Captain Bad Trousers

“Okay Captain Bad Breath. We’ll join your crew.” Ponytail spoke on behalf of them. “But only ‘cos we’re desperate – we left our previous ship under … abnormal circumstance. Otherwise we’d still be at sea. We’re all of us top rate sailors, and used to working a tight ship. So if you don’t deliver on the promise of adventure and most importantly – treasure – soon, then we’ll jump ship as quick as the lick of a cat. Got it?”

“Of course, dear lass. Of course,” assured Bad Trousers quickly. “But they’ll be adventure and treasure aplenty. You mark my words.”

“Right,” she said dubiously. “Introductions then … . This is ‘Princess’ Pearl.” She nodded at the lass sitting opposite feeding peanuts to a green and red parrot. “According to Pearl, she’s the black sheep of some royal family from a country across the Ocean. That makes her a bit precious, but more importantly she’s a sharp eye and a fine look out.”

The ‘Princess’ did have a regal haughtiness to her but that was where her royal resemblance ended. She was dressed in a pirate’s motley garb and her blonde hair was streaked with bright ribbons and braided in pigtails. She glanced at Bad Trousers briefly before pretended to study her multi coloured fingernails. The parrot was a nasty-looking bird, gripping tightly on to a leather patch on her shoulder with one foot, whilst the other rapidly dismantled a peanut from its shell. It had beady eyes which roved about as if they were searching for additional things to bite other than the nut.

“… this is Curious George. He’s the strong silent type. Great with a windlass and towing a line, and particularly handy when it comes to boarding another vessel. Just don’t expect any deep and meaningful conversations.”

George had a cheerful expression featuring a pair of startlingly bright blue eyes. However, the handsome effect was somewhat offset by the numerous viscous-looking scars, and when he grinned at the Captain, it exposed a mouthful of missing teeth. He was big and powerful, and sported tattoos of different sea monsters up his arms and neck. A handy fellow to have on one’s side, mused the Captain.

“And I’m called Poppy. Around these parts I’m known as Peg Leg Poppy on account of this.” She clonked a solid-oak post up onto the table, attached at one end to her left knee.

“Ahhh! Yes  …  the wooden leg,” the Captain hesitated. “You … erm … you don’t find it gets in the way on a sailing ship? I’ve got to warn you, The Thirsty Pig does nay have any ramps or lifts.”

“Don’t worry, Cap,” she reassured. “I’m pretty good at getting around. In fact, anyone to say otherwise ends up getting splinters where they don’t want them just to prove a point. And besides, I find the hook more of a disadvantage than the leg.”

Peg Leg Poppy took her left arm from under the table and displayed a dented and scratched hook where hand should’ve been on the table.

“Oh … a hook as well? Ha ha! Jolly good,” Bad Trousers tried to look pleased. “Anything else missing? Other than the eye, leg, and hand that is.” He grimaced, feeling a little short changed.

Poppy stared balefully with her one good eye without bothering to respond. Her hook scratched a slow, deep mark into the table top.

Bad Trousers back tracked rapidly: “No problem, no problem. Anyhow, I can tell you’re a first rate seaman, and an indomitable character to overcome such disadvantages!”

The hook point bit even deeper into the table.

“I’d leave it there if i were you,” the Princess chimed in without bothering to look directly at the Captain. “She’s pretty handy with that hook, and if you carry on with your annoying drivel I think you’ll find out just how handy.”

She stood up, brushed her hands over her coat and declared: “We’re off. I assume that sorry excuse for a ship moored at the West Dock is yours?” Trousers nodded.

“Then we’ll see you there tomorrow at first light. C’mon you two,” she commanded the others. “We’ve got that job to do before we set sail …”

Poppy looked uncomfortable for a moment, as if she’d prefered Pearl had not made that last comment, but then she nodded once and rose from the table, graceful despite the wooden leg.

After a moment George noticed the others were preparing to leave and lurched upwards, knocking the solid table as if it were made of balsa wood. The remains of the Captain’s squid / chicken / chickpea / spinach broth slopped onto his trousers and he cursed.

“Abalone! You’ve souped me trousers!” But all three were already on their way to the door and showed no interest in the condition of the Captain’s trousers.

He turned and barreled over to the occupied table in the corner. The sailors stopped talking and stared up at him in an unfriendly manner.

There were four of them. Encouragingly they all had the look of experienced seamen about them. Bandanas, scars, tattoos, missing limbs, eye patches. One of them even had a parrot, albeit rather shabby looking. It was like a special Pirates Edition of Guess Who.

“Ahem,” Bad Trousers cleared his throat as way of an ice breaker. This triggered a genuine coughing fit and the Captain then spent the next two minutes doubled up red faced coughing and wheezing away as one of the sailors pounded him on the back, genuinely concerned that he would pass away and they’d be accused of causing his death in some way.

Eventually the fit subsided and Bad Trouser collapsed down in a spare seat, glugging some strong grog in an effort to keep the coughing at bay.

He attempted to continue: “Well met my fellow seafaring friends! You looking like a merry band of brave sailors in search of adventure and riches. Am I right?” He took there silence as agreement and so continued.

“Erm …well … what are the chances, eh? You really are most fortunate. I am Horatio Montgomery Wellesley Bad Trousers, Captain of the finest privateering vessel west of Skull Island,” he declared in his most booming and impressive voice.

“And I just happen to have four berths that have opened up on board very recently. All across the islands of the Indies, blood-thirsty privateers are on a waiting list to join my …”

“It’s west of here,” interrupted one of the sailors. A serious-looking girl with an eye patch and a long sailor’s queue ponytail.

“Huh?” responded Bad Trousers.

“Skull Island is to the west of Port Royale,” the serious sailor continued. “If you think your ship is 3,000 leagues west of its current position then you’re in need of a navigator as well as ordinary seaman.”

“Umm .. well spotted,” the Captain recovered with only a moment’s hesitation. “A test only a true navigator would spot! You’re in luck too, clever lass. I’ve a space for a sharp first mate such as you. Double pay and your own cabin! Waddya say?”

The sailors looked at each other and began a heated whispered conversation. At the moment, Ol’ Bill creaked over and plonked a bowl of something hot and steaming in front of Bad Trousers followed by a brown hunk of bread, before shuffling off without a word.

The Captain agitated the broth dubiously. The Rusty Porthole was not famous for its cuisine. The normal approach was to breath through your mouth and get the substance down your throat in the shortest space of time possible in order to limit the tasting part of eating.

He tentatively slurped a spoonful, whilst the sailors continued to debate his proposition. The broth took him by surprise. It wasn’t awful! However, it wasn’t normal either. But most importantly it was edible. He could even identify the flavours of actual ingredients. The odd thing was that none of the ingredients would be ones you’d normally put together. The meal appeared to be garlic squid & buttered chicken soup, with pickled chickpea wontons, and spinach dumplings, served with crusty banana bread.

He gulped it down trying to untangle his tastebuds.

Meanwhile, the sailors seemed to have reached a decision.

It was dark and dingy inside the inn, and it smelt bad – of smoke, fish, and sweaty pirates – not a nice combination. But it was one of the few taverns where Bad Trousers could come and drink and not be sniggered at by the other pirates.

There were a few grizzly-looking sailors sitting in the corner, but other than that the room was empty. They glanced at Bad Trousers briefly as he swaggered across the room and crashed his beefy fist down on the bar.

“GRAAWWGGG!” He blasted into the deserted space behind the bar. “I need grog!! You lazy land lubber!”

The barman – known as Ol’ Barney Bill – emerged from the back room, his wrinkled face – looking like a sun-dried fig – squinting at the disturbance.

“Who’s shouting like to wake up the kracken?” He wheezed. “Oh Trousers. It’s you. I should’ve known. What do you want?”

“Grog, you fish-breathed fool! Didn’t you hear me the first time?” snapped Bad Trousers. “I need to drown me sorrows. It’s been twenty days since my mutinous crew left me. If I don’t get out to sea soon I’m gonna start growing roots.”

Bill rolled his eyes and poured the grog – a local brew called Muzzle Flash. He’d heard the same moan from Bad Trousers everyday since the Captain’s crew left him. He hoped for everyone’s sake Bad Trousers found some seaman stupid enough to sign up with TheThirsty Pig soon. The Captain was like an unlucky albatros for Port Royale, moping and cursing around town. There’d been nothing but storms and poor catches since The Thirsty Pig returned, and the island’s volcano – Devil’s Peak – had even started to smoke and grumble. To add insult, the Captain’s leaky ship was taking up valuable space on the dockside. Space that could be used by richer and nicer smelling customers.

“Why don’t you see if any of them fellas are looking for a ship?” Said Bill, tipping his head towards the occupied table. “Them’s fresh into port today.”

“Hmmm … maybe,” muttered the Captain. But then his stomach issued a loud gurgle sounding for all the world like an unwell walrus. “Barney, what grub you got on the boil at the moment?”

The wrinkled landlord looked evasive. “Well … ,” he hesitated. “Not sure you’ll like it, Trousers. Got a new cook and they’re a bit … experimental. It’s not everyone’s cuppa tea. No sign of Stargazy pie, no more. It’s all LobsterConsommé this and Wild Samphire that. Never heard of half of it. Might have to let her go.”

“Stop blathering, you crusty crab’s claw and just bring me a bowl. I’m gonna recruit me some sailors!” Bad Trousers declared optimistically.

Captain Bad Trousers had a problem. In fact he had more than one problem. He had three of them.

He mulled them over in his mind trying to decide which problem was the most serious as he shuffled down the smelly cobbled alley behind The Rusty Port Hole Tavern – the dingiest inn in the town of Port Royale.

They were, in order of most recently occurring:

Problem 1

He had no crew. (He did have a ship though – the Thirsty Pig. Well named, thought Bad Trousers, as she gulped up more water through her leaky planks than any other ship he had heard of).

His previous crew had deserted him when he ran out of gold doubloons to pay them. They also thought he was a less-than impressive Captain and said they were off to find someone who looked a bit more like a real pirate should, which brought him on to …

Problem 2

He was a bit of a laughing stock among the pirate community of Port Royale. This was partly due to the fact that every time he set sail upon an exciting new adventure, it tended to end in disaster of the spectacular kind.

However, he was sure it also had something to do nobody finding him scary.

People were afraid of real pirates. All the famous pirates were feared across the high seas. Their fearsome reputations went before them, and often their victims were quaking in their boots, falling over themselves to surrender, before the first cannon had even been fired. Captain Bad Trousers’s reputation went before him too. But it had the opposite effect. When he raised his flag (The Jolly Splodger) people just laughed and told him to go away.

Problem 3

But his last problem was potentially the worst as it was also the most dangerous.

He was currently wanted by the mad pirate Pierre the Goat, who had declared he would sink any ship that Bad Trousers sailed on. Goat was an outlaw – so couldn’t set foot even in pirate-friendly Port Royale without being arrested, but on the high seas there was nothing to stop him from chasing Captain Bad Trousers down.

The Goat’s issue with the Captain stemmed from an accidental incident during Pierre’s mermaid-themed birthday party aboard his ship – The Flying Plunderamous. All the pirates of the Caribbean had been invited and had been asked to bring a dish along to help with the catering.

Bad Trousers had brought along a batch of his famous oyster and eel muffins. Sadly, it was popular party-goer opinion that the muffins were the cause of everyone at the party being suddenly and explosively sick.

The results were not pretty and, following the clean up, Pierre had had to rip up and replace the planks on his poop deck as no amount of scrubbing seemed able to remove the stains.

Bad Trousers had protested his innocence but The Goat was having none of it and had vowed to run him aground on an uninhabited island with just the coconut crabs for company the next time he saw him.

Captain Bad Trousers sighed miserably as he turned the corner of the alley out on to Main Street and pushed open the creaky door of the tavern. Perhaps grog would help he thought. A few tankards might help him find some answers to his problems. And if not then a few more might help him forget them.