The Boy Who Set Sail on a Questionable Quest Read online

  Being told to look on the bright side made up Blart’s mind once and for all about Olaf. He wanted nothing to do with him.

  ‘Why haven’t you got your own ship?’ demanded Blart. ‘All the other suitors have.’

  ‘Terribly good question,’ agreed Olaf. ‘Truth is that I had a bit of a groat-flow problem. Don’t understand money, never have. Still I did bring something.’

  ‘What?’ asked Blart.

  ‘The Longest Rope in the World,’ said Olaf. ‘It’s coiled up in my cabin.’

  ‘A rope?’ said Blart. ‘Everyone else brings a ship and you bring a rope?’

  ‘A long rope,’ Olaf reminded him. ‘Bound to come in handy. I knew everybody else was bringing ships, so thought I’d bring something different. Can’t wait to get to Styxia and show the Styxians a thing or two. I’m sure we’ll all be home by Christmas. Awfully decent of you to give me a berth on board the Golden Pig.’

  ‘I didn’t give you one,’ Blart pointed out.

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Olaf. ‘Too busy with plans and strategems and whatnot, I suppose.’

  ‘Strata-what?’ began Blart, but he was interrupted by a mop swabbing into his feet.

  ‘Scuse me, sir,’ said a rough voice. ‘I’m mopping –’

  ‘I know,’ said Blart. ‘But this part has already been done. You don’t need to do it again.’

  ‘I think the cabin boy missed a bit,’ said the sailor, keeping his head respectfully down. ‘If you could just move a bit closer to the rail, then I’ll have it spick and span in a second.’

  Blart sighed but he moved closer to the rail as instructed. Obviously the captain of the Golden Pig felt very strongly about deck cleanliness.

  ‘Almost got it,’ said the sailor, scrutinising the deck intently. ‘Just move right back to the rail.’

  ‘I can’t see any dirt at all,’ said Blart.

  ‘Not to the untrained eye,’ said the sailor. ‘But it’s there. Just one more step back.’

  Still looking at what appeared to him to be a perfectly swabbed deck, Blart took a step back.

  ‘There it is, sir,’ said the sailor. ‘There it –’

  Suddenly the sailor jerked his mop up and thrust it hard into Blart’s chest.

  ‘You’re not supposed to swab me,’ said Blart. ‘I had a bath last month.’

  ‘Steady on,’ Olaf cautioned the sailor.

  ‘I’m not mopping you,’ announced the sailor, and his voice had a cold steely quality that Blart had not noticed before. ‘I’m killing you. I am Vetro the Assassin. The Guild of Assassins always completes its missions.’

  ‘No,’ cried Blart, realising he was pinned against the rail by a mop-wielding killer.

  Vetro forced the mop harder into Blart’s chest so that he began to tip backwards over the rail.

  ‘Olaf,’ he shouted. ‘Help me.’

  But Olaf had vanished.

  Below Blart could hear the slap of the waves against the ship’s hull. Any moment now he would tip over the side into the ocean below.

  ‘Help,’ cried Blart, but his voice didn’t travel very far above the wind and the waves.

  ‘Nobody can help you,’ said the assassin. ‘Prepare to fall, Blart. Prepare to –’

  Vetro’s words were cut off by a harsh clunk on his head. He turned round to see Tigran the Cabin Boy brandishing his mop.

  ‘Get back,’ shouted Vetro. ‘I have no fight with you, cabin boy.’

  ‘But I have one with you,’ replied Tigran. ‘Put up your mop or I will swab you once more.’

  ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ said Vetro grimly to Blart. ‘This won’t take a moment.’

  He pulled his mop away from Blart’s chest and brought it down with tremendous force. It crashed into the spot where a moment before Tigran had been standing, but the cabin boy had leapt speedily to one side, avoiding the sickening blow. Vetro raised his mop and struck again. Again Tigran slipped aside at the very last moment. Could Tigran keep dodging the mop? Could his luck hold out?

  No.

  For the deck had been swabbed, but the sun had not yet dried it. So it was slippy. And as Tigran skipped nimbly to one side to avoid another blow, he skidded … slipped … and fell, his mop clattering across the deck.

  ‘Now I have you,’ said Vetro, advancing on the defenceless cabin boy. ‘And I will be dispatching you next,’ he added in Blart’s direction.

  Vetro the Assassin towered over the squirming figure of the cabin boy. He raised his mop. ‘There is no escape.’

  But Tigran wasn’t squirming to escape. He was squirming towards his bucket. And just as Vetro prepared to land the fatal blow with his mop, he stretched out a thin arm, grabbed the bucket and flung its scummy contents at the assassin.

  ‘Aargh,’ cried Vetro, rearing back as the soapy water splashed into his face. ‘My eyes!’

  Tigran leapt to his feet.

  ‘But I can still see enough to kill you,’ the assassin growled. He charged at Tigran.

  But though Vetro could vaguely see Tigran through his blurry eyes, what he could not see was that the cabin boy had retreated closer to the ship’s rail. At least he couldn’t until Tigran stepped elegantly out of the way and Vetro found himself with too much momentum to stop. He toppled over the rail and plunged, screaming, into the sea below.

  Blart and Tigran looked over the side. Vetro’s head bobbed up from the swirling water.

  ‘I am only one of many,’ he shouted. ‘The Guild of Assassins never gives up. Your death has not been cancelled, Blart. It has just been delayed. The Guild apologises for any inconven—’

  And then his head disappeared below the water again. This time it did not reappear.

  ‘Wow,’ said Olaf, emerging from behind a barrel.

  ‘Where have you been?’ said Blart. ‘I shouted for help and you’d gone. I thought you couldn’t wait to get to Styxia to show the Styxians a thing or two.’

  ‘Quite right, quite right,’ agreed Olaf. ‘Thing is: training. Combat training. I’ve trained with swords, trained with spears, trained with daggers. Never trained with mops. I hold my hands up. Out of my depth. I’ll take a mop down to my cabin and start practising straight away.’

  And immediately Olaf picked up the mop that had fallen from Vetro the Assassin’s hands and headed below deck, making parries and thrusts as he went.

  Blart turned to Tigran.

  ‘You saved my life. Did you know that the Guild of Assassins is trying to kill me?’

  ‘No,’ said Tigran. ‘But I knew something was wrong when he said “mop” rather than “swab”, you see, and so I was already suspicious.’

  ‘I’ll tell the captain if you like,’ said Blart. ‘He might give you a better job.’

  Tigran’s face flushed with enthusiasm.

  ‘What I’d really like is to go all the way on this quest. Not just stay on the boat when we get to Styxia. I’d like to be part of the army that rescues the Princess.’

  ‘Why?’ said Blart.

  ‘I can’t explain,’ said Tigran. ‘It’s just something I feel I must do.’

  Unusually for Blart, whose affinity with pigs had always been stronger than that with his fellow man, he felt a twinge of understanding and nodded sympathetically.

  ‘I’m like that with pigs,’ he explained. ‘I try to tell people what it’s like to be a pig boy but I can never find the right words.’

  Tigran looked as though he doubted if this was exactly what he meant.

  ‘But if you want to go, then I’ll see what I can do. Although I bet you change your mind about rescuing Princess Lois once you meet her.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Tigran.

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Blart, blithely ignoring the fact that it was he that owed his thanks to the cabin boy for saving his life. ‘Oh, one more thing.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Tigran.

  ‘Does the sea look too green to you?’ asked Blart.

  Chapter 12

  ‘Gentlemen. This is first mate Polo. I am Captain da Gama. You are all welcome at my table. Let us eat.’

  The tall captain in the smart blue uniform of the newly formed Illyrian navy sat down next to his short first mate. The rest of the table consisted of Count Olaf, Sir Beo and Blart. Since knocking him unconscious, Blart had avoided the captain of the Golden Pig. An angry purple bruise on his forehead suggested this was a wise idea.

  ‘Someone’s missing,’ observed First Mate Polo.

  ‘Who are we waiting –’ began Sir Beo, but he didn’t finish the question because the answer came through the door.

  ‘I haf made a great discovery,’ announced the new arrival. ‘The name of Herglotz the Scientist vill be known across ze world.’

  The soon-to-be-famous scientist was an alarming sight. He had long tousled grey hair, a messy beard and an assortment of clothes in a variety of colours which somehow all managed to clash with one another. One of his eyes was half closed while the other gripped a large monocle through which he glared at the world.

  ‘We were just going to have some soup,’ said the captain.

  ‘Soup?’ said Herglotz dismissively. ‘What time haf I for soup? Let me tell you of my most important discovery.’

  Such was the intensity of Herglotz’s words – emphasised by his monocled eye, which seemed to grow as he spoke – that all at the table waited expectantly to hear what he had to say.

  ‘This day,’ announced Herglotz proudly, ‘I haf discovered that ze world is flat!’

  Herglotz paused, waiting for the gasps of astonishment. There were none.

  ‘I’m afraid that has already been discovered,’ the captain explained.

  ‘Vot?’ demanded Herglotz. ‘You try to steal my discovery by pretending that there are others who know zis? Yes, I know zis tr
ick. You tell ze world my discovery and take all ze credit and it is Captain da Gama who is suddenly ze famous scientist. This happened to me before when I voz a youngster and I invented ze wheel.’

  ‘The wheel?’ said Beo. ‘But the wheel has been around for ages.’

  Herglotz sat down moodily at the table.

  ‘Where is the cabin boy with the soup?’ said First Mate Polo, who seemed very anxious for his supper.

  Just as he spoke, Tigran appeared at the door, carrying a large silver tureen. The ship lurched forward as he came into the room and he staggered slightly.

  ‘Careful, boy,’ said the first mate harshly. ‘Any spillage of the soup and I will be spilling your blood with a lash.’

  ‘You don’t sound like an Illyrian,’ said Sir Beo, noticing the gratuitous threat of violence.

  ‘I’m not,’ answered Polo.

  ‘But this is an Illyrian ship.’

  Polo laughed.

  ‘So it is,’ he agreed. ‘But you will not find an Illyrian on it. None of them would be suitable to come on a voyage where there was the possibility of war. And so the ship is now staffed entirely by mercenaries hired from the different countries of the world.’

  ‘It is true,’ said the captain. ‘We had very little time to recruit. Why, Polo himself was not hired until the final day. I was very lucky to find someone with his experience on the wharf.’

  Polo smiled modestly as Tigran the Cabin Boy managed to manoeuvre the huge tureen into the centre of the table.

  ‘With your permission, sir,’ said Tigran to the captain. ‘The bo’s’n asked me to tell you that we’re a heading into a nasty squall.’

  ‘A squall, eh?’ said Captain da Gama.

  ‘Pah,’ interjected Polo. ‘The bo’s’n thinks every cloud is a squall. There’ll be nothing to worry about, mark my words.’

  ‘I will come up to check on the situation after the first course,’ said the captain. ‘Send a message to the bo’s’n to hold his course steady until I arrive.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ said Tigran. And he left the dining room briefly but was back in a trice to await further orders.

  ‘At last we can eat,’ said Polo, lifting the lid of the tureen and passing it to Tigran. The soup was green with purple lumps in it. And it stank.

  ‘Euurgh,’ said Blart. ‘I’m not eating that.’

  ‘You must eat it,’ said Polo. ‘It is kelp and crustacean soup. A speciality of the sea.’

  ‘What’s kelp?’ asked Sir Beo.

  ‘It is seaweed,’ replied the first mate.

  ‘Seaweed?’ repeated Blart. ‘You want us to eat seaweed?’

  ‘It is perhaps an acquired taste,’ conceded Captain da Gama. ‘I confess to having slight misgivings when you suggested it for the first meal, Polo.’

  ‘These landlubbers must learn to appreciate their sea grub,’ insisted Polo. ‘We have a long voyage ahead of us and the day will come when they’re picking weevils out of ship’s biscuits and dreaming of kelp and crustacean soup.’

  ‘I’m not eating it,’ repeated Blart.

  ‘But you must,’ said Polo.

  ‘Let him starve,’ said Beo. ‘A man at war must eat what he is given. Sir Beowulf the Knight will not be scared by a meal, no he won’t. Give me a ladleful and let us set to.’

  And so saying Sir Beo served himself a large portion. He was followed by all the others around the table, who set to with varying degrees of enthusiasm. All except Blart.

  ‘I sink,’ said Herglotz, scrutinising a crustacean that he had extracted from his portion of soup and that now lay on his spoon, ‘that zis creature may be entirely new to science.’

  The captain looked puzzled.

  ‘The shell-less mussel,’ continued Herglotz. ‘I haf never seen one before. Ze question science vill ask is why it does not haf a shell when all ze other mussels do.’

  Tigran the Cabin Boy coughed.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but the cook removed the shell in the galley prior to cooking.’

  Herglotz gave Tigran a fierce glare. Meanwhile Polo had left his seat and approached Blart.

  ‘I do have some Tasty Powder,’ said Polo. ‘It is very rare, for it is made from a secret mixture of the most precious herbs and spices from all the corners of the world. Perhaps if I added some of it to your soup, you might find it more palatable. I would so like you to try it.’

  In truth Blart was beginning to feel very hungry and, seeing that everyone else around the table seemed to be eating the soup with apparent relish, he decided that this might be a way to give it a try without people thinking that he was changing his mind.

  ‘All right, then,’ he said.

  From his pocket Polo pulled out a jar of powder and shook a number of grains from it on to the soup.

  ‘What about the rest of us?’ demanded Beo. ‘Don’t be giving that boy special flavours that you’re not going to give us all.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Polo. ‘There will be Tasty Powder for all, but let Prince Blart try it first. Afer all, he is the leader of this quest.’

  Blart thought that this was a most appropriate sentiment. Nobody had referred to his leadership role for ages. He lifted the spoon to his lips.

  The ship lurched.

  Blart’s soup spilled out of his spoon and back into his bowl.

  Blart refilled his spoon and raised it to his mouth once more.

  The ship rolled.

  Blart’s soup slopped out again.

  ‘Perhaps the bo’s’n was right about that squall after all, Mr Polo,’ observed the captain. ‘It seems to have some strength in it.’

  But Polo did not seem to hear the captain’s words. Instead he watched as if hypnotised as Blart once again dunked his spoon into the purple and green soup and raised it to his mouth. He blew on it.

  ‘It’s not that hot,’ insisted Polo.

  ‘I burnt my mouth very badly on soup once,’ replied Blart. ‘And ever since I have been careful.’

  This was a rare example of Blart learning from experience, but the first mate was not impressed.

  ‘Get it down you, lad.’

  Blart opened his mouth.

  There was a rumble of thunder. The ship pitched violently. Blart’s soup flew from his spoon.

  ‘I say, Polo …’ began the captain, concluding that they had both better head aft immediately. But the captain was doomed not to head aft immediately, for the gob of soup which jumped from Blart’s spoon flew across the table and landed in his open mouth.

  He swallowed it.

  ‘That powder really adds something, doesn’t it?’ he observed. ‘A piquancy, a –’

  Suddenly the captain clutched his chest. Then he clutched his throat. The other diners watched in horror as his face went pinker and then scarlet and then purple and then, with a desperate choking wheeze, he slumped forward, dead, on the table.

  There was a vicious hiss as a dagger of lightning stabbed into the sea outside.

  In the dining room there was chaos as the diners all jumped from their seats and rushed to assist the captain.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The soup has killed him.’

  ‘Ze killer soup. It is entirely new to science.’

  ‘It wasn’t the soup,’ shouted Beo. ‘We’ve all eaten of the soup. It must have been the Tasty Powder.’

  They all turned to look at Blart, the only person not to have rushed to the captain’s aid. Along with the first mate. Polo stood directly behind Blart’s chair. In his hand he gripped a gleaming sharp knife.

  ‘What are you all looking at?’ demanded Blart of the five horrified faces that looked in his direction. ‘He’s the one that’s dead.’

  ‘First Mate Polo,’ cried Sir Beo.

  ‘Acting Captain Polo, if you don’t mind,’ replied Polo. ‘I believe recent events have given me an unexpected promotion. But my true allegiance is to the Guild of Assassins.’

  Chapter 13

  Blart’s face froze in horror at these dread words. But it was too late. He was armed with only a soup spoon while his adversary held a vicious knife. Though Polo was outnumbered, the others were all too far away to prevent the one deadly blow that would end Blart’s quest for ever. And members of the Guild of Assassins did not miss. Polo gripped his knife and prepared to strike.

  Sir Beo, Count Olaf and Herglotz looked on helplessly. But Tigran the Cabin Boy reacted. He still held the lid of the soup tureen, handed to him by Polo. In a flash he had swung his arm back and skimmed the lid across the room. Polo drove his knife down towards Blart’s neck. The lid tureen arced its way towards him. Which would hit its target first?