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You, me, and that random guy over there in the corner sipping his $12 coffee, who shall remain nameless for this story but will forever be remember as that guy with too much taste for everyone else, are the only ones allowed to hear this tale. It is a tale of adventure, love at first sight, a few scurvy dogs, the opening of a new bar, and, of course, the pipe. The pipe is nothing special. It is in fact a pipe. A wooden one but that’s less significant. Our story begins a few years ago, according to the time I write this not when you read this. Stop being so analytical you English buffs, you’re not impressing anyone.
I should begin with once upon a time shouldn’t I? But that would create a definite beginning, while the story has been going on for several years before hand. I’ll skip those years for you as it really isn’t important but should be noted that they are there. Now then where to start. I suppose we could start with a character. How about the Captain? Before you ask, no the Captain did not have the pipe.
Captain Speckles was something of a local legend. Being something of a mystery, tales of the Captain’s adventures are often told in one place or another, sometimes a subtle hint or just a half explanation to those ignorant of such tales. Men and women alike spread them by word of mouth as if they had heard it from the old man sitting in the back corner of a bar as he stares intently on a dying candle flame. If he was in the right mood and had the correct balance between sober and compete drunkenness he may speak a tale. Street urchins, often heard from a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, whisper of the fight in the Congo between two tribes and a stolen treasure or surviving the Artic elements after being stranded by the shipmates. Though one story many remember is the one with the vendetta against the whale and how the Captain saved members of royalty with a bit of wit and a maddening love of the sea. Unlike the others this one had physical evidence, her wooden leg.
No doubt some of these ridicules tales reached Captain Speckles ears, and the few that witnessed her reaction claim she’d nod intently, turn on her stool, and ask for another beer. This is her way, they would say; no correction, no questions, just take it as it was. That’s all there was to it. From now on I will try to stick more to facts then rumors. If I don’t we’ll be here all day. Let’s jump into this blindly shall we? Captain Speckles was not a Captain, by any means. Whether she’d actually even been on a ship remains to be seen. What is true is that she did, in fact, have a wooden peg leg. She usually dressed in turtleneck sweaters, those long navy blue coats, a cap, and her trousers held up by suspenders. That’s really all I can say on the matter.
She did various odd jobs around town, mostly heavy lifting. It was at one particular store, that shall remain nameless because I’d rather not get sued or yelled at because I work there and that’s just too much information about me and less about the Captain. SO! It was a hot day in June, she was the only one of the crew capable of going on picking up the seventy pound bags off the truck, up the ramp, and onto a predetermined pallet. As it so happens a district manager, or was it the President of the company, either way a higher up walked in without announcing his arrival, he took one look at her and started having a fit. He ranted and raved for a good hour and her boss had no choice but ask her to work in another department, with less manual labor. Speckles looked him up and down once, “Grow a pair would ya?” With that she was out the door never to be seen there again.
Speckles is most often found wondering the streets around the twilight hours. It was because sleep just wasn’t a necessity to her. I’d attribute it to something else but my opinion cannot be trusted and is unimportant for this tale. It was at this time she had sat in her usual seat in the back of a bar. This particular bar was disgusting, and I mean down right awful. The walls were painted black after years of unclean smoke and dust, the glasses were chipped and smeared grey, and the place smelled like the pit of an unbathed seventy year old man wallowing in some backwater town’s garbage dump. I’ve only been there once. Just once. This is where my tale begins. Took me long enough hasn’t it?
It was, is, and shall always be that perfect time between night and day when it happened. The regulars were all there but not drunk, or as drunk as they usually are. The bartender sat at the back chewing his Tabaco, spitting into a spittoon every so often. Nothing was out of the ordinary for them. The long dead bell rang over the door as he walked in, let’s call him something symbolic. I know how English majors and their teachers LOVE symbolism and the like. How about Moll? There’s a name for you.
Moll was obviously out of his element. He had big thick glasses, a pressed shirt and tie, some nice looking khakis that just screamed someone had to spill something on them and someone did. His face was priceless. Course the fact he wasn’t welcome there, though obvious to everyone and their mother, he still continued inward to the one person he had to see, Captain Pam Speckles.
He stopped in front of her waiting patiently. She looked at him.
“Are you her, the Captain, the one with all the stories?”
She of course chuckled, “The’re stories of me.”
The man nodded satisfied with her answer and sat down across from her. She sat there, sipping her drink. Most folk there paid no mind, I guess it may have been cause they thought she wouldn’t of given this guy much mind like she does with most people, though this time she didn’t. I’m not sure what it was about Moll but his presence brought Captain Speckles into a tale of her own.
“Once there be a Baron. I won’t bother with a name, we’ll just call’em Baron. He wasn’t powerful or wealthy but he was respected by those on his land. He had gotten a crummy piece of land but forged it out to be one of the best sights you ever did see. Many be jealous of this and should be kept in mind. He had three daughters.
The eldest was fair and made every man in sight bow before her great beauty. She had many of London’s best dresses and was the panicle of fashion. Too bad she was witless. Dumber than a rock, actually you could argue the rock was smarter. She knew her manners and her place, the basics anyway. Even her knitting wasn’t all that great. Rest assured she would make a perfect wife for a well-made suitor.
The second daughter was miles ahead, even her father in some areas. She read out her parts during the nightly book readings with such fire and energy that even her father had to smile with that kind of passion. She knew many historical events and described them like she were there, her details were phenomenal. Sadly, she was not easy on the eyes and many men who even get near her feel inadequate and angrily storm off. She asked far too many questions and needed to learn her place like her eldest sister.
Lastly, is the youngest sister. She never was out too much from the grounds. Often she’d be out in the garden or locked up inside her room. She still had all her teeth but was shy, even more so when anyone but the Baron and her sisters were around. She spoke softly and couldn’t keep focus on any one thing at long periods of time. She was cute but not beautiful like her eldest sister. She was well mannered and plump.
It was some time after a visit to London, the first time all four of them went, when a very curious suitor arrived on their door step. This man’s father was also a Baron, and there was even talk of the lad having several important figures’ ear. Rumors, were all they were but very persuasive. He was a fellow genryman and was escorted into their home without a second thought.
As it turned out this man had sighted him and his daughters in London. However, he did not get the chance to have the pleasure of introducing himself to the Baron or his daughters. They, of course, did the usual chit-chat of world events, slight announces, and extended discussions of different authors that may have had the best wit. It was near evening before the gentleman inquired seeing the Baron’s daughters with intent of a possible arrangement. Both men would benefit from marital ties, in both land and wealth. The gentleman explained he had only seen the Baron’s eldest daughter from far and had fallen for her beauty and that he had no doubt that the Baron’s other daughters would be equally as beautiful, if not more so.
This of course unsettled the Baron. He knew his family all too well. While his eldest had the looks her unnaturally unsavory manners could potentially offend the gentleman. His second oldest and youngest daughters had their own flaws that could equally offend him. Thus is the very reason he had kept them from being around. However, noticing the time of day the Baron hatched a clever scheme.
He posed a challenge to the gentleman, he is to tell a particular story. Depending on the amount of wit within his tale the winner will have the daughter who’s most compatible with the tale. For the gentleman’s challenger, intended more as a joke then a serious challenge, the Baron brought forth one of his gardeners as the gentleman’s opposition. The gentleman agreed.
When it came time the gentleman stood. He smiled and started his tale. We’ll skip it. For it is a tale of a political nature and is rather dry. After a good half hour the gentleman stopped and took his seat, quite confident in his abilities. The gardener, cleaned up for such an occasion, looked to the floor as he began his tale:
“Once there were two hunters. One was experienced and the other new. The new one was too excited for his own good and despite the experienced one’s advice, he took off into the woods. He was confident his crossbow and mighty aim could take on any foe. It wasn’t long before the man sat next to a tree to rest. He took out his water skin for a sip before he heard a rustling in the woods. The man shot up, fumbling with his bow. When out jumped the largest wild boar he ever did see. It knocked him aside like an eel out of water. Before he could recover it stood over him with big black eyes that only the devil himself could have. The man, frightened, picked something from his pocket and held it up to the beast, in the hopes it would let him live. It was an egg. The boar snorted at it, quit ready to rip him to pieces. The man, completely shaken to death remembered an old tale his father once told him. He began whispering it to the boar,
"The egg is the most powerful relic of our time. A caravan made camp one night under the clear sky, seeing all the stars for the first time since the long dead winter. There they were for some time till they noticed an old man, in rusty armor and a shattered blade stepping into the firelight. Everyone feared him, and the men took up arms. But the old man merely said “A small tale for a bite?” The men, etchy at best, let him tell his small tale. The old man, wetted his lips and said:
“Once there was a village tormented by a fierce dragon. Heroes came and fell. Yet there was one that stood above the rest. He came to the beast and instead of raising his sword he raised his voice and told the beast a tale of sorts. It listened and before the warrior could finish the beast merely walked back into the abyss from which it came, it’s eyes tearing for the first time. The village rejoiced and offered him a reward. The warrior was perplexed and said, ‘If I did it for the money then I surely would have failed.’” The old man nodded, it was the end of its tale. The people around the fire asked questions about the warrior the village, and the beast. What tale could possibly have brought such a force to its knees? The old man only held out his hands for some food. He was handed an egg. The shell of life...”
Before the hunter could continue the boar scarfed down the egg, and left. When he found his experienced friend again he told him what had happened. His mentor merely laughed at him and said…”
The gardener stopped noticing the distant anger that grew behind the Baron’s eyes. The gentleman looked confused and a little embarrassed. He stood and took his leave in a hast, having forgotten a previous engagement. The Baron, a man of his word, unhappily took the gardener to his three daughters and said “Which one do you think closely resembles your tale?” The gardener, very out of his element and scared for what was happening took a long hard thought about this. It wasn’t till the moon took its place in the sky did he give his answer.”
And now we return to the bar where Moll sat across from dear Captain Speckles listening carefully to her story. When she had suddenly stopped the others at the bar, who had started listening halfway through and were completely lost by this point but wanted to know the meaning behind it all, listened. The clock struck midnight and pinged loudly across the silent bar. The Captain took another sip of her beer before asking,

Now, which of these tales was false?