by Mike Ashley
“Me? Summon them?” asked Alex blankly. “But they were chasing us!”
“Ay vould not call it shasing,” said Olaf. “Since yü ban admiral, they vould not vant to pass yü up.”
“No, no, Olaf.” Alex lowered his voice to a whisper. “Listen, I was trying to escape from them.”
“Yü vere? Then yü should have said so,” declared Olaf strongly. “I ban having a terrible time – yust terrible – to keep from running avay from them vit’ all sails set.”
“But why did you think they were following us?” raved Alex.
“Vy, what should they be doing?” demanded Olaf. “Yü ban admiral. Naturally, ven ve leave for Bermuda, they’re going to follow yü.”
Speechless, Alex collapsed on a bollard. After a while he stirred feebly.
“Signal all captains to report aboard for conference,” he said in a weak voice.
“Gut and smoke me!” thundered Captain Hook, as the chiefs crowded around a table arranged on the poop. “Slice me up for hors d’oeuvres, but you’re a broom-at-the-mast sailor, Admiral Greenbeard. We had to clap on all canvas to keep you in sight.”
“Oh, well,” said Alex modestly.
“Blast my powder magazine if I ever seen anything like it. There you was, flying through the water like a bloody gull; and at the same time I could have laid me oath you was holding the ship back as hard as you could.”
“Little sailing trick . . .” murmured Alex.
“Blind me!” marveled Hook. “Well, to business. Who’s to lead the attack on the fort, Admiral?”
“Fort?” echoed Alex blankly.
“You knows how it is,” said Hook. “They got cannon mounted on that Fort which juts out into the bay. We’ll have to sail past and give ’em a broadside to put ’em out of action. Then we can land and sack the town before Lord Nelson, blast his frogs and facings, shows up.”
“Oh,” said Alex. He was thinking with the swiftness of a badly frightened man. Once actual fighting started, Hokas would be getting killed – which, quite apart from any sympathy, meant the end of his tenure as plenipotentiary. If he himself wasn’t knocked off in the battle. “Well . . .” he began slowly. “I have another plan.”
“Hull and sink me!” said Long John Silver. “A plan?”
“Yes, a plan. We can’t get by that fort without getting hurt. But one small boat can slip in easily enough, unobserved.”
“Stab me!” murmured Captain Kidd in awe. “Why, that’s sheer genius.”
“My mate and I will go ashore,” went on Alex. “I have a scheme to capture the mayor and make him order the fort evacuated.” Actually, his thoughts extended no further than warning the town and getting this noxious vegetation off his face. “Wait till I signal you from the jetty with lanterns how you’re to arrive. One if by land and two if by sea.”
“Won’t go, Admiral,” said Anne Bonney. She waved into the darkness, from which came the impatient grumbling of the crews. “The men won’t brook delay. We can’t hold ’em here more than a couple of hours, then we’ll have to attack or face a mutiny.”
Alex sighed. His last hope of avoiding a fight altogether, by making the fleet wait indefinitely, seemed to have gone glimmering. “All right,” he agreed hollowly. “Sail in and land the men. Don’t fire on the fort, though, unless it shoots first, because I may be able to empty it in the way I suggested.”
“Scupper and split me, but you’re a brave man,” said Hook. “Chop me up for shark bait if I think we could ha’ done anything without you.”
“Thanks,” gritted Alex. It was the most unkindest cut of all.
The other Hokas nodded and rumbled agreement. Hero worship shone in their round black eyes.
“I moves we drinks to the Admiral’s health!” boomed Flint. “Steward! Fetch flagons for –”
“I’d better leave right away,” said Alex hurriedly.
“Nonsense,” said Henry Morgan. “Who ever heard of a pirate doing anything sober?”
“Psssh!” said Alex, rapping on the window of the mayor’s residence. Muffled noises came from the garden behind, where Olaf had tied up the guards who would never have permitted a green-bearded stranger to approach.
The window opened and the mayor, an exceedingly fat Hoka pompous in ruffles and ribbons, looked out, square into the nauseous tangle of hair beyond.
“Eek!” he said.
“Hic,” replied Alex, holding on to the sill while the house waltzed around him.
“Help!” cried the mayor. “Sea monsters attacking! Drum up the guard! Man the battlements! Stow the belaying pins!”
A familiar golden head appeared over his shoulder. “Alex!” gasped Tanni. “Where have you been?”
“Pressed pirate,” said Alex, reeling. “Admiral Greenbeard. Help me in. Hic!”
“Drunk again,” said Tanni resignedly, grabbing his collar as he scrambled over the sill. She loved her husband; she had been scouring the planet in search of him, had come here as a forlorn hope; but the enfoliated spectacle before her was not calculated to bring joyful tears.
“Mayor Bermuda,” mumbled Alex. “British gen’leman. En’ertain th’ lady. Ge’ me anti-alco – anti – alco – alkyho – yo-ho-ho an’ a bo’le o’ rum –”
Tanni left him struggling with the word and went off after a soberpill. Alex got it down and shuddered back to normal.
“Whoof!” he exclaimed. “That’s better . . . Tanni, we’re in one hell of a spot. Pirates –”
“The pirates,” she said firmly, “can wait till you get that thing off your face.” She extended a bottle of ammonia and a wad of cotton.
Thankfully, Alex removed the horror and gave them the story. He finished with: “They’re too worked up to listen to me now, even in my character of plenipotentiary. They’ll be landing any minute. But if we don’t offer resistance, there’ll at least be no bloodshed. Let them have the loot if they must.”
“Come, come,” said the mayor. “It’s out of the question. Out of the question entirely.”
“But they outnumber your garrison!” sputtered Alex.
“Beastly fellows,” agreed the mayor happily, lighting a cigar.
“You can’t possibly fight them off. The only thing to do is surrender.”
“Surrender? But we’re British!” explained the mayor patiently.
“Damn it, I order you to surrender!”
“Impossible,” said the mayor dogmatically. “Absolutely impossible. Contrary to Colonial Office regulations.”
“But you’re bound to lose!”
“Gallantly,” pointed out the mayor.
“This is stupid!”
“Naturally,” said the mayor mildly. “We’re muddling through. Muddle rather well, if I do say so myself.”
Alex groaned. Tanni clenched her fists. The mayor turned to the door. “I’d better have the soldiers informed,” he said.
“No . . . wait!” Alex leaped to his feet. Something had come back to him. Chop me up for shark bait if I think we could ha’ done anything without you. And the others had agreed . . . and once a Hoka got an idea in his head, you couldn’t blast it loose . . . His hope was wild and frail, but there was nothing to lose. “I’ve got a plan.”
“A plan?” The mayor’s looked dubious.
Alex saw his error. “No, no,” he said hastily. “I mean a ruse.”
“Oh, a ruse!” The mayor’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Excellent. Superb. Just the sort of thing for this situation. What is it, my dear plenipotentiary?”
“Let them land unopposed,” said Alex. “They’ll head for your palace first, of course.”
“Unopposed?” asked the mayor. “But I just explained –”
Alex pulled out his cutlass and flourished it. “When they get here, I’ll oppose them.”
“One man against twenty ships?”
Alex drew himself up haughtily. “Do you imply that I, your plenipotentiary, can’t stop twenty ships?”
“Oh, no,” said the mayor. “Not a
t all. By all means, my dear sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must have the town crier inform the people. They’d never forgive me if they missed such a spectacle.” He bustled away.
“Darling!” Tanni grabbed his arm. “You’re crazy. We don’t have so much as a raythrower – they’ll kill you!”
“I hope not,” said Alex bleakly. He stuck his head out the window. “Come in, Olaf. I’ll need your help.”
The corsair fleet moved in under the silent guns of the fort and dropped anchor at the quay. Whooping, shouting, and brandishing their weapons, the crews stormed ashore and rushed up the main street toward the mayor’s palace. They were mildly taken aback to see the way lined with townsfolk excitedly watching and making bets on the outcome, but hastened on roaring bloodthirsty threats.
The palace lay inside a walled garden whose gate stood open. Nearby, the redcoats of the garrison were lined up at attention. Olaf watched them gloweringly: it was his assignment to keep any of them from shooting. Overhead, great lanterns threw a restless yellow light on the scene.
“Fillet and smoke me, but there’s our admiral!” shouted Captain Hook as the tall green-bearded figure with drawn cutlass stepped through the gateway. “Three cheers for Admiral Greenbeard!”
“Hip, hip, hooray!” Echoes beat against the distant rumble of surf. The little round pirates swarmed closer, drawing to a disorderly halt as they neared their chief.
“Aha, me hearties!” cried Alex. “This is a great day for the Brethren of the Coast. I’ve got none less than Alexander Jones, the plenipotentiary of Toka, here, and I’m about to spit him like a squab!” He paused. “What, no cheers?”
The pirates shuffled their feet.
“What?” bellowed Alex. “Speak up, you swabs. What’s wrong?”
“Stab me!” mumbled Hook. “But it don’t seem right to spit the plenipotentiary. After all he done for this planet.”
Alex felt touched, but redoubled the ferocity of his glare.
“If it’s glory you’re after, Admiral,” contributed Captain Kidd, “blast me if I’d waste time on the plenipotentiary. There’s no glory to be gained by spitting him. Why, he’s so feeble, they say he has to have a special chair to carry him around.”
This description of the one small luxury Alex had purchased for himself after three years of saving – a robot chair for his office – so infuriated him that he lost his temper completely.
“Is that so!” he yelled. “Well, it just happens that he’s challenged me to a duel to the death, and I’m not going to back out. And you scuts will stay there and watch me kill him and like it!”
“No, I won’t have it,” cried a soldier, raising his musket. Olaf took it away from him, tied it in a knot, and gave it back.
Alex ducked inside the portal, where Tanni and the mayor waited in the garden, still muttering furiously. “What’s wrong now, dear?” asked the girl, white-faced.
“Blankety-blanks,” snarled Alex. “For two cents I’d kill myself, and then see how they like it!” He stamped over to a large brass urn he had placed in readiness.
“En garde!” he roared, fetching it a lusty swipe with his cutlass. “Take that!”
The gathered pirates jumped nervously. Billy Bosun tried to go through the gateway to see what was happening, but Olaf picked him up and threw him over the heads of Henry Morgan and One-Eye. “Private matter,” said the viking imperturbably.
Viciously, Alex battered the clamoring urn with his blade, meanwhile yelling imprecations. “Don’t try to get away! Stand and fight like a man! Aha! Take that, me hearty!”
Hammering away, he fumbled in his pocket with his free hand and brought out some ammonia-soaked cotton. The beard came loose and he gave it to Tanni, who was dabbing him with ketchup here and there, as he shouted in a slightly lower pitch.
“Is that so? Take that yourself!, And that, Greenbeard! Didn’t know, did you –” he thrust his cleanshaven face around the edge of the gate “– that I was on the fencing team as a boy?”
Impulsively, the pirates cheered.
“As well,” said Alex, circling back out of view and belaboring the urn, “as having my letter in track and swimming. I could have made the basketball team too, if I’d wanted. Take that!”
Hurriedly, he stuck the beard back on and signaled for more ketchup.
“Burn and blister me!” he swore, backing a little ways out of the gate and scowling horribly at the buccaneers, “but you’ve a tricky way about you, Jones. But it won’t save you. The minute I trap you in a corner, I’ll rip you up for bait. Take that!” He stepped out of sight again. “Ouch!” he cried in the lower voice.
The pirates looked sad. “It don’t seem right,” muttered Long John Silver. “It just never occurred to me that people might get hurt.”
Captain Hook winced at the din. “Aye,” he said shakily. “What’ve we gotten ourselves into, mates?”
“Don’t be too cocky, Greenbeard!” cried Alex, appearing with a bare chin and lunging while Tanni struck the urn. “Actually, I’ve got muscles of steel. Take that! And that! And that!”
Vanishing again, he fetched the urn three ringing blows, dropped his cutlass, and clapped the beard back onto his face, giving vent to a spine-freezing scream.
“You got me!” he yammered. Clasping ketchup-soaked hands over his heart, he reeled across the gateway, stopping before the terrified visages of the pirates.
“Oh,” he groaned. “I’m done for, mates. Spitted in fair and equal combat. Who’d a thought the plenipotentiary was such a fighter? Goodby, mates. Clear sailing. Anchors away. Don’t look for my body. Just let me crawl off and die in peace.”
“Goodby,” wept Anne Bonney, waving a handkerchief at him. The whole buccaneer band was dissolving into tears.
Alex staggered out of sight, removed his beard, and breathed heavily for a while. Then he picked up his cutlass and strode slowly out the gate and looked over his erstwhile followers.
“Well, well,” he said scornfully. “What have we here? Pirates?”
There was a pause.
“Mercy, sir!” blubbered Captain Hook, falling to his knees before the conqueror of the terrible, the invincible, the indispensable Greenbeard, “We was just having our bit of fun, sir.”
“We didn’t mean nothing,” pleaded Flint.
“We didn’t figure to get nobody hurt,” said Billy Bosun.
“Silence!” commanded Alex. “Do you give up?” There was no need to wait for an answer. “Very well. Mister Mayor, you will have these miscreants hanged at dawn. Then put them on their ships and let them go. And see that you behave yourselves hereafter!”
“Y-y-y-yes, sir,” said Black Tom Yardly.
“Oh . . . I don’t know,” said the mayor. Wistfulness edged his tone. “They weren’t so bad, now were they, sir? I think we owe ’em a vote of thanks, damme. These colonial outposts get infernally dull.”
“Why, thank’ee, mayor,” said Anne Bonney. “We’ll come sack you anytime.”
Alex interrupted hastily. Piracy seemed to have become an incurable disease, but if you can’t change a Hoka’s ways you can at least make him listen to reason . . . on his own terms.
“Now hear this,” he decreed loudly. “I’m going to temper justice with mercy. The Brethren of the Coast may sack Bermuda once a year, but there must be no fighting –”
“Why should there be?” asked the mayor, surprised.
“– and the loot must be returned undamaged.”
“Slice and kipper me!” exclaimed Captain Hook indignantly. “Of course it’ll be returned, sir. What d’ye think we are – thieves?”
Festivities lasted through all the next day, for the pirates, of course, had to sail away into the sunset. Standing on a terrace of the palace garden, his arm about Tanni and the mayor nearby, Alex watched their masts slip over the horizon.
“I’ve got just one problem left,” he said. “Olaf. The poor fellow is still hanging around, trying to find someone who knows the way to Constantinople
. I wish I could help.”
“Why, that’s easy, sir,” said the mayor. “Constantinople is only about fifty miles due south of here.”
“What?” exclaimed Alex. “No, you’re crazy. That’s the Kingdom of Natchalu.”
“It was,” nodded the mayor. “Right up till last month it was. But the queen is a lusty wench, if you’ll pardon the expression, madam, and was finding life rather dull till a trader sold her some books which mentioned a, hm,” the mayor coughed delicately, “lady named Theodora. They’re still getting reorganized, but it’s going fast and –”
Alex set off at a run. He rounded the corner of the house and the setting sun blazed in his eyes. It gilded the helmet and byrnie of Olaf Button-nose where he leaned on his sword gazing out to sea.
“Olaf!” cried Alex.
The Hoka viking turned slowly to regard the human. In the sunset, above the droop of his long blond mustaches, his face seemed to hold a certain Varangian indomitability.
THE MIRRORS OF MOGGROPPLE
John Morressy
I
Kedrigern crept from his study, pale and bloodshot of eye, and shut the door behind him with trembling hands. He made his way to the breakfast nook of the cottage, walking like a man made of glass, and paused on the threshold of the sun-washed room to sigh and swallow loudly. Narrowing his eyes to slits and shielding them with his hand, he entered, slowly.
Princess was already seated. She looked particularly fresh and lovely in a soft green robe, with her black hair loose about her shoulders. Kedrigern scarcely noticed. On this particular morning, Venus herself would have made little impression on him.
“Brereep?” Princess asked politely.
“Terrible, thank you,” Kedrigern replied, gingerly lowering himself into the seat opposite her.
“Brereep,” she said, with a tight, self-righteous smile.
“No, it does not serve me right, my dear, and it’s unkind of you to say so. I had no choice in the matter,” said Kedrigern in a fragile voice. He listened to his stomach gurgle threateningly, gulped, and went on. “I know what kind of stuff the wood-witch brews, and I watered my drinks as much as I decently could. She just kept refilling my bowl.”
