Now, Seamus was a faerie who lived in a coastal region of the Eastern Faerie Realms. Most faeries busy themselves with their own kind, preferring to keep to their fey recreations and don't think twice about us humans in the World. But Seamus liked to make mischief now and then, particularly, he decided, in the Human World.

He was a patient creature, Seamus was, always plotting and scheming, and so it came about that he set his mind on making his way into the Human World. He knew a little about the secret ways of making gates and doors between different places, and so he quietly stirred a passage through a porthole in the belly of a fine new ship, the Bountiful Harvest. Seamus slipped through the porthole, graceful as you please, and stowed himself down in among the cargo, back in the shadows where the crew seldom had occasion to wander. He peeked here and there into sacks and packages, sampling this and sniffing at that, for he was altogether unfamiliar with the commodities of the World. There it was that Seamus came upon a library chest, and set about to studying the scribbles and renderings upon the pages by the light of the diamonds. In a little time, he had made sense of reading, and not long after (for faeries need neither food nor sleep as we do) he had read all there was to read in the chest, and learned all he cared to learn about what humans have to say in their books.

Seamus listened, too, while he hid there in the hold. He noted from the crew's eager scuttlebutt that a young novice captain had command of the Bountiful Harvest - one Captain T. Oliver. Now Seamus knew something of the sort of man he required to make good his mischief, and the more he learned of Captain Oliver, the more certain he grew that he had happened upon just the right fellow. Oliver was ambitious, talented, perhaps a bit of a bluster, but to Seamus, it was clear he had the trappings of a glorious captain. Satisfied, Seamus left through the porthole as quietly as he had come in.

Some time passed for the faerie and many years for the men of the Bountiful Harvest. Dust drifted in through the porthole when next Seamus visited, and Captain Oliver had grown in fame and stature. Men now spoke his name in awe and reverence, and a few, no doubt, whispered it in fear. In the gloaming, the faerie slipped out through a gunport and weaved his way to bow, then in through a window to the captain's own quarters. As the last dog watch rang, Seamus hid himself among the captain's garments. Sudden laughter in the doorway, the door creaked shut and Captain Oliver stumped over to his desk. Seamus observed him for a time, before speaking.

"Good Captain," Seamus began. Startled, the Captain whirled around, brandishing his sword.

"Show yourself!" Oliver growled, and Seamus emerged slowly, a brass compass held in his outstretched hand. His gestures were a picture of innocence.

"Sir, you shan't be needing no such blade on account of old Seamus." His voice was big and deep; it rumbled from his chest as gravel on the bottom of a ship run-aground.

"I'll hold on to it, for now, I think." Captain Oliver lowered the sword slightly, no less ready to act. He regarded the tall man before him suspiciously. "Explain yourself, now, stranger." He commanded.

"Oh aye, and gladly!" Seamus bowed with a flourish, though his sparkling eyes never left Captain Oliver's. "A wager, sir - that's why I've come. I have it in my head to make you a most glorious wager."

"A wager, is it?" Oliver sheathed his sword then and set to filling a pipe. "Is that it, a wager?" and he chuckled. "What manner of wager?"

"Why, Captain Oliver, word has reached my keen ears of your famous adventures, even in as far-and-away a place as I live. 'He's a just man, that Oliver,' I hear men say, 'and no finer captain sails the wat'ry World, I'd wager.' The Captain enjoyed the praise, no doubt, but he only stared at Seamus, bemused, as he struck his flint.

"Now between you and me," Seamus went on, brushing a lock of his long, bright auburn hair from his face, "it just so happens that I have quite prospered in my own right."

"Oh is that so, hum." Oliver's pipe was now lit, and fragrant smoke curled around them.

"Indeed I have, sir," Seamus went on, "oh yes indeed. And it seems to me desirable to reward just such a man as yourself handsomely out of my abundant good fortune."

"On my merit alone? Bah! What do you ask in return?" Captain Oliver sneered.

"All I ask is that you prove them right - your admirers, sir. Prove that you truly are the greatest captain alive." Seamus grinned and bowed again, deeply, and his eyes shone like the embers in Captain Oliver's pipe.

"And how do you propose I do that?" the captain raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Why you'll sail through Turtle Cove.

Silence.

You might already know it, but Turtle Cove was the single most dangerous place any man had ever heard of in those days. The island itself jutted out of the sea as an active volcano, wreathed in sharp, jagged rocks like ship-munching teeth. The inlet to the cove was said to pass under a leg of the volcano, among streams of flowing magma. It was rumored that if the rocks didn't sink you, the heat would certainly cook your ship up to ash. Legend had it, the only man who had ever returned from Turtle Cove alive had washed up on a beach leagues away, horribly burned and barely able to speak. Before he died he managed to tell of how his ship had been engulfed in flames, unable to withstand the horrible heat. So it is of little surprise that Captain Oliver finally said: "What reward could you possibly offer that I would risk the lives of myself and my crew?"

"Gold, Captain, what else?" and Seamus produced a thick golden coin.

"I have gold." Captain Oliver said, pointing the stem of his pipe at the chest on his desk.

Seamus chuckled. "More gold, sir, than you've ever seen. Treasure. The riches of kings, nay, of empires. Gold enough to buy yourself a thousand ships, and crews to sail them. You'll retire on an island with stacks and piles of gold."

"No such treasure exists!" Oliver scoffed.

"Oh, it does, Captain, and it is yours if you will just take it." Seamus flicked the coin into the captain's hands. At that, the compass needle began to spin in the dark faerie's hands - faster and faster, just a blur now, and a shifting light seemed to leap forth from the glass. There the captain beheld the treasure Seamus had described, and the sight of it filled him with desire.

The ship's bell clanged desperately in the squall. Lightning exploded across the sky, searing the image of the monstrous waves looming overhead into the eyes of the men who pulled and braced for their lives. Captain Oliver screamed his orders, but his voice was lost in the deafening boom of the thunder. Then all was endless rushing water, ripping and tearing at them, but though the ship was thrown and nearly capsized, somehow she kept afloat. A young sailor was lost - there one minute and gone the next - sucked down to the black depths of the furious sea. Men screamed, unable to hear their own voices, roaring with frightful resolve, and they persevered. Captain Oliver, lashed to the helm, was truly a sight to behold: his peacoat whipping behind him as he warred with the wheel.

"We're through the worst of her, boys. Lie-to now! You, son, into the bilges with you!"

The Bountiful Harvest prevailed, and when the black clouds finally boiled away, far ahead out of the mist emerged a glowing molten grin. Black soot and smothering smoke billowed up in a churning pillar, disappearing into the sky above. Veins of light spidered down from the caldera, liquid rock flowing into the mist.

The sea had calmed, and an ominous silence settled over the ship. The sky of ash seemed to weigh upon them, muffling the sounds of the sea, and the men's ears rang with the silence. Soot soon coated every surface, and their hands, now black with it, left prints like dark shadows which seemed to creep and grow along the ropes and sails. To a man the crew bent to their work, a body united by a singular purpose. Carefully they navigated through dangersome rocks; the Captain’s men were his eyes. He stationed crew in ship’s boats leading close at port and starboard bow with long poles feeling out into the treacherous water. They yelled the warning when their poles struck stone, and slowly they made their way forward, ever closer to the glowing peak above. Suddenly the cry went up: “Land, captain, dead ahead!” Emerging out of the mist they saw it, the jagged coastline a sheer cliff, littered here and there with shattered planks and bones. There was no safe way ashore - as far as the eye could see the endless waves pounded against the crags.

On they went, following the cliffs, until at last, they came upon the frightful entrance to Turtle Cove. The cavernous maw emitted hissing gouts of smoke and steam, and a deep, whispering growl with each swell. High above, the mountain rumbled, and rocks and boulders tumbled down to splash into the breaking waves. At Oliver's command, the men bundled the sails in hides soaked in vinegar. They anchored a raft of tar-sealed powder kegs to leave behind, and men unloaded their pistols and muskets. Donning soaked scarves or handkerchiefs on their faces to keep the sulfurous fumes at bay, they dumped water and vinegar over their heads, and some rubbed salt into their naked skins. The deck was lined with tubs and buckets of seawater, and then they sailed into the gaping mouth of the ominous cave.

The ship was swallowed by smoke. For a moment it was impossible to see the way. Coughing and choking, sailors clung to the mast and rigging, and Captain Oliver stayed the course. It felt as if they had sailed into a blacksmith’s forge. A wave swelled behind them, and as it washed about the ship it propelled them into the tunnel ahead. The smoke seemed to clear, then, but too late! Oliver spotted an enormous stone column ahead and shouted: “Brace!” wrenching the wheel with all his strength. The impact rocked the ship, and men screamed as they were flung into the roiling abyss. With a sickening crack, the pillar of rock pierced the hull of the Bountiful Harvest, but she did not sink.

“Heave!” the captain bellowed, and they freed themselves from the tooth’s stone bite. Then on and around they went, deeper still. The heat intensified, until the water below them boiled and shone, casting a mesmerizing golden glow throughout the cavern. Then a rumbling overwhelmed them. With a mighty scrape, a layer of stone sheared away from the wall to starboard, hissing and steaming as it plunged into the water, and revealing a bubbling flow of magma below. The men on deck dove for cover as the wall of heat overtook them. Ropes and booms ignited, and brave sailors plunged into action to douse the flames. The rowers' oars were blackened and charred, but the tunnel opened ahead and they pushed on until at last, they emerged into blinding light.

A cheer went up. They had done it! The Bountiful Harvest sailed into Turtle Cove, and her crew were surely the bravest sailors alive. Captain Oliver, why he was a legend - the greatest captain who had ever lived. As the ship came-to in the turquoise waters of the cove, a few men dove overboard, elated to rinse away the sweat and ash of the harrowing voyage. As Captain Oliver watched the celebration, a slender hand came to rest on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Seamus there next to him, grinning ear to ear.

"Oh, well done, Captain. Well done indeed!" Seamus clapped his hands gleefully three times, and with a grandiose wave of his arm he cried: "And now for your reward!" He clenched his fist in the air, and thunder rumbled through the cove. Then it started - slowly a first, a sprinkling of gold coins, clattering heavily to the deck. Crew and Captain beamed at each-other with excitement, and men scrambled to pluck up the coins, to examine them, to bite them, and heft the weight in their hands. But the golden drizzle quickly intensified, until it was an outright deluge. Their triumph swiftly turned to terror, as bars of gold crashed through the deck, splintering the timbers. Men scrambled for cover as gemstones, torcs, crowns, and even great chests overflowing with treasure came plummeting from the sky, pummeling the ship in violent precipitation. At last, the ship was so inundated it foundered, and Captain Oliver was forced to abandon the Bountiful Harvest.

Seamus had vanished, and Oliver found himself stranded with no hope of escape.

In those first days on the island, the few survivors busied themselves to salvaging what food they could from the wreckage. They soon buried their fallen crew-mates and mourned their sorry plight. As time passed, they found shelter, and eventually when they were quite settled, and more or less resigned to their predicament, the men took to diving the shipwreck, hauling back sack-fulls of treasure which they piled about the graves of their comrades. In time, the treasure stacks grew, until they had erected a veritable golden cathedral there overlooking the cove.

Captain T. Oliver never sailed again.

Many years later, a grizzled old sailor by the name of Vitaliy was shielding his pipe from the cold sea wind, half way through his dime watch. He leaned an arm on the taffrail, and puffed thoughtfully. He was quite aware of the name his crewmates used behind his back. "Vitaliy the Venerable," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. Perhaps what stung worse was his fear that he was too old. Vitaliy had crewed the Resolution longer than any other man. It diden't help matters that he had gained a reputation for his superstitions. He'd tried to explain that the Rusalki were not "mermaids," not some Greek fish-women. No, the other men laughed and jeered, and Vitaliy was tired. More than anything, that was it. He never used to get tired, not like this. He ached. Every limb was like an anchor, weighing him down, pulling him toward his pillow.

Suddenly, what was that? There, in the water! Something caught Vitaliy's eye in the moonlight - was that a man walking among the waves? He started, and cursed as his pipe cracked on the deck. He scrambled for a lantern, but a sharp gust of wind put the light out. He cursed again, and struggled to get the thing lit. Then a hand shot over the edge and grasped the grabrail. Vitaliy was frozen, unable to shout. Unable to move. Then Seamus climbed aboard the Resolution.

"Good evening to you, sir, and a fine evening it is for a stroll." Seamus extended his hand, and Vitaliy stood silently, his mouth agape. "Come friend, see here you've dropped your pipe." and Seamus stooped and retrieved the shattered meerschaum. When he presented it again to the mariner, the pipe was restored, and a plume of smoke rose from the bowl. Vitaliy took the pipe carefully, and raised it mechanically to his lips.

"Vodianoy," he murmured. Seamus laughed at this, as he sat down on a crate and pulled off a waterlogged boot.

"Friend, I've come to make a bargain with you. Yes, there is but a simple task with which I require assistance, see. In exchange, I'm willing to reward you most generously." At this, the lantern sparked to life, and Seamus's eyes shone with mischief.

"What task?" Vitaliy demanded, and he spat.

"Oh it is nothing, really.” Seamus examined his nails absently. “An item must be delivered in secret. A trivial matter. But tell me, sir, what is your name?”

Vitaliy regarded the stranger suspiciously.

“Now now, dear fellow. How am I to bargain with a man without knowing what to call him?” Seamus rose, and extended his arms, imploringly.

“Vitaliy,” said Vitaliy, at length.

“Ah. And what is it you want most in all the world, good Vitaliy?” Seamus patted Vitaliy on the shoulder, and the sailor seemed to relax a bit as he pondered this.

"I suppose," the sailor began, then went quiet. A moment passed, and he exhaled a mouthful of smoke. "Spirit, is it in your power to grant me another year before the mast? You should have seen me in my youth."

"Dear fellow," Seamus chuckled, "You underestimate my generosity. A meager year at sea? Bah! Make it ten years, at least! You'll be young again, and admired by the crew.”

Vitaliy shook with excitement, grinning ear to ear: "Do you mean it? Oh, tell me what I must do. Anything! What am I to deliver."

"Ten years before the mast, then?" Seamus extended his hand, and Vitaliy shook it heartily.

"Oh yes, you are most generous, spirit. Just wait 'til the crew sees me!" and he laughed.

"Good. This is all - take this square of silk and place it on the first-mate's desk, what’s his name?

“Samuel,” Vitaliy answered.

“Yes, that’s the one. Place this on the desk, where Samuel will find it in the morning. Take care you aren't seen, and meet me back here when it's done." Seamus handed the old man an embroidered kerchief, and backed away into the shadows.

"At once," Vitaliy whispered, and off he went.

The old man made artful work of it. Across the deck he went, and he melted into the cabin. Moments later he emerged, and then he was standing back at his post, puffing away proudly at his pipe.

"Excellent!" Seamus said as he appeared, and he clapped Vitaliy on the back. As he did, his hand appeared sink into the old sailor's shoulder. Vitaliy gasped, and Seamus slapped his other hand over the mariner's mouth. Then, like putting on an overcoat, Seamus shrugged into the old sailor's skin.

Vitaliy felt as though he were falling, or spinning, or both. He may have slept, for he found himself waking, confused. His hands were open in front of him, and examining them, he saw that they were indeed young again. They looked strong, as they had in his youth. Elated, he tried to stand, but found that he was somehow restrained, unable to move anything but his head, which knocked painfully against a beam. His senses came to him then, and looking around he discovered to his horror that he was mounted as the figurehead on a ship - one of Seamus's fleet in the Faerie Realm, he would learn. And there he served out his next ten years before the mast.

A young officer on the Resolution discovered what seemed to be some sort of map sewn artfully into a silk kerchief in his cabin. The fabric was monogrammed on one corner with an ornate "S," which the lad quickly took a liking to. The map indicated a great fortune lay in wait on an island he could find no other reference to on any of his charts. Samuel tucked the kerchief into his waistcoat, and there he kept it. He liked to rub his thumb along the elegant material, to twist it around pensively between his fingers in his pocket, and now and then he took it out to ponder the map and the riches it promised.

Now Seamus, or Vitaliy rather, had his fore-noon watch in the barrel one morning, and the sea was a bit too choppy for his taste. By this time, Seamus had learned a few of the tricks to the winds and the tides of the World, and so he scratched at his ear just there, and spat, and soon enough the sea had calmed, with barely a breeze in the air. "That's a sight better," he thought to himself.

Seamus had grown to enjoy the slower passage of time in the World, and the strange sounds and smells that filled it. He scanned the horizon dutifully. Seamus had developed a magnificent mental map of the World as he explored it, and he paid careful mind to the places where the Faerie Realm and the Human World came close together. He recognized this as just such a place, and so as he scanned the water around them, deep below he spied the dark form of a sunken ship, which perhaps had not been there before he sought it out.

"Shipwreck, captain!" Vitaliy cried, “There, off the starboard beam." Just then the ship's bell rang the two and two, and Vitaliy scrambled down the ratlines to the main deck. As their ship was ghosted, the captain called for volunteers to investigate the sunken vessel below. Vitaliy stepped forward at once, and when no one else immediately offered, he leaned in and lowered his voice: "Captain, sir, I've a good feeling about this. You trust old Vitaliy, now. But see here, in a moment I'll swim back up here a'tellin' of all the treasure I've found, and then you won't want any of these unproven wretches going back with me, no. Some of them couldn't hold their breath for a minute, and sure enough those that could would be lining their pockets before you saw an ounce of profit. No, you want one of these fine young officers along -- an honest sort, and hearty, like young Samuel there."

The captain considered this, scratching the whiskers at his chin, then nodded his agreement, and Vitaliy grinned a toothy grin. He grabbed the shroud and leapt onto the rail, and dove overboard. Vitaliy plunged into the depths -- knowing full-well what he would find. He spent a few moments orienting himself, and waited long enough that the men would find it believable; then he surfaced, and shouted to the waiting crew: "Sure enough Captain, there's treasure to be had, sir!"

The captain grasped Samuel by the shoulder. "Get in there, son, and bring us back that bounty." Samuel climbed over the edge and into the water, and Vitaliy bobbed up next to him.

"Boy, you listen close now, and you'll do just fine. You'll need more breath than you're accustomed to drawing, as the dive is deep as the devil's parlor. Watch me now, and do the same." And Vitaliy breathed in and out a few times, deeply. Then he inhaled a mighty breath, then sipped up more and more air 'til his chest was a barrel, he nodded at Samuel and disappeared beneath the waves. Samuel followed, and the men dove down into the darkness, toward the waiting wreckage below. Great splintered beams and planks had blocked any entrance by way of the deck, so they dove deeper still.

They entered the hull through a fearful breach, so overgrown with coral it looked like the mouth of some gargantuan sea-monster. They swam up into the hold, and Samuel paused, but Vitaliy shook his head and gestured for him to follow. The cargo there was swamped and spoiled, so on they swam. Carefully they passed through the grasping strands of a torn net, and pulled themselves along the stairs to the next deck. At last they reached the cabin. It was a little tight, but they were able to swim in under the fallen beams, and dive down through the doorway. Within, a few low steps led to a platform where a window-seat lay, and a hulking chest lay precariously upon the great cracked window below.

Vitaliy pointed, and the two men moved into position on either side, bracing their feet carefully on the wooden frame. They lifted together, and heaved the chest free and onto the edge of the bench. Vitaliy grasped the edge of a step with one hand and pulled with the other, while Samuel pushed from below, and together they climbed, dragging the chest as they went. They worked their way over to the wall, and then gradually, finding fingerholds where they could, they made it up and through the cabin portal.

Quickly as they could, they moved through the murk, back along the stairs, and they had nearly reached the hold when Samuel’s belt snagged the net. Panicked, he quickly tried to spin around to reach where he’d been caught, but the sudden stop caused Vitaliy to lose his grip on the chest, and it plunged into the net, yanking Samuel down with it. Samuel’s eyes were wide with terror as he tried to cry out, precious breath bubbling away around his head.

Vitaliy launched into action, ripping into the net with his gut-hook. Samuel clasped his hand over his mouth and nose, desperately trying to keep from gulping down seawater. His lungs burned, and his flailing grew more and more frantic as the seconds poured by. His vision clouded and blurred, red and black, and his movements slowed. Then, somehow, Vitaliy was heaving his head above water. A pocket of air, trapped for who knows how long down there in the hold beneath the sea. Vitaliy held Samuel’s head upright. “You’re okay there son. Easy now.”

Samuel took a greedy breath and shuddered, and Vitaliy slapped him on the back. “Ha! Not on my watch, I’ll wager. Come on, boy.” And they dragged the chest free of the sunken ruin.

“Rig the capstan, boys! By the devil, what a haul!” Vitaliy shouted. “She put up a fight, but she weren’t no match for the likes of young Samuel here!” Vitaliy dove a rope below, and soon the trunk was hauled aboard the Resolution. They broke open the chest, and coins spilled out onto the deck. Cheers went up, and Samuel grinned at Vitaliy. “You saved my life, old man, and I’ll never forget that.”

In time, Samuel grew into a formidable captain. He had adopted the peculiar "S" from the mysterious kerchief as his own signet. It was sewn into his fine hats and jackets and embossed on his golden cuff links. Captain Samuel's ship was known as the Eye of Cupid. He and his crew sailed the globe and profited greatly by trade and treaty.

They were presently concluding a particularly lucrative enterprise. While exploring a certain island where Samuel intended to procure some sugarcane as cargo, he had befriended a merchant with an elderly grandfather. A remarkably industrious sort, the merchant had stockpiled a valuable reserve of goods for his small shop, but his grandfather had taken suddenly ill.

The elder was in need of treatment by a specialist in a distant town, and would require extended care by his grandson during his long recovery. Samuel had proposed that as the merchant had no one to leave in charge of his store, he might sell his inventory to the Eye of Cupid at a bulk rate, discounted further in exchange for passage to the island where the specialist resided. The merchant had agreed, and after the cargo was loaded, they set off for their destination.

The doctor lived in a rapidly growing city with a small port, and Samuel quickly recognized the potential for growth there. That same morning he negotiated a dockside property with a small warehouse, and sold his entire stock almost as fast as they could unload it, for an astounding profit.

That evening, the crew were at liberty, and the Captain ducked into a smoky pub for a drink. A few of his men joined him, and the longer they caroused, the louder their praises grew for the exploits of their Captain.

"I couldn't help but overhear, good sirs,” came a fathomless voice, deep and dark as the ocean; “but it sounds as though you've enjoyed quite a triumph of fate." A rugged figured approached, his face was a story of countless years at sea.

"Just so, friend." Captain Samuel pounded the man on the back boisterously. "Share a drink with us, to fate!"

"Then to fate we shall drink; but on me, gents. I insist, for I too owe fate a favor.” and he boomed for a round to be brought, slapping a thick golden coin onto the bar. The men cheered, and soon a raucous song struck up.

Leaning in, the stranger gestured at the Captain's signet ring. "That is some fine sigil, Captain, sir, if you don't mind my saying." His eyes glinted in the tavern’s dim light. “I recall I once knew a young officer who used such a seal -- oh, back when I served on the Resolution, a good many years ago, now.

"The Resolution, eh?" Samuel squinted at the stranger. "What's your name, old man?"

"In those days men called me Vitaliy the Venerable," the weathered mariner replied, and Samuel roared with delight, embracing him tightly.

"Vitaliy, by the stars above! It’s Samuel! Men, come now and gather round to see what a real sailor looks like. Vitaliy the Venerable, the greatest diver this side of the Styx. This old fish saved my life when I was still a green boy."

Samuel staggered a bit closer, and lowered his voice conspiratorially: "All those years ago, I found that sigil embroidered on this map, left on my desk one night, as though it was a gift from the gods." He pulled the silk square from his pocket and patted it on the stranger's palm. "Though I've sailed the breadth of the earth, I've found no sign of this island."

"Why Captain, sir,” Vitaliy’s laugh was sand and gravel, “I know the place, I do." Vitaliy grinned as Samuel grasped him by the shoulder in excitement. "Yes. I know it. Long ago now, another Captain, not unlike yourself, set out in search of fame and fortune, to that very island. What became of him no living man can say. Fate is smiling on you, Cap’n Samuel, for I may be the last lonely soul in all the World what knows the way to Turtle Cove."

The room went silent. Captain Samuel stared intently into Vitaliy's eyes. "Whatever you want, it's yours. Just tell me how to find it."

Vitaliy thought for a moment. "I tell you what, cap’n. You promise me the first thing you see when we stand on the island, and the rest is yours."

Samuel cocked his head and smiled: “The first thing I see -- I swear it." He extended his hand, and the old man shook it with a jovial, rumbling laugh.

The ship was stocked, and they set out the very next morning. Vitaliy charted the course, and Captain Samuel was at the helm. The voyage was long, and Vitaliy still proved as good a sailor as any, bending his back to the work, and leading the crew in low, lilting shanties. He loved his games of chance, Vitaliy did, and many among the crew found their purses diminished by his luck at dice and deck. One young auburn haired sailor named Hudson taught him nine-man’s morris, and Vitaliy took to it quickly.

“Three in a row, see, that’s called a ‘Mill.’ Do that and you’ve pounded ‘em - that means you can take one of their men from the board.” They played a few times, and soon their games all ended in draws, so they sought out other challengers. The young man carved Vitaliy a board to play on from a dry plank of driftwood.

They journeyed on, and the way was easy. Before long, though, Vitaliy began to overhear, with his sharp ears, whispered rumors now and then among the men.

“Why are we following this mad old codger?”

“We left behind our hard-laid plans, and the guarantee of profit for what? To chase this old coot’s yarn?”

“He’s a devil, he is. Here to lead us to our doom.”

At first he was unconcerned. Men were cowards. Soon enough they would reach the island, and their tune would change. One evening, though, Vitaliy was retiring to his quarters, and as he ducked through the doorway something unusual caught his eye. There on his trunk lay the bleached white skull of an albatross, crudely graven with scrimshaw. Across its head was carved a word: Seamus.

“Impossible.” Seamus reeled, and steadied himself against the wall. “Unless…” and he began to picture the faces of each of the crewmen. Some he knew well now, and others just barely, but if it was as he suspected, it could have been any of them. Anyone but Samuel, of that he was certain. Seamus cursed Vitaliy under his breath. “I should have cut out your tongue, you cur.” He crushed the skull beneath his heel.

The next morning the Eye of Cupid was ghosted, without so much as a breeze to stir the sails. And so it was the following day, and the day after. The mood aboard the ship was dark. Men loitered about, some spat at their feet, or scowled as Vitaliy passed. Vitaliy climbed aloft the mizzenmast and squinted out at the horizon. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and snapped his fingers a few times. He plucked a grizzled hair from his scalp and studied it. Not a breath of wind. It was a clumsy plot, but it seemed it was working. Then an idea struck him. “I’ll end this, sure enough,” Vitaliy growled, and he produced the graven skull, restored and unbroken, from his pocket.

In his experience with the fashioning of gates and doors, Seamus had begun to understand that a sufficiently clever door might be hidden most anywhere, and could lead one to most any place; and so he sat, and set about to carving with a steady hand -- a door. A door with a lock. When he’d finished his work, he climbed back down, and headed toward the galley with a glint in his eye.

For a few days a fearsome sickness swept over the crew. Pale men lay in their bunks, moaning and grasping their stomachs, or slumped against the rails, moving only now and then to heave weakly over the side. Hudson checked in on the captain, bringing him a skin of water, and reported: “We’ll be through this in a day or two, Captain, you’ll see.”

The captain whispered back hoarsely, “Bless you, son. Are there any others healthy?”

“Only I, and the old man Vitaliy, Captain.”

Samuel managed a smile. “That old man is tougher than a cannonball. Go on now, lad, and tend to the others.”

Hudson left the captain’s quarters, and crossed the deck. He headed down the stairs, and made for the scuttlebutt. As he rounded a corner, he was started by Vitaliy who was leaning against the barrel. “Vitaliy, here you are! The captain’s looking for you.”

“Pound ‘em!” Vitaliy hissed, and he thrust the skull of the Albatross at Hudson, whose body dropped, lifeless, to the floor.

“That’s called a Mill. Remove your opponent’s man from play.” Vitaliy whispered to the skull with a sneer. “I’ll deal with you later.” And he tucked it back into his pocket.

“It sorrows me to tell it, sir,” Vitaliy was in the captain’s cabin, “but the poor boy took a fall. Best I can tell, he was rushing below to fetch the sick men on deck more water, heaven bless him. I found him at the bottom with a broken neck.”

The next morning a cool wind blew in. A day later, the men had recovered, most of them, and slowly the Eye of Cupid set back on her way, leaving the dead to sink down into their watery graves.

Vitaliy and the Captain often sat up late into the night, deep in conversation, recounting legends or great adventures. The old mariner weaved extravagant yarns of strange places the Captain knew were certainly fabrications, but the telling seemed to grip him spellbound from start to finish.

“In my country, my home is near the sea, and for a great many years I enjoyed a marvelous view overlooking the coast, and peace and solitude, as there were no neighbors nearby. However, some years ago a woman happened along, and she set about to constructing a gaudy castle on the cliffs above my estate, which had the effect of completely spoiling the view. I quietly tolerated this encroachment for a while, and cordially enough, I did, but at length it occurred to me that it might be good fun to allow the tedious woman in the castle to think she was befriending me, so as to see what might be done about the situation.

Not far north of my home there was a cave, and in this cave there lived an enormous crab. Now I’m sure you know of the little hermit crabs, and how they take for themselves the discarded shells of sea creatures -- whichever shell to which they take a fancy. But to see this crab, a pincer or an eye, you’d have thought the whole wide world was his shell. He lived in the cave, see, and the land seemed to rumble whenever he shifted or shuffled.

After suffering through seemingly endless afternoon teas, grand balls and such the like at the castle, the illustrious windbag had quite convinced herself we were chums, going so far as to invite herself aboard one afternoon, just as I was embarking to enjoy a pleasant sail around the peninsula. As we went along, I thought to draw near to the shoreline, and pointed-out to my tormentor the cave where the monstrous crab dwelled. ‘Have you any idea how large it really is?’ She wondered, to which I answered I did not. I suggested that perhaps it might just do to lure the crab out and see quite how big it truly was.

And so it was that as soon as we disembarked, she hurried home to plan. She began, each day, to deliver great platters to the the mouth of the cave, piled upon with seaweed and watercress, melons and coconuts. At first she placed them as close as she dared, right in the mouth of the cavern. But in time, as the creature grew accustomed to her deliveries, she would move the platter ever so slightly further from the cave. She proceeded to mark the spot where she had last placed the food with a little black pebble. And every day, as the crab emerged to devour its breakfast, it stretched that much further into the sun, and the rumbling could be heard for miles. Many days passed, and soon the crab had begun to crawl along quite far to follow the little black pebbles before it reached its food, so that perhaps nearly half of the creature could be seen, perhaps more. But still, the whole of the creature was not revealed.

The woman was ever planning parties and strolls, and social engagements, and the crab was taking so long to reach the platter each day, she often hadn’t time to wait around for it to emerge. She would make a point of leaving it food just the same, every morning, saying she would be certain to see it fully exposed eventually. This went on for some time, until one evening, when I was fairly sure the thing was right for the doing, I suggested that the woman simply must borrow my schooner for to take her companions a-sailing, it being such a perfect day. ‘Have you ever spent the day, darling, just luxuriating away in that natural spring up the coast? You haven’t? Oh, but surely you must go! It’s not half a day’s sail, just follow this chart...’

Delighted, she and her companions set off at first light. Now I began to collect the small black pebbles, and then to form a new path with them. The great crab emerged, and, as it did every day, began to toil along, following the trail. The platter of food I placed just inside the great hall in the center of the castle on the cliffs. Sure enough, the crab at last fully emerged from its cave, and the tremors issuing from each ponderous step shook the rocks until the whole cave, no longer supported by the bulk of the crab, collapsed behind him.

When the woman and her companions returned late that evening, drunk and exhausted, from their voyage, they retired at once to her tower in the castle. That night I created another path of stones, this one leading right over the edge of the cliff, and out into the sea. The next morning, I watched with delight as the last few towering spires, glowing now with her rage, sank under the water, atop the back of the enormous lumbering crab, and never to be seen or heard from again.”

When at last the Eye of Cupid reached the island, the sea was choppy, and the blank sky met them at the mainmast. The cliffs before them dissolved up into white. Carefully they advanced, but despite their best efforts they were tossed in the breakers and felt the crack of timber below the waves as they slammed and lurched against the rocks. A frantic shout from below: "She's foundering, captain! We're bilged"

"Quickly now!" cried Samuel. They made their preparations and plunged into the dark opening in the cliffs. Through the cavern they desperately sailed, and finally out the other side, into Turtle Cove. As they entered the cove, the Eye of Cupid was finally overwhelmed, and Samuel gave the command to abandon ship. The men swam for their lives, beaten by mighty breakers, black trails of soot and ash swirling behind them. At last, Samuel washed ashore. He crawled out of the waves and collapsed there in the sand, heaving.

"What do you see, good Captain?" asked a deep, smiling voice. Captain Samuel raised his head wearily and shielded his eyes with his hand. Up past the dunes there stood what seemed to be the ruin of a temple, crumbling, and overgrown.

As Samuel raised to his knee, Vitaliy strode briskly forward and reached out his hand. Captain Samuel spoke bitterly, shaking his head. "The first thing indeed, old man. There's your bloody reward." He pointed at the ruin. Vitaliy grinned and helped Samuel to his feet. They limped up the beach. The skies had begun to clear, and soon a hot sun had burned through the haze. As they drew near the structure, Samuel stopped short. Beneath the vines and kudzu, glints of gold could be seen.

"As you say, I have my reward, sir. The rest," and he waved his hand over the island, "is yours." Vitaliy paced into the midst of the unimaginable treasure raising his arms, and burst into rumbustious laughter.

The piles of gold began to shift, and dust drifted into the air. Then it all collapsed in upon itself, the treasure clinking, clanging and ringing as it crashed in around him. But rather than crushing him, the coins began to flow, it seemed, spinning and spiraling around him faster and faster.

Then the old man before him began to dissolve away, and in his place there stood Seamus, his long auburn hair tied up in a rakish top-knot. He bowed, laughing, and the faerie and his gold started sinking into the earth. The gold was glowing now, ever brighter, until Samuel had to shield his eyes from the brilliant radiance. When the golden light faded the captain looked back, but all that remained was the settling dirt and sand.

"I always thought he'd return for it, one day." came a wavering voice. Captain T. Oliver, stooped with age, came shambling down the ridge toward Samuel. Before they could say any more, a hand suddenly burst out of the sand where the gold had been, grasping and clawing frantically. The two startled sailors sprang forward and began to dig, calling for help, and as more men came scrambling, they leapt to hand and pulled, until at last he was free -- before them stood a perplexed Vitaliy, who looked from face to face, and then at his feet standing bare on the sand. Tears streamed down his face, and he sank to his knees and kissed the earth, wailing: “I served my time, I did! Ten years before the devil’s mast!”

The End

Note from the Author

This is a bedtime story I told my daughter a few nights ago. I decided to write it down, and in doing so I managed to make it substantially longer.