Mother once told me the ol' captain always has a story to tell...for a price.
Last night, I shuffled along the shore, dead tired from work. As I strolled by the water, I caught a scent in the breeze — and when I looked up, I found myself right beside the Ol' Salt's doors.
I remembered my mother's words, and drawn in by the tavern's promise of ale and a good time, I stepped inside. The old mariner was polishing a glass as I walked in. I told him I was out of coins, but I tossed him a pearl from Orville. He prepared a beer and a tale right away.
In a hushed voice, he reminisced about the week he'd spent inside the maw of a beached sea dragon while stranded far away, his voice rough as the water outside the window. He said he hid between its pearly teeth and slept under its tongue, making a pyre atop its skull to signal rescuers.
Then, he abruptly stopped. I asked him how the story ended, and he quietly held out his hand for another payment. I'll return soon to hear the rest!Back in the day, I was a rowdy lad. I'd spent each school day by the beach instead of on the classroom bench, kicking strangers' sand castles and skipping rocks on the water
Once, I spotted a small boat in the distance, with a shadowy figure balancing on it. As I focused my attention there, their shapes toppled and morphed into one, disturbing the water around. Did someone slip into the lake? I waited to see the person resurface, but no one emerged.
Moments later, a creature made from seaweed and saltwater rose from beneath the rippling waves by the shore. It was much closer than the boar had been, and as it neared, I began to spot a graying face below the heap of algae. It was the captain.
I asked him how he was able to cross the waters between the sinking ship and the beach so quickly. He smiled, and said: "A mermaid's kiss gave me fins, dear boy!" and trotted off.
Only later did I notice that his feet had left a strange imprint in the sand. Could his story have been true?Back in my school days, I was taught that Captain Melville liked to tell stories. Tall ones. The kind of tales that smell more like old boots than truth. As a working man, I've always known his tavern, "Ol' Salt 'N Pepper", was named not just for his sea-worn beard, but because you're supposed to take everything he says with a pinch, nay, a load of salt.
And yet, people lap it up.
They crowd around him like he's some sea-born prophet, hanging on every crooked word. Why? The man's a liar. A fossil. He hasn't been out past the bay in years. Why trust a word he says — even worse, why buy his fish? Especially when we sell better catch, cheaper, and without the song and dance!
Just last week, he burst into the square, hair all tangled, shouting, "The Drak! I saw 'em, they're back!" Theatrics. Always theatrics with him.
It's just another one of his tales, spun for coin and glory. Any yet, folks eat it up.
Fools, the lot of 'em.Once, as a seamstress, I had quite the popular customer — the old Captain himself!
I will never forget the dawn at which he stumbled through my open doors, beard not nearly as ashen as it is today, little more than a stained shirt on his body.
"Morn', young lass!" He cawed with a hoarse voice, "I'd like a new coat! Deep blue as the sea, with gold and glamor, I'd say — hick!"
While taking his measurements, I observed him closely. He smelled of wine and was missing not only his coat, but one shoe.... When I asked him about it, he said: Nay, the wine is half the story — See, as I was out late on the canal, an old devil born from the frothing blue called to me from below! He said he's trade me a bottle of his finest for one button of my coat! A bottle for a button? I thought: Why not? Bus as I reached down to receive thee wine, the impish creature pulled me in by my cufflinks and turned back seafoam {sic}! Hick! I went overboard, mayday, mayday! They had to fish me and my boat out — and my coat, it was gone with the waves! Hick!""
I had this new jacket ready within three days, but I always wondered how his old clothes didn't wash ashore. Did they turn into seafoam, too?
