Pirate Loop, The (6 page)

'Right,' he said, and did his best to copy the easy way she'd eaten hers. He nibbled warily at first, but after the first taste of pineapple there was no stopping him. When he'd finished, he dropped the clean stick into the silver box and then grinned a happy, badger grin.

'Good?' she asked.

'S'OK,' said Archibald.

'You could always make sure. Have another one.'

Archibald's eyes opened wide at the thought of this. He waited for a moment in case she changed her mind, then helped himself to another cheese and pineapple stick. Martha laughed to see him so delighted.

'You've really never had food like this before?' she asked as she watched him take two cheese and pineapple sticks at once.

'Nah,' he said between mouthfuls. 'We get food packs. 'Ave to share 'em. They're OK. If they get recycled right.'

Martha didn't understand. 'Recycled from what?'

Archibald wrinkled his shiny black nose. 'What else?' he said gruffly. 'The toilets.'

Martha could see that yes, perhaps cheese and pineapple on sticks were something of a luxury. She felt her heart going out to him, growing up on a spaceship with the other badger pirates, never going to school or getting his daily five fruit and veg. It would be a dull, brutal, compartmentalised life, and he'd not even been born. Instead, he and his colleagues had been grown in a lab, slaves made to follow orders just like the mouthless men she'd met in the engine room. Despite his slavering jaws working on yet another cheese and pineapple stick, despite his gun, despite everything, she wanted to give him a hug.

But that wouldn't do any good. Any minute now Dashiel and Jocelyn would come back and, whatever they'd found, the prisoners would be in danger. So she hadn't been able to get Archibald drunk. But she had another idea, one that would make him see his prisoners as people and make it harder for him to shoot them.

As he reached for yet another cheese and pineapple stick, she slapped the back of his paw.

'Ow,' he said.

'Where are your manners?' she said.

Archibald considered. 'Think I lost 'em,' he said. 'Sorry.'

'Yeah,' said Martha, acting cross like her mum. 'But there are other people here, aren't there? What about them?'

Archibald looked over at the tentacled aliens, still cowering in fright. 'They don't like this stuff,' he said. 'They're bored of it.'

'Are they really?' said Martha, folding her arms. 'Why don't you offer them the tray and see how bored they are?'

Archibald muttered something under his breath but did as he was told, picking up the tray of remaining cheese and pineapple sticks with one paw and stalking over to his prisoners. In his other paw he held his gun, also pointed at the prisoners.

'Here,' he said to the first prisoner, the orange lady Martha had spoken to earlier. With the gun pointed right at her, Mrs Wingsworth didn't dare to refuse. A long tentacle looped up and round and delicately took hold of a stick. With everyone watching her, she took a tiny, ladylike bite of cheese and fluttered her eyes in false delight.

'Why, dear,' she told Archibald quietly, eager to please him. 'That is simply a delight!'

Archibald grinned at her. 'Yeah,' he said, pleased with himself. He glanced back at Martha, still stood at the bar. She nodded encouragingly at him and he moved into the throng of tentacled aliens, who took the proffered food from him more and more eagerly. Archibald seemed overawed by the attention, grinning at everyone for all he brandished a gun. Soon there was a hubbub of comfortable chatter and even a bit of laughing.

'That was good,' said Martha as Archibald returned to her with the empty tray. He placed it carefully beside the other trays of food and helped himself to a sausage roll.

'Yeah,' he said, about to say something further. But he'd bitten into the sausage roll and his eyes widened in amazement at this incredible new flavour.

'Wait till you try the scotch eggs,' Martha told him.

While Archibald tried each of the different nibbles on offer, Mrs Wingsworth came over to join them. 'I wonder,' she said, 'if there are any more of those delightful cheese and pineapple ones.'

'Sorry,' said Martha. 'All gone.'

But Archibald then offered Mrs Wingsworth a whole tray of them. Mrs Wingsworth let out a high, girlish giggle as she deftly took one. 'Oh, you are an angel,' she said.

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald.

'Hang on,' said Martha, pointing at the tray laden with cheese and pineapple on sticks. 'Where did that come from?'

'It was 'ere,' said Archibald, indicating the end of the bar where all the trays of nibbles waited. 'Did I do it wrong?'

'But there was only one tray of these things,' said Martha. 'And we finished it.'

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald.

Martha looked again at the bar. 'Where's the empty tray?' she said. 'The one you just put down?'

Archibald scrutinised the bar himself but could see no empty tray. He shrugged, then seemed to notice the full tray he was still holding. He lifted it up for Martha to see. 'Here,' he said.

Martha boggled. The robot barman was at the far end of the bar, and she was
sure
she would have seen him if he'd come down this end to restock the nibbles. Maybe they had special trays in the future, she thought, which just filled up again the moment the food ran out. Maybe they used the same technology as the teleporter thing she and the Doctor had seen down in the engine rooms.

'I never had stuff like this before,' Archibald told Mrs Wingsworth.

But no, thought Martha, something was wrong. She could feel it. After all these months travelling with the Doctor, she'd developed a sort of sixth sense for things like this.

Her thoughts were cut short by Mrs Wingsworth's mocking laughter. 'Well of course you haven't had food like this before, dear,' she told Archibald. 'You weren't born to this sort of lifestyle, were you?' She probably didn't mean to sound so unkind, thought Martha, but it was hardly wise to antagonise the badger with the gun.

'Look,' she said, trying to intercede.

'I wasn't born,' said Archibald proudly. 'I got grown in a test tube.'

'Precisely, dear, precisely,' said Mrs Wingsworth. 'And you were grown with a purpose in mind. We need someone to do the grubby jobs, don't we?'

'Huh?' said Archibald.

'What Mrs Wingsworth means—' began Martha.

'She means we're dirty,' said Dashiel as he and Jocelyn marched back into the cocktail lounge. 'And she's right, ain't she? We are dirty. We
fight
dirty. An' we don't care when we kill our prisoners.'

Mrs Wingsworth seemed poised to protest but thought better of it. Which was just as well, thought Martha, as the pirates were in an even worse mood than before. Judging by the surly looks on their faces they hadn't found what they were after.

'What's been 'appenin', Archie?' Dashiel demanded.

Archibald carefully put the tray of cheese and pineapple sticks back down on the bar and headed over to his colleagues. His body sagged as he went over, Martha noticed. When it had just been him, he looked taller, tougher, more in control. When the others badgers were around, though, he became like a sulky teenager.

'I was askin' 'em questions,' he told Dashiel.

'Find anythin' out?' Dashiel asked him.

'Nah,' said Archibald. 'They're pretty stupid.'

Martha couldn't stop Mrs Wingsworth. 'Well really!' she huffed, more than a little too loudly.

'You got summin' to say, 'ave you?' growled Dashiel, jabbing his gun towards her.

Mrs Wingsworth trembled where she stood. 'No,' she squeaked.

Martha reached out her hand and took hold of Mrs Wingsworth's tentacle. There was little she could do if the badgers turned on any of the prisoners, but Mrs Wingsworth seemed grateful for the gesture and her trembling began to ease.

'Don't annoy them,' Martha whispered.

'I don't mean to, dear,' Mrs Wingsworth whispered back. 'But, you know, I mean
really...'

The three badger pirates conferred by the door back into the ballroom. Martha edged forward to better hear what they were saying, but Mrs Wingsworth held her back.

'Don't, dear!' she whispered. 'They'll kill you.' And Martha didn't need to get any nearer; Dashiel was so angry he didn't bother to keep his voice down.

'We found the bridge,' he growled, 'but couldn't get in there.'

'An' we couldn't find the engines,' said Jocelyn.

'It's that door with the stuff,' Dashiel told her. 'I bet you.'

'Could be,' said Jocelyn. 'But you know what Captain Florence'd say. You can't prove it, can you?'

'An' what about the others?' asked Archibald.

Dashiel glanced over at Martha and the tentacled aliens before he said anything further. He whispered, but Martha didn't need to hear the words. To want to keep it secret could mean only one thing: these three badgers were all there were. And Martha could deal with three badger-faced pirates.

'There's food here if you want it,' she said, gathering up the tray of cheese and pineapple on sticks and taking it over to them. Again the tray had replenished itself; despite what Archibald had taken just a moment ago, the tray was full again.

'What's this?' asked Jocelyn warily.

'Oh, yeah,' said Archibald. 'You should try these.' He showed his colleagues how to eat the cheese and pineapple and what to do with the sticks. Dashiel and Jocelyn followed his example, and like him their eyes widened with amazement.

'That's amazing!' said Dashiel. 'That's like . . .' He trailed off, unable to think of words to describe what it tasted like.

'It's
nice
!' agreed Jocelyn, wowed by the very idea that food could taste good.

'You,' said Dashiel, prodding Martha with his paw. 'What's this stuff called?'

Before Martha could answer she heard a tutting behind her. She didn't need to guess who that was.

'You,' said Dashiel. 'Come 'ere.'

Martha watched in horror as Mrs Wingsworth came forward. Her tentacles trembled with fear but Martha saw her struggling not to show that she was scared.

'I really didn't mean anything by it,' said Mrs Wingsworth, talking quickly. 'But really, dears, it
is
funny. I mean, imagine! You've never even
seen
a canapé.'

'Canner-peas,' growled Dashiel, still holding a half-eaten cheese and pineapple stick. 'That's what they're called?'

'Yeah,' said Martha, trying to calm the situation. 'That's a posh name for finger food. I call them "nibbles".' It was like any family party, with her having to be the peacemaker. Except when her parents argued, they weren't also wielding guns.

'Nibbles,' said Dashiel slowly. 'Cos you nibble on 'em. Yeah.' He seemed quite taken with the word, and finished the cheese and pineapple stick as he considered. Martha stepped forward, proffering the tray so he could put the stick into the little silver box. She didn't withdraw, waiting in front of him until he took another cheese and pineapple stick from her tray. Anything to keep his mind off the gun in his other hand.