Lego pirates 7: the niece

Rupert and Geoffrey, the pirates, are in trouble with the law again. Lieutenant Sanders has arrested them for fishing without the appropriate licence.

"I really can't imagine that this is necessary, old boy," protests Rupert, as the ship's crew manhandle him on to dry land and towards the prison.

"It's very necessary, you selfish little bleeder," Sanders informs him; "overfishing is one of the greatest threats currently facing marine ecology, I'll have you know."

"Oh, tush! We threw back everything we caught. Geoffrey here has a very severe seafood allergy."

Geoffrey is looking suitably nauseous.

"That sounds like a tall shaggy wives' story to me," says Sanders, rubbing his chin doubtfully.

"This draconian treatment is becoming rather disagreeable, Geoffrey," sighs Rupert, as the cell door slams shut.

Atop the fort's tower, the Governor is looking rather unhappy.

"Cheer up, sir," suggests Commander Barnes, helpfully; "it looks as if Sanders has brought some prisoners for you to torment."

"I won't be tormenting anyone for a while," intones the Governor, blankly. "I've just had word from my beloved sister that she's sending her daughter to stay with us."

"Oh," says Barnes. A pause. "If you don't mind me saying so, Sir, that seems like a rather abrupt way to introduce a new female character into our midst."

"If this were a work of fiction, Barnes, I would call it plain lazy. However, this is reality, and we must graciously accept the hand that fate deals us."

"Yes, sir. I take it you're not too fond of your niece?"

"Frankly," sighs the Governor, "she's a real pain in the arse."

Barnes descends to the jetty to share the news with Sanders.

"The boss says his niece is coming to visit," he reports.

"His niece?" smiles Sanders. "Ooh, he won't like that. She's one of these liberal, touchy-feely girls; thinks we should all tolerate each other and be nice and what have you."

"Gosh!" exclaims Barnes. "I should imagine the old Gov. doesn't have much time for that sort of nonsense."

"He'll have to make time if he wants to keep his job. Her Daddy is Earl Hugo Caruthers."

Barnes looks blank.

"The Foreign Secretary?" Sanders prompts him.

"Gosh!" exclaims Barnes, again. He's not entirely sure what's so important about a Foreign Secretary, but he supposes they must be jolly clever if they can keep up with all the filing and dictation when they don't even speak English properly.

Not far away, on Skull Island, Cap'n Smythe is struggling to motivate his remaining pirates.

"Come on now, Nigella, there must be something you want to do," he implores. "How about a round of Uno?"

She shrugs.

"Happy Families?"

"I shan't play anything with Julian," she sulks. "He's a shameful cheat, and a jolly bad loser."

"We could play Operation!" suggests Julian, "but I don't think Nigella could grasp a game where you're not supposed to turn on the red light."

"Oh, you wretch!" blurts Nigella.

Smythe is forced to intervene. "Now, now, you two; let's try to keep matters civil." He addresses the Bos'n. "Julian, a word in private, if I may."

Nigella departs resentfully. Smythe fidgets on his wooden leg.

"What's behind all this hostility between you and Nigella, old chap?" he asks. "We should treat our feminine companions as befits the delightful delicacy of their temperaments, not assault their tender virtue with constant pejorative allusions to their putative meretriciousness."

"Yes, Cap'n," sighs Julian.

"However," continues Smythe, "I appreciate that the intellectual laxity inherent in the fairer sex can be somewhat vexing to a man of your credentials. Your enthusiasm for Su Doku is testament to your academic rigour."

"Thank you, Cap'n."

"Now, it just happens that I'm a member of a - shall we say? - gentleman's club, where one can fraternize with all kinds of like-minded fellows. There's backgammon, pipe-smoking, political debate, manly wrestling, and so forth. I imagine I could procure you an invitation; it might help to take your mind off this business with Nigella."

Julian doubts that anything could take his mind off Nigella, but he's always fancied smoking a pipe. "That's extremely decent of you Cap'n," he says. "I gratefully accept your offer."

"Capital!" beams Smythe.

Back at the Fort, the Governor's niece is being rowed ashore by Lance Corporal Davies.

The Governor is tensely grasping a pencil. "Hello, Maria," he says, as she steps gingerly out of the boat. "Lovely to see you," he adds, unconvincingly.

"Hello, Uncle Arthur," she replies. "I've been having a very enlightening chat with Davies on the way here. Have you been up to your old bossy tricks?"

"Please don't refer to me as Arthur in front of the men, my dear," he mumbles; "it undermines my carefully engineered aura of unknowable authority."

"Don't be cross, uncle," she soothes. "Statistics show that staff are much better motivated when working under an approachable and sympathetic employer."

"That's right, Arthur," Davies chips in. "I would feel discernibly more comfortable within my working environment if I felt able to confide in you about the not inconsiderable stress involved in my daily obligations. Maria's been explaining it all to me."

The Governor adopts a face like thunder. "I rather think it's time for some lunch," he says, controlling every word with great effort.

"Oh, not just yet," pleads Maria; "I'd like to take a tour of the premises first."

The Governor's pencil snaps in half. "Very well, favoured relative," he concedes, with a rictus grin.

And so the Governor accompanies Maria as she inspects the fort. Before long, they reach the prison. Maria casts a pitying gaze at its inmates.

"Oh, uncle Athur," she exclaims, "look at these helpless scruffy urchins. I hope you've been looking after them properly." She turns to the pirates. "Hello," she says, slowly. "Are you quite comfortable in there?"

"Oh, what-ho!" cries Rupert. "I must say, it's jolly nice to have some civilised conversation. Geoffrey here would benefit immeasurably from some pointers in the art of casual discourse."

Geoffrey stares through the bars of the cell, transfixed. Before him stands the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

"Oh, dear," says Maria, sympathetically. "I hope the guards are treating you well."

Geoffrey is utterly smitten by this radiant vision of kindness. He's going to say something. He's going to say something any second n-

"Well, mustn't gripe," interjects Rupert, brashly, "but I did request an Archer's and lemonade half an hour ago which hasn't yet materialised."

Maria turns accusingly to the Governor. "You brute!" she whispers, passionately.

Geoffrey swoons against the wall of the cell.

Lieutenant Sanders sidles up to investigate the commotion.

"For your own safety, Miss, I can't advise consorting with the prisoners. A nasty pair, these two; caught them angling without authorisation."

Maria is astonished. "You mean to tell me that these young men have been given a custodial sentence for a minor fishing infringement?"

"Yes, Miss," confirms Sanders. "You have to take a firm hand with these pirates; kill you as soon as look you, they would."

"Eyewash!" ejaculates Rupert.

Maria turns to the Governor. "Arthur," she begins, firmly, "you will rectify this miscarriage of justice and release these two men immediately, or I shall send a telegram to Daddy forthwith, notifying him of your barbarous practices."

The Governor exchanges a glance with the Lieutenant, his teeth audibly grinding. "You heard the woman, Sanders," he growls, after a heavy pause; "release the prisoners."

Sanders grudgingly complies.

"Splendid!" declares Rupert, striding through the open doorway. "Come along, Geoffrey; this is no time for a nap."

Back on Skull Island, Smythe and Bos'n Julian are practising the secret club handshake.

"Now, remember, Jules," explains Cap'n Smythe, "you can only use this on people who are already enrolled in the society. In a large room full of upright chaps, it can be difficult to discern precisely when one has grasped a member, and when one has clutched a handful of less distinguished flesh."

"Right-ho, Cap'n," nods Julian. "Members only."

Nigella appears from her bedroom. "What's all this about members?" she enquires.

"Gentlemen's business," says Julian, dismissively.

"Fiddlesticks!" Nigella expostulates.

"Steady on, old girl," says Smythe. "Julian is just joining my boys' club; terribly boring stuff, really."

"Pah!" she snorts. "All sorts of testosterone shooting about all over the place, no doubt."

She strolls away. "Testosterone all over the place, indeed!" laughs Julian.

"Yes, you'll have to wait until at least your third meeting for that," replies Smythe, deadpan.

Meanwhile, Maria is offering her apologies to Rupert and Geoffrey.

"I hope neither of you have suffered any long-term psychological damage," she says; "my uncle can be a little over-enthusiastic when it comes to law enforcement."

"Not a bit of it!" agrees Rupert. "It takes more than an afternoon in the slammer to dent my steely constitution."

"Oh, I am glad," says Maria. "And what about you, Geoffrey? How are you feeling?"

Geoffrey takes a deep breath. He's been mentally preparing the answer to this question for years, hoping against hope that somebody would one day pose it to him. And now somebody has: this extraordinary, hypnotic woman. He knows exactly what to s-

"I shouldn't worry about Geoff, old girl," blusters Rupert, nudging his friend playfully; "the damage was done long ago with you, eh, old chap?"

Poor old Geoffrey.

Before long, Lance Corporal Davies has got the boat ready to take the pirates home. Maria waves them off from the jetty.

"Cheerio, boys!" she calls. "Stay out of trouble!"

Geoffrey is aware of his heart becoming heavier with each stroke of the oars.

Rupert settles into his seat. "She was awfully nice, eh, Geoffrey?"

Geoffrey is staring intensely across the metallic blue sea towards the whitewashed horizon.

Rupert continues undeterred. "Ah, me! If only women didn't find me so universally irresistible, I wouldn't be burdened with so many difficult choices. What's your secret for deterring the ladies, Geoffrey? Is it that ludicrous moustache, or just your terminal lack of charisma?"

No reply is forthcoming.

The Governor joins his niece on the jetty as the pirates are rowed away. "Cocky little whelps," he mutters.

"Oh, don't be so grumpy, uncle," Maria chastises him mildly; "I thought they were rather sweet."

She watches the departing stern of the boat pensively.

"One of them in particular," she adds, quietly.

Arriving back at Skull Island, Rupert is in a jubilant mood. As Davies rows away, he recounts the events of the day to Smythe and Julian.

"Just between us," he concludes, "that Maria is a bit of a smasher!"

Geoffrey breaks purposefully away from the group and disappears towards the back of the island. On his way, he passes Nigella, who is heading in the opposite direction.

"Salutations, fellows!" she says, embracing Rupert. "What's new in the world?"

"Rupert was just telling us how attractive he finds the Governor's niece," responds Julian, spitefully.

"Rot!" replies Nigella. "Rupert only has eyes for me, don't you, my darling?"

"Oh, rather!" concurs Rupert.

"You fibbing scoundrel!" Julian blurts. "He's taking you for a fool, Nigella."

"What do you care? Go and shake hands, and whatever else, with your precious boys!"

They are face to face, trembling with rage. Well, trembling, at least. Without warning, Julian kisses her clumsily on the lips.

There is a stunned silence. Rupert, blinking back his tears, turns and runs.

"Oh, dear, Jules," laments Smythe. "I'm afraid that sort of thing won't go down at all well with the club committee. Gentlemen only, dear boy; gentlemen only."

Later that night, under cover of darkness, a lone figure rows stealthily up to the walls of the Governor's fort, the soft splashes of its motion masked by the riotous conga music emanating from within. A hooded silhouette deposits a bunch of red roses by the doorway.

The figure returns to the boat, and before long the cyclical motion of the oars propels it into the tar-like blackness of the night.

Attached to the bouquet is a card marked simply, 'Maria'.