Shiny baubles littered the surface of the water around him as men thrashed for them, shoving each other in an effort to make way as more of their crew were food into the room. A Man beside him was reaching for a golden cup when he was suddenly pulled under by a strong force. "Keep going. The evil is still here," Grit cried out as he waded passed Picaro. Panicked, Picaro made immediately for the entrance to the secret pool. He held his breath and dove.
In the bending underground tunnel Picaro could barely see ahead in the dark water. While he could not hear their screams nor see their fright, he imagined some of the crew being pulled away by scaly claws in that dark passage. Suddenly, he met a stone wall and in his panic thought he was trapped, that the scaly claws would get him too and he would drown there. But instinct or reason bade him swim instinctually upward for air. He broke the surface and could hear the sounds of waves lapping at the shore. He realized he was back in the cave by the coast.
Relief washed over him. But suddenly, a strong current took him and threatened to washed him out to sea. He barely kept afloat, spluttering, barely able to catch his breath and then the outstretched hand of a man reaching for him from the rocky shore. It was Atrocius. The brigadier-general pulled him out of the water with ease, nearly throwing him several feet. Picaro lay there for a moment gagging and yearning for air. He looked to see many other men scrambling to find footing on the stone. A bobbing wooden chest floated close to the edge of the water next to him. Picaro reached down to get a hold of one of its handles. He heaved, but the chest was heavy in his grasp. Then Mord bent down beside him to haul the chest up onto the rocky bank. The pair exchanged quick glances before Mord turned away to help another man to safety.
It seemed an age before men stopped pouring out of the mouth of the cove. They had lost some in their tally, but greater still was the loss of treasure as they watched it disappear into the depths. Finally, the current calmed as the wave of panick subsided. A shimmering form bobbed to the surface. A glowing pair of amber eyes watched them from beneath tangled hair the color of coral. The siren giggled as she floated by, clearly quite amused with herself.
"My heroes who freed me from that prison, might you come down so I can thank you properly?" She tossed back her hair and raised an arm out of the water pleading with them to join her. Valgur stood on the edge of the water, his face set in a heavy growl.
"Yer tricks won't work on us no more, sea witch. Enjoy yer freedom while ye can, for if I see you again, I'll put a bullet 'tween your eyes for trying to pry me life out from mine,” he said and drew a pistol, pointing it glaringly at the women's head.
"Come to me, brave men of the sea," she said giggling. Her eyes became entrancing once again and her voice became a sweet melody. Picaro recognized the danger and covered his ears. The crew watched the shimmering form catch the light and some men rose to their feet, walking slowly toward the edge of the water. The siren held out her hand in waiting just out of reach of the closest man. He stretched for her and stumbled into the water.
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Picaro rushed to try and pull the man back up. The siren’s eyes flicked menacingly toward the boy and he flinched. Then she flashed towards him.
"Shoot her!" said Picaro. Valgur, who still stood with his pistol raised, was struggling to find his resolve. Slowly, he lowered his gun arm. The siren had hold of the crewman and was pulling him into deeper water. Picaro struggled against her and looked around for help. The men were caught back in the same dream they had just woken up from. They would all go willingly to their deaths and there was nothing Picaro could do about it.
Suddenly, a tremendous quake shook the island and Picaro nearly lost his footing. The man he held to sunk a bit deeper, but the siren did not pounce on him. She was looking around wildly, becoming quite afraid. Her concentration had been broken and the spell was temporarily lifted. The man floundered in the water, but was able to heave himself back onto shore. Another tremor rippled out through the water causing a commotion in the surf. Water sloshed up onto the rocks as if caught in a storm. The siren bore her teeth at Picaro and her eyes glinted at the rest of the crew before slipping under the surface letting the current carry her quickly out to sea. Perplexed, Picaro watched her leave, unsure what could have scared her away just as her prey was within her clutches. Together, the crew watched her disappear into the deep. The only telling of her path was her head poking up out of the water for a moment some way out into the waves.
“What a woman,” said Mord as he watched her go.
”Let her go. She held more treachery in her gaze than any woman to ever live,” said Grit, shaking his head as he came back to himself.
The crew slouched in exhaustion and relief, but Valgur allowed them no rest. “To the ship. We have to get out of this accursed place,” he roared. Men scrounged for whatever treasure they could salvage and moved swiftly across the beach. The oarboats were still there in the sand though the tide was beginning to tickle their undercarriage. Beyond, Ye ‘Ol Marigold still held anchor just off the shallow shoals. They quickly pushed out to sea making for the ship and gathering aboard.
"How many did we lose?" asked Valgur.
"Seven, I think, not counting Onion. Where is the cook?" said Grit. Picaro’s breath caught in his chest.
They looked back at the beach. There was Onion barreling out of the jungle waving his arms.
"Oh, blast it all," said Valgur.
"Should we leave him?" asked Silvertime from the helm.
"Nay, we need to eat. Go and fetch him," said Valgur dejectedly. He was wringing water from his coat when Onion was pulled aboard. "It’s 'bout time, cook. Alright, we're all here. Set us a course for-" yet the words died on his lips when he saw the outline of a ship cresting the cape of the island.
"Captain, ship approaching," said Shrimp from the crow's next.
"I can see that."
"They're flying the colors of Alcatran."
Valgur paused, studying the approaching vessel. "The Admiral," he growled under his breath.
"Should we hail them?" Silvertime asked.
"Up the anchor and catch the southern wind. Let's bid our goodbyes to this place," said Valgur.
But as they made final preparations and began to turn in the surf, Alcatran's ship made a direct course to intercept them.
How it started:
- Samuel O. Ludescher