Subject:  Haharr, then sit back an' listen t'me tale, a story of a weasel called Dodge Spiketail an' his little dibbun pal. |
Author:
Rigg
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Date Posted: 08:07:27 04/01/04 Thu
In reply to:
Log-a-log Rigg
's message, "**An old shrew sits by the fireside.**" on 13:19:01 03/28/04 Sun
The Spring of the Singing Sailors
Dodge Spiketail yawned and stretched in his hammock. The ship gave a rolling lurch, sending the weasel on a one way trip to the floor with a loud thon. Muttering dark things under his breath, he heaved himself up and headed for his chest of things. He rummaged out his bolas and his sling from an assortment of plunder, spare clothes, and bits of this and that the corsair had collected over the seasons. "Huh, thought I 'ad a dagger in 'ere afore." Sticking his weapons in his belt, Dodge hoofed it on deck and noted the clear sky.
Dodge was first mate on the ship, Fishbait, under command of Captain Churl Limbleg; a greedy searat with a wooden leg. Dodge was ambitious, having joined the crew as a youngster and fighting his way to the position he now held. He always appeared to be a friendly soul at first; he laughed readily and liked to chat. But he was also cruel and dangerous, and a good fighter to boot. The weasel was a hit wherever he went because of this and the fact he could do front and back pawsprings.
Dodge did have a few enemies on board though. Singe Arro was the former first mate, and when he found he was denoted so that a pirate younger than him would take his place, he wasn't very happy. The stoat usually slunk around the backround, but whenever he could he'd insult Dodge or find ways to get the first mate hurt by 'accident'. There were a few others, of course. One couldn't rise to such a position of power unless one had stepped on a few others to get there.
Dodge was making his way to the galley to see if there was anything to eat when he spotted Pinky Polan. Pinky was a rather odd ferret. For some strange and rare reason, he had no fur. He often wore any scrap of clothe he could find to protect him from the chill of the sea. Though weighed down by clothing, the furless ferret could still scale a mast with the agility of a squirrel. Dodge waited for him to catch up.
Pinky passed him and headed for the galley. "If'n it ain't first mate Dodge. Lookin' a nice day t'day. Shouldn't be surprised if the wind picks up later on though." Dodge followed the odd ferret, elbowing him aside. "Aye, but rough weather don't bother me, mate. We'll 'ave t'see Nakrobi about that though. Wonder wot ole Truvva's got cooked up fer brekkist?" Pinky took an experimental sniff. "Smells like...Fish guts roasted in ole grease an' a side dish o' burnt barnacles. The usual." Dodge shrugged as he pushed open the door to the galley. "I dunno wot 'e does in 'ere...Hoi, Truvva! Ain't yew got nothin' for the first mate an' 'is matey?"
They were met only with the creaks of the ship, and the scuttering roll of an empty grog bottle on the floor. Dodge looked questioningly at Pinky, who shrugged. "Guess ole Truvva's gone on break." The weasel mate gazed around the galley, an idea creeping in the back of his mind. "Hey, y'know, we might just..." Pinky looked worried. "Ah no, I know that look in y'eyes. What is it this time?" Dodge grinned and started rubbing his paws together. "We could knock up some grub of our own. Truvva ain't 'ere t'stop us. An' if he do come back, well, I'm first mate, I kin order him out." Pinky's shoulders sagged. "But we don't rightly know a tomato from a potato."
Dodge picked up a bowl and started dumping ingrediants into it. "The way I sees it, we can't do any worse'n Truvva, right? 'Ere mate, pass them sweetmeats o'er here, an' some of that hot pepper stuff we robbed off those otters." The furless ferret shrugged and tossed some candied fruit into the bowl. "Okeydokey then, whatever you say." Soon both vermin were busy, mixing, cooking, adding, and improvising. All sorts of strange things went into their foods at once; shrimp, fish, flour, fruit, herbs, vegetables and grog, to name but a few.
Dodge and Pinky were so engrossed in their creations that they forgot about Truvva. The tubby searat had just finished reporting to Captain Churl how much food they had. He shuffled to his galley door and pushed. It didn't budge; weasel and ferret had barred the door so as not to be disturbed. Truvva pounded on the door, roaring. "Ahoy, who's in there? Y'go on an' get out o' my kitchens, I got brekkist t'make!" Pinky peered through a crack in the door. "Um, y'can't come in! Don't worry, we got brekkist covered!"
Truvva started slamming his formidable weight against the door, grunting. "Yew scurvey barnacle 'ead, that's my job!" It wasn't long before all his yelling brought a crowd of puzzled pirates outside the galley, sniffing the air and wondering what was going on. "Who's taken o'er the galley?" "Mmm, what's that smell?" "Arr, they're doin' a right good job of it in there, I say." A popping sound came from inside. Dodge waved the smoke away with a paw as he drew his last batch of Searat Surprise from the oven. "It'll be out soon! Back away from th'door!"
The corsairs obeyed, but still pushed and shoved to see what Dodge and his shipmate had made. There were some clunking sounds, then the door, with smoke curling around it, opened. Dodge and Pinky struggled with a big pot of soup, and willing claws joined theirs to heft it. Vermin eyed the brew, nudging eachother and licking their lips. Then Dodge and his mate disappeared back into the hazy galley and bore with them a chest with flagons of grog, along with Dodge's Searat Surprise.
Truvva stood to one side all the while, frowning and waving his ladle around, although his stomach was set growling from the savory smells. "Yew made a mess in there, I knows it. You'd best clean up arter y'selves. I had everythin' jus' right this mornin'." Dodge sampled his soup. He smacked his lips and took a pull of grog. "Mm, spicey, bold, but sweet. None too bad, if I don't say so meself. Truvva, I'm first mate around 'ere, an' I say you gotta take some o' this over to ole Limbleg's cabin." The tubby rat grumbled as he filled a bowl of soup, balanced a Searat Surprise on one elbow and a flask of grog on his tail and staggered our across the slippery deck.
The corsairs voted Dodge's and Pinky's meal a great success. The soup, named Pinky's Pirate Pot, disappeared instantly, and Dodge's Searat Suprise just as fast. (The Searat Surprise had candied fruit, nuts, honey and salt baked into a buttered biscuit. Ooh, tasty!) Both were praised highly for their concoctions. By the time Truvva came back, the only thing left for him to eat were his own burnt peices of 'bread' from the day before.
Dodge sat scanning the Searat Surprise tray for crumbs, while Pinky scooped the last of the soup from the pot. "There's a thing mate. Y'find somethin' new every day, me ole granny used t'say, afore she went off asailin'. But I never knowed that I could cook." Pinky nodded agreement. "I reckon you were right afore, Dodge. Anybeast on this ole tub could make better scoff'n Truvva though." Truvva scowled as laughter broke out among the corsairs. Somebeast pulled out a stoatcordian and began playing, while a group of searats struck up a song.
"Oh ye shouldn't never venture,
Too near the dark galley,
Where 'orrible smells an' boil'd shells,
Will be the fate of all 'oo dally!
Ole cooky'll boot ye out,
But if yew ain't done an' gone,
'E'll 'ave you muckin' dishes,
All the 'ole day long!
Or if 'e's in a bad mood,
E'll feed ye head's o' fish,
An' mainsail ropes an' pore dead stoats,
All baked into one dish!
Oh barnacle stew an' wot 'ave you,
An' splinters off the deck,
'E'll cook 'is snot an' all the lot
O' bilgewater, 'ey wot the 'eck!
So don't go near them galleys,
With their ole badtempered cook,
Don't eat 'is food or drink 'is drink,
An' you'll be off the 'ook!"
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