“Sea Monsters and Saviors”
Chapter One
Somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle, 1770
A sea battle rages outside. Canon fire thunders in distance. Inside the wrecked Man O war ship two men wade through water. 17th century wooden muskets, sopping wood, and rusted carronade canons float in knee-high water amongst other personal effects. Liquid leaks in through board cracks but also gushes in through the ships cracked hull, flooding the lower deck.
A towering battle-scarred pirate with loose skin, early twenties, wears tattered denim. His eyes glow with the fire of desire. He’s searching for something. This is Nero Grimthorn the First. An ambitious and formerly incarcerated man of the East Indian Company.Behind him, a shirtless bald raider trails, poking an eye through shrapnel holes.
“Nero, c’mon now,” he says. “Couple more minutes and this whole place will be on the bottom of the pacific.”
“It’s here. It’s calling out,” Nero says. He pushes floating debris past like a madman. A whistle BLOWS. Looking through a bullet hole in the ships hull, smoke wisps past a wooden rowboat filled with redcoats. They clip bayonets to Brown Besses. The air smells of rotten sulfur as bubbled water swirls round them.
“Slap jolly joe. They got firesticks too. Why you want that cursed sword anywho?” Nero whips round, wading towards him.
“Four hundred sea battles won? Hardly cursed,” says Nero. “I heard it gives you the ability to regenerate. Your crew too.”
The raider regards the quarters. “Black Bart’s boys look pretty dead to me mate.” Nero turns his head seeing dead crewmen floating amongst brown sea water.
“Black Bart must’ve lost the sword. Only works if the captain’s got it.”
“Sounds like fairy-tale legend to me,” says the raider. “Side’s, who wants to regenerate when ole Levi’s got you trapped in his stomach. You’d be locked there for thousands of years.”
“Still believe in fairy-tales and sea-monsters eh?” says Nero. A Mount Gay spiced rum bottle floats by. The raider smirks, swiping it.
“Blessed old Black Bart,” the raider says. He pops the cork, slugging a hit.
A STREAKING sound, then BOOM. Iron nails, splintered wood, and shrapnel BLASTS. They’re both knocked under water. A British commander from the lifeboat yells, “Hold fire! Wait. Hold fire!” Nero and the shirtless raider re-surface, heads poking through bloated splintered wood and watered debris.
“Alright,” says the raider. “You want to go and get your knickers blown off, fine by me. Good luck mate.” He wades to the steps bottle in hand, disappearing to the deck above. Muskets CRACKLE. THUMP. His body smacks deck. Shot dead. Nero churns knees to the peeking gunshot hole. The rowboat’s closer now, only feet away as soldiers reload, smoke wisping past.
His eyes dart round, scanning water. Suddenly, a glimmer shines from under wreckage. A silver handle pokes out from a tattered coat, the ship’s now dead captain. He grins. Black Bart’s sword. SHWING. He tugs it out admiring the black sheen. The sword’s handle is crafted from pure silver and is brass knuckled. The initials BB are etched in its hilt. His hands and arms suddenly imbue with a strength never felt. His vision flashes. An archipelago of islands appears before him. He stands awed as his eyes scan the holographic map. One island in particular stands out. A tiny fragment off the coast of south America. These are treasure islands? SHUNK. The vision disappears as the holographic closes.
KUSH. The deck door bursts open as shadows flicker across entrance. They’re coming. Nero’s eyes scour water as boots THUMP down steps. A make-up kit. He grips the container splashing it on his face, spreading. He COUGHS powder, spitting. THUMP-THUMP. Boots beat down steps. He lays down with wide-eyes open, a pale dead man. Inside, his stomach erupts, the urge to cough bursting through seams.
“And I’m telling you they’re going to get away with it,” a redcoat says. “Just saying. They got thirteen colonies now.”
“A small rebellion. Nothing more,” says the other. “George will squash it in a heart beat.”
The redcoats’ knee through water, stab-checking floating debris. One runs greedy hands through Black Bart’s armoire as another leans over, squinting at Nero, flustered. Like he’s staring right at me. He raises his bayonet high, ready to run through.
“Hey George. I found it!”
George the redcoat pauses, rifle raised, turning back. COUGH. Powdered smoke billows towards the redcoat’s back. He whips back round glaring at Nero who stares forward, itching to cough but knows its certain death. “Ole black bart may be an ugly fellow,” says the other. “But he knew how to make a stomach burn.” He POPS the bottle, inhales, then tosses a swig back.
“Hey c’mon now. Captain I’ll smell it.” The redcoat checks up the steps. Coast clear. “And I ain’t standing extra watch cause you want to go and wreck your liver eh?” A thunderous distant CROAK shakes everything. Boards RATTLE. Water vibrates. The ship trembles, CREAKING. The two redcoats exchange terrified glances.
“Leviathan,” says George the redcoat.
“Quite fretting. It’s just legend,” the one says. “Parents tales scaring their children so they don’t swim too far.”
“Well it got me. Good luck mate.” The redcoat corks the bottled rum, turning for steps. George the red coat lowers his bayonet, steals a last look at Nero.
“Almost look alive to me,” he says. The ship creaks again, ready to collapse. He turns round speeding towards steps. THWASH. Nero stands, flicking wet hair, COUGHING. Powder sprays as he bends over, panting. He splashes water on his face regaining his bearings.
Outside the Wrecked Man O War Ship
Nero, all alone, tugs at two splintered oars as his row boat rides tottering waves. The sun glistens on a bumpy glass ocean. His eyes widen as his arms go slack. A massive chomp-sized bite, fifty fathoms long, has been taken out of ship. He freezes, gob-smacked. His eyes search, mind-reeling. The raider was right. It does exist. He shakes it off, rowing again. Beyond, the British ship sails off on horizon.
On the Rowboat
A day later Nero snuggles under the lifeboat’s seating boards as gentle waves rock the vessel. A heavy rain PATTERS the sea. His eyes gleam over the shimmering black sword, cradling. Another thunderous distant CROAK. The whole sea vibrates as the rowboat trembles. He shoots up, straightening. On the distant lightning horizon a colossal tail with jagged fins SLAPS water, then disappears below.
A Week Later.
The sun beats on reddened sun burnt face then…a shadow climbs over it. His eye-lids flicker as water spritzes over. He sits up as his jaw goes slack. He begins to stand…slow.
A massive black-ship with holed red sails towers before him. Dark sinewy pirates dripping in seaweed with reddened faces lean over deck glaring, mouth agape. They point. Nero glances down. He’s clasping Black Bart’s sword. It shimmers back, almost glowing. SPLASH. A rope SMACKS water beside. Pirates on deck kneel to one knee, some even crossing hearts. Nero smirks.
Black Bart’s Wrecked Ship with Nero floating off.
The Bermuda Triangle, Capatonia Island, 60 years Later
Clear blue vast water flies by, fast. The sea’s calm, like untouched marble glass. The sky above glows pink and orange, a wildfire. A seaport village with dirt streets, stone-walls and houses with thatched straw roofs outline an archipelago island. Nestled at the center is a vast emerald forest, miles long. A dirt trail circles round the edge as massive wooden guard towers poke through the canopy every hundred feet. A dark oil-black substance oozes from the pined forest reaching for the seaport village. This is Capatonia. An island compromised mostly of warriors.
Marie Fitzelbaum a forty something years old pear-shaped woman with frazzled grey hair argues with herself as she staggers to the forest’s edge, her morning walk. A wooden guard tower equipped with a massive gong bell and flaming torch overshadows her, glowing orange in a dark morning light. A black kimono ninja strapped with wooden bow stands post, scanning forest in search of threats.
On the village dirt track, dividing the forest and Capatonia’s edge, a smiling dark-skinned baby with jet black hair FLAPS her tongue. This is Koala. She’s restless, nestled in a straw basket at forest’s edge. The mysterious oozing darkness mixes with the rising morning mist that creeps over her. Marie gazes at the little bundle, mesmerized. She shoots a glance right. Nothing. Then left. Nothing. Whose baby is this?
Koala GOOOS reaching out as Marie spots a carved bamboo flute tucked beside. A squirrel-sized orange fox with fire eyes, peeks over the basket aweing at the little girl. This is Fennec. A creature as stubborn and crafty as Koala, as we’ll soon come to find out.
Marie jumps, frightened, kicking a dusted boot at him. Fennec dodges raising a fist, CHIRPING. Koala’s plump arms reach out to him as she grasps a bundle of his white-furred chest. They beam, connecting. Her baby fingers grasp for the flute, reaching out. Fennec smiles, handing it.
“Alright fur muffin. You can come too.” SNAP. Something from the woods. Marie focuses, squinting through iced pine branches and dark shadow. Darkness oozes out only feet away. Suddenly, her eyes grow, terror-fueled. The dark outline of a shadowed women melts through vine and leaf. THUMP. Marie falls back, basket cradled. The shadow floats forward, grasping for Koala and the basket. Fennec WHIPS a high-kick at it as Marie spins round, beating for village stone walls, basket in hand.
“Fuzzy beaks. Get out of there!” She yells, looking back absolutely terrified.
Fennec nods to the forest, then hops back, trailing Marie. The dark shadow stops at the villages edge not going any further. Beyond the small town opens up revealing crystal bay, stone walls and cottage homes with dirt streets. Chickens CLUCK down roads past tiny shop owner stands and vendors. Marie turns the corner into a straw roof covered building with a hanging wooden sign reading: Foundling Hospital. She PANTS hard then checks back at the forest. Nothing. The floating apparatus is gone. Further out, the bay and the gleaming crystal pacific ocean gleam under rising sun.
A few days later Koala lays inside a straw basket, arms flailing, restless. The foundling hospital’s beat up, tainted. The painted wall’s are cracked as stone crumbles the ground. Other babies round her, much larger, sleep in their own bushels, lined up on wood racks like an assembly line. The door whips open.
“We’ve the cutest most plump little children you’ve ever seen.” Marie says. A regal higher-class couple dressed in silk kimonos step in, examining the room. “And they’re most obedient. Well-disciplined too.”
They scan the room’s walls then check out babies for adoption. Fennec sees. He pushes Koala’s basket to the tables edge ahead of other children. The woman pauses, eyeing Koala with a smile as Fennec beats behind, hiding.
“What about this one?” Her husband steps beside, scanning Koala.
“She’s tiny. Seems fussy too-”
“Tinier makes her…cuter,” she replies.
“And expensive,” he says. “There’s health complications and-”
“That little scamp? You don’t want her.” Marie says. “She’s a mossback. Found her at forest’s edge right against the darkness. Almost got me killed.” The woman regards Marie, curious.
“See dear,” he says. “Sides, she’s probably infected.”
“Now I’ve some larger children in the next room.” Marie says as she leads them away.
“What happened,” says the woman. Marie CHUCKLES to herself, anxious to tell the tale.
“Well, I was going for my morning walk when I saw her,” she says.
“Saw her,” says the woman. “You mean the…forest witch?”
THWAP. The door closes as their voices fade out. Fennec pokes his head up again over the basket, wagging a head then SIGHS.
Five Years Later
Koala wrestles with other dirtied orphan boys wearing ragged tan tunics. Dust spirals round them. She grips a boy’s arm thrusting it up behind his back. The boy cries.
“Uncle. Uncle.”
“Call me forest fudge one more time,” Koala yells.
“Koala!” Marie stammers into room, hands on hips, glaring hard. Koala feigns a smile. THUMP. She pushes the boy forward, hard glaring at him. “He called me forest fudge-”
“And he wouldn’t be wrong,” replies Marie. She grips Koala’s wrist pulling her to a crammed closet. It’s too cramped to sit but shards of glass and nail poke out, keeping anyone from doing anything other than standing. “It’s into the shut away with you.” Marie pulls an arm back getting ready to slam just before Fennec dashes through. THWAP. The door slams shut. “And your little squirrel friend was snooping in the cupboard again,” Marie yells from the other side. Fennec CHIRPS back, holding a fist out.
“He’s a fox, not a squirrel,” says Koala. Fennec wisps up to Koala’s shoulder, rubbing his neck against her chin, comforting. She embraces him then looks up. “God, if you are actually up there. One day, make me queen so I can get Fennec and me all the food we could ever want… And so I can find my real family. Amen. Oh wait, and so I can fire Miss Marie…. Final amen.” Fennec nods, crossing hands over heart beside her.
Another Five Years Later
Koala, teenager now, pokes a head round the foundling hospital’s corner, then Fennec. Their eyes scan the street, searching. Villagers drag hand wheel barrows loaded with fur black coats as others point at vendor shops with skinned fish hanging from rope.
“A shilling for a quarter pounder. Right here. One shilling for a whole quarter,” the muscled shop owner yells. Villagers rush the stand as Fennec steps out ready to pounce towards the stand.
“No wait. He’s too big,” says Koala. Fennec steps back as Koala’s eyes dart round searching for a new target. The bread stand owner!
“There. He’s skinny. Limp in the leg too.” She pats dirt on her face then scrambles hair, glancing at her puddled reflection on the ground. Good. “K, we meet back here in five minutes. You take fish and I’ll get the bread.” They trade glances. Let’s do this. Fennec scurries cross the street dodging rushing villagers as Koala weaves in and out round hand carts and traffic, headed toward the fish stands. “Excuse me sir? Hey sir.” The fish owner exchange coins for fish, saying nothing. “Hey Bicep Baron!”
He glares at her now. “What?” Koala feigns confusion.
“Is it true that fish can be poisonous if you eat too much of it?” The fisherman glares at her then the bread owner.
“Who said that?” he says. Koala points to the bread stand owner.
“Well,” he replies. “You can tell him to come try some for himself. First bites on me.” Koala grins, snaking back over to the bread shop owner who stares down, counting coins.
“Excuse me sir,” she says.
“Hey I ain’t giving out no hand outs again,” he yells.
“Oh gosh no,” she says. “Once I heard that the bread was infected with the darkness I told myself I wouldn’t ever eat bread again.”
“Infected? Whose saying that?” The shop owner replies, eyes flaring. Koala points back to the fish butcher across street.
“Fish head!” He yells. No response. “Hey, shark fish!” he says. “It’s sourdough! It’s a new type of bread where the yeast rises not moldy darkness!” The fish stand owner uppercuts the air with one hand as the bread shop owner marches towards the fish stand, wading through flocking customers. Koala smiles. “Hey, you got something against my bread?” She eyes the stacked bread stand.
“Well I heard you done think my fish stink.” Both owners are completely distracted when YOINK. Fennec pulls a fresh fish from wire above as Koala pulls a steaming loaf from the bread pile. The stack falls rolling onto the dirtied street. The bread owner turns, sensing something.
“Hey!” He shouts.
Koala and Fennec swap looks. Let’s get out of here. They dash out as the shop owner limps forward. They hurl a stone wall, speeding round a corner and into the foundling hospitals back house.
“Did we lose’m?” Fennec pokes a head round the corner, nodding. They crouch down, high five, then break bread and split fish. “That first fisher guy’s scary. See how big he was?” Fennec puffs his chest out proud. Koala’s about to tear in when she hears a COUGH from inside the foundling hospital. She pokes a head up, searching.
In the window a younger skinny boy lies on a bed, sick. Beads of sweat line his pale forehead as the black oozing darkness drips his cheek. Fennec looks at his bread then at the boy then at Koala giving her the guilt trip look. She shakes her head. No, not happening.
“I haven’t eaten in a whole day. Give’m yours.” Fennec CHIRPS, then hops to the window TAPPING it. Koala licks lips opening her mouth wide ready to chomp but then pauses. The sick boy reaches a hand over opening the window as Fennec passes him bread and a piece of fish. Koala SIGHS then regards her meal, re-thinking.
17th Century Capatonia during a misty morning
At Village Center
Flies BUZZ over an impaled cow. King Doti, the village leader, stands over it, arms crossed. His anvil jaw and towering athletic figure shadow over his skinny and bald right-hand man Fergil.
“Third attack this week?” He says. Fergil nods as chickens CLUCK round the pen. “Didn’t think they could get more aggressive. Place an extra guard at each tower. And I want guard posts every twenty-fiver meters now along the village track.” Fergil, a skinny and stoic man with a shaved head and long goatee nods, scribing on board.
They stride out the pen side-by-side as villagers step out of the way, bowing in respect. Young tanned men in simple black kimonos line atop the sea port wall overlooking bay. They HURL punches at straw dummies, practicing Kung-Fu as a teacher walks behind, examining. Villagers stack black fur coats onto hand wheel barrows.
“And how many sick this week?” Doti says. Fergil scribes something on board, extending it. “And deaths?” Fergil writes a number now. “That’s too many,” says Doti, firm. “We lose more villagers we’ll never meet quota.” Doti stops and glares at the darkness creeping the village’s edge. The oil-black substance oozes through the tree-line, alive.
“It extended by a foot last week my king,” says the shop owner. “The other villagers think it’s a curse.” Doti scans the man then his ramshackle bread stand with sprawled loaves on ground. “It’ll be inside town by months end.” Doti nods, bending over to sort the man’s bread. “My King please, don’t-” Doti blocks his hand, stacking the bread as the man bows. A villager picks a piece handing coin to the owner.
“Need to find this appointed one,” Doti says. “We’re running out of time.” Fergil nods. “How many in the next training class?” Fergil scribes something on board. “Lower the enrollment age to ten. I want the strongest boys from each family. If he’s here, we’ll find’em.” The villager PSHEWS the bread out. Disgusting.
“It’s a new type,” says the bread shop owner. “It’s called sourdough-” The villager THAPS the loaf down as Fergil bows to Doti turning towards the town’s square. “And I need a number on furs,” says Doti. Fergil nods.
“My king,” says the owner. “Are the rumors true? Is the forest witch-”
“Scuttlebutt and speculation,” says Doti. His eyes piercing the man. “You’re doing great work,” he says. Doti SLAPS the owner’s shoulder then eyes the Foundling Hospital sign. He SIGHS, stepping forward as the bread shop owner bows.
Inside the Foundling Hospital
Koala says, “Here. Take it.” She passes bread to the boy in the window. He gleams as Fennec and Koala trade a look.
“Hey forest fudge!” An orphan boy from inside stammers into room, eyeing Koala.
“That’s not my name.” The orphan smirks jiggling Koala’s flute in her hand. “Looking for this.” Koala’s eyes widen. No one touches my flute. She marches into the Foundling Hospital as the orphan dashes to the next room. Other orphans wrestle in dirt, playing just beside a CRACKLING fire. The boy observes the flames then looks down at the flute, smiling. Fennec speeds ahead as Koala turns the corner.
The boy wears a coy smile on his face standing by the flames. He holds his arms up. “Sorry Mossback, my hand slipped.” Koala dashes to the fire-place frantic, pulling out fiery logs. Where is it? Where is it? Her fingers smolder with fire as she inhales smoke but she doesn’t stop. “Oh wait,” the boy says. “I found it.” Koala turns as he holds it up again jiggling. Koala sprints forward as the boy tosses it to another orphan cross the way.
“Darkness wants you back Koala,” one orphan says.
“I’m not scared of the darkness-”
“Well it’s scared of you,” says another. “You got sacrificed to the forest witch but even she didn’t want you.”
“Forest witch isn’t real dum-dum,” Koala says reaching for the flute as they toss it back and forth over her.
“Face it Koala. You don’t belong anywhere,” says another orphan.
The kids laugh as Koala pounces forward, angered. The pair of orphan kids gleam as the other kids join in laughing. “Go back to the forest and maybe the cursed darkness will leave us alone,” says the orphan running round the room. THWAP, he trips falling to the floor. Then COUGHS. SPLAT. Black blood spews onto ground as wrestling kids freeze, glaring.
“Eww,” the whole room says.
“Formation,” Marie yells. The wrestling orphans dart into a two lined assembly. Fun over. Marie wipes black blood off ground.
“Darn forest witch,” she says. “Now everyone. Shut up! Better be on your best behavior for king. I’ve personally met the forest witch so if any of you, Koala, want to do-si-doe just know I can arrange a personal visit straight to the forest’s center for you. Understood?”
An orphan’s hand shoots up. “Miss Marie, is it true witch queen’s blood can heal the darkness?”
Koala says, “That’s ancient legend. No one believes those anymore-”
“I saw her with my own eyes! When I found you!” Marie says. “She’s real! And apparently, she likes little scamps as yourself.” Marie’s glaring at Koala who eeks back. The kids lock up, frightened.“Now, when the king arrives we’ll be lock, stock, and tight. Understood?”
Koala eyes the orphan flute stealer as he clasps it tight against his arm, hiding. The other orphan beside leans in whispering, “Mossback.”
THWACK. Koala backhand gut punches him so quick you swore she never moved. He falls to knees, cradling a stomach. Marie WHIPS round. Other orphans CHUCKLE, stomach’s quaking. THWAP. The front door opens SLAMMING the back wall. Dust spirals into light as everyone straightens. Marie bows as King Doti strides between the row, boots squeaking. His hanging Shinto swords KLANK as his boots SQUEAK with each step.
THWAP. Doti turns, grabbing a boy’s wrist, examining. Nothing. He tosses it back then gaits past a few more. The eyes of orphans dance round, too scared to move. Koala eyes the boy clasping her flute, hidden behind his arm. Doti stops again, examining a boy’s posture. THWAP. He taps the boy’s stomach which sucks in as the chest puffs out. Doti nods. Much better. Then turns, looking out the window at training ninja warriors shadow boxing air in village’s square.
Koala sees her chance. THWIP.She rips the flute from the boy’s grasp just as King Doti turns. He glares, THUMPING to her fast with heavy boots, towering.
“You don’t want that one.” Marie says. “She’s a moss back. Found her at forest’s edge. Always churning up trouble round here.”
Doti grips her arm, raising it. His other hand rips the flute from her as Marie’s eyes wide. Little rascal.Doti gawks eyes running over the flute. He examines it like a piece of lost treasure. “Where did you get this?” He gasps.
“She knows good and well that those have been outlawed King.” Marie says. “Can’t have a safe village if you’re busy playing round.” Marie raises her hand ready to strike Koala but just at it comes down Doti blocks her.
“That’s all Marie,” he says. “Feed’em two more extra rations this week. They’re too skinny.” Marie bows as Doti turns for the door, stepping out. An orphan kid leans in.
“Good going forest fudge. Ouch!” THWACK. Koala back gut punches him then trails the king out glaring at him.
Outside Doti strides past the bread stand as Fergil approaches extending his board with the quota numbers. “This is all we have?” Fergil nods. “Black Bart’s a month away. Double the shifts. We miss quota he’ll take it out of the villagers.” Doti watches rows of ninja warriors in all black Kimonas practicing kung fu. They kick in unison at straw figures as a teacher gaits behind, examining. These are the village Gurkhas. Trained in all matters hunting, combat tracking, and sailing the sea. Sworn to protect the village at all costs. “Trainee seven has a lowered guard,” says Doti.
“I want my flute back,” Koala says, glaring dead-eyed. Doti and Fergil exchange looks, turning. Did we just hear that? Koala glares up with an outstretched arm as Doti towers over her, staring down. “It’s all I have and I want it back.”
“You know who I’am little girl?” Doti says.
“Koala!” Marie yells, stammering forward. Orphan kids point and CHUCKLE from the foundling hospital’s front yard. She tugs Koala’s hand as Doti holds his up. Wait. She freezes as he scans Koala, inspecting. She trains tiger eyes on him, unwavering.
“You will live with me at my quarters.” Doti says. “I will train you. And you will become like one of them. A great hunter of griffins.”
“I don’t want to be a griffin hunter,” she says.
“Do you know what these creatures are capable of?” Doti stares into her eyes deadpanned.
“Heard they only attack at night,” says Koala.
“And under grey skies when the sun cannot touch them. But that’s our only advantage. They don’t eat anything but man flesh. They don’t sleep. And they will never stop until every last one of us is dead.” Koala eeks back. “It’s a great honor protecting our village from the darkness lurking in these woods,” says Doti.Doti shoots a glance at the bread shop owner, wagging a head at Koala. “Or perhaps you’d rather go back to being an orphan stowaway? Rummaging for bread?”
Koala regards the ninja warriors training on the sea wall, sweating under hot sun. One ninja HURLS a throwing star. THWACK. In a scarecrow’s eye. “I’m not a stowaway.” She says. “But I’m not a hunter either.”
“Not yet. And it’s not your choice. Fergil.” Doti turns striding forward as Fergil bows then tugs Koala’s hand. Her eyes widen. Think my whole life is about to change. She swivels a head back. PTHHBB, she flaps a tongue at the orphans as their jaws drop. Fennec trails behind, darting.
“Can he come too-”
“Bring the squirrel,” Doti says. Fennec CHIRPS holding a fist up but Koala wags her head. Not worth it right now. “So wait, sir King. Does this make me like…royalty now?”
“You’ll follow a strict schedule.” Doti says. “Physical training in morning. Combat arms in mid-day, tactical reviews at night.”
“Wow I get my own servants now too,” Koala says.The King stops, then turn, leveling to her.
“A queen belongs first to her village, then the family,” he says. “And if the day permits then herself to enjoy a cup of tea in the evening perhaps.” Fergil scribes something on a board then shows it to her.
“Chores!” Koala yells. “But queens don’t clean…And at six AM! What if a griffin attacks me?” Doti shoots Fergil a look.
“A queen always places others well-being above her own,” he says, turning back. “Now it’s time for you too meet someone very important.”
“Who,” says Koala. Doti smirks, looking back over his shoulder.
“The queen,” he replies.
King Doti Patrolling Capatonia
Somewhere in Bermuda Triangle
It’s a simple Captains’ quarters. Everything sways CREAKING. Water leaks in through waxed boards as a galley light hangs, swaying. Nero, disguised as Black Bart, late seventies with a scarred face, pale and stubbly lies in bed under dirtied sheets, life drained. He COUGHS as a nurse spoons him spiced rum. Hidden beneath the sheets his hand clasps a stiletto knife. Beside him, a half-empty gallon of the brown brew spice rum stands. The steel Black Bart’s sword with the silver handle and serrated edges rests holstered at bedside.
The door opens to a shadowed figure. “You don’t look well,” says Lamia Grimthorn. She’s a towering blonde-haired woman with full sleeve tattoos and painted war face. A silver dagger hangs from her waist. Her fierce stare matches her ambition, charged to the max. She glares at him with fired eyes, focused. “Leave us!”
The nurse wisps away placing a call bell on table beside. Lamia’s fingers twiddle over her dagger blade. SHIIIRRR. She pulls up a chair, sitting over as the swaying galley chain light casts shadows. Her pet crow Buko, jet black hair with ghosted white eyes, perches her shoulder. SHING. Serrated edges tear past a black sheath ripped from its holster. Nero stares, under the sword’s shimmering reflection as his fingers tighten round his hidden knife.
“The legendary Black Bart’s sword,” Lamia says. “My father used to tell me stories of you at night. All the victories at sea. Probably in the thousands now.” She regards the shinning sword with awe. SHIIRRING. She re-holsters, looping it round her waist-belt. “Also told me that he was missing one ear. Blown right off by a canon. She flicks Nero’s earlobe as the door opens a crack. A shadow steps over doorway.
“Your majesty-” says Nero’s bodyguard.
“Not now!” Lamia yells.
THUMP. The bodyguard smacks the floor outside, dead. What was that? He strains up, peering at the door frame’s slit as the shadow falls over. Lamia leans in as the ship CROAKS. Water seeps through the board’s crevices, faster.
“Black Bart’s blood doesn’t run these veins,” she whispers. His eyes widen as she grins. WHOOSH. With all remaining strength he stabs the knife at her. CHINK. She stabs his shirt’s wrist collar pinning his hand to the nightstand, paralyzed. “But don’t worry. I’ve kept your secret safe. After all, you took me in after my father left...Treated me like family. But that day he also taught me the greatest lesson...Never trust anyone, especially family.”
Nero GROANS, extending his trembling fingers towards the nurse’s bell. Buko CAWS then jumps beside, pecking hard at it. SHIRRRPP. She slides closer as Nero’s hand trembles, chewed up by Buko’s pecks. She grips the bottle of spiced rum then stands over him as his eyes go extra large, veins bulging. “Bottom’s up…Black Bart,” she says. Buko CAWS, FLAPPING wings excited. GULP-GULP.
“Lamia’s Mutinied Ship Coming into Port Capatonia”
