BEYOND THE GRAVE! Like a skeleton with a ghostly pencil! I hope I haven’t chilled your spines too much with that awful image. Whilst you huddle under a blanket – no doubt reading this in secret, by candlelight, because your mother doesn’t approve of my rakish influence on your developing mind, failing as she does to realise that you’re a woman now, with a woman’s needs – let me explain what causes me to suggest such a ghoulish possibility . . .
As you’ll know from my last column, Pulse Pounding Percy Shelley, Marvellous Mary Godwin, and yours truly have recently embarked upon an adventure with the inimitable Pirate Captain and his Terrifying Troop of Capricious Cut-throats. There have been feasts, coffee, poems, tattoos, trips to the library, cryptic warnings and all sorts of astonishing goings-on. But now we embark upon the most dangerous part of our quest – as we journey to Castle Ruthven, deep in the Carpathian Mountains! What terrible truths might we uncover there? Who – or what – can have been responsible for the attempt on the Captain and young Mary’s lives? I have no idea at all. But in the meantime enjoy this SPOOKY WORDSEARCH. It is designed to help build up atmosphere.
Excelsior!
Lord Byron
Twelve
Dial ‘S’ for Skeletons
‘Is he asleep?’ asked Mary.
The Pirate Captain leaned over and poked Babbage. Then he flicked his ear. Then he tugged one of his bushy sideburns. The mathematician let out a little snore.
‘Thank Neptune,’ said the Captain. ‘He wasn’t joking when he said he gets travel sick, was he? Doesn’t look big enough to hold that much stuff inside him.’ 25
Mary gave Jennifer a gentle nudge. She seemed to be asleep as well. The coach bumped over some rocks, but neither of them stirred. ‘I’m glad they’ve nodded off, Pirate Captain,’ said Mary. ‘Because I’ve been looking for a chance to talk to you about my novel. The fact is, I’ve run into a few . . . difficulties.’
‘Is it description? I always find that tough.’ The Captain chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘The trick is to use all the senses. So, let’s say your character was to look out the window of this coach. First off, he’d see miles and miles of gloomy forest, plenty of creeping mist, and an occasional glimpse of the moon. He’d hear the odd wolf howling and the sound of the other coaches rumbling along the unmade track. He’d smell the cedar top notes of his classy aftershave. He’d feel a bit uneasy because he’s more than a day’s travel from the sea and someone once told him that he gets all his powers from seawater. And what’s the other sense?’
‘Taste.’
‘He’d have great taste in clothes, decor and beard styling. Does that help?’
‘In a way,’ said Mary. ‘It’s more a problem with the direction that the book’s taking. Quite unexpected really. You remember the half-man, half-seaweed mutant? He was supposed to be really vile, cruel, vicious, murderous and so on. All the other characters feared and hated him in equal measure. Well . . .’
Mary gazed out of the window at miles and miles of gloomy forest.
‘Phoebe, the heroine, she’s started to see a different side to him. She’s developing feelings.’
Mary gave the Pirate Captain a look that he might have interpreted as significant if he hadn’t been admiring her delicate wrists and missed it altogether.
‘She’s not sure whether it’s anything serious. They have nothing in common! Phoebe’s a progressive woman toiling with the modern world and he . . . he sleeps in a rock pool and survives partly by photosynthesis. But there’s something about him. I don’t know! A quiet nobility almost. An attractive air of danger. He appears so effortless, whereas Sir Henderson . . .’
‘Her betrothed?’ said the Pirate Captain.
‘Yes. He . . . Well, he seems rather pedestrian in comparison. This wasn’t how I planned the book at all, Pirate Captain. I don’t know what to
As you’ll know from my last column, Pulse Pounding Percy Shelley, Marvellous Mary Godwin, and yours truly have recently embarked upon an adventure with the inimitable Pirate Captain and his Terrifying Troop of Capricious Cut-throats. There have been feasts, coffee, poems, tattoos, trips to the library, cryptic warnings and all sorts of astonishing goings-on. But now we embark upon the most dangerous part of our quest – as we journey to Castle Ruthven, deep in the Carpathian Mountains! What terrible truths might we uncover there? Who – or what – can have been responsible for the attempt on the Captain and young Mary’s lives? I have no idea at all. But in the meantime enjoy this SPOOKY WORDSEARCH. It is designed to help build up atmosphere.
Excelsior!
Lord Byron
Twelve
Dial ‘S’ for Skeletons
‘Is he asleep?’ asked Mary.
The Pirate Captain leaned over and poked Babbage. Then he flicked his ear. Then he tugged one of his bushy sideburns. The mathematician let out a little snore.
‘Thank Neptune,’ said the Captain. ‘He wasn’t joking when he said he gets travel sick, was he? Doesn’t look big enough to hold that much stuff inside him.’ 25
Mary gave Jennifer a gentle nudge. She seemed to be asleep as well. The coach bumped over some rocks, but neither of them stirred. ‘I’m glad they’ve nodded off, Pirate Captain,’ said Mary. ‘Because I’ve been looking for a chance to talk to you about my novel. The fact is, I’ve run into a few . . . difficulties.’
‘Is it description? I always find that tough.’ The Captain chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘The trick is to use all the senses. So, let’s say your character was to look out the window of this coach. First off, he’d see miles and miles of gloomy forest, plenty of creeping mist, and an occasional glimpse of the moon. He’d hear the odd wolf howling and the sound of the other coaches rumbling along the unmade track. He’d smell the cedar top notes of his classy aftershave. He’d feel a bit uneasy because he’s more than a day’s travel from the sea and someone once told him that he gets all his powers from seawater. And what’s the other sense?’
‘Taste.’
‘He’d have great taste in clothes, decor and beard styling. Does that help?’
‘In a way,’ said Mary. ‘It’s more a problem with the direction that the book’s taking. Quite unexpected really. You remember the half-man, half-seaweed mutant? He was supposed to be really vile, cruel, vicious, murderous and so on. All the other characters feared and hated him in equal measure. Well . . .’
Mary gazed out of the window at miles and miles of gloomy forest.
‘Phoebe, the heroine, she’s started to see a different side to him. She’s developing feelings.’
Mary gave the Pirate Captain a look that he might have interpreted as significant if he hadn’t been admiring her delicate wrists and missed it altogether.
‘She’s not sure whether it’s anything serious. They have nothing in common! Phoebe’s a progressive woman toiling with the modern world and he . . . he sleeps in a rock pool and survives partly by photosynthesis. But there’s something about him. I don’t know! A quiet nobility almost. An attractive air of danger. He appears so effortless, whereas Sir Henderson . . .’
‘Her betrothed?’ said the Pirate Captain.
‘Yes. He . . . Well, he seems rather pedestrian in comparison. This wasn’t how I planned the book at all, Pirate Captain. I don’t know what to
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