A Pirate's Tale

(A dear friend challenged me to write a story about meeting a pirate in an old inn, each section to be no longer than 1000 words. Here is Part I)

Part I: Lamar Spenser

I’d spent another long day working in the blacksmith shop, and although there was sometimes a cool breeze, for the most part it was almost unbearably hot.

About an hour before quitting time, I decided to stop at the Drunken Ox Inn on my way home. The wife wouldn’t like it. But I didn’t care. There were a few other things I no longer cared about, but she was fast working her way to the top of the list.

Even though it was still early, the place was crowded. Due to the heat, I ‘spose.

I found a seat at the back and sat down. While I waited for my ale, I closed my eyes, just trying to escape, I guess. My job, my wife, my life in general. Even with all the activity around me, I nearly dozed off when I caught the whiff of…..saltwater? When I opened my eyes, directly across from me sat a man. I figured him to be about 50 or so. Sunburned. Unshaved. Tobacco-stained teeth. One eye kind of droopy.

I really wasn’t in the mood for company, but there was something intriguing about him. He stared at me with eyes that looked like they’d spent years squinting at the sun and after a few seconds, he said, “Aye, it’s a hot one today, mate!”

I nodded in agreement, but said nothing; still not certain I wanted to engage in conversation.

The barmaid brought two tankards and banged them in front of us. We sat in silence a while, and then I spoke: “Don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Aye, that’s a fact. Ain’t never been here before.”

When I asked what he did for a living, he leaned across the table, and motioned for me to do the same. In a voice I could barely hear, he said, “Pirate!”

“Pirate???” I whispered, incredulously.

“Aye. Pirate.”

“I always wondered what it would like to be a pirate,” I said, matching his conspiratorial tone.

            “My name is Lamar Spenser,” I said, as I extended my hand across the table.

            “They call me William the Weasel,” he replied.

            “Why do they call you ‘the Weasel’?”

            “Because I ain’t never been wed. Always been able to weasel my way out of tight spots, so to speak.”

We spent the next few hours over several tankards of ale, and the more I heard, the more the life of a pirate appealed to me. Open air, freedom. Seeing more of the world. Nobody to answer to. I’d lived my whole life in the same town. Seeing the same people every day.

 “Ever been tempted to give up the life and settle down?”

            “A time or two. But the sea is very jealous; she always pulled me back.”

            “Maybe that’s best. My wife’s about to drive me insane. I don’t know how much more I can take!” I said, a little more desperately than I intended.

            “Yep, mebbe that’s why I never got to the vows part. The practicin’ part was all I needed, I guess!” he said with an ale-drenched laugh.

            “Probably isn’t her fault; turns out I’m just not the sort to be tied down. I would love to just get up one day and go. Never come back,” I said wistfully.

            “Aye, it’s a good life, mate. Hard. But good. It does get lonely onest in a while, though, I hafta admit.”

            We were both quiet for a while. Looking deep into our tankards as if they held some secret information.

            “What brought you here?” I asked.

            “Well, I been at sea for quite a spell. And I ain’t gettin’ any younger. So, I decided to stop and jest take a look around. See if it’s time to drop anchor for good. My bones is getting too stiff to climb the mast. And my eyesight ain’t what it used ta be, neither.”

            “But what would you DO? Pirating is the only thing you know!” I protested, as if we’d been lifelong friends.

            “Dunno. I got a few coins saved up. Wouldn’t hafta work. Make no mistake, pirating is hard work, but it’s lucrative!” he said with a sly grin and a wink, as if we were the only ones that knew pirates were thieves on water.

            I don’t know if it was the ale, or just frustration with my life, but I suddenly decided to become a pirate. “So, do you think a person could learn to be a pirate?”

            “Oh, I ‘spose. I learned. But you really gotta want the life.”

            I mulled this over, while William the Weasel leaned back and drained his tankard, wiping the foam from his mouth with his dirty shirt-sleeve.

            Suddenly, there was a ruckus at the front of the Inn. I could hear loud voices and above them all was the shrill voice of my wife. “La-MAR! La-mar SPENser! I know you’re in here!”

            It was at that moment my life changed forever. “Teach me! I want to be a pirate! If I have to go back with that woman, I’ll hang myself! Please!”

            William the Weasel was clearly surprised by this turn of events. “You don’t KNOW nuthin’ about being a pirate! When I said a person could learn, I meant somebody who was already sea-worthy!”

            “Please! I’ll learn fast and then you can retire. I’ll take over your ship, and you can join me anytime you want.” The situation was becoming urgent, because I could see the crowd parting to allow my wife passage. If she got her hands on me, I was done for.

            “Well, I dunno….”

            “Please!!!! We can escape through the back door before she sees me.”

            And with that, we made our exit. That was 3 years ago. Every summer, I go back and get the Weasel and we spend a few months together.  I think he misses it. A little. But as for me, I couldn’t be happier.

            Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum…

Part II: William the Weasel

Lamar Spenser had barely left the dock when I started t’ think I mighta made a mistake. The Sea Witch had been my home most of my life. What if I couldn’t make it without ‘er? What if the sea wouldn’t loosen ‘er grip?

I decided there wasn’t no use thinkin’ about it, ‘cuz I sure wasn’t gonna swim after ‘im!

I spent that first year teachin’ ‘im all I knowed about piratin’. He learnt pretty quick, oncest he stopped hangin’ his head over the gunwales. An’ he walked like a drunken sailor a long time before he got his sea legs under ‘im. But at the end of the year, I was mostly okay with turnin’ the Witch over to ‘im after I got some of my old lads to help ‘im out.

            We never talked about the events leading up to his adventure; he had his new life, and I had mine.

            But when he dropped me off at the dock and set off on his own, my heart was heavy as I watched the Witch head back out to sea.

            I got a room at a boardin’ house, and set about makin’ a new life. It took a while to adjust, without the sea as a buffer. Had t’ get used havin’ people around. Spent a lot of time at the Drunken Ox Inn and word eventually got out that I was a pirate. But when I didn’t run anybody through with my sword, they jest kinda kept their distance an’ didn’t bother me none.

            ‘cepn for the ladies.

            The barmaid set her sights on me after she got word about my bein’ a pirate. Some women is jest that way, you know! The badder they think ye are, the better they like ye.

            She was always sashayin’ over, an’ “Can I get ya another tankard, William?” “Will there be anythin’ else, William?” An’ I swear, that girl was the clumsiest thing I ever did see. Seems like she was always droppin’ things right when she’d get t’ my table! But I ain’t complainin’ none about THAT!

            An’ then the lady that runs the boardin’ house got started, too. An’ pretty soon, it was like the two were trying to outdo each other.

            “Is your room satisfactory, Mr. Smith?” “Do you have enough blankets at night, Mr. Smith?” “You be sure and let me know if you need anything, anything at all.”

            But, much as I enjoy the attention of the ladies, I was beginning to feel like I was the last available man on Earth.

            Anyways, that went on for a couple months, I guess. I hardly ever hadta buy a meal, ‘cuz one of them was always leavin’ a basket of somethin’ at my door. I was well-fed, if nuthin’ else!

            Then one day, it all came to a head when the barmaid and the landlady just happened to be headin’ to my door at the same time, each of ‘em carryin’ a basket of food. Food I never got to eat, seein’ as how it all ended up on the floor.

            I heard a commotion an’ opened my door to the most goddawful sight I ever seen. I never woulda thought two women could make such a racket. Somehow, I managed to separate ‘em. They was both a mess. Hair everwhere. Clothes ripped. Oh, it was a sight, alright.

            By this time, they was too tired to keep at it, and they each went a different direction, but not without a few parting shots across the bow of the other. I swear, I believe I learnt some new words that day.

            Well, after that, I figured it might be best t’ find a new home. Seemed safer, anyways. An’ it wasn’t too long before I passed a big house with a “Room to Rent” sign in the window.

            The landlady turned out to be real nice. An’ while I don’t usually notice such things, she seemed quite sad, in an angry sort of way.

            Somehow, news of my bein’ a pirate hadn’t reached her ears. I thought that was a bit strange, until she told me ‘er husband had died an’ she’d been in mourning for the past year. Hardly went out ‘t all. My offer to pay several months rent in advance eased any concerns she might have had lettin’ me have the room without references.

            She didn’t talk a whole lot. An’ she wasn’t nuthin’ like my last landlady or the barmaid! What a relief.

            Things went by just about the same as always for quite a while. Then one night, I was jest sittin’ on the front porch enjoyin’ the evenin’ air, when she came out an’ sat down. I said “Evenin,” and she said “Evenin’ to you.” Then she took out some needlework and never said another word.

            Now, I ain’t no great talker myself, after all those years at sea. So it didn’t bother me a bit.

            We did that regular for about a month or so. Me enjoyin’ a smoke, an’ her with ‘er needlework.

            Then one night – I got no idea what set her off – she started to cry. Real quiet like, so at first I wasn’t sure. But oncest she got goin’ there was no mistakin’ it for what it was.

            Now, bein’ a pirate don’t automatically make ye so hard yer immune to a woman’s tears. I admit t’ bein’ clumsy in my effort to console her, but she didn’t seem to notice. She jest put her head on my shoulder and sobbed away.

            After a bit, the whole true story came out. Since she’d said her husband was dead, I jest didn’t make the connection between my landlady, Amanda Spenser, and LaMAR Spenser. But there it was.

            One thing led to another, an’, well…you can probably figure out the rest. A lot has happened between me an’ Amanda since then.  A lot.

            He arrives next month.  What’m I gonna tell Lamar Spenser?

Part III: Amanda Spenser

It all came to a head when Lamar didn’t come home after work. Now, it wasn’t unusual for him to be LATE after getting more than his fill at the Drunken Ox Inn; we’d had many an argument about that. Usually, I would just sit at home and stew, and then let him have it when he’d come sneaking in. But that time, I decided to go and get him. Enough was enough.

I caught a glimpse of him at the back of the Inn, but by the time I had pushed my way through all the drunks, he was gone.

I thought he’d eventually come back with his tail between his legs. But when several days – then weeks – then months – passed with no sign of him, I knew he was gone for good.

Somebody said they thought they saw him at the docks, but that was it. Never heard from or saw him since that day. After a year went by, I gave up waiting.

Now, Lamar wasn’t the easiest man to live with; seemed like he was never happy. I tried everything I could, but nothing ever changed. He wasn’t much to look at, but I had become accustomed to a certain style of life. A life I could no longer afford.

The big question now became: How was I going to support myself? It didn’t take long for our meager savings to disappear. Then, I got the idea to take in a boarder. The “Room for Rent” sign had only been in the window a day or two when a man inquired. At first, I was reluctant to rent the room to a complete stranger, especially one with no references, but when he gave me six months’ rent in advance, it eased my mind a bit.

He was quiet and gave me no trouble. In fact, I rarely saw him.

One warm evening, I took my needlework out on the porch to enjoy the breeze. Mr. Smith was already there, smoking his pipe. We exchanged greetings and then sat in silence. It went on like that for several weeks.

Then one night I was suddenly overcome with loneliness and started to cry. Mr. Smith was clearly uncomfortable, but he did his best to comfort me.

Well, before I could stop myself, the REAL story about Lamar’s “death” came out. One thing led to another, and before too long, William and I were much more than landlady and tenant. Sure, he was rough around the edges, and his droopy eye was unsightly (I eventually convinced him to cover it with a patch) but otherwise he was quite passable. He was everything Lamar wasn’t. He was here….and he had money.

            He didn’t reveal much about himself, other than he’d been at sea for a long while. He’d come into quite a sum of money and decided to settle down. I did find it a bit odd that he’d never married, but then I suppose the life of a sailor’s wife wouldn’t be very attractive for most women.

Things went very well and I admit, I had become quite fond of William and began to think we had a future together. Yes, he still had some annoying habits, but I was certain that I could break him of those.

After a while, I mostly forgot about Lamar. Other than a lingering anger that he had deserted me, leaving me nearly a pauper.

Once again, I had control of my life, But just when I thought things couldn’t be more perfect, I overheard a conversation at the market that caused me considerable alarm. On the other side of the vegetables, two women were discussing someone that fit William to a “T.” I tried to be inconspicuous in my eavesdropping as I hid behind the baskets of tomatoes, and I had to strain to hear. But eventually, I was convinced the person they were talking about was my William. Too many things just fit.

William the Weasel???  A pirate? Not a sailor? Pirates sometimes killed people, didn’t they? What had I gotten myself into? And why was he called “the Weasel”? For a moment, I felt I may faint. But I took a deep breath and soon regained my composure.

Then I thought: Even if he WAS a pirate, that’s not what he is NOW. Maybe I was overreacting.

But one question remained: Who were these women? I recognized one as the barmaid from the Drunken Ox Inn; but I had no idea who the other was. 

Something was afoot and I fully intended to find out what it was. So, I searched his room once when he was out on one of his walks. While I didn’t find anything particularly incriminating, I did find where he kept his money.

I tried to silence my nagging suspicions, but was unsuccessful. So, taking care not to be seen, I followed him. I expected him to end up at the Drunken Ox, but that was not his destination. He went down a winding road and knocked on the door of a house at the very end. To my surprise, I recognized the other lady from the market. I was well-concealed behind shrubbery, so they did not notice me as they furtively looked around as she opened the door to allow him entry. I watched for a few minutes to see if he would re-emerge. But when it became obvious that would not be the case, I returned home.

I was heartbroken, yet seething with anger. How could he do this to me? How could I have been so stupid to believe his stories?

And still yet, my anger at Lamar resurfaced. He was the reason I was in this predicament in the first place! Damn him! And damn William!

It was about this time William began acting strangely; his walks became more frequent and longer, he became quiet and remote.

Just like Lamar used to get.

             What was he up to?

   

Part IV: Betrayal

The Sea Witch glided slowly into port and Captain Spenser’s men moved quickly to lower the gangplank to the dock.

Relieved to see no sign of William the Weasel, Lamar Spenser went ashore to obtain lodging, get a hot bath, haircut and shave. It would be important to look his best when he visited Amanda. After so much time at sea, he definitely looked – and smelled – like a Pirate.

            Having given it considerable thought, Lamar had finally come to the conclusion he was not cut out to be a pirate. For example, although he’d fired his pistol several times, he rarely hit his target, and when he did, he apologized profusely to his victims. He was thankful for the crew’s loyalty to William and their willingness to stay on in his absence – for a very high price of course. Without them, he would have been dead long ago.

            And the truth be told, he was very lonely and missed Amanda.

            Once satisfied with his appearance, he set off in the direction of his home. As he approached, he saw William the Weasel come out the front door. “What the bloody hell is going on?” he growled, ducking out of sight.

            Lamar was not prepared for this turn of events. Confused and shaking, he abandoned his plan and returned to his room.

            At last dismissing any notion there could be a legitimate reason for William’s presence there, he decided he had three options: See Amanda when she was alone; follow and confront the Weasel alone; or confront them both at once. After downing several drinks, he finally fell into bed, exhausted. Tossing and turning, he spent the rest of the long night weighing those options.

            The next afternoon, Lamar climbed the steps to his house and quietly opened the front door. He could hear laughter coming from the parlor, and walked silently in that direction. As he approached, he could distinguish their playful, romantic banter. Their words froze his heart.

            As he stepped into the room, Amanda shrieked and the Weasel sprung from the sofa.

            “My, what a cozy scene.”

            “Lamar!” stammered the visibly shaken Amanda.

            “Lamar, what’re ye doin’ ‘ere? Yer not due fer another week” demanded the Weasel.

            “I might ask you the same, William. It appears you have met my lovely wife.”

            “I thought you were never coming back,” Amanda offered feebly.

            “Yes, I’ll bet you did.”

            “This ain’t how it looks,” William protested.

            “It isn’t? It may interest you to know that I overheard your little chat just now, so don’t bother denying it.

            “Amanda, I came back to plead for your forgiveness. I knew it would be a lot to ask, but after a while, being at sea gets terribly lonely. I had gotten the wanderlust out of my system and was hoping we could reconcile and start our life over. Obviously, I have been a fool.”

            “Lamar….this really ain’t what ye think,” William continued to protest. “Ye know what ‘m like. Ye know my reputation! Amanda was so lonely. It was jest a way to…to… to pass the time, so to speak.”

            “I’m sure Amanda is thrilled to hear that. You are beneath contempt, even for a pirate.”

            Suddenly, Lamar pulled a pistol concealed under his coat and pointed it at William.

            “Don’t do this, man! Be sensible! If ye kill me, ye’ll go t’ prison. It ain’t worth it.”

            “You insult my wife, and you insult my intelligence. I intend to avenge us both.”

            William the Weasel sensed that something had changed in Lamar Spenser since he saw him last. Alarmed by this threatening behavior, he was truly afraid and his mind raced to think of some way to turn the tide in his favor.

            “What if I tole ya I got money hid? Lots of money! I’ll give ye the map. It can all be yours!”

            Lamar appeared to consider this for a moment. Then, his hand shaking with rage, he fired his pistol, missing the Weasel by mere inches. William drew his own weapon and with a practiced hand, shot Lamar.

            Amanda screamed.

            It was as if all time had stopped dead. No sound was heard. No one moved.

            Then she flew across the room and knelt beside the dying Lamar, cradling his head as he breathed his last.

            When at last she regained her composure and stood up, the Weasel pulled her to him. “Amanda, ye know I din’t mean what I said,” he pleaded, desperately trying to redeem himself.

            “Just a way to pass the time???” The sorrow in her face would be the last thing William the Weasel would see, as she fired Lamar’s pistol into his heart.

            He collapsed to the floor opposite Lamar’s lifeless body. The surprise of the attack etched on his face.

            Amanda put the gun back next to Lamar’s body, and stood for a few moments taking in the carnage before her. Then she put on her coat and left the house to summon the authorities.

            The consensus of opinion of those authorities was that Lamar Spenser had returned home unexpectedly and upon finding William and Amanda together, flew into a jealous rage and a duel of sorts had ensued. Leaving them both dead. Open and shut case. No need for further inquiry. Case closed.

            Desperate to find the map William spoke of, Amanda searched his room, as she imagined running her fingers through piles of gold. But, weeping in frustration and disappointment, she finally decided no such map existed. She gathered his belongings and shut the door.

            The next day, a sign appeared in the window: Room for Rent.

            A week later, a new tenant took up residence in the room. Being a man who was used to the night air on his face as he slept, he repositioned the bed closer to the window. As he strained to move the heavy piece, he noticed a loosened floorboard beneath one of the legs. Wondering if it required repair, he knelt to examine it….

 Part V: Alexandre Babineaux

     Sylvie Babineaux wrapped her tiny baby in a ragged but freshly-washed blanket and sat in a rickety rocking chair, stroking his face. The small fire did little to warm mother and son.

      Cooing softly, she struggled to suppress memories of William. The Weasel they called him. But, of course, she hadn’t known that. If she had …. Oh, but what good did that knowledge do her now?

Several years later…

     When she could no longer deflect his questions, Sylvie told her son the story of William the Weasel. When she had nothing more to say, she sat in silence. Alexandre put his arm around her shoulder. “Oh Mother, were you afraid I would love you less? You’re my Mum. I will always love you!”

       In the Spring, and deaf to Sylvie’s pleas, Alexandre set out to search for his father. Although he made sure his Mother would be looked after in his absence, his heart was heavy. He knew not how long his journey would take, but he vowed to avenge his Mother for the cold, hungry, wet and tired life that had been hers once abandoned by The Weasel.

      Onward he pushed.

      Village after village, the name William the Weasel was alternately toasted with admiration, or spat upon the ground in disgust.

        William, he discovered, was a man who boasted of adventures on the high seas, and blessed (or cursed) with an appreciation – albeit fleeting – for beauty. The Weasel was a pirate, who frequently came ashore to quench his thirst and satisfy his more lusty desires.

        As his meager funds ran low, Alexandre decided to remain at the next town until he could figure out what to do. It was almost noon when he strode into the Drunken Ox Inn.

       Deep in thought, Alexandre paid little attention to conversations around him. Until he heard the name William the Weasel.

      What he heard stunned him: William the Weasel was dead.

      Alexandre gathered that his father had been caught with someone’s wife and both William and the husband ended up dead.

     He didn’t know whether to be angry because he was now deprived of avenging his Mother, or sad because….well, he didn’t quite know why he would be sad.

    After finishing his meal, he rode aimlessly through Badger’s Cove until he spotted a “Room for Rent” sign.

    As he made his way to the house, he smelled the flowers lining the path. They reminded him of home. And his Mother.

    The door opened slightly and he asked about the room. Amanda invited him in to see it for himself.

    Alexandre gave a plausible (but untrue) explanation for being in town, saying he was looking for work.

    Although she would have preferred someone with a stable income, Amanda realized that after recent events, she was lucky to have a renter at all.

    Alexandre closed the door to his room and sat on the bed. And thought.

    Suddenly realizing how tired he was, he cleaned himself with items Amanda had left and prepared to take a nap.

   Taking another look around, Alexandre decided to move his bed closer to the window. The massive bed wrought-iron bed took every ounce of his strength to move. It was then he noticed the loose board.

    When he bent to put it back into position, he noticed something beneath it. Very carefully he extracted a tattered piece of paper, on which appeared to be a map with another piece of paper giving directions and an explanation of what the holder would find.

    Alexandre was now fully alert.

Below, as  Amanda sat at her kitchen table, she heard the scraping of the bed across the floor.  Alexandre must have found the map under the floorboards, where she hadn’t looked!

      With information gathered from conversations at the Inn, Alexandre knew the importance of his discovery. And that the owner of the map had been his father. That he was killed by Lamar Spenser in the very house he now lived and slept In the very same bed.

     He also knew Amanda had lied when he’d asked about the previous tenant. But why?? Of course. She knew about the map. There could be no other explanation. Alexandre decided to act quickly. Without arousing suspicion. Once back in his room, he packed his belongings to leave during the night.

     Amanda knew she had little time.  Alexandre was a stranger in town; his “departure” would alarm no one.

     As he prepared to leave, Alexandre heared Amanda making her way to his room. Thinking he would be asleep, she would no doubt attack him in an attempt to steal the map.

     Even though he was prepared for her, Amanda was much stronger than she appeared and although brief, the scuffle for her weapon seemed to go on for hours. Amanda managed to strike Alexandre’s leg. But in the process, lost her balance, hit her head on the bedpost and crumpled to the floor.

     Ignoring his pain, Alexander hobbled down the stairs through the door to his horse.

     Finally reaching the next town, he secured a room. The next morning, he asked the girl who helped at the inn for a doctor.

     “It’s broken,” pronounced the doctor. “I can fix it, but you won’t be ridin’ for quite a while.”

     Unable to do anything about it, Alexandre stayed while he healed. The only thing that made the situation tolerable was the attention from Caroline, the very same girl who fetched the doctor.

      At last able to ride, Alexandre left the town. With Caroline.

      Eventually, they found William’s treasure.

     Shortly after their arrival, the first thing Alexander did was to build a better, larger house - for all of them. A warm and dry house.

      Which is where we now find Sylvie Babineaux. In a new rocking chair. Cooing softly to the baby girl in her arms in front of a warm fire. Isabel would live a much different life than she and Alexandre had.

All thanks to William. The Weasel.

THE END