The Pirates! In an Adventure with the Romantics by Gideon Defoe

Author:Gideon Defoe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 2011-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

The College Secretary’s Account

It was many centuries ago, a dark time of tights and unflattering haircuts. One Count Ruthven came up to the college during a thunderstorm. He was unremarkable, didn’t mingle much, spent rather more time in the library than one would expect from a student. Then after a term, something changed. He became a seducer! It is said that he impregnated half the city’s young women within the week. Naturally the University authorities couldn’t stand for that sort of behaviour, and he was sent down forthwith.

♦

Yes, he did sound that ‘growly’. No, he wasn’t Geordie. Nor Welsh. Fine, so I can’t really do accents. It’s not a talent I envy in others. Can I carry on? Good.

♦

By and by, the College Secretary showed me a painting of the new intake from 1677 and indicated the Count. Those eyes! That sickly pallor! A sight I shall take to my grave, so ill-made it was. As I hurried back through the quadrangle, clutching my hard-won bounty to my breast, my heart filled with the ichor of intrigue. Lengthening shadows seemed to chase after me. Not literal shadows, but metaphorical shadows. Shadows that suggest a grim and uncertain future awaits us. This is no fool’s errand. For such a gargoyle to seduce so many, there must be dazzling wonders in that elusive tome. So, we must hasten, my friends, to…Castle Ruthven, Ruthven Pass, Carpathian Mountains, South-Eastern Romania.

♦

“Pretty Romantic stuff, Percy,” said Byron, downing his coffee and then banging the mug on the table.

“Thank you, Byron, I like to think so,” agreed Percy with a theatrical sigh.

Jennifer frowned. “Mister Shelley. Am I understanding this right? Did you essentially walk into your old college and give them a cash donation in exchange for an address?”

Shelley snapped a hand away from his brow.

“Did you not listen, madam? Orpheus! A three-headed dog! Oh, but you’ve proven my point – one can reduce the most incredible tale to rational facts and make it sound dull and workaday.”

“What’s a ‘rubicund’?” asked the albino pirate.

“Do ‘visage’, ‘countenance’ and ‘face’ all mean the same thing? Why not just say ‘face’?” said the pirate with gout.

“How can a mote hold dust? I thought they were full of water,” said the pirate in green.

“Lads! Lads!” said the Pirate Captain, holding up an admonishing hand. “Leave the man be! You’re forgetting that not everyone can be a dashing swashbuckler who eats danger for breakfast. It’s tremendously brave for a lubber to go and ask a man for an address.”

“And what an address!” said Byron. “The sort of address that speaks of dark legends! Moonlit passes! Unnatural goings-on! We haven’t a moment to lose!”

Everybody cheered and, for the last time in this adventure, they were all smiling, even the pirate with a prosthetic wooden bottom-half-of-his-head.

♦

The happy mood was spoiled a few minutes later when the adventurers arrived back at the pirate boat. It looked pretty shabby at the best of times, seeing as it was the front half and back half of two different boats hammered together.

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