The Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists

by Gideon Defoe

  ‘But what about the repercussions? Until I know Erasmus is safe, how can I dare?’ said Darwin, aghast.

  ‘If my years of experience solving crimes has taught me anything,’ said the Pirate Captain, looking reassuringly nonchalant by tipping his chair back dangerously, ‘it’s that you can’t catch a mouse without cheese!’

  ‘Your years of experience solving crimes? But you’re a pirate,’ whispered Darwin. ‘Surely that doesn’t involve much detective work?’

  ‘Aarrrr,’ roared the Pirate Captain, because it seemed a good way to end the conversation.

  14 London Zoo is still going today, and this year’s baby bear naming competition was won by Sandokan Soloman for his name ‘Ursula’.

  15 The Royal Society was set up in 1660, and many famous scientists have been members, including Robert Boyle, Robert Hooke and John Venn. Why not try drawing a Venn Diagram of ‘pirates’ (A) and ‘ham’ (B) and ‘barrels of tar’ (C). How large is the intersection (X)?

  16 James Glaisher of the Magnetic and Meteorological Department at the Greenwich Observatory made a series of twenty-nine balloon ascents in the nineteenth century to investigate barometric pressure at altitude.

  Eight

  BATTLING THE OCTOPUS!

  The next morning, waking up for the first time in three years in a proper bed with fresh linen that didn’t stink of fish and monkeys, Darwin felt a great deal better about things. Before he had retired for the night the Pirate Captain had taken him aside and gone on to explain his piratical plan. He reasoned that they had no means of ascertaining the whereabouts of Erasmus until the evil Bishop of Oxford showed his face. By announcing the lecture tour with Mister Bobo they would force the Bishop’s hand, and he would be sure to turn up in order to try threatening Darwin into backing down. The Bishop would be expecting scientists. What the Bishop wouldn’t be expecting were pirates! At this point the plan got a bit hazy, but Darwin felt confident in the Pirate Captain’s abilities nonetheless. He propped himself up on his pillows and flicked through that morning’s edition of The Times, pretending not to look at the more salacious pictures of table legs. There was another big headline about a mysteriously shrivelled lady being found bobbing about in the Thames, and an article in the Style section where he saw that for the fifth year running, ‘sinister and macabre’ was still very much in vogue when it came to the Victorian gentleman’s interior design choices. He sighed. With sunlight streaming in through the window, and a plate of toast already brought to him by the Royal Society’s butler, Darwin was tempted to spend the whole morning in bed, but he had a lot to sort out, so he shook Mister Bobo awake and started preparing for the evening’s lecture. A lecture, he pondered, that could make his name as a scientist – and, by that token, hopefully lead to a good deal more success with women.

  In one of the Royal Society’s bathrooms just down the hall the Pirate Captain was busy flossing.

  ‘Are you going to be in there much longer?’ asked an unfamiliar voice with an impatient knock. The Pirate Captain flung open the door, ready to run through with his shiny cutlass whosoever it happened to be, but then he remembered he was supposed to be a mild-mannered scientist, not a bloodthirsty Terror of the High Seas. So instead he fixed the knave who had the cheek to interrupt his toiletries with a steely stare. He recognised one of the scientists from dinner.

  ‘Yes,’ growled the Pirate Captain. ‘I am going to be in here much longer. Beards like this don’t look after themselves, you know.’

  ‘Right, sorry,’ said the scientist, backing away meekly. ‘Gosh. You’ve got a lot of scars.’

  The Pirate Captain was wearing only a risqué towel, and he did indeed have a number of scars from previous adventures.

  ‘That’s from bumping against scientific apparatus in my laboratory,’ explained the Pirate Captain, a murderous gleam in his eyes.

  ‘And is that . . . a treasure map tattooed on your belly?’

  ‘No. It’s the periodic table.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like the periodic table. X isn’t an element.’

  The Pirate Captain decided to run the scientist through with his cutlass after all. He washed it off in the sink, attended to his beard and then went back to the room he was sharing with some of the other pirates.

  ‘They may know how to make a mechanical pig,’ said the Pirate Captain, ‘but these scientists have got a lot to learn about manners.’

  The other pirates all nodded at this.

  ‘Now, does everybody know what they’re doing today? You two,’ the Pirate Captain pointed to the albino pirate and the pirate with a hook where his hand should have been, ‘will help Mr Darwin with anything he needs for his lecture. And you two,’ this time he indicated the scarf-wearing pirate and the pirate with an accordion, ‘will check out P.T. Barnum’s Circus. Why is a Bishop involved in running a circus, that’s what I want to know. I’m not sure how it fits in with his diabolical plans, but I have my suspicions about the place. It’s ladies’ night, so you’ll have to disguise yourselves as women.’

  ‘It’s going to be quite difficult fitting a lady disguise on top of our scientist disguises, which we’re already wearing on top of our pirate outfits,’ said the scarf-wearing pirate.

  ‘You’ll just have to do your best,’ said the Pirate Captain. ‘I’d go myself, but obviously my luxuriant beard would make it difficult for me to pass as a lady. And don’t forget that ladies speak in squeaky voices. Like this – “Hello, I’m a lady!”’

  Everybody laughed at the Pirate Captain’s brilliant impression of what a lady sounded like.17

  ‘The rest of you pirates go round town and paste up these posters advertising tonight’s lecture.’

  The Pirate Captain handed out a stack of A4 posters. They were illustrated with a picture of Darwin and Mister Bobo playing chess. Mister Bobo was in Rodin’s The Thinker pose, and Darwin had thrown his hands up in defeat. The Pirate Captain had drawn the picture himself, and was proud of his effort. Before he became a pirate he was going to be an architect, and he had used his knowledge of perspective and foreshortening to make Mister Bobo’s massive monkey behind seem a lot smaller than it was in real life. And he’d managed to give Darwin a genuine look of exasperation at having been bested by a chimp. The only thing about the picture that slightly disappointed the Pirate Captain was Darwin’s hands, which looked more like lumpy starfish – for some reason the Pirate Captain had never got very good at drawing hands. Above the picture were the words:

  One night only – Mister Charles Darwin will be showing off his fantastic hirsute new friend Mister Bobo – the world’s first Man-panzee! Royal Society Lecture Rooms, admission free.

  In very small print it was noted that Mister Bobo did not actually play chess to a particularly high standard.

  ‘These are very good, Captain,’ said the scarf-wearing pirate, already applying a cherry-coloured lipstick. The Pirate Captain waved away the praise, and mumbled something about how he didn’t think it was that good a picture, even though it was obvious how proud he was.

  ‘Now, I hope I can trust you pirates with this. I’m afraid I’ve got a prior engagement, so I won’t be around to help out,’ said the Pirate Captain, giving his sternest look to his men, which involved lowering his eyebrows and pursing his lips together.

  ‘What’s that, Captain? asked the accordion-playing pirate, having some difficulty with his bra strap.

  ‘I received a letter this morning, inviting me to attend a Pirate Convention at Earls Court. I’m one of the guests of honour.’

  The other pirates occasionally wondered how it was that these letters found their way to their itinerant captain, but somehow they always did.

  ‘A Pirate Convention? You’re certain this isn’t another of those Royal Navy schemes to trap a whole bunch of pirates?’ said the scarf-wearing pirate, his brow furrowed with concern.

  ‘Remember that time they said there was going to be a pirate beauty contest on Mozambique, and we had to shoot our way out?
’

  ‘Remember it? Of course I remember it! I still say I was robbed,’ pouted the Pirate Captain. His crew nodded – certainly none of them had ever seen another pirate as attractive as their chiselled Captain.

  ‘But, anyhow, the letter came with our secret pirate symbol marked on the envelope. See?’ The Pirate Captain pointed to the Jolly Roger18 stamped on the seal. ‘So it must be the real deal. I’m quite looking forward to it. With any luck I’ll be able to sign a few autographs for the kids, and pick up some pirate equipment at bargain prices.’

  ‘All due respects, Captain,’ said the pirate in green, feasting on a bowl of cereal, ‘but have you really got time to be going off to a Pirate Convention? We’re sort of bang in the middle of an adventure here.’

  ‘It’s a fair point,’ replied the Pirate Captain. ‘But I have my reasons. For a start, what with Black Bellamy pulling a fast one on us, the boat’s finances aren’t looking too healthy, and this could be a chance to make a doubloon or two. Good deeds won’t keep us in ham, you know. Secondly, a few of my pirate contacts might come in useful in figuring out just what this Bishop is really up to. And thirdly, I’m the Pirate Captain and I can do whatever the hell I please!’

  ‘Are you planning on wearing that hat to the convention?’ asked the pirate in red. The Pirate Captain thought he could detect a certain amount of disapproval in his tone.

  ‘Yes, I am. It happens to be my favourite hat. You may notice that the blue of the trim brings out the blue of my eyes,’ the Pirate Captain pointed to the blue trim and then at his blue eyes to emphasise the point.

  ‘Ah. Well, then. I’m sure you know best, Captain.’

  ‘Are you trying to say there’s something wrong with my hat?’

  ‘Not at all, Captain. It might not be the most up-to-date choice, but I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with that,’ said the pirate in red, sounding very much like he thought there was a great deal wrong with it.

  ‘This is a perfectly good pirate hat. It’s a tricorn.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Your point being?’

  ‘It’s just . . . nowadays . . . a more Napoleonic design seems to be the choice of the successful pirate. It’s generally held to have a touch more . . . je ne sais quoi. I’m only saying, is all.’

  ‘My hat has plenty of je ne sais quoi. Not to say joie de vivre.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Fine. Hands up who likes my hat?’

  Most of the pirate crew loyally stuck their hands in the air. The pirate in red just shrugged and pretended to be reading a book. Satisfied that the mutinous swab had been put in his place, the Pirate Captain helped himself to another bowl of Coco-Pops.

  17 Men’s vocal cords tend to be thicker than women’s, so they produce a deeper tone in exactly the same way that a thick rubber band makes a deeper sound than a thin one when you twang it. You might need to stretch the rubber bands over a biscuit tin to get the full effect.

  18 Though the name ‘Jolly Roger’ would lead you to expect a picture of a happy-looking man, it is actually a scary skull above two crossed bones.

  Nine

  ENTER THE PIRATE KING!

  By twelve o’clock the scarf-wearing pirate and the pirate with an accordion were already sweltering under their multiple disguises. You could hardly hear the clanking of their pirate buckles beneath the layers of lab coat and lady’s dress each man wore. They didn’t know exactly what it was they were meant to be looking for at the sinister circus – the Pirate Captain had simply told them to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Looking through the glossy circus brochure the pirate with a scarf thought that it all sounded pretty suspicious – a man with no face, a lady with a phobia for tin foil, an out-of-control teen . . . he was worried that they wouldn’t know where to start. The queue to get in stretched all the way down the Mall.

  ‘That’s a fetching eye patch. Is it just for show?’

  It took the pirate with a scarf a few seconds to realise that the question was being directed at him, and by the young lady just ahead of them in the queue. Looking up, he was so taken aback by how pretty she was he almost forgot to answer in a high-pitched voice instead of his normal pirate voice.

  ‘It’s . . . that is . . . I’ve got an astigmatism,’ he stuttered. ‘The optician says I have to wear the patch until it goes away.’

  ‘You poor thing,’ said the girl, with a look of real concern. ‘Would you like a sandwich? It’s Serrano ham.’

  The pirate with a scarf gratefully took the proffered sandwich. He thought he had better make introductions. ‘Thank you. I’m . . . Francine. And this is, erm, Daphne,’ he said.

  ‘Jennifer. That’s a very shiny accordion you have there, Daphne.’

  The pirate with an accordion just grunted, because his lady voice wasn’t particularly realistic.

  ‘You’re extremely rugged. For a girl,’ said Jennifer, turning back to the pirate with a scarf.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the pirate, unconsciously flexing the muscles in his back, and knitting his eyebrows together in what he hoped was a suave manner.

  ‘Are you here to see the Mermaid?’ asked Jennifer. ‘I’ve heard it’s a bit disappointing. Just the top half of a monkey stitched to the bottom half of a fish.’

  ‘Erm, no. That is, not in particular.’

  ‘The albino then?’

  ‘Actually, one of our friends is an albino,’ said the pirate brightly.

  ‘Ooh! Is it true that if you ever look directly into their eyes, you turn into an albino yourself? And that they can only eat white things, like vanilla ice cream and Milky Bars?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m not entirely sure.’

  ‘I wonder if they can eat mallow?’

  Jennifer seemed to be lost in her deliberations about albinos. If the pirate with a scarf had been more poetically minded he’d have thought that her eyes were like a thousand emeralds, glittering in a far-off pirate treasure chest. But he wasn’t, so he just thought that she had really really green eyes, a bit like seaweed.

  ‘What about you? What are you here to see?’ asked the pirate quickly, anxious to keep the conversation going. ‘The Elephant Man?’

  ‘Not really. Between you and me,’ at this point Jennifer put her mouth alarmingly close to the pirate with a scarf’s ear, ‘I think something sinister is going on at the circus. My sister Beatrice visited it last week, and that’s the last we ever saw of her.’

  ‘I think you could be right,’ said the pirate, completely forgetting the undercover nature of their mission because of the shape of her neck. ‘In fact, we’re here to investigate. I’m not even really a lady.’

  The pirate with a scarf briefly raised his dress.

  ‘You’re a scientist!’

  The pirate remembered to lift up his lab coat as well.

  ‘You’re a pirate!’

  ‘Yes, but don’t tell anybody.’

  Half an hour later Jennifer and the two pirates were through the turnstiles and inside the circus itself. The pirate with an accordion pretty quickly started to feel more like the pirate who was a gooseberry, so he wandered off to look at an exhibit that claimed to be ‘the dog that wore sunglasses’, and left Jennifer and the scarf-wearing pirate to their own devices. The circus was sprawled across St James’s Park, and a blanket of thick London fog hung between the various tents. The pair decided to start their investigations with the Elephant Man. He was sitting in the centre of a little hut looking a bit forlorn, whilst a man with a tuba played a few bars of ‘Nellie the Elephant’ over and over again.

  ‘He doesn’t look big enough to have eaten my sister,’ said Jennifer. ‘But he might know something.’

  ‘We should try to gain his confidence by carrying on a pleasant conversation,’ whispered the pirate.

  ‘I’ll have a go,’ nodded Jennifer. She took a few steps towards the creature and cleared her throat.

  ‘Wow!’ she said. ‘So you’re the Elephant Man! That’s some face!’
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  It wasn’t exactly the opening gambit the pirate with a scarf had in mind, but he bit his lip because the closest he had come recently to having any success with a girl was the time a few weeks before when he had drunk too much rum, and ended up thinking he was in love with the pirate boat’s figurehead. The boat’s figurehead was certainly attractive, and extremely well carved, but it left him with nasty splinters whenever he tried to give it a hug.

  ‘I’d – uh – prefer it if you called me John,’ said the Elephant Man, trying to crack a smile. ‘My name is John Merrick.’

  ‘Okay, John it is. So let me get this straight . . . you got turned into an elephant man by being bitten by an actual elephant, is that right? Was the elephant radioactive in any way?’ asked Jennifer.

  ‘Ah . . . no. I suffer from a rare genetic condition. It causes the rapid growth of bony tumours. There are no elephants involved. Several unfortunate children are born with it every year.’

  ‘Children are born with it? Is that because their mothers have been bitten by an elephant whilst pregnant? Are you saying that if I got pregnant, I shouldn’t visit a zoo?’

  ‘No. Really, the condition has nothing to do with elephants.’

  ‘Would the baby only be affected if the mother was bitten in the belly by an elephant? Or would a bite to the leg do it too?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re really listening . . .’ said the Elephant Man with as much patience as he could muster.

  ‘I can tell you’re from India, because of the shape of your ears,’ added Jennifer triumphantly. The Elephant Man just sighed and shook his head.

  ‘Tell me, John,’ Jennifer went on, swiftly changing tack. ‘Do you know why this circus has so many ladies’ nights? I mean, they’re virtually every night! It’s suspicious!’