by Gideon Defoe
‘But . . . you can’t have done!’ said Mary.
‘I did. And what I found horrified me to my core. For a start, the subtext was all too apparent. You had chosen the Captain over me! But worse, so much worse, was just how bad a writer you are,’ Shelley shuddered. ‘I mean, really, really awful.’
‘No, but I mean, you can’t have taken my manuscript. I still have it. Look . . .’ Mary darted out of the room for a moment and then came back a minute later with her manuscript in her hand. She dropped it on the table. ‘See?’
Shelley looked baffled. He pulled another manuscript from his trousers. ‘Then what on earth is this?’
‘So let me get this straight,’ said the Captain, who was starting to get a bit of a headache. ‘Byron isn’t a dracula. Babbage isn’t a dracula. Percy isn’t a dracula. Who does that leave? Mary? It’s okay if you are, I’m sure we can find a way to make it work.’ He threw some more of the tea at her. ‘Sorry, that was a reflex.’
‘NOBODY IS A DRACULA!’ said Percy with a shriek. He sat down and took a few deep breaths to get his composure back. ‘I staged the seance to frame the Pirate Captain as a woman-murdering vampire because I thought that would put Mary off him. But I got in a muddle, because Byron was still wearing the Captain’s coat from the imbecilic monster conference, so I inadvertently planted the evidence in the wrong pockets.’
‘Well if it wasn’t you, who did take “On Feelings” after Babbage found it?’ asked Byron. For a moment nobody spoke. Then Mary sighed.
‘It was me,’ she said, wiping some tea off her face.
‘Why would you do such a thing?’ asked Shelley, his turn to be perplexed.
‘Because it sounds terrible! Romance shouldn’t be based on secrets and trickery! Good grief, you might as well go back to hitting us over the head with clubs. Relationships should be about delicate moments and the thrill of uncertainty. It’s only any fun if there’s a good chance the other person is going to hate you. That’s why I painted the warning on the side of the boat in Oxford, but of course nobody took a blind bit of notice.’
‘Was the taxidermy you too?’38
‘Yes. Well, not the whole thing, obviously. I just customised a pre-existing diorama that I found in one of the bedrooms.’
‘It was very good,’ said the Captain. ‘I like the way you used pipe cleaners for the nooses.’
‘Thank you. Where was I? Oh yes. So I crept downstairs to search for “On Feelings” while everyone slept. And there it was! Just sitting on the desk where Babbage must have left it. I didn’t care how the book got there, I just grabbed it and ran straight back to my room, intending to destroy it. Only before I had a chance, I saw a shadow outside my door! Well, I did the smart thing and pretended to be asleep. But whoever it was crept straight in and snatched “On Feelings” from the bed! And then, I think, replaced it with something else. What was especially odd was that a second later someone came in AGAIN, and took back whatever it was they’d put there in the first place.’
‘Well, I’m lost,’ said Byron.
‘Me too,’ said Babbage.
‘Yes, and me,’ said Percy.
‘I think I can explain,’ said the pirate with a scarf, looking a bit sheepish. ‘You see, the Captain here asked me to swap Mary’s novel for his own, somewhat more forthright version.’
‘What on earth for?’ asked Mary.
‘Subtext. Long story. It seemed to make sense at the time,’ said the Captain.
‘Anyhow,’ the pirate with a scarf continued. ‘Obviously what happened is that I must have picked up “On Feelings” thinking that it was Mary’s manuscript. Easy mistake to make. One lot of papery stuff held together with string looks a lot like the next lot of papery stuff held together with string. Then I left the Captain’s version in its place.’
‘So the manuscript I stole wasn’t Mary’s, it was the Captain’s!’ exclaimed Shelley, relieved. ‘Which of course explains why it was so terrible!’
The Captain scowled. ‘Yes, whatever.’ He turned to the pirate with a scarf. ‘So, here’s the million doubloon question, number two: what did you do with what you thought was Mary’s manuscript?’
The pirate with a scarf shrugged. ‘I hid it in the polar bear’s mouth.’
There was a pause.
The Pirate Captain looked at Mary.
Shelley looked at Mary.
The Pirate Captain and Shelley looked at each other.
And then they both leapt from their seats and raced out the door.
‘$*@£!£$ hellfire,’ said Mary.
Eighteen
Kissed by Rat Lips
Much has been written about Percy Bysshe Shelley. He is described as ‘consecrating the profound wisdom of poetry’ and ‘spontaneously and faithfully embodying the spirit of both intellectual and political revolution’. But nowhere is it said that he could run faster than a pirate captain trying to get to a stuffed polar bear’s head. As it happens, he could run slightly faster, but the Pirate Captain had a head start so they arrived at the top of the stairs at the same time.
Both of them plunged their arms elbow deep into the creature’s mouth, like a pair of reverse James Herriots. After rooting around for a few moments it was Shelley who finally pulled a sheaf of yellowing paper from the ursine maw.
‘Ha-ha!’ He let out a triumphant cry, but the Captain grabbed the other end of the bundle and gave it a sharp yank.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ said the Captain. ‘But I think it’s probably better if I take this, for safe keeping. Stop it falling into the wrong hands.’
Percy grunted, tugged back and tried to pull the Captain’s beard off for good measure. ‘I must apologise too, but I think it’s better I keep hold of it, lest some unscrupulous hirsute character should try to use the contents for untoward purposes.’
The Captain trod on Shelley’s toe, which had the desired effect of making the poet yelp and let go of the manuscript. But before the Captain could pick it up, Shelley spun about, yanked at the polar bear head with as much strength as he could muster – about 30psi – and prised it from the wall. There was a popping noise as he plonked the bear’s head down on top of the Captain’s head as hard as he could.
‘Ooofff!’ said the Pirate Captain, momentarily blinded. He tripped, reached out to break his fall, and tumbled straight on top of his pale adversary. They wrestled about on the carpet. If they had been naked and if the Captain didn’t have a polar bear head stuck on his face it would have been just like the bit in Women in Love. Peering out from the bear’s mouth, the Pirate Captain managed to head-butt Shelley with his snout and grab the sheaf of papers back again. He clambered to his feet and started to run across the landing, but Shelley made a last desperate lunge for his ankles. The Pirate Captain lost his footing once more, and as he reached out to brace his fall, ‘On Feelings’ went looping off into the air. Shelley gasped and grabbed for it, but only succeeded in knocking the Captain sideways, sending both of them tumbling down the staircase. They landed in a sprawling heap at the bottom, just as the others emerged into the hall. ‘On Feelings’ fluttered down a few inches away. The two men dived on top of it.
‘Give it here, you nautical buffoon!’ said Shelley.
‘Go suck a barnacle,’ said the Captain.
Babbage scowled, and turned to Mary. ‘You know, young lady, you could probably save us all a lot of bother if you just chose one of them.’
The Captain and Percy paused their tug of war and looked up. Mary bit her lip.
‘But how?’ she said, sounding plaintive. ‘It’s an impossible choice!’ She slumped into a chair and rubbed her temple. ‘I don’t know what to do. There’s Percy, dear Percy, who really is incredibly smart and refined and has lovely slender hands . . .’
Percy waved the hand that wasn’t holding ‘On Feelings’. Everybody agreed that they were pretty nice, sort of delicate without being actual girl’s hands. Mary smiled at him. ‘He even seems to like me having opinions, which is pretty rare in an
age when “being a woman with an opinion” is the best way to get banged up in an asylum. But then there’s the Pirate Captain. He’s more like a force of nature. Like . . . like being hit in the face by the Atlantic Ocean.’
‘See?’ said the Pirate Captain, shooting his crew a look. ‘Notice that she didn’t mention whelks? She had every opportunity.’
‘He’s invigorating and he likes monsters and his hands are rough and manly and sometimes that’s what a girl wants.’
‘Hmmm. I can see your dilemma,’ said Babbage, who was starting to enjoy this, because he thought maybe the situation could be modelled with game theory.
‘You know, I often encounter a similar problem. Perhaps I can help?’ said the Captain, holding up his free hand. ‘When I wake up in the morning, I face a tricky conundrum: do I have my egg poached or boiled? You know where you are with a poached egg. It’s all there in front of you, perhaps a little showy and patronising at times, but dependable. Sits nicely on the toast. It’s not going to run off with a cocktail waitress, is it?’
Everyone agreed that poached eggs were a valid breakfast choice.
‘But sometimes I like to walk on the wild side. I want my morning egg to give me a little rush of adrenalin. That’s when I go for boiled. The thing about boiled eggs, Mary, is that you never know what’s inside. Was it done properly? Will the yolk run or is it solid? Maybe there’s a little dead chick in it? Who can say? Only the boiled egg has that element of danger. It’s into you, but it would be the first to admit that it’s not very consistent or good at commitment. Sure, we both know that egg will be a rollercoaster ride of an egg, but think of the adventures.’
The Pirate Captain summoned up another dashing grin.
‘In case you missed that subtext, I’ll also chuck in a free pair of pirate trousers and you can have number two’s telescope.’
Even at the best of times Percy’s posture wasn’t exactly brilliant, but now he sagged like a limp daffodil. He let go of ‘On Feelings’ and buried his face in his hands.
‘Oh, what’s the point? I can’t compete with that.’ He sniffed, wiped his eyes, and managed a rueful smile. ‘To be honest, it’s almost a relief.’
‘A relief?’ said Mary, looking puzzled.
‘I’m not an idiot. I know full well that someone like me couldn’t hang on to a girl like you. I mean, I do my best. I spout all this flouncy nonsense to try to keep you impressed, but deep down, I knew it would never be enough.’
‘Hang on,’ said Mary. ‘What do you mean, “flouncy nonsense to keep me impressed”?’
‘The sensitive brow business. Constantly banging on about Orpheus. Good grief, do you have any idea how irritating it is to hear yourself using expressions like “youth’s starlight smile” all the time?’
‘Oh Percy. What made you think I was into that kind of thing?’
Percy shrugged. ‘I just thought it was what you girls liked. Though now I realise that it seems I should have been more like the Captain here. This is a man that’s true to himself. He must be, because I don’t think anybody would act like that by choice. Go with him, Mary. I hope you’ll be very happy with each other.’
And with that, Shelley began to blubber uncontrollably.
‘Well now,’ said the Captain. ‘That’s worked out well, hasn’t it? The best pirate won and all that.’ He gave Shelley a pat on the head and clambered to his feet. ‘So – now to see what old Plato had up his sleeve, hmmm?’
The Captain licked a briny finger and started to turn the first page of ‘On Feelings’, but Mary grabbed his wrist and looked deep into his eyes.
‘Captain, I implore you. This godforsaken book is too dangerous. Look at what it’s turned us all into! Monsters! Not the good kind of monsters with webbed feet and vestigial tails, but the awful metaphorical kind of monsters, which are much worse and much more dull. Please, Captain, there are some secrets we’re simply not meant to know.’
‘But we’ve had an entire adventure just trying to find it. Seems pretty ridiculous to stop at this point.’
‘If you have any real feelings for me, Captain,’ said Mary earnestly, ‘you’ll destroy this book once and for all.’
The Captain paused. He looked at Mary’s nice hair, then he looked at ‘On Feelings’ sitting on his lap, then he looked at Shelley, then he looked at Byron, then he looked at Jennifer, then he looked at the pirates, then he looked away because the albino pirate was chewing with his mouth open. And then he felt something that had only troubled him two times before, one of which he had mistaken for indigestion. He had a moral dilemma.
The Captain set his jaw, and strode back into the study. The others rushed after him. They found him paused by the fireplace. A long moment ticked by. And then he threw the sheaf of paper straight into the flames.
‘What on earth have you done?’ said Byron, covering his eyes in dismay.
‘Oh, Captain! Thank you!’ said Mary, running over and giving him a hug.
The Pirate Captain gazed at where the horizon would have been if there’d been a horizon in the study, and looked as noble as you can look when you have a polar bear’s head stuck over your own head. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘a pirate must weigh the responsibility of his actions. He must put aside his own desires and see the bigger picture. He must reach deep inside, and become a better man. Oh, I was tempted. To learn those secrets! To be a god amongst men! To banish irritating will-they-won’t-they situations for ever! But I have performed this selfless act for you, Mary, and for the good of civilisation itself.’
He finished and everybody clapped. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room, apart from the eyes on paintings. Even Babbage dabbed a tear from his cheek.
Then the Pirate Captain did a bow. It would have gone down in history as one of the Captain’s better speeches right up until the bow, but at that point ‘On Feelings’ dropped out from under his coat and plopped onto the carpet, slightly undermining the whole effect.
‘Arrr,’ said the Captain, looking down at it awkwardly. ‘How did that get there?’
‘Pirate Captain!’ exclaimed Mary.
‘Now, hang on a tick.’ The Captain started to back away. ‘I realise this must look a lot like I did the old switcheroo move again, and that I must have just now swapped “On Feelings” for the copy of your novel that you’d left sitting on the table, which I then burnt in its place, but actually this can be explained. By yet more ghosts. Or some other, much less implausible excuse than that.’
Mary slapped him very hard on his muzzle. Babbage and Byron both eyed the bundle of paper on the floor and subtly started to edge towards it.
‘Oh for pity’s sake,’ said Jennifer. She marched across the room, picked up ‘On Feelings’ and threw it into the fireplace. ‘Good riddance!’
Everybody gasped again, but not very hard because they were getting quite tired now. The Pirate Captain hefted another great sigh, watched the pages crackle and curl into a black ash, and not for the first time wished he had actually been a sexy fireman.
Nineteen
The Abhorrent Albatross
The pirate boat bobbed about in the sparkling Neopolitan bay as everybody gathered on deck to say their goodbyes. They’d spent most of their journey back from Romania retelling their adventure to each other over various feasts. Byron’s account of events had gradually grown more and more fanciful, until by the time they reached the shores of Italy he was convinced he actually had turned out to be a vampire after all, and nobody really liked to correct him. Mary and Shelley had passed the time having long conversations about things that genuinely interested them. Babbage was travel sick. And the pirate crew had clanked happily about in some of the suits of armour that they’d stolen from the castle.
‘Is that the lot?’ the Captain asked, as he helped lug the last of the poets’ suitcases down the gangplank.
‘I believe so,’ said Shelley, awkwardly extending his hand. He squinted in the sunlight. ‘So. No hard feelings? When I started this adventure I must
confess to not really trusting you piratical sorts, but it seems to me now that you’re all right.39 And I can hardly blame you for fancying Mary. Only a fool wouldn’t fancy her.’
The Captain grinned. ‘Yes, no hard feelings, Percy. I’m not the kind to bear a grudge. Mostly because I’ll have forgotten this whole adventure by next week.’ He tapped his head. ‘The long-term memory is pretty shot, you see. It’s from drinking too much seawater.’ He took Shelley’s hand and gave it a friendly shake. Then the Captain turned to where Byron, now sporting some glued-on fangs and a thick velvet cloak despite the balmy weather, was giving Jennifer a hearty embrace.
‘Byron, it’s been a real pleasure.’
‘Likewise!’ boomed Byron.
‘Anything exciting planned next?’
‘I thought Jennifer and I could go and have a series of spin-off adventures where we solve occult crimes in far-flung locales. But, alas, she has turned me down.’
‘Sorry, Byron,’ said Jennifer. ‘It’s tempting, and you really do have lovely cheekbones, but I can’t give up being a pirate. It’s just the sort of girl I am.’
‘So what will you do, Mister Byron?’ asked the pirate with a scarf.
Byron tapped his nose. ‘Well, my fall-back plan is to sleep with women in a variety of specific locations across Europe, so that if you plot them on a map it spells out BYRON . . .’