|Not Another Pirate Story!
Author: M.J.Jewett PM
A little bit taken from - okay, a lot- Monkey Island, a bit of my own characters and a pinch of parody. Let the wackiness commence!Rated: Fiction K - English - Words: 2,763 - Published: 12-22-11 - id: 7663405
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Avast! Ye disclaimer: This is fanfiction at it's lowest form – many things are taken from, inspired by and are downright stolen from the Monkey Island computer game. You may notice a couple of familiar faces that also do not belong to me but screamed for parody. I do not claim ownership of Monkey Island nor any of the name/characters/events that take place. All names/characters/events belong to Lucasfilm Games. My only aim by this is to entertain.
On an undetermined island in the vast ocean, long, long ago there lived an age of pirates. Not just any pirates but low-down, foul, grog-swilling, lousy lay-about pirates that were the scourge of the seas and bane of all respectable citizens trying to make a decent living. Melee Island ™ was famous for being the home of all pirates and would-be pirates and, ironically, goat-milk based soap reputed for its softening effect on skin. It is on this island that we begin the tale during a dark night with dark deeds about with dark men with dark purposes.
"Shiver me timber's!" exclaimed Captain O' Donnell, gazing at the crowded Keel Haul Grog n' Grill. "Ne'er thar been a disgustingly disgustin' worthless pack of swabbies!"
"Yarr, arr!" agreed first-mate Flyspeck. The two men waded through the throng of over-ripe pirates and buccaneers, searching for a free table. Upon finding a relatively non-sticky slab Captain O' Donnell waved to an over-worked serving wench for two mugs of Grog.
"Keep to the plan, Flyspeck. Before the night's out I be expectin' a full crew of swashbucklin'gentlemen o' fortune at me disposal! I want to be sailin' before the night is out."
Both men turned their attention to the silver tankards of foul-smelling liquid set before them and was surprised when a gravelly voice whispered from a dark corner.
"Gentlemen, I believe I have something of interest to show ye."
From the darkened shadows of the bar corner emerged a decrepit old man leaning heavily on one solid leg, the other obviously not of much use. If foul were a picture in the dictionary, if fetid socks ever had an odor, if grim was a welt of wrinkles and scars if –well you get the idea.
"By the sagging tits of me mum! What in the seven hells are ye' doing skulkin' in the shadows, man!"
Captain O' Donnell and Flyspeck had their daggers at the ready and watched the hunched figure warily.
"Shame," exclaimed the old man. "Shame on ye for threatening one so wizened and wise as meself. Put yer daggers away, gentlemen. What I have to reveal ye'll not want to miss."
Captain O' Donnell let his eyes wander over the shriveled figure. He was clothed in rags and was in sore need of a bath but most conspicuous was the metal hook on his left hand that had long since rusted.
"At ease, Flyspeck," he said and put away his dagger. "I say, old man. I reckon ye've done your share of swashbucklin' in your younger days. An impressive hook ye have. You must have lost your hand in a most fierce struggle."
"Eh…" the old man looked down at his hook, confused. "Oh. Yes….yes, it was. Meanest cat I ever owned; I'll never keep another pet again."
O' Donnell glanced at Flyspeck, who merely shrugged. "So…" the captain continued, timing his words so that they would sound Impressive and Important. "What is it ye want with-"
Only the old man proceeded to have a coughing fit. His intact hand grappled the captain's shoulder as he coughed a spray of phlegm all over his fine, white silk swashbuckling shirt. A fountain of snot and drool poured from the man's mouth and nose to the tavern floor.
O' Donnell panicked. "Flyspeck!" he squealed in horror flapping his hands, "Get it off me!"
O' Donnell then began to scream in a glass-shattering falsetto. Flyspeck remembered being quite surprised the first time he'd heard his captain scream in such a manner but as soon as he had rescued him from that ill-intentioned chicken the captain's bravery had promptly returned. Flyspeck smiled to himself, pride in his captain warming his blood.
Snapping out of his revelry Flyspeck calmly removed the old sod from his hero but the coughing fit was over anyway.
"Beg pardon" the old man said, wiping his mouth with one hand. "Now, listen well. What I be offerin' to ye only befits a pirate of courage, a pirate of such cunning devilish deviousness, such sickeningly wily sneakiness-"
"Yes, man, get on with it!"
"Such- oh right. A chance, gentleman, to make yer fortune so that ye never be in want of anything for the rest of yer natural born life." The old man then cackled appreciatively and continued in a low grating whisper, "I be offerin' ye the map of a lifetime."
He turned and hobbled over to where several barrels of grog lay stacked and began to struggle with the lid of the closed barrel.
"Er. What're you doing?" asked O' Donnell, "You're going to waste good ale." But when the old man pulled the lid free nothing came out. It was indeed empty. "Follow me!" the old man said and proceeded to crawl into the barrel, grunting loudly.
"Flyspeck!" the captain said in his giving-an-order tone of voice. "When we return to the ship I want you to contact my tailor immediately! I want this shirt washed, dried and pressed!" He thought for a moment then asked, "Are there any…females… aboard right now, Flyspeck?"
"Er, no, Capn' but that can be arranged."
"Make it so. Preferably lasses of the comely variety. If I am to be wanderin' shirtless I should just as well have randy wenches around to appreciate it."
A loud moan of protest came from the barrel. The old man had wedged himself into the barrel's opening so that only the double curve of his buttocks extended out from within. A muffled voice beseeched, "Could one of ye gentlemen give a wise old man a push? "
O' Donnell sneered to no one in particular then with a calculating movement, brought the sole of his boot down onto the old man's rump and shoved with all the force he could muster. The old man went flying into the barrel with a 'pop' then disappeared into the black oblivion beyond. Flyspeck rushed over and peered into the dark recesses of the barrel.
"Cap'n!" he shouted with excitement, "It's some sort of passage!"
O'Donnell looked himself. It was indeed a long wooden tunnel. The old man was nowhere to be seen. The force of his shove must have propelled him clear to the other end. "Should we follow, Cap'n?" asked Flyspeck, scratching his head mightily through his worn bandana. The captain shrugged, "I can't think of anything else better to do." He paused. "You first, Flyspeck."
O' Donnell let out another muttered curse as he hit his head on the low ceiling of the tunnel which had expanded somewhat after a sharp turn so that he, Flyspeck and the old man could crawl their way through bent over. Above their heads could be heard the din of a hundred pirates and salty wenches going about their business, the sound of clinking dishware and raucous laughter was muffled. O' Donnell smacked his head again on a low beam.
"Bugger n' blast! Old man, where in hell are ye taking us?"
The darkened figure ahead of him, now holding a lit candle which he had procured from who-knows-where, only cackled, then hacked. The old man turned and grinned, a horrible sight of crooked rotting teeth made all the worse by the erratic light of the flicking candle. O' Donnell couldn't help but grimace at the sight.
"Patience, youngin', patience. Here we be." And shoved open a wooden door. Judging by the noise above the ceiling as they entered, Flyspeck wagered they were directly below the Keel Haul Grog n' Grill.
There was a fizzle as the old man lit a torch and brought to light a small room with a compact dirt floor. One misshaped wooden table, three rickety chairs, two grog barrels and another door made up the hidden room. Several maps and documents covered the far wall and O' Donnell peered curiously as the decrepit old man eased himself into a chair. Flyspeck pulled out another chair for his captain and stood behind him, arms crossed, looking hard and murderous.
"I hear ye be lookin' for a passage and hardy crew to sail the Black Straits." Suddenly the old man's hooked hand lashed out and pierced a document on the table. O' Donnell could not help but emitting a startled squeak.
Embarrassed he coughed deeply then roughly said, "Quite so, old man. Ye heard right. What does this have to do with us? Have ye a proposition?"
"A story youngin', a story. And ye be the judge of the ending."
O' Donnell and Flyspeck exchanged dubious looks and O' Donnell turned back to the old man, a sneer on his scruffy face.
"Save your story for children and dreamers, old fool! I need a crew and-"
"HEAR ME!" bawled the old man. "Hear me well! I tell ye the story of the Blue Monkey!"
O' Donnell and Flyspeck gaped at each other for a few moments, for the story of the Blue Monkey was well known and any pirate, buccaneer or black-hearted scurvy sailor worth his salt knew the story well. O' Donnell let the old man speak.
"Once thar be a great kingdom far, far away," he began, "that had riches beyond yer gluttonous dreams. And in this kingdom a greedy, hell-hated gudgeon of a king took to his head that all wanted his riches and he had no peace. The king called his army and called his Admiral of the Fleet and told them that he would have no peace until that treasure was far beyond the reach of any human hand or hook. Or in-laws. The king mayhap have been off his rocker at this point."
The old man was getting into his stride now and leaned forward with bulging eyes and waved a frantic finger at Flyspeck and O'Donnell.
"But he was still the king, so the men obeyed without question as they was sworn to do and loaded five majestic galleons full of gold, jewels, rare gems, jewelry, jewel-encrusted…" the old man trailed off and started to snore gently.
"Cap'n!" said Flyspeck. "He's fallen asleep mid-sentence! Shall I search his clothes for valuables?"
"No, Flyspeck. We be pirates not petty black hearted thieves. Well, we be black hearted thieves but let him finish the story." He turned his attention to the old man and shouted, "WAKE UP, CLOD!"
"and on the last five ships," the old man continued as though he'd never stopped, "that rarest and most valuable sapphire jewel: the Blue Monkey." He paused waiting for his audience to gasp in awe.
"Yes, yes we know about the Blue Monkey," O' Donnell remarked impatiently, "We've already heard this story, don't waste our time!"
"Tut!" shouted the old man, chastising him with a shake of his hook. "Do not interrupt those older and wiser than ye or a giant vampire bat may bite yer head clean off, I warn ye. Anyway…" he cleared his throat and continued, "they say this jewel be the largest of its kind and so jinxed any cross-eyed, swagbellied fool to look at it his great-grandchildren would walk funny."
Flyspeck interjected, "Beggin' yer pardon but I didn' get yer meanin'"
"Nor I," O' Donnell added. "Are ye saying that should any pirate with the misfortune of having permanently crossed eyes and whom eats his own treasure should lay his malformed sense of vision upon the Blue Monkey, that should he so opt to have children and should his children opt to have children so he has great-grandchildren they will lumber about oddly thus bringing a lifetime of agony and belittlement from their peers?"
"DO NOT QUESTION THAT WHICH YE DO NOT KNOW!" the old man upbraided him.
"Continuing on. So this king sails into the Black Straits but is taken by a devil of a storm. Four ships disappear beneath the waves but the fifth wrecks on an island and thar be the Blue Monkey along with gold and any other treasure yer qualin' fensucked greedy heart can imagine. They say one man made his way back. Before he died he copied down directions and a map and this, gentlemen, this be where ye come in."
Slowly the old man scraped his hooked hand and the piece of paper towards O' Donnell and Flyspeck.
"Tricorne Island, laddies."
O' Donnell pushed his chair back and raised his eye, full of suspicion. "And how do we know this is the real thing? Why don't you go, old man? And what makes ye think we have any interest in the Blue Monkey? The Black Straits be prime pirating territory and it be for the sport and booty of such standard pirate pirating that me first mate an me be seekin' a lively and alacritous crew."
The old man sighed gustily then coughed, threatening to spray them with phlegm again. O' Donnell shuddered and leaned further back.
"Look at me, youngin'!" he shouted "I'm not so spry a young man any longer! Nay, I couldn't make such a journey but to let such treasure go to waste!"
He leaned over and tapped O' Donnell's legs with his hook.
"Err, don't do that." O'Donnell complained.
"I be needin' young legs and a strong back for this journey and this be why I bring ye two down here."
With this the old man leaned back in his chair with another train-wreck grin, waiting expectedly for their reactions.
O' Donnell was not yet convinced.
"What be in it for us if we decide to chase this wild goose and how be it that you came by such a precious item as that map?"
"Ar! This be a stolen from the possession of the Dread Pirate Peppercrumb; the pribbing, doghearted, ratsbane betrayed me most insultingly many a year ago!"
"Ah, a riveting fight that must have been!" exclaimed O'Donnell with a smile, impressed for the first time since meeting the crazy old coot. "I know well of the viciousness of the Dread Pirate Peppercrumb of yore."
The old man muttered, "Er, the truth be I got him loaded to the gunwales and while he be sleeping like the dead on the cabin floor I ran off with the map. Twas' me old partner, see. Now I never had the sword fightin' skills to win against Peppercrumb and he never had me wit. So the treasure remains unfound."
O' Donnell mused to himself that if this old man beat Peppercrumb in wit then the dread pirate must indeed be a terrible dullard.
The old man drew himself up and pierced them with a beady stare. "Now, I charge ye to follow this map to the treasure of my-er our dreams. T'will be an even split I reckon. Fifty-fity. You there!" he shouted, jabbing a finger at O'Donnell.
"That mangled, weather bitten, scrap o' wood be yer furner by the name of the Saucy Harlot?"
At O'Donnells nod he continued, "Be at the docks when ye find yerself a scurvy, hardy crew. No more than two nights shall I wait with the final instructions-" then was cut short when the ceiling caved in with a sudden rumble and a crash! as a portion of the rickety ceiling broke in and the form of a woman fell onto the table, splintering it into a thousand pieces. O' Donnell and Flyspeck jumped back in alarm, drawing their weapons. The woman lay in the wreckage stunned but conscious. O' Donnell, though confused and startled, did not sense any immediate danger and put away his sword.
Before the dust had even begun to settle the old man croaked over the noise, "Remember, laddies, I be waitin' two nights only for ye to come through with the needed items." Then vanished into the darkness with a hair-raising cackle.