Scribes of Stolen Treasure

Stella flips the coin in her left hand.

It slots in and out of her fingers, as if being spit from a broken vending machine. As it slices through the salty air, she thumps her fingers against the deep wood of her desk. Stella releases the coin and flies as she reclines into her keg throne like the ruler of a kingdom. Her huge leather boots, golden hearts on each buckle, slouch on the desk.

Clink!

The coin lands, tickling the surface of the deck's jagged floorboards. It hesitates with a scratchy wobble before deciding to lie flat. Her fingers unfurl, revealing the top of the coin - a delicate handicraft of a woman’s head. She is beautiful. Her hair is wavy, cascading like the ripples of a current. The rest of her, however, is all sharp edges. The elegant sculpt of her jawline lines the golden material. Stella flips the coin, revealing the other side - the side it never landed on.

A tail. A tail much like a dolphin’s, if it had scales. The tip flicks upwards like a leafy candle wick. As Stella bends over to retrieve it, pesky waves slosh against the side of the ship, leaping over the railing. It sprinkles the coin with the salty condensation of its breath. A few stray drops slip through the gaps between Stella’s teeth. She spits, shaking her head.

Stella taps on the white cage that sat on the floor. Behind the narrow bars, a budgie slumps upon a log. His porcelain feathers melt like an untouched ball of putty.

“Rats…” she mutters to the creature (but more so to herself). She sighs, staring at the radiance of the gold tail in her palms. She clasps her grip and stuffs it in one of the vacant pockets that decorate her trousers. She returns to her original, slumped posture. She feels her eyelids threaten to shut as rays of sun stroke her skin with a sedating warmth.

“Come ooon, Stella,” Squawks the beast. Stella jolts. “A prooomise is a promise.” The bird pries open the cage’s swirling gate with its mustard beak. “Doooo the right thiiiing.” He leaps from his perch, performing the shakiest glide Stella had seen. The strength of his plump and bushy wings sends him toppling onto the counter like an oversized snowball. As he wriggles upright, poised on miniature talons, he knocks over a glass bottle. It rolls across the counter, threatening to plummet from the precipice. Stella tugs the back of her head-bandana,

tightening the knot’s grasp on her scalp. She lurches forward, saving the bottle with a firm grip. As she rises, the keg creaks. She steps onto the deck. Ancient floorboards groan under the pressure of her boots, and she thrusts open a tall oak door. As she enters the room, the door slams behind her.

Sandy scent washes through the office. The ocean’s gasp slips through the door’s opening, and Stella feels her body shake. She feels a pinch on her right shoulder. The bird digs its jagged talons into her waistcoat.

“Just to be suuure,” he explains, eyeing his surroundings, “not that I don’t trust yooou.”

“Yup. Definitely showing deep signs of trust here, Gus.” Stella retorts, rolling her eyes. She snatches a pot of ink. A suspiciously white feather pokes out.

“Who in their right mind makes a bet with a bird?”

“Stellaaa does.”

“It was rhetorical, Gus.” She retorts.

“I’m awaaare, Stella. ”

If birds could smirk, Stella was certain that hers would be right now.

She scrambles the creature’s feathers in a violent but playful manner. Then, she snatches a pot of ink from a shelf above her head. A suspiciously white feather quill protrudes from the inky abyss.

The cabin walls are like a jigsaw puzzle of scraps, only she knows how to assemble. Torn maps, stray cutlasses, and compasses of all shapes and sizes litter the area.

A huge Jolly Roger watches from the centre of the back wall, behind the desk. The skeleton’s left bone is missing. If she guessed, it would be hiding in a drawer of miscellaneous junk from her adventures.

Perched in the corner of her desk, a portrait of a gruff man watches. It’s faded, hue stripped by the sun. His bright orange beard curls like the tip of a flame.

She plonks the ink jar on her desk and extends her hand to a drawer, ready to open it. She freezes. A soft sensation brushes against her right shoulder.

Stella turns. Between Gus’ beak, a clump of papers dangled like empty flags. His eyes shine wide like black saucers, reminding her of what a bush baby may look like had it grown wings and bathed in a heap of snow. She takes the papers, glaring at her companion. She lays them flat on the desk, propping her legs on the stool. She poises the quill between her fingers and submerges it in the ink. The darkness drenches the feather like colourless blood on a writer’s knife.

Dear unknown sailor of the siren seas,

I write to you from the captain’s cabin of my vessel. You might have seen it before on your travels - short, with a purple flag hung on the mast.

That is besides my point. So I’ll do you a favour, and tell you the point:

When I look down at my feet, I scarcely see my boots - they are covered by treasure.

Your treasure.

-S

The heaps of coins and fluorescent gems clang against the cabin walls. Stella grips a shelf, steadying herself. The quill slips. Ink oozes across the page in a dark river. The S smudges like a bolt of lightning.

Stella pats the pocket's padding on her thigh. The coin is still there. She exhales. If it fell, she would have the wearisome task of fishing it out. The vessel rocks side to side like a baby being sung a vicious lullaby.

A pointy mermaid wraps her pointy frame around the bottle’s glass exterior. She is identical to the lady engraved on the coins. Stella rolls the parchment so it looks like a chipped rolling pin, then scoops the bottle. She twists the cork, earning a sharp pop!, and slots her writing inside, sealing it again.

Stella, bottle in hand, slips past the heavy door. The wind carries moisture like soggy fireflies, dusting her skin. She crouches, unfastening the latch of a quaint wooden hatch. She lifts it open and descends a ladder. It shakes and groans with each thump of her soles.

Stella covers her mouth as she coughs. Beds line either side of the narrow quarters, and the ceiling brushes her head, low like a cave passage might be. A mellow bang fills the room. As she walks through the aisle of beds, it grows louder. She takes a rectangular key from her pocket and opens the porthole at the end of the corridor, exposing the room to the sea breeze. Light floods her eyes.

It’s the lady. The lady of the coin and bottle. Her hair flows like tamed snakes, blending with the ocean that submerges her rain-flecked body. Solid, glassy eyes reflect back Stella’s dull counterpart. Stella catches a glimpse of a lilac, airy froth breaking the surface.

Scaled dolphin.

Gus chatters his beak. The mermaid’s rosy lips curl upwards, and she nods her head. The bird taps his beak against the bottle twice, shrill dings filling the quarters. Stella’s note is scrunched within, encased. Gus then turns and looks at the lady before she dives, disappearing into the blue abyss. Stella watches the ocean swallow her penmanship.

It’s only when the powdery blue curls have merged with the ocean that she speaks.

“Is that her?” Says Stella. Her eyes widen as she motions to where the mermaid was seconds earlier.

“Why yeees. Your letter is in safe hands.” He squawks. “Or taaaaails.”

“Unbelievable.” She mutters, voice lilting with a slight smile.

The two peer out the window. The sun sets. Against its golden glow, a rounded silhouette bobs up and down like a sewing machine. It grows larger and larger until the lady’s pearly eyes block the rays. She pulls herself up, gripping the sill of the port window with her slender, sea-soaked fingers. She tosses a bottle. Stella flinches, catching it.

It appears identical to the bottle she held before the sun began to graze the horizon. Identical, that is, except for a scratch which Stella cannot recall seeing before.

Stella finishes observing the bottle. When she checks the window again, the mermaid is gone.

“So faaaast. Like the wiiiind.”

“Looks like someone has taken a liking to the fish lady.”

Gus lifts his wing, concealing his face. He does not respond, for once.

Stella pops the bottle cork, savouring the woody scent it releases. She tips it upside-down. A roll of parchment paper slips into her hand. She unfurls it, holding it to a nearby lantern hung on a beam. She squints in the dark quarters.

Hello, Sailor,

We need the treasure.

Please.

Name is Rick.

From

Rick

“It’s Riiiick. It’s Riiiick!” Gus cries.

“Rick, whispers Stella. “Damnit.”

Stella picks up the string which had secured the roll of parchment. She runs a finger along its length. She pauses, holding it closer to the light. A sigil.

“Nope. Not a fake. It’s them, Gus.”

“We’re in troooouble, Stellaaaa!” The bird wails. ”They kiiilled BlaaazeBeeeaaard! ”

“Shhh” hushes Stella. “It’ll be fine. We’ll give him the treasure, and then hopefully, they’ll be off our tails. For good.” She scans the letter in her hands again. Her chest rises with a deep inhale. “It’s just - I don’t know if I want to tell them our location. Who knows what they’ll do to our ship? They could be mad - furious, even. After all, this letter is rather… brief.”

“I agreeeee…” Says Gus. “No guaranteees…”

“Fetch me the quill. Ink too, if you would.” Says Stella.

The bird stares at her, cocking its head to the side. The wind howls outside.

“Please.”

Dear Rick,

How might you wish to receive this treasure?

I suggest my crew and I drop it off at a nearby coast.

Do not fret; I shall make sure it is hidden well away from the jealous skallywags who may try pick your coins for their own pockets..

One more thing - I shall leave a small purple flag nearby. This is so you know it is truly us who laid it there, and not a booby trap.

Rest assured,

Stella

“Creeew? But it is just yoooou…” Chirps Gus. “And me.” He adds.

“Tch. Like they need to know that.” Says Stella.

“Soooo mysterioussss…”

The next morning, when the pair ventures below deck, they do not see the mermaid - only a glass bottle with her iconic design. It rolls against the side of the ship, over and over, like a metronome. Stella picks it up, and reads the letter wedged inside.

Dear Stella,

All is fine.

To the plan you propose, I say yes, please. That shall be lovely. Please leave my mother’s treasure on Carp Bay.

“Yikes… Talk about a guilt trip,” says Gus.

Stella nods in agreement and continues reading.

Next to the silver dock will do. If possible, leave as soon as you receive this letter.

Thank you,

Rick

She places the bottle in a barrel. It clinks against the others as they collect inside.

“Okay, okay.” Stella rushes. “I have a plan. You might not like it, but I also doubt you would like our ship to be hijacked. So listen up great Gus.” The bird remains silent, sitting upright on his log.

“I think for our safety, our best bet is to fly the treasure pieces there from far out. That means, you carry them.”

“Dificuuuult wooooork, Stellaaaa…”

“Do not worry. I’ll sew you a backpack in no time. I’ll make sure it’s real comfy so you don’t sprain your back. In fact,” She says, crouching under a musty bed. Dust particles orbit the room like dim fireflies. She moves from bed to bed until she pulls out a small woven basket with a lid. “I believe this shall do the trick.” She wiggles her fingers, and the bird flies over. He perches on the bed’s wooden frame.

Stella holds the basket against the length of Gus’ porcelain back.

“I think it’s a good fit. What do you say, Gus?”

“Fiiiine.”

“Fine. That’ll do. Alright,” She says, rising. “I’ll fix some string to this thing. You should be ready to take to the skies in no time. I’ll stop the ship as close as I can without people from the island spotting us. I’ll try to save you as much work as I can.”

Stella descends the ladder, wiry strings in hand. Gus slumps in the same spot on the bed she left him.

Stella weaves the string through the holes in the basket’s handle. She knots each end and yanks them tight so the basket sits firm against the bird’s back. She pulls a satchel from her pocket and empties it. Golden coins spill into the basket like cereal into a bowl. When her satchel is empty, she rips a purple strip of fabric from a bed. She ties a neat bow to secure the treasure.

“Cmon boy. You got this. I know you do.” She reassures, patting the bird’s feathery head.

Gus leaps out the window, the jingle of coins fading into the distance. As his form fades, the crash of the sea smothers the metallic clangs.

Dear Rick,

I owe you an apology.

I hope you enjoy your treasure, as you should have from the start.

Buy something nice for you, your crew, and your family.

With deep regret,

Stella

Stella looks up from the letter.

Gus, and the lady stare at her. The wells of Gus’ eyes are caverns, and his feathers stick up like snow-drenched weeds.

Stella rolls the letter, slots it in the scratched-up bottle, and hands it to the lady. The mermaid plunges, disturbing the sheet of twinkling aqua with a lonesome ripple.

Stella lifts her companion, damp feathers tickling her thumbs. Suspended, water pools gather on the floorboards below him like a child’s drool.

“Amazing. For all the smack I give you, Gus, I gotta admit, I’m impressed. Impressed, and thankful.”

“My wings soooore, Stella…” He groans.

“Rest up. But not for too long - you’ve seen how much treasure is in that office.”

Gus crumples onto the dusty sheets, eyelids pressed firm against his cheeks. As he slumbers, Stella loosens the strings wrapped around his wings and lifts the basket.

Clink!

Stella drops the basket and pops the cork.

Dear Stella,

I have a confession.

I saw your bird.

There is no need to be shy.

Although I gotta admit they can fish up some incredible meals, my crew is not the most financially bright bunch.

Would you like to help me spend the treasure?

I marked where I am docked with the bright red ‘X’. Your ship should easily fit.

Feel free to sail on by if it’s a yes. No need to reply to this letter.

All the best,

Rick

Stella taps Gus’ head. It is still slightly moist, like fresh cake.

“Good news. Or bad news. Or both, you could say.”

“Nooo waaay, it’s bad neeews, Stella! It has not been an hooour!” whines the bird. He buries his head in the pillow like an ostrich in sand.

“C’mon. Captain's cabin.” Stella smirks.

The vessel rocks. Stella peers over the balcony, watching as her vessel bumps the pier. “Gus! Anchor!” She shouts. The bird tugs a chain, and a low thud reverberates throughout the ship. A group of people swarm around a stone fireplace, drawn to the sizzle of meat like an anthill to sweet fruit. Children sway and dance, and women in bright cloth sip from coconuts. The same golden belt adorns all of their hips.

She scans the coast. Two figures catch her eye. They reside on a pocket beach, astray from the commotion. Stella leans further out the window for a better view, using her hand as a visor to shield herself from the rays.

She’d recognise those sea-foam curls on any island.

The Lady.

Her amethyst fins sprawl across the golden sand, glinting like the syrup of fairies. An extension of the ocean’s velvet waves. It appeared as if her tail was the fountain from which all the water in the ocean had oozed.

Her narrow head swivels, and the pair of pearly beads faces the young pirate. She taps the shoulder of the man next to her, pointing. Her sea-kissed lips move, forming words Stella is unable to decipher, for they are swept by murmurs of the ocean. His face lights up behind his chestnut beard. He stands, waving his arm enthusiastically.

“COME ON OUT!”

The evening sun’s warm embrace comforts them, and the pirates enjoy a hearty feast. A platter of fish plucked from every stripe of the rainbow adorns a long wooden plank. The crackle of the fire sends Gus into a tranquil doze, his fishy drool watering the golden sand.

Rick, Stella, and the mermaid lie on the beach, gazing at the bright stars above. Waves lap the coast.

“So Stella. We finally meet. Nice to put a name to a face.” He lifts a palm leaf from the ground, revealing a hoard of familiar riches. Stella smiles.“My mother.” He adds, motioning to the mermaid.

“I believe we have met before.” Her voice, hearing it for the first time, is as rich and silky as the lilac scales on her tail. “Allow me to tell you where these came from, my dear.”

Stella listens to stories of deep-sea beasts and evil siren queens, watching the horizon shift from black to amber.

She forgot there was treasure to spend. Spending her time here was treasure enough.