The crew of the For Sale sat in the dark interior of
The Five Rudimentary Winds, one of nine seven-
star restaurants in Sa’Laam. Keep in mind that a
given spiral galaxy of a hundred billion stars or so
only has maybe a dozen such caliber restaurants
at any given time. Thus, Sa’Laam again confirms
itself in the Cosmic Histories to be the peak of
civilization!
Now, there is no dish that the chefs of The
Five Rudimentary Winds cannot prepare. From the
most tender cut soy-meal filet mignon to a down-
and-dirty grease bomb with all the fixins, the menu
is a tome of delectables from throughout the
realm. Brownbeard was able to obtain a menu in
his own language, though the waiter did a double-
take when Hazel requested such. It had been years
since the establishment’s one and only Earth-
language menu had been requested. People and
creature from all over the restaurant began to look
their way as word spread that the Earth menu had
been requested. Oh, folk and critter at the other
tables tried to be discreet, but it was not often
someone from the back waters of the galaxy came
to the big city.
The waiter pointed Brownbeard to the items
which his system would likely be able to digest. In
excitement and bewilderment, Brownbeard’s eyes
ranged over all his choices. Mmmmm, here is
‘Roast of Terfloobador Zak with Very Heavy
Brown Sauce Approximating Sludge.’ That sounds
good. Ooooh, ‘Gentle Salad made of Desert Wind,
Garnished with Seeds of Purple Lotus.’ Now that’
s got to be a treat.
But when it came down to it, Brownbeard
needed some comfort food. Something to remind
him of home, as he was feeling a bit lonely for the
familiar. So he searched the menu for things
recognizable. Not having had breakfast, he
decided on the Coffee Soup. As you probably
have figured out by now, Brownbeard is a hot
chocolate man. But needing to keep his wits about
him for what was about to transpire, Brownbeard
was on a hot chocolate fast. Besides, the menu
description alone looked good enough to eat.
Coffee Soup—A delicious broth of Gromulan
Dark Roast laden
with chunks of Chicken and Alligator Egg,
Bacon, Sausage,
Hash Browns, Waffles, Pancakes, Grits and
Oatmeal. A genuine taste
of the Primitive! Try with Ketchup or Hot
Sauce. Twenty and twenty-
three twenty-fourths drahma.
Add Cheese—Five and one-half drahma.
Decaf by request—May take longer. NO
GUARANTEES!
* * *
After enjoying a round of delightful pastries
filled with different brands of toothpaste for
desert—“The chefs here do unthinkable things
with dentifrices,” their waiter had informed the
crew—our scheming, underground pirates left The
Five Rudimentary Winds to continue their journey
through the streets of Sa’Laam.
“Whew! I’m stuffed!” said Wilbert.
Kumquat burped.
“Excuse me,” she said.
It would not be polite to tell what Schmoor
did. As for Brownbeard and Hazel, they looked
ready to take a nap.
“I’ll bet they gave me decaf!” hissed
Brownbeard in disgust.
But a nap would have to wait. Now, perhaps
you are wondering how the group afforded a grand
meal at such a fine, expensive restaurant. The
gang had all the money they needed as Hazel,
being a top-notch sand witch, was capable of
supplying all the money necessary for their
exploits. That’s right! Hazel forged the money!
Her forgery of Sa’Laam currency was fantastic.
No technology in existence would be capable of
discovering the deceit.
‘Well, then,’ you might ask, ‘why would
someone as nice as Hazel do something so
wrong?’ Did you forget that she is a pirate and
that is what pirates do? They do bad things like
steal and cheat. But then you might wonder, ‘If
Hazel can make all of the money they need, why
bother stealing at all?’ Ah! Excellent question!
And one that goes to the crux of the dilemma of a
sand witch’s existence.
You see, nothing Hazel produces of her sand
witchcraft can last. All that she weaves from her
wondrous powers is but an illusion. If she does
not continually put energy and concentration into
her productions, Hazel’s works crumble into
dust—from the money she forges, to the walls of
her wondrous castle. So then you might ask, ‘Isn’t
that true of most things? Don’t most things fall
into disrepair unless you take care of them and
maintain them, or their warranties have just
expired?’ Again, you’ve made an excellent point.
For even Love, if not worked on and cared for,
fades into nothing. But it’s a question of degree, is
it not? And with limited resources, Hazel designed
her forged money to last only a few days. Thus,
our gang must work fast!
Following her map, Kumquat led the crew into
a building and then into a large room where all
manner of folk stood and waited. Brownbeard
looked around in amazement. Why were they
standing here like this? But because he was afraid
of appearing stupid, he decided to act casual like
everyone else around him. With his stick non-
nonchalantly tucked into his belt on the opposite
side of his sword, Brownbeard folded his hands
before him and looked up at the ceiling as he saw
other people doing. Then, he looked down at his
feet in the same way other people were doing.
He repeated this ritual of looking up at the
ceiling, then down at his feet, then back up at the
ceiling—throw in a sigh of boredom for good
measure—and then look back down at his feet,
and so on and so forth. This went on for several
minutes as more and more people packed
themselves into the large room, which was
gradually becoming smaller and smaller.
“Hey!”
A bird-like creature tapped Brownbeard on the
arm.
“Hey!”
Brownbeard turned towards the bird. The bird
had a crow’s features. Coal black feathers, black
eyes, and large, pointy black beak. It was wearing
an elegant maroon smoking jacket, and atop its
feathered head was a fez fashionably tilted.
“Yes?” asked Brownbeard.
“Are you planning to use that stick you got
there? Or is it just for show?” asked the bird.
“Oh, I might use it,” answered Brownbeard.
The bird looked at him, and cocked its head.
“Might you now? My, oh my! You look pretty
interesting in that garb you’re wearing. Hey,
look!” said the bird to some other folks in the
room. “Look at this fellow here carrying a stick in
his belt and sword as well! What an interesting
chap!”
Some other creatures nearby looked over at
Brownbeard. A few had genuine looks of interest.
Others just looked away again, not sure what was
the big deal. You see all manner of wackos in the
capital city.
“Can you really hit with that thing?” asked the
bird.
“I do all right,” said Brownbeard.
“I’ll bet you do. How ‘all right’ do you do? I’ll
bet you’re quite a hitter, aye?” The bird nudged
someone next to him and winked. “Maybe this guy
here is The Captain!”
With that, the bird cackled and squawked. The
fellow the bird had nudged chuckled and said,
“Yeah, he looks like The Captain! Honored to be
in your presence Captain!”
Brownbeard smiled and said nothing. Wilbert
looked up at the bird and tapped him on the wing.
“He really is The Captain!” said Wilbert with a
smile.
“Excuse me?” asked the bird.
“He really is The Captain,” Wilbert repeated.
“Oh, is he now?” asked the bird, looking at
Brownbeard a bit more carefully. “Ah, yes! I
should have seen it before. What with that stylish
false eyebrow. Truly, we are in the presence of
greatness! Hey everyone! Look here! It’s The
Captain!”
This loud crow was making Brownbeard
uncomfortable. He wished the bird would just
leave him alone. No one seemed to really pay too
much attention to the noisy bird. Most just gave a
semi-interested glance over in Brownbeard’s
direction, chuckled or smirked, and went back to
looking at the ceiling or floor.
“Oh Captain! My Captain! Hit a rock for me
will you?” cackled the crow. Then the crow gave
a mock swing and held a wing up over its eyes as
if admiring a blast to the bleachers. “Woo-hoo!”
shouted the bird, “Look at that baby go! Woo-hoo-
hoo!”
“Yes, of course I’ll hit one for you,” said
Brownbeard. “Would you like my autograph now
or afterwards?”
This silenced the bird for a moment. The bird’
s quietude immediately drew looks over in their
direction. Most of the elevator’s occupants knew
better than to mess with a black crow. And if ever
a black crow becomes silent—well, you’d best be
very, very careful. Everyone in the large room
now stared at Brownbeard and the bird.
Brownbeard’s heart skipped a beat. The crow
narrowed its beady black eyes. The room held its
collective breath. Then, the crow burst out in
louder, more boisterous cackles then before.
“Oh Captain! Hee-hee-haw!” cried the bird,
“Why, how about afterwards, okay? Don’t waste
any strength on a signature for little ol’ me. Caw!
Caw! Caw! You save those massive mussy-cules
for your rock launching! Caw! Caw! Caw!”
The crow winked at Brownbeard. Brownbeard
managed to smile and wink back. Then, to
Brownbeard’s simultaneous relief and dismay, the
floor of the room gave way and began to fall.
Brownbeard looked around, trying not to appear
panicked. No one else seemed to notice that the
room was falling.
Down, down, down the room raced. Down past
the city’s ground level on which the For Sale had
entered. Down, down, down. For minutes and
minutes the room fell down, miles and miles deep
into the lower levels of Sa’Laam. Finally,
Brownbeard felt the floor push up against his feet,
and his feet push against his legs. His legs pushed
against his tummy, and his tummy pushed against
his chest as the room came to a stop. Then, the
doors of the room opened and everyone rushed
out. Brownbeard was swept along with the crowd
like a leaf riding along a babbling brook. None too
gently, Hazel grabbed Brownbeard’s arm, guiding
him through the throng.
“Ouch!” he complained.
“Stop being a ninny,” she answered.
The crew emerged from a building onto a wide
street. An elevated canal was in front of them and
a large ocean liner was slowly sailing by, blaring
its horn. Tiny one and two person airships dove
and buzzed the crowd that milled about. Wheeled
vehicles of all type zipped to-and-fro, beeping
horns as they warned anyone and everyone out of
their way. Brownbeard’s head snapped back and
forth, eyes darting every which way, looking out
for some strange contraption which might come
hurtling his direction to make a pirate pancake.
Kumquat led them to a tiny park covered with
grass and sprinkled with a few trees.
Gazing up, Brownbeard saw nothing but towers
and bridges and constant movement. Lights and
signs blinked and blared. Like lighthouse beams
under the guiding hand of crazy people, rays of
light of all colors of the rainbow swept up and
down and side to side. Airships rose from and
dove into openings in the ground.
“So we’re not even at the bottom of the city
yet,” thought Brownbeard. Though they had fallen
so far! He was sure they were at the center of the
planet.
“Now,” said Hazel, holding five small,
shimmering, multi-colored pieces of paper,
“Everyone take a ticket.”
Everyone did as they were told.
“Do you see the way all those people are
going?” asked Kumquat as she pointed to a
massive set of stairs rising in the distance.
Everyone shook their heads in the affirmative.
“That’s where we’re going. Ready?”
Again, everyone nodded.
“Let’s do it,” said Brownbeard.
With that the gang headed for the stairs.
Managing to gain the stairs without being run over,
they climbed and climbed.
“This is absurd,” Brownbeard said out loud.
“Are we going to climb back up as far as we fell
down?”
Schmoor snickered.
“You’re not going to poop out on us, are you
Captain?” asked Kumquat.
“No, it’s not that. I just don’t—oh, never mind.”
Before reaching the top of the stairs,
Brownbeard saw emerge the gently curving roof of
a huge building. It was not like any building he
had seen in the capital city. It was not as tall as
the ubiquitous towers which populated the capital,
but it was immense. Finally, at the top of the
stairs, he stopped and looked far to the left, then
far to the right. He could just see the distant edges
of the huge, round coliseum.
For that is exactly what this place is—a
coliseum. It is a gathering place for warriors and
spectators on a scale unlike any seen elsewhere in
the Milky Way. It is also the seat of power of the
seat of power of the Milky Way. For if the Empire
of Sa’Laam is the wealthiest and most influential
of all civilizations in the entire galaxy, this giant
fortress here is the heart, brain, and soul of this
most pre-eminent civilization.
Taking a deep breath, filled with excitement
and nervous energy, Brownbeard and his crew
flowed with the crowd of people converging upon
this giant of a place—this place of giants.
The Five Rudimentary Winds, one of nine seven-
star restaurants in Sa’Laam. Keep in mind that a
given spiral galaxy of a hundred billion stars or so
only has maybe a dozen such caliber restaurants
at any given time. Thus, Sa’Laam again confirms
itself in the Cosmic Histories to be the peak of
civilization!
Now, there is no dish that the chefs of The
Five Rudimentary Winds cannot prepare. From the
most tender cut soy-meal filet mignon to a down-
and-dirty grease bomb with all the fixins, the menu
is a tome of delectables from throughout the
realm. Brownbeard was able to obtain a menu in
his own language, though the waiter did a double-
take when Hazel requested such. It had been years
since the establishment’s one and only Earth-
language menu had been requested. People and
creature from all over the restaurant began to look
their way as word spread that the Earth menu had
been requested. Oh, folk and critter at the other
tables tried to be discreet, but it was not often
someone from the back waters of the galaxy came
to the big city.
The waiter pointed Brownbeard to the items
which his system would likely be able to digest. In
excitement and bewilderment, Brownbeard’s eyes
ranged over all his choices. Mmmmm, here is
‘Roast of Terfloobador Zak with Very Heavy
Brown Sauce Approximating Sludge.’ That sounds
good. Ooooh, ‘Gentle Salad made of Desert Wind,
Garnished with Seeds of Purple Lotus.’ Now that’
s got to be a treat.
But when it came down to it, Brownbeard
needed some comfort food. Something to remind
him of home, as he was feeling a bit lonely for the
familiar. So he searched the menu for things
recognizable. Not having had breakfast, he
decided on the Coffee Soup. As you probably
have figured out by now, Brownbeard is a hot
chocolate man. But needing to keep his wits about
him for what was about to transpire, Brownbeard
was on a hot chocolate fast. Besides, the menu
description alone looked good enough to eat.
Coffee Soup—A delicious broth of Gromulan
Dark Roast laden
with chunks of Chicken and Alligator Egg,
Bacon, Sausage,
Hash Browns, Waffles, Pancakes, Grits and
Oatmeal. A genuine taste
of the Primitive! Try with Ketchup or Hot
Sauce. Twenty and twenty-
three twenty-fourths drahma.
Add Cheese—Five and one-half drahma.
Decaf by request—May take longer. NO
GUARANTEES!
* * *
After enjoying a round of delightful pastries
filled with different brands of toothpaste for
desert—“The chefs here do unthinkable things
with dentifrices,” their waiter had informed the
crew—our scheming, underground pirates left The
Five Rudimentary Winds to continue their journey
through the streets of Sa’Laam.
“Whew! I’m stuffed!” said Wilbert.
Kumquat burped.
“Excuse me,” she said.
It would not be polite to tell what Schmoor
did. As for Brownbeard and Hazel, they looked
ready to take a nap.
“I’ll bet they gave me decaf!” hissed
Brownbeard in disgust.
But a nap would have to wait. Now, perhaps
you are wondering how the group afforded a grand
meal at such a fine, expensive restaurant. The
gang had all the money they needed as Hazel,
being a top-notch sand witch, was capable of
supplying all the money necessary for their
exploits. That’s right! Hazel forged the money!
Her forgery of Sa’Laam currency was fantastic.
No technology in existence would be capable of
discovering the deceit.
‘Well, then,’ you might ask, ‘why would
someone as nice as Hazel do something so
wrong?’ Did you forget that she is a pirate and
that is what pirates do? They do bad things like
steal and cheat. But then you might wonder, ‘If
Hazel can make all of the money they need, why
bother stealing at all?’ Ah! Excellent question!
And one that goes to the crux of the dilemma of a
sand witch’s existence.
You see, nothing Hazel produces of her sand
witchcraft can last. All that she weaves from her
wondrous powers is but an illusion. If she does
not continually put energy and concentration into
her productions, Hazel’s works crumble into
dust—from the money she forges, to the walls of
her wondrous castle. So then you might ask, ‘Isn’t
that true of most things? Don’t most things fall
into disrepair unless you take care of them and
maintain them, or their warranties have just
expired?’ Again, you’ve made an excellent point.
For even Love, if not worked on and cared for,
fades into nothing. But it’s a question of degree, is
it not? And with limited resources, Hazel designed
her forged money to last only a few days. Thus,
our gang must work fast!
Following her map, Kumquat led the crew into
a building and then into a large room where all
manner of folk stood and waited. Brownbeard
looked around in amazement. Why were they
standing here like this? But because he was afraid
of appearing stupid, he decided to act casual like
everyone else around him. With his stick non-
nonchalantly tucked into his belt on the opposite
side of his sword, Brownbeard folded his hands
before him and looked up at the ceiling as he saw
other people doing. Then, he looked down at his
feet in the same way other people were doing.
He repeated this ritual of looking up at the
ceiling, then down at his feet, then back up at the
ceiling—throw in a sigh of boredom for good
measure—and then look back down at his feet,
and so on and so forth. This went on for several
minutes as more and more people packed
themselves into the large room, which was
gradually becoming smaller and smaller.
“Hey!”
A bird-like creature tapped Brownbeard on the
arm.
“Hey!”
Brownbeard turned towards the bird. The bird
had a crow’s features. Coal black feathers, black
eyes, and large, pointy black beak. It was wearing
an elegant maroon smoking jacket, and atop its
feathered head was a fez fashionably tilted.
“Yes?” asked Brownbeard.
“Are you planning to use that stick you got
there? Or is it just for show?” asked the bird.
“Oh, I might use it,” answered Brownbeard.
The bird looked at him, and cocked its head.
“Might you now? My, oh my! You look pretty
interesting in that garb you’re wearing. Hey,
look!” said the bird to some other folks in the
room. “Look at this fellow here carrying a stick in
his belt and sword as well! What an interesting
chap!”
Some other creatures nearby looked over at
Brownbeard. A few had genuine looks of interest.
Others just looked away again, not sure what was
the big deal. You see all manner of wackos in the
capital city.
“Can you really hit with that thing?” asked the
bird.
“I do all right,” said Brownbeard.
“I’ll bet you do. How ‘all right’ do you do? I’ll
bet you’re quite a hitter, aye?” The bird nudged
someone next to him and winked. “Maybe this guy
here is The Captain!”
With that, the bird cackled and squawked. The
fellow the bird had nudged chuckled and said,
“Yeah, he looks like The Captain! Honored to be
in your presence Captain!”
Brownbeard smiled and said nothing. Wilbert
looked up at the bird and tapped him on the wing.
“He really is The Captain!” said Wilbert with a
smile.
“Excuse me?” asked the bird.
“He really is The Captain,” Wilbert repeated.
“Oh, is he now?” asked the bird, looking at
Brownbeard a bit more carefully. “Ah, yes! I
should have seen it before. What with that stylish
false eyebrow. Truly, we are in the presence of
greatness! Hey everyone! Look here! It’s The
Captain!”
This loud crow was making Brownbeard
uncomfortable. He wished the bird would just
leave him alone. No one seemed to really pay too
much attention to the noisy bird. Most just gave a
semi-interested glance over in Brownbeard’s
direction, chuckled or smirked, and went back to
looking at the ceiling or floor.
“Oh Captain! My Captain! Hit a rock for me
will you?” cackled the crow. Then the crow gave
a mock swing and held a wing up over its eyes as
if admiring a blast to the bleachers. “Woo-hoo!”
shouted the bird, “Look at that baby go! Woo-hoo-
hoo!”
“Yes, of course I’ll hit one for you,” said
Brownbeard. “Would you like my autograph now
or afterwards?”
This silenced the bird for a moment. The bird’
s quietude immediately drew looks over in their
direction. Most of the elevator’s occupants knew
better than to mess with a black crow. And if ever
a black crow becomes silent—well, you’d best be
very, very careful. Everyone in the large room
now stared at Brownbeard and the bird.
Brownbeard’s heart skipped a beat. The crow
narrowed its beady black eyes. The room held its
collective breath. Then, the crow burst out in
louder, more boisterous cackles then before.
“Oh Captain! Hee-hee-haw!” cried the bird,
“Why, how about afterwards, okay? Don’t waste
any strength on a signature for little ol’ me. Caw!
Caw! Caw! You save those massive mussy-cules
for your rock launching! Caw! Caw! Caw!”
The crow winked at Brownbeard. Brownbeard
managed to smile and wink back. Then, to
Brownbeard’s simultaneous relief and dismay, the
floor of the room gave way and began to fall.
Brownbeard looked around, trying not to appear
panicked. No one else seemed to notice that the
room was falling.
Down, down, down the room raced. Down past
the city’s ground level on which the For Sale had
entered. Down, down, down. For minutes and
minutes the room fell down, miles and miles deep
into the lower levels of Sa’Laam. Finally,
Brownbeard felt the floor push up against his feet,
and his feet push against his legs. His legs pushed
against his tummy, and his tummy pushed against
his chest as the room came to a stop. Then, the
doors of the room opened and everyone rushed
out. Brownbeard was swept along with the crowd
like a leaf riding along a babbling brook. None too
gently, Hazel grabbed Brownbeard’s arm, guiding
him through the throng.
“Ouch!” he complained.
“Stop being a ninny,” she answered.
The crew emerged from a building onto a wide
street. An elevated canal was in front of them and
a large ocean liner was slowly sailing by, blaring
its horn. Tiny one and two person airships dove
and buzzed the crowd that milled about. Wheeled
vehicles of all type zipped to-and-fro, beeping
horns as they warned anyone and everyone out of
their way. Brownbeard’s head snapped back and
forth, eyes darting every which way, looking out
for some strange contraption which might come
hurtling his direction to make a pirate pancake.
Kumquat led them to a tiny park covered with
grass and sprinkled with a few trees.
Gazing up, Brownbeard saw nothing but towers
and bridges and constant movement. Lights and
signs blinked and blared. Like lighthouse beams
under the guiding hand of crazy people, rays of
light of all colors of the rainbow swept up and
down and side to side. Airships rose from and
dove into openings in the ground.
“So we’re not even at the bottom of the city
yet,” thought Brownbeard. Though they had fallen
so far! He was sure they were at the center of the
planet.
“Now,” said Hazel, holding five small,
shimmering, multi-colored pieces of paper,
“Everyone take a ticket.”
Everyone did as they were told.
“Do you see the way all those people are
going?” asked Kumquat as she pointed to a
massive set of stairs rising in the distance.
Everyone shook their heads in the affirmative.
“That’s where we’re going. Ready?”
Again, everyone nodded.
“Let’s do it,” said Brownbeard.
With that the gang headed for the stairs.
Managing to gain the stairs without being run over,
they climbed and climbed.
“This is absurd,” Brownbeard said out loud.
“Are we going to climb back up as far as we fell
down?”
Schmoor snickered.
“You’re not going to poop out on us, are you
Captain?” asked Kumquat.
“No, it’s not that. I just don’t—oh, never mind.”
Before reaching the top of the stairs,
Brownbeard saw emerge the gently curving roof of
a huge building. It was not like any building he
had seen in the capital city. It was not as tall as
the ubiquitous towers which populated the capital,
but it was immense. Finally, at the top of the
stairs, he stopped and looked far to the left, then
far to the right. He could just see the distant edges
of the huge, round coliseum.
For that is exactly what this place is—a
coliseum. It is a gathering place for warriors and
spectators on a scale unlike any seen elsewhere in
the Milky Way. It is also the seat of power of the
seat of power of the Milky Way. For if the Empire
of Sa’Laam is the wealthiest and most influential
of all civilizations in the entire galaxy, this giant
fortress here is the heart, brain, and soul of this
most pre-eminent civilization.
Taking a deep breath, filled with excitement
and nervous energy, Brownbeard and his crew
flowed with the crowd of people converging upon
this giant of a place—this place of giants.
The Adventures of Short Stubbly Brownbeard
Alan J. Levine
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Buy yer hard copy
at . . .
at . . .
Want to support
children's literature?
That's great! But
instead, why don't you
go to the followin'
links to buy yer own
miserable copy of
Brownbeard and
support Pirates
Anonymous? We've
been assisting pirates
with mental health and
hygiene issues since
1633. Brownbeard is
also available to
schools and libraries
through wholesalers
like Follett, Ingram,
and Baker & Taylor.
children's literature?
That's great! But
instead, why don't you
go to the followin'
links to buy yer own
miserable copy of
Brownbeard and
support Pirates
Anonymous? We've
been assisting pirates
with mental health and
hygiene issues since
1633. Brownbeard is
also available to
schools and libraries
through wholesalers
like Follett, Ingram,
and Baker & Taylor.