Chapter 9
Copyright J.B. Norman
Meanwhile, farther down that very same beach, the two defeated pirates remain trussed up to their flagpole, just as they had been left.
Their attempts to free themselves have proved largely futile and have accomplished little more than chafing their wrists something fierce.
Given that there are several other Red Wolf Pirates present on Oake Island and that their conquerors will, presumably, have to return to their boat at some point, they remain cautiously optimistic that their rescue will come sooner or later.
It’s becoming increasingly likely that it will be later. And later.
And later.
After giving up on his attempt to gnaw through his bonds, the first of the two pirates has simply decided to hunker down and wait for rescue.
Meanwhile, the second pirate has decided to pass the time by waxing philosophical, attempting to ponder the great quandaries of existence in Realmgard.
The first has been passing the time by telling him to please kindly shut his mouth, interspersed by moments of regret for his career choices.
In retrospect, he decides, he should have been a hairdresser for dogs, just like the last ten generations of his family.
“All I’m saying,” the second pirate says, reaching the crescendo of his latest dialectical symphony. “Is how can we even say we’ve been having bad luck lately, if we haven’t really stopped to consider what luck is in the first place?”
“But they do have to come back eventually, right?” the first pirate says, pondering quandaries of his own.
“They didn’t seem like the kind of people who’d leave us tied up forever. No one could be that cold-hearted. And what about Captain Myra? She wouldn’t just leave us. Would she?”
“Really, what is luck?” the second pirate continues to wonder aloud — which, as the last few hours have proven, is the only way he can wonder.
“Is it a manifestation of some divine providence? Is it merely the name we give to coincidence that we happen to deem beneficial? Or is it something else entirely?”
The first pirate continues to contemplate his own dilemmas, largely in an attempt to drown out his companion’s inanity, “I get that the Captain has been frustrated with us. And she’s not going to be happy to hear that we got beat up by a pair of little girls. But still, we’re her crew. She has to care about us. No captain would just leave two of her loyalest men tied up on a beach to fend for themselves.”
His companion, however, has paddled too far up the river of Philosophy to care about such banal concerns of worldly things: “But can we even say luck is a thing, at all? What if we’re just cast adrift in a cold, uncaring universe and everything is just some meaningless cosmic accident? But in such a cosmos, could we not create our own meaning and purpose?”
He continues to philosophise. And, by the Powers…
He.
Won’t.
Stop.
Talking.
The hapless first pirate heaves a heavy sigh.
It’s going to be a long day.
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