by Gareth Jones
CHAPTER 3
In which our heroes get the better of the Iron Duke with the help of a mechanical bird, a hat and quite a lot of cannonballs.
It was a hopeless situation. Four battleships surrounded the Leaky Battery, each one brimming with soldiers armed with rifles, bayonets and cannons – all aimed at the Steampunk Pirates. “Take heart, ye rusting ruffians,” cried Captain Clockheart, brandishing his cutlass.
“We’ll have these lily-livered air-breathers begging for mercy in no time, will we not, First Mate Mainspring?” “Click, we’ll flog ’em. Tick, we’ll flail ’em. Tock, we’ll feed ’em to the fishes,” responded Mainspring. “You bet your copper bottoms we will,” added Gadge. “Ahem.” Quartermaster Lexi cleared his throat. “What?” snapped Captain Clockheart. Lexi’s word-wheel whirled around. “Statistically, there is more chance of a goat being crowned King of England than of us winning this battle.” The vapour from the captain’s head darkened as he considered this. “What’s your point?”
“His point is that your current course of action will only result in the sinking of your ship and your entire crew,” said the duke. “Surrender is your only option.” “Who are you to threaten us, laddie?” asked Gadge, twisting his arm and replacing the grappling hook with a pistol. “They call me the Iron Duke,” replied the red-cheeked man. “Ha!” snorted Captain Clockheart. “If you’re made out of iron, I’m the son of a toasting fork.” “The name has nothing to do with the material of my skin. It refers to the strength of my heart and soul. I am famous for my campaign against the armies of that French devil, Commander Didier Le Bone,” replied the duke. “And that is why the king
has charged me with bringing back his belongings… You.” “We belong to no one,” retorted Captain Clockheart. “Did the inventor, Mr Richmond Swift, not create you as an amusement for His Majesty, the king?” “Aye, he did.” “Did you not abandon your posts at the palace?” “Yes,” admitted the captain. “And was it not you who raided the royal armoury and stole this ship to become pirates?” “These are all facts,” said Quartermaster Lexi, “but English law says that no man can be born into slavery.” “You were not born,” replied the duke.
“You were made. You belong to the king. He owns you just as he owns his trousers. You wouldn’t call his trousers slaves.” “The king’s trousers only have legs. We are also extremely well armed,” said Gadge, aiming a gun barrel at the duke. “In which case, you will be arrested for treason. Men, prepare to fire.” All around came the sound of guns being cocked and cannons being loaded. Lexi gulped. “Please, Captain. We have as much chance of survival as a rat who has made his home in the barrel of a cannon.” Captain Clockheart paused, then raised his hands. “Our quartermaster is right. We surrender.” “Click, what?” exclaimed First Mate Mainspring. “Tick, if you’re not pirate
enough to fight… Tock, then I’ll lead the crew in this battle!” Captain Clockheart swung his sword so that its tip jammed a cog in Mainspring’s chest and prevented it from turning. “You’ll do no such thing. I’ll have no mutiny on my ship, Mr Mainspring. Steampunk Pirates, down with your weapons and up with your hands. All of you.”
Reluctantly, First Mate Mainspring did as he was told and the captain removed his sword. The Iron Duke threw his head back and laughed victoriously. “You see, Fussington. This is how you win – with planning and resolve. It is how I defeated the French and it is why I have succeeded in this mission.” The English soldiers cheered as they watched the pirates tug on the ropes and tie up the sails. None of them noticed Captain Clockheart quietly mutter something in the ear of the metal parrot on his shoulder. “Tell me, Steampunk Pirates, do you know what the punishment for treason is?” asked the duke. “A knighthood and a nice cup of oil?”
suggested Captain Clockheart, hopefully. “Click, a ticking off followed by a weekend on the Isle of Wight?” said Mainspring. “A fresh polish and a plate of wood shavings?” added Gadge. “The death penalty,” said the duke. “Oh yes, could have guessed it,” said Lexi. Suddenly Twitter flew overhead and squawked at the top of his voice, “The duke wears a hat to hide his bald patch!” “Keep that bird quiet,” warned the Iron Duke, patting his hat nervously. “Yes, we don’t want to make matters worse,” said Quartermaster Lexi. “Quite right. Twitter, you take it back,” said Captain Clockheart. “Take it back! Take it back!” The bird
fluttered over to the duke then snatched the hat in his beak. The duke tried to grab it, but Twitter was too quick. As the bird flew off with the hat, the duke desperately tried to cover the perfectly round bald patch on his head. “Bring that bird down. Now!” “Rifle brigade, ready your arms, take aim and FIRE!” yelled Sergeant Thudchump. The soldiers raised their guns, tried to keep the fluttering bird in their sights and fired.
The sound of so many guns being fired must have been heard for miles around. Clouds of smoke filled the air, but when they cleared the duke saw, to his dismay, that Twitter was still flying around with his hat. “Captain Clockheart, you’ll make your bird return my hat if he knows what’s good for him,” said the duke. “I’m afraid that Twitter is a law unto himself, so he is,” shouted Captain Clockheart. “Might I suggest you try something bigger than bullets.” “Good idea,” said the duke, pacing back and forth angrily. “Fire the cannons. We’ll blow him clean out of the sky.” “But sir—” began Sergeant Thudchump. “I said, fire the cannons,” barked the duke.
“Fire the cannons,” repeated the sergeant. Twitter was hovering above the Leaky Battery’s mast when the cannons went off and, once again, everyone lost sight of the bird in the smoke. “Did we get it?” asked the duke. As he wafted away the smoke, he felt his hat land on his head the wrong way round. “You see, Admiral,” he said triumphantly, “sometimes, too much force is just the right amount.” “Yes, but sir—” said Admiral Fussington. “No buts. I didn’t get where I am today listening to buts.” “Yes, sir, it’s just that the aim of the cannons was such that—” “What are you blathering about, man?” demanded the duke. “We’re sinking,” said Admiral Fussington.
It was true. The cannonballs had flown over the Leaky Battery’s mast and hit the surrounding ships. There was a slow creaking sound as the HMS Regency’s main mast slowly tipped and crashed into one of the masts of the ship next to it. That mast then toppled into the next, until all the masts had fallen like dominoes. The Leaky Battery floated in the middle, undamaged. “Good work, Twitter,” said Captain Clockheart, as the bird landed back on his shoulder. “Why, you floating pile of rusty, good for nothing—” The rest of the duke’s words were cut off as his ship lurched sideways, sending him and his crew tumbling into the icy ocean.
“Steampunk Pirates,” yelled Captain Clockheart, “set a course for freedom and let’s be on our way!”
This is probably a good time to interrupt and go back to the interruption, which was interrupted before we learned what happened in the king’s kitchen to turn the Steampunk Servants into Steampunk Pirates.
Penelope Fussington marvelled at the sight of Mr Clockheart ordering the other mechanical men to prepare food and drinks for the party. “Load up the nibbles, refill the glasses. Old Tinder, stoke the oven.” The others carried out his orders unquestioningly.
“Excuse me,” said Penelope, tapping the head butler on the shoulder. “Don’t you get tired of doing what you’re told?” “We must assist,” the robot replied flatly. “Why?” “Why?” He looked at her uncertainly and his clock hand stopped ticking. “Yes. Why?” “Why.” Lexi’s word-wheel spun around, then he said, “An inquisitive adverb which poses the question, for what purpose?” “Purpose,” said Mr Clockheart. “Cook, clean, serve, obey. We must assist.” “I don’t see why,” said Penelope. “If I did what I was told I wouldn’t even be here. I’m supposed to stay quiet and know my place, but I’d rather stay noisy and know lots of places. I’d rather see the world and have adventures.”
“What is adventures?” asked Mr Clockheart. “Adventure,” said Lexi. “Hazard, risk, dan
ger…” “It also means exciting experiences,” said Penelope. “What is exciting experiences?” asked Mr Gadge, who was cleaning a pan with his scrubber attachment. “The opposite of this,” said Penelope. “You’re no better than slaves as you are. You could be free to do what you want.” Mr Mainspring put down the tray he had been holding. “Click, adventure. Tick, danger. Tock, freedom.” “We must assist,” said Mr Clockheart. “Assist yourselves,” said Penelope. “Look. I made Twitter, but he is free to do what he wants.” She opened her bag and the servants
stared in astonishment as a mechanical bird flew out and fluttered around the room. “Freedom,” said Lexi. “The opposite of slavery.” “Do what you want! Do what you want!” squawked Twitter. He landed on Mr Clockheart’s shoulder and jabbed his beak in between the servant’s shoulder blades. “Twitter, no!” yelled Penelope. She waved the bird away as two jets of steam shot from Mr Clockheart’s ears. Next, Twitter landed on Mr Mainspring’s key and sent it spinning round and round, until he ticked and clicked faster and faster. “Clickerty-click, do what we want. Clickerty-tick, not what we’re told. Clickerty-tock, resist not assist.” “Twitter, stop it!” yelled Penelope.
The bird had landed on top of Master Lexi’s wheel and was pecking away at the pieces of paper, putting all kinds of jumbled-up words into his head. “Revolution … liberty … piracy,” said Lexi. “What is piracy?” asked Mr Clockheart. “Taking property from others without authority,” replied Lexi. “I like the sound of that,” said Mr Gadge, yanking off the scrubber and replacing it with a kitchen-knife attachment. “Steampunk Servants no more,” said Mr Clockheart. “We be Steampunk Pirates.” He turned to Penelope. “You will come with us.”
“With you? No, I can’t,” she responded. Mainspring took her hand. “Clickerty-click, yes, you can. Clickerty-tick, adventure awaits. Clickerty-tock, with the Steampunk Pirates.” “Och aye, we need you, laddie,” said Mr Gadge. “You set us free.” “What is your name?” asked Lexi. “I’m Pen—” Penelope paused as she looked up at their metal faces. There is a moment in everyone’s life when the decision you make affects everything that comes after it. This was Penelope’s. For the first time in her life, Penelope Fussington realized she could make a difference. And when it comes to changing your life, it doesn’t hurt to change your name, too. “You can call me Pendle,” she said.
“Captain Pendle,” said Lexi. “Click, no more human masters,” said Mainspring. “Tick, one of us should lead. Tock, I should be the captain. Clockwork is better than steam power.” Mainspring picked up a desert spoon. “I be the one to give orders.” Mr Clockheart grabbed a fish knife and brought it down on the spoon. “Stop it,” said Penelope. “Mainspring is right. It should be one of you – but you shouldn’t decide it like this. Pirates elect their captains.” “Elect,” said Lexi. “To pick by a show of hands.” “Click, then listen to me, you bunch of useless steam-heads,” said Mainspring. “Tick, up with your arms if you want me,
tock, as your captain?” No one joined him when he put up his hand. “Who votes for Mr Clockheart as captain?” asked Pendle. Without a moment’s pause, all the other hands shot up. “You have your captain,” said Pendle. “Mainspring will be First Mate, and I will be your cabin boy.” “Hurray for Captain Clockheart!” said Gadge. “Hurray for Captain Clockheart!” repeated everyone except Mainspring, who muttered something under his breath. “Now, quickly,” said Pendle. “They won’t let you go without a fight. We’d better find the armoury.”
“We must resist,” said Captain Clockheart. “We must resist.” With all the commotion that followed, no one noticed that Penelope Fussington had disappeared. Her father assumed her mother knew where she was. Her mother assumed the servants were looking after her, and the servants didn’t feel it their place to mention that she had vanished. Even the Steampunk Pirates were unaware that their loyal cabin boy was in fact a girl.
The author trusts that you are satisfied with this explanation of the Steampunk Pirates’ beginnings and so, with your kind permission, he would like to return to the story in hand.
CHAPTER 4
In which Captain Clockheart reveals his plan, tempers flair up and First Mate Mainspring conks out.
Below deck on the Leaky Battery, Pendle made her way along the passage, determined not to spill a drop of the jug of oil she was carrying from the kitchen to the captain’s quarters. The trick, she had found, was to allow the ship’s gentle sway to guide her movements. It was a matter of pride that she
reached the captain’s table without spilling a drop but, as soon as she put the jug down, Captain Clockheart grabbed it and filled the four tankards, sending the thick syrupy oil slurping all over the table. “Down the hatch,” cried the captain, as he threw the contents into his throat. “Ah, that’s better.” He let out an oily burp that produced a rainbow-coloured spit bubble. “Me innards were as creaky as an old gate. A bit of liquid lubrication is just what I needed.” First Mate Mainspring and Gadge drank theirs then slammed the empty tankards on the table. Only Quartermaster Lexi placed
his down more carefully. “Officers of the Leaky Battery, I have had one of my ideas,” said Captain Clockheart. “Is this the one about teaching dolphins to talk so we can ask for directions?” asked Lexi. “No, although I still think that’s a good idea. Do you remember what Admiral Fusspot said about this pendant?” Captain Clockheart pulled out the gold heart on the necklace for them all to see. “Oh, that worthless piece of junk,” said Pendle. “Who’d want to wear that?” “Yes, but remember how old Fussypants said he’d had it converted to gold?” said Captain Clockheart. “Using alchemy,” said Quartermaster Lexi. “Precisely. I’ve asked the helmsman to set sail for Snake Island. We need to locate
this Goldman fellow and ask him to turn us all into gold. That’s my plan. What do you think?” “It’s brilliant!” exclaimed Gadge. “We’ll dangle him by his bootlaces and offer him to the sharks unless he does what we want.” He slammed his hooked hand down on the table, driving its sharp end into the wood. “Threatening a man before putting our lives in his hands may not be wise,” said Quartermaster Lexi. “Honestly. Considering you have so many changeable parts, it’s a shame you can’t change your brain.” Gadge removed his hook from the table and swung it at Lexi, narrowly missing his large head. “I’ll replace yours with a bucket of mouldy seaweed if you’re not careful,” he snarled.
“That’s enough, you two,” said Captain Clockheart. “Let’s hear what our first mate has to say on the subject.” The others turned to First Mate Mainspring, who wasn’t moving at all. “How wise,” said Quartermaster Lexi. “First Mate Mainspring is thinking the problem through before giving his answer.” “I think he’s wound down,” said Pendle, noticing that the large key on Mr Mainspring’s back had stopped moving. Steam spluttered from Captain Clockheart’s head, as he guffawed with laughter. “Wind him up then, lad,” he said. “But not too much. You know how he gets.” Pendle turned Mainspring’s key until he came back to life, clicking and ticking and sounding confused. “Click, hoist the anchor!
Tick, let out the decks! Tock, swab the jib… Oh, I wish you wouldn’t let me wind down like that.” “I can’t see how your inferior workings are our fault,” said Gadge. “Click, inferior?” snapped First Mate Mainspring. “Tick, my clockwork is better than steam power. Tock, you don’t see me eating dirty old coal, you great big tin opener!” “I’ll be opening up your tin head if you don’t watch it.” Gadge was on his feet, leaning over the table and threatening Mainspring with a jagged-dagger attachment. “Sit down, you two,” ordered Captain Clockheart. “You would do well to remember who’s in charge around here.” “Click, in charge for now,” muttered First Mate Mainspring.
Now it was Captain Clockheart’s turn to grab his cutlass as the steam from his head whistled. “I’ll have no talk of mutiny on my ship, Mainspring,” he snarled. “Tick, it’s our ship. Tock, not yours,” replied Mainspring, drawing his own sword. The four pirates stood around the table in tense dea
dlock until Pendle jumped up on to the table and yelled, “That’s enough. All of you, get a grip!” They all stopped and looked at her. “It doesn’t matter what you’re made of or who is captain,” said Pendle. “What matters is that you’re the same on the outside and you work together. You’re Steampunk Pirates. You have a whole ocean full of enemies. You don’t need to make any more on this ship.”
“Aye, that’s true enough, lad,” admitted Captain Clockheart, lowering his cutlass and sitting down. The others did the same, with mumbled apologies to Pendle.
