by Sean Cullen
“Hold!”
Mrs. Francis turned to see a tall, slim man step through the ranks. He wore a sailing captain’s hat at a rakish angle and a tattered peacoat. In his hand was a pistol aimed at One-Ear. His clothes were old but well kempt. He had a gentlemanly bearing, as if he were used to a better sort of company. “We have rules, One-Ear.” The man smiled faintly at Mrs. Francis. “Ladies are not to be hacked apart with swords. It reflects badly on pirates in general and on our outfit in particular.”
“C’mon Mr. Kipling! She brained Hookie with that paddle,” One-Ear said petulantly.
“I’m sure she was provoked,” the man called Mr. Kipling said. He turned to Mrs. Francis. “Madam, I beg you, please relinquish your paddle and you will be treated with the respect and decorum befitting such a lovely lady.” He bowed, sweeping off his hat to reveal a shiny bald spot on the back of his head.
The gesture left him open to a paddle attack to the skull. Mrs. Francis felt tempted to whack him, but looking around at the assembled pirates she knew it was a foolhardy gesture. She dropped the paddle.
Immediately, One-Ear lunged at her. He made only two steps before a shot rang out. “OW!” he shouted, grabbing the side of his head where his single ear had been before Mr. Kipling’s bullet had removed it. “That’s not fair! I have to change my name to No-Ears now.”
“Forgive me.” The gentleman pirate shook his head sadly. “At least your hats will fit snugly.” He turned to Mrs. Francis. “Now, my lady, allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Kipling, first mate and second in command of the airship Vulture. We are unfortunately here to plunder and pillage this facility. If you’ll allow me to escort you, I will introduce you to the Captain. I’m sure he’d love to make your acquaintance.”
He offered her an arm. At a loss for some other course of action, she took it and they made their way, escorted by the gang of pirates, into the cafeteria.
On their arrival, they found Viggo in dire straits. A huge, brawny pirate held the skinny cheese maker by the throat like a butcher holding a chicken. Viggo’s feet dangled above the floor as he kicked and writhed, trying to escape the vicelike grip that held him. Raucous laughter abounded.
“Look at him kickin’!” a pirate crowed.
“Like that Irish show with all the dancin’. What was it called?”
“Riverdance?” one of the men suggested.
“That’s the one. Magnificent show! Bubbling with irrepressible energy,” pronounced the man holding Viggo. He was missing an eye and several teeth.
“A celebration of the human spirit,” enthused a short man whose arm had been sloppily amputated below the elbow and replaced with a spiked club. “The audience left the theatre completely energized.”
Viggo listened to the commentary in disbelief, shaking with terror. “Please! I beg you. Don’t kill me!” he sobbed. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
More uproarious laughter. The men elbowed each other in the ribs and pointed at Viggo as if he were the funniest thing they’d ever seen.
“Don’ kill meee!” they mocked and leaned on each other as they laughed some more.
“Put him down, you brute!” Mrs. Francis shouted and stamped her slippered foot. She had no love for Viggo, but she couldn’t stand cruelty. The pirates turned and looked at her in surprise.
“Oi! Who you calling a brute?” The man holding Viggo dropped him in a heap. “I oughtta teach you a lesson in manners.” He took a step towards Mrs. Francis. The pirates hooted with glee.
“Stop!”
The command rang out and the hilarity ceased immediately. The voice was powerful, gravelly, and harsh. A huge man stood silhouetted in the light of factory doorway.
Mr. Kipling guided his captive a step closer. “Captain, this is …?” Mr. Kipling left the question hanging.
“Mrs. Francis,” she offered.
“Excellent.” Mr. Kipling nodded. “Mrs. Francis, may I introduce the Scourge of the Skies, the Terror of Dairy Farmers, the Lord of Lactose, Master of the Cheese Pirates of Snow Monkey Island, Captain Cheesebeard.”
The man turned and looked at Mrs. Francis, smiling in a most unsavoury way. “The pleasure is all mine.”
Chapter 14
He was taller than any of the others by a head and a half. His shoulders were broad and powerful, his chest deep. He wore an old-fashioned three-cornered hat like a pirate in a storybook. His long black leather coat brushed the floor, covering the hilt of a sabre that hung from a red sash at his waist. Certainly, he looked every inch a pirate Captain. All the trappings aside, the most striking feature about him was his beard.
Oh! The beard. There are many kinds of beard, from the tiny chin triangle of the musketeer to the astute goatee of the psychiatrist to the grand rug-sweeping beards of the famous Beardlords of Denmark.43 None of those beards, however, could hold a candle to the beard of the man standing before Viggo in the cafeteria.
Oh, the beardiness of this beard. A quintessence of facial hairiness, it hung from his chin to his belt, completely covering his chest. It was so broad that it stuck out on either side of his body. It was a beard that could clear a path through an angry mob. Powerful, stupendous, and beardy.
What was the colour of this beard? I hear you ask yourselves. Not a colour you’ve seen before. No one knew what the colour of the hair beneath actually was because that colour was lost under a crusty encasement of cheese.
The three children had climbed out of the vat and were now watching through a small crack in the kitchen shutters. They got a good look at the pirate Captain as he walked into the cafeteria and stood over Viggo.
“Yes, I am Captain Cheesebeard,” the man intoned.
Sometimes a name doesn’t mean anything. There are plenty of people named Smith who have no knowledge of blacksmithing. There are loads of people named Green who aren’t green at all. Captain Cheesebeard was a man whose name described him perfectly. His beard, as mentioned above, was thick with cheese.
“Indeed, my beard is a map of my conquests, a tapestry of my glorious history as a pillager of the finest cheese repositories in the world.” As he spoke, he ambled around the circle of his compatriots who leered and shook their weapons. “My hearty crew and I have gathered all the rarest and finest cheeses for ourselves, and now the final jewel will adorn my crown.”
“Is that all you want?” Viggo whimpered. “Take it. Take all the cheese and go.”
“Oh I will take the cheese, Master Viggo Schmatz,” Captain Cheesebeard smiled grimly. “I will take it. But that’s not all I want.” The pirates giggled and hooted until Cheesebeard raised a hand asking for silence. “I want the cheese, but that is only the beginning. I have bigger plans than simple thievery. I believe one has to look to the future and secure a position of power to ensure one’s ultimate survival and prosperity. That is why you are coming with me.”
“Me? Why me?”
“I am assembling a brain trust of the finest cheese makers from around the world. You are the last and the best, Master Viggo. From my headquarters on Snow Monkey Island, in the Arctic Ocean, I shall create a new and magnificent cheese the likes of which humankind can’t even to begin imagine. Soon, I will dominate the cheese market and then the world.” A great roar of approval went up from the pirates.
“What about the children?” Mrs. Francis asked. Silence fell. All the pirates turned and looked at her. Cheesebeard spun and walked until his face was inches from hers. Mrs. Francis tried to resist the urge to gag. The smell of the beard was utterly rancid.
“Of course, we’ll be taking them with us. They will fulfill the same duties for me as they do for master Viggo here. Only, they will find that I’m not such a soft touch. Round them up.”
Pirates leapt to do his bidding. Mrs. Francis struggled against the grip of Kipling but remained held fast. She turned her gaze to the shutters of the serving hatch and, for a moment, locked eyes with Hamish X. Her eyes went wide. Her surprise was cut short, however, when one of the pirates came into
the room holding a cloth sack in his filthy hands.
“Captain, I cleaned out the office. Nothing of interest besides some papers, and this.” The man reached into the sack and pulled out Hamish X’s book.
At the sight of the book, Hamish X made to launch himself through the shutters into the cafeteria. Mimi and Parveen had to wrestle him back with all their strength.
Cheesebeard leaned over, reading the cover. “Great Plumbers and Their Exploits,” he sniffed. “Sounds boring. But it might be worth something. Hang on.” He reached out and plucked the scrap of paper from its position between the pages. His voice dripped with hatred as he read. “Hamish X!”
All the pirates gasped. Cheesebeard lunged forward and grabbed Viggo by the collar, thrusting his cheesy beard into the cheese master’s face. “Hamish X. Is he here?”
“Was! Was here! He’s escaped this very night,” Viggo stammered. “We were about to go hunt him down when you attacked us.”
Cheesebeard glared hard at Viggo. At last, he threw him to the floor. Turning to Mr. Kipling, he shouted, “Take him to the ship. Load the cheese and the children.”
“He’s just a boy with big boots,” Viggo muttered. “I don’t see what you’re scared of.”
A gasp went up from all the pirates, followed by hushed silence. Cheesebeard glared at Viggo again.
“Scared?” the pirate Captain rumbled. “Scared? I’m not scared of Hamish X! I have a score to settle with that boy. I want to kill him!”
Cheesebeard’s booted foot connected with Viggo’s bum, sending him sprawling.
“Ow,” Viggo yelped. “That was my bum!”
“Say I’m scared again and you’ll be wearing my boot on your bum permanently,” Cheesebeard growled. “Take him away!”
The pirates hurried to follow their leader’s orders, dragging Viggo out of the cafeteria and marching Mrs. Francis after him. She cast one worried look over her shoulder towards the serving hatch before she disappeared through the door in the clutches of two unsavoury-looking men.
In the kitchen, Parveen and Mimi fought to keep Hamish X from leaping out of the vat and through the shutters. They finally managed to keep him still by Mimi sitting on him while Parveen clamped both his hands over Hamish X’s mouth.
Kipling and Cheesebeard stood talking in the cafeteria as the other pirates herded the children past.
“Hamish X. I didn’t think he really existed,” Kipling said.
“Oh he’s real enough,” snarled Cheesebeard, his hands clutching the heavy leather book as if he imagined it were Hamish X himself. “He killed my brother Soybeard in the South China Sea two years ago. Soybeard and his crew had just raided a bean-curd factory on the Pearl River and were headed home with their spoils when they ran up against Hamish X in the delta. After a pitched battle, Soybeard and the cursed Hamish X fought hand to hand. My brother was about to land the killing stroke when that wretched boy kicked a hole in the ship with those ridiculous boots and sent my dear Soybeard and his crew to a watery grave.”
Inside the kitchen, Mimi nudged Hamish X and whispered, “Is that true?”
Hamish X shrugged. “He deserved it.”
Parveen shushed them. Kipling was speaking.
“Shall I organize a search party? He can’t have gone far.”
“No point. In this wind, he could have reached Saskatoon44 by now.” Cheesebeard grinned evilly and caressed the book’s cover. “No. I have something the boy wants. With any luck he’ll seek me out and then I’ll have my revenge. Oh, and it will be sweet. Sweet like fresh ricotta! Get the children on board. We must get back to Snow Monkey Island as soon as possible.”
The Captain tucked the book under his arm and strode out of the cafeteria. Kipling extracted a handkerchief from his sleeve and blew his nose. Wiping his nose daintily, he stuffed the handkerchief back up his sleeve.
“My book!” Hamish X hissed, heaving suddenly and causing Parveen’s head to bang against the lid of the vat. The muffled clang sounded painfully loud in the enclosed kitchen. Mimi clapped a hand over Parveen’s mouth before he could make a noise. Then she drove her fist into Hamish X’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
Kipling froze. He cocked his head to one side and slowly turned to look at the shutters. Parveen and Mimi shrank back, willing him not to see them. The pirate laid a hand on the hilt of the elegant sword that hung from his left hip. With a slithering hiss, he drew the sword from its sheath and stood, listening.
Mimi’s heart thudded in her chest. Parveen blinked in terror and Hamish X, sensing their fear, lay as still as he could, gasping for breath. Kipling’s eyes narrowed and he took a step towards the shutters.
Mimi almost jumped out of her skin when the refrigerator suddenly started up with a clanging whir.
Kipling visibly relaxed. “A refrigerator,” he chuckled. “Kipling, you’re getting old.” He slid the sword back into its sheath, spun on his heel, and walked out of the cafeteria without a backward glance.
In the kitchen, the three children huddled down. “Sorry I punched ya but I had to do it.”
“I’ve got to get my book back,” Hamish X said.
“There are too many,” Parveen insisted. “And there are only three of us. They would cut us to pieces.”
“He’s right. We cain’t just march out there and git it. Besides, it’s just a book.”
“It’s not just a book!” Hamish cried. “It’s all I have left of my mother. I can’t lose it. I can’t. It’s a special book. She meant for me to have it and it’s the only way I can ever hope to find her.”
They sat for a moment, thinking about that. Finally, Mimi shrugged.
“All right. I guess that makes as much sense as anythin’. Parveen?”
“I agree, although it’s against my better judgment.” They went together to the kitchen door and peered down the hall.
No one was there. The loading had been completed. Outside the building, above the howl of the wind, huge engines coughed then grew in strength to a full-throated drone.
Hamish X, Mimi, and Parveen hurried along the hall. Cautiously they peered out into the courtyard. Above them, the huge cigar shape of the pirate airship slowly turned into the wind. Its anchor cable dangled as it was hauled up into a trap door in the bottom of the vessel. Even before the door closed, the airship swung its mighty nose around and the propellers roared, driving the ship north across the night sky. The three children watched it dwindle in the distance.
“What now?” Mimi asked.
“We go after them,” Hamish X announced. He turned and went back into the factory. “We save Mrs. Francis. We free the children. We defeat the pirates. We save the day.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Parveen said.
“Come on, Parveen.” Hamish X slapped the smaller boy on the back, making him wince. “Anything else would make for a very dull story.”
Part 2
THE JOURNEY NORTH
Having fun? The story is really taking off at this point. Daring escapes! Pirates! Zeppelins! Just the sort of elements that cracking good stories require. Not to mention engaging and delightful narration, I think you’ll agree.
The ability to narrate is unique to humans in the animal kingdom. Animals are notoriously unaware of the beauty of narration. They tend to think of everything in the present tense, leading to very poor storytelling. The following is an example of a cat recounting her morning meal, obtained by computer simulation at the Animal Narration Laboratory at Yale University.
I am a cat. I have four paws. Oh! There’s the thing with food in it. I am eating food. It is food. There’s a bird at the window. I can’t eat it. I’ll eat this stuff instead. I am eating food. It is soft. It smells like fish. Oooh! There’s a crunchy bit. I am a cat. I am licking my paws. Etc.
You get the idea. Terrible! What a difference with a human narrating the same action:
The cat stood patiently on the tiled floor of the kitchen, its whiskers twitching in anticipation. Her owner lowere
d the bowl, brimming with moist, delicious tuna delight in front of her eager face. The moment the bowl struck the floor, the cat happily dug in. Nothing could distract the cat from its delectable repast. Nothing, that is, save a meadowlark alighting delicately on the window ledge. The cat raised its muzzle briefly to consider the possibility of capturing the saucy bird but realized the window was closed. With a rueful flick of the ears, she tucked back into the tuna delight, pausing only to savour a small fish bone before licking the bowl and her paws clean.
See what I’m getting at? Although the cat’s version has a certain sense of immediacy, animals just can’t infuse a situation with emotion and intention the way a human narrator can. Humans are the best narrators.
Many great stories have been lost to the human race over the years due to poor narration. Just think about it! Have you ever heard The Thrilling Tale of the Invention of the Shoe? The Story of Glunk, the First Girl to Discover Water Was Wet? Or even The Sweeping Epic of the Lost Keys of Dave? No, you haven’t. Why? They didn’t have a narrator who was up to the task. How fortunate Hamish X is. How fortunate you are! I have been assigned this tale by the Universal Narrators’ Guild and I promise to exert myself to the very limit of my storytelling powers to provide you with an accurate yet thrilling narration of the story. Enough said.
We’re about to enter the second part of the story. It involves a long journey during which our heroes will be tested to their limits and discover their true inner strength. Sadly, in our lives we’re rarely offered such opportunities. Seldom do pirates invade our homes, stealing our loved ones and requiring us to perform a daring rescue. In fact, we hardly ever have any chance to show the heroic side of our character. I once saved a horse from drowning, but the incident really didn’t carry the kind of epic grandeur one might hope for. Certainly, the horse was grateful, but he couldn’t exactly tell anyone about my exploits. And even if he could, his narration would have been awful. Horses are scarcely better than cats at telling stories. They spend a lot of time talking about hay and don’t use a lot of adjectives.45