Tag: book1

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Chapter 22
A Delicate Question

“Two ships going out today!” bellows BlackDog, “norf of Fflint there’s bounty coming down from Douglas, silver if we’re lucky, and they’ll have other metals too. And because we ‘ave two ships, you’re all needed on board. Where’s that SpudMutt? You’re not getting on my ship! TallyBen, make sure he’s on the Blackbird. Sort it out!”

BlackDog walks back to join the other officers who are quietly surveying the misshapen ranks of the conscripts.

Lieutenant Slender is there, trying to focus on the usual rabble, but she’s finding it difficult to stop herself from fixating on MickeyWarr. He’s standing next to SpudGunn at one end of the line.

His mind is on something else though, not Slender. He’s been looking around at everybody and everything. Perhaps there were one or two brief spells of eye contact, but the suppressed smiles on both their faces said only, “good morning, nice to see you,” and little else.

MickeyWarr certainly wasn’t paying attention to BlackDog’s pep talk! Something about two ships if he remembers correctly, and something about keeping SpudGunn away from him. MickeyWarr is busy on other things, trying to build a map in his head detailing the layout of the dock complex.

Slender can’t pick out any thought patterns. There are thirty people on the dockside, and others on board the two ships. A few more people are standing by the stores and by the main gate. There’s simply too much noise on the wavelengths.

However, she can see that MickeyWarr is concentrating on something, even though she has no idea what. Probably an escape plan, or at least a skiving plan, a plan to avoid working aboard either ship. That’s the sort of thing that the smart people think about.

But what seems really odd is that MickeyWarr is sticking close to SpudGunn.

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“I’d settle for cabbage! Bubble and squeak! Lovely potato and cabbage! Ooh you’re making me feel hungry again.”

SpudGunn looks at his empty plate, and then at MickeyWarr’s. Pointing, he says, “you gonna finish that?”

“Yep. I need to maintain my energy reserves today! You should go and ask for some more.”

“No way! I’m not stupid! I know about Oliver Twist! He asked for more, and all he got was more aggro!”

“So don’t ask for more, just take more, not here obviously, not right now! When I spot the chance to nick some food, I’ll tell you, and then we both grab armfuls of it. You in?”

“Food? You bet!”

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create a diversion. As long as nobody tells him that he’s a part of a plan, nor that it’s his job to draw attention away. That could allow MickeyWarr enough time to make a dash for the exit.

Fleetingly, MickeyWarr wonders if SpudGunn is actually a master tactician. Is it all an act? Is he acting dumb in order to get thrown out? Is it an unorthodox escape plan?

No! He’s not that clever! He’s been here two months. SpudGunn is no master tactician!

OK, the overall strategy is use the cover of food deliveries in order to escape. Now all that’s needed is a step by step plan. The diversion has to be set up so that SpudGunn doesn’t suspect anything. This is the easy bit. Invent some story about food. SpudGunn will fall for it, and the pirates will too. Who doesn’t like a bit of food? Well not this stodgy porridge obviously, but some story about something nice.

The hard bit is going to be creating an opportunity to talk to Lieutenant Slender. MickeyWarr is determined to leave, but before he does, he wants to understand more about her. Why is she here? She doesn’t fit. He’s convinced she would willingly leave as well. What if the two of them could run away together?

It’s time to sow the seed, and see if SpudGunn can be persuaded to help with a plan, even without knowing that he’s a part of the plan.

“I don’t know what they’ve done to this oatmeal today,” says MickeyWarr, picking up a spoonful and letting it drip from the spoon back onto his plate, “I wonder if the pirates get something better?”

SpudGunn has finished his plate of slop, and looks up clownishly, “they might get a better version of slop.”

“And the officers?”

“I bet the officers get proper food!”

“What do you think they get?”

“Dunno!” he replies, “eggs … sausage … bacon? Ooooh, bacon! I’d luvva bit of bacon! And an egg! Two bits of bacon, and two eggs, sitting on top of two lovely slices of fried potato waffle!”

“No cabbage?”

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Two types of robots.

There are ones who have tried to fit in with the pirate routine. They’ve become pirates, they can sail ships, do a useful job of work, and perhaps even board other ships and steal things. They get to live aboard one of the BlackCircle’s pirate ships, where the conditions are vaguely more tolerable than the conditions ashore.

The second class of robots is the group comprising the new arrivals and the dunderheads, people like SpudGunn. They tend to do what they’re told, but they’re a flight risk so they’re kept in the Asylum until they settle down. MickeyWarr has no idea why they’re hanging on to SpudGunn. He’s the sort of chap who should be pushed out of the gate and left to fend for himself. Though if they did that, he’d probably come back in again, the next time the gate is opened.

That’s it! The gate opens! Sometimes food and water is delivered, sometimes the middle men take away the bounty.

Looking around at the apathetic faces at the breakfast tables, MickeyWarr wonders if it might be best to work on a solo escape attempt. The ideal time to escape is when the gates are open for horse drawn carts to come and go.

A mass break out through the main gate is not going to work well, but one or two could slip through.

If only there were somebody else that he could count on for help. Somebody to help him reach the perimeter, and then maybe help to navigate the unfamiliar town of Boot.

It won’t be SpudGunn, that’s for sure, he would be more of a hinderance than a help. Nobody should be lumbered with him.

“Wait!” thinks MickeyWarr.

“Wait for what?” says SpudGunn.

“Oh, nothing!”

Thinking that he has to be more careful not to vocalise his thoughts, MickeyWarr concentrates.

He’s thinking that SpudGunn is the route to freedom. He can screw up anything. And with his abundant stupidity he can occupy several pirates at once. He’s the perfect candidate to

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to reveal her face. Morning is breaking. The face disappears, and the hat whispers, “kiss me, beneath the milky twilight.”

With a generous helping of grump from TallyBen, the hat in MickeyWarr’s tantalising dream vanishes. The firm kick to his hip drags him back into consciousness.

“Yes, kiss me,” he says.

“You what?” says SpudGunn, as he wakes just in time to avoid the next customary kick.

MickeyWarr’s luxurious dream is instantly destroyed as he sees SpudGunn looking at him quizzically. Where’s that wonderfully luscious journey, the one with the mystery girl leading him into the woods? Can he fall asleep again? Can he pick it up again? Just where he left off?

“Oatmeal again!” says SpudGunn.

A measure of watery sludge is dolloped onto his chipped, enamel plate, “wouldn’t mind some potato sometimes! Bubble and squeak even, with lovely tender cabbage, the way mum used to make it.”

Looking at MickeyWarr he says, “you know, cabbage, with just a bit of bite to it. And some steam gently rising, as the butter begins to melt and ooze over the top!”

“Butter!?” demands MickeyWarr, “when did you ever have butter? In your dreams mate!”

MickeyWarr doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes his breakfast and sits down at one of the long, uneven trestle tables at the far end of the Asylum. Like a lost puppy with no friends SpudGunn follows him, waddling like a British Bulldog. He sits at the opposite side of the same table.

“I’m getting fed up being stuck in this building!” says SpudGunn, “it would be nice to get out today, I’d be happy to be on a ship, doing a raid or something!”

“It’d be nice to get out, full stop,” replies MickeyWarr!

“How’s the escape plan going?”

“Pah! Look at these people! No ambition!”

The escape plan is going nowhere, because MickeyWarr hasn’t yet met anybody with enough gumption to do anything about their imprisonment. It’s as if they’re all robots.

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Chapter 21
Bubble and Squeak

TallyBen is not a morning person. And when it’s his turn to muster the crew he does it the only way he knows how. The grumpy way! With an extra helping of grump!

An extra helping of potatoes would be welcome according to SpudGunn’s dream! It’s a recurring theme. Sometimes with a bit of cabbage, or carrots, or even sprouts! Meat and potatoes would be nice. But potatoes seem to be the main feature.

Night after night. In SpudGunn’s dreams!

Sometimes it’s monotonous, occurring every few minutes in even one single dream. SpudGunn is not an imaginative fellow!

A flowered hat seems to be talking and walking by itself in MickeyWarr’s dream. Telling him to “take the trail marked on your father’s map” whatever that means. The ghostly body is not guiding the hat, but the wide, floppy hat is guiding the formless, shadowy body. Gradually and calmly, passing along a moonlit trail through the middle of a field of oats, towards some pine trees in the distant woods.

MickeyWarr isn’t fully participating in this dream, and nor is the body beneath the pale blue, straw hat. The hat is lightly peppered with occasional white daisies, alternating with little florets of mature oats, and it seems to be on the head of a long haired figure who’s wearing a long flowing, magnolia silk robe. The colours of the hat and its decorations are clear, though everything else remains indistinct in various shades of grey. Traces of moonlight create a ripple effect in the folds of the robe making it resemble the surface of a gently flowing stream with ever changing shadows.

The night sky acquires a trace of greyish blue, no longer black. The stars are still clear, though less illustrious now, and the hat bobs up and down, slowly and gracefully ambling along its peaceful, unhurried journey towards the woods.

No nearer the trees than when the adventure started, the mysterious figure turns to look back, but doesn’t turn enough

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« Let me tell you something sunshine. Something that nobody’s told you before. The world doesn’t owe you a living. Your destiny will not simply fall into your lap. You have to go after it with a club! You’re not going to find your station in life by moping around here. Do something, go out, try stuff, make mistakes, learn. If you’ve been hanging around waiting for a sign, this is it. I am your sign! »

« That’s a bit blunt! But uplifting too! »

« You want blunt and uplifting? OK, I’ll give you blunt and uplifting! The future is carved out by those with the courage to act. The world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows you know. It’s a mean and nasty place. It doesn’t matter how tough you are, it will beat you to your knees. You gotta work hard, build resilience, stay strong. You gotta keep moving forward. That’s how freedom is won. »

Unsure what to make of this angry bird who’s trying to be helpful, Slender wants to end the conversation, but she doesn’t want to alienate Merlin. Another chat, another time, would surely be helpful.

« Thank you. Wonderful advice! »

« You’re welcome. »

« What did I do with my pancake? I’m still hungry. »

« I could bring you a worm if you like? »

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Probably all out at sea chasing fishing boats. But there are definitely smaller songbirds somewhere closer to hand.

Closer than she had realised! One inquisitive little bird perches on the caprail just ahead of her, turning its head to look at her. It’s not a sparrow. With its vivid colours it’s clearly a goldfinch.

Red and black plumage on its face, bold black wings with flashes of bright yellow and a variety of white and tawny feathers across its breast and back. It’s cocked its head to one side.

Slender thinks to herself, “oh, how I wish I could be free like you.”

« You are free? No? »

Stunned, Slender stares, and quickly adjusts her expression so as not to alarm the bird. She beams with an honest, beautiful, bright smile, and her eyes open wide. Opening as far as they can. She’s never communicated with a bird before. She didn’t know that she could. Perhaps she’s never been close enough.

The signal is a bit gruff though. This bird is now clearly an old man, and one who’s not afraid to be near humans.

Slender definitely wants to explore a dialogue, no matter how old and gruff this male goldfinch is.

« Freedom! I wish I could fly to freedom! »

« I’ve never seen a human flying! »

« You’re lucky, you have wings. And gorgeous feathers. »

« That’s your problem! You have the wrong type of feathers! »

« You’re somewhat abrupt aren’t you? We’ve only just met! »

« Merlin! »

« Jenifer. »

« I’m Merlin, I’m entitled to be abrupt! Anyway, your feathers are no good. »

« We call them clothes! »

« We call them feathers! Yours are no good. You’re going to have to find another route to freedom. »

« I’m stuck here. There is no other route. »

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Which is a bit rich, coming from a night watchman who’s been dozing in a canvas chair for nearly the whole night.

He snaps out of his slumber, “oh, Lieutenant Slender, it’s you!”

“Shhhh! I’m busy!” she says, waving her hand to shoo him away.

Slender stands amidships wearing just her night clothes and a robe! With the pancake still untouched, she sets the plate down on the top of a wooden barrel. Turning her head slowly, she’s trying to listen, trying to detect any noises which might help her work out which direction the faint signal is coming from.

It’s gone.

It didn’t feel like any crew member that she knows. Though new faces come and go all the time. It definitely wasn’t one of the officers. And even the officers don’t use a tablecloth, let alone a nice white one.

Loud and clear it comes back.

« Oatmeal! Again! »

And then the signal falls silent. Totally silent.

It must have been a crew member. They get oatmeal every day. Sometimes twice a day. Three times a day, if that’s all there is!

Time to get washed and dressed. Maybe her batman will be up by now? Maybe there’ll be some tea? As she returns to her cabin she glances to the shore, admiring the early morning sun, slightly higher in a clear blue sky, sitting above a ramshackle assortment of nondescript dock buildings.

The intermittent sound of some agitated sparrows suggests that they are less than pleased with their breakfasts. Where are those birds? There’s not a single tree in sight!

There is no scent of buds, nor seeds, nor immature flowers!

No longer is there any smell of DeepSigh’s sugary lemon juice. That’s already history.

As Slender reaches the steps down to her cabin, she takes one last look from the deck, trying to work out where the incessant chirping is coming from. The seagulls are all absent.

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« … where can I find some honey? »

Bingo! Erratic wavelength or not, Slender recognises what’s going on.

DeepSigh is making pancakes!

And that smell … it’s lemon juice! And it’s a sweeter than normal lemon juice, because DeepSigh has added plenty of sugar to it. Reaching for her robe, Slender puts it on, and slips her feet into her deck shoes. She makes her way downstairs to the galley as quietly as she can.

Slender and DeepSigh spot each other at exactly the same moment, and both instantly raise their fingers to their lips, whispering, “shhhh!”

“I don’t have your trays ready yet dear! Normally it’d be another hour before I do the officers’ breakfasts!”

“Don’t worry,” whispers Slender, “if you have a pancake to spare, I can eat it here. Any plate will do!”

DeepSigh reaches for a plate.

« I’d love one right now. »

“You’ve already had one, haven’t you,” asks Slender, “you’ve had at least one?”

« Laid upon a china plate, with a delicate, white, lace trimmed tablecloth. »

“A tablecloth?” says Slender, “no wait, that’s not you, that’s a man!”

“You having one of your fits again are you missy?” says DeepSigh, “you really should get that looked into. I don’t know what you youngsters get up to these days!”

“Gotta go,” says Slender, holding a pancake laden plate, but completely forgetting to smother the pancake with a spoonful of the sweet lemon juice.

Carefully keeping the plate level, Slender heads up onto the deck to see if she can get a clearer signal. There’s some interference though. There’s a night watchman on the deck. Asleep! Well sort of asleep, he’s definitely not quite awake, and his unrestrained subconscious transmits his true feelings.

« No! Not now. I want some more shut eye! »

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