Overboard! Page 13
“Doesn’t seem to be much of a retirement plan does it?” said the old man as Neep swung his legs over the side of the crow’s nest and to his utter delight felt the rope of the rigging catch beneath his feet.
“I’ll bear that in mind.” said Neep as he began his descent. The man in the moon peered over the edge of the crow’s nest and watched as Neep descended.
“You do that.” he shouted over the roar of the wind. “As they say in the market places of Old Scurgia, “Aju ba dora rix doxit.” Terribly complex language Scurgian.”
“What does that mean?” shouted Neep pausing in his climb down in fear that he would be distracted.
“Never trust a donkey with a blue bottom...” he said.
“Ah.” said Neep as he clung to the rigging. “Why would they think that?”
“No idea at all.” said the man in the moon and then he drew back from the edge of the crow’s nest and was lost to sight.
Neep was amazed to find that the descent down the mast was even more tiring than his ascent. By the time he reached the last of the main mast and the sound of the shanties began to spur him onwards he was all but exhausted.
Eventually he reached the deck and his legs trembled as he swung around the decking and found himself back on the wooden floor once again. He noticed Captain Jenkins eying him suspiciously, but Neep concentrated instead on the shanties being sung around him to renew his vigour. It really was quite stirring and he began to consider the tall dark skinned man at the prow of the ship leading the pirates in song. Slowly Neep walked up to four of the pirates singing along who were sat on the deck itself, furiously knotting long lengths of rope as they joined in the shanty.
“Who is he then?” said Neep pointing to the man leading the singing.
“He’s the shanty man.” said the nearest pirate, pausing in his song and smiling as he did so.
“Very good voice.” said Neep brightly.
“He has.” said one of the other pirates.
“He can take a sunrise and sprinkle it with dew.” said one of the other pirates.
“Really?” asked Neep.
“Cover it with molasses and a cup of grog or two.” nodded the other pirate.
“Yup.” confirmed the third pirate. “He’s the shanty man.”
“The shanty man can.” concluded the fourth.
“Indeed.” said Neep as the four pirates joined in with the shanty once again. “The shanty man can.” he muttered under his breath and was somewhat surprised as he turned back to the galley to discover that he was really rather looking forward to just stirring a pot for a while.
Chapter 8
~ A Stand of Cannons ~
Ensephilephtor Boom stood on the gun deck admiring the dual stand of thirty-two pounders that lay in two runs of sixteen per side in front of him. He had expected merely to assist with the running of the gun deck but the previous officer in charge of the guns was more than happy for Boom to take over from him, an affirmation of which was the curious twitch in his left eye that suddenly appeared every time somebody mentioned, “cannon” “gunpowder” or especially, “fire”. Less than a few days ago Boom would have considered the ex-bombardier as a prime candidate for membership to The Sons of the Pinched Fuse, but as he carefully examined the barrel of the cannon directly in front of him he was not of that opinion any more. He had the smell of gunpowder in his nostrils once again, and the stacks of round shot around the deck seemed almost to wait for him in expectation of firing. The fact that his standing with The Golden Octopus was not quite as harmonious as it had once been helped to settle it a little too.
He paid careful attention to the securing of the guns and the various required equipment around the deck. Everything had its place and there was a place for everything too. During a sea battle he knew that a good gun deck ran like clockwork, and that even a misplaced gunlock cord or a man standing in the wrong place would be disastrous. That as a seasoned bombardier Boom was still in possession of all his fingers and toes was a definite sign of just how good at his job he actually was.
There was a certain smell to a gun deck he thought that you would not find anywhere else. It was not just the reek of gunpowder and sweat. It was the smell of danger and fear; a smell so strong it seemed to permeate the very wood itself. Boom wondered to himself about his running of The Sons of the Pinched Fuse: it all seemed so far away now even though it had only been a couple of days since he held his last meeting. It seemed to be something to do with a certain frame of mind he reasoned, and his attention now was more on the artillery that surrounded him. He simply could not wait to hear the roar of cannons once again; smell the bitter sweet smell of burning powder, and feel the tremor under his feet as the cannons fired.
He examined the small passage the powder boys would scramble up with fresh gunpowder and peered into the tiny space confidently knowing that it was free of obstruction. He had also personally checked the wooden beams that lined the passage. It had been a bit of a problem to actually fit in there in the first place, but he knew now that there were no nails jutting from the walls, or splintered wood on the beams that could hamper or delay a powder boy in his duties by snagging a sleeve or britches on a protrusion. It was this level of attention to detail that had made him one of the finest bombardiers in The Seven Tines, and he was not about to let that hard earned respect change any time soon.
He had finished his second tour of inspection of the day and was sighting the aim of the cannon through the hatch closure when the door at the end of the gun deck opened and in strode Scarlet Daisy and Bones. They were deep in conversation but Daisy visibly brightened when she saw Boom. Boom was of course more than aware of Daisy’s reputation: after all, she was feared throughout the Seven Tines, and although he had heard many a tale of just how ruthless the lady pirate could be, and was equally sure that the stories were completely justified, he nevertheless found her completely reasonable as a person. In fact, he had developed a great deal of respect for her in the short time he had known her.
“Ah Mister Boom.” she said as her and Bones approached. “We were just discussing Captain Jenkins's course.”
“And?” enquired Boom carefully keeping his eyes on Daisy’s forehead. His sense of respect was equally tempered with a sufficient realisation that to let your eyes stray any lower could be potentially quite dangerous. Daisy didn’t seem to even notice as she continued.
“Well despite lightening our ship he has out-run us I fear. We are trying to predict his route which may be a little difficult given that he could be heading absolutely anywhere. The last time we had him in sight however he did seem to be sticking on a south-easterly course.
Boom felt his stomach sink at the mention of removing heavy objects from the ship. The heaviest items by far were most definitely the cannons. “We can’t throw any of the cannons overboard.” he simpered, placing himself in front of the cannon he was currently near to.
“Of course not.” said Daisy much to Boom’s relief. “That’s not why we are here at all. It’s a full stand or nothing.”
“What exactly is the plan if…” Boom reconsidered his words before continuing, “...when we catch him up? The Torta Di Frutta is a big ship. Two stands of thirty-two cannons. Thirty-two pounders if I am not mistaken. That is quite some firepower.
“Well firepower is not everything.” smiled Daisy. “The Magpie has nowhere near the brute power of the Torta Di Frutta for certain. Yet we have the edge on manoeuvrability.” Daisy sighed slightly almost to herself. “Though not the sail power and speed of Jenkin’s ship however. He has out-run us easily, I fear.”
“Lost him?” said Boom with a smile. He paused slightly as if running through the course in his memory. “South-easterly you say?” to which Daisy nodded. “Then I rather suspect that I may be able to guess where he is heading.”
“Really?” said Bones, stepping nearer to Boom, his long black robe almost giving the impression that he floated across the ground. Boom gulped and continued.
“With provisions?” asked Daisy, one eyebrow raised in surprise.
“Exactly.” said Boom.
“So they left Hard Knocks in a hurry.” said Bones. Boom couldn’t see his face but he got the definite impression he was smiling.
“Not only in a hurry but short of provisions too.” said Daisy. “They had not had enough time to re-provision the ship before they were forced to set sail.”
“Which means they will need to make shore to purchase provisions.” said Bones.
“I need a map!” said Daisy and made to leave the gun deck at speed.
“No need.” said Boom and Daisy stopped in her tracks. “Jenkins was running a course southeast when we lost him. If that is the case, then he is almost certainly heading for the docks at Logan’s Rock.” Daisy looked puzzled at his choice.
“A busy port of course but why there and not one of the several other ports along the islands there to purchase provisions?” she said, noting the broad smile on Boom’s face as Bones stood unmoving beside him. Somewhere on the deck above somebody dropped a pin.
“Simple.” said Boom. “Logan’s Rock is the nearest port with the run of docks able to take a ship with a hull the size of Jerkin’s ship.” Daisy smiled as Boom continued. “Nice deep docks in Logan’s rock.” he finished and Daisy and Bones jumped into action, now obviously keen to make a rapid return to the quarterdeck.
“Are we wanted for anything in Logan’s Rock?” Daisy asked Bones as they walked away.
“Only the usual I suspect.” muttered Bones and Daisy smiled.
“Excellent. Thank you Mister Boom.” she said, turning to face him before she went up to the deck. “You are a welcome and very useful member of this crew and will be adequately rewarded.”
“Your gratitude is reward enough.” said Boom, giving Daisy and Bones a deep bow.
“That and the cannons I expect.” laughed Bones.
“That too.” said Boom and began to polish the nearest cannon carefully. Several minutes later he could hear Daisy shouting orders from the quarterdeck to set course for Logan’s Rock.
Chapter 9
~ Logan’s Rock ~
The Torta Di Frutta slid into the dock of Logan’s Rock and as soon as the ship was moored and tied to the quay the order for provisions was sent ashore and the replenishment of the ship began. Free from his cooking duty as all hands were on deck to handle the provisions, Neep stood at the deck rail and watched the pirates loading the stores onto the ship. Jenkins supervised the stowing of the goods initially, but as Neep observed the captain seemed to get bored with the wait for the re-provisioning to end and retired to his quarters. There were still several pirates on deck still, mending sails and endlessly coiling ropes. Neep felt like a bit of an outsider and was deciding whether to get involved with the handling of the provisions but the shore and the town beyond had caught his attention and he watched the bustling port eagerly.
The walls of the city stood towering over the docks, the thick granite walls seeming to lean over the port itself. Neep counted a row of cannons that jutted from the walls, losing count as he hit thirty or so. They looked huge too from what he could see: sixty-four pounders at least. A huge iron gate, currently open, led into the town itself, of which Neep could see little, though from somewhere ashore he could hear bells ringing and the sounds of dogs barking somewhere close being carried across the dock by the breeze. High overhead seagulls wheeled in endless circles, watching the people below, scouring the docks for food, their cries echoing off the city walls like a clarion call.
In front of the walls the quays and jetties of the port were lined with ships of many sizes, some as big or even larger as The Torta Di Frutta, and as he watched several set sail and the spaces on the quay were soon filled by even more ships docking. He looked up through the rigging of his own ship and then across the docks, taking in the forest of masts, rope and canvas with relish. The quayside itself was equally a mass of people scuttling to and fro along the docks, endless carts and wagons arriving eager to transport their goods onto the ships. The whole dock was a bustling mass of people, merchants and workers alike massing along the docks of the port, loading and unloading the many ships there as required. The noise was incredible, thought Neep. After only a short time at sea he had grown used to just the sounds of the wind in the sails and the crashing of the sea upon the hull, the creaking of the wooden ship as he slept. All this sudden noise was really quite loud. Yet he was fascinated, and longed for a telescope of some sort to observe all the comings and goings on the port.
“Busy, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind him and Neep jumped a little, almost spinning on the spot to reveal the towering shape of Blurt standing next to him.
“Very.” said Neep. “It really is quite interesting. I could watch it for hours.”
“Well busy-ish.” said Blurt, leaning on the rail. “You should see the docks at Nine Wells on a festival weekend. Now that’s what you would call busy. This doesn’t even compare.”
Neep continued to watch the port almost absent mindedly. He had heard of the sprawling city of Nine Wells before of course, and knew it was the commercial capital of the entire Seven Tines, but to him it was just a legend. He had never been there and had often day dreamed of visiting. As a son of a fish monger it was of course extremely unlikely he would ever visit the city, but as a pirate consultant then he considered that it was a distinct possibility that one day he would. He sighed deeply and leaned on the rail a little more heavily. The extent of his pirate career so far however seemed to have hit a bit of a dead end, for all he seemed to do all day was to stir a huge pot, the contents of which he was unsure, and keep the ships biscuits in order when they got just a little bit too rowdy.
“Well maybe I will visit there one day.” muttered Neep, and Blurt gave him a quick glance and turned to face the deck once again.
“Wouldn’t bother.” he said. “Price of ale is ridiculous and everyone is always in a hurry. Think themselves a cut above they do, the folk of Nine Wells.”
“Sounds elitist.” Said Neep and Blurt patted him on the back.
“Quite right.” he said and the two men settled back into silence once again.
“What provisions do we need so badly?” asked Neep and Blurt counted them out on his fingers.
“Fresh water of course. Food of all sorts.” Third finger. “Wine for the captain as well.”
“Goes without saying.” sniffed Neep.
“All of the things we need if the ship is to be at sea for some time. It’s not so bad though. We were already nearly half provisioned when we left Hard Knocks in a hurry so we should be back at sea in the morning.”
“Where are we headed?” asked Neep innocently.
“Oh in search of hidden treasure involving secret maps and what have you I would guess.” said Blurt.
“Ah yes. The secret map.” agreed Neep.
“The same.”
“The one with the strange squiggles on in the top right hand corner. Circle running through a small triangle, eagle shape at 145 degrees to the south of the tiger shaped symbol, dots her here and here.” said Neep, and suddenly stopped, ignoring his lithographic memory as Blurt turned to face him once again, a look of surprise on his face.
“That’s the one.” he said quietly, eying Neep up and down as if he had just seen him for the first time. “You seem to know an awful lot about it.” he said, an edge of curiosity finding its way into his voice.
“Ah. Just a consultative interest.” said Neep and Blurt nodded, seemingly satisfied with Neep’s explanation. That Neep was a pirate consultant was now a well-known fact amongst the crew of The
Torta Di Frutta, and much to Neep’s annoyance, equally a source of great amusement to them too. Especially when he was in the galley.
“Consulting with the spoon?” a pirate he knew by face but not by name asked him the other day when he was stirring his pot and the whole galley fell about laughing. “Well when you’re done would you mind consulting with a ship’s biscuit for me please?” Neep ignored the leg pulling and the jokes. After all was said and done there wasn’t much he could do about it, and there didn’t seem to be anything malicious about the laughter at his expense. If anything he seemed to have been accepted very well by the crew and he quite happily found himself dispensing ships biscuit and the thin grey pot contents to the same people on a daily basis. Until Mitch had stopped him that very morning as he was passing out a ships biscuit to a rather over eager pirate who was in the galley at exactly the same time every day, awaiting his gruel and biscuit.
“Hang on Neep.” Mitch had said as he held the wriggling biscuit out to the man who was more or less drooling in front of him. To Neep’s surprise Mitch more or less manhandled the pirate out of the galley, curses coming from him as the ship’s cook all but threw him out onto the deck. “You know the rules, Mister O’Doul! One biscuit a week and that’s it!” Mitch returned to the galley which was very quickly emptying and grabbed Neep by the lapels of his shirt. “How many biscuits have you been giving these greasy sons of whore, my lad?” he asked, his right eyebrow rising to an impossible height on his forehead.
“Erm. One a day.” muttered Neep. “No more than that.” Neep had a huge character flaw that could only ever be a disadvantage to one engaged in the world of what he thought of as piratical endeavours. Simply he couldn’t help but tell the truth. It was something that had been drummed into him since he was just a kid by his parents. As a family they had nothing, lived hand to mouth most of the time in fact, but his father always told him to tell the truth.
“A lie can be half way round the world before the truth even gets its socks on.” he remembered his dad saying. “But you can be sure that when it has gone all round the world it always comes right back and bites you on the arse while the truth is still pissing in the outhouse. Always tell the truth lad.” His father had winked at him every time he had said this, though Neep thought that his father stretched the rule a little with the frequent rocks he placed at the bottom of the barrels of fish he sold at the market, which were usually sold by weight. Neep smiled at the memory, which was not the wisest thing to do when Mitch was clearly in a somewhat agitated state.