Chapter one of Our Book. T.I.U.P.I..

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The Incredibly Unlikely and Practically Impossible Adventures Concerning Two Girls, A Ship of Pirates, A King and Jester, A traveling Musical Company and Butterflies

Chapter One: Covering the abduction.

         Sir Isaac Griswold Chessolvick of the Fifth-and-Second, paced the deck to and fro in growing agitation. He was trying to solve a complex problem and it was a bother. He was not good at solving problems on the best of days and today was not the best day. It was something so far from best that we can't name the word used to describe it. Rest assured it was Not Good, as Not Good as a pirate's day can be. And the problem was this; What to do with the hostage?

               Now Sir Isaac had had many hostages in his time – he was after all a Captain and a very well known captain too – but usually his hostages were not so alive when he received them, and if they were alive he didn't keep them long. He would holler and yell and all sorts of tantalizing threats until the said hostage was so scared out of his wits he would no longer know how to think, and then he would drop (said hostage) off at the nearest deserted island or distant village far from Prying Eyes, there to leave him with his trauma. Once in a while, Sir Isaac would release his hostage for a swim, bound in ropes and other oddities so he shouldn't swim far but this was not something he enjoyed doing and therefore tried to avoid it as much as possible.

The hostage tied down below, however, was a special case. This hostage was the great... the great.. Sir Isaac stomped his great. What was he the great of? Or For? He was Great -Something but the Captain didn't bother learning names and referred to most of his crew as “YOU!” and nothing else. So titles didn't stick much in his head. Title aside, this Hostage has a good deal of value. He had long been claimed as a Merchant who roamed the galaxies and collected certain beauties that the Captain was undeniably fond of. He hadn't been this far south in nigh over a year, but when the Captain had heard of this merchant's newest cargo he immediately set course to intercept him and steal it for himself.

         Except by the time Sir Isaac caught the Hostage the cargo has already left the ship. He had hardly been able to hold in his anger. Down, Down, Down, the Great Something had been taken, Down below into the dark where he was questioned mercilessly like a mouse dancing with a cat. Still he hadn't spoken. There seemed little they could do to make him squeal.

           Sir Isaac stopped pacing. Perhaps after all there was a way. He kicked up his feet and stamped them hard on the floor in decision and marched down below.

The Prisoner was locked in a tiny closet of a room bare of all things except, of course, the torture chair. Sir Isaac swung the door open with as much force as he could muster and stood in the doorway with sword in hand and eyebrows drawn together, in an attempt to look as ominous as possible. The Prisoner blinked up at him, his expression so vague that he could have been terrified or mildly amused, but certainly not cringing in terror. Sir Isaac drew his eyebrows tighter. He turned to Mott, the Random Sea Mate who had been stuck interrogating with the Prisoner all morning.

“You! You may go.”

       Mott puffed out his cheeks. “Thaaaank ye, Captain,” he said Fervently, and out he went. Sir Isaac listened to the door close and stood alone in front of the chair for a moment.

     “So!” he said, and paused. The Prisoner blinked again. Sir Isaac bent over the chair until the tip of his sword scraped his cheek. “So!” he repeated.

   “No.” said the Prisoner.

   “No what?”

   “Sew. I shant.” said the Prisoner.

     Sir Isaac didn't have time for riddles. “Tell us where your collection is,” he said, “Or you will regret it until your dying day. If you live that long.” and he did his best to sound Ominous. The Prisoner blinked at him.

   “Very well!” Sir Isaac sheathed his sword. “You leave me no choice.” He spun around so his cape swirled around in an epic twist and charged out the door, letting it slam behind him for added effect. He waited on the other side for a moment before turning to the door keeper.

“Oi! You there. What is this man's name?”

“Oh, that would be 'Arry sir.”

“Airy? What a ridiculous name! Hardly befitting a sailor or a dog.” Sir Isaac spat. “Give me a last name. Airy what?”

“'Arry, sir. 'Arry Lance.”

    “Yes, yes, you needn't repeat the first name!” Sir Isaac moved to chomp down on his knuckle but caught himself in time. He glared at the doorkeeper who quickly wiped the smile from his face. “Lance is alright for a name, I guess. Who is his known family?”

   “How should I know?”

“You're the doorkeeper! You should know!”

The Doorkeeper frowned. “Where is that written.”

    Sir Isaac swung open his cape and rifled in it's folds for a moment. “i did write it down,” he said, “But it seems the papers are not on me. Anyway, you should know!” he whacked the Doorkeeper upside the head. The Doorkeeper winced and rubbed his scalp. “Oi, Captain, What was that for? I din't do nuffin'!”

     “You wouldn't answer me.” Sir Isaac closed his eyes. “What can I do? He won't talk and I need that collection!”

   “Captain!” Dobb, the Random Sea Mate's brother, came up behind.

Sir Isaac turned on him. “Yes, what is it?”

      “If I might make so bold, Captain, Can't we just look for the collection?”

       “Oh, good thought Dobb!” said Sir Isaac, and gave the Mate a sturdy blow to the head. “Except we don't know where it's buried!”

Dobb rubbed the back of his head but didn't have the sense to keep quiet. “but, couldn't we, maybe, dig around for it? In the dirt? That's what we do isn't it?”

     “You fool!” Sir Isaac went to hit him again but Dobb dodged the blow and got the flat of a sword against his legs. “ouch!” he protested, like a whiny pigeon.

“We can't just go digging in the dirt!” said Sir Isaac. “Airy has been all around the Five Galaxies. It could be anywhere! We don't have a map with X-marks-the-spot!”

Dobb looked confused. “But sir – ”

     “No, 'but sir!' I am Captain you do what I say!”

Dobb winced. Sir Isaac paced, scratching his head with the tip of his blade. “There must be another way of getting to that treasure.”

the doorkeeper cleared his throat. “You, er... ”

      “What?”

       “You asked abou' 'Arry's family, sir.”

       “I did? Ah yes, I did. Well why would I do that?” he tossed his cape up. “Aha! I remember! A ransom note!The only people who might no where the collection is buried is Airy's next of kin. We'll demand they bring it to us in exchange for their family. It will save us time digging and it's cheaper! We'll save on gas.” the captain cackled in glee, swinging his cape about. “Sometimes I'm so clever I astound myself.”

    “Me too, Boss,” laughed Dobb, “me too.”

      Whack! The flat of the blade made contact with Dobb's head. “care to repeat that?” challenged Sir Isaac.

   “You're a bloody genius Captain.”

    “Ah, I am. I know it.” he tapped his head thoughtfully. “But how to get to them? How do we find the other Airy Lance's?”

    “We could look in the yellow pages.” This suggestion came from Mott, who had opened the door and leaning heavily on it. He looked out at the small group in front of the interrogation room, with a idiotic grin on his face.

   Sir Isaac felt surrounded by idiots. “Close the door.” he said.

Mott closed the door on Airy, sheepishly. “Apologies, Captain.”

    “If we find something in the Yellow Pages, then I'll consider accepting that. Until then consider yourself Shunned.”

Mott shuffled his feet. Sir Isaac turned to the Doorkeeper. “You! Get me the Phone book! I have yellow pages to look through. It's time we find the rest of these Airy Lances.”

   “Arry.” corrected the doorkeeper. “An' my name is Charles.”

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