Notes from Small Planets

by Nate Crowley

  When island-hopping, especially with Skeleton Pirates, be careful to pay proper respect to the environment. Don’t litter, don’t snaffle souvenirs without asking, and certainly don’t start campfires unless instructed to do so. These fellows take resource conservation very seriously, and will be quick to reprimand you if you help yourself to anything except looted gold.

  Don’t shoot albatrosses

  As an extension of the above, please, for the love of all that’s good, do not take potshots at albatrosses. For reasons unknown to science, the death of one of these extra-large birds can kill all wind in a fifty-mile radius, potentially adding days to the length of a voyage.

  Forget the ‘w’ word

  People make many assumptions about Pirate culture when travelling to Spume, and, to be fair, many of them prove to be completely accurate. Nevertheless, one of the more poisonous misapprehensions is the idea that women (or people of any other gender) occupy anything short of an equal role to men in Pirate society. Call a Captain of any kind a wench, and you’re liable to be hauled under a boat on a rope. Not that big a boat, perhaps, but it’s still not a risk to take unless you properly love barnacle abrasions.

  4. SUGGESTED ITINERARIES

  1. TREASURED ISLANDS:

  (2 WEEKS)

  From the Yohos to the Stormwracks

  This tour eases visitors into the Pirate life, taking them from the balmy and non-threatening Yohos, through ever-increasing levels of maritime mischief, to the Stormwracks themselves.

  DAYS 1–2

  Starting off in the merry fishing village of Avafite, spend a couple of days orienting yourself before heading off to sea. If you’re into daytime drinking, the local Scoundrel’s Academy runs great activities for the kids to enjoy while you get trolleyed.[36] Before you leave, make sure to catch an evening meal at a tavern holding a scheduled ‘brawl’ – areas for fighting are clearly marked with red paint, so you don’t have to endure a sweating gunner’s mate crashing through your dessert if you don’t fancy it.

  DAYS 3–6

  Once you’ve got your sea legs ready, book passage on a pleasure sloop heading to the Stormwracks (the Wobbly Dogfish and the Maiden’s Belch are tidy, well-run ships), and learn some colourful shanties from the crew. There are plenty of great day excursions to be had at the ports along the way: we recommend Madame Flannigan’s Parrot Farm & Used Ape Sanctuary. Less recommended is the pungent immensity of the Hedstrom & Sons fish tinnery, while at the very bottom of your sightseeing list should be the wheezing racket of Port St Boafus’ sixty-strong accordion orchestra.

  BEST BARS IN KEELHAULYER

  As in most port towns, Keelhaulyer’s taverns hang clear, Code-mandated flags above their doors stipulating the level of general mayhem accepted within. This helps tourists avoid unnecessary violence, while allowing the authentic ‘all you can beat’ experience for true thrill-seekers.

  Rancid Bob’s Appalling Teahouse (White Flag – fisticuffs prohibited)

  Pleasant establishment, if a little rough around the edges. What makes it appalling are the teas, which are brewed from mushrooms collected at random by Bob himself. They can do anything from putting you into a two-day coma to making you see the face of the devil in your own shoes.

  The Broken Arms (Yellow Flag – mild peril)

  Classic Stormwrack tavern – superb for old salts telling blood-chilling tales of mutiny on barren seas, and a decent selection of ales on tap to boot. Can get a bit Beast Mode after midnight, but the locals know better than to do anything more than shake a fist at tourists. The upstairs is a tattoo parlour run by a Skeleton, whose cursed designs will growl threats at you for years to come.

  Ironshin Nancy’s Haus of Fights (Red Flag – heavy fighting)

  Where Pirates go to settle old scores, in brawls presided over by the metal-legged proprietress herself. Famous for its boast of ‘a ten-minute fight every five minutes’, it’s rarely a quiet night at Nancy’s, and you’re likely as not to leave through a window, smeared in someone else’s blood.

  The Carnival of Fists (Black Flag – enter at own risk)

  This isn’t even really a tavern. It’s just a windowless barn floored with gravel, where gigantic people go to hammer seven shades of shit out of each other. It’s not even apparent whether they serve drinks. It doesn’t matter. Only violence lives here.

  DAYS 7–9

  After crossing into the Stormwracks, you’ll spend a couple of days in the lawless port of Keelhaulyer,[37] where the roughest, toughest Pirates gather to swap tall stories over pints of methanol-heavy spirits. Staying at one of the town’s spit-and-sawdust boarding houses (Bad Molly’s or the Two Eyepatches are good options), you’ll have a few days to soak up the town’s madhouse atmosphere and rambunctious nightlife.[38] If you want a breather amidst the excess, be sure to take a walk to nearby Confidence Cove, where Pirates suffering from low self-esteem go to encourage each other in massive group therapy sessions.

  DAYS 10–13

  When you can resist the call of the waves no longer, sign on with one of the crews headed out of port[39] and experience the brand-new madness of living in a leaky wooden coffin packed with hard-drinking people who roar all day. Ships sail all over Spume from Keelhaulyer, but a natural destination is the storm-tossed region known as the Bundlemarr Heptagon, just a week’s sail west. Making it through the Heptagon is hair-raising to say the least – but there’s simply nothing like hauling rope in the driving rain, singing a song about lost love and public executions, as leviathans breach to starboard by the light of St Elmo’s Fire.

  ‘It’s coming right for us,’ I hissed in panic, as the beast surged towards our carrack under a moving hill of water.

  ‘Fear ye not,’ intoned Captain Rattleribs, raising a bony hand for calm. ‘’Tis just her way. She be happy to clap eyes on us, that be all.’

  Even when the first of the Kraken’s house-width tentacles lummoxed onto the deck, the Skeleton stayed calm, sauntering over and patting the leathery purple flesh as if it were an old, beloved hound.

  ‘Arr, me fine old lass,’ he said affectionately, as the beast’s great eyeless beak-mount loomed up beside our deck, ‘I’ve missed ye!’

  For a moment, I thought he had genuinely tamed the thing. But then it let out a scream like a train full of old modems crashing into a pig farm, and tore away the mainmast with a flick of a tentacle.

  ‘I think you should probably get the cannons out,’ I warned, as I felt the blood drain from my face with fear.

  ‘No, no,’ said the Captain wistfully, as the monster began smashing the deck into splinters around him. ‘’Tis just her watery way, is all.’

  Nodding sagely as if I understood (reader, I did not), I ran for the lifeboats, just as a second Kraken emerged from the sea on the other side of the deck. Casting off from the rapidly disintegrating carrack, I swore I heard Rattleribs booming with joyful laughter.

  I next saw the Captain that night, as I was about to light a fire made from the bleached timbers of the lifeboat. My leaky boat had only made it a few miles, and I’d been forced to maroon myself on what was clearly a one-man island.

  Even so, here was Rattleribs, wading out of the sea with crabs scuttling from his ribcage, and his usual enamel rictus somehow looking like a dopey smile. He was in such a good mood, he didn’t even lecture me on my use of the island’s sole palm tree to provide kindling. I was confused to say the least, but offered him a spot by the fire nonetheless.

  ‘It were a male,’ he said at last, after we had sat in awkward silence for some time.

  ‘Hm?’ I replied, concentrating on trying to grill a limpet.

  ‘Ye second Kraken,’ Rattleribs explained. ‘It were a young fella, come to meet his fair maiden o’er the banquet o’ me ship.’

  ‘But they sunk it, Captain.’

  ‘Aye, that’s as maybe. But after all these years, I finally got the chance to watch ’em court. He had a hectocotylus like Neptune’s trident, so he did. ’Twas the most beauti
ful thing I ever did see.’

  Then it dawned on me. I didn’t remember much from the zoological primer Eliza gave me, but I knew that ‘hectocotylus’ was the fancy word for octopus dick.[40]

  ‘Captain,’ I said gravely. ‘They fucked your ship to bits.’

  ‘Aye,’ he beamed, ‘and I could expire happy with the knowin’ of it, if only ’twere possible for me to die.’

  Once again, I nodded as if I understood, and carried on grilling the limpet. The Skeleton Pirates are a strange lot.

  — FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNAL OF FLOYD WATT

  DAY 14

  If you make it through the Heptagon without being dashed to driftwood, your Captain may take you north to Big Windy himself: the colossal, unexplained weather system that looks exactly like a human face, and which constantly huffs out hurricane-force winds like an incredibly angry football manager made of clouds. And if you’re not ready to go home after all that? Well, who knows – perhaps you’ve got what it takes to be a Pirate after all.

  2. THAR SHE BLOWS!

  (10 DAYS)

  Skeleton-guided Kraken Hunt in Yonder

  Since they don’t need to breathe, the Skeleton Pirates are as happy below the waves as above, and make perfect guides for those who want to see the best of Spume’s wildlife.

  DAY 1

  After arriving in Yonder at sunset, spend the evening taking in the tranquil emptiness of island life. Poke a crab, shout at a monkey. You know, island stuff. While you’re at it, get pumped up to kill a Kraken, because you know that’s what you’re going to do before this holiday is over.

  DAY 2

  After a dawn pickup via a quaint wooden submersible, descend to Thalassinor, the sunken city of the Skeleton Pirates. Thalassinor’s ancient, drowned skyscrapers stand in a sunlit wonderland of coral, with every surface that isn’t regularly cleaned sprouting a colourful profusion of marine life. This includes the Skeletons themselves, and many residents consider it a fashion statement to be as festooned as possible in barnacles, sponges, tubeworms and Sea Weed. There are many pressurised, air-filled spaces in the old buildings, where you can enjoy relaxing chamber music played by a skeletal quartet on eerie bone instruments, while looking out at the city’s vibrant coral gardens. It will all be very peaceful, but don’t worry – that big squid’s still gonna die.

  DAY 3

  If you’ve managed to pay the CFC a ‘licence fee’ to turn a blind eye towards the use of modern SCUBA gear,[41] or if you’re willing to resort to the rather drastic option of taking Cursed Gold and becoming a Skeleton yourself, you can leave your quarters and take a walking tour of the reefs with a Skeleton guide. Out in the blue, you can marvel at the shoals of brightly coloured fish, and feel slightly baffled at the sight of enormous, corroded statues of people who seem to have antlers. Just don’t touch any gold you find scattered by the feet of these statues or you will become a Skeleton for ever. After an evening of crushingly dull mandatory lectures from the Skeletons, on topics ranging from responsible tourism to the philosophical inadequacies of regular Pirates,[42] you’ll be able to catch some sleep before rising at dawn to board your tour vessel – a traditional Skeleton Pirate ship made from the ribcage of a leviathan. That’s right – you’re going Kraken hunting.

  DAYS 4–7

  The ship will make sail for the Doldrum on a three-day voyage. While aboard, those with a taste for the spooky may choose to drink tea infused with traces of Cursed Gold. While the quantity involved won’t be enough to turn you fully skeletal, it will make your bones shine through your skin under moonlight and give you a host of melancholy thoughts about the sea. Whether you’ve gone full Boney or not, once you reach the edge of the Doldrum you’ll have the chance to walk out on the surface of the Glop itself, where you can encounter its many mucous-heavy denizens under the watchful eye of a Skeleton naturalist. By now, you’ll probably be making polite yet regular enquiries to your hosts about when the squid-busting will start.

  DAYS 8–10

  When you’ve had enough of watching miserable creatures haul themselves across a yawning expanse of slime, it’s time to board the ship again and set sail for a three day Kraken-hunting expedition, at their breeding grounds in the Pontoppidan Deeps. It’s at this point that you’ll read the small print on the itinerary and be crushed with disappointment that you’re hunting the Kraken to watch them, rather than fill them with harpoons. Even so, be certain to know where the lifeboats are.

  WELCOME TO CHUGHOLME

  Or, alas, not. Poor Chugholme. Until recently this was – for me, at least – one of the undisputed jewels of all the Worlds. It was a thoroughly civilised place, where one could enjoy the finer things in life – gilded with the trappings of fantasy, no less – without being troubled by baser concerns. Now, however, Chugholme has rather gone to the dogs. It’s been under a no-go advisory by the authorities for months now, and Eliza has insisted on abandoning the double-length chapter I had initially penned for it. Nevertheless, I refuse to let its passing go unremarked, so I’ll use the thousand words Eliza has accorded me ‘if I really feel I must’ to celebrate what it once was.[1]

  Chugholme: An[2],[3] Eulogy by Floyd Watt

  Chugholme, the great capital of the Pretanian Empire, sat proudly at the heart of its domain, importing luxuries, treasures and coal from every corner of the world, and exporting good manners in return.

  Around it sprawled the bucolic delights of Chalmondesleydale[4] – a comfortable county with no dirty coal mines, which managed to maintain the vibrant social claustrophobia of a well-to-do rural community while still covering hundreds of square miles. In Pretania, social standing was everything, and the manors of Chalmondesleydale were where the most eligible of the eligible went to court, scheme and dance their silk socks off. There were balls every night: wild galaxies of lace and candlelight that attracted swarms of brooding bachelors like moths – for it was always debut season in Chalmondesleydale.

  City Living

  And then, when you became jaded with even the wonders of the countryside, you could travel into the city – with its steam-cranes, its steammills, its steam-groceries and steam-newsagents – to experience truly imperial splendour. As your train pulled in to one of Chugholme’s four-hundred railway terminals, you’d see crowds of the young tear-aways who called themselves ‘Steampunks’ on the station concourse,[5] guffawing and competing to see who could affix most cogs to a hat.

  FULL STEAM AHEAD!

  Perched at the giddy pinnacle of industrialisation, Pretania was an empire powered by coal – and by steam. Even though more advanced technology had long been in reach, Empress Pretania,[6] in all her wisdom, always understood that an aesthetic is an aesthetic, and so passed ordinances that severely restricted electric technology. As early as the fifth year of her reign, electricity was only being used for spectacular crackling orbs in the laboratories of eccentric scientists, and to power the Mk IV ‘Bulldog’ electro-truncheons employed by Pretanian police forces in the imperial colonies.

  Once in the heart of the city, one was at leisure – providing one had a little cash to flash. There were few things more genteel than sipping fresh tea from fine porcelain in the saloon bar of the Botherstone Club while watching zeppelins unload at the steam-warehouses across the river. Yes, it was a little silly that most of the clientele wore goggles at all times for no discernible reason – and I really did never get the business with the platform boots – but it didn’t do too much to detract from the atmosphere of refinement. The banter, needless to say, was tremendous.

  The aforementioned zeppelins weren’t on one-way routes, either. For a reasonable sum of Pretanian guineas, you could book passage to anywhere in the colonies, and enjoy the capital’s suite of luxuries in a more tropical climate.

  All Good Things …

  Of course, that was where the trouble started. A few years back, you started hearing about trouble overseas: rabble of one kind or another, using cannibalised engine parts to make armies of crude steam-mechs
.[7] There was simply no elegance to what they were doing, but it was effective: places started dropping off the map, and it happened more and more often.

  Then, suddenly, the trouble wasn’t overseas any more. Out of nowhere, a militia called had occupied half of Chalmondesleydale, and there were columns of smoke-puffing assault vehicles advancing on Chugholme itself. Pretania had seen off invasions of tentacled aliens in five-legged walkers before now, but this was a different story. Battalions of commoners – largely conscripts from the northern mining towns – were sent out to repel the transgressors, but most simply dropped their weapons and turned coat. The city fell within days.

  Chugholme Today

  I know trouble when I smell it, so I was out of there pronto.[8] The last I heard before I bugged out, the Imperial Palace had fallen into enemy hands, and its giant golden lion statues were in the process of being dismantled. After that, I heard plenty more – but all from excitable adventure tourists who had found a way past the entry blockade, and who told too many tall tales to be believable. Reports of invading steam-brigands from all corners of the empire seemed conceivable, but the yarn I heard about a volunteer brigade of Orcs, of all things, seemed ludicrous.

  Who knows who is in charge of Chugholme now, but it seems tourists are emphatically not welcome there. Not to worry, though – I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before business as usual is resumed, and you can see for yourself what a spiffing place it is.