‘DEBATE BRIEFING – HOW TO WIN’
1. SMILE AND MAKE EYE CONTACT: Statistics show that floating voters are 45 per cent more likely to vote for the candidate who looks happiest.
2. KEEP YOUR MOUTH MOIST: If it’s dry, suck a peppermint – there’s a bag in your left pocket.
3. CONCENTRATE: Focus on the debate. Really, Pirate Captain, please don’t let your mind wander. I can’t state this strongly enough.
Good luck! The lads are rooting for you.
The Captain was pleased to see that Jennifer had also kissed the bottom of the paper and left a lip print.
With Napoleon still in full flow, the pirate Captain decided to tackle the list in order. First of all he did his most winning grin, opened his eyes really wide and swept his gaze across the whole audience, taking care to make lingering eye contact with every single person there. Several of the islanders flinched, two or three looked petrified and one old man fled the room. Sure enough, after his smiling teeth had been exposed for a full five minutes, his mouth was feeling quite dry, so he fished around in his pocket for the bag of peppermints and popped one into his mouth. Then he began to concentrate. This wasn’t really something the Pirate Captain had much experience of, but he’d seen other people concentrate, and he knew that it involved furrowing your brow and pursing your lips. So he furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, and was happy to find that concentrating was a lot easier than he had been expecting. In fact, the Captain was so pleased with how well his concentrating was going that he decided to treat himself to another peppermint.
Years of circumnavigating the globe had eventually persuaded the Pirate Captain that the world might be spherical after all, much like a peppermint. And as he held it between finger and thumb, a strange thought struck him – what if this mint was a world itself? What sort of world would it be? Probably the green stripes would be the habitable continents, covered with fields and tiny sugary forests, while the white stripes would be frozen wastelands, perhaps inhabited by savage creatures that looked like a cross between a polar bear and a centipede and fired electricity from their antlers. The natives of Mintworld would live in cities lining the frontier between the wasteland and the habitable green stripes, with the streets covered with statues of their god, who would have a luxuriant beard and a pleasant, open face. Looking closer at the peppermint, the Pirate Captain felt he could almost see one of the biggest cities on Mintworld, a bustling hive of rogues and adventurers who hunted the polar-bear-centipede things in the wasteland for their fur and meat. Many crews would sail from the city in great mintships, which were captained by brave characters much admired by the citizens. A particularly dashing mintshipman was known for his daring and clean good looks. Female Mintworlders probably had posters of him on their walls and sighed when they thought about his broad neck and strong arms. But the mintshipman only had eyes for one Mintworld lady and that was a lovely princess who lived in a big tower on the other side of the wasteland, where her cruel father had imprisoned her for some mean reason that the Pirate Captain couldn’t think of right now, but it was probably something to do with a prophecy. The mintshipman would sail across the wasteland for many days, avoiding perils like mysterious gas, robots and potholes, all to spend some time gazing at the lovely princess, who had a nice singing voice and wore one of those flimsy frocks that go a bit see-through in the right light. After he’d done a spot of gazing, he’d get bored and sail off for a while, but a couple of weeks later he’d be back to moon around and look all romantic.
At some point, decided the Pirate Captain, the mintshipman would get sick of mucking about and he’d pluck up the courage to go and talk to the princess’s father, the King. He’d have a big row with him and they’d use all kinds of insults, including swearing, like calling each other—,— and ——. Eventually, the King would decree that the mintshipman could meet his daughter only if he could make a gigantic fry-up to feed the whole of his nasty royal family. The mintshipman would pop down to the nearest shop and buy a ton of bacon, loads of eggs, mountains of black pudding and the biggest frying pan on Mintworld. Then he’d chip off some bits of peppermint and make a big fire, onto which he’d put the frying pan and cook everything. He’d serve the mighty breakfast up to the King and his family with a fried slice each and beans for those that wanted them.
After they’d finished their fry-up, the King would wipe his chops and say thank you, but he wanted him to complete another task, which was doing the dishes, even though it wasn’t his turn. The mintshipman would grit his teeth and do them anyway. Then the King would say that he quite fancied a cup of tea and oh, the kitchen floor needs cleaning too while you’re in there. And the mintshipman would grumble and get on with the job because he really wanted a chance to meet the daughter. Then the dog would run in and mess up the floor again and the mintshipman would say oh for goodness’ sake does anybody in this place appreciate anything I do around here? Then the King would say OK, the mintshipman could meet his daughter if he was just going to moan all the time and he’d give him the key to the tower.
The mintshipman would climb the steps to the top of the tower and unlock the door. He’d be a bit nervous, but still extremely charming and handsome. But then, when he’d walk into the room, he’d see the princess was just a big puppet being operated by the King, who would turn to the mintshipman and say ha ha got you, it’s just a joke to get suckers like you to do all the chores, oh, the look on your face and soon. And the mintshipman would say it was a — liberty and not at all funny.
The Pirate Captain angrily flicked Mintworld into his mouth and crunched it up. He was furious at the way these Mintworlders treated each other and decided to be a vengeful god and get rid of the lot of them.
‘… and that’s why there should be legislation to stop buy-to-let landlords taking advantage of easy credit and tax breaks, because it simply prices first-time buyers out of the market,’ finished Napoleon.
‘Thank you for that,’ said the Governor. ‘A very illuminating and robust answer. Now, Pirate Captain, you’ve been uncharacteristically silent for the last hour. Can we have your rebuttal?’
It suddenly dawned on the Pirate Captain that perhaps he wasn’t quite as good at concentrating as he thought he was.
He cleared his throat. Then he played for time by tapping his teeth. Then he whistled for a bit. Eventually it was pretty obvious that tapping his teeth and whistling would only cut it for so long, and that he was going to have to actually say something. ‘My rebuttal … Myyyyy rebuttal.’ He paused again and stared at the ceiling. ‘Well, you may ask, Governor. Oh yes. And it’s quite a rebuttal. It’s coming up right about now. Here it comes.’
Everybody looked at him expectantly.
‘My rebuttal,’ said the Pirate Captain, ‘is that Napoleon is so fat, whenever he swims in the sea they put out flood warnings all along the coast.’
The islanders, the Governor, Napoleon, and even the pirates gasped.
‘It’s because of the displacement of water, you see,’ the Captain continued. ‘Rather like a pirate boat, his grotesque obesity causes …’
He trailed off. From the look on everybody’s faces it began to occur to him that possibly the word ‘rebuttal’ didn’t mean exactly what he thought it did.
‘Pirate Captain!’ bellowed Napoleon. ‘You go too far!’ He stormed forward until they were nose to nose. The little general had turned the colour of an aubergine, and he was shaking from the top of his hat to the tip of his leather boots. For a moment, the Pirate Captain thought he was in real trouble. But Napoleon just pulled off his glove and slapped him in the face with it.
‘Oh, that’s a relief,’ exclaimed the Pirate Captain, letting out a big sigh. ‘I thought you were going to do something terrible.’ Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that the pirate crew had all turned ashen, so much so that he couldn’t even tell which one was the albino anymore. He waved to show them that there was no harm done. ‘Don’t worry, lads.’ He grinned. ‘I’m fine.
Barely a scratch. In fact, I’ve been slapped with much worse things than a glove. Black Bellamy slapped me in the face with a dolphin once. Why are you all looking so distraught?’
‘We duel at dawn,’ said Napoleon.
‘Bother,’ said the Pirate Captain.
26 Although a large majority of people who watched the Kennedy/Nixon presidential debate on television thought that Kennedy performed best, those listening to it on radio rated the candidates about equal. Which suggests that for most of the electorate ‘not sweating like a pig’ is a key political consideration.
Fourteen
ANKLE-DEEP IN
SHARKS
ell number two, it looks like I’ve done it again,’ said the Pirate Captain, reluctantly hafting himself out of his bath. Bleary-eyed he squinted at the clock above the sink. It was 7.30 A.M., which was a time that he hadn’t even realised existed until now. ‘No matter how often I mention learning from my mistakes, I always seem to end up slap bang in the middle of another life-or-death situation.’
The pirate with a scarf handed the Pirate Captain his best towel, which had some pictures of lions lazing around and “I’ve bathed with the lions at Longleat!’ written across the top, and tried to affect a philosophical expression. ‘I think the trouble is unfortunately the one thing you have learned, Captain, is that you usually manage to get away with it, so there’s no real deterrent.’
‘It’s not really my fault. The problem is that my mouth just comes out with these things. And you can’t blame me for what my mouth does, can you? Curse this mouth. Do you think it might be possessed?’ The Pirate Captain looked in the mirror and made his mouth into a series of shapes that he thought looked demonic.
‘It may be impetuous, sir, but it’s also bursting with quiet resolve and kissable softness,’ said the pirate with a scarf, as tactful as ever.
‘I suppose it is one of my best features,’ sighed the Pirate Captain. ‘Still, if it wasn’t for the sensuous curve of my lips I think I’d probably cut my mouth off and have done with it. I reckon I could cope perfectly well without one.’
As the pirate with a scarf brushed the Captain’s teeth, they both contemplated what life would be like if the Pirate Captain had no mouth. The pirate with a scarf could certainly see an upside, but on balance he thought that he’d miss hearing the Pirate Captain use his mouth to say things like ‘scurvy lubbers’ and ‘Do we have any Coco Pops?’
‘Even so, I’m not too worried,’ continued the Captain, after he had gargled. ‘You know what these generals are like. Stand at the back shouting orders and expect the little man to do all the work for them. Would you mind putting my deodorant on for me, number two? My arms are still quite sleepy.’
He lifted his arms. ‘But there’s no little man to do the work for him this time, is there? Frankly, I doubt he’s ever picked up a sword in his life.’
‘All France Champion, 1810, 1811, 1812. European Gold Medal four years running. What épée? Man of the Year, 1814,’ said the pirate with a scarf.
The Pirate Captain wilted a bit.
‘Red pants or blue pants?’ asked the pirate with a scarf.
‘Red. Do you think there’s some sort of ancient martial art that bee-keepers have passed down from generation to generation? Ideally something that I can learn in about twenty minutes while I get dressed?’
‘I’m afraid there’s nothing in the Children’s Golden Treasury of Bee Stories along those lines.’ The pirate with a scarf paused. ‘I know it’s not in your nature, Captain, but it’s really not too late to flee. Nobody would think any less of you.’
The Captain snorted imperiously. ‘You know me. “Flee” isn’t in my vocabulary. By which I don’t mean “flee” isn’t in my vocabulary in the same way that “rebuttal” isn’t in my vocabulary. I know what “flee” means. In fact, I know what both spellings of the word “flee” means, double “e” and “ea”. But my point is this – the Pirate Captain doesn’t flee.’ He did his resolute face and stared out of the bathroom window. All of a sudden his eyes lit up. ‘And he doesn’t need to, because he’s just come up with a maverick yet brilliant idea that pretty much guarantees him victory. Only I’m not going to say what it is, number two, because I don’t want to undermine the impending drama for you.’
There was a real spirit of carnival down on the beach. As ever, the pirate crew demonstrated a touching faith in their Captain which bordered on the delusional, so they were waving banners, blowing horns and joking with the islanders. Enterprising types were selling snacks and football rattles. They all cheered as the Pirate Captain and the pirate with a scarf appeared over the brow of the hill. The Captain was wearing his best blousy shirt, his beard was gleaming in the early morning light and he’d polished all his gold teeth. As he strode manfully towards the shore the only thing that could have made him look even more heroic than he already did would have been the theme to Flash Gordon playing in the background, but it was a hundred and seventy years too early for that.
‘So, this is dawn is it?’ the Captain muttered, staring out at the horizon. ‘I have to admit, it’s very pretty the way it does all those orangey colours. I didn’t know sky got up to that kind of thing.’ He turned to Jennifer, who was carrying his cutlass. ‘Well, Jennifer. Here I am, facing almost certain death. Possibly these are my last few minutes on Earth. You know what might be a nice send-off?’
‘Sorry, Pirate Captain,’ said Jennifer, giving him a warm but platonic embrace. ‘I already told you I won’t do that. But good luck anyhow, we’re all rooting for you.’
The crowd murmured amongst themselves excitedly as from the other end of the beach Napoleon appeared. He marched forward with a businesslike air, kitted out in a set of immaculate white fencing gear. The pirate who followed fashion reckoned Napoleon had already lost the most important battle, mainly because the pirate who followed fashion didn’t read many books and thought Napoleon had a sieve on his face. The two men stood toe to toe and everything fell silent, except for the rolling Atlantic Ocean which seemed pretty disinterested in the whole affair and went on crashing against the rocks that lined either side of the bay.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the Governor, gravely. ‘In all my years on St Helena, never have I had to oversee an event as regrettable as the duel you are about to witness. Please! Don’t cheer! It’s horrible. I would beseech both parties one last time to resolve this in some more amicable way.’
‘Fair enough,’ said the Pirate Captain, shrugging. He held a conciliatory hand out to his rival. ‘How about a game of Monopoly? I’ll let you be the dog, if you like. And to show you just how amicable I’m feeling I don’t even mind if you want me to be the wheelbarrow. Normally I hate being the wheelbarrow.’
‘I am sorry,’ replied Napoleon, cricking his neck. ‘But we Corsicans are a proud breed. Only blood can wipe the stain from my honour.’27
‘Honestly, Napoleon,’ said the Captain with a sigh. ‘That doesn’t even make sense. How can blood wipe away a stain? It’s just going to make an even bigger stain. White wine might do the trick.’
‘Gentlemen, please take your positions,’ said the Governor, ‘which we have marked with little sandcastles – the Pirate Captain’s being a tiny ship and Napoleon’s a miniature Versailles. Thanks to the St Helena Competitive Sandcastle Group for that.’
A group of islanders cheered.
‘They’d like me to remind everyone that they meet every Tuesday morning at nine down here on the beach. Bring your own bucket and spade.’
The Pirate Captain liked sandcastles and made a mental note to pop along next Tuesday, before remembering that there was a distinct possibility he’s be cut to pieces before then.28
‘Now, I want a good clean fight to the death. No scratching, biting, goading, bombing, petting, or hitting each other with tables, ladders or chairs. Sexy distractions are strictly forbidden.’ The Governor looked up at the stormy sky. ‘And if you could get it over with before this drizzle turns into proper rain, I�
��m sure we’d all be very grateful.’
Napoleon swept his rapier from its scabbard. He bowed to the Pirate Captain and raised his blade. ‘En garde!’
‘Aaarr. That means put your cutlass up, doesn’t it? You know, for this to be fair I really should be going backwards up a staircase.’
The Pirate Captain decided to start the duel the same way he played chess – by closing his eyes and making as much noise as possible. Cutlass hit rapier and steel rang on steel and there were even some sparks, which delighted everyone, because it looked really dramatic. The Captain lunged forward energetically, his beard shook and his earrings jangled. Things seemed to be going so well he even decided to do a little pirouette between blows, as Napoleon edged backwards under the onslaught.
‘I’m no expert on fencing,’ said the pirate in red, watching from the sidelines, ‘but you have to admire Napoleon’s parrying. He’s not really moving anything but his wrist, is he?’
‘I think they’re toying with each other, looking for weaknesses,’ said the pirate in green. ‘Napoleon’s main weakness seems to be that he looks a little bored, whilst the Pirate Captain’s main weakness is that he’s already hopelessly out of breath and has no technique whatsoever.’
‘Why on earth is he twirling about like that?’ asked Jennifer. ‘Do you think he’s drunk?’
‘Don’t worry,’ said the pirate with a scarf, trying to look as hopeful as possible. ‘The Captain told me that he has “something up his sleeve”.’
Every time the Pirate Captain swung, he was annoyed to find Napoleon’s blade already there. He aimed a blow right at his opponent’s neck, but the general simply hopped to one side, and the Pirate Captain’s momentum nearly sent him tumbling onto the sand. Napoleon whirled around and sliced dangerously at the Captain’s unprotected left side. ‘A surprise flank attack,’ Napoleon announced with a grin, ‘similar to that which secured my victory at Castiglione.’
In an Adventure With Napoleon Page 10