by Gareth Jones
Contents CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE! (or smashed into little bits and delivered in boxes) The crew of the Leaky Battery the STEAMPUNK PIRATES for piracy, looting and treason.
Sixteen scurrilous scallywags in total, including their four officers:
CAPTAIN CLOCKHEART Hot-headed leader of the Steampunk Pirates. He is unpredictable and dangerous on account of a loose valve sending too much steam to his head.
FIRST MATE MAINSPRING Operated by clockwork, he is at his most dangerous when overly wound up.
QUARTERMASTER LEXI Fitted with a catalogue of information, he is the cleverest (if not the bravest) of the bunch.
MR GADGE His various arm attachments include all kinds of devilish weaponry and fighting equipment.
A REWARD OF ONE THOUSAND POUNDS is offered for anyone who captures this crew of loathsome looters and returns them to their rightful owner, the King of England.
We are the Steampunk Pirates, We’re fearless, brave and bold, If you care to listen, Our story will unfold, With fire in our bellies, We’re here to steal your gold, We’re rough and tough, We’ll take your stuff, And we won’t do what we’re told (We’re told!) We won’t do what we’re told!
CHAPTER 1
In which our heroes, the Steampunk Pirates, attack the HMS Regency, and its commander, Admiral Fussington, demonstrates how, when it comes to surrendering, the English are second to none.
At first glance, there was nothing especially remarkable about the pirate ship that emerged from the thick sea mist and drew alongside the HMS Regency. Its billowing sails were white. Its flapping flag was black. Its crew of ragged buccaneers jeered and cheered and waved their razor-sharp
cutlasses as their captain cried, “Surrender, you English mummy’s boys or we’ll fire up the cannons and blast more holes in your ship than you’ll find in a barrel full of Dutch cheese, so we will.” However, these were no ordinary pirates. Under the captain’s dark blue hat was a face made of metal that glinted in the sunlight. Steam shot out of his ears and his head. He wore a heavy woollen coat, open at the front to reveal a clock on his chest. It had only one hand that was madly whizzing around. “Oh no, it’s the Leaky Battery!” cried the terrified lookout on the HMS Regency. “It’s Captain Clockheart and the Steampunk Pirates!” Captain Clockheart laughed. “You hear
that, First Mate Mainspring? Load up the cannons.” “Click, aye. Tick, aye. Tock, Captain,” replied a pirate with a bowler hat, chequered trousers and a large key slowly rotating in the middle of his back. “We surrender!” Admiral Fussington immediately raised his hands. “Load ’em up and prepare to… Hold on. Did you say surrender?” “Yes! Don’t fire – we give up.” Admiral Fussington turned to his crew. “Sergeant Thudchump, order your soldiers to lower their weapons.” The sergeant motioned to the rest of the crew and they reluctantly put down their guns. The hand on the captain’s clock suddenly
stopped and steam put-put-putted out of his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.” “Och. Let’s blast ’em to smithereens. Surrendering is no way to stop us attacking,” snarled Mr Gadge, who wore a tartan kilt and bandana to match, and had a hook in place of his left hand. He twisted his arm and the hook was replaced with a cannon ramrod. “Hold your fire, Gadge,” said the captain. “I’d like to know why a ship of the Royal Navy would surrender so quickly.” A mechanical bird with a few colourful feathers glued to
its wings landed on his shoulder and squawked, “A bunch of scaredy cats!” “How rude. Not at all,” protested Admiral Fussington. “I’m simply following the latest guidelines with regards to P.C.S.s.” “Ah, ignore Twitter,” said Captain Clockheart. “What’s a P.C.S. when it’s at home?” “A potential conflict situation. The rules now state that senior officers should immediately surrender. Look, I’ve got a kit and everything.” The admiral opened a bag and pulled out a stick with a white flag wrapped around it. After carefully reading the instructions, he unfurled the flag and gave it a little wave. Captain Clockheart laughed then turned to the rest of his crew, who joined in, their
mechanical jaws clanking and clinking. “Right, you lot,” yelled the captain. “First Mate Mainspring, lower the boarding planks. Gadge, Loose-screw, Blind Bob Bolt and the rest of you merciless metallic marauders … PREPARE TO BOARD!” Gadge fired a grappling hook at the
neighbouring ship’s main sail and all the pirates cheered. All except for one, who wore a frilly shirt and had a device at the top of his head, which sent small bits of paper flitting around, making a fluttering sound as they turned.
“Ahem, if I may have a word, sir.” “What is it, Quartermaster Lexi?” snapped Captain Clockheart, the vapour from his head twisting up like a mini-tornado. “I’m not sure that boarding this vessel is altogether a good idea,” he replied anxiously. “Spoil sport! Spoil sport!” squawked Twitter. “Quite right,” said Captain Clockheart. “That’s not fair,” protested Lexi. “I’m just saying that the chances of this being—” Captain Clockheart banged the back of Lexi’s head and the quartermaster instantly went quiet and stopped moving. “That’s better. There’s a good reason why the only one of us with any brains has an off switch.” He laughed. “Piracy’s not about thinking or worrying – it’s about taking what you can!”
The captain’s clock hand began to move quickly again and he cried, “Now, you horrible lot, all aboard this ship before I send you to the sharks for dillying and dallying. Take all the gold and coal you can find.” The crew of the Leaky Battery lowered the boarding planks and made their way over to the HMS Regency, where the smartly dressed naval officers stood with their raised hands shaking in fear.
“Search the ship,” ordered Captain Clockheart. “Yes. Take whatever you need,” said Admiral Fussington, who was still waving his white flag. “I like this new policy of yours, Admiral,” said Captain Clockheart. “Now, would you be so kind as to empty your pockets and hand over your … GOLD.” The steam shot excitedly from the pirate’s nostrils as he said the word. The admiral pulled out a small purse. “This is all the money I have,” he said. Captain Clockheart emptied the coins into his palm and tested one between his metal teeth. “Do you … eat metal?” asked the admiral, looking equally intrigued and appalled.
“Eat it?” said Captain Clockheart, with a low chuckle. “No, we don’t eat it. The fire in our bellies requires coal and wood.” “Then what do you want with it?” “Let me show you.” Captain Clockheart pulled back his sleeve to reveal that his wrist was made of gold. “I saved up my booty from the last three raids to make this beauty.” “Why would you want gold body parts?” “Because our maker saw fit to craft us from iron, a metal that rusts. The salt water eats away at our parts something horrible. And there’s nothing more painful than rusty nuts and bolts, I can tell you. We don’t wear these rags for comfort,
warmth or modesty. We need to protect our metal from the elements, so we do.” “But there are other metals that don’t rust…” the admiral pointed out. “Copper or silver are easier to find than gold.” “Ah, but nothing feels like gold,” said Captain Clockheart. “A soft-skinned landlubber like you wouldn’t understand. Gold is the finest of all metals and, one day, I’ll have more than a gold wrist. One day, this entire ship will glisten with golden glory. Then maybe we’ll give up this pirating lark for good. But until then … hand over your booty.”
The author of this work apologizes for this interruption, but he wonders if you, the reader, might like to le
arn how the Steampunk Pirates were created.
Penelope, daughter of Admiral Fussington, had been fascinated by the world of engineering ever since her first trip on a steam train but, since it was not considered a suitable subject for a young lady, she had worked in secret on her own steam-powered project. After several weeks of furtive hammering,
welding and forging, Penelope succeeded in creating a steam-powered bird, capable of flight and basic word repetition. She named it Twitter. She was proud of her creation and keen to show it to someone who would understand what she had done. When she heard that the famous inventor, Mr Richmond Swift, would be unveiling his latest creation at the king’s birthday party, she begged her parents to allow her to go. Penelope arrived at the palace with a ribbon in her hair, a pretty blue dress and a mechanical bird hidden in her purse. She hastily lost her parents, who just as quickly forgot about her, and went in search of Mr Swift. The inventor looked exactly as Penelope
had imagined. He had a head of wild white hair, wispy sideburns and excitable eyes. “Mr Swift, sir,” she said. “My name is Penelope and one day I want to be an inventor just like you.” The famous inventor looked her up and down, then laughed. “Very amusing,” he said. “Very amusing indeed. Who put you up to this? Was it that joker, the Prince of Wales?” “No one put me up to anything! I even have my own steam-powered invention to show you.” Penelope went to open her bag but Mr Richmond Swift had already turned away. “Please step aside, young lady. I have
an announcement to make.” He clapped his hands. “Ladies and gentleman, Your Royal Highness. As a birthday present for His Majesty, the king, I have created a brand-new form of serving device that will revolutionize life as we know it. I present … the Steampunk Servants.” The guests watched, open-mouthed, as sixteen metal robots of different shapes and sizes entered the grand hall, carrying trays of drinks and nibbles. “It’s a trick,” said a balding lord. “I’ll wager there are children inside.” “Not at all. These are powered by fire and water,” said Mr Swift. “No child could withstand such heat.” The inventor opened a panel in one of the servant’s bellies and revealed the roaring fire within.
“Quite remarkable,” said the king. “I notice that they are not all the same,” said a low-ranking member of the royal family with a chin the size of a diving board. “That is true. There are a dozen basic servants, capable of following instructions, and four with more sophisticated skills. Mr Mainspring here runs on clockwork rather than steam.” Mr Swift pointed to one with
a key in its back. “Whereas Mr Gadge has many attachments that will prove useful in the kitchen and the garden.” The servant demonstrated this by turning his arm and switching his hand from a meat fork to a scrubbing brush. “Why isn’t this one carrying a tray?” asked a lady in a large purple dress that made her look like an overly fussy sponge cake. “Mr Clockheart is the head butler. The others are designed to follow his orders.” The purple sponge lady peered at the peculiar mechanical man. “How can a machine give orders?” “Allow me.” Mr Swift nudged her aside and said, “Mr Clockheart, what is your purpose?” “We must assist,” said the servant in a
flat, robotic voice. “We must assist.” Everyone gasped and several ladies fainted. “How is this possible?” asked the king. “Basic speech is little more than a series of sounds put together to express meaning. These machines are able to copy the sounds they hear,” replied Mr Swift. “But, rest assured, they do not have the ability to think for themselves. Well, all except for Master Lexi here. This roller-deck device enables him to look up dictionary definitions, encyclopedia entries and suchlike.” “Intriguing,” said the king. “Tell me, then, Master Lexi, do you know who I am?” The wheel in his head whirred and clicked and Lexi responded, “You are King William the fourth, ruler of the United Kingdom and the British Empire.” He saluted, raising a
laugh from some of the crowd. “They certainly seem a good deal less insolent than my servants,” said the big-chinned man. “I daresay they ask for less money, too,” agreed his wife. “Cheap labour is terribly expensive these days.” “Servants are like horses,” said a duchess, who looked a little like a horse herself. She snatched a large piece of pastry from a tray and shoved it into her mouth. “It is important to let them know who is in charge,” she said, spraying out bits of food. “Well, Mr Swift, it is a remarkable achievement,” said the king. “Do help yourself to a knighthood on the way out.” Mr Swift bowed graciously. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Steam-powered men?” said an archbishop with a large belly. “It goes against the very principles of nature.” “Never mind that,” said a toffee-nosed count. “These fellows have run out of drinks.” Mr Richmond Swift clapped his hands together. “Mr Clockheart, take the others back to the kitchen to refill their trays.” “We will assist.” The mechanical servants left. The party guests carried on chatting and laughing and gossiping. No one noticed that the spirited young daughter of Admiral Fussington had followed them into the kitchen.
The author apologizes for interrupting this interruption but something rather exciting is about to happen in the story.
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
In which, unfortunately for our heroes, Quartermaster Lexi is proved right and the Steampunk Pirates meet the Iron Duke … who is not made out of iron.
With the tip of his cutlass, Captain Clockheart tugged on a chain around Admiral Fussington’s neck and pulled out a small, gold, heart-shaped pendant. “Ah, Admiral,” he said, inspecting the item. “It seems you have a heart of gold.” The admiral coughed and wafted away
the cloud of vapour escaping from the captain. “Please don’t take it,” he begged. “It’s a gift for my daughter, Penelope. Surely even you wouldn’t rob a little girl of a gift from her doting father.” “You can’t rob someone of something they never had,” shouted Pendle, the Leaky Battery’s cabin boy, the only human crew member.
“Pendle lad,” said Captain Clockheart, “I’ve told you before – cabin boys have no place on ship raids.” “I say … you look familiar, lad.” Admiral Fussington peered suspiciously at Pendle. “What’s the name of your father?” The boy saluted Captain Clockheart and scurried off, ignoring the admiral. “I’ll be asking the questions,” said Captain Clockheart. “Now, hand over your gold heart before I make a hole in your regular one.” “I worked hard to earn enough to buy this gift,” protested the admiral. “I’ll say. Gold this fine don’t come cheap.” “Actually, if you must know, I couldn’t afford to buy a gold one. This was silver till I had it converted.” “Converted?” said Captain Clockheart.
“What does that mean?” “Converted,” said Lexi, his word-wheel starting up again. “Changed, altered, transformed.” “Oh, you’re back on again, are you?” sighed the captain. “I am. And I have to say, I find it most objectionable that you can switch me off whenever you please,” said Lexi. “Never mind that,” said Captain Clockheart. “How can silver be turned into gold, Admiral?” Admiral Fussington explained. “I met an American gentleman by the name of Chas Goldman, who has mastered the ancient art of alchemy.” “What?” demanded Captain Clockheart. “Alchemy is a form of science in which
base metals are turned into gold,” said Quartermaster Lexi, his word-wheel whirring. “Although I can find no record of it ever being achieved.” “Why have I never heard of this?” “Perhaps if you spent more time reading and less time bashing people on the head, you would have,” said Lexi pointedly. The captain turned back to the admiral. “Where can I find this Goldman chap?” “He lives on Snake Island. It’s one of the Too Many Islands, just south-west of here.” “Fascinating,” said Lexi, “but as I was saying, Captain, before you so rudely switched me off, there is a strong possibility that this whole thing is a trap.” Captain Clockheart’s laughter sent little gassy bursts shooting out from every part
of his head. “A trap, Lexi? We’re plundering this ship good and proper. What kind of trap would it be?” “One that has been brilliantly executed … just as
you will be.” The captain whirled around to see who had spoken. It was a man with ruddy cheeks, a scarlet jacket adorned with shiny medals and a victorious look in his dark eyes. He was standing on a huge warship that had appeared out of the dense sea mist. It towered over the Leaky Battery. “It’s a trap! It’s a trap!” squawked Twitter. Two more ships loomed out of the mist. “Click, Clockheart, you fool,” said First Mate Mainspring. “Tick, we’re completely surrounded.”
“Steampunk Pirates, back to your ship,” cried Captain Clockheart, “and ready the cannons. We’ll blast our way out of this scrape, to be sure.” “By all means, if you wish to spend the rest of your lives rusting at the bottom of the ocean,” said the rosy-cheeked man. “I have to say, Fussington, that you played the role of a cowardly dimwit to perfection. Well done.”
“Thank you, Your Imperial Excellence, sir.” “Duke will do.” The man turned to address Captain Clockheart, who had retreated to the Leaky Battery with the rest of his crew. “Captain Clockheart,” he shouted. “You and your crew are all under arrest. You stand accused of treason. Surrender or we’ll open fire and sink you faster than a bag of crooked nails.” “Much as I don’t like to say I told you so—” began Quartermaster Lexi. “Quiet!” interrupted Captain Clockheart. “They’ll never take us alive.” “We’re all going to die,” added Twitter.
