Agatha Armitage: letter twenty-five

Featuring octopi & pear juice.

Dear Friend,

I am rather enjoying my time at sea, and have found it is actually remarkably convenient to be surrounded by vast bodies of salted water. Whenever your soup is not properly seasoned, you need only fill a vial with sea water and pour it artfully on top. I believe I may start doing all of my cooking at sea…

It is my sixth day, and The Cobblers are a charming bunch (who love shoes more than any group of persons I have ever met - even more than that kleptomaniac squirrel who stole your flip-flops in Bolivia). There are sneakers tied to the doorframes, boat shoes stuck to the ceiling and maryjanes piled on the dinner table (which, I must admit, can make it quite difficult to eat - especially because it is ABSOLUTELY forbidden to tarnish good shoes).

Every evening, we spend three hours admiring all of the shoes which were made that day. This is a silent and sacred affair which involves the whole company sitting cross-legged on the deck, regardless of the weather (if it rains, the shoes obviously must take priority, and there are so many pairs that there are never any umbrellas left for the crew).

I have made friends with a lovely Cobbler called Penny T. Loafer, who has taken me under her wing (she likes to dress like an eagle when she is not cobbling). She is very lovely, but also quite convinced that my name is Tabitha Owledge, and that I am part owl… which maybe, actually, is why she and her eagle costume have taken such a liking to me…

Now the only tiny problem with this ship is that Cobblers do not drink tea. This came out last night when we were singing to the octopus (the Cobblers are careful to stay on good terms with all local octopi, given how proficient they are at stretching out shoes. Whenever they cobble a new design, they will ask an octopus to sit inside it for a while until it is fully broken in. In exchange, the octopus is granted a warm bed for the night (and when I say ‘bed’, I mean that the main cabin is temporarily flooded with water so that the octopus can sleep soundly… It’s good to be respectful, but my poor solar-powered kettle short-circuited as a result…)).

Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes, the two-headed seagull, who wasn’t two-headed at all! Oh no, that wasn’t it, was it...!

I was telling you instead - prepare yourself - that the cobblers DO NOT LIKE TEA, and exclusively drink pear juice of all things! This alarmed me at first (after all, you know what they say - never trust someone who drinks fewer than four mugs of tea a day!), but I have decided to not judge them - too harshly - for their poor tastebuds. And, in fairness, I would rather be at sea with non-tea-drinkers than Agatharian tea-drinkers (the official word for copious tea-drinking, as of last year! Check the Oxford English Dictionary if you don’t believe me! It is rather an honour…).

As it stands, I only have 87 teabags left (spread between my shoes and my umbrella lining, in case one supply is located and stolen).

Writing that reminds me that I actually probably should be quite worried…

That might have to be it for today, dear friend… I think I must go and do some Proper Worrying on the deck. This really is looking like it could turn pear-shaped (which is to say, I might be stuck drinking pear juice instead of tea, which would not do at all).

Think of me.

Your friend,

Agatha