Tales

Icarus and the Legend of Silverbeard

The name's Icarus. John Icarus. Captain of the blue Lady, the prettiest ship that ever set sail. Dark spruce wood with a deep blue trim, deep blue sails and fifteen deep blue cannons. As for me, being Emborjian by birth, I had the signature black hair, black freckles and blue eyes. I had a crew of twenty-one, as was needed to maintain a ship of that size and keep it sparkly clean. We were merchants, heading south along the west coast of Classica. We were just pulling into Port Richard, a large, bustling seaside town with cobbled streets and tall orange chimneys, three story houses pressed up against each other with floral curtains and Victorian rooftops, tall masts of ships swaying slightly in the faint current, and rows of merchant tents lined up along the coast side street, shouting out haggles and barters and merchandise claims. We pulled up to the outstretching boardwalks and a few of the crew-members hopped out and tied up the ship. The crew scurried about, pulling down the sails and tying down ropes and doing various tasks. I went about surveying work and giving orders. Then we unloaded the cargo and opened up shop. We sold items from all around, pots, vases, relief sculptures, tapestries, silks, armor, fine dresses, spices, chocolates, incense, whatever foreign goods we could find at a decent price there and sell for a greater price here.

I rented out rooms for my crew at The Green Man Tavern, where we always bed down at Port Richard, and as the sun burrowed down beneath the horizon, me 'n' some o' the crew were downstairs playing a few rounds of quick-hand seven. Big Jim dealt out eight hands. One for me, another for Wild Kate, who was a red-headed, fierce woman (The only on the crew); one for Johnny, the twelve-year-old orphan with crazy blond hair and an overbite; one for old Ben, known as the grey haired old sea-dog who's seen everything; a few others; and himself of course: Big Jim the chocolate-skinned, large, fierce, logical man.

"Right," He said in his deep Quyncuit accent, "Now, no cheating this time, hands beneath the table, no rosin on the thumbs,"

"Rats!" Old Ben said, wiping his hands on his patched overalls.

"No pineapples, paper cuts, slip-ins, rubber gloves..." He continued.

"Honestly, we've already been over this," I said.

"And absolutely no," Jim finished, leaning in for effect, "Sore losers."

"Oh, you'll be breaking your own rule Jim!" Kate said. "You know you won't like it when you're beaten by a girl tonight."

"It's on!" He chuckled, "Now, are we doing it by pigments or blood type?"

"Blood type." Young Johnny said, "Pigments are only for the sitting room version. We're doing the real thing here."

"Right." Pinabel said, putting down his card.

As we played, the bartender came to our table. "Anything I can gecha?" He said with a grin.

"Three root beer floats and a Ganymede," I said, already knowing exactly what everyone wanted from so many nights' playing cards in this very tavern.

Jim put down a card. "Y'know, of all the ports and docks and coastal cities I've been to, this tavern is definitely on my top ten list."

"Right underneath the Blue Moon," Kate said.

"Oh, don't even start that." I said, "We had more than enough fun for a year."

"Wish sandy coulda' been there, though." Old Ben said as he put down another card.

"Wait, no, that's' a king. We're on the under-time rotation." Big Jim corrected.

"Oh, rats." Old Ben said.

The game was continued in silence until the bartender came back.

"Three root beer floats," He put the frothing mugs down with a unanimous clunk, "And a Ganymede." He set the small glass with a clink in front of the large Dublinian man at our table. "It sure is dark out there. And so still. Y'know, they say that Silverbeard is back, and roaming this very area."