The Great Galloon and the Pirate Queen

by Tom Banks

  ‘Stop!’ yelled Isabella into her Squeaking Tube. ‘You think I will not kill him? I will – I am not like you. I can take the Galloon by force, and I do not need him any more.’

  The army clattered to an uncertain halt, mostly on the makeshift bridge, some still waist deep in the water.

  ‘In fact,’ said Isabella, and now they could see the weird smile on her lovely face as she spoke. ‘Why wouldn’t I, at this point? You’re going to come at me anyway. I don’t want him chasing me around, causing trouble, when I’m flying his Galloon around the world, having fun.’

  And she dropped him.

  It was a fall of some fifty feet, into rocky rapids. The Captain did not scream or yell. He just fell into the water, where he fell limp, and was washed quickly downstream, towards the waterfall. Isabella laughed, and threw his best hat in after him.

  ‘Captain Meredith Anstruther!’ cried the Brunt. Everyone else, including the FishTank crew, was silent.

  ‘Attack then!’ cried Isabella, for all the world like an irate mother talking to a toddler.

  Her crew, many of whom seemed as stunned as the Gallooniers, raised their weapons, and strode out into the shallows. Rasmussen appeared beside Stanley, and for the first time ever, she seemed to have real tears in her eyes.

  ‘We’re just children!’ she said. ‘Why are we here in this battle?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re scared, because you’re not …’ began Stanley, lamely. ‘Actually, you are, aren’t you? So am I. But what else can we do? Watch from the sidelines?’

  And together, they strode into the melee. As they arrived at the front, where the FishTank crew were putting up an unspirited defence, Stanley and Rasmussen found themselves in a tight circle of grown-ups – the Brunt, the Countess, Mr Wouldbegood and Cook, none of whom would let so much as a clip round the ear reach them.

  The battle seemed to be going the FishTankers’ way anyway, when another cry from Isabella made everybody stop and look.

  ‘Pathetic!’ she yelled, from her vantage point on top of the vessel. ‘We’d better speed things up, I think!’

  She seemed to kick some kind of lever with her foot, and a panel in the side of the FishTank opened up. With a whirring and a hissing, while the crews paused in battle to watch, a great brass mortar cannon emerged. A short fat tube like a barrel, with the mouth carved in the shape of a wolf’s maw. Two long mechanical arms placed it on the ground on the riverbank.

  ‘I didn’t want to use this against the Galloon, where it could damage my prize,’ said Isabella. ‘But there’s no harm in using it against people, is there?’

  She lit a long match, and from up on the FishTank she threw it into the mouth of the mortar, which was pointing almost straight up into the air.

  ‘What’s gonna …’ Rasmussen said. Then the world went foom.

  Just foom.

  Not even particularly loud, though it did seem to block out all other noise. And render the watchers deaf for a spell.

  Stanley saw something shoot out of the mortar. Something like a bunch of grapes, only much much bigger and more menacing. It flew up into the air, where it seemed to balance for moment, before breaking apart into many smaller somethings.

  ‘Cannonballs,’ he said to Rasmussen beside him.

  ‘No,’ she said. She knew a thing or two about cannonballs. ‘Bombs.’

  The huge cluster of bombs, of the old-fashioned ‘light the fuse and run away’ type, had now become a shower of many individual bombs. The FishTank crew seemed genuinely amazed that their Pirate Queen, mad though she had proven herself to be, would think them this expendable. The Gallooniers just knew their time was up.

  ‘Well, Stanley, old bean, it’s been good knowing you,’ said Perky, affably. ‘You know, I really thought the cavalry would arrive.’

  ‘The cavalry?’ said Stanley, as the bombs stopped hanging in the air and started falling in earnest.

  ‘Figuratively speaking. It was an experiment of course, but I truly thought that in this global age, the word would get out.’

  ‘What word? What do you mean?’ asked Stanley as the bombs brushed the tops of the overhanging trees.

  ‘The drums, lad! Once the drums put the word out, everybody comes together!’

  ‘Wha?’ said Stanley, not for the first time.

  ‘S­K­K­w­w­a­a­a­A­A­A­K­K­K­K­a­k­k­k­a­a­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­a­a­w­w­w­w­w­w­K­e­r­a­a­a­a­Q­u­a­w­w­w­k­a­a­a­k­k­a­a­a­a­a­a­a­A­A­A!’ said somebody overhead.

  Stanley stood, agognished once more. Above him, Fishbane, the lord of the Seagles, had appeared. He seemed to have sprung fully formed from thin air, though it was much more likely he had simply been out of view above the trees.

  ‘S­q­u­u­e­e­e­e­e­e­e­K­a­l­l­a­k­k­a­l­a­k­k­a­l­a­k­k­a-K­a­h­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­e­e­e­e­K­K­K!’ said a different voice, and Stanley whirled around to see another Seagle, and another, and another.

  ‘Fishbane!’ he yelled.

  But Fishbane was busy. He had grabbed one of the bombs in his sharp, webbed claws. Each of his many companions had also grabbed one each. With another screech, he seemed to direct his cohorts towards the FishTank, where Isabella was now dancing, wild with rage and fear.

  ‘Nooo!’ she screamed. ‘Drop them, you thieving birds!’

  And so they did. Each Seagle dropped its load of bombs down the open chute of the FishTank’s conning tower. About thirty bombs must have gone down there in not nearly as many seconds. Many of the Seagles added a little extra payload of poop too, as a mark of disrespect. With a final swoop, Fishbane knocked the hatchway shut with his great beak. The crew members of both vessels whooped and cheered, Stanley noticed. Within seconds, the FishTank began to leap and bounce like a cracker as the bombs went off within. Huge lumps and dints appeared in its pristine outer surface, and soon it was looking as battered and bedraggled as the Sumbaroon ever had. It lay, motionless, in the shallows. With one final boom, the conning tower flew open and a burst of poopy smoke flew out. There was another cheer from the crowd. Isabella had been clinging on for dear life, but when she saw that the explosions had finished, she stood up again.

  ‘Fools! I need it not, this stopgap machine! I am to be the Pirate Queen of the Great Galloon, do you not see? And where is your Captain to save you now?’

  Her words struck Stanley to the core once more – the Seagles had destroyed the FishTank, but they could not bring the Captain back.

  OH YES THEY CAN

  Well, this was strange. He hadn’t thought that thought, had he?

  NO SMALL BLUE

  Small blue. Who calls me small blue? thought Stanley.

  CLAUDE CALLS YOU SMALL BLUE

  ‘Claude!’ said Stanley out loud. ‘Of course! But he’s …’

  Around Stanley, people were standing in the river, on the bank, on the bridge, all unsure of where to look next. Isabella seemed to be trying to free some new contraption from a mooring point on the FishTank’s back. A backpack? A vacuum cleaner?

  HE’S BEHIND YOU

  Stanley whirled around.

  AND THE WORD YOU’RE LOOKING FOR IS JETPACK

  Never mind agognished, Stanley was bemazed, astonified and besidehimselfinated by what he saw. There was Claude, magnificent as ever, flying low over the river. In one great rear claw he held the Captain, who waved a great hand and beamed at them all. In the other was Zebediah, who seemed to be out for the count. Around them was a veritable fleet, a squadron, a flotilla of flying machines of all shapes and sizes.

  ‘Charlie!’ cried Stanley, as he recognised a young lad who had been given a second chance by the Captain not too long ago.

  ‘There’s the Count!’ yelped Rasmussen, as a gyrocopter slightly swankier than the Galloon’s hove into view.

  ‘Little Ern!’ cried the Sultana of Magrabor, and soon many voices were joining in, as they recognised friends and relations
.

  ‘Mum! Dad!’ cried Stanley at last, as his parents chugged into view on a spindly, pedal-powered thing, his father riding pillion while his mother steered.

  ‘Stanley, my wonderful boy!’ cried his father, as they landed on the bank – the FishTankers seemed to be either joining in, giving up or running for the hills.

  ‘So this is what you get up to!’ shouted his mother over the melee. ‘Well, it seems like fun – perhaps we should stick around!’

  Stanley grinned and began to wade towards them. Rasmussen caught up with him and they waded together.

  ‘And is this your little girlfriend?’ asked his mother, on seeing Rasmussen.

  ‘MMMuuuuu—uuuuuuuuuummmmm!’ whined Stanley.

  ‘Don’t make me laugh, Mrs Crumplehorn,’ said Rasmussen. ‘I can do better than him!’

  Cloudier was disappointed to hear that Isabella had got away. She slipped down from the FishTank during the celebrations at the Captain’s return, and disappeared into the forest. Some said he had asked that no-one follow her. Some said he had been too busy kissing Ms Huntley to notice, though Cloudier didn’t like to think about that.

  Refloating the Galloon, though still a mighty undertaking, had been a lot easier with so many flying companions and contraptions to assist. Claude heaved from below, the Seagles pulled at the mainb’loon, and the various planes and copters helped keep her steady, provide extra lift, and a hundred other useful things. The Brunt had been suffering from mild hypothermia after the battle-that-never-was, but once they had flown him back onboard and he had regained his little room, he was feeling fine and stoking furnaces again in no time.

  A few days after the refloating, once Claude had said his goodbyes and retaken his place at the prow, and the Galloon was heading downriver towards the open sea, Stanley and Rasmussen were sitting on some coils of rope on the maindeck, watching the sun either go down or come up. With them were a fierce-looking girl in a peach-coloured ball dress, and a small boy who appeared to have a pair of scaly wings sprouting from his back. Sidney and Ragnarsson, who had been such a help from inside the Sumbaroon. Stanley and Rasmussen had been showing them around the Galloon, teaching them the real rules of backgammon, and generally making them welcome.

  ‘You’ll like it here,’ said Stanley. ‘It’s very quiet – not a lot going on, if you know what I mean. But we’re sure that something’s gonna kick off soon, aren’t we, Rasmussen?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Rasmussen. ‘It’s high time there was an adventure of some sort round here.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Ragnarsson. ‘We don’t like adventure, do we, Sidney Dragonback?’

  ‘Nope,’ said Sidney, munching a teacake. ‘Anything for a quiet life, that’s our motto.’

  Stanley and Rasmussen exchanged awkward looks, and moved slightly further away from the newcomers.

  ‘Captain Anstruther and Ms Huntley getting married, eh? Tsk,’ said Rasmussen.

  ‘I know! Where did that come from?’ said Stanley. They both rolled their eyes at the capriciousness of grown-ups.

  ‘So – do you think we’ll ever get this adventure we’ve been waiting for?’ asked Rasmussen.

  ‘You know what?’ said Stanley. ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s okay for us to live a quiet life for a little while.’

  ‘B­O­O­O­O­O­O­R­R­R­R­R­R­I­I­I­I­N­N­N­N­G­G­G­G­G­G!!!!!’ said Rasmussen.

  ‘Ha!’ said Stanley. ‘Nearly had you though, didn’t I? I hear there’s a room near the prow that’s got a magic cupboard in it – you go in as you and come out as a cupcake!’

  ‘Mmmmmm,’ said Rasmussen. ‘I love cupcakes. Let’s go and check it out.’

  ‘Okay!’ said Stanley.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ they said together.

  In the crow’s nest, Tim turned to Margery.

  ‘What a palaver, eh?’ he said.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Margery. ‘A talking crow!’

  First published in 2015 by Hot Key Books

  Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street, London EC1V 0AT

  Text copyright © Tom Banks 2015

  Illustrations copyright © John Kelly 2015

  The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-8481-2451-6

  Hot Key Books is part of the Bonnier Publishing Group

  www.bonnierpublishing.com