you know what I’d be doing if I was still a Victorian lady instead of a pirate?’ Jennifer persisted.

  The pirates didn’t have a clue, but the pirate with long legs tried a guess. ‘Having a shower?’

  ‘No,’ said Jennifer, ‘I’d be playing the harpsichord and singing about hills. Every single bloody night, while feckless men with curly hair said things like “a marvellous recital, my dear” and “you have a most comely singing voice, Miss Jennifer” and “I do hear that Mr. Gilliray has sent to London for new gaiters”. There is no way I’m going back to that when there are jewels to rub on our faces and people to stab.’10

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry,’ said the albino pirate. ‘The Pirate Captain is always giving up pirating. It’s part of “the rich tapestry of life under his command,” or so he says.’

  ‘I’ve been with him for fifteen years,’ said the grizzled pirate with skin like an old accordion, ‘and in that time he’s given up pirating to become a fireman, a magician, a short-order chef, a Russian spy, a statue, an enigma and a circus strongman. And I’m senile, so I’ve probably forgotten dozens more.’

  The pirate with a scarf leaned against the mast and stroked his rugged chin thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know. I think Jennifer might have a point. The Captain did a thing with his jaw this time that I’ve never seen before. I worry when he does new facial expressions. He normally only has three or four.’

  ‘Come off it,’ snorted the pirate in red. ‘He doesn’t know the first thing about bee-keeping; he literally doesn’t know one end
of a bee from the other.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to leave things to chance,’ said Jennifer. ‘And I’ve got an idea. Because if I’ve learnt one thing about our Captain, it’s that he tends to follow the path of least resistance.’

  ‘That’s true,’ nodded the pirate in green.

  ‘So, perhaps if pirating was made to seem a little easier, then he might forget all about this bee-keeping business.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Right,’ said Jennifer, leaning over to whisper into the pirate with a scarf’s ear conspiratorially. ‘Here’s my plan.’

  Jennifer burst into the Pirate Captain’s cabin, waving a piece of old parchment that smelled faintly of tea and matches. The Captain, nose deep in a book, looked up in surprise.

  ‘You’ll never guess what just happened!’ exclaimed Jennifer. ‘Whilst you were busy down here an old dying pirate turned up on a raft! He was half-mad with sunstroke, but just before he expired he gave us this map, and he said something about how there were a million doubloons buried in a secret cove, and he added that it would be really easy to find, and he promised that there’d be necklaces and emeralds and stuff like that. So, should I order the boys to change course?’

  ‘Aaarr,’ said the Pirate Captain, going back to his book with a shrug. ‘You know how it is with treasure. It’s bound to be guarded by a giant crab or undead skeletons or something. Best off sticking with the bees. Most of their adventures seem to consist of meeting up with friendly children and helping them out.’

  Jennifer looked confused. The Pirate Captain held up his book, the cover of which showed a cute child with ringlets and a smiling bee on her finger. The title read The Children’s Golden Treasury of Bee Stories.

  ‘It’s the absolute bible of all things bee-related,’ said the Pirate Captain. ‘It tells you all about how they live, but in the form of easily digested large-print stories with plenty of pictures. Look: here’s one of a couple of bees sledging with a teddy bear. I imagine the bear’s a bit fanciful, but the sledging looks about right. Clever little things, they are.’