“She’s useful to us,” the Captain maintains, “she’s not your property. You’ve violated my ship’s rules.”
“She and the golden liquid constitute illegal cargo. Their category falls under the law of these skies. Where is the rum?”
“We’re are on our way home,” the King tries, “could you—”
“—Ah, home. Lost are we? Your PAPERS!” the Policeman growls, as the cages under his podium rattle and swing violently.
“Papers….” the Captain mumbles, “fuck, rum and papers?”
The King hands a piece of flat white rope to Colonel Loga. A monkey carries a rum barrel and puts it down with its tail by the Policeman’s side.
“I knew it, that’ll do,” the Policeman remarks, unfolding the empty note, tilting his head, grinning and looking sideways at the barrel, “you haven’t been recorded. My records show no records of your presence, recorded or unrecorded.”
“We stand before you therefore we are,” the Captain says, “but you do have a a blatant opportunity to ignore us, Colonel. Why bother with the paper work? Here, have this barrel. I’m sorry, it’s almost empty but there should be enough to carry you through the day.”
“I smell more. I shall confiscate the remaining two barrels and just so you know: I can smell rum like I can smell any lie, from anywhere. Are you travelling incognito or is your ship truly lost?”
“What would a ranked Policeman like you do with three half empty barrels of rum?” the King asks.
“Have them all, show us the way home and leave us alone, deal?” the Captain insists.
“Even policemen of the highest rank can’t be trusted, Captain,” the King suggests, “are you poorly? Are you demented?”
To be continued…