A Marooned Man

“Rick, why are we tied off?”

“Captain! Sorry, I should’ve reported, but we’ve been having some trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Well, we spotted a flag on the spire’s summit, three white flags waving. First mate and the allcalls that we’re on deck put to a vote. We’ve been ahead of the winds, so we figured we could stand to lose a few hours if we can save some marooned bastard. Might even be some profit if there was a downed ship.”

“Right, fine, why are we still here?”

“Well, the away crew went and we heard some pretty bleak sounds, and then our boat came back with two less hands and a new face.”

“Someone was camped out?”

“For the last two seasons, apparently. Said he survived by fighting the wildlife, and this rock has got some teeth more than critters. Egg Eaters, the guy call them—“

“Let me guess. They ate more than eggs?”

“Right in one, Captain. Right now the shaggy bastard’s with Carlosa in the armoury, kitting out a second away.”

“Shaggy. Ursa chap?”

“No, sir, he’s got this massive tangled beard eating his face. Hides and hair dressed.”

“I see. Why the starry hells would he want to go back?”

“His effects, he said, and his fare.”

“What?”

“He asked Carlosa if he could buy passage. Said he had a merchantman’s plunder packed up in his camp, stacks of gold pieces and stored cargo like, less foods, I’d wager.”

“Carlosa’s leading this madness?”

“Begging pardon, Captain, but the crew thought it a venture worth pursuing, even if he’s weighed his gold three flans a coin.”

“It won’t be if they’re all dead.”

“Seemed a risk some of the new lot seem willing to venture.”

“Black damn. Alright, let’s go.”