The Ol' Captain's Tales

​Mother once told me the ol' captain always has a story to tell... for a price. ​Last night, I shuffled along the shore, dead tired from work. As I strolled by the water, I caught a scent in the breeze - and when I looked up, I found myself right beside the Ol' Salt's doors.

​I remembered my mother's words, and drawn in by the tavern's promise of ale and a good time, I stepped inside. The old mariner was polishing a glass as I walked in. I told him I was out of coins, but I tossed him a pearl from Orville. He prepared a beer and a tale right away.

​In a hushed voice, he reminisced about the week he'd spent inside the maw of a beached sea dragon while stranded far away, his voice rough as the water outside the window. He said he hid between its pearly teeth and slept under its tongue, making a pyre atop its skull to signal rescuers.

​Then, he abruptly stopped. I asked him how the story ended, and he quietly held out his hand for another payment. I'll return soon to hear the rest!

​Back in the day, I was a rowdy lad. I'd spent each school day by the beach instead of on the classroom bench, kicking strangers' sand castles and skipping rocks on the water.

​Once, I spotted a small boat in the distance, with a shadowy figure balancing on it. As I focused my attention there, their shapes toppled and morphed into one, disturbing the water around. Did someone slip into the lake? I waited to see the person resurface, but no one emerged.

​Moments later, a creature made from seaweed and saltwater rose from beneath the rippling waves by the shore. It was much closer than the boat had been, and as it neared, I began to spot a graying face below the heap of algae. It was the captain.

​I asked him how he was able to cross the waters between the sinking ship and the beach so quickly. He smiled, and said: "A mermaid's kiss gave me fins, dear boy!" and trotted off.

​Only later did I notice that his feet had left a strange imprint in the sand. Could his story have been true?

​Back in my school days, I was taught that Captain Melville liked to tell stories. Tall ones. The kind of tales that smell more like old boots than truth. As a working man, I’ve always known his tavern, "Ol’ Salt ’N Pepper", was named not just for his sea-worn beard, but because you’re supposed to take everything he says with a pinch, nay, a load of salt.

​And yet, people lap it up.

​They crowd around him like he’s some sea-born prophet, hanging on every crooked word. Why? The man’s a liar. A fossil. He hasn’t been out past the bay in years. Why trust a word he says - even worse, why buy his fish? Especially when we sell better catch, cheaper, and without the song and dance!

​Just last week, he burst into the square, hair all tangled, shouting, "The Drak! I saw 'em, they're back!" Theatrics. Always theatrics with him.

​It’s just another one of his tales, spun for coin and glory. And yet, folks eat it up. ​Fools, the lot of 'em.

​Once, as a seamstress, I had quite the popular customer - the old Captain himself!

​I will never forget the dawn at which he stumbled through my open doors, beard not nearly as ashen as it is today, little more than a stained shirt on his body. ​"Morn', young lass!" He cawed with a hoarse voice, "I'd like a new coat! Deep blue as the sea, with gold and glamor, I'd say - hick!"

​While taking his measurements, I observed him closely. He smelled of wine and was missing not only his coat, but one shoe... When I asked him about it, he said:​ ​"Nay, the wine is half the story - See, as I was out late on the canal, an old devil born from the frothing blue called to me from below! He said he'd trade me a bottle of his finest for one button of my coat! A bottle for a button? I thought: Why not? But as I reached down to receive the wine, the impish creature pulled me in by my cufflinks and turned back seafoam! Hick! I went overboard, mayday, mayday! They had to fish me and my boat out - and my coat, it was gone with the waves! Hick!"

​I had his new jacket ready within three days, but I always wondered how his old clothes didn't wash ashore. Did they turn into seafoam, too?