CHAPTER 4
EDUCATING ELSIE SLOTH
Under Assam management work on the Serendipity progressed steadily throughout the night, and without mishap. The crew managers had been well chosen and the volunteers learned quickly under their tutelage. The extra time spent planning had paid off so that there had been few mistakes to correct and work was of a good standard. The weather too had held and when the moon set behind the trees in the West the great sweep of stars called the Milky Way glowed like phosphorescent plankton in an ocean sky. Without blanketing clouds to keep in the world’s warmth, the temperature had fallen and, as if anticipating the approaching dawn, frost was already beginning to bead in the shadows.
Assam was pleased with how things were progressing. Each team was busy and working together well. Work had settled into a productive rhythm leaving little for him to do but make sure everyone was working safely and to fill in the gaps not covered by one of the work teams. Minding Elsie Sloth was one such gap.
‘Um-way-ill’, said little Elsie Sloth with obvious concentration. She was perched on top of Assam’s shell as he supervised work on the Serendipity, still in drydock at Thompsons Creek.
Assam sighed. Despite having completely messed up the pronunciation, he could tell she was pleased with her effort. He had little experience with the young but was sure by two years a young animal of any House should be able to talk intelligibly. Perhaps all the young in the House of Sloth were slow learners, as the adults were slow in other ways.
‘No Elsie, it’s called a gunwale not an umwail,’ said Assam, having now corrected her for the third time. ‘A gunwale is this here rim that runs around the top of a ship, a railing if you like. You can mount a gun to it, see?’
With careful movements so she didn’t fall, Assam waddled across the deck towards the gunwale upon which was mounted a small harpoon cannon used to spear and a haul in large fish.
‘Gum-way-ill,’ she said, carefully emphasising each part of the word. ‘Gum go bam bam.’ She reached for the cold metal of the harpoon cannon with her long, curving claws. She had three on each limb as she was a three-toed sloth. She had fuzzy snow white fur that must be difficult to keep clean.
Assam grimaced. She would never get it right and he regretted agreeing to babysit her whilst her father worked. He wouldn’t have agreed except that the baby sloth’s mother had been taken by the pirates and Cecil Sloth, Elsie’s father, was needed. He had too few carpenters of any quality. Cecil was a fine carpenter but clearly had no idea how to teach his daughter how to speak even the most basic Latin.
‘See, the… gun… is… mounted… to… the… gunwale,’ he said slowly. ‘Gun is for gun and wale is from the word wheal, which is a ridge of scar under a person’s fur. So the gunwale is a ridge-like railing onto which you can mount a gun. Now, say gunwale again.’
Elsie rolled onto her belly, nestled her little head in her claws and looked at Assam over the curve of his shell. Her large eyes twinkled in the starlight. ‘Piwates bwoed up kool. Piwates bad. Gum go bam bam. Gum bwo up piwates,’ she said, a big smile breaking across her silky white fur.
Assam didn’t bother telling her how many mistakes she had made. Instead, he sighed and said: ‘Not this gun, Elsie. This is just used to shoot fish. It’s not big enough to shoot pirates. The human and lots of other big, strong animals are going to catch the pirates and bring back Harry and your, your…’ He thought it best not to mention her missing mother in case it upset her. ‘The Serendipity’s part of the Ghost Fleet, it will carry supplies and won’t arrive until its safe, well after the battle. We won’t need cannons. You see, we have no other cannons…’
‘Piwates not eet Ha-wee. Piwates not eet mummy,’ she said, shaking her head decisively. She had dinner-plate eyes, a smooth round head and, like all sloths, holes for outer ears.
‘No, that’s right. We won’t let the pirates eat anyone. We’ll get Harry and your mummy back before…’
‘Elfee help?’ she asked plaintively.
‘No, I’m sorry, Elsie. You are too little to help.’
‘Elfee help Ha-wee! Elfee help Mummy. Elfee eet piwates!’ she insisted, growling as she said ‘eat’.
‘Did you know that this is Harry Possum’s very own ship?’ Assam asked in an attempt to distract her from the topic of eating pirates, an unsavoury topic and one wholly unsuited for one as young as Elsie. ‘Harry built it himself. Wasn’t he clever?’
‘Elfee cweva,’ she said, nodding profoundly.
‘Yes, I’m sure you are, Elsie, just like Harry. And when you’re bigger, you can learn to build boats and ships too. If you do you will be called a shipwright. I’m a shipwright and Harry’s a shipwright…’
‘Elfee, ip-wite?’
‘No, you’re not a shipwright, Elsie. You have to go school for a long, long time to be a shipwright. You will have to…’
‘Kool blowed up,’ she said, nodding.
Above them, in the rigging, the monkeys were singing again. Assam looked up. The twin masts were alive with light and movement. Lanterns had been hung from the masts so the riggers could see what they were doing. Ropes were being hauled, looped and tied in a choreography of purpose. The blocks—iron pulleys bracketed by heavy wooden chocks—would soon be installed and then the sails heaved into position and mounted. The rigging crew was the most experienced group of volunteers he had. They were also mostly handed animals with dextrous fingers, which helped speed things up.
‘Oh, ahh… pwitty wites!’ said Elsie. She had rolled on her back on top of Assam’s shell.
To Assam, the ‘pretty lights’ looked like a constellation of swaying stars, any one of which might fall on some unwitting animal’s head. It had always surprised him how animals without shells to protect them gathered up the courage to leave home each morning.
High in the rigging a monkey jumped skilfully between the masts, safely catching hold of a rope and swinging gracefully up to his mates hanging from the foremast’s portside shroud.
‘Oh, ahhh…’ Elsie sighed, clearly impressed. ‘Elfie cwime wadder?’ she asked.
‘The rope netting is called a shroud, not a ladder,’ corrected Assam. ‘And no, you may not climb the shroud. It’s not safe and you’re too young.’
Looking up, Assam yelled: ‘Hey, you up there! Be careful. There are people down here.’
The monkeys didn’t appear to hear him for they went about their work without answering or acknowledging him in any way.
‘Hold on, Elsie. I’m going to move away in case something falls.’
Assam carried the little, snow white sloth towards the stern. This would take them out from under the riggers. Elsie’s father would be there supervising a team of carpenters. Perhaps he could take her back now.
He squeezed past a large, open tin of white paint. Paint was dribbling down the side and pooling on the deck. He glared at the animal responsible who immediately hastened to clean it up.
‘The Serendipity’s a Baltimore Clipper,’ he said to Elsie. It wouldn’t do that she lived in a portside town famed for its shipbuilding industry but knew so little about ships. Along with her appalling pronunciation it was another black mark against her carpenter father. ‘A Baltimore Clipper is narrow at the waist, which helps it cut cleanly through the water. Harry built the Serendipity to go very fast. If the pirates had her Admiral Flossy’s Hammer would never catch them.’
‘Cwipper katch piwates? Am-am katch piwates?’
‘Me! No! Assam won’t catch pirates. I’m a tortoise. Others will catch the pirates… and we will help them when it’s completely safe. And if we need to, we can sail away faster than the pirates can. The pirates won’t be able to catch us, the Serendipity will be too fast for them.’
Four sheep tumbled onto the deck from the short gangplank leading ashore and looked around with wonder shining in their eyes. Each was wearing a badly fitted jerkin tied on with frayed rope that also acted to holster a homemade wooden sword. A blue ribbon was tied haphazardly to each sheep’s s
hort tail. The scary human had worn a bow of the same colour in her curly, blond head fur. It was she who had carried him upside down and cruelly dropped him in front of the Mayor.
Assam waddled over and faced the closest sheep. ‘Sightseeing, are we?’ He didn’t bother disguising his sarcasm. He was the foreman and this was his worksite, not a tourist attraction.
‘Baaa, we’re here to help!’ said a fat sheep, rolling forward. ‘Here to help, here to help,’ chorused the others.
‘Elfee elp. Elfee eat piwates,’ said Elsie, determined. She had wriggled into a sitting position and looked down at the sheep from on top of Assam’s shell.
‘We have all the help we need, thank you,’ said Assam to the fat sheep. ‘We only need riggers at the moment so unless you’ve got fingers, there’s nothing you can do.’
All four sheep looked up at the riggers, eyes glinting in the flickering, yellow light.
‘Baaa. We can rig, we can rig!’ said the fat one. ‘We can rig, we can rig!’ chorused the others, jumping up and down and bleating excitedly.
‘Preposterous!’ declared Assam. ‘Now, please go back to where you came from and find something useful to do or better still, go home!’
‘Elfee elp wigging?’ Elsie asked.
‘Now, off with you all. This is a worksite and it’s not safe,’ Assam said to the sheep.
Turning as one, the sheep mounted the gangplank single-file and bounced back ashore, wooden swords swinging at their sides. Assam watched the ridiculous animals weave their way between the pallets and boxes of supplies that awaited loading and disappear into the darkness beyond the half-circle of light centred on the sleek ship.
Reginald Elephant emerged from behind Harry’s work shed carrying a huge, iron sea anchor, as if it was made of straw. Had he not seen it himself, Assam would not have believed even an elephant could singlehandedly lift such a weight or for that matter, hoist the Serendipity’s mast into position as he did earlier. Elephants were useful to have around, as where possums. Harry’s ingenious use of blocks and tackle had made it surprisingly easy to lift and position the mast. He would have to find time to study how it was done.
He surveyed the Serendipity with professional admiration and a little awe. The possum was clearly a remarkable animal to have built so skilfully, and singlehandedly. Assam had only ever seen a picture of a Baltimore Clipper. The design was ancient, dating back to sometime during the Machine Age. As far as he knew, this was the first one to have been built since; the only one in existence. He had used Harry’s own plans and sketches, which he had found neatly laid out on a workbench in Harry’s cabin. He had followed them as closely as possible, making few improvements. He had even made sure the painting crew used the same colour scheme as the watercolour painting standing on the small shelf beside Harry’s hammock.
The monkeys in the rigging were singing again. They were making good progress but he knew the project was well be behind schedule. He had more than enough volunteers but many didn’t have the skills needed. There were precious few riggers, carpenters and boatswains. These he had given management responsibility. They spent most of their time training their teams, time enough that they could have easily done it themselves, twice over.
A young grey-green armadillo approached. ‘Excuse me, Mr Tortoise. Where is the prow? I was told to go there with this thing.’ She held up a hammer. ‘But I don’t know what a prow is.’
‘The thing is a hammer,’ replied Assam with a sigh. ‘And there is the prow, the front of the ship.’ He lifted a stumpy foot and pointed forward. ‘Just use that ramp and follow your pointy nose.’
‘Ammer,’ said Elsie, parroting the armadillo.
‘Say, H-ammer,’ said Assam.
‘H-ammer,’ said Elsie, giggling.
‘Well done! Say it again.’
‘Ammer,’ she said, a look of satisfaction crossing her face.
Assam shook his head despondently and sighed. Educating a sloth was a time consuming and tedious business.
A Girl called Admiral Fairweather Page 4