#i thought silver would be the sopping wet cat poor little meow meow if the show but no. it’s flint.

[badolmen]

Ngl I wasn’t a fan of Flint season 1 but now that we’re getting some whys behind his absolutely batshit insane behavior and choices he’s growing on me like algae

[jmrsullivan-blog]

SHE OF THE SEA

A short story about an otherwise land with no cat pirates, especially not female ones.

SHE OF THE SEA 

For Aimee Charlotte Brown

On almost Christmas 2017

By J.M.R.Sullivan

Cats hate sailing. Most cats spend their entire lives avoiding the wretched wet and, generally, nobody wants to be a sailor. Sailing is regarded so poorly in the Purisian Confederacy that their navy is almost entirely made up of prisoners and convicted felons. The number is so large that there are entire fleets of penal ships, though state of the art they may be, few of them actively do anything. It was an inherently cultural problem. For the average Volunteer Pursian sailor’s status was so low, that he was likely only to be preened after a Binwhisker or Littersniff. The Purisian Navy was a prestige project, staffed by the unwilling, and in retrospect; what is truly shocking is the inevitability of the tale i am about to unfurl.

Sailing however, is not to be confused with the act of piracy, or rather, the occupation of being a Pirate. A cat who sails for the nation is a wet slave and a sad whiskers, but a cat who sails for himself braves the wretched wet for great reward. To him gravitates a most persuasive romance of daring avarisitc adventure and exotic encounter. Very few cats do become pirates, their natural loathing of the sea deterring but the most irregular, but those who have often become notoriously followed, and perversely admired. A person more regularly immersed in a life at sea might hogwash all these charming fantasies. Indeed, a more regularly immersed person may tell you that for the majority, a buccaneer’s lot is brutality from without and within, his poverty, and very often his death. Regardless to the truth of these perspectives, one thing is consistent, it is “he”.

There are no female cat pirates. Mathematics would dispute this, but cats haven't much time for mathematics. For a Prince* to harness his inner conflicts and unleash them on an unfair world in witticisms and well choreographed swordplay, was perfectly believable, even perversely covetable. But for a Princess to rush so headstrong after treasure, to risk her constitution and beauty, to pursue what could be so easily provided by an admirer, and worst of all, to do so in such proximity to vast amounts of water, was frankly, unthinkable.

But this was all about to change…

*Technically all cats are titled Prince and Princess. This stems from both a pragmatic need to prevent petty quarrelling, and a deep rooted obnoxious pride that instills in them the belief that all Cats are inherently royal creatures. This mixture of arrogance and etiquette created an insufferable, occasionally ridiculous, but sustainable society.

My story begins in my humble island parish. As a noble seeking a simpler life I had taken post on the small port refuge of Saltskerry. Here our island served as a way-station off the north coast of Purisia for the many trout and tuna miners, venturing out to barren northern iceflows. Once there, they would besiege the most gargantuan of icebergs, lay their charges and swing their pics, and liberate the silver trapped within. These ships would return to port bloated with their fishy fortune and after many weeks of labour their crews would disembark upon Saltskerry to trade their newfound silver for gold, and their newfound gold for flesh.

As a man of the creed I discouraged these more illicit activities, and the cohort of gangsters and thuggies that surrounded them. But, I would refuse none my spiritual stewardship, be they miner, cohort or even pirate. All, in time, became the same. and all would be returned to the hand of the keeper. life was hard enough for the people here, few grew to age and fewer saw bounty. It was not my place to judge the many names that would become etched on the beams of the parish.

The trouble began one dawn in August. A most terrible storm had raged the night before, howling and thrashing throughout the night. Vengeful, massive and reported as far as the Lapin coast, It had whipped at our little island all night and away in the distance i could hear the frantic scrabble of man against nature, as so many crews tried to secure their restless and invigorated ships. I, unconcerned with such matters, lay tucked in my Hutching until a great crash startled me from my housing. Unsure of my spectacles and composure I hurried half robed into the hall where I would meet her.

“Do you speak fer keeper, sir?”

Silhouetted in my splintered doorframe lent a soaking wretch. Her female form betrayed by sodden clothes that clung and ran with water. A face scarred with trials, And a most ruined long wig.

“Your long ears, do they work, Myaa?”

As my poor eyes awakened, I took in the distinct pragmatic attire of a buccaneer, complete with sword, belt and now surely ruined pistols. Her high slurred meow proof of breeding as the lowest variety of alleyscratch.

“Yes, madam, I am the father here…” blurted I. “But i assure you,we have no gold to plunder.” Composure finally bleeding back into my character. “Be … be about your way now and we shall forgive the vandalism as rot and strong wind.” I Completed, surprising myself.

A purse was slung into my chest, which i caught ungraciously.

“Oh no sir, Not gold i’m after. Gold will not solve this, Myaa.”

The knave in my nave lurched further, i could now begin to make out her expression. And i saw a desperate invigorating fear. Her eyes, wild and sharp. The fear of someone who had seen death, but was determined not to become acquainted.

“I don’t understand”

“I seek divine protections sir. Upon reception of ‘string of bad luck, I concede, finally, for some holy securities. An exercise in blessed protections. Big year ahead.”

She liberated another purse from her sodden coat.

“When so nearly ruined, when t‘sea tries ‘take it all, worth of things, worth of things aint the same after.” She weighed the pouch in her hand “Way I learn it, value of such varies like the tide, What a drowner wouldn’t wish for a desert, and what the richest thirsty sultan wouldn't wish for a sea.”

“You cant drink sea-water” I responded instinctively, before remembering my mortality in this company.

“Ha, Indeed!” she conceded, winking.“‘self a lesson for another time…”

“So, This big bag a’ gold for ‘tever ward or sacrament will keep keepers hand keen to me interest. Myaa?”

I eyed the jingling bulge for a moment, a moment not lost on my guest. My covetous peep prompting an expansive wet grin that saw my aspirations, of what good could be done with such a sum.

“Alas madam, I have no such trinkets. Nay, do i think any exist outside the stalls of shamsters and quacks.”

She deflated into a pew with a squelch.

“You certain?” she enquired, crestfallen. “You ain’t sat on some tellin’ of a long lost relic of Keepers kindness made manifest?”

“No miss.” My tone softening at her despondency “ if we’ve got any of those, they haven't told me. We could probably use one, out here.”

“Myoh.” She relented, mournfully.

“But, If you repent of your wickedness and that of your crew, then surely i can bless you? That's something?” I encouraged.

She stirred not.

“Do you repent of your wickednesses and that of your crew?”

“Their debts are now paid.”

“Paid..? By who’s account?”

“On account ‘them bein’ dead sir, wrecked upon the rocks yonder.”

This shook the fog from my head, as i realised the reason for her state.

“A wreck!? should we not send help? We can assemble a posse...”

She waved the notion away “No bother, all dead, to a man.”

She reached to doff her cap but it were missing. “A good crew they was too. Definitely a setback.”

I rummaged for a towel for the sopping criminal now in my hospitality. Which she rejected; “Got Wet bones sir, ain’t no bother for me.”

“Then Should we not at least perform some kind of service, for the perished?” I proposed.

Her haggard face turned to me and a light of appreciation glimmered “A kind gesture father…” expression hardening... “But I canne’ stay.”

“So you were a pirate captain?”

She straightened her back and lifted her chin “Captain? I’m Keepers-own pirate Queen! Myaa.”

“I didn't know pirates had queens?”

Her manner dropped conspiratorially,

“In my experience father, What a pirate can and can’t ‘ave is limited only by ability.”

“Well... Your Majesty... do you repent of your wickednesses and pledge yourself to Keepers hand?”

“Not on your life, I’m a careerist” she paused in thought. “And I don’t see how it squares wit’ hangman neither.”

“Maybe not square with this law, but that of the next.”

“Nah, you’ll bless me, just as you would any other wicked monarch.”

“I shan’t”

“You bloody shall, Myaa.” Her hand slipping from her lap to her hilt like magic.

I took a step back

“I shan’t bless you madam, I will admonish pirates, bury pirates, I think i’ve even officiated a pirate wedding once, But i cannot ask of the keeper to favour someone so unrepentant.”

“That So?” Her eyes narrowed defiantly, but her focus snapped off, and her brow furrowed.

I leaned in to the pause...

“Fair ‘nuff” She conceded, popping to her feet and surprising me into instinctive recoil. “A good captain don’t fight ‘tide! Thank You, Father.”

She strode out of my church, wringing out big strands of her wig as she went. I scurried in pursuit to the doorway.

“Who are you, madam?” I called to the retreating figure.

“She of the Sea, Queen of Pirates, and a pleasure it was to meet you, father…?”

“Von Hopp… err.. Your Majesty?”

“Ha! Very good! Myaa.” And she marched down the path, closing my little gate behind her.

As she fled into the growing daylight I gathered the wreckage of the door, mopped the flagstones of evidence of my visitor and, after having had breakfast, ventured down to the town to inform the constable. A militia rapidly formed (more for want of bounty on “pirate royalty” than civic duty) but despite their enthusiasm, no trace of She of the Sea could be found. She had slipped away like a serpent amongst the bustling sailors, Each too rough, disinterested or preoccupied to recollect her presence at the port. And each too intelligent to betray “pirate royalty” in their own line of work.

We then headed down to the rocks beneath the parish and sure enough, the fleeting remnants of a wreck were scattered amongst the shingle, but so savage must have been the the storm upon that ship that no bodies could be found, and any of the vessel present, nought but matchwood. I held a little service with whatever recognisable items i could find upon the beach and lit some candles as the sun began to set. The sea on the horizon became quite calm, and i retired early after a very long day.

Worried of a repeat visit, I had the constable stay with me for a week or so after the incident. He was a portly hamster, more interested in a smooth running island than adherence to the letter of the law. A good enough sort for a such a questionable refuge, to be sure, but he well understood the value of a blind eye, and the community prevailed on the understanding that most misdemeanors would sort themselves out amongst affected parties. Noone benefited from excessive pioty and the boat was best not rocked. When her patronage did not repeat, I returned to my routine as I had the ten or so years prior. I tended the faithful, Kindly proslatised the rutters and vagrants, and admonished the dead. In this way, life continued until about six months later, when I received an interesting Invitation.

Though I have become a humble clergyman in occupation, my heritage of royalty created certain obligations, both mine and otherwise, to the other nobles in the Kingdoms. As a result of this, I received an invitation to the Ceremony of Vantages, A Purisian royal affair acting as the culmination of a years politicking and intrigue. Officially, all Purisian royalty occupies the same rank, but some sit higher than others in the great room of pillars, and this positioning will dictate the influence for the coming year. All Cats are Princes, yes, but a formally informal King is certainly implied as a result of this meeting, and all Royals from within and without are invited to witness this, and assumedly admire the feline decadence displayed.

And so, Duty calling, I packed my Finarries and prepared for the three day voyage that would take me to the northern border of the Purisian Confederacy. From here i would travel down the river Mog to the the Purisian Capital, Clowder. Here the Oppulance and wealth of the Confederacy was in full display, and in keeping with the Purisian character, it’s citizens pretended not to notice. I had always had a degree of polite Contempt for the Purisian Confederacy. I found its overbearing deliberate indifference to it’s wealth and splendor progressively tiring. Indeed, a societal smugness to their success permeated the citizenry from the highest pride to the lowest bumsniff. and of course, the curious omittance and subversion of the source of this wealth, a shame of which i shall not speak of here, alienated many modern minds in the know, of the cost of all these feasts and banners.

As a Lapin royal I was allocated a seat with other Laputians on the lower circle. Our showing was meagre as Lapin was quite removed from Purisian influence. Clearly few of my brothers felt the need to endure the boredom. The Ceremony of Vantages is a very drawn out affair. Purisian royalty would mingle their way around the gantries and pillars subtly and seemingly obliviously, moving into their formally informally preordained positions. The results of months of backbiting, conspiracy and political intrigue. Occasionally there would be awkward pauses as cats, determined to perhaps climb another rung on the societal ladder, would at the last second jockey, sometimes even discretely scuffle for a slightly higher pillar. By the end, a new hierarchy would be determined, and a formally informal king (or queen) would sit highest amongst the court.

Or so it should have been. About two hours into the ceremony, as the lower pillars had reluctantly filled, and the remaining aristocracy politely fraternised to increasing altitude, my eyes finally closed. My head lolled starboard to the already sedate shoulder of Count Hessen von Burrow and everything should have been as it had been the last ten times before. But a very familiar crash provided a welcome intermission.

Striding beyond a broken door into the centre of the hall disrobed a familiar figure. A Purisian royal, slowly discarding her finaries, revealing a rogue beneath. With a long splendid wig and fabulous Bicorne stood She of the Sea, clapping defiantly amongst the discretely squabbling aristocracy. Her sarcastic applause echoed until it held monopoly on the acoustics.

“G’devenin, Sirs…. Madams….” She ventured into the bewildered silence. “Sorry for my questionable punctuality, Myaa.”

A butler type feline rushed forward from the stands to intercept but was swiftly deflected, spiralling behind as she paced the room.

“I did find myself without invitation, making me sneak in here like a draft, such lack of good manners unbefitting such noble nobles, such poor treatment of a fellow Queen.. ”

This statement peaked interest, and the slowly incircling guards held fast.

“Who the devil are you? Meow!” Questioned an anonymous voice.

“By what breeding do you back your claim, Mew?” called another.

“Plenty breeding ma’am...your Da for one, Myaa!”

This retort caused such an audible intake of breath some of candles went out. One or two more delicate minds feinted, and A ripple of delight spread amongst the foreign dignitaries, who had until this point been counting seconds to the feast.

“Queen...Queen of where? Madam, Myow”

“I am She of the Sea. Queen of Pirates!”

This broke the hall into thunderous laughter. Jeering enchoed around the walls as the lords and ladies defied the very notion of such a thing. The six court guards, halberds lowered, needed no further prompting to interject and sprung forth to cut down the vagrant. Alas, each of them came off neutered of their ears. She of the Sea’s cutlass carving each without effort, leaving five of six assailants yowling and bloodied grasping at their ruined heads. The sixth, recalculating his odds, turned and fled for help. Where he was met by two other guards arriving in a doorway, These reinforcements then blunty hacked him down. Indeed, Around the room guards appeared in every doorway, and though in splendid uniform of palace guards, their faces and races betrayed them as imposters, Imposters eagerly anticipating insubordination from the royals.

The Jeering and Yowling petered out at this display of force and intent. The hall fell silent but for the whimpering of the deafened guardsman.

“So, ‘eres t’scratch.” declared the pirate queen. “Things ‘ere are gonna change.”

At this statement all the cats began to look away. Their eyes wide, but staring into space. Not one face engaged with She of the Sea as she paced the room. It was if they were all desperately trying to pretend she wasn’t there.

“See, my title were earned, grafted, what have you tubbards done Myaa? all this sitting on high chairs and constant posturing. While i’ve been out, earnin’ crust, earnin’ respect.”

Silence, but for pacing boots upon the marble.

“Is that fair Sirs? Ladies? I’m doin’ all t’work, risking my tail, and I’m one storm away from t’grave, one shiv away from ‘grave, one dodgy boarding away from ‘grave.”

The audience shifted uncomfortably on their podiums.

“I feel you take your place for granted, Sirs, ladies. Powers made yuh lazy Myaa. I’d say you’re all so comfy you forget yourselves. You’d forget ‘world outsides not all feasts and fussing, Forget some old mog might strole in here and take it all. You’re all Stupid..

Their eyebrows raised.

“... fat…”

Eyebrows raised further, eyes staring furiously at nothing.

“.., and pretty.”

Some conciliatory nods.

“Nuts to that lads.”

The doormen jeered agreement. She of the Sea grinning victoriously at the assembly.

“So heres the deal, in one hundred and sevenee seven days, i’ll be back to marry ‘king Myaa.”

Confusion rippled throughout the hall as she took a conciliatory tone.

“Now Sirs ‘n Ladies, I dont care who it is, that’s your discression. But believe me, I’ll be back in six months, and you make no mistake chummers, I’ll be queen if i have to bugger whichever fairy twat you choose myself.”

Murmurs of outrage trickled around as the Aristocrats could no longer ignore such a proposition.

“Never, Meow!” came a voice

“Scruffer!, Myow” Came another.

As the discontent bubbled, she stood strong as it washed over her. She breathed it deep, like an invigorating lung of sea air, unperturbed.

“That’s t’spirit Myaa. Just remember, one hundred and sevenee seven days, to marry whichever of you fluffed ponces wants to be king.”

She turned, as if to leave, then paused.

“Oh! One more thing, Sirs, Ladies. Since i want you to know im serious, and committed to this... I think a Diet, is in order.”

Outrage. Yowling. Once dignified nobility arched their backs in hate, spitting fury at their unwelcome guest. She nodded like a pantomime villain as the gantries became a furious tantrum.

“Whole confed is gonna cut back on the silver. Now, don’t worry fatties, I’ll remove every scrap of temptation, the whole confed is gonna be trim as a tart for my wedding. Not a fish in the village, as they say, make you all lean ‘n sexy.”

One particular noble, a plump mustachioed cat, chest swollen with medals, lent foremost and put comprehension to the furore.

“This, Meow! Is an Outrage! Meow! What makes you think you can bloodywell come here, Meow! And threaten Diet! Meow! And not have us cut your scruffing head off the second you step out that door! Meow!”

Enjoying every moment of this rich theatre, she paused, and mocked contemplation.

“Well Sir, ‘cause you gone and built a bloody tunnel under yur’ chambers now, didn't ya?”

Tapping thrice upon the marble floor, a great cacophony of smoke erupted from the tiling. As masonry crumbled away into the darkness below, a merriment of cackling sung from the breech, Heinous perverse voices raucous in their miscreancy. The guards on the exits skipped and ran down to their escape, slapping and taunting the audience as they went. And as she stepped into the black below and bid farewell, I thought she a demon returning to hell.

The country was in uproar. Three heads of police became sans in both position and body. The Purisian Press, regarded by even the ruling classes as distinctly sycophantic, roused the proles into uproar. An interruption of the Vantage Ceremony! A declaration of intent to marry! A threat of mandatory Diet?! By a (hitherto impossible) Female Pirate Queen?!! Outrageous!

Impossible!

Revenge!

Murder!

Death!

A little green mouse may as well have floated down from the moon and shat on every cat's nose.

I shall admit, much like other foreign royals, I struggled to maintain discretion in finding the whole scenario deeply amusing. After the immediate threat had passed, of course. The Purisian Confederacy had a very maintained image, and it was fun to see their tree shaken. Not so however for the rulers. Most of whom took it in the height of seriousness. For after all, one of them would be force to wed the Seafairing Bint.

Reserves were mobilised. Prisoners who had until now, languished in warm dry misery, were shipped in their hundred to docks where they languished in cold wet misery. Admirals, Some of whom’s closest interaction with a boat was a vessel for gravy, were suited and booted and marched off to their fleets. The Navy’s orders were simple, blow that pirate out of the water, make her demise so unpleasant and humiliating that the only time the incident at the ceremony will be remembered would be as prelude to a foreboding parable of rue and gruesome woe.

Due to the massive scale of the reaction, the Confederacy became content that victory was inevitable and everything largely went back to normal. The Navy was massively mobilised, and patrolled the northern sea for pirates of all shapes and sizes, at one stage it was said that there were so many ships active in the northern sea, that one could travel in any direction for 300 miles and still be in view of a Confederate ensign.

As I travelled home, it nibbled at the back of my mind. The force of character it must have taken to survive a wreck in such a storm, to breach THE royal gathering, to dictate to some of the most powerful furs on earth, and to escape with no much as a nip was a truly incredible feat. But the game was over now surely, the element of surprise was lost, and the Confederate Navy now eager and mobile, scouring the ocean for anything resembling an upstart cat in a blonde wig.

For the first month or so nothing much happened. The Navy’s alertness gradually wayned at the lack of action and the atmosphere of outrage subsided. She of the Sea was an empty threat.

Until the mysterious disappearance of the the Trout Mining Ship Mr Snuggles.

Then, Princess did not return, Then Colin. Max, Tiger, Fluffy. Whiskers, Tyko. In the Month of June, thirteen ships of one hundred returned, or returned with haul.

Fish prices sored. The rivers and shores (as close to water as most Purisians hoped to get) were fished bare. Rationing was introduced, and then almost immediately subsided as there were no stocks to supplement ration cards. Worse yet, the hugely expanded Navy, mostly made of aforementioned prisoners and penal sailors, began to starve. Particularly vicious mutinies began as some of the ships turned to piracy themselves to survive. It was an absolute disaster for the Purisian Government and many citizens, too tired to riot, became uncharacteristically lean.

The Descriptions of the assailing ship were all alike. A black fog would manifest out of the blue and a giant metal bottle would emerge from the unholy mist. Along it’s spine protruded great lacerating fins, and at its prow, a crowned and ghastly Jolly Roger. The Metal vessel would circle the victim, and the crew would panic and man battle stations, those ships with armaments would fire them upon the predator and amazingly cause it to flee, apparently disappearing into its smog. Then the prey ship would contort with an unheavenly wooden rip. A splintery tear would echo off the iceflows as the keel was brutally dissected, rupturing the hold and its contents and splitting the ship in half like an egg. For most at this point, their fate was sealed. Certain death waited any who so much as dipped in the northern water, and most ships could not survive such terrible damage to their underlying structure. The only survivors who had made it back, were those who had somehow survived their first attack and ran for the hills, or had been picked up in patrolling Navy ships.

Navy ships had taken losses too, in much a similar fashion, though their losses were more sporadic as the assailants attention seemed focussed on the miners. The Navy, on paper the most powerful in the northern Biosphere, had completely collapsed, Those ships who hadn't deserted or been destroyed, retreated to large, escorts for individual miners, demoralised at the ineffectiveness of their conventional weapons on this new foe. Most Mining companies with any sense, had decided to wait out the wedding, and hope that the Pirates deadly blockade would be lifted after her point had been made.

Public pressure began to heavily harrow the aristocracy. Many were now welcoming their previously medically impossible pirate queen. The palace resisted, its official line being “The Purisian People would rather eat paint than perch under a Pirate, especially a lady pirate, especially a lady pirate in a terrible wig.” But these brave attempts at resistance were now becoming drowned out by the rumbling of hungry bellies.

Many speculated who the “lucky” prince would be. Before this crisis, the formally informal high prince was a well bred, charismatic and intelligent Feline by the name of Machiavelli. But lately, he had had a cough, and his presence at court had become much diminished. Many, in suspicious correlation with the fish famine and incoming deadline had come down with mysterious ailments. Count Thomas, one of the most affluent and influential patricians at court, had come down with a sore leg. Prince Sooty, a well bred intellectual and poetic genius had “the sneezes”.

This pseudo abdication of these movers and shakers had created something of an aristocratic goldrush amongst the high born B team. A new cream emerged from the cheese of the high sitting, and ahead of the pack, mainly by virtue of oblivious good health was Lord, Sir. Percy Fennimore of Tumbletum. Lord Percy had generally advanced up the ranks of vantage by being well bred, amiable and cooperative. Considered by some, too dumb to offend, now this opportunity of leadership had thrust itself upon him, and being a good cat, he had impaled himself upon it.

Many of the more devious felines had suggested an ambush during the wedding. Should she arrive, she would be seized and executed, and they could all go back to not being so horribly humiliated. However, as the date drew ever closer, the court received a letter in black envelope, with a seal of melted gold, delivered by hand, by a former captive of a thought-lost mining vessel. The poor fellow reportedly dressed in the rags of his uniform, and quite the worse for his capture. The letter contained, aside from a few fish bones, the names of over three thousand captured maritime crew, both navy and merchantile, who would be executed should she not return. The messenger confirmed these numbers, and spoke of the eagerness with which their captors enforced discipline upon them. Still, many of the high born dubbed this an “affordable loss”. But enough of the captured were related to the higher sat, that this course of action was ultimately suspended.

As the 8th approached, everyone in the confederacy and surrounding territories was on the edge of their seats. Could the confederacy turn into a pirate nation? Would She of the Sea even turn up? Was it all a ruse to plunder the treasury? I was about to discover that my proximity to the affair was to greatly decrease. For on the Monday morning, as i woke and opened my door to collect the milk and eggs of breakfast, A mute in jet black buccaneers garb awaited me. At my surprise and questioning he only offered a black envelope, and once given and in my hands. Turned and marched off down the path.

As i watched the figure retreat,  in similar fashion i had so many months before, I took in the sigil on the golden seal. It was a horrid imprint of a skull upon what appeared to be a confederate guinea. With some effort i broke it, revealing the letter within.

“Dear Rupert Von Hopp

I hereby invite you to ordain my wedding between {this space was blank} and myself.

The wedding will occur on the 8th of August at the Palace of Vantages in Clowder.

Bring whatever religious officialdom you deem necessary.

Participation in mandatory.

Do not be late.

Regards - Her Royal Highness, Queen of Pirates, She of the Sea.”

+++

As the 8th of August dawned it did not dawn. A massive storm that raged throughout the day put the sun into hiding with oppressive black clouds that stretched in every direction. The entire country was buffeted by tree snapping winds and impossible seas. A most foreboding atmosphere as a poetic prelude to the events to come.

The hall of vantages had been refitted now to accommodate the ceremony. Half of the giant octagonal hall was flat as was before, but now a giant staircase that covered half the space stretched up to the ceiling, topped with a platform, where the royal ornaments of marriage were located. Two thrones awaited married bottoms. A podium with my prepared notes sat infront of this and by its side, the murine wand, a golden baton and, constrained by rope, gold mock rodent, to complete the service.

The attendees sat either side of the stairs, creating an aisle up the centre, and fine perfumes wafted about in abundance, presumedly in preemption for the odours that would shortly be joining them. Nobody looked happy.

The storm raged outside the palace, windows shaking in their frames against the blackened furious weather. The river Mog, frothing and spluttering forth great waves of froth and foam upon the undefended promenade. A great wind encircled the forlorn ceremony, a reminder of how the Confederacy had been (soon to be literally) brought to one knee by She of the Sea. As the Congregation waited, I went over my notes again and snuck a shot of brandy from a hidden flask to steel my nerves. A glance at Percy prompted my charity and i slipped him the bottle, which he chugged.

As we waited in silence, punctuated only by the woeful weather outside, the distant whine of strings could be detected. Indeed, it grew on the edge of our perception until it became a tune upon the wind. It grew louder and more distinct, with familiar melody, and as the main doors opened, we knew it had begun. The musicians led the parade, a trio of fiddling loons entered the hall playing the national anthem. As they hopped and skipped, whooping in glee, the congregation, unsure at whether this gesture was patronage or insult, awkwardly shifted between respect and disgust. Behind the fiddlers came the flower mice, plucking their flowers and discarding them, somewhat aggressively into the faces of the onlooking guests. The procession advancing up the steep stairs. A guard of honour six thugs wide and thirteen scoundrels deep paraded in their nonuniform uniform. Bristling with swords and sabers, guns varying in crudeness, every type of thuggish visage imaginable, and each, to a man, a giant.

But the worst was yet to come.

Behind this terrible vanguard strode She of the Sea, And in her crass humour, clad in a dress stitched of stolen ensigns from the multitude of Purisian Vessels lost prior. A train of colours that stretched several meters, carried in shackles by wretched visions of former officers, obviously captured as prizes for this disgraceful parade.

I cannot pretend that I had not, up unto this point, taken a certain degree of enjoyment from the suffering of the Confederate court. The Purisians had always been proud, and arrogant, and to see them laid so low had been a long time coming, to say nothing of the reckoning that would be for the great unnamed shame we shall not speak of here. But this depraved display of vulgarity so deeply disturbed me that it was as if the levity of the situation was sucked from me like a breech into vacuum, like a rude awakening from a dream.

She escalated the stairs to where Lord Percy and myself were waiting. Her distasteful dress aside, Her wig flowed all the way down to her thighs and her scars were painted with a variety of powders and chemicals to hide the disfigurements bestowed by her business. Percy had begun to sweat profusely, his previously cavalier attitude withered and sullen in the face of this new ascending reality. At the head of the stairs she joined us, and presented him with a most sarcastic curtsy.

“G’devenin Sirs.” she snarked “My arent you boys looking trim.”

She wasn't wrong. Many of the Cats in attendance were draped in their robes. Percy had lost so much weight his finaries looked like a tent.

She waited with a shark smile for a few moments, which dropped as she nodded for him to get on with it.

“Oh. Oh’m yes, meow!” Percy Stammered, grasping at pockets about his robes “Will, uh, you, Miss, She of the Sea… Marry me?”

“Why my lords!” she turned to the gathered congregation “What a surprise!”

Her faux humility suddenly shattered as a huge flash of lightning and accompanying thunder rang out about the palace.

“Yes, proceed.” she nodded, anxiously. Outwardly dominant but i could tell that this weather, through perhaps an instinctive fear of the storm, or something other, was pressing on her wits.

Rain, sheeted across the glass panel ceiling, the patter so loud that I had to raise my voice to be heard. As I read the opening statements of matrimony i noticed her face growing in anticipation, she became tense and would continuously glance at the windows and the storm. The Feline royalty did pick up on this, and craned to see her growing nervousness.

More thunder, more rain. The wind shook the paynes so hard that I thought at any moment they would fall lose from their fixtures. The thugs, so stern on entry began to shift in their formation, some subtlety reached for their arms, others sunk inside their posture, as if willing the storms eyre to pass over them.

By the point of the vows, the Pirate Queen had lost all pretense of levity. Her hand spun spurring me to rush the service, and Percy was scolded in hisses for fluffing his lines more than once. As i continued to rush through the vows i misplaced a prompt. As I hesitated and scrabbled amongst the notes of the podium I felt her gaze intensify upon me. But the absence of my voice against the storm left it dominant of sound in the acoustics of the hall. The wind began to strangely pattern, in, and out, the panes, vibrating like a death rattle with every rhythmic gust. Spotting my illusive note, i stooped to pick it up beneath the podium and here we all paused to hear the supernatural voice upon the wind. The winds wheezed words; a name, called over and over.

~Fell~Grass~

~FELL~GRASS~

The pirates began to mutter between eachother.

“Stand firm, you dogs!” she turned and bellowed to the troop.

“Father, look lively! Myaa!” leaning in and nodding, wild eyed.

~FELL~GRASS~

I was tempted to stall here, to probe at what was so frightening to this, herself, intimidating woman. But this weather, this voice was becoming a little rich for my blood. I galloped through the remaining statements, prompting Percy through his promises and I dos.

~FELL~GRASS~

“Speak now, or forever hold thy peace?” I ventured. The Pirate Queen reared up and stared down the congregation, mania in her eyes and hand on her hilt, should anyone dare to scupper the service. Her anxiety beginning to bleed into the crowd, all of whom began to huddle together.

“having witnessed your vows of love to one another, it is my joy to present you to all gathered here as…”

A loud patter of water stole everyones attention to the rear of the hall. There the ten foot palace doors, barred shut, dribbled water lazily into the atrium. A rush of water, like a tide, could be heard again to slosh against the wood, causing a heinous creeking and again a spill of water through the central seam.

~FELL~GRASS~

~creaaaaaaaaak~

~FELL~GRASS~

~CREAAAAAAAAAK~

The loons began to whoop and bounce, fiddling wildly. The flower mice had slipped away. She of the Sea turned and slammed the podium.

“COME ON!”

~CRASHHHHHHHHHHH~

A great tide of water broke open the doors and swept into the hall, lapping against the stairs. The vacuum of the hall pierced, a great wind swept up the congregation, and the voice upon it, given tone and character, and malicious intent.

The Pirate vanguard began to panic. “He’s here!” one cried. “Keeper save us!” another. The terror in the faces of such brutes deeply perturbed the plush royalty who began to cower and scrabble to the corners of the room.

“FELLGRASS, DID YOU THINK YOU COULD FLEE BEYOND MY REACH?”

She of the Sea drew her sword.

“DID YOU THINK YOU SAFE ON LAND?”

The sword leveled at my nose

“Err… Husband and wife… “ I stammered, turning to Percy. Percy had completely frozen in fear, as he stared past his beloved and into the churning water below. A form, A figure, ascended the rising spray.

“FELLGRASS, I SHALL HAVE MY JUSTICE.”

I shook him and he did not move. The Pirate Queen observing the coming nightmare gave me a motivating glance.

“FELLGRASS, I SHALL HAVE MY CROWN.”

“You may now, fuss the bride…”

She practically pulled Percy’s tongue out from his mouth and rubbed it against her cheek. His eyes still transfixed on the horror below, now approaching the stairs. She turned to face the furious guest.

The figure began to take more accurate form, a combination of sea animals, barnacles, and other living sea detritus, formed by commune, the stature of an Octopus. An octopus that now strode toward the stairs.

The Pirates drew their weapons and held them at arms length, each trying to get behind the other infront of the unholy creature. Its composed swarm stood at the foot of the stairs, and its monstrous collage face looked up at the paniced corsairs.

“I AM OCTAVIAN, KING OF PIRATES, KNEEL OR FLEE.”

In a shower of discarded arms the pirates fled up the stairs for the exits. Each avoiding the gaze of their furious queen.

“Get back here, Cowards! I’ll gut you an’ all yur mams! Myaa!”

As she glared after the retreating pirates she eyed the guards of the palace, each themselves overtook with terror at the apparent magic in their presence.

“Get down there and defend your Queen!” She snapped.

The guards steeled themselves and formed line at the head of the stairs, Lowering their halberds, they cautiously descended towards the figure.

“WAS THIS YOUR PLAN FELLGRASS?” water swelling now in the atrium, his boot ascending the first stair.

“CAN’T FLEE, CAN’T HIDE, YOU GET SLAVES OF NATION TO FIGHT ME OFF? A SPINELESS LEADING SPINELESS!”

The guards advanced down the stairs toward the frothing indoor sea. Octavian, atleast six foot five stared each in turn, getting the measure of them. His face a swarm of sea creatures and dark water. He let out a most wicked laugh, and with one sweep of his arm, swept the six aside in a conjured wave. The cats, scrabbling and frantic in the magic surf, were assailed by grasping hands and sorrowed faces, which pulled and bit them down beneath the water.

“ARMIES OF LAND SHALL NOT QUELL ME.”

Another step upon the stairway. The glass panes in the roof, under tremendous weight from storm of water, began to fail, creating pillars of rain within the hall. In these pillars too could be seen the wicked woeful faces of the lost, and horrid wet hands grasped out at any nearby. The horror of this bringing many present guests to tears. The loons were in full hilarity now, some swinging from the fittings and cackled nonsense.

She of the Sea pushed percy aside and stood atop the stairs, sword drawn.

“I am Pirate Queen, Octavian!”

“YOU ARE NOT QUEEN FELLGRASS, YOU CANNOT STEAL WHAT CANT BE STOLEN, THE ONLY RULE THAT CANT BE BROKEN”

Another step, and a rusted cutlass drawn from inside his form.

“A KNIFE IN MY BACK AND DEEP SEA GRAVE, DID YOU THINK NATURE WOULD ALLOW IT!”

“DID YOU THINK I WOULDN’T CURSE YOU!”

“DO YOU THINK I WOULDN’T FIND YOU!”

“EVERY YEAR UNTIL I CATCH YOU!”

“EVERY YEAR UNTIL I STEAL THE CROWN YOU STOLE!”

The storm was now incredible, lighting striking the very palace, wind whipping around the hall tearing banners and candles free in a vortex of natures hate.

“PIRATE CODE IS SACRED, PIRATE KING IS SACRED, I CURSED YOU AS MY LUNGS FILLED, I CRIED OUT T’SEA TO GRANT ME VENGEANCE, AND NATURES GRACE LET ME HAVE MY VENGEACE.”

“I, She of the Sea, Queen of the Purisian Confederacy by law…” Glaring at me, I nodded.

“Do pardon you, Octavian, King of Pirates, of all crimes both maritime and otherwise.”

Octavian threw back his head and howled in laughter.

“HOW DESPERATE, HOW HUMILIATING.”

“WHAT FEAR OF LAW DOES NATURE HAVE? WHAT FEAR OF NOOSE DOES DEATH HAVE? PRAISE BE T’SEA, THAT LET ME HAVE SUCH SATISFYING A JUSTICE FOR KING AND CODE WRONGED!”

He continued his ascent, royals shrieked and cried in terror. I myself sheltered by the podium clutching the keepers hand around my neck. But She of the Sea, where before she had been so anxious, now stood defiant. She even sheathed her sword.

“King of whom?”

“OCTAVIAN, KING OF P…. KING OF PPIR…!”

“Yur a free man now Octavian, Ex-pirate, And your claims t’throne just expired.”

The face of the barnacled monster began to shift.

“Sea ain’t got no interest in ya now. Myaa.”

“NO!”

He staggared, his form deconstructing at its periphery. The creatures of his figure dropping back into the water.

“Sling yur hook ya dead bastard!”

“I AM KING!”

And atop the stairs she turned, grabbed the podium of my refuge, and above her head, slung it t’ward him. Exploding the jilted creature to scattered bilge and seaweed. As the storm fell away, and winds and waves retreated, all that remained of Octavian was Crabs and Cuttlefish.

Daylight shone through the ruined ceiling, clouds dissipated, birdsong began. She of the Sea looked about the place. The Royals still huddled and petrified, Percy stood motionless. and I stood unprotected at her mercy. She slung a purse once more at my chest. And without a word. Fled down the stairs and into the clearing weather.

It took about fifteen minutes for the assembly to regain composure. Percy, snapping out of his trance, Snatched my stash of brandy and ran. I, exhausted by excitement, took a seat upon the stairs and took in the gathering royals.

The Cats of court were all filled with newfound acceptance. Cuddling and rejoicing in their shared experience. Many openly forgave others with which they had quarrelled with for years. Many spoke of a brave new future in which they would all share and develop the nation, so that this kind of hideous witchcraft could never happen again. The conversation began to change to future plans, all voices excitedly talking over each other.

And as they did so the louder voices gained prominence. Machiavelli, who had been so quiet until this dialogue. Subtly ascended a stair to get better projection over the court. Count Thomas rose to counter his argument, slyly slipping another step on the staircase.

In one movement, all the cats of court surged to the top of the stairs, clambering and scrabbling over one another in lieu of the absent Percy. I took good measure to avoid the squabbling felines and watched them all try and reach heights above the rest on the flat platform, some making deals to boost each other in return for favour and gifts.

I left them to it.

That was many many years ago now. To this day i never saw her again, i still operate on Saltskell and the mining ships are largely unmolested by pirates. The Confederacy though shy at first, embraced the tale with gusto. She of the Sea is commemorated in doll and dish throughout the country. Percy didn't manage to retain power, as far as I know he is technically still king. Piracy is still with us, partly legacy to the large scale defection of the fish famine. But the vessel of the pirate queen has not been seen, though i do hear stories of it cropping up in raids on the southern biosphere.

But perhaps we shall meet one more time.

I write this memoir, as once more I have received black envelope with ghastly skull seal. A fleet of black ships sit on the horizon, each at half mast. I feel the final duty i must perform for her majesty, has already been ordained.