SK Hit 8: In search of Willy dear

“We haven't been brave in a while.” The figure smiled looking up at the large vessel, “Let's be bold.” The object of interest was a ship docked at port. Most of the crew were off with the Captain looking for the next clue.

Under the cloak of night, the hunter climbed quietly up the stern of the ship and made their way into the Captain's quarters. It would only be a matter of time before the fearless leader returned. Looking about the place, the stranger noticed a well kept room that was neat but fully stocked with all the necessities. Surely the captain would not mind someone making themselves at home.

The figure rummaged through the cabinets until they found some cigars, probably stolen off some other ship, and some fine port. Waiting around might take a while so why not do it in style?

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The Captain had spent the late afternoon and early evening wandering around this little backwater town trying to find some clue that had been left in the care of a small sect of monks. It was, unfortunately, debated in town whether or not the small group actually still existed. According to many of the town folk the outcast band of believers were driven a long time ago.

Eventually they found a crazy old woman who claimed to be a descendant of a wayward monk. She said she knew where to find that which they sought. Trust her? Not at all, but nothing else had gotten them anywhere. Luckily she managed to bring them to a set of ruins that seemed to fit the clue's description. Now they just needed to get out of the port town and hope they were one of the first to have found her.

It had been a long day, and after giving the orders to get the ship under way, the weary pirate headed to the captain's quarters. It was quite surprising to find someone kicked back at the desk enjoying the fruits of her rightfully stolen goods. The quick Irish temper flared and Mary reached for her gun, only it was too late; the stranger had also found her weapons cabinet.

Pulling the pistol that they had found in a special velvet lined box up from their lap, the stranger shot Mary straight through the chest. Ironically using the very same weapon that had shot her Billy oh so many years ago. Perhaps this was the proverbial final sword that was to pierce her heart, much like those in the flag that waived over her brigantine.

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Standing, the intruder replied.

“Thanks for hospitality.”

Then they decided it was best to be leaving quickly. There was such a thing as being too bold.