Whoever Heard of a Barkeep Pirate?

By Tiani Gibson

“Boom! I heard it so suddenly; I hardly had the time to tumble from my barracks with boots on my feet! The entire ship was shaking as the beast attacked!” he announces it with a stomp of his feet as the various patrons of my tavern go absolutely wild. Goodness, he’s such an attention seeker. Did his parents never teach him manners?

“I had just enough time to grab one boot! No, half my boot, and my sword before running up to the deck, and seeing the horrifying sight!” This story changes constantly. Sometimes, it’s one boot, and another time it’s neither. This half a boot nonsense is new: How does one put on half a boot? I see the patrons lean in to listen to him.

 “Tendrils! Tentacles! All of it enraptured my ship! My crew hardly had enough time to gather themselves as it squeezed our ship apart! I knew that there was no time to rest! That beast had its arms around my crewmates, and one wrong move meant we’d be sinking!”

Here comes the ramp up, “The lanterns had been knocked on the sea deck, the ship was going up in flames, and the beast attacked our sails! I lifted my sword to slice its large tendril clean in two, but the blade simply broke in half upon touching its steel skin!” he shouts, leaning down to his little audience as they gasp in horror at the thought of their titular hero on the ropes. Like he’s not messing my tables with his full boots.

 “What did you do, Captain!?” Sheila, the milk maid who’d been peering up at him with hearts and stars in her eyes, exclaims. She acts as if she’s never heard this story before, like she doesn’t run to his side with her bosom exposed every single time he begins his story. He’s just as bad however, I can tell by the way he fixates on her chest that he doesn’t recognize her in the slightest.  He schmoozes anyway, leaning down to the milk maid with that same cocky grin of his.

“With no sword, and no boots-” Ah, no boots again, “I could have been killed! But I persevered,” he hums, standing up straight as he slides his leather coat behind his hip and pulls free the shattered blade. The patrons all nearly fall over one another at the sight. “I took note of the beast’s most prominent weakness!” he announced, “What!? What was his weakness?” every patron shouts in response, and he stands with a smile wide enough to swallow a whale. He covers one of his eyes, and swivels around so that everyone can see the action. “His eyes! Those large orbs stared me down as he destroyed my ship! So, I-” he thrust the broken blade upwards, the crowd lurching back from him like the force of it will send them flying. “Drove my half-sword into his eye and watched as he retreated!” the bar erupts into cheers: stomping and hollering, shaking my tables as everyone cheers him on. He hops down and drinks in all of his praise; I’m pretty sure it’s his only reason for breathing at this point.  Every patron in this bar feeds into his lies, not questioning a word he says. That is, until now.

“What hogwash,” I hear Rodney, a drunkard who’s recently begun frequenting my tavern. I’m sure he’s heard this story six times by now. The crowd lowers their volume as the Captain’s face shifts from his typical schmooze to…

Actually, I can’t tell what this face means. I’ve never seen him make anything other than his ‘lover boy’ expression. “Having trouble believing me, sot?” The Captain hums.

Rodney whips around quickly, clearly having waited for the chance to air his grievances. “You tell that tale every night. And each day it gets more ridiculous,” he takes a swig before continuing, “you pirates are known for lying, and while these fools may fall for it, I won’t.”

The Captain’s face is unmoving as he scans his surroundings, the other patrons are watching intently for him to prove this drunkard wrong. I can tell by the way he snorts and looks away from the non-believer that he’s found the perfect way to discredit him. “And do tell, what does a soak know of adventure?”

Rodney’s brows furrow, “Beg your pardon?”

“Have you ever been on the ocean? Seen the beasts that lie within it?” the Captain questions.

“Well, no, but-”

“Have you seen proof that the beast does or doesn’t exist?” Of course, the man hasn’t, no one has, that’s the whole point. “If that’s the case, then how can you be sure I’m lying? Why must I be a liar simply because you fail to believe in what your eyes can’t see? And who are you to tell these fine people what is and what isn’t?” There’s a beat of silence after the spiel, everyone waiting like a cat at a mouse-hole for Drunk Rodney to respond to the Captain’s inquiries. I’m expecting a rebuttal, a call for proof, for him to point out the inconsistencies in the Captain’s tale.

But it never comes. Instead, the sot just clamps his mouth shut and looks down, possibly too drunk to do more than wallow in the embarrassment. “Dirty drunk, trying to make fun of the captain,” the milk maid grimaces at the thought of someone so lowly questioning the object of her desires.

 I roll my eyes in response to the nonsense I’ve just witnessed and turn to clean the many mugs I’ve been given by my drinkers. “I assume you’re also a non-believer, Taverness?” Crap. So, he saw that, did he? I turn a bit to face him, hiding my annoyance behind a patron-worthy smile.

“What makes you say that, Captain?” I won’t be embarrassed like the lush, hung out to dry when he gives his cheap little defenses.

“You never seem quite pleased with my storytelling,” he sneers, “judging by all of your frustrated sighs.”

“One tends to be frustrated when given the extra task of clearing boot prints off of their tables.” He pauses at the statement, like he hadn’t considered how rude that action was until now. But he’s back to smiling the minute the initial thought has left his mind.

“Yes, I suppose that is rather rude of me. Apologies, Barkeep. I take it you do believe my little tale?”

“As you said, who am I to define what is and what isn’t?” I ask, filling a mug for him and placing it before him, hoping that the bribe of ale will shift his attention away from me. His eyes flick down to the foam atop the cup, his smile fading much like it had with Rodney minutes prior.

“Is there something about my tale that’s so unbelievable?” Yes.

“Of course not. Why, stranger things have happened than large Octopi ravaging ships. Just last week, Rodney’s wife called off their separation,” I jest, and he snorts, watching as Rodney grumbles and turns himself away.

“Yes, I suppose so. And yet, you fail to trust my word. Why is that?” I pause my straightening of the bar and lift a brow to look at him. This is less confrontational than his conversation with Rodney. He’s even taken to whispering. Maybe, this is his soft spot for women coming out in full. His curiosity doesn’t falter no matter how long I remain silent.

I set my rag down and fold my arms across my chest, watching as he sits up from the bar to meet my eyeline. “Your story keeps changing,” I start, and he shrugs.

“I can’t be expected to remember every detail, only a liar would be so well rehearsed”

“You can’t remember how many boots you were wearing.”

“Let’s call it a side effect of a traumatic experience,” he hums, waving a hand with a smile. I can’t stop my frown from forming.

“Sometimes your boat is on fire, other times, it isn’t.”

“Sometimes, I fail to mention it–”

“It’s a strikingly important detail, Captain.”

“Ah, so you’re a fan of my story telling then?” he schmoozes again.

“I don’t remember suggesting anything of the sort–”

“You’ve been listening to my tale daily. So intently that you remember what changes, and what remains. Awfully invested, aren’t you?”

“It’s hard not to when you’re shouting like a bitch in heat on my tables.” He leans back like I’ve spat the words in his face, and whines like he’s trying to prove my point.

“You wound me, Taverness,” he feigns the offense for a while before leaning over the bar to gaze into my eyes. “Admit it, you are curious how much of what I say is true.” I can hardly contain my annoyance at the suggestion, snorting and shaking my head.

 “Hardly. A child could see through this facade.”

“And yet, there is a part of you that can’t?”

“What are you implying?”

“I think you are envious of my adventures, Barkeep.” he says, leaning onto his arms to gaze up at me, awaiting my response.

“I…what?” Where on earth did he get that idea?

 “I’m sure part of you grows tired of the monotony of running this bar. I see the way your eyes light up with wonder whenever you hear me speak of my adventures, even behind all your angry brow twitches, and exasperated glances. Frankly, it’s what keeps me coming here.” I pause, scanning his expression for any hint that this may be just a lengthy ploy of messing with me. But there isn’t. In fact, he’s taken to that same expression again. The one that confuses me.

However, after having seen it only three times, I think I’ve finally figured out the feeling behind it. In fact, I can practically see the large cogs turning within his head as he scans me, awaiting my response. I think he knows how right he is before I do, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to deny it. “I have no clue what you–” he sucks his teeth and shakes his head, sitting upwards.

“No need to lie, Barkeep, there is no shame in wanting to experience more within life. I didn’t start out as a dashing pirate captain, you know,” he places a hand on his chest with a proud smile, awaiting praises. They don’t come because I refuse to give them to him.

“Right…” I mutter, annoyed that a loon like this has seen through me. His adventures, fake as they may be, are interesting, and alluring. The passion behind even the most outlandish of lies is something I have always craved more than anything. The Captain can tell, I can tell by the way his face falls into a smirk. I roll my eyes again, something I’ve found myself doing a lot of as of late, and watch as his expression shifts into one far more serious.

“I have a proposition for you, Taverness,” he begins, rubbing his chin as if he’s contemplating his idea in real time.

“Why don’t you join my crew?”

“What?”

I’d thought it was a joke at first, a cruel prank to pull on some Bar maiden for the sole purpose of laughing with the rest of his crew, but no. No, he’d meant every word of it, and he continued to mean every word until I’d made the foolish decision to pack up all of my important belongings: a few photographs, some journals, my good jewels and my favorite corset, and jump on the boat with this aloof Captain.

“I couldn’t do that, what about my business?”

“As long as you are back before your lease has ended, your business will be nice and secure.” he’d combatted me so fast, like he’d already thought of my rebuttal. “It ends in six months. Plenty of time to show you a Kraken.” He insisted until I agreed.

 Which, I hate to admit, did not take very long. The first chance at a strange adventure, and I abandoned a stable, slightly taxing income to be a pirate with a bunch of dirty fools who doted on the captain even more than my ex-patrons had. Maybe it’s too soon to call them ex-patrons given my deal with the devil, but it feels even more wrong to call them anything else when I think about how I abandoned my tavern. He gave me my own quarters given that I was the only woman on board and gifted me a key to lock myself away in case I felt threatened. “You won’t need it. My men are gentlemen. But I can’t erase such fear with mere promises,” he’d said. Oddly insightful for a man who could hardly remember how many boots he put on his feet.

With that, we set sail on the ocean to find some mystical beast.

 ~

We’ve been on the ocean for four months now, with nary a sight of the creature. I knew this was a possibility when I boarded this ship, but to say I’m not slightly disappointed that each day has been filled with monotonous preparations for a creature I’ve never seen would be a lie. I’d bring this fact up to the Captain if I thought it would change things, but he’s just as dismissive of me as the day we boarded this ship. Asking about the Kraken is met with retorts about my impatience, or those cogs turning in his hot-air-filled head. That is, if I can even get a word in with him at all: At this point, he practically bolts away when he sees me coming, probably expectant of what I’m going to say to him. But if that’s the case, then how come he can’t just answer my question? What is so difficult about it?

I see him crossing the deck, answering the questions of one of his crewmates. It’s the perfect time to try again. Even if he tries to run away from me, with most of his crew on the deck, it’ll cause him more trouble to completely ignore me. “Captain!” I can see his shoulder’s slump when he realizes who called for him.

“Not now, Taverness, I am very busy with other matters.”

“If not now, when?” I grab his wrist and he turns to look at me, face riddled with annoyance, or anger, or disdain, or whichever one he’s feeling. I can never tell. His eyes glide down to the hand around his wrist, and I let go, scared he’ll bite if I remain holding him any longer. He pauses slightly, and then relaxes, the strange feeling leaving his expression.

“Out with it then, is this about your impatience?”

“It’s hardly impatience! I’ve been nothing but patient with this wild goose chase of yours,” he rolls his eyes. I hate it when he does that, treating me like an ignorant child who asks too many questions when he’s the one who insisted I join this fool’s errand in the first place.

“We are tracking the beast, Taverness-”

“With little to show for it! Need I remind you that my lease ends in two months?”

“No, you needn’t do anything of the sort, and yet you’ve done it consistently for the past three.” he twists to walk away from me, lifting rope from atop one of the many barrels of ale. It figures a man who spent most of his days in my tavern would have an entire crew with a drinking problem. 

“Tracking takes time, and like I have promised time and time again, I will have you back in that shoddy little bar before the sunlight touches the horizon on the final day of that lease of yours,” he says, shoving the rope into my arms as he continues his stride. I continue following.

“Which is all fine and dandy, but it wouldn’t cause you any harm to give me more information. Can you at least tell me which sea we sail upon? Or which country we’re closest to. Hell, even something as simple as your name is a mystery to me!” his brow twitches at the insinuation that he should give me his name.

“I wasn’t aware my name interested you so.”

“Because you hardly listen to a word I say! Or a grievance I air! I just want to understand, I want to know what’s going on!”

“And why is that?” he asks me. I pause, scanning him slightly, completely confused about what the question is meant to mean. “Why is it so important to know what’s going on? Did you not join my crew to escape the notion of knowing? Yet, you can’t allow yourself to live in the moment? What do you gain from knowing all, aside from boredom?” he scoffs and leans down to meet my eyeline. “If it was stability, and security you craved, you’d have never gotten on this ship. Never forget that, Cora,” he says, uttering my name for the first time in…well, to be quite honest I hadn’t been aware he knew it until now.

It’s strange hearing him say it. It stumps me for way longer than I’d like to admit, but I steel myself a bit. As nice of a sentiment as that seems to be, he’s been dragging me across the ocean with no word of where we are. “Spontaneity shouldn’t mean the sacrifice of my sanity, Captain.”,

“I think sanity is a small price to pay for adventure,” he hums, shrugging his shoulders and clapping his hands together. “Come! We have business to attend to!” He practically rushes me towards the sails, taking a length of the rope from me and smiling.

“What are we-”

“Preparing our sails for a thrashing, of course!” he says, beginning to scale the sail. He then leans a bit to look down at me, his smile still beaming brighter than the sun itself. “Santiago,” he says. I assume it’s a greeting at first, and repeat it, confused. He just laughs at my naivete, “My name, Taverness. It’s Santiago,” he says, holding a hand to pull me up alongside him. Somehow, his name fits him more than anything ever could, like I’ve known the words my whole life, but have only now unearthed them.

We tie the sails with the rope, reinforcing them for what he calls the Kraken’s ‘special attack’. He tells me we’ll be stranded at sea if the beast manages to knock down our sails. So, protecting them is a higher priority than keeping ourselves alive, apparently. “We can’t sail back if we’re dead,” I mutter, tightening my knots.

“You’ll be dead regardless, if you lose those sails,” he responds with a raise of his brows before taking my hand and guiding me as we slide down from the sails.

The day is quiet after that, with everyone’s monotonous tasks having come to an end thanks to Santiago’s oddly resourceful leadership. The night that follows is bound to be more interesting. It starts with, as Santiago calls it, the ‘Possibly-Final’ celebration. His crew mates dance, sing, and drink like their lives may end tomorrow. “Because they might just, Barkeep,” the Captain responds when I ask, tossing back his own mug with a swiftness I hadn’t even witnessed with Sot Rodney. He howls after he finishes, and sets his mug down before me, waiting patiently as I fill it. Even as a pirate, I’m expected to keep glasses full. Figures. “Aside from that insufferable haste,” he takes a swig. “I assume your time here has been rather enjoyable?” he leans a bit, clearly anticipating my response. “Aside from a few foul-smelling cabin boys, and a mewling cat,” he snorts. I’d come to him more than once complaining about his crewmate, Jumba’s, cat. Why bring an animal like that on a ship like this? It seems fool hardy.

“I can’t exactly complain. You’ve all been so kind to me, although a bit vague. Every day is a new adventure,” I respond.

“And every night, a party!” He places his boot on the ledge of the ship and sneers, looking upon me with satisfaction when he sees he’s earned a laugh. I then see his demeanor, playful and charming, shift completely. Not like his thinking expression, or even his irritated one. The change throws me off for a moment, he falls completely silent, his gaze staring out over the water like he’s entranced.

“Santi—” he shushes me, lowering off the edge and slowly backing me away from it. The rest of the men are still having a merry time around lanterns, singing their shanties loudly. I hear Jumba’s cat beginning to hiss and whine, louder than usual as it looks around the boat in fear.

 I look to Santiago, he’s still watching the waves carefully, eyes gliding across them as he continues to back us away from the edge. The crew members notice their Captain’s behavior, each falling silent just like he has, their merry attitude vanishing in mere seconds. The boat is quiet, the creaking of the wood as it’s carried across the waves, the mewing of that mangy cat, and the wind whistling through the sails are the only noises I can hear clearly. That, and my own heart. I’m not sure what I should be anticipating, but my chest has tightened around my heart, the beating felt in my throat as I watch the men ready themselves for the Captain. It’s quiet. My heart beats slowly, loudly, the pace of it picking up as I feel myself hesitantly cling to Santiago.

Quiet. Hiss. Quiet. Hiss. Quiet.

I hear it before I see it, the water is disturbed, spraying large heaps onto our ship, each of us is launched from our feet, and sent careening to the sides of the ship. I feel my head collide with the deck and there’s a rushing of liquid, maybe the waves, maybe my own blood, filling my ears as my vision blurs from the impact, the cat’s mewling is overtaken by the screams of men, orders from Santiago begging each of them to steady themselves. “Aim!” I hear him say, “Fire!” a canon fire follows swiftly, more screams of orders, the boat has yet to steady. I shake my head around and look up at the…

Oh my god. It’s real. The beast is real! Even shrouded by darkness, I see it. The moon reflects across the slick, shiny skin that Santiago’s blade had failed to pierce. The arms are long, each covered in suctions as large as my skull, and thrashing about the ship in an attempt to destroy everything causing movement upon it. My breathing stops, and my movement follows, hoping that doing so will camouflage me from the beast’s gaze. I watch men being lifted from the ship in mass by the tendrils, the bodies flayed when the suction cups remove themselves, or torn to shreds when the tentacles slightly tug against them. They’re like wet parchment to this creature, easily destroyed.

“Cora!” I hear my name, but I’m too afraid to look at the source of the noise, afraid the beast may have some form of vocal mimicry. I feel my arm grabbed, my body lifted, and scream, wondering if the beast has seen through my stillness. Shoulders grabbed, I’m whipped around to face Santiago, who peers into my eyes, brows furrowed. “Don’t just sit there, you fool! Man a canon!” he shouts, pushing me away from him just as the Kraken’s arm whizzes between the two of us. He’s backing up, hand on his blade, “We can’t let it wrap the ship! Be careful, Barkeep!” he orders, and I nod, wanting nothing more than to be back in my bar, serving ale to milk maids and boozers. I rush to the canon just as ordered, ducking and dodging beneath the creature’s attempts to hinder me. I twist the barrel towards the beast, aiming the canon for its eyes. Santiago’s story, the weakness of the eye, I remember it well. Thank goodness he’s such a loud mouth. I light the canon, the ball is fired, it sails towards its eye and is knocked away before it can make impact with its desired target. Can’t give up now, these men are on their last legs, some of them on no legs at all. I load up another shot, light the match and fire.

This one, while it doesn’t embed itself into the monster’s eye like I’d hoped, it makes contact, and the beast squeals in disdain. I whip my head around just in time to see Santiago’s satisfied gaze, his attention switching back to the beast just in time for his ankle to be grabbed, and his form to be lifted from the ship. I shout for him, and he can’t hear me, he’s too busy frantically trying to hack away at the beast. He grunts, and hollers, twisting his form over and over again until he hits the deck, having freed himself from the creature’s grip, only one of his boots remaining.

 “Cora!” he shouts, “The barrels! Light them! The beast is averse to flame!” The barrels of ale? The ones I’d thought proof of his incompetence have more than a simple use? I take no time, rushing to one and fiddling with the matches. They’re soaking wet, I can’t get a light. The lanterns, they’re oil lanterns, aren’t they? I have to try, these men are in danger, each more frantically behaved than the last. I rip away at my chemise, lifting it to the lantern to light it. It’s just out of reach, even when I stand on my toes. I grab a fallen man’s sword and swing to knock it down. It hits the deck, and the fire spreads with a quickness, the barrels and canon balls all in its line of travel. Panicked, I kick the barrels towards the beast, watching as they roll towards it, catching aflame and bursting just as they reach the creature.

It wails and screeches, the flames traversing its shining skin with a quickness. I watch Santiago lunge for his blade, hobbling from the pain in his ankle as he rushes towards the beast. He swings himself down from the raptors, and lets go, driving his blade through the beast’s skull. Had the fire weakened its armor? I’m not sure how he knew this, but the beast screams, and screeches and wails, wrapping its arms around his waist as he descends.

 I scream for him, but he keeps stabbing, driving it deeper into the beast’s spongy face as he’s dragged under. I, and the surviving crewmates, rush to the edge of the boat, peering into the moon reflecting water for any sight of him. We watch as the water begins to still, bubbles and ripples fading, the inky blood in the water staring back at us all. Some men are hurriedly putting out fires, others are tending the wounded. But I stand there, waiting, watching, hoping.

He emerges from the depths with a gasp of air, frantically kicking to stay above water, probably having suffered numerous injuries. “Santiago! The Captain, men help me!” I shout, hardly taking time to kick off my shoes as I hop on the edge of the ship and dive in. We’re brought onto the boat soon after, Santiago’s body bruised, his breathing reduced to a wheeze. He coughs as he lays his head on my thighs and laughs weakly. “What is so funny…?” I ask him, confused. He just smiles.

“This is going to make an excellent story…” he chirps, and I can hardly contain my irritation that it’s the first thing on his mind, or my excitement in the fact that I’ll be there when he tells it.