The Ghosts of Christmas Past

A very Merry Christmas to all the stowaways, enlisted sailors, and readers of The Astonishing Adventures, from the crew of La Gongoozler - Annie, Jodi and myself. Thank you for sticking with the story through myriad twists, turns, and the extended absence of one of the writers (not pointing any fingers at myself...). This will be the last post until the new year, so keep a fairweather eye on the horizon, keep checking your RSS feeds for messages in bottles, and prepare to set sail once more in 2009.

"An-an-an' then, then boys..." Pete brought the pewter tankard down hard onto the table, ale sloshing over the rim. His eyes closed over, and he broke into a broad smile. "I r'member it clear as he was sat 'ere now. He says to me, the Cap'n says... To hell with the powder Pete, I'll throw the cannonballs at them myself!"

Pete let out a roar of laughter, almost falling off the bench as he rocked backwards. The young men with him laughed out of politeness. Old Pete was a staple of The Admiral's Snug, spinning yarns about his time abroad, sailing with some foreign ship, the tales getting taller and wilder the more he drank. This time Pete had been crowing about that ship, what was it called, the Gonzo, the Gangler, or something like that, and how he and the ship's Captain had taken on over 100 pirate vessels in the Indies, sinking them all. The last pirate ship the Captain had sunk by hand. A ridiculous claim, but in comparison to some of the stories Pete told about the Captain, not wholly farfetched. At least this story didn't involve coconuts.

The drunkard was tolerated by the young sailors who crowded in each night, waiting for orders that they were due to set sail. He knew every ship that came in, he could read the next day's weather from the pattern of the clouds at sunset, and when he'd had a few, he could tell a tale that would set your head spinning.

Pete fell off his bench, still laughing. The sailors looked down at Pete, lying prostrate on the floor, then slowly got up and walked away, stepping over him. They dropped some coins by his head. "Merry Christmas Pete" they muttered as they stepped over him. Pete rolled to his side, and tried to stand. His legs had not received the orders from his head, and he slumped back down to the bare floor.

"Easy there old man." He felt strong hands underneath his arms, pulling him up. "Let's get you some fresh air." Pete staggered out of the tavern, leaning heavily on the samaritan who had pulled him to his feet. The cold air stung his cheeks, provoking a coughing fit. The sea breeze had begun to sober him up, and he slouched against the wall, breathing hard.

"Thank you m'lad." He wheezed, rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times. There was once a time when a few tankards of an evening would not have affected him like this, when he wouldn't have needed help to stand at the end of the night, and when his eyes would be clearly focused on the stranger who had helped him. But time did not respect him any more than these young whippersnappers, and three score and ten years were weighing heavily upon him.

"No thanks are necessary." The stranger bowed slightly, his cloak unfurling around him, and Pete caught a glimpse of a sword hilt tied to the waist. He squinted, trying to focus, and recall where he had seen the ornate hilt before. The stranger wrapped the cloak tight, and shook his head. "My apologies if I put you in a state of alarm. One cannot be too careful when one is abroad."

"Stranger here then are ye?" Pete looked him up and down. High collar turned up, obscuring the face, only a dark pair of eyes shining out. A wide brimmed hat pulled low, fine dark cloak closed over, old style pantaloons and tanned leather boots. "Aye, ye look it. Got the look of a continental sailor." He coughed again and spat. "Sailed with enough of ye to know," he muttered.

"You tell some interesting stories Pete." Wind swirled around them, bringing in some mist from off the seashore that spread out before them. The tavern commanded an impressive view of the shoreline, away from the bustle of the harbour, reminding the regulars of the beauty of the mistress they all courted. "But still just stories. None of them true."

Pete laughed. "Aye, there's a few will tell you that the rum has gone to me head, that old Pete here has lost his mind, with his nonsense about the Captain, and the Gongoozler, and the things we did." Another coughing fit, before he resumed. "Maybe I makes them more entertaining, and maybe they ain't quite as they happened, but they did happen. So don't tell me that none of them was true sir, cos I lived every one of these tales."

The stranger patted Pete on the shoulder and pointed out to the sea. The dark waters seemed to merge with the night sky, and only the gentle surge of the waves showed where the sky ended and the waters began. "Do you ever miss it?"

"Aye lad. Always. It gets into your blood see? To be out there, on a good ship, with a good Captain..." He sighed. "Endless possibilities."

From deep within the town, the feint peels of a bell drifted across to where they stood. The stranger glanced back at the town, then at Pete. "Midnight. And so my time here grows short. Feliz Navidad, Pete." A black-gloved hand extended from within the cloak, and grasped Pete's frail hand. "Aye, and Feliz... Feliz..." He looked into the eyes of the stranger, and fell back towards the wall, still holding the stranger's hand. "You... no. No, it can't be. You look so... And me an old man. I mean, even then I was, but no so old..."

He caught the flash of a smile, framed by a neat dark beard. "The lads all miss you Pete. She's fully provisioned, all tacking and rigging in place." He released Pete's hand, and motioned out towards the water. In the bay, shimmering in the moonlight, a Spanish galleon floated majestically, lights ablaze. "All she wants is a good first mate."

The figure slowly walked away, on the path towards the shorefront. Without breaking step, he called out. "When the time comes Pete I'll come calling. One last voyage old friend. One last adventure."

The wind picked up again, gathering in mist around the figure, obscuring him from Pete's view. Pete swallowed hard, and made the sign of the cross. "Aye Cap'n. One last voyage."