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A Seafaring SagaChapter 11: A Glass Of Glove Cleaner
It wasn’t the hunger that Rosa hated the most. She had suffered with hunger many times when she was virtually enslaved at the Broken Mast Inn. Nor was it the nauseating rocking of the ship. That’s how she had ended up at the Broken Mast Inn. By ship. So she was used to that too.
No, what she hated the most was her cell (and sole) companion: Anastasia, the Crusader princess. She had to be the most spoiled little tyco that Rosa had ever known. When she wasn’t crying, she was whining. And when she wasn't whining, she was alternately begging and ordering Rosa to free her. Right now she was in her whining stage.
“I’m...so hungry…” Anastasia moaned. She was lying on her side, clutching her stomach with both feeble hands.
“Shut up before I feed you this bar.” muttered Rosa.
She was grasping a short length of extremely rusted and corroded metal. She had pried it from jail around them. It had been hard. First she had had too kick at one side with all her might so as to snap it from the rest of the metal mesh, then she had had to slowly and painfully level and pry on that loosened bar so that the other end snapped, rendering a five inch long rod. So far Rosa had found no use for it, but she certainly didn’t want her efforts wasted. She kept the bar, either holding on to it to threaten Anastasia, or hidden under her now grimy blouse when the pirates came to leer. Yes, she'd find her opportune moment...it would come...it would come...
“Captain! Caaaaptain!”
Burtrand turned from his place by the helm to see who was calling him on the deck. It was Smythe, who appeared to have just emerged from the hold.
“What is it Sydney?” Burtrand said as the first mate reached the upper deck.
“Sir,” the pirate said, panting, “we have to talk. In private!”
“Alright Smythe, very well. Keep to our present course Mr. Sourbuckle, I’ll return presently.”
Smythehipoteca credito tesoro nacional slammed the door of the captains quarters and locked it behind him.
“He’s not human, I tell you.” the flustered buccaneer mumbled, checking the windows for lurking ears.
“What do ye mean Smythe?” Burtrand demanded, “What’s this all about?”
“It’s that man.” said the wide-eyed pirate, plopping himself down on a chair and taking a swig from the flask around his neck, “That Mister Indestructible. He not human. He can’t be.”
“Sydney!” the captain bellowed, grabbing his first mate by the chin, “Snap out of it! What are ye on about?”
“It happened not twelve minutes ago. We were down in the hold for mess, see? And I was standing beside him…”
“Well I is pleased ta see ye’ve worked up an appetite sir. Aye, even if ye haven’t been working. I’ll have ye know that this vessel hosts the best pickles and eggs this side of the mainland. Leastways we host them the most often. Eh course we do get some variety now and again. Ah, there’s the cook now. Let’s see what crawled out of the bunghole today.”
Targon groaned as he saw the menu being served to the pirates in the line ahead. No surprise, it was pickles and eggs.
“Course there’s only one thing to wash down a bunch of pickles an’ eggs” said Sydney as they took their seats on the long crowded bench that ran the length down one side the single table.
“Only one thing.” the pirate repeated, winking at Targon slipping him a mug of grog.
Targon looked at the mug, doubtfully.
“Arr, What’s the matter? Pirate brew too fiery fer ye?”
The Dragon Master laughed. “Fiery? This stuff is about as fiery as a glass of mud. Now Dragon’s Milk, there’s a real drink for ya!”
“Oh really…so ye like a little zep in ye’re pint eh? I think I might have something for ye. Aye, I verily might. Ever tried ork draught before?”
“Ork draught?”
“Aye, that’s right. I have a little left from the invasion. Spoils of war you know. It sup above with me things…”
“So what, ye gave him the left over elf blood? What reason is that to bring me down here?” asked Burtrand.
“Weeell, actually, no. I didn’t give him the leftover elf blood. See, ye remember how he said he was indestructible an’ how I thought it might be the stone what had something’ to do with it. Well I thought I ought to test my theory so I…”
“Yes, what did you do?”
“I uh… I filled up the flask with ye’re glove cleaner.”
“You what?!”
“Now don’ get angry sir, I only did it to help you!”
“But…but you didn’t actually give that to him? That stuff would turn his guts into jelly if it didn’t burn through his gullet first.”
“I know…”
“Whoooo! Now that’s what I call a drink!”
Targon had just downed the last of the ‘Ork draught’ and was wiping the drops from his beard, which was turning gray under the glove cleaner’s froth.
“I have to admit, Smythy. This stuff beats the megablocks out of Dragon’s Milk.”
“Yea—yeah,” stuttered Smythe, “g—great. I uh, I have to go up deck now. Se—see ya.”
“It isn’t right I tells ya. It just ain’t right!”
“Tyco!” Burtrand swore, “Well now we know that he really is indestructible. We just don’t know why.”
“Yes we do! It’s that rock I tells ye! It’s got ta be!”
Burtrand pondered this for a moment and then, suddenly went straight to the cabin doors and threw them open. The captain swaggered onto the deck and hailed the first of his crew passing by.
“Where’s Targon?”
“Arr, Heef dowm im da brig checkimg om da prisomers.” the toothless pirate responded.
“Thank ye, Marble Eye.” daid Burtrand turning once more to his first mate, “I’ve an idea Smythe. Tomorrow we test your theory.”
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