image [https://i.imgur.com/RS5mrYs.png]

Picaro went into town that day. He felt he could finally bear it. It was an eerie feeling, walking the same streets he used to steal food from and hide in corners of. Some crevices he recognized, like the one between the alchemist and the baker’s shop. Their aromas used to mix and waft to him in the mornings of his youth, the toasted smell of herbs and bread that would make his mouth water. The small opening between the two buildings was a good hiding spot. Yet now, he thought he could barely fit.

He went in to buy some bread from the bakery, feeling it odd now to buy for coin what he used to pinch to fill his belly. He recognized the purveyor, a kindly woman, who was now aged.

“What can I get you, darling,” she said and smiled.

“Have any scones?”

“I can do ya one. Raspberry or lemon?”

“Raspberry,” said Picaro.

“Good choice. Raspberry’s everyone’s favorite,” she said, and winked. Inquisitively, she watched him for a moment, then fetched it. With his left hand, Picaro dropped the coin into her palm. The baker’s eyes flitted to his finger. His left ring finger stood out as a nub next to the copper piece. Her eyes flashed back to his face, searching it for a quiet moment. Picaro froze.

“Care for another scone?”

“Sorry, but that was all the coin I had.”

“Don’t worry about it, this one’s on me,” she said, smiling knowingly at him.

“Thank you,” said Picaro.

“I’m glad to see you’re still alive,” she said, handing it to him. Picaro couldn’t swallow. He was dumbfounded, and then it dawned on him. She not only recognized him, but she used to let him steal. She never chased him or sent people after him. He never knew it back then. But it was so obvious now. The act of kindness nearly broke him. Picaro couldn’t speak. He mouthed a reply, but nothing came out. He nodded, and ducked his gaze sheepishly.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” she said, winking at him. “Oyster would be glad to see it. Take care of yourself, lad.”

Tears welled quickly in his eyes, and his hand flashed to the shell in his pocket. “Thank you,” was all he could say, and he left the shop.

The scones were delicious, and he spent the rest of the day flitting between shops. He visited the alchemist, took in the herbs and their names. Magnolia. Evergreen. Borage. Basil. He sampled the smell of each in turn. He visited the blacksmith and tested the edges of the swords, sharpening his own dagger. He visited the weaver and the winemaker. No one else he encountered recognized him, but they didn’t have to. They treated him like someone worthy of respect. No longer was he a street rat.

It was truly freeing, if not a bit unnerving. It was almost like the early years of his life were a bad dream that he had only recently woken out of. All the bad memories of Squal Parlor didn’t seem so bad anymore. The only way he knew they were real was when he looked down at his left hand, or because of the pain he still felt when he thought of Oyster, or his mother. The thought nearly choked the life from him as he stood on a corner of the town square.

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The sun was beginning to set. He staggered to the inn where he had left the crew the night before. Men were already drunk. He found Silvertime imploring Valgur in the common area.

“Sure, she can float, captain, but you felt the list. It’s gonna wreak havoc on the helm. She needs more work done to be truly seaworthy. Else we’re gonna keep limping along like a lame dog. The shipwright said a tenday at the least. We don’t want to rush her out of port given what she’s been through.”

“I can’t help it, lad. I’m just itching to get going. The opportunity before us is too great. We must be bold.”

“But it ain’t going nowhere, captain. And look, things ain’t so bad here. This island might be small, yeah, but the crew are enjoying themselves. We can rule this place until we see it time to leave. No sense in rushing something that ain’t got to be rushed, aye?”

“My friend, think of it. A myth made real before our very eyes. You want to stay here on this little rock and drink yer life away? There’s more to be had, lad. Much more. And who knows what other crews may be out there with their own keys already. Who’s to say we’re the first? If Bucannon found one, by the depths, it may as well be common knowledge. You heard Baldergast as well. ‘Ol Alcatran is after them, and we’re mighty close to his territory as we speak. And what about Wade? He’s got the ire of his commander to fear if he doesn’t find us first.”

“There’s no way Wade knows where we are,” said Silvertime, shaking his head. “This rock ain’t on anyone’s map yet.”

“Tell that to the lighthouse that got us here.”

“All I’m saying captain, best to be safe than sorry.”

“Duly noted, me savvy. I know you’re the best helm here on these Isles. I seen it with me own two eyes. No other man could have gotten us into the Tormented Channel, much less out of it. I just need ya to get us by a little longer. Then we’ll have enough gold to tend to all of Marigold’s wants and needs. By the depths, we could probably buy us a new ship. Think of that.” Valgur laughed heartily, and raised his mug to regard the rowdy group of men that dotted the room. “Now, oi. Lads, listen here. First, fill yer cup if it’s empty, and listen,” Valgur began, grinning. Roars of approval met him. Picaro took his seat at one of the small tables where Grit was nursing a glass of whiskey and smoking a cigar. He nodded to the boy as he sat next to him.

“I’ve known a lot of ye a long time. Long enough to call ye not just me crew, but me brothers,” said Valgur. “I know the last few days have been hard, and truth be told we’re only here thanks to Silvertime for steering us through the Tormented Channel. And we not only conquered it, but brought back a prize worth a song. To Silvertime,” said Valgur, raising his mug.

“To Silvertime,” the crew echoed. Silvertime cracked a smile, soaking up the compliment and toasting his own glass. The inn erupted in cheers and their own kind of song, a diddly sea shanty that fizzled out as quickly as it began.

Valgur waited for the place to quiet. “So I know how difficult it must seem to push on when we only just got our land legs under us. But listen lads, listen. This is but the beginning. We are on our way to writing ourselves into legend. You and I, the crew of Ye ‘Ol Marigold, is destined fer bigger things than just catching a blasted fish. This,” said Valgur, lifting the the skeleton key to the light, “Is the key. With it, we will unlock our legacy for all time. Now I ask ye, who will accompany along the path to fame and fortune?”

Men pounded upon the tops of tables, and a thick drum beat caught the air. “Valgur, Valgur,” men chanted. Caught up in the promise of legend and adventure, Picaro could not help but join in.

Valgur finished his speech, a twinkling in his eye. “Drink up, me savvies, and take heart. We’re off soon to make our way to glory.”

The crescendo rocked the establishment, and the windows shook. Men clashed mugs. Beer sloshed in wild sprays. Grit shoved a half full mug of mead into Picaro’s hands. “You heard the captain. Drunk up lad. We’re off soon. Enjoy it.”