Epilogue
Copyright J.B. Norman
“Wow,” Billie mutters, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “These boots are amazing. You were right about this place, Jimena.”
After the unpleasantness of Salvage Thursday, Billie and Jimena have quickly begun beyond over their shared love of fine footwear. After touring all of the premier sellers of footwear in the city, true to her word, Jimena has introduced Billie to her favourite bootseller at the Porthaven Leatherworks.
Jimena nods. “Once you get past the smell, this really is one the best places for shoes in the entire city.”
“Hey!” the bootseller exclaims indignantly from behind the counter. “Do I come to your workplace and tell you that you smell? And you’re a pirate! I bet the smell is a thousand times worse! Why, the poop deck alone must—”
“That’s not what the poop deck is,” Billie notes.
“No,” Jimena says apologetically. “I meant the smell of the tanneries. Not you, Mr. Vanderleer. I sure you smell perfectly pleasant. Not… that I’ve ever stopped to smell, um, you. That would be odd, to say the least”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all, Miss Jimena. Come take a whiff. I use only the finest cologne from Gallicantu,” he notes with a proud nod.
“No. There’s no need for that,” Jimena mutters.
“What about these ones?” Billie asks, modelling the next pair of boots and steering Jimena’s attention back to her.
At Jimena’s approving nod and thumbs-up, Billie turns to the bootseller.
“Do they come in pink?” she asks hopefully.
“Do you have any idea,” the bootseller asks, “how hard it is to dye leather?”
“…No,” Billie admits.
“Oh,” Mr. Vanderleer says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s no big deal. I could have a pair ready in two or three days.”
When the next Salvage Thursday comes around, Kat and Lena are once again seated at the ice cream parlour.
“So, how are things with your dad?” Kat asks the Goblin girl.
“Better,” Lena answers. “I mean, the Pirate Voice is still, like, the stupidest thing ever, but I’m starting to understand why he does it. He grew up a turnip farm in Nearfields, but he never wanted to be a farmer. Talking like that, acting like that, being all Pirate-y and everything, that’s how he turns himself into the person he wants to be. It makes no sense, but it makes him happy. Besides, I understand exactly what it’s like not to be like your parents.”
“See, all you had to do was talk to him,” Kat notes.
Lena’s eyes narrow sceptically behind her glasses.
“That means you’re going to talk to your dad soon too, right?” she asks.
Kat doesn’t respond and takes the world’s longest lick of her ice cream cone.
“Right?”
“Anyway,” Lena says, “I think I need your help, Kat. For an adventurer kind of thing?”
“Oh?” Kat asks, lowering her ice cream.
“Yeah. Dad’s birthday is coming up,” Lena explains. “And we are going to find him Blackboots’ journal.”
Kat is vaguely aware that the famous pirate Blackboots wrote a personal journal that disappeared somewhere along the line.
“But even if we did find the journal,” Lena continues. “We wouldn’t be able to open it. You’d need the key for that. And he always kept the key and the journal in separate places.”
With a satisfied smirk, Lena reaches into her pocket.
“But Dad knows a guy who knows a guy who boarded a ship captained by a guy who knows a guy who blew up a museum. And, well, when I mentioned it was for Dad’s birthday…”
She holds her green hand open, revealing an old, tarnished key.
“…he gave me the key and told me to talk to somebody named Sigismund von Bücherhaus. He’s supposed to be a famous book collector, or something. So, want to help me on a treasure hunt, Kat?”
Kat shrugs. “Yeah. What are friends for?”
As they leave the ice cream parlour, Lena looks up at Kat.
“But, seriously, Kat. talk. to. your. dad.”
That’s the conclusion of my go-through of all the current Realmgard stories. Tomorrow, I’ll be starting another 30-day (probably a bit more so I can tie it into Easter) writing exercise.
Every Realmgard story so far is available for your reading pleasure here:
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