Day in the (Not) Life of an Undead Pirate – Part II

By Bastian Best’s aunt

The rain pummelled my battered umbrella as I took my spot at the edge of Casket Key’s sulphur lake. The stormy weather wouldn’t stop me from my vigil to watch for Sir Picky Mirth I as he and his merry band of pirates rise from their alleged undead slumber at the bottom of the noxious lake.

Unfortunately, it also did not stop a throng of other enthusiasts who had taken the best spots by the time of my arrival. But do not fear, this correspondent has a cane and knows how to use it.

My front row seat also afforded me the ability to provide poultices to those most in need. (See comment above regarding the cane in question.)

What drew so many to experience the return of Sir Picky Mirth I? Your correspondent interviewed surrounding members of the audience to find out.

“Undead pirates?” said Bernice, 72, from Mangostad. “What are you going on about? We are here for the dragon show.” Alvita, 52, of Sugarcane Cove seemed in agreement, although she was more interested in selling me bruised dragonfruit than in discussing what was drawing the crowds.

Is it possible that Sir Picky Mirth I’s legend is intertwined with dragons? A quick search of various accounts of St. Quiche’s most beloved pirate uncovered no refererences to reptiles, aside from his penchant for boiled iguana.

“What?” said Dr. Bertram “Bertie” Vole, D.V.M. when I inquired about the relationship between dragons, Casket’s Key, and the pirate. “Dragon show? Is that why everyone is here? I bet Bartholomew is up to something.” He then pulled at his hair and screamed, “Bartholomew! Get over here! BARTHOLOMEW!”

He was referring, no doubt, to Bartholomew Meyers, 8, of Rumstad. A well-known entrepreneur and alleged juvenile delinquent, Bartholomew was named one of St. Quiche’s Most Disturbing Businessmen Under Age 40 in a recent edition of the St. Quiche Gossip Rag for his brisk sale of unicorn urine.

Further investigation proved that Bartholomew had gathered the spectators for a night of “music and entertainment featuring sneezing dragons, fireballs, and as much death as possible.” The child in question was heard describing the event as a “circus for people who are okay with burns and destruction.” The good veterinarian, who has taken up residence in exile on Casket’s Key (see The Veterinarian’s Field Guide to Smelly Dragon Breath for a full account) denied any connection to this deadly dragon spectacle.

“It’s a good thing it’s raining,” Dr. Vole was heard screaming at Bartholomew, “or you could have ended up turning this whole crowd to a crisp. What do you think you’re doing? Everyone, go home! This Cirque de Flambé ain’t happening on my watch.”

The good doctor’s desperate attempts semed to have no effect on the audience. Would the dragons sneeze and turn us all into human chummies? Would the cost of admission be worth the spectacle? And more important, would the presence of dancing and sneezing dragons keep Sir Picky Mirth I and his band of undead pirates from rising from the deep and making their ghostly pilgrimage through St. Quiche?

Tune in next time to the answers to these most burning questions.

Sincerely,

Bastian Best’s aunt.

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