BrittleTooth

By Aaron Sharber

This is not your average pirate story. What sounds like the embellishments of a drunken sailor trying to earn some fame is quite true. There were great divine beings made of fire, there was a mechanical man that lost his mind, and there most definitely was a lot of swearing.
Brittlebones, first mate of the Old Salt under his captain Spindletooth, wants to find his missing father. When he was a child, the man vanished from existence, leaving only cryptic notes and coded journals in his wake. Brittle has been on his trail for years already, but hit a dead end. That is, until an old friend hands him the key to it all: they need to find a gemstone, the Eye of Poseidon. Brittle doesn't care much for the stone, but it seems integral to the next step in finding his father. So, he will stop at nothing.
Follow their journey through ancient ruins, clockwork complexes, and other universes entirely as they learn more about the world than they ever wanted to. Will Brittle let himself be roped into a battle between the demonic and the divine, or will he focus on his quest? Will he let his greed consume him, or will he become a new man? Will he ever open that bakery he always wanted?
Only one way to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667800967

Book preview

Title

© 2021

ISBN: 978-1667-8009-6-7

With Thanks To:

Chester, for being by my side since the beginning

Manny G., my source for all things Italian

Fortie, for the cover art and generally being awesome

My Parents, for putting up with me

Numerous terrible authors, for inspiration

Table of Contents

Null- Prefix: Higher Power

1: Of Five Men

2: A Small Favor

3: The Man on Fire

4: The Ruler of Everything

5: Mother

6: Dust

7: The Calm

Intermission: The Tragical Tale of Captain Spindletooth

8: The Storm

9: Drifter

X: PHOENIX

11: By His Hand

?

Null- Suffix: Home Again

Afterword

Null- Prefix: Higher Power

Location: Archivist Hall, Wing 23-NWF7

Subject: Akros

Purpose: Prelude, for B.N.A.N.s

Tomas was shot in the head.

Well, that’s no way to start a story, in the middle like that!

An angel sits in his non-euclidean workroom, rearranging and sorting the archived sequence of events that took place in Universe 42-AE 99LNR7DGS, infamously named ‘That One Where Everything Should Not Have Happened’. This angel, or in more complicated terms, Archivist of Subsection Icarus, is named Akros. He’s relatively new to the whole situation known as existing, but was created specifically to correctly repair damaged archives of notably bizarre universes. This is one such universe. He carefully makes adjustments to a geometrically perfect cube of crystal, tracing his fingers across its surface and sorting the timeline within as is appropriate. Saint Peter, his new friend, decides to check in on him.

How goes the mending, Akros? I hope you’ve not been put off by the spoilers, what with the timeline being all out of whack. I had the pleasure of watching it as it happened, myself. Sure made waiting for new entries at the Gate a lot less boring.

On the contrary, sir, knowing what is to come made it more exciting to pick out all the little hints and nudges I would have otherwise missed! The sorting work gets to be very tedious though. Peter sips from a mug of coffee. As a being beyond physical form, it was just for show, but it made him feel good. Humans, former or otherwise, love a bit of flair.

Mm, did you get to the part where the Bananas, the elf ones, cross through from 39-NB 51LNR2DGT? Unprecedented. Boss says he’s never allowed a transcendental crossing of that magnitude before, but figured he’d allow it considering. Akros perks up, setting the cube down slowly.

Has anyone determined why things went so awry? I’ve experienced 90% of this one’s lifespan and still have no idea what caused that rip.

Peter taps his chin, trying to remember if any of the new entries told him on their way in.

Hmmm… no, I don’t- oh, wait! There’s a rumor from the wizard that Cheddar managed to claw her way in. Those damnable lizards… Boss seems to love them, though. They’re his favorite pet, I think.

That would make sense. Maybe they-

Oh, wait, Michael! Get in here, you missed like four iterations, this one was WILD! Hey, you gotta tell Michael about, ah… these really are a mouthful to say.

…The Brittle One?

Hey, not a bad name.

Michael takes a seat next to Akros at the table, munching on a sandwich. Let me guess, this one had less apocalypses than normal? Akros chuckles.

Just you wait and see- Ah, Peter, is right here a good place to start? He gestures at a point in the cube, to which Peter nods.

Good a place as any.

1: Of Five Men

So. In the middle of the sea, far, far off from the coasts of Spain and Italy (which, in this universe, happens to be the Caribbean), two ships sat still and interlocked as both appeared to be boarding one another. The first ship: a massive, terrifying galleon known as Lobo Amarillo, flying the Spanish flag, decorated as it was in yellow trim and a pale (rather expensive) wooden armor about the hull. Upon this galleon were rows and rows of sturdy black cannons, its crew the most tidy, uniform sailors ever seen. Sitting beside this monumental ship, however, was The Old Salt, a considerably smaller pirate vessel with a fraction of the crew, and even then they were mostly drunken, uneducated criminals. Well, to label the ship as a pirate vessel might be a little harsh. The good Captain Spindletooth, with the aid of his first mate Brittlebones, much preferred treasure hunting as opposed to true thievery and murder, apart from the occasional run-in with back stabbing liars and opposing hunters. As of now, the two ships were practically glued together, with their respective captains pointing rifles and pistols at the other. For the moment, all was quiet, aside from the sound of waves lapping against the hulls (as well as a few coughs from nervous crewmen).

Spindletooth stood there in his long, blood-stained maroon coat, numerous straps for pistols across his chest and at his sides. He was a veritable skinny giant, over seven feet tall with a thin form that was apparently more muscle than bone. Most who crossed his path were struck with fear by his presence alone, and even moreso when he gave his signature, unforgettable grin. Aptly named, his teeth were all long, sharp, and monstrous, like the maw of an angler fish from the deep. If the teeth and the size didn’t intimidate his enemies, then the four flintlocks and pair of estocs (a rapier-like sword with a sharp blade for slashing) sure did the trick. As of now, two pistols were aimed at the Spanish captain’s head, a soggy, moss-covered chest full of loot between them. At the man’s side was none other than Brittlebones, a drastic contrast to his captain.

He was visibly under the five foot line, dressed in his easily recognizable pastel blue buccaneer’s blouse with thin, dark blue stripes running vertically along it. He held only a single pistol at his breast, one crusted over with sea salt from disuse, though strapped to his hip was a blade to behold: a heavy, thick falchion that many men would struggle to lift, let alone swing. Its side was scarred and scratched from battle but its blade untouched and sharp. His face was devoid of blemishes, that of a young and unlaborious lad, despite his profession, save for a single, unusual, vaguely flame-shaped emblem burned underneath his left eye. The pair were both in their twenties, not too far apart in age.

Across from the pirates (treasure hunters, really) was none other than the Spanish captain Sergio Gallavante, a man often described as tall, dark, and handsome, with black hair and a square jaw. He was almost always draped in that fine yellow coat and fanciful hat given to officers such as himself, kept neat and tidy, as he’d have it no other way. His voice was heavily laced with the accent of his homeland, though it carried a mysterious, cunning lilt that sang in the ears of all he wished to persuade. Gallavante was certainly among the more ‘dirty’ naval officers, as seen in this particular standoff, and tended to get mixed up in trouble he would otherwise have avoided by following the books. Behind him, almost using the captain as a human shield, was his long-time protege, Corwin. The somewhat small man was dressed in a dark grey cloak and covered in leather straps binding books and bags and a wide assortment of random goods, a true utilitarian. The hood of his cloak shrouded a pale, smooth face with cold blue eyes, shifting to keep track of everything he could.

For the last time, fuck off, growled Brittlebones, his knuckles white as he gripped his massive blade, ye took our haul time ‘fore last as well, leave us withis one, ya yellow prick! Gallavante sighed and rubbed his temple with the hand not holding a flintlock, getting frustrated. They’d been out here for a few hours now.

"Brittle, mi amigo, I’ve told you time and time again, I need this treasure for the Queen so I can-"

Ye need this sword up yer arse, ye thieving cunt!

-so I can continue granting immunity to the… often murderous tendencies of your crew-

I’m feelin’ a whole fuckin’ load of murderous tendencies right now, ya cowardly piece a shit!

-and the only way to divert the Queen’s attention from pirates is to assure her our wealth is safe from-

The only thing yer assurin’ is a plot in the fuckin’ graveyard-

Brittle, mate, shut the hell up, Spindletooth snapped at his companion, slapping him in the back of the head with his wrist (seeing as the hand was occupied by a gun). The man’s speakin’ sense, y’know. In fact, he’s been speakin’ sense ev’ry time he takes our loot, ain’t he? We’re still out here huntin’ gold, nobody’s put out a warrant fer our death yet. Consider it a blessin’. The dwarven pirate grumbled and turned to his captain with a dissatisfied huff, speaking under his breath.

Spindle, he’s taken so much from us already, we can’t keep lettin’ him get away with-

We most certainly can, mate. That there is a fraction of our stores back in the Cove. We can afford it, it ensures our safety, can’t ye just shut yer fuckin’ mouth about it?

But-

No, Brittle, enough. Keep yer peace from here on out, or I’ll sell you to Bertha.

No, no, come on, Cap’n not Bertha…

That’s right, none of us wanna see you end up like that. And I’ll do it, ye know I will.

With that last exchange, Spindletooth lowered his pistols and shoved Brittlebones’ hands down hard enough to make him lower his sword, nodding to the Spaniard. Yer still an arsehole, Gallavante.

The naval officer shrugged his shoulders and handed his pistol to Corwin for polishing, his crewmen tentatively carrying the chest onto their ship. Bah, you love me, you freak of nature. Get your teeth trimmed, it’s giving my men nightmares.

I’ll trim my teeth when you stop stuffin’ the front o’ yer pants! The two captains chuckled and met in between the ships for an honorable handshake, Spindle having to bend down considerably to reach his counterpart. Soon the ships untangled from eachother and the Spaniards set sail for their home, and the pirates to their cove. As Spindle and Brittle returned to their cabin, the shorter of the two gave his friend a smack on the side.

Ye gotta quit embarrassin’ me like that in front a’ the crew, ye fuck!

Embarrass you? What’s left to do? Look at ye!

Oh, fer fuc- Yer one to talk, Mr. Three Sheets to The Wind.

"Least I’m a fun drunkard, unlike some sailors aboard The Old Salt."

I tell ya, I have low tolerance, it’s ‘cus my size!

Doesn’t excuse actin’ like a lil’ biiiiiitch~

Just pour the mugs ye bastard.

Spindle laughed and shook his head, filling a considerably large flagon of whiskey for himself, and a somewhat smaller tankard for his companion. They knocked their drinks together and downed them in one tilt, leaving Brittle coughing and wincing, though Spindle simply served himself up another.

It was a quick sail to the familiar island of Rogers Cove, named for the Jolly Rogers flag many of its inhabitants flew. It was a relatively small chunk of land, most of it comprised of smooth beaches with rocky jungle deep inland. The Old Salt docked at the south side of the Cove, where most of the residents had set up their shacks and shanties. The gangplank slapped down into the sand and down walked the Captain and his First Mate, gazing over their fair homeland. Spindle took in a deep breath and let out a satisfied sigh, pulling a pipe from his maroon overcoat to stuff, light, and place in his mouth, leaning on his shorter companion.

Ahh, the good ol’ smella Rogers. Take in that fresh, salty air, Mate, that lovely hint o’ garlic n’ grog. The giant took another sniff, then scrunched his brow. Oi, garlic’s especially strong today. Bertha musta gotten ahold o’ some o’ that Doctor’s tonic again. The two trotted through the shanty town and waved hello to the familiar faces of sailors and captains and pirates alike. This cove was the one place where no grudges were held, no penance taken, no man dared attack another, and no man hid from what was due. This was an island that demanded honor of its residents; those who disagreed were either cast into the sea or left unprotected from the consequences of their actions.

As the men passed by Bertha’s Bakery, they nearly let out a cough at the stench of garlic. Lo and behold, she was energetic, to say the least. On her shelves were an uncanny number of loaves of garlic bread, though not many seemed in good condition. They decided to leave the lady be and make their way to Brittle’s old home, a small cabin deep in the sparsely populated jungle. Along the way, Spindle got to thinking.

Brittle, mate, I got to thinkin’: what do you have against ol’ Bertha? Right, right, she’s big and loud and a lil’ nasty and often, ah, promiscuous you could say, but what’s she done ta ye? Brittle let out a disgusted ugh and shook his head.

"Cap’n, have you seen how she cooks her bread? It’s fuckin’ atrocious, I tell ye. Ghastly. She doesn’t use the right seasoning for one, I mean who the fuck puts paprika in bread?! She’s got cinnamon, if she’s going fer spice why not use that? What the hell? And good Jaysus, she’s either made a lump a wet dough or a charred rock of Satan’s left nut! It’s despicable!"

Mate it’s just fucking bread, why’s it got you so worked up?

That’s just it! It’s fuckin’ bread! How does she manage to make it so wrong?

Well, ya hate her so much, but then ol’ Gallavante pulls our loot out from under us and ye still take ‘im up on offers n’ deals!

Serge has some important information, Cap’n, he’s of use to us. That minion of ‘is, Corwin, that lad knows how ta find what ya need. The man must shit treasure maps or somethin’, the speed he gets ‘em with is outrageous.

Brittle… ye can’t only wanna keep the two ‘cus a’ maps.

I damn well can.

Why’s that?

"Well Corwin can get us anything, I mean anything we need ta know, and ‘e doesn’t do that unless ‘is captain lets ‘im."

Ah, I see what’s goin’ on here. Yer searchin’ for ‘im again aren’t ye?

Fffff- fuck off Cap’n, I-

I’m not sayin’ it’s a bad thing, but what if we find out he’s dead, what then?

At least then I’ll know.

We’ll know he’s dead, but what about that fuckin’ freaky book he left behind? We won’t be able to read it.

"Actually, that’s why I’m here. The sudden English voice startled both the pirates out of their conversation. Brittle almost let out a not-so-manly yelp, and Spindle immediately drew his sword and got halfway through shouting ‘die fucker!’, but stopped short. Behind them was none other than the mysterious Corwin, rifling through his bags to find an assortment of papers in wooden tubes. Gal felt bad about leaving you two out to dry, so ‘e sent me over with some more papers." As he handed them over, Brittle gave the shady man a quizzical look.

Right, but what did you mean by-

I’ve had a look over these and ah, seems to me they’ll help clear up that little book you have.

… How did you get here if-

Best not ask questions. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading to the Staggering Sailor. Before either of them could answer him, he was off on his way to the tavern, leaving them to finish their walk to the cabin.

Brittlebones swung open the sturdy old door to his home, setting his bag on the floor beside a table and putting tinder in the fireplace, starting it up with a sigh. It was a small home, and felt further cramped by the sheer number of shelves lined with books along each wall, as well as the many trinkets and treasures the two pirates had gathered on their adventures. Brittle sat back in his cozy old chair, Spindle relaxing in a much larger seat and taking a drag from his pipe. After a few minutes of unwinding, Brittle set to work decoding the little book, a small black journal filled with mad scribblings and symbols that nobody seemed to know. His work continued on and on, well into the night, until Spindle eventually went to bed in the Cabin’s guest room. Brittle was so intensely absorbed in his work, that by the time he had fallen asleep, the sun was rising over the horizon. The captain left his companion to rest.

When noon came, Spindle was kicking back on the porch, sipping from his second bottle of whiskey for the day, when Brittle slammed open the door and threw his translations down on the end table, startling the captain and making him almost spit out his drink.

Mate, ye almost died, but luckily I kept my whiskey in-

Shut up- Cap’n, this is it, this is the next step! This book is packed full o’ hints we needed! There’s some obscure weird shit like a slab of stone in the woods, something like people made out of the sun, but look here: The key to ‘the gate’, whatever that is, is called the Eye of Poseidon. Mate, we’ve been on the trail for that gem for fuckin’ years now!

Yea, but we still have no idea where-

And right here, here it says it’s on the island where ‘man is machine, and machine is man’.

That doesn’t help at-

Hang on, then after that it calls it ‘the glowing rock’.

Glowing rock… oh fuck, Mate, that’s gotta be Phosphor Isle, right?

Exactly! There’s only one problem…

Ah, yeah, the trip there… the crags ‘round that area are fuckin’ awful, we’d be singin’ with the Devil in no time.

We’d be what?

Singin’ with th’ Devil, ‘yknow. Dead.

Well I got that part but- where’n the fuck did ye pick up that expression?

Well, I, uh, I made it.

Ye can’t just go around makin’ up shite like this, Cap’n.

Damn right I can, I’m fuckin’ Spindeltooth!

Ye also gotta stop usin’ that line as an excuse fer bein’ a twat.

Fuck you.

Oh, right, the sail to Phosphor Isle… Aye, maybe Corwin’ll whip up somethin’ ta help us? The lad’s usually got a solution. Not sure he’ll give us one, though, he already did us a favor what with the journal…

Ah hell, you know him, he’ll give us a hand. C’mon, mate, let’s go n’ ask the fecker.

Just as Spindle turned to leave, he stopped short and set his hands on his hips, then scratching his head.

Aye, ah, Brittle. Th’ good Dottore is headin’ over and he, uh, seems ta be draggin’… is that a body? Brittle walked up behind him with a confused look and, sure enough, was greeted to the far-off sight of their old friend and frequent visitor of Rogers Cove, Dottor Capprini.

He was a neurotic man, not much taller than Brittlebones, and constantly dressed in a dark black trench coat and boots and leather gloves, with a wide-brimmed hat and a plague doctor’s mask with thick, opaque green lenses. His clothes sealed his body from the outside world as best as he could manage. Behind him was a burlap sack with a sizable, body-shaped lump in it, dragging through the sand and grass near the cabin, crushing all vegetation in its wake. As he saw his two friends from the distance he gave a little wave, though letting go of the bag revealed a tear that a chubby, pale hand flopped out of, resulting in a string of Italian expletives. What in the hell is he doin’ this time… Spindle muttered.

After what seemed to be ten minutes of angry dragging through the trees and rocks, the Dottore was close enough to leave the corpse and talk to the pirates. His accent was thick, and his cadence constantly wavered between eagerly fast and deliberately slow.

"Mio compagni, it has been too long! I see you are well, your eyes are still in their sockets, your skin remains unblemished, your limbs have not been detached… have they? He took out a cloth to rub one of his lenses, then looking the men up and down. Ah, sì, they are not yet missing. It is nice out today, yes? The air is so clean, I would almost breathe it raw! Ahaha, no, I would never dare to breathe it." The two let him ramble, as they knew it was unstoppable, but Brittle spoke when he got the chance.

Dottore, what’s with the bag back there? The doctor clasped his hands and let out an unhappy whine.

"Oh, it is simply tragico, mi amico. Bertha, she was never afraid to use my potions, but she was so careless, she drank too many rinvigorimento, too many potions of vigor. Her heart practically exploded like a fat child playing on a train track… I can still smell the garlic from here… Wait, that may just be the body. He then began to tremble, looking at his hands and grabbing his mask. Wait- no, I should not be able to smell that, is the filter broken?! Please, please tell me the stench is just so powerful!"

I’ve been tryin’ not to breathe it in this whole time, Dottore. It’s certainly strong. Spindle muttered, coughing and covering his nose. The plague doctor looked relieved, rubbing the beak of his mask almost affectionately.

"Grazie Dio, I was worried I was breathing raw air. Who knows how much might have cycled through my system had the filter failed… Ah! My manners. You seemed about to leave, alto pirata. Were you headed somewhere?"

Yeah, we were gonna see about gettin’ to Phosphor Isle on one of our lil’ quests. You got any clues fer gettin’ past the crags?

"Isola del Fosforo? the doctor said with a gasp, My friend, this is a wonderful coincidence! He clapped together his gloved hands and jittered with excitement. As you know I love alchimia, and I’ve had wondrous ideas for- you may disbelieve me- a potion capable of extending one’s life to centuries! A veritable, ah, panacea! I only need the abundant phosphor powder that resides on the island. Say, if you take me there, I may be able to reward you quite… handsomely."

"Well shite, I don’t see any reason not to bring you