Robert Rankin - Retromancer

‘The captain sort of bumped this ship a bit,’ said Hugo Rune, taking his beer glass to his mouth. ‘But it did lead to a lot of upper-class rats fleeing a non-sinking ship. So I think we must chalk it up as a success.’

‘Except that we are in a hurry to reach New York,’ I said.

‘Precisely,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘So regrettably we cannot enjoy the peace and quiet and perhaps upgrade to better accommodation. We must make haste to extricate the ship from the Sargasso and head for the USA.’

‘The Sargasso Sea?’ wailed Fangio. ‘Then all is lost. We are doomed, we are doomed.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘I had forgotten about the Weeping and Wailing Competition. What time does it start? I would like to enter it too.’

‘Eight o’ clock,’ said Fangio. ‘We are doomed, we are doomed, oh mercy, mercy me.’

‘Enough,’ cried Hugo Rune and he raised his stick. ‘Someone will have to don a diving suit and go down and cut free the screws. As originator of this idea that will save all of our lives, I nominate the captain to carry out the mission.’

‘And as captain,’ said the captain, ‘I nominate this barman here.’

‘And I nominate Clarence, my monkey,’ said Fangio.

Fangio’s monkey shook its head and pointed a finger at me.

‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘I am not doing that. I know all about the shark-infested waters and I would get claustrophobic in a diving suit. And I am not a very strong swimmer.’

‘Then I shall do it,’ said Hugo Rune.

‘You?’ I said. ‘Surely not.’

‘It will have to be done, Rizla. And someone will have to do it.’

‘We could perhaps draw lots for it,’ I said. ‘Or spin a bottle, or something. It does not seem fair that you should do it, you are rather-’

‘Old?’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Portly?’ he said also.

‘Too dignified,’ I said. ‘But it is a job for a younger man. Either Fangio, or the captain, or myself.’

‘Or the monkey,’ said Fangio.

And the monkey bit him.

We had it all planned. Well, we almost did. We would have a few drinks then take ourselves off to the ship’s casino. And there we would play cards, or throw dice, or otherwise gamble, but let fate decide by one means or another which of us should dive.

And I think we had at least come to the agreement that it would all rest upon a spin of the roulette wheel, upon THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE, as it were.

But then we heard the sounds.

That round of cannon shot.

And the blowing of many whistles.

And a kind of atavistic howling.

Which heralded the boarding party… of pirates.

Now I make no bones about it, in fact neither skull nor crossed bones, but I have always had this thing for pirates. How well I recall the dealings Mr Rune and I had with Captain Bartholomew Moulsecoomb, the Bog Troll Buccaneer [14]and his crew of scurvy pirate types. I really took to those fellows, I did. I do not know exactly what it is about pirates that I like so much. It might be one of so many things. The tricornes or cutlasses, peg legs or hand-hooks, frock coats or eyepatches, parrots or treasure chests. One of them, or maybe all. But I do like pirates. Monkeys I also like. But I like pirates the bestest.

And even as Fangio, my dad and myself were discussing THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE and I was telling them that I had chosen the tarot card of THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE, so we must be doing the right thing, grappling hooks were being thrown up onto the passenger decks and pirates, many lacking for bits and bobs of themselves, were swarming up ropes, with knives between their teeth, arr’ing and arr-harr’ing and belching rum-tainted breaths.

A pause in our conversation was occasioned by the bursting in of the posh saloon bar door and the bursting through the opening of this by a group of the most wretched, hideous, horrible, scabrous, foul and filthy scum of the sea as should ever end their evil days doing a dance for Jack Ketch.

An overwhelming rankness, the very foetor of the damned, engulfed us in a healthless miasma. I coughed, my father coughed, Mr Rune and Fangio coughed, but Fangio’s monkey just grinned and chattered.

If they smelled bad, and they did, these malodorous blackguards, the looks of them were sufficient to strike fear into the bravest of hearts.

It was clear that any brief flirtations any of them ever had with hygiene had not led to a lasting relationship. They were filthy. They were bedraggled. Unkempt, unrinsed, soiled and begrimed. They were turbid, they were dreggy. Matted, caked and nauseatingly slimed.

And though I did have a thing about pirates, I did not take to this ghastly bunch.

‘Who be cap’n here?’ roared one of this putrid crew. One bigger and more repulsive than the rest. He wore a rotting tricorne titfer on his hideous head, a feculent frock coat, once of grey but now of gangrenous green. A pair of squalid seaman’s boots and a threadbare fusty necktie.

I noticed that this necktie was that of the Queen’s Own Electric Fusiliers. It is strange what catches your eye in moments of extreme terror.

‘Who be cap’n here?’ roared this malcontent once more.

Fangio now pointed at my father. As did his monkey and also Mr Rune.

My father began now to flap his hands and turn around in small circles. Which explained to me how I must have come by this undignified habit.

‘We be takin’ this ship,’ quoth the large ungarnished pirate to my father. ‘What say ye to this?’

‘I say such is the law of the sea,’ said my father. ‘If you would be so kind as to put me in a longboat with a few weeks’ supply of food and send me on my way, I’ll be happy to even let you have my cap, if you fancy it.’

‘’Tis the cap of a nancy-boy,’ now quoth the pulverulent pirate. ‘But I might take it with your head still inside, if such takes my fancy.’

‘Now hold on there,’ I said, as I did not fancy any insalubrious malfeasant parting my daddy’s head from his body. ‘He said you can have the ship – there is no cause to go chopping his head off.’

‘And who be you, my girly boy?’ asked the besmutted buccaneer. ‘We’ll find a use for your botty parts as we might for a Portobello harlot.’

‘Is he suggesting what I think he is suggesting?’ asked Fangio of Hugo Rune.

‘Silence!’ roared the rank and rotten ruffian.

‘If I might just crave a moment of your time, O lord of the sea,’ said Hugo Rune, stepping forwards and bowing low before our tainted tormentor. ‘There is much treasure aboard this vessel and I can lead you to its whereabouts.’

‘Such you will do indeed,’ went the unwashed one and then took to arr’ing and arr-harr’ing, after the manner of his kind. Although even this did not endear him to me.

‘But first,’ continued Hugo Rune, ‘why not slake your thirsts here? There is much fine liquor to be had and it would be our honour to serve you.’

‘Arrr!’ and, ‘Arrr-harrr!’ And the putrid pirates cheered at this.

‘Take yourself to the rear of the bar counter,’ said Hugo Rune to me, ‘and serve our guests. Hurry now.’

And he gave me a look.

And I understood this look.

And I took to the rear of the counter.

The mildewed multitude called out for liquor, wine and ale and whisky. Fangio shook cocktails, his monkey pulled the pints and I handed out bags of crisps.

‘Do you have any Kryptonite-flavoured crisps?’ asked a septic seaman who knew nothing of continuity.

I was by now becoming able to deal with the extreme taint foisted onto the goodly air of the posh saloon bar by the scrofulous scoundrels. By the simple expedient of dipping two cocktail umbrellas in Angostura bitters and ramming them up my nostrils. Fangio’s monkey was still looking happy enough.