Poseidon's Guide: The First Adventure // #Wattys2018

Chapter 12

The HMS Falmouth slowly glided across the water towards Edward's ship, effortless and without a single sign of hostility. Edward watched from the shoreline as a rowboat departed and only one man rowed it towards the dock. It was beyond Edward as to why the ship didn't attack his ship, it outnumbered his cannons by at least ten and was barely the same size.

The rowboat pulled up at the dock and the ship's captain stepped onto the dock, being greeted by a native. Edward snuck over to the dock to listen into their conversation and try his best to interpret the Portuguese speakers.

"Eles estao vivos?" The British captain spoke fluent Portuguese, far beyond the knowledge of Edward.

"Eles escaparam e atravessaram a ilha..." His informant replied. "Perdoe-nos!"

He dropped to his knees and began to presumably beg the captain. Times like these someone like Angelina really comes in handy, however to Edward's dismay she was off doing another important task with Maryanne. The captain ignored the pleas of the native and walked off the dock onto the island. Edward followed closely, maintaining his secrecy and discretion.

The captain walked through the streets and up towards the villa owned by the man who'd captured Edward and his crew. His heart dropped. What if Angelina and Maryanne went back to the villa? What if they forgot something? Edward remembered the derelict villa they originally came for, still waiting for someone to inspect it's secrets. They could've gone back there as well for answers, or to the beach where they were supposed to meet anyway.

Edward continued to follow the captain up to the villa, waiting for him to be alone. Edward snuck up behind the man, grabbing him in a headlock and holding him tight. "Not a sound, or I'll be burying you here!" Edward warned, holding a small knife from his pocket to the man's back, in a perfect place to either disable him for life, or kill him.

"So I presume you're the infamous captain Langdon..." He answered calmly. "Or at the least a member of his crew?"
Edward snickered and investigated the area for any other watchers. "Aie, ya' right. But didn't I say you weren't to make a sound?" Edward retorted.

"I believe you'd be wanting the information I have, and relaying that information requires me to make sounds, Captain Langdon."

Edward released the man, pushing him to his knees and holding the knife to his throat. "Ya' don't wanna be gettin' smart toungued with me... I ain't the British Navy's biggest supporter..."

"Don't make your presumptions so early 'captain', I personally am in secret opposition with Commodore Hadly as of now." The captain smiled as Edward's face screwed up and he lowered the knife from his throat. "Ah, that got your attention..."

"What do you mean by 'secret opposition'?"

"The Commodore is a madman, I refuse to take part in his conquest to dominate the seas!"

"Ya' talking to a pirate mate, fancy words don't mean shite to me."

The captain rolled his eyes. "George Hadly is a psychotic and egotistical lunatic! He is in direct pursuit with you now to race you to the Sword of Tlaloc!"

"Ya' do realise that I don't believe in this magical sword? I'm just hoping there's gold or something else interesting..."

"I don't believe in it either! But I do believe that Hadly is crazy!"

Edward sighed, putting his knife back in it's home. He held his hand out to the captain, helping him back to his feet. "So what do you want from me?"

The captain smiled. "I wish to see The Executioner in Davy Jones' locker..."

"Then welcome to me crew!" Edward's face lit up like the blaring sun overhead. He held out his hand, waiting for his new 'business partner' to grab it and shake it. "Do ya' have a name or something?" The man took Edward's hand in his own and shook it.

"My name is Benjamin Henley, Captain of the HMS Falmouth." He answered proudly. "However I'm guessing that's not gonna be my title if I want my superior dead..."

"No, we ought to change that... You're no longer a captain mate, however you could be quite the advisor..." Edward laughed as he watched Benjamin contemplate the legitimacy of his words. "By 'advisor' I mean you tell me every bloody thing about this Commodore, good enough?"

_______

The Executioner pulled into the Golden Isle, the other thirty odd ships waiting just outside for there flagship to do its business. George watched the golden sands roll by as his ship went deeper into the archipelago. Once the water was too shallow for the ship and the islands became barely metres apart from each other, George got into the rowboat and had his men row him to the most centred island. George stepped out of his rowboat, straining his thigh. Bloody old age. He internally snickered. He held his usual dark and cruel expression, sharp and vile green eyes starring down his crew, yet he was cheery inside and ready to see his prize. Ever the realist, the rumours of swords and mythical ships weren't even slightly appealing to George, but the proof was beyond his suspicion.

The Golden Isle was named well, an archipelago covered in golden sand, not yellow like others or bleached white like some of the beautiful islands. This sand was special. George pulled out a journal from his coat, full of scribbled notes he had copied and translated from one of the journals of Lawrence Vallenzo. A large boulder was in the centre of this in particular island, on it were Ancient Roman inscriptions mixed with some Ancient Greek and one more language George had never seen in his life.

"Commodore, what is it?" One of the men in George's service mustered up the courage to ask.

"They're words... Roman, Greek and what looks like Yucatec, but I'm not certain... This isn't an island Mayan's would be near in their time, but the boulder doesn't lie..." He informed, carefully attempting to decode what the three languages inscribed.

Mighty Neptune... George read the Roman. Rests here... Read the Greek. George skimmed through the journals pages in careful investigation for what looked like the third language. There were some drawings of what looked similar to the third language, but it was incomplete. If three languages met, why on the Golden Isle?

"If I may make a suggestion Commodore?" The same man spoke up again. George nodded. "Try and interpret what it would say if it were Yucatec. You said it looks similar."

George did as the man suggested, reworking the letters to look like the Mayan language. Descended God... He managed to make out. George squinted. Mighty Neptune rests here, Descended God. George turned to face the man who'd made the suggestion.

George handed him the journal. "You seem like a smart man. See what you can find." He faced the other crew members who came ashore with him. "Return to the ship and bring a cannon back here... I want to see what's in that rock..."