The last time we saw them, they were still standing on the shoreline, watching us sail away. I never saw the pirate crew again, although I did hear stories about Captain Tooth and the Aye-Aye Crew for many years after our encounter. They certainly gave me an interesting tale to tell.
He thrust his sword toward my midsection, and I quickly stepped aside and watched him stumble forward. I gave him a boot to his behind, sending him tumbling. “You know, you’re supposed to be this big, bad pirate,” I said, “but you fight like a baby. My sisters would have beat you already.”
“This is one of the dumbest things Tooth has ever done,” he said. “Shanghaiing an immortal.”
But then the damn pug did something dirty and underhanded. Something that, to this day, has never been done to me during any battle or fight.
Nestled between a ribcage and a skull is a wooden box about two hands long. Unremarkable yet mystifying. It looks familiar, but I can’t think why. Why is this box so important?
