by Andy Stanton
Chapter 8
Two Men in a Boat
Mr Gum stood on the oily deck of The Dirty Oyster, scowling at everything in sight. Not that there was much to scowl at – just a load of water, a bit of sky and a line in between called the ‘horizon’ which God had put there to keep the sky from getting wet.
‘Shabba me whiskers,’ scowled Mr Gum for the thousandth time since they’d left Lamonic Bibber. He and Billy had been adrift at sea for weeks now and they were practically dead of hunger, thirst and general scruffiness. All the beer had run out long ago, the engine was smashed to bits from a game they’d invented called ‘Let’s Smash Up The Engine’ and they were both covered from head to toe with sunburn, mosquito bites and verrucas.
‘Shabba me whiskers,’ scowled Mr Gum for the thousand and one-th time since they’d left Lamonic Bibber. ‘I’m completely sick of all this floatin’-around-miles-away-from-home business. What a bother it all is!’
‘An’ I’m sick of bein’ bitten by things,’ complained Billy, rubbing a wound on his shoulder where some plankton had attacked him.
‘Yeah,’ grimaced Mr Gum, ‘but the worst thing is how hungry I’m a-gettin’. Ain’t you got no more dried entrails, Billy?’
‘Sorry, Mr Gum, me old lifejacket,’ said Billy, ‘you scoffed the last one this mornin’. We could try catchin’ some fish,’ he suggested. ‘Look, there’s a fishin’ rod an’ everythin’.’
‘Nah, I can’t be bothered with all that, it looks like too much hard work,’ growled Mr Gum, snapping the fishing rod over his knee and chucking the pieces into the ocean.
‘Now what we gonna do?’ whined Billy. ‘We’re gonna starve to death at this rate.’
‘Sorry, Billy, me old roast dinner, but there’s nothin’ else for it,’ said Mr Gum. ‘I’m gonna have to eat you to stay alive. Chop off yer leg for us, will ya?’
Billy was just about to start sawing into his manky old leg, when all of a sudden he sighted an island ahead, a-glimmerin’ and a-shimmerin’ ’neath the blazing South Pacific sun.
‘Land! Land!’ he shouted, ‘we’re saved!’
And together the villains danced round and round the deck, whooping and roaring with filthy delight as the island drew nearer.
Chapter 9
Discovered!
Night time and the Nantucket Tickler sailed softly on the clear calm waters, watched over by a full moon which hung in the sky like a big silver fruit pastille. Down below decks, Polly awoke with the strange feeling that something was wrong. Quiet as an avocado, she slid from her hammock, opened the cabin door and climbed up on deck.
‘Easy does it,’ whispered Polly to herself as she prowled around, being extra careful to keep to the shadows. She knew the punishment for being caught on deck after dark – tickling, and lots of it. Oh, it didn’t sound so bad, and at first it was even quite fun. But only last week she had seen Captain Brazil tickle a man so hard that both his lungs had flown out his nostrils, it was horrible.
And now, very faintly, Polly could hear laughter and accordion music coming from the far end of the deck, behind one of those massive funnels you always get on ships, no one even knows what they’re for. As her ears grew accustomed to the dark, she began to make out the words of a sea shanty –
Dance for yer supper!
You big ugly tungler!
Dance for yer sailor pals!
And all at once Polly knew what she would find behind the massive funnel.
‘Oh, Padlock,’ she groaned, ‘they’ve got you a-dancin’ again for their gigglin’ fun. You poor creature,’ she exclaimed as she raced along the deck, ‘even here at sea you isn’t free of the terrible World of Men an’ their wicked ways!’
An’ the wind she blows high an’ the wind she blows low
With a wiggle-me-higgle
Me-higgle-me-ho!
With a wiggle-me-higgle
Me-higgle-me-hee!
The music and singing grew louder as Polly neared the funnel, until –
‘OI! SAILORS!’ she yelled, bursting upon the scene she had feared most. There was Padlock, up on his hind legs, jigging along sadly to the accordion music and crying, as all around the sailors stood jeering and poking him with their famous Sailors’ Sticks.
‘You jus’ stops these cruelties right now!’ scolded Polly, throwing herself into the middle of the ring.
‘Look, it’s little Harry Edwards, the cabin boy!’ sneered a mean old fellow called Brendan Jawsnapper, whose muscular arms were covered all over with tattoos of fists and ambulances. ‘What do you mean by breakin’ up our fun? We only wanna see the pussycat dance!’
‘Yeah, he’s the best dancin’ cat what we ever had on this ship,’ agreed someone else.
‘Well, I’m afraid he’s not here for your prancin’ amusements!’ said Polly fiercely. ‘You jus’ leave Padlock – I mean, Purrface Mulligan – alone!’
‘That does it,’ growled Brendan Jawsnapper, and punching himself twice in the face (once for practice and once because he enjoyed it) he launched himself into the ring, snarling like a greasy-haired hurricane.
‘MMPH,’ growled Padlock, stepping forward to protect Polly, his claws glinting menacingly in the moonlight.
‘Blood! Blood! Blood!’ chanted the sailors eagerly. ‘Blood on the water tonight!’
Brendan Jawsnapper and Padlock circled each other slowly, two contestants trapped in a deadly game of Man Against Bear Disguised As Pussycat . . .
But before anyone could land the first blow, Captain Brazil came striding into the ring, woken from his slumbers by all the ruckus on deck.
‘Stop these shenanigans right now!’ he bellowed. ‘Hoist the mainsail! Fifty degrees North! I won’t tolerate this sort of nonsense on my ship! Who’s responsible?’
‘It was Harry Edwards,’ said Brendan Jawsnapper. ‘He started it, Cap’n!’
‘Yeah,’ the others chimed in, ‘it was Edwards and his moggy!’
‘I’ve had just about enough of this,’ said Captain Brazil, grabbing Padlock by the ear, only to have it come off in his hand. And with the removal of the brilliant cat disguise, Captain Brazil had finally discovered the bare truth of the bear truth.
‘By King Neptune’s underwater train set!’ he roared. ‘By the wooden sharks of the Mahogany Sea! This isn’t a cat at all, it’s a BEAR! And wait just a minute,’ he exclaimed, lunging forward and whipping Polly’s fake moustache from her face.
‘Aha!’ cried Captain Brazil triumphantly. ‘You’re not a boy at all, you’re a GIRL! Thought you could fool me, did you? Well, you’re in for it now!’
‘B-but don’t you remembers?’ pleaded Polly as the captain advanced on her, rolling up his sleeve. ‘You was the one what told us to do them ’mazin’ disguises in the first place!’
‘Why on earth would I tell you to do a thing like that?’ said Captain Brazil in bemusement, his eyes rolling around like ice skaters in his head. ‘That would be insane! Now prepare to be tickled ’til your lungs fly out of your nostrils!’
‘No, Cap’n! You can’t!’ cried good-hearted Nimpy Windowmash, the First Mate. ‘She’s as good as any boy! Have mercy, Cap’n, please!’
‘Hmm,’ said Captain Brazil, stroking his leg thoughtfully. ‘Nimpy, you are a good First Mate and your name makes me laugh. Plus you once rescued me from being eaten by a prawn. Perhaps I should listen to you.
‘Very well,’ he continued, ‘I will not tickle her – but she will still have to be punished. Men!’ boomed Captain Brazil, ‘let it be known that at sunrise, she and the bear will be put on a plank and set adrift on the ocean blue!’
Chapter 10
She and the Bear are Put
on a Plank and Set Adrift
on the Ocean Blue
It was three minutes to sunrise.
Polly and Padlock sat shivering upon a wooden plank no bigger than a mattress as it bobbed gently upon the waves. Far above on the deck of the Nantucket Tickler, Captain Brazil and his men stood gazing down at them. S
ome of the men were shaking their heads sadly. Nimpy Windowmash was crying. Brendan Jawsnapper was leaning over the rail, making rude faces and trying to gob phlegm on to Padlock’s head.
‘Harry Edwards and Purrface Mulligan,’ said Captain Brazil gravely. ‘You thought you could make a fool of me, but you yourselves are the fools, you fools. Three minutes from now the sun will rise, and I will cut the rope which tethers your plank to this ship. Actually I can’t be bothered to wait, I’ll just do it now.’
SCHWICK!
With one firm swipe of his cutlass, Captain Brazil slashed through the rope.
‘NO!’ shouted Polly.
‘MMPH!’ said Padlock.
A great wave bore down, sweeping up the plank and carrying it far from the ship in a single watery heartbeat. Salt water stung Polly’s eyes and mingled with the tears rolling down Padlock’s face.
The two of them clung on for dear life as the plank began to toss and turn upon the waves, spinning dizzily in every direction . . .
‘NOOOOOO!’ yelled Polly. ‘You can’t do this to us, Cap’n!’
But it had already been done.
Gradually the plank was carried further and further away from the ship.
Soon the Nantucket Tickler was only a pinprick on the horizon.
And then it was lost from view entirely.
SHHHHHWWWWWOOOOOSSSSSH.
SWWWWWOOOOOOSSSSH.
SWWWSSSSShhhhhhhh.
Adrift on the ocean wave, with only a bear for company.
There was nothing to do.
There was nothing to see.
Just the big blue sea.
And the big blue sky.
Stretching out as far as the eye could see . . .
Just the big blue sea.
Big blue sky.
Big blue nothing.
And poor little Polly and Padlock caught in the middle of it all, floating through the Universe on a plank no bigger than a mattress.
Swwwwwshshssh.
‘HELP!’ called Polly. But who was listening?
‘GRRRMPH!’ wailed Padlock. But who would answer?
Not the sky.
Not the sea.
Not the clouds.
Adrift, adrift on the big fat blue.
SWWWSSSSShhhhhhhh.
‘Blimey, I’m getting thin,’ said Padlock, running his paws over his ribcage.
Thirst and hunger.
Thirst and hunger.
Polly was starting to lose her mind.
Was Padlock really talking or had she only imagined it?
SWWWSSSSShhhhhhhh.
Hundreds of Crunchy little Leopards floated by in a postman’s hat, laughing and splashing each other for fun.
‘Look at me,’ said Padlock, taking off his head and playing football with it. ‘Ha ha ha, hee
hee hee!’
SWWWSSSSShhhhhhhh.
SWWWSSSSShhhhhhhh.
A fish zoomed straight up out of the water and went soaring into the sky where it exploded into a shower of cackling seahorses that all looked like Billy William the Third. A mackerel with the face of Mr Gum swam by, watching ‘Bag of Sticks’ on a waterproof TV set.
‘Shabba me dorsal fin,’ muttered the mackerel. ‘Who’d’ve thought bein’ a mackerel would be such a bother?’
SWWWWWOOOOOOSSSSH.
The world was turning upside down.
Polly tasted salt water, saw the sky tumbling around her. Padlock kept turning into Captain Brazil’s nose and back again.
Was Polly dreaming? Was she awake? Was she asleep? Was she somewhere in between?
She looked down and saw her hands had turned into bear’s paws.
She was losing her mind.
Ssssswwwwwshhhhh.
Ssswwhsssh.
The big blue sea.
Ssswwhsssh.
Pictures drifted through Polly’s head. Padlock was holding a toy balloon. Holding a funny red balloon on a funny yellow string, la la la!
‘Can I have a go?’ said Polly, but Padlock had gone.
Where was he?
He was climbing up the string, la la la!
Climbing up the string and disappearing up through the air like a furry dream . . .
Look up, Polly, look up!
‘UP HERE, POLLY!’ called a voice from above. ‘LOOK UP!’
‘What? What you on about, mysterious voice?’ said Polly sleepily.
‘LOOK UP IN THE SKY!’
‘Oh, the sky!’ laughed Polly. ‘Padlock disappeared up there, you know,’ she giggled.
‘Grab hold of the ROPE, Polly!’ shouted the voice.
Slowly Polly looked around. She was still all alone.
Blue sea.
Blue sky.
A yellow rope.
Blue sky –
Hold on.
A yellow rope?
Polly’s eyes followed the rope upwards into the air and there it was. Not a toy balloon after all! But a splendid red hot-air balloon with
FLAVOURS OF DISCOVERY
painted on the side in letters of green and gold.
‘Mr Ripples, sir!’ croaked Polly in disbelief. ‘What on earth are you doin’ here?’
‘Come on, Polly!’ yelled Jonathan Ripples. ‘Padlock’s already made it,’ he said, gesturing towards the bear standing at his side in the basket. ‘Now it’s your turn. Climb up!’
‘I don’t thinks I can!’ called Polly, ‘I’m too weak!’
But already she had taken hold of the rope and already – slowly, slowly – she was hauling herself up, Jonathan Ripples urging her on every step of the way.
‘That’s it, that’s it! You’re doing ever so well!’
Every muscle in Polly’s body ached agonisingly as she climbed, and once she glanced down and saw a family of sharks laying out a dinner table with knives and forks, waiting for her to fall –
But was Polly the type of girl to give up? Yes, she was, I mean, no, she wasn’t. Up she pulled herself, up, up through the sky like a dinosaur fighting its way back from extinction.
Up, up she went. Until, eventually, she was at the top of the rope and Jonathan Ripples was helping her into the crowded basket. What a tight squeeze it was! But she was safe.
‘Oh, Mr Ripples, sir,’ said Polly, half-collapsing against Padlock’s furry legs. ‘I can’t . . . I can’t thanks you enough . . .’
‘Shh,’ said Jonathan Ripples kindly. ‘Eat first, then we’ll talk. Try some sushi,’ he suggested, offering Polly a tray of raw fish and rice. ‘It’s the latest snack I discovered, over in Japan.’
‘But . . . but . . . however did you done find us, Mr Ripples, sir?’ said Polly, nibbling at the horrid delicacy.
‘Well, it’s the strangest thing,’ said Jonathan Ripples as he bit into a vegetable samosa he’d found on a park bench in India. ‘I was flying north in search of my latest snack, but last night I had the most peculiar dream. There was a little boy, laughing in a sea of colours, and he said, “Hello, Jonathan Ripples. I like your hot-air balloon. Now, finding snacks is very important, but I have an even more important job for you to do. Tomorrow you must turn your balloon all the way around and find some friends of mine who are in trouble. Bye for now!”
‘So this morning I turned the balloon around and there you were,’ said Jonathan Ripples. ‘It’s probably just a coincidence,’ he laughed, ‘after all, it was only a dream.’
But Polly knew better.
‘No, large sir,’ she said solemnly, ‘you was destined to finds us. For last night you was a- visited in your sleeps by none other than the Spirit of the Rainbow.’
‘The Spirit of the Rainbow?’ chuckled Jonathan Ripples, crunching into a burrito he’d discovered down Mexico way. ‘Never heard of him. Sorry, Polly, but I think you’ve gone a little bit crazy in the head from too long at sea!’
Chapter 11
To the Island
Oh, those days sailing not through the seas but through the bright blue skies in Jonathan Ripples’ balloon! They were beautiful
days, magical days, wonderful, mystical, zam-zistical days! And the nights were pretty zam-zistical too, only a bit darker.
‘How I loves it up here,’ said Polly, as they flashed and flurried through the laughing, hoopling clouds. ‘It’s like a dream!’
‘But it’s even better than a dream,’ chuckled Jonathan Ripples, ‘because we’ve got all those delicious snacks I collected before I rescued you. Fancy another potato ’n’ donkey yum-yum all the way from China?’
‘Um, not just now, thanks,’ said Polly, who didn’t really like the potato ’n’ donkey yum-yums very much. They were a bit too potato-ey for her.
Even Padlock began to look a little happier during this time. He would spend entire days with his paws up on the edge of the basket, gazing down at the sparkling sea as it sped past below, or pulling funny faces to amuse the albatrosses and gulls that wheeled in dizzying arcs around the balloon.
‘Why, I do believes we’re seein’ the real Padlock at last,’ smiled Polly. ‘I never seen him enjoyin’ life like this, Mr Ripples, sir. His fur’s a-startin’ to grow back an’ everythin’.’
But each evening as the sun went down and the sky blazed orange and gold and red, Polly would find her thoughts turning to Lamonic Bibber, the town she knew and called Lamonic Bibber.
‘I wonder what Friday O’Leary’s up to right now,’ she would sigh wistfully. ‘I haven’t seen him for ages.’
Or, ‘I does miss Old Granny. Her an’ her sherry-lovin’ ways! An’ what about little Alan Taylor? I wonder how he’s gettin’ on at Saint Pterodactyl’s?’
‘When’s we a-gonna be back in Lamonic Bibber, Mr Ripples, sir?’ asked Polly one night as she prepared to bed down next to Padlock, who always kept her warm and safe and smelling a bit like a bear.