Sweet-Toothed Savages Episode 8

Written by: Paul Holmes

 

Episode 8: Fever Dream

A week out from the Teak Isles and Siren’s Hollow, and the SweetTooth Savages began to get more animated in anticipation of their arrival at the Teak Isles and Siren’s Hollow. Chatter about the beautiful women that inhabited the Hollow seemed to dominate the conversations with epic levels of alcohol consumption coming in a close second.

Steve (Fudgey Steve to those ungrateful bastards back on the message boards), began to notice a certain predatory look in the Savages’ eyes the closer they got. He had seen that look before; almost every time they pulled into a port. It thus far had signaled occurrences of carnage, chaos, and more than a few shocking moments of cannibalism. He began to grow concerned about what the Savages had planned for the inhabitants of Siren’s Hollow once the Carn-EVIL Clipper docked.

He had never had the best of timing. When he finally decided to talk to the Captain about his growing disquiet, and was approaching Rumguts, he was stopped in his tracks by a loud ***BOOM***!!!

Steve threw himself to the deck and covered his head with his hands, but when he looked up the Savages were all laughing and clapping each other on the back. A pair of Savages had just fired off one of the cannons, and Steve saw a large wooden pole flying away from the ship, dragging a long length of chain behind. Following the chain, Steve was horrified to see it ended wrapped around the ankles of one of their shipmates that happened to be passed out with an empty bottle in his hand.

With a meaty “POP” of something dislocating in the man’s pelvic region, and a howl of pain and surprise, the Savage was dragged across the deck, crashed through the starboard deck, and was sailing over the water at a magnificent clip.

“What the hell?!” The Captain roared. “Be more careful of my ship, ye louts.” And that was all that was said about the whole thing.

Multiple pairs of clown-faced pirates continued dragging barrels of rum up from the stores along with all best food left from the hold. Bananas, oranges, salted venison jerky, along with various tasty treats the crew had put together. 

Someone shoved a handful of pastries into one of his hands and a mug of spiced rum into the other. He smelled cooking flesh, and when he peered toward the captain’s quarters, Steve saw someone had rigged a campfire of a sort atop a fire-hardened barrel and was positioning the brass monkey atop the flames. Each pocket normally reserved for a cannonball held a pile of fresh meat.

Steve barely had a moment to wonder where the fresh meat had come from before Captain Rumguts Radke strode up to him.

“Captain…” Steve began, but was interrupted by the Captain grabbing Steve’s arm and raising the rum to the young man’s lips.

“Drink now. Talk later.”

Steve attempted to approach the Captain a number of times after that, but was always met with the same response, “Drink now. Talk Later.” Usually followed with a fresh mug of rum ad some sort of treat shoved into his hands.

Time began to lose meaning as did Steve’s senses of direction, balance, and self. Hours, maybe days, maybe even longer blurred into a chaotic tapestry of pirate clowns singing, dancing, drinking, and feasting. At one point, a voice called out for the “Good Stuff,” and soon a fancy sliver goblet with a warm amber liquid was placed into his hands.

Sitting on the deck, back against the mainmast, Steve sniffed the liquid. It had a spicy, honey-like aroma, and had definitely been heated. He moved his fingers from the bowl of the goblet to the stem so as not to burn his hand. He had no idea what the drink could be. The closest thing his severely altered mind could come up with was a type of mead, but no, that wasn’t quite it, but it was close enough. He brought the liquid to his lips and took a drink. As he did, he gazed into the depths of the goblet.

Swirling through the amber liquid like candle-smoke in shafts of moonlight, was a thicker, more viscous fluid of a dark reddish-brown color. He had stopped drinking, but his eyes were locked on the motion of the two fluids flowing around each other, yet never actually blending. He was mesmerized. It seemed as if the thicker liquid moved on its own, separate from the motion, or lack thereof, of the goblet itself.

Steve was shaken from his reverie by a cinnamon-scented hand. With difficulty, he dragged his attention from the goblet, only now noticing it was empty. He sluggishly turned his head to see who was shaking him.

He recognized this particular Savage as one who had handed him a rather tasty churro much, much earlier. An elegantly curled mustache sat atop a devilish grin, and he held a nasty-looking spiked rolling pin in his other hand. Don Canela. Steve had seen him, of course, but he had never had the opportunity to speak with him at any length.

“Wha?” Steve managed to slur. “Wha?” he repeated, just in case he hadn’t sounded clear the first time.

Don Canela chuckled, tucked his rolling pin through a loop at his belt and grabbed Steve under his armpits, lifting him to his feet. “On yer feet, boyo. You’ve been on yer ass long enough. It’s time to get back on the horse.”

Steve was rooting through his malfunctioning brain to find some appropriate response, but long before he even came close to even a syllable, a small noise came from behind him. A tiny sound, almost a whimper followed by a caught breath.

Don Canela pulled his spiked rolling pin from its loop and made a disturbing sound of pleasure deep in his chest. He gave Steve a shove and strode towards the sound. There followed a meaty and wet thumping noise and the sound stopped.

No time to contemplate what that could have been, as Steve lurched a handful of steps forward and barreled into another Savage almost immediately.

“OI! Watch where the fu--,” the clown-faced pirate cut himself off when he saw who it was. Unlike most of the other SweetTooth Savages, this one had never graced Steve with a smile or even acknowledged his presence. This pattern continued as Carm Hell Jack, the juggler stared at Steve for a full five seconds before huffing and bending over to retrieve 5 apples from the deck.

Jack inspected each as he retrieved them, checking for damage. The last two apples seemed to have cracked as they hit the planks, and Carm Hell Jack tossed them overboard with a grunt of irritation. “Look what ye did to me apples, you weak little---”

A glance over Steve’s shoulder and Jack went quiet, turning and slinking off to some other part of the ship. Whipping around, which was a very bad idea, as the world kept spinning even after Steve’s body stopped, he saw what had given Jack such pause.

His vision stabilized, as much as was it likely to in the near future, and he beheld the imposing figure of the Captain. Rumguts Radke approached the young man, ever-present cleaver in hand dripping with at least three different sticky-looking substances.

“Looks like you’ve been havin a grand ol time, boy.” Radke said with a not unfriendly rumble. “We’ll have that talk when ye awaken, but for now, you need to lie down a bit and let….nature take its course.”

Steve thought he saw something pass across Radke’s eyes as he said this last, but it was gone as soon as he saw it.

Steve shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He had had too much to drink before, even way too much a handful of times, but this was starting to feel like something else. Had he been drugged with something? A lot of somethings? He couldn’t tell. He began to feel a spiky tingle all over his skin, and his stomach felt hot.

He was abruptly lifted off of his feet for second time in as many minutes, or days? He still couldn’t get a grasp on time. Large strong hands scooped him and held him like a baby or a beloved pet.

Forcing his eyelids open, he saw that it was the strongman, Strawbrawny Sam that held him. Steve allowed himself a small smile. In direct contrast to Carm Hell Jack, Sam had been the kindest to him of all thew Savages save the Captain himself, answering whatever questions Steve had had on his time aboard the Carn-EVIL Clipper. A soft-spoken, but paradoxically violent man. Steve had seen Sam slam two adult human heads together, reducing both to sticky, wet shards in a single motion. He was a killer like all of the rest, but Steve had developed a small soft spot for the big man.

He wrapped himself in the strawberry and praline scent that followed the strongman everywhere he went. Was he catching hints of vanilla and graham cracker this close to Sam? There was more, but Steve’s fogged brain couldn’t find the words.

What seemed like an eternity later, Steve felt himself gently lowered into a soft bed, and the strawberry scent faded from his awareness.

The Captain’s voice floated across Steve’s perception.

“The…um…occupants of Siren’s Hollow wouldn’t allow us to make port, so we’re heading somewhere else. When you wake, I’ll tell you all about what you’ve missed over the last number of days.

“For now sleep. I’m sending someone in to keep an eye on you. Make sure you keep breathing. I’ve invested a lot in you, Steve. Wouldn’t want to piss it all away now, would I?”

The cabin door creaked open, and Steve heard the heavy footfalls of Captain Radke departing, to be replaced by the softer, shuffling footsteps of someone else.

Steve was beyond opening his eyes again, and as he fell over the crumbling cliffside of consciousness and splashed down into a vast sea of oblivion, he left behind a sweet and sour fruity aroma and the sound of whistling.