The day passed relatively pleasantly after the tweezers incident. Lovehaste had turned a fantastic new shade of magenta, mumbled a rapid apology and occupied herself mending nets, avoiding the eyes of the rest of the crew, all of whom burst into muffled snorts every time they laid eyes on her. Barbossa had made a routine inspection of captured booty, and it turned out half of the barrels labelled GUNPOWDER from Lovehaste's ex-ship, Mystic Waters, were not full of gunpowder, but tea. (This completely failed to surprise him.) Tea was an immensely valuable commodity, and would fetch a high price at the next port.

Barbossa was, not to put a point too fine on it, chuffed. He said, "Arrr!" as loudly and as piratically as he possibly could, then feeling this was not enough, strode back to his cabin, bounced on his horrible bed and shouted, "ARRRRR! I BE A RICH PIRATE CAP'N!" He hurried outside to announce it to the men. Soon the wind was torn asunder with delighted cries of, "Arrr! Har har, me hearties, arrr!"

The wind had died down a little by four o'clock and it was no longer necessary for every hand to be on deck. It occurred to Barbossa the best way to celebrate this unexpected windfall was to have a tea party. Stolen china tableware was fetched from the hold; rainwater was boiled in cavernous saucepans; a delicious cup, steaming and smelling more beautiful than a lady's scented neck, was handed to each pirate.

Barbossa lounged against the rail, sipping delicately from a bone-china tea-cup with his little finger sticking out. The matching saucer had been filled with lukewarm tea for the monkey, which was reverently washing itself with it. He had not felt so content for a very, very long time. His men were singing a song about tea, so evocative of the heavenly drink itself he could feel his heart trying to burst through his shirt.

"Common sense tells me life's fleetin',

And logic says I should despair!

But give me a mug-ful

Of this sweet leafy stuff, oh,

And I'll tell 'em I've nary a care!

"I've got a wife, she is lovin',

And she washes me socks with her tongue!

But I'd thrash her thrice over,

Yes, I'd strike and I'd scold her

To die of tea filling me lungs!

"I've got a mistress, she's yummy,

I eat her like peaches an' cream!

But I'd hack her to pieces,

From her hair I'd make fleeces

To stay trapped in this tea-scented dream!

"Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,

The good Lord will forgive me crimes!

But I'll kiss the devil,

With Dave Jones I'll revel,

If they'll grant me eternal teatime!

"So you see, dear friends, I'm a lost cause,

A pirate marred indelibly!

I'd dice off me soul,

I would pay any toll

For a sup of that glorious TEA!"

Barbossa, who had helped Swingin' Abraham Swift write the words back in the 1690s, joined in for the last verse with gusto.

He'd been made first mate to Swift after the initial mate had been found strung upside down from the crow's nest. (Not that Barbossa had anything to do with that. Oh no. Not a nice person like Barbossa.) Back in those days, of course, Barbossa was still doing a lot of ship-jumping, never climbing higher than the rank of first mate, because that made it harder to change vessel at every port. Even though he was starting to lose his youth at that point, he still harboured the youthful hope of finding-

"Ahem."

Barbossa turned away from the interruption and made a special face, the face of a man restraining himself from yodelling and beating his chest with insane abandon before throwing the interruption-maker overboard. He turned to look straight into the eyebrow of a pink and shiny Lovehaste, who was squirming uncomfortably in her breeches. He shuddered.

"Aye?" he demanded, wanting to get back to the internal monologue.

She paused, wriggled a bit more, then said, "Ahem. All this tea."

"Yours," he said helpfully. "And now mine. Hoorah." He toasted her with the teacup, but she just carried on wriggling as if she had something awful trapped between her thighs. "Don't yer like tea?" he demanded. "Yer English, ye ought to."

"I do," she muttered, growing yet more shiny, so that her face as well as her personality began to resemble a waxwork. "But... it does tend to, ah, go straight through one."

It took a while for Barbossa to comprehend what she was gabbling about. "The bilges are downwards," he said politely, "as always."

"They're filthy!" she burst out, a tinge of green appearing in her face so that she looked like a shrimp that had just swum through algae. "They're full of, of, of filth!"

"That's what the bilges are for!" Barbossa replied cheerfully.

Lovehaste looked revolted. "In my ship we had a mechanism involving sea water and a lot of tubs and tubes."

"And your ship is currently sharing this marvellous achievement with the seabed," Barbossa said silkily. "We are pirates, ex-Captain. We don't appreciate the wonders of plumbing. We don't even wipe."

Lovehaste gave him an agonised look and lurched off.