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There's not a lot of money in revenge. |
At the end of The Princess Bride, Westley says to Inigo, "You'd make a wonderful Dread Pirate Roberts!" Here are the many adventures of the new captain of the Revenge! Read on!
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
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Chapter Five
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
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4.
Tell a Lie Often Enough ...
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The Revenge is my
home, and has been for a long time now. It’s where life makes the most sense to
me. And so, naturally, I want the very best for this sturdy and swift pirate
ship.
Watching Captain
Montoya standing at the wheel, fully The Revenge is my
home, and has been for a long time now. It’s where life makes the most sense to
me. And so, naturally, I want the very best for this sturdy and swift pirate
ship.
Watching Captain
Montoya standing at the wheel, fully recovered from his seasickness, I felt
sure that I was witnessing the long-awaited dawn of the height of the Revenge’s glory.
This was the captain the Revenge was built for. Oh, the others
before him—Westley, Riah, Cummerbund and all the rest … they were excellent in
their own way, and this ship suited them and served them well. It made them
rich, gave them a name to respect and fear.
But ultimately it
was just a tool for them, who in that narrow sense were not fit to captain it.
Not permanently in any case.
It was clear that
Captain Montoya looked on the Revenge
less as a ship than a vastly complex organism, one that he made obvious and
regular pains to show his gratitude to. They were in a budding partnership
together. He would learn from it; someday, hopefully, it would learn from him.
It was for that reason, I’m certain, that he showed no reluctance now, having
survived the “green tide,” to unashamedly ask his crew the simplest questions
about the ship’s workings and to have them show him how it all fit together.
And the crew … my goodness! After the news of Dauchkin’s newly doubled raise
went out, they spared no effort to show him the ropes, quite literally, and
with courtesy and respect that the stiffest English officer in Her Majesty’s
Navy would’ve found worthy of commendation and compliment.
We got to Dredskull
Point and dropped anchor in heavy fog. A light drizzle misted over us as we met
in the crew mess to discuss strategy on how to locate the rock shaped like a
skull which pointed the way towards a safe landing. And by “we” I mean
everyone: Captain Montoya had invited (not ordered) everyone to contribute if
they so desired.
I was still having
trouble seeing him in here.
“More minds on the
job means more ideas, Paloni,” he had said, misinterpreting the look on my face.
I was shocked when
everyone showed up.
“It’ll be weeks, if
we find it at all,” I said in the middle of it. I was growing frustrated. “The
problem is, guards on the prison towers will spot us long before then. The fog
will only last so long.”
A young crewman,
brand new, spoke up.
“May I make a
suggestion, Captain?” he said unsurely.
“Of course,” said
Captain Montoya. “What is your name?”
“Domingo,” said the
boy.
That seemed to
please the captain greatly. “Domingo,” he said, nodding. “Good Spanish name. Please,
Domingo. Go ahead and make your suggestion.”
We all waited as
the boy stood and cleared his throat.
“I would like to
suggest, sir, that Dredskull is a myth. We don’t need to find a low-tide rock
that looks like a demon’s skull at all, even if one exists. It was a myth
started by Rugen and his henchmen. Speak a lie
often enough and it becomes the truth. That is my suggestion, sir.”
He sat down.
Dauchkin shook his
head.
“I’ve seen the rock
meself. And I’ve seen the wreckage of boats that have tried to land on
Dredskull Point, lad. They’re all around the point. We’re not too far offshore
to see them without the fog.”
“I agree,” I said.
But Captain Montoya
was smiling at young Domingo. Smiling and nodding and rubbing his chin.
“Captain?” I
inquired, concerned.
He glanced at me,
determination in his eyes.
“Count Rugen was a
coward and deceiver,” he spat. “He was the king’s henchman before Prince
Humperdinck was ever born! He was the one who had Harshtree Prison built!”
“It wouldn’t be
difficult to put wrecked ships around the point,” offered a young woman named
Ryan, also a new crewmember. “Fill them with the condemned and let the tide
pull them in and destroy them.”
“Kill any survivors
who make it to shore,” said the bosun with a grim laugh. “Then spread the story
about the mortal dangers of Dredskull Point. After all, you’ve already got the
skull-shaped rock that appears at low tide. It’s a ready-made story! And
old-timers that know it’s all bunk … well, no one’s gonna speak out with that
unholy Pit of Despair, now are they?”
“The problem is,” I
cut in impatiently, “there’s no way to safely test this theory, is there? So
we’re still at square one!”
“This fog ain’t
gonna last forever,” observed the bosun. “We may not get an opportunity like
this again for a long time. I’ve got plenty of experience with landing on
dangerous shores. Captain, I’d like to volunteer to crew a longboat in through
the rocks.”
The look on Captain
Montoya’s face demonstrated that he clearly knew that he was in charge and that
now it was very, very real. Did he have the courage to determine the fate of
his crew? This was his first real test, and the galley went silent as the men
(and women: there were six aboard) watched him. Would he fail?
He stared at the
bosun a long moment, then at me. I thought he was going to defer to me, to ask
what I thought, and prayed he didn’t.
He didn’t. He
nodded, first a tiny bit, then more surely.
“We will wait for
the tide to go out,” he announced. “That will be sometime tonight, right?” He
glanced at me for confirmation.
A nighttime landing
at Dredskull Point. In fog!
“Swimmers. Who can swim?” he asked. About half
the crew’s hands went up, including the bosun’s.
“Swimmers only. Any
volunteers?”
The bosun (his name
was Marcell Shya) raised his hand. Surprisingly, six more did as well, of which
half were the women!
“Then let’s find a
suitable entry point,” said the captain, rising. “Let’s not give this devil
rock any more heed. I want to help the longboat people get ready. Thank you all
for your help. An extra serving of rum to everyone after dinner.”
This pleased the
crew greatly, who thanked the captain as they made their way out of the galley.
Soon I was alone with him.
“I want to go with
them, Paloni. But I can’t swim.” He gazed at me, determined and frustrated. “I
should learn to swim. It seems wrong that the captain of a seagoing vessel
can’t swim. Does that seem right to you?”
“I …” But I had
been rendered speechless.
“Captain, we need
you to stay behind,” I said when I finally got over the next bout of surprise
with this man. “The Revenge needs her
captain. As for swimming …” I went to open my mouth again, but knew nothing
intelligent was waiting to be uttered, so I closed it.
“Everyone should
know how to swim,” he declared. “When we retrieve Fezzik, that’s what we’re
going to do. We’re all going to learn how to swim.”
Yep. Speechless.
The Revenge has
two longboats. We lowered the port one into the sea, which had kicked up
slightly with an unsteady onshore breeze. The fog was holding on, but barely. At
dusk I suggested that we lower the lights. We all were subsequently fumbling
around a bit as we got the boat ready.
“We’re at low tide.
Best get a move on,” I whispered.
Marcell and the
other volunteers climbed down the side of the ship into the boat. Captain
Montoya was peering over the edge. It was clear he was worried.
“Godspeed. We’ll
keep the rum warm for you when you get back,” he said to them as quietly as he
could. He gave them a salute.
The bosun saluted
back, gave a grim smile, then rasped at the others: “Row. And let’s be cautious
and quiet about it, shall we?”
They disappeared
into the swirling fog.
“Captain,” I said,
“let’s get warm. It’s no use waiting. Pneumonia is a real risk in conditions
like these.”
He shook his head.
“I will stay. Go fix me some of that awful tea if you must, but I will not move
until they return.”
“I’ll be back with
a mug,” I said. “And a coat.”
Two hours passed. I was certain the longboat and the seven
aboard it had lost their lives on the fearsome rocks of Dredskull Point, but I
didn’t have the heart to suggest it to the captain. He’d been true to his word
and hadn’t moved from his spot. He absentmindedly sipped tea and stared out
into the fog. The rest of the crew left him alone.
I was thinking of
all the correspondence I was going to have to write to the parents and lovers
and children of the deceased. That had been one of my duties in the past, one I
did not relish.
Just then I heard a
muted whistle. Then another. I raced out of my quarters to the topdeck. The
captain was beaming. The boy, Domingo, had spotted the longboat atop the crow’s
nest. They were coming back to the ship!
They’d survived!
“Blankets, Paloni!”
he hissed. “Some may be injured! Let’s be prepared! Hurry!”
Before tearing back
below deck, I gawked out into the fog, which in this night air was pea-soup
thick. I didn’t see anything.
The rest of the
crew was shouting now. I hurried back up. “Shhhh!”
I ordered with a fierce whisper, bringing a stiff index finger to my lips.
“You’re barking like a bunch of seals! Shhhh!”
Several joined me
to help out. We got blankets and first-aid supplies and rushed back up to the
topdeck. I looked out.
I couldn’t believe
it. There was the longboat not a hundred feet away and closing! Marcell stood
at the bow with a wild grin on his stubbly face.
Minutes later we
hauled everybody on board. The crew hugged the brave adventurers, and so did
the captain, once again abandoning decorum like scurvy.
“Did you land?” he
whispered with great anticipation.
“We sure did!” said
Marcell in an obvious struggle to keep from shouting. “The boy was right. It’s
all a bunch of gull crap! We can land
at Dredskull!”
I thought the crew
was going to break out in cheers, and I was about to hiss “Shhh!” again, but they only locked arms and danced around in
silence and pumped fists into the air.
“There’s something
else, Captain,” said the bosun with that wild grin still on his face.
“Well, out with
it!” I demanded as Captain Montoya turned to listen.
Marcell reached
into his trousers pocket and opened his fist to reveal three large, gleaming Gilderian
gold coins.
Everybody
immediately stopped dancing and gawked.
“One of the
condemned ships they ran into those rocks must’ve been carrying booty of some
kind,” he said. “We found these peekin’ out of the sand just under the surfline
where we landed!”
Chapter Five
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