It has been an eventful week.
Beaver has been furious - most of his followers have deserted him. Fed up with the freezing cold weather they have jumped ship, picking up lifts from passing cargo vessels heading back to Badfort.
Even the last of the old families of Homesea have disappeared, unable to live in their freezing homes.
Even Captain Walrus have pleaded prior Christmas engagements and have gone back to Homeward.
And, so much for the remaining pirates claims to have turned over a new leaf.
They have been inviting there friends to stay in the empty houses.
Allsorts of disreputable looking people have been turning up in various sea-going vessels. Smugglers of one kind and another have been using Homesea as their headquarters. And worse than smugglers. It was like the old times for Homesea - the very old times.
Being the only remaining people who started out on the long journey from the coast of Homeward, Beaver, Hitmouse, the Old Monkey and I have formed a uneasy truce.
One moonless night we strolled up Mermaid Street together surveying the sad state of affairs the village had descended into.
A babble of oaths and arguments came from the Mermaid Inn, then the sounds of tables being overturned and glasses breaking. A bottle came hurtling through one of the windows and splintered on the cobbles. Then a man came running out followed by a figure with a knife that gleamed in the lamplight.
There was a woman's voice wailing a strange eastern chant from Elder House, and a rattle of dice from the opium den now located in Mermaid Cottage.
"Honestly," declared Beaver "this is the kind of behaviour that gives anarchism a bad name!"
"I'm not even getting my cut - it should be 20% of all proceeds at least!" he added.
"So are you in agreement that something needs to be done? are you prepared to serve under me in the Homesea Guard?" I asked him.
Beaver looked dubious.
"I'll let you wear an officers cap?" I offered.
Beaver beamed "Right you are Unc - lead the way. Lets get at 'em!"
There was soon a running battle up and down the cobbled streets, in and out of the hidden passages and alleyways, over the jumbled roofs and even from cellar to cellar of the oldest houses.
One after another, amid cries and curses in several languages, the vessels of the smugglers and pirates put to sea, and quiet returned to the streets of the village.
"Excellent, kicking up Unc!" cried Beaver.
"I must admit you were very handy with the cudgel, Beaver" I replied.
"Well aimed skewers, Mister Hitmouse!" said the Old Monkey.
"Yeah, I've had a lot of practise," sniggered Hitmouse "must say, those monkey martial arts is pretty impressive." he added more respectfully.
"So, the village is ours, again!" declared Beaver and Hitmouse.
"Yes, ours again!" the Old Monkey and I added in unison.
Beaver and Hitmouse looked askance at us. "Yeah, but don't forget I'm the boss. I was democritically elected by the people of Homesea!" said Beaver.
The Old Monkey and I looked around the deserted streets.
Here we go again, I thought.
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