Overboard! Read online

  “Where did you get the parrot from?” asked Neep, and as he spoke he saw Dollop in front of him go very pale. Captain Jenkins stared at Neep, giving him a filthy look that seemed to indicate that he thought Neep may be ready for a gentle swim, but Mister Lex did not seem put out at all.

  “It flew into the rigging several weeks ago.” he said. “The captain thought it an omen of good luck and so here it is.”

  “It’s under the table!” squawked the parrot loudly for apparently no reason whatsoever.

  “Though it does seem a little obsessed with where things are.” sighed Mister Lex as Dollop more or less dragged Neep out of the Captain’s cabin.

  Neep slowly acquainted himself with life on board the ship and he gradually found himself fitting in, though in a small, almost inconsequential way. He certainly didn’t consider himself an important member of the crew, but on the other hand he was from time to time in charge of the key to the ships biscuit cupboard while Mitch was locked in the cupboard at the end of the galley making grog.

  Neep did have problems with what all the fuss was with the grog. His lithographic memory recalled chapters seven and eight of the SOPE piratical consultant guide that were given over to the discussion of grog preparation and containment and he recalled them eagerly. Yet they did not go into any great detail, and most certainly did not refer to any recipes as such. In fact, it seemed to concentrate more on the health and safety aspects of grog preparation more than anything. Neep recalled that the words “Do not under any circumstances drink grog under a full moon” for example, were written in red ink, though for the life of him he could not even begin to comprehend why.

  From time to time when Mitch was not locked in the grog cupboard Neep would examine the apparently lead lined apron that Mitch was always careful to wear when he went in the cupboard, two large stained and burnt gloves hanging from the apron pockets. From time to time Mitch would open the door and bring a new metal flask from which curled clouds of acrid green coloured smoke and place it very carefully onto the galley counter. A small brass tap sat at the bottom of the container, from which Mitch would dispense grog for whoever requested it. As far as Neep could tell there didn’t seem to be any form of rota or limit to what each person drank, and most of them seemed to thrive on it.

  Neep had tried it too one day. A cautious little sip that made him retire to his hammock somewhat sharpish. After about thirty minutes much to the relief of his bunkmates if not the assembled gamblers he had settled on sleeping on the floor, waking the next day with the feeling that it was a distinct possibility that his insides had been raked out with a blunt spoon during the night. Neep decided at that point that grog was most definitely not for him, or indeed that it should be for anyone that had a desire to keep on breathing on a regular basis.

  On the third day Neep had been stirring his pots for several hours and the crew had begun to file in for food. He recognised a few friendly faces, one in particular he had been involved in a discussion about seagulls, which were currently wheeling around the masts high overhead. Neep had spent several very giddy moments on a regular basis looking up at the rigging and the masts of the ship.

  “Must be near to some land.” said Neep as he and the man known as the improvisational pirate stood on the deck staring at the gulls high above, their loud calls and cackles echoing eerily against the rushing of the sea around the ship’s hull.

  “They may be lost.” said the improvisational pirate, shading his eyes with his hand as they stared up into the bright sun. As they stood there looking another man who Neep had not seen before wandered past and began to climb up the rigging carefully, a small package held in his right hand. Neep watched him carefully ascend upwards, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he climbed higher and higher. Ever since he was a small boy he was aware that he didn’t really like heights much. Just the thought of the ascent up the mast made his stomach churn.

  “Could be lost, yes.” said Neep doubtfully, returning his attention to the deck as the man continued to climb higher and higher up the main mast. “Where’s he going?” asked Neep, trying very hard not to return his attention to the man now almost lost to sight above.

  “Probably going to see the man in the moon.” said the improvisational pirate, and Neep laughed.

  “Right.” he said, examining the man stood next to him. He knew the pirate worked on the sails as he had told him that when he had met him, and Neep had seen him several times pulling on ropes and climbing up the rigging. “Why do they call you the improvisational pirate then?” he asked, crossing his own boundaries of as of yet never asking a direct question. It seemed to be a good plan to get along with people, and had worked quite well so far.

  “Well. I have a little bit of difficulty remembering which sails to open first when the captain commands it.” he smiled. “Though I have learnt to concentrate a little more since the last keelhauling.” he finished. Neep winced but didn’t really understand. He saw the pirate next to him recognise this though. “It’s like this.” he explained patiently. “I just get in a muddle. It’s not that I don’t know what to do. Oh no.”

  “So you open up all the right sails?” Neep asked.

  “Yes.” confirmed the improvisational pirate. “Though not necessarily in the right order.”

  “Ah.” said Neep. “I can see how that would be a problem.”

  “Just so.” said the pirate and left to start coiling some rope that was piled towards the bow of the ship.

  Today however the improvisational pirate was more than happy just to sit and try to catch his ships biscuit which was currently trying to work its way out of his hand. Neep returned to stirring just as Mitch opened the grog cupboard door and carefully carried out another container of evilly steaming grog before raising it slowly and placing it delicately on the counter.

  “Keep stirring Neep.” said Mitch, removing the heavy apron and gloves, and noticing the nearly full table shouted across. “Anyone for fresh grog?” he asked and several pirates shouted an enthusiastic “Aye!” and began to queue for the grog tap. Neep continued stirring as the pirates queued around him, Mitch carefully filling their metal mugs with fresh grog from the flask that contained the new batch before returning to their seats at the table. Neep could not help but notice the way Mitch very carefully poured the grog and that equally the pirates when carrying the steaming grog almost tiptoed when carrying it back to the table. Neep was about to turn back to the pot and continue stirring when out of the corner of his eye he saw a pirate he knew was called Crank stumble on his way back to the table. Almost in slow motion he saw the grog cup fall from his hand and land on the floor, the smoking contents spilling out into a small puddle. Instantly the room seemed to fall into silence. Neep even ceased stirring his pot. To his side he could just make out Mitch who stood immobile as the smoke began to drift about the spilled grog on the wooden deck. There was a slight hissing sound, deceptive in its volume as a small hole began to appear in the deck. Six of the eight pirates who had been sitting at the table were now actually under it.

  “Nobody move.” said Mitch quietly, which Neep thought was a bit of a waste of breath because nobody was actually moving at all anyway. Just then Billow appeared in the galley doorway, and noticing the spilled grog on the floor stopped in his tracks, turned a very pale shade of white and edged slowly back out of the galley. Even the ship’s biscuits in the biscuit cupboard had stopped making a sound. Slowly Mitch reached up onto the counter and pulled a bottle from a shelf Neep had never seen before. He crept up to the spillage and very gently sprinkled some of the bottles contents onto the grog. There was an even louder hissing, during which one of the pirates under the table seemed to faint, and then silence. Mitch stood up, now moving much quicker than before and replaced the bottle. Neep edged to the hole and thought maybe Mitch had caught the spillage just in time as the dent was already about an inch deep but had now seemed to have stopped becoming any deeper.

  “Be careful with the grog!” yelled
Mitch and grabbing his apron and gloves disappeared back into the cupboard, slamming the door loudly behind him, a palpable air of disappointment filling the galley. Once again, Neep couldn’t help but wonder what was in the grog in the first place.

  Several hours later when his latest shift in the galley was done Neep wandered back onto the deck. It was early afternoon and he would not be needed to stir whatever it was in the pot for a little while yet, and so he had decided to take a constitutional. Nevertheless, he decided to stay well clear of the quarterdeck, where upon glancing up at it he saw the shape of Captain Jenkins leaning on the rail and shouting orders, which he paused from doing for a while in order to stare back at Neep indignantly. He turned his back on the captain and watched the pirates busy about their business.

  The sails were fully unfurled and the ship was racing through the water rapidly. The sea was quite calm but there was a stiff breeze, and so the flapping of the sails as they snapped in the wind drew his attention. As he stood by the main mast on the port side of the ship a pirate shuffled past him carrying a small parcel, and swinging out over the side of the ship began to climb up the rigging of the main mast. Noticing Neep watching him he winked and continued to climb. “Man in the moon.” he said as if in explanation and continued on his upward journey.

  “Right you are.” said Neep, and was momentarily distracted by what seemed like the crew all bursting into song at the same time.

  “Sail out to sea!” they sang as Neep watched with a smile.

  “Sail out to sea!

  Go boys go!

  to the south

  it’s landward ho.”

  Then a large dark man at the front of the ship took up the song as all the other pirates stopped singing.

  “Where do we go boys?

  Where do we go?”

  He sang, and the pirates continued.

  “Out to sea

  Where the four winds blow

  Where the winds will take us,

  Go boys go!”

  This continued in a similar vein for several minutes and Neep could not help but get caught up in the song. It certainly seemed to be doing a good job to motivate the pirates who were now approaching their tasks with what looked like renewed vigour. Neep even found himself joining in with some of it, even though he didn’t actually know the words, but that didn’t seem to make a great deal of difference. After a while he was singing along with them at the top of his voice, and a shiver crept down his spine as he realised that to all intents and purposes he was now a real pirate! Looking up overhead he saw the shape of the man who had been climbing the mast was now just a small dot at the top of the mast way overhead.

  He found himself wondering about the man in the moon, and looking at the rigging he decided that if he was going to be a real pirate from now on then there were a couple of things he was going to have to tick off his piratical to do list as it were. Starting with the rigging.

  Before he had time to change his mind Neep found himself grabbing the ropes and swinging himself over the side of the ship and taking a deep breath began to climb. Being afraid of heights he knew that there were several rules to be obeyed when attempting anything to do with climbing, the first one of course was to avoid climbing at all costs, and the other not to ever allow yourself to be in places that were considered “high.” The golden rule however was never to look down and as he began his slow but steady climb up the rigging he decided to pay more attention to that rule than he had to the other two. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him as he climbed the rigging, and although he could see lots of men in the ropes to the mizzen mast behind him and the forward mast towards the bow of the ship he was much too busy concentrating on his ascent to pay any real attention to whether he was about to pass anyone or not.

  As he climbed higher the sound of the crew’s shanty singing began to fade and the wind became stronger and colder. Ten minutes into his ascent he began to question the wisdom of his climb, a thin trickle of sweat creeping down his back. Still, upwards he climbed until eventually he heard a man descending the ropes nearby call out a good day to him as he climbed past. Neep was a little concerned at just how squeaky his voice was when he replied, but he kept going.

  Slowly but surely he reached the cap of the main mast and climbed onto the spar of the main course sail panting heavily and feeling a little nauseous. Neep decided to take a glance looking down and wished he hadn’t. The deck of the ship below seemed tiny and far, far away. The sea looked much bigger. Gulping and hanging on to the mast he looked upwards.

  Now he had the second half of his climb up to the spars of the main topsail and then after that from there up the remainder of the mast to the stump of the mast itself, and then finally up to the very top where the mast was capped with what all sailors knew as the crow’s nest, where just above that the black flag flew impossibly high above his head, fluttering wildly in the increasing wind. Swallowing wildly and counting up to ten, cross referencing several lithographically remembered indexes and cursing himself all at the same time he began to climb again.

  Up he went and now he could feel the swaying of the mast, the wind threatening to tear him from the rigging. Still onwards he went until the spar of the main sail mast was reached. He paused entangled in the rope as his heart beat in his chest and looked up. Now just the last of the rigging. The flag was a lot closer now and he could hear it snapping in the wind. Just below that at the cap of the mast was the small crow’s nest. Gathering his wits about him he continued upwards.

  Slowly the crow’s nest got nearer. the wind was roaring in his ears now and he was terrified to find the rigging thinning out too. No longer was it a mass of rope but several loosely linked strands that nevertheless made a ladder of sorts upwards in a vaguely passable manner. Slowly he climbed towards the crow’s nest. As he drew near he just heard above the wind a voice from above as a pair of legs swung out from the crow’s nest and began to descend towards him. Neep clutched the rope tightly as the man veered around him, muttering something that the wind carried away, which was entirely not true of the glare the pirate gave him too. Suddenly a loud deep voice shouted down from the crow’s nest and Neep was surprised to see a long bearded face appear from the nest peering down.

  “Just keep taking the cream!” shouted the very long bearded man. “And remember - it doesn’t make you go blind either!”

  “Thank you man in the moon!” shouted the pirate climbing past Neep as he continued his descent just a little red faced. Neep just nodded to him and the man had the grace to pretend that Neep was not there at all this time, the glare completely vanished.

  “Now who’s this?” said the bearded man from atop the crow’s nest. “Never a minute’s peace here these days. Settle in the rigging I thought. It will be nice and quiet up there, but no… always someone knocking on the door. What do you want lad?” said the man and he moved back as Neep took his last foot hole and more or less rolled onto the crow’s nest.

  He lay on his back gasping for breath for a few seconds as the bearded man sat watching him warily. Neep sat with his back to the small wooden parapet of the crow’s nest and glanced around him. A small pile of what looked like bedding lay in one corner of the circular platform, and an equally small chest lay in the other corner. The man himself looked old and although he had an extremely long beard, was dressed in a scrupulously clean long grey robe.

  “I don’t want anything really.” said Neep. “Just decided to climb the mast.” The old man sniffed loudly.

  “Want to watch that.” he said. “Sudden bouts of needless climbing. You’ll have arms that reach the floor if you carry on with that you know?”

  “Really?” said Neep innocently. “Are you the man in the moon?” he said suddenly, remembering the pirate he had nearly bumped in to calling up to the crow’s nest as he had descended.

  “I am indeed.” said the man in the moon, smoothing his robe as he did so. “Advice dispensed both medicinal and non-medicinal, palms read and Erm
.. “

  “Futures predicted?” offered Neep and the old man nodded.

  “Something like that.” he said. “All in fair and decent exchange of a few tasty morsels, containers of grog and other useful day to day trinkets.”

  “Don’t you ever come down?” he asked and the old man pulled a face.

  “Why in the Seven Tines would I even want to?” he said. “I have all comforts available to me here without the need for recourse to any other company.” He looked Neep up and down carefully. “Not that that seems to be a problem of any sort.” he said, and Neep blushed slightly. “So you have not come seeking advice?” he queried.

  “No.” said Neep.

  “Problems with women or strange warts anywhere about your person?”

  “No.”

  “Palm read?”

  “Don’t think I believe in that.” said Neep as the man in the moon sighed.

  “There’s always one.” he said almost under his breath. “So you really just decided to climb the mast?”

  “Yes. I always think that it is important to approach my new pirate life with vigour.” said Neep defiantly.

  “Wouldn’t be much use to you if you fell and squashed yourself on the deck now, would it?” muttered the old man. “And as for pirate life the two free pieces of advice I’d give you, because you don’t seem to be carrying any food or drink, is first of all in any boarding of any ship with a thought in mind of relieving it of its cargo always stay right at the back, and secondly never ever go on a landing party carrying a chest.” The old man looked at Neep impatiently. “I would quite like a nap now.” he said and Neep’s heart sank at the thought of the descent. “Just one more thing before you go mister...?”

  “Neep.” said Neep holding out his hand which the old man studiously ignored.

  “Strange name.” said the man in the moon. “But answer me this. Why do pirates bury their treasure?”

  “No idea.” said Neep. He had often wondered the same.