Overboard! Read online

  Overboard!

  Michael White

  (Copyright © 2016)

  Copyright © 2016 by Michael White / EDP. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher or the terms relayed to you herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead anyone messing around with gunpowder, cannonballs or ships biscuits is entirely coincidental.

  The author can be contacted via the links below.

  Website: www.mikewhiteauthor.co.uk

  Email: [email protected]

  Twitter: @mikewhiteauthor

  Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B006Y7JHCK

  By The Same Author

  Paul McCartney’s Coat and Other Stories

  Liverpool

  Anyone

  A Challenging Game of Crumble

  Into the Light

  Book One: Lost in Translation

  Into the Light

  Book Two: The Road of the Sun

  Back to The Light

  Book One: The Shadow Lords of Old

  A Bad Case of Sigbins

  Bee’s Knees

  The Adventures of Victoria Neaves and Romney:

  Book One: Victoriana

  Book Two: The Strange Case of the Denwick Beauchamp Fairies

  Book Three: The Vanished Man

  Book Four: The Clockwork Thief of Crickenden Broadwick

  Book Five: Romney’s Day Off (June 2016)

  Book Six: The Abbot Bowthorpe Dependables (July 2016)

  Scrapbook

  The Waiting Room (August 2016)

  Overboard! (September 2016)

  To Lee Ollerton

  (Who loved a Spud)

  Prologue

  ~Being the First Bit of the Rest of it ~

  To the untrained eye the figure that stood at the prow of the rowing boat as it approached the large moored vessel flying the skull and crossbones would have appeared to be the least likely pirate ever seen in the town of Hard Knocks. Six foot one and a bit tall and bearing a bright shock of red hair over a physique that bore a frightening resemblance to a fishing rod, the figure approaching the ship would have set even the most sea hardened buccaneer running to have a second look, though more out of genuine bewilderment than anything. In his correspondence course school his tutors had remarked repeatedly “His crew would follow him anywhere” before grimly concluding. “More out of curiosity than anything”.

  The rowing boat carrying the tall red figure reached the gently rocking hull of The Rose of Mateus and a line was lowered from the ship above to secure the craft. There was a slight pause and then what passed for a rope ladder followed it. Three men sat in the rowing boat, but only one was leaving. He climbed the ladder and with a hand from several of the men above found himself on the deck of the ship, his bright red hair waving in an almost embarrassed way in the breeze.

  “So this is a pirate ship.” He thought to himself. It really was quite impressive. Lots of what were presumably pirates seemed to be at work on the ropes, some on the sails. The ship was a hive of activity, most of which made no sense to him at all. There were even a few men working on the thingummy bob on top of the long wooden bit at the front end of the boat. The sharp bit. He couldn’t quite recall what the real name of it was, and decided that if that was the case then it probably was relatively important to remember it if he got hired. Making a mental note to look it up in his manual when he got back ashore. He was perturbed at his inability to recall the name of the pointy end as he rarely forgot anything. Actually, it would be more accurate to say nothing, and so he put it down to nerves. It was after all his first time on a pirate ship. Probably nerves, he concluded and turned around to look across the handrail he noticed the two men in the rowing boat below watching him carefully. Ignoring their scowls, he took in the view before him.

  The Rose of Mateus was anchored just off the town of Hard Knocks, and across the bay he could see the towers and waterfront of the town, its white buildings and walls seeming almost to steam in the midday sun. As he stood there gazing across the sea a small man dressed in what was apparently quite normal clothing for a pirate approached him. Upon closer examination he noticed that he was wearing an eye patch over one eye, a long pair of what could possibly once have been leather boots, and a dark coloured pair of trousers and shirt. He made a careful examination of the clothing just in case he was hired. He felt that it was very important to fit in.

  Lost in his thoughts he considered who would have thought that he would be here today trying to sell himself off as a pirate consultant? Since he had seen the sign in the inn advertising a correspondence course in piratical endeavours he had been waiting for this day. Turning his attention to a large brass plate on the handrail bearing the name of the ship he stepped closer and examined his vague reflection in highly polished finish. He struggled for a moment or two as he caught sight of himself. He practised his best smile in the reflection and realising that it was probably his best feature he determined to practice it a little bit more when he got back to the boarding house.

  It was difficult to say exactly when Neep had hit upon the idea of a career as a pirate, though he suspected it may very well have stemmed from a book cover he had seen somewhere when he was younger in which a heavily muscled handsome man stood with his foot on a chest overflowing with gold and jewels, a knife between his teeth and what could best be described as a scantily dressed woman on each arm. Behind him a black skull and crossbones flag fluttered in the breeze. Neep had memorised this pretty easily, because he never really forgot anything that was written down once he had seen it, even very long passages of text or pictures but mostly on this occasion because that when you are six foot one, ginger and with the general physique of a broom handle, then daydreams featured pretty large in his daily routine. Particularly where women were concerned, scantily dressed or not.

  He paused as he remembered his father’s final words to him “You’re the son of a fishmonger, young man! As am I, and my father before him! If you’ve got your head set elsewhere then you won’t be doing it under my roof!” But he could not deny it. He had his heart set on being a pirate, not a fishmonger. The fact that all he had under his belt was the first six weeks’ worth of a correspondence course from “The Society of Piratical Endeavours” (or S.O.P.E. for short) had little to do with it. He even had an eye patch concealed in the trunk at the end of his bed. The fact that he owed two month’s rent to Mrs Bunion’s boarding house and his correspondence course had stopped being delivered due to lack of payment on his behalf were two very pressing reasons why he had to find work, and piracy seemed an extremely interesting option, despite that in the six weeks’ worth of his course so far all he had passed were the modules that covered “treasure burying” and “Grog theory”.

  Spurred on by his success with these modules Neep had memorised the rest of the manuals and referred to them whenever necessary. It was handy never to actually forget anything once he had seen it, and more importantly able to refer back to it. With all the knowledge that the SOPE course had energised him with, he now considered himself a bona fide consultant on piratical endeavours and was looking pretty desperately for gainful employment, but so far to no avail. Despite this the owners of the correspondence course were now getting very pressing in their demands for the fees for his course, even suggesting in one message thrown through his window tied to a rock late at night that bailiffs may be about to call. The message did not actually mention bailiffs of course, being more broken arms and legs centri
c, but he thought that that was the likely message.

  A nice long journey on a ship full of pirates seemed to be just the thing, as long as he stayed out of the sun. He just didn’t have the complexion for sunburn. Adjusting the short thin sword at his side (unfortunately made of plastic – it was free with the first part of the correspondence course he had taken) he turned to face the pirate who was by now more or less bobbing up and down by his side, wondering what the tall red haired beanpole was looking at in the brass plate. Coughing loudly, he said,

  “You’ll be the con – sul – tant come to see the captain then?” carefully pronouncing each syllable as if it was some sort of foreign language, and as the visitor nodded to confirm that this was indeed the case led the newcomer below deck and through a confusing run of wooden galleys, eventually arriving at what was apparently the captain’s cabin. He stood waiting nervously as his escort knocked on the small wooden door, and receiving permission from within went inside and closed it behind him. There was a small wait during which he heard a number of shouts and exclamations, and then the door was opened once again.

  “The captain will see you now.” Said the escort, and ushered him in.

  The captain’s cabin was smaller than he had expected. Three small oil lamps hung apparently at random about the room, but it was still hardly what you would call brightly lit. A large table sat in the centre of the cabin, at which the captain sat, poring over what looked like a large map. Several nautical instruments lay on the table alongside the chart. The captain had a look on his face that was either due to something he had eaten severely disagreeing with him, or more likely, this was the usual expression for the captain of a pirate ship. He looked at the newcomer and thumped a large iron hook that was placed where his hand should have been on the table, causing the instruments to jump several inches into the air and then quickly come back down again with a dull metallic bang.

  “More interruptions!” snarled the captain, adjusting his slightly askew eye patch a little. The newcomer took a second whilst the captain was perfecting his scowl to have a closer look at the cabin itself. The first thing he noticed was a large, moth-eaten parrot sitting in a cage behind the pirate. It glared malevolently at him as he noticed it, and then squawked just once.

  “He was on the deck.” It spat, before continuing. “Who’s a pretty boy then?” it concluded, and the visitor thought that it couldn’t possibly be talking about itself, for a mangier looking bird he had never seen before in his entire life. Its beak was a dull yellow, its plumage seeming to lack any real colour. If anything, the bird looked washed out. To complete the look, it was noticeable that several grey feathers were lying discarded at the base of the cage. Still it continued to stare at him malevolently.

  The captain was another matter altogether. Though seated, he seemed to be quite a large man, though that could possibly be down to the size of his beard, several strands of which seemed to be knotted in braids, numerous silver objects being caught up in it. He thought that it looked like a hirsute charm bracelet. Or another possibility could be that the captain had just enjoyed a soup of nuts and bolts and had forgotten to wipe his beard afterwards.

  The pirate pulled a letter from the table and placed it before him. The newcomer recognised it as the one he had sent to the captain the day before. It seemed that perhaps the captain was a reluctant reader as it took him several minutes to go through the note once again before he placed it back down on the table before him, but not before he gave a slightly suspicious glance at the letterhead that seemed to be a drawing of a large chest, overflowing with gold coins.

  “So, Mister...” he paused, picking up the letter once again to check. “... Mister Neep. You say in this letter that you have something to offer me that will increase my...” he picked up the letter once again, searching for the relevant phrase, but Neep decided to help him out.

  “Piratical endeavours, captain.” He said. The captain plainly did not like having his sentences being finished for him and slammed the letter down on the desk once more.

  “Yes. Piratical endeavours,” He repeated sarcastically, putting perhaps just a little bit too much emphasis on the word “endeavours”. “It says here that you are a fully chartered, S.O.P.E. registered piratical con – sul – tant, and that with your assistance you could raise my booty and general earnings potential by a cumulative growth rate of some three hundred per cent or so in the first year.”

  “That’s correct captain. Yes.” Said Neep. Neep knew that most people when hearing his job title for the first time would, perhaps rather unluckily for him, completely fail to get past the Con part of it.

  So what’s that mean then?” Sighed the captain, drumming his fingers on the table.

  “Well.” Began Neep as the parrot fluttered about in the cage behind him madly for a second or two, and then seemed to edge forward a little in its cage as if watching him warily. It was almost as if it was listening. “It means that with my advice and general know how, I’ll increase your takings three fold in the first year. After that I envisage an annual return of an equivalent number year on year.” He paused, noticing the scowl on the captain’s face increasing. “Then there’s the pension...” he said, trailing off into silence as the pirate held his hand up for him to stop.

  “And how are you going to do all of that then?” he asked, and Neep smiled.

  “Amongst my professional body it is considered unwise to unnecessarily divulge exactly how my consultative assistance is put into practice.” Neep smiled. He remembered that this was very much stressed in the first module of his course, which had the rather ominous title of, “Smile as if you know something they don’t.” The captain did not seem terribly impressed however, a look half way between a scowl and confusion crossing his face.

  “Meaning?” he said as the parrot hopped from foot to foot, watching Neep extremely closely. Neep knew from his correspondence course that the next bit was the hardest part.

  “It means I can’t tell you.” He almost whispered and the captain gave an extremely broad smile. Neep however, had a backup plan, and reaching inside his jacket pocket pulled out a small chart. Behind the captain the parrot squawked to life.

  “It was inside his jacket!” it croaked in triumph, followed by several what were obviously meant to be clapping noises.

  Be quiet, Nutcracker!” shouted the pirate, turning to face the parrot.

  “Nutcracker?” queried Neep and the captain merely nodded. “Why do you call it that?”

  “Believe you me, you really don’t want to know. What’s on the map?”

  “Well. This is a chart showing growth estimates for a projected five-year plan. It...” But the captain did not allow him to finish.

  “The thing I don’t understand is why you seem to think that you can do my job better than I can.” At this his smile increased just a little wider, and Neep noticed for the first time the extravagant and definitive collection of sharp pointed weapons hanging on the side of the cabin in a neat little row. An awful lot of them seemed to have nicks and small indentations in their blades. The short plastic sword banged briefly against his leg almost as if trying to embarrass him as Neep rapidly tried to regain his composure and tearing his attention away from the small arsenal of weapons his eyes came to rest on the map that sat on the table in front of them.

  “A small demonstration.” He gulped, picking up the chart. The pirate bristled as he did so, but Neep glanced at it briefly before placing it back on the table. “Treasure map?” he enquired, prodding at the large red cross marked at the top of the piece of parchment, noticing that the ink on the “X” was still wet.

  “Maybe.” Said the captain, cagily. Neep smiled.

  “You do realise that the chart is upside down, don’t you?” He said, watching as the vaguely embarrassed looking pirate picked up the map, turned it around three hundred and sixty degrees and slowly began to turn very pale. He sighed, and then placed it back on the table with a thump, where upon he continued to lo
ok at it as if wondering how that had happened. Sadly, there was no one around to take the blame, though Nutcracker did shuffle around in his cage uneasily. Meanwhile, the pirate kept staring at the map as if trying to work out how on Earth you could cross out a large red “X” without making it look like an asterix.

  “So you see.” Continued Neep triumphantly. “There are always two ways to look at something.” Then he played his ace. “Besides, I’ll work for free for the first year.” This made the captain smile just a little wider.

  “No payment at all?”

  “No. Consider it part of the service.” Neep knew that in order to gain some credibility that this was going to be a necessary course of action. To his relief the captain seemed to be relaxing a little.

  “So I have nothing to lose?” he asked.

  “Nothing at all, and everything to win.”

  “Well then. In that case, Mr Neep... Erm... What’s your first name, son?”

  “Neep, Captain.”

  “Yes. I know that’s your last name. What’s your first name? We don’t stand on formalities here.”

  “Oh I see.” Said Neep blushing. “My first name and last name are the same. Just call me Neep. It’s an unusual enough name as it is.” He smiled, pausing as he noted confusion upon the captain’s face. “Apparently in the Jakarian dialect it means, “wise”. Not my fault.” he finally said. “My parents were fishmongers.” The captain stared back at him blindly. Failing to realise that he was already in a hole, Neep decided to keep digging. “Seems they were just a bit wordy?” The captain looked at him blankly. “Probably because of all the fish they ate. Brain food.” The parrot fidgeted nervously in the cage behind the captain. “Well, fish all of the time except for Sundays. It was always crab on Sundays.”