Page 90 of Scourge of the Shores
“Aye, but not just any map,” the man said. “The grandest treasure to ever grace the seas—and whoever claims it, commands the world for all eternity. It’s said to be forged by the gods themselves.”
Robert rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t ye go after it yerself, then?”
The young man coughed, voice ragged as worn sails.
"It’s missin’ a piece. I’ve scoured the seas me whole life, but it’s always just outta reach." He paused, breath shallow. "I’m dyin’, Capt’n. Won’t see many more dawns. But I’ve watched the pirate kings—every last one of them—and only ye’ve risen high enough—worthy enough—to hold such a map."
Robert slid into the chair across from the stranger, leaned back with fingers drumming the table beside the scroll. Rosa and Blackwood would disagree with the stranger’s statements. They were still a triad, nearly equal in fleet size, though they’d all grown.
“So after a lifetime of searchin’, which, judgin’ by yer face, ain’t very long. And with death knockin’ at yer door, ye’d just give it away?” Robert studied the young man’s features, etching them into memory. “Sounds too easy, mate.”
The man’s lips curled at the corners as he adjusted the cloak’s hood to hide in shadow again. “I ain’t just givin’ it away. I’m choosin’ its rightful owner.” He dropped his voice low. “This treasure, mate, it don’t belong to just anyone. It chooses its master. And ye, Captain Jaymes,”—he glanced at Danna—“Captain Chadwick, been chosen.”
Robert scanned his face for deception. He wished he could call Danna over; she was always better at reading men than he was.
“What ye dyin’ of, lad.” He was too young to be sick. His cough seemed forced, but a treasure forged by gods enticed him.
The man’s grin fell flat. “I ain’t foolin’ ye. I just ain’t got no will to live. Me lass was taken from me when we went south. Krakenking and all.” He leaned back, shifting his gaze to Danna. “Surely, Captain Jaymes, ye know what it’d be like.”
It was a poor attempt at manipulation, so Robert tested his first assumption. “If I took it from ye, what’s yer payment?”
“Yer blessing to live what life I want well.”
“Delphi then?”
“Ten Delphi’d be enough.”
Robert narrowed his eyes. Greed. There wasn’t any woman. And he sure wasn’t dying. The man probably spent himself into poverty and needed coin—desperate—as he initially assumed.
“The greatest treasure, ye say?” Robert asked with a knowing grin.
“Legend has it,”—the stranger leaned in—“the father of the South Sea Pirate Kings stole it from the Atlanteans.”
“The Atlanteans?” Robert inclined his head. He reasoned that the treasure could be, as the legend states, and it was only ten Delphi. To a peon, it was ten years’ pay, but for pirate royalty, it was pocket change.
But he didn’t want to be taken for a fool.
Surely, the other pirates in the tavern would know something about this when he did not. Robert addressed the tavern guests. “Anyone care to tell about the legend of the greatest treasure in the world? The one from Atlantea?”
At Robert’s question, the tavern stilled. A single drop of rum hit the wooden floor from a man’s tankard, loud as a gunshot in the sudden silence.
A few pirates exchanged uneasy glances. Some made warding signs with their fingers, as if the mere mention of the treasure might summon something unholy. Others looked around, clueless, and shrugged.
Then, low and rough, the keeper’s voice cut through the hush.
“Have ye not heard, Captain Jaymes? ‘Tis an ages-old song from the South Sea,” the keeper crooned, his voice low and shrouded in shadow.
“The treasure’s more than gold,
Forged in the days when the sea was old,
Not coin, nor crown, nor dragon's fee,
But the heart of the Deep in a lockless key.”
“Yo-ho,” the pirates echoed, a shiver in their mirth.
“It curses the hand; it blesses the bold,
