Overboard! Read online

  Although the two bailiffs had retreated to the other side of the street, and were now cowering before Mrs Bunion it was obvious to Neep that they were not to be deterred. His head spinning with the boot search whilst at the same time keeping an eye on the street whilst at the same time also trying to calculate the amount of his unpaid subscription to his correspondence course and then finally factoring in a month’s rent made his head spin even more. He knew that it was definitely a tidy sum, or more accurately a sum that he quite simply did not currently possess. Turning out his pockets he discovered the only thing in there seemed to be a handful of rusty looking groats, a small amount of sand and the remains of what could have once possibly been a small crab. The swim back from the sunken Rose of Mateus the week before had taken him some two hours, the first half of which Nutcracker the parrot continued to query him about the whereabouts of the ship. Eventually he seemed to have succumbed to boredom and flew away. He had not seen it since, luckily.

  Finding his boots Neep sat on the bed and rammed them on quickly. He had a little difficulty with this as they both seemed to contain a certain amount of sand. Ignoring this he threw on a shirt and looked on the window once again to see that the two bailiffs seemed to be gaining confidence and were slowly advancing in the direction of the boarding house front door, Mrs Bunion now being in swift retreat. Neep gulped. He realised that he had no time to lose. Grabbing hold of the window frame he pulled himself forward and stepped out onto the thin wooden window ledge, vertigo making his knees tremble as he did so. He was not so good with heights.

  “Oo!” Came a growl from one of the bailiffs in the street below. “We’ve gone and got us a jumper! That’s never happened before!”

  Neep tried not to look down into the street. It was not a considerable height, but the cobbled stones of the street below would make this unimportant if he jumped. Mrs Bunion’s voice rose from the street below, a mix of fear and downright annoyance with a small twist of inconvenienced. “Oh Mr Neep! What are you doing on the window ledge, silly boy! Don’t you go and jump now! Don’t you dare go and jump!”

  Neep checked his jacket was completely buttoned up and edged along the ledge sideways. As he did so the ledge of the boarding house across the street slowly became nearer. Followed closely by a now gathering crowd in the street below he edged even further and judging the distance carefully launched himself across the gap to the building across the street. There was a loud “Oooo!” from the street below but Neep landed nimbly on the ledge and grabbing hold of the window frame edged up onto the rooftop.

  “Ere!” came a cry from below as the bailiffs suddenly realised what Neep was up to. “He’s getting away! Quick! The stairs!” Neep raced across the flat rooftop and leaped from one building to the next, to loud sounds of applause from everyone below with possibly the exception of the two bailiffs who had by now disappeared into the interior of the building Neep had just left behind him. Racing over the roof he yanked open a small trapdoor on the roof of the next building and quickly descended down a ramshackle staircase in near darkness to the next street below. Sticking his head out of the doorway carefully and noting the distinct absence of any bailiffs made his way out of the door and tore along the street at full pelt. Leaving pursuit behind him he made his way to the first cross roads and headed west along the main street. The sounds of pursuit had by now disappeared behind him, and merging with the crowds that were bustling along the markets ll around him he slowed his pace.

  From the high street it was only a five-minute walk to his shop, and he had a moment of panic before he found the shop keys in his pocket. Sneezing loudly, he crossed into a side alley which upon reaching the end of he turned left at the end, then first left and crossed the much quieter street where his shop stood. He paused to look at the front and felt himself swelling with pride at the shop sign (still to be paid for) across the still drawn blinds that covered the shop window.

  In large golden letters it read, “Mr Neep Esquire, Piratical Endeavours Consultant. Treasure recovered (and buried), Gold earnings increased by 400 per cent or your money back. Grog recipes improved.” Removing the keys from his pocket once more he crossed the road, and looking carefully about him went to open the door.

  Which oddly was already open. Neep leaned closer to inspect the lock and saw that it appeared to be shattered, fresh splinters of wood littering the floor. Leaning carefully on the door he pushed it slightly and the door swung slowly open, the rusty hinges creaking loudly. Neep stared into the darkness of the shop and glancing behind him to check the coast was clear he edged inside. “Stand aside!” he yelled loudly at the top of his voice, scaring himself slightly as he attempted to stare into the darkness of the store. “I have my cutlass at the ready to deal with robbers!” he continued loudly. Silence. Neep leaned back on the door which creaked slowly shut and made to open the blinds on the shop window. Light flooded into the room and Neep was shocked to discover that the shop had been ransacked. Several storage cupboards had been wrenched open, and the drawers scattered across the floor. The fact that the drawers and cupboards had been completely empty was irrelevant. They had still been thrown forcefully to one side.

  Neep took a moment to look at his shop. It was definitely a little smaller than his father’s fishmongers store, and was almost completely empty of anything other than a small counter (upon which nothing rested) and a small piece of parchment that was still carefully pinned to the wall behind the counter. Sneezing loudly once again Neep stopped to stare at the piece of parchment, which seemed to be the only thing in the shop that had not been touched. Neep sighed loudly as he looked at the piece of paper. To the casual reader it seemed to indicate that Neep was a fully qualified piratical endeavours consultant. To the more careful examiner however, it merely indicated Neep’s enrolment on to the correspondence course. Neep leaned it and tore it from the wall, the small pins scattering on the floor as he did so. It appeared that the piece of paper was below the attention of even thieves and robbers. Sighing once again (only louder this time) he leaned against the counter despondently.

  As he stared about the ruins of the shop and the papers strewn about the floor his mind went back to the time before he had owned a shop, or begun the correspondence course It was not that long ago, but somehow it seemed like a lifetime In his mind he pored over every detail.

  It had all seemed so different when he had first enrolled on the correspondence course. The ongoing payments were not a barrier to the course initially, as Neep reasoned that once he was engaged in the trade of piracy then there would be no shortage of ready cash to hand. The deposit for the course was a definite problem though. One gold piece was not an unusually high amount, but to the son of a lowly fishmonger it may as well have been a small fortune. He had managed to save ten groats by working all hours for his father but needed another ninety to make one gold piece. He had sat on the quayside of Hard Knocks head in hands, for the correspondence course was his way out of what he thought of as a life of drudgery and fish, with the emphasis most definitely being on the fish.

  He was certain a life of piracy, gold and infamy awaited him. He could feel it in his bones and as for the gold that was surely meant to be his he could almost smell it. As he sat there moping he could hear the sounds of laughter from a tavern nearby, and deciding that there was no way that he could increase his wealth any further and that the correspondence course was therefore out of reach he decided to go and get drunk instead, his plan not being so much to drown his sorrows but as to obliterate them.

  He entered the bar of The Slaughtered Chicken tavern, blinking at the clouds of smoke that obscured most of the room, the pub being particularly crowded. His height gave him an advantage of course and peering about the room he began to make his way through the heaving masses to the bar to get himself a drink and begin his night of forgetting his woes. He was half way there when he heard a commotion from his left from a small round table around which were sat several men who to Neep’s cursory glance seeme
d to be almost certainly engaged in piratical endeavours. He decided this because of the number of beards, eye patches and looking seruptiously under the table the collection of peg legs too. They appeared to be playing cards.

  The commotion seemed to be regarding the rejection of one of the players who seemed to be in difficulty of settling presumably his losses. Neep edged closer. This left a space at the table. His heart racing, he almost hovered on the spot, indecision seizing him. In the months ahead Neep would often marvel at the sheer audacity of what he did next, though he wasn’t entirely sure whether it was in fact audacity or just plain stupidity. Leaning over the table he took the now empty chair and sat himself down. “Good evening gentlemen.” he said trying to give an air of confidence he definitely didn’t feel. He wasn’t by any means a gambler, but he had played cards with his father many a time, more to kill the time between filleting fish. “Blackjack is it?”

  The seven men sat around the table eyed him suspiciously, casting glances amongst themselves, but the man facing him on the other side of the table just nodded to the others. Neep felt pleased. Blackjack was the game he had played with his father. Well, he had used to. His father wouldn’t play cards with him anymore, considering it to be a complete waste of time. This was down to one simple fact. Neep had a memory that a doctor had informed his anxious parents as lithographic. Put simply, Neep had only to see a document once - even glance at it - and it was indelibly etched into his mind for him to recall as and when he wanted. Not just words either, pictures were the same, although his limited drawing ability definitely hampered his ability to reproduce a picture at will. Words were different, however. Numbers too. Even playing cards. The pirate seemingly in charge eyed him up and down once again.

  “Good evening, sir.” he announced, his voice deep and vaguely dangerous, “Blackjack it is. A groat a hand. And you are?”

  “Mister Neep.” he said, carefully avoiding using his Christian and surname as he usually did. “Aces high is it?” The pirate (for Neep had definitely decided that was what he was) nodded and placing one of his eight groats on the table Neep settled into the game and collected his cards that were dealt to him. Neep looked at the deck of cards the dealer was holding. There was always something exciting about a playing card; exciting but equally dangerous.

  The first three games he lost and they passed in a flurry. Conversation was definitely at a minimum, the other players watching him carefully with an air of suspicion. After a few losing hands Neep felt them begin to relax somewhat, and so he turned his attention to the dealt cards. A lithographic memory was a decided advantage at Blackjack, though it was not a complete solution. The cards he saw laid down gave him some idea as to which ones had been dealt, and therefore a much more useful estimation of those that had yet to be dealt. This meant that higher value cards could be predicted giving him a definite edge on the other players. Neep’s father was definitely wise not to play against him.

  As the night wore on Neep won three out of next five games and his pile of groats increased slightly. His success rate didn’t seem to perturb the pirates greatly, though Neep suspected that the mugs of grog foaming and spitting in front of them may have had something to do with that. He may very well have been wrong however, as the head pirate seemed to be eying him more suspiciously than the other six.

  “How about we raise the stakes to a gold piece a game?” he asked and Neep glanced at his pile of groats, and was surprised to find he now had accumulated winnings of one gold piece and twelve groats. His mouth went dry. He had enough to pay for the correspondence course now! Yet he could see what the pirate was trying to do. For some reason the pirate’s suspicions had been raised, and if Neep lost the next game he would be penniless again and out of the card school altogether. Yet he didn’t want to stop. He recognised the fault was in his character. It wasn’t a gambling thing. He just didn’t want to lose face. He wanted to win, and this had got him in trouble more than once.

  “Certainly.” he heard himself say, and all the pirates smiled almost simultaneously, possibly having noticed the very visible deep breath that Neep had taken when he answered. “A piece of gold it is.” The cards were dealt and the game began. Neep watched the banker’s cards carefully. Ace of spades folded by the pirate to his right, the two three and six of hearts gone, king of hearts and jack down. Diamonds seemed low. He glanced at the ten of diamonds in his hand and gulped. “I shall stay where I am.” he said and the head pirate smiled. There were three players left in the game now and the head pirate signalled that he would do the same. The remaining man on the other side of the table grinned nervously and asked for another card. Queen of clubs. He folded his hand and pushed his seat back from the table.

  “I’ll raise you.” said Neep to the head pirate, gritting his teeth. The pirate stared at him carefully, glancing casually at the eight gold pieces now lying in a neat pile on the table.

  “But you have no more cash Mr Neep.” He smiled, and so I think you may find you have to show your hand.” Neep gulped and showed his cards. Ten of diamonds, King of Diamonds and an ace of diamonds. The pirate in front of him visibly quailed at the sight of this, turning over a hand of paltry cards amounting to a mere eighteen. Neep smiled and collected the eight gold pieces, scooping them into his pocket and standing.

  “Surely you will give us a chance to win our money back?” smiled the pirate, but Neep was already pushing his way across the crowded bar. He had been lucky, he reflected as he glanced about the ransacked shop. He knew the area around the docks pretty well and soon he was back safe and sound with nine gold pieces safely stowed in his pockets. His heart raced! Now he could afford the correspondence course, and maybe even take on premises!

  Initially a shop seemed like a good idea. Even the lowliest piratical consultant had to have premises to trade from, after all. Neep smiled weakly at the thought. Piratical consultants did seem to be pretty thin on the ground, which is probably why he had thought that it was a good idea right from the start. Then there was the correspondence course. Offered by the brothers Maudlin, it guaranteed an incredible return on the monthly fees. The only problem was in convincing any pirates to actually take the idea on board as it were. Neep smiled sadly to himself at the pun and mentally added up the cost of his correspondence course so far, his rent with Mrs Bunion, and the rent on the shop before turning his pockets inside out. Nine gold pieces had not lasted very long at all. A small cloud of dust descended from his trousers and fell onto the dust covered shop floor. Once again, Neep sighed deeply before slowly drawing his attention back to the shattered door and the general state of disrepair his shop seemed to be in. Crossing the floor and moving behind the counter he reached down and picked up a bunch of papers that had been strewn across the floor, slowly getting up and placing them on top of the counter.

  He remembered with relish the letter he had received from the S.O.P.E. correspondence course inviting him to turn up for enrolment at the salty pipe pub a few days after he had sent a letter concerning registration. He had been surprised when he turned up at the pub however to find that he seemed to be the only person there applying for the course. He had met with a Mr. Mathias and duly handed over his gold piece, and his address had been noted. He gave his new shop address as where he wanted the weekly instalments of the course to be delivered, and had been handed a course handbook and certificate

  “Before you go though” said Mr Mathias, snatching the course material back off him, “You need to register with the representative from the Golden Octopus over there.” He pointed out a tall stocky man who appeared to be cleaning his teeth with a dagger in the darkest recess of the tavern common room. “They need to make sure that your future piratical endeavours - your potential piracy if you will - is up to their high standards.” Neep looked cautiously at the man from The Golden Octopus but Mathias more or less pushed him towards the corner.

  “Ah Mr Neep.” He took up a piece of parchment from the table in front of him. “Ah… piratical consultan
t it is, then?”

  “Aye.” said Neep brightly, getting into the part as he took a seat in front of the representative from The Golden Octopus.

  “Mr Melvas.” said the pirate introducing himself as they shook hands carefully, each counting their fingers as they withdrew their hands. Neep nodded.

  “Just a few formalities as it were.” he said. “Make sure you are ah… up to speed with the world of piratical activities and pitfalls and so on.

  “Good good.” said Neep, giving him his best smile.

  “Ever been beheaded?” asked the pirate, picking up from the table and hovering over the parchment expectantly.

  “Evidently not.” said Neep, smiling. The pirate glanced up at him from the table as if to check and then placed a large cross on the paper.

  “Stabbed or strangled?”

  “No.”

  “Eyes gouged out, spleen ruptured or limbs missing?”

  “Nope.” said Neep, holding up both his hands. More crosses were added to the parchment as the interview continued all as far as Neep could see in the same column.