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Alexander Woyte
and the Pirates (and Goblins)
how Alex became a prentice pirate
unable
to phone home
by
Zsolt Kerekes
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| Captain Feary's list of Pirate Books |
| In 2024 I compiled a list of pirate stories which influenced the writing of that old book of mine ...read the article |
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4 books I
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audiobook - Alexander Woyte and the Pirates (and Goblins)news: April 28, 2024 - Google Play Books today published an audiobook version of the novel for kids Alexander Woyte and the Pirates (and Goblins) written by Zsolt Kerekes who has published 4 books for children. Running time is 4 hr 5 min approx. Click here to listen to the first 10% of the book free You've only got to look at the cover to see why it's so hard to summarize this book. In a recent tweet the author @goblinsearch said "My children's novel Alexander Woyte and the Pirates (and Goblins) is an education in matters of global warming, pirates, sharks, submarines and lawyers." |
read a sample
Alexander Woyte and the Pirates (and Goblins)Chapter 1 - it's thawing out piratesIt was February 2001 in Privett and it was raining. In January it rained and washed away the first sprinkle of snow. In December — before that - it had rained on New Year's Eve and made the bonfire go smoky. Alexander's godmother Janet had used her magic skills to light the fireworks at her farm in Baughurst, so the rockets shrieked up in the air with a bang, which surprised the brown chickens who slept in the deernibbled yew hedge by the back door to the kitche.n These pernickety chickens - to affirm their free range status - had unanimously voted for this hedge in preference to sleeping in the empty, antique, waggon-wheeled, wooden chicken palace (which had been loving restored for them) or sleeping with their noisy relations in the high rise of the leaning apple tree by the garage. Winning arguments in favor of hedge quarters being: Location! Location! Closest to kitchen. And first to be corn fed at breakfast.  On this damp New Year's Eve party night Alexander had to stand inside the garden shed out of the rain while the rockets were being aimed, and then dash out to see the trail of light flashing upwards into the sky. Then back in again to keep dry. The hedgequarters chickens wondered if it would be all right for them to temporarily pretend to be battery hens and sneak inside the garden shed with the humans. But they stayed in their prickly nest, because they were suspicious of all this dashing about in the dark, and had heard rumors about a barbecue. In November, before that, it rained and all the roads got flooded. Then some of the roads got renamed into rivers. Then some of the rivers got renamed into lakes. The swans were happy. But Alexander was not. It seemed like it had been raining for ages. The last time it didn't rain was nearly a year ago, on the night when Alexander got kidnapped by the goblin king, Gunnar who lived in Petersfield. Alexander and the goblin king were friends now, ever since his father Andrew had come to the rescue and chopped off the king's head. De-coronation only kills a goblin king if the sword is made of silver, but that's another story. A few days ago Alexander asked one of his minders to ask the king if the magic of the goblins had anything to do with all the rain. The answer came back this afternoon - a letter - rolled in a damp canvass envelope - written on foxed parchment and delivered by registered goblin. As it was from the king - the messenger offered to read it out for him. It said this. To: Alexander Woyte (Amicus Goblinorum) Dear Alex Regarding all this rain, and your question about whether the goblins have got anything to do with it.... The answer is.. No! Yours sincerely Gunnar, Rex Goblinorum PS - I saw a programme on Red Hot Goblin the other day. They said , it was "global warming". Hope that clears things up. PPS - I hope my minions are looking after you. If they cause any gyp, let me know and I'll feed them to the dogs. "What does that mean?" said Alexander. Sleepsalot, one of the minions assigned to look after him, explained. - "The king doesn't like dogs." The thought of global warming and the cold wet rain which rattled at the cottage's bedroom window made Alexander feel chilly. So, a few minutes after he was tucked up by his mother in the top bunk of his bed, when he was sure she had gone, he slid out again to put on a warm shooting jacket, his green warm hat, a pair of gloves and some fur lined boots. Then he climbed back up into his bed and snuggled in tight, being careful not to step on any goblins on the way up. Because his goblin minders were allowed to sleep on the lower bunk. That's not how it started. But if you've ever got a new cat or dog in your house you know how this goes. They kept to that part of the bargain, but sometimes such as on his birthday or Christmas, they did have some "quiet" midnight parties which none of the grown ups knew about. "Goodnight goblins" he said. "Goodnight Alex!" chirped Eatsalot, the fat little goblin, who was still awake. "Goodnight Alex…" yawned Sleepsalot, the thin little goblin who was trying hard to stay awake on guard duty. "Bonsoir Alex," said Buvealot, a visiting Gallic Goblin who had done a student exchange with Lancelot the goblin who was visiting his long lost relations in San Marlo. Lancelot's family had come over to Hampshire in the middle dark ages as a squire for the famous human knight known as Lancelot du Lac, when he joined the court of King Arthur in Camelot (which as all goblins know was actually in Petersfield, and not in Winchester as most human historians mistakenly think). Lancelot's singing was nowhere nearly as sweet in real life as you might think if you'd seen the sing-a-long-a-Lancelot in the 1967 musical Camelot. This atonal discordance was the root canal cause of the bust up between King Arthur and his favorite (when fighting out of earshot) French knight - whose chanting in the bath or supping at the Round Table was worse than a howling goblin karaoke or the high pitched whining of a dentist's drill. It simply got on everyone's wick. A couple of bottles of Vin du Dark Ages Ordinaire were enough to set him off. Hound dogs have sensitive hearing and they would be the first to creep out from under the table, make their excuses and leave. The only way to shut him up was either to give him more to drink (in the hope he would pass out) or hit him over the head with another bottle (which was a lot quicker). Squire Lancelot's heirs in England lost contact with their goblin cousins in (what later became) France - due to lots of human wars between the two countries - and a rare genetic tendency towards seasickness, which meant they avoided voyages if they had any choice in the matter. Fifteen hundred years later - when the Channel Tunnel opened - connecting England to France without the use of wobbly boats - contact was reestablished between the separated goblin families and the modern Lancelot of Petersfield was welcomed as a long lost nephew by his Gallic cousins. Which was lucky for him as he avoided getting his feet wet. That night - back on the top bunk of his bed - and wrapped up warm in his outdoor clothes - Alexander dreamed of water… and somehow his dream got mixed up with a strange sight which was unfurling somewhere far, far away to the north… How far north? Well my map doesn't go that far. It was certainly much further north from Privett than Basingstoke, further north than the county (which would rather be a country) of Yorkshire, and even further north than Scotland, but not quite so far as the North Pole. Somewhere in that cold icy sea, where the Titanic met her doom nearly a hundred years earlier, global warming was having a drip, drip dripping effect on a funny looking iceberg.  Drip, drip splash, drip. It looked like a ship had once been caught in the ice and was now seeing the dawn sky for the first time in hundreds of years, as icicles hung from the rigging and then came crashing down like spears sticking in the wooden deck. Crash. Shatter. Another one speared the deck, and then shattered. Captain Feary had been watching these deadly ice shards crashing all around him through his one good eye (the left one without the patch, for the past ten minutes). He was wondering if he might be standing right beneath one of these ice skewers. Crash, shatter. That one landed close. The trouble is, he was still frozen stiff and couldn't dodge out of the way. Crash, shatter. A small spike of ice stuck in the brim of his tricornered hat. He couldn't remember how long he had been standing here watching the icicles melting. The last thing he remembered was being chased by those navy ships which had spotted them in the Irish Sea, and hung on their coat tails all the way up into the ice pack. The navy boats gave up there. It was one thing to stake your chances on the outcome of a cannonade with a pirate ship. That was glorious fun. But only a foolish navy captain would risk his ship and reputation on being needlessly mashed into ice cream. So they hung around the edge of the ice field for a little while shooting off a few broadsides and starting avalanches all over the place just to show they had been there. And honor having thus been satisfied, set sail for sunny Portsmouth. Captain Feary and his pirate crew had just broken out the rum to have a little celebration, when an ice storm hit them very suddenly. The alcohol in their blood had actually helped to preserve them and stopped their blood vessels from rupturing as they defrosted. "Brrrr." Behind him, Captain Feary heard someone shivering. So he was not the only survivor... end of this sample you can read a much longer free sample on Amazon |
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