'Look,' she said, trying to intercede.

'I wasn't born,' said Archibald proudly. 'I got grown in a test tube.'

'Precisely, dear, precisely,' said Mrs Wingsworth. 'And you were grown with a purpose in mind. We need someone to do the grubby jobs, don't we?'

'Huh?' said Archibald.

'What Mrs Wingsworth means—' began Martha.

'She means we're dirty,' said Dashiel as he and Jocelyn marched back into the cocktail lounge. 'And she's right, ain't she? We are dirty. We fight dirty. An' we don't care when we kill our prisoners.'

Mrs Wingsworth seemed poised to protest but thought better of it. Which was just as well, thought Martha, as the pirates were in an even worse mood than before. Judging by the surly looks on their faces they hadn't found what they were after.

'What's been 'appenin', Archie?' Dashiel demanded.

Archibald carefully put the tray of cheese and pineapple sticks back down on the bar and headed over to his colleagues. His body sagged as he went over, Martha noticed. When it had just been him, he looked taller, tougher, more in control. When the others badgers were around, though, he became like a sulky teenager.

'I was askin' 'em questions,' he told Dashiel.

'Find anythin' out?' Dashiel asked him.

'Nah,' said Archibald. 'They're pretty stupid.'

Martha couldn't stop Mrs Wingsworth. 'Well really!' she huffed, more than a little too loudly.

'You got summin' to say, 'ave you?' growled Dashiel, jabbing his gun towards her.

Mrs Wingsworth trembled where she stood. 'No,' she squeaked.

Martha reached out her hand and took hold of Mrs Wingsworth's tentacle. There was little she could do if the badgers turned on any of the prisoners, but Mrs Wingsworth seemed grateful for the gesture and her trembling began to ease.

'Don't annoy them,' Martha whispered.

'I don't mean to, dear,' Mrs Wingsworth whispered back. 'But, you know, I mean really...'

The three badger pirates conferred by the door back into the ballroom. Martha edged forward to better hear what they were saying, but Mrs Wingsworth held her back.

'Don't, dear!' she whispered. 'They'll kill you.' And Martha didn't need to get any nearer; Dashiel was so angry he didn't bother to keep his voice down.

'We found the bridge,' he growled, 'but couldn't get in there.'

'An' we couldn't find the engines,' said Jocelyn.

'It's that door with the stuff,' Dashiel told her. 'I bet you.'

'Could be,' said Jocelyn. 'But you know what Captain Florence'd say. You can't prove it, can you?'

'An' what about the others?' asked Archibald.

Dashiel glanced over at Martha and the tentacled aliens before he said anything further. He whispered, but Martha didn't need to hear the words. To want to keep it secret could mean only one thing: these three badgers were all there were. And Martha could deal with three badger-faced pirates.

'There's food here if you want it,' she said, gathering up the tray of cheese and pineapple on sticks and taking it over to them. Again the tray had replenished itself; despite what Archibald had taken just a moment ago, the tray was full again.

'What's this?' asked Jocelyn warily.

'Oh, yeah,' said Archibald. 'You should try these.' He showed his colleagues how to eat the cheese and pineapple and what to do with the sticks. Dashiel and Jocelyn followed his example, and like him their eyes widened with amazement.

'That's amazing!' said Dashiel. 'That's like . . .' He trailed off, unable to think of words to describe what it tasted like.

'It's nice!' agreed Jocelyn, wowed by the very idea that food could taste good.

'You,' said Dashiel, prodding Martha with his paw. 'What's this stuff called?'

Before Martha could answer she heard a tutting behind her. She didn't need to guess who that was.

'You,' said Dashiel. 'Come 'ere.'

Martha watched in horror as Mrs Wingsworth came forward. Her tentacles trembled with fear but Martha saw her struggling not to show that she was scared.

'I really didn't mean anything by it,' said Mrs Wingsworth, talking quickly. 'But really, dears, it is funny. I mean, imagine! You've never even seen a canapé.'

'Canner-peas,' growled Dashiel, still holding a half-eaten cheese and pineapple stick. 'That's what they're called?'

'Yeah,' said Martha, trying to calm the situation. 'That's a posh name for finger food. I call them "nibbles".' It was like any family party, with her having to be the peacemaker. Except when her parents argued, they weren't also wielding guns.

'Nibbles,' said Dashiel slowly. 'Cos you nibble on 'em. Yeah.' He seemed quite taken with the word, and finished the cheese and pineapple stick as he considered. Martha stepped forward, proffering the tray so he could put the stick into the little silver box. She didn't withdraw, waiting in front of him until he took another cheese and pineapple stick from her tray. Anything to keep his mind off the gun in his other hand.

'We've also got sausage rolls and scotch eggs,' she told him, 'and those things like baby pizzas.'

'Cor,' said Dashiel and Jocelyn together.

'"Things like baby pizzas"!' said Mrs Wingsworth, aghast.

'What now?!' shouted Dashiel, storming over to her. Mrs Wingsworth threw her tentacles up in front of her wide and orange face. The other tentacled aliens quickly withdrew to the far side of the room, leaving Mrs Wingsworth on her own with Dashiel.

'She didn't mean it!' said Martha quickly. She wasn't sure what she could do to stop him, especially with the tray of cheese and pineapple sticks in her hands.

'You shut up,' Dashiel snapped at her. 'Now,' he said to Mrs Wingsworth, prodding her egg-shaped body with his gun, 'you tell me. What?'

Mrs Wingsworth seemed to consider her predicament and conclude she had nothing to lose. She visibly relaxed, meeting Dashiel's gaze and holding it.

'I know you can't help it, dear,' she said. 'But you three are just an absolute shambles. Coming aboard like this, all threats and violence. And you don't even know what you're eating! My boys could tell you what made the best blinis – that is what they're called, young woman – before they were fully hatched!'

Dashiel seemed transfixed by the performance. He knew he was being insulted, Martha could see, but he didn't quite understand how. The cheese and pineapple sticks were a brief taste of a life he and his colleagues had never even known. And for all this tentacled alien prisoner taunted him, the insult also gave a tantalising glimpse of a life where you could take this luscious stuff for granted. A life where food had different names.

Martha glanced over at Jocelyn and Archibald. They too were watching avidly, hanging on what Mrs Wingsworth had to say. It was just possible, she thought, that the tentacled alien had made them rethink their pirate ways.

'Yeah,' murmured Jocelyn.

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald hungrily. 'Go on, do it, Dash.'

And Martha suddenly saw that she had got it wrong. They weren't hungry at the thought of Mrs Wingsworth's world of canapés. They were excited because she'd just given them an excuse to kill her.

'Please,' said Martha, taking the tray of cheese and pineapple sticks with her as she went over to Dashiel.

'I said shut up!' he snapped at her, his eyes never leaving Mrs Wingsworth.

Mrs Wingsworth did not look away from him. 'It's all right, dear,' she told Martha. 'I'd rather get it over with now than spend any more time with this riff-raff.' She smiled with satisfaction, like somehow she'd just won a board game.

Dashiel took a step back from her and raised his gun.

'No!' cried Martha, dropping the tray to one side as she ran forward. Dashiel swiped her away with one paw, sending her sprawling across the floor, on top of the spilt cheese and pineapple sticks. Stunned, she looked up in time to see Dashiel pulling the trigger.