In an Adventure With Napoleon (4 page)

he Pirate Captain tried to stare disconsolately into the bottom of his drink, but he kept on poking himself in the eye with the little cocktail umbrella. Drowning his sorrows in the Skull Island paradise-themed lounge bar was proving to be annoyingly difficult. When you’re upset, the Captain decided, it was best to have surroundings that matched your mood. To this end he would have preferred a plaintive solo saxophone to be playing in the corner of the bar instead of a five-piece tropical band complete with maracas. And similarly, gazing miserably out of a window would be much more effective if it was streaked with rain, rather than providing a clear view of a high-spirited pool party.

‘I’ve brought you another Exciting Beach Fun, Pirate
Captain,’ said the pirate with a scarf, handing him a huge bright-red cocktail adorned with a plastic monkey on a stick and with what looked like half a bowl of fruit balanced around the rim. ‘Though the fifty doubloons that the Pirate King put behind the bar has just run out, so if you want to go on drowning your sorrows we’ll have to start paying.’

The Pirate Captain did one of his bleakest looks by way of reply.

‘Cheer up, sir,’ the pirate with a scarf added encouragingly. ‘You’ll bounce back. And there’s always next year. Twelfth time’s the charm.’

‘No,’ said the Captain firmly. ‘That’s it. I can’t possibly work any harder than I did this time. I’ve learnt an important and bitter lesson.’ He pointed at an empty space on the bar where his award would have been if he’d won. ‘That’s what hard work gets you: nothing. Never put any effort into anything, number two. Because it will turn to ashes in your mouth. From now on, the old indefatigable, roll-up-my-sleeves, get-my-hands-dirty, work-ethic Pirate Captain is a thing of the past.’

The pirate with a scarf knew better than to challenge this slightly imaginative description of the Pirate Captain’s previous attitude to hard work. He sat down on a bar stool and cast a surreptitious look at the Captain’s mood ring. Several years experience had taught the pirate with a scarf that the Captain’s moods rarely lasted more than twenty minutes, less if a distraction came along, like
an interesting noise or a cup of tea. This unpredictability could make life in the confined space of the pirate boat quite tricky, and the pirate with a scarf had bought his Captain the ring so that there would be no confusion as to how he was feeling at any given time. Right now the ring was jet black, which either meant ‘tense, nervous, harassed’ or that all the mood juice had leaked out.

‘They didn’t even do a swimsuit round,’ added the Pirate Captain plaintively.

‘To be fair, Captain, they’ve never done a swimsuit round. That was more hopeful speculation on your part. But if they had done one, you’d have walked it.’

The crew shuffled up to the table, doing a slow conga of disappointment, and singing ‘Da na-na na na na-na’ in a minor key. The Pirate Captain gave them a weary wave.

‘I know you’re trying your best, but it’s not helping. I think it’s pretty much impossible to cheer me up.’ The Captain hefted another heavy sigh and snapped his little plastic monkey in two. ‘It’s like I have a big black dog lying on my heart. And what’s worse, it’s getting slobber on my aorta and it keeps jumping up and down on my right lung.’

‘That’s a very poetic analogy, Captain,’ said the pirate with a scarf.

‘Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind I’m going to wail “why?” quietly to myself for a while.’

The Pirate Captain had got to his third ‘Why?’ when a
huge hand smacked his shoulder so hard that there was an audible crack. He looked up to see a burly pirate built like a Welsh mountain range grinning down at him.

‘Hello, Pirate Captain,’ said the pirate. ‘Bad luck with the awards. I imagine you’re pretty cut up. But if it’s any consolation you’re still the best pirate I know and I know at least four pirates.’

‘Thanks, Scurvy Jake,’ said the Pirate Captain, wiping Exciting Beach Fun off his coat. Scurvy Jake was an old friend who had retired from pirating because his gigantic sausage fingers made him clumsy. Since then he’d had a series of jobs that had worked out a bit better for him, providing they didn’t involve holding easily crushed things like eggs or baby rabbits.

‘All the best people aren’t appreciated in their lifetimes,’ Scurvy Jake continued. ‘Look at Baby Jesus – nobody took him seriously. They thought he was a tramp!’

‘Oh, let’s not talk about me, Jake. I don’t think I can face it,’ said the Pirate Captain. ‘What have you been up to lately? Still working as a grill chef?’

‘No, I gave that up. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the grilling. I could grill all day. But I hated going home smelling of burnt fat.’

‘I can imagine,’ said the Pirate Captain, although he couldn’t really imagine why that would be a problem because as far as he was concerned most of the best smells involved meat grease.

‘It stays in your hair, you see.’ Scurvy Jake was very particular about his hair, which he wore in a permanent wave that he had set every few weeks. ‘So I’ve got a new job now. It’s a real money spinner.’

Scurvy Jake leaned closer to the Pirate Captain’s ear and whispered loudly, ‘I sell baby clothes door-to-door.’

The Pirate Captain didn’t know what to say to that, so he just said ‘baby clothes’ and raised his eyebrows.

‘That’s right. The great thing is …’ Scurvy Jake beckoned the Pirate Captain closer and whispered even louder, ‘babies grow so quickly that they need a new set of clothes every few weeks. It’s practically a licence to print doubloons!’ He paused for a moment to drain his cocktail in one gulp. ‘Have a guess how long it takes a baby to outgrow a brand new set of woollen bootees.’

‘A month?’ said the Pirate Captain.

‘Two weeks!’ said Scurvy Jake happily. ‘Babies are a gold mine!’
⁶

‘Good for you,’ said the Captain, glad his old friend was doing so well. He almost began to cheer up despite himself, but suddenly there was an excited hubbub, and a pack of young pirates with neat clothes and good teeth walked into the lounge bar carrying a trophy-laden Alan Hinton BA, Hons on their shoulders. They were all wearing matching pirate blazers and looked extremely pleased with themselves. Alan Hinton BA, Hons waved
a glass of Pimms in the Captain’s direction and then went back to discussing quarterly yields with the earnest pirate holding his leg. The Captain slumped again.

‘Take a look at that,’ he said. ‘That’s the future of pirating right there, all haircuts, spreadsheets and retractable pencils.’

‘Aarrr …’ said Scurvy Jake, who still did pirate noises despite having retired. ‘Pirating’s a young man’s game. Like Twister or spin the bottle.’

‘Exactly,’ nodded the Captain. ‘With my carefree attitude and frank disinterest in ironed clothes, I’m nothing more than a dinosaur.’

Several pirate crew nearby jumped out of their seats and dropped their cocktails in fright.

‘Not an
actual
dinosaur,’ said the Pirate Captain, rolling his eyes. The pirates breathed a sigh of relief and sat back down again. ‘But my point stands – maybe pirating isn’t really suited to me any more. Perhaps I should turn my hand to something new. I need to evolve from being a dinosaur into … what came after dinosaurs? Chickens? Or was it mice? One of those.’

Before long, the pirates were all having a heated argument about evolution, with one side coming down on the side of chickens and the other mice. A breakaway faction proposed tardigrades, but it was suggested that they were simply showing off their knowledge of creatures. Just as chickens were getting the upper hand, the debate was interrupted by an overpowering smell of
seaweed, and then Jennifer appeared through the crowd pulling a familiar fearsome figure with her. ‘Pirate Captain!’ she exclaimed. ‘Look who I found, it’s Black Bellamy! Your old friend!’

Black Bellamy beamed, in as much as you can beam when your beard goes all the way up to your eyeballs of darkest pitch and you carry a knife between your teeth.

The Pirate Captain swore under his breath. ‘He’s not my friend, Jennifer. He’s my eternal nemesis, whom I have sworn to defeat or die trying. Hello, Black Bellamy.’

‘Hello, Pirate Captain,’ said Black Bellamy. ‘Bad luck about the awards.’

‘Listen, BB, that was a pretty low stunt you pulled with the fake whale business on our adventure before last. I haven’t forgotten that.’ The Pirate Captain frowned. ‘So I’m not talking to you. In fact, don’t even look at me.’ He pointedly swivelled his chair around to face the other way.

‘Can I look at Jennifer instead?’ asked Black Bellamy. ‘She’s as lovely as ever, radiant like the moon on a clear night.’

‘That’s enough of your sexy metaphors,’ said the Pirate Captain.

‘Similes, Pirate Captain. Sexy similes.’

‘All right, you
can
look at me,’ huffed the Captain, turning back round again. ‘But I’d rather you didn’t. And I’m not really in the mood for your tricks right now. I suppose you’re here to con me into buying something
that explodes and/or turns out to be full of snakes?’

Black Bellamy looked hurt. ‘Pirate Captain! It’s so very painful to hear you talk like that. All I wanted to know,’ he paused and fought back a grin, ‘is what kind of pirating you have planned next and whether it involves splicing the mainsail at all?’

The Captain glowered. ‘Actually, I don’t have any kind of pirating planned next.’ He leaned back in his chair and pulled the most resolute face he could do. ‘Because from this day forth,
I am no longer a pirate!’

He waited for the reaction. A couple of the pirates made gasping sounds, but there was something unconvincing about them. The Captain wondered if he should perhaps make a dramatic gesture to go with his dramatic statement, like stamping on his pirate hat and flinging it into the sea. But it was an expensive hat so he just mimed it instead.

‘I really, really mean it,’ said the Pirate Captain, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice.

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Jennifer. ‘Pirating is brilliant fun. And besides, what would you do instead?’

Black Bellamy seemed bemused. ‘Yes, Pirate Captain, what’s it going to be this time?’

The Pirate Captain puffed out his hairy cheeks. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He looked about the cocktail lounge. Failing to find inspiration there he looked at his crew. One of them was wearing a fashionable yellow and black striped top.

‘Bees!’ exclaimed the Pirate Captain, surprising himself a little. ‘I will raise bees.’

‘Really?’ said Black Bellamy and Jennifer in unison.

‘Oh yes. You’re probably thinking that I just said “bees” because I happened to look at that pirate in the stripy top and it was simply the first thing that popped into my head, but actually I’ve been interested in bees all my life. Fact is I’ve spent many a pleasant afternoon dreaming about the simple life of a beekeeper. Tending to them one by one, washing their little bee faces, drawing them pictures of hexagons. Later, perhaps, singing them to sleep under the stars with a tender rustic ballad of times gone by.’

‘But, Pirate Captain, you
love
being a pirate,’ said Jennifer. ‘You’re always pointing out the myriad lifestyle benefits. Getting to travel the world, catch exotic diseases and learn about bloody murder and all that stuff.’

‘That’s because I was looking at piracy through rose-tinted spectacles,’ the Captain replied. ‘In fact, there’s very little job security. The hours are terrible. And those barnacles get everywhere. I found one in my belly button the other day.’

The crew didn’t look convinced. The Captain reflected that if they were as good at pirating as they were at not looking convinced he would be a very rich man, probably with a solid-gold pirate boat. He tried another tack.

‘Also, lads, in today’s world, given the industrial revolution and all, you have to start thinking ecologically.
Remember that adventure we had with those Aztecs? Where, when they wouldn’t give us that big diamond skull, we burnt their entire jungle to the ground? Our carbon footprint must be
gigantic
. Not like bee-keeping. Once we’re up and running we’ll be entirely self-sufficient. That’s the great thing about bees. We’ll get a constant supply of nutritious honey. We can use their little bee pelts to make warm clothes. And they’re a ready source of beef.’