"What's Cabin Boy Matt giving off about now?" asked First Mate Glen as the familiar sound of Castilian expletives drifted on the sea air from below deck.
Skipper Bruce sighed and shook his head. "Go and see what's wrong," he said.
First Mate Glen descended the steps into the bedroom where Cabin Boy Matt was on his hands and knees looking in one of the lockers beside his bunk.
"What are you doing?" asked First Mate Glen.
"Lookin' for t' beans 'at 'ave gone missin'," replied Cabin Boy Matt in frustration. "Ah must o' bought forty tins o' t' chuffin' things, but none on 'em a' 'ere."
"They can't have gone far," answered First Mate Glen.
"Well they're not 'ere, are they?" snapped Cabin Boy Matt.
"It's so dark, though, you're never going to find them. Where's your torch?"
"Under t' bed," said Cabin Boy Matt, gesturing towards Deck Hand Chris' bunk.
"Under the bed?" asked First Mate Glen, getting on his knees and peering under. "Where?"
"It's under t' bowl, o' course," Cabin Boy Matt said as though this were obvious.
First Mate Glen lifted a large orange plastic bowl to find a Maglite switched on beneath it.
"Why on earth is it under there?" asked First Mate Glen.
Cabin Boy Matt just tutted in response to such a ridiculous question and First Mate Glen decided to leave him to his search.
As soon as he returned to the deck First Mate Glen realised something was wrong. A game of Risk had been abandoned mid-turn, the dice motionless in the middle of Kamchatka among the little blue men that had been scattered before it, and a can of Pledge rolled across the wooden floor having been abandoned by Deck Hand Chris before the dust had been properly shifted from the rail. A sudden change in engine tone and the way the vessel lurched towards the starboard side brought First Mate Glen's attention to the wheelhouse, where three people appeared to be stood. Two of them were quite clearly Skipper Bruce and Deck Hand Chris, but the other was unrecognisable.
The sailor crept around towards the wheelhouse's entrance, from where he could get a better view of the situation. Facing the doorway was a middle-aged man wearing trainers, jeans and a green hoodie on which the words Andrew Melville had been embroidered below the crest of some unknown provincial university. In his hands he was holding a huge Arabic dictionary with which he appeared to be threatening Skipper Bruce and Deck Hand Chris, who were stood at the controls with their backs to the entrance as they directed the boat under his command. The situation was grave; one blow with the tome in the newcomer's hands would undoubtedly have any one of them on the floor. First Mate Glen would be in full view of the hijacker as soon as he emerged from his hiding place, but he reckoned that he had the element of surprise and that with a quick attack he could knock the dictionary from the stranger's hands, thus disarming him and freeing his companions. At that moment, however, the theme from Star Trek trilled from the mobile in his pocket, forcing him to emerge sheepishly and stand before the newcomer, who merely asked him why he wasn't answering his phone.
First Mate Glen obediently held it to his ear and listened to the caller.
"I'm sorry, Heth," he said into the receiver. "No, I couldn't... Because I was hiding... What do you mean from who? ...From an attacker... Yes, on the boat... He's holding Deck Hand Chris and the Skipper hostage... With an Arabic dictionary... Yes, I was going to help them... I was... I was going to surprise him, but then you rang and gave me away... No, Heth, I'm not blaming you... I'm not... No, I didn't say it was your fault, I said you rang and then... No, that's not saying it's your fault... It's not... What? ...No... OK... OK... I'm sorry... Yes... I love you too... Bye, Heth... Yes, bye."
"What on earth were you talking about?" asked Deck Hand Chris. "We're not being held hostage, we're helping Special Agent Warwick get to another ship."
"Another ship? Why?" asked First Mate Glen.
"Special Agent Warwick works for MI6 and needs access to it, so we're helping him get there."
"So why the dictionary?"
"I was just explaining verb lengthening patterns using Arabic to provide examples of morphological and lexographical change over a prescribed period of time," Special Agent Warwick replied.
Skipper Bruce and Deck Hand Chris just shrugged at First Mate Glen, who asked if Warwick was his real name.
"Of course not," replied the secret agent. "All operatives are named after universities. It was actually Anglia Ruskin who was supposed to be doing this job, but he resigned out of embarrassment, though we're not sure whether that was due to him being linked to a naf establishment or because, being dyslexic, he objected to being given a girl's name."
"So it must be you that's been eating all Cabin Boy Matt's beans?" asked First Mate Glen.
"Ah, yes, that would have been me, I needed to eat something while hiding on here," replied Special Agent Warwick.
"He's pretty annoyed," chuckled First Mate Glen.
"Yes, I can tell, I can basically speak Spanish, which is why I've been sent on this mission. I need to take a coded dossier from a Spanish transport vessel passing through these waters detailing plans for a military attack on Gibraltar. I'm going to replace it with information on the red squirrel, which should keep Spanish agents entertained and perhaps more than a little confused. Speaking of which, I think that vessel over there might be the one."
Special Agent Warwick took a pair of binoculars from his pocket and lifted them to eyes. He nodded as he squinted into the distance. "That's the one," he said. "Don't go any closer, I'll swim from here."
With that, the agent leapt from the bow into the sea and swam with awe inspiring speed into the distance.
"Well," said Skipper Bruce, putting on his sunglasses and turning up the volume so that the trance music pumping through the attached earphones caused his heart rate to increase, "this spot is as good as any I suppose. Do you want to catch some fash?"
Before either First Mate Glen or Deck Hand Chris could respond the attention of all three was caught by a slopping sound coming from the boat's stern. Cabin Boy Matt could be seen emptying tins of beans into the sea.
"What are you doing?" whistled Deck Hand Chris.
"Gettin' rid o' these chuffin' beans 'at Ah've managed to fahd, which i'n't all on 'em," replied Cabin Boy Matt. "Campo Largo issued a statement sayin' they've been contaminated with a chemical which causes seizures, which is probably a bit dangerous if we're w'rkin', so Ah'm tryin' ter get rid on 'em all."
"Seizures?" asked First Mate Glen, stunned.
"Aye," replied Cabin Boy Matt.
"How long have you known about this?"
"A couple o' days, that's why Ah'm so keen ter find the missin' beans, so that none o' you eat 'em."
"But why didn't you just tell us? Special Agent Warwick... You not telling us might have killed him!"
As Cabin Boy Matt tried to work out who on earth Special Agent Warwick was, Skipper Bruce, without saying a word, pushed the throttle forward and the Pride of Lamond surged in the direction of the distant ship. The rickety lilac tub bumped over the waves as the crew scoured the surface for signs of a struggling figure. Steven Seagull circled overhead ready to swoop in the direction of any sign of life. Eventually Deck Hand Chris spotted thrashing in the water and dived in to rescue the ailing spy, pulling him towards the vessel. First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt lowered one of the nets, which Deck Hand Chris wrapped around Special Agent Warwick, allowing him to be pulled aboard the boat, where he coughed and spluttered for a few tense moments before beginning to mutter something about direct objects, allowing the crew to assume that he was safe from immediate danger.
Skipper Bruce turned the Pride of Lamond towards home so that Special Agent Warwick could be given professional medical treatment, but when the boat reached port the secret agent was nowhere to be seen, though a number of Happy Shopper yogurts had been removed and replaced with a note on the use of split infinitives.
It thus seemed that Special Agent Warwick had returned to his mission safely, though Cabin Boy Matt's failure to share the knowledge he had had almost cost him his life.
