Hamish X and the Cheese Pirates

by Sean Cullen

  Mimi stood up carefully to avoid waking him and moved to Parveen’s side. She stretched and looked around at the darkness below. There were no signs of habitation below them, no lights. She wore a touque47 on her head, forcing her frizzy hair down around her ears into a fluttering halo.

  “Any sign o’ them pirates?” she asked.

  “No sign,” Parveen assured her. “All we can do is stay on their last known course and see if we can catch up to them.” He cast a glance back at their sleeping companion. “He’s a very strange person. Not bad, but certainly there are a lot of odd things about him.”

  “He shore is strange. I don’t know what to make of ’im.”

  “I’ve been doing some reading,” Parveen said. “Granted, my access to research materials is limited, but from what I could gather, the first time Hamish X appeared in the newspapers was twelve years ago.”

  “Twelve years,” Mimi echoed. “That’s impossible! He cain’t be more than twelve years old now.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Parveen agreed. “That means either he isn’t who he says he is or …”

  “Or what?”

  “There’s something weird going on. With the ODA involved, anything is possible. There may be more to him than meets the eye.”

  “More to who?” Hamish X pushed himself to his feet, stretching. He smiled at them and pulled his woolly jacket closer as the cold air whistling past began to freeze his exposed face.

  “Uh, Cheesebeard. That pirate! What’s with the beard?”

  Mimi elbowed Parveen subtly but painfully. “Yes,” he added, “how can he stand the smell of it, I wonder?”

  “People can get used to any number of odd things about themselves,” Hamish X said meaningfully, looking at his friends each in turn. “Sometimes you have no choice. He’s a bad guy though. Luckily, we all trust each other and we accept our differences. They make us stronger. We have to trust each other or else we’ll fail.”

  Parveen and Mimi exchanged a pointed48 look.

  No one spoke for a moment as they looked out over the tundra below, a vast flat expanse of dirty white stretching to the horizon in every direction. No trees grew: they were above the treeline.49 “Makes a body feel small, don’t it,” Mimi said finally. “I’m gonna get some more sleep.” She sat down next to the stove and closed her eyes. Before long, she was snoring softly.

  “Want me to take over?” asked Hamish X, breaking the silence.50 Parveen thought about the offer for a moment. He shrugged and moved aside, holding the stick until Hamish X could step in and take it in his gloved hand. Immediately, Hamish X had to brace himself to hold the craft steady. He marvelled at the strength Parveen hid in his tiny body.

  Parveen pointed to the compass. “Keep the needle steady at NNW. That’s the last course we know they were taking.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a heel of crusty bread, tearing off a corner daintily and chewing.

  Hamish X concentrated on steering for a few minutes until he thought he had the hang of it. The clouds in the east looked to be coming closer. He stole a quick glance at Parveen. The boy’s small dark face, framed in the fur hood of his parka, was emotionless and still. He chewed the bread mechanically, without pleasure, as if it were merely fuel to keep the machine that was his body and mind running.

  “Parveen?”

  “Uh huh?”

  “I’ve never seen you smile about anything the whole time I’ve been here.”

  Parveen stopped chewing. He turned and looked at Hamish X, blinked once, twice behind his glasses. Hamish X persisted.

  “What’s your story? How did you end up here?”

  “It is no interesting tale.”

  “I’d like to hear it anyway. We have time to kill. Mimi told me her story. I’ve told you all of mine.”

  Parveen thought for a moment. He shrugged and stuffed the bread back into his pocket. After he checked the instruments one last time, he started to talk.

  Chapter 17

  PARVEEN’S STORY

  I come from India. It is a hot place, as hot as this place is cold. I lived in a house in the centre of a fairly big town with my twelve brothers and sisters, my father, and my beautiful mother.

  We were very happy, though we were never very rich. We had enough to eat and clothes to wear. All the children slept in one large room. My six brothers and I slept against one wall and my six sisters against the other, all of us stacked in bunk beds that climbed to the ceiling. We would whisper to each other in the darkness, laughing and giggling until Mother called for us to go to sleep. I was the youngest child, and all my siblings teased me that I was my mother’s favourite.

  My mother was a beautiful woman with long, lustrous black hair and sparkling eyes. And that’s not me saying that because she was my mother. Everyone in the village thought so. She was a musician: she played the sitar, a sort of Indian guitar but with many more strings. She sang in the movies sometimes, although you wouldn’t have seen her. She sang the songs and pretty actresses mouthed the words. It made me angry sometimes that they could steal her voice. She was prettier than any of those actresses. She always tucked me into my bed at night. Before she turned off the light she would say to us, “Smile for me, my children. You are home now.”

  My father worked in a factory that made ballpoint pens. He came home every night smelling of ink, but I thought his job was wonderful. I imagined that people all over the world took the pens and wrote all manner of amazing things: letters of love, notes to the milkman (in such places where milkmen existed),51 poems about fishes in the sea, plans for brilliant inventions, scientific reports! Oh, how important and powerful a man was my father, who made sure every person in the wide world could write what he or she needed to write.

  Our neighbours all thought my father and mother were a strange match. Often I would overhear them talking, saying that my father was nothing compared to my beautiful mother. They could never understand how important my father was. One man in particular was very jealous of my father. His name was Ndur Nath and he owned much property in the town. Ndur owned the pen factory where my father worked. He watched my mother whenever she went out of the house. He dogged her steps. It bothered me to see the way he looked at her, but he couldn’t darken our happy home. We were all so happy together. Every night we would come home and my mother would say “Smile, children. You are home now.”

  Our happiness couldn’t last. One day, my father began to feel poorly. He coughed and his hands shook. He took a day off work and then another, but he didn’t improve. My mother was terribly worried. A doctor came and studied Father, looked under his eyelids, took his pulse. He spoke to my mother in the kitchen, and when he left Mother had tears in her eyes.

  “Father is very sick. The fumes in the factory have poisoned his blood,” she explained. “We must take care of him now, because he has taken care of us.”

  I couldn’t believe it. The very ink that I found so wonderful had made my father sick. We did our best to take care of him while my mother worked harder than ever to bring in money. Father didn’t improve. He died in the night with us all around him.

  The next day, Ndur Nath arrived at the door to tell us how sorry he was. Was there anything he could do to help my mother? My mother assured him she needed nothing and he went away—but not for long. He came the next day and the day after that. He hounded my mother to marry him. He promised he would take care of all the children as if they were his very own. She refused his offers, but as time went on and our bills began to mount, Mother started to soften. I could tell she didn’t like him, but she needed some way to pay for food and rent. She wasn’t able to get any work singing. I suspected it was because Ndur threatened anyone who wanted to hire her.

  Finally, she agreed to be Ndur’s wife. They were married and he took us into his big house in the centre of town.

  As soon as we arrived, Ndur Nath’s true nature was revealed. All of us were given separate rooms. We weren’t allowed to speak to each other in the halls or at dinner. W
e were forced to go to bed at eight o’clock and our bedroom doors were always locked. We were virtually prisoners.

  My mother did her best to spend time with us, but Ndur demanded she spend all her time with him. She still managed to see us at bedtime, but she wasn’t the same. The light was gone out of her eyes. Ndur forbade her to sing in the house. Then he started complaining about us.

  “These children are lazy and good for nothing!” he would shout. “They need to learn discipline!” One by one, my older brothers and sisters were sent away to schools far from each other. It broke my mother’s heart. Soon, I was the only one left. My mother grew sick and weak. I remember the last night she came to my room. She was pale and trembled uncontrollably. She sat down on my bed.

  “Little Parveen,” she smiled, a ghost of her former smile, “I am afraid for you. I miss your father very much and I fear I may join him soon.” I wept and hugged her close. She was so frail. She took my face in her hands. “I love you, little Parveen, and wherever we are together that is home. Smile. You are home now.”

  I smiled as best as I could. She kissed me on the cheek and turned out the light. The door was closed. The lock was turned. I never saw her again … she passed in the night. I think it was from a broken heart.

  The rest of the story is quickly told. Ndur called the ODA. The next day, the grey agents came and took me away. I was sent off to Windcity. I have been there ever since.

  Chapter 18

  “That’s why no pens,” Hamish X said, pointing to the pencil behind Parveen’s ear.

  Parveen nodded. “And no smiles.”

  “She loved you very much,” Hamish X went on. “And you’re lucky you remember her so well.”

  “Indeed,” Parveen said. “I do not envy you having no remembrance of your mother or father.”

  They were silent for a while. The sheets fluttered. Mimi snored.

  “You know, Parveen, I think your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to go through your whole life never smiling again. She would have wanted you to be happy.”

  “Perhaps.” Parveen shrugged. “Perhaps I will smile again … when I feel I have a home again.”

  They fell silent once more. Parveen checked the compass. He was about to check the reading against the stars when a green blip appeared on the very edge of the radar screen. The blip flickered and then grew stronger.

  “It seems that we have found our quarry,” Parveen said.

  Hamish grinned, showing all his teeth. “I’ll wake Mimi.”

  THE SUN ROSE in the east off the starboard side of the airship, casting a feeble light across the white plain of ice below. Mrs. Francis stood on the bridge of the Vulture. Around her, the crew manned the various machines that kept the airship aloft. Mr. Kipling loosely held her elbow, giving her a guided tour. “These levers here control our altitude,” he said, indicating a series of sticks with rubber handles pointing out of a large cabinet. Cables ran out of the top of the cabinet and disappeared through a slot in the ceiling. The handles were manned by a toothless gentleman. “And this wheel controls the rudder that steers the ship.” He pointed to a large brass wheel mounted on a post that faced the broad front window. The helmsman, a narrow-chested man with greasy hair, leered at Mrs. Francis.

  “Hallo, darlink,” the helmsman winked, licking his lips. “My name’s Schmidt. You can call me Karl. You fanzy a little … Ow!” Mr. Kipling’s gloved fingers pinched the helmsman’s right ear, twisting the tender flesh painfully. He would have pinched the left ear, but the helmsman didn’t have one.

  “Keep a civil tongue in your head, Helmsman Schmidt. Mrs. Francis is a lady and therefore deserves your respect.”

  “Sorry, Herr Kiplink,” Schmidt whimpered. “Forgiff me! I am a pirate after all.”

  “Duly noted.” Kipling looked down his nose at the snivelling helmsman, “However, pirate or no, there is no excuse for bad manners. Any more indelicate comments out of you and I will cut off your arm and beat you to death with it. Understood?”

  “Ja!”

  “You’ve taken quite a shine to our guest, Mr. Kipling!” The Captain’s booming voice was jarring in the enclosed space. He stood at the door of the bridge, his crusty beard swaying in time with the ship. Mr. Kipling released the helmsman’s ear. Schmidt sneered at Kipling’s back and turned to his work.

  “I was just giving Mrs. Francis a tour of the ship, Captain.” Kipling extracted his hankie from his sleeve and began to clean his fingers fastidiously.

  “Just don’t get too fond of her,” the Captain growled. “She’s a prisoner, a piece of property. I don’t want you getting all bent out of shape if I decide we have to kill her.”

  Mr. Kipling became very still. He stopped fussing with his hankie and looked lazily at the Captain. Then he shrugged and stuffed the hankie up his sleeve. “Indeed,” he said simply.

  A klaxon sounded. Red lights flashed.

  “Captain,” the radar operator called, “I’ve picked up a contact. It’s directly behind us.” The Captain and Mr. Kipling rushed to the radar station. They bent over the screen, its green light casting a ghoulish glow over their faces. The radar operator pointed to a small dot flickering at the bottom of the screen. “It’s small, sir,” he said, “but it’s moving very fast.”

  As they watched, the tiny dot moved closer to the centre of the screen.

  “They’re gaining,” Mr. Kipling said. “They’ve closed to just under five thousand metres.”

  “How many feet is that?” Cheesebeard asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Kipling scratched his chin. “One point six kilometres to the mile, so …”

  “Oh never mind,” the Captain spat. “Bloody metric!”

  “About sree miles, give or take?” the helmsman offered.

  The Captain slapped him on the back of the head.

  “Ow.” The helmsman sulkily rubbed his skull.

  “Who are they, Kipling?” Cheesebeard demanded. “Where did they come from?”

  “It would appear from a reverse plotting of their course, Captain, that they followed us from Windcity.” Mr. Kipling traced a line on the screen. “As for who they are, well, I’m sure I don’t know.”

  Momentarily forgotten, Mrs. Francis felt her heart leap in her breast. Hamish X is coming, she thought, feeling a first glimmer of hope since the pirate attack. And Mimi and Parveen. She allowed herself the briefest smile.

  “How can they move so fast? We had over a day’s head start.”

  “They are much lighter than we are, Captain.”

  “Annoying!” Cheesebeard picked a lump of Emmenthal from his whiskers and chewed on it furiously. He slapped the helmsman sharply on the back of the head again.

  “Ow!” said the helmsman again. “Vot vas zhat for?”

  “Bring us about,” Cheesebeard ordered.

  “Aye, Captain.”

  The helmsman spun the wheel. The nose of the ship began to turn slowly as its engines laboured to alter course. Cheesebeard glared out into the night, straining to pick out the pursuers. He raised a pair of field glasses to his eyes and scanned the sky. “Could it be …?” he muttered into his cheesy beard. Aloud he said, “We’ll take care of them and then head back to the island. No loose threads!”

  “Indeed, sir.” Kipling frowned.

  “THEY’RE TURNIN’ ’ROUND!” Mimi shouted.

  “Four and a half kilometres and closing.” Parveen hunched over the controls. “They’ll be on us in less than three minutes.”

  “Can we turn away?” Hamish X asked.

  “We are at the mercy of the wind,” Parveen pointed out, “while they have powerful engines. We cannot hope to outmanouevre them.”

  “So what do we do?” Mimi turned to Hamish X. “Don’t you have a plan?”

  “My plan was perfectly formulated up to the point where we caught up to them,” Hamish X shrugged. “Now I have to come up with another plan.”

  “Range: three kilometres and closing,” Parveen announced.

  “We�
�ve gotta do something!” Mimi shouted.

  Hamish X frantically looked around the interior of the gondola, searching for inspiration. There wasn’t much. They had no weapons. There were three backpacks, some blankets, and a coil of rope attached to a makeshift anchor made of strips of iron welded together. Hamish X smiled. He grabbed the rope and handed it to Mimi.

  “Attach this to the gondola. Tie it to something secure!” he shouted. Then he picked up the anchor. It wasn’t particularly heavy, being intended as a grapple that would hook onto a stationary object and moor the little aircraft. He turned and watched for the approaching ship. Mimi searched around and finally decided on one of the handles on the side of the vat. She looped the cable through and tied it as securely as she could. She held the rest of the rope coiled loosely in her hands.

  “One kilometre and closing,” Parveen called out, keeping his eyes on the radar screen.

  “What are ya gonna do?” Mimi demanded.

  “When I tell you, let go of the rope,” Hamish X said.

  Mimi scowled and turned to watch the approaching pirate ship.

  “CAPTAIN, THEY’RE COMING right for us,” the radar man announced. “Should we change course again?” Captain Cheesebeard stood at the front of the bridge, looking through the broad window. He lowered his binoculars and sneered.

  “No. Stay the course. If they ram us it’ll be like a mosquito butting a rhinoceros. They’ll be crushed.” Mrs. Francis let out a little gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. The Captain turned his head and grinned at her.

  “We’ll have to scrape them off the windscreen like so much melted Monterey Jack, but otherwise it’ll be a minor inconvenience.” Cheesebeard laughed at Mrs. Francis’s horrified expression. He raised his glasses and turned his attention back to the approaching vessel.