The Bloody Shrike sat becalmed two hundred miles off the coast of Tortuga. First Mate Jack Bastord stood at the wheel, swinging it lightly back and forth. He bellowed up to the crow’s nest.
“Ho Gutbuster Gavin! D’yer see anywot?”
“Nary a thing, Mister Jack!”
“Any signs o’ the Cap’n?”
“Nary a... wait Mister Jack, I sees him off the port bow!”
“Aye then!” Jack picked up a skull and set it on the wheel mount. “You watch the wheel, Smilin’ Pete. I’ll go see to the Cap’n.”
Jack tromped forward with his distinctive thump-kloc. Most pirates went thump-clomp as they walked, but Jack had specially carved his wooden leg for the acoustics. The vessel was still as if it sat on solid stone; Jack hated when the deck didn’t sway.
Busty Bob was standing by the forecastle. Jack counted Busty Bob among many people he hated, but the man had been useful. Thing is, you couldn’t trust a man whose mainmast had been lost in an accident, and especially one with no facial hair or Adam’s apple, and with man-boobs bigger than most o’ the girls in port.
“Ahoy, Mister Jack!” Bob said in his light contralto voice.
“Ahoy yerself, Bob! The captain’s stuck to the side of the ship; get yer bill hook!”
“Bill Hook’s sleeping off his rum ration, Mister Jack.”
“No, ye lubber! Get that pole wit’ the metal thing on the end what we uses for unfouling the rigging! It should be able to reach far enough!”
When they reached the bow they saw that Gutbuster Gavin had held the telescope up to his eyepatch again. The captain wasn’t on the side of the ship, he was being held in a giant tentacle.
Captain Greenbeard bellowed incoherently at the top of his lungs. Busty Bob swung the hook and gave the tentacle a resounding thwack. The second time he swung the unfouling hook dug in and a spray of green ichor shot forth.
The tentacle dropped the incoherently-shouting Captain onto the foredeck. After a few swipes that Busty Bob deftly deflected with the hook, the tentacle finally backed off.
“See to the Cap’n, Bob.”
While Busty Bob helped the Captain stand and gently ushered him off the side of the ship, Jack strode-kloc’ed to the bow and brandished his hook hand.
“And you,” shouted Jack at the tentacled horror, “stop throwing him back!”