Toby Fisher and the Arc Light

by Ian McFarlane

  Hearing the mention of the silver messenger had certainly caught Toby’s attention – but then Major Shenanigan had also mentioned the Minack Theatre.

  25

  Miss Zeepam

  At first Major Shenanigan had blown a dark and heavy rain cloud over the boys’ plans when he said they were going to watch a polo match, but when he mentioned they would be travelling to the Minack Theatre and in the silver messenger their moods had brightened up considerably. They desperately needed to take a look at that book again.

  Arty piped up first. ‘Major, what can you tell us about the pirate and the Cornish pixie gold?’

  ‘Ah, is that what’s bothering you? Now, if only we could find someone to wear the Verring crown with that story, heh? That would be quite spectacular. Sea battles, ships, and cannons and the greatest gesture of defiance – the captain goes down with his ship,’ said Shenanigan animatedly as if he could see it right in front of his eyes. ‘Alas, I do not feel I am the one to tell it. It’s not that I don’t know the story. I do. It’s one of my favourites. The thing is I have heard the story told so many times, each one with a little added extra. I’m not sure I know what the true story is anymore, and I get the feeling you two want to hear the facts?’ Both Toby and Arty nodded avidly. ‘In that case there is only one person you should hear the story from.’ Toby and Arty leant forward on their toes in anticipation. ‘You need to hear from a wonderful historian called Miss Zeepam.’

  ‘Where can we find her?’ they chorused.

  ‘Alas, that would be difficult. She died many years ago,’ said Major sadly. It almost looked as if he had a tear in his eye. ‘However, don’t worry, you can still hear a recording of her telling the story. She was a great believer in facts and details. It is incredibly well researched with eye witness accounts and interviews with the Cornish pixie king and some of his soldiers who gave chase. She even managed to speak with a British Royal Naval officer who was there, and, this part is not a well-known fact, a survivor from the pirate ship. Miss Zeepam’s work is legendary for its truth and accuracy.’

  ‘Where?’ chorused the boys.

  ‘I think you’ll find them in Brough 23’s library.’

  ‘The book’s got a recording?’ spluttered Arty.

  ‘I believe so. Right next to the search box in the top right-hand corner,’ said Shenanigan with a knowing wink.

  The boys left the cottage and waited an age to travel to the Minack Theatre. They had refused four rides from Broughs 45, 12, 89, and 16. By the time Brough 23 arrived they were as excited as they were frustrated. With a quick hello they jumped straight into Brough 23’s chest and into the spacious lounge. Mr Butler the butler was waiting with steaming hot chocolate, freshly made Belgian buns the size of molehills, and the book Toby and Arty had been reading the day before. Ignoring the chocolate and cakes they opened up the book and found the recording box. Toby tapped it. It flashed immediately.

  ‘Miss Zeepam and the Pirate’s Gold,’ stated Toby excitedly. A list of entries scrolled downwards briefly and then stopped. It read:

  The Minack Pirate and the Legend of the Cornish Pixie Gold

  Toby eagerly tapped the top corner of the page. The words froze for about a second before they faded into blackness. Next the page flickered and grew brighter like an old-fashioned black-and-white TV that needed time to warm up. A human head slowly phased into focus. It was a middle-aged woman with dark curly hair and an excitable grin that lifted her cheeks high on her face. She had small laughter creases in the corner of her eyes. She spoke in a quaint and slightly high pitched voice, which was as affable as her grin.

  ‘Is it recording, Barty? Yes? Oh good, good.’ She coughed. ‘This is the fourteenth of January, 1798. Do I need to do a voice check or something? No, very well. Just carry on? Jolly good. My name is Diana Anna Zeepam and this is the true and very factual account of the pirate known as Greybeard and the gold that had belonged to the Cornish pixie king. The following information is as a result of many interviews with individuals who took part directly or who witnessed some part of the events. All original transcripts are available and in safe keeping at the British Library of Important Documents in London – Fairy Division. I would like to thank Mr Major Barty Shenanigan for availing these extraordinary and, I must say, quite unique auditory recording facilities, absolutely spiffing idea. In the future I hope to be able to put some more of my investigations on this contraption, so watch this space. Excellent! Well, that’s enough of that so let’s go straight to the story.’

  She shuffled her papers and looked straight back at the book page as if talking directly to Toby and Arty.

  ‘The captain of the pirates’ ship was, by all accounts, a very dashing young man who hailed from Leicestershire. It is unfortunate we don’t have a painting of him. I would have so loved to have seen it. Now the captain hadn’t always sailed as a pirate. In those early days a captain of a ship could work for the king you know, the English, human king that is. They used to call them privateers or buccaneers. How romantic. I was so excited when I found out about that. What was that? It records everything I say? I think that’s a slap on the wrist for me.’

  Miss Zeepam giggled and leant so far forward Toby thought her head would pop out of the pages of the book. ‘Now, Captain Thomas Greybeard would sail the Caribbean mostly. I would love to go there . . . sorry! He would sail the Caribbean and plunder Spanish and French ships with much derring-do and swashbuckling antics,’ she said, swishing her arm around as if it held a sword, ‘on the orders of the king, I can assure you. But, alas, one day peace arrived and that was the end of his career and his livelihood too I would imagine. So, rather than retire, the naughty Captain Thomas carried on plundering bounty-laden ships, but this time it was any ship under any flag, even British ships. I have to say that did take my breath away. I mean, fancy tackling your own shipping. It’s no wonder the king was upset. In fact, the king was very angry. I did manage to interview a king’s courtier but I think I shall refrain from repeating what he said about the captain, it was very rude and most unbecoming. It’s important to bear in mind they were desperate times for the captain. I think a little latitude wouldn’t have gone amiss here. Anyway, that was when and why he became a pirate, you see. The king only had himself to blame really. So the king put a ransom on his head but they couldn’t find him because clever old Captain Thomas had done the one thing nobody expected him to do and that was to return to the English shores. How am I doing? Good. Does it come across as balanced? I do hope so.

  ‘Now, there was a reason why he returned and it wasn’t just to confuse the king and the Royal Navy. No, you see he had some very unusual crew who had provided some extraordinary information. Many of the crew were human, some were draconian . . . uhm, one moment please . . . where’s my list. Ah, here it is. So where was I, humans and draconians, yes I’ve already said that . . . two hobgoblins, mostly for cleaning and domestic duties I believe, and . . . ah yes – now this is the key to it all. There were five Cornish pixies on board. Now I can’t get a verified account of this but it was believed that these pixies told Captain Thomas of the Cornish pixie gold and where to find it, tsch, tsch! I would have been so upset if I was the pixie king, you know. I think it was despicable of them to put Captain Thomas in such a difficult position.

  ‘Anyway, Captain Thomas came ashore at Porthcurno Bay by the Minack Theatre. There’s another interesting story about the theatre but that’s for another time. I don’t know the ins and outs of the raid but essentially the daring Captain Thomas located and borrowed . . .’ there was a small cough in the background from Major Shenanigan, ‘. . . yes, all right, he stole the Cornish pixie gold. As you can imagine the pixie king was very angry. He sent his fastest warriors after the raiding party . . . it always sounds strange calling it a party. The warriors managed to catch some of the raiders but the dashing and frightfully clever Captain Thomas and the rest of his party managed to escape. I always imagine they have party hats on and are dancing .
. . very well, Mr Shenanigan. They managed to escape back to their ship. Whilst he was ashore the Royal Navy got wind of his whereabouts. That’s rather funny don’t you think: got wind and sailing ships. I must remember that one,’ she said, scribbling on a piece of paper. ‘Anyway, someone must have got word to Plymouth and twelve Royal Navy ships arrived to try and blockade poor Captain Thomas in the bay. One ship against twelve – that’s simply not fair, it’s just not,’ she said indignantly.

  ‘The rotten Royal Navy attacked in the early hours just as the sun was rising so the pirates couldn’t see how many ships there were until it was too late . . . the fiends! Had I been around then I would have had a good mind to write a very strongly worded letter of complaint to The Times. You could have heard the boom of the ships’ cannon halfway across Cornwall and Devon. The battle went on for hours.’ Miss Zeepam started to sniff back a tear. ‘Even after all this research and time I still find this part quite moving. People had gathered at the theatre to watch. But alas it was not to be. The brave and dashing Captain Thomas and his ship were slowly sinking right in front of the theatre. The pirates fought bravely and even the crowd started to cheer for them but the pirates’ ship, the Buccaneer, went down. The brave Captain Thomas was the last heroic man standing. He held on to the top of the mast as the water came rushing up to claim him. He had run out of ammunition and so resorted to hurling his shoes at the nearest ships.’ Miss Zeepam sighed, dabbing her wet eyes with a handkerchief. ‘The king lost nearly all of his ships which served him right – a bit of a bully if you ask me. I have a number of eye witness accounts from the theatre that brave Captain Thomas’s ship was never boarded. Can you believe that? In all that time he was under fire he was not boarded once. Whatever was on that ship went down with it, including my Captain Thomas. Those dastardly navy types should have commissioned him, not killed him.

  ‘Anyway, there are those that have claimed to have seen Captain Thomas’s ship return to the surface: ten sightings in all. There have also been claims that some locals can hear the boom of cannon, years after the loss of the Buccaneer. Poppycock I say, absolute poppycock. I have conducted many in-depth and faultless interviews and no one has been able to back that up. It’s nothing more than a silly, cynical attempt to generate tourist money,’ she said angrily. ‘It is so disrespectful to the memory of a very brave and much maligned man.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘I would have so loved to have met him you know. He could have been my beau, my Captain Thomas.’

  ‘Miss Zeepam?’ said a slightly disconnected-sounding voice.

  ‘Oh, very well, deary. Thank you ever so much,’ she said, sniffing again and dabbing her eyes.

  The middle-aged lady disappeared from the pages of the book. All that now remained was black print.

  ‘Wow. So it’s here, it’s practically under our noses,’ said Arty with wide eyes.

  ‘Arty, we’ve got no means of travelling under the water and anyway, if the Cornish pixie king couldn’t retrieve it with all his magic then what chance have we got? It would be easier stopping an ice cream melt in a red hot fire than get that gold,’ said Toby sourly. His initial euphoria had vanished. He now felt very dejected.

  ‘We could befriend a mer-person,’ said Arty hopefully.

  ‘Yeah, right, I’ve heard that has never happened. They’re as tight knit as, as the draconians are after an elf walks in the room.’

  ‘Elves or elven,’ corrected Arty.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Elf sounds a bit like Santa’s helpers.’

  ‘Whatever!’

  Toby slumped in the chair and watched the chance of an early return to London sink out of sight like the ten lumps of sugar he carelessly dropped into his cup of hot chocolate. Arty looked as nearly as miserable as Toby, although it was possible he was thinking of what he could have bought with the gold.

  ‘There’s got to be a way in, somewhere where they traded. I heard someone say they bought books and things.’

  ‘You can’t read a book underwater,’ whined Toby.

  ‘Well, they must be waterproof books then,’ snapped Arty. ‘How about we look in here, anyway?’ pointed Arty. Opening the book he tapped the search box. ‘Uhm, what would you ask for?’

  ‘I don’t know. What about mer-shopping or something?’

  Arty looked doubtful. ‘Mer-shopping,’ he said. The page didn’t react.

  ‘I used to trade bubblegum cards – ask about mer-trade with humans,’ suggested Toby.

  As Arty spoke the words the page flickered into action producing very quickly two headings:

  Rise in honey demand by Mer-nation.

  Stories from the Mer-nation.

  Toby shrugged. ‘Try the first one,’ he said, more in hope than in belief.

  The article spoke of trade with the mer-nation; it spoke of mer-people enjoying the new taste of honey but it didn’t mention who had traded or how the honey reached the mer-people. They read the second article. This was more hopeful. The story was brief but it talked about an old man who had traded human knowledge for man-made items and that these items were thought to be from the numerous shipwrecks around the British coast. The article also said that according to rumours the trader was in fact a negotiator from the pixie king but this was never substantiated. And on the basis the gold was never recovered it had been assumed the negotiations failed or the trader, a Mr Taylor, was in fact human and only interested in human-made items as he wouldn’t have known about the pixie gold. It was all very speculative.

  Toby and Arty were none the wiser. They were no closer to finding out about the gold or indeed whether it was under the sea. When they stepped out of Brough 23 they were at the Minack Theatre. They dragged their way to the stone seats in the theatre and slumped down. They stared out to sea saying nothing.

  The Minack water polo match was one of the most important calendar events of the year. The theatre was full: seven hundred and fifty creatures of all kinds plus hundreds, if not thousands more had covered every possible and sometimes impossible vantage point on the rocks and cliffs around the bay.

  Toby and Arty were so glum they may have well been asked to clean out the toilets after a visit from a very nervous bullophant.

  With or without their support the polo match was about to start.

  26

  A Breakthrough

  Every conceivable creature had squeezed into the theatre from large trolls to relatively miniscule gremlins. Everyone sported t-shirts emblazoned with cream and gold or blood red and gold and waved flags back and forth vigorously. Many wore large woolly hats with exploding pom-poms that jettisoned their team’s coloured ribbons into the air. The theatre walls were adorned with cream, gold and blood red as well as larger than life pictures of Boris and Boris Airways, the event’s major sponsor. Fans had selected their sides and the banter had started as each supporter baited another with exaggerated promises that their favourite team would pommel and pulverise the other team, that their team were nothing more than ‘seaweed-sucking-seahorses’ or ‘mollusc-munching-mermen’. The theatre was a riot of noise and colour.

  A young gremlin jumped up and shouted ‘Mexican wave’, flinging his arms in the air. He was immediately booed, followed by bouts of laughter as he curled up in his seat in embarrassment. A young troll, who was five times the size of the gremlin, jumped to his feet with surprising agility, flinging his arms in the air shouting ‘Banshee scream – woooo!’ And smugly sat down again. This time everyone followed in turn creating a wave effect that rolled around the theatre. The troll grinned, exposing his grossly stained green teeth.

  ‘It’s just like a Mexican wave,’ whined the gremlin quietly.

  ‘And so to the main event,’ shouted a squat dwarf with a microphone in his hand. ‘He has finally arrived after no special request and pestering me relentlessly. He brings a whole new meaning to the word impartiality with his—’ the dwarf coughed ‘—loosely balanced rhetoric. He has also gone on public record refuting the rumours that he bears an u
ncanny resemblance to today’s White Horse player number four. And so, without further ado, and much reluctance, here he is. It’s the mouth with the clout. I give you – Alex,’ finished the dwarf in an overly bored tone. He almost threw the microphone at Alex the centaur who arrogantly clip-clopped up to the podium.

  The crowd clapped politely but with very little enthusiasm, much to the apparent annoyance of Alex.

  ‘Thank you for those wonderful stirring words. I feel underwhelmed,’ he said sarcastically. Alex puffed his chest out and raised his voice. ‘And so, welcome to the bi-annual water polo match between the wonderful White Horses and the moody mer-people . . . What? Oh, sorry, the magnificent Mer-team. Give them a big round of applause. The Mer-team as well, if you must.

  ‘We also have a second reason to celebrate today – for it’s the birthday of everyone in the White Horse team. Isn’t that remarkable? They all have the same birthday. Well, let’s hope they get a nice present at the end of the game when they look at the score board – hurray!’

  Meanwhile Toby and Arty were still feeling fed up. They had found their seats down in the bottom corner of the theatre. They had a magnificent vantage point overlooking Porthcurno Bay. The sea-pitch for the polo match, which was in excellent condition with near perfect stillness and hardly a wave to be seen anywhere, was immediately below the theatre. But they may well have been sitting in a windowless dungeon for all they cared.

  ‘So what are we doing here?’ whined Toby.

  ‘Water polo, it’s the sporting event of the year,’ muttered Arty as he leant on his chin, staring at the zits on the back of the head of a bald goblin.

  ‘So, let me get this straight. We’re at the Minack Theatre, where the gold is, more or less, and yet we might as well be camped on the moon for all the use it is. What are we missing?’ said Toby. Although he felt miserable he was trying not to give up. After all, they had come a long way and found out loads of information. And they had done it on their own. It was something to be proud of, not that Toby would have guessed that looking at Arty.