Silvertime had advised against the passage for the meeting of the currents was chaotic, making it difficult to navigate especially as the ship was in dire need of repair. Yet Valgur would rather fight the current than another crew, and so they traced a dangerous route close enough for Picaro to spy out the churning mouth of the whirlpool from atop the crow’s nest. It looked like the mouth of an angry old god that was threatening to swallow up the sea, Picaro thought.Yet to their great fortune they encountered no trouble on the water save for the current itself, and limped into Loneport after many days.
Valgur meant to pass word for a shipwright immediately upon docking, but as they made to port he spied Buccannon’s colors flying proudly among the other sails dotting the harbor.
The captain cursed. “Of course he’s having this place watched. We can’t stay here long, if at all,” he said to his officers as they minded the rail.
“I doubt we’ll make it to Parley without a repair,” said Grit.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” said Valgur, musing.
“Not if we’re chased,” said Grit. Valgur nodded begrudgingly.
“What if we steal a ship?” asked Atrocius.
A smile creased Valgur’s weathered face. He began to twirl the tip of his beard between forefinger and thumb. “By the depths, now that's an idea.”
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Valgur bade them stow the colors as they staked out a target. “Get all yer belongings. Everything ye can carry. Fill us some crates as well, and the storage chests. Two men per chest, three for a crate. When all is ready, wait here for the signal,” said the captain. A small vanguard was chosen. Metron accompanied Valgur with Grit, Atrocius, and Scuttle. Together they selected a few chosen men. Picaro was made to stay behind.
The raiding party chose a midsize fishing vessel some ways down the long dock. Within the hour the topsail of the fishing vessel was loosed, the signal alerting the rest of the crew the ship was ready to be boarded. The crew of Ye ‘Ol Marigold made as orderly as they could in loading their supplies onto the getaway vessel. All looked well for a while, for no one raised any suspicion on the dock. That was until one of Buccannon’s men made his daily rounds of the dock to check for any sign of the ship and whose crew had robbed them blind of their most precious treasure.
The man came upon Ye ‘Ol Marigold at anchor as the last of the supplies was leaving the ship. Suspicious, he followed the trail of men moving like ants and identified Valgur’s outline aboard the fishing vessel. In surprised panic he turned tail and made to raise the alarm.
“Oi. I think we’ve been found out. Move it quicklike,” said Valgur to his crew. There was still some supplies that needed to be loaded. “Leave the rest. Let’s make way. Free us from the bay and take up a westerly wind.”
With brutal efficiency, they lifted anchor and peeled out into the surf. But one of Buccannon’s ships was not far behind. Luckily, its crew were still bleary eyed from sleep or sign of drink, and so they fumbled in their effort to make way. In contrast, Valgur’s men were sharp and ready for the unexpected. Their lead grew as they hit open ocean, and a collective sigh of relief rippled through the crew as the smaller and faster fishing vessel continued to outrun its pursuer. They had survived all the sea had thrown at them, as well as any attempt from man or beast to stop them. They were camouflaged on a new ship fit for sailing, and the sun was high.
“I think we’re free now. They won’t be able to catch us with the wind at our back,” said Silvertime, who still moved gingerly from his wound while Valgur manned the helm.
“Aye,” said the captain. “Here, someone take over for me.”
Picaro looked back at Loneport, which continued to shrink in the distance. They had left behind Ye ‘Ol Marigold without any ceremony. He wondered if he would ever see that ship again, the place that practically raised him. Leaving it felt a bit like leaving home. He saw Valgur standing at the rail, his hat in his hands covering his heart. The boy thought he saw a tear in his captain’s eye. Or maybe it was just the sun, a trick of the light, he was not sure.
How it started:
- Samuel O. Ludescher