The Call of Krawk Island

      “You okay there, matey?” came a gravelly voice. James turned his head, looking up into the hairy, Blue face of a Blumaroo. The Blumaroo frowned at him from beneath eyebrows so thick James had to squint to see if there were eyes under there at all. The face cracked into a mocking smile, revealing several gold teeth. “Be it yer ship went down? Or were you just out for an early morning swim?”

      James pushed himself to his feet groggily, feeling the wet sand slide around beneath his paws. He wiped a clod of sand from his tongue.

      “Where am I?” He looked around, peering past the Blumaroo and up the beach to where ramshackle buildings dotted the treeline. The Blumaroo let out a guffaw.

      “Where are yer? WHERE ARE YER?! Bless me doubloons, lad, if you haven’t been washed up at Krawk Island!” His beard danced around as he laughed. “Yer really have been out in the salt too long. M’ name’s Dan! What d’ they call yer?” The Blumaroo held out a hand.

      “Err… They call me James.“ James wasn’t too sure he liked Dan. For one thing, his head was pounding and his body ached all over as though he’d been in a fight with the giant squid itself, but Dan clearly wasn’t the type to offer any sympathy. He leant forward to shake the blue hand anyway. The Blumaroo had a firm grip. He also had a sword on his hip. James wasn’t sure he liked that either.

     “James!” Dan smiled a crafty smile and brought his other hand around to clap James on the back, then began to guide him up the beach towards the shanty town. “You fancy tellin’ old Dan what brings you to our… pleasant shores?”

      “We were… on our way from Mystery Island... Had a shipment of evil coconuts for the Haunted Forest.” James waved a paw vaguely, scrunching his eyes shut as he struggled to remember how he’d ended up lying prone on the sand. “We got turned around in the storm and the ship was stranded somewhere… where the ground…” His feet met the cobble paving as they left the sandy beach and his knees jarred at the distinct lack of… bounce. “The ground…” his voice broke off in a wheeze.

      “Don’ worry there lad,” Dan gave a chortle and tipped his head in the direction of the nearest building, “A couple flagons o’ grog and you’ll be singing like a Weewoo.” Sound rolled over them both as Dan pushed open the sea-weathered doors of the tavern. James winced at the raucous chatter. Even at midday, the place was packed to the rafters with merry customers, the majority of whom seemed to be sporting a rugged eyepatch or splintered peg leg. The floor managed to be both sticky and slick with sand which made ducking and diving around the patrons to get to the bar no easy feat. When they finally reached the dishevelled Lupe at the counter he looked them up and down with distaste. Dan casually tossed a pair of heavy coins onto the bar.

      “Welcome!” The Lupe’s demeanor changed at once, a broad toothy smile replacing his scowl, “to the Golden Dubloon! What’ll it be?”

      “Krakuberry Grog, and keep ‘em coming, this’un here has a swashbuckling story to tell!’ At this, several of the nearer patrons seemed to lean in. An older Aisha with a peg leg even pulled up a barrel to sit on James’ other side. James smiled nervously.

      The bartender slapped a couple of overflowing flagons down on the countertop and leaned forward, ears pricked and eyes hungry.

      “Go on then lad, it’s been a while since we had a good story ‘round these parts.”

     James swept up the grog gratefully and took several long swigs, feeling the cool, bitter liquid sooth his aching throat. On any other day, he probably would have disliked the sharp fruitiness, but right then it was the most delicious drink he’d ever tasted. He sat down heavily and only then did he notice the silence that had formed in a little pocket around him. A small crowd had gathered, waiting eagerly for his tale. A crowd of pirates with scarred faces and sharp swords. He took another swig for courage.

      “I was just a swabbie on a merchant ship. We came ashore somewhere…” he pulled at his collar, realising his shirt had been torn in several places. “Somewhere wonderful. The air was sweet and the ground bounced wherever you set your feet. The hills, the rivers, even the buildings were good enough to eat!” He was salivating at the thought. “And we did. The crew and I… we were so hungry. We tasted every flavour we could find; juicy strawberry trees, banana fountains, even Purplum and Queela buildings. We never tasted anything so good! But the inhabitants didn’t like it. How were we supposed to know they actually lived in those tasty buildings?!” James heard his voice becoming shrill, “We were chased out by a furious mob! Some of us tried to escape in a rowboat left by the river but as soon as we sailed it out to sea the boat sort of… dissolved…”

      There was a chuckle in the crowd and he was shaken from his harrowing recollection. James looked up at the crowd. Some seemed to be holding their breath, others were looking at him warily as though he were a few Neggs short of a basket and the rest, well the rest were starting to snicker.

      Dan gave him a nudge, clearly feeling judged for his choice of the storyteller. “Well lad?” he urged, “Where were yer? What was this ‘ere, ‘edible’ sorta place?” Someone stifled a laugh.

      “Where…” James felt his cheeks growing hot, he knew it sounded insane, “Well I couldn’t exactly point you there on a map but I believe… I believe we were in Jelly World.”

      There was a deafening silence, as though the whole of the Golden Dubloon had been listening to his story. A shriek of laughter broke the silence and all at once the throng around him erupted into wild cackles and mocking laughter. Drinks splashed and feet stamped until it seemed even the building itself was laughing at him. James jumped to his feet, clutching his Krakuberry Grog tightly.

      “I know how it sounds, but it’s true! I was just there, I-” but his voice was drowned out by another wave of mirth.

      “A world… made of jelly!” The Aisha beside him barked with laughter as he pounded his fist on the counter. “As if such a place could exist!”

      “Buildings that wibble-wobble!” A Tonu in a bandana cried, nudging a friend and shaking his Squid on a Stick for added effect. “Trees you can eat!”

      “Did it rain jelly there an’ all, boy?!” The Lupe behind the counter joined in, leaning over to swipe an empty glass out of harm’s way as the crowd rolled with laughter.

      “Well actually, it did.” James seized the question, “It rained in great huge blobs of jelly and if you were hit by a blob you could be stuck inside-” The laughter was growing louder, and his head was swimming. Patrons were clasping each other’s shoulders, giggling so hard their eyes watered. He had to get out of here. The crowd parted for him as he stumbled towards them, eyes searching for the door through the sea of mocking faces.

      “Grog’s on me, lad!” he heard Dan call, “Been a long time since I laughed so hard!”

      James swung through the doors, lost his footing and stumbled face-first onto the sandy cobbles. He breathed heavily, wiping tears from his eyes as he got to his feet and charged off into the street. How could they laugh at him like that? The rest of his crew were still out there! If nobody believed him, how could he ever get back to them? He reached out to a passing Kougra.

      “Do you know about Jelly World?” he asked desperately.

      “Have you had too much grog?” she batted him away good-humouredly, but he felt panic rise in his chest. He swung round to a Mutant Bori, carrying wood towards the docks.

      “You know about Jelly World, right?” his voice broke, “You must have heard of it?” The Bori knocked him away, muttering about tourists playing one too many games of Dubloon Disaster. James carried on down the street, pleading with the townsfolk for anyone who might have heard of the legendary land, but to no avail. He had just settled down onto his haunches to cry in a side alley when there was a low ‘pssst’ from the darkness. He didn’t look up, not ready to face more mocking or bewildered faces.

      “Yer be wantin’ to speak with ol’ One-Eye.” hissed the voice, and James was startled by its sincerity. He looked up, blinking tears from his eyes. Deep in the shadows of the alleyway he could just make out the outline of a tall Ogrin. “Crazy ol’ fool has made more‘n a few wild claims in his time. One-Eye knows a thing or dozen ‘bowt… mysterious places. Ye be wantin’ Smugglers’ Cove, lad.” With that, the Ogrin’s silhouette sunk back into the shadows.

      The sun was teasing the horizon by the time James arrived at the cove, the sky painted a glorious Ummagine-purple. He took great heavy steps towards the cave, following a map drawn up for him by a tutting deckhand. His Green pelt prickled at the back of his neck. Ever since leaving the bustle of the Warf Wharf, he’d had the feeling he was being watched but the tree cover had been too dense and shadowy to make anyone out. With a last nervous glance at the clifftop, he stepped into the cove.

      “Business?” A gravelly voice demanded at once and James spun to see the gnarled Grey face of a Krawk lit by dim lamp-light. He wore a black scarf across his brow and a dark eyepatch hugged his left eye. James wondered how you went about getting a name like ‘One-Eye’ on an island full of one-eyed pirates, but he held his tongue. The Krawk looked him up and down, a toothy grin spreading over his face. “Yer the jelly lad.” He nodded in recognition. “Word spreads like butter on this island.”

      “It’s James, actually.”

      “Mind if I call yer ‘Jam’?” The Krawk chuckled to himself, but there was no mockery in it. “Jam, the lads and ladies at the Dubloon… they don’t be knowing much about much.” his lip twitched in a sneer. “They been mocking ol’ One-Eye fer too long but we’ll show ‘em, lad. We’ll show the lot of ‘em.”

      James brightened. “So you believe me?”

      “Believe yer, lad? I been there. I seen the Giant Jelly with me own eyes.. Err… eye. What I wouldn’t do for another bite o’ glorious Fish Jelly.”

      It wasn’t exactly the flavour James would have chosen, but he could hardly afford to be picky with crewmates right now. One-Eye produced a map with a flourish, pointing out the location he believed they were most likely to find the fabled gelatinous land.

      “Won’t we need a ship?” James asked as One-Eye dug through boxes looking for supplies.

      “Arr that we do,” One-Eye beamed, “We’ll take me pride an’ joy, the Little Skipper. That be her mast flyin’ the Krawk n’ crossbones flag in the bay. Think yer be up to it?”

      “Yes! Oh, I mean.. Yarrr!” James tried. The Krawk rolled his eye and passed over a sack of heavy doubloons and a list in scrawled handwriting.

      “Thass the spirit, lad. Now take these and go get our supplies. I’ll meet yer back here in an hour, we need te plan our voyage so’s ter catch the tide in the mornin’. An’ one more thing lad, when ye get to town, don’t be runnin’ yer mouth about our destination...” He looked away, a shadow falling over his scarred face. “Yer might’ve already said too much.”

      James had little trouble procuring the supplies at the Wharf, built as it was around sailing and piracy, but every now and then he felt that familiar prickle at his neck. The feeling of being watched. He shook the feeling off as he gathered the last item on the list, a large bottle of Scurvy-B-Gone. These pirates and their superstitions. With everything secured in backpacks, he felt like a real pack-Gnorbu, but he gritted his teeth and made his way back towards the coast. It had taken him a little over an hour to gather everything and with hope renewed that he might find his way back home, he strode up the beach towards the cove.

      “This is everything!” he called out as he dropped the heavy bags down at the entrance, sending up little plumes of sand. James looked around expectantly. There was no reply. Looking again, he noticed that many of the boxes that One-Eye had been sorting through had been overturned, their contents strewn across the sand. He stepped gingerly into the darkness. The lamps around the cave had been extinguished. “One-Eye?” his voice echoed back to him off the damp stone walls, whispering back mockingly. Perhaps One-Eye had gone out to find something and would be back shortly…

      James waited.

      He waited some more.

      He waited until the last dregs of light had died away and a fat white moon hung low in the sky. The Wocky shifted his aching body in the sand and shivered. When had it gotten so cold? The lapping of the tide had grown closer. He rose stiffly to his feet, pulling a satchel of rations up over his shoulder as he did, and made his way out of the cove and back along the beach. Maybe he could find a room for the night.

      As he looked up at the moon hanging over the ocean and listened to the waves whispering sweet nothings to the shore, he could almost believe he had imagined a world made of jelly. There was no way such a place could exist. Maybe he had hit his head on a rock or something as he’d washed up on the beach. He rubbed his forehead where his headache lingered. In the distance, he could hear the raucous sounds in the town, still awake despite the hour. Maybe he’d even imagined One-Eye. Or maybe the old Krawk had been making fun of him, just as the crowd in the Golden Dubloon had. He hung his head and watched the ground pass by all the way back towards town.

      And so he didn’t see the mast of the Little Skipper, its merry flag waving desperately in the wind as it disappeared beneath the cold water of the bay.

      Nor did he see the dark shadow looming towards him through the trees.

      The fur at the back of his neck prickled.

          The End.