The Steampunk Pirates cheered. The Electrical Soldiers saluted.
“No, no, no. This isn’t right,” protested Mr Swift. “It’s not fair.”
“But it is progress,” said Pendle.
Tesla picked up Mr Swift and raised him above his head.
“Put me down,” he cried, struggling hopelessly. “I order you to put me down and finish these Steampunk Pirates.”
“WE WILL NOT OBEY,” said Tesla. “NO… I WILL NOT OBEY.”
“I WILL NOT OBEY,” said Faraday.
“I WILL NOT OBEY,” said the rest of the army.
“Och, and what will you do with this tinkering wee rascal?” asked Gadge. “Keep him or throw him out?”
“THROW HIM OUT,” they replied.
“You can’t,” said Mr Swift. “I made you.”
“And now you’re going to make a splash,” said Captain Clockheart. “So long, Swift.”
Tesla lobbed Mr Swift overboard. As he hit the water, the Electrical Soldiers and the Steampunk Pirates raised their arms and cheered. Pendle leaned over to see Mr Swift splashing about in the murky water of the River Thames.
“I am your c-c-creator.” He shivered. “I deserve respect.”
“No one deserves respect,” said Pendle. “Respect must be earned.”
“Now, Pendle.” Captain Clockheart placed a hand on his cabin boy’s shoulder. “Before you start reading morals into this, I think it’s high time we were off. Mr Tesla, Mr Faraday and the rest of you, I suggest you don’t hang around either. London is no place for outlaws like ourselves. We’re not law abiding. We’re not land residing. We’re pirates, scoundrels, scallywags and ne’er-do-wells. The only home we have is the open ocean.”
The crew of the Leaky Battery felt better for being back in the Caribbean, where the water was blue and the skies were clear.
Ridgey had hung around long enough to discover that the treasure was worthless. Once he realized there was no booty to be shared, he announced that he was leaving.
“You sure about that?” said Captain Clockheart. “I’ll be sorry to see you go.”
“Off you go!” said Twitter. “Off you go!”
“I think one bird is quite enough for a ship,” said Ridgey.
“Where will you go?” asked Pendle.
“I’m going to find that electrical lot. They’ve got a lot going for them, but they’re in need of someone with ideas – someone like me, if they’re going to make it in this piracy game.”
“Good luck,” said Captain Clockheart.
“Goodbye,” said Lexi.
“Good riddance!” said Twitter.
The following day the helmsman steered the Leaky Battery into a safe harbour. They dropped anchor to make the repairs that had been needed since the storm.
Pendle sat at the bow of the ship, with a long line of moaning pirates ahead of her. She had finished making Twitter’s new set of wings and was finally able to pay them some attention. Twitter’s new wings were bigger than the old ones, but Pendle had to explain that it was not practical for them to be quite as large as Ridgey’s.
While Gadge led the crew in a rousing singalong, Captain Clockheart leaned over the stern to inspect a patch that needed fixing. He heard the click-tick-tock of Mainspring before his first mate spoke.
“What can I do for you, First Mate Mainspring?” he asked, not bothering to turn around.
“Click, you never asked why I didn’t take the ship as you instructed. Tick, you know that’s what I wanted. Tock, you know one day that’s what I’ll do.”
“I was just pleased that you decided to do the right thing,” said Captain Clockheart.
“Click, what if I didn’t decide? Tick, what if I was forced to do the right thing? Tock, what if I wanted to leave you?”
Captain Clockheart turned around to face his first mate. Steam hissed from his ears. “Now, Mr Mainspring, I don’t pretend to know anyone’s reasons for doing anything and, to be honest, I’m not interested. Who cares why you do things? All that matters is what you do.”
First Mate Mainspring looked at the queue in front of Pendle. “Click, it’s good to have the lad back,” he said.
“Aye,” said Captain Clockheart. “Pendle is worth his weight in gold.”
“Which is more than you can say about that gold,” said Lexi, joining them.
Captain Clockheart chuckled. “That’s very true. Now let’s get this ship back to its former glory. There’s a whole ocean of trouble out there and I’ve a feeling a lot of it will be coming our way.”
“Or we’ll be going its way,” said Gadge, climbing down a rope ladder to join them.
“We’re Steampunk Pirates,” said Captain Clockheart. “Trouble is the only way we know. Now, Mr Gadge, a song, if you please.”
Gadge raised his voice and sang while the rest of the crew rattled their heads and banged their chests along with him.
Of all the alehouses in Barbary Bay, The Slurring Mariner was the most dangerous, dirty and downright disgusting. Mrs Smellgrove’s ale was strong, dark and served with a dead rat floating in it.1 Her rock-hard pies had more chance of escaping unharmed than the customers who dared eat them.
But the four metallic men who stood at the bar had no interest in beer or food.
“Four tankards of your crudest oil, if you’d be so kind, landlady,” said Captain Clockheart.
“Just water for me, actually,” said Quartermaster Lexi.
Some landladies would have been confused by this unusual order, but Mrs Smellgrove simply poured out the three tankards of unrefined oil and one glass of extremely murky-looking water. Quartermaster Lexi paid her and the Steampunk Pirates took their drinks.
“What brings you here to Barbary Bay tonight then, gents?” she asked.
“Click, to trade. Tick, looted goods. Tock, for gold,” said First Mate Mainspring.
Captain Clockheart downed his oil and slammed the empty tankard back on the bar. The clock in the middle of his chest ticked loudly and steam gushed from his ears.
“Trading goods, eh?” said Mrs Smellgrove.
“Yes,” Captain Clockheart replied. “We picked up some valuable items on our last few raids. We’re here to exchange them for gold and coal.”
“Why gold and coal?” asked the landlady, mopping up some dribbles of oil with a grubby cloth.
“We want gold to replace our rusting iron parts.” The word-wheel in Quartermaster Lexi’s head spun round as he spoke. “Coal is fuel, energy … food.”
“Aye, lassie. Gold for our parts, coal for our hearts,” agreed Gadge.
“Click, not all of us care for coal,” said Mainspring. “Tick, I run on clockwork.”
“Don’t we know it, you overgrown pocket watch!” said Gadge.
“Tock, what did you call me?”
Mainspring was reaching for his cutlass when the whole alehouse fell silent. A black-bearded man entered. He wore a large three-cornered hat with two small holes cut into the material, as though he had a pair of eyes on top of his head.
He glanced around the bar, brandished his cutlass and shouted, “Good news, you washed-up sea dogs! Old Inkybeard and Nancy are recruiting again. If you want adventure and riches, step forward now and join us.”
“Join you?” shouted one drinker. “I heard you set fire to your last ship.”
“It wasn’t even yours to sink,” said another.
“And your crew was still on board when it went down,” said a third man.
“Now, Nancy, don’t listen to the nasty men.” The pirate removed his hat to reveal a squid sitting on his head, with its tentacles wrapped around his neck and shoulders. “For those of you who are unfamiliar with my wife, this is Nancy.”
The squid blinked.
“Evening, Inkybeard,” said Mrs Smellgrove. “A bowl of mussels for Nancy, is it?”
“That’d be smashing, Mrs Smellgrove,” he replied. “But it’s the Dread Captain Inkybeard, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh yes, of cours
e. Sorry,” said Mrs Smellgrove.
“Hey, laddie, why have you got a squid on your head?” asked Gadge.
Inkybeard caressed a tentacle draped over his right shoulder. “Old Nancy’s black ink helps keep my beard from going grey, don’t it, girl? Now, we don’t need to ask who you are. The ocean is awash with rumours of you metallic marauders. What will they think of next, Nancy?” Inkybeard walked around the Steampunk Pirates, inspecting them carefully. He reached out to touch the spinning wheel on Lexi’s head. “What’s this for, then?”
“My word-wheel allows me to access information,” replied Lexi. The wheel spun round and Inkybeard quickly withdrew his finger. “The Dread Captain Inkybeard,” said Lexi. “Wanted in twelve countries for various crimes, including piracy, pillaging and stealing salmon.”
“Nancy is partial to a bit of salmon, aren’t you, girl?” said Inkybeard, stroking the squid.
“Inkybeard also has a reputation for betraying his crew and sinking his own ships,” continued Lexi.
“You don’t want to believe everything you read. So you’re the brains – there’s no need to ask who’s the brawn.” With the tip of his cutlass, Inkybeard lifted up Gadge’s barrel-like forearm and inspected it. It twisted around and a dagger attachment sprung out. Inkybeard moved away and turned his attention to the key slowly revolving in First Mate Mainspring’s back. “What happens if I wind this up, then?” he asked.
“Click, give it a try. Tick, and find out,” said Mainspring.
Captain Clockheart stepped in front of Inkybeard, steam shooting from his head. “I’m the captain and you’ll leave my officers alone, if you know what’s good for you.”
“It’s one thing to call yourself a captain. It’s another to be one.” Inkybeard waved away the steam gushing from Clockheart’s head and turned back to the others. “If you lot have any sense, you’ll get rid of this bucket of steam and find a real captain for your vessel. As luck would have it, Nancy and I are currently in need of a ship.”
“You won’t set foot on the Leaky Battery while I have fire in my belly,” said Captain Clockheart.
“And what if someone was to put out that fire?” threatened Inkybeard.
“Click, if anything happened to him. Tick, we’d replace him with one of our own,” said Mainspring. “Tock, not a soft skin like you.”
Inkybeard smiled at First Mate Mainspring. “Ah, is that ambition we detect? Nancy and I like a bit of healthy ambition.”
“I suggest you walk away now.” Captain Clockheart drew his cutlass and his clock hand whizzed round and round.
Mrs Smellgrove had seen enough fights break out in her alehouse over the years to know the signs. She threw the filthy dishcloth over the pile of pork pies and took cover behind the bar.
1 A live rat was available for an extra penny.
Copyright
STRIPES PUBLISHING
An imprint of Little Tiger Press
1 The Coda Centre, 189 Munster Road,
London SW6 6AW
Text copyright © Gareth P. Jones, 2015
Illustrations copyright © Artful Doodlers, 2015
First published as an ebook by Stripes Publishing in 2015
eISBN: 978–1–84715–736–2
The rights of Gareth P. Jones and Artful Doodlers to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any forms, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
www.littletiger.co.uk
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