Trajan watched the sky as his ferry approached the dock. Several large birds circled the harbor and one made a sharp dive into the sea, then bobbed back to the surface with a fish twice its length clamped in its beak.
“Is it true the ptarmadactyls attack humans?”
“Yah. Haven’t ya never been here before?” the man rowing him to shore answered.
“No, I didn’t know anyone actually lived here. My people have long considered this area a wasteland of savagery.”
“Yup, that it are. The birds are a nuisance but you get used to them. Aside from that, it’s a lovely land.”
“Have you lived here long?”
The man sized Trajan up with his eyes. “What’d ya say yar business is again?”
“I didn’t,” Trajan said with authority, then softened. “I’m looking for an acquaintance.”
“Right,” the seaman said. “Better keep your head about you. Wouldn’t want a bird to take it off.”
The boat docked where merchants were busy conducting their business. As he walked toward land he paused to take in the opulence of everything around him. Every vendor was smiling, the smell of food wafting smelled delicious; even the sea smelled better, not like the rotting dross that characterized ports the world over; this was paradise, if paradise existed.
Trajan stared at the flower-covered landscape before him in awe. Nobody tried to pick his pocket. Nobody tried to sell him a trinket. There was not a warship to be seen. It was the complete opposite of the rough and dastardly pirate hideout he’d imagined, the one he’d had nightmares about since the day Pilbrick first informed him he would have to journey here on his own.
How can Roberts be here?
He made his way past a number of friendly faces, though the people didn’t particularly notice him. A few of the predatory birds perched high in nearby trees.
“Few outsiders have been to Roberts’ island hideout and you won’t find settlements listed on any map,” Pilbrick had informed him before they’d parted back in Florin.
“Those islands are feared, as you know. And only inhabited by, or accessible to, those loyal to Roberts.”
“But how do you know he settled there?” Trajan had asked.
“Because I suggested he build it. It’s really a perfect location, you know. I find great joy in the study of migratory sea birds, but there’s not a lot of money in it. I ventured here with Roberts and he was immediately sold. Of course, he lost quite a few men to ptarmadactyls during the construction process, but I’m sure they must have been tamed by now.”
Trajan stepped off the pier and surveyed his surroundings, trying to remember Pilbrick’s instructions.
Find the largest dwelling on the island, Pilbrick had said. Follow the merchants carting delicacies toward it. Surely you will find Roberts there, or if he’s still at sea, lay for him in wait. He may be a pirate, but he’s a wealthy pirate and he enjoys the perks associated with such lifestyle.
He walked along a well-traveled path into the island’s interior. The seaside homes, though sparsely situated, seemed to grow in grandeur as he passed them. He passed groves of tropical trees, saw grazing livestock, exchanged pleasantries with locals every ten minutes or so, and not one of them ever questioned his sudden appearance or asked about his business. They just smiled, said hello, and went about their way – even the ones holding crossbows (of which there were many) in defense of the frequent bird attacks, and the archers (of which there were also many) in lookout towers overseeing livestock.
Trajan passed through a long grove of trees teeming with fragrant fruit he didn’t recognize. He emerged from under their canopy and beheld a magnificent estate.
This is it. Roberts must live here.
Trajan took Max’s bottle from his breast pocket, and fidgeted with it.
Not yet. You don’t even know if he’s here.
He started to put it back in his pocket when he heard a voice behind him.
“Hello?”
Startled, he dropped the bottle, tried to catch it, batted it in the air again, jumped for it, and flew into the young lady who’d just greeted him. They crashed into the ground together, Trajan catching the bottle with a sigh of relief.
He immediately scrambled to his feet. “My Lady, my apologies, please forgive…” He paused looking at her.
She leaned on her elbow in the dirt with leaves in her hair, mud in the folds of her dress, yet smiling. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She was younger than he, but scarcely more than a year or two by her appearance.
“Go on,” she said tilting her head and seeming more amused than offended.
“Please…please forgive my intrusion. That was unbecoming a gentleman. Let me assist you.” He offered his hand.
“What is it?” she said, pointing at the bottle and still leaning on her elbow, making no motion to get up.
Trajan had forgotten he was still gripping it, and he quickly put it away. “It’s something…something very precious to me. Medicine. I need it. To live.” He was relieved he didn’t have to lie to her.
“Well, you’d best be more careful with it then.” She offered her hand and let Trajan help her up. “Perhaps you’d like to keep it with one of our nurses for the duration of your stay. Come, my name is Peniel. I’ll take you there now. It’s almost noon already, and if I might say, you look in need of a meal and a rest.”
“I…” Trajan wasn’t sure what do. His stomach had been grumbling ever since his ship had made portage, and yet his mission was still before him.
“Indeed, I would.” He smiled. “But do you think the master of the estate would approve? My name is Trajan.”
“Of course, the master of the estate is also the owner of this island. My father is both.” She took Trajan’s arm, beaming. “And we shall dine with him together.”
They passed several people along the way, some working the gardens, some tending beehives, some reading books under the shade of trees. A few children played. Everyone who met Trajan’s gaze smiled and said hello without further curiosity.
As they reached the house, he saw a young woman fire a crossbow skyward. A ptarmadactyl twice his size fell in a heap before them. The woman smiled and waved. Peniel stepped around the bird, and Trajan tepidly followed her.
They bypassed the grand front entrance, opting for a side door, and passed kitchens with meat grilling and servants working. He took it all in as he followed the girl and was surprised to see the servant’s children along the way, not working but accompanying their parents.
Eventually they came to a large library with fifteen-foot ceilings and tall windows. Wide bookshelves surrounded a large globe, a telescope, a piano, tables, and ample chairs and sofas.
Across the room, a man in a leather chair with his back to them and his feet propped up on an ottoman was reading a book. His long gray hair was tied in an aristocratic manner.
“Peniel, dear, can you bring me that cup of coffee I left over by the piano, please?” he asked, though clearly he could not have seen who had just entered the library.
“Sir, you are welcome to help yourself to a cup, by all means,” and he pointed toward the silver serving tray next to a far window. The man’s eyes had still not lifted from the page he read. “We roast the beans ourselves. It’s quite good.”
Trajan was speechless, too frightened to move. Peniel, still locked onto Trajan’s arm, advanced and pulled him with her toward the piano and into the man’s field of vision.
“Father, where are your manners?” She released Trajan’s arm, set down her basket, and picked up the coffee mug. She handed it to her father and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t make me rat you out to mother again.”
Her father set the book atop a stack beside him and stood. He smiled, turned to Trajan, and said, “Sir, you’ll excuse me. My sincerest apologies. Have a seat and thank you for coming.” He motioned to a chair.
Trajan hesitated, still unsure of who he was speaking to.
Could this be Roberts? He looked less like a pirate than anyone possibly could. Pilbrick must have been completely wrong, but perhaps this man can tell him something useful.
“Good sir, I thank you for your hospitality, but I fear I encroach upon you needlessly. My name is Trajan and I suspect I am in the wrong place entirely. I’m looking for a pirate.”
“Father was a pirate. A rather good one,” Peniel said, with a hint of pride.
“Peniel, darling, we don’t brag about such things,” Westley said, retaking his chair.
Trajan grew hot, his breath became short, and one of his legs began to shake. He backed up and spun around quickly, expecting to see pirates falling on him from the ceiling, but all he saw were books. He paused and set his gaze on the man in the chair, who now sat with his feet up again.
“I say, you seem rather unsettled. Do have some coffee.”
Trajan forced himself to speak. “Sir,” he said with a shaking voice, “I seek the Dread Pirate Roberts.” Speaking the words surged a new power into his voice and he continued, this time without a hint of fear. “If you have any honor at all, speak the truth. Are you he?”
Westley smiled. “Indeed, and let me say it is a pleasure to meet so fine an orator.”
Peniel nodded in agreement.
“Care to join us for lunch?” he said without skipping a beat. “It should be along directly.”
Trajan’s hand moved to his sword hilt. He stepped backward and stumbled into the globe, made to pull the sword from its sheath but remembered Miracle Max’s potion. He reached into his pocket, struggling to get it out, still assessing the footing of the room, glancing toward the corners, trying to remember all the tricks Pilbrick had beaten into him.
Westley and Peniel watched with joint curiosity, his feet still on the footstool as he casually reopened his book.
Trajan focused on it, then on the pirate lounging across from him.
There must be a trick coming. Now!
Trajan popped the cork with his left thumb, held the bottle to his lips, and quickly drank.
He immediately spit it out and fell forward onto the piano. Dissonant notes filled the library, followed by Trajan’s violent coughing and exclamations as he spit to rid his mouth of the vile taste. He took several deep breaths to keep from vomiting in between his wrenching and his shudders.
Westley put his hand over his mug to protect the contents. Peniel knelt at her father’s side and took his hand.
“Coffee?” Westley suggested.
Trajan tried to pull his sword, but only got it halfway out of the scabbard before releasing it and lunging for the coffee mug, his hands shaking as he held it to his lips.
“AUUUGH!” Trajan said, dropping the mug back onto the table. “Hot!”
Peniel rushed for a pitcher of water and offered it to Trajan, who took it and began to guzzle.
“There, now,” Westley soothed him. “That’s better, right?”
“Would you like me to call a nurse?” Peniel asked.
Trajan recovered enough to pull his sword out, stumble forward, and lean with his other arm on the side of the piano. “You…” he paused as nausea overwhelmed him. “You…killed my father.” He could hardly speak between waves of sickness. “We…fight.” He swirled his sword weakly.
Westley remained seated, the book remained open.
“Yes, of course,” he said.
A young woman walked in, not much older than Peniel but even more beautiful. She held a large ledger. “Oh, hello,” she said with a hint of curiosity at the young man attempting to hold a sword at Westley. “Pardon me.” She curtsied to Trajan. “Father, look at this for me, will you? I can’t seem to make heads or tails out of it.” Glancing at Trajan she asked, “Who is this?”
“He’s here to avenge his father, my dear,” Westley said.
“Father killed his father back when he was a pirate, Clover,” Peniel said.
“Oh, you poor soul. Father, how could you?” she asked while gazing at Trajan. “A moment, sir. I really must finish this bookkeeping.”
“Is that alright?” Westley asked him.
Trajan, struggling to keep his feet, could only nod. He sat on the piano bench as the library walls spun around him. Peniel took a seat beside him and held his arm to brace him from falling over while Westley and Clover examined the ledger.
A young man of about twelve years old entered the library.
“Father, have you seen my gauntlet? The one with the red and blue jewels? Oh, hello,” the lad said, upon seeing Trajan and his sister. “Who might you be?”
Clover looked over her shoulder at her younger brother.
“He’s here to kill father out of revenge.”
The boy began to unsheathe his own sword and looked at Westley, who pursed his lips and shook his head ever so slightly. The boy shrugged and released the sword hilt.
“Have you looked in the sheep’s pen?” Peniel asked, rubbing Trajan’s back. “Weren’t you coaxing the rams to challenge you with it the other day?”
“Bracken, really,” Clover admonished.
“Ah, yes, that’s it,” Bracken replied. “Good day, sir.” He bowed to Trajan and hurried out, bumping into a woman who now entered the library.
“Bracken, darling, where are you running off to? It’s lunch time,” the woman said.
“I’m not hungry, mother,” his voice trailed off as he disappeared down the hall.
The woman went straight to Westley, removed the book from his lap, and replaced it with herself as she sat, wrapping her arms around him, and giving him a quick kiss. “Westley, my love, lunch is ready.”
Only then did she notice Trajan hunched on the piano bench with Peniel next to him, repeatedly helping him keep his sword from touching the ground.
“Oh, hello,” Buttercup said to him.
Trajan tried to smile. Instead, he burped.
Buttercup cocked her head, examining the strange visitor. “Who is this? He looks…rather ill.”
“He’s come to seek revenge upon the Dread Pirate Roberts for killing his father.” Westley answered.
“Oh, the poor soul,” she said springing up and rushing to him. “He looks absolutely white. Surely, Westley, he’s in no shape to fight anyone.”
Buttercup kneeled before Trajan and put a hand on his forehead. “He’s clearly unwell. Come now, sir, you can’t fight any pirate, much less Roberts, in such a condition. You must dine with us.” Buttercup smiled at him, still kneeling at his feet.
She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, in a room full of beautiful women. Her hair radiated a sweet flowery scent, her smile warmed him, and he felt the nausea dissipate. She took his hand, gently lifted him to standing, and Trajan felt strength return to his legs.
Buttercup motioned toward the drawn sword. “Uh, hum.”
Trajan looked at her smile, lifted the sword, and then locked eyes with Westley.
Westley gave him a quick, affirming nod of approval. “Yes, we’ll attend to that later.”
Trajan sheathed the sword.
Westley stood and walked up to Trajan, who took a deep breath and a step backward, still gripping Buttercup’s hand.
“Trajan, was it?” Westley put a hand on his shoulder. “My name is Westley. Please join us. We can certainly fight, to the death if you’d like, but not until we’ve had a hearty meal befitting a worthy foe such as yourself. Now, how about a swordfish steak with a rosemary glaze? Hmm?”
Trajan looked at him, bewildered. “Then, you are Roberts? You killed my father?”
“I am,” Westley leaned in a little closer. “But I believe you have the wrong Dread Pirate Roberts.”
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