The Sneaky Pint: The Buggered Pelican
Posted on March 26, 2020 / by The Drunken Poet
The Buggered Pelican
(Part 3 of The Adventures of Paddy and Manuel.)
Francois L’Olonnais, the most feared French pirate in the south seas, licked his lips as he stood before the rusted treasure chest. Always wary of traps and deception, he ordered his bosun to open the chest. The rat faced bosun smashed the padlock off with a mallet and lifted the lid half expecting a ghost to emerge. The pirates were frozen in anticipation and Francois was poised like a cobra, sword in hand, ready for action. A golden light bathed the bosun’s ratty face. He grinned. (It wasn’t pretty.) Francois, his eyes ablaze with gold lust, tilted his head back and laughed the type of laugh that’d make a Co-vid 19 victim forget their symptoms and shit themselves instead.
Two Days Earlier
Paddy and Manuel stood before The Buggered Pelican staring at it’s all too graphic signage. They were pretty worldly for a pair of 7 yr olds, but this was a lot to take in. Paddy spoke, and he rarely did, “Something is pulling us toward this place.” Manuel nodded, still staring at the pirate doing unspeakable things to a very surprised pelican. “Si. El mapa.” Paddy nodded and gulped. The two compadres looked sideways at each other, nodded and walked into the pub, not knowing what fate it held for them.
To say it was a loaded room, would be like calling the last Summer’s bushfires a bbq. Without a head turning, every eye was watching them; from behind eye patches, through the bottom of glasses, in the reflection of mirrors, and in the case of Francois L’Olonnais, from beneath the brim of his ostentatiously feathered hat. The boys walked up to the bar and Manuel asked for dos agua. The old hag behind the bar; and the Sneaky Pint doesn’t use this phrase loosely and to be honest, hag was probably complimentary, perhaps crone or witch might’ve been more accurate; well she turned around, pretending to polish a grubby glass, her warty, pinched face seemed to channel evil and hate from every pore, “We don’t serve fuckin’ water, ye fuckin’ little gurriers!” She spat the words out like venom in a thick Dublin accent. The boys recoiled in unison and bumped into a pirate with a peg leg who fended them off with an aggressive thump of his peg. They bounced into another pirate with a parrot on his shoulder, who pushed them in another direction; the parrot calling out, “The map!” The boys were human pinballs ricocheting around the pub. They were pushed in another direction by unseen hands, until they came to an abrupt halt on the back of a chair. Captain L’Olonnais’ black boots rested on the seat of the chair. He slowly lifted his head and smiled. It was like watching a shark eye it’s prey. “Bonjour garçons. I’ve been expecting you. Now what’s zhat under your shirt?” Paddy clutched the jar with the map closer to his chest. “Hand it over garçon. Now!” Francois’ sword was at his throat before he’d taken his next breath.
At that exact moment, the front door to the pub burst open and the silhouette of Mick McCann from the banks of The Bann stood in it’s stead, a musket in hand. “Leave the boy alone, you bilge sucking rat!” “This is none of your business Mick. The boy has something that belongs to me.” Manuel deftly flicked the legs of the chair Francois had his boots on, unbalancing the Captain and his sword clattered to the floor. Paddy and Manuel dove under a table and all hell broke loose. Mick fired the musket into the ceiling, the old hag threw a glass at Mick, he ducked and it smashed against the wall, the parrot started flying around the bar screeching, “The map!” and Francois roared with pure rage, “No quarter!” Paddy felt someone pulling his shirt, looked behind and saw the face of the peg legged pirate grinning as he dragged him closer. The jar spilled from Paddy’s shirt, Manuel made a grab for it, only to see Francois smash the jar under his boot and snatch the map. Mick fired his musket into the ceiling above Francois, raining smoke, dust and bits of ceiling over everyone. Manuel just caught sight of Francois as he slipped out the back door. “Bastardo!”
*José is back in Spain and in lockdown. We have virtual beers every Wednesday and this epic will continue! Pandemics don’t stop The Sneaky Pint!!
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