After adventures with Charles Darwin, Captain Ahab, and Karl Marx, The Pirate Captain faces off against his toughest—though not his biggest—challenge yet: Napoleon Bonaparte.   Bruised from a crushing disappointment at the Pirate of the Year Awards, the Pirate Captain decides that it’s time for a career change. Before long, his loyal crew, much to their dismay, find themselves en route to St. Helena, a bleak speck of an island a thousand miles from anywhere. But the Captain’s plan for a quiet life rearing bees is interrupted by the arrival of another visitor to the island—the recently deposed Napoleon Bonaparte. Is the island’s twenty-eight mile circumference big enough to contain two of history’s greatest egos? Has the Pirate Captain finally met his match? And who has the best hat?  Once again, Gideon Defoe has given us an exciting, swashbuckling tale of lavish tea parties, planning regulations, and raw political ambition. “[Defoe] can make even pirates seem as cuddly as a teddy bear. . . . [A] funny and downright easy-to-love book.” — Sacramento Book Review “Laugh out-loud.” — Memphis Flyer   “A treasure chest of lighthearted laughs.” — Knoxville News-Sentinel Gideon Defoe is the author of The Pirates! In An Adventure With Scientists, The Pirates! In An Adventure With Ahab and The Pirates! In an Adventure with Communists . You could be forgiven for thinking that he is a bit of a one-trick pony.  He lives in London. ON FIRE AT A HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR ‘The best thing about the seaside,’ said the albino pirate, ‘is putting seaweed on your head and pretending you’re a lady.’ ‘That’s rubbish!’ said the pirate with gout. ‘The best thing about the seaside is building sexy but intelligent looking mermaids out of sand.’ The rest of the pirates, sprawled out on the deck of the pirate boat for their afternoon nap, soon joined in. ‘It’s the rock pools!’ ‘It’s the saucy postcards!’ ‘It’s the creeping sense of despair!’ Pretty soon the crew were a tangle of earrings and teeth and cutlasses. Buckles rattled, blades swished and bits of pirate went everywhere. But before they could really get going the doors to the downstairs of the pirate boat crashed open, and out strode the Pirate Captain himself. If you were to compare the Pirate Captain to a type of sedimentary rock – which after types of tree, creatures, and fonts was the next most popular thing for the pirates to compare stuff to – he would undoubtedly be a slab of polished sandstone, or maybe chert. The pirates all took one look at the Captain and stopped their argument dead in its tracks. Fists froze in mid-swing, and mouths hung agape. The Pirate Captain often had this effect on the crew, but usually it was because they held him in such high regard or because they were dazzled by his fantastically glossy and luxuriant beard. Today though, their sudden speechlessness had more to do with the fact that the Pirate Captain was wearing only a tiny bright-red swimming costume which left nothing to the imagination. ‘What’s all the racket about, you briney swabs?’ bellowed the Pirate Captain, his skin glistening in the sunlight with a strangely oily sheen. ‘Sorry, Captain,’ said the albino pirate. ‘We were just discussing what the best thing about the seaside is.’ ‘The best thing about the seaside?’ ‘Yes, sir. We couldn’t quite decide.’ The pirates waited expectantly for their Captain’s response, and tried not to notice the fit of his trunks. ‘Honestly,’ said the Pirate Captain, after a pregnant pause. ‘I have no idea. What a ridiculous thing to be arguing about.’ And with that the Pirate Captain spun on a shiny heel, and strode back through the heavy wooden doors that led to the inside of the boat. There was an awkward silence as the pirate crew all stared at each other, at a bit of a loss. Pirate feet were shuffled. The pirate in green looked like he was about to say something and then stopped himself. Somewhere, a sea-lion barked. Back downstairs in his office the Pirate Captain stood in front of his full-length mirror, scooped a handful of margarine from a little tub and lathered it thoughtfully into his torso. The office was its usual mess of sextants and astrolabes and half-smoked cigars. On one wall there hung a trophy cabinet that showcased the Captain’s awards from previous adventures. There was a faded rosette labelled ‘Junior Swashbuckler, Obstacle Race – Bronze’, and next to that there was a small cup engraved with ‘Pirate Captain, Best Nautical Oaths, Runner Up’. And the only other item was a pom-pom with a pair of googly eyes that was attached to a short piece of ribbon revealing it to be an award for ‘Second Most Entertaining Anecdote About A Monstrous Manatee’. The Pirate Captain had just started to gaze a bit sadly at the empty space right in the middle of the cabinet when there was a knock at the door, and so he quickly looked back at his mirror and tried to adopt a businesslike air. The Captain’s loyal deputy, the pirate with a