We wait as she pulls out her phone, loading Apple maps.
The two pirates wail, recoiling in horror.
‘The lass has a weapon,’ the pirate steering the boat says, his eyes on us and not the sea. I grip the edge of my seat. ‘There is no option but to defend. Batten down ye old hatches!’
We all look around the boat with cautious expression. There are rows of dusty jars and fake drawn-and-quartered fish on display.
From a stairwell leading down to the heart of the boat comes a wail.
My eyes lock with Sam’s, who immediately bursts into laughter.
As if being given permission, the other guests join in.
I close the gap between us, trying not to reveal my shaking legs.
A gilled hand grips the rope banister, the wail getting louder.
‘Blimey, the siren is on deck,’ come the cries of the pirates. One of them draws a fake sword that looks like it would cost £2 on Amazon. ‘Don’t fear, she will not get a crack at us.’
‘Ye, with the weapon.’ The pirate addresses the girl holding her phone. ‘Ye must defeat the siren.’
The girl looks like she’d rather walk the plank.
A woman with tangled blue hair rises from the depths of the ship. Her skin is covered in scales that reflect the sun, casting rainbow shadows on the oak walls. She holds a trident in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other.
‘Uh oh, Sam,’ I gasp. ‘It’s the Starbucks siren.’
Sam elbows me, and I laugh, leaning into him.
‘Ye claim ye hold the chart,’ the siren directs at the impeccably dressed girl with the phone. ‘But I have the chart. And with this in me hands, ye are to suffer a fateful death at the rocks.’
The pirates shout, pointing to an approaching mountain where jagged rocks catch the white froth of waves.
‘Sam, you’ve put us on board with suicidal pirates.’
This is it. This is how I die.
‘Ye must prise the chart from the wrench’s hands,’ the pirate orders the group.
‘I’m not doing that.’ The designer-clad girl wrinkles her nose.
‘Ye must.’
‘I’m not.’ She turns to her friends. ‘I thought this would be relaxing.’
Her smiling friends quickly change their expressions to match hers.
‘I’ll do it,’ I say, surprising myself. Sam eyes me.
‘Laddie, this is treacherous,’ the pirate exclaims. ‘Ye must be brave and bold.’
‘I can do it.’
Standing, locking my eyes on the siren, I try to channel my inner adventurer.
Sam grabs my hand.
‘Return to land, my sailor,’ he says, his eyes wide. ‘Don’t let me lose my man at sea.’
