Captain Pigheart and the Scary Lady

Night met us at the island, and even the moon turned a blind eye on our questin’. Gaargh, there be atmosphere enough around a dark mysterious cave without ye weather conspirin’ against ye. Not content with ye gloomy shroud, the clouds also tipped their chamber-pots upon us. ‘Tis just as well, for we’d been practisin’ ye noble art of piratical prevaricatin’ and the downpour thrust us within.

We’d found this sodden land through the usual drink, idiocy and greed. We’d been visitin’ our old pal the King o’ Tarsus and found his daughter gravely ill. Me sawbones were rather too keen to wet ‘is blades on the poor innocent but ye King were in dire need. Gaargh, I were glad Gunther’s last patient’d fallen overboard earlier. We spent an anxious night a-waitin’, with the anchor ready for liftin’.

To me great relief ye princess lived, despite Gunther’s ministratin’s. The king granted Mick’n me the pick of his famed Hall o’ Bullion in reward. We came by a familiar lookin’ statue propped in a corner. Mick recognised the flinty gaze o’ his old master, Captain Smiley, the Grinnin’ Idiot. Twere an engravin’ so fine ye could see his bloodshot eyes stretched wide in fear and the bejewelled plate o’ gold clasped to his chest.

To give Mick a giggle, I laid me bottle o’ Old Scrotes Midnight Brew at Smiley’s lips. As the first drop touched ‘is lips, the figure began to rock violent-like, showerin’ me with grit. There were a great groan and Smiley’s jaw creaked open, and spoke like a volcano blowin’ chunks: “I knows ye, Mick the Dextrous, but I knows not ye quailin’ cap’n”.

I boldly made meself known an’ accounted for Mick’s present No-Handedness. The stone cap’n rumbled on endlessly of ‘is exploits and the lasses ‘e’d loved, though he finally turned to the details o’ ‘is statuary and the plate he held. “Ye must seek the isle of Gorgon. Treasure lies within, but turn ye eyes not upon the lady o’ the isle for she be most bashful…” an’ with that Smiley laughed so vigorously that he were soon naught but a heap o’ dust under a golden dish. Gaargh, ‘twere a mite disappointin’ for ‘e’d revealed little of use.

The King o’ Tarsus pointed out the sign over the Hall’s entrance: ‘ye breaks it, ye buys it’. Gaargh, a shiny platter paid for savin’ ‘is heir’s life (or at least ‘er virtue). ‘Twere not till I were scrapin’ me breakfast o’ bubble and squid surprise from it that I espied the map handily embossed upon it.

And so we came to be standin’, damper’n usual, in the murky cave. Havin’ some bad experiences o’ pokin’ into mysterious holes, I sent forth old Sam Knacker, the sail patcher. ‘E’d scarce tottered off when we ‘eard a strangled scream, o’ the sort ye’d not wish to foller. Gaargh, ‘twere not encouragin’ but I picked another o’ me expendable crew an’ we ventured inwards.

Sam were round the next bend, bearin’ his torch aloft frozen in lamp-like terror. At least we’d truly found Gorgon. Sam brightened a broad chamber awash with untold plunder, tauntin’ us magpies with its glitter. ‘Twere then I laid me eye upon a frightful vision - one o’ Jelly McFish’s more tentacular pals crawled onto land. Its face were reptilian, an’ its hair writhed wildly as if eels’d infested its skull. It seemed womanly, though in the rough. Though I fancied a good shriek an’ some girly runnin’, I were mindful o’ me reputation, so I nudged Scurvy McMurphy towards ‘er. Gaargh, their eyes met across the crowded cavern petrifyin’ the lad mid-gurn; I could not help but chuckle. Notin’ that the cave were lined with such figures, it seemed a fittin’ time to be fleein’.

Me crew were intrigued by the stonificatin’ an' there were much disputin’. All were agreed that curious rockipatin’ rays (‘tis Mick’s term) were surely transmitted by way o’ ye peepers. Gaargh, ‘tis here that me optometrical maimin’ by that malodorous octopus be finally a blessin’, me monocular vision granted me grace ‘gainst this demon. The plan were simple: I’d be distractin’ the crone whilst the lads robbed ‘er blind – lest they be stoned blind themselves.

I returned bearin’ rum and a bucket o’ charm. In me most allurin’ tones I called ‘er forth. Gaaargh, she were grimmer than Barry in the ship’s panto, but a swig o’ liquor softened ‘er hiss. ‘Twere not long afore we were pleasantly conversin’ on matters from the military uses o’ whelks to the tragic loss of ‘er sisters to some Greek feller. She’d been alone with just ‘er curse for company in this dank fortune-crammed cavern. Despite me instinctive revulsion, what with the rum an’ cushions, me heart swelled for this sad creature, in whose eyes I saw not petrifyin’ doom but a glimmer o’ beauty deep, deep within. ‘Er skin, though scaly, were warm to the touch, though me fingers were numbed by her snappin’ mane. Yarrr, ‘twere a task for Captain Loveheart. I thought I’d lost me touch along with me hand.

We lay twisted in ‘er silken sheets hissin’ softly to one another, when ‘er eyes grew watery. Me heartstrings twanged as she sobbed that she were disfigured an’ ugly. She were no classic beauty ‘tis true, but I’d spent good money on far worse. I chanced upon a hand glass nearby, and thrust it in ‘er face. She had time enough to whisper “Ignatius” before turnin’ ‘erself to stone. Gaargh, I’d only wanted to show ‘er the rainbows cast on ‘er cheek by Sam's torch. I lingered for a mo’, then pulled up me britches and pillaged.

We filled the Grim Bastard with the Gorgon's loot an’ steel enough for an armada. As for ye fossillated folk, ye curse were not lifted so we flogged ‘em as to Polyorchid Paul’s Garden Chintz Boutique for a tidy sum. ‘Twere all grand until we found a map directin’ us to the island o’ Minos with its tantalizin’ labyrinth. Gaargh, the temptation were too great, an’ the ball o’ wool too short; if only I’d worn me bigger jumper.