,

End of Intermission


The Story so far...


Capt Kit Soonie aboard the pirate vessel Bacardi Breezer and his crew have been pursuing Capt UT and his crew aboard the Flossie Jetsam eager to capture the Flossie's precious cargo - namely one very knowledgeable Rear Admiral Sir Reggie Radish who lives most of the time in Capt UT's head and who has in his long memory details of many sunken treasures around and about the coast of the Americas.

Capt Kit has succeeded in temporarily capturing Sir Reggie, who led Kit on a wild goose chase to retreive treasure that wasn't off the coast of California. Sir Reggie has now escaped and is back aboard the Flossie Jetsam with Capt UT. Capt Kit is not amused at being tricked out of his prize and has given chase cornering (can you corner in a galleon?) Capt UT and giving him an ultimatum to return Reggie forthwith, and is even now aiming the Breezer's cannon at the Flossie.

Luckily, Capt UT has just discovered a secret portal that links the Flossie with the Breezer via the Powder Room of each ship (a favourite haunt of Cheyenne), and Capt UT is about to board the Breezer via this invisible 'passage-way' accompanied by a crack team of naval walrus's (they didnt have SEALs in those days!) drawn from the Flossie's crew .

In the midst of all this mayhem, Brianna's man-servant, Flint, has spent the last three months or so in the Breezer's hold awaiting Capt Kit's decision as how best to deal with him, something that has been trying his ingenuity throughout this entire fiasco.

Our story now (hopefully) continues.... (where are you Mari....??)

And J.K. Rowling made hundreds of millions while you were peddling your ass around France. :lol:

Well, I do potter around occasionally, if that makes any difference...

Probably not to your bottom line. :D

sadly no - it's all too often a case of hanging on by the seat of my pants. But I have made a recent investment which appears to be making a marked improvement on that situation.

No sign of Mari - may have to make an executive decision about how to move the story along - will prepare a proposal over the weekend in case needed....

Mind you, if anyone else wants to write a chapter, please go ahead, just don't end it with everyone being trapped at the bottom of the ocean.....! Please!

I've tried to reach Mari without much success so far - could be down to connection problems (I know from my own experience how painful it can be getting a phone line installed from new), and so it will be difficult to know when whe will be back and posting again.

So, a few suggestions as to how to get the story moving again.

1. I will add a new entry within the next 48 hours.
2. Anyone wishing to take over with an entry after that - pls go ahead - I'll wait another 48 hours before acting on next suggestion, which is
3. Pls send me a PM with an event or activity you would like to see included in the story at some stage forwards (PM route so as to add a certain amount of suspense and secrecy to the enterprise) and I will endeavour to build them in as the story continues.

Once Mari is back I'll involve and task her with adhering to this 'wish-list' also.

Let's get these sea-dogs sailing again!

Night fell, as night does on a daily basis when the sun goes down – even off the coast of California. A moonless night as well, this one, hard even to see the outline shadow of a man that moved stealthily across a deck, which suited our four intrepid heroes as they moved stealthily across the deck of the Bacardi Breezer.

It was very quiet, save for the creaking of the boards (as the ship tilted oh so slightly from port to starboard, and back again, encouraged by the light current), the sound of the occasional mid-snore snort, a slapping of lips and, of course and more often, the inevitable sound of wind vibrating its escape through a sailor’s buttocks.

The lone watch, Lumberjim, was slumped against the wheel – another fellow enjoying the after-effects of a generous helping of rum – and not alone was he, as the rest of the crew seemed also to have been well–treated in this respect.

Each of the Flossie crew carried a sack, and heavy it was too, containing, as it did, a good two dozen of Brianna’s Monster Hamburger Burger Portuguese Man-o-War Style Churrosco Meatballs (the large variety), each as big as a cannon ball, which might give some clue as to their intended purpose.

Silently, our four brave men went about their task, quietly slipping two MHBPMoWSCM(tlv)s into the mouth of each cannon, until all 48 guns had been properly attended to (and my mathematics double-checked).

Mission accomplished without so much as a mutter from any of Kit’s crew. They were all enjoying a smiley, smug-faced, sleep-inducing, alcoholic contentment. All that is except one….

UT and his crew slipped quietly into the powder room, Cheyenne’s mirror still in hand, and, with a quick turn of the door handle, returned back aboard the Flossie Jetsam.

Dawn broke, and so did wind throughout the ranks (an appropriate word) of Cap’n Kit and his crew.

Kit looked across to where the Flossie Jetsam still lay anchored – so she hadn’t tried to sail away during the night as he had expected she might. But in all honesty (well, pirate honesty, anyway) UT had had enough time to help. Time to send him another warning shot across the bows.

‘Prepare to fire a warning shot across the Flossie’s bows!’ Kit barked out the order.

There was a commotion below decks, and a lot of banging and screaming it was too. Flint was making himself heard.

‘What on earth is he making all that fuss for now? – go and bring him up here on deck and let’s see what he has to say. I hope it’s something of value, if only for the sake of his continued relatively good health…!’

Flint was very agitated: ‘Don’t fire the cannons. They were here last night, Capt UT and some of his crew. They put something in each of the cannons, I heard them moving around…’

‘What rubbish is this. How could they come on board? We would have heard them when they drew up alongside in their boat at least…’

‘No, no. It wasn’t like that they came out of the powder room over there, and went back in it. I don’t know how they got aboard, but they did and I could just seem them through the holes in the hatch-cover grating go back in there. They must be in there now..’

‘Well, if this is true - and I don’t believe for one moment that it is – then there is one easy way to find out!’ Kit drew his cutlass and pointed it towards Flint, at the same time directing him with his free hand towards the powder room door. ‘Off you go, You can see if they're inside or not. And make sure to close the door behind you…!’

Flint, somewhat wishing he had worn his brown trosuers, entered the door which Spexxvet was kindly easing open just enough to allow Flint to enter, but not enough to let UT and his crew out… As soon as Flint was inside he slammed the door shut. There was a brief moment of silence, and then all the crew burst into a spontaneous combustion of laughter.

Five minutes passed. All sounded quiet within the powder room. Kit motioned to Spexxvet to open the door, and opened it was. The room was empty. No UT, No Flossie crew, and most of all… NO FLINT!

‘I have no idea what’s going on here,’ said Kit, ‘but I don’t like it at all. Prepare to fire the cannon!’ Seemed he had forgotten all that Flint had warned about the cannons. But what had become of Flint? Was he now aboard the Flossie Jetsam? Appears not!

‘I have no idea what’s going on, but I don’t like it at all’ Flint murmured very quietly to himself. It was dark inside the powder room once the door had closed, and Flint remained still… then nervously and in a small voice: ‘Is anbody there….?’ No reply. I’m getting out of here! Thought Flint, and he opened the door….

…only to find himself stepping out from a small wooden building into bright sunlight on a golden sandy beach on which were frolicking several rather attractive and scantily clad young ladies of Caribbean origin…! Flint’s eyes almost left their sockets! It seemed that he had somehow crossed paths with another portal that had an exit at one end on this rather nice Caribbean island. So that’s the information that Reggie must have imparted to UT just before they went into the powder room to board the Breezer - portal routes could cross in certain circumstances. And why should this have affected Flint? Well, it seems he had his grandfather’s pocket watch with him, and that acted quite differently on the portal from Cheyenne’s mirror…

The girls suddenly noticed Flint and came rushing towards him, giggling all the time. Then they grabbed his hands and led him to the ocean’s edge where they began to strip him and bathe him in the clear blue water.

Well, lucky old Flint! He wasn’t going to be in a hurry to go back into that old wooden building that was for certain!

And the girls even had a gramophone player (how handy!) and this was even now playing, an old Harry Belafonte number…’This is my island in the sun…..’

I need some help here, my creative brain cells are wilting under the strain of trying to expand their limited sources of piratical opportunities ...:

1. Anyone wishing to make an entry after my last - pls go ahead - I'll wait until Friday before acting on next suggestion (of course provided that you act on it!), which is
2. Pls send me a PM with an event or activity you would like to see included in the story at some stage forwards (PM route so as to add a certain amount of suspense and secrecy to the enterprise) and I will endeavour to build them in as the story continues.

Once/if Mari is back I'll involve and task her with adhering to this 'wish-list' also.

Working on next entry - will try not to keep you in suspense too long - another 48 hours maximum - will try sooner. There, that should make Monday seem a little better!

No outside suggestions received, by the way, so have overdosed on Robert Rankin over the weekend to induce some suitably weird content in order to be able to continue... YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Meanwhile back on the ranch, er Bacardi, Kit was just about to drop his hand with the order to fire when he remembered Flint's stange story. The man HAD just up and disappeared! Something strange was certainly going on. "Inspect the mouths of the cannons just in case, boys," he ordered. The pirates put their hands gingerly into the cannons.

"Yuck!" shreiked First Mate Tonchi. "There's something cold and disgusting and greasy in there!" The other pirates were making the same discovery and giving cries of horror or shouting loud Pirate's cuss words which can be very nasty themselves.

The cannons would have exploded from their lethal dose of Brianna's hambuger burger recipe. A pirate tasted a bit of the stuff and exclaimed, "Its not so much sour as it is just not very good. Blech!"

"I have an idea!" exclaimed Tonchi. "Let's give them a taste of their own back! Clear that gunk out of the cannons and make it up into shot sized chunks. We can then sweep the Flossie's decks with a nice dose of food poisoning!"

"AArrrrggg!" shouted the pirates. "Agreed!"

The pirates quickly went to work constructing their new lethal ammo. T' Pau, Queen of the Universe went around and spat up a ceremonial hair ball on each load.

UT had been dreaming of the Caribbean Islands and scantily clad laughing girls and for some reason, Flint, when he was rudely awakened by shreiks of disgust and horror from the decks above. He scampered quickly out to the the poop deck just in time to be hit in the eye with a chunk of disgusting substance.

"I say" he exclaimed, "that was no smilie. In fact its just not really very good. Its like hamburger burger with cat gaack added. How perfectly disgusting!"

The Bacardi raised signal flags.

"We have lots more where this came from. Now what about that map?"

UT sighed and was then hit by another obnoxious glob. Some days it just didn't pay to get up in the morning.....

(Hooray! She's back! - but clearly the absence has affected her memory...)

Not only that - there was no music! ‘What was the place turning into....?’ wondered U.T.

‘What was the plaice turning into…?’ wondered Winston Deuteronymus Whale. The Sea Creatures Annual Reunion and Evening Dinner (or S.C.A.R.E.D. as it had somehow now become called) was in full swing. Winston had been running S.C.A.R.E.D. (it's all right - you can groan if you want to!) for five years now, and this was by far the best evening yet. But Percy Plaice seemed to have gone over the top this time. Turning up in that seahorse-drawn conch as if he owned the… place, wasn’t the way to go about pleasing your host, after all. Still everyone seemed to be enjoying the dinner and were about to tuck into the main course. Even the Sharks twins were eating the food (as opposed to three of the guests, as had happened last year), and Bertram Barracuda had overseen the choice of wine – always a difficult task, being, as they were, underwater.

But this year it was the cabaret that everyone was looking forward to. Coached by Winston’s brother Melvin, the whelks choir had learned to sing a medley in whalesong from the famous Sing-Along-a-Whalesong book. In fact, it was such a splendid event that most of Winston’s family and relatives had insisted on attending this year and that meant the whales numbered some 25 in all. And everyone was assembled to hear the Whelk’s Mel Voice Choir (one for the Brits there!), plus, of course everyone present had a copy of the words and music, so that after the whelks had finished their rendition, all the others could join in with the reprise - because it is well known that on events like these everybody sings in Whales (number two for the Brits! – they really are being spoiled!).

Winston‘s thoughts were interrupted. Something had landed on his head. He took it off and examined it (no, not his head - don't be silly - the thing that had landed on his head!). It looked like a small fragment of meat, only there was a bit of … well, it looked like fur to him. Winston took hold of the morsel and popped it into his mouth, swirled it around a bit, and promptly spat it out again, spluttering and grimacing in one movement. MY god! What was that – it was DISGUSTING!. Then he felt another piece of meat land on his head, then another, and another…. hang on, it seemed to be falling… everywhere…. and especially into their food!

Things were taking a turn out for the worse. The Sharks had just taken a mouthful of their main course, now laced with this strange debris. Next moment they spat it out, as in unison. A badly fed shark is not a happy shark, and before you could say Jack Jellyfish, the twins had swallowed two sea bass sat either side of them.

Chaos ensued. Winston looked around him in total shock at the scene that met his eyes. Bits of fur-covered meat rained down upon them like some tropical storm. Fish, crustaceans and mammals were either being sick, or were fighting, or were taking great chunks out of each other. No, no. no, no, NO! This could NOT be happening!

Winston summoned Melvin over: ‘Go and find out what’s causing this, please, for goodness sake - and DO be quick!’

Melvin swam off immediately towards the sea’s surface, and it took only a matter of seconds before he saw that the hideous downpour had come from a ship parked right above them. Melvin swam back….

Whales may appear to be big lumbering creatures, but when decisions are to be made, they move pretty fast – and this occasion was no exception! A decision WAS made and in record time. Winston, Melvin and the other 23 members of Winston’s family made their way towards the Bacardi Breezer…


‘Right! That’s it!!’ Kit had clearly reached the end of his exceptionally short tether.’ I’m not waiting any longer. Prepare to fire-…. What the- !?!’

The Breezer suddenly lurched sideways, unbalancing the crew and sending them as one towards the port side of their ship. Then she lurched the other way and the crew lurched towards starboard, then back again, then the other way – it was like some surreal form of the Okee-Cokee, to the point that they were indeed being shaken all about. You might even say they were having a whale of a time!

For just below the surface and either side of the Breezer, the whales were banging their weight first against one side and then against the other side of the vessel, creating a rhythmic swaying motion, then a group of ten whales moved to the stern of the ship and started nudging her forwards. She began to move through the ocean. Slowly at first, then gathering momentum until the whales had achieved a good swaying speed of about 8 knots.

On board the crew were still being thrown around – left right, lurch forwards… left, right, lurch forwards. Some of the newer hands, which naturally included Squeedler and JayMcGee, were even beginning to feel a bit sea-sick! The Breezer moved further and further away from land and into the deeper seas of the Pacific Ocean, and with each lurch the record on the gramophone jumped from its groove – it was making no progress at all: ‘You put your left side-…., you put your le-…. You put your lef-….. you put your-….!!’

Capt'n Kit looked over the side of the ship and saw the cause of the phenomenon. He turned to First Mate Tonchi. "Quick who do we have on board who can speak whales?" he asked.

"You mean Welsh, don't you?"

"Whales, Welsh, whatever. This is not the time for you to turn into the grammer police," said Kit irritably as the Bacardi gave another lurch.

"Well, Kagen speaks Australian," Tonchi replied.

"Close enough," said Kit. "Get him up here!"

A few minutes later, a bewildered Kagen listened to what Kit wanted. "But Capt'n," he objected. "I don't speak whales or Welsh. I speak Aussie."

"Well, give it a try, ordered Kit. "Ask those whales what they want."

Kagen shrugged his shoulders and leaned over the side of the ship which wasn't very hard since it was already leaning at quite the angle.

"I say mates," he hollered at the nearest whale. "What say we throw a little something on the barbie and discuss this situation over a nice cold glass of Fosters?"

The whales who just so happened to quite fluent in Aussie, thought this one over. It had been hard work pushing the Bacardi so far and their banquet HAD been interrupted and they were quite hungry. They were also inordinately fond of Fosters but had difficulty procuring it what with being in the ocean and all (see chapter above).

Well, if you stop killing every fish and sea creature for miles around with that horrible glop, we'll think about it," they responded. "You don't have any nice plankton on board do you?"

Kagen thought furiously. He had never had to plan a dinner for 20 or so whales. He turned back to Kit "What can we give them Capt'n ?"

"How about Welsh rabbit," said Kit.

"How does some tasty Welsh rabbit sound, mates?" hollored Kagen at the whales.

"That sounds like the very ticket," the whales chorused back (they were still in fine singing fettle).

"Go down to the galley and tell the cook to prepare Welsh rabbit for 20 very large guests and tell him to hurry," ordered Kit to Tonchi - "and no hair balls this time!"

An hour or so later the stuffed whales (and a stuffed whale is an amazing sight to behold) were floating on their backs with cans of cold Foster's in their flippers.

"Let me tell you a little stoory," began Kit...

The grammaphone began to play Jimmy Buffet's "A pirate looks at 40."

Kit narrated his story via Kagen to the whales, naturally using a good dollop of piratic licence (which is not dissimilar to prosaic licence except there’s no need to write it down).

‘So,’ boomed Winston. ’You are saying that this evil Captain Undertow has captured our good friend Sir Reggie and is even now threatening him with French dressing and a thoroughly good tossing if he doesn’t reveal where all the treasure sites are. That IS terrible!

‘And on top of that it was Undertow and his gang that spiked your cannon and ultimately spoiled our feast. Just not on, simply not cricket… I think we will have to make amends straight away. Without a doubt. Absolutely.’ (Whales tend to go on a bit when communicating with humans)

‘That Welsh rabbit was splendid, especially washed down with the Fosters - although Castlemaine would have been a tad nicer – still, no harm done. I’ll round the family up to get us back to California pronto, without the sideways lurching this time, naturally….!’

++

Back off the coast of California, UT and his crew were feeling pretty pleased with themselves. Kit was gone, and with him the Bacardi Breezer and its crew. The Flossie raised her sails to set south and find another of the treasures that Reggie had located.

Brianna and Cheyenne were happy exchanging information on recipes and hairstyles, the sun was shining and a fair breeze was filling the sails. This was what life at sea was supposed to be all about. No worries about being attacked by pirates and cannon-fire. At last a chance to relax and enjoy the roll of his ship as she ploughed in and through the waves, spray dancing like diamonds in the bright sunlight.

‘Yes, I was just thinking the same…’said Reggie….

++

If the Flossie was making 12 knots then the Breezer was making 20! Winston and his fellow whales were working in formation, like a number of relay teams. First 8 whales would push the galleon forward with all their might for about 30 seconds, then they would drop away and another 8 would take their place, these then followed by the final 7. And so they would rotate, the breaks between pushing permitting them to regain their strength in time for when next it was their turn to push again. Kit had never known his ship move so fast, and all the time they were gaining on the Flossie. It wouldn’t be long before they caught them. If they sailed at night by the stars, then they should be upon them by dawn the next day…

++

UT was woken by Reggie sort of shouting in his head. ‘What is it, Reggie?’

‘I’m not sure. I think it was a bad dream, but it seemed too real. It was as though there were many whales coming for the Flossie, and they were angry. I was trying to communicate with them, because whales use the same type of communication as I do, but their emotions were blocking out any attempt I made. I don’t like it UT…!’

‘What’s the time? Hmm, it’s getting light. Maybe we should have a look on deck. I’ll send Lookout123 up to the crow’s nest…’

The Flossie was still sailing well, as Lookout123 climbed the rope ladders leading to the crow’s nest. His telescope (checked for unwanted smilies) hung diagonally across his back attached to a lanyard. Lookout 123 heaved himself the last few feet over the ledge that formed the floor of the nest and pulled himself upright. He extended the telescope and placed it to his right eye, and in one smooth and continuous move scoured the distant horizon. Nothing. Another sweep, Still nothing. One last scan and….

A spec, but a spec growing bigger and bigger at an unprecedented rate. A minute and the masts of a galleon could be clearly seen. Another minute and he could just make out the familiar flag of the Bacardi Breezer.

Lookout123 called down to UT: ‘It’s Kit! I don’t know what wind he’s following but he‘s making some phenomenal speed and heading straight for us!’

‘The whales!’ Reggie’s words resounded inside UT’s head. ‘He’s being pushed by the whales. It all makes sense now. Kit must have spun them a yarn. God knows what he’s made them believe. Certainly not good news for us. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s even convinced them that I am enemy as well. They won’t communicate with me even now!/

‘How long have we got?’UT shouted, looking up towards the crow’s nest.

‘About half an hour at the most I’d say.’ Lookout123 was already making his way down through the rigging, passing Jaguar on the way, who was busy sewing up a large tear in one of the sails.

‘This could be very nasty.’ Said UT.

‘There is one thing, though,’ Reggie interjected. ‘Not many people know this but farks and whales don’t get on at all – in fact they really, really hate each other…’

The gramophone whirred – Rolling Stones – the title just being heard: ‘It’s all over now….’ I hope not! thought UT…

Then UT remembered the Welsh Corgi's. There were ten pure bred Cardigan Welsh Corgi's in the hold that some foolish American had shipped as a gift to The Queen. As everyone knows except Americans, The Queen prefers PEMBROKES NOT Cardi's.

"Bring the Corgi's on deck NOW", shouted UT. "You know how these whales folk stick together. They'd never harm any of their own!"

The Corgi's scampered madly about the deck, wild with joy at the first taste of freedom they'd had in 3 months. Everyone on board the Flossie began to trip over the excited Corgi's who were giving barks of happiness over their escape.

The Bacardi pulled even with the Flossie Jetsam. UT raised the signal flags. "We have ten Welsh Corgi's on board. If the Flossie Jetsam goes down, they will, too!"

"Damn!" exclaimed Kit, "We've been farked by Corgi's!" The whales paused in mid stride or rather mid-tail flip and began to circle the Flossie in a bewildered fashion.

The Corgi's began to (f)bark in unison. One would almost think they were trying to speak, but no one had thought to teach them to do this trick, although an irreverent crew member had taught them to shake hands. This is one of the most absurd things to behold - a little short legged dog extending its paw sideways in an effort to shake hands and get a treat. But I digress.

Jay McGee, the Cardigan wearing man, had his head cocked in the direction of the Flossie Jetsam. The Corgi's unison barking was quite loud. "You need to hear this, sir, " McGee announced to Kit. "The Corgi's say to continue with the attack. They say they've been kept in the hold for three months and they'd rather take their chances doing the dog paddle in the ocean than ever go back down there. They say that UT and the rest are no friend to the Welsh Corgi, be it Pembroke OR Cardigan, and they're willing to go down with the ship, as a result."

Ooops!

UT's clever plan seemed to have backfired on him. Winston and the other whales gave spews of rage, and a ship of PETA fanatics suddenly appeared on the horizon.

"Well, now what you stupid radish?" UT thought to Sir Reginald.

The grammaphone began to play "You ain't nothing but a hound dog." The pirate, Ibram, strummed along on his guitar in smirking unison.

The commander of the secret British garrison on Cedros Island, some short distance from where our fine two (sorry, THREE) fine vessels were now located, woke with a start. He checked his watch. 4.35 am!?! What the hell was that racket?! It sounded like several Welsh corgis being strangled by a Fark which itself was trying to impersonate a school of whales practising the Sing-Along-A-Whalesong Book!

It was all getting a bit too much. There’d been enough cannon fire and noise these past few days, not to mention that god-awful looking minced meat with cat fur in it that had been washed up on the beach in quantity for a good two days. After all, it was a secret garrison and simply by virtue its name, everything was meant to be hush-hush, and this certainly wasn’t!

Vice-admiral Horatio Hornpipe extended an arm out from under the bedcovers and picked up the little bell he kept on the bedside table. Stern measures were called for. No point in just moaning like the rest of his countrymen, who ended up doing that and nothing else, especially when a nice cup of tea was shortly to be delivered.

‘Ere I be. Nice cuppa rosy, me darlin’, just as ‘ee likes it!. A strange mix of South London and Somerset accent filled the air as Hornpipe’s maid CzinZumerzet edged into the room carrying a tray with a teapot, cup, saucer, milk jug, sugar basin, tea strainer, slop bowl, four slices of wholemeal toast, butter dish and a pot of marmalade on it: ‘and a slice or two o’ ‘ee favourite toast and marmalade as well!’

‘Thank you. Just pop it over there, and be a good thing, go and fetch me my loud hailer…no, on second thoughts, fetch me my extra loud hailer.’

CZ shuffled off out of the room and down the stairs, returning a few minutes later with something resembling a cross between a digeridoo and an over-sized ear trumpet. Hornpipe was now out of bed and sporting a bright red dressing gown, a pair of tartan slippers poking out from underneath, each slipper embellished with a golden, fluffy pom-pom.

‘Oooh, yooz duz look nize, Mr. Hornpipe, gawd blimey yooz duz.’

‘Why, thank you my dear. Just bring it over here, will you.’ Hornpipe took the hailer from her and opened wide the window, and then rested the hailer on the sill. The noise from off-shore was even louder now.

Horn pipe pressed his mouth to the small end:

‘I SAY! YOU OVER THERE. ON THOSE SHIP THINGIES. HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHAT TIME IT IS? CIVILISED PEOPLE ARE STILL TRYING TO HAVE SOME SLEEP YOU KNOW. WOULD YOU MIND QUIETENING DOWN A BIT PLEASE. AND FOR GOODNESS SAKE TRY TO STOP THOSE DOGS BARKING . OH, YES, AND YOU WHALES AND THAT FARK. YES, THAT’S RIGHT, I’M TALKING TO YOU. THE SAME GOES FOR YOU TOO. JUST QUIETEN DOWN ALL OF YOU. YOU DON’T WANT ME TO GET HEAVY-HANDED NOW DO YOU?’

Aboard and about the ships they all stopped what they were doing and looked at each other a bit sheepish. Then almost all together, but very quietly:

‘Oh, all right, sorry…’

‘WHAT WAS THAT? SPEAK UP NOW SO I CAN HEAR YOU’

‘We said we’re sorry….’

‘WELL THAT’S A START. AND ARE YOU GOING TO STOP ALL THIS FIGHTING AND NOISE NONSENSE FOR GOOD NOW?’

‘Oh… all… right…..’

‘WHAT WAS THAT?’

‘We said: All right.’

‘OK. THAT’S BETTER. AND BE SURE YOU DO NOW. I’VE HAD QUITE ENOUGH OF THIS THESE LAST FEW DAYS, I CAN TELL YOU!’

And with that Hornpipe pulled in the hailer and shut the window.

At sea, the whales slinked off with their tales between their…. (well you know what I mean…. ), the corgis huddled together in a bunch and set about going to sleep, while the Fark farked off.

The Peta vessel turned around and went back to the shore, and Kit and UT looked at each other across the decks of their respective ships and shrugged their shoulders at each other. Well, that seemed to be that!

‘Oh what a fool I am!’ Reggie was doing the equivalent of slapping himself on the head in frustration.

‘Sorry?’ said UT. ‘I don’t quite understand….’

‘There I’ve been, all this time, trying to work out where it might be, and the answer’s more or less been staring me in the face. And I just couldn’t see it until now..’

‘You’ve lost me, my little pal.’

‘Look! Over there. Kit has just taken his shirt off. I sort of noticed it before when he took me prisoner, but it didn’t register. There, across his right shoulder blade. That strange tattoo. Like half a map.

‘Yes?’

‘Well you’ve got one as well, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, but I’ve never taken much notice of it. I mean it’s only half a map, and I could never understand the writing on it anyway. I just thought the tattooist was having a bit of a joke.’

‘Well the jokes on you – well, all of us really. Sir Francis told me that the most sought after treasure was that of Blackbeard the pirate. He went down with his ship and all his crew, and never a sole knew of the whereabouts of his treasure. Except it was rumoured that he had made a map and had then made a sort of coded copy of it by transferring it on to another piece of paper, so the process meant the map was now back to front – like when you look at a reflection in a mirror, He then tore the map in two, and left one piece each with a barber in two different ports. Now where did you get your tattoo done?’

‘Why, in Bridgetown, Barbados. In the little barber’s shop – are you suggesting that I have half the map and Kit has the other half?’

‘I certainly am. And, if I am not mistaken, it looks to me like it might well be time to form a truce with each other - that’s of course if I am right, and I certainly think I am. If it is Blackbeard’s treasure map, then we are all going to have the chance to become very rich. If we can find it that is, because the journey will be a treacherous one frought with many dangers. Blackbeard wasn’t going to make it easy for anyone else to get his treasure, was he now! Let’s signal Kit and hold a meeting – and I think we might just need Cheyenne’s mirror!

The gramophone creaked away, an old Sonny and Cher number: ‘I got you, babe…’