[Cyclefrance]

The commander of the secret British garrison on Cedros Island, some short distance from where our fine two (sorry, THREE) fine vessels were now located, woke with a start. He checked his watch. 4.35 am!?! What the hell was that racket?! It sounded like several Welsh corgis being strangled by a Fark which itself was trying to impersonate a school of whales practising the Sing-Along-A-Whalesong Book!

It was all getting a bit too much. There’d been enough cannon fire and noise these past few days, not to mention that god-awful looking minced meat with cat fur in it that had been washed up on the beach in quantity for a good two days. After all, it was a secret garrison and simply by virtue its name, everything was meant to be hush-hush, and this certainly wasn’t!

Vice-admiral Horatio Hornpipe extended an arm out from under the bedcovers and picked up the little bell he kept on the bedside table. Stern measures were called for. No point in just moaning like the rest of his countrymen, who ended up doing that and nothing else, especially when a nice cup of tea was shortly to be delivered.

‘Ere I be. Nice cuppa rosy, me darlin’, just as ‘ee likes it!. A strange mix of South London and Somerset accent filled the air as Hornpipe’s maid CzinZumerzet edged into the room carrying a tray with a teapot, cup, saucer, milk jug, sugar basin, tea strainer, slop bowl, four slices of wholemeal toast, butter dish and a pot of marmalade on it: ‘and a slice or two o’ ‘ee favourite toast and marmalade as well!’

‘Thank you. Just pop it over there, and be a good thing, go and fetch me my loud hailer…no, on second thoughts, fetch me my extra loud hailer.’

CZ shuffled off out of the room and down the stairs, returning a few minutes later with something resembling a cross between a digeridoo and an over-sized ear trumpet. Hornpipe was now out of bed and sporting a bright red dressing gown, a pair of tartan slippers poking out from underneath, each slipper embellished with a golden, fluffy pom-pom.

‘Oooh, yooz duz look nize, Mr. Hornpipe, gawd blimey yooz duz.’

‘Why, thank you my dear. Just bring it over here, will you.’ Hornpipe took the hailer from her and opened wide the window, and then rested the hailer on the sill. The noise from off-shore was even louder now.

Horn pipe pressed his mouth to the small end:

‘I SAY! YOU OVER THERE. ON THOSE SHIP THINGIES. HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHAT TIME IT IS? CIVILISED PEOPLE ARE STILL TRYING TO HAVE SOME SLEEP YOU KNOW. WOULD YOU MIND QUIETENING DOWN A BIT PLEASE. AND FOR GOODNESS SAKE TRY TO STOP THOSE DOGS BARKING . OH, YES, AND YOU WHALES AND THAT FARK. YES, THAT’S RIGHT, I’M TALKING TO YOU. THE SAME GOES FOR YOU TOO. JUST QUIETEN DOWN ALL OF YOU. YOU DON’T WANT ME TO GET HEAVY-HANDED NOW DO YOU?’

Aboard and about the ships they all stopped what they were doing and looked at each other a bit sheepish. Then almost all together, but very quietly:

‘Oh, all right, sorry…’

‘WHAT WAS THAT? SPEAK UP NOW SO I CAN HEAR YOU’

‘We said we’re sorry….’

‘WELL THAT’S A START. AND ARE YOU GOING TO STOP ALL THIS FIGHTING AND NOISE NONSENSE FOR GOOD NOW?’

‘Oh… all… right…..’

‘WHAT WAS THAT?’

‘We said: All right.’

‘OK. THAT’S BETTER. AND BE SURE YOU DO NOW. I’VE HAD QUITE ENOUGH OF THIS THESE LAST FEW DAYS, I CAN TELL YOU!’

And with that Hornpipe pulled in the hailer and shut the window.

At sea, the whales slinked off with their tales between their…. (well you know what I mean…. ), the corgis huddled together in a bunch and set about going to sleep, while the Fark farked off.

The Peta vessel turned around and went back to the shore, and Kit and UT looked at each other across the decks of their respective ships and shrugged their shoulders at each other. Well, that seemed to be that!

‘Oh what a fool I am!’ Reggie was doing the equivalent of slapping himself on the head in frustration.

‘Sorry?’ said UT. ‘I don’t quite understand….’

‘There I’ve been, all this time, trying to work out where it might be, and the answer’s more or less been staring me in the face. And I just couldn’t see it until now..’

‘You’ve lost me, my little pal.’

‘Look! Over there. Kit has just taken his shirt off. I sort of noticed it before when he took me prisoner, but it didn’t register. There, across his right shoulder blade. That strange tattoo. Like half a map.

‘Yes?’

‘Well you’ve got one as well, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, but I’ve never taken much notice of it. I mean it’s only half a map, and I could never understand the writing on it anyway. I just thought the tattooist was having a bit of a joke.’

‘Well the jokes on you – well, all of us really. Sir Francis told me that the most sought after treasure was that of Blackbeard the pirate. He went down with his ship and all his crew, and never a sole knew of the whereabouts of his treasure. Except it was rumoured that he had made a map and had then made a sort of coded copy of it by transferring it on to another piece of paper, so the process meant the map was now back to front – like when you look at a reflection in a mirror, He then tore the map in two, and left one piece each with a barber in two different ports. Now where did you get your tattoo done?’

‘Why, in Bridgetown, Barbados. In the little barber’s shop – are you suggesting that I have half the map and Kit has the other half?’

‘I certainly am. And, if I am not mistaken, it looks to me like it might well be time to form a truce with each other - that’s of course if I am right, and I certainly think I am. If it is Blackbeard’s treasure map, then we are all going to have the chance to become very rich. If we can find it that is, because the journey will be a treacherous one frought with many dangers. Blackbeard wasn’t going to make it easy for anyone else to get his treasure, was he now! Let’s signal Kit and hold a meeting – and I think we might just need Cheyenne’s mirror!

The gramophone creaked away, an old Sonny and Cher number: ‘I got you, babe…’