(no subject)

[idiosyncreant]

I may be getting set to write the Pirates Penance book/s, which feature revenant pirates, cursed pawn-shop inheritors, and the patron saint of poetic justice.

Anyway, I have some pre-writing here: a short "story":

 

A Bet with The Patron Saint of Bookies

 

“Yes, it's a scorcher today, folks, and if the fillies aren't sweating yet, their audience sure is—”

The dune races were held every year, aimed at tourists but flocked by the local kids and men on “break”. There wasn't much excitement on the island that was genuine.

Beside the officials' booth up over the course's finish-line, there was an unused stair, and on the top landing an assortment of people had gathered to watch. Most looked retirement-aged, but there was one lady a bit younger, with a raw-hide complexion and the costume of a horse-woman. Just as the announcer was beginning his next set of entertaining drivel, a young man came up to join them.

“Dana,” the horsewoman greeted him. “There was a rumor you were round these parts. What are you up to?”

“Just seeing my kid there, Pony.”

They all looked down into the muddle of horse-owners and jockeys. There was one twelve-year-old, looking intense at a dapple-gray filly and strapping on his riding helmet.

“Come off it, Mischief,” said one pudgy white business-type. “We know who his dad is, and there's no question about it.”

“That's not what I mean. Like god-son, nephew kind of my kid. You'll see.”

“You're such a straight arrow,” said a long-limbed man, pen behind his ear, and binder in his hands. “Startled me there.”

“Well, thank you for being startled, Bookie,” Dana said. He pushed his sunglasses up on his head and grinned down on the business. “What's the spread today?”

“We're split between Flight of Ravens and Foxy,” he answered. “Are you joining? My, my.”

“I'm betting Blue Jets takes all,” Dana said.

“That's a five-to-one proposition,” Bookie warned him. “Sure you wanna take it?”

“Positive.”

“You feeling rich today?” Pony asked.

“I think I'm going to win,” he answered.

There was hooting.

“Call at Luck's on your way over?” one asked.

“Nope. But for that kiddo down there, I'm going to play a bit with the chances.”

“Well shoot,” said Tropic, another older man, rubbing the close-cut curls on his head, white with silver linings.

“Anyone withdrawing?” Bookie asked. At the shakes of their heads, he put his pale palms under each side of his ledger book and slammed it shut.

The starting shot went with it and the race began.

“So Ozzie junior's on Blue Jet, huh?”

“He's determined to win.”

'Why are you looking out for him? Is he the next Mischief?

“No. But he's just like me.”

The group pondered that a moment, watching the sand kick up toward the other end of the course.

“In what way?”

“He always looks good and dutiful, the most when he's up to no good.”

“Ah,” said Bookie, looking like something had occurred to him.

“Here they come! Our girls up front,” Pony said, before breaking into raw cheers.

“All three of them,” said Bookie with a grin.

“Foxy's ahead,” screeched Pony.

The fillies were pumping against the shifting sands, into the home stretch. Just as Foxy drew a whole length ahead, Blue Jet was nudged out onto the wet sand, a good ways out from the curve of the course. She seemed to have been trained for that trick. Shifting her gait a little she put on a spurt past the horses in the lead, cut back in front and won the race.

“Congratulations, Dana. You've won yourself thirty dollars today,” said Benjamin, Patron Saint of Bookies. “When you said that bit about looking most good when up to none I had a feeling that wasn't a throw-away line, but I'd already laid my name.”

“I didn't do anything,” said the Patron Saint of Mischief.

“No, but you knew little Mischief there would,” Tropic said, laying out his five dollars.

“He's not going to be Mischief,” Dana said. “I did stop by Oracle's place on my way in. If he does what he's likely to, he's going to end up—”

“Luck?” Tropic asked hopefully.

“A pirate,” said Bookie.

“You know, too?” Dana asked.

“Oracle and I have a bet on,” was the reply.

“Then he knows you're going to win.” Mischief smiled down at his protégé, who was whooping with victory, “He's going to be the Patron Saint of Pirates.”

Comments

[gjules.livejournal.com]

Ooooh. Interesting.

[idiosyncreant.livejournal.com]

"Interesting" is good!

This is not the way the actual story will sound. It's going to be from the boy's perspective, when he's a little older. But I like doing excerpt-like world building forays.

Next is scanning through all these picture books about islands in the tropics...