Hamish X and the Cheese Pirates (16 page)

“Attach this to the gondola. Tie it to something secure!” he shouted. Then he picked up the anchor. It wasn't particularly heavy, being intended as a grapple that would hook onto a stationary object and moor the little aircraft. He turned and watched for the approaching ship. Mimi searched around and finally decided on one of the handles on the side of the vat. She looped the cable through and tied it as securely as she could. She held the rest of the rope coiled loosely in her hands.

“One kilometre and closing,” Parveen called out, keeping his eyes on the radar screen.

“What are ya gonna do?” Mimi demanded.

“When I tell you, let go of the rope,” Hamish X said.

Mimi scowled and turned to watch the approaching pirate ship.

“
CAPTAIN, THEY
'
RE COMING
right for us,” the radar man announced. “Should we change course again?” Captain Cheesebeard stood at the front of the bridge, looking through the broad window. He lowered his binoculars and sneered.

“No. Stay the course. If they ram us it'll be like a mosquito
butting a rhinoceros. They'll be crushed.” Mrs. Francis let out a little gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. The Captain turned his head and grinned at her.

“We'll have to scrape them off the windscreen like so much melted Monterey Jack, but otherwise it'll be a minor inconvenience.” Cheesebeard laughed at Mrs. Francis's horrified expression. He raised his glasses and turned his attention back to the approaching vessel.

“Perhaps you would like to go to your cabin, Madam,” offered Mr. Kipling gently, placing a delicate hand on her elbow.

“She stays and watches!” Cheesebeard barked.

“Aye, Captain.” A flash of annoyance darted across Kipling's bland face. He stepped back.

“Five hundred metres and closing,” the radar operator intoned.

ON THE LITTLE FLYER
they could easily see the pirate ship coming closer. In the thin sunlight, its black skin was like a hole in the sky. The bridge was visible now and they could hear the thrum of her propellers over the rush of the wind.

“Parveen,” Hamish X said, “here's what I want you to do. Take us straight in as if we're going to ram her, but at the last instant I want you to take us down so that we pass right under. I want to get a shot at the big propellers on the back end.”

“Our flyer isn't very manoeuvrable, but I think I can manage that,” Parveen answered, adjusting his glasses. He took a firmer grip on the steering stick.

“I think I see where yer goin' with this,” Mimi said.

“Just be sure and let the rope go once I've thrown the anchor.” Hamish leaned over the edge of the gondola, letting the anchor dangle out into space.

“One hundred metres,” Parveen declared.

Hamish X grinned a savage grin, his hair flying in the wind. “It's good to be alive!” he shouted.

CAPTAIN CHEESEBEARD
lowered his glasses in shock. “I knew it! It
is
him! It's Hamish X! I've heard he's brave, but this is suicidal.”

“He's not afraid of anything,” Mrs. Francis blurted.

“It doesn't matter. He'll be dead soon. They can't hope to survive an impact,” Cheesebeard smiled. “My brother Soybeard will be avenged!”

Mr. Kipling stepped to the Captain's side. “Sir, I know they won't survive, but we might not survive either.”

“What are you talking about, Kipling?”

“If they pierce the hydrogen bags, a tiny spark could cause an explosion. The result could be catastrophic.”

Cheesebeard pondered this news. Tension showed in the faces of all the crew on the bridge. The Captain picked up a microphone attached to the
command console and spoke into it. “Forward gunners prepare to fire. Knock them out of the sky.”

“No!” Mrs. Francis cried. “They're just children!”

Cheesebeard laughed. The crew laughed with him.

All except Mr. Kipling. Mrs. Francis glared at the tall man. “They'll die.”

Mr. Kipling met her gaze and said softly, “But the hundred children in the cargo hold won't.” Mrs. Francis opened her mouth to answer but couldn't think of anything to say. He was right. She had a duty to look after the orphans on the ship, and could only hope that the three children would survive the attack. So she turned and looked out the great window at the front of the bridge, biting her lip and wringing the belt of her pink bathrobe in her chubby hands.

“Impact in ten seconds,” the radar operator's voice cracked nervously.

Cheesebeard turned and watched the flyer approach. He spoke one word into the microphone.

“Fire!”

Pirates in two gun pods on the underside of the ship opened fire simultaneously. Streams of bullets lanced out, seeking the fragile flyer as it raced forward.

“
THEY
'
RE SHOOTIN
'
AT US
!” Mimi shouted.

“Duck!” Hamish X grabbed her arm, pulling her down below the lip of the metal vat. Parveen hunched over, following their lead.

Bullets rang off the steel surface, denting but not piercing the thick metal. The wings, however, were not impervious to damage. The bullets stitched lines of ragged holes across the surface of the fabric. “We're hit!” Parveen shouted. He clung to the steering stick, trying to compensate as the flyer lurched.

The shooting continued, ringing the gondola like a fire bell, deafening the three children inside its enclosed space. A dark shadow passed over them. They looked up to see the bulk of the pirate airship. The shooting stopped.

“We're out of their firing arc,” Parveen called out, wrestling with the stick. The flyer shimmied erratically despite his efforts.

Hamish X leapt to his feet, picking up the anchor. “Get ready. We'll only have one chance.”

Mimi struggled to her feet. Hamish frowned in deep concentration as the airship sped by above. They were so close they could see the individual bolts on the cabins and the seams of metal plating on the hull. The thrum of the propellers grew louder. Hamish swung the anchor gently, biding his time.

“I cannot hold us much longer,” Parveen called. “The flyer is too badly damaged.”

“Just a little longer!” Hamish X cried. Finally, the thrum of the two propellers became deafening. They spun like huge pinwheels on either side, blindingly fast, driving the airship forward. Hamish tensed, whirled the anchor around his head once, and flung it upwards. With a clang, it crashed into the port propeller, snagged onto one of its blades, and began to whip around.

“Let go, Mimi!” Hamish X shouted. Mimi dropped the spool of rope and immediately it began to slither after the anchor, wrapping itself around the axle of the
propeller and snarling it until it ground to a halt. The airship, driven now by only one propeller, began to veer off on an angle.

“Yes!” Hamish X pumped his fist in the air. “Now we climb up the cable and storm the ship.”

“Are you nuts? There are only two of us!”

“Don't worry, Mimi,” Hamish laughed wildly, “I'll leave some for you!” He reached for the cable to begin his ascent, but at that instant the rope came to its end. With a loud snap, the line broke. The deck lurched beneath them, throwing them to the floor of the gondola. Hamish X's face fell. “They're free! We failed!”

“The flyer has lost structural integrity. We are going down!” Parveen shouted.

“Grab hold of something!” Hamish cried.

The vessel began to dive steeply. Parveen hauled back on the stick, trying to avoid a nosedive. Hamish and Mimi clung to the edge of the gondola, watching as the snowy earth rushed up towards them. It was almost impossible to tell how far they were from impact because the ground was universally white and featureless.
⁵²

“Brace yourselves!” Parveen shouted.

They were thrown from their feet as the flyer skipped across the ice and snow like a stone. Once. Twice. Then the wing plowed into the ground, spraying up a sheet of ice and snow, spinning and sliding to a stop against a wall of ice. The flyer came to rest, creaking and popping in the frigid air. Nothing stirred.

Chapter 19

The
Vulture
laboured in a wide turn, black smoke trailing from its crippled port propeller. The vast shadow of the airship passed over the crash site like a bad dream.

Cheesebeard surveyed the broken craft through his binoculars. Still nothing stirred.

“Status,” he barked.

“Von of ze props is jammed!” shouted Schmidt. “I'll have to compenzate.”

“Engineering reports that the axle is burnt out on the port propeller shaft,” Kipling announced. “Our top speed is cut in half, but no major damage otherwise.”

“Excellent,” Cheesebeard said, lowering his binoculars. “Keep us on course for Snow Monkey Island. I'm going to my cabin.” On his way out of the bridge he stopped beside Mrs. Francis. Tears streamed down her face. Her red eyes glared at him with pure hatred.

“You murderer!” she sobbed.

“Why thank you.” Cheesebeard gave a little bow. “I'm also a cutthroat, a scoundrel, and I've defaulted on my taxes.” He laughed heartily. The crew joined in, mocking poor Mrs. Francis and her tears. They all thought it the most hilarious fun. “I've done it! I've killed Hamish X! My brother is avenged!” The crew cheered.

All save Mr. Kipling, who looked decidedly uncomfortable. He fished out his handkerchief and offered it to Mrs. Francis. She scowled at him. “Keep it,” she spat. “Don't pretend you're any better than these ruffians just because you're polite.”

“Please, Madam …”

She cut him off. “I wish to go now.”

Mr. Kipling frowned. He flicked his wrist at a guard.

“Take our guest to her cabin,” he ordered.

“You can keep your cabin, sir. I want to go to the children. They'll be frightened. I should be there to comfort them.”

“Mrs. Francis, I …”

“Take me to the children immediately!” Mrs. Francis snapped.

Mr. Kipling hesitated for a moment, then nodded. The guard led Mrs. Francis off the bridge.

“Give up, Kiplink,” Schmidt taunted. “You don't stand a chanze mit her. She vants a real man.” The helmsman thumped his chest, eliciting a further gale of laughter from the crew. Schmidt's hand was suddenly pinned to the wheel by the slim blade of a stiletto.
⁵³

“Eeeeeya!” Schmidt screamed. He tugged at the handle of the dagger. The crew fell silent.

“Leave it where it is.” Mr. Kipling's soft, cultured voice filled the bridge. “If you remove it, I will gut you like a fish.” He smiled at the others. “That goes for the rest of you as well.” He looked at the agonized Schmidt. “You may return my knife at the end of your watch. And be sure to clean it first. There's a good fellow.” With a final look around the bridge, he turned and left.

DOWN IN THE CARGO HOLD
, the children huddled together trying to keep warm. The large room was stacked with crates of cheese stolen from the Windcity Orphanage and Cheese Factory and lashed to the bulkheads with thick leather straps to keep them from sliding around. Caribou Blue fumes filled the air, making the children light-headed. The only illumination came from a string of bare bulbs encased in wire cages high on the ceiling. In the corner, a small toilet—or head, as the pirates called it—provided the only creature comfort.
⁵⁴

Viggo sat on a crate by the door and wept. His bony shoulders shook with sobs. He was chained to the only two guards to have survived the attack, Pianoface and Tubaface.

“Oh, my beautiful cheese,” he wailed. “My beautiful factory! My beautiful life! Why has this happened to me?”

“Quit whining,” Tubaface snarled.

“Yeah,” Pianoface scowled. “It's bad enough we're stuck here. I don't have to put up with your blubbering.”

“You two cowards surrendered at the first sign of trouble. What was I paying you for?”