Notes from Small Planets

by Nate Crowley

  Always carry two coin bags – one obvious and ostentatious, containing exactly 17 per cent of your monthly salary, and one auxiliary, containing the rest of your cash, as well as Exemption Form 23-Arrrr, available from the CFC. Pirates will take care to only rob the former.

  When travelling on certain ships or staying in certain ports in the Stormwracks, more senior Pirates may rob from your auxiliary coin bag, citing Counter-exemption 499. If this occurs, don’t panic – just submit a reimbursement claim to the Department of Buccaneering on Remittance Island, using Form 213-B. You should receive at least 80 per cent of what was robbed within twenty-eight days.

  Climate and Terrain

  If you’ve been paying attention so far, you’ll probably have got the picture: there’s a lot of sea on Spume. In fact, there’s not much else.[19] As for climate, Spume is especially maddening: the bright white sun moves in different directions on different days, and there are no less than six possible equators, each of which migrates over time. The good news is that, because you’re technically never more than 23 degrees north or south of an equator, you’re always in the tropics. On the other hand, it makes the weather insane. Only the most scholarly Pirates even pretend to comprehend Spumish meteorology, and climatic maps tend to look as if a child has been given a bag of military-grade crank and told to draw a ball of string. As a tourist, however, all you need to know is which areas tend to be calm and which are stormy – let the Pirates figure out the rest.

  YE OLDE FORESTRY COMMISSION

  You wouldn’t think there’d be much need for forestry management in Spume, but you’d be wrong. Mangrove swamps spread for miles around many of the larger islands, while lush rainforest tends to spring up on any flat ground past the tide-line, and sheer demand for shipbuilding timber means it all has to be carefully stewarded. Still, the real work of the CFC’s Forestry Commission is out at sea: a whole fleet of ships patrols Spume’s smallest islands, trimming back all foliage until only a single, iconic palm tree remains. It’s this attention to detail that makes Spume as magical as it is.

  Wildlife

  The odds are, if you can imagine a ridiculous form of marine life, it probably exists on Spume. The Pirate biologist Tobias H. Beastcounter once tried to compile a full bestiary, but died at the age of ninety-three having got halfway through the section on crabs. These volumes alone took up half the hold of his ship. So, rather than attempt to summarise Spume’s frankly bewildering biodiversity, it’s best to focus on some of the more charismatic, dangerous or culturally important species.

  The Palmback (Hyperchelonus Peudinsularis) is a turtle-like colossus, measuring two miles or more fully grown, which spends most of its time basking at the surface. They are infamous for looking and behaving exactly like islands – until they submerge. As a result, Palmbacks are one great reason not to go island-hopping without an experienced guide.

  Sea Serpents (Anguis Megamaritimus) are aquatic snakes, and are common as muck on Spume, with the smaller species commonly spitted and grilled as street food.[20] The larger kinds, however, can grow to phenomenal sizes, and can crack the keel of any boat that runs into them in full sail. They’re not dangerous to humans, although it can be faintly stomach-churning watching one swallow a whale whole.

  With more than ten-thousand kinds of Shark (Elasmobranchii Orders), Spume is a paradise for fans of the bitey lads. From the almost cuddly, faintly pathetic Custard Sharks (Selachimorphis Tragicus) of Doldrum, to the sixty-foot Greater Whites (Carcharodon Gigalodon) that ply the deep channels south of the Stormwracks, there truly is a shark for every occasion. What’s more, they are adored: many Captains will encourage them to follow their ships at sea, becoming familiar to the point that they’ll take meat from the sharp end of a hooked hand.[21]

  Without a doubt, the most emblematic denizen of the depths is the Kraken (Pseudarchiteuthis Imperator). Much has been written about these vast creatures, but it all boils down to the fact that they are really, really big squid.[22] That’s impressive enough on its own, but even more remarkable is their sheer economic utility: the internal structure of a kraken is maintained by bone-like structures with a composition almost identical to wood, while their excrement contains a petrochemical blend indistinguishable from tar. Their mouthparts produce a fibre that can be spun into sturdy rope, while glands in their gut produce all the necessary ingredients for gunpowder. All in all, they contain everything you need to build a Pirate ship, and they taste great too – which is why so many Pirates ply their trade hunting them.[23]

  People

  Pirates

  Paranthropus Peirates culture is incredibly cosmopolitan: it favours no ethnicity, gender or sexual preference, and encompasses a huge range of religious beliefs. This egalitarian approach to identity makes it all the more bizarre that it’s mandatory for everyone to at least attempt an utterly ludicrous accent. But that’s the secret to Spumish personal freedom: you can be anyone you like – so long as you’re a Pirate first and foremost.

  PETA

  Perhaps the biggest source of acrimony between Pirates and their undead cousins surrounds the issue of Kraken. While the Pirates argue that hunting the beasts forms a vital part of both their economy and their culture, the Skeletons are insistent that the only time a Kraken should be fought is when a belligerent specimen (usually a large female in breeding condition) attacks a ship – and even then, many Boney[24] captains will refuse. To this end, they have formed an organisation known as PETA – Pirates for the Ethical Treatment of Architeuthimorphs[25] – which lobbies for stricter harvesting laws and pickets hunts with swarms of small boats.

  Skeleton Pirates

  The Skeleton Pirates (technically Paranthropus Peirates Skeletos) are a strange bunch. The CFC certainly consider them fellow Pirates, since they pursue an existence based on ritualised maritime theft. Nevertheless, the longevity and melancholy inflicted on them by the Curse has made them rather more … pious. The political schism between Skeletal and Non-Skeletal Pirates is rooted in fundamental disagreements over the ontological complexities of Piracy, which have long become far too nuanced and labyrinthine for outsiders to follow. In short, the Boneys[26] feel the CFC has lost sight of the values of sustainability on which it was founded.[27] Rather than squander limited timber reserves by building new ships, for example, they tend to salvage old ones – or create serviceable vessels from the carcasses of sea monsters that have died of natural causes.[28] For the most part, the Skeletons prosecute their moral conflict through activism, stunts and passive-aggressive pranks. Frequently, Pirates will come across bogus treasure maps left by the Skeletons, which will lead them halfway across the sea only to find a chest containing a snarky political slogan signed with the Skeleton symbol.[29]

  The humans

  There are absolutely, definitely, 100 per cent no humans on Spume. Everyone is a Pirate. To reiterate: there are no humans at all, and it’s certainly not worth going looking for them.[30]

  3. PLANNING YOUR TRIP

  When to Visit

  It would be pointless to offer advice on when to visit Spume based on the weather. You basically need a PhD to comprehend the forecast for a given region, so it’s best just to stick a pin in the calendar and hope. Regardless, there are several annual and regular events that it’s advisable to time a visit around.

  The CFC AGM

  On the last day of the Pirate year, every member of the Council of Free Captains sails to the vast compass that protrudes from the sea at the spot known as Allpoints[31] in order to discuss the future direction of piratical society. The actual council meetings, conducted on the upper surface of the compass, are interminably dull, but the jamboree the crews throw to keep themselves occupied while the Captains do their business is fantastic. Barges selling deep-fried seafood ply their trade between the ships, while travelling entertainers move from deck to deck by zipline.

  Talk Even More Like a Pirate Day

  Held each day at the start of whatever feels like it might be autumn,
this maddening festival sees every Pirate on Spume dial their linguistic bullshit up to eleven and talk complete bollocks for twenty-four hours. It’s great fun to experience – just don’t try to accomplish any meaningful transactions on the day in question, or you’ll be hopelessly bamboozled.

  The Looting of the Governor’s Mansion

  While Pirates are fundamentally opposed to any kind of central government, they realised long ago that life would get dull without a formal nation state to oppose. Enter the Governor, a hapless Pirate chosen by lottery each year, who must live in an enormous, treasure-stuffed mansion in the Yohos protected by a wholly inadequate ‘Navy’.[32] After a brief off-season, during which the Governor is mandated to hold several society balls, the mansion is declared fair game, and the looting – which is open to all, including tourists – begins.

  The Pirates progressed from jostling the Governor to what I would definitely classify as ‘rough shoving’, and soon had him hoisted above their heads. I was – of course – just trying to work out whether it would be code-appropriate to rush in to the rescue, when I realised the Governor was laughing.

  ‘Thank fuck for that, lads,’ he gasped as he tore off his epaulettes and cravat. ‘This is some other sod’s job now. Now, who looted the good rubies?’

  A rotund Pirate near the back of the crowd raised her hand (which was a corkscrew), and a cheer went up.

  ‘Ha, Winehand Sally,’ said the now ex-Governor, ‘I should have known. Well, you can put that thing to use tonight, as the bloody drinks are on you.’ The Pirates cheered again and stampeded off into the tropical night, leaving the mansion abandoned to the breeze once more. For now, at least, all government on the planet had technically been eradicated.

  — FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNAL OF FLOYD WATT

  Getting Around

  Spoiler alert: it’s boats.

  Eating and Drinking

  If you’re fussy about eating seafood, this really isn’t the World for you. While it’s just about possible to get by on land-based foodstuffs here, you’ll get bored of tropical fruit pretty quickly, and for many Pirates a vegetarian meal just means ‘a few less sardines than usual.’ One plant-based substance that is virtually universal[33] is rum, acting not just as a drink but as a marinade, a condiment and – for many – a hobby.

  SPUME’S

  BEST BARS and RESTAURANTS

  Mad Tamzin’s Hell for Fish: Rickety shed in the Stormwracks, where creatures you’ve never heard of are dunked in rum by a woman with hands like bin lids, then hurled alive onto white-hot coals for your delectation.

  Steel Neil’s Meal of Eels: Hardcore establishment run by Neil himself, who now has so many metal body parts he can barely operate a stove, but who will still sell you a wheelbarrow of live eels for a doubloon.

  Vegetables, I Suppose: Half-hearted ‘vegetarian’ restaurant, where meals are sourced by desperate cooks scavenging from a patch of rainforest out the back of the kitchen. On days when their luck is poor, be prepared for the head chef to try to persuade you that an octopus counts as a fruit.

  Currency

  Since Spume’s natural reserves of gold ran out long ago (and much of it turned out to be haunted), tourists now represent the only fresh influx of gold into the economy – meaning that as a visitor you will definitely be robbed. It’s worth noting that any currency is good here,[34] so long as it contains at least 25 per cent gold. Once a coin enters Spume, it’s counted as a doubloon – and that’s that. As a result, you can find coins from hundreds of cultures on Spume, from Hierarchian Leaderbucks to Bison Groats and Chugholme Shillings. Depending on where you’ve come from and where you’re headed afterwards, you can make a small fortune using Spume’s weird economy to game the exchange rate between worlds.

  THE BITTEN COINS

  The CFC has taken some fascinating measures to stimulate the economy of Spume during chronic gold shortages, but surely the most eccentric is the tradition of the Bitten Coin. Under this scheme, gold increases with the number of consecutive Captains who have owned it, as it means it has been stolen more often. Captains traditionally test the quality of coins by biting them, and since each Captain has a distinctive bite mark recorded at Remittance Island, the indentations on a piece of currency map out the chain of theft it has passed through, and therefore its value. Canny travellers can take advantage of this financial alchemy, if they can make sense of how it works.

  DAILY SAMPLE COSTS

  BUDGET: Less than 10 doubloons

  Roustabout’s quarters in the bilge of a sloop: 4 DB

  BBQ sea serpent and seaweed fritters: 2 DB

  Bottle of Jenny Blackblood’s Killdevil Rum: 3 DB

  Ticket and bucket of rotten fruit for an anti-Navy political play: 1 DB

  MIDRANGE: 10–25 doubloons

  Bosun’s quarters on a mid-size carrack: 6 DB (7 DB without rats)

  Fresh pineapple and turtle-meat kebab: 3 DB

  Bottle of Old Bart’s Foul Tymes Rum: 5 DB

  Kraken-spotting daytrip from Thalassinor: 4 DB

  TOP END: More than 25 doubloons

  Captain’s suite on a luxury galleon: 15 DB (including hat rental)

  Flame-grilled Kraken steak and actual vegetables: 12 DB

  Bottle of Gilded Fran’s Angel Juice Rum: 19 DB

  Permit to shoot a man in the arm for no reason: 42 DB

  Don’t Forget to Pack …

  Vitamin C tablets

  Scurvy is a worldwide pandemic on Spume due to the chronic shortage of fruit and vegetables, and is a major concern if you’re planning on staying for more than a couple of weeks.

  Nautical supplies

  While gold is a must-have for travelling on Spume, remember that common shipboard materials are worth almost as much in a pinch. Metals in particular are extremely hard to come by, so a bag of nails will make you plenty of friends.

  Crackers for parrots

  It’s a rare Pirate ship that doesn’t possess at least one parrot, and they always want crackers. They also want pieces of eight, but it’s a fool’s errand to give a bird money.

  DRESS TO TRANSGRESS – SPUME FASHION

  To be a Pirate, you need to look the part. Spume has an astonishingly deep unisex fashion culture where anything goes, and while you’ve got no hope of keeping up with seasonal trends, the buccaneering wardrobe leans on a number of perennial staples:

  A cool shirt: Extravagant lace cuffs are de rigueur for Captains, while stripy tops of various kinds are the standard for crews.

  Headgear: While you can get by with a salt-stained rag knotted behind the skull, some of the hats constructed for more senior Captains can outvalue the ships of their lesser competitors, and can require two shipmates just to hold aloft.

  Beards: Common status symbols, with colour and style denoting social status. False beards can be acquired at exclusive boutique hirsuteries by those declining to grow their own.

  Peg legs, hooks and prosthetics: Even the lowliest roustabouts will wear a false eyepatch for special occasions, while committed fashionistas will undergo elective surgery to allow for more outlandish body-part replacements – exotic fixtures such as egg-whisk hands and telescopic shins can be seen at the trendier bars in the Stormwracks.[35]

  Pets: Primates and parrots are the most common, although statement pieces including land crabs, bats, ravens and pangolins are seen from time to time. Pets are considered best kept on shoulders, so Pirates will often sport massive single epaulettes incorporating perches, feeders and even small hutches.

  Cutlass holder

  If you’re going to truly get into the Pirate spirit, you’ll need a cutlass. And if you’re going to climb ladders and swing on ropes with one, the traditional place to hold it is in your teeth. So invest in a leather mouthguard. The Pirates may make it look easy, but be advised: hospitals on Spume are essentially pubs with slightly more blood, so you don’t want to end up in one with a cut-up mouth.

  Proper documents

  Technically, any human on Spume
is designated hostes pirati generis, and is thus eligible for execution on sight – so you’ll want to make sure you pre-print a certificate proving that you are a Pirate, in order to ward off any overzealous buccaneers.

  Manners and Etiquette

  Let Pirates take the lead in confrontations

  The Pirate’s Code is unfathomably complex, and takes a long career on deck to fully understand. While it can be easy to get carried away during a grog marathon and decide it’s the perfect time to threaten a man with a cutlass, you will almost certainly cause grievous offence if your etiquette is anything short of perfect. When in doubt, wait for a Pirate to threaten you, and then escalate according to their lead.

  — TESTIMONIALS —

  We had a great holiday in Spume, until it came to checking out of our accommodation. As I handed back the keys, the hotel’s Captain called me a good-for-nothing piss weasel, and my wife Sandra got quite upset. She aimed a flintlock at him, and he got extremely offended, grabbing his copy of the Pirate’s Code and pointing angrily at a paragraph of really small text. Even the cabin boy on duty told us we should be ashamed of ourselves, and we left under a bit of a cloud.

  — Kenneth Sausage, 42, Bin Engineer

  Leave only footsteps, take only memories (and treasure, where permitted)