The Judas Goat Episode 3: A Bag of Swollen Plums

This is the last episode I can post in its entirety, but there are plenty more episodes available here: The Judas Goat on Amazon’s Kindle Vella

Episode 3: A Bag of Swollen Plums

The three friends dropped their charade the instant the Spanish ship’s gloomy interior hid them from Captain Wright’s view.

“Dibs on the flask,” Trevor called, shoving Dave and Noah aside so he could enter the crew quarters first.

Dave grunted as he hit the bulkhead. Trevor was built for blacksmithing, not narrow passageways, and had the temperament to boot. Every challenge he faced received the same application of brute force.

“Better share if you wanna see boobs, ya fuckin’ ox,” Noah grumped, rubbing his shoulder. After seven months of nothing but weak beer, it was the only threat that might prevent Trevor from downing the whole flask himself.

 Dave got to his feet as Noah clumped off in search of nudie pictures, loudly cursing each time he blundered into something in the darkness. Dave thought to warn him to let his eyes adjust first but didn’t waste his breath.

Leaning against the entrance to the galley, Dave closed his eyes and wondered how many eggs he could fit into his little pouch—six, maybe eight if he hunched over and faked a stomach ache as he hobbled past Captain Wright—and then shook his head.

Dad goes off, earns a fortune for Mom, and dies a hero beloved for saving his ship. Best I can hope for is swiping two extra eggs, he thought bitterly.

“Fucking hell. Dad must be cryin’ tears of pride,” Dave muttered.

Opening his eyes, Dave found them well adjusted enough to avoid banging his knee, which he could feel swelling quite clearly now, into anything and started limping toward the livestock pens.

As he reached the second storeroom, the sounds of rustling and the low murmur of a secretive voice came through the closed door.

Dave froze. His heart thudded against his ribs as the scene behind the door burst into his head. The rustling, and the speaker’s earnestly obvious attempts to avoid being overheard, could only mean one thing; two men were hiding something—and it sure as fuck wasn’t eggs.

Dave fought back a nervous cough as his mouth suddenly went dry. Ransacking empty berthing spaces was one thing. Fighting real live men was another, and whoever was behind this door was unlikely to just give up whatever they were hiding.

Maybe I should get Trevor and Noah, he thought, prudently easing away from the door to gather reinforcements until the voice of caution in his head got stuffed in a locker.

In its stead came the derisive, impetuous voice Dave had never been able to resist.

Did Dad wait? Did Dad get all whiny when his moment of destiny arrived? No! He grabbed his sword and lept into legend. Everything you’ve ever wanted is right behind that door—fame, fortune, the keys to Chastity’s heart. Now, sack up and take it! 

Make Dad proud, Dave thought, recalling the first mate’s words as he reached for the handle. 

He disengaged the latch carefully. When it didn’t creak, Dave took one last breath and burst into the storeroom as an ungodly shriek of pain erupted from inside.

“Aaarrrgggh! No teeth!!”

Dave looked toward the voice and squealed as the brilliant sunlight pouring through Gunner Short’s ragged hole scorched his eyes. Eyes scrunched shut, Dave jabbed blindly into the room and drew a sharp rebuke from the deep, and somehow goaty, voice.

“He-e-e-y! Watch it dickhead!” 

It didn’t sound very Spanish, so Dave stopped poking around and moved so he wasn’t staring right into the light. Then he opened his eyes—and dropped his sword to the deck with a dull thud.

“What the?” Dave started, staring at the creature huddling in the corner. From the waist up it looked like a regular, albeit hairy, man with curly horns. The waist down was all goat.

“Wouldn’t drop my sword if I were you. Dulcinea is in a bit of a mood,” Pan grunted, nodding toward a perturbed looking nanny goat eyeing them from her corner. 

When Dave didn’t respond, Pan straightened up gingerly.

“Ow ow ow,” Pan said,  grimacing as he pressed both hands into his crotch. After a moment, he got to the point where he could walk and clomped on cloven hooves toward Dave—who backed up until he could go no further. 

“I can’t look. You gotta do it,” he pleaded, turning his head away as he removed his hands.

NO! Don’t look! Dave thought, a split second too late.

There are some things that, once seen, can never be unseen, but a goat-bitten scrotum dangling like a bag of overripe plums pretty much takes the cake.

“What the hell!” Dave shouted, pressing himself away from the pulsing mess hard enough to make the solid timbers behind him creak.

“Just tell me its still there—no wait, don’t tell me. Just kill me if its not—no, wait, that won’t work. Gimme your sword. I’ll get it back myself,” Pan bleated, casting an angry glare at an unrepentant Dulcinea.

“It’s er-fine, I guess,” Dave said quickly. “It’s all purply and knobby and big and—just put it away, okay?”

Pan glanced down at himself.

“Oh, that’s all normal. Whew!” he sighed, wiping the narrow patch of brow between his twisting horns. Then he jumped back as he remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

“Shit—you’re him. Damnit! Not supposed to see me—don’t tell anyone. We were just talking, you know? I was just, uh, pushing her away from that hole in the hull so she wouldn’t fall out, see? You didn’t hear that part about “Just the tip,” right? That was jokes, just jokes,” he bleated, a nervous little quiver in his voice.

But Dave was too flummoxed to notice.

“Whatwhohuh?” he stuttered as all the questions in his head tried to burst out at once.

Pan took that as a solemn promise to never tell another soul and breathed a sigh of relief. Eyeing Dave, he gave Dulcinea a wide berth as he clomped over to the hen coop.

“Spitting image of your father you are. Old Twelve-Pound Harry will be mighty happy to know you’ve grown up.”

Dave, his mind spinning dangerously out of control, lunged like a drowning man after a life ring for the one coherent thought in his head.

“…will be happy? Dad’s been dead near fifteen years?”

Pan waved the question away like a gnat. Instead of answering, he turned to retrieve a reddish box about the size of a bible from behind one of the hens.

“Not important. Now this—“ he handed the wooden box to Dave, “—this is important.”

Dave took the box like a man in a trance. This was some weird shit, and it was only getting weirder.

“What is it?” he asked, not certain he wanted to know the answer.

Pan gave him a smile.

“The gateway to what you seek,” he answered. 

Before Dave could press him further, heavy boots slammed into the deck above their heads.

“Alright men! Get the cargo transferred quickly. Oil and farm tools first, then get the fabrics and frilly stuff. Double demerits for anyone trying to help themselves to goodies,” Bosun Livingston boomed.

Apparently he’d recovered from his little bout of stomach issues with remarkable speed.

“Welp, time to go,” Pan said as the sounds of grumbling old sailors approached the storeroom.

“What am I seeking? Who are you? Where’s my Dad?” Dave blurted, finally finding his voice now that the strange episode was drawing to a close.

“Better tuck that away if you wanna find out,” Pan said, tapping the box in Dave’s hands. With a final wink for Dulcinea, he spun around and took a diving leap through Gunner Short’s hole out into the brilliant sunlight.  

“Wait!” Dave yelled, rushing forward fast enough that he should have seen the goaty hooves splash into the the ocean. When he looked down, though, all he saw was the unruffled surface of the gently rolling swells.

Blinking hard, Dave pulled back from the gaping hole just before Stubby and Bubby reached the storeroom. Remembering himself, he quickly slid the box into his smuggler’s belt and found it fit perfectly.  

Almost like someone had designed it that way.

“Come on, sonny,” Stubby called, poking his head into the storeroom and spotting Dave. “No time for barnyard follies, we’ve work to do.”

“What? No, it’s not like that—” Dave protested, but Bubby cut him off.

“Dirty business with goats. Now sheep, on the other hand. . .”

Dave, remembering Bubby had been a shepherd before an “incident” sent him running off to sea, couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.

****To read the more of The Judas Goat, click this link: The Judas Goat on Amazon’s Kindle Vella

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