Clash of the Rival Robots Read online

  To the Dread Captain Olwen and

  Gruff the cabin boy – GPJ

  To Thelma – FAD

  Contents

  Dedication

  Meet the Steampunk Pirates

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  Extract from ‘Attack of the Giant Sea Spiders’

  About the Author

  Copyright

  The storm had come out of nowhere. Huge waves crashed over the side of the Leaky Battery. The ship rocked back and forth, and the crew clung on for dear life.

  “Reef that sail and batten down the hatches,” cried Captain Clockheart. The hand of the clock in his chest whirled around. “This storm will drag us over given half the chance. Then we’ll all be in the drink, for sure.”

  “Och aye,” replied Gadge. “Tin-pot Paddy, Loose-screw, you’re with me.”

  The mechanical pirates climbed up the rigging expertly but the ship suddenly tilted to the side and Loose-screw lost his footing. Before the pirate could fall, Gadge grabbed him using the hook attachment on his adjustable arm.

  He hauled Loose-screw back as the ship righted itself.

  “Quickly now,” cried Captain Clockheart. “If any of you metal marauders fall in that ocean, you’ll sink faster than a bucketful of cannonballs! Now, let’s get this ship in order.”

  “Click, you heard him,” shouted First Mate Mainspring. “Tick, tie everything down. Tock, secure the ship.”

  “Captain, the chances of surviving this storm…” Quartermaster Lexi’s words were cut off by a wave hitting the deck. When the water drained away, it left a flapping fish caught in the word-wheel on Lexi’s head. “Help me! Get it out! I don’t like it…”

  Captain Clockheart flicked the fish back into the ocean with the tip of his cutlass as another enormous wave came down on top of them. Gadge climbed down the rigging and dropped on to the deck. “The sails are reefed, Captain.”

  “Click, everything is secure,” said First Mate Mainspring.

  “Then it’s time we got down below and sat this one out,” said Captain Clockheart.

  The Steampunk Pirates hurriedly followed their captain below deck.

  “Oh dear, oh dear,” said Quartermaster Lexi, holding his hand to his mouth.

  “There’s no need to worry, Lexi,” said Pendle the cabin boy.1 “The Leaky Battery has survived worse than this.”

  “I know that,” said Lexi, “but all this rocking is making me feel rather queasy.”

  “I didn’t know you lot could even get sick,” said Pendle.

  “It’s the oil and the water getting mixed up together,” replied Lexi. “Oh dear.” He ran to a corner and sent a stomachful of oily water into a bucket.

  “Better out than in, laddie.” Gadge chuckled and patted Lexi on the back.

  “Is everyone accounted for?” asked Captain Clockheart.

  “I think so,” replied Pendle, “although I haven’t seen Twitter in a while.”

  Hearing his name, the mechanical bird fluttered down from the rafters and landed on Pendle’s shoulder. “Safe and sound!” he squawked. “Safe and sound!”

  The storm raged against the ship for several hours, but as the sun was setting in the blood-red sky, the wind calmed down and the rain eased off. Captain Clockheart opened the hatch and led the others up on deck. He gazed at the torn sails and broken crossbeams. The ship’s wheel was hanging on by a thread.

  “Oh dear, oh dear,” said Lexi, looking at the mess.

  “The old Battery has taken quite a battering,” said Captain Clockheart.

  “Click, we must repair her. Tick, if we hit another storm in this state, tock, she’ll be the Sunken Battery,” said First Mate Mainspring.

  “We’ll need to find new wood to repair her properly,” said Pendle.

  “Och, then it’s a safe port to drop anchor that we’ll want,” said Gadge.

  “Aye. Now, where are we?” Captain Clockheart shielded his eyes and surveyed the horizon.

  “Maybe that albatross will lead us to land,” said Pendle, peering through a telescope.

  Lexi’s word-wheel turned and a card clicked into place. “Albatross,” he said. “A large seabird. If shot down, it is believed to bring bad luck to sailors.”

  “Click, it’s coming this way,” said First Mate Mainspring. “Tick, I’ve never seen a bird catch the sunlight like that. Tock, it’s almost as though…”

  “It’s made of metal,” said Pendle.

  “Metal?” Captain Clockheart snatched the telescope off Pendle. “Why, I believe you’re right, lad.”

  “Shoot it down!” squawked Twitter.

  “It’s in range.” Gadge selected his rifle attachment.

  “Lower your weapon, Mr Gadge. Let’s find out what this shiny seabird wants,” said Captain Clockheart.

  1. Pendle the cabin boy was the only human crewmember of the Leaky Battery. She was unlike most cabin boys for two reasons: a) She had a flair for engineering. b) She was a girl.

  The mechanical bird’s large wings allowed it to glide elegantly through the air. Twitter watched jealously as it flew down, leaving a white trail of vapour in its wake. It landed gracefully on the side of the ship.

  “Blimey, am I glad to find you lot! I’ve been flying for weeks. Do a bird a favour and give us something to nibble on, would you?” said the albatross.

  Captain Clockheart popped open his stomach, pulled out a piece of glowing coal and threw it into the air. The albatross jumped up and caught it in its beak. “Ah, that’s better. Thanks. The name’s Coleridge, but me friends call me Ridgey.”

  Twitter hopped along the rail.

  “All right, little fella. Admiring the old wingspan, are you? That’s three metres of wing right there, that is.” Ridgey stretched out his huge wings.

  “Show off!” muttered Twitter. “Show off!”

  Pendle leaned forward to inspect the bird. “A steam-powered albatross. Who made you, then?” she asked.

  “The same geezer that made this lot. Old Swifty of course,” responded Ridgey.

  “Mr Richmond Swift?” said Pendle.

  “Our creator!” gasped Gadge.

  “That no-good scallywag,” snarled Captain Clockheart. “He made us as servants for the king. If it hadn’t been for Pendle, we’d still be carrying trays of party food and washing dishes.”

  “Ah, but without him we wouldn’t have our lives at all,” said Lexi. “Ours is a complicated relationship, similar to that between—”

  Captain Clockheart whacked Lexi on the back of the head, shutting him down. “I don’t like complicated things.” He turned to Ridgey. “So why did he make you, then?”

  “I was a guard bird at the Tower of London.”

  “You’re a long way from London now,” said Pendle.

  Ridgey looked at the cabin boy meaningfully. “So are you, chum.”

  “We’re not talking about me,” Pendle replied quickly. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m here for the same reason as the rest of you,” said Ridgey. “Freedom.”

  “Click, how do you know about us?” asked Mainspring.

  “Know about you? Swifty used to go on about you lot all the time. He was furious when you took off. As an apology to the king, he created me to guard the crown jewels.”

  A jet of steam escaped from Captain Clockheart’s head as he moved clos
er to the albatross. “Say that again.”

  “What? The crown jewels?” said Ridgey.

  There was a fluttering noise as Lexi came back to life and his word-wheel started up again. “The crown jewels,” he said. “A collection of valuable items owned by the King of England.” He looked around, confused. “I say, I really wish you wouldn’t switch me off like that.”

  “Never mind that,” said the captain. He turned back to the albatross. “Tell me more about this treasure.”

  “It’s all kept in a room at the top of a big tower surrounded by armed guards,” replied Ridgey. “No one in their right mind would think of stealing it… That is, unless they knew someone who could get them inside. Someone like me.”

  “We like the sound of a room full of treasure, don’t we, lads?” The captain’s clock hand whizzed around excitedly.

  The crew cheered but Lexi looked concerned. “The Tower of London is the most well protected place in the whole of England.”

  “Which means they’ll never expect it,” said Gadge.

  “What about the damage from the storm?” asked Pendle. “Shouldn’t we get the ship in working order first?”

  “We’ll repair her on the way,” said Captain Clockheart. “Quartermaster Lexi, plot a course for England.”

  “Aye, sir, although with a broken rudder and torn sails it may take longer than it should,” replied Lexi.

  First Mate Mainspring sighed. “Click, and so our captain puts us all in danger again. Tick, sailing a broken ship into a potential death trap. Tock, when will he learn?”

  “Don’t listen to old clickerty-tick-tocks,” said Ridgey. “You’re Captain Clockheart, ain’t you? Them crown jewels are as good as yours.”

  The captain patted Ridgey then fed him a handful of wood shavings from his pocket. “Twitter, you could learn a lot from this albatross. Now, let’s get some wind in those sails, lads. We’re off to England!”

  Twitter flew up to the crow’s nest to sulk while the captain ordered the crew to work.

  Pendle followed Lexi to the ship’s compass. Like everything else on the ship it had been badly damaged by the storm.

  “I don’t like this one bit,” said Pendle. “I don’t trust that albatross and this ship needs a lot of work before it can outrun one of the duke’s warships.”

  “I quite agree,” said Lexi. “But you know what the captain is like once he gets an idea in that tin-pot head of his.” The wheel on his head clicked as it turned. “Even if it is an idea that will most likely get us all melted down … dismantled … killed.”

  Usually, if a king gets off his throne, picks up a sword and asks you to kneel before him it means you are about to be knighted – but this was not the case for Mr Richmond Swift.

  The king waggled his sword threateningly at the white-haired engineer and three vicious-looking corgis growled at him.

  “Mr Swift, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t run you through and turn you into dog food.” The dogs barked excitedly at this.

  “I can give you three good reasons,” replied Mr Swift.

  “Go on.”

  “Firstly, the way we fight wars is changing. You will need my inventions when you go to war against the French.”

  “You’re not the only steam engineer in England,” stated the king. “What’s your second reason?” He prodded Mr Swift’s shirt with the tip of his sword, while one of the dogs sniffed his feet.

  “Secondly, I have recently put into action a plan to bring the Steampunk Pirates to justice.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it. What is the third reason that I shouldn’t feed you to my dogs?”

  “Er…” Mr Swift thought fast. “I had a rather spicy meat pie last night and I fear it would affect my flavour. It wouldn’t suit your animals’ refined tastes, I’m sure.”

  The king lowered his sword. “Yes, they are quite fussy eaters.” The dogs looked disappointed and Mr Swift looked extremely relieved. “So tell me about your plan to bring in these runaway servants of mine. I’ve just increased the reward for their capture. It’s very embarrassing knowing they’re out there, plundering my ships and making a fool out of me.”

  “Well, so far all the attempts to capture them have involved your men chasing after the pirates and fighting them on their own terms. My plan, on the other hand, will deliver them right into your hands.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I recently created a mechanical albatross, which I sent off to locate the Steampunk Pirates. The bird has been tasked with persuading this bunch of escapees to steal the crown jewels.”

  The king gripped his sword tightly. “You mean, my crown jewels?” he stated. “You’re using my crown jewels as bait?”

  Mr Swift laughed nervously. “You have nothing to worry about, Your Majesty. My plan is completely foolproof. You see, it is my belief that to catch a machine one must use a machine. Behold—”

  “I do hate it when you say that word,” interrupted the king. “Then … allow me to introduce you to … the Electrical Soldiers.”

  At the other end of the room, a large door burst open and two huge mechanical men entered. The sound of their metal joints echoed off the walls as they walked along. They were taller than the Steampunk Pirates, with cone-like heads. Instead of the crackling fire and hiss of a combustion engine, they made a buzzing noise and sparks flew as they moved.

  “Tesla and Faraday are made of a metal ten times stronger than the pirates,” Mr Swift explained proudly. “They have been fitted with the very latest fighting equipment. As you can see, each arm includes a fully operational bayonet, complete with reloading barrels and self-sharpening swords.”

  The corgis hid under the throne and the king dropped his sword in astonishment. “What is this word, ‘electrical’?”

  “It is a new method of generating power. It is my belief that one day everything will be electric. From street lamps to your own trousers…”

  “My trousers!” exclaimed the king.

  “Well, maybe not your trousers,” said Mr Swift, “but everything else. Tesla and Faraday will follow your every command. They will fight your every war.”

  “WE WILL OBEY,” said the Electrical Soldiers together.

  “Mr Swift, have you lost your mind?” cried the king. “Having created one bunch of metal monstrosities, you offer me yet more of these tiresome tin men.”

  “But these men will defeat Clockheart’s crew,” insisted Mr Swift.

  “And what is to stop this lot turning on me as well? What is to stop them joining the Steampunk Pirates?”

  “I’ve already thought of that,” said Mr Swift. “As part of my plan I mean to learn what made Clockheart and his crew run off. That way, I will know how to avoid it happening again.”

  “No, no, no!” exclaimed the king. “No more inventions. If the pirates are coming to the Tower they will be captured by living, breathing soldiers.”

  “But it is your soldiers who have failed to capture them so far, Your Majesty.” “Are you arguing with the King of England, Mr Swift?” demanded the king.

  “Of course not, Your Highness,” said Mr Swift.

  “Good. It is vital that the Steampunk Pirates are defeated by real men of flesh and blood. We must demonstrate that men are better than machines.”

  “But, Your Majesty, these Electrical Soldiers are the future of fighting. With your permission I can build an army of them.”

  “With my money, you mean,” said the king.

  “I admit it will not be cheap, but—”

  “Enough.” The king cut him off. “I will send a messenger to the Iron Duke and Admiral Fussington, giving them one last chance to bring the Steampunk Pirates to justice. If they fail me again, you will have your opportunity.”

  “As you command, Your Majesty.” Mr Swift bowed and left, with his two Electrical Soldiers behind him.

  Usually Admiral Fussington and his wife spent mealtimes at opposite ends of the long dining table in awkward silence. Tonight,
the Iron Duke was sitting in between them, slurping tomato soup and dabbing his moustache with one of Mrs Fussington’s better napkins.

  “Would one care for some bread, sir?” asked Wodehouse, the Fussingtons’ butler.

  “This one would.” The Iron Duke grabbed two rolls from the basket and dropped one into his soup. Bright orange spots splattered across the tablecloth.

  “I say, didn’t you have a child the last time I visited?” he asked.

  “That’s right. Penelope.” Mrs Fussington tried not to stare at the stained tablecloth. “But, in this household, we believe children should be seen and not heard.”

  “Talking of which, when did you last see Penelope?” asked Admiral Fussington.

  “I’m not sure,” replied his wife.2

  “Which is exactly as it should be,” the duke announced proudly. “My father refused to say a single word to me until I turned sixteen. Even then it was only to tell me to take my feet off the table.”

  Wodehouse coughed quietly.

  “Yes?” said Admiral Fussington.

  “One apologizes, sir, but there is a messenger here.”

  “Blast it, man! In the middle of dinner?” exclaimed the Iron Duke. “Tell him to go away.”

  “One did say words to that effect, sir, but apparently he has an urgent message from the king himself.”

  The Iron Duke spat out a mouthful of soup. “Well, what are you waiting for? The admiral and I will see him at once. Sorry, Mrs Fussington, but this is men’s business.”

  “That’s quite all right,” she replied. “Wodehouse, show the messenger into the drawing room then be a good chap and fetch a damp sponge and some soap.”

  The Iron Duke and Admiral Fussington retired to the drawing room, where they found a young man with socks pulled up to his knees and shiny buttons on his jacket. He carried a bronze bugle over one shoulder and a lute over the other.

  “Good evening,” he said. “My name is Ralf and I will be your messenger this evening. Please hold.”