The Voyage of the Golden Handshake (25 page)

‘Help!’ he cried. ‘I’ve been bitten!’ He crashed forward, landing on a chest of drawers which smashed into pieces.

It would be prudent to draw a veil over the remainder of the conversation that took place in the cabin. ‘Conversation’ would be too polite a word to describe it. Accusations and insults flew like arrows at Agincourt. When he had sufficiently recovered his composure, Albert got on all fours and looked under the bed, only to leap to his feet, exclaiming: ‘There’s some sort of wild
animal under there.’

Charlie gave a low growl, at which both Albert and Alice made for the door and ran headlong down the corridor, calling for the steward. Seeing their chance, Charlie came out of hiding, Nelson resumed his place on his back and they set off at a pace in the opposite direction.

Miracles sometimes happen and today was the day when Mr van der Loon was the lucky recipient of such a blessing. On returning to his quarters, he was taken aback to find that both of his star performers had disappeared. Time was leaping forward and they were due on stage within a couple of hours. He didn’t know if he ought to inform the Cruise Director but, being an optimist, decided that he would wait a while longer before raising the alarm.

When passengers were at dinner the attendant usually came round to turn down the bed and prepare their cabin for the night. Mr van der Loon did not go down to dinner as he never ate before a show and neither did his performers. He was beginning to think that he had been too hard on his two companions and that they had finally decided to leave him, when there was a knock on the door. It was the attendant whom he was about to send away when he thought better of it. The door was propped open, and as usual the cleaner went into the bathroom to change the towels. At that very moment, a compartment under the trolley
opened and he saw the familiar features of Charlie.

‘Hey, Charlie!’ he shouted. ‘In here.’

Charlie jumped out, Nelson gripping onto his furry back, just before the bathroom door opened again and the cleaner returned to the trolley.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll fix the bed,’ said van der Loon as he quickly closed the door. ‘Well,’ he went on, addressing the returned explorers. ‘What on earth do you think you are both playing at? There’s no time for explanations now. We must be off in a few moments.’

He collected the conical hat and trumpets; asked Charlie to jump into a large holdall which, together with his saxophone, he loaded onto a luggage trolley. With Nelson perched on his shoulder, the talented trio set off for their first performance on the
Golden Handshake.

Enzo and Harry were having a quiet drink together following the show.

‘I have never in my whole life seen anything like that,’ said Harry, totally amazed at the evening’s performance. ‘When that parrot told the Potts that they had been moved from a Balcony Suite because they couldn’t pay the supplement, I thought he had gone too far. But it was all laughed off.’

Enzo agreed that it had been a success for the performers and for the two of them.

‘As for that dog, he’s amazing. If he could talk I bet he would have a few tales to tell,’ said Harry, still reliving the show in his mind.

‘Old Mr Hardcastle from the Balcony Suites looked dead worried when the parrot picked him out to have his mind read,’ recalled Enzo.

‘I doubt he really was thinking that his wife was the most beautiful woman on the ship with the most elegant dresses, as the parrot said, but one never knows.’

They laughed again. The success of the evening had brought them together, and the difficulties they had experienced in the past were beginning to fade. Harry had set a course and Enzo was relaxing into his position on the ship.

‘We might have time for one more show,’ said Harry, ‘if van der Loon is willing. He is due to transfer immediately to another ship once we arrive in Sri Lanka, which will take him back into Europe somewhere.’ They both agreed another show might go down very well indeed.

Back in the Balcony Suite, Albert and Alice were talking excitedly about the performance they had just seen. Whilst they were away, the smashed furniture had been replaced and the cabin tidied.

‘How that parrot and the dog got into this Suite beats me,’ puffed Albert, as he unlaced his boots. ‘It must have been that
dog Charlie that bit me. As for the parrot, he takes the biscuit.’

‘If I hadn’t discovered it was the bird mimicking you, Albert Hardcastle, I would never have forgiven you,’ said Alice.

They both laughed. Alice made sure the chocolates remained hidden at the bottom of the wardrobe and they climbed into bed.

‘Thank you, Albert, for thinking such nice thoughts tonight during the show, ‘ she said.

He grinned and sighed happily. ‘It’s been a right good evening,’ he murmured. ‘A right good evening.’

It was Sunday morning and the chaplain was sitting at his small table in his Balcony Suite putting the finishing touches to his sermon. He had consulted Angela about the time he ought to allow and she said that twelve minutes would be ideal. It was clear, she said, that the doctor wanted to get away as quickly as possible and therefore had tried to get the sermon cut right down, if not right out! As for the Captain, well, no sensible person would want to listen to a sermon lasting half an hour and the Captain must know that. Apart from anything else, Angela said, that as the chaplain was without question in the Captain’s good books, whatever he did during the service would be accepted. Justin Longparish was greatly reassured by this advice and determined to follow it.

Today he found it difficult to concentrate. His mind was full of other things. First there was the curious business of Toby Troy. What had happened, to turn him from a Bible Puncher into an out and out opponent of religion? He understood that this was a not uncommon occurrence and that dogmatic believers frequently became dogmatic disbelievers when something
occurred that shifted the focus of their dogmatism. What was that event for Troy? He had no idea. Then there was the show he had seen last night. Both animals were remarkable, but the parrot was incredible. Was van der Loon a very slick ventriloquist? If so, he would have to be very clever indeed to put on a show as he did. Finally, Angela had the habit of frequently entering his thoughts. She was such a help to him, and he had to confess that he was so pleased when he had been invited to her table at the Golden Dinner. He would not have survived had he been dining elsewhere. All the experiences of the past week were more than he had ever dreamed of, as chaplain to Councillor Paddy Patterson and his partner Bernie Bollinger. They seemed miles away, as indeed they were, and the chaplain wondered if he would ever see them again.

He returned his thoughts to the sermon. He had written it out line by line, but when he read it through, it didn’t seem quite right. It was a good plan, he thought, to speak about fishers of men and casting nets and other illustrations to do with the sea, but no doubt these themes would have been done to death by countless preachers before him. However, that was what he had written and it would have to stay. Angus MacDonald had been hauled out of the engine room to read a lesson and Angela had agreed to read some prayers. Rod Saddleworth was excused from basting the Sunday Roast to play the harmonium, and the Captain would introduce the proceedings by announcing the
National Anthem. All seemed in order. Senior officers, including the doctor, had been instructed by Captain Sparda to wear tropical whites, and at the very end of the service the Admiral would make a brief appeal for contributions to the Society for the Protection of Underprivileged Fisherfolk and Ancient Mariners. Being a humble man, and also a sidesman at his local church, the Admiral had insisted that the only other role he would play would be to take up the collection at the conclusion of the service.

The morning was cloudless and the sea tranquillity itself. After breakfast, some passengers walked around the deck. Others sat in the warm sun and enjoyed cruising at its very best. At a quarter to eleven, Enzo summoned passengers to the Information Stations for an announcement, which was that Divine Service, according to the rites and practices of the Church of England, would commence at eleven o’clock. All were invited no matter what allegiance they claimed, as the Church of England embraced all and sundry.

There were no clerical robes on board and as the chaplain still only had his clerical suit (he was planning to get clothes in Cochin), the ship’s tailor had run him up a cassock of sorts and adapted one of the Captain’s white nightshirts into a surplice. Mr van der Loon had been instructed to keep both Charlie and Nelson well away from the service as it would be most inappropriate if either caused a disturbance, as they might well do.
The story of their visit to the Balcony Suite had leaked out and caused some alarm, especially to the New Zealand twins.

Exactly at eleven, the senior officers marched in and the chaplain brought up the rear. Captain Sparda, although an Italian by birth, had over the years become more British than the majority of the inhabitants of Deptford, and thus it was with a deep sense of pride that he welcomed people to the service and asked them to stand for the National Anthem. This they duly did and the Captain launched forth in a deep baritone, with the officers doing their best to equal him. It had often been the custom for the National Anthem to be sung at the conclusion of Divine Service, but Sparda wanted it made clear from the outset that this was a British ship, loyal to Her Majesty, and so the anthem would be the very first item on the Divine agenda.

The service progressed smoothy enough. The first hymn, ‘Eternal Father Strong to Save’ brought tears to the eyes of many, but they were soon brought back to reality when Angus began to read the first lesson. To the vast majority he was incomprehensible. His broad Scottish accent, as thick as oatmeal porridge, echoed around the room. He thundered through the story of Noah and his trials on the water, with only the occasional word understood by the most astute. By contrast, Angela had a gentle and clear speaking voice and her prayers for Her Britannic Majesty and all the Royal Family, from oldest to very youngest, received a loud ‘Amen’.

Now it was the chaplain’s turn to deliver the sermon. He shuffled towards the Golden Eagle, at last put to its correct use, and placed his notes there. The congregation looked at him expectantly. What pearls of wisdom would he cast before them this morning? He had just opened his mouth to announce his text when there was one almighty explosion and the door of the assembly area flew open, revealing Arthur Chub, the Security Officer, accompanied by two individuals wearing balaclavas and toting machine guns.

‘Down!’ shouted Arthur. ‘Down on the floor, everyone.’

For a moment no one moved as they were so surprised. It seemed that one of the perils they were singing about, and hoping to avoid, had actually arrived.

‘Not again,’ objected someone from the floor. ‘This is the second time on this voyage we have done this.’

‘This is for real,’ bawled Arthur. ‘Face down on the floor
now
- everybody!’

As soon as Arthur had appeared, Captain Sparda leaped from the platform and was quickly followed by his officers. The chaplain was left standing at the lectern with his unread sermon before him and a congregation seemingly in a position of Islamic devotion.

‘We are being chased by a speedy motor boat,’ said Arthur. ‘We are not sure who they are, but the two gentlemen you see with me are here for your security. There is no need to panic.
The ship is well protected. Remain here until further notice.’

With that he left, and the two sinister characters took up position at the exit. Suddenly the ship began to swerve, first to port and then immediately to starboard. This caused so much disturbance that waves crashed against the portholes and passengers were rolled from one side of the room to the other. Out on deck, several more balaclavas had appeared and had taken up their positions. Sparda could see a very fast boat trailing them, rocking violently in the turbulence caused by the manoeuvring of the
Golden Handshake.

‘It’s your friends, Bigatoni,’ he said. ‘Pirates.’

The Cruise Director, who was still wearing his eye-patch, did not find this amusing and hid behind a lifeboat. Up to this point no shots had been fired, although it was observed that the crew of the little boat were all waving what appeared to be machine guns and shouting at the ship.

‘We’ll fix’em,’ said Sparda confidently.

He went to the stern where two of the masked guards had slipped a steel hawser over the side and left it trailing just below the surface. They disappeared from view and Sparda hailed the brigands, motioning them to come closer to the ship. They edged nearer and nearer until there was a terrible sound of metal hitting metal. The small boat stopped dead in the water as the hidden steel cable caught their propellor and snapped it in pieces. Captain Sparda gave the pirates the thumbs-up sign and
quickly made for the bridge, where the Staff Captain sounded the all clear on the ship’s whistle.

‘Your sermon went with a bang this morning,’ Sparda commented to the chaplain when they met after lunch. ‘I shall have to wait until the next Sunday to discover what happened to that grand old sea dog Noah, mentioned in the first reading. I guess you will tell us about him then. Can’t wait, chaplain, can’t wait.’

‘The attack on the ship was an alarming experience, Captain,’ responded the chaplain, changing the subject. ‘Not one that I want to have repeated.’

‘Pity,’ said Sparda, with a mischievous look in his eye, ‘we normally lay it on every Sunday Sea Day! Next week I shall ask Enzo to scare them off by singing from
The Pirates of Penzance
. We can then dispense with the guards!’

He laughed at his own wit and the chaplain smiled too.

The day passed pleasantly enough. Everyone was full of praise for the way in which the ship had been handled during the crisis. Not a shot had been fired and not one single person had been injured, apart from those who suffered minor bruising when they rolled across the lecture-room floor. Naturally there was much chatter about the events of the morning. Some passengers attempted to guess the identities of the men in balaclavas.

‘I am sure one was Mr van der Loon,’ said one of the New
Zealand twins. ‘He had exactly the same way of walking.’

Her sister poured scorn on the suggestion. ‘Of course it wasn’t,’ she said authoritatively. ‘They were a trained team of frogmen who swim alongside the ship as it sails through troublesome waters.’ She was not quite as sharp as she had been during her days as a codebreaker.

Following the excitement, the special security team retired to their hiding places greatly satisfied with their day’s work. In one more day they would disembark in Cochin, ready to make the return journey to their home port on yet another vessel.

Down in the dungeon, as he called it, Toby Troy found himself thrown about as the ship swerved from side to side, when it was attempting to evade the pursuers. He had no idea what was taking place and no one thought to inform him. Once all was calm again he returned to the exposé he was writing to be placed on the World Wide Web.

Cruise Ship Deliberately Endangers Passengers
would be the headline. He would tell the world the truth. He would expose the deception which was rife aboard this ship. Golden Oceans, indeed. He would turn the gold to dross and in double-quick time.

When all was calm again, Arthur Chub visited him.

‘Not long now,’ he said, ‘and you will soon be back on dry land. Sorry about the turbulence earlier. Do you want anything?’

‘Nothing at all except the truth,’ said Troy aggressively. ‘I fully intend to expose this vessel as a spy ship, you know. It’s
criminal to use innocent passengers in this way. They are just cover for agents of death!’

‘The only agents of death I knew were in the galley,’ said Chub cheerfully, ‘and we got rid of them some time ago.’

‘Ah, so you admit it,’ shouted Troy, totally failing to see the joke. ‘They
were
on this ship. I shall note what you just said, Mr Chub. I shall note it very carefully.’

‘Let me know if you require anything, Mr Troy. I’m off now. I have an important meeting with MI6, Mossad, the CIA and two old ladies who are the official code-breakers for the ship.’

On that businesslike note Arthur Chub left his charge scribbling madly on a large yellow pad.