The Dastardly Unnecessary Adventures Of Sir Tarquin Lamb Pasanda And His Good Colleagues Sirs Fitzwellington Tikka Massala and Gregory Bacon Phaal!

Just Food Business Pt. 2

Gravy Jones stood on the deck, his strawberry laced beard writhing in the moonlight (shut up, just because I didn't mention it was fucking night doesn't mean it was day) and laughed again. "You, Mister Pasanda, owe me a life of servitude, like your ancestor promised." he snarled. I took offence to that. "It's Sir, actually. And I jolly well don't owe you jack shit, you puffed up toyboy." I replied, stiffly. I recieved mega evils from the "puffed up toyboy" then. He strode up to me and got in my face, like some soggy Detroit gangster. "Your ancestor, Archibald Pasanda, promised me a life of servitude in return for me leaving him be - for calling off my little pet." he boomed. I was puzzled. Why did the punishment fall to me? As if knowing what I was thinking, he spoke again. "Your predecessors tricked me each in turn, to avoid the oath. But you, Tarquin, will serve me for as long as I see fit!" he spat the last bit. I looked around the deck - Gregory and Fitzwellington were tensed, as if waiting to attack and Lucinda, Bebelia and Jimothy were huddled by the Mexican crew. There was no sign of the Viscount, however. Gregory kept pointing to my pocket, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. Gravy Jones spoke again. "You will come with me if you wish the other's lives to be spared." I had no choice - everything was happening so fast. Then I realised what Gregory had been signalling. I turned to Jones. "Well, I hate to disappoint, but I'm afraid I have better things to do with my life than give it to you." before he could react, I brought out the device and threw it at the ground - my Emergency Escape Capsule (Just add water).

A huge black smoke billowed out, blinding all but my allies. Together we took up our arms and carved a path through to the side of the ship, where a giant galleon waited (courtesy of my escape capsule) which we all jumped into and began to pull away - except from Fitzwellington. "Hurry up!" I roared. "I forgot the bloody scotch!" He yelled back as he slashed a sunken faced Etonian and headed to his cabin. As he reached the quarters, Gravy Jones stood in his way, sword in hand. Fitzwellington grinned. "Alright there Jonesy?" he asked. Gravy Jones snarled and swung his cutlass at Fitz's. They stood locked in a rapid swordfight as Viscount Benson walked out of his cabin, bleary eyed and holding a bowl of rice, and jumped onto the galleon. Suddenly Fitzwellington scored a hit on Jone's beard, slicing some strawberry lace off. Jones howled and staggered back as Fitzwellington ran to the bow of the ship and with a giant leap, he hit the deck of the galleon. The galleon itself was a dark red-brown with THE SMOKED EARL written across her side. I ordered for the sails to be pulled in and full speed to Commodore's Cove. As I helped Fitzwellington up, I heard Gravy Jones. "Damn you, Fitzwellington! Damn you! Hell hath no fury like Gravy Jones with injured pride... you will see me again!" he screamed. The good part was that he had forgotten about me for the while. In response, Fitzwellington gave him a two fingered salute as we sped off. Suddenly Gravy Jones wasn't on El Ignacio anymore - he had returned to the Frying Dutchman to give chase. Or so I thought. His ship sank under the waves and zoomed away. El Ignacio had not been damaged during the attack, and some of the crew were still on board, including Mexican Gregory. Between the two ships there weren't enough men to sail both, so I suggested we go to a place where it's 2 coins for a bottle of rum and 1 for a slave.

Tortuga.

We reached the pirate port as the morning sun rose up, dropped anchor and headed to the nearest tavern. We entered to find a group of men sitting round none other than Dame Daphne Cheddar Pickle! "Hello Daphne, fancy seeing you here!" I exclaimed. She laughed "I'M ON HOLIDAY! Sssh!" she replied drunkenly. "Erm, right. Do you know of any pirates looking for work?" I asked. "ME!" someone squealed. It sounded like a girl, but then a large man came into view. "My name's Lieutenant Olivier Sag Aloo, and I will crew your ship if so necessary." I smiled. "Happy to have you aboard." We all shook Olivier's hand and just as I was about to ask if he knew any other people looking for work, when suddenly a group of men stormed into the tavern. They all looked Asian and when Viscount Benson saw them he gasped. "Dim Sum!" he whispered. Sir Gregory looked at him. "Who?" he asked. Benson took a deep breath. "Nine families are the descendants of great Emperors - among them are the Chow Mein Dynasty and the Dim Sum Dynasty. We have been feuding for years over land and finances. Not nice people." He explained. The lead man looked at Benson with surprise. "I was told that I was the only Viscount hired. So what are you doing here, enemy of mine?" he spoke coldy. Benson was unafraid. "These are my friends. We go many miles to ancient island to find-" I cut him off with a swift look. The Dim Sum man looked at me in anger. "You...? Wait..." he wondered. "The one who got away..." he mused, then drew his sword, smiling. "Not today, friend of my enemy. Today you die a-" I didn't hear what he said, as Sir Gregory smashed a chair over his head. He stumbled into a drunk pirate, who in turn crashed into a table, overturning it and drenching two other pirates in rum. One of them punched the other, who consequentially barrelled into a whole group. Suddenly, all hell broke loose.

The Dim Sum Dynasty warriors drew their katanas and engaged Sirs Jimothy, Fitzwellington, Gregory and Lt. Olivier in battle as the entire tavern erupted into a huge brawl. I ducked a swinging fist and sent my attacker into some stacked chairs where he drunkenly charged into another throng of fists and headbutts. I headed towards my friends but the Dim Sum leader (I later found out he was called Jung) blocked me off and took me off balance with a karate kick to the stomach. I stepped back and took up a Muay Thai stance as he ran at me again, aiming a kick for my kneecap. I grabbed his foot as he kicked and spun him off his feet and to the floor. He was swallowed up in a crowd of fighters. I turned to Fitz and Greg and beckoned them to the exit. We fought our way to the exit to see an unwelcome site:

The Smoked Earl  was surrounded by a dozen ships bearing the colours of the Dim Sum Dynasty - all ready to fire. Just our luck that our new enemies should have a private fleet of heavily armed warships at their disposal. It was at times like these I wish Fitz hadn't sold our stake in the Royal Navy. At that moment my friends were thrown out of the bar, cut up and bruised but otherwise not too bad. In fact, looking back, Fitz looked incredibly smug (I put this down to the fact that his coat was lined with bottles of rum next time we spoke). Lt. Olivier was missing however. As was Sir Jimothy. I feared for their safety but we could do nothing. Jung and his men marched us to boats and we once again headed for an encounter with the rotting carcass of a ship known to all as the Frying Dutchman. As we headed for it, Jung turned to Sir Gregory and gave him evils. "You know that really fucking hurt earlier? You know that you could've given me brain damage??" Sir Gregory was unfazed. "I did briefly worry about that, but then I realised you need a brain to be in danger of getting brain damage." We all chuckled quietly except Benson, who proceeded to chuckle for a good two minutes before roaring with laughter briefly then falling silent, occasionally giggling to himself. Distracted by this odd outburst I did notice we'd arrived until the Dutchman's shadow engulfed us. I was roughly hurled on deck to find myself once again facing against Gravy Jones, something I would not wish upon anyone. The... man(?) had flaky skin with pores oozing gravy and once again, a suspicious smell that reminded me vividly of the Catholic Church Choir Room (I had to leave before even getting introduced, I was worried common sense might prevail in the middle of one of their rituals). Jones stepped up to me and pretended to swing a punch, stopping inches from my face. I did not flinch, as Fitz had taught me, although I was glad he was only-

A large fist caught me on the jaw from the side and sent me flat on my face, sprawled across the floor. Jones' crew erupted into jeers as my vision blurred. It was one of the Dim Sum people, some chubby lad I bottled in the bar. Through my twatted state I realised that Gravy Jones was roaring at Jung, who appeared to be brandishing his katana. My hearing returned helpfully as Jones snarled. "Well I believe this brings your usefulness to an abrupt end, Viscount! Bloody well boff them one, chaps!" Jones' crew charged at the Dim Sum warriors, clashing around me. I jumped up to see a large group of Jones' men barrel into Fitz and send him tumbling below decks. "Let's beat this one before we go for the rest, ho?" The leader wailed. "Ho!" His followers assented before charging down the steps. I was extremely worried. They outnumbered Fitz 20 to 1. Didn't the fools know it was a doomed fight for them from the start? As I ran for a discarded sword I heard the steady rhythmic sound of Fitz beating them to death with their own hastily amputated limbs. I dived for the sword, sweeping it up before looking for Viscount Benson and Sir Gregory. They had used the infighting to reach the stern of the boat and the helm, where Sir Gregory was now trying to steer the Dutchman out of the Tortuga bay, while Benson was firing his pistol in the air to "scare away attackers". However, as soon as the Dim Sum ships realised what was going on, they began opening fire on the lower decks of the ship. While most cannonballs hit the Dutchman and the water around it, some flew straight past and smashed into some pirate ships that had just entered the bay. The ships, assuming a deliberate attack, came about and returned fire, making it a firefight on top of everything else. Also Tortuga had some cannons of its own and was firing indiscriminately into the clouds of billowing smoke from hundreds of cannons. As you can imagine, it was like being punched in the face again, there was so much shit flying around I was happy to go and hide below decks. But I had to reach the helm and reunite with the others. I wasn't too worried about Fitz, he genuinely enjoyed every second of it. But as I ran for the helm my path was blocked once again by Jung, brandishing a bloody blade. "I'm warning you!" I warned, warningly. He shrugged and attacked anyway. I parried and lunged at him, stepping around him before performing a fairly spectacular roll to avoid another sword aimed at me, this time by a bloodstained Gravy Jones. His sword continued its sweep and hit Jung's with a resounding clang. Despite the situation I couldn't help but shout "Not the first time you crossed swords is it, Jones?"

Just then, El Ignacio came view of the bay, all guns blazing. I heard Gregory cackling over the din. "Aye, she be gunning for ye, Gravy Jones! Ne'er there were a ship that fired more straight 'n' true as the Ignacio!" I finally jumped up the steps and reached him and Benson, who was now holding his evidently empty pistol like a club. Suddenly across the cries and cannon fire I heard a roar of satisfaction - Gravy Jones had just impaled Jung on his blade. He lifted the dead Viscount's body above his head, waving it to the remaining Dim Sum ships before hurling it into the murky water. Realising all was lost, the remainder of the ragged and damaged Dim Sum fleet set sail and tore from the bay, much to the delight of their pursuing ships. However, Gravy Jones then turned his attention to us. We all wielded our weapons as he led an angry crowd of his crewmen to the helm. Suddenly fifteen of the tightly packed men went flying, tossed like ragdolls, as Fitz emerged from below decks with a cannon on his shoulder. Although Gravy Jones had but a handful of men left he continued, sending them to deal with Fitz, before reaching me. I thrust my blade at him but he parried and it slid forward into the wheel, before one of his men stamped on it, shattering the blade. Sir Gregory plunged his blade into one crewman before two more forced him back. Viscount Benson stumbled backwards as quick as he can but naturally he tripped. This time his idiocy had benefits - he was still holding the apparently empty pistol. As he fell his finger curled round the trigger and he loosed a shot into Gravy Jones' head. The man/thing staggered forward before falling to the ground, clearly dead. Fitz had counter dealt with the other men. The deck was devoid of life but brimming with blood, guts and bodies. El Ignacio came about and moored up next to the anchored Dutchman. Sir Gregory looked at me strangely. "Is uh... is, that it?" I looked at him surprised. "Well, yeah. Why?" Gregory frowned. "Well it's just, in the series we're parodying, the bad monster man/thing can't just be killed. I feel like this is a sort of cheap ending." I scoffed at him. "Right, so you want us to go on an epic journey to find a key and a chest that holds his HEART in it so that one of us can sink a blade into his heart, replace it with our own causing one of us to become the Captain of this ship because it is in fact a transcendent ship that ferries the dead from our world to another that requires a captain to operate properly?" Sir Gregory sighed. "No..." I nodded. "No. Because that would take Do- me ages to document and would really have no lasting impact as it is neither new nor original seeing as anyone who's anyone has seen the third film in the series we are parodying. Also seeing as Viscount Benson's the only Asian here we'd probably have to redraft his character to be the Pirate Lord of Singapore, which would fuck things up elsewhere seeing as he'd be dead halfway through. THAT is why we are making it so that Gravy Jones can be shot in the head, alright?" Fitz scuffed the ground and looked sulky.

"I wanted to cut a heart out..."

At that point Mexi Greg stepped onto the ship and checked us over. "Well, it seems that you've all been 10 rounds with Muhammad Ali thrice over but I'm sure there'll be no lasting brain damage. Oh and Tarquin?" I turned. "A yes?" He pointed at the somehow immaculate Smoked Earl floating in the water a hundred metres away. "How are you going to explain the fact that your ship was not at all mentioned or damaged in that huge firefight of incredibly destructive proportions?" I winked at him knowingly. "Like this."

We were once again sat around on the deck drinking and playing cards when the ship's dinghy rode equal with us. From it climbed Sir Jimothy and Lt. Olivier. We all looked at them in silence. Jimothy opened his mouth. "Um, hi. Yes we were trying to get back but... got... lost." Olivier's eyes widened in panic at seeing Fitz's cold eyes upon him. "We're not spies sent by The Foe to observe and report on what you're doing and how you're coping with the orchestrated fugitive situation!". Fitz shook his head slowly. "Never said you were. But Olivier? I'm keeping an eye on you. Remember that." Olivier looked affronted. "Are you insinuating that you have suspicions that I AM in fact a spy sent by your enemy to keep tabs on yo- okay!" And with that he bounced off.

Gregory's eyes glittered with dark interest as he watched Jimothy prowl off. "That be a tricky lad if ever there be one." I turned to him slowly. "Gregory?" He looked at me. "What..?"

"You're not a fucking pirate."

THE END