The Great Galloon and the Pirate Queen (17 page)

At this last, Stanley heard another noise. It was like a large kettle finally reaching the boil. Or an air raid siren that has been set to ‘annoying squeal'. It wasn't much of a noise, in the great scheme of things. But what it signified was this:

Able Skyman Abel had had enough. Just about blinking well enough.

The Gallooniers around him stood back, and made a little ripple in the wall of bodies. Stanley watched from his vantage point on the quarter deck, and saw that Abel was standing stiff as a board, one arm raised directly above his head, with his little rusty sword held high in it. His face was puce, which Stanley now knew to be a very bright shade of pink. As he watched, he realised that the noise Abel was making wasn't just a noise. It was a word.

‘S­s­s­s­s­s­s­s­s­s­s­s­f­f­f­f­f­f­f­f­f­f­f­f­f­f­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­s­s­k­k­k­k­k­c­h­c­h­c­h­c­h­c­h­c­h­c­h­c­h­c­h­c­h­c­h­C­H­C­H­C­H­C­H­C­H­C­H­C­H­C­H­C­H­C­C­C­C­C­C­H­C­H­H­H­H­H­H­H­H­A­A­A­A­A­A­A­A­A­A­R­R­R­R­R­R­R­R­R­R­R­R­G­G­G­G­G­G­G­E­E­E!!!!!!' he cried.

‘Did he say “charge”?' asked Jim Braggins.

‘Yes, I believe he did,' replied the butler, Scrivens.

‘I thunken no beggar'd ever shout ruddy “charge”!' said Jim. ‘Too much flimmin' talking these posh'uns get up to. Now it's time to grarz some flink over the tooting tumpstones, alright!'

‘Well, quite,' said Scrivens.

And together, the Gallooniers charged. Stanley even pulled his little sword out of its scabbard, for perhaps the second time ever. The Gallooniers used the coils of rope that formed the barricade itself to fling themselves overboard. They flung the hammock nets to the ground to break their fall. Within a few short minutes, all of them, the entire crew, passengers and all, were in the river, splashing and shouting and heaving themselves across. Stanley saw Clamdigger busily arranging a party to make pontoon bridges out of the debris that had come over with them. Last off the ship was the Brunt, his great dressing gown flapping, his horns glinting magnificently in the sun. He stayed out of the water, as the cold would be deadly to him, but he flung himself across the makeshift bridge at breakneck speed. Stanley was dragged along with the crowd, and was almost across when he looked again at the FishTank. Its crew too were disembarking – pouring out of the conning tower like a fizzy drink overflowing from its bottle. They took up positions on the far bank – they looked to Stanley to be greater in number than he thought, and better armed than the Gallooniers. But even as he rushed towards them, he could see that they didn't have the stomach for a fight. Some of them even turned and half-heartedly faced their own side, as if switching allegiances.

The Captain was now leaning far out over the rapids, still a hundred yards from where the Galloon army was approaching.

‘Stop!' yelled Isabella into her Squeaking Tube. ‘You think I will not kill him? I will – I am not like you. I can take the Galloon by force, and I do not need him any more.'

The army clattered to an uncertain halt, mostly on the makeshift bridge, some still waist deep in the water.

‘In fact,' said Isabella, and now they could see the weird smile on her lovely face as she spoke. ‘Why wouldn't I, at this point? You're going to come at me anyway. I don't want him chasing me around, causing trouble, when I'm flying his Galloon around the world, having fun.'

And she dropped him.

It was a fall of some fifty feet, into rocky rapids. The Captain did not scream or yell. He just fell into the water, where he fell limp, and was washed quickly downstream, towards the waterfall. Isabella laughed, and threw his best hat in after him.

‘Captain Meredith Anstruther!' cried the Brunt. Everyone else, including the FishTank crew, was silent.

‘Attack then!' cried Isabella, for all the world like an irate mother talking to a toddler.

Her crew, many of whom seemed as stunned as the Gallooniers, raised their weapons, and strode out into the shallows. Rasmussen appeared beside Stanley, and for the first time ever, she seemed to have real tears in her eyes.

‘We're just children!' she said. ‘Why are we here in this battle?'

‘Don't tell me you're scared, because you're not …' began Stanley, lamely. ‘Actually, you are, aren't you? So am I. But what else can we do? Watch from the sidelines?'

And together, they strode into the melee. As they arrived at the front, where the FishTank crew were putting up an unspirited defence, Stanley and Rasmussen found themselves in a tight circle of grown-ups – the Brunt, the Countess, Mr Wouldbegood and Cook, none of whom would let so much as a clip round the ear reach them.

The battle seemed to be going the FishTankers' way anyway, when another cry from Isabella made everybody stop and look.

‘Pathetic!' she yelled, from her vantage point on top of the vessel. ‘We'd better speed things up, I think!'

She seemed to kick some kind of lever with her foot, and a panel in the side of the FishTank opened up. With a whirring and a hissing, while the crews paused in battle to watch, a great brass mortar cannon emerged. A short fat tube like a barrel, with the mouth carved in the shape of a wolf's maw. Two long mechanical arms placed it on the ground on the riverbank.

‘I didn't want to use this against the Galloon, where it could damage my prize,' said Isabella. ‘But there's no harm in using it against
people
, is there?'

She lit a long match, and from up on the FishTank she threw it into the mouth of the mortar, which was pointing almost straight up into the air.

‘What's gonna …' Rasmussen said. Then the world went foom.

Just foom.

Not even particularly loud, though it did seem to block out all other noise. And render the watchers deaf for a spell.

Stanley saw something shoot out of the mortar. Something like a bunch of grapes, only much much bigger and more menacing. It flew up into the air, where it seemed to balance for moment, before breaking apart into many smaller somethings.

‘Cannonballs,' he said to Rasmussen beside him.

‘No,' she said. She knew a thing or two about cannonballs. ‘Bombs.'

The huge cluster of bombs, of the old-fashioned ‘light the fuse and run away' type, had now become a shower of many individual bombs. The FishTank crew seemed genuinely amazed that their Pirate Queen, mad though she had proven herself to be, would think them this expendable. The Gallooniers just knew their time was up.

‘Well, Stanley, old bean, it's been good knowing you,' said Perky, affably. ‘You know, I really thought the cavalry would arrive.'

‘The cavalry?' said Stanley, as the bombs stopped hanging in the air and started falling in earnest.

‘Figuratively speaking. It was an experiment of course, but I truly thought that in this global age, the word would get out.'

‘What word? What do you mean?' asked Stanley as the bombs brushed the tops of the overhanging trees.

‘The drums, lad! Once the drums put the word out, everybody comes together!'

‘Wha?' said Stanley, not for the first time.

‘S­K­K­w­w­a­a­a­A­A­A­K­K­K­K­a­k­k­k­a­a­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­k­a­a­w­w­w­w­w­w­K­e­r­a­a­a­a­Q­u­a­w­w­w­k­a­a­a­k­k­a­a­a­a­a­a­a­A­A­A!' said somebody overhead.

Stanley stood, agognished once more. Above him, Fishbane, the lord of the Seagles, had appeared. He seemed to have sprung fully formed from thin air, though it was much more likely he had simply been out of view above the trees.

‘S­q­u­u­e­e­e­e­e­e­e­K­a­l­l­a­k­k­a­l­a­k­k­a­l­a­k­k­a-K­a­h­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­o­e­e­e­e­K­K­K!' said a different voice, and Stanley whirled around to see another Seagle, and another, and another.

‘Fishbane!' he yelled.

But Fishbane was busy. He had grabbed one of the bombs in his sharp, webbed claws. Each of his many companions had also grabbed one each. With another screech, he seemed to direct his cohorts towards the FishTank, where Isabella was now dancing, wild with rage and fear.

‘Nooo!' she screamed. ‘Drop them, you thieving birds!'

And so they did. Each Seagle dropped its load of bombs down the open chute of the FishTank's conning tower. About thirty bombs must have gone down there in not nearly as many seconds. Many of the Seagles added a little extra payload of poop too, as a mark of disrespect. With a final swoop, Fishbane knocked the hatchway shut with his great beak. The crew members of both vessels whooped and cheered, Stanley noticed. Within seconds, the FishTank began to leap and bounce like a cracker as the bombs went off within. Huge lumps and dints appeared in its pristine outer surface, and soon it was looking as battered and bedraggled as the Sumbaroon ever had. It lay, motionless, in the shallows. With one final boom, the conning tower flew open and a burst of poopy smoke flew out. There was another cheer from the crowd. Isabella had been clinging on for dear life, but when she saw that the explosions had finished, she stood up again.

‘Fools! I need it not, this stopgap machine! I am to be the Pirate Queen of the Great Galloon, do you not see? And where is your Captain to save you now?'

Her words struck Stanley to the core once more – the Seagles had destroyed the FishTank, but they could not bring the Captain back.

OH YES THEY CAN

Well, this was strange. He hadn't thought that thought, had he?

NO SMALL BLUE

Small blue. Who calls me small blue?
thought Stanley.

CLAUDE CALLS YOU SMALL BLUE

‘Claude!' said Stanley out loud. ‘Of course! But he's …'

Around Stanley, people were standing in the river, on the bank, on the bridge, all unsure of where to look next. Isabella seemed to be trying to free some new contraption from a mooring point on the FishTank's back. A backpack? A vacuum cleaner?

HE'S BEHIND YOU

Stanley whirled around.

AND THE WORD YOU'RE LOOKING FOR IS JETPACK

Never mind agognished, Stanley was bemazed, astonified and besidehimselfinated by what he saw. There was Claude, magnificent as ever, flying low over the river. In one great rear claw he held the Captain, who waved a great hand and beamed at them all. In the other was Zebediah, who seemed to be out for the count. Around them was a veritable fleet, a squadron, a flotilla of flying machines of all shapes and sizes.

‘Charlie!' cried Stanley, as he recognised a young lad who had been given a second chance by the Captain not too long ago.

‘There's the Count!' yelped Rasmussen, as a gyrocopter slightly swankier than the Galloon's hove into view.

‘Little Ern!' cried the Sultana of Magrabor, and soon many voices were joining in, as they recognised friends and relations.

‘Mum! Dad!' cried Stanley at last, as his parents chugged into view on a spindly, pedal-powered thing, his father riding pillion while his mother steered.

‘Stanley, my wonderful boy!' cried his father, as they landed on the bank – the FishTankers seemed to be either joining in, giving up or running for the hills.

‘So this is what you get up to!' shouted his mother over the melee. ‘Well, it seems like fun – perhaps we should stick around!'

Stanley grinned and began to wade towards them. Rasmussen caught up with him and they waded together.

‘And is this your little girlfriend?' asked his mother, on seeing Rasmussen.

‘MMMuuuuu—uuuuuuuuuummmmm!' whined Stanley.

‘Don't make me laugh, Mrs Crumplehorn,' said Rasmussen. ‘I can do better than him!'

Cloudier was disappointed to hear that Isabella had got away. She slipped down from the FishTank during the celebrations at the Captain's return, and disappeared into the forest. Some said he had asked that no-one follow her. Some said he had been too busy kissing Ms Huntley to notice, though Cloudier didn't like to think about that.