The Unlikely Adventures of Mabel Jones

by Will Mabbitt

  “ This is a —”

  He winced. The foulness of the term Split needed left a trail of filth in his mouth as he forced it from his lips.

  “This

  is

  a

  GIRL!”

  The crew let out a gasp of horror!

  “It cannae be!”

  “Surely not!”

  “A girl?

  GirlS

  can’t be

  PIRATES!”

  “She dids THE DEED!”

  “She picked her nose . . .”

  There was a horrified pause.

  “. . . and ate it!”

  “Girls don’t do that . . . do they?”

  The crew’s eyes fixed upon their captive, young Mabel Jones, who was—just at that moment—absentmindedly picking her nose.

  “She’s doing it now!”

  “I’m just itching!” lied Mabel Jones.

  The crew fell into a familiar silence. From the shadows crept the stooped figure of Omynus Hussh, his saucery eyes rimmed with angry tears as he caressed the doorknob at the end of his wrist.

  “She’s a bad-lucklet, a filthy smooth no-beard and . . . and a sticky-fingered hand thief!”

  Captain Split spat angrily on the deck.

  “We’ll get no hard work from this prissy little pink princess, and there’ll be no passengers aboard my ship! Not this voyage. Not when our treasure is so near!”

  He spun around and clomped back to his cabin, shouting:

  “TONIGHT SHE WALKS THE GREASY POLE OF CERTAIN DEATH!”

  CHAPTER 3

  The Greasy Pole of Certain Death

  Mabel Jones chewed her lip thoughtfully. She had borrowed a pen and paper from Milton, the pig (who liked to secretly compose romantic sonnets in his spare time), and was writing a letter.

  I’m not sure if you’ve ever thrown a message in a bottle over the side of a pirate ship. It’s never as easy as it looks.

  Often a rogue wave will move the ship just after a bottle has been thrown. This can cause the bottle to smash against the side of the ship, or else return through an open porthole on a lower deck.

  One night, a bruised pirate read the note another pirate had accidentally lobbed through his porthole:

  It was very embarrassing for all concerned.

  This time, though, the bottle flew safely overboard. Mabel watched it bob into the distance until it disappeared from sight.

  It was getting dark. The shadows grew longer and longer until they crept together into one big dark patch called night.

  Mabel Jones stood in her pajamas at the safe end of a long pole that stuck out from the side of the ship.

  The crew watched with interest as Pelf puffed on his pipe and poked her gently with the end of his cutlass.

  “OUCH!”

  Mabel glared at him.

  “You’re supposed to edge fearfully along the pole,” explained the goat kindly. He poked her again.

  Mabel’s toes wrapped around the pole, and bit by bit she edged out to sea. In the light from a swinging lantern, she could see the shapes of large fish swimming alongside the pirate ship.

  Sharks? Swordfish? Killer sardines?

  Mabel gulped.

  Things don’t look good, she thought.

  In fact, they looked about as far away from good as possible. She had almost run out of pole, and her feet were starting to slip.

  The pirates looked on expectantly.

  “Any final words, girl?” snarled Captain Split.

  He made the word “girl” sound like how the smell of dog poo would sound if it made a noise.

  While we wait for Mabel Jones to think of something good to say, here are some examples of previous last words that have been uttered before slipping off the Greasy Pole of Certain Death:

  “It’s actually not that hard to stay standing on this greasy—”

  SPLASH!

  “Curse you, Captain, and curse your crew. May your pirate souls rot in—”

  SPLASH!

  And uttered by an unfortunate shipmate:

  “Let’s grease the pole before hanging it over the edge next time, yeah?”

  SPLASH!

  Mabel, under some pressure to think of something good to say, looked about for inspiration.

  From the wrong end of the Greasy Pole of Certain Death, the pirates’ ship looked just like you might imagine, like a ship but with added PIRATEY BITS. A black flag with a crudely drawn white skull flapped in the breeze. A large, fat maggot hung limply from the skull’s eye socket. Just below where the Greasy Pole of Certain Death joined the hull was the ship’s name. Painted in back-to-front letters, a mix of capitals and lowercase, it read:

  “Well, girl?” growled Split. “Anything to say?”

  “Yes,” said Mabel Jones. “You’ve spelled the name of your ship wrong. Where it says Feroshus.”

  The crew gasped.

  “She can spell!”

  “The lassie can read?”

  “She’s a brainbox!”

  Split’s good eye narrowed suspiciously.

  “And how exactly do you spell feroshus?”

  Mabel thought hard.

  It was a difficult one, that was for sure.

  “F . . .

  “E . . .

  “R . . .

  “O . . .

  “S . . .

  “H . . .

  “Erm . . .”

  She knew it had an “I” in it somewhere and this was the only place it could fit.

  “I . . .

  “. . . S!”

  The crew looked at each other and at the captain.

  Split signaled grimly to Pelf. “She’s right! Get her back on board! NOW!”

  Safely back on the ship, Mabel wiped the grease from her feet.

  “Maybe you’re not as useless as you look, girl,” sneered Split. “Welcome aboard the FeROShUS MAggOt. I’ve got a little job in mind for you.”

  Pelf took the pipe from his mouth and put his hoof around Mabel’s shoulders.

  “Ye be one of us now, Mabel.” He looked at her closely. “But we need to make ye look a little more . . . well, a little more piratelike.”

  “We could remove a leg?” wheezed Old Sawbones. “I’ll fetch me cleaver!”

  In the end it was decided that, instead of having Old Sawbones amputate a limb, Mabel could wear a belt over her pajamas and, much to her delight, borrow a spare CUTLASS from the hold.

  Pelf slapped her on the back.

  “Welcome aboard, matey!”

  The crew cheered and threw their assorted headgear into the air.

  All apart from Omynus Hussh, who stood in a silent sulk, glaring out to sea. An angry teardrop from one of his saucery eyes dripped over the side of the ship and made the water just a tiny bit saltier.

  CHAPTER 4

  The List

  Yesterday morning Mabel Jones had eaten two bowls of cornflakes for breakfast. Then she’d had another one. Then she’d had a slice of toast with strawberry jam for dessert. She’d spread the jam all the way to the edge to make it easier to eat the crusts. Then she’d gone to school.

  This morning Mabel Jones had a feeling that she probably wouldn’t be going to school.

  This morning she was sitting on a barrel in the cabin of a pirate ship, surrounded by a crew of excited animal pirates. It was actually surprisingly similar to being at school except, instead of a nice principal called Mr. Dobson, there was an evil wolf called Captain Idryss Ebenezer Split.

  The captain unfolded a piece of paper, and the excited chatter of the crew died down into an expectant silence as he placed it on the table in front of him.

  Split turned to Mabel. His muzzle was so close to her face she could see strings of wet
drool between his half-open jaws.

  “On this page are written the names of the creatures who stand between me and my destiny. The treacherous bunch of scumbags who stole my rightful inheritance when they mutinied against their captain, my father.”

  The crew tutted and shook their heads disapprovingly.

  Split pulled at the necklace that hung from his neck. Suspended from the rusting chain was a lump of dull black metal.

  “Aye! Each one of them has a piece like this, stolen from my poor, dearly departed father.”

  Pelf leaned in close to Mabel. “It’s part of an X!” he whispered.

  “A what?” she whispered back.

  “The letter X! And we all know what the letter X marks, don’t we?”

  Mabel frowned.

  “Do we?” she asked, forgetting to whisper this time.

  The captain’s lip curled back to reveal purple gums.

  “Somewhere, snuglet, somewhere far away, in the Haunted Seventh Sea, there is a spot. A spot that’s missing its X. I alone knows that spot, and soon I will have all five pieces of the X!”

  “But why do you need the X if you already know the spot?” asked Mabel, wrinkling her nose.

  Split growled, and his boggled eye boggled even more than usual.

  “Because this particular X don’t just mark the spot. It’s also a key!”

  “A key?”

  “Aye, a key. A key forged in a time long since sunken into the greasy soup of history.”

  Split pointed to a porthole. “See there! In the sky. The burning comet!”

  Mabel and the pirates followed his gaze. Sure enough, a little way above the horizon, a light glowed white in the sky. Split traced a path through the air with his cutlass.

  “The comet passes just once every hundred years. And while it shines in the sky, if the X is completed and placed correctly, it will unlock a treasure—the most amazing treasure known to beast or hooman.”

  “Chests of precious jewels!” cried Pelf.

  “Piles of golden coins!” croaked Old Sawbones.

  “Priceless works of fine art!” squealed Milton Melton-Mowbray.

  Captain Split smiled wickedly.

  “Aye, lads. Something like that . . .”

  Pelf removed a star chart from his fleece and unfolded it proudly.

  “According to my expert calculations, the comet should—”

  “I think you’re holding the chart upside-down,” said Mabel Jones.

  Pelf turned the chart the other way around.

  “Aye. According to my calculations, the comet should cross the sky over the next fourteen days.”

  Captain Split turned to his crew.

  “And so we have to gather every piece of the X from the names on this list and reach the spot before the fortnight is out!”

  He lovingly smoothed the tattered list with a paw.

  “It’s been carried across six of the seven seas by bird and by boat”—Split smiled wickedly once more—“but it’s never once been read.”

  The captain’s paw shot out and, grabbing Mabel Jones by the collar of her pajamas, he lifted her clean off the ground. His single eye fixed on her as she dangled in the air. She could feel his claws digging into her skin.

  “And now we have a reader!”

  Split let go of Mabel and she fell to the floor.

  “Me?”

  “You,” he snapped. “So read it!”

  Mabel picked up the list and studied it closely. It was going to be difficult to read with the whole crew watching, especially as the words were faded and all joined up.

  Taking a deep breath, Mabel Jones began to read:

  “Macaroni.”

  The captain looked at the crew.

  “Does anyone know this varmint that goes by the name MacGroany?”

  The crew shook their heads.

  The captain banged his fist against the table.

  “When I find that treacherous creature MacGroany, I’ll rip his head off and throw it to the seagulls!”

  The crew cheered.

  “Who’s next on the list, Mabel?” asked Pelf the goat.

  Mabel continued to read:

  “Cheddar cheese.”

  The crew looked at each other again, shaking their heads. He wasn’t a pirate they were familiar with either.

  “I’ll tie him to a carnivorous squid!” cried the captain, snapping a chair in half.

  Mabel continued reading the list:

  “Mustard.”

  “So ferocious he’s known by a single name!” gasped Old Sawbones.

  “I’ll stuff him like a mackerel,” whispered the captain, curling his lip to reveal his razor-sharp teeth.

  The crew winced.

  Mabel looked at the captain politely. “Shall I finish?”

  The last item was written in a different handwriting.

  “Lemon juice,” read Mabel.

  “Lemon Juice?”

  The crew looked at one another in confusion.

  Finally Pelf spoke. “It’s just a shopping list, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I think so.” Mabel smiled apologetically at the crew.

  The captain’s single eye boggled with rage. Throwing back his head, he howled the

  loudest howl

  ever heard by man or beast. He drew his cutlass and swung it angrily through the air, twisting it into the heart of an imaginary enemy. Then he turned to point it at Mabel.

  “Then I guess that makes you pretty useless, snuglet!”

  Omynus Hussh appeared from the shadows.

  “Slice her open, Captain! She’s made you look like a fool!”

  But Mabel wasn’t even listening. She was thinking.

  Something wasn’t quite right . . .

  Somewhere deep inside her head a thought was waking up and scratching itself.

  Why is the last item written by a different hand?

  Then that thought rudely poked a new thought awake with a bony finger.

  And why would you need lemon juice in what is obviously a recipe for macaroni and cheese?

  Lemon juice?

  Lemon juice . . .

  Lemon. Juice.

  LEMON JUICE!

  Spinning away from the captain’s sword, Mabel Jones held the list above a candle.

  “Go on, burns it!” scoffed Omynus Hussh. “It’s as worthless as a girl on a pirate ship.”

  “I’m not burning it. Just look!” cried Mabel.

  The crew gasped as they looked at the list. Below the recipe for macaroni and cheese, new words were forming—and this time they were names.

  “Invisible ink!” declared Mabel proudly. “The heat from the flame turns the invisible words written in lemon juice brown!”

  The crew burst into applause.

  “The girl’s a marvel!”

  “A brainbox!”

  “Who’d have thought it?!”

  Mabel placed the list on the table and the crew gathered around as she began to read:

  “The Mutineers of THE FLYING SLUG: BARTOK THE BRUTE.”

  Now wait a second while I find my Who’s Who of Pirates sticker album. Yes, it is complete, apart from a sticker of “Elusive” Jack Carrot, the Rabbit Assassin. No one has ever managed to collect that sticker. (If you find it, please send it to the address in the back of this book. I can swap Eric the Tuneless Canary and “Strangling” Hans Van Snood, the Murderous Gerbil of Ghent for it.)

  Ah, here he is. Page 7.

  Mabel continues:

  “Ishmael H. Toucan.”

  Found him! Under the subsection “Former Pirates,” for his fortune was made as a whaler of the Cold Gray Sea. He shares his entry with his brother, Abel, and holds records for both harpooning and whale butc
hery.

  “The passenger, Count Anselmo Klack.”

  No entry for the count. I guess he is not a real pirate. He is a count, though, which is a mark of badness if ever I saw one.

  “Old Hoss.”

  Ah, Old Hoss the sheep! I know him well. And so does Captain Split, for Old Hoss carved the captain’s bone leg. Here’s his sticker in the “Smuggling and Thievery” section! A dastardly sheep who would steal from his own mother if he hadn’t already pushed her off a cliff.

  The captain flashed a wicked fanged grin and addressed the happy crew.

  “All hands on deck, boys! Today we sail and tomorrow . . . tomorrow we steal!”

  Mabel looked up.

  “So can I go home now, please?”

  Split laughed a nasty laugh.

  “There ain’t no way home for you, snuglet. When a hooman child commits THE DEED, it opens a porthole between your world and ours, so we pirates can go through and bag ’em. But once we’ve snatched the wriggling snuglet and come back through the porthole, then it closes behind us.”

  Mabel gulped. “You mean I’m trapped here . . . forever?”

  Split leaned in close to her, his hot wolf-breath stinking up all her face holes at once.

  “Well, now that you mention it, there is one way back. Remember how I told you the X is a key?”

  Mabel nodded.

  “Well, one of the things that key can open is a porthole back to the hooman world. So here’s the deal: if you help us find them missing bits of X, then maybe, when I’ve got my treasure, I’ll open a porthole that will take you back home.”

  Split grinned an evil grin.

  “Meantime fear not, snuglet . . . I’ll look after you . . .”

  CHAPTER 5

  The Cadaverous Lobster Tavern

  Once on the shore of the Wild Western Sea, head up the stony beach along from the wreck of the Hairy Mermaid and you will find the town of Whalebone.

  Ignore the tired gaze of the jaded old mariner on the seafront and scuttle past the dark alley where the dogs of the sea toss seal knuckles against the wall of the jail.