Penguins don't melt.

A Matter of Treasure

     THE CAPTAIN OF THE LADY LUCIA was a cruel leader, and with good reason. There was no other way to keep the crew under control. Back in his home country of Italy, Captain Marco Moretti had an enjoyable time swindling money and other goods from any wealthy persons he met. Hopping from town to town with bumbling authorities on his trail gave such delight that it made him shiver to think of it.
     His last escapade had rewarded him with this lovely ship. Indeed, it was a fine vessel and came with a locked chest full of wonderful treasures—and he had the key. Who could ask for more?

     THE SHIP’S COOK, A WEEDY MAN with a wooden ladle strapped to his belt, stood in the galley. He narrowed his eyes as Captain Marco sauntered by. “Man isn’t fit ter be cap’n a’tol. An’ why does he get t’ treasure?” the chef muttered to himself.
     “Belay that talk, bucko,” commanded the first mate. Giovanni Rossi stepped into the cookhouse, catching his friend off guard. “If the captain heard you, there would be a tough punishment in store.”
     “Arg, I’d be a better cap’n,” he mumbled.
     Giovanni shook his head and sighed. “Use your deadlights, Luca Greco! Many a sailor upon this here ship thinks himself worthy to be captain. Just look around you: Luigi, Salvadore, even Matteo Bianchi knows that Moretti has no right to the title ‘captain’ and no right to the treasure.”
     “An’ wat ‘bout you?”
     Giovanni’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he grinned and answered, “I know how to rid the Lady Lucia of Marco Moretti, for good. I only need a few good men to join the plan. Are you in?”
     “Blimey! I ‘ad no ide’r a plan be in t’ works. ‘Course I’m in, matey.”

     MEANWHILE, IN HIS CABIN, MARCO LEANED back in his chair and propped his feet on the map-covered table, sighing. There had been no sighting of a sail nor any sign of land for days now. Plus the crew’s increasing anxiety was getting to him. The treasure that he’d found aboard no longer held any attraction. Marco was getting bored.
     The hands had frequently complained to him, and some shifty looks had been thrown about. Also, Marco intercepted a whispered message that told of a secret meeting being held below deck. He was naturally suspicious, so he sent his second-in-command to investigate. Giovanni was truehearted and would surely give an honest report.

     “AVAST! IS THAT YOU, BARTOLO?” ASKED young Salvadore Arrigo, a cabin boy aboard the vessel. He lifted the tallow candle he held to illuminate the man’s face.
     “No, no, tis Luigi, and Matteo with me.”
     As the two old coats entered the room, Salvadore admitted, “I’m scared. What would the cap’n say if’n he knew that we…if’n he knew the plan?”
     “Now, lad, ya can’t worry ‘bout such things. ‘Specially since Moretti won’t be ‘round much longer,” Luigi chuckled menacingly.
     The aged sailor Matteo Bianchi placed his hand over Luigi’s mouth to muffle his laughter. “Don’t celebrate before the deed is done, friend. T’isn’t wise.”
     Luigi snickered a bit longer, and then assumed a serious expression. “Aw, yer right. When can we get this over wit’?”
     “Soon as Giovanni and Bartolo arrive, I reckon,” Salvadore reasoned. He looked into the darkness outside of the meeting room. “I wonder what’s holding them.”

     OUTSIDE THE CAPTAIN’S CABIN, BARTOLO HELD his breath as the ship boards creaked under his weight. He was sweating nervously and could scarcely hold his cutlass still. He wiped his brow on his sleeve and whispered, “C’mon, you can do it, you coward.” The thought of the treasure within the room lent him courage.
     He flattened himself against the door and slowly eased it open. A rank smell escaped from the darkened chamber. The scent made Bartolo cough, but he wrinkled his nose and entered anyway.
     Captain Moretti dozed, his mouth slightly agape. Delighted at his fortune, Bartolo leaped forward with a cry of glee: “Aiyeee!” He stumbled and fell into the captain’s chair. It toppled over and Marco flopped onto the ground with a thud.
     Trying to complete his mission, Bartolo raised the knife only to have it plucked from his grasp. Marco stood over him, teeth barred and eyes twitching in anger. “You insolent fool! How dare you draw blade against your captain?!”

     GIOVANNI ENTERED THE ROOM WHERE HIS fellow conspirators waited. They all shared a common bond of hatred for the captain that had been forced upon them. Now they were to engage together in the eradication of this cruel master; Giovanni trusted that his plan would be carried out. The promise of treasure split among them would ensure this.
     “Are you prepared for the action we must take?” he asked.
     Each sailor nodded in agreement. Matteo spoke for them all: “An awful day it was when Marco Moretti boarded our ship. He murdered our beloved captain and took the best plunder for himself. We want no part of this man. Let us be rid of him once and for all.”
     “Well spoken,” said Giovanni. “Then we all know what we must do. But, tell me…where is Bartolo? He shared our sentiments. Does he shirk his duty?”
     At that very moment, they heard the crash of a wooden object. A muffled yelling rang in the nighttime air. The noise came from the captain’s chambers. Salvadore dashed out to investigate; the others followed.

     THE WHOLE CREW GATHERED ON THE deck, surrounding Bartolo who lay chained and gagged. Captain Moretti addressed the corsairs. “This boy, this foolish child, thought he could catch me unaware. He hoped to slay me in my sleep and therefore gain the treasure for himself. But he was mistaken in thinking that I would be caught unmindful and unsuspecting of such an underhanded plan.” Marco began to rave madly, “I am Captain! I know all! Do not think that I can be tricked, manipulated, or overthrown. Faithless men will be treated according to their folly. Men who are loyal and have earned my trust, men such as Giovanni Rossi and Matteo Bianchi, they shall be rewarded for their service to me. To follow me is the only profitable choice.” He grinned triumphantly and delivered a swift kick to Bartolo’s side.
     Giovanni stepped up to the captain and whispered something in his ear. Marco looked puzzled. He gave his first mate a questioning look but continued, “Now, as I was saying—oof!”
     A belaying pin (a wooden bar to which a rope can be secured) smacked Moretti on the back of the head. He collapsed to the ground, darkness enveloping his mind.
     “Well, mates, t’at be simple,” said Luca. “Wat’ll we do now?”

     TWINKLING LIGHTS OBSCURED MARCO’S VISION AND he blinked to clear his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked, noting that his hands were bound. His sight cleared and he could discern his crew surrounding him with blades drawn. “Matteo, Luigi, Luca? Salvadore, Giovanni, what’s happening? Sink me! Why am I restrained?”
     “Well, well, Marco Moretti. You are charged with murder, theft, and cruelty against those who sail the Lady Lucia,” explained Luigi. “Our court has determined that you will be punished. It’s either a taste of the cat, to be clapped in irons, or a swim with the fishies. Which’ll it be?”
     “I don’t understand…” Marco replied, though it was becoming clear to him. The crew thought they could mutiny. They thought they deserved the treasure that rightfully belonged to him. They were sorely mistaken. This vessel needed him, this crew needed him, and he alone held the key to the treasure.
     Marco weighed the choices in his head. He was an excellent swimmer and was confident that land was just beyond the horizon. Yes, walking the plank seemed like the best plan.
     “Have you made your choice?” asked Salvadore.
     Nodding, Moretti spoke, “Indeed, the plank’s for me, buckos!”

     A LOUD CHEER AROSE FROM THE men aboard the Lady Lucia as Moretti jumped off the side of the ship. They quietly watched the blue Mediterranean for signs of life. “Marco’s gone to Davey Jones’ Locker,” said Matteo, breaking the silence. “‘S time to claim what belongs to us.”
     Singing a sea shanty and with a spring in their steps, the plotters hurried to the captain’s cabin. “Yo-ho-ho!” they shouted as Salvadore lifted the lovely treasure chest onto the table. It sparkled in the low lighting and the men grinned at each other in delight. They would finally receive the reward that they deserved.
     “Gi’anni, the honor’s yers. Open t’ chest,” insisted Luca.
     Trembling with excitement, Giovanni reached for the clasp that held the trunk shut. His eyes opened wide and his face portrayed the horror he felt inside. “We can’t open it. Marco Moretti has the key!”