Hamish X and the Cheese Pirates (13 page)

“It's not just a book!” Hamish cried. “It's all I have left of my mother. I can't lose it. I can't. It's a special book. She meant for me to have it and it's the only way I can ever
hope to find her.”

They sat for a moment, thinking about that. Finally, Mimi shrugged.

“All right. I guess that makes as much sense as anythin'. Parveen?”

“I agree, although it's against my better judgment.” They went together to the kitchen door and peered down the hall.

No one was there. The loading had been completed. Outside the building, above the howl of the wind, huge engines coughed then grew in strength to a full-throated drone.

Hamish X, Mimi, and Parveen hurried along the hall. Cautiously they peered out into the courtyard. Above them, the huge cigar shape of the pirate airship slowly turned into the wind. Its anchor cable dangled as it was hauled up into a trap door in the bottom of the vessel. Even before the door closed, the airship swung its mighty nose around and the propellers roared, driving the ship north across the night sky. The three children watched it dwindle in the distance.

“What now?” Mimi asked.

“We go after them,” Hamish X announced. He turned and went back into the factory. “We save Mrs. Francis. We free the children. We defeat the pirates. We save the day.”

“I was afraid you'd say that,” Parveen said.

“Come on, Parveen.” Hamish X slapped the smaller boy on the back, making him wince. “Anything else would make for a very dull story.”

Part 2

THE JOURNEY NORTH

Having fun? The story is really taking off at this point. Daring escapes! Pirates! Zeppelins! Just the sort of elements that cracking good stories require. Not to mention engaging and delightful narration, I think you'll agree.

The ability to narrate is unique to humans in the animal kingdom. Animals are notoriously unaware of the beauty of narration. They tend to think of everything in the present tense, leading to very poor storytelling. The following is an example of a cat recounting her morning meal, obtained by computer simulation at the Animal Narration Laboratory at Yale University.

I am a cat. I have four paws. Oh! There's the thing with food in it. I am eating food. It is food. There's a bird at the window. I can't eat it. I'll eat this stuff instead. I am eating food. It is soft. It smells like fish. Oooh! There's a crunchy bit. I am a cat. I am licking my paws. Etc.

You get the idea. Terrible! What a difference with a human narrating the same action:

The cat stood patiently on the tiled floor of the kitchen, its whiskers twitching in anticipation. Her owner lowered the bowl, brimming with moist, delicious tuna delight in front of her eager face. The moment the bowl struck the floor, the cat happily dug in. Nothing could distract the cat from its delectable repast. Nothing, that is, save a meadowlark alighting delicately on the window ledge. The cat raised its muzzle briefly to consider the possibility of capturing the saucy bird but realized the window was closed. With a rueful flick of the ears, she tucked back into the tuna delight, pausing only to savour a small fish bone before licking the bowl and her paws clean.

See what I'm getting at? Although the cat's version has a certain sense of immediacy, animals just can't infuse a situation with emotion and intention the way a human narrator can. Humans are the best narrators.

Many great stories have been lost to the human race over the years due to poor narration. Just think about it! Have you ever heard The Thrilling Tale of the Invention of the Shoe? The Story of Glunk, the First Girl to Discover Water Was Wet? Or even The Sweeping Epic of the Lost Keys of Dave? No, you haven't. Why? They didn't have a narrator who was up to the task. How fortunate Hamish X is. How fortunate you are! I have been assigned this tale by the Universal Narrators' Guild and I promise to exert
myself to the very limit of my storytelling powers to provide you with an accurate yet thrilling narration of the story. Enough said.

We're about to enter the second part of the story. It involves a long journey during which our heroes will be tested to their limits and discover their true inner strength. Sadly, in our lives we're rarely offered such opportunities. Seldom do pirates invade our homes, stealing our loved ones and requiring us to perform a daring rescue. In fact, we hardly ever have any chance to show the heroic side of our character. I once saved a horse from drowning, but the incident really didn't carry the kind of epic grandeur one might hope for. Certainly, the horse was grateful, but he couldn't exactly tell anyone about my exploits. And even if he could, his narration would have been awful. Horses are scarcely better than cats at telling stories. They spend a lot of time talking about hay and don't use a lot of adjectives.
⁴⁵

One must make do with reading about heroic acts and selfless sacrifice and hope that will be enough to feed the soul. On that note, let's return to the story.

Chapter 15

First, they went back to the kitchen and loaded their knapsacks with the food Mrs. Francis had poached from Viggo's private larder. Soon they had all the supplies they could carry.

Next they went to the security centre. There, Parveen did his best to plot the course of the pirate's airship on the radar screen. The airship was still visible as a blip.

“They're headed north and west, up towards the Arctic Ocean.” Parveen tore a laminated map of North America off the wall, laying it flat on the card table. “They will try to save time by going in as straight a line as possible.” He plucked the stub of pencil from behind his ear and drew a line on the map. “If they continue on this course they will be heading for this group of islands here. But please understand that it is only a guess.”

“He said Snow Monkey Island,” Mimi said. “Ever heard of it?”

“No.” Parveen pursed his lips, thinking. “I have never heard of monkeys inhabiting an Arctic region before. macaque monkeys live in snowy climates, but they are native to Japan. My guess is that Snow Monkey Island is one of this cluster of volcanic cones here.” His small brown finger stabbed down at the map, indicating a scattering of small black dots off the coast of Victoria Island in the Amundsen Gulf.

“We have no time to lose,” Hamish X said. “Quick! Grab whatever you can use and we'll start after them immediately.”

Parveen rolled the map into a tight cylinder. He found a compass, a fancy one with Global Positioning Satellite capability. It linked up to a satellite to tell one exactly where one was on the globe. While he was doing this, Hamish X outlined the plan.

“We'll take the boat that's down at the docks. The fastest way is to sail up through Hudson's Bay and then strike west. We'll have to assume they're heading for that island group. There's no reason to think Cheesebeard was lying. He didn't know we were listening. Let's just hope the weather's good.”

“But what's the plan? What'll we do when we git there?” Mimi asked. “Just walk right in and ask 'em fer the book?”

“And the children, too,” Hamish X pointed out. “We can't leave them in the hands of those nasty pirates.”

“And Mrs. Francis,” Parveen said, polishing his glasses on his sleeve. “She's a lovely, nice lady. They can keep Viggo for all I care. He's a big poo.”

“Agreed,” Hamish said.

“Let's review.” Mimi counted on her fingers. “We trail them pirates, find ther hideout, and make 'em give back the book, the kids, and Mrs. Francis.”

“That's it in a nutshell,” Hamish X smiled.

“We ain't got a doughnut's chance at a police station,” Mimi declared.

“You have to start at the beginning and take things as they come. First, we need transport.”

Ten minutes later, after a slog through the wind, hand over hand through the deserted city, they stood on the docks. The guardhouse was a smoking ruin and, happily, no vicious dogs were in sight. One could only assume the animals had run off or succumbed during the pirate attack. On the downside, the boat that served as a supply
ship for the factory rolled gently back and forth in the breakers. Keeled over on its side, a gaping hole in its hull, it wouldn't be taking them anywhere.

“Well, that just stinks,” Mimi announced.

“Indeed,” Parveen agreed.

“What now?”

“We find alternative transport.” Hamish X turned and started back towards the factory. Parveen and Mimi followed suit.

They checked the snowmobiles, but every one had been smashed beyond repair to foil any pursuit. With the snow swirling about them, they watched Parveen poking at the engines. “I might be able to cobble together one working machine out of the parts, but we'll lose a lot of time. Besides, we have to cover a lot of distance fast and a snowmobile won't do.”

This depressed the three would-be rescuers to no end. They slogged back to the cafeteria, where Hamish X used the lockpick tool on his knife to break into Viggo's larder. He liberated some milk, cocoa, and sugar and made hot chocolate to lift their spirits. While they sipped the delicious drink, Hamish X sat lost in thought.

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers and leapt to his feet. “What fools we are,” he laughed. “We already have a way of going after them.”

“What?” Parveen and Mimi looked at each other. “The kites.

They worked fine, didn't they? So we make more kites! Or, better yet, one big one! That's it. We have all the sheets we need. We can use the maintenance shop and all the guards' tools. It's perfect.”

Parveen took out a pencil and dropped to his hands and knees, sketching on the floor of the cafeteria. He drew feverishly, pressing hard with his pencil. The tip
broke. “Bother!' Parveen shouted. “Hamish, may I use your knife, please. I must sharpen this.”

“I think I saw a pen in the kitchen. I'll go get it …” Hamish X stood. Parveen shook his head. “NO PENS!”

Mimi and Hamish X were shocked by the little boy's vehemence. “What's the matter, Parv?” Mimi asked gently.

Parveen shook his head. “My name is not Parv.” He held out his hand to Hamish X. “Please, your knife.” Hamish X nodded and dipped his fingers into his boot, extracting the pocketknife. He handed it to Parveen, who folded out a short, sharp blade and whittled his stub of pencil to a point. He handed the knife back and bent over his drawing again. Mimi and Hamish X exchanged a questioning look and watched as he finished his plan.

Five minutes later he looked up, pushing his glasses back up on his nose.

“We will need a lot of sheets,” he said, “but I believe it is possible.” Mimi and Hamish X wasted no time and ran to the dormitory.

They worked through the night, making the cafeteria their workroom. Parveen was in charge. He told them what to do, with what and where. Beds were stripped and the sheets gathered in a heap. Hamish X found aluminum poles and rope in a storage shed. Following Parveen's instructions, he assembled a light but strong frame for the kite.

Mimi discovered an ancient sewing machine in Mrs. Francis's room. It was the kind of sewing machine that had a table attached, the kind you could imagine someone being chained to day in and day out, sewing pants for wealthy bank officials. She hauled it out into the cafeteria and set to work sewing the sheets into a large square sail. She wasn't a natural sewer, and spent a lot of
time kicking the machine, threatening it, and complaining to the others. “Why do I have to do the sewin'? 'Cause I'm the girl? Is that it? It ain't fair, I tell ya!”

Parveen was deaf to her complaints. He was too busy with his welding tools. He scavenged bits and pieces from all kinds of different machines—cogs, belts, tubes, chains. When he had assembled enough junk, he lit an acetylene torch and began welding it all together. Sparks cascaded on the linoleum floor, scorching the yellowed surface and causing minor fires that Hamish X quickly extinguished with buckets of water. Parveen never noticed the danger. His focus on the task at hand was phenomenal. He drank only when Hamish stuck a straw between his lips, gulping absently like a machine drawing fuel from a hose.