Episode 1

“Did I tell you how much I hate travelling by sea?”, Augustus de Ponti said, a little mournfully. It was approximately the four hundred and seventy third time he had uttered that sentence, with mild variations, since morning. The last three hundred-odd times had been after he was chained and put in a cage. For the four hundred and seventy third time, Hoover the butler wiggled his eyebrows slightly, turned down the corners of his lips by a micromillimeter and exhaled with slightly more force than was his wont, expressing his solidarity with his master’s emotions.

But do not be led astray by Hoover’s air of helpless sympathy, dear reader. For behind that quiet demeanour and the sympathetic eyes, there was a mind considering the options of freedom for himself, his master and the rest of the passengers and crew of the Billina. Pirates were scum, but mostly somewhat dull-headed and prone to slip up and get drunk after a successful raid. The Ninja Pirates of Nunchow were a sharp. athletic lot who abhorred alcohol and practised their shuriken-strikes even as they were despoiling a ship of its booty. But what worried Hoover the most was that this particular band of Ninja pirates that had attacked their ship that morning were the members of a particularly fanatical sub-sect of the Khaitan clan. The initiates of this clan have their brains surgically extracted through their nose when they are born. This led to the rise of a warrior class whose members fought by reflex – their combat skill unmarred by human emotion, their reactions a result of constant training, their speed proportional to the amount of enemy brains consumed before, during and after conflict.

Zombie Ninja Pirates were tough opponents to beat, and Hoover the butler knew it all too well.

The attack on the Billina had come out of the blue, and owing to the unconditional surrender of the crew within a matter of minutes, the death-toll had been kept to a minimum. At that moment, the victorious party readied themselves for the Brain Drain, their ritual imbibation of the tastiest parts of their enemies. It was dusk, and as soon as darkness fell, they would poke ivory hooks up the prisoners’ noses and extract their brains with delicate, surgical precision. This Augustus and the rest of the captives knew, because the pirates’ leader, a crusty old Parrot with a wooden beak and a gruff voice explained to them the entire procedure in detail. He had also explained that the pirates always sprinkled exotic spices on their ivory hooks before they used it on their prisoners. “So that your last memory shall be a scent to remember, brainy ones,” the Parrot concluded, with a flap of its wings. The Ninja pirate carrying his master on his shoulder threw a smoke bomb on the ground and disappeared. Constant practice, like I already said.

Most of the passengers shuddered. Irma Douce, a rather loud co-passenger that Augustus had loathed because she was too loud – sniffed her nose loudly and proceeded to faint – the poor lady had a cold, and the last act of the savage captors would not of much help to her blocked nose. Augustus de Ponti, alone was less concerned with being Brain Drained than he was about being away from the bottles of Barbelit he had stashed in his cabin. He was not too sure he would enjoy dying without sipping on a last glass of the Big B. And the Pirates that stood guard over the cages ( hanging upside down from a ledge. Constant practice.) didn’t seem to be the type who would grant him last wishes. He wasn’t too sure they understood the term “last wish”, either.

“Barbelitbarbelitbarbelitbarbelit”, Augustus groaned to himself, even as Hoover considered his options. It had been a long long time ago that he had encountered the Zombie Ninja Pirates of Nunchow and he was trying very hard to remember everything he had known about them and their rituals.

Something clicked.

As the sun bled down into the horizon and the first stars glittered in the clear sky, the band of harried soon-to-be-ex-passengers of the Billina were ushered to the site of the ritual. The air filled with the heady aroma of the spices the Ninjas of Nunchow were about to use on their ivory implements. At that precise moment, Hoover the butler chose to play his card.

“By the laws of the Khaitan, I challenge the clan leader to a duel.”, Hoover sang out, to the tune of “Happy Birthday to you”. The brainless Pirates froze. Not only did the foreigner know about their laws, he also knew the precise tone of voice to issue the challenge.

The parrot clacked its wooden beak. “Hrrm, you know the rules?”, he asked. Hoover nodded.

“Hrrrt, we shall begin, with a game of Pictionary. Choose your partner.” Augustus de Ponti, who was goggling at the strange turn of events, slowly smiled and, for the first time that day, forgot about his favourite drink. Hoover looked at his master with a twinkle in his eye. “Shall we, sir?”, he asked.

Years and years of playing Pictionary at the de Ponti manor had given Augustus and Hoover a near-inhuman knowledge of word patterns and drawing skills. They cracked words one by one. Even “cantaloupe” and “guadalcanal”. The pirates watched in disbelief, as their leader and his Zombie partner, getting off to a fine start with “Ozymandias” and “nauseous”, failed to crack “watermelon”, “tse tse” and “biltong” in rapid succession. Hoover and Augustus won by a huge margin.

“Gnnnnnnnngh”, the Pirate lord snorted. “You get to select the next round, foreigner.”

Augustus could hardly believe his ears. “We can? Anything at all?”, he asked, in the general direction of both Hoover and the pirates. “I choose – a Barbelit-drinking competition!”

About three hours later, the captives were lolling around on the deck, ecstatic at their unexpected freedom. Augustus was guzzling the last of his Barbelit. The Pirate Ninja Zombies had conceded to Hoover, and their leader was sitting on the butler’s shoulder. “We shall skip the hand-to-hand combat, because you have bested us two rounds to one. By Khaitan law, we now have to follow you and the monkey, foreigner. “, the parrot croaked. “Or we could just jump off the deck and kill ourselves. Tough choice.” He turned to his band of brain-starved Pirates and asked, “What do you say, my creatures?” – the Khaitan tribe was well-known for their political correctness.

“Awooo, awoooo!”, the Pirates roared. “Awoo” was a word that had deep cultural significance, with differing meanings in different cultures. If one were to attempt a translation, the word would, in this particular gathering, mean – “Whatever, dude, can we just eat?”

And what a feast it was! In the absence of brains, now that they were all friends, the pirates of Nunchow turned to their second-favourite cuisine – boiled sprouts and tofu, which they had stored aplenty. One of them, a feisty orangutan named Zehreela began to dance and coyly invited Augustus to join her. Pretty soon, everybody onboard the ship, with the exception of Hoover and the Pirate ex-Captain had begun to dance on the deck. Augustus staggered towards Hoover, exhausted by the festivities. He had a bottle of Barbelit in one hand, and Zehreela was holding the other, and he had on his face what might be interpreted by a casual observer as an “I-score-tonight”-grin.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love travelling by sea, Hoover?”

“Not that I can recollect, sir.”