What Do You Do With a Drunken Sailor?
This month's Bugtime story is rated ARRRR.
Ahoy there, landlubbers!
Feast your eyes on this month’s Bugtime Story if ya dare:
The smell of salt burned his nostrils in the best way. Gulls cried out, while the steady chopping of the sea rocked his shop like a mother with her newborn.
Captain Trick took out his pipe and sat back on one of the pilfered barrels to smoke the New World’s finest tobacco—also stolen. This was the life he had always dreamed of: a crew that feared and respected him in equal measure, the freedom to go wherever he wanted, and all of the rum he could drink. Speaking of which…
Trick took a long puff from his pipe before swaggering into his cabin. The men were preparing the ship to raise anchor, their grunts from working the rigging and scrubbing the deck were music to his ears. Inside his small cabin, the Pirate Captain sat at his oaken desk and threw open the only drawer that mattered: the rum drawer.
“What!?” he cried out in a blind rage. “Where is me rum?!”
The drawer was completely empty, but he should have had at least three bottles left by his last count. That meant one of his crew was a thief (beyond the normal scope of piracy, that is), and that wouldn’t stand. Trick cast his pipe aside and removed his flintlock, stepping back onto the deck.
“Line up, ye bilge rats!” he shouted.
BANG!
Smoke clouded around his face as he fired his pistol to add urgency to his words. He stowed the spent weapon back into his belt and pulled out his cutlass. His crew lined up on the deck in front of them, most confused as to the nature of the summons.
“I’m only gonna ask ye this once,” Trick said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who stole me rum?”
No one spoke, though a few men looked at their toes suspiciously. The captain walked up and down the rows of men, eyeing each in turn. He tried smelling them to see if any would give away their crime with their breath. None did. When he was satisfied that he had found all he could from inspecting them up close, Trick returned to the front.
“Wiley!” he shouted to his first mate. “Bring Tibalt and Jones to me!”
“Aye, Captain!” the man responded.
The first mate dragged both men to the front by the ears. Trick knew that these two were the most likely to have stolen his prized alcohol, the mangy drunks that they were. He pricked each in the chest with the tip of his cutlass, but neither man flinched. Tibalt stood a head taller than Jones, with a wicked scar across his face and no teeth to speak of. Jones, on the other hand, had a hook in place of his left hand and a bum leg. Neither was worth the barnacles on the hull of their ship. Perhaps he should simply kill them both?
“One of ye is guilty, and one of ye will walk the plank!” he bellowed.
Captain Trick stared at them once more, trying to decide which man it would be.
“Careful, Captain,” Wiley counseled in his ear. “’Tis bad luck to drown an innocent man.”
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That be all for this week!
Bugs and Kisses,
Kris and the Bad Bug pirate crew
