A Hat for Everyone

 Shlup. Shlup. Shlup.

The sea lapped at the dock supports to an arrhythmic beat. At odd intervals, the creak of wood or slap of loose sailcloth contributed to the arrangement, as did the gulls who called overhead, wheeling on the warm morning breeze.

And yet despite this soothing, seaside symphony, it was the rhythmic thud of a wheel traversing the uneven planks, occasionally joined by the squeak of an axle badly in need of lubrication, that held the focus of the five figures stood at various interpretations of attention along the dock.

El Capitano knew that he cut a most imposing sight as he stood at the prow of his wheelbarrow land-ship, one booted foot placed firmly on the lip whilst the other hooked surreptitiously around an internal plank to prevent any unfortunate accidents that might ruin his otherwise dashing appearance.

With a form draped in the finest cloths and a leather jacket streaming - or at least gently flapping - in his wake, it was nonetheless his magnificent hat, black and adorned with the skull and crossbones of his kind, that undoubtedly captured the imagination of all who beheld him. As wide as its wearer was tall and half as high, the hat told everyone all they needed to know; he was the captain. He was in charge.

“Detener!” called El Capitano imperiously, as he drew alongside the first in line.

The wheelbarrow rumbled on.

“Stop!” he shouted. “Why does no-one listen to me?!”

“We do when you say words we understand,” grumbled the swarthy pirate who had been pushing him.

El Capitano chose to ignore the rebuke. “Back a bit!” he commanded.

With a grunt, Swash hauled on the wheelbarrow handles and pulled the captain back a few steps.

Once again at rest, this time in the place of his choosing, El Capitano regarded the figure before him.

It was hulking, made all the larger by the contraption built about its frame. A huge barrel was lashed to its back. From it sprouted a pipe, which culminated in a stylised dragon head with the open end of the pipe as its mouth. One hand held the dragon head. The other held a lit candle. Behind the hulking figure, a nervous goblin stood ready at a set of bellows that fed into the pipe contraption.

El Capitano glanced from the goblin, to the candle, to the dragon head tube, the fumes from which were causing his eyes to water, and reached a conclusion.

In this mind’s eye, Poppycock’s navy and Kaufman’s trader ships burned on a glowing sea as his new recruit was unleashed on them. His foes screamed as they cast themselves into the ocean. Timbers split with almighty cracks as the whole structure of the seafaring vessels were blighted by the blaze. Rigging caught fire and the flames crept towards the skies, inevitably consuming the flags that topped the masts and obliterating the symbols of all who stood before him.

“Yes,” El Capitano hissed to himself. “Let them all burn.”

A hurried thud of wood on wood heralded the arrival at his side of Peggy, the crew’s one-legged bosun. She coughed gently.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n?”

El Capitano frowned in frustration, his visions of wanton destruction momentarily derailed.

“Si?” he snapped. “What is it?”

“Yer enemies’ ships won’t be the only things that’ll burn,” Peggy pointed out. “What about yer own?”

El Capitano’s gaze moved beyond the figures before him to where the Rolly Dodger bobbed at anchor. In his mind’s eye, wood still splintered, rigging still burned and crew still flung themselves into the sea. But no longer were they his enemies’. Now his one true love was ablaze and sinking into the deeps and for what? A slip? A trip? A mutiny?

With an irritable shake of his head, El Capitano dismissed the disturbing image and dislodged the tear that had been forming in the corner of his eye.

He glanced at the hulking form before him. He didn’t think rejection would be taken well. With great effort he turned the corners of his mouth upwards in a pseudo-smile.

“We’ll be in touch,” he managed, before hurriedly gesturing Swash to move him on.

With a grunt, the swarthy pirate got the wheelbarrow moving once more. It trundled past the still hopeful form of Firespitter and came to a creaking halt before a figure who was altogether less imposing.

From his perch atop the wheelbarrow, El Capitano looked down on a small girl, who glared up at him with challenging eyes. Skinny arms were crossed over a dress that was all frills and bows. There was nary a skull nor a crossbone in sight. The dress could be sold for a pretty penny, maybe, and there was a possibility she could be put to work scrubbing the decks, but fighting? The captain had seen more threat emanating from the ship’s emaciated parrot.

“I’m Anya,” said the girl.

“No,” said the captain shortly, shaking his head and gesturing for Swash to carry him forward once more. “Not what we’re after.”

The captain had expected her to cry. What he had not expected was the malevolent smile that settled on her features. With emphasised slowness the girl uncrossed her arms and reached up to grasp a pearl necklace, from which dangled a shiny, green gemstone. The stone’s light cast an unnatural glow on hands that began to lift the necklace from its place on her chest.

“Wait,” said the girl, her voice soft and innocent, “don’t you want to see what I can do?”

But El Capitano was already trundling away, rumbling over the deck towards the last pairing, who already looked far more promising than all that had gone before them.

A huge troll towered over El Capitano, even bolstered by the wheelbarrow on which he rode. An almighty paunch protruded from beneath a rusted breastplate. More armour shielded his shoulders and arms and a helmet encased his brutish skull. And yet, imposing as all of this was, it was the adornment to the top of the helmet that captured El Capitano’s attention.

“Is that…a cannon?”

“Sure is!”

El Capitano shielded his eyes against the sun in order to peer beyond the cannon’s bulk. He could just make out the form of the goblin standing on the broad shoulders of the troll.

“Show ‘em, Ribald!” said the goblin.

Before El Capitano could object, the troll reached one huge hand into one of the pouches at his waist and retrieved a cannonball, which he held between finger and thumb. With surprising delicacy, he reached up and popped the lump of metal into the cannon’s mouth.

“You don’t-” El Capitano began, raising a hand.

But it was no use. The goblin had already set a lit taper to the fuse and covered his ears. El Capitano barely had a moment to do likewise before his words were cut off and his world exploded around him.

Bits of shattered timber and chunks of pulverised fruit from the cargo that’d had the misfortune of being stacked against a wall far behind the captain were still raining down when the reverberating boom had faded.

“You want I should shoot again?” Ribald asked, his voice muffled by the metal plate that guarded the lower portion of his face and over which his bulbous nose protruded.

El Capitano waved his arms frantically. “No need, no need!” he babbled. “You’re hired!”

Without taking his eyes off his new crewmen, El Capitano leaned backwards and, in a stage whisper that nonetheless carried across the dock, said, “Peggy, you have the hat, si?”

An object was thrust into his outstretched palm and El Capitano hurriedly brought it to the fore, offering it up to the goblin high above him.

Ribald’s delicate fingers plucked it out of the captain’s unresisting grip and passed it up to his companion, who gleefully rammed it down on his head, getting it the right way around on the second attempt.

Immediately the goblin stood straighter, looking down on El Capitano with admiration and awe. It was a look the captain had seen often. The way he inspired and bolstered his crew was legendary. He glanced sideways at Peggy, who was watching the scene unfold with cool regard. All goblin crew, he corrected himself. His peerless leadership appeared to have no effect on the girl, who seemed to challenge his authority and decisions at every opportunity.

There was a rumble as Ribald cleared his throat and El Capitano turned back to the hulking troll.

"Where my hat?" he demanded.

El Capitano's eyes widened. He hadn't thought the troll would want a hat, too. He looked up into the troll’s face. What was visible between helmet and mouthpiece didn't look like it was joking and he didn't want to risk offending the brute, especially at such close quarters.

Still, if he didn't have a hat to give it would hardly be his fault.

"We don't have any hats spare," he protested.

"Want hat," Ribald insisted.

"I can't make a hat appear from thin air!”

"Want hat!"

"I don't think we have a hat big enough!"

"There's always your hat."

El Capitano turned slowly to regard the speaker, his face a frozen mask at what has been suggested. Peggy met his gaze, a small smile playing on her features.

"What did you say?"

"He could have your hat."

El Capitano was lost for words. "But," he sputtered. "It's my hat. Mine. Not his."

"Well, if you want to try telling him that..."

Peggy left the comment unfinished and El Capitano's active imagination filled the void it left in its wake. In his mind's eye he saw himself being plucked from his barrowboat, shoved into the cannon and what was left of him fired across the docks. It was not a vision he relished.

"Where my hat?" Ribald rumbled.

Slowly El Capitano turned back towards the troll. With great reverence he raised shaking hands to lift his own hat from his head and held it out. Ribald plucked it from his grasp, raised it to his own head, and crammed it into the small gap between helmet and cannon. El Capitano winced as the structure was crushed, the skull and crossbones motif was distorted, and the fabric bulged outwards at odd angles.

He felt small and exposed without his hat. It had been his pride and joy, the very symbol of his office and authority, the thing from which he derived his power. And now it was gone, mangled beyond all recognition.

"There we are," said Peggy lightly, and El Capitano was not at all certain there wasn't a note of glee in her voice, "a hat for everyone."

El Capitano sighed. Except for me, he thought. Except for me.