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The Privateer

  By Parker Stubbe

  Copyright 2015 Parker Stubbe

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  Jeramiah Mavern didn’t think anything of the man when he walked into his pub, not beyond the fact that he was another paying customer come to drown out his sorrows or entertain his more carnal fancies. The barkeep thought nothing as the man advanced steadily his way, not slobbish and drunkenly as most of his patrons were. But he smelled unseemly enough!

  His clothes were stained and ragged, and the lower half of his face bore that peculiar brand of fuzz that although not quite yet a certifiable beard, was nonetheless well off and along the way. Pulling back a stool, the man sat down at the bar directly in front of old Mavern and slammed with his grubby, filth-encrusted hand two coins of sparkling silver onto the counter. “A pint,” he ordered, “of your famous grog!”

  “Well now I don’t know if I’d call it famous!” the old barkeep chuckled, grabbing up the coins and biting one with ivory teeth. “Maybe the best on Tortuga!” Sure enough, the coins were real. “Well,” he said, pocketing the silver and grabbing a flagon for the cask, “yer loot be true enough! So tell me, where was it ye heard of me famous grog?”

  With a hiss, amber liquid shot from the tap and into Mavern’s waiting glass, which he filled to the point where foam overtook the rim and slammed it down in front of his customer. Grabbing it with a smile, the unkempt man took a long swig before sighing, and wiping the foam from his lip fuzz before answering. “I was recommended it by a friend, one of the men on your last voyage I believe!”

  At these words the old barkeep’s ears perked with interest. “And who would that be,” he asked, “if I might be so bold as to inquire?”

  “Captain Harrington.” his patron answered before taking another swig.

  “The captain?” Mavern wondered aloud, “But I’d thought he was dead!”

  “Well that’s what I thought too!” the visitor acknowledged, “Until he showed up in Nassau about a month ago!”

  “Nassau?” Mavern asked bewildered. “But how on earth did he end up there?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me!” the visitor shrugged, “But he said that you’d likely be willing to share a thing or two about your last adventure should I buy you a drink!”

  “Well I’m not sure what exactly there is to tell!” the barkeep chuckled, “Not without seeming a loon who spins out mad fables and deranged yarns!”

  “Try me.” His customer grinned, pulling four more silver pieces out of his pocket, “I’ve got all night! And have yourself a drink while you’re at it!” Nodding, the visitor tapped his finger on the extra two coins that weren’t for his refill.

  “You know what sir?" laughed the barkeep, looking about his relatively quiet tavern, "I just might have to take you up on that!”

  Sliding the pile of coins off the counter and grabbing up his patron's glass, Mavern turned back to the cask where he refilled it, along with another fresh glass. Once again, when the foam was bubbling over the sides and onto the floor, he presented the customer his brew and directed him over to a smaller table in one of the darker corners of the tavern.

  “Thanks for the brew.” he toasted as the two men sat down, and began his story. “Now anyway, I was a much younger man than I am now not all too long ago. But time isn’t pleasant to people like me!

  My family has been in the taverning business for nigh on four generations now, me father, me father’s father, me father’s father’s father, and of course meself… all barmen!”

  “You must meet a lot of interesting people!” his patron interrupted, tapping his foot somewhat impatiently beneath the table. “Think you'd mind telling me a bit about them?”

  “Well of course!” Mavern blushed, “Me apologies, it’s just that not many’s seemin’ to be interested in old Mavern no more!”

  “And I’m starting to see why!” the customer chuckled, pounding his glass of grog against the barkeep’s (and spilling a bit in the process) to show that all he had said was done so in good humor.

  “All in jest I hope,” Mavern chuckled, thrusting his glass forward a bit to meet the customer in this latest toast, “But you're wantin' to know ‘bout the most interesting folks that I’ve met?”

  “Please tell.” His patron nodded.

  “Well,” the barkeep said slowly, stroking his stubby-bearded chin in thought, “I’d have ta say without a doubt it was… The Warlock!”

  “The Warlock?” the visitor perked up suddenly, “But surely he’s just a legend!”

  “Oh, but he’s not!” Mavern insisted, “I saw him with me own eyes, this I swear to ye! Just as surely as me name ain’t Shirley!”

  “Well then, go on!” his patron urged eagerly.

  “Well,” Mavern continued, “The Warlock he does some strange things! Appears outta’ nowhere he does! At least that’s accordin’ ta the stories, and when he comes, he steals yer valuables from right out under yer nose, and vanishes! As surely as its said that he never came!”

  With a frown, the visitor nodded. “But he did come?" he prodded, "And you met him?”

  “Indeed I did!” replied the barkeep. “Twas on the voyage here, not more’n a year ago! I was coming ‘ere from Barbados, where me father had gone and moved just before he died, hoping to set up a new life for meself, in a more “profitable” location!”

  “Well indeed you chose the right place for that!” the visitor complemented, “Then Tortuga, there’s no better place to make an ‘honest’ wage, ‘cept maybe Port Royal!”

  “Yes,” the barkeep admitted, “but the corruption’s a bit too much there for me. Here it’s the perfect balance!”

  “Amen to that!” the visitor laughed heartily toasting again, “But you were saying then about the Warlock?”

  “Ah yes!” Mavern jumped, remembering his story. “I was mid-passage on the ship from Barbados when he struck, at least I assume it’s a ‘he’. But he wasn’t the normal pirate in the way of wanton plunder see?”

  “Well then what did he want?” inquired the patron. Glancing around then, Mavern leaned in close to his new friend across the table.

  “Me stein!” he whispered.

  “And why did he want that?” the visitor asked, furrowing his dingy brow in confusion.

  “Well,” whispered Mavern, “I’m not sure that I should be telling ye this, but you’ve been a nice enough chap so far, so here it goes! Me stein is an old family heirloom, dating back supposedly from the court’a King Arthur himself! It’s the purest silver in it’s make! And ornamented oh so intricately!”

  “Hm,” his customer nodded, “I see. And that’s the one you're drinking from now?”

  “Heavens no!” gasped the barkeep, leaning back. “This here's pewter! Your standard run-a-the mill! Mine I keep hidden, down in the cellar! A place where no one’ll come lookin' for it!”

  “Interesting…” the patron nodded, smiling maliciously.

  “Yes,” the barkeep continued,oblivious to the subtle shift in his new friend’s mannerisms, “and the Warlock put up quite a fight for it too, I can tell ye that!”

  “You fought him?” the patron asked, mostly feigning his interest at this point.

  “Aye, I did!” Mavern continued, “Uses dark magic he does! Zaps ya with lightning just as would Jupiter himself!”

  “And, that’s how he got the captain.” the p
atron groaned, laying out now all of his cards upon the table. “He fell off, you shot the thief, your bullet did nothing, then you panicked and tried to set him ablaze with a lantern at which point he decided to flee!”

  “Yes!” the barkeep gasped, shocked at his new friend's knowledge of the encounter. “But how did you know that? Were you among the crew?”

  “Well,” the visitor grinned slyly, “I guess you could say that I was ‘among’ them!” And that was when the barkeep realized what his guest truly wanted.

  “Your… your…your….your…” Mavern stammered before he fell writhing to the ground.

  Smiling, his patron rose from his seat, and quickly downed the rest of his glass.

  “Yes,” he muttered matter-of-factly so that only the old barkeep could hear, “I am the Warlock!” Then slipping his taser back into hiding, the Warlock inconspicuously made his way to the door leading down into the tavern’s cellar, where he would finally be able to claim his prize.

  ***

  Hearing the shop bell signaling that someone had just entered the store, Bruce Kelly hastily wiped the shaving residue from his face before placing his taser carefully into the top drawer of his dresser, right on top of the flak jacket he had just smoothed out ever so neatly over the foot of his bed. Buttoning up his shirt and straightening his collar then to look presentable, he closed the door to his steamy bathroom, and made his way up the shop stairs and out front to greet the customer.

  “Greetings,” he beamed, “and welcome to The Warlock’s Shop of Lost Treasures! Here you’ll find antiques unlike any others, and each one of them in such good shape, you'd swear it has to be magic! How may I help you today?”

  “Yes,” said his customer, a dark haired woman in her mid-forties wearing a blue spring dress, “I was just passing by when I noticed that stein in your window.”

  “Ah! The stein!” Bruce smiled confidently, “Quite an astounding piece, isn’t it? Probably one of the nicest antiques in my whole collection!”

  “Yes,” agreed the customer, crossing her arms rather impatiently, “but... it actually reminds me of a stein that was owned by my great great grandfather in Barbados, that he supposedly lost on the way to Tortuga!”

  “You don’t say?” Bruce wondered aloud almost too coyly, “Well I’m hoping he got it back!”

  “Well, no.” The customer said sadly, shaking her head, “He was jailed for insanity shortly after settling into his new home.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that!” Bruce tried his best to console.

  “Well, thank you.” said the customer, “But quite frankly, I was wondering if you would mind sharing with me where you got that?”

  “Well,” Bruce laughed jokingly, “I didn’t go back in time and steal it from your grandfather, if that’s what you’re implying! Ha ha! No. This piece I was only days ago sold by a man in Newport!”

  “Oh,” Bruce's customer sighed somewhat glumly, “Well then, thank you for your time.” And with these words she left.

  “Well,” Bruce said aloud to himself as soon as the door had slammed shut behind the departing woman, “Sometimes they bite, and sometimes they don’t!”

  People usually paid fairly well to reclaim their long-lost family heirlooms, and so far as he'd found, none of them ever thought to try getting anything back from him through any legal force. So all in all his was still a pretty good business! “I suppose someone else will come along and buy it.” He told himself. But it didn’t matter too much.

  The stein hadn’t cost him anything! In fact neither had any of his other treasures! So then, without anything else to do, it was just off to the backroom for Bruce where he would think up his next heist. The Titanic had been something which had always interested him. After all, he assured himself as he descended the stairs back into his lair, it’s not like anyone will even be able to enjoy the stuff that they bring with them after it sinks!

  ###Keep an eye open for more works from Parker in the near future, and be sure to leave a review if you enjoyed what you read…. Please?