Art:AADM/Second round/The Inheritance
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The Short
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He was sad to learn that the Chest of Doubloons his pillaging father had left him was not, in fact, a pile of gold coins, but a disreputable inn. The only other part of his legacy was a parchment found on his father’s body when it washed ashore. He first thought it was a sailing chart until, looking closer, he saw it was a recipe. Fortunately, he soon realized that the combination of flat bread, tangy sauce, and sliced meat, while not resulting in mounds of doubloons, would instead mean he was destined to make many pizzas of fate. | 
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The Inheritance (Nanofiction) | ||
The Entry
As he sat in the waiting room of the barrister's office after burying his father, he felt uncomfortable in the luxury of his surroundings. Not really lacking in the necessities of life, the young man had never afforded such unnecessary, even gaudy, displays of wealth. He had no idea really of why he had been asked to come to this place. He had heard rumors of an inheritance his father had left for him. Whispers that his father had brought home more from his days at sea than he led his family to believe circulated about the water front where the youth had spent most of his time.
He would have joined his father on the open waters, fighting by his side, riding the waves, swinging from the lines of the sails, but his father had made him promise so long ago to get an education before he set his mind on any one thing. So he spent his days apprenticed to a clerk, learning books and ledgers and other mundanities, and his nights prowling the waterfront listening to the old salts spin their yarns in front of the fires.
When his father was home between journeys, he gave his son an entirely different education. Knives, swords, sails, star charts, and tales of the open sea filled their hours until it was time for the father to return to his ship. They made plans of the day when the son could cast aside the yoke of a shore bound life and live free on the ocean waves, making his fortune with his wits and his sword.
Each time he stood on the docks of the city, watching his father checking lines, and ordering men, he would ask, "When Father? When will it be my time?" But he knew his father was right. Once they made their fortune, one of them must know how to manage it, so they would not be left destitute, like so many old men from the sea. So the young man learned as quickly as he could, yearning for the day his father would stand at the end of the docks, calling him to board.
As he sat waiting, he remembered the day when he found out what exactly his father did on the high seas. Up until that day, he had had vague notions of fierce sword fights, heroic deeds, and the feel of the salty air blowing across the decks. He could vividly picture the back alley behind the inn where he had gone after a long day in the books to listen to the old men swap tales and hear the news of the ships coming and going. He had no idea his father's sloop had arrived ahead of schedule, but when he heard the first mate's booming voice, he knew he had better duck out back so he would not get caught skulking in places his father said he was too young for.
As the inn's door swung shut behind him, he saw the shadowy figures of two men on down the alley. Trying to ignore the stench of old garbage, and the thought that some of that smell was much like the outhouse, he crouched behind some crates while he searched out the best way out of the alley unnoticed. He could hear the men getting closer, heading for the door he had just exited. That's when he realized one of those voices belonged to his father. Try as he may, he could not quite make out the words, just the sound of the low voices in the darkness. He saw light spill suddenly out of the doorway, heard the raucous laughter of the men inside, and just as suddenly, the door swung shut again, leaving him relieved that he had not been found.
"You come out of there now boy," he heard his father say. "You should not be here, in this alley, sneaking about like footpads." As the youth came out from behind the crates, head hung low, shuffling his feet, he thought he heard a low chuckle coming from the large burly shadow.
"Like father like son, I suppose. What stories you must hear to fill your head and your heart with dreams and to wash away the common sense. The inn is bad enough lad, the alley could get you killed. You're lucky I saw you and not my friend in there." Then, his father sighed and started off down the alley towards the street, beckoning his son to follow.
Once safely back in front of the fireplace in the small cottage they called home, his father sat back in his armchair and began his tale. "The man you saw is my mole in the British navy. He gives me shipping information of various cargoes bound for far away shores. Once safely away from the shoreline, that ship is fair game for men like me and my crew. Fair game, that is, if we can outmaneuver and outfight them.
"Once aboard, we have many choices. We can ransom the crew to their families, join up new members, set the crew adrift, or just finish them off." Here, he must have seen the blood drain from his son's face, because he reached back beside the fireplace, and poured something into a mug.
"Drink this son, it will help with the shock. Now, I am not a murderous man, son, so I ransom the crew when I believe I can make it worth my while to guard them 'round the clock, but for the most part, we leave them their stores, and chop down their masts so they cannot give chase, nor alert the nearest navy ship to our whereabouts.
"Once we have their cargo, we sail for the cities where we can make a profit. We have a network of customs men who are open to bribes, and if we sail somewhere that we don't, there are plenty of little coves and bays where a ship can hide while it's cargo is unloaded and sold to caravans waiting on the shore.
"It is not a glamorous life, my boy, but a hard one, full of life and death decisions. After the bribes and the booty shares, most of the men in my crew have enough for a week or two in the dockside inns. Women, gambling and rum fill their days until they have no more gold, and are sober enough to sail once again."
The son sat and tried to comprehend what his father was saying. "You are a p-p-p-pirate?" he finally managed to choke out. "And you want me to be a pirate with you?"
"I would love to have you by my side son, but the reality is that one day, I will have enough to retire from the pirate's way of life, and to have a real life, here, with you. That is why I apprenticed you to a clerk. With that knowledge of business and money, I will not have to resign myself to ending my days on the end of someones blade as I grow too old to wield my own. One day soon I will take you on the open seas with me, but as an honest man, for the most part, shipping my own cargo to those exotic lands, so I can show you the world without fear of losing you to the blade of a navy man. My knowledge of the pirates and their ways will keep our ship safe from the likes of men like me."
The door closing snapped the young man out of his reverie and back into the present, back into the ostentatious display of wealth shown in the waiting room of the office. "Here it is. Your father left this with me to give to you in the event of an untimely death. He was a fine man, regardless of his profession in life, and it is quite a shame that he was lost overboard in that storm."
The barrister turned and went back into his office, leaving the young man to read the paper privately. As he opened the letter, he saw his father's hesitant scrawl on the paper. He saw a crude map, and the words, "Chest of Doubloons" written beneath an "X" near the bottom. Through his grief, he saw a ray of hope. He could still live his father's dreams of shipping cargo! With the connections of his father's crew, and a chest of doubloons to back the first venture, he could build a fortune to honor his father's memory.
He soon realized that the map was of the city he had grown up in. Following the map, he was led down toward the dock, through the warren of streets where the men from the ships drank away their pay, to a plaza on the edge, lingering between the debauchery of the docks and the beauty of the city beyond.
He was sad to learn that the Chest of Doubloons his pillaging father had left him was not, in fact, a pile of gold coins, but a disreputable inn. The only other part of his legacy was a parchment found on his father’s body when it washed ashore. He first thought it was a sailing chart until, looking closer, he saw it was a recipe. Fortunately, he soon realized that the combination of flat bread, tangy sauce, and sliced meat, while not resulting in mounds of doubloons, would instead mean he was destined to make many pizzas of fate.
