The Legend of Harley Rose: Part 2

Docked on the edge of town was a gorgeous ship under the afternoon sun. The Widow Maker. She was encrusted with black and gold patterns that decorated the exterior of the vessel, sending seven sails in total up the masts, with one large sail in the center. Knox and Lincoln stood on the dock and admired the beautiful ship, smiling with anticipation.

They walked up the plank onto the Widow Maker and approached the first man they saw. Knox tapped the man on the shoulder with a single, solid press of his fingers. The man turned around, insulted. “We’re looking for Captain Montana Ross,” Knox declared loudly.

The man was wearing a weathered, leather vest, with a bandana wrapped around his shaved head. He wore no shirt under his vest but his chest was strong, despite the round belly hanging below it. The man eyed Knox and Lincoln up and down, disapprovingly. He huffed and turned back around, pulling a string and hoisting up a sail.

Knox and Lincoln frowned at each other. Lincoln took a step forward and politely tapped the man’s shoulder with a few gently bumps. The man swung around again. “What?” he bellowed with his diaphragm.

Lincoln jolted back. “G’day, sir. We’d like to join your crew,” he smiled anxiously, nodding like a child.

“Why’s that?” the man questioned with disregard.

“We’ve gotten word on what you’re trying to pull off, see,” Knox began, “and we’d like to be part of that story.”

“What is it you’ve heard, boys?”

“That yer going to bury all the treasure you have,” Knox lowered his chin and looked under his eyebrows. “And after you bury the treasure, mate, you’ll summon the Ghost Lady of the Sea, Harley Rose, and take us to the grotto on the island of Caraloque, see.”

“And we’ll get all the treasure that’s ever been lost!” Lincoln finished for him.

“Aye,” Knox showed his dirty teeth, “We’ll get our hands on the lost treasures.”

The man was unimpressed with their eagerness. He stared stoically and moved his tongue inside his mouth. He snorted loud, swelling up a glob of spit, and spat at the feet of Knox. Knox watched the spittle splatter by his right boot. He looked up and saw the man tilt his head.

“We’ve got room for one,” the man said unaffectionately.

Knox and Lincoln looked at each other worriedly. “But we’re going to join together,” Lincoln pleaded. “Why can’t you fit two more?”

“Because there’s room for one,” the man retorted.

“Captain, captain,” Knox changed his tone to be friendly and agreeable. “Suppose we... make a deal—”

“I’m not the captain,” the man interrupted.

“Ah. Where is the captain, mate?” Knox asked.

The man pointed up and behind him. At the top of the tallest pole was a crow’s nest with a man standing on sides of the wall that were meant to keep the lookout inside. The man was tying a flag to the top. It was maroon with a flying albatross silhouette in the center, a golden compass behind it, and a single white star in the top left. The man standing on the crow’s nest tied the end and watched it float in the soft wind.

“You believe it’s true?” a voice from Knox and Lincoln’s left walked up to them. It was a man with a white, rounded beard and a chubby face. He wore a striped shirt, and a cutlass sword swung from his hip, up and down, with each step he took. He was holding a bottle of rum by the neck. “That a ghost will come in the night and seduce him?”

“If the stories are true, aye,” Knox declared. “Montana Ross is ripe for a visit from her.”

The man in the striped shirt brought the bottle to his lips and took a swig. He laughed a harsh wheezing laugh. “Guess I should bury a few coins, huh? If that’s all it takes to spend an evening with someone, I’ll bury a hundred chests! Ha ha!”

“The legends say she doesn’t always… ‘offer’ herself, mate,” Knox corrected. “Sometimes she acquires the locations of buried treasure chests with a few simple words.”

“Uh-huh…” the man slurred drunkenly. “What’s your name, boy-o?”

“Knox.”

“Knox…”

“Aye. And this is Lincoln.”

Lincoln waved. “Hello.”

“Lincoln…”

Knox waited for a moment before realizing the man wasn’t planning to say anything else. “And your name, matey?”

“Samson Smith,” he gurgled as he swallowed another gulp of rum. He extended his arm with the rum towards the man with the bandana and hiccupped. “That’s Boxer.” Boxer glared at Samson, unappreciative of his introductions. “There’s a few other sorry saps running around this ship, but together we’ve made up the Widow Maker,” he said with a forced smile, almost patronizingly. “And our daring captain. Captain Montana Ross,” he sighed unenthusiastically. “Seems to me you boy-o’s were looking for a little adventure, huh? What a shame.”

“What do you mean?” Lincoln asked.

Samson wheezed sharply. “All we’re about to do is watch a crazy man bury everything he’s worth and pretend he’s slept with a woman that doesn’t exist!”

“Well, if you don’t believe it, Samson, why’d you come aboard?” Lincoln followed up.

“Because after this freak buries every coin he’s got, and after he fails to encounter the legend of Harley Rose, I might take a small ship where Montana buried that little chest,” he smiled proudly, sipping from the bottle. He looked up at the crow’s nest and watched the captain adjust the flag. Samson let the bottle swing by his side and let the drops of rum fall off his bottom lip. “I might have room for a few of you on that small ship, if we manage to get along.”

A small, flat-footed man hobbled onto the ship with a small crate. His hair was crowning and his nose hairs hung from his nostrils like tree roots; his voice was hoarse, like it was stuck in a harsh whisper. The man wore small glasses and a tall, plain, long sleeve shirt. He dropped the crate by Boxer. “Boxer, hi… hi, Boxer,” he was winded.

“Stanley,” Boxer acknowledged cordially.

“Where’s Cap’n?” Stanley placed his hands on his hips to catch his breath. Boxer pointed up and behind him. Stanley shielded the sun from his eyes and craned his neck back to look at the crow’s nest. “Ah. Okay. Whew.”

Stanley looked at Boxer and then at Samson. “Would you tell him I’m putting this in his quarters?”

“What’s in it?” Samson asked intrusively.

“Cap’n wouldn’t say, he just asked that I bring it.”

“Ohhh,” Samson put his hands up, pretending to be impressed. “Captain said to bring a box, so bring a box we must.”

“I don’t ask questions, son.”

“Clearly.” Samson drank the last sip of rum, and then turned towards the sea and threw the bottle into the ocean. “I’m starting to feel a little bothered by something, boys.” He pointed at Lincoln. “What was your name again?”

“Lincoln.”

“Right, Lincoln.” He tried keeping his head up. “Lincoln, what’s supposed to happen, hmm? If all goes according to plan, Haaarley Rooose,” he fluttered his fingers to mock her legend, “will sneak into his quarters, give him a lovely time, and then Captain Montana Ross will ask her to – ‘take us to the grotto, ghost lady!’” Samson chanted in a cheeky voice.

Suddenly, a sail shot up from the deck and zipped straight into the sky. All their heads whipped up to follow the sail – passing down at equal speed was Captain Montana Ross holding onto the rope that pulled the sail up. The sail snapped open – Captain Montana Ross landed feet first on the deck.

Knox and Lincoln watched the captain rise up. He was wearing a wide, three pointed hat with a black raven’s feather stuck in the side. He had a well groomed mustache that curled up just at the tips, and a small patch of black hair to match under his bottom lip. His shirt was half-way buttoned up, exposing his swarthy body and short chest hair. He wore a long maroon coat to match the flag, which had a few cuts and holes in it. His pants were well worn and dirty, baggy at the knees due to his tall boots that pressed against his legs. At his hip was a long rapier and a flintlock gun, which was encrusted in a similar black and gold to that of the Widow Maker.

Captain Montana Ross looked at Knox and Lincoln and smiled a gorgeous smile, confirming the wide-spread monikers of ‘Montana Smile,’ “Captain Smile,” and even ‘The Smile.’

Montana turned back to face Samson quickly. “You gents seem to have your stories mixed up,” he had a charming voice with a throaty rasp. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’d like to clear things up for you.” He twisted his heel to look at everyone once, then stopped back at Samson. “The Ghost Lady of the Sea has been haunting pirates for as long as pirates have been at sea. Many of these captains do just enough to stay poor enough to keep her away. But every so often, a gentlemen or a gentlelady will find themselves blessed with riches beyond compare. And following the tradition of pirates gone by, they’ll bury it, telling only a handful where, if anyone at all. But if there’s enough gold in the chest, gent,” Montana smirked knowingly at Samson. “Harley Rose will pay you a visit.”

Samson looked at the crew, feeling trapped by Montana. “The most famous stories are the ones where she spends the night with you, getting you so drunk you can’t tell your foot from your hand." Montana slung his arm around Samson and slapped his far shoulder, like a drinking mate. “That’s told the most because it has the nicest part.” Samson nodded admittedly; it did sound nice.

“But she doesn’t always do that,” Montana leaned in close to Samson's face. “Some gents aren’t as needy as others, and she can give a few pretty words to trick you into offering up the location - just like this gent said,” Montana pointed at Knox. Knox refrained from boasting.

“Now, here’s the part they don’t like telling,” Montana let go of Samson and turned back towards the rest of the crew. “The unfortunate fools who kept their composure and didn’t let her in on their secret… never get their treasure again. She doesn’t take too kindly to those that don’t take too kindly to her. If a captain refuses to give her the location of their treasure, Harley Rose takes your soul.” The crew looked at each other, shifting nervously in place. “Legend says the lost souls of captains are slave to Harley Rose, damned to guard her grotto forever…” Montana turned and looked directly at Samson. “I don’t plan on telling her a thing, gent, and I plan on storming that grotto.”

Samson suddenly sobered up. Montana smiled his iconic smile at him. “I heard you wondering if it was all true, gent,” Montana waved his hand to the side to gesture the aforementioned story. “Trying to figure out if ghosts were real. What's real and what's not real? How far do you go superstitiously before you storm a grotto full of the dead - say, if there's a grotto full of the dead?” Montana stared at Samson, as if he was asking the question to him; Samson looked at the crew for a suggestion, then shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Montana cocked his head and smiled, continuing. “Some will keep their doors locked and a candle burning all night, and they’ll say a prayer before they mention the dead. But they’ll sail the seven seas recklessly without wondering if they’ll cross paths with monsters of lore. Some will pull their sails down so they don’t wake up the Kraken, and they’ll bring a poor slave aboard as a sacrifice in case they come face to face with the Crimson Waterhog. But they’ll slander the names of those passed, like a bottle of rum. The way I see it, gents, if one’s true they’re all true.”

Montana pressed a finger against Samson's chest. “I heard you saying something about returning with a small ship and digging up my treasure.” Samson's eyes widened as he tried to form words on his lips to defend himself. Montana didn't wait, "Gent, that will be a bit of a challenge prying it from the hands of Harley Rose.” Montana locked his eyes with Samson's. “Here's hoping you don't guard the grotto for all eternity. That'd be insufferable.”

Montana pushed Samson with his finger as he turned and took one step forward, then twisted his heel and spun back towards Samson, holding his pointer finger up. “I heard you wondering one other thing, gent,” Montana remembered. “If I was crazy.” Samson tried shaking his head to deny it, but Montana suddenly drew his flintlock gun and pointed it between Samson’s eyes. “Long answer short. Yes.” Samson swallowed hard, breathing sporadically. “Get off my ship,” Montana uttered.

Samson ran off the ship, whining as he disappeared. Montana holstered his gun. “Stanley,” he shouted.

“Yes, cap’n?” the older man answered.

“Put that crate in my quarters, and don’t let anyone near it,” he ordered.

“Yes, cap’n,” Stanley complied, hobbling away.

Montana spun towards Knox and Lincoln, who were petrified in place, and held out his hand for them. “Captain Montana Ross.” They shook his hand cautiously. “What brings you aboard my ship, gentlemen?” Montana inquired.

“We’ve come to join you on your quest and find the grotto on the island of Caraloque,” Knox said with determination.

“If I may, I’d like to ask one thing of you gents,” Montana said, Knox and Lincoln nodded. “The chance of survival is about as slim as a bottom-top drinker passing up on a pretty lady who’s offered free rum and night together in the sands of Tortuga.” Knox and Lincoln tried to comprehend the metaphor. “But I’ve bet my life on that slim chance, for it’s always the slim chance that can make you a legend. Of course, in this case, the chance is even slimmer, coming face to face with death herself…” a gorgeous smile grew across Montana’s swarthy face. “And the chance of glory is even greater.” Knox and Lincoln slowly smirked in anticipation.

“So here's my question,” Montana twirled the end of his mustache. “You gentlemen are indeed prepared to embark on an expedition to summon and trap a ghost that will lead us to a grotto swarming with hundreds of damned souls in pursuit of the largest find of treasure this world will ever know… right?”

Knox and Lincoln looked at each other, then back at Montana. “Aye,” said Knox.

“Aye,” said Lincoln.

“Aye,” said Montana “Boxer,” He called over his shoulder, “I believe you said we had only one spot left for a crewmate, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, captain,” Boxer confirmed

“I'll give it to you,” he pointed at Lincoln. “And someone will need to replace Samson, I suppose. That'll be you,” he pointed at Knox. Montana smiled wide with pearly white teeth. “Welcome aboard the Widow Maker.”