Egg of Chaos

In its divine fury, the lightning tore the veil of night with a loud crash, the darkness shaded into a surprisingly turquoise blue. From his place, he contemplated the velvety cumulonimbus which, laden with rain, hid the starry skies. The waves in their swells and the rain in its rush relentlessly beat his makeshift boat, or at least what was left of it. And in his clenched fist, his fortune. He was using his last strength to avoid being swept away by the waves which were colliding with this broken mast, which constituted his raft; he narrowly escaped drowning, the fault of this damn fever which worsened over the hour. He had to hoist himself up on the mast, lie down on it to keep up his strength. From the start, he knew that returning to the Old Port would be a challenge... But not to this extent! He used stratagems not to faint; one was to leave it to the sea to lick with its saline tongue and nibble with its teeth that gaping wound which mortified his left thigh, from which pain poured forth, tearing red in those agitated waters. He kept between his teeth the broken blade of his rapier which had, however, not lost its edge. If by misfortune, he loosened his jaw, a gash would widen his smile. When the waves lent themselves to it, a swig of the saltiest seeping between his teeth came to rinse his dry throat. But that he was puking the next moment in his thick beard. Salty! Must hold! he tanned as the waterlogged fabric in which his booty was, tried to pull him down. A new flash streaked the skies, he discerned in the distance the contours of a lighthouse whose luminescent eye led its rounds. Not very far away. The Old Port was the starting point. Of this expedition? No, rather this robbery, which gave me another life, he remembered.

I was there with Basil the Fat Pig, Gaston le Titillator, Jacquot the Beauty, Coco the Ghost. Coco remained at the port, to prepare their escape when they returned from their escapade. In the night, Coco had no equal in blending into the dark. Despite his big body bloated with muscles, he managed to disappear before our eyes. Its black leather really helps! Thanks to that, he had escaped from a slave trade from Africa. And, it was from drowning that this bugger saved me. That evening they took their rowboat, rowing, for the peninsula where a three-masted English merchant ship had docked. Of course, with a knocking and stumbling load. The wind stirred the sea while the clouds gathered. We knew right away that the rain would be coming soon. And, that was so much the better, by the way. The rain was going to cover our arrival. Near the ship, the downpour was already in full swing; the swell rocked the hundred meters long and twenty meters high of the British hull. Nervous, we were, even if everyone pretended not to be. I stayed focused on my oar. A stroke, then a second. Jacquot, at my side, did the same and with his only eye, he squinted at times towards the boat. The Titillator rubbed his daggers, iron sharpens iron, they say. On the other hand, the one I couldn’t read, Basil. His gaze had not detached from the boat. Always like that, this bugger! He never shows anything. Basil was captivated by the British boat. They came to starboard. Basil listened, silence reigned. The Titillator sheathed his daggers, climbed the thick chain, whose ink was wading in the waters, to disappear on board. A moment passed. A silence that was interspersed with two muffled grunts. Two deads deckhands. Then, the Titillator resurfaced, invited them to come up. Despite his paunch, Basil climbed with the agility of a cat; his toes fitting perfectly into the links. Then Jacquot followed. I stayed in the boat. If it went wrong, jumping into the sea was the solution but swimming, I don’t know how to do it. Either way, that was the plan. But what happened after didn’t really please me. The guys came back after a tour of the ship, to tell me to join them. The loot had been moved…on the island, where the whole crew was. That was not planned! But no choice. Once on board, I had to admit that they didn’t skimp. The bodies of the sailors littered the deck. One, two…ten fellows who won’t let out a fart. Basil wanted to make sure again that everything had been combed through, so he ordered me down into the hold. He’s the one leading the dance...for now. Thereupon he descended with a bang, while the others re-inspected the rest of the three-master. There, I came across blades dragging here and there and a pile of barrels. At a glance, there were more than fifty. But upon inspection, the result was the same: either rum or gunpowder. Nothing stumbling or shimmering. Suddenly… A blade cleaving the air came, from behind, to lacerate his flesh. My thigh! Blood spurts out until it clogs the assailant’s hand. The Titillator?! In the meantime, Gaston regained the surface, laughing. It was only the beginning of the confusion… When Gaston swung a torch at the foot of the stairs… Everything became clear. The fire burned the first steps, the floor then spread around to the barrels of rum and... Dying, I have no intention of it! His shirt with puffed sleeves was shortened on his right to act as a tourniquet for his thigh. Hobbling, he reached the stairs, picked up a rapier as he passed. An explosion erupted. It comes from outside! He climbed the stairs on one foot. Reached deck to find captain’s cabin engulfed, from within, in flames glowing orange and gold; from which escaped, from the portholes, a blackish smoke. Nothing better than a campfire to get you in trouble. Damn! When he inquired about the beach, shouts arose. The crew was shouting curses in their Saxon slang, guns and swords in hand, sure! Turning to starboard, he noticed his three companions throwing packages into the canoe. A well calculated move by Basil, for sure! Jacquot was the first to notice him, left his comrades to their work to stuff himself… Yeah, I was their turkey! They were leaving with the loot, leaving me to die in the bottom of the hold. Jacquot drew his blade. What they never knew about me was that… They exchanged assaults. The blades clashed, screeched… in fencing, I fear no one! “Aaah! My eye ! cried Jacquot. The first eye he had lost was from gazing at the beauty of others. And the second is because he rubbed shoulders with me. He dislodged his rapier from Jacquot’s eye, this one collapsed. “Damn you, the Filthy! he spat, hands over his new gouged out eye. Suddenly, Gaston took over. With the Titillator, it was another matter. “The Filthy, you gonna die!” bellowed Gaston. He played his blades to blind his opponent, threw one of them but was parried by the rapier. The other was aimed at the right thigh, but it missed. While we were banging on each other, the British were getting closer, but above all what we forgot, the fire in the hold which continued to spread... He shifted to the left of the Titillator, placed a thrust in the side. The sword passed through Gaston’s flesh. He grabs the blade with his bare hands. “Die with me!” “Hell no!” He broke his blade in the stomach of the Titillator, who fell, spilling his guts. Realizing the loss of his acolytes, Basil immediately jumped into the sea. The british crossed the bridge for the boat. I had no choice. He ran limping to the gunwale. Damn, that hurts like hell! Besides, I don’t… He leaned on the edge. The british held him at gunpoint. He jumped. Can’t swim! The guns spat their flames. Basil, in the boat, raised his head to see the Filthy falling on top of him with his broken blade. ” Fat Pig !” Basil struggled to react as the rapier sliced through his furious snout. The two men crashed heavily into the boat, which almost overturned. ” Why ?!” “I am the one who says who leaves or not! They don’t leave me!” Basil yelled, one hand on his new nose. It was personal. “You can’t stomach me going elsewhere!” “Because you can’t do anything without me, Gaspard the Filthy!” Basil replied. From the top of the boat, the crew aimed their guns at them and... It happened. The explosion ripped open the ship, threw the crew into the air and blew the two men’s canoe away. The boat was sinking. An abominable creak followed. Basil and Gaspard inquired about the noise and saw the broad trunk of the mainmast crash down on their boat. Packages were floating on the surface of the water, so… He jumped. This is where our paths diverge. The mast violently crushed Basil with the boat which were engulfed by the waves. With the help of the floating packages, Gaspard beat the water towards the second floating mast and hoisted himself onto it.

At the Old Port, Coco forcefully pulled him out of the water and laid him on the pontoon. Gaspard was still holding his hoard. Coco inquired about the course of the theft and Basil’s betrayal. “Not disappointed? asked Coco. ” Why? We are pirates. “So, what are you doing now, the Filthy? “I’m chasing my dream. And don’t call me like that anymore, it’s the others who called that way.” “So, what’s your name? “. Gaspard’s dripping beard itched, he scratched it. Then he put his fingers in his mouth. Salty. Gaspard sketched a smile at Coco. As he was leaving port, Gaspard glanced at his loot. Gold coins, silver cups set with rubies and then, at the very bottom, a singular object. Did it appear to be amber; its polished surface was studded with small shards of diamonds. The jewel was strangely shaped like an egg.