Phidianne and the Five Hundredth Dubloon: Part Two

     Even a resilient Island Hissi like me could barely hold myself together, concussed by the blast, threatened at swordpoint by the captain, and conscripted onto Gorkrin’s crew. Now I could only watch helplessly as Tafiti, the Camouflage Flotsam who rescued me, was taken to be keelhauled for trying to defend me.

     You might not think keelhauling is that big of a deal for a Flotsam. After all, they can hold their breath underwater for a long time. Or maybe a landlubber like yourself doesn’t know just what keelhauling is. It’s an especially harsh punishment, reserved for the worst offenders. They tie you up and drag you underwater from one side of the boat to the other. It would be easy to drown. But even a waterbreather, like a Koi or the Quiggle captain himself, would risk death, because of the barnacles on the bottom of the ship’s hull. Imagine being tied up with rope, deprived of air, and then dragged along the jagged edge of a rocky crag. That’s what Tafiti faced because of me.

     At least I had been allowed to keep my Island clothing, thanks to Conor, a Pirate Krawk who had himself been conscripted into the “sweet trade” of pirate life years ago. As Conor led me deep into the bowels of the ship, I clutched at my handmade tiki, which Captain Gorkrin had considered not worth stealing from me. As I traced the Elephante trunk carved on its face, I thought of my legendary ancestor whose wisdom had saved our village. I thought of my uncle, whose shrewdness had won his this ship despite my family’s fourth-rate status. I vowed there and then, both to survive and to reclaim my family’s property.

     Survival first, though.

     The air grew cold and thick with a foul stench as we neared the bottommost part of the ship. In the middle of the wall before us was a door with a brass wheel. Conor grasped the wheel, and with an effort, spun it until the door popped open. The bottom of the door was a good half-metre up from the bottom of the wall, so that you had to step over the bottom of the hatchway to enter the room. Conor reached out a hand to help me over.

     Once inside, I understood why the door was so high. This was the bilge room, where water and other foul things collected in the very bottom of the ship. Having been tipped over by Faerieland’s shock wave, the ship had taken on more water than was safe.

     Conor gestured towards a hand pump and three overturned buckets. “Pump out as much water as you can. Use the buckets for anything that can’t be pumped. Someone will come fetch you when your shift is over.”

     He loosened his collar, removed a large neckerchief, and draped it over a pipe hanging just below the ceiling. “Try to keep your hands dry.” With that, he nodded and departed, leaving the hatchway door ajar.

     The next few hours were among the worst in my life.

     I was cold, and wet, and angry. But I also needed to protect my ship. So I pumped and I pumped, and pulled foul lumps of debris and dead ghoti out of the water and into the buckets before they could jam the pump. Mercifully, the pipe on which Conor had left the kerchief was heated, so I was able to keep at least a little warm and dry. I would have wound my whole body around it, had I thought it would support my weight.

     The worst part was the sounds. In my imagination I feared every creak and groan was the sound of Tafiti being dragged just metres below me.

     Finally, salvation came in the friendly face of a Red Ruki. A familiar face, as she had been one of my customers at the juice bar just before the morning’s disaster. A face filled with compassion, as she took in the sight and smell of the room.

     “Conor told me to come fetch you for dinner,” she said. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close to her thorax. “Fyora’s tears, you’re frozen solid. Let’s get you out of here. What’s your name, dear? Conor didn’t know.”

     “Phidianne,” I answered. Laughing, her eyes lit up.

     “I’m an Anne myself. Anneslace, that is. I just know we’re going to be friends.” Efficiently, she led me to the galley. “Most everyone has already eaten, but that’s for the better. Conor told me to make sure you kept a low profile at first.”

     I blinked in confusion.

     “Phidianne, Conor saved you this morning. He deliberately put you as far away from the captain as possible. This way, he can also tell Gorkrin honestly that he gave you the worst job on the ship, as he was ordered. The captain didn’t say you had to stay there.”

     I said nothing.

     “Conor told me you were observant, and a good listener. You’ll need that here. Pay close attention, because there’s more going on than we can safely discuss. Look, here’s the galley.”

     Inside the ship’s kitchen stood a burly Magma Jetsam wearing a white toque and apron.

     “Sam, this is Phidianne, the girl I told you about,” said Anneslace. “Phidianne, this the Sam, the head chef. I understand you two never had a chance to meet, but Sam was the on the ferry’s crew with you before Captain Gorkrin claimed the ship. He was conscripted just like you.”

     “Don’t worry, lass,” growled the Jetsam, his eyes glowing a deep red. “We’ll get through this. There’s not much left after the captain and his favorites were done feasting, but I’ll manage something for you.” With surprising finesse for such a large body, Sam quickly whipped up some sashimi. “This would be a lot easier if I still had my good sushi knife,” he muttered, “but it’s gone missing. If I were the suspicious type, there’s a certain shifty-eyed Korbat named Thorvin whose quarters I’d like to search.”

     Anneslace cleared her throat, looking significantly at the few remaining sailors lurking in the corners, then back to Sam.

     “Quite right,” said Sam, his molten aura subsiding. “The less said, the better. Bon appétit, Phidianne. Take care of yourself. You’re not looking too well.”

     Sam was right to worry. Sloshing around in cold waste water all day, while recovering from a concussion, was a recipe for sickness. I spent the next week convalescing in bed. Fortunately, the captain appeared to have forgotten about me. Anneslace took care of me when she could, and brought news from Conor.

     Thank the stars, Tafiti had survived, although he was fairly banged up from his ordeal. Conor was impressed; apparently Tafiti had swum like a champion athlete to avoid severe injury. After his punishment, he had been fitted with an iron tailshackle to keep him from swimming away from the ship.

     My sicktime had been a spot of luck, in an odd way. Usually, folks new to the pirate life have to undergo what they call “seasoning,” a nasty bout of illness as they encounter tropical diseases along the way. I had contracted most of these ailments as a child growing up on Mystery Isle, and appeared to have dealt with the remainder all at once through my exposure to the contaminated bilge water. That which had not killed me had made me stronger.

     Most importantly, Captain Gorkrin was taking the ship to an uncharted isle. The crew buzzed with rampant speculation about a buried treasure that Gorkrin had long sought. Rumor had it that Gorkrin had kept the treasure secret until claiming his own ship, so that he could legitimately claim the lion’s share of the booty as ship’s captain.

     Once recuperated, I was put to work as a swabby. I learned the ship from the inside out: how the sails attached to different masts for different speeds, how to clean the cannons, how iron and tar could keep a barrel or a hull intact. But mostly I kept my head low, and listened, and watched. Because Gorkrin didn’t want us followed, the ship hardly ever pulled into port. He never even attempted to plunder another vessel, even though my poor ship was now armed to the teeth. I could see signs of malnutrition setting in with the crew, and increasing murmurs about the wisdom or folly of following Gorkrin on his quest.

     Finally, we arrived at Gorkrin’s destination: a chain of small, uninhabited islands in the south seas. The Appriberry trees and Ombus Fruit bushes told me we were somewhere near Mystery Island. Conor divided the crew into search teams, leaving only a skeleton crew on the ship. Tafiti and I were on Anneslace’s squad.

     The search took much longer than expected. Gorkrin was absolutely certain of the island, but not the specific location of the treasure. Anneslace confided in me that the map would probably be of more help if Gorkrin were better lettered. Whether he was truly illiterate I do not know, but at any rate he adamantly refused to show the map to anyone else.

     As the days stretched into weeks, tempers began to flare. Sam fretted that the ship’s provisions were running low. Anneslace worried that violence would erupt if we didn’t find the treasure – and some food – soon.

     “How about a luau?” I suggested.

     Anneslace’s jaw dropped, then she smiled. She called Conor over and relayed my suggestion. “What can we use for food?” he asked skeptically.

     “There’s plenty to eat and drink here, if you know where to look,” I answered.

     “Make it happen,” he said. “You’re off digging duty. Take as many people as you need to help.”

     The next day, I showed Anneslace how to shell and mash Molabeans, and flavor them with Elppa and Lemoran juice. I used every part of the highly edible Sloople Flowers growing up in the hills. Sam reveled in chopping coconuts in half, slicing them with the grace of a fencer, providing us with coconut milk to drink and coconut shells to use as plates and cups. Conor surprised us with shellfish from the shore. Tafiti gathered kelp from the shallows; mashed into small balls and rolled in shredded coconut, these would make a passable dessert.

     Captain Gorkrin wasn’t pleased at the delay in digging, but acquiesced after Conor had a few blunt words with him. I said nothing as the captain and Thorvin greedily took extra helpings of the Purple Sardplant poi. They didn’t need to know that on Mystery Island, you fed Sardplant to bad children as a punishment.

     Afterwards, we held an impromptu talent show. I did a traditional Mystery Island dance. Tafiti accompanied me using two coconut half-shells to beat out an Island rhythm. Conor led the pirates in a sea shanty so salty it made Anneslace – a Red Ruki – blush.

     Our little banquet did the trick. The revitalized crew found the lost treasure the next day, in a spot Conor suggested. Gold, dubloons, and priceless gems gleamed in the sunlight after they hacked the rusty lock off the wooden chest. Conor has never admitted it, but to this day I wonder if he didn’t slip the captain some extra-potent Munuberry Coconut Milk just so he could sneak a look at the treasure map.

     But Gorkrin’s greed was his undoing. By pirate tradition, Conor, as the quartermaster, was responsible for dividing the treasure fairly among the whole crew. As captain, and as the owner of the treasure map, Gorkrin would have received a whopping two and a half shares. By contrast, a regular crewman would receive one share. Shanghaied conscripts like Anneslace and me, who had never sworn to follow the pirates’ code of conduct on the ship and thus not “on account,” were only eligible for a half a share.

     But that wasn’t enough for Gorkrin. In the dead of night, he was caught trying to abscond with the treasure, accompanied by Thorvin, the unscrupulous Korbat who had held me at swordpoint. I doubt Gorkrin would have trusted Thorvin, had he not needed an accomplice who could find his way in the dark.

     All the tension of the previous weeks exploded in full-blown mutiny. Gorkrin was lucky someone didn’t take a sword to him right there and then. But the same pirates’ code that ensured a fair division of the treasure also prevented mob justice. Instead, the crew voted to elect Conor as the new captain. His first order of business was to promote Anneslace to be the ship's new quartermistress. His second was to banish Gorkrin and Thorvin from the ship, leaving them marooned on the island with only their clothes, weapons, and wits.

     “You can’t leave us here!” howled Thorvin, as the crew boarded the ship.

     “Curse wi’ a wannion all you like. You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing,” answered Conor – now Captain Conor, which the crew shortened to just "CaptConor" – in a grim voice. “If you paid any attention to an island girl’s wisdom yesterday, you’ll know how to survive quite well. If not, I think even you can survive on coconuts and berries. But I’m not unreasonable. Quartermistress, might I have an advance on my share of the bounty?”

     Anneslace looked at him with puzzlement, then smiled as he whispered in her ear. Briskly she found a bright blue dubloon from the pile of treasure, and handed it to him.

     CaptConor took the shiny blue coin and tossed it between the two thieves, “Here’s a little something to remember us by. A five-hundred dubloon coin. More treasure than you deserve, but I hear it’s the going price for this fine ship. Enjoy it. That is, if you don’t kill each other over it first.”

     The Korbat and Quiggle both leapt for the coin, scuffling in the wet sand. CaptConor turned away in disgust, and did not look back.

     I couldn’t believe it. CaptConor knew the story of the ship. He had to know that I was practically the rightful owner. For a moment, I feared I’d be put in the brig.

     As the ship pulled anchor and tacked northward into the sea, CaptConor took Anneslace aside. “Three requests, Quartermistress. Unshackle the Flotsam. Take down that accursed flag. And promote Phidianne to assist Sam in the galley.”

To be continued...