image [https://i.imgur.com/GLrLVl1.png]
Ye ‘Ol Marigold was badly hurt. Its injuries, from tangles with sea beasts and other dangerous crews of the free men, left the ship and her own crew hoping for a quiet ride back to Loneport. In their way was Murderer’s Row, a notorious stretch of ocean where ambushes were commonplace. Crews often lay in wait among the inlets of the archipelago, seeking easy victims. Because of this, with Silvertime’s navigational expertise, Valgur bade them strike a course that kept them far abreast from sight of land and any potential adversaries. But this brought them dangerously close to Gutwrench Trench, a great underwater chasm that pulled water down to its never ending bottom. A whirlpool formed above the trench, marking its location.
Silvertime had advised against the passage, for the meeting of the currents was chaotic, which would make it difficult to navigate, especially as the ship was in dire need of repair. Yet Valgur would rather fight the current than another crew. So they traced a dangerous route, close enough for Picaro to spy out the churning mouth of the whirlpool from the crow’s nest. It looked like it was threatening to swallow up the sea, Picaro thought.
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 to look over the ship. But, as they made dock in Loneport, he spied Buccannon’s colors flying proudly among the other sails dotting the harbor.
Valgur 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.
“True.”
“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, that’s a brilliant 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 along 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, which jutted out from the beach like a tooth. Within the hour, the signal was raised, the topsail of the fishing vessel was loosed. The crew of Ye ‘Ol Marigold made as orderly as they could in loading their supplies onto the getaway vessel. All looked well, 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 ornate chest and its skeleton key.
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 that 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. Yet 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, ready for the unexpected.
Their lead grew as they hit open ocean, and a collective sigh of relief rippled through the crew. 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 into 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.