At last, it seems that their cruise through the Universe’s straight, windy, upwards and downwards, spirally, sometimes freezing and sometimes hot pathways prove uneventful and quiet.  In all, their aimless wander through the stars last three hours – three universal hours – during which they yawn, whinge, yawn and whine more.  Three hours is sometimes short and sometimes long because three hours can last for three minutes or three centuries, depending on which part of the universe you live in.  Despite Labaguette’s unlimited imagination, despite the Captain’s newly acquired brain, words are no longer spoken between them except for the meaningless cacophony of their complaints.  But then, three universal hours (these are not too short or too long) is all that is needed before another mighty crash can be heard.  Beware the meaningless silence hidden behind words of nonsense.

“You morons!” a man dressed in a pale blue suit wearing a beret of the same colour exclaims, “did you not hear my horn?”

“I beg your pardon?” Labaguette exclaims as Captain Traumatic evaluates the extent of the damage.

“I’m not small, you could have swerved.”

“My friend and I were talking,” the Captain maintains, puzzled.

“Are you the leader?”

“I’m the Captain of the Insatiable Princess.”

“Could you tell me what you and your crew are doing in the middle of the Straight-and-Forward-Highway to Jimmy’s Town?”

“Highway?” Labaguette asks.

“Some sort of road or pathway,” the Captain answers as Labaguette squints his eyes looking at the man standing on some sort of ship.

To be continued…



“And there’s no rum left…?” the Princess asks.  She’s had enough.  “Why did I even bother try and talk to you, toxic, intoxicated lot?”

Then, there’s silence.

“Are you sulking?” Labaguette asks, “this was a genie’s idea, that rum idea of yours…  any more like it?”

“She’s never going to talk to us again,” the Captain says.

“It’s your fault,” Labaguette answers.

The Captain is right.  The Insatiable Princess’ baptism, his Queen’s, has ended for good.  No one was ever supposed to know that she could talk.  She’d kept it inside her for all that time until the day she thought she’d make herself useful to her Master.  What a fool she had been!  It didn’t take her very far, did it?  She feels like a nobody, an aimless, purposeless freak of a ship, with futile spoken words and prayers lost to the Universe for all to hear and no one to answer, without rudder, without a home she can call home and without a battle to engage in.  Her shame is unbearable.

“It’s your fault,” Labaguette insists.

This is when the Captain throws the last remnant of a half-empty bottle at Labaguette who dexterously avoids it as it crashes once more onto the deck, only this time, all there is after it smashes is silence.

To be continued…


The Princess and the Pirate are united by their desire to find their way home.  He gives in to her abundant, generous and addictive nature as she surrenders to his tasting her.  She, who is made of wood, she who creaks, cracks and whispers while a stunned Universe witnesses that most unlikely marriage.

“Are you happy, Princess?  Are you content?” the Captain asks, “you’ve never looked so pretty, so smooth and o so sparkly.  Soon, we’ll be on our way, you and I.”

Give it to the stars, give it to the gods, give it to all creatures; there are moments best lived and never forgotten.  Happy, beaming and unaware of the inexorable passing of the best of times, the Captain, a pirate in mirth, a child that could never be, now swings merrily by the Princess’ newly created instrument of hope and yearning.  But a pirate remains a pirate and a drunk one at that because the Captain cannot help but swing merrily again and again at the end of the rope, until his right shoulder smashes into his and her frozen object of pleasure that would have brought them home.  The rudder breaks into a myriad of amber coloured pieces of ice falling, falling into the Universe.

“Princess,” the Captain says,” I’m sorry.”

“You?  Sorry?” Labaguette asks, his instincts kicking in after having his dreams shattered inside his head and knowing immediately that going home cannot be had.  For him, someone must take the blame.

To be continued…


Now there’s a pirate hanging from a rope, carving and chipping away at a brand new rudder made of iced rum and never before have a pirate and a ship enjoyed each other’s company with such delight, with such intimacy.

The rudder has taken shape, it is angular, sharp and of the richest and glistening amber colour.  All that remains to complete it is the polishing.  It is a work of care, love and passion as the Captain licks the golden rudder that tastes of frozen rum.  The Princess and the Pirate are united.  In the whole history of the Universe, never before has a Princess been baptised and crowned a Queen on the very same day.

Amidst all these smells, sights and sounds, Labaguette is overwhelmed by invisible alcohol vapours that reach him to the very chore of his being, to the chore of his untamed parrot’s soul.  He is able to untie the string around his beak:

“Capitaine!” he interrupts, “how can this work?  De rudder is merely a static block of ice zat will not move right or left and zis ship will only be directed in a straight, forward line.”

“You don’t know the ways of the Princess,” the Captain answers, trusting as can be, “she’s right, we’ll get there and she’ll turn eventually.”

But the vapours of hope, lust and unimaginable pleasures, until now that is, reach Labaguette with their full force and he falls into a deep, impenetrable slumber.

To be continued…


“Pour more rum all over me!” the Princess orders.

“Why?” the Captain asks.

“You want to live it up to your name while we’re lost and bothered?  You’re as decadent a princess as can be,” Labaguette comments.

“You’re a shame on my deck   I don’t have to take your shit,” the ship answers.

“I trust this is a metaphor?” Labaguette says.

This is when a sail nearly slams into Labaguette.

“Cut it out!” the Captain says to his beloved ship, “I wish for the softness and beauty of your voice to be useful and backed by more brains than I could ever manage.”

Now the Insatiable Princess is flattered:

“See how the air freezes around you and on the ship?” she says.

“Yeah, why?”

“Spill rum all over me, generously; as it spills and drips it’ll freeze.  Get down to where the rudder should be and carve one.  The spilled rum will freeze quickly and all you’ll need to do is to take your chisels, carve and chip.”

“What a waste!” Labaguette exclaims.

“Shut up!” the Captain says.

Then he throws a net normally used to catch fish at Labaguette and neutralises him, holding his beak firmly in one hand and attaching a rope tightly around it for peace and silence.

To be continued…


“I say,” Labaguette continues, “you’re are making sense for once, but not enough to say anything I wouldn’t expect.”  Then a rum bottle nearly misses smashing into his face.  It lands onto the deck and breaks into tiny pieces, its precious content spilling and dripping through the Insatiable Princess’ floor boards.

“Bless you, Insatiable Princess!” the Captain exclaims.

“What a waste, Captain!  To think you’re endowed with so much brain, to think you—”

“—More,” a deep, soft and spellbinding voice from beyond says.

“More,” it repeats.

“You back already King Krackskull?” the Captain asks.

“You’ve just baptised me,” the soft and echoing voice answers.

“You’re talking?” Captain Traumatic asks the Insatiable Princess.

“The earth is flat.  I can speak.”

“Why so late?  Why now?”

“You baptised me.”

“Well then, lead us back to earth.”

“I’m rudderless Captain, why rubbing it in?”

“Aw.  I just thought that… There’s nothing I can do about it.  Captain Blimey cut the rope during a battle, before you got a chance to get a rudder and be baptised for real.”

“Your baptising me earlier wasn’t quite real, was it?” she asks, despairing of being born, rightfully commanded and useful at last.

“Nah,” the Captain retorts, understanding that the Insatiable Princess may have needs too, “t’was an accident, but a very fortunate one,” he adds, avoiding any potential storm coming his way.

As things have it, the Insatiable Princess is travelling through freezing space matter.  The air they breathe crystallises in front of their very eyes.

To be continued…


“Traitors…” the Captain mutters, “I’ll get rid of them if I ever see them again… To think of all that I’ve done for the King,” he adds with bitterness.

“None of this would have happened had we not landed on the King’s planet.  Think: you’ve now got two brains and newly found abilities,” Labaguette says.

“I’m yet to find out exactly what my newly found abilities can do.  King or no King the Doctor might still have crashed into us and so far, all I can see is where we’re headed,” the Captain says: “and that is nowhere.”

Now Labaguette is impressed.  His Master, the Captain, would never have been able to reason like he just did…

There’s a parrot and a pirate, all alone in the whole wide and wild universe, struggling to get by anywhere in any way they can.  There’s no way they can.  Nothing will come of them.  All is but despair and doom.  Yet, as they wallow in their misery, they realise that death might still be a worse option than their current fate and although food is scarce, rum is plentiful aboard the Insatiable Princess.  They might survive yet.  It is a wonder that they should have stocked on rum before the ship was even completed.  Such are Captain Traumatic‘s twistingly devious secrets: what better place than an unfinished and unbaptized ship to hide hard-won gambled and stolen rum barrels?

To be continued…