In an Adventure With Napoleon (3 page)

Whilst his crew had fun, the Pirate Captain stiffened his resolve with a shot of grog mixed with gunpowder and went to mingle with his peers. He didn’t really look forward to mingling. It wasn’t because he didn’t like the other pirate captains, it was more that he knew he’d met most of them before, and yet he could never seem to remember their names or anything about them. And he found they had an annoying tendency to talk about themselves and their adventures, which he considered rude, particularly when his own adventures were much more interesting. But it was important to observe the social niceties, so he strode up the blood-red carpet into the VIP Captains Only marquee as boldly as he could. He had barely got through the door when a pirate with large eyebrows stepped up and clapped him on the back.

‘Pirate Captain! It’s great to see you again! You’re
looking fantastic,’ said the pirate. He did that handshake where you clasp the other person’s arm to convey genuine warmth.

‘Hello there,’ said the Pirate Captain, trying to place the familiar face. ‘It’s great to see you too.’ He took a long sip of grog to give himself time to think. After about ten minutes, he felt he should probably stop sipping and say something. ‘Peg Leg Hastings!’ he chanced. ‘Peg Leg! How are you? Had any good adventures lately? Miss your leg? How’s the stump?’

The other pirate’s big eyebrows drooped as the Captain noticed his two, perfectly intact legs.

‘It grew back? Wow! That’s quite something. I didn’t think they could do that.’

‘I’m not Peg Leg Hastings, Pirate Captain.’

‘Of course you are,’ said the Captain, adopting his usual policy of ploughing on regardless, no matter how high the facts were stacked against him. ‘I’d know you any day of the week. We go way back to Pirate Academy.’

‘Peg Leg Hastings was a woman.’

‘A woman. Really?’

‘And she was eaten by cannibals two years ago. You were at her funeral.’
⁵

‘Fancy that.’

‘You read the eulogy.’

‘Did I? Was it moving?’

‘Quite moving. Though you spent more time giving advice on getting stains out of cravats than talking about her life.’

‘Typical me!’ said the Pirate Captain, trying to make the conversation breezy again. ‘Well then, if you’re not Peg Leg Hastings that would make you … oh my Lord! Your hat is on fire!’

The Pirate Captain ducked behind a fearsome-looking crowd of Chinese pirates and grabbed a sausage on a stick from a passing waitress. He decided that a good tactic to avoid further embarrassing conversation would be to stand in the corner and pretend to be too busy admiring his sausage on a stick to talk to anyone. He was admiring it so hard he barely noticed that an eager-looking young pirate with a side parting had sidled up right front of him. The Captain sighed.

‘Hello,’ said the pirate. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met?’

The Pirate Captain brightened immediately. ‘Haven’t we? How fantastic.’ He extended a hand. ‘I’m the Pirate Captain.’

By way of reply, the pirate with a side parting smiled an oily smile and thrust a little white rectangle towards him. The Captain flinched and drew back in fright, because in piratical circles this sort of thing usually came with a black spot that meant you were marked for a bloody death.

‘Steady on,’ said the Pirate Captain.

‘It’s a business card,’ explained the pirate.

‘Ah. I see.’ The Pirate Captain squinted down at the card. It read:

‘What a clever idea. I tend to rely on just saying who I am. You know, with my mouth.’ The Pirate Captain pointed at his mouth just in case Alan Hinton was a bit simple.

‘Mouths are yesterday’s mode of communication, Pirate Captain,’ said Alan Hinton BA, Hons. ‘In the fast-paced, efficient world of modern piracy there’s no room for time-consuming introductions.’

‘Isn’t there? Well, there you go.’ The Pirate Captain looked again at the little card. ‘So.
Alan Hinton
. Not a very piratical-sounding name. Not much use for frightening the lubbers. What you need is an exciting nickname based on a characteristic you feel really sums up who you are. That tends to be how it works. For instance, if you’re particularly bloodthirsty you could have “Bloodthirsty Alan”. Or “One-Eyed Alan” if you only had the one eye. Or, I don’t know, do you get hungry a lot? “Hungry Alan”. No forget that, that one’s rubbish. But you get the gist?’

‘As you can see,’ said Alan Hinton BA, Hons, ‘rather
than a nickname I have a first-class honours degree in naval studies and business management from Oxford University.’

‘Aaarrr, well, that’s all fine and good,’ nodded the Pirate Captain. ‘But my degree is from the university of life. Of course, it turns out there is no such place as the university of life, and the entire thousand-doubloon, nine-month correspondence course was just a scam run by Black Bellamy. Still, a certificate is a certificate, that’s what my Aunt Joan always used to say. Have you met my Aunt Joan?’

‘I’m afraid not, Pirate Captain, I don’t have much room in my schedule for meeting people’s aunts.’

‘Oh, you should meet her. Fascinating woman. Another thing she used to say was “book smarts are no match for a nice hat and a sunny outlook,” advice that’s helped me on all my adventures.’

Alan Hinton BA, Hons sipped his mineral water. ‘Yes. I’ve read about your “adventures,” Pirate Captain.’

‘You have?’ the Captain grinned. ‘It’s always nice to meet a fan.’

‘As a matter of fact I wrote an essay on you for my piratical history paper at Pirate Academy. I really feel that there’s so much the future can learn from the ancient past.’

The Pirate Captain was pretty sure that when Alan Hinton BA, Hons said ‘future’ he was referring to sharp side partings and when he said ‘ancient past’ he was
referring to luxuriantly bearded rogues, but he managed to bite his tongue.

‘So, Alan. Have you got your speech worked out? Mine is on the theme of “the best summer I ever had”. It’s about when I worked as a fruit picker in Kent. There was a rosy-cheeked peasant girl called Naomi. We used to chase each other through wheat fields and sleep under the stars. If I was lucky I’d get tops. Happy days. The best thing is, it took me less time to write than it will to say.’

‘The title of mine is “Trajectories: taking piracy into the nineteenth century – a bold new age where fiscal responsibility and embracing new technology are more important than roaring and running people through.”’

‘Goodness me,’ said the Captain. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever had an adventure with fiscal responsibility.’

In the Skull Island Anne Bonny Memorial Auditorium the rest of the pirates, laden down with goody bags, bustled about looking for their seats. Jennifer was pleased to find she was sitting at a table with the pirate in green, the pirate with a scarf and the pirate with long legs, because they were the pirates who tended to have the most personality. The pirate in red was also there, which she didn’t mind, as long as he kept the sarcastic tone out of his voice. They all gazed about the auditorium with mounting excitement. The pirate in green almost
began to hyperventilate as the curtain went up to reveal a stage tastefully dressed in mountains of gold lamé and strings of pearls that were as big as tennis balls and several dancers dressed as giant clams. In the middle of it all sat a colossal empty throne with a drinks holder in one arm and an ashtray on the other. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife, and there was a rustle of cutlasses as a few of the more literal-minded pirates tried to do just that.

‘What do you suppose the Pirate King looks like?’ whispered Jennifer.

‘I heard that his hands are big enough to crush the Royal Navy flagship in one crush!’ said the pirate with long legs. ‘And that he can kill a man just by looking at him. And that he’s immortal.’

‘I heard he’s got
three
beards,’ said the pirate in green.

‘I heard,’ said the albino pirate, ‘that his voice is so booming it has a special effect on ladies. Something to do with the shape of their pelvises.’

‘Sshh!’ said the pirate in red with a wave of his hand. ‘Here he comes!’

A frail old man wearing a slightly tatty crown emerged from one side of the stage and hobbled towards the throne. He tottered into it before coughing consumptively for a few minutes.

‘Fellow pirates,’ he eventually croaked in a hoarse whisper. ‘It gives me great pleasure to welcome you to my Pirate of the Year awards.’

‘He’s not
quite
what you’d led me to expect,’ whispered Jennifer to the pirate in green.

‘We’ve learned another of those valuable life-lessons here, I assume,’ said the pirate in green, looking distraught. ‘I’m just not quite sure what it is yet.’

But before the frail old man on the stage could get any further an enormous explosion went off somewhere near the back of the room, accompanied by the blast of at least fifty trumpets and a hundred gongs. The audience twisted round in their seats to see what was going on. Standing there, wreathed in sea mist, was a figure so awe-inspiring that no description written down in a book could ever do him justice.

‘WHO THE BLAZES IS THAT?’ roared the figure in a voice that sounded like a whole fleet of ships firing their cannons at a massive sheet of metal. ‘GET OFF MY THRONE!’ He winked at the audience, who all cheered as he bounded through the auditorium and onto the stage in two huge strides, pausing only to burst a hot water bottle by blowing into it and rip a telephone directory in half. The fake Pirate King quivered in mock terror, but then stopped quivering as he was swept up in one stately hand and thrown bodily into the orchestra pit. Everybody cheered again. The real Pirate King flashed the audience a grin that contained at least as much gold as the Crown Jewels of Britain and Spain put together.

‘HELLO, PIRATES,’ said the Pirate King.

‘Hello, Pirate King,’ the pirates yelled back.

‘Now
that
’s making an entrance,’ whispered Jennifer approvingly.

The Pirate King lit a cigar, leaned back in his throne and blew a smoke ring the size of a life-buoy. ‘BY CRIKEY YOU’RE A FINE BUNCH,’ he boomed. ‘A FINE, FINE, FINE BUNCH OF ROGUES, SCALLYWAGS AND NE’ER-DO-WELLS. IT MAKES ME PROUD TO BE YOUR KING.’ He threw back his head and laughed so hard that dust and bits of plaster cascaded from the ceiling.

‘ANY LUBBERS IN?’

‘No!’ chorused the pirates.

‘OF COURSE NOT. WHY, IF A LUBBER WAS TO SET FOOT IN THIS HALL, HE’D PROBABLY DROP DEAD ON THE SPOT FROM THE SHEER CONCENTRATION OF GOOD, HONEST BRINE IN THE AIR. BUT WE’RE NOT HERE TO TALK ABOUT LUBBERS. WE’RE HERE TO GIVE OUT THE PIRATE OF THE YEAR AWARD TO THE BEST PIRATE.’

The Pirate King paused for a moment to pull a great white shark from behind his throne and punch it in half with a fist. A fair amount of shark guts went over the tables at the front, but none of the audience minded at all.

‘IT’S BEEN A GREAT YEAR FOR PIRATING,’ said the Pirate King, striking a serious tone. ‘AND THE YEAR
AHEAD IS LOOKING EVEN MORE EXCITING. IN THE COMING MONTHS WE’LL BE LAUNCHING A DRIVE TO ELIMINATE THE WORRYING LEVELS OF OBESITY AMONGST THE PIRATE POPULATION. I ALSO HAVE PLANS TO REDUCE HEALTH AND SAFETY HAZARDS ON PIRATE BOATS, SO I’LL BE LOOKING FOR A PIRATE OF THE YEAR WHO CAN HELP ME MAKE THE WORLD OF PIRATING BETTER THAN EVER. THIS AWARD ISN’T JUST ABOUT THE ENDLESS FEASTS AT MY TABLE OR THE FEMALE COMPANIONSHIP OR THE SASH OR THE LIFETIME SUPPLY OF TOOTHBRUSHES. IT’S A POSITION OF REAL RESPONSIBILITY WITH STUFF TO SIGN AND PERSONAL APPEARANCES AT ALL THE TOP EVENTS. SO WITH THAT IN MIND, LET’S HEAR FROM THE FIRST NOMINEE!’

The audience clapped again, and the Pirate Captain sauntered on from the other side of the stage. He straightened his beard and gave his crew a cheery thumbs up.

‘Ooh, here he comes, fingers crossed,’ said Jennifer.

The pirate with a scarf couldn’t bear to watch, so he covered his face with a napkin.

‘SO. PIRATE CAPTAIN. ARE YOU READY?’ asked the Pirate King.

‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ said the Pirate Captain.

‘PIRATE CAPTAIN, YOUR QUESTION IS THIS. IF
YOU WERE TO SPLICE THE MAINSAIL, WHAT WOULD IT ACTUALLY INVOLVE? AND HOW WOULD IT BE ACCOMPLISHED?’