He flashed me a mischievous grin. “I am a pirate.”
“That doesn’t explain how you can get into a witch’s house without her knowing and sit down opposite me without me seeing you.”
“I have my ways.”
We wound our way through the meandering roads, and the upward slope gradually led us above the roofs of some of the lower houses. I looked over my shoulder and glimpsed a view of the bay between the trees and rooftops. The waters sparkled and ships floated leisurely through the mirroring starlight. Birds flew overhead, cawing at each other and the world beneath them.
Something ahead caught my attention, a break in the buildings. A wrought-iron fence came into focus, though many of the staves were hidden by mounds of green and brown vines. I slowed at the fence as we followed its length and peered beyond the plants. A small open plot of land presented itself to us. Huge oak trees cast much of the ground in shadow, but I could still make out the countless ancient hunks of stone that stood in jagged rows.
They were tombstones.
My already cold blood dropped a degree or two at the sight of those memorials to the dead. Most were covered in moss and vines. Some were even half-buried in the ground, and others had toppled long ago. A few recent ones stood tall and proud, their unweathered stone shining proudly amidst the decay.
A small gate lay open and slightly askew on its rusted hinges. We passed through the opening and into the graveyard.
I dug my heels into the ground and stopped aside. Torvus looked over his shoulder at me. “Is something wrong?”
I snorted and nodded at our surroundings. “Is this a shortcut to where you really want to take me?”
A crooked smile slipped onto his lips. “No. There’s something in here I want to show you.”
My face drooped as I swept my eyes over the inhabitants. “I hope it’s not an open grave.”
“Not exactly.”
We traipsed through the knee-high grass and wildflowers, mindful to step over the fallen headstones and avoid the half-hidden pots that had once held flowers. A few mausoleums occupied larger plots, and angels wept over their doorways. Low-hanging branches shaded benches overgrown with vines and weeds.
But through it all, I began to notice a path beneath our feet. The grass wasn’t quite as tall, and the trail guided us safely through the ruin of time and vandals. The path led us toward a towering structure situated in the center of the graveyard. As we neared the behemoth of granite, I noticed more paths led to the monument.
We stopped at the base of the heavy stone pedestal. The grass was well-trampled, and the weeds had been pulled from around the base. A huge slab of spotted dark gray marble rose from the pedestal up eight feet high and three feet wide, creating a monolith, the shadow of which stretched across us.
The darkness also stretched over a mountain of trinkets that covered the pedestal. Beer bottles, cigarettes, and pieces of paper littered the area. There were layers upon layers of the stuff, creating a record of adoration. Or at least, I think that’s what it was.
What caught most of my attention was the small stone ship perched atop the monolith. The vessel featured four masts, each with three sails. A name was inscribed on the side. Brigid. The words on the monolith themselves read as follows:
* * *
Captain Sam Morgan. Born, no man knows. Died on a stormy winter’s eve in 1347. Buried at sea. Marked by these stones and the tales he left behind.
* * *
I looked to my companion. “What is this?”
He had a soft smile on his lips as he examined the plaque. “The life marker of the pirate captain Sam Morgan. He died nearly a century ago.”
I pointed at the pile of rotting material. “Are these from his victims?”
“No, from his admirers.” He stooped and plucked a half-finished cigar from the pile. “They come here to celebrate after a haul and give thanks to the captain.”
I blinked at him. “Was he that important?”
Torvus stood and pressed his palm against the face of the monolith. His shimmering eye looked up at the ship atop the stone. “He was the most important pirate because he was the first to sail seas that no man had ever seen, and he came back with riches no man could ever hope to count in a single lifetime. He founded Rynek, the first of many ports he used as his personal supply line. Other colonies sprouted from them, and many sailors ventured out to make their own fortune.” He stepped back and admired the whole picture. “I stood by this stone as a boy and dreamed of sailing those same seas and making my fortune as he had done.”
My eyes lit up. “You were raised in Rynek?”
He flashed me a mischievous smile. “Born no man knows, but raised here, yes. I set sail from the docks years ago and earned my ship and my crew. While I haven’t earned my fortune, few men can say they’ve lived a life as full as mine.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
