Julian Stockwin - Artemis

'Our longitude was thirty-two degree an' seventeen minutes west, noon yesterday.' 'Latitude, Mr Prewse?'

'An' nought degrees an' fifty-four minutes — north!'

Powlett whirled back on the boatswain. 'There you are. North. Do you propose, sir, that we enter King Neptune's realm early? That is to say, precipitate, like a damn-fool set o' canting lubbers who can't work a sea position to save their skins?'

The boatswain's face eased into a smile. 'Aye, sir, we'd best not set His Majesty at defiance!'

Kydd could hardly wait to relay the conversation to the mess, who were taking their victuals in the shade of the main deck.

'Yair, well, it's no small thing, mate, to enter hupon his realm,' Petit said portentously.

Cundall leered evilly at Kydd. 'An' it's bad days fer them 'oo 'aven't been welcomed inta it yet.'

Realising that he would be made sport of whatever he did, Kydd just smiled.

Doud's grin was devilish. His gaze slid to Quashee, who winked at him, and he affected a kind, considerate manner. 'Could be the best fer any who don't know the rules to steer a mite clear of the ceremonies,' he told Kydd. "Is Majesty don't stand fer no contempt ter his person.'

Kydd resolved to be conveniently absent when King Neptune came aboard.

'Should be hearin' from 'im soon!' Stirk said, his black eyes glittering at Kydd. "Oo is it that ain't been admitted to 'is kingdom, then?'

That night, at seven bells of the first watch, Artemis was boarded by a messenger from King Neptune himself. Or, at least, a man looking just like a ragged sea sprite and dripping sea-water suddenly appeared before the starboard fo'c'sle lookout from outboard, clambering rudely over the fife rail.

'What ship?' was demanded, and when the hapless lookout stuttered an answer, he was pelted with a rotten fish. 'Down, yer scurvy shab, make yer respects to one o' King Neptune's crew!'

The officer-of-the-watch was summoned; it was Rowley. He doffed his hat, and courteously enquired of the stranger.

"Is Majesty requires of yer a list of all 'oo have not yet bin truly welcomed inter his realm,' the officer was told in lordly tones. By this time curious sightseers had gathered around, including some from the wardroom.

'Of course,' said Rowley, 'but I beg you, be so good as to take a glass while you wait. A rummer of brandy will, I believe, keep the damp from your bones.'

Well satisfied but grumbling mightily, the sprite later eased himself over the rail and disappeared.

On the following forenoon, the masthead lookout hailed the deck. 'Sail, ho! Strange sail right ahead, standin' fer the ship.' 'What ship?'

'More like a boat wi' a lugsail.'

Telescopes flashed on the quarterdeck. The boatswain turned importantly to the Captain and said, 'It's very like King Neptune, sir!'

'Very well,' said Powlett. 'Make ready his carriage — heave to and prepare a welcome, Mr Parry.'

The boat was secured to the forechains and King Neptune was swayed aboard in a chair suspended from a whip rove at the fore-yardarm, followed shortly by his wife. His courtiers scrambled up the side and quickly took possession of the foredeck. They were a motley crew, rigged in a wild assortment of regalia: coloured rags and old sailcloth decorated with seaweed, seagull feathers and wigs of oakum. The King's conveyance turned out to be a twelve-pounder gun carriage, with a suitably comfortable leatherbound chair lashed to it. Neptune assumed his rightful position, acknowledging the murmurs of awe in regal fashion with his trident.

Captain Powlett hurried to greet his august visitors, making a fine leg with his gold-laced hat sweeping down. 'Well pleased are we, Your Majesty, that you have deigned to welcome us. Pray accept a glass of Western Ocean punch.'

Neptune was certainly an imperious sight — a mighty beard of tarred oakum, long, flowing wig, striped toga, a trident and flaring golden crown. The glass was immediately to hand, and after draining it in one, the King addressed the party in a deep, rich voice. 'What ship?'

'Artemis frigate, s' please Your Majesty,' replied Powlett, in his usual worn shirt, but with his gold-laced cocked hat in honour of the occasion.

'Whither bound?' demanded King Neptune.

An expectant hush fell. 'To the far Indee, the land of the peacock and elephant, rubies and gold,' answered Powlett.

'What do ye there?' Neptune would answer to his shipmates later were he to pass up his chance.

Powlett's eyes glinted. 'Nothing that would interest the puissant Sovereign of all the Seas!' he growled.

Neptune's wife adjusted her breasts. 'Now, dear, we mustn't be late for the mermaid's dance,' she said, in a beautiful falsetto that only a singer's voice like Doud's could produce. In her long flowing hair of teased-out manila, cheeks thick with red ochre and petticoat of yellow bunting she drew admiring looks, which she played upon shamelessly. Coquettishly she fingered the King's chain of office, a string of sea-shells, and the crowd roared.

'Badger Bag!' Neptune thundered.

His chamberlain stepped forward, an unmistakable hard figure with glittering black eyes under the fish scales and sacking. 'Sire.'

'Yon land toggies have no respec' for my royal person!' Neptune gestured angrily at the grinning officers.

Badger Bag reached into his large sack, but there was no need: the officers hurried to render elaborate obeisance to His Oceanic Majesty.

'Is my court prepared?' Neptune demanded.

'Of course, Your Majesty,' said Powlett.

'Then forward!'

Flogged on by Badger Bag with a rope's end of stout Sargasso seaweed, and with the maximum of horseplay, his courtiers trundled the haughty Neptune aft to the main jeer bitts, where his grand throne of a cunningly sawn large cask took pride of place.

'Where's 'is sea?' Badger Bag demanded, outraged. Quickly a kid filled with sea-water was brought, and Neptune sat on his throne with a theatrical sigh, able to keep his feet at the very least in his natural element. Western Ocean punch flowed freely — it would be a sad thing indeed if Artemis could not right royally entertain their regal guests.

Neptune wiped his mouth after his third glass, dislodging his beard somewhat and revealing that his black complexion owed more to nature than artifice.

'King Neptune is black?' an amused Rowley said to Badger Bag.

'O' course,' was the reply. "Is Majesty is in mournin' fer his first wife — caught a mortal chill off the Newfie banks, sucklin' their child. 'E's minded ter blockade the Shetlands an' force the mermaids ter suckle the next one.' For his temerity Rowley was struck roundly on the ear with a large fish drawn from the sack.

'Avast!' bellowed Neptune. 'Bring forth the pollywogs.'

Badger Bag fumbled in his sack and extracted a parchment. 'Midshipman Titmuss!' he thundered. The youth in question, a dreamy boy with golden curls, was set upon by his assistants, the bears, who hauled him forward.

'Is this scrawny mortal worthy of entry to my realm?' Neptune demanded.

'Stands accused of leavin' his mama a-weepin' on land while he sails orf over the briny deep,' Badger Bag said, 'an' seen ter take soft tommy when 'e could've supped on hard-tack,' he continued remorselessly.

The bears began capering immediately. 'Guilty! Guilty!' they crowed, scampering about the deck.

'Hold!' Neptune said. 'In m' mercy, he shall be admitted - but not in them there awful whiskers! Shave 'im!'

The golden down could hardly be termed whiskers, but nevertheless a blindfold was clapped on and the youth frogmarched to the after end of the quarterdeck, where a huge canvas tub of sea-water waited. He was guided to a chair on the edge of the tub. A bucket of water was dashed into his face, and the bears set to work with large wooden razors and carpenter's paste mixed with rancid butter. The youth struggled and yelled in desperation, but it only resulted in his mouth being choked with more of the foaming paste. At the height of his struggles, the chair was tipped over and the victim tumbled into the water.