Honestly, the most creepy thing about the pirates' reaction over those words I'd just spoken was how happy they now looked. I had the nervous feeling that I was in really, really big trouble when Captain Hook then jovially remarked to the other buccaneers clustered around him in their sudden good mood, all while that man showed his gleaming white teeth in a truly nasty grin directed right at me, "It just goes to show you, lads, that life can at any moment bestow upon yourselves truly unexpected pleasures! A few minutes ago, I thought there wouldn't be any chance of some vicious amusement until bingo tonight!"

Actually rubbing his hands together in evil delight, the pirate captain sadistically eyeing me leaned forward in his chair while ignoring the abrupt twinge in his nether regions this action caused, and he cackled, "All right, then, laddie-buck, you've declared yourself to be the King of the Pirates. That's perfectly fine, since anybody who comes here to our village can freely assert that straightforward announcement, according to our by-laws. However, as you're now going to learn, the genuinely hard part-"

"LAWS!"

The thunderous bellow coming from the back of the crowd of pirates blasted out that single word like a ton of gunpowder exploding, causing people to flinch and look backwards in sudden alarm, particularly when what looked like a walking smoke cloud then shoved its way through the throng, winding up standing next to the exasperated man in his chair who'd been abruptly interrupted.

I stared at seeing there a big, brawny pirate whose filthy coat stretched to the ripping point over a beefy chest, arms and legs like pillars, and a very angry face that was mostly hidden by an immense, midnight-black beard reaching down nearly to his straining belt trying to contain a barrel gut, with that chin-shrubbery containing a dozen lit slow-matches whose other ends had been braided into his hair. These fuses were all emitting thick streams of smoke that nearly hid this furious pirate, except when his deafening roars blew away the choking vapors, which was happening right now.

"I HATE LAWS! I HATE 'EM ALL, AND ALSO THOSE HONEST MEN THAT MAKE 'EM, WHO SHOULD ALL DROP DEAD-"

A motion seen from the corner of my eye diverted my attention from this, as Captain Hook, who'd been rubbing his forehead in irritation, now dropped his left hand from performing this action, as he gazed with absolute disgust at the ranting man, opened his own mouth and pitched his voice in an effort to be heard under the other pirate's yelling: "Teach."

"-AND WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON 'EM, I'LL STICK MY CUTLASS INTO-"

"Teach!"

"-THEN I'LL GRAB THEIR THROATS AND PUT MY THUMBS IN THE PROPER POSITION-"

"TEACH!"

When even the last shout didn't work, as the bearded pirate still continued his enthusiastic description of his future homicidal plans, Captain Hook sighed in deep vexation, dipped his left hand into a coat pocket, and yanked out a small single-shot pistol, which he aimed directly at the head of the bellowing man, and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

A moment later, the entire crowd of corsairs straightened up from their instinctive ducking, watching with interest the now-silent big pirate gazing down with perplexity at his hat that had fallen to his feet, with that scruffy headgear with the white skull-and-crossbones embroidered onto the front of the hat's crown now having a bullet hole through the forehead of that symbol of danger or death. Bending down to pick up his punctured hat, with his beard momentarily brushing the ground, the burly man carefully replaced his beloved fashion accessory onto his head, and turning around with an actual hurt look on his face, he plaintively addressed Captain Hook idly twirling his empty pistol around a finger, "'Ere, what was all that for?"

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Barrie's creation snapped, "It seemed to be the only thing that'd shut you up, Teach!"

"Who?" bewilderedly inquired the referred man.

Hook took a deep breath, and then he gritted his answer. "That's you! It's your name, damn and blast it!"

"Oh." Standing there uncertainly, Teach (maybe) brought up an index finger the size, thickness, and durability of a marlinspike, to then scratch thoughtfully between his eyes for a few moments, with his horny fingernail dislodging from that single eyebrow that stretched across his face a dozen small creatures that fell unheeded to the ground, hopped about, and then dug themselves into the soil until they could find another host. Finally bringing down his finger, the bearded pirate doubtfully asked, "Are you sure?"

Absently giving his empty pistol an aggrieved look over not being ready for action right this moment and then dropping that useless weapon back into his coat pocket, the man in the shaded chair now glowered at his confused audience, saying in a calm voice that had serious yelling lurking in it during the near future, "Well, you've answered to it before! Just like all the other names you've used in the past, like Thatch, Thach, Thache, Thack, Tack, Thatche, and Theach!"

After he'd finished counting off those names on his fingers, Captain Hook grimly went on to explain, "However, let's use your current name, and can we please get back to the matter in question? Yes, Teach, even pirates have laws. Oh, we tried anarchy for a while when we moved here, and a most amusing time was had by all, as we did whatever we pleased. Nevertheless, there remained a certain je ne sais quoi lack in our lives, until we came to realize that where there's no laws at all, there's also no opportunity for us to enjoy the delightful sensation of ignoring and flouting those rules and regulations, like a proper pirate should. So, we simply set up our own laws, but don't worry, it's up to us to obey them or not, when we please. Now, have I managed to make you understand, Teach?"

"Excuse me?"

"What?" blinked a disbelieving Captain Hook, echoed by several pirates in the crowd, as they now all stared at the bearded man before them, who'd just drawn himself up in a confident posture after saying that polite question in a cultured voice.

"I say, good sir, you seem to have me confused with someone else. Permit me to introduce myself: Drummond, John Clarence Drummond, of the Bristol Drummonds. Now, can you gentlemen kindly tell me where am I? The last clear memory I have is being in Cholmondeley Castle having a theological discussion with a prelate of my acquaintance." This urbane member of the upper classes speaking to the slack-jawed pirates now looked down, with a mild frown suddenly appearing on his features, as he noticed his beard smoking from the slow-matches tied there, and he guardedly inquired, "Oh, by the way, why am I on fire?"

Slumping back into his chair, Captain Hook despairingly placed his left hand over his eyes, and waving his deadly prosthetic in a dismissive gesture, the pirate said hoarsely, "Will somebody please just take that horrible man away, and give him a nice cup of tea? And while you're at it, throw a bucket of water over him, too."

After a kind-hearted pirate had led off a happy individual hopefully requesting milk and two sugars, a very glum James Hook confided to those other bewildered buccaneers surrounding him, "I still think it's the most impressive thing I've ever seen, him using his head to bounce back that cannonball that British man-of-war fired at us, right through their mainmast and allowing us all to escape performing the hemp hornpipe, but, really, What's-his-name should have considered that there might have been some unintended consequences of his actions." The pirate captain dolefully shook his head, to then have his gaze fall upon me, as I still waited patiently there in the village square.

Sitting up with a jerk (and a faint groan of pain), an embarrassed brigand of the world's oceans remembered his manners, as he hastily apologized, "A thousand pardons, young man! Pray forgive us, but we can now get back to business. Um, where were we?"

I helpfully prompted, "Australia."

For that, I received an astonished glare of sheer outrage that I returned with a sarcastic smirk on my own features, causing the pirate captain to start becoming irritated again. He hissed, "Listen, you pillock, we don't refer to 'The Princess Bride' here! That Westley chappie isn't a proper pirate, anyway, no matter what others might say! Right, then. If you're going to be like that, we are going to follow faithfully our by-laws!" The master of the brig Jolly Roger now grinned evilly, a wicked expression that was mirrored on most of the faces of the other pirates, who also seemed to know what their leader was talking about.

Keeping my own face blank, I courteously asked, "Which means what, exactly?"

Captain James Hook gave a malicious chuckle, and following that, he then smoothly answered, "You've just declared yourself to be the King of the Pirates, and currently you have to convince every single one of us in attendance that you are indeed deserving of that title. Right here and now."

It might have just been the warm tropical day that presently made beads of sweat pop out on my brow, as I warily responded, "And if I don't manage to do that?"

From Captain Hook himself, to the very least pirate, all of them now simultaneously drew in a deep breath, to then gleefully chorus at the tops of their voices in a blast of noise that rattled windows throughout the whole of Pirate Village: "YOU WALK THE PLANK!"

Author's Note: The pirate that roamed the West Indies and the American coast during the early 1700's has come down to us in history as Blackbeard, since he's been reported as being called every single name given here (yes, even Drummond!). Nobody knows his real identity, and I thought it'd be hilarious if he didn't either. Still, if you had to meet a pirate in real life back then, you should have hoped for him, because despite his truly ferocious appearance, down to the glowing slow-matches attached to him, and the vile threats that made every ship he seized immediately turn over their goods, there's no historical record that he ever actually harmed anyone during his robberies. Plus, if the following taken from his ship's log was actually penned by Blackbeard, he had one hell of a writing style:

"Such a day, rum all out - Our company somewhat sober - A damned confusion amongst us! - Rogues a-plotting - Great talk of separation - so I looked sharp for a prize - Such a day took one, with a great deal of liquor on board, so kept the company hot, damned hot; then all things went well again."