by Gideon Defoe
‘Are you okay?’ said the pirate to Jennifer.
‘My fingertips have started to shrivel up a bit. It’s like I’ve been in the bath too long.’24
‘Listen. Assuming we get out of this, how would you like to come out to dinner with me?’ The pirate gave what he imagined to be a sexy wink.
‘Oh. Well . . . I’ve sort of got plans,’ said Jennifer. Erasmus made a sound like a plane crashing. The pirate with a scarf shot him a bit of a look, and started to wonder why he had bothered getting out of his hammock that morning.
Just then there came the wheezy sound of an accordion. It was an odd little tune that, had he been alive exactly one hundred and fifty years later, the scarf-wearing pirate would have recognised as the first few bars from ‘Theme to Bergerac’. Out from behind a gigantic bell stepped the pirate with an accordion. The others were unanimously glad to see him.
‘Rescue!’ cried Erasmus.
‘Daphne!’ said Jennifer.
‘What took you so long?’ asked the pirate with a scarf, in a bit of a strop.
‘You two wandered off, so I went to the hall of mirrors,’ said the pirate with an accordion defensively. ‘It was fantastic! One of the mirrors made me look like a little dwarf, but with a big long head! I laughed for ages! And then I got bored of that, so I played a bit of “What shall we do with the drunken sailor?” on my accordion, which happens to be my favourite shanty. Then I tried to find you and your girlfriend.’
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ said the scarf-wearing pirate with a scowl.
‘Bad luck. Anyhow, I noticed the pair of you going into that Special Exhibit For The Ladies, and when you didn’t come out for ages I thought perhaps you were teaching Jennifer about tying knots.’
‘Knots?’
‘You must have noticed how whenever there’s a lady onboard the pirate boat the Pirate Captain will always disappear into his cabin with her for a while and, afterwards, when any of us ask what they were doing, he tells us he was just teaching the lady how to tie knots, because most girls don’t know much about nautical matters. Between you and me, I think he must tell funny anecdotes at the same time as showing them how to tie knots, because quite often I’ve heard a lot of giggling. But that’s not to say the Captain doesn’t take his knot tying seriously – he obviously puts a lot of effort into it, as he tends to come out from a knot-tying lesson looking quite exhausted.’
The pirate with a scarf wondered if it were perhaps time to sit down with some of the crew and set them straight on a couple of matters.
‘So eventually I decided to follow you into the tent myself,’ continued the pirate with an accordion. ‘But you were nowhere to be seen! It was completely empty, except for a half-used-up bottle of chloroform. I looked about for a while, and then I found there was a trapdoor hidden in the floor, which led to some steps. And the steps led to a creepy-looking tunnel. Well, that all seemed rather rum. I think it was part of an old sewer system, and you know how you’re always reading about people flushing away baby alligators which then grow to gigantic proportions, so – given that alligators and us pirates have got a bit of a troubled history – I was pretty frightened, but I played the most upbeat shanties I could think of to keep myself calm. The tunnel went on for a few hundred yards, and then I got to more stairs, lots of them this time, and they led up here. Now I’ve found you I suppose I should probably—’
But, without saying another word, the pirate with an accordion died of scurvy, right there and then.
‘Blast,’ said Erasmus.
‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ said Jennifer miserably.
‘Idiot!’ said the pirate with a scarf. ‘I told him what would happen if he just ate chocolate all the time instead of limes.’
Scurvy Jake and the Pirate Captain had gone on signing autographs for most of the afternoon. Occasionally the Pirate Captain got a bit annoyed to hear Scurvy Jake passing off one of the Pirate Captain’s exciting anecdotes as if it was his own, but he decided to let it slide. After they had both run out of photographs – the Pirate Captain was pleased to have pocketed over sixty doubloons for his efforts – they decided to wander over to the part of the convention where several stalls were selling piratical equipment at trade prices. There was a lot of good-natured bargaining going on, as pirates jostled each other for the best deals. The Pirate Captain picked up a job lot of thirty portholes for just twenty-eight pounds – less than a pound per porthole! He also bought a barrel of tar, six bottles of Pirate Rum, and a few tricorn hats just to spite everybody. Satisfied with his purchases, he and Scurvy Jake headed over to the Metropolitan’s bar to drink and reminisce.
Pretty soon Scurvy Jake was a bit worse the wear from all the grog.
‘I was a terrible pirate,’ he said, in a cracked voice. ‘You were always a much better pirate than me.’
It was true, thought the Pirate Captain. Scurvy Jake had always been a rubbish pirate. With his lumbering lack of coordination and his giant hands, he was no good at tying knots, and he was famous for repeatedly burying treasure and then forgetting where he’d left it. But the Pirate Captain didn’t like to see his old friend upset.
‘Pfft! I’ve made a few mistakes myself,’ said the Pirate Captain, trying to console him. ‘Like that time I let a cannibal join the crew. And that other time when I said “Well, I don’t see any hurricane.” I’m not perfect.’
‘But I’m the worst pirate ever. I’m so clumsy,’ sobbed Scurvy Jake.
‘What about Courteous Frank? He was easily a worse pirate than you ever were. I heard he refused to let his crew cure the ship’s meat with salt, because he’d read that a high sodium intake had been linked to heart disease. Died eating a slice of rancid ham. You’re not even close!’
‘It’s kind of you to say so, Pirate Captain. You know, if there’s anything I can do to help, you just have to ask. Are you on holiday, or are you on an adventure?’
‘Adventure. And you can help, Scurvy Jake!’ The Pirate Captain’s beard glittered with piratical cunning. ‘Do you know where I could get hold of a big white sheet?’
22 Edible bananas may disappear within a decade if urgent action is not taken to develop new varieties resistant to blight, according to recent studies published in New Scientist.
23 Rum is the oldest distilled spirit in the world. After he was killed at the Battle of Trafalgar, Lord Nelson’s body was preserved in a barrel of his favourite rum. To make a good Mai Tai, you need 1 oz. Dark Rum, 1 oz. Light Rum, 1 oz. Triple Sec, ½ oz. Lime Juice, ½ oz. Grenadine, ½ oz. Orgeat Syrup. Garnish with a pineapple wedge and cherry. Serve in a High Ball.
24 There’s no need to be frightened when your fingers shrivel up after being in the bath. Normally your skin is lubricated with a thin layer of sebum – an oil which acts to waterproof the surface of your body. With prolonged exposure to water the sebum is washed away, which allows water to penetrate into the epidermis by osmosis. The skin becomes waterlogged, resulting in a wrinkled appearance – rather like a monster or an old woman.
Eleven
MAROONED!
‘He’s not just evil! He’s insane! A 100 per cent Grade-A lunatic!’ shouted Darwin, flinging the evening edition of the Mail at the Pirate Captain, who had returned from his Pirate Convention and was helping set up the stage of the Natural History Museum’s lecture room for the evening’s performance. ‘The Bishop of Oxford has persisted with his ridiculous scare-mongering. Now he’s saying that if I go ahead with my Man-panzee demonstration, the Holy Ghost – the Holy Ghost! – will personally make an appearance at my lecture, and wrestle me and Mister Bobo to the ground! Really, it’s too much!’
‘It’s not the Bishop’s work. It’s mine,’ said the Pirate Captain, chewing the end off a fat cigar, and looking smug. Sometimes the Pirate Captain found himself thinking what a fantastic, hard-bitten and wily newspaper mogul he would have made, had he not taken up piracy instead. Darwin slumped into one of the auditorium’s seats.
‘I’m not sure I
follow,’ he said weakly.
‘I’m the one who started the rumour. And – even though I say it myself – it’s a stroke of genius.’
‘For pity’s sake, why?’
‘Listen, Charles. You’ve got a lot to learn about this science business. It’s not all about test tubes and creatures and bits of gauze.’
‘It isn’t?’
‘No, it isn’t. The whole thing became clear to me when I was talking to an old friend of mine. He was telling me how great at pirating he always thought I was,’ explained the Pirate Captain. ‘And the fact is, I have made something of a name for myself in nautical circles. But why do you think that is?’
Darwin scratched his head thoughtfully. ‘Your luxuriant beard?’
‘Aaarrr,’ said the Pirate Captain. ‘That probably plays a part in it. But more than that, I think it’s because of my gift for showmanship. Like the way I drink rum mixed with gunpowder, even though it tastes disgusting. And the way I run people through in such a grisly manner.’
‘Surely,’ said Darwin, ‘it’s not possible to be run through in any manner other than a grisly one?’
‘Now, a lot of people will tell you that. But it’s not the case. You take the pirate with a scarf. He’s such a proficient swordsman that I’ve seen him run a man through without spilling a drop of blood,25 and the fellow on the receiving end dies in a speedy and humane fashion. Me on the other hand, I’m forever making a mess of it, hacking about all over the shop, getting my cutlass stuck in a particularly tough bit of gristle. Yet, quite inadvertently, this has all added to my fearsome reputation! And with pirating, reputation is everything.’
‘I’m still not sure I follow you,’ said the puzzled young scientist.
‘Mister Bobo is a fantastic achievement. But there’s a thousand other scientists out there trying to make a name for themselves. So if you’re going to stand out and impress the stony-faced Victorian establishment, you need a gimmick! A bit of controversy! It’s all about the presentation.’
So the Pirate Captain explained his latest plan. Though perhaps it was a little more complicated than his usual plans, which tended to involve how much ham to eat, the Pirate Captain was confident of success. Darwin was less certain.
‘I don’t know, Pirate Captain,’ he said with a sad shake of his head, once the Captain had finished. ‘It all seems such a risk. This lecture is expressly against the Bishop’s wishes. I can’t help but think something truly terrible will befall my poor brother.’
‘Well, I’m in the same boat myself,’ said the Pirate Captain with a shrug. ‘Two of my pirates never returned from investigating that sinister circus. There’s a good chance the Bishop has some evil fate planned for them too. I’m not really that bothered about the swab with the accordion, but that other fellow . . . the one with a scarf –’ the Pirate Captain really never seemed to be able to remember the names of any of his crew – ‘the truth is, I’m at a bit of a loss without him. He cleans my hats, keeps me up to date with all the latest shanties, and he even knows all the proper nautical terms for things. I bet you didn’t realise that on a sailing boat you’re not even meant to say “upstairs” or “downstairs” or “left” or “right”. It’s all “port” this and “starboard” that and “galley” instead of kitchen and goodness knows what else. How am I expected to remember that kind of thing? Anyhow. What was the point I was making?’
‘I’m not really sure,’ said Darwin.
‘Well then,’ said the Pirate Captain, flashing the scientist his most winning grin.
The Royal Society’s grandfather clock struck a quarter past ten. It was just a few minutes to go until Darwin’s big moment, and the lecture hall was fast filling up. Most of the audience had read the evening papers’ controversial headlines, and there was an excited buzz of anticipation throughout the room. The Pirate Captain’s ploy had certainly done the trick in bringing in the crowds, thought Darwin. He stood at the door, greeting people as they arrived, whilst Mister Bobo paced backstage taking nervous swigs from a flask of whisky.
‘Nice that you could make it. Hi. Hello. Thanks for coming. Glad you could be here. Nice to—’
Darwin froze. He found himself face to face with the Bishop of Oxford.
‘Darwin.’
‘Bishop.’
‘So you’re going ahead with this?’
‘I – uh – that is . . . it looks that way.’
‘What a pity your brother Erasmus couldn’t be here.’
‘You villain! What have you done with him?’
‘Mr Darwin . . . Charles. I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about. I just hope his health isn’t suffering,’ said the Bishop, waggling his bushy brows and grimacing to show that he meant the exact opposite of what he was saying. ‘It’s not too late to reconsider,’ he added as he took his seat in the audience, unwittingly right next to the Pirate Captain, who was back in scientist disguise.
The lights dimmed, the thick velvet curtain went up and Darwin and Mister Bobo came out to enormous applause.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. He’s hairy! He’s scary! I would like to introduce you to the world’s first fantastic . . . Man-panzee!’
The spotlight fell on Mister Bobo, who was so well turned out, with his hair slicked back, a breath mint in his mouth and his best dress shirt tucked into a pair of handsome trousers, that it looked like he was going on a first date. In actual fact, Mister Bobo had never so much as kissed a girl. The audience clapped again. Darwin coughed nervously, and started to explain how he fed Mister Bobo on a diet of pituitary glands taken from the cadavers of baby seals.
‘One might expect the pituitary gland to have some effect on the language capabilities of the simian brain, but I can’t detect any. Mister Bobo just seems to like the taste,’ said Darwin.
Ker-chunk!
The gigantic cog clicked on another notch.
‘Shall we have a game of animal, vegetable or mineral? To take our minds off things?’ suggested Erasmus brightly. The scarf-wearing pirate would have enjoyed a game of hangman more, but seeing as they didn’t have any chalk, and their hands were all tied up anyhow, he nodded reluctantly.
‘I’ll go first,’ said the pirate. ‘Okay, I’ve thought of something.’
‘Are you a mineral?’ asked Erasmus.
‘Nope.’
‘Animal?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Sort of?’
‘All right, yes. Animal.’
‘Are you a hoofed animal?’
‘No.’
‘Claws?’
‘No.’
‘Not claws or hoofs? What does that leave? Trotters?’
‘Yes!’
‘So you’re a pig?’
‘Not exactly . . .’
‘Not exactly a pig? Then a bit of a pig? Are you bacon?’
‘No, but you’re getting warm.’
‘Ham?’
‘That’s it! I’m a succulent piece of ham! But you took too many guesses, so I won, and I get to choose again.’
Darwin had finished his introduction and explanation of his training methods, and now he was leading Mister Bobo – who was doing his best not to knuckle-walk, because he knew just how vulgar that looked – over to a carefully laid out dinner table in the centre of the stage.
‘Mister Bobo – would you be so kind as to show these ladies and gentlemen exactly which of these spoons you would use to eat a dessert?’
Mister Bobo held up the correct spoon almost instantly, and the audience let out some ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’. His confidence building, Mister Bobo proceeded to run through the rest of the routine with aplomb. Shown pictures of two different girls he correctly identified which one was more attractive, he made a selection of cocktails called out by the audience, and he played ‘God Save the Queen’ and ‘Crockett’s Theme’ on the piano, without hitting a single wrong note.
Ker-chunk!
‘So you’re not actually a cow?’ said Jennifer, rolling her eyes in exa
speration.
‘No,’ grinned the pirate with a scarf.
‘Are you a steak?’
‘No!’
‘I give up.’
‘I’m a sausage! But one made out of beef instead of pork. Right – I’ve thought of something else!’
‘Is this going to be meat-based again?’
‘It might be.’
Darwin and Mister Bobo were building up to the grand finale. The lecture had gone well, and the audience seemed politely impressed, but it clearly needed something more to whip them into a frenzy. With a pre-arranged signal from Mister Bobo, a clattering noise came from off stage, and then a lumbering figure appeared.
‘Wait a minute! Who’s this?’ said Darwin, looking surprised. ‘Oh my goodness! Ladies and Gentlemen . . . it’s the Holy Ghost!’
‘Wooo! Raaah!’ said the Holy Ghost, a bit muffled, sounding a lot like Scurvy Jake with a sheet over his head. There was the plink-plink of gentlemen dropping monocles into their drinks and the gentle rustle of several ladies fainting.
‘He’s come to get me, because my theories are so blasphemous!’ shouted Darwin, in mock terror. Nobody noticed the twinkle in his eye. ‘The Holy Ghost is attacking me! Look at the Holy Ghost!’
‘Rah!’ said the Holy Ghost, in a booming voice. ‘The science you are doing is too shocking by half! I’ve come to wrestle you! I will lay the smackdown on your wicked ways!’
Gasps shot round the auditorium, and Darwin was pleased to see he had the audience on the edge of their seats. He just had time to notice the Pirate Captain lean over to the Bishop and whisper something in his ear, before his attention was diverted by the Holy Ghost picking him up and hurling the young scientist straight through the middle of the dining table.26
