One afternoon, he sat on a rocky outcropping overlooking the docks, gnawing on a hunk of bread from the bakery he frequented. He sat wondering why the baker hadn’t ever chased him like the other food vendors did, even when she saw him nab a loaf that morning, when something caught his eye. He perked up. A few fisherman were loading onto the dock, but it wasn’t the latest catch that interested him.
A ship had just pulled in and the crew that disembarked was like nothing he had ever seen before. These men sauntered upon the dock, a flash of gold upon wrist, in ear or tooth. The twinkling of gems was about them, making them shimmer like the sea. There was not a man among them that wasn't smiling. As they went, men bent their heads in fear or respect. These were Free Men, no doubt. Picaro was sure of it.
Curved swords hung in the men’s scabbards, adorned in silver. A firearm hung from one of their hips. Some had long coats or plumed hats. Their clothes looked fine. They had on nice shoes. To Picaro, they were adorned in all the finery of the world. They were boisterous and joyful, seemingly without a care.
He ripped off another hunk of bread with his teeth and scampered over the rocky outcropping to tail the crew back to town. He came up behind the them cautiously, staring incredulously, chewing the last of his bread. He could hear the whispers from the grown folk around him. "I heard they came down out of the Tormented channel,” someone said.
"Why would they ever take that accursed route?"
"Either out of fear or for speed, who knows. What else would be the point?" Men and women stood around nodding, continuing their whispered rumoring. Then one of them, the tallest of the group, shot a chilling glance behind him. The onlookers looked away hurriedly, and sot the man’s eyes locked on Picaro.
The man was lean and strong. His hair was blond and his face was scarred. There was a cold blankness in his blue eyes that stopped the boy dead and sent a cackling shiver down his spine. Blank like the eyes of a dead man, or a man who sent men to death. Blank and cold. The man's face stood etched in stone, all for the flash of moment. Then, seeing the boy, the ice melted before he turned back to offer a bright laugh to his comrades. Picaro stopped and blinked, still chewing his bread.
The merry band found themselves in the local tavern, and Picaro snuck to the window to peer in. The crew made much fanfare with the way they ordered their food and drink. By the time the meal was laid before them, a fresh catch, one the largest Picaro had ever seen, the crew was already visibly drunk.
It was not the alcohol that made Picaro envious but the meal, the way the men clapped each other on the back, laughing at what each other said. They seemed all in agreement, of one accord. A crew of brothers enjoying the thrill of freedom, wherever it were. He could hear the sounds of their voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. So Picaro felt the need to slip inside to hear what it was they might be talking about.
He was able to follow on the heels of two men just entering the tavern, not bothering to look behind them, and the little boy slipped in just before the door closed. He edged along the wall, ducking behind chairs and beneath tables. Around him, the servers made their rounds. The place was already loud and boisterous, for the sun was setting behind the seat of the world, and no one seemed to notice him. Only a drunk man met eyes with him after he downed his mug, and he peered oddly at the small, moving shadow before someone hailed him from across the room. Picaro made it to the other side of the room, close to the tallest of the Free Men, the one with the cold blue eyes, and was able to overhear part of his conversation.
"So he says to me, take what you want so long as you let me live," said a stocky, squat man sitting on a stool, then he smiled and pointed to a flash of gold in his gums.
The tall man, Coldblue, as Picaro called him, laughed aloud, his voice ringing loud and clear. "Say it ain’t so, Rangold.”
“So I said to him, I’ve been missing a tooth. Gimme that gold one you got. And next thing I know, the man was ripping it right out of his own head and handing it to me. But, cause it was a right mess, I told him to clean it for me first, if ye please." The men at the bar burst into raucous laughter, clapping each other on the back and shoulders, hoisting mugs, tearing into their food with reckless abandon as if they were eating their last meal, the boy thought.
Coldblue chuckled and then shot a cautious glance sidelong. Picaro was sure he saw him, and he shrank back into the corner, as low as he could go.
Rangold tore into his own food, and within a few bites he swore. He picked out a gold fragment from amongst the fish on his plate. Men beside him caught on and burst into even heartier laughter. One man nearly fell from his stool, so drunk was he already.
"Don’t worry, we'll get it fixed for ye," said Coldblue, and his laugh rang out clear and loud again.
"Thank ye, captain, that's mighty kind,” said Rangold, and he quickly pocketed the gold tooth.
“Have a glass and forget about it,” said another of his crew. He was broad and tall, and as he hunched forward he seemed to dwarf the countertop. He clashed his cup with Rangold’s, grunting with appreciation and alive with drink.
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Then their talk suddenly turned to more serious matters. “Oi. How many days out are we? Thought it was three now,” said the broad man.
“Aye, three days. Don’t worry yerself, Bruno, we’re on schedule,” said Rangold.
“You think it’s still there?” asked Bruno.
“I do. If it’s been there all this time, then it’ll be there a few days more. We can afford to ship out by morn, especially after the day we had,” said captain Coldblue, and he forged a cold smile, raising his glass as if in toast. Though, Bruno only continued.
“But what about Silvester? I heard he and his crew were onto it too. We only just lost them back on Sweet Tooth, and we’ve been lost at sea for days. They can't be too far behind.”
“I can count, Bruno. And careful with the names you wag. Even off the beaten path there are still ears for hearing,” said captain Coldblue. The ice in his eyes scythed in Picaro’s direction, and icy pang struck the boy’s heart. For a moment he thought he had been seen there in the dark.
Yet even for his reprimand, the captain leaned closer and began to speak in low, hushed tones in reply to the man’s inquiry. Picaro strained to hear. He couldn’t help himself, and inched as close as he dared, just into the candelight near the edge of the bar. The innkeeper was busied behind the bar before straightening himself, holding a tray laden with fresh beer. As the man skirted the edge of the bar, his eyes caught the outline of a small arm and a pair of scuffed, worn shoes. The innkeeper cast a suspicious glance towards the shadow.
Realizing his cover was about to be blown, Picaro thought about creeping back along the wall and making for the door. Then, for a moment he thought he heard Bruno say the word treasure. He hesitated, eager to hear more, until finally his instincts overrode his curiosity and he spurned himself to the exit.
But he never made it that far, for a rough hand clapped him on the shoulder and spun him around. "What do you think you're doing here? Oi. I know you," said the innkeeper. His beady eyes narrowed and a scowl drew itself across his face. "Trying to have a hand in my pot, too, are you? Bah. You're a young lad, but that don't mean you shouldn't learn discipline."
The captain and his cohorts broke off their conversation and turned to regard the altercation. There was a quiet storm brewing in their eyes, and Picaro again felt the glacial chill from their captain’s cold, scything stare. “We’ll speak no more of this,” said the captain as he motioned to his peers, then raised himself from his stool and lifted his cup into the air. "Enjoy tonight, lads, for we leave here in the morning. But that doesn’t mean that it has to be met sober." This was met with even greater jubilation, and it felt as though the walls shook with the uproar. They quickly called to the innkeeper for more food and drink.
The innkeeper sighed roughly. "Just get of here lad, and don't come back." He led him to the door and nudged him out onto the street. "Go find work, boy, and make something of yourself."
Picaro scurried back to the window and peered in. The party was in full effect. They pulled barmaids close to amuse themselves and quickly decided a song was in order as men shouted the words to different tunes until a raucous melody was achieved. From the tip of his nose, Picaro felt the thrum of laughter through the windowpane. He could almost smell the air of adventure about these men. From far off they came, and soon they would leave. They were not bound to this land as he was. They held the keys to freedom, and they lived every day as if it were their last. Then, the innkeeper came to the window and wrapped the glass with his knuckles, shooing him away.
So Picaro went and sat on the stoop of a nearby building and sulked for a time, staring down at his feet. He loosed a drawn out sigh and lifted his eyes to the stars twinkling mildly at him from above. He sat there a while, wondering if he could pluck down one of those stars and make it his own when the doors to the inn burst open and the merry band poured forth, alive with song and red from drink.
All but captain Coldblue seemed full to the brim with liquor. He was again the image of sharp steel, cold and deadly. A sense of danger filled Picaro’s chest, and it thrilled him. The troupe fluttered along the road, disturbing the peace. Without thinking, Picaro got up and followed them. They were making their way back down to the docks to sleep off their growing stupor.
In the morning, they would be gone, the boy thought. He did not yet know what that meant to him exactly. He found his way to a back alley that ran along the edge of town and fed into the docks, making his way quickly to arrive before the crew did. He waited patiently for one last look at this unique group of odd characters the likes of which he had never seen in Squall Parlor before, and may never see again, by all his counts of luck. Down they came along the small, sloping hill, flooding the dock. They clasped the last remnants of bottles to their lips, downing the final dregs of their liquor.
They passed the boy, paying him little mind. A few glanced his way, some with toothy grins, and he watched them file back onto their ship. The last of the group, same as they had arrived, was captain Coldblue. The man walked a few paces behind, glancing about himself and then up at the stars. His gaze finally settled on the boy sitting there on top of one of the wooden pilings that supported the platform. Picaro boy went still as stone. The captain met the boy’s gaze for a long moment, and the faintest hint of a smirk spread the edges of the man’s face. The man tipped his hat to the boy ever so slightly as he sauntered past him.
Picaro opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “I hope you find it,” he found himself saying at last.
“Find what, y’say?” The captain did not turn.
”The treasure you're looking for.”
”I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the captain coolly.
”Still, I hope you find it,” said Picaro again.
This made the captain stop, but he only half-turned to glance sidelong so all Picaro saw was a sliver of ice marking his gaze. The smirk was no longer evident on his face. “Like I said kid, I don’t know what you’re talking about. May as well be no such thing as treasure, just things people are willing to pay for, that’s all. Treasure isn’t something you can buy. It’s not what ye find. It’s what nobody can take away from you. Remember that.” Picaro blinked. He didn’t know what to say because he didn’t quite understand. He could only watch him go, and soon lights on the ship came alive and the sounds of a second party began, the noise of it drifting across the bay.
Picaro sat and watched until the lights gradually dimmed and men quieted themselves. Then he sat beneath the stars, soaking up the lap of the waves against the rocks, all awash in silvery grey. He thought long about what the captain had said, and soon only one phrase remained gleaming in his mind. What nobody can take away form you. What did that mean?
Picaro did not remember falling asleep, curled up on the piling. He woke briefly just before dawn to see the ship of the Free Men loosing itself from the dock. It seemed to happen so fast, and he was only half-awake, that he thought he dreamt it as he drearily closed his eyes again. He thought he could still hear singing on the breeze.
How it started:
- Samuel O. Ludescher