#iocanepowder

The boat lurched from one side to the other in its forever persistent dance atop the ocean. The crew each instinctively shifted their weight from one knee to the other to keep their sea legs, but their focus was turned as one to the door of the upper cabin and the horrible noises coming from within.

The Quartermaster poked his head up from below deck and looked up the long pole up to the top where the Jolly Roger was flying. He then looked around and was perturbed by the lack of what he saw.

“Oy!” He shouted and the group of crewmen by the cabin door looked over and offered their attention. The Quartermaster pulled himself up onto the deck. “What are you lot lookin’ at!? The deck aren’t going to swab itself!”

The pirates looked at each other with wide eyes, before the private nearest the door stepped forward, his hat furled up in his hands in front of his chest. “Sir. It’s the captain again. He’s doing it again sir.”

The Quartermaster’s face turned from one of anger to one of sternness. He stepped forward and made his way up the short flight of stairs to the cabin. He motioned with his hands. “Make way.” The two crew members by the door stepped aside. The Quartermaster turned his head to the door and leaned in. There was a faint panting from behind the door for several moments, and then a loud noise unmistakable to that of a retching on par with someone who’s very organs rejected the body they were inside and attempted bailing.

The Quartermaster knocked on the cabin door. “Captain? I’m coming in.” Without waiting for a response he pushed forward and walked inside the door while it was still just half opened, and quickly closed it behind him when he stepped inside.

The room was small and cramped and dimly lit by candlelight, but it was fit for a king in comparison to the hammocks the crew got down below deck. The Captain, not sitting on the hay mattress, or in the shakely carved table and chair on the side of the wall, but on the wooden floor clutching a bucket, was pasty white with his mouth hanging only slightly half open.

“Ah, welcome Quartermaster.” The Captain pointed one of his black-gloved hands over to the table. The arm dipped and swayed unusually in the air. “Look into the bag there on the table.”

The Quartermaster took his hat off. “Sir, I don’t think that-”

“Smell it.” The Captain interrupted as he clutched his hand back around the bucket, which dripped fluids ever so slightly from the poorly sealed boards that made up the wooden container.

“Cap’n, you’re takin’ too much of this-”

The Captain jabbed a finger through the air in a straight line towards his second in command. “What you do not smell-” he paused for breath, “is iocane powder.”

“Aye Cap’n we know, and I do-”

“It is among-” the captain stopped mid sentence to swallow down some regurgitation. “It is among one of the more deadlier poisons known to man.”

The Quartermaster shook his head and trudged forward, intent on getting a full sentence in. “We know Cap’n. But this can’t be good fer yer health.”

The Captain slammed his fist down against the floorboards. “Damn my health! My true love is betrothed to another, and I must be prepared for absolutely every-” The Captain’s neck lurched forward and caught him mid-sentence, forcing him to turn his face back to the bottom of his bucket in continuation of the bodily purge.

As he was throwing up the Quartermaster continued. “We know Cap’n. The crew were all mighty inspired by yer speech.” He nodded his head in assurance. “We’re goin’ to Florin, we’ll let you go an’ find her. But sir-”

The Captain stuck out a finger and curled it and uncurled it past the Quartermaster’s legs. “Pass the other bucket please Santiago, this one’s full.”

“Captain! The men be losin’ their faith in the Dread Pirate Roberts when he be spendin’ most of his day retchin’ in a bucket in his cabin!” Santiago the quartermaster’s eyes were knit together with concern.

Westley lifted a hand and raised his mask up from the bridge of his nose to his forehead and met Santiago’s gaze directly. “You think I’ve gone soft.”

Santiago shifted his weight. “No Cap’n, it’s just that-”

“Damnit this is important to me! I love her Santiago!” interrupted the Captain.

Santiago lifted his arms from his sides in exasperation. “When in the bloody world is a poison from Australia gonna make any difference!?”

Westley pointed at Santiago again. “Every. Situation. I must be prepared for-” His neck lurched forward again and he pointed towards the bucket against the back wall once more. “Please Santiago, the bucket if you would.” Santiago obliged and gingerly took the vomit filled

bucket from the Captain and exchanged it for the empty one. Westley gratefully took the fresh bucket and spat several times into it. “Have one of the men throw that overboard.”

Santiago put down the bucket. “Please Cap’n, just stop eatin’ the powder.”

Westley stood up shakily, using the furniture in the room as support, staggered, and then pointed a finger with his bucket-free hand. “I will rescue my true love, see if she still loves me, marry her, and build up an immunity to iocane powder and no one can stop me!” In one fast motion he half slumped down half fell back into his position on the floor. “Tell me once we’ve reached the coast.”