The Pirates! in an Adventure with the Romantics

by Gideon Defoe

  Aloof

  ‘Excuse me,’ said the Captain, sauntering over to Mary. ‘Would you mind moving? You’re in the way of some vital nautical equipment there. This is a pirate boat, not a women’s changing room in a fashionable boutique.’

  Mary looked down at where he was pointing. ‘I’m sorry, Pirate Captain. I didn’t realise this . . . uh . . . dead crab, is it? . . . was so important.’

  The Pirate Captain poked the crab with the toe of his boot. ‘Well, you wouldn’t, because you’re a lubber. As it happens, that dead crab tells us how many sharks there are nearby. I’d explain how, but I’m not sure your vague Romantic brain would be able to handle the science. It’s something to do with barometric pressure. For your information, there are no sharks nearby.’ He did his nonchalant yawn again. ‘So, anyway, what are you doing out here on deck?’

  ‘I was just admiring the view, Pirate Captain.’

  ‘Hmmph! I’ve got more important things to worry about than views,’ he snorted. ‘Like destiny. I’m quite high-minded and aloof from the mundane, you see. You may want to look that word up in the dictionary, because you probably don’t know it. I’ll save you the trouble – “aloof” means “conspicuously uninvolved and distant”. That’s me all over.’

  Mary seemed a bit put out, which was usually a sign that the standard protocol was working its magic.

  ‘Have I offended you, Pirate Captain? Because I’d say you’re being more “obnoxious” than “aloof”.’

  The Pirate Captain thought he’d probably done enough ‘aloof’ by now. The trick was making the transition to ‘funny’ as seamless as possible.

  Funny

  ‘Anyhow!’ said the Pirate Captain. ‘I heard a funny story the other day. There was a pirate and he couldn’t remember where he’d buried his treasure. So he press-ganged a classful of children and forced them to dig up an entire island and then – this is the funny bit – then he realised that he’d buried it on a completely different island. Ha ha! Imagine!’

  ‘Those poor children. That sounds awful!’

  ‘The wrong island. You can picture his face.’

  Mary didn’t laugh. The Pirate Captain assumed that maybe she didn’t understand pirate humour and preferred blander land-based jokes. ‘Would it be funnier if he was a cowboy? No? Okay, what do you think of the Duke of Wellington? Imagine if he got his arm stuck in a door. I expect it would sound something like this . . .’

  The Pirate Captain did an impression of the Duke of Wellington and then followed it with an impression of Queen Victoria trying to buy a tin of shoe polish and then a sequence of other famous people in situations that you wouldn’t expect to find them. Mary somehow continued to manage to keep from laughing. The Pirate Captain decided satire wasn’t really her thing, so he changed tack and just pulled a series of funny faces.

  ‘Well, Pirate Captain,’ said Mary after a few more awkward minutes had passed, ‘this has been . . . very interesting, but I think I should go and check on Percy.’

  Deep

  The Pirate Captain decided he’d better squeeze in the final stage whilst he still had a chance, so he stopped pulling a funny face and instead pointed at his eyes, which he tried to make look as big and caring as possible.

  ‘No need to run off, Mary. Can I call you Mary? Mary. Why don’t we talk about you and any feelings you might be having. I’m a very good listener.’

  Mary stifled a laugh, tried to look the Pirate Captain in the eye and then had to look away again. He decided this was probably a delayed reaction left over from ‘funny’.

  ‘Let’s see now,’ she said. ‘I can tell you that I’m a feminist. I believe in the right of women to be treated as equal with men.’13

  The Pirate Captain took off his hat and held it to his breast. ‘Neptune’s teeth! I don’t believe it! I’m a feminist too. I thought I was the only one, but there are two of us! Every day I wake up and look out of my porthole at the big sky and think how awful it is that somewhere under that same sky, a woman is being overlooked for promotion or told to “give us a smile” by some builders.’

  ‘There’s rather more to it than that, Pirate Captain.’

  ‘Of course there is. You don’t need to tell me how hard it is to be a feminist in this cruel manly world. I’ve suffered more than anyone. You should hear the stick I get from other pirate captains for having Jennifer on board. It’s hardly her fault that, as a woman at sea, she brings terrible luck to the whole crew. I really don’t blame her for the misfortune she’s caused – the bankruptcy, my temporary madness, that business with the cannibal and so on. Because she’s more than made up for it with her can-do attitude. So, if you want to do any feminism here on my boat, feel free. And if you get taken with the urge to burn your petticoat, I have a large fireplace in my office.’

  ‘I appreciate the sentiment, Pirate Captain, although I’m not sure you’ve quite grasped what feminism involves. In fact, you sort of sound as if you have an ulterior motive.’

  The Pirate Captain was pretty sure that ‘ulterior motive’ was just another way of saying ‘hidden depths’. He nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘If you knew how many hidden depths I had your pretty eyes would pop right out of your winsome face. Not literally of course – that would be disgusting. I wouldn’t envy the man who had to clean up a pair of popped eyes, especially given the state of this deck. I’m not sure we even have any cleaning products that work for popped eyes, although I suppose a general viscera cleaner would do the trick. You’d need some elbow grease and a decent scourer, depending on how long you’d left the eyes there because, between you and me, the lads can be pretty lazy and they’ve been known to leave organs lying about on deck for weeks, no matter how many times I tell them. Do you Romantics have the same problem?’

  Mary shook her head. ‘Not really, Pirate Captain.’

  The Pirate Captain remembered he’d been talking about something less interesting but more important. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve gone off on a tangent. What was I saying before I got on to popped eyes?’

  ‘You’d done “aloof” and “funny” and were about halfway through “deep”, I think.’

  ‘Oh yes. Anyway, I’m also a quarter Irish, one of the most sensitive ethnic groups.’

  It was about now that he’d expect the attractive lady to swoon into his arms, but Mary stayed unexpectedly upright. A creeping realisation started to dawn on him. ‘Wait a minute. Did you just say “halfway through ‘deep’”?’

  Mary gave the Pirate Captain a frank, but not unfriendly, smile. ‘I’m afraid so, Pirate Captain. I have enjoyed this chat a great deal, but I really think I should go to check on Percy. On account of him being my fiancée.’ She held up a finger with a ring on it, rather apologetically. ‘See you later, Pirate Captain.’ And with that, she turned on a shapely heel and disappeared below decks.

  The Captain stomped back into his cabin, and made enough noise banging astrolabes into things to ensure that the pirate with a scarf would come and find out what was going on.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this, number two,’ he fumed, ‘but my patented Aloof/Funny/Deep method has drawn a blank.’

  The pirate with a scarf looked sympathetic. ‘Sorry to hear that, sir.’

  ‘Possibly I got the ratios muddled. Maybe these Romantics require more of the deep and less of the other bits? Or perhaps she’s got the wrong sort of brain, one that somehow fails to respond to my natural magnetic pull. Like a broken compass. Yes, that’s probably it: she’s like a miserable, creamy-skinned broken compass.’

  The Captain slumped into his armchair.

  ‘Also, she says she’s engaged to that Shelley fellow. It’s preposterous!’

  ‘Ah, well, that does make the situation difficult.’

  ‘I don’t see why! Look at me – I’m married to the sea, but I’m not letting that get in the way of things, am I? Besides, we’re on a lake at the moment, and you know what they say: whilst the big wobbly blue cat is away, the pirate
mice will play.’

  ‘Oh well,’ said the pirate with a scarf, who found matters of the heart both confusing and slightly frightening. ‘Any sign of an impending adventure? I just bumped into Mister Shelley on the way to breakfast, and he seemed rather cross that nothing had got going yet.’

  The Captain digested this news, and tapped his teeth. ‘You know what the problem is – curse of the intellectual! I’ve been over-thinking it.’

  ‘I suppose that could be the case,’ said the pirate with a scarf, doubtfully.

  ‘It’s time to employ my trademark direct approach. Listen up, number two: here’s the plan – we’re going to kill two fish with one cannonball. By which I mean metaphorical fish, obviously. One of the better-looking fish is Mary, and one of the fish is getting this adventure started.’

  ‘Is the cannonball metaphorical too? Or is it a regular cannonball?’

  ‘No, the cannonball is a clever plan, for which I’m going to need a couple of the crew, the remains of that seal carcass, and for you to run me a bath.’

  Five

  In The Grip Of Ghostly Gums

  Byron, Shelley and Mary had barely got halfway through their inedible breakfast of muesli and fusilli when a strange unearthly wailing noise echoed down from the deck of the pirate boat. Nobody needed much more of an excuse to put aside their bowls in relief and hurry upstairs to see what was going on.

  ‘Oh! My word!’ exclaimed the pirate with a scarf, who was already out on the deck waiting for them. ‘Look at this poor creature!’

  He pointed, slightly sheepishly, to a greyish lump writhing about near the mast. An eagle-eyed observer may have described it as looking a great deal like the pirate in red wodged into a hollowed-out-and-then-sewn-back-up-again seal carcass.

  ‘A poor seal pup,’ the pirate with a scarf continued, apparently unable to meet anyone’s gaze, ‘cruelly harpooned by Eskimos.’ The pirate in green popped up from behind a barrel, waving a harpoon and dressed in an oversized parka.

  ‘Eskimos?’14 said Shelley, incredulous. ‘On Lake Geneva?’

  ‘He must have been washed aboard by a tidal wave.’

  ‘A tidal wave?’ said Shelley. ‘Again – on Lake Geneva?’

  The pirate with a scarf pleadingly tried to pull a ‘just go with it’ sort of face. ‘Who might sort out this awful situation?’

  At that point the doors to the downstairs of the boat crashed open and right on cue the Pirate Captain bounded out onto the deck, with nothing but a few beads of water to cover his modesty. The Romantics gasped, but none of the pirate crew so much as batted an eyelid, because they were hard-pressed to remember an adventure when the Pirate Captain hadn’t found an excuse to get unexpectedly naked.

  ‘Dear me!’ the Captain exclaimed. ‘I was caught unawares, just in the midst of a relaxing bath. And what’s this? A poor seal pup, cruelly harpooned by Eskimos.’

  ‘I already did that bit,’ said the pirate with a scarf.

  The Captain rushed forward, punched the Eskimo, and cradled the misbegotten seal in his arms. The seal pup cursed a bit, and mumbled something about stupid plans always involving dressing up as creatures.

  ‘I’m going to have to heroically administer mouth to mouth,’ said the Captain gravely, leaning down to where the seal pup appeared to have a scowling second face poking out from the inside of its own mouth. Once the seal spluttered back into life, cursed and flopped around some more, the Captain hoisted it above his head and threw it over the side of the boat.

  ‘There you go! Back to the inky depths from whence you came! Tell your blubbery brethren that they have nothing to fear from those Swiss Eskimos so long as the Pirate Captain sails the waves.’

  He saluted and then turned to his gob-smacked audience.

  ‘Tremendous! That’s one of the most noble things I’ve ever seen!’ roared Byron. Shelley groaned. Mary once again seemed to have got an oddly timed fit of the giggles. The Captain beamed at her. ‘I’m sorry, Mary,’ he said, subtly starting to flex various muscle groups. ‘I hope you’re not too overcome at the sight of me like this, but as I said, I was just having a bath, and didn’t have time to cover my strapping, manly form.’

  Eventually Mary managed to forget whatever had been amusing her, and got her composure back.

  ‘Are you feeling okay, Pirate Captain?’ she asked.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It’s just that you seem to be suffering from some sort of . . . terrible spasms.’

  ‘Devilishly attractive spasms?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  The Captain deflated a bit, stopped flexing,15 and sat down on a barrel.

  Shelley looked cross. ‘I hope that little episode wasn’t supposed to constitute our adventure? Because I have several doubts about the incident’s veracity.’

  ‘It wasn’t just an adventure, I was killing two birds with – oh, never mind,’ the Captain trailed off and decided to stare sulkily at the horizon. Everybody hovered awkwardly. A few of the crew did their best to melt into the background. Again, not literally, because that would be horrific.

  ‘Goodness me,’ said Mary, after a while, just to break the tension. ‘You certainly have a lot of tattoos, Pirate Captain.’16

  The Pirate Captain grunted.

  ‘Yes. What’s that one?’ asked Shelley, pointing at his chest. ‘Is it a sleepy caterpillar?’

  ‘No,’ said the Captain. ‘It’s a terrifying sea monster.’

  ‘How about this one? Is that a muscly horse?’

  ‘It’s a mermaid. Mermaids are unexpectedly hard to draw.’

  ‘And what on earth,’ said Mary, ‘is that meant to be?’ She pointed to a series of symbols stretching across the Captain’s belly:

  ‘Ah,’ said the Captain, following her gaze. ‘Actually that one IS a genuine mystery.’ He sighed a rueful nostalgic sigh. ‘You see, back when I was a lad in Pirating Academy, I had a mad old mentor, Calico Jack. Famed as the best pirate from Sussex to Shanghai, but almost preternaturally forgetful. Never remembered to carry any stationery supplies, so whenever anything important came up he tended to use his students as notepads.’ The Captain pointed to a line of text etched into the skin just above the symbols –

  Here lies the key to every heart’s desire!

  ‘See? He was always writing things like that down on us. My left buttock has a note on it reminding him to pick up a prescription.’

  ‘The key to every heart’s desire! Why, but that sounds intriguing!’ boomed Byron. The pirate with a scarf was starting to wonder if he had any other way of saying words that wasn’t ‘booming’.

  ‘Yes, but as you can see, unfortunately it’s just those gibberish symbols after that,’ said the Captain with a shrug.

  Mary stroked her chin thoughtfully. ‘You’ve never thought to discover what these symbols might mean?’

  ‘To be honest,’ said the Captain, ‘I suspect it means he was quite drunk when he tattooed it on me in the first place.’17

  ‘You must have some inkling?’

  ‘Not really. I seem to remember a vague story about Calico’s grandfather.’ The Captain wrinkled his nose as he thought back. ‘Gave a lift to this inscrutable European gent, who, one ghostly night during their voyage, after rather too much grog, supposedly told old Calico Senior some profound sort of secret. But that was Calico for you, always arching an eyebrow and saying something enigmatic for no good reason. Probably imagined the whole thing.’

  ‘Well, don’t you see?’ laughed Byron heartily. ‘That’s it! That’s our adventure! It’s been under our noses all this time! Well, under your belly button, at any rate. A grand quest to uncover the mysterious meaning behind your tattoo!’

  ‘Really? But where would we start? It’s just some funny marks,’ said the Captain, frowning. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s just some funny marks, Captain,’ said Mary, squinting closely at the tattoo. ‘I think it must be a code of some sort.’

  ‘Exactly!’ cried Byron. ‘
A code! A code that will reveal the key to every heart’s desire! All the best adventures have codes in them.’

  The Captain contemplated his belly anew. ‘A code, eh? Well, fancy that! All this time I thought it was nonsense, and it turns out to be a code. Mystery solved! Who’s for cocktails?’

  ‘No, Captain,’ said Mary. ‘Saying something “is a code” isn’t really the hard part. It’s the “working out what the code means” bit that’s tricky.’

  ‘Oh. Bother.’

  Everybody scratched their heads and stared at the Pirate Captain’s belly for a while, apart from Shelley, who grimaced, and the pirate in red, who struggled to climb back aboard the boat whilst still stuck in a seal carcass.

  ‘I’m not normally one for body image issues,’ said the Captain, after a couple of wordless minutes had ticked by, ‘but I’m starting to feel a little self-conscious now. Could we stare at something else for a bit?’

  ‘It’s no use,’ said Mary, straightening up with a sigh. ‘Runes? Hieroglyphs? I can’t make head or tail of it.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Byron. ‘It’s a tricky one. Not really suited to our artistic skillset.’

  ‘Ah well,’ said the Captain. ‘How about an adventure sitting around in deckchairs instead?’

  Byron shook his head. ‘We’re not defeated yet, Captain. Because I think I know just the fellow who could help us!’

  ‘Oh good grief,’ said Shelley, his face clouding over. ‘You don’t mean . . .’

  ‘I do!’ Byron leapt onto a barrel, and stared meaningfully at the horizon, like he was on a book jacket or something. ‘Pirate Captain, we must set sail for London!’