The Brand of Fate
Now on to the third Writing Battle. Back to making it to round 10!. My prompts were Shipwrecked, Busybody, and Flask. This is the story of an imposter trying to steal something and getting more than he bargained for.
The static of waves swelled against the shore as the imposter, Doctor Franklin, strained to lift his water logged head half buried in the sand.
“You idiot!” screamed first mate Alanson, on his knees, yanking the doctor up, “you said everyone wanted in, now they’ll hang us!”
The mutiny had been unexpected. The coin spent was only for a fight, a distraction.
Franklin pushed the man off, then brushed sand from his face, “Relax, I scuttled the other skiffs. No man could have survived that fire, or the raging sea.”
“Did you know the storm was coming?”
“I didn’t,” Franklin lied. He’d seen it in the clouds. “Tell me, did you get his flask?”
“Get his flask? I barely made it over the side before you fished me out!”
Trusting Alanson had been a mistake, but he was the one always close to the captain.
“We need that flask!”
“Are you mad? What will a key do for a chest now buried beneath the sea.”
Franklin came clean, “Because it’s not a key I suspect inside…but a map.”
Alanson’s expression darkened, “that’s not what you told me.”
“Because I didn’t know who I could trust. The real treasure is here,” Franklin said, pointing inland.
“How would you know that?”
“Because the captain told me himself.”
“Come now, I find that hard to believe.”
“A captain trusts three people; his priest, his doctor and his concubine. After Father Southerby succumbed to his sickness, God rest his soul, I was the only one here to bear witness to his troubles. He thinks this treasure a burden. That’s why we should help him shed it.” More lies.
“He told you about the map?”
“The cook said the flask is always with him. Sets it on the table, never drinks from it, never lets another soul touch it. The steward told me it’s held in hand every night, all night, even on the head. You tell me Mr. Alanson, doesn’t that sound…peculiar?” Truth was, Frederick didn’t what was inside.
“But what does that matter if the flask is out there?” Alanson argued, pointing to the sea.
“I didn’t scuttle all the skiffs.”
Franklin had already spotted the lumbering captain coming toward them. Closer now, his ragged voice pierced the surf, “You both must leave!”
Alanson’s eyes went wide as he spun. Captain Fischer hobbled closer, a section of timber lodged deep in his leg.
“Captain!” Alanson yelled, clambering to his feet then closing the distance. Franklin wasn’t far behind.
“It was him,” the first mate accused, pointing back at Franklin. “He’s trying to steal your —.”
Crack!
Alanson dropped like a sack of grain, his blood now seeping into the sand. Franklin lifted the length of hull back up, eyes now on the captain’s single gloved hand, grasping the flask.
“Give it to me.”
“You do not —” the captain’s words were cutoff by his scream of pain as he dropped to his knees, grabbing at his gloved wrist, hand still tight around the flask. His bone white face contorted upward in agony. It didn’t take a doctor to know he wasn’t long for this world.
“Did you think your thievery would go unnoticed?” Franklin chided, now standing over the captain. “Loose lips in the White Fox, a captain who pays well to forget his discretions. Solo landings on an island with a skiff that rides higher on return.”
The captain mumbled something as he fell forward, his free hand sinking deep. Franklin continued, “Irish whiskey for the teller got me a nice look at your ledger. Some Chesapeake tobacco on the dock for a peek at your cargo. How long have you been skimming?”
“You —,” came the captain’s final wheeze before he collapsed, the flask now beneath him.
“What was that? Oh yes. I’d be happy to take your burden.”
One solid hit with the swollen beam let Franklin know the captain was dead. He circling then struggled to roll the body over. The captain wasn’t a small man. The flask, still gripped tight, flopped onto the dead man’s chest.
Franklin knew he had to find the treasure before help arrived. The fire was no accident, intended to bring brightened eyes from a busy shipping lane. He would come back with his own charter, once he had verified the treasure was real.
He grabbed hold of the metal vessel and tore it from the captain’s grip. A sudden searing pain sizzled in his hand, dropped him to his knees. The flask fell to his lap, a strange symbol now welting on his palm. Confusion mixed with as a cloying odor that pulled for his attention. Looking up, the captain’s body was now steaming. Franklin shoved hard at the sand with his heels, pushing away, before the body burst into flames.
“Nice try,” he cackled as he fumbled for the flask, his pain cooled by its metal. Finally, he unscrewed the cap and looked inside.
Empty.
“Why was this important!” he screamed at the fire, throwing the flask into it. His hand exploded with pain again, doubling him over.
“Noooooooo!”
A whisper wafted into his ear, “Feeeeed me the riches of your world.” It sounded as if it came from the flask, but that was impossible. Then a sudden compulsion pulled him toward it.
“Keeeeep me close and you shall live a looooong time. Looooose me and you shall buuuuurn,” the whisper continued.
Retrieving the flask, Franklin sank back finding familiar relief in his hand.
“Who are you?” he asked, his thoughts cloudy.
“I am the huuuuunger.”
“What do you want with me?” Franklin sobbed, guarding the flask close to his chest.
“Take the cooooin from his pocket and yours….bring to me, to my mooooooouth. I will guuuuuuide you.”
Franklin reluctantly searched the charred remains, twenty gold coins. To that he added fifteen of his own.
A sweetness filled the air, a scent like no other, blowing from a path leading inland.
“Fooooollow,” the voice hissed.
Franklin did as he was told.