Fatality (Part Two)

That night, Gogo slept in Gilbert Trout's house, just as his sister
Ukulele had prophesied, and found himself dreaming of the night he and
the rest of his travelling gypsy circus, his family, had set up camp
and performed their show in front of the residents of Nikeah. Many of
them were seamen like the patrons of 'The Sullen Flounder,' emitting
deep-throated laughs as Gogo's small form mimicked the other, older and
more heavily built performers with utmost precision. And Gogo dreamed
of the girl in the audience, who looked only a little older than he
himself was, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. In his dream, her laughter,
constant and mocking, drowned out even the laughter of the sailors. It
echoed endlessly as he relived those hours in the warped confinement of
his memory. It reverberated even when her mouth was closed, curved like
a bloody knife as she led him down the steep sand slopes and underneath
the jetty where it briefly crossed the moon-drenched beach. It rattled
around in his skull even when she was kissing him, longingly and
deeply, and redoubled in strength when the image itself laughed at
Gogo's inexperience in matters of a covert nature. It followed him
insistently, biting at his heel as he once more fled toward the
encampment. It curled and twisted round the flames that were brandished
after the Nikeah men saw him running away from the semi-naked girl and
assumed, wrongly, that a crime had been committed. It turned into a
scream as those flames grew, engulfing the tents and caravans that had
so long sheltered him from the outside world, and the scream did not
fade even when he stood on that hill, far away, watching the distant
fire, certain that it was chasing him.
Gogo awoke, and discovered at once that the scream was not part of his
dream. It came from the room next door. Grabbing his headdress, he
bolted for the door and very nearly collided with Gilbert Trout in the
narrow corridor outside.
"So it ain't you?" he said, elbowing Gogo out of the way. "I figured
it was."
He stopped in front of Ukulele's door and turned the handle. It was
locked. Fortunately, Trout was a stout man, strong and broad in the
shoulder. He thus handed his little candle to Gogo and proceeded to
repeatedly charge the door until it swung inwards. Trout raced in,
closely followed by Gogo. They saw on one side of the bed Ukulele, clad
only in her loose underwear and holding a dainty club. She at once
stopped screaming and addressed Trout in an angry voice.
"It took you long enough!"
On the other side of the bed stood a man Gogo immediately recognised
as the foghorn-voiced sailor from 'The Sullen Flounder.' He was also
wearing very little, and was not armed at all, but nevertheless made a
very aggressive figure as he stood, bear-like, arms spread apart in
preparation for embracing something forcefully.
"He was getting very rowdy," Ukulele explained. "Get him out of
here."
"I paid for you!" shouted the man, clearly still drunk. "I get what I
paid for, y'hear? And ain't nobody gonna shtand in my way."
"That's what you reckon, matey," growled Trout, advancing several
steps.
"You come any closher and I'll knock your head off, Cap'n," the
drunken man warned.
"Can't do that, Halibut. I'm your captain. How do you think you'll
sail 'The Flying Carp' without me, eh?"
"I don't want to go on your shtinking voyage. We'll all jusht wind up
dead anyway."
"Argh! That's it, Halibut! You can assault me sister any day of the
week, but no one makes fun of me dreams and ambitions without getting a
good kicking!"
Trout closed in on Halibut with a speed surprising for one so stout,
and the fiend was momentarily taken aback. When he had gathered what
was left of his wits, however, there was too much of him for Trout to
hold back, and the captain was send flailing with a lucky punch. Gogo
moved in to help - suppressing Halibut should have been a simple task
for him - but was halted by a glint of moonlit silver that speared the
corner of his eye. Ukulele had produced a pistol from one of her
drawers and now levelled it at the rampaging seaman.
"Hold fast there, Miss," Gogo began, intending to assure her of his
capability, but he was cut off by the roar of the gun.
Halibut answered it with his own primal roar as several small dark
spots manifested themselves on his bare back. The force of the blast
was enough to send Ukulele careering through the open window.

The next morning, Gogo was enjoying a seafood breakfast in 'The Sullen
Flounder' when Captain Trout sauntered through the open door, bringing
with him the smell of smoky seaweed. His crew were still collapsed
about the room, singing and laughing, as if the lock-in had been drawn
out til morning and they had never left.
Gogo had woken up on two more occasions since the fracas in Ukulele's
room, the first time gripped by the terrifying belief that he had
awoken on board 'The Flying Carp' with no one but Captain Trout and the
sparring bear for company. The second time had been less of a shock; he
had simply reached out to what he thought was the face and naked
shoulders of that girl, underneath a flaming jetty, only to find she
was nothing more than knotholes and grain in the oaken beams above his
bed. Gogo dismissed both occasions as bilge.
"Listen up, lads," ordered Trout.
The sailors ceased their merriment and listened intently to the
captain.
"Last night there was terrible incident in me
lodgings&;#8230;"
"Aye, and she's still there!" shouted one of the seamen.
They all laughed gratuitously, but were silenced by a signal from
Trout.
"Our ship's cook, Halibut, was shot in the back with a pistol. He
won't be able to travel with us on our great historic voyage on account
of him being dead."
This information was met with groans of despair. One crewman voiced
the opinions of all:
"If it ain't enough that we're gonna die alone out there, now we've
got to die with empty stomachs!"
The lunacy of this suggestion confounded Gogo. Was it not that same
sailor who yesterday swore that they'd be living on citrus fruits and
piss?
"And what is more," continued Trout, "my sister, who was the one what
shot Halibut&;#8230;"
More groans resonated.
"&;#8230;has done herself a mischief by falling out of her window
and breaking her arm. As such, she will not be able to travel with us
neither."
And the whole bar erupted into unanimous cheers. Gogo felt compelled
to join in, clinking his glass of ale with a couple of sailors and
jigging along with the outburst of music. The celebrations did not last
long, however, before the accordion player fell off a table and knocked
himself out, much to the mirth of his fellow seamen. Gogo was left
feeling a little cheated as the chorus died down.
"Lads, I just knows we'll do ourselves proud!" bellowed Trout. "To
'The Flying Carp' and all who sail in her!"
The response was half-hearted to say the very least, as the crew were
suddenly reminded of their upcoming fate. Momentarily infected with
this disillusionment and determined to exact it from his person, Gogo
abandoned his breakfast and went to prize the accordion from the
fingers of the unconscious buccaneer. This done, he got up onto the
table and began playing. A tone of glorious optimism at once returned
to the bar and was made all the more exuberant by Gogo's being a far
better accordion player than his predecessor. Indeed, some of the
sounds he managed to produce with the little music box went far beyond
what the sailors had heard from it thus far, and at the same time Gogo
was dancing so furiously and precisely that the music seemed to whirl
and spin around the room with a life of its own. When he had at last
worn himself out and sat down, he had only a moment to recuperate
before Trout appeared at his side, brandishing his pipe with
enthusiasm.
"The boys tell me you can do any job I care to mention," he said. "Can
you cook?"
"Yes," replied Gogo, unaware of where such an admission would lead
him. "More than a hundred different recipes for your
convenience."
"Arr, that's marvellous! What was it you said you name was?"
"The one, the only Gogo."
"Magnificent!"
Trout stood up, hauling Gogo to his feet with him.
"Lads!" he said, addressing the room. "This here Gogo will be our new
ship's cook. More than a hundred different recipes for our
convenience!"
Once more, the cheers drowned out any protest that might have been
raised by a certain speechless figure. Captain Trout's voyage was to
take place that very afternoon, and whether they found the lost
continent or were to end up in the belly of a sea monster, Gogo would
be right there with them.

"Gogo. You have an opinion, don't you?"
Gogo stirred; he had been napping peacefully in order to make up for
lost sleep before 'The Flying Carp' embarked. Now it appeared that
Ukulele Trout had sat down beside him on his bed and was in urgent need
of his attention.
"Oh don't look at me like that," she said, before he had even fully
opened his eyes. "I know you think I talk too much for a woman.
Chauvinists, the lot of you."
She seemed resolved over this issue and Gogo thought it best to leave
her with her resolution. He therefore closed his eyes once
more&;#8230;
"You didn't answer my question!"
&;#8230;and opened them again.
"You think I can handle myself at sea, even with a broken arm, don't
you?"
"I give up," said Gogo. "Perhaps the problem is not with the answer,
but the question."
"I mean, it's not as if sailors use both their arms much, is it? All
they do is scrub decks and sleep in hammocks all day. A girl can do
that as well as one of those dumb louts."
"Misconceptions abound!" suggested Gogo.
"Oh, you would think that! You're a man. At least, I think you are.
You certainly sound like a man, and you don't have much of a
bust."
"Hypocrisy!" Gogo denounced her.
"I think Gilbert and that ghastly man planned it all, you know. Why,
it was my brother who gave me that gun, and never once did he give me a
practical demonstration! The whole thing must have been arranged by
those chauvinist shrimps in order to stop me from sailing with them.
It's sabotage!"
"Miss Trout," said Gogo, "did you not categorically state that your
brother's expedition was nothing more than a fanciful little cruise?
One might be inclined to believe that you didn't want to go."
"Who said anything to the contrary?" she appeared indignant. "Of
course I don't care for his stupid trip, but it's still sabotage.
Anyway, my surname isn't Trout. It's Sullivan."
"Then how is it that your brother came to be Captain Trout, eh?"
"Dear me, that's just an absurd nickname the crew have given him,
probably because he spends all his time at sea gaping. Never does
anything useful at all. I've not once seen him scrub the decks."
"Well, well, well."
"But why can't I go, Gogo? If he lets some silly little clown fellow
come along as cook, then why can't his very own sister accompany him?
Where's the sense in that?"
"Can you cook?"
"Of course not! That's such a stereotypical role for a woman."
"Then there's the sense in that."
She folded her arms and huffed.
"Well, really! I don't believe there's a word of sense or courtesy I
can extract from you, Gogo. You're simply infuriating."
Gogo said nothing in answer as she stood up, wobbled, and sat down
again. To his surprise, she then immediately buried her head in his
robes and broke into sobs. Gogo wasn't sure whether he should tackle
this problem himself or wait for some form of cavalry.
"No one understands me!" she blubbed. "They don't even try to!"
"I might be inclined to," said Gogo, hoping this would offer her some
consolation.
"How? How could you possibly help me?" she wailed.
He gave this question serious contemplation. In her present state, she
strongly suggested to him that there was no possible remedy on earth
for her dissatisfaction, it being that her dissatisfaction seemed to
extend to everyone and everything. If dissuading her from her miseries
were therefore humanly impossible he might however find a method by
which he could distract her from them.
"I could teach you to play the violin," he suggested hopefully.
She unburied herself and stared at him with tear-stained eyes the size
of moons.
"You know how you could really help me?" she said, her voice filled
with pleading.
"Well now. How?" asked Gogo.
"Stow me away on the boat today. It won't be difficult and besides,
you owe it to me."
"I do?"
"Yes! If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have anywhere to sleep, let
alone a ship to sail away in! You're nothing but an ungrateful urchin,
Gogo!"
"I am?"
"That's right! After all I've done for you, you won't even grant me
this one small favour. I'm sick of putting myself out to help everyone
else and never getting anything in return."
"You are?"
"Yes I am! And stop patronising me, you chauvinist!"
Gogo didn't know what one of these 'chauvinists' looked like, or how
he could be mistaken for one, but he did begin to appreciate that they
were the cause of considerable grief to Ukulele, through their own
shortcomings or else hers (from her account he wasn't entirely sure
which.)
"I can't help but wonder," he said out loud, "what aspect of my person
qualifies me as a chauvinist to you?"
"The fact that you will not help an invalid aboard her brother's ship
so she can enjoy a relaxing ocean voyage, simply because she is a
woman!"
Gogo reeled. He had no memory of ever declining such a
proposition.
"Well?" she said. "Will you?"
"Yes?" Gogo tried, hopeful that the word would please her.
"I'm glad to see you've come to your senses. Now help me down to the
quay and hide me in a barrel while no one is looking. Get a move on! We
don't have all day, you know."
"Say what? A barrel?" Gogo queried.
"Yes, a barrel! Goodness, is the concept so difficult to grasp? I want
to hide in a barrel, like the heroes of pirate tales. Of course, I can
think of comfier ways to travel, but none so romantic."
Gogo abandoned the notion of making sense of this and said: "Correct
me if I'm wrong, but won't that require our emptying the barrel of its
contents first?"
This time Ukulele had to stop and think before she answered him.
"Of course it will! Isn't that obvious?"
"But where will we put the contents?" asked Gogo.
"Throw them in the sea! I don't care! Now look, will you stop stalling
for time and help me down the stairs?"
Taking this to mean that her earlier display of wobbliness was a
hindrance to her ability to travel, Gogo rose from the bed and
proceeded to pick her up in his arms. He quickly learned not to make
such presumptions.
"Take your hands off me, you brute!" she squealed, kicking out so that
Gogo was forced to drop her onto the floor.
"An administrative error, I assure you," he explained hastily as she
stood up, nursing her backside.
"I'm not an invalid! Just stay behind me and do what I tell
you!"
Gogo thought it best to do so, for while he felt reasonably assured
that he could overcome her, even knock her out cold if need be, he was
not comfortable with what might follow such action and did not believe
himself capable of silencing her in any other way. As such, he reasoned
that his only course of action was to obey.
She led him down the stairs and out of the house, then briskly in the
direction of the waterfront. Gogo, to whom speed usually came
naturally, once more found himself struggling to keep up with her, and
noted that the sling which bound her arm served more effectively as an
aid to elbowing ditherers out of the way than it did as a means of
recovery. She stopped before they reached 'The Flying Carp' and
motioned him to join her in crouching behind an arrangement of
crates.
"We can't let my oafish brother and his half-wit crew see me stowing
away," she hissed, though there was no chance of them seeing her behind
those crates even if she stood. "These things aren't quite as sexy as
barrels, but I suppose they'll have to do."
Gogo hastened to point out that those particular crates were too far
away from 'The Flying Carp' to belong to its load, that indeed, the
supplies had probably already been loaded onto Trout's ship, but
Ukulele somehow saw his mouth begin to move behind his headdress and
cut him off.
"No, no, you're inane protests will only slow us down. Get on your
feet and take the lid off this crate so I can get in."
Gogo did as he was told, easing the nails out with the slightest,
sharpest knife he had about him. When he lifted the lid off and laid it
gently beside the flustered woman, he found the contents to be an
assortment of oddly shaped crystalline pieces glued together so that
they had to be taken out of the crate in one piece.
"Could you go any slower??" asked Ukulele impatiently.
Gogo jumped up on top of the crate, his legs splayed so that he could
stand across the breadth, and lifted the giant chunk of misshapen rock
out of its residence. He had to almost fall backwards in order to get
it down to the ground, but still made for an impressive display of
strength. By the time he had completed his task passers by were
starting to wonder at this activity, since neither he nor Ukulele
looked like a sailor.
"Try and be a little more subtle, for goodness sake," she advised him.
"Oh! That looks like some of that new art that everyone is talking
about!"
Before she could explain the significance of this statement to Gogo he
sent the piece over the edge of the quay with a mighty heave. The
splash rose above their heads, signalling its departure from
civilisation. Gogo deemed it worthy of good riddance, for it was
certainly not pleasing to his eye.
"Why did you do that?" Ukulele asked loudly. "Do you have any idea how
much that could be worth?"
"I hear there's plenty of it around in Narshe's caves," mused
Gogo.
"Not like that! That was an artist's creation!"
Gogo did ponder at what manner of artistic merit was required of a
person in order to glue several pieces of a naturally recurring rock
formation together, but he was more concerned with the gathering
assembly of people who seemed eager to witness what antics might occur
next. Ukulele certainly couldn't stow away in secrecy now.
"Well aren't you the nosiest bunch of people I've ever set eyes upon!"
she enquired of them. "Go away and mind your own business!"
Once more, Gogo found presumption to be an error as the small crowd,
obviously having had the benefit of her wrath before, rapidly
dispersed. Ukulele turned back to him and he was caught standing
still.
"Taking an hour off, are we? You can have your little one man strike
after you've sealed me inside this thing, alright? Then you can do as
you please. Now, help me up."
Gogo wished to be through with this affair as quickly as possible, so
taking hold of her waist with one hand and her lower leg with the
other, he tossed Ukulele into the open crate and hauled the lid back
over the top. He then hammered the nails back in with the butt of his
thickest, heaviest knife, ignoring her cries of protest, and hurried
off to find some refuge until the send-off feast of 'The Flying Carp'
took place. Taking time to consult his pocket-watch, he was delighted
to find the designated time was only fifteen minutes away. That meant
it would not be long before he'd be experiencing the life of a high
seas adventurer, fighting sea monsters and pirates and discovering new
lands, just as Captain Trout had heartily promised. The prophecy of
doom that had discouraged Gogo so greatly was swiftly dispelled as
tripe spread by the ship's log-keeper, Gadfly, an ex-journalist who was
known for his ability to turn wild tales into popular belief. There
would be food aboard 'The Flying Carp' and much of it, whilst the speed
of the vessel was enough to travel the circumference of the world in a
matter of weeks. It didn't even rely on sails, Gogo was informed, but
housed a very worthy engine, which begged him to wonder why he had been
misled by repeated references to sailing.
Gadfly, a gangly, balding, unhealthy looking man who tried to look as
smart as possible in a cheap merchant's uniform, insisted their was an
element of truth to his stories and claimed he had born no intention of
upsetting the crew. According to him, he had simply wished to expose
the truth about Trout: that he was an unreliable seaman and as such a
public safety hazard who should be campaigned against. Trout had
laughed and explained to the rest of the crew that he had hired Gadfly
in order to disprove such an absurd notion, whereupon the crew had
exchanged worried looks and Gadfly had made reference to Halibut's
demise, purporting it to be the first of many cases which would prove
the captain's guilt. Gogo was unsure what to make of it all, but felt
fairly certain that he would survive the journey. After all, Gadfly had
little hope of 'exposing' the captain if he too was missing at sea, and
therefore the journalist must have had some confidence in Trout's
abilities even if it was not publicly transmitted.
While Gogo could not find it in him to actually like Gadfly, not in
personality and certainly not in the same manner he liked Ukulele, he
found himself intrigued by the nonsensical log-keeper and hoped to find
the rest of the crew just as interesting. Thus, he was greatly looking
forward to the send-off feast, during which he would use the art of
conversation to get to know them more personally. For what he lacked in
his own self-confidence and charisma, Gogo thought, he made up for in
other people's.
The fifteen minutes were whiled away observing the detail of 'The
Flying Carp.' Gogo counted three places along the waterline that had in
the past needed repair and a further two that looked like they may soon
need attention. He estimated the bust of the figurehead to be at the
weightiest point two inches larger in radius than that of any woman he
had ever met, and wondered at the complete absence of carp among the
numerous decorations and logos. Through the portholes he saw how
compact the dozen or so cabins were on the port side, and despite
travelling from one end of the dock to the other could find no angle
from which he might establish the location of the pantry. This was a
blow to his plan to show himself aware of all the intricacies of
ship-bound food preparation, but he would mend that once on
board.
At two minutes to one by his pocket-watch, Gogo set off towards 'The
Sullen Flounder,' taking care to go by a different way than the one
that would lead him past Ukulele in her crate. It amused Gogo to fancy
that the bar was named after her, but he put such thoughts to rest as
it loomed into view and wrought a change in his disposition.
"Gogo! Glad you was able to escape the house," Trout called as Gogo
sauntered gaily through the door and up to the table. "Me sister turned
her back for just long enough, ay?"
Gogo thought it best not to divulge any information about the
whereabouts of Ukulele as it might add complications to a relatively
simple matter. He nodded curtly and made a dive for the food.
During the course of the meal he was indeed able to acquaint himself
with several members of the crew and furthermore was fully satisfied to
find they were every part as intriguingly irrational as Gadfly. Where
they had been made almost symbiotic by their drunkenness, their true
personalities were now revealed, and that their ranks were only loosely
based around formal naval structure, as well as betraying Trout's
ignorance, made the process all the more entertaining for Gogo.
Mugwort, the young cabin boy, spoke endlessly and persuasively about
his new status as a hero of the high seas and didn't appear to have any
other reason for being among the crew. He disliked travelling, couldn't
stand fish, had no previous experience and was certain beyond any doubt
that his role as a legendary warrior would be established once they
encountered pirates, whom he would single-handedly defeat despite never
having handled a cutlass before in his life.
Natterjack, the first officer, also relished the prospect of meeting
pirates, for he believed all the wealthy businessmen, bankers,
scholars, merchants and higher classes of the land to be engaged in
conspiracy with the Empire. That all his kind would be enslaved ("not
that they aren't already, mind") under a strict regime he was sure of,
and thus he planned to organise sailors, builders, miners, pirates -
all manner of "labouring class" - into a violent rebellion. When Gogo
asked him what purpose this served, Natterjack replied that they were
to overturn the oppressive, capitalist regime.
"And replace it with a new one?" queried Gogo.
Whereupon Natterjack had sighed, proclaimed that Gogo "just don't get
it" and refilled his tankard of ale so that it overflowed with golden
foam.
Not understanding used to scare Gogo, but he had become so accustomed
to it that he now relished every discovery that evaded his own reason.
That it made no sense was of no consequence; what mattered was how
strange and diverse these opinions were, like they were a species of
plant to be studied. Gogo loved exploring them.
Gudgeon, the munitions officer, had an equal love for the diversity and
effect of weapons. He described to Gogo, with much zest, why one
particular type of cutlass was so much more effective at cutting out
gizzards than its cousins, and was happy to go through and explain the
different types of blade which adorned Gogo's own knives and dirks.
Gogo asked why such details mattered as long as the weapon could be
used for the purpose its designers had intended. Gudgeon shook his head
and said, "I suppose you got to know them to understand
properly."
Lamprey, the chief engineer, made it clear that he had signed the
contract committing him to Trout's crew purely on the basis that they
would uncover vast hordes of treasure on their voyage. When Gogo asked
if he thought it likely that they would, Lamprey assured him that even
the slightest chance was worth his time and energy.
"You only get to live once and money's no good to you in the afterlife,
so best to get as much as you can while it's still worth the effort. A
man doesn't often get the chance to haul back a hull full of gold, you
know. Besides, can't live without money."
The reason was sound in Lamprey's mind, certainly, but Gogo felt it
lost its potency on exposure to air, so that by the time it had reached
his ears it made little sense at all. He did not question Lamprey
further though.
Loach, the communications officer and lookout, had no obsession that
was immediately obvious to Gogo but spoke in an abnormally high voice
and was very critical of the other crew members' eating habits.
"Disgusting. Bet they never wash either." Gogo found conversation with
Loach difficult, as every stimulating opening line he pulled out of his
sleeve was met with a 'hmm.' It wasn't a 'hmm' of disapproval, nor a
'hmm' of agreement, nor even a 'hmm' of encouragement, just a simple,
repetitive 'hmm.' He learned little of the communications officer from
their brief exchange but committed himself to extracting more
information during the voyage.
Burbot, the navigation officer, was another disappointment, for he had
about him no traits that amused, baffled or irritated Gogo in any way.
He simply said that the food was good, assured him that he would do his
job to the best of his ability and asked a few, barely incisive
questions about Gogo himself. One of them, though it seemed fairly dull
to Gogo, caused hysterics among many of those assembled. It was this:
"Why do you wear that headdress all the time?" To which Gogo had
replied, as he did to anyone who asked a similar question: "I don't
want people to judge me by my appearance." Gogo's curiosity was
rekindled by their laughter, for he saw nothing humorous in his
answer.
Orfe, the morale officer, was a "strict disciplinarian." He would not,
Gogo was informed, stand for any nonsense or insubordination from the
crew and intended to beat to a gory pulp any lip he was given.
Mutineers were to be keelhauled without trial and treacherous thieves
would be thrown to the sharks. Considering the numbers of people Gogo
had encountered who had expressed a desire to revolt - mutineer against
the Empire - and the rumoured armies of the rebel Returners, he
wondered if perhaps the drastic action Orfe was proposing would wipe
out the entire crew within days.
"They'll give up once they see what happens to the first of 'em," said
Orfe, a notion that contrasted greatly with what Gogo had been told by
these rebels: "No matter how many of us they kill, we'll keep
fighting." But he left Orfe at peace with his ideals.
In addition to these characters, Gogo learnt that Halibut, the deceased
cook, was something of a celebrity in Nikeah and beyond. The aggressive
groping to which Ukulele had reacted so extremely was his trademark
technique when preparing food for a blinding meal. "Molest the meat,"
he used to say. "Make it squirm. That way you gets it really soft and
juicy." It was humorous to Gogo that the trait which had made Halibut
famous had also been the cause of his death. He believed the scholarly
term for this to be 'irony.' Gogo did not know at that time how ill
fated the rest of the crew were to be, so he could not reflect on how
fortunate Halibut was to have been killed before setting out of Trout's
voyage.