The children stared with rapt attention at the old man on the bench. Their island rarely received visitors, and of the few that made the journey Captain Brakish was their favorite. He’d sailed all over the world, and seen more than anyone they knew. And as long as they brought some coins for drinks, he’d always have a tale or two to tell them.
The captain gulped a mouthful of the children’s latest offering, slamming the tankard down once he was finished. “Alright me little swabbies!” he roared, wiping spilled beer from his graying beard with the back of his hand. “You’ve quenched a captain’s thirst, and no mistake. So which tale will ye be askin’ for today? Will it be the time I caught the kraken? Or my years spent with the sea folk? Or perhaps ye’d like to hear of the metal ruins to the north?”
The children all began to scream at once, competing for their favorite story. “The kraken!” cried a small girl, holding a doll of twisted kelp. “The sunken city!” said another. “The floating islands!” yelled a third. Then a young boy in the back raised his voice above the others. “The Sea of Rengeti!” he insisted, jumping up and down to be seen.
“Ah!” exclaimed the captain. “Now there’s a tale worth the telling!” He gave a meaningful look at his empty tankard, licking his quickly-drying lips. “Of course, stories like that are thirsty work. And I’m just a poor sailor, making my way in the world…”
Grumbling, the children pooled their pocket change and handed it forward. The captain beamed behind his beard, and raised his wooden tankard at the island’s only barkeep. “Another round, if ye would! The kiddies are especially kind today.”
“Especially gullible, you mean,” muttered the bartender under his breath. But he began pouring a new drink just the same. The old man’s stories were harmless enough, as long as the kids didn’t take them too seriously. And the monthly supplies that Brakish brought the island were more than worth the occasional drunken fish tale.
At the far side of the tent, the captain had begun to speak. The children were seated in a half-circle on the earthen floor around him, miraculously silent as they drank in every word. “First,” began the captain, “ye must remember that the whole world was not always made of water. Why, before the great floods came and swept the ancients out to sea, almost a quarter of the world was still covered in dry land!”
Some of the younger children gasped, but the elders rolled their eyes. They’d learned this during lessons with boring old Mr. Fenthik. But they knew better than to interrupt the captain at his tales.
“Yes,” continued Brakish, warming up to his story, “a thousand years ago a man could live his whole life never once sighting the sea. And the driest places--known as deserts--could even cook you in a day!” He snapped his fingers, showing just how quickly they would burn up in the heat. “But there was one place that was famous for its deadly wild creatures. Where only the bravest and most cunning of explorers could survive. And the ancients called it…” Here he paused for effect, leaning in to deliver the name in a dramatic whisper. “The Sea of Rengeti!”
The children “ooh”-ed appreciatively, knowing the part they were to play. And on cue, one of the youngest girls asked the obvious next question. “Mister Brakish,” she said timidly, eyes wide with hero-worship, “did you ever go sailing to the Sea of Rengeti?”
The captain chuckled in response, ruffling the little girl’s hair. “Wouldn’t be much of a story if I hadn’t, now would it lass?” He nodded, leaning back against the table. “Aye, I found the Rengeti. Wasn’t easy, mind! All the maps from the old days became useless after the floods. But I followed rumors, and tails of monsters, and gathered stories along the way. And eventually the trail led me far into the east, to a warm expanse of waters that the ancients once called ‘Africa.’”
(Will have to continue after work. There's a sea lion, I promise!)