Overboard! Page 19

  He thought perhaps that he would take a stroll around outside but as he approached the exit to the lounge that led out into the square outside he saw Mister Bucket and Mister Coil watching him carefully as he approached. Ignoring them he made to raise the latch on the door but as he did so Mister Bucket knocked his hand away and moved in front of the door to block his way.

  “Nobody’s to leave the inn tonight.” said Mister Bucket, crossing his arms to block the door. “Captain Daisy’s orders.” Despite the fact that Neep was a good five inches taller than the pirate, he was sadly not matching him either width or muscle wise, and Neep therefore considered it wise to turn on his heels and not cause a fuss.

  “Sorry Mister Bucket.” he said apologetically, “I didn’t know.”

  “Not a problem.” said the pirate in front of the door. “Probably be okay in the morning as long as you take a few friends with you to watch your back.” Neep acknowledged this with a smile and then with a loud sigh Neep spun on the spot and made his way to bed where he would spend an almost entirely sleepless night thinking about rats and the various culinary delights that the small rodents could potentially be turned into. It was without doubt a very long night.

  Chapter 15

  ~ A Room with A View ~

  Roalde DeNeuf stood at the open balcony on the third storey of his uptown mansion, a slight breeze blowing the silk curtains that fluttered as the wind caught them, billowing at the edge of the balcony. Bright sunshine washed the city of Nine Wells below, the ornately designed houses and buildings of the noble quarter immediately around him reflecting the sunshine off bright polished marble. Beyond this he saw the flags and banners of the military quarter that separated the richer and brighter areas of the city from the slums and commercial districts further to the southeast. Beyond that were the city walls.

  Within the military district his eyes were drawn to the huge black stoned keep that was the domain of the ruler of the city; a man known only as The Beak. The keep looked as ominous in sight as it was in rumour. Somehow the bright sunlight seemed to shy away from the black stoned tower, and the ramparts and windows of the imposing building seemed to be shrouded in deep shadows. This was mainly the reason that the keep was known as The Black Tooth, though never in the presence of The Beak. DeNeuf merely smiled as he looked upon the building, and then his gaze moved on and the smile disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared.

  There was a great deal of conjecture as to whether The Beak had any inkling at all that his residence was more commonly referred to as, “The Black Tooth” and the general opinion of the population of Nine Wells was that he did not. This said a lot more about the general level of intelligence of the city than it did about The Beak for it was impossible for him not to know, for he knew everything else that happened in Nine Wells. From the coppers made on the tanner’s workbench to the gold levels of the financial houses, he had his beak dipped in all of it, and demanded his cut; fair or not.

  It was a fact of life in the city that all financial transactions contained an element of payment to The Beak, and the surprising aspect of this was the totalitarian approach of all classes and peoples upheld it so staidly. Simply put The Beak ruled by fear. The military presence of his red coats was like that of a small private army which acted swiftly if any dissenters to The Beak’s rule dared to raise their heads above the parapet.

  Which went to make The Beak a very rich man indeed. His “army” needed to be maintained of course, as did his residence, but he found that there was only so much money you could spend on instruments of torture and items to promote fear in the general populace.

  From the stone balcony upon which DeNeuf stood alone the entire city was visible. The docks lay far across the city walls to the south, but he could still smell the sea; the city of Nine Wells had a salty tang in the air almost all of the time, and DeNeuf for one, never tired of it.

  Roald DeNeuf was the current and only incumbent of the much talked about DeNeuf fortune, based almost entirely on his great grandfather’s innovations in the gunpowder industry as well as her pioneering work in the area of wagon wheel sand boxes that released sand when the terrain got rough or difficult to traverse. It was without doubt a simple innovation that his great grandfather had the good sense to patent, and so the money began to roll in, as it still did. The riches were considerable, and DeNeuf was the most eligible bachelor in the entire city of Nine Wells for two very good reasons. Firstly, his dashing good looks and secondly, his vast wealth.

  It was a common joke throughout the city that Roald DeNeuf’s name sounded as if it was an anagram of something, but the only thing that it seemed it could be turned into was “Earl of Dundee”. DeNeuf was certainly not an Earl, and nobody had any idea at al where Dundee was if it in fact existed at all. DeNeuf was an enigma, a man neither with job nor standing and yet one of the wealthiest citizens of Nine Wells at the same time. Amongst the larger noble houses of the city he was even more of an enigma, for he seemed to have very little time for the trappings of great wealth and the petty slights and machinations of the various houses that claimed the city as its own. Politics seemed to hold no interest for him; nor that of the machinations and wiles of the wealthy houses.

  In fact, he seemed to have a greater appreciation of the poorer classes than the other combined aristocratic houses considered normal. The great houses looked down upon his apparent benefactorial behaviour, his frequent distributions of food to the poor being particularly grating to them. Yet it did not stop the nobles from attempting to woo him. The gravity of his wealth seemed to drag them in despite his obviously misplaced (to them if nobody else) social experimentation. His annual masquerade ball for example was much looked forward to, and the lack of an invite to it spelled the social doom of the overlooked noble. This was rare though, for DeNeuf seemed to invite every noble in the city, even some that were not. Yet even this he seemed to look upon with a look of disdain, and was rarely seen even at his own ball for more than an hour.

  Or so it was supposed, for the masquerade ball was of course held in costume. Yet it had also been remarked on many an occasion that when the ritual unmasking happened on the last stroke of midnight that DeNeuf was nowhere to be seen. There had even been a vicious rumour in circulation for many years that he did not attend at all, just that the nobles in attendance assumed that he had. The ritual midnight unmasking could be without a doubt an extremely disappointing time for many of the unhitched ladies of city, for their gallant and generous host was usually completely conspicuous by his absence.

  DeNeuf stood completely immobile, his hands clasped behind his back as if he were lost in thought. A tall, dark haired man of fine features, his hair short yet immaculately groomed, he cast a broad shadow on the stone floor of the room behind him. He gave an almost effortless sense of poise in his bearing, even though he was completely immobile. He had an air of calm about him, and when he did move his movement was graceful and well considered, almost like the movement of a cat.

  “Your post sir.” Came a voice from behind him suddenly, and any lesser man would have at least been startled. DeNeuf did not move at all however, as if he knew that the manservant now standing behind him had been there all along. Slowly he turned his head, looking over his shoulder.

  “Just put them on the side table there please Alfred.” he said, and his voice was deep and reassuring. There was no trace of an accent of any kind, his diction slow yet precise. “Just like you always do.” He smiled, and it was a gentle smile. The manservant behind him smiled back, and taking several letters from what appeared to be a silver tray placed the mail onto the immaculately polished wooden side table.

  Alfred was a tall man, bald headed and dressed immaculately from head to foot in what appeared to be some form of butler’s uniform. He wore an immaculate single breasted jacket with waistcoat and trousers with such a defined crease that you could probably cut a piece of paper on them was topped off by a pair of black shoes so well polished that you could see your face i
n them if you cared to try.

  To describe Alfred as a butler, manservant or employee of any kind would however be completely wrong. It was true that Alfred performed such a role, but a more accurate description of his standing would be that of a confidante or compatriot, or perhaps even friend. If the latter was true, then he was not strictly speaking one of DeNeuf’s friends. He could in fact be called his only friend.

  “Something wrong, sir?” enquired Alfred and Roalde DeNeuf turned back into the room casually, a look of amusement on his face.

  “Not at all.” he said, casting his eyes briefly over the correspondence on the side table before resting them on Alfred. “Just watching the sun on The Black Tooth. It would appear our old friend The Beak is up to his old tricks, Alfred. It would we have somewhat notorious visitor to the city in whom The Beak is for some reason extremely interested.”

  “The DeNeuf asymmetricals have brought reports?” enquired the butler, eyebrows rising.

  “Indeed.” said DeNeuf. “One of the younger members of the asymmetricals brought me news but this very morning with regards that it would appear that the tavern known as The Drowned Duck is currently paying its hospitality to none other than The Scarlet Daisy.”

  If it were possible, Alfred’s eyebrow rose even further.

  “The renowned pirate?” he asked.

  “The same.” confirmed DeNeuf. “Quite why The Beak is interested in her I cannot get to the bottom of. I think I may have to keep my attention focused upon them.”

  “Be careful sir.” frowned the servant. “The Beak has been relatively quiet recently. Beware the sleeping Iguana as they say.”

  “Do they?” smiled DeNeuf.

  “I believe so.” said Alfred. “Still I am convinced that one day he will finally slip up and then you will finally put paid to him, sir. The Beak cannot get away from you that easy!” To Alfred’s surprise DeNeuf grimaced.

  “Easily.” He said, the grimace rapidly disappearing before being replaced with a smile once again.

  “Easily, Sir?” said Alfred.

  “Indeed.” DeNeuf raised an eyebrow. “Good grammar is essential, Alfred.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You are welcome.”

  Alfred turned to leave as DeNeuf finally picked up the correspondence and began to flick through it, tutting to himself.

  “More acceptances for the ball.” he said almost in irritation. “Tell me Alfred, are the preparations for the masquerade ball going according to plan?”

  “Quite sir.” said the butler, waiting at the door that led from the apartment that he had just opened. “There was a small problem with the crab vol au vents but I believe that has been resolved.”

  “Remind me exactly why we have to hold this damned masquerade ball every single year, Alfred. The very idea of dressing up in a costume and mask yet again fills me with a feeling of total despair.”

  “It is tradition sir. Your parents held a masquerade annually as did their parents before them.” DeNeuf merely smiled, filing the acceptances that had just been delivered in the nearest bin.

  “Right.” said DeNeuf. “Perhaps we could shake things up a little this year and invite The Scarlet Daisy.” he smiled and Alfred laughed.

  “Ever the provocateur sir. Shall I see to it?” Alfred smiled in a manner that seemed to hint that he found the very thought of inviting an infamous pirate to a masked ball to be a terribly provocative and yet entertaining idea. To an outsider it would appear that both men were engaged in a game of who could think of the most outrageous suggestion. DeNeuf however seemed to have already made up his mind.

  “Why not? It could make the ball a lot more fun. Also she will wonder how we know she is there.” DeNeuf grinned widely. “Yes. Let us invite her and a guest, Alfred. That should set the cat amongst the pigeons so to speak. Despatch the invites with all due haste.” Alfred nodded and made to close the door. As he did so however the oil lamps on the wall began to flash almost urgently in synchronisation, the flames flickering low then high as if in alarm.

  The change in DeNeuf was instant. With a leap and a bound he was across the room and removing a particular book from the bookcase. As he did so the bookcase slid aside revealing a small hand winched lift built into the wall.

  “Send the invites today, Alfred.” said DeNeuf as he entered the space in the wall. “And don’t wait up for me. I may be some time.” There was a click from inside the wall and the bookcase slid back into view, the sound of a small hand winch resonating from somewhere inside the wall.

  “Very well sir.” said Alfred to the now empty room. “Very well.” There was a loud swishing noise from inside the wall which slowly decreased in volume as if something was descending behind the wall, and then the lamps returned to normal.

  Chapter 16

  ~ An Arm Full of Ink ~

  Neep had thought that a visit to the tattoo shop seemed like such a good idea at first. Daisy however, had taken more than a little convincing. When it was first mentioned to him, Neep thought that it would be a terribly good idea to have a tattoo, after all most pirates had one, surely? He had glanced at his pale white arms that to any casual bystander had the muscular properties and appearance of a particularly long pipe cleaner. Currently they were totally devoid of ink of any form at all.

  Mister Bucket had shown Neep his vast collection of tattoos that seemed to cover most places on his body, and he was surprised to hear that everyone held a story.

  “And this one here I got the night I was chased across the rooftops of Old Jaroby by a lady’s husband who returned earlier than anticipated,” He had remarked, pointing at what seemed to be a picture of a pair of boots that were on fire just below his left bicep. Neep was astounded. It was the longest speech he had ever heard Mister Bucket make, and he could not help but get ensnared by the stories behind each tattoo.

  “What’s the story with this one here with the pitchfork inserted up the…” Neep pushed the pirate's sleeve up a little and noticed exactly what the pitchfork was inserted into in the tattoo and blushed furiously.

  “Not saying.” Grinned Mister Bucket, though Neep considered why the grin looked more like a wince.

  Gradually the conversation had turned to the addition of new tattoos and the best tattoo parlour in Nine Wells, and the likelihood of visiting it. Several of the pirates gathered about the bar seemed very interested in the prospect, and the name of a local shop by the name of “Grin and Bear It” run by a man known only as the oddly appropriately named, “Spike” who apparently had an almost legendary status with those that considered bare skin to be an insult against a pot of ink and a finely sharpened needle was thought to be the height of both taste and decorum.

  Neep wasn’t too fond of the idea of the needle part, but he did think the thought of a nice anchor on his shoulder or possibly a mermaid on a bicep would only increase his standing with the other pirates, if not his own pirateness over all. The SOPE reference to tattoos was quite clear, in that it suggested that they were definitely necessary, and as the SOPE correspondence course was more or less his pirate bible, then that was all there was to it.

  A tattoo was definitely on the cards. With regards to his pirate career he was pleased to remember that so far he had been kidnapped, (pages one hundred and seventeen to pages one hundred and nineteen) served on two pirate vessels and now was holed up in an obscure back street of a large city with a whole bunch of mean looking pirates, He reasoned that surely a tattoo could only increase his standing with regards to the suggestions the SOPE course made in reference to his ongoing advancement in the field of piracy.

  Daisy had not been too sure. The idea had arisen after breakfast (rat rashers with what may or not have been eggs) and coffee that that you could stand a spoon up in. Neep had nibbled at the food placed before him dubiously, but had found much to his surprise that it did not taste too bad all considering, though this was no doubt down to the simple fact that he covered everything in what may have been brown sauce to ma
sk the potential taste of whatever it was he was actually eating.

  “You want to do what?” Daisy had asked, turning a stare of disdain upon the several pirates gathered about her table.

  “Tattoo. Get a tattoo.” Had said Mister Coil, the unexpected spokesman for the group. Unexpected in the sense that he was not very good with syllables, his usual remedy for what he deemed to be complicated words being to shout them as loud as he could, as if the volume masked his very real fear of sentence construction.

  Daisy had raised an eyebrow and Mister Bones shuffled uneasily by her side, though as per usual his long black robe and hood concealed his features entirely. He did have the grace however to let his shoulders roll a display of mild irritation.

  “Of course!” She had said, and even from the back of the group Neep could feel a wave of sarcasm roll over him. “And while you are having that done you could get your hair cut and perhaps drop in for some of those nice little apple pies from Ma Baker’s shop up on Skinny Skid street?” Mister Bucket gulped loudly. “If you do then please feel free to bring me one back with you!”

  “So we can go as long as we fetch you a pie?” asked Mister Bucket, grinning wildly whilst simultaneously missing Daisy’s sarcasm completely.

  “Of course you can’t bloody go!” shouted Daisy, and the tattoo deputation as a man took one step back. “We are meant to be lying low here! If The Beak got even a sniff of the fact that we are here, then we would by now all be safely chained up in his dungeons with only the torturers rack and then the hangman's noose waiting for us!” She kicked the chair she was sitting on back as she stood. It screeched noisily across the stone tiled floor before falling over. The room fell into silence as Daisy began to pace the room, her face colouring even more as she struggled to keep a rein on her temper. “And that is if you are lucky! The Beak’s dungeons hold far more to strike fear into your guts than a length of rope and a set of thin sharp knives and pliers, believe you me!”