© J.B. Norman — Published by Emona Literary Services™
“What are you lot doing here?” Myra Morningstar asks, looking up from her lonely seat at the head of the Red Wolves’ dark and empty dockside meetinghouse. “I gave you the holidays off.”
The four members of the Red Wolf Pirates — Ibbott, Kowalski, Morton, and Jorgensen — are wheeling a series of meal carts onto the room.
“We know you did, Captain,” Ibbott says.
“And we appreciate it, Captain,”Kowalski adds.
“But—” ventures Morton.
“—We remember that you said that your parents are wintering in the Southern Keys this year,” Jorgensen concludes.
“And, Captain,” Kowalski continues. “It just isn’t right for someone to be alone on Wintermorn.”
“Well,” Jorgensen muses, “except my Cousin Albin. He’s a real piece of work. He can scarper right off.”
The others start blankly at him.
“What?” Jorgensen asks defensively. “Clearly, you’ve never seen Cousin Albin after he’s gotten into the eggnog!”
“Anyways,” Ibbott says, turning back to Myra. “We didn’t want you to be alone today, Captain.”
“So, if you don’t mind, Captain,” Kowalski says. “We’d like to spend Wintermorn with you.”
“We brought dinner!” Morton announces. He looks over his shoulder and calls towards the door of the meetinghouse. The four Red Wolf pirates move around the meetinghouse, lighting the lamps on the wall and laying out a multi-course meal on the tables.
Then, they stand in front of Myra’s table and lay down a something that Myra can’t help but think is a birdcage covered with an old blanket in front of her.
“We all chipped in and bought you a present,” Ibbott says. “We got to thinking: it’s not fair that the Captain has to be alone on Wintermorn, so how can we make sure she’s never lonely again?”
“And, well, we bought you a friend, Captain,” Jorgensen explains.
“Idiot,” Ibbott whispers harshly. “You’re making it sound like the Captain hasn’t got any friends!”
“Anyway,” Morton says. “We bought you a parrot!”
He sweeps the cover off the birdcage and opens the door. There is a flash of red as parrot leaps from its cage and settles on Myra’s shoulder.
“Reportin’ for duty, Cap’n,” it squawks.
“His name is Polly!” Morton explains.
“His name is Polly?” Myra asks.
Jorgensen nods. “It’s short for Apollodorus!”
“Don’t, uh, don’t look at us,” Kowalski says. “That’s what the guy we bought him from told us.”
“I see,” Myra mutters. She looks up at the colourful bird perched on her shoulder. “Good to meet you, Polly.”
“Reportin’ for duty, Cap’n,” the parrot squawks again. “Roll the ol’ chariot along!”
As the Red Wolves’ Wintermorn feast goes on, Myra feels her spirits brightening.
“How are you enjoying the roast boar, Captain?” Ibbott asks.
“We thought about maybe turkey, or goose,” Morton notes. “But, well…” He gestures to the parrot.
“Hey, uh, thanks,” Myra sheepishly murmurs to the Wolves. “This really means a lot to me. Merry Wintermorn, guys.”
“And, uh, Captain, if it’s not too much trouble,” Jorgensen says tentatively. “Could we possibly get a raise in the New Year?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
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