In an Adventure With Napoleon (11 page)

The Governor paced up and down and chewed his lip. ‘I’m afraid there’s Mister Bonaparte’s handkerchief exhibit where you’re pointing, Pirate Captain.’

‘So there is,’ said the Pirate Captain airily. ‘I hadn’t noticed. Well, that’s easily fixed.’ He hefted the handkerchief jar over to a dusty corner and casually plonked it down on top of a wastepaper bin.

‘There you go,’ he said, looking pleased with himself. ‘Score one to the Pirate Captain.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said the Governor.

‘Sorry, forget I said that. I didn’t mean to say that bit out loud, I just meant to think it in my head.’

he next morning the pirate crew were woken up from fitful dreams of hefty ropes and seagulls by a rhythmic banging coming from the garden. They grabbed their dressing gowns or wrapped blankets around their shoulders and traipsed outside to see what was going on, only to find the Pirate Captain, bare-chested against the elements, hammering bits of wood together. He’d obviously been busy. A gigantic beehive towered a full ten feet above the ground. You could tell it was a beehive because right at the top there was a little sign that read in slightly wonky handwriting: ‘Welcome, Bees!’

‘Hello, lads and Jennifer,’ said the Pirate Captain, wiping his brow and putting his hammer down for a
moment. He gestured proudly at the creation looming behind him. ‘What do you think?’

Most of the pirates didn’t know what to think at all, so they just thought about shanties, which was their default thing to think about in situations like this. Taking their lack of response for impressed speechlessness, the Pirate Captain swung open the front of the hive and eagerly waved them forward to have a closer look. Inside, the beehive was divided into a series of lovingly decorated little rooms. There was a dining room, a lounge, and even a kitchen. The top of the hive was devoted to a series of offices for the bees to make honey in. The Pirate Captain wasn’t sure how much direction bees needed but he had added another sign that said ‘PUT HONEY IN HERE’ next to a jar with an arrow pointing at it, just to be sure.

‘It’s brilliant, isn’t it?’ said the Pirate Captain happily. ‘Look, there’s the queen’s chambers, that’s the best bit.
²⁰
I’ve made a tiny throne for her to look all regal on. And there’s a little gym for them to work out in, because it’s important my bees remain healthy. And you’ll see I’ve hung up lots of miniature pictures of flowers and pollen and things like that, which bees are into.’

‘It’s certainly not what I was expecting,’ said Jennifer.

‘Thank you,’ said the Captain graciously. ‘Once word gets out in the insect community the bees will come flocking. If bees can flock. Between you and me I think I’ve got a good chance of getting her into the “Readers’ Hives’ section of next month’s
Bee-keeping News.”

‘Where did you get the wood, Captain?’ asked the pirate with a scarf, thinking some of the hive looked a little familiar.

‘Off the bottom of the pirate boat. She came apart surprisingly easily,’ said the Pirate Captain with a shrug. Several of the pirates looked aghast, which they conveyed by putting their hands by their cheeks and making their mouths into an ‘O’ shape.

‘Don’t worry, it’s not like we’ll be needing her anymore,’ said the Captain reassuringly. He had just picked up his hammer and started banging a few more nails into the wood when he heard a discreet but unmistakably surly cough, and Napoleon’s big round head appeared over the top of the garden fence.

‘Hello, Pirate Captain,’ said Napoleon, in a tone so glacial that it could have had a polar bear standing on top of it.

‘Hello, Napoleon,’ said the Pirate Captain, equally frosty.

‘I hear you have been kind enough to donate to our little museum.’

‘Aarrrr, well, one tries to do one’s bit.’ The Captain
stopped banging nails for a moment. ‘For the kids really, more than anything.’

‘Very public spirited of you.’

‘It’s just my way,’ said the Captain modestly. He was hoping that might be the end of the conversation, but Napoleon seemed to be lingering. ‘Sorry, is there something I can do for you?’

‘Yes, Captain, there is.’ Napoleon held up a wodge of papers and waggled them under the Captain’s nose. ‘As you can see, I am trying to write my memoirs.’

‘How’s that going? Have you got to the part where the Duke of Wellington thumps you yet?’
²¹

‘No, I have not. In fact I am barely out of the womb – though already I’m showing my precociousness by being the only baby in Corsica who could eat three rusks at a time.’

‘Writer’s block, eh? Have you tried holding your breath for thirty seconds and wrapping a hot towel around your head? I always find that helps.’

‘I do not have writer’s block, Captain. I am unable to work because your intolerable banging is making it impossible for me to concentrate.’

‘I’m nearly done, so you can keep your hat on. I’m just making my bees a little library. I don’t really expect them to read much – it’s more of a social thing, somewhere for them to network, pick up other bees, that kind of stuff.’

Napoleon looked up at the towering hive and grimaced. ‘What in the name of the revolution is this architectural carbuncle?’

‘It’s not a carbuncle,’ said the Captain with a pout. ‘It’s a beehive.’

‘Well, it won’t do. It won’t do at all,’ said Napoleon. ‘Your “beehive” is blocking the light to my garden.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘This,’ Napoleon indicated the patch of garden that now lay in the shadow of the hive, ‘is where I intend to grow a prizewinning marrow. I have achieved many things in my life, Pirate Captain, and one of the few spheres left for me to conquer it that of outsized vegetable produce. I have no choice but to demand that you dismantle your hive immediately.’

‘I will do no such thing,’ said the Pirate Captain, drawing himself up to his full height. ‘A pirate’s beehive is his castle.’

‘I’m afraid I must insist.’ Napoleon paused and gave a sly smile. ‘There are planning regulations to be observed. Not to mention the fact that this construction is clearly an appalling health and safety hazard.’

‘Planning regulations?’ The Captain snorted and pulled a face. ‘Says who?’

Napoleon’s sly smile turned into an outright grin. ‘Says the new head of the St Helena Residents’ Association. I volunteered my services yesterday. You see, Captain, I also like to do my bit for the community.’

And with that, Napoleon flourished his hat triumphantly and ducked back down behind the fence.

The Pirate Captain found the Governor on St Helena’s windswept little beach, painting a watercolour of the view out to sea. It was his favourite thing to paint, because all you needed was a ruler and two slightly different shades of grey.

‘So I’m sure it’s just a bit of a mix-up,’ said the Pirate Captain, striding down the shingle towards him, ‘but my esteemed neighbour seems to be under the impression that he’s the head of the St Helena Residents’ Association. You know how these continental types get ideas into their heads. Too much olive oil in their diet, not enough ham, that’s the trouble.’

The Governor looked a bit guilty and put down his paint brush. ‘Hello again,’ he said, with a strained smile. ‘Actually Mister Bonaparte is quite correct. He came and offered his services yesterday. The truth is we’ve never had a St Helena Residents’ Association, but he seemed so keen I didn’t like to bring that up. Frightfully good of him, really. It’s not a problem, is it, Captain?’

The Captain looked at the Governor and thought for a moment. He prided himself on his ability to multitask, both looking and thinking at the same time. Sometimes he even combined it with walking and eating.

‘Not a problem as such, Governor,’ he said eventually, ‘But the thing is, do you remember how you told me that St Helena is “a little piece of England”?’

‘Oh yes,’ said the Governor brightly. ‘And then you got rather confused and asked how on earth they had managed to lop off a piece of England and tow it thousands of miles away into the middle of the Atlantic. And then I explained that I was talking figuratively, but you didn’t really seem to grasp that and went on speculating that they must have used porpoises attached to ropes. It ended up being quite a long conversation, as I recall.’

‘Yes, well, aside from how it got here, my point is this: St Helena is a little piece of England. And what is England famous for?’

The Governor shrugged. ‘Our delicate cuisine? Our fine dentition? Our uninhibited raw sexuality?’

‘Democracy!’ exclaimed the Pirate Captain. ‘England is famous for inventing democracy.’

‘Are you sure that wasn’t the Greeks?’

‘No, it was the English, same as everything else. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m certain Napoleon would do a great job as head of the residents’ association. But it’s just not very
democratic
, simply appointing him like that, is it? Can’t imagine Queen Victoria would approve.’

‘Oh dear, I suppose not.’ The Governor shook his bushy mutton chops anxiously. ‘What do you suggest I do?’

‘Well, I’m no expert on these matters, Governor, but I think you have to call an election.’

‘An election?’ The Governor paced back and forth and pondered for a moment. ‘But who on earth would stand against Mister Bonaparte? I mean to say, he’s incredibly overqualified for the position as it is.’

‘Aaarrrr.’ The Pirate Captain frowned. ‘That’s true. It would have to be someone with proven organisational abilities, because I suspect running a residents’ association involves a great deal of hard work, much like running a pirate boat. They’d need to be well travelled, a man of the world. And it would have to be someone the electorate could trust, so, really, you’d want them to have a pleasant, open face.’

‘Pirate Captain!’ exclaimed the Governor. ‘
You
have a pleasant, open face!’

The Pirate Captain pretended to blush, which is quite a tricky thing to pull off. ‘Me? But I’m just a humble beekeeper. Happy in my quiet life, rearing honey. Not the kind of fellow who lusts after political power at all.’

‘But, Captain,’ said the Governor, a pleading look in his eyes. ‘You wouldn’t be doing it for you. You’d be doing it for the good of democracy. For England!’

‘Oh well, when you put it like that, I suppose it’s hard to refuse.’ The Pirate Captain hunted around in his pockets for a second and then pulled out something small and shiny with
VOTE PIRATE CAPTAIN FOR HEAD OF THE ST HELENA RESIDENTS’ ASSOCIATION
written across it. ‘Here you go, Governor, have a badge.’