The Pirate Apprentice

Prologue

No one saw them coming.

Here they were, in a ship the size of an apartment block, hurtling towards Earth at such a speed that one pirate was already wearing a neck-brace, and not a soul saw them. Satellites missed them, radar didn't know they were there, the only person who had an inkling was the astronomer Dr Finklestein – and he was crazier than a hat full of hornets.

The ship adjusted its wings, a small burst of fire escaping from its mouth as it flew onwards and downwards.

'Prepare for landing,' said the captain, which was followed by a grimace.

And that was the problem. No one may have seen them soaring through the night-time sky, but landings were a point of contention. In fact, the crew no longer called them landings; they called them impacts.

And this one was no different.

The pirate ship looked majestic as it swooped towards the ground. Its wings stretched wide and its feet extended. The ship appeared unnaturally beautiful as it skidded along the grassy surface, balancing precariously on ostrich legs that were as incongruous as the rest of the ship. But anyone watching would've seen the moment the ship knew it had lost its balance – there was an instant of terror in its eyes, followed by an almighty crash. Dirt and grass were ripped from the earth, a trench carved through the middle of the field, and the slide of the massive ship was halted by a row of large trees.

'Deliberate,' said the ship, unconvincingly.

The crew may not have agreed with him, but when your ship is half-dragon, they also knew better than to disagree with him. But another failed landing, or successful impact, wasn't their biggest problem. Sure, it shook the crew up, damaged the hull, and was just plain embarrassing at pirate get-togethers. But when you're trying to remain a secret from an entire planet, then a crash drew unwanted attention.

'We're here,' said the captain. 'And almost all in one piece.'

The dragon-ship coughed and a brief burst of flames illuminated their leafy surroundings.

The pirate in the neck-brace turned to the captain. 'Have you got the right house?' He paused for a second. 'This time.'

'What do you take me for?' said the captain.

The collective silence from the crew was overwhelming.

The dragon-ship extracted himself from the row of trees, regained his feet, and lumbered awkwardly across a field towards the only visible house. He stepped over the dent in the earth from his impact, hoping that in the darkness none of the crew noticed.

The house was comparatively small, as most things are to a dragon-ship, and he peered in through the second-floor window as the pirates disembarked.

But then he sneezed...

* * *

Henry didn't merely sleep – he hibernated. Which worried his mother so much that she became a virtual insomniac. His father, on the other hand, thought sleep was a sign of weakness. He would often say, 'When I was a boy we didn't have time for sleep. There were cows to be milked, lessons to be learnt, and mines to be mined. I didn't have a full night's sleep until I married your mother.'

Henry's mother would nod in resigned agreement whilst stifling a yawn.

His Dad would then lean in and say, 'You know, that boy sleeps so deeply, you could set his bed on fire and he'd still not wake up.' It was one of his jokes, oft repeated. He was a chartered accountant and so not a funny man. Henry's Dad was also wrong.

But it wasn't the acrid smell of smoke that woke Henry, nor was it the heat from the flaming duvet. It was the large bearded man bouncing vigorously on the end of his bed. Even still, Henry woke slowly, reluctantly. The bedroom lights were on, their brightness forcing him to squint, so he couldn't make out exactly what was happening.