Once inside the protective walls of the capital
city, the For Sale meandered up and down its
canals. The crew watched in amazement. The
towers of gold soared upwards forever. Only the
thinnest shafts of sunlight reached the lower
streets and waterways of the great and ancient city
known as Sa’Laam. Not that there was any trouble
seeing where they were going as artificial light
from a million different points criss-crossed,
cutting the shadow into countless sections. The
highways and byways of the city’s lower levels
were awash in a checkerboard pattern of cold,
revealing light and warm, protective dark.
Bridges crossed overhead. And bridges
crossed over bridges ad infinitum as far as the eye
could see. Ships passed above traveling along
elevated canals. Airships weaved skillfully
between the tall buildings, over and under bridges.
When Brownbeard looked down, he caught a
glimpse that took his breath away. The city of Sa’
Laam extended not only high into the clouds, but
looked as though it penetrated below the ground to
a bottomless bottom. Passing over what he
realized was a bridge, Brownbeard caught a
glimpse of lights illuminating streets and buildings
and canals far beneath. He wanted to run to Hazel
and shout in excitement. But he was not going to.
He held onto his anger as best he could, keeping
his wonder to himself.
Hazel was at the other end of the ship, looking
on in awe at the city as well. Kumquat, Wilbert,
and Schmoor each were transfixed by the vision
through which they slowly were drifting. Great a
vision though it was, the aural and aromatic
aspects of the city were seeping into the
consciousness of the For Sale crew. Sounds and
smells impinged upon and competed for their
attention. The senses of all were overloaded by
the incredible illusion of eternity that is Sa’Laam—
a city that, by the estimates of most historians of
the Cosmos-At-Large, was and still is the greatest
achievement of Active Intelligence and Will to
emerge in The Fifth Epoch of the Randolian Age
of the Zerwillian Super Cluster, of which the
Milky Way galaxy is a member. But you probably
already knew that. Voices of conversation in
every language of the stars drifted through the air,
accompanied by clinks and clanks, beeps and
burps.
Yoja himma jagalawabe—Oot set acham old
tor ta lote—Haedwa foongi ashawa blee—Yo!
Jack! Watch where you’re going! Don’t your ship
got no rudder?
Brownbeard’s translator struggled to keep up
with the onslaught of so many conversations. And
the smells were truly amazing. A current of spicy-
cinnamon-broiling-in-tangerine-and-maple-passion
came wafting over the bow of the For Sale. This
lingered for a bit, and then mingled with an arrival
of effluent-of-sweet-rose-and-Chinese-lemon-
chicken-and-matzah-ball-soup, before leaving.
This new odor teased in and out of the nostrils
until sour-like-sweaty-gym-socks-and-Swiss-
cheese-and-aftershave came along and
overpowered it. Next came saddle-leather-and-
wood-smoke-and-mutton. Brownbeard craned his
neck this way and that to see where these smells
were coming from, but without success.
“Where are we going?” he asked Kumquat.
“I’m trying to follow the directions that the
agent gave us at the city gate. There are several
harbors in the city. We’ve been assigned this one
here,” said Kumquat, placing her paw near the
middle of a map filling the screen of the
navigation console.
Carefully, Kumquat merged the ship into a
waterway that split from the main thoroughfare on
which they’d been traveling. It was hard for
Brownbeard to be astonished anymore,
considering all of the absurd things he had seen
with his own eyes, yet he knew that water should
not fall up. Even so, the For Sale effortlessly rode
a current of water that followed a bridge which
slowly rose into the air and swept back over the
main route. They continued spiraling upwards for
several levels until finally, Kumquat brought the
ship onto another waterway just like the one they’
d been on, plunging the For Sale back into
congestion.
After traveling for nearly an hour, the For Sale
finally came to a place where hundreds and
hundreds of ships were docked. It was an open air
parking garage harbor many stories high, with
ships rocking gently from bottom floor to the tippy-
top.
“Go all the way to the top,” Hazel told
Kumquat. “Make sure to find a space on the top
floor. If there isn’t one, sail around until a space
clears.”
Kumquat nodded. The ship was checked in by
an attendant at Parking Port No. 76. Then, they
climbed to the uppermost level of the port where
luckily, they managed to find one space
designated for ships the size of the For Sale. In
they sailed. Wilbert and Schmoor lowered the
anchor. Here on the top level of the parking port,
there was no roof above. Brownbeard looked up.
The view was much like the one he had first
witnessed upon entering the city. The towers still
soared high above. Bridges criss-crossed from one
building to another. The city bustled with activity
above and below. Still, it seemed to Brownbeard
that he could see just a bit more blue sky than he
had been able to see when they entered the great
capital. The shadows were a little receded. Or
maybe it was just his imagination.
“Meet on the upper deck in an hour?” Wilbert
asked.
“Sounds fine by me,” said Hazel.
“One hour,” said Kumquat.
“Okay,” said Brownbeard.
Schmoor gave a thumbs up. Then everyone
went to do what needed to be done to clean-up
and lock-down the ship.
* * *
An hour later the crew regrouped atop the
upper deck.
“Now, we’ve been over the plan before,” said
Hazel.
“Several times,” said Wilbert.
“Do we need to go over anything again?”
asked Hazel.
“Not unless it’s for Wilbert’s benefit,” said
Kumquat.
“Ha-ha-ha! You’re such a funny kitty,” said
Wilbert.
“Stop it. Just get serious. Does anybody have
any questions?” inquired Brownbeard.
Schmoor shook his head ‘No,’ as did everyone
else.
“Well,” said Hazel taking a deep breath, “Here
it goes. The biggest pirate heist in the history of
the Universe now commences. Good luck
everyone.”
Hazel glanced over at Brownbeard. For a
second their eyes met, but then Brownbeard
looked away. Then, everyone on the ship
disembarked. Together—more or less—they
walked through the streets of Sa’Laam. Kumquat
still played the role of navigator, holding a map
before her as they proceeded.
It was hard to keep together in the hustle and
bustle of the crowds. Brownbeard was constantly
bumping into and being bumped by all manner of
folk and creature.
“Sorry,” said Brownbeard to one short, hairy
black creature he nearly stepped upon. It looked a
bit like a giant spider.
Zal rite.
“It is all right,” said Brownbeard’s interpreter.
They walked and walked. Over bridges. Under
bridges. Through tunnels. Into a park. Around a
lake. Out of a park. There were all manner of
shops. There were restaurants of course, as well
as clothing and jewelry stores. There were antique
stores selling wares from around the galaxy and
beyond. There were banks exchanging countless
kinds of currencies. There were dentists
specializing in not merely matters of tooth
maintenance, but sucker, sieve, and slurper
upkeep as well, depending upon the patient’s
mode of ingesting food, or whatever he, she, or it
needed to get into its innards. And of course there
were plenty of law offices in case one slipped on
a banana whilst visiting the capital. But the most
common shops, and the busiest by far, were those
selling all manner of sticks and rocks. Apparently
this game was truly an Empire-wide craze. Back
when they were on friendly speaking terms, Hazel
had told Brownbeard this. And he had seen boys
playing at it all around the countryside. But when
he saw the number of shops in this grandest of
cities devoted just to the selling of rocks and
sticks, he knew that Hazel had been accurate in
her assessment of the mania.
“I’ve got to go in and have a look,”
Brownbeard said.
In he went, and everyone else followed. There
were all manner of stick for sale. There were your
normal, run-of-the-mill sticks like you would find
on any walk through the woods. There were sticks
that were straight and polished until gleaming.
There were sticks that were curved. There were
sticks that were thin on one end, fat on the other.
There were sticks encrusted with jewels and inlaid
with precious metals.
There were all manner of rocks to choose from
as well. There were pebbles like you’d find
anywhere outdoors. There were rocks that were
smooth as glass. They came in sizes ranging from
barely bigger than a grain of sand up to as big as a
hornets’ nest. In one bin there were rocks encased
in white leather and stitched with raised red
thread. In a locked case there were nuggets of
gold. Prices on the merchandise were not
decipherable to Brownbeard, as he did not yet
understand the way money worked in Sa’Laam.
But he could figure something about the relative
worth of the merchandise. He observed on the
ordinary looking pebbles there was one digit on
the price tag. There was a particularly beautiful
gem that looked like the giant diamond he had
seen at Hazel’s sand castle. Seven digits were on
its price tag.
The store was quite busy. Most people came
in and looked around for a little while. Then they
left. A few made purchases. On the walls were
pictures of men and beasts smiling, holding sticks
upon their shoulders. One picture was of a
particularly large man with huge, powerful arms
holding an immense stick. His skin was a dull
green, with maybe a hint of yellow or blue here
and there. His hair was jet black, short, and
sticking straight up, giving him a look of great
excitement and energy. His eyes were black and
he wore a big, friendly smile.
“That’s him,” said Hazel pointing at the
picture. “That’s The Emperor of Sa’Laam.”
“That is the most powerful man in the galaxy?”
asked Wilbert.
“Yes. Well, certainly so far as mere mortals
go, yes.”
“Wow,” said Wilbert.
“Yeah, me-wow,” said Kumquat.
Schmoor just jittered with excitement.
Then, Hazel pointed to a sign amongst all of
the other pictures. There was only writing upon it.
Fo Chaiwa Doogee Kapitain?
“It reads ‘Have You Seen The Captain?’” she
translated.
Brownbeard did not understand. But Wilbert,
Schmoor, and Kumquat understood the implication
immediately.
“Wow, you’re famous Captain!” admired
Wilbert.
“Except that nobody knows who you are,”
added Kumquat.
“Or where you are,” added Hazel.
“How could I be famous and not famous, too?
That makes no sense,” said Brownbeard.
“Those kids who saw you hit the rock in Too
Poo Loo probably told everyone they knew about
your feat. Then there were the kids who saw you
hit on the Bingabong River. There were probably
people watching from other ships as well,” said
Wilbert.
“Word spreads fast,” said Kumquat.
“Can I help you find anything?” asked a young
sales lady.
“Who’s The Captain?” asked Hazel, pointing
to the sign.
The lady laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
Then she said, “I don’t know. There is a rumor
that some mysterious beast known as The Captain
has been going all over the countryside hitting
rocks farther than The Emperor! He’s been seen as
far west as Too Poo Loo and as far north as
Hodge-Podge. They just reported on the news that
he, or it, was in the southern town of Crusteeville
early this morning.
“There over fifty people saw The Captain
throw a moo-cow a hundred feet into the air, hit
five rocks while the cow was in mid-air, and then
catch the cow with one hand! The cow’s owner
said afterwards that her milk never tasted better. I
wouldn’t believe it if I saw it myself, but I saw it
on the news. They even said The Captain may be
heading to the capital!”
Hazel laughed and said, “Oh, my! What does
this mysterious beast of a captain look like?”
“Well, the reports are conflicting. The Captain
probably wears several disguises. I would hazard
a guess that he is Catamish. Maybe Norgvinean.
No, I’ll stick with Catamish. I think he’s got tiger
fur and long whiskers. He’s probably pretty tall.
Kind of like you, but much bigger,” the lady said,
pointing to Kumquat.
“You’re probably right,” agreed Kumquat with
a grin.
Schmoor giggled.
“Stop it!” Wilbert hissed, gently smacking
Schmoor on the back of the head.
Brownbeard hefted a stick in his hands and
pretended to swing it. It was a big stick. Nearly
waist high in length. Fatter at one end than the
other. Brownbeard tried swinging it from both
ends.
“How much for this stick?” he asked the lady.
“Forty-five and sixty-seventy-sevenths
drahma,” she answered. Then she asked him, “Do
you play?”
“Doesn’t everyone play?” asked Brownbeard.
The lady laughed and said, “Of course!”
Brownbeard looked at Hazel. Hazel nodded
and handed him a piece of a paper, which
Brownbeard handed to the lady. She gave him
change and wrapped the stick up in wax paper.
They thanked the lady and said good-bye.
“Let’s eat,” said Brownbeard as they walked
out of the shop.
“Whatever you say Captain,” said Wilbert.
“Yes, I’m hungry,” said Kumquat.
Schmoor readily agreed.
Hazel did not acknowledge Brownbeard’s
suggestion. She was off in a world of her own.
Brownbeard’s heart ached. He wanted to make
things better between them. He thought about
apologizing. Maybe he had over reacted. But no!
He could not apologize. Could he? No, no.
Agggghhh! Then there was a twinge in his
stomach. And thus the pangs in his tummy took
his mind off of the pains in his heart.
* * *
As the crew searched for a place to grab a bite
to eat, a small skiff waited patiently in line for
permission to pass through the gates of the city.
By chance, the same agent who had enjoyed Hazel’
s culinary artwork—the large creature with the
reddish-brown fur, three eyes, and six-toed, long-
clawed feet—boarded the tiny vessel. The two
skeletons in black greeted him—or her —and
presented their papers.
The beast looked over and grimaced
menacingly. These papers were not at all in order.
One of the skeletons came up and offered him a
plate of grayish looking disks. The beast bent
down and sniffed at the presentation. Brow
furrowed, the creature tentatively picked one of
the grayish things off the plate, half of which
crumbled away. Shoving the remainder into its
mouth, the beast’s eyes widened in horror. It spat
out the literally burnt offering.
With a howl that sent the skeleton people
cringing backwards, the furry red-brown behemoth
flailed its arms about as though it had been
mortally wounded. It took the entrance papers and
gesturing meaningfully towards the simpering
skeleti, tore them up into shreds. Then, the beast
pointed to the back of the long line of ships
waiting to enter the city, thereby ordering the two
skeletons to go all the way back and reassemble a
new set of entrance papers. And try again with the
baking as well! Though were their bony faces
frozen in a permanent grin, it was easy to see both
skeletons were dejected. Still, they had some idea
where their quarry lay.
city, the For Sale meandered up and down its
canals. The crew watched in amazement. The
towers of gold soared upwards forever. Only the
thinnest shafts of sunlight reached the lower
streets and waterways of the great and ancient city
known as Sa’Laam. Not that there was any trouble
seeing where they were going as artificial light
from a million different points criss-crossed,
cutting the shadow into countless sections. The
highways and byways of the city’s lower levels
were awash in a checkerboard pattern of cold,
revealing light and warm, protective dark.
Bridges crossed overhead. And bridges
crossed over bridges ad infinitum as far as the eye
could see. Ships passed above traveling along
elevated canals. Airships weaved skillfully
between the tall buildings, over and under bridges.
When Brownbeard looked down, he caught a
glimpse that took his breath away. The city of Sa’
Laam extended not only high into the clouds, but
looked as though it penetrated below the ground to
a bottomless bottom. Passing over what he
realized was a bridge, Brownbeard caught a
glimpse of lights illuminating streets and buildings
and canals far beneath. He wanted to run to Hazel
and shout in excitement. But he was not going to.
He held onto his anger as best he could, keeping
his wonder to himself.
Hazel was at the other end of the ship, looking
on in awe at the city as well. Kumquat, Wilbert,
and Schmoor each were transfixed by the vision
through which they slowly were drifting. Great a
vision though it was, the aural and aromatic
aspects of the city were seeping into the
consciousness of the For Sale crew. Sounds and
smells impinged upon and competed for their
attention. The senses of all were overloaded by
the incredible illusion of eternity that is Sa’Laam—
a city that, by the estimates of most historians of
the Cosmos-At-Large, was and still is the greatest
achievement of Active Intelligence and Will to
emerge in The Fifth Epoch of the Randolian Age
of the Zerwillian Super Cluster, of which the
Milky Way galaxy is a member. But you probably
already knew that. Voices of conversation in
every language of the stars drifted through the air,
accompanied by clinks and clanks, beeps and
burps.
Yoja himma jagalawabe—Oot set acham old
tor ta lote—Haedwa foongi ashawa blee—Yo!
Jack! Watch where you’re going! Don’t your ship
got no rudder?
Brownbeard’s translator struggled to keep up
with the onslaught of so many conversations. And
the smells were truly amazing. A current of spicy-
cinnamon-broiling-in-tangerine-and-maple-passion
came wafting over the bow of the For Sale. This
lingered for a bit, and then mingled with an arrival
of effluent-of-sweet-rose-and-Chinese-lemon-
chicken-and-matzah-ball-soup, before leaving.
This new odor teased in and out of the nostrils
until sour-like-sweaty-gym-socks-and-Swiss-
cheese-and-aftershave came along and
overpowered it. Next came saddle-leather-and-
wood-smoke-and-mutton. Brownbeard craned his
neck this way and that to see where these smells
were coming from, but without success.
“Where are we going?” he asked Kumquat.
“I’m trying to follow the directions that the
agent gave us at the city gate. There are several
harbors in the city. We’ve been assigned this one
here,” said Kumquat, placing her paw near the
middle of a map filling the screen of the
navigation console.
Carefully, Kumquat merged the ship into a
waterway that split from the main thoroughfare on
which they’d been traveling. It was hard for
Brownbeard to be astonished anymore,
considering all of the absurd things he had seen
with his own eyes, yet he knew that water should
not fall up. Even so, the For Sale effortlessly rode
a current of water that followed a bridge which
slowly rose into the air and swept back over the
main route. They continued spiraling upwards for
several levels until finally, Kumquat brought the
ship onto another waterway just like the one they’
d been on, plunging the For Sale back into
congestion.
After traveling for nearly an hour, the For Sale
finally came to a place where hundreds and
hundreds of ships were docked. It was an open air
parking garage harbor many stories high, with
ships rocking gently from bottom floor to the tippy-
top.
“Go all the way to the top,” Hazel told
Kumquat. “Make sure to find a space on the top
floor. If there isn’t one, sail around until a space
clears.”
Kumquat nodded. The ship was checked in by
an attendant at Parking Port No. 76. Then, they
climbed to the uppermost level of the port where
luckily, they managed to find one space
designated for ships the size of the For Sale. In
they sailed. Wilbert and Schmoor lowered the
anchor. Here on the top level of the parking port,
there was no roof above. Brownbeard looked up.
The view was much like the one he had first
witnessed upon entering the city. The towers still
soared high above. Bridges criss-crossed from one
building to another. The city bustled with activity
above and below. Still, it seemed to Brownbeard
that he could see just a bit more blue sky than he
had been able to see when they entered the great
capital. The shadows were a little receded. Or
maybe it was just his imagination.
“Meet on the upper deck in an hour?” Wilbert
asked.
“Sounds fine by me,” said Hazel.
“One hour,” said Kumquat.
“Okay,” said Brownbeard.
Schmoor gave a thumbs up. Then everyone
went to do what needed to be done to clean-up
and lock-down the ship.
* * *
An hour later the crew regrouped atop the
upper deck.
“Now, we’ve been over the plan before,” said
Hazel.
“Several times,” said Wilbert.
“Do we need to go over anything again?”
asked Hazel.
“Not unless it’s for Wilbert’s benefit,” said
Kumquat.
“Ha-ha-ha! You’re such a funny kitty,” said
Wilbert.
“Stop it. Just get serious. Does anybody have
any questions?” inquired Brownbeard.
Schmoor shook his head ‘No,’ as did everyone
else.
“Well,” said Hazel taking a deep breath, “Here
it goes. The biggest pirate heist in the history of
the Universe now commences. Good luck
everyone.”
Hazel glanced over at Brownbeard. For a
second their eyes met, but then Brownbeard
looked away. Then, everyone on the ship
disembarked. Together—more or less—they
walked through the streets of Sa’Laam. Kumquat
still played the role of navigator, holding a map
before her as they proceeded.
It was hard to keep together in the hustle and
bustle of the crowds. Brownbeard was constantly
bumping into and being bumped by all manner of
folk and creature.
“Sorry,” said Brownbeard to one short, hairy
black creature he nearly stepped upon. It looked a
bit like a giant spider.
Zal rite.
“It is all right,” said Brownbeard’s interpreter.
They walked and walked. Over bridges. Under
bridges. Through tunnels. Into a park. Around a
lake. Out of a park. There were all manner of
shops. There were restaurants of course, as well
as clothing and jewelry stores. There were antique
stores selling wares from around the galaxy and
beyond. There were banks exchanging countless
kinds of currencies. There were dentists
specializing in not merely matters of tooth
maintenance, but sucker, sieve, and slurper
upkeep as well, depending upon the patient’s
mode of ingesting food, or whatever he, she, or it
needed to get into its innards. And of course there
were plenty of law offices in case one slipped on
a banana whilst visiting the capital. But the most
common shops, and the busiest by far, were those
selling all manner of sticks and rocks. Apparently
this game was truly an Empire-wide craze. Back
when they were on friendly speaking terms, Hazel
had told Brownbeard this. And he had seen boys
playing at it all around the countryside. But when
he saw the number of shops in this grandest of
cities devoted just to the selling of rocks and
sticks, he knew that Hazel had been accurate in
her assessment of the mania.
“I’ve got to go in and have a look,”
Brownbeard said.
In he went, and everyone else followed. There
were all manner of stick for sale. There were your
normal, run-of-the-mill sticks like you would find
on any walk through the woods. There were sticks
that were straight and polished until gleaming.
There were sticks that were curved. There were
sticks that were thin on one end, fat on the other.
There were sticks encrusted with jewels and inlaid
with precious metals.
There were all manner of rocks to choose from
as well. There were pebbles like you’d find
anywhere outdoors. There were rocks that were
smooth as glass. They came in sizes ranging from
barely bigger than a grain of sand up to as big as a
hornets’ nest. In one bin there were rocks encased
in white leather and stitched with raised red
thread. In a locked case there were nuggets of
gold. Prices on the merchandise were not
decipherable to Brownbeard, as he did not yet
understand the way money worked in Sa’Laam.
But he could figure something about the relative
worth of the merchandise. He observed on the
ordinary looking pebbles there was one digit on
the price tag. There was a particularly beautiful
gem that looked like the giant diamond he had
seen at Hazel’s sand castle. Seven digits were on
its price tag.
The store was quite busy. Most people came
in and looked around for a little while. Then they
left. A few made purchases. On the walls were
pictures of men and beasts smiling, holding sticks
upon their shoulders. One picture was of a
particularly large man with huge, powerful arms
holding an immense stick. His skin was a dull
green, with maybe a hint of yellow or blue here
and there. His hair was jet black, short, and
sticking straight up, giving him a look of great
excitement and energy. His eyes were black and
he wore a big, friendly smile.
“That’s him,” said Hazel pointing at the
picture. “That’s The Emperor of Sa’Laam.”
“That is the most powerful man in the galaxy?”
asked Wilbert.
“Yes. Well, certainly so far as mere mortals
go, yes.”
“Wow,” said Wilbert.
“Yeah, me-wow,” said Kumquat.
Schmoor just jittered with excitement.
Then, Hazel pointed to a sign amongst all of
the other pictures. There was only writing upon it.
Fo Chaiwa Doogee Kapitain?
“It reads ‘Have You Seen The Captain?’” she
translated.
Brownbeard did not understand. But Wilbert,
Schmoor, and Kumquat understood the implication
immediately.
“Wow, you’re famous Captain!” admired
Wilbert.
“Except that nobody knows who you are,”
added Kumquat.
“Or where you are,” added Hazel.
“How could I be famous and not famous, too?
That makes no sense,” said Brownbeard.
“Those kids who saw you hit the rock in Too
Poo Loo probably told everyone they knew about
your feat. Then there were the kids who saw you
hit on the Bingabong River. There were probably
people watching from other ships as well,” said
Wilbert.
“Word spreads fast,” said Kumquat.
“Can I help you find anything?” asked a young
sales lady.
“Who’s The Captain?” asked Hazel, pointing
to the sign.
The lady laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
Then she said, “I don’t know. There is a rumor
that some mysterious beast known as The Captain
has been going all over the countryside hitting
rocks farther than The Emperor! He’s been seen as
far west as Too Poo Loo and as far north as
Hodge-Podge. They just reported on the news that
he, or it, was in the southern town of Crusteeville
early this morning.
“There over fifty people saw The Captain
throw a moo-cow a hundred feet into the air, hit
five rocks while the cow was in mid-air, and then
catch the cow with one hand! The cow’s owner
said afterwards that her milk never tasted better. I
wouldn’t believe it if I saw it myself, but I saw it
on the news. They even said The Captain may be
heading to the capital!”
Hazel laughed and said, “Oh, my! What does
this mysterious beast of a captain look like?”
“Well, the reports are conflicting. The Captain
probably wears several disguises. I would hazard
a guess that he is Catamish. Maybe Norgvinean.
No, I’ll stick with Catamish. I think he’s got tiger
fur and long whiskers. He’s probably pretty tall.
Kind of like you, but much bigger,” the lady said,
pointing to Kumquat.
“You’re probably right,” agreed Kumquat with
a grin.
Schmoor giggled.
“Stop it!” Wilbert hissed, gently smacking
Schmoor on the back of the head.
Brownbeard hefted a stick in his hands and
pretended to swing it. It was a big stick. Nearly
waist high in length. Fatter at one end than the
other. Brownbeard tried swinging it from both
ends.
“How much for this stick?” he asked the lady.
“Forty-five and sixty-seventy-sevenths
drahma,” she answered. Then she asked him, “Do
you play?”
“Doesn’t everyone play?” asked Brownbeard.
The lady laughed and said, “Of course!”
Brownbeard looked at Hazel. Hazel nodded
and handed him a piece of a paper, which
Brownbeard handed to the lady. She gave him
change and wrapped the stick up in wax paper.
They thanked the lady and said good-bye.
“Let’s eat,” said Brownbeard as they walked
out of the shop.
“Whatever you say Captain,” said Wilbert.
“Yes, I’m hungry,” said Kumquat.
Schmoor readily agreed.
Hazel did not acknowledge Brownbeard’s
suggestion. She was off in a world of her own.
Brownbeard’s heart ached. He wanted to make
things better between them. He thought about
apologizing. Maybe he had over reacted. But no!
He could not apologize. Could he? No, no.
Agggghhh! Then there was a twinge in his
stomach. And thus the pangs in his tummy took
his mind off of the pains in his heart.
* * *
As the crew searched for a place to grab a bite
to eat, a small skiff waited patiently in line for
permission to pass through the gates of the city.
By chance, the same agent who had enjoyed Hazel’
s culinary artwork—the large creature with the
reddish-brown fur, three eyes, and six-toed, long-
clawed feet—boarded the tiny vessel. The two
skeletons in black greeted him—or her —and
presented their papers.
The beast looked over and grimaced
menacingly. These papers were not at all in order.
One of the skeletons came up and offered him a
plate of grayish looking disks. The beast bent
down and sniffed at the presentation. Brow
furrowed, the creature tentatively picked one of
the grayish things off the plate, half of which
crumbled away. Shoving the remainder into its
mouth, the beast’s eyes widened in horror. It spat
out the literally burnt offering.
With a howl that sent the skeleton people
cringing backwards, the furry red-brown behemoth
flailed its arms about as though it had been
mortally wounded. It took the entrance papers and
gesturing meaningfully towards the simpering
skeleti, tore them up into shreds. Then, the beast
pointed to the back of the long line of ships
waiting to enter the city, thereby ordering the two
skeletons to go all the way back and reassemble a
new set of entrance papers. And try again with the
baking as well! Though were their bony faces
frozen in a permanent grin, it was easy to see both
skeletons were dejected. Still, they had some idea
where their quarry lay.
The Adventures of Short Stubbly Brownbeard
Alan J. Levine
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Six
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.