Bad Wishing: Pirate Gold free porn video

Bad Wishing: Pirate Gold By DanielSan59 *Author's Notes: This story was inspired by a Joe Jusko painting. It just screamed for a tale involving a certain leprechaun. Thanks to JRD for letting me play in his back yard. His review of my portrayal of Patty O'Toole was invaluable. Any faults in the character at this point are mine, not his. Also, for those avid numismatists out there, don't bother trying to find reference to a "gold denarius." I made it up, but the story sure sounds intriguing doesn't it?* ------------------ Captain Billy Morgan was disgusted with himself and the world in general. His teeth were clenched in helpless rage as he stared into the distance, the Carribean surf pounding behind him, the merciless sun beating down. One dimpled knee supported the arm whose fisted hand was pressed against his aching forehead. He was clad in an open red frock coat and pirate's hat, black bikini briefs, and a pair of high-heeled black leather half-boots sporting rolled cuffs. The hat, coat, and panties were decorated with numerous skull-and-crossbones. The coat was beginning to stick to his back, and beads of perspiration rolled down his face until they gathered at his delicate chin and plunged downward to leave glistening trails between his generous breasts. Only the fact that a mild ocean breeze blew across his bare legs and exposed torso kept him from succumbing to heat stroke. A single bark of painful laughter spurted from between his puffy red lips as he thought of the symbol on his undergarment and its meaning: *Caution: Toxic: Danger of Death!* "Damn straight!" he muttered, the dulcet tones of his voice causing him to wince. "Anybody tries to find out what's underneath that frigging skull - I'll show theem what toxic ees." His speech was disjointed, mirroring his interior confusion. He could feel something bubbling up from deep within. He wasn't sure if it was a scream or a laugh, but he knew that if it got out he wouldn't be able to stop. His jaws knotted as he clenched his teeth until they began to ache. He should have been ecstatic with joy. He was perched upon the object of his life-long quest: the battered treasure chest containing the lost hoard of the pirate lord, Jean Laffitte. English Sovereigns, French Napoleans and U.S. Eagles and Half-Eagles trickled through the fingers of his left hand with cheerful metallic plinks. Ten years of searching through low waterfront dives - endless hours spent pouring over British and American naval reports and seamen's diaries - finally the forgotten map was found. It had been concealed in the binding of Laffitte's diary, passed down from father to son by the descendants of Laffite's final first mate. He'd found it in Mexico, of all places. He had then traveled in secret to this secluded islet - and the treasure was here and it was *real*. Hundreds had searched desperately, wasting their lives in fruitless effort, and *he* had found it after only a decade. How could it have gone so completely and utterly *WRONG*? "Damn you, Patty O'Toole! This isn't what I meant...it isn't what I meant at all." Maria Fernandez, once a man named Billy Morgan, buried her face in her hands and sobbed helplessly. Unknown to her, a knowing pair of eyes watched from only a few yards away. -------------------------------------- "Sixteen men and a dead man's chest! Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! They buried it deep and hid it from the rest! Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!" Captain Billy Morgan's deep baritone voice rang out over the hiss of the surf and the puttering sound of a gasoline generator. A tall, lean man, he was corded with lanky muscle and his seamed, sun-trodden skin bore witness to a life upon the waves. He was on the down side of thirty and looked it. His raiment was typical tramp seaman: his shaven scalp was protected by a Florida Panthers baseball cap, and a grimy white Margaritaville T-shirt and cut-off khakis flapped in the evening wind off the ocean. He controlled a humming electric winch with one hand while the other grasped the neck of - what else - a bottle of rum. He raised the bottle in a salute to the yawning pit into which the winch's cable descended, poured a small libation on the sand, and took a hearty swig. "Ten years of searching, but *I* found that chest! Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!" Presently, the little gasoline generator accelerated to a higher pitch and the whine of the electric winch peaked as a battered chest appeared at the lip of the pit. The braided steel cable twanged and several of the fine wires snapped with sharp pings as the chest dug into the sandy edge. Billy dropped the rum bottle and frantically scrambled to clear the blocking sand away from the lip of the pit. Sharp cracks and groans issued from the depths beneath the tree stump to which he'd moored the winch. He prayed fervently that he'd finish before the motor burned out, the cable parted, or the tree stump was yanked out by its roots. Several agonizing seconds later, the scraping hiss of sand upon wood caressed his ears as the four-foot container slid onto solid ground and safety, and the keening whine of the winch motor declined to a more bearable level. Billy's heart pounded against his ribs and his eyes gleamed with a somewhat manic light as he hastily shut down the winch and generator. That cable was rated for 1500 pounds of stress, and it had nearly broken. Billy examined his find in the light of the waning sun. The chest appeared to be of steel-bound black cypress and measured about four feet by a foot and a quarter, and it was nearly two feet from the peak of the domed lid to its base. The riveted metalwork was rusty, the wood battered and scarred with numerous gouges. Several metallic skulls decorated the wood, two of them serving as handles and one as the tongue of the locked hasp. As he unbound the cable from the chest he paused and exerted all of his effort in an attempt to move it. Try as he might, he couldn't even budge it. Judging from the old chest's grisly guardian skeletons, it had taken over a dozen men to transfer it into place and bury it here on No-Name Key. Laffitte had apparently been a true believer in the maxim: "Dead men tell no tales." Only a few tattered scraps of cloth and a pile of bones resting about three feet above the level of the chest had survived the decades to give mute testamony to the ancient carnage. Several of the bones had nearly been severed in two, probably hacked by cutlasses, and one rattling skull had disgorged a flattened pistol ball from the third "eye socket" it had carved on the way in. Apparently a couple were either prisoners or slaves - the rusted remnants of their shackles still encircled their slender, white ankle-bones. Billy had reverently collected the remains and intended to bury them at sea on his way back to the Mainland. No seaman, pirate or not, should have to rest on dry land when his true home, the ocean's comforting bosom beckoned less than a quarter mile away. Seamen were a superstitious lot - Captain Morgan no less so than the rest. He planned to attach a single gold coin, if there were any, to each skull to ease their restless spirits before he wrapped their remains in canvas and consigned them to the deep. They'd more than earned it, and maybe it would forestall any lingering curse on the bones or the treasure. Taking a sledgehammer from his pile of tools, Billy hefted it and prepared to swing. This was the moment of truth - his hands trembled and he uttered a small prayer as he brought the hammer crashing down against the lock. It snapped open and he was instantly on his knees, fumbling at the lock and unable to breathe. The hasp grated in protest as he forced it up and threw open the lid.... Time stood still for one brief eon; the cries of the gulls and the tumble of the surf vanished as his entire concentration became focused upon only one thing: GOLD. *LOTS* of gold. More gold than he'd ever seen before in his life! More gold than he could ever SPEND in his life! The bullion value alone must have been at least five million dollars. And that wasn't even counting the sprinkling of gems in the chest. He could see at least five rubies and a couple of emeralds on the top layer. His stasis ended as he plunged his hands into the chest and spilled a priceless shower of tinkling coins from his fingers. His head reared back and he let out a triumphant scream. "Aaaaaaaah! Yes!Yes!Yes!Yes!Yes! Who da man! Who da man, Bay-Be!!!" He lurched to his feet and began a triumphant dance, visions of a forty- foot yacht - Hell, *two* yachts - dancing in his fevered brain. *Babes - champagne - babes - a private Buffett concert - babes - parties at the Yacht Club - babes - new clothes - babes - and above all else, RESPECT! Oh, and babes!* His mind drew back into the past and the voice that had started his quest so long ago. ---------------- "So you wan to hear de old tales, heh, boy?" Grandmere Lucille was pure New Orleans Cajun and the softly slurred cadence of her voice could absolutely mesmerize him as a boy. She was 96 years old and she had seen miracles in her day. "So wat you wan dis time? You wan hear bout de first time de streats of Nawlins lit up wit de 'lectric lights? Or de time dat I met de great man, Monsieur Samuel Clements when I was a little one my own self?" "No Grandmere. This time I want something special! I want to hear something nobody else has heard," Billy had replied, his voice then dropping to the earnest whisper of a child not yet six. "I want to hear a *secret*!" The old woman's whispy laughter caressed Billy's ears and set him to giggling too. And then she told him some things, some of which he really wasn't old enough to hear or understand, but that his memory latched onto with bands of steel. "All right den, a secret it is. I tell you someting dat my granmere told to me. I doan know if it is de troot, but it might be. Old Eva, she was known to spin a yarn or two in her day. I was 'bout fourteen an de year was nineteen hundred and two an I was in love, or tot I was anyways. Well, dat day, Eva was a vistin' us dere in Nawlins an I was mopin' sometin' fierce. Eva, she notices dat an she say to me, "Child I never seen such a cloudy face. What *is* de problem?" Now you got to understand, young William, dat when a girl is at dat age her emotions, dey always in an uproar. De slightest ting can make her madder than de wet hen or start her weepin' up de storm. Dis time it was de storm. I trew myself into her arms and started crying so hard I was shaking de poor old woman fit to rattle her teeth out'n her head. Well, she held me tight, strokin' my hair and makin' dem 'Shush-shush' sounds dat mothers and granmothers make so well. When I finally stopped with de waterworks she cupped my chin in her hand and lifted my face up to wipe away de tears. "Cher, tell me now, what is de matter?" she ask me in a gentle voice. Well, I finally got up de courage to ask her my question. "Grammy Eva, how do you know if you're in love?" She just smiled at me. "Oh, so dat's de problem," she says. "Dat's a hard one, cher. Who's dis boy dat caught your heart so tight? Is it dat scoundrel Robert Lechamps? You stay away from him, cher." Of course it wasn't dat fool boy, Bobby. I wasn't DAT dumb. 'Sides, I never liked de boy - he was always pullin' on my braid or slippin' frogs down my dress durin' Mass." Billy giggled. He liked this story, but he hoped she'd get to some good stuff soon. Cowboys and Indians, or maybe even the Lone Ranger. That would be cool. "Oh, so you tink dat was funny, child? I better not find one in my purse or in my bed before I leave. You hear? De place for frogs is in de swamp or on de plate, not in de clothes." "Yes, Granmere." Darn. She just ruined his surprise. Maybe he could surprise his next door neighbor Suzie instead. "Anyhow, child, I had de biggest crush on de strongest, handsomest young man in de entire parrish, Charles French. He was two years older dan me and he didn't even know I was alive. De only one he could see was dat tramp Missy. She got de bosoms early an all de boys fluttered around her like de bees to honey, specially Charles. We all hated her with de passion. Well all of dis came pourin' out of me in stream, an I was feelin' so ugly and sorry for myself dat Eva decided to tell me somethin' dat cheered me right up. "Lucille," she say, "you don't got to feel all downhearted. You are a special child. How many other girls you know are de grandchild of a pirate?" My eyes dey got as big as saucers, and Eva, she grinned fit to bust. "What's a pirate?" Billy chirped excitedly. "Is that like a policeman or a fireman?" Lucille smirked. "No child, a pirate is somebody dat attacks one ship with another an den takes all dat dey got. De old pirates had cannons and swords an' such. Dey was a lot of famous pirates - Blackbeard, Captain Kidd - dere were even some lady pirates." "Ooooooh! That must mean they were the bad guys just like the cowboys in the black hats." "Yes, child, dat dey were. Very bad. Now old Eva, she never say exactly, but I think de one she fancied was Jean Laffitte. He was de only one around New Orleans at de time, and she said he wore de fancy clothes and all de other pirates, dey all obeyed what he said. She say she was goin' to de market with a servant when she saw him for de first time. She say dat her knees go weak and dat her heart started poundin fit to bust. She say dat he had brown hair and eyes an' was all dressed up in a fancy long red coat and hat. He had a big sword on one hip and a pistol on de other. Dere were soldiers with him and a bunch of scruffy looking seamen. He was just stridin' along like de lord of all he surveyed, den he noticed Eva. She say he stop still and just stared at her for de longest time. Den de soldiers made him move on and she lost sight of him in de crowd. She didn't see him again for days. When she did, he came right over and dey talked for hours. He told her his name was Jean, and dat he was here to fight de British when dey came. He swept her off her feet with his charm and dey met time after time in gardens and quiet corners where she fell deeply in love wit him. Den word came dat de British were coming and dat everyone had to go. It like to have broke her heart when her parents dragged her away to safety. She begged and pleaded to stay, but dey made her go. Dey got on a ship and sailed away to Mobile and de last time she saw him was on de dock as he watched her sail away. She cried for de whole day and was sick for de entire trip. Dey all thought it was just de sailing sickness, but even after dey landed she she kept on getting sick in de mornin'. Dats when dey found out she was with child. Her parents, dey were horrified. Dere "little angel" was goin to have a baby, and dere was no father to be found. Dey decided to stay dere in Alabama til de war was over and she had her child and den claim dat she got married while she was away to some soldier dat got killed fighting de British. An dat's what dey did. When de little boy was born, dey named him Edward James and said dat his daddy was Frederick James, a lieutenant in de army. But Eva, she knew who de father was and she always called de boy John and longed to see his father again and tell him of his son. But it never happened and eventually she married again and had other children. And dat's why my maiden name is James and why my cousins are all St. Clairs." "That was a really keen story, Grammy Lucille. Wow! A pirate. When I grow up *I'm* going to be a pirate." Lucille chuckled. "An' last week you were goin to be a policeman an' de week before dat it was a cowboy. I wonder what it will be next week? Go on and play now child an' let an old woman rest." " 'Kay, Grandmere!" Billy smiled then kissed her cheek. "I love you!" He darted out the door, leaving a gently contented grandmother smiling and caressing her cheek. --------------------- A single tear rolled down Billy's face as he remembered that grand old lady. He wished she could have been here to see this. That story had helped to keep him sane after his parents had been killed in a car accident when he was ten. He buried all the fear and loneliness into a dream - that he was the descendant of Jean Laffitte, and that he had the blood of one of the bravest men in the world in his veins. That imagined bravery carried him through the years when he was passed from relative to relative, never staying in any one place long enough to make friends. He was teased from time to time about his obsession with pirates, but he never gave up his dream. He saw every pirate movie ever made and read all that he could about them. And in his studies, he heard about the lost treasure hoard of Jean Laffitte. He swore an oath then, as a callow youth of seventeen, to find that treasure someday and prove to himself if not to the world that he was worthy to be the great-great-great- grandson of Jean Laffite. Swiping the tear from his cheek, Billy whirled to face northwest towards Miami and hooted out an eerily exact impression of a cartoon gerbil he'd pulled off the net a few weeks before, his middle fingers raised in the universal gesture of love and cuddly good feeling. "Who's your daddy? Me that's who! Well I got sumthin to say to ya. All of ya who thought I wuz nutz. All of ya who laughed behind my back. BITE ME!!!" He laughed long and hard, then staggered back over to the chest of gold. It was really going to be a bitch hauling all of it back to his boat, but that was for tomorrow. Tonight it was time to PAR-TAY! He punched up a Buffett CD on his jambox, cranked it, and built up a roaring bonfire. Then he dragged a cooler over to his makeshift camp, popped open a beer and leaned back against his treasure belting out the lyrics of the songs. Several hours and nearly a case of beer later, exhaustion finally kicked in and he passed out in the middle of "Let's get drunk and screw." --------------------- A sharp, sudden pain in his nose abruptly jostled Billy from his drunken slumber. His head flinched back and his eyes cracked open then slammed shut again. The glare was absolutely terrible and his head ached like a smith's anvil after a long day's work. He groaned and smacked his lips, trying to evict the rat that must have died in there. "I say me boyo, I'm all for sleepin' in, but it's after the noontime, don't ye know?" Billy's eyes flew back open and blearily focused on what appeared to be a two foot tall man with red hair and whiskers and dressed in green glaring down at him from less than a foot away with fists cocked on hips. He jerked violently away from the sight and yelped in agony when the back of his head connected with the steel banding on the chest. He curled up in a fetal ball, his hands clutching his head as he whimpered at the sharp spikes of white-hot pain shooting through his skull. The diminutive figure chuckled and a small tankard appeared in his hand. He stepped forward and offered it to the pitiful wretch lying before him. "Here laddie. I'm thinkin' that I'll get no sense out of ye until we clear out the poundin' in yer head. I've been there a time or three meself and this little potation will cure what's ailin' ye. Come lad, take it and drink it down - trust me." Billy was not ordinarily one to believe in two-foot tall men, nor was he one to trust another on a chance meeting, but the pain in his head overrode his common sense and he tossed down the contents of the small tankard in one gulp. Who knew, maybe it was poison and he'd be put out of his misery. A ball of liquid flame rolled down his throat and exploded in his gullet. He was on fire! The volcanic heat barreled through his veins and nearly blew the top off his head as his body went rigid, muscles spasming, and tendons starkly outlined from the strain. He couldn't breathe and he started to panic, pounding one fist upon the sand as he struggled to pull air through his violated windpipe. Finally he managed a whooping gasp and his body relaxed. A warm feeling of contentment spread through his limbs as the fiery concoction burned away the toxins in his blood. The awful headache vanished and there was a pleasantly flowery aftertaste in his mouth. "Works every time!" the small man crowed as he surveyed his handywork. "Man ... that was some fine skullcrack. Wha ... what was that stuff? And who ... and what ... are *you*?" Billy managed to gasp out while catching his breath. "Oh, it's just a little sumthin' I brew up from time to time. It's called feywine, and a lucky mortal it is that's havin' a sup of it. As fer who I am, the name is Patrick Shamus O'Toole, but me friends call me Patty. What I am is as plain as that big sniffer in the middle of yer face, laddie-buck. I'm a leprechaun, and to answer yer next question, I'm here on a little private business of me own. There's somethin' I've been searchin' fer in yon iron box, and I mean to retrieve it before the day's out." That little statement snapped Billy out of his fugue, and he threw an arm over the chest and glared at the leprechaun. The ratcheting click of a pistol being cocked drew Patty's attention to the mortal's other hand. He found himself staring down the barrel of a battered old .38 Special. From his perspective it might as well have been a cannon. Sweat popped out on his small forehead and his heart began to beat a little more strongly in his chest. "Nothing doing! This gold is MINE! *I* found it and dug it up after ten long years of searching and ridicule. Nobody would believe me or help me, so nobody is getting any of it except for me!" *Oh, walk carefully now, Patrick O' Toole. This human is near to bein' mad with the greed. Not that I blame him meself. Just think of what ye could do with the power from the gold it would take to fill that chest. If ye play it wrong ye may have to wait another hundred years fer what ye seek. Small steps, Patty - and slow ones!* With those thoughts uppermost in his mind, Patty frowned sadly and made a calming gesture with his hands. "Lad, lad, calm yerself - and kindly be pointin' that hand-cannon somewheres else whilst I'm speakin'. It wouldn't do ye much good anyway. Lead bullets will not be harmin' one of the fae, and I'm hardly a threat to one of yer vast size, now am I?" Billy had the grace to look a little sheepish as he stowed the pistol. "Sorry." he muttered, his eyes never leaving the leprechaun. "Went off a little half-cocked there." He felt a little stupid - if the squirt *was* a leprechaun, he was probably telling the truth. Granny Fiona had been Irish to the core, and she was always telling stories from the "Emerald Isle." Dimly, he remembered that fairies were allergic to iron or something like that. If the little bastard caused any trouble, he could always brain him with the shovel and see if *that* put a cramp in his style. Patty let out a small sigh of relief. Bullets may not have been lethal to him, but they were a bit rough on his clothing. He'd found that out back in the twenties. That idiot farmer with the hyperactive imagination had peppered his nether end with buckshot while screaming something about "goddamn chicken-killing weasels." And all he'd wanted was a hen's egg or two for the next morning's breakfast. He hadn't partaken of any food for more than a year, and he was in the mood for a change. He'd never even gotten the chance to speak to the man and offer a trade before he opened fire. Needless to say, the man's cow dried up soon thereafter and his hens stopped laying completely. Patty took a deep breath and started his spiel. "I hear ye, and I understand, but hear me out and maybe ye can understand me. I'm not bein' after all of it, nor even most of it. Nigh on a hundred and ninety years ago that blackguard Laffitte stole one of me coins and wouldn't give it back. I bargained and pleaded, and I even offered him a wish in return, but the bastard just laughed in me face. Now I'll be tellin' ye somethin' ta help ye understand me dilemma: I can't steal gold - not even me own. It's against the rules. Oh, I kin find it or mine it or trade fer it, but any gold in the possession of a mortal must be freely given, or it's worth me magic and me hide. So there I was with me gold in his hands, and nothin' fer me to be doin' about it. Well, I bided me time knowin' that he'd eventually die like all mortal men and the coin would be freed. But the cunning rogue hid it from me by placing it inside that iron-bound trunk, and I been searchin' fer it ever since. I might never have found it - I'd just about given it up fer lost - but ye dug it up last night. When ye opened it the coin called out to me, and I plunged into the Channels, letting the pull of the coin lead me here. So what do ye say, lad? Will ye open that great box and let me retrieve what were once bein' rightfully mine? I make to ye the same offer I made to Laffitte: If ye let me have it, I'll be givin' ye a wish in return. Is it a deal?" Billy listened to the entire sermon in silence, and when Patty finished he thought about it for one long moment. He wasn't adverse to simply giving one little coin back to the leprechaun, but that wish thing... Finding buried treasure was one thing. *Keeping* it was entirely another, and Billy was bright enough to realize it. If one whiff of his find ever reached the intrusive nose of the public, he'd be swarmed in lawyers. Descendants of Laffitte and his various crews, the owner of this scrap of sand, the U.S. Government, the French government, the British Crown, the State of Florida - Hell, just about anyone with a little money and time on their hands would unleash their tame sharks on his ass. The treasure would be tied up in the courts until long after he died a broken, penniless man. And that's not even considering the taxes! He'd been resigned to trickling it out one coin at a time to dealers all over the world, but maybe this way he could take care of it all at once. "All right, Patty, let's say we've got ourselves a deal. The name's Billy, by the way, Billy Morgan. You get the coin, and I get a wish. Shake on it." Billy sat up away from the chest and extended his hand. Patty crowed in delight, smacked his tiny palm against the human's finger and shook it vigorously. "Ye won't be sorry lad! 'Tis a fine fellow you are, Billy Morgan, and pleased I am to be makin' yer acquaintance. Now let's be makin' the exchange and we'll hoist a tankard or two in celebration of yer find and the recovery of what I'd thought lost forever!" "Wait a second, Patty. About this wish...how powerful is it? I mean what how much can it actually do?" Patty's grin faded away and his expression became a little wary. "Well, now lad, I'm no great lout of a djinn to be flailin' around me with limitless power. I can't raise the dead or move mountains or somesuch. In fact, the more personal it is, the better it is fer you and fer me. What is it exactly ye had in mind?" "Well, I was considering wishing that the IRS would let me keep the treasure tax-free..." Patty burst out into laughter. "Lad, that's askin' fer a miracle, not a wish! Sorry, but a dozen leprechauns don't have that much power. Think about it a whilst we conduct our business." Billy face was still flaming from the leprechaun's laughter as he turned and opened the chest. There had to be some way to keep it all. "By Dagda's beard and Oberon's hairless balls!" Billy whirled to see Patty's bearded jaw dropped in amazement and his eyes gleaming with awe. "Now isn't that the most beautiful sight ye've ever been seein' laddie?" Billy had to grin at the leprechaun's stupor. He'd felt about the same last night. *I wonder if I looked as much of an idiot as he does just standing there like that?* Patty's awe was heartfelt and true. He'd never seen that much gold all together in one place at one time before in his life - and that was a considerable span of time. With that much gold in his possession, he could have more power than any other leprechaun in existance. *Curse that wastrel Laffitte! If he'd just used bronze instead of iron on the chest, I'd have found it long ago, and all of this would be mine! Now, instead, it'll be wasted on this poor fool of a mortal who will probably use it up within five years.* With a bitter sigh he averted his eyes from the impossible temptation. If he got lucky, perhaps the boy would make the wrong wish. If that happened, well then "Finders, keepers....." When he looked up the human was looking at him with knowing eyes. Right then. Time for business. "If you'd be so kind as to reach yer hand inside the chest and feel around laddie. The coin's restin' in the lowermost left-hand corner, about three inches up. I'll let ye know when yer findin' it. I'd fetch it meself, but I was tellin' ye the truth before. I cannot even be touchin' gold that's yours." Billy complied, forcing his arm downward through the tinkling coins. Three inches down...nine inches..."A little to the right, laddie... That's it - now straight down another span...Hold it there! Yer touchin' it with yer index finger. Gently, now...Ah! Ye have it!" Billy closed his fist firmly around the coin and extracted his arm from the mass of gold. He opened his hand and examined the coin. It was well-worn, but Billy could make out the head of someone wearing a wreath on one side and a rough outline of Spain on the other. Barely legible lettering spelled out a name, Iulius Caesar, and some Roman numerals. Billy was amazed. The coin was absolutely ancient. "Patty, just how old are you?" he asked as he handed over the piece of history. "Not quite so old as time itself, but older than the breeze blowin' about us," he chuckled as he grasped the coin. He ran greedy fingers over the familiar lines of the embossed head then began polishing it on his waistcoat. "It's bein' a beauty, is it not? It's a gold denarius, laddie, and very unusual. A denarius was normally a Roman silver coin worth about a day's wages. Julius Caesar himself had it struck to commemorate his triumph over the Gauls of Spanish Iberia. Only a few hundred were bein' made and he distributed them to the Roman Senate as a rather unsubtle form of mockery. It wasn't long thereafter that he had himself declared Emperor. And it be the only one of its kind left in existance. I had it off a Welshman in yer year 987. He was a yeoman farmer and turned it up when he was tillin' his field along with a fair lot of Roman silver. It was me first coin and the first wish I'd ever granted. And so ye see laddie, it's quite special to me in more ways than one." Billy was touched by the story. He had an old cub-scout knife that he kept around because of the attached memories, and if he lost it he would miss it dearly. The small blade had broken off some years before and the large blade had been worn down to less than half its original width by the endless honing over the last twenty years, but it was rust-free, well oiled, and lovingly cared for. Its comforting weight rested in his pocket against his right thigh, and for a moment he was seven again, reliving the camping trip with his father and remembering the big one that got away. "I'm glad to reunite you with an old friend then, Patty," he said with a gentle smile. Patty's face lit up in a broad grin as he sensed the truth behind the man's words. Perhaps he was something other than the normal grasping mortal he seemed to be. With a slightly lighter heart he asked Billy, "And the wish ye be gettin' in return, have ye decided on it, laddie?" Billy's face grew pensive. "I've thought about it, and what really bugs me is the fact that I'll probably lose this treasure. I've spent the last ten years of my life searching for this chest, and I never really considered what would happen if I really found it. I've been laughed at, sliced up in a bar fight, gone hungry more often than not, and strained my eyes and my temper trying to sort out the clues in hundreds of diaries and naval reports." He sighed heavily. "When I asked you about the IRS wish, I was being halfway serious, because I suddenly realized that everyone would be after a piece of it. And they'll probably get it and they don't deserve it. It's not really the money that I want though, not really. What I want is vindication to all those who ridiculed me over the years. I want to rub their faces in the fact that THEY were the fools for not believing in me. If I lose it to the government or the lawyers, they'll laugh even harder, because then my dream will have been perverted and my life wasted." Patty was surprised to say the least. A human who could actually reason and who cared for more than power or gold. Maybe he deserved that treasure after all. Redemption beat greed as a motive any day. Billy's fists clenched in resolve. "So, yes, I've decided on a wish. What I wish is that my claim to the treasure is legally uncontestable." Patty's indrawn breath was just short of a gasp. "Laddie, I'm allowed to give one warning when I deem some mortal worthy and the wish be needin' some thinkin'. I'm required to be grantin' exactly what ye've wished, but yer wish be so general that there's not much guidin' of the magic that I can do. Fae magic is a wild thing, and it could have consequences that I cannot predict. So I'm givin' ye fair warning: Ye might want to reword yer wish quite a bit. The more specific it is the safer ye'll be." Billy was taken aback. He thought he'd covered everything pretty well. It didn't seem like such a big wish to him. He wasn't wishing for world domination or anything like that. He just wanted what he'd found to be rightfully his so he could cart it into Miami and crow in the faces of his enemies. He wanted banner headlines and to be the man of the hour. If the government confiscated it or it got tied up in court he'd be a laughingstock to the same people who had mocked him in the first place. He tried again: "Okay, more specific. Let's try this: I wish that my claim to this treasure is so clear-cut that no lawyer or government in the world can successfully contest that claim or confiscate my treasure." Patty sighed. That might even be worse. He couldn't tell. "Good luck to ye laddie. Yer wish be granted," he said, and then vanished. Bright golden light began shining from the top layer of gold in the chest, increasing rapidly in intensity until it quickly outdid the sun. Billy was forced to shade his eyes with his hand and take a step backward from the chest. There was a monumental flash and he flinched away, his skin burning from the punishing intensity of that light. He reeled drunkenly, blinded by dancing afterimages and unsteady on his feet. He'd almost regained his balance when his heel sank into the sand and he fell heavily on his rear, biting his tongue in the process. "Hijo de Puta!" he screamed out. The pain of his injured tongue helped clear some of the muzziness from his confused mind. Something was seriously wrong. He'd meant to say "Son of a bitch." And his voice had never gone that high in his life. Billy scrubbed frantically at his eyes, trying to clear the tears of pain, but his progress was impeded by something hanging down over them and something kept jabbing into his eyelids. Finally he brushed it to one side as his vision cleared and he stared at his hands. They were slender and fine and long pointed nails capped each fingertip. It just wasn't possible. He reached up above his eyes and felt a fine multi-fibered substance. He tried to pull it down to eye level and felt a tugging on his scalp. It had to be hair. *That's not possible! I haven't had any hair there for years!* "No es possible." he muttered, then gasped. Why the hell was he speaking in Spanish and with such a high pitch? His hands groped at his throat and found smooth flat skin and no trace of his prominent Adam's apple. He really began to panic then. He looked down, dreading what he would find and squealed shrilly. "Mierda! Tengo tetas! Soy una mujer! Soy una mujer del goddamn! Matar? a ese bastardo del leprechaun!" (Roughly translated: Shit! I've got tits! I'm a woman! I'm a goddamn woman! I'm going to kill that leprechaun bastard!) He was wearing nothing but a red coat with skulls on it and a pair of panties and boots. The coat did nothing to hide a full, pert set of breasts bunched up around his hips as it was. There was no denying the fact that he had been turned into a woman. Why was she wearing her dancing costume? *Dancing costume? Where the hell did THAT come from? I can't dance!* And what the fuck was this thing with the Spanish? "Me llamo Maria Fernandez..." She cleared her throat and spoke again, concentrating hard on forcing out the right words in English. "My name eez Mar ... Weelyam Morgan!" It was an effort, and she spoke in a very thick accent, but at least she could still speak it. She practiced until the English came a little more freely then she forced herself to her feet and looked around. Everything had changed. The generator and winch were gone: only a shovel, a pick, and wheelbarrow remained in their place and the deep, steep-sided pit he had dug was now a thirty foot trench pointing out to sea. A huge pile of earth and sand stood to one side. A thick hawser ran from one of the handles of the chest to the tree stump, where it was threaded through a block-and-tackle and from there was moored to a small battered sailboat with an accessory gasoline engine. "My boat! Where the hell eez my boat?" The "Golden Dream" was gone; twenty feet of well-maintained cabin cruiser had vanished and Billy was pissed. Panic struck her through the rising rage, and she staggered over to the chest and took a rapid inventory. The level of the coins was at least three inches lower than it should have been. *That lying sack of shit! He stole some of MY gold!* Her temper exploded! She snatched up the shovel and started flailing at the ground, the chest, and anything else that was handy, a bilingual torrent of obscenities streaming constantly from her mouth. Finally she wearied and slumped onto the open chest and wept.... ---------------------------------------- Patty watched in silence, hidden behind a screen of low bushes as the attractive, black-haired beauty wept, and he had heard her curse and plaintive cry of despair. He turned and quietly walked away, his face a conflicting quilt of frustration, sorrow, and regret. "I told ye, man - I told ye, but ye didn't listen," he muttered. He reached a small clearing in the undergrowth of bushes and grass and he paced in a tight circle, one hand fingering the denarius in his pocket. He stopped and pulled it out, alternating glances between it and the path leading to the direction from which he had come. Eventually he snorted and threw his hands up in exasperation. "Damn ye fer a soft-hearted fool, Patty O'Toole, but ye owe that one. Ye owe her more than any mere wish can repay." He tucked the cause of his change of heart safely away and summoned the Channels. "Tis time to be askin' a favor or two." He stepped into the Channel that had appeared and faded away. --------------------------------------- "Pssst! Hey, boyo!" Alain Alexander started at the whispered shout, nearly dropping his spoon and looked around, darting glances at the tables around him. The nearest other diner was three tables away and wasn't even facing him. "No, down here!" Alain turned his directed his attention down and got the surprise of his life. "Patty? Is that you? What're you doing here? I never thought I'd see you again." "Aye, it's me. I'm needin' to speak with ye, but not in here. Yon folk cannot see or hear me, but if someone notices ye sittin' here talkin' to the thin air, people will start thinkin' ye're a mite touched in the head. I'll be waitin' out in front of the restaurant. Meet me there as soon as ye can." Alain watched in amusement as Patty walked nonchalantly down the aisle between the tables, dodging feet and whistling as he went. He crammed a few more quick bites of his stew and called for the check. Five minutes later the tall blonde man and the diminutive red-headed one were sitting in Alain's Corvette as he started the drive back to the marina and his boat. Alain drove with a careless intensity, darting in and out of small spaces in the moving lines of Miami traffic. Patty looked comical in the over-sized seatbelt, his tightly grasping fingers white against the belt. The belt was not meant for one of his small size and he prefered not to go bouncing around like some child's rubber ball. His fingers were not as nearly as white as his face though. He never should have gotten into something made with so much metal. "So, Patty, man am I glad to see you. What brings you back here?" Alain asked loudly to overcome the hissing rush of the air conditioner. He made two quick lane changes, the rear end of the car shimmying with each darting lunge and then spared a glance for his passenger. "Jeez, what's wrong? You're as white as a sheet!" "I ...*URP!*... I'm not bein' too fond of this particular mode of transportation, boyo, nor of these metallic monstrosities ...*urmph*... that ye humans regard so fondly. And no matter the fact that ye're now a man, ye STILL drive like a woman!" Alain's rueful laughter resounded throughout the car's interior as Patty's face went from pasty white to an odd shade of Kelly green. He clasped a hand over his mouth, swallowed hard, and managed to blurt out an urgent request. "Ah, can ye be pullin' over to the side of the road ... I fear I'm about to be in the way of losin' me lunch." The sound of squealing tires was rapidly followed in quick succession by the click of the belt button, the creaking groan of the passenger- side car door and the pattering splash of a green clad, green faced leprechaun being very, very sick. "Oh, man! I'm so sorry, Patty! I didn't know you get car-sick. Are you alright?" Patty groaned and sat back up, wiping his mouth with a hankie he pulled from a pocket. "I'll be fine in a few moments, but if ye're not mindin', I'll be usin' me own two feet and me magic to get me where I'm goin' from here on in. When ye get where ye were headed just be givin' me a holler, and I'll be there presently." "Well if you're sure, Patty..." "Tis very sure I'm bein,' very sure. Now get along with ye, I'll be seein' ye soon as ye get there." Patty hopped out of the car, making sure to avoid the mess. He put on a cheerful face and waved as young Alain drove away, all the while muttering between the teeth of his clenched smile. "Never, never again. Whatever possesed ye to get in the infernal contraption in the first place ye daft fool?" The Corvette had been a classic. One of the newer ones would not have bothered him a bit - they were all plastic and composite these days, but that old monster had been almost solid steel. And Alain didn't know it, but his roof was rusting from the sea air underneath its interior padding, shedding tiny dust motes of iron into the cabin of the car. If the windows had been opened or the air system not stirring it all up, he'd have been perfectly fine. It wasn't enough to cause permanent damage, but breathing the stuff in the closed-up space had done him no good at all. His stomach took another dive to the left, and he doubled over once again as his body purged itself of the toxin... --------------------------------- Alain broke several speed records and four laws during the remainder of his trip to the marina. Blaring horns punctuated his maneuvers, but he never heard them. His mind was lost inside his own memories. Memories in which he was not Alain, but Elaine - a sudden widow who had lost her husband, her father, and her two young boys all in a single mind- shattering instant. They had never even seen the cement mixer that had taken their lives. She had taken a grim sort of satisfaction that the drunken bastard who had destroyed her life had been roasted alive in the fireball that followed. Patty had happened along about six months later. Six months of soul- numbing pain in which she'd contemplated joining her family, but just couldn't bring herself to take her own life. She'd almost worked through the grief, but she just couldn't stand the emptiness of her existance anymore. The empty house, the tiny clothes, the briefcase sitting on the kitchen table; all reproached her continued survival. She'd been sitting on the moonlit beach, worrying at her wedding ring, when she had said, "I wish I were dead." "Now why would ye be wishin' such an awful thing as that lassie?" The voice had come out of nowhere and she screamed. There at her feet, a small man dressed in some dark clothing had appeared in the dim moonlight. "There now lassie, there's no need to panic. I'm not fer harmin' ye or anyone else. Me name's Patty and I'm a leprechaun." After a few moments of shock and suspicion, her story had come pouring out, finally having a sympathetic ear to hear. The little fellow's eyes had filled with tears, and he had taken her hand and stroked it reassuringly. Then he'd made his offer: her ring for a wish. "My ring? I...I don't know. It's all I have left of them." She had been silent a time, twisting the ring about her finger. Finally, she slowly removed it and placed it in the palm of his hand. "I wish my family was still alive." Patty had shaken his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Elaine, but I can't bring back what's already gone on. Me reach does not extend so far. Nor can I grant a wish that ye join them, for I'm not allowed to be harmin' another. I cannot tell ye what to wish, but I'll make a small suggestion: ye could have a fresh start - a new life where there's not so much remindin' ye of yer loss." Elaine's eyes had filled with tears. How could she bear to leave their home, their things? How could she not? A new start? She could become someone else - have a new life and find a new love to fill the aching gap in her heart. But there was no way she could stand to bear another child. To nurture another life within her own body only to have it ripped away again. She had wiped her eyes and said to Patty, "I know what I want, now. I want that fresh start. I wish that I become the teenage son of loving, wealthy parents who is about to enter college for the first time, but I want to remember my previous life as though it happened years before." "Granted with pleasure, lassie. Be ye well." And there had been a flash of light, and it had suddenly become autumn. And she was Alain and the pain had receded into the comforting past. Adjustment had been strange, and there had been a twinge of regret every time he saw a babe in arms, but on the whole he was content. He had discovered sailing, and frat parties, and all that went along with both, and he had made new friends and lost his virginity from the other side of the fence. And now, in a year, he would graduate with a degree in business. And now Patty had returned bringing back the pain and the loss, if only a little. His eyes were bright with remembered suffering as he pulled into his space at the marina. He wondered what the visit was about. And what it would mean for him. He got out of the Corvette and walked to his slip. A small boat with an outboard awaited him and he got in and cranked up the engine. Maneuvering slowly, he exited the immediate area of the docks and made his way out into the small bay. There was his pride and joy, a sleek twin-masted sloop he'd named the "Second Chance." He clambered aboard and moored the launch to the stern cleat. "Patty, I'm here!" he called out to the breeze. "Why so am I, laddie." Alain whirled around to find Patty perched upon a coil of rope. "That was fast! How did you...never mind. Magic, right? Patty, why are you here? You're not going to take back my wish are you?" There was fear in his voice when he asked the last question. He didn't want to go back to being Elaine. "Nay lad. Wishes once wished cannot be undone except by another wish. And that's part of me problem. There's a lass stuck out in the isles that's done me a great service, but her wish has gone awry. I cannot help her directly, and she wouldn't welcome it at the moment anyway. So I've come to ask ye a favor." "Anything Patty! Anything at all!" Alain's relief was so great that his knees grew a little weak, and he decided to sit down before he fell. Patty's eyes gleamed and he rubbed his hands together. "Excellent, lad excellent. I knew I could count on ye. Now have ye any gold?" Alain looked confused. "Just this high school class ring. I've been saving it to trade in on my college ring. But what does that have to do with anything?" He pulled it from his finger and passed it to Patty. "Tis not pure, but it will do. I want to be givin' ye a wish in return fer yer aid, but I'm not allowed to be doin' it without the exchange of gold, laddie. I'm also not bein' allowed to ask a favor with nothin' in return, so I'll oblige ye to take it. I know ye'd do it fer nothin' but it's required." "But there's nothing that I want to wish for right now." Patty sighed and pulled a small silver token from a slot in his belt. "This will allow me to hear yer wish whenever it is that ye decide on it, laddie. It has no power in itself other than that of conveying yer words to me, but I'll be honoring the wish yer gold has purchased, yer words or the words of any other ye give it to so be sure of another before passin' it along. Now on to the business at hand. Have ye got a map? I need ye to make a wee trip down to to one of the Keys. I'm not bein' exactly sure of its name, but I can point it out to ye on the map. Oh, and one other thing. I know it's askin' a lot, but do ye be knowin' of a good, fairly honest lawyer?" --------------------------------- Three days later: "Ahoy! Ahoy the land!" Maria started from her fitful sleep. Another night in the miserably thin tent with the wind flapping the fabric of it incessantly. She rubbed the crusted sleep from her eyes. Her stomach growled. She was nearly out of food and water - another day and she'd have to leave the isle, even if it meant leaving the treasure behind. She sighed an slipped into the shorts and tied on the bikini top that she'd found in a small pack. *Anna must be wondering where the hell I am.* Maria paused her morning ablutions, irritated at the intruding thought. *Anna? Who's Anna?* More and more frequently the foreign memories were intruding on her mind. Billy Morgan was becoming harder to hold onto with each passing day. His memories persisted, but they became less relevant as her new identity began to assert itself more firmly. "Ahoy! Maria! Do you hear me? I'm coming ashore! Patty sent me! He said you might need a lift!" "Mierda! Somebody eez after my gold!" Maria snatched the pistol from under her pillow and bolted out of the tent before the fact that the voice had used her name could register on her sleep-fogged mind. The rosy light of dawn revealed a handsome blonde man stepping out of a small boat onto the beach. *Madre de Dios! He is absolutely gorgeous!* There was an unexpected warmth between her thighs. She shook her head violently. *What am I thinking! I like women! Not men! Women!* She raised her pistol as he stepped forward. "Stop, meester, whoever you are. I have a gun and I'm not afraid to use eet." The man came to a halt and raised his hands. "What do you want?" "Maria - Billy, a small red-headed fellow by the name of Patty O'Toole said you might be in trouble. He asked me to stop by and offer you and some property of yours a lift back to Miami. My name's Alain." God was this chick ever hot! Alain couldn't take his eyes off of her. To hell with the wish, he'd have PAID Patty to do this favor if he had known how beautiful she was. "Pattee O'Toole?" Her eyes hardened. "Ese bastardo! He eez the reason I'm like this in the first place. Him and heez damn weesh. Eef he was here I'd tear heem to pieces." She spat on the sand. Alain was surprised by her vehemence. "Um, he said you might be a little irritated with him. He told me to tell you that he did NOT steal any of your gold. He said to tell you it was used up to power the magic of your wish." Maria swore fiercely and kicked at the sand. "And what else did the leetul bugger tell you to tell me?" "Uhm, he gave me a letter for you. He said to give it to you when I thought you had calmed down enough to take it seriously." "Leyalo! Read eet!" "Are you sure? It could be rather personal. And could you quit waving that damn gun in my face? I know about your gold, and I'm already rich. I'm here as a favor to Patty, not to steal your money." Maria cocked the pistol. "Read eet!" "Alright already!" Alain slowly drew a green envelope from his shirt pocket and tore it open. He scanned the first few lines of the note written in gold ink and began. "Dear William, I know you must be feeling angry and confused about now, and you may not believe me, but this is none of my doing. I tried to warn you about the potential consequences of your wish, but you didn't listen. Fairy magic is a wild thing, and while I can control it, when you made such a broad wish, I had no idea as to the best way to be granting it. So I chose instead to act merely as a conduit for the magic, and let it decide as was best. It decided to make you into Maria, because that was the surest way to make your claim to the treasure solid. I had no way of predicting what would happen until after the fact, but now I'm knowing a few things about who you have become. I'm sorry laddie, but Billy Morgan is not and was never a descendant of Jean Laffitte. The "Jean" your grandmother told you about was Jean Francois Galliere, first mate on one of Laffitte's ships at the time. If it's of any comfort to you at all, you are his only living descendant. He was killed in the naval battle outside New Orleans during the 1812 war. Maria Fernandez is another story. You see, Maria Fernandez *is* a direct-line descendant of Jean Laffitte himself. When the American Navy kicked Laffitte out of what is now Galveston, he settled on a small island off the coast of Mexico. There he got a native girl with child. That child was your great-great grandfather. There was a real Maria Fernandez once, the daughter of Manuel and Anna Fernandez, but her cord tangled around her throat at birth and she died. Magic always takes the easiest path, and since there was once a real child, it decided to make you "Maria." What the magic did was to make you a changeling of sorts. It changed you into what she would have become had she lived. Then it altered the memories of everyone involved so that they remembered that you did not die, but suddenly began breathing again. The midwife and your mother took it as a miracle from God when you opened your mouth and screamed your existance to the room. From the time of your "birth" until about 7 years ago, your family lived there on that island and everyone remembers you growing up there with them. You went to the Catholic mission school there, and it's the birth records at that same Catholic church that undeniably traces your lineage all the way back to Laffitte. Your mother, Anna, delighted in having a daughter, and taught you how to cook, how to sew, and how to dance. Boy did she teach you how to dance. You took to it like you were born for it, and all the boys from miles around gathered when you began swaying to the music. But seven years ago, "your" family was killed in a hurricane and you were adopted by an American Red Cross worker also named Anna - Anna King. This Anna found you pinned beneath a tree and rescued you. She fell in love with you and when no relative came forward to claim you she took you back home to Dallas with her. For the last seven years you've been living with her and just finished high school two years ago. Right now, your body is nineteen years old, and you've been working as an exotic dancer in several small clubs in Dallas. You've picked up quite a reputation as "The Pirate Queen." It's your dancing costume you're probably still wearing now, unless you found something else. You chose the costume based upon the stories your father told you as a child. Anna doesn't like it much, but you were always a stubborn child. You are no doubt coming to realize some of this yourself. A few months ago, one of your deceased father's closest friends sent you Laffitte's diary. It had been passed down in your family for years and he thought you should have it. You can guess the rest of it, and I'm sure you'll remember all of it in time. I'm sorry, but your old life as Billy Morgan is finished. He no longer exists except as a few scattered records that will be quickly forgotten. No one remembers him except for you and for me. I'd change that if I could, but I can't. Wishes simply cannot be taken back except by new wishes of equal power, and I'm not inclined to be acting as the focus of such forces again any time soon. You could become someone else with another, lesser wish, but then you would lose your treasure, the reason this all happened in the first place, and I don't believe you want to be doing that. Now as to what happened to some of your gold: Your wish was a powerful thing. It went back in time and actually altered reality to a small degree. It used up a tremendous amount of power, and when a leprechaun is the carrier of that power it must come from gold. Normally me own power is sufficient to achieve the task - I have quite a bit of fairy gold, and every bit adds to me power, but in this case it was not enough. Me own gold is never used up, but that extra power had to come from somewhere, lass. And all that shiny yellow gold was sitting right there next to you. So the magic converted some of it into the energy it needed to complete your wish. That's where your gold went, lass. I'm no thief. That's about it for the explanations. I was feeling a mite guilty because I was starting to like you, and you did something for me that no wish of mine could ever really repay. So I looked up an old friend and asked him to help you out. His name's Alain. He can really help you out if you let him. He can even understand somewhat what you're going through. But that's his own story to tell, if he chooses. I wish you well, Maria, and I hope that one day you can see fit in your heart to forgive me for the wrong you feel I've done you. Sincerely, Patty O'Toole" Alain finished the letter and held it quietly, watching the girl. Maria began to shake with suppressed sobs and the pistol fell from her hand. Her mouth moved in soundless attempts to speak and then she fell into his arms, weeping loudly and clutching him with desperate strength. He tried his best to comfort her, stroking her raven hair and murmuring those meaningless calming words in a soothing voice. Eventually she quieted, the storm of tears passed, and she looked up at his face. "What deed he mean? How can you understand what I'm going through?" "I can understand, because I've been there," he said brushing away her tears with a gentle thumb. "Because I was once a woman named Elaine who had just lost her family and wanted to be somebody, anybody else." "And are you happy being Alain?" "Oh, yes. The only thing that would make me even consider going back to Elaine would be if it would bring my family back, but that's impossible." His eyes were distant and sad. Maria felt she could lose herself in those eyes. She hugged him tightly one more time and then stepped away. "Alain ... Alain would you help me? Would you be my friend?" Alain's heart leaped in his chest. "I'd love to help you. And I'd love to be your friend, for as long as you want me." Her tremulous smile brightened the dawn. *I don't believe it. I've only just met the girl and already I'm falling in love.* Maria swiped at her face then took Alain's hand. "Come on, we've got a lot of work to do." They spent the rest of the day bagging the coins and cleaning up the site. They spoke constantly, sharing their stories and their dreams. Occasionally Maria even giggled, especially when she heard about Patty's car trip. They drew closer together that day, and by the end of it they truly were friends. The next morning, they ferried all the bags of gold and the empty chest out to the "Second Chance" and stowed them securely in the hold. Alain started making ready to cast off, but Maria stopped him. "Wait, there eez one more thing that I have to do. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it." She made a solo trip back to the island and brought back a bundle of something wrapped in canvas. Alain helped her load it and looked at her curiously. "You weel see. Now we can go. Head out into deep water. I need to fetch something from below." Alain shrugged and pulled in the anchors. An hour later, they were past the continental shelf and into the Atlantic. Maria had him reef the sails and they drifted, the warm water lapping at the hull. Maria motioned Alain over and opened the canvas bundle. Alain gasped in horror. "Did you kill somebody over that treasure?" he demanded. "No." She smiled sadly. "These are the remains of the seamen who buried that treasure. I think Laffitte had theem keelt. I vowed to myself that I would see that they got a proper burial, and I keep all of my promises." She removed a roll of tape and six golden coins from a small bag at her feet. To each skull she attached a single coin, at the roof of the mouth, then she and Alain reverently retied the canvas shroud and carried it to the rail. There Maria began to speak. "I have no idea who these men were or what they were like, but they were sailors. They rested uneasily on dry land for over a century and a half. Now it eez time for them to go home. The Sea eez a sailor's madre and his mistress, and whenever he eez long from her he pines to return. So, today we return these wayward hombres to her embrace, and pray that God will have mercy on their souls. Vaya con Dios." They tipped the bundle over the side and it quickly sank as Maria began to sing. The sweet notes of "Amazing Grace" soared out above the endless waves, and Maria's heart soared with them. Not only had she buried the bones of those men, but it seemed to her that she had buried much of her pain as well. She was alive. She was sure that there would be hard times ahead, but she was determined to ride them through. Billy Morgan may have been no more, but wh