Hamish X and the Cheese Pirates by Sean Cullen Page A

ribs and pointed at Viggo as if he were the funniest thing they’d ever seen.
    â€œDon’ kill meee!” they mocked and leaned on each other as they laughed some more.

    â€œPut him down, you brute!” Mrs. Francis shouted and stamped her slippered foot. She had no love for Viggo, but she couldn’t stand cruelty. The pirates turned and looked at her in surprise.
    â€œOi! Who you calling a brute?” The man holding Viggo dropped him in a heap. “I oughtta teach you a lesson in manners.” He took a step towards Mrs. Francis. The pirates hooted with glee.
    â€œStop!”
    The command rang out and the hilarity ceased immediately. The voice was powerful, gravelly, and harsh. A huge man stood silhouetted in the light of factory doorway.
    Mr. Kipling guided his captive a step closer. “Captain, this is …?” Mr. Kipling left the question hanging.
    â€œMrs. Francis,” she offered.
    â€œExcellent.” Mr. Kipling nodded. “Mrs. Francis, may I introduce the Scourge of the Skies, the Terror of Dairy Farmers, the Lord of Lactose, Master of the Cheese Pirates of Snow Monkey Island, Captain Cheesebeard.”
    The man turned and looked at Mrs. Francis, smiling in a most unsavoury way. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Chapter 14
    He was taller than any of the others by a head and a half. His shoulders were broad and powerful, his chest deep. He wore an old-fashioned three-cornered hat like a pirate in a storybook. His long black leather coat brushed the floor, covering the hilt of a sabre that hung from a red sash at his waist. Certainly, he looked every inch a pirate Captain. All the trappings aside, the most striking feature about him was his beard.
    Oh! The beard. There are many kinds of beard, from the tiny chin triangle of the musketeer to the astute goatee of the psychiatrist to the grand rug-sweeping beards of the famous Beardlords of Denmark. 43 None of those beards, however, could hold a candle to the beard of the man standing before Viggo in the cafeteria.
    Oh, the beardiness of this beard. A quintessence of facial hairiness, it hung from his chin to his belt, completely covering his chest. It was so broad that it stuck out on either side of his body. It was a beard that couldclear a path through an angry mob. Powerful, stupendous, and beardy.

    What was the colour of this beard? I hear you ask yourselves. Not a colour you’ve seen before. No one knew what the colour of the hair beneath actually was because that colour was lost under a crusty encasement of cheese.
    The three children had climbed out of the vat and were now watching through a small crack in the kitchen shutters. They got a good look at the pirate Captain as he walked into the cafeteria and stood over Viggo.
    â€œYes, I am Captain Cheesebeard,” the man intoned.
    Sometimes a name doesn’t mean anything. There areplenty of people named Smith who have no knowledge of blacksmithing. There are loads of people named Green who aren’t green at all. Captain Cheesebeard was a man whose name described him perfectly. His beard, as mentioned above, was thick with cheese.
    â€œIndeed, my beard is a map of my conquests, a tapestry of my glorious history as a pillager of the finest cheese repositories in the world.” As he spoke, he ambled around the circle of his compatriots who leered and shook their weapons. “My hearty crew and I have gathered all the rarest and finest cheeses for ourselves, and now the final jewel will adorn my crown.”
    â€œIs that all you want?” Viggo whimpered. “Take it. Take all the cheese and go.”
    â€œOh I will take the cheese, Master Viggo Schmatz,” Captain Cheesebeard smiled grimly. “I will take it. But that’s not all I want.” The pirates giggled and hooted until Cheesebeard raised a hand asking for silence. “I want the cheese, but that is only the beginning. I have bigger plans than simple thievery. I