Pirates Versus Ninjas Page 4

lumbered himself towards the look-out’s nest in a fury. “Get down here!” he ordered. “How in God’s name did they escape?”

  “They were there,” she began to explain falteringly. “And then they weren’t. Darkness or smoke or something must have hidden them, but once it was gone… so were they.”

  “I mean, they are ninjas,” she added nervously. “They are renowned for being sneaky, able to hide in shadows and disappear from sight.”

  Bluebeard slapped his incompetent look-out. She was right, though. As much as his rage was now directed at her, they were ninjas and this is what ninjas do.

  He remembered Liu’s words: “a hidden enemy like none we have encountered before, who can hide in shadows and in plain sight”. She had foreseen this. The gods had forsaken him today and handed his fate over to a concealed foe.

  The ninjas were the natural enemies of the pirates. He had never met them before, never fought against them. After all, he roamed the seas around Britain and France; ninjas belonged in the straits of Japan, halfway round the world. What would they be doing here?

  They had all heard the stories, handed down in pirate folklore, of the war between pirates and ninjas which had lasted for centuries. Nobody could quite remember how it had begun. All they knew was that when pirates and ninjas were in the same place, there could never be peace: only constant, bitter war between the two peoples.

  So the generation before Bluebeard’s, or the generation before that (nobody was quite sure) had created a truce: the ninjas get one side of the world, the pirates the other. It had been this way for decades, centuries; both sides had passed down stories and tales about the other to keep them from interacting. The pirates had grown up with tales of men wearing black who would jump out from shadows and slit your throat before you even knew it. The ninjas had been raised on stories of loud, bearded men with no honour or respect who would shoot you at point-blank range and steal your goods. Both sides feared the other, and this was meant to keep them apart.

  Now, though, the war was back on. Ninjas had been found off the northern coast of Scotland in a rowing boat out-pirating the pirates by stealing their own treasure from beneath their noses. It was an insult. It was an omen.

  A bump and a crash pulled Bluebeard from his thoughts as the ship snagged on something underwater. There was a painful ripping noise, and then silence.

  “What in God’s name was that?” roared Bluebeard. Agatha was still standing before him nursing her wounded pride and face. “Bottle-Neck, go back to the look-out at once and see what has happened!”

  Eager to please her captain, she wordlessly clambered up the ladder like a monkey and within seconds was back in the crow’s nest.

  “Land,” she called down. “We’ve hit land!”

  Bluebeard rushed to the prow and gazed down on an unexpected scene. The front hull of the Merry Martin was gauged open and letting in water, impaled upon a rock. Yet there was no chance of her sinking in the water that was two feet deep at most. There was a beach only a few yards away and on it could be seen the abandoned rowing boat which had so recently housed the Boy, his ninja friends and their stolen treasure. Their small vessel had landed safely while the Merry Martin was, for the first time, shipwrecked.

  “Oh, the gods have surely abandoned us!” cried out the Captain in distress. “The hour of the pirates is over and the time of the ninjas is begun!”

  “But how can this be?” he wailed. “Bottle-Neck, we were fifty miles from land! Where did this island come from?”

  Agatha had by now descended from the crow’s nest and was busily checking her maps. “I don’t know, Captain. We’re either lost or this island has never been charted before.”

  “You incompetent wretch! You lead us into a shipwreck and you can’t even tell us where we are? When we’re back at sea, it’s the plank for you.”

  With that, he left Agatha “Bottle-Neck” Saunders fearing for her life on deck while he descended to Liu’s cabin to seek advice.

  “Ah, captain,” she purred when he entered her residence. “How pleasant to see you. What troubles you, my lord?”

  “Didn’t you hear that noise?” he snapped. “We’re shipwrecked. We’re shipwrecked, and you foretold it.”

  He sat down on one of the many cushions in Liu’s room and tried to console himself in her company. As well as the ship’s astrologer, she was also the counsellor whose job it was to try to comfort the Captain when he needed it- in whatever way she could.

  She approached him, gliding effortlessly over the immaculately kept wooden floorboards towards her Captain. Her residence was in sharp contrast to that of Bluebeard: whereas his was littered with bottles and trinkets strewn about the floor, Liu’s cabin was sparkling, even in places where it did not seem possible. The spotless floor was only the start: the walls, which should have been simple wooden planks, had been varnished to perfection and painted a pleasant shade of lilac; the space was organised according to eastern Fung Shui; the air was filled with the sickly sweet aroma of constantly burning incense. There was a window in the corner out of which Liu could gaze at the stars and offer sacrifices to the gods, around which silk curtains flapped merrily in the wind; wind which blew inside and spread the incense-scent around the room in currents of wind. There were different incense sticks burning, so that one could smell now apricot, now passion fruit, now orchids as the different smells wafted about and created a pleasant mélange of differing sensations.

  The Captain could almost forget the shipwreck as he lay there, ensconced in the cushioned beanbag and absorbed in the atmosphere of the place. As Liu grew near and began massaging his back and uttering soothing, incomprehensible noises which somehow bypassed the intellect and went straight to the soul, he allowed himself a rare smile and felt himself opening up to his Eastern wench.

  “What have the gods said to you?” he inquired. “Have they abandoned us?”

  She paused her massage to think and began her strange hand movements once more. The Captain turned to watch in fascination: it was less like she was conjuring and more like she was using an abacus to work out a sum. Her left hand seemed to be pushing around invisible beads, while her right was trying to grab at something and hold onto it. He had never been able to fathom what these movements meant, what his unusual companion was doing, but he trusted her. Perhaps he trusted her most out of anyone on board.

  A wail came from deep in her throat and she fled to her window, holding out two incense sticks and dropping three gold coins in the water. Had anyone else been wasting treasure so flippantly Bluebeard would have gone spare, but he knew that where Liu was concerned, she was making an offering to the gods. And maybe, just maybe, that offering would appease them and bring the pirates out of their tricky situation.

  “They say,” began Liu slowly from her position by the window, “that this is temporary. You must suffer much to be rewarded much.”

  Bluebeard gazed over at her blankly. A small part of him was annoyed at her evasive answer; he had wanted detail, not rhetoric. Yet most of him was calm, peaceful (for how could you not be in the presence of Liu?); he could see wisdom in her answer. Yes, they had suffered much in theft and shipwreck, but he now knew that they would get out of it, sooner or later, and be rewarded for it.

  “But you have not suffered yet,” she continued, speaking suddenly as if the Muse had taken her by force and given her a new message. Her whole body lurched as she spoke. “There are more trials ahead on this island. On Cutthroat Island.”

  Bluebeard smiled weakly. “Thank you, Liu,” he said, uncharacteristically calm. “I know what I have to do now. But first, entertain me awhile.”

  She pulled herself out of her trance and returned from the land of the gods into the real world. Her eyes, previously dilated and fixed on nothing, now found a target in Bluebeard and were accompanied by a seductive smile. She pulled off her robe to reveal a very revealing garment underneath, picked up her flute and began to dance and play for her master, always with that melting
smile upon her face.

  It was mesmerising to watch. The music was haunting: the kind you could get lost in, that can take you away from the world and immerse you in a relaxed reality of your own creation. The dancing was the same: her hypnotic rhythms and perfect form were a feast for the eyes and eased the Captain’s weary mind. He allowed himself to slowly fall backwards into a lying down position and close one eye, taking himself away from a world which was often so stressful.

  He lay there for some ten minutes before recalling his Captainly duties. As he sat up, the reality of his situation and his job returned to him and he made to leave the comforting presence of his favourite Liu. She knew instinctively that it was time to stop, so she put down her flute and ceased dancing for him.

  Before he could leave, she flew over to him and embraced him wordlessly. Words were not needed; her gaze told him all he needed to know: that if he should need her again, she would be there to provide the same service and that she would always be there to serve her Captain in whatever way she could.

  Her gratitude was not misplaced. Ten years previously, the Merry Martin had become hopelessly, unbelievably lost and ended up in the South China Sea. It had moored itself on some strange beach to stock up on fuel and food. While most of the crew (which was, at that time, fairly