Jake Cake: The Pirate Curse Read online

  Michael Broad spent much of his childhood gazing out of the window imagining he was somewhere more interesting.

  Now he’s a grown-up Michael still spends a lot of time gazing out of the window imagining he’s somewhere more interesting – but now he writes and illustrates books as well.

  Some of them are picture books, like Broken Bird and The Little Star Who Wished.

  Books by Michael Broad

  JAKE CAKE: THE FOOTBALL BEAST

  JAKE CAKE: THE PIRATE CURSE

  JAKE CAKE: THE ROBOT DINNER LADY

  JAKE CAKE: THE SCHOOL DRAGON

  JAKE CAKE: THE VISITING VAMPIRE

  JAKE CAKE: THE WEREWOLF TEACHER

  Michael Broad

  PUFFIN

  This book is dedicated to my friend Michael. M

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  puffinbooks.com

  First published 2008

  1

  Copyright © Michael Broad, 2008

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author/illustrator has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by

  way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s

  prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a

  similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  978-0-14-191811-2

  Here are three UNBELiEVABLE

  Stories about the

  times I met:

  A Pirate

  An Alien

  And a Genie

  I was leaving school on Friday afternoon, minding my own business, when suddenly I got ambushed at the gates!

  ‘COOEEE! ANGEL CAKE!’ Mum shrieked, planting a big kiss on my cheek in front of all my classmates. If that wasn’t bad enough, she then dragged me off to go shopping!

  A surprise school-gate ambush usually means shopping for clothes, shopping for shoes, or even worse – shopping for UNDERWEAR!

  But luckily, this shopping trip had nothing to do with me. Mum had just picked me up from school because she was running late.

  ‘We’re going to the antique shop to look at a rather nice vase I’ve had my eye on,’ Mum explained. ‘So I don’t want any trouble or made-up stories about haunted rocking horses or any other nonsense.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ I sighed, even though the haunted rocking horse wasn’t made up. It went on the rampage last time Mum dragged me around an antique shop, but I’ll tell you about that another time.

  Mum likes collecting antiques, even though Dad calls them ‘overpriced junk’, and as we stepped inside the rickety old shop I had to agree with Dad. The shop was crammed full of dusty wooden furniture piled up with old clocks and lamps and ugly china ornaments.

  ‘There it is!’ Mum gasped. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

  I frowned at the lumpy green vase and was wondering whether or not to tell Mum it looked like a big bogey when a scruffy-looking man leapt out of nowhere and grabbed my wrists!

  ‘Sticky fingers?’ he hissed, turning my hands over to inspect them. ‘Are you planning to plant mucky fingerprints all over my precious antiques?’

  ‘It’s OK, Mr Crooke,’ Mum chuckled. ‘This is my son, Jake.’

  ‘Ah, Mrs Cake!’ said the man, as I snatched my hands back and shoved them in my pockets. ‘You can never be too careful with children’s mucky paws. They touch everything!’

  ‘You’re quite right, Mr Crooke!’ said Mum, and then went on to reassure the scruffy old man that I would behave myself in his scruffy old shop. I was getting bored with the conversation going on over my head when I noticed a sign at the back of the shop that said Treasure Chests.

  Hmmm, I thought.

  Mum and Mr Crooke moved over to the bogey-vase so I grabbed my chance and snuck away through the maze of furniture and into the treasure-chest section. But what Mr Crooke called treasure chests was actually just a hoard of tatty wooden boxes.

  ‘Overpriced junk,’ I mumbled.

  I was about to leave when I glimpsed something dull and brassy at the back of the room and stepped through the stacks of boxes to investigate. There I found a proper treasure chest with a curved top, brass edges and barnacles stuck all over it!

  ‘Now that’s more like it!’ I gasped. Because barnacles mean ships, and ships mean pirates, and pirates mean treasure!

  I kneeled down and brushed the dust and cobwebs from the front to reveal the words ‘Old Crusty’ carved into the wood in old-fashioned lettering. There was no lock on the chest, but when I tried to lift the lid it was stuck fast and didn’t budge a millimetre.

  I tapped the back, nudged the edges and heaved the lid again, but it was as if the whole thing had been welded shut.

  I stood up and looked around, just to make sure creepy Mr Crooke hadn’t crept up behind me, then I swung my right leg and gave the chest an almighty kick.

  The lid immediately flew open with a massive windy WHOOOOOSH!

  The wind knocked me off my feet and on to the dusty floor, and when I looked up I saw a huge pirate towering above me! He was a little bit see-through, which meant he was probably a ghost, but that didn’t make him any less fierce and scary.

  ‘WHO DARES TO STEAL ME TREASURE?’ he boomed, waving a sword in one hand and a hook in the other – actually the hook was his other hand.

  ‘WHOEVER YE BE – YE HAVE AWAKENED THE CURSE OF OLD CRUSTY! OO-ARRH!’

  The pirate wore an eye patch and was peering around the stacked boxes with his good eye, which couldn’t have been that good because he still hadn’t seen me. In the chest below him I could see a huge pile of gold coins.

  ‘Where be ye hiding, coward?’ he snarled, baring his blackened teeth.

  The pirate’s weary-looking parrot shuffled along his shoulder, whispered in his ear and jabbed his beak in my direction. Then Old Crusty looked down and saw me sprawled on the floor.

  ‘Why, it be nought but a shrimpy tadpole!’ said the pirate, with a disappointed frown. ‘What say ye, Shrimpy Tadpole?’

  ‘Hello?’ I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘Be ye after Old Crusty’s treasure?’ he demanded, jabbing his sword at the coins in the chest.

  ‘Er, no,’ I lied. ‘Not really…’ ‘Did ye give the special kick to me booty box?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I did kick it,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t know you were in there.’

  ‘It matters not what ye know, Shrimpy Tadpole!’ said the pirate. ‘Ye have awakened the curse of Old Crusty. Scourge of the six seas –’
/>   The parrot rolled its eyes and whispered in the pirate’s ear again.

  – ‘scourge of the seven seas!’ Crusty corrected. ‘Ye will be visited tonight and every night thereafter, and made to scrub the filthy decks of the phantom pirate ship Black Bessie UNTIL THE END OF TIME!’

  With this, another WHOOSH of salty wind whipped around the room, Old Crusty was sucked back into the treasure chest and the lid slammed shut behind him. I was about to heave a sigh of relief when I noticed the WHOOSH of salty wind had unsettled the stacks of boxes, which were now swaying back and forth above me, until…

  CRASH!

  They all came tumbling down around me, and the racket of falling boxes was followed by the sound of two sets of angry footsteps charging through the shop. Then I heard two outraged voices. One was yelling ‘WHAT ON EARTH!’ and the other was yelling ‘STICKY FINGERS!’

  Mum sent me to bed early that night, but not before giving me a long lecture about making up pirate stories. She also told Dad that it was my fault we didn’t have a beautiful new vase for the mantelpiece. Dad nodded sympathetically, but I could tell he was secretly pleased.

  I was lying in bed and worrying about the curse of Old Crusty when it occurred to me that if the pirate couldn’t. find me in the shop without help from the parrot, he probably wouldn’t be able to find my house either.

  Our cat Fatty waddled into my room and hissed at me. Fatty doesn’t like me and usually likes to gloat when I’m in trouble, but then I noticed he wasn’t hissing at me – he was hissing at the empty space at the end of my bed.

  A familiar salty wind whipped around the room as Old Crusty rose up at the base of my bed, waving his sword and hook. ‘YE HAVE AWAKENED THE CURSE OF OLD CRUSTY, SCOURGE OF THE EIGHT SEAS –’

  The parrot made a movement towards the pirate’s ear and then froze when he saw Fatty behind him, licking his lips and getting ready to pounce. Fatty never does anything energetic, unless there’s food involved, so he must have shot through the air thinking his efforts would be rewarded with a nice colourful bird to eat.

  The parrot didn’t move as the hissing ball of fur sailed towards him and continued not to move as Fatty passed right through his feathered body, landing in a fat heap on my bed.

  The parrot and the pirate looked quite amused when Fatty bounced off the bed with a thud and stomped out of the room. I chuckled too, until I remembered I had a pirate curse to deal with.

  Old Crusty scratched his head with the hook. OUCH! And then picked up where he’d left off. ‘YE HAVE AWAKENED THE CURSE OF OLD CRUSTY, SCOURGE OF THE NINE SEAS –’ at which point the parrot sighed heavily.

  ‘Um, Mr Crusty?’ I said, keen to skip another reading of the curse.

  ‘Captain Crusty!’ corrected the pirate. ‘Old Crusty to me mateys.’

  ‘Sorry. Captain Crusty?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, young Shrimpy Tadpole?’

  ‘Um, I was just wondering about the curse,’ I said. ‘It’s just that I haven’t technically stolen your treasure because it’s still in your chest. And I’m sorry I woke you up, but I was bored because my mum took me to the antique shop.’

  ‘Arr, I knows about boredom, young Shrimpy Tadpole,’ said the pirate, scratching his beard with the hook. OUCH! Again. ‘I’ve been waiting in that trunk for over three hundred years, and most of that time was under water!’

  The parrot nodded slowly to indicate that he found it boring too.

  ‘Er, why?’ I asked. ‘Couldn’t you just do something else?’

  ‘But who would guard me treasure?’ Old Crusty gasped.

  ‘Well,’ I said, and I tried to say what I was going to say carefully. ‘You don’t actually need the treasure any more, do you? Being dead and all. It’s not as though you could do anything with it.’

  ‘But what would I do instead?’ he said. ‘I’m a pirate! All I knows is the sea.’

  I thought about it for a minute, wondering what I’d do if I was a ghostly pirate with nothing to do. And then I had an idea.

  ‘You could haunt a speedboat!’ I said excitedly. ‘Or a really fast yacht!’

  Old Crusty put his sword away and sat on the end of the bed. ‘Tell me about speedboats and yachts, young Shrimpy Tadpole,’ he said, with a mischievous black-toothed grin.

  I was up half the night chatting with Old Crusty, explaining about speedboats and yacht races, and everything else I thought a three-hundred-year-old pirate might need to know. He was amazed at how fast boats can go these days, and the parrot flapped his wings excitedly.

  Then Old Crusty told me what it was really like to be a pirate.

  As well as sailing the seven seas, stealing jewels and gold coins, they also looted ships transporting chocolate from the Americas – which definitely explained the blackened teeth!

  Old Crusty obviously missed being a pirate, but he was also very keen to give speedboats and yachts a go! Then he told me all about the treasure in his chest and how the curse could only be broken if someone claimed the booty.

  ‘So ye must open the chest one more time, young Shrimpy,’ he said.

  ‘That might be a bit tricky,’ I replied.

  ‘… and I’m just too embarrassed to show my face there again,’ Mum said firmly the next day.

  ‘But what about the bogey – I mean, beautiful green vase?’ I said.

  Mum paused for a moment and looked at the empty space on the mantelpiece. It was the first time she’d wavered all morning and I knew it was time to play my ace card.

  ‘And while we’re there I can apologize properly and tidy up the mess I caused,’ I said, and to seal the deal I smiled innocently and imagined a halo glowing over my head.

  There was no sign of Mr Crooke when we entered the antique shop, so I quickly weaved through the maze of furniture. I was heading straight for the treasure chests when the shopkeeper leapt out of nowhere again, but this time he was waving a crowbar in the air!

  ‘ARRRGH!’ I screamed and froze to the spot.

  ‘There you are, Mr Crooke!’ Mum said, weaving through the furniture behind me. ‘Jake has come to apologize for the incident yesterday and to tidy up any mess he caused.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ snapped Mr Crooke, folding his arms to block my way. ‘Good day, Mrs Cake.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mum frowned. ‘But I would still like to buy that beautiful vase –’

  ‘It’s not for sale any more!’ Crooke interrupted rudely. ‘Good day !’

  ‘Well, really!’ Mum gasped, and stormed off towards the door. ‘Come on, Jake, we’re leaving!’

  I was still eyeing up the dodgy shopkeeper and trying to work out what he was up to, because I was pretty sure he was up to something. Then my eyes fell on the crowbar and I noticed there was a bit of barnacle stuck on the end.

  ‘You’re trying to open Old Crusty’s treasure chest!’ I gasped, as Mr Crooke quickly tucked the crowbar behind his back. ‘Well, I already opened it yesterday by accident and a crowbar won’t do it.’

  ‘That’s impossible!’ hissed Mr Crooke. ‘I’ve been working on it for years!’

  ‘It’s stuffed full of gold coins,’ I added.

  ‘Those coins are mine!’ Mr Crooke growled. ‘How did you open it?’

  ‘I’m not sure I should tell you after you were so rude to my mum,’ I said, folding my arms. ‘Which is a shame, because she really does like that horrible bogey-vase –’

  ‘MRS CAKE!’ squealed Mr Crooke, hurrying over to the counter. He grabbed the bogey-vase, wrapped it in newspaper and handed it to Mum with a cheesy grin. ‘To apologize for my appalling manners.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly,’ Mum said, while still reaching for the parcel.

  ‘I insist!’ he blurted. ‘Your son apologized so convincingly for the trouble yesterday, he quite won me over! So let’s put it all behind us and say no more about it.’

  ‘Really?’ Mum said, smiling at me. ‘And you don’t need help cleaning up the mess he made?’

  ‘Now that you mention it,
’ said Mr Crooke, pretending to remember something. ‘I could use a hand for a moment with one of the boxes, if that’s all right with you, of course?’

  Mum nodded eagerly and began pulling at the paper parcel to peer at the bogey-vase.

  Old Crusty’s treasure chest was exactly where I’d left it, so I strolled over and gave it a swift kick. The lid immediately flew open with a massive WHOOOOOSH! Then the salty whirlwind whipped around the room again and Old Crusty rose up from the gold coins.

  ‘WHO DARES TO STEAL ME TREASURE?’ he boomed, waving his sword through the air. ‘WHOEVER YE BE…’ The pirate paused as the parrot whispered in his ear again. ‘Well, shiver me timbers! It be young Shrimpy Tadpole!’

  ‘Hello, Captain Crusty,’ I said.

  ‘Old Crusty!’ he corrected, with a black, toothy smile. ‘Ye be a true matey for coming back to help this salty old sea dog!’