image [https://i.imgur.com/CnUtqmW.png]

In celebration, men took to sipping brandy or mead. A sea yarn was spun as someone took to the telling. Else, men livened up the ship with song. They were jolly from the thrill of battle, and full of mounting expectation after having learned the true nature of the skeleton key. There was nothing like the thought of treasure to brighten their spirits. But the sea is a perilous place.

"Storms'a brewing, captain," crowed Shrimp from the crow's next. "East by southeast."

Valgur turned to the horizon. He stood on the ship's upper deck in his customary place next to the helm where he could survey his crew and the sea. He grumbled under his breath. Far beyond there came an answering roll of thunder. “Just a bit o’ water,” he said under his breath.

It was early afternoon, and ahead of them there were clearer skies. But, behind there came a chill on the wind, and it picked up in expectation of the tempestuous agitation.

“The tormented channel never rests,” said Silvertime.

“Can we outrun it?” Valur asked.

“We can try.”

"Look alive, lads,” cried Valgur to his crew from the topdeck. “Let's ride on the storm’s first breath." The crew fell in, freeing rope from its bonds and winching the topsail until it unfurled again atop the mast. Picaro clung to the rigging as the ship took on more speed, beginning to bow at increasing angles to ride down the trough of the mounting waves.

Valgur called to the watcher in the crow's nest. "Oi! Will we be free of her?"

"She's gaining on us, captain. This skies are full of anger. It may yet overtake us," said Shrimp.

"Blast it. Then come down. You too, boy. Nothing to do but ride it out," said Valgur.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Picaro scaled his way down the main mast, narrowly avoiding the boom as it swung in reaction to a gust. He got into a roll before hitting the main deck. To the rest of the crew, Valgur called, "Looks like we're destined for stormy seas. Batten us down. Fasten the cannons. Tie down what can be, and stow all else below deck, quicklike. Keep us free and clear. Hup to!"

The men reacted with haste, freeing the ship's main deck of anything that could be lost or shifted in the choppy waters and potentially knock a man overboard. Some tense minutes followed. Dark skies crept up behind them like wool being pulled over the eyes. Then, the first stab of lightning struck. It seemed far out, but then thunder clapped with booming innotations.

"Put up the topsail, and batten the mainsail a tad. Silvertime, do you we have a clear horizon in any direction?"

"West looks like calmer seas, captain. But we due south is the quickest way out of the channel.”

"Blast. What do you advise? Can we ride on through it?”

Silvertime took stock of the conditions. “Wind’s strong due east. It’ll take us into the trench if we’re not careful. We’re ‘tween a rock and a hardplace, captain, if ye pardon the expression. But I advise due south,” said Silvertime.

“Very well, south it is. Lead our bow into the waves. Don't let it roll us. Brace, lads!" Then, the rains came. It was as if the sky poured out the contents of some deeper ocean held within them. A torrential downpour cascaded onto the main deck. Men slipped in their footing. Water pooled in gulleys and seeped below deck, quickly flooding parts of the hold. Men were already there with buckets, trying to keep Ye ol’ Marigold lighter for the sake of it.

The crew barely got the topsail furled in time, or else the tempestuous winds may have capsized them. Even so, the mainsail was fully taught and Ye ‘Ol Marigold groaned under the pressure of the storm. “She’ll hold,” said Valgur under his breath.

Lightning clashed and thunder rolled like the drums of war. Valgur barked orders from the upper deck, but his voice was lost in the thrashing sea. Waves crashed over the bow, swallowing half the crew as Ye ‘Ol Marigold crested over the top of and descended into the trough of another oceanic valley. Silvertime stood at the helm with Valgur beside him, spitting water and consulting his compass as he battled against the violent current, trying to stay his course.

On the main deck, Grit passed Picaro a bucket and they took to bailing duties. "This is one a the biggest baddies I ever saw," Grit yelled over the rains. But, Picaro barely heard him. In his mind, there was darkness above and below. They were in the middle of the sea, with not an island for miles, and not a ship to be seen. They had no help. If the ship capsized or took on too much water, he would be taken with it, or left to tread water with whatever ruins could still float until the ripsharks found them.

But, something bigger found them first.