‘Where to, Captain?’ asked Mr Mate.
‘To the sea, Mr Mate. Set sail for the sea!’
Custardly couldn’t imagine how a ship made of mops and benches could reach the sea but a moment later he found out. Three members of the junior crew stood at the back of the ship armed with buckets of soapy water.
‘On the count of three,’ said the Captain. ‘One, two, three!’
SPLOSH! Three buckets of soapy water hit the floor in a torrent. The water slopped and slooshed and foamed around the ship just like real waves. The children cheered and whooped. It might have all ended well if, at that moment, Miss Scrubshaw hadn’t opened the classroom door to check on the Captain’s first lesson. She turned pale as she took in the pillowcase flag, the sail made of bed sheets and the soapy water rushing towards her in a brown river. She took a step forward, trod on a bar of soap and performed an impressive double somersault, landing on her back. All the children could see of her was a pair of black woollen stockings sticking up from a froth of petticoats and bloomers.
It was Custardly who laughed first. He couldn’t help it. Miss Scrubshaw looked like a beetle struggling on its back. Her bonnet had slipped over her face and when she pushed it back her face was purple with rage.
‘CAPTAIN!’ she thundered. ‘A WORD WITH YOU!’
Chapter 3
What Custardly Heard
That evening the children were sent to bed early without any supper. They lay huddled beneath their blankets, trying not to think about food.
‘Anyway, I told you he was a pirate,’ whispered Custardly.
Dobbs shivered with cold. ‘You may be right,’ he said. ‘But the question is why is he here and what does he want?’
‘That’s two questions,’ said Custardly.
‘What are you talking about?’ This came from the other side of the curtain where the girls slept.
‘Nothing! Go back to sleep!’ Custardly called back.
A second later there was a creak of floorboards and a pad of feet as Angela and Rose appeared through the curtain, shivering in their nightdresses and wrapped together in a thin brown blanket.
‘She can’t sleep,’ announced Angela.
‘Neither can she,’ said Rose. ‘We’re hungry.’
‘And cold,’ said Angela. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I told you, nothing,’ said Custardly. ‘Go back to bed.’
The girls took no notice and wriggled their way in at the other end of the bed. Custardly sighed and went back to their conversation.
‘Maybe they’re planning to rob us,’ he suggested.
‘Who?’ Angela wanted to know.
‘The pirates, of course. That’s what pirates do – they plunder your gold.’
‘We don’t have any gold,’ Dobbs pointed out. ‘You couldn’t plunder a sausage in this school.’
‘I love sausages,’ said Rose.
‘Sausages with gravy and mash,’ said Angela.
‘Roast beef and parsnips,’ said Rose.
‘Plum pudding with custard,’ said Dobbs.
‘STOP IT!’ cried Custardly. This was always happening. The more they tried not to think about food the more they ended up thinking about it. Somewhere outside he heard voices. Slipping out of bed, he went to the window. On the balcony directly below sat two shadowy figures, talking in low voices.
‘Look – it’s them! The pirates!’ hissed Custardly.
The others hurried over to the window to look.
‘What are they doing?’ whispered Dobbs.
‘Talking.’
‘Yes, but what about?’
‘How should I know?’ said Custardly.
The children watched the pirates for a while, their breath misting the windowpane. They seemed to be having a heated discussion about something.
‘I wish we could hear what they’re saying,’ said Angela.
Custardly peered into the darkness. ‘Maybe we can.’
‘How?’
‘Simple. One of us has to climb down.’
A few feet from the window a twisted ivy bush clung to the wall. Dobbs looked doubtful. ‘It’s a long way down. What if you fall?’
‘ME?’ said Custardly. ‘Who says I’m going?’
‘Well, it’s your idea,’ argued Dobbs.
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Angela. ‘I’m scared of heights.’
‘Me too,’ said Rose.
‘And I’m allergic to ivy,’ said Dobbs.
Custardly looked out of the window. Actually, it was a very long way down.
On the balcony below the Captain paced up and down. He had to think and he could never think properly when he was thirsty. It was lucky he’d brought along a good supply of grog.1
‘It’s the map, Mr Mate, or I’m a Frenchman,’ he said. ‘I told you we’d find it here.’
‘How do you know for sure, Captain?’ asked the mate.
‘Didn’t you hear what she said? She got it from her Uncle Jack.’
‘Yes, but I thought the map we’re looking for belonged to Black Jack Mulligan.’
‘So it is, you brainless barnacle! Mulligan was her Uncle Jack.’
‘Oh, I see!’ said Mr Mate. ‘I never knew his first name was Uncle.’
The Captain rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wondered why he’d chosen Mr Mate as his first mate. It was probably because his name was Mate. He went on pacing the balcony.
‘Try to think,’ he said. ‘It’s simple enough. We know the schoolteacher has the map and we know that she knows that we know where it is.’
Mr Mate frowned. ‘I’m not sure I follow, Captain.’
‘Which part don’t you follow?’
‘The part where you said it was simple.’
The Captain took another swig of grog.
‘What I’m saying is how the devil do we get our hands on the map when she keeps it locked in her study?’
Mr Mate took off his cap and scratched his head. His face brightened. ‘I have it, Captain! We could make her walk the plank!’
‘Smart thinking, Mr Mate,’ said the Captain.
‘Thank you, Captain.’
‘Except the sea is miles away and we don’t have a plank.’
‘Garrrr! I’d forgotten that,’ said Mr Mate and fell to smoking his pipe and thinking once again.
‘No,’ said the Captain. ‘What we need is some way to catch the old boot off guard. And then, once we have the map, there is the other thing.’
Mr Mate looked puzzled. ‘What other thing?’
The Captain lowered his voice. ‘You know, the thing I told you never to speak of.’
Mr Mate knitted his brows, trying to remember. ‘Oh, the children!’ he burst out.
The Captain cut him off, clapping a hand over his mouth. ‘Quiet, you fool! I said never to speak of it. What if someone was listening? You’ll give the whole game away.’
If either the Captain or his mate had happened to look up they would have seen that someone was indeed listening. Custardly Wart had climbed out of the top-floor window and was now clinging precariously to the ivy some ten feet above their heads. He didn’t weigh much but the branch holding him wasn’t very thick and he was worried it might give way at any moment. To make matters worse, he was only wearing a thin nightshirt so his legs were trembling like teacups on a tray.
Silence had fallen on the balcony below, where the two pirates were still trying to think of a cunning plan. Every now and then one of them would jump up excitedly, then shake his head and go back to thinking. At last the Captain stopped pacing up and down.
‘Wait! I have it!’ he said. ‘Mr Mate, what am I famous for?’
Mr Mate chewed on his pipe. ‘Ooh well, that’s a hard one, Captain.’
The Captain glared. ‘Come on! Think, man. What do people say about me?’
‘That you eat all the biscuits,’ said Mr Mate.
‘No, you fool! That I’m a handsome devil. That I know the way to any woman’s heart.’
‘F
unny,’ said the mate. ‘I don’t remember anyone saying that at all.’
The Captain didn’t get a chance to argue because at that moment there was a loud crack above their heads. The pirates looked up just as something came hurtling towards them faster than a speeding cannonball.
‘Aaaarrgghhh!’ yelled Custardly.
‘Help!’ cried the Captain as he tried to leap out of the way.
‘Ooof!’ gasped Mr Mate as Custardly landed on top of him, luckily breaking his fall.
For a few seconds there was an untidy struggle of arms and legs as the startled pirates tried to escape.
‘Help! I’m being eaten by a jellyfish!’ cried Mr Mate.
‘Ouch!’
‘Argh!’
When at last they calmed down they saw that the monster that had fallen on them was only a small boy with a ripped nightshirt, and leaves in his dark, straggly hair.
‘YOU!’ roared the Captain. ‘Where the devil did you come from?’
‘Um … I sort of fell,’ stammered Custardly.
‘He was snooping more like,’ said Mr Mate. ‘He has the look of a spy, Captain. His ears are too close together.’
The Captain leaned in close so that Custardly could smell rum on his breath. The point of his cutlass pricked Custardly’s throat.
‘You know what we do with spies, boy?’
‘Feed them cake?’ said Custardly hopefully.
‘Tell him, Mr Mate.’
Mr Mate drew a feather from his pocket. ‘We ties them to a chair and tickles their feet.’
Custardly looked from one face to another. ‘Is that all? I thought you were pirates.’
The Captain narrowed his eyes. ‘And who says we are?’
‘Well, anyone can see that,’ said Custardly. ‘You dress like pirates and you talk like pirates. And you’re holding a cutlass. Teachers don’t have cutlasses.’
Mr Mate shook his head. ‘I told you! I said we should have come in disguise.’
The Captain glared at him. ‘I’m not putting on a frock for anyone,’ he growled.
He wrapped a friendly arm round Custardly’s shoulder.
‘So, lad. You’re smart – I can see that. Not much gets past you. You’d make a good pirate.’
‘Would I?’ said Custardly, who could quite see himself in a feathered hat and a gold earring.
‘I’m sure of it, but seeing as you’re so clever, tell me what else you know.’
‘Well,’ said Custardly. ‘I know there’s something you want and I know it’s got something to do with the map in Miss Scrubshaw’s study.’
The two pirates exchanged worried looks. ‘Go on, lad. What else?’ said the Captain. ‘Say you had an interest in a certain map, how would you lay your hands on it?’
Custardly considered this. He felt sure by now the pirates weren’t going to cut his throat. He had also guessed that the map was no ordinary map. If the pirates had come all this way to find it, then it followed that it was a treasure map, which meant it was worth something.
‘What would you give me if I helped you?’ he asked.
The Captain dug in his pocket and brought out a shining coin. ‘See that, shipmate? That’s a gold doubloon. Help us to the map and it’s yours.’
Custardly’s eyes shone. With that much money, he could buy bread and cheese, maybe even a plum pudding.
‘You’d have to be clever,’ he said. ‘Miss Scrubshaw goes to bed at ten o’clock every night and she always locks the door of her study.’
‘And what does she do before going to bed?’ asked the Captain.
‘Nothing much,’ said Custardly. ‘She comes round with a candle to make sure we’re all asleep. Sometimes she sits in her room and darns her stockings or counts her money. Once I saw her playing cards all by herself.’
‘Clap me in irons!’ the Captain burst out. ‘That’s it!’
‘What?’ asked Custardly.
Mr Mate suddenly tugged at the Captain’s sleeve, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
The Captain clapped Custardly on the back. ‘Never you mind, shipmate. Off you go and leave the rest to me. You’ve been a great help.’
‘But Captain …!’ cried the mate, pointing at the sky.
‘What is it now, Mr Mate?’
The Captain finally turned and looked up. His eyes bulged with fear and he backed away towards the door of his room.
‘Run!’ he spluttered. ‘Abandon ship! Women and captains first!’
‘Aye aye, Captain!’ cried Mr Mate.
The two pirates dived headfirst into their room, slamming the doors behind them and pulling the curtains. Custardly was left alone on the balcony, wondering what had caused the panic. Looking up, he saw a bat no bigger than a mouse swoop overhead and flap off into the starry night sky. The Captain and his mate peeped out from behind their curtains. Custardly shook his head. For a pair of black-hearted pirates they were certainly easily scared. And they hadn’t even given him the money they’d promised.
Chapter 4
A Game of Knaves
The clock in the hall struck eleven. Custardly, who had been counting the bongs, sat up in bed and listened. He shook Dobbs by the shoulder.
‘Dobbs! Are you awake?’
‘No,’ murmured Dobbs.
‘Listen! I can hear something,’ hissed Custardly.
‘So can I,’ grumbled Dobbs. ‘It’s you keeping me awake.’
‘No. They’re up to something downstairs. Listen!’
Dobbs rolled over and rubbed his eyes. Reaching for his glasses, he settled them on his nose. He could hear talking in the dining room below. A shrill laugh sounded remarkably like Miss Scrubshaw. But that was impossible – Miss Scrubshaw never laughed.
‘I’m going to see what they’re doing,’ said Custardly, pushing back the blankets.
Dobbs stared at him. ‘You’re mad. What if she catches you?’ he said.
‘She won’t,’ replied Custardly. ‘Are you coming or not?’
‘No,’ said Dobbs. ‘Definitely and absolutely not.’
A minute later the two boys were padding barefoot down the hallway in their nightshirts. As they reached the landing they dropped down on all fours and crawled forward until they could peer through the banisters at the room below.
Miss Scrubshaw was seated at the dining table with Mr Mate and the Captain, who was expertly shuffling a deck of cards. A bottle and glasses stood on the table, along with a piles of coins in front of each player. The schoolmistress’s eyes shone in the firelight and for once she wasn’t wearing her iron bonnet. She almost looked as if she was enjoying herself.
‘So what’s it to be, Miss Scrubshaw?’ asked the Captain, riffling the cards. ‘Snap? Old Maid? Schooner? Five Card Hokum? Muggins?
Miss Scrubshaw sipped her grog. She had never heard of these games – perhaps because the Captain had invented most of them.
‘I’m afraid,’ she said, ‘I know very little about cards.’
‘Come now, Miss Scrubshaw. No need to be modest,’ said the Captain.
‘Please, Captain, call me Constance.’
‘And a pretty name it is too,’ winked the Captain.
Mr Mate pushed his head between them. ‘You can call me Eli if you like,’ he offered.
‘Pass the grog,’ replied the Captain sharply. ‘Care for another glass, Constance?’
‘I really shouldn’t,’ said Miss Scrubshaw as her glass was refilled. ‘I’m feeling quite light-headed. Are you sure this is a cordial?’
‘Grog? ‘Tis just something to keep the cold out. Much like a fruit punch, ain’t that right, Mr Mate?’ said the Captain.
‘Aye, Captain, except with more of a punch,’ winked the mate.
The Captain began to deal the cards at a dizzying speed. ‘What do you say to a game of Knaves, Constance?’ he suggested.
‘I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it,’ said Miss Scrubshaw. ‘Is it easy to pick up?’
The Captain replied that it was a
s easy as falling out of a hammock and topped up Miss Scrubshaw’s glass while he began to explain the rules.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Take a good look at your hand.’
‘Which one – the left or the right?’ asked Mr Mate.
‘I mean the hand of cards, you dozy dog,’ glared the Captain.
The Captain’s explanation of the rules went on for some time. Custardly didn’t understand all of it. A pair, he gathered, was a good hand but it could be beaten by a run and a flush – which sounded like someone who urgently needed the toilet. Knaves or Jacks seemed to be the best cards and if you were lucky enough to have four Jacks that was a Parcel of Knaves, which couldn’t be beaten.
Once the game began it was easy to tell who was winning by Miss Scrubshaw’s shrieks of excitement. The Captain stroked his black beard and sank lower in his chair as the pile of money in front of him grew smaller and smaller. Mr Mate wasn’t doing much better. Whenever a hand was dealt he would throw his cards down in disgust and then snatch them up again too late to prevent the others from seeing them. As the game went on, Custardly noticed Miss Scrubshaw was behaving increasingly oddly. Her voice grew louder and sometimes her words got muddled up. If he didn’t know better, Custardly might have thought she was drunk.
‘You know, Captain,’ she said, waving her glass in the air, ‘this is very nice fruit pinch. I can’t think why I’ve never toasted it before.’
‘Your deal, Constance,’ said the Captain, passing her the deck of cards. ‘And by the by, your hair is dangling in your drink.’
‘Is it? How silly of me!’ giggled Miss Scrubshaw, fishing out a lock of hair and putting it in her mouth. She leaned over the table, pointing a finger at the Captain. ‘Shall I tell you something, Captain? I’m going to won all of your money – every last little pinny.’
But as it turned out the Captain took the next hand with a pair of aces and after that Miss Scrubshaw’s luck seemed to desert her. The more she lost, the more she bet and her pile of coins soon dwindled to a small heap. At last, when the Captain laid down a winning hand yet again, she slumped back in her chair.
Custardly Wart Page 2