Fortune 27th Nov 25

"Please don't do it," came the whisper's echo as it rode a gust of wind that whipped around the slate-grey rocks. Hidden within ancient timbers, the brass-trimmed chest stood defiantly atop musty old boards. It waited and listened with curiosity. With no eyes, all it could do was wonder what created the creaks and shudders it felt through the vibrations around it. The chest pondered its predicament. Not for the first time, it wondered who would greet it first. Would it be the two-foots with greed, or the fathoms far under? It had spent its life among the uncouth folk and had learned a great deal about the world they lived in. Memories of discordant voices rumbled through, shivering the timbers as they combined. The songs spoke of treasures hidden, glories sought, and melancholy ballads that disappeared across the waves. The chest was snapped back to the present by a drip of bitter water. Spray from the waters outside had entered through a nearby broken window, a gift of sunlight and coldness from a clumsy seagull. The ship didn't move like it used to. There was a time when it would slant and tip as it rode over the roaring waves, while the deck was pelted with seawater that swooshed up over the ship's railings. On occasion, the two-foots had needed to push it back into a corner after the prow was sent skyward before plummeting deep into the trough of a wave. Before sundown one day, the steady motion halted. The movement that replaced it was far more unsettling. The ship often stayed angled for many sunrises at a time before it rocked back to a level position. The chest believed it likely that the ship had been grounded somehow and was now perched upon old rocks that had long suffered the rise and ebb of the sea. It felt the wind push against the vessel, causing it to lurch and heave. The way the ship rocked clearly worried the fish and all those beneath them. Following each positional shift of the ship, there was an unmistakable vibration: a drawn-out sigh carried through the waters, a sigh of relief and a release of bated breath. Wind passing across the barnacled underside forced the barnacles to make a whistling sound that could have been a rallying call. The vessel withstood the wake of the trapped waters that lapped the hidden shore, waters that slowly eroded the stones that supported the load atop them. Tiny rocks and grains of sand joined the larger discarded strange refuse that rolled in, all of it carried towards the ship on the waves, disguised as tribute. Deep within its knots and glue, the chest knew that no treasure brought on the wave's white horses could ever be as great as what lurked inside the secure confines of its body. None had been permitted to look upon the contents with wonder, aside from the two-foot leader who'd left long ago, and the lock that did guard was sturdy and grand. Though it had been many years since the lid had slammed shut and the disappearance of the two-foot leader, who was gruff, painted and had one peeper, the chest remembered them clearly. Static reminders of the two-foot leader, that musty old grump, still decorated the room. The chest could still remember their sea-salted skin and the drawl of their voice as it commanded the others aboard, rumbling and rolling as it echoed around them. The sound that was oft followed by a thunder of feet, as the shanties above were raised in unison. In latter days, the two-foot leader had changed. Their footsteps were different now, moving with effort, shuffling, grinding into the floor. Against the rim of the chest, the two-foot leader's grey twine brushed against the chest as it hung over the edge. Sometimes metal was tossed to clink within or else pulled out and subjected to a monotonous drone that the chest believed was a way of checking its contents were still secure. Within were many glinters and shinies, along with old wooden boards with colourful visions of faraway lands painted across their faces. Since the lid had last closed, it had stood waiting for the day that musty old two-foot would return. The only calls they heard after the departure were those of the sea and the birds. Today, the swell was rough and unrelenting. The chest felt the stranded vessel shift and groan under the insistent pressure. There came a call again from the sea outside: "Please don't!" But then it did; it had no choice. A large wave soared just under the bow, and it jerked the boat with force. The chest knew the boat was free once again. If it could have danced, it would. For an age, it had prepared for its voyage back out to sea. Afloat again atop the water, it felt the movement as it meandered this way and that. The chest assumed it had caught a wave; it bobbed up, then down, and it knew that all was good. The chest later found the ride smoother; no longer did the ship bob so high, and it believed this was due to calmer weather. However, it felt the vibrations of a candelabra as it started to slide from one side of the room to another, followed shortly by a book, which made it curious. Its attention was then snapped to a crash on the floor. A teacup had slid and rolled off the leader's desk that was bolted to the ground. The broken cup pieces rumbled indignantly across the floor as some swords that were hung on a wall reached outward toward the opposite wall. It was clear the vessel was listing and there wasn't much time left. Soon it would be sunk beneath the waves, locked away by one who would never appreciate its value. The treasure was lost forever. "How silly," was the final thought of the chest as water rolled over its lid and it succumbed to the cold waters of the deep.