“I suppose this means it’s my turn now,” Barnacle said, rubbing his chin.
“It can be,” Luna said, “unless Cabbage Patch wants to tell her story now.”
Little Cabbage shook her head furiously. “I… I don’t…” she stammered.
“It’s ok if you’re not ready yet kid,” Harlequin said, patting the little sea-green pony on the head, “Just start thinking of something while Barnacle entertains us.”
“Right,” Barnacle said, “Let me think. A life-changing tale I haven’t spun for you yet; that be a tall order. Have I ever told you about my first sea voyage?”
“At about every third or fourth show,” Trixie and Harlequin answered simultaneously, prompting a laugh out of the retired sailor.
“Fine. ‘tisn’t all that exciting without embellishments anyway.” His gaze fell on Cabbage, who was looking a bit restless, and inspiration struck.
Sailing the seas can be a very rough way to live a life. Ye typically spend most of yer time in very close company with the same set of faces for months on end, in quarters that feel like they get smaller every day even if you’re lucky enough to have wings to give ye more room to move. If luck isn’t with ye, ye risk shipwreck, running out of supplies, or encountering monsters that make the wildest bits of land look tame. The sea’s no place for either the unlucky or the old, although what actually counts as “unlucky” or “old” depends mostly on the ponies ye sail with.
My last journey as captain of my own vessel prob’ly ended when my crew cast that judgment over my sleepin’ corpse after one too many disappointing encounters with reefs an’ Sea Ponies, because one day I woke up in Clydesport with only my coat, water-breath charm, and a purse of bits to my name and no signs of my ship at the docks. I don’t hold any ill will toward that lot, because they could have easily left me in a worse way, or taken that charm with ‘em. Heck, the room I woke up in had been paid for two nights, which I was quickly informed about when I made my way down to the pub on the first floor.
I won’t bore ye with the how of it, but I soon came to a decision on how to spend my sudden retirement. I’ve always had a way with tellin’ tales, even though the sea was always me first love, so I turned myself into something of a fixture in the pubs an’ other waterin’ holes around Clydesport entertaining the patrons in exchange for a meal or a tankard o’ something wet. Couple of innkeepers went a step beyond with free breakfasts and discounts on th’ rooms if I did particularly well in helpin’ them boost sales. That bag of bits I’d woken up to was gonna run out eventually, I knew, but I was stretching it farther than I thought was possible.
The days had started to blur together for me until one evening when things took a hard, unexpected turn. To this day I still can’t fathom why, but a surly griffon took offense to something I said in the middle of one of my better Sea Pony yarns and before I knew it a brawl broke out and I found myself out behind the pub next to the trash with a couple of new bruises and a nicked hoof. Once my wits caught back up to the rest of me, I was resolved to dive back in and make a better showing of myself defending the establishment’s honor, only to be distracted by the sight of two large golden eyes staring out at me from inside an overturned trash bin. Takin’ a closer look, I saw those eyes belonged to a little pony the color of the southern sea on a bright day and barely more than skin, bones, and fur to her name. She cowered back when she saw me lookin’ at her, like some little lost animal caught where it isn’t welcome.
I have a soft spot in me heart for young’uns in the first place, but I’d never seen a filly in such a state as this one and I knew instantly that nothing would ever matter more than to see her rescued. “Well ahoy there lassie,” I said charmingly, trying to coax her out, “Ye look a bit peckish.” She didn’t answer me, hardly even blinked, as if she were afraid to look away from me. “C’mon lass,” I said, offering a hoof, “No need to be scared of me. I’m just an old washed-up sailor pony, and I just want to get ye some food. Come on now.” She didn’t move for a moment, but then slowly and cautiously she crawled out of the bin and touched my hoof, never taking her eyes off mine. “That’s it,” I said encouragingly, “They call me Barnacle Salt, Captain Barnacle Salt. What’s your name lass?” She just kept staring with those great golden eyes. “Have it your way then,” I said, scooping her up onto my back, “Maybe once you’ve got some food in yer belly your tongue’ll be looser.”
The bar fight sounded like it was still going, and perhaps that’s what had the filly so spooked, so I took her to an eatery I favored near the beach. The place was run by a pretty unicorn mare by the name of Rose Coral, but everypony called her Rosie. The place wasn’t particularly busy when I walked in, and Rosie was behind the bar waitin’ for someone to need service. “Hullo Cap’n Salt,” she said in cheerful greeting when she saw me, but that smile quickly faded when she saw the skeletal waif riding between my wings. “Mercy,” she exclaimed, “What is that?”
“A pony,” I answered, reaching into my bags fer my coin purse. I dropped it on the counter and said, “I found her in an alley behind The Selkie. Get her something to eat.”
“Of course, but I’m not charging you a bit for it,” Rosie said, pushing my money back toward me, “Grab yourselves a table anywhere.” I claimed the table closest to the kitchen, set the filly on one of the chairs, and sat meself down across from her. I tried coaxing words out of her, but she stayed fearfully quiet, watching the other ponies warily. Rosie brought out a bowl of soup and I charmed her into partin’ me from some of my money in exchange for a meal of me own. After she brought that out, Rosie hovered around watching my little companion eat. After the first few spoonfuls, she slurped that soup down with gusto and, once she was finished, very meekly indicated that she wanted more, still without sayin’ a word. The soup wasn’t anythin’ special, just a simple corn chowder really, but I could’ve sworn she gained a bit of weight between fur and bones when she was finished. “You poor dear,” Rosie said, “I bet this is the first good meal you’ve had in a long time.” She turned to me with a serious expression that brooked no argument. “She’s not leaving here until I’m convinced she’s been properly fed and has someplace to go.”
“Ye won’t be getting’ any argument from me Rosie,” I said with a chuckle, “a salty old vagabond like me’s hardly fit to care for a lost filly.” The lass seemed disappointed and a bit scared when I left, but I only realized it when thinking back a long time later. On that evening I left Rosie’s feelin’ quite satisfied I’d done my part.
But, of course, that wasn’t the last I saw of her.
I was taking a walk the next day when I heard my name in a near-whisper from a nearby alley. I found the little green pony lass there, hiding just out of casual sight and looking a wee bit healthier than the previous night, although I could still count her ribs. “Ahoy lassie,” I said inquisitively.
“Cabbage Patch,” she said in her quiet manner, “You can call me Cabbage Patch, if you please.”
“Well then, little Miss Patch,” I said, “Good to see ye have a tongue that works after all. Rosie know you’re out and about like this?”
“No,” Cabbage said, “She’s nice, but… I like you better Barnacle. Can I stay with you?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at her sincerity in asking. “That’s mighty sweet of ye lass,” I said, “But I meant what I told Rosie last night; I’m just not fit to look after a little pony like you. I don’t usually bunk at the same place twice and I got to make every bit I’ve got stretch as far as it’ll go. Tryin’ ta feed two mouths will just put both of us in rough waters faster than a sinking ship.”
“I can help,” Cabbage insisted, “Somehow…” She looked so pitiful after that brief jolt of confidence that my heart broke in spite of me.
“All right then,” I said, “It won’t hurt me purse too much to take ye around with me today, but if ye can’t think of a way to ‘help’ me by supper, I’m taking ye right back to Rosie, agreed?” She nodded and followed close on my heels as I went back out onto the streets.
It quickly became clear to me that although Cabbage has ambition and a sharp mind, it’s held back by crippling shyness. She’s certainly a lot better nowadays, but on that first day following me around she almost couldn’t stand being seen by anypony other than me. When I’d head into a pub to try bending some ears with my tales she’d huddle under the table and just observe silently unless I could coax her out with a snack. Her timidity did attract some more individuals of the female persuasion into my audiences and a few stray bits found their way into my possession for her benefit, but it didn’t seem she was making quite the impression she wanted to. In fact, overall I found myself meeting more disinterest and skepticism about my tales from the fresh faces in town. Cabbage knew it, but when we were alone walking the streets I could see in her eyes she had some planning formulating.
I’d deliberately avoided Rosie’s block in order to avoid an early end to Cabbage’s adventure, but soon the evening started creeping up on us and I made my way to the eatery. As we came up upon it, Cabbage stopped in her tracks and asked, “Have you really seen Sea Ponies? Are they real?”
“Oh, real enough,” I answered lightly, “But they’re about as shy as you are; don’t like showing themselves to just anypony that sails through their waters. It takes more’n a fair bit of luck – good or bad, depends on the telling – to see one, let alone talk to ‘em like me and me crews have.”
“A lot of ponies you talked to today didn’t believe,” Cabbage said, looking me in the eye with that rare ambition of hers, “If you proved you were right, they’d all treat you better, wouldn’t they? Give you stuff?”
“Oh aye,” I said with a chuckle, “I’d have them lining up for miles to catch a glimpse. But I don’t need to prove anythin’ to any pony, griffon, or zebra that hasn’t the bones fer sailing out to seek the mysteries of the sea, and I know more’n a few that’ve come to ruins trying to capture a Sea Pony or the like and bring it ashore. Now come on lass.”
“I’ll be your Sea Pony!” Cabbage burst out, surprised as I was at her volume.
I just stared at her in silence for a moment before giving her the smallest smile of amusement. “And just how do ye propose to do that?” I asked, “Gonna trade in yer back end for a whale’s tale and a set of gills?”
“I… I can ch-” she stuttered, looking at the ground for strength, “I mean, a costume. Dress me up like a sea pony. I don’t like a lot of attention, but so long as I just need to sit there, I can manage. Please Captain Salt, I want to help you. Like… you’re helping me.”
Now don’t be taking it the wrong way when I say I don’t know what came over me at that moment. I hardly understood why she was so attached to me, since all I’d really done so far was take her to someplace where she’d get fed and cared for, and keep her company. Rosie could have found something for her to do to support herself, most likely in Rosie’s place itself. So many sensible reasons to refuse the little lass’s fantastic proposal never even entered my mind as I looked at her large, pleading, golden eyes and found myself agreeing with only token hesitation, on a trial basis.
Of course, it’s one thing to talk about dressing a filly up in a Sea Pony costume to put on a show, but actually getting the costume and everything else the act needed was something else entirely, and I had to convince Rosie and a couple other friends of mine to lend their hooves and money in making the tail costume and getting a water tank big enough for Cabbage to float in. My water-breath charm completed the illusion and within only a few days we unveiled “Mar the Seapony” on the street in front of Rosie’s. We were a hit on the first day, and there never were any more doubts about Cabbage Patch’s future.
“That little showcase of ours kept us living comfortably for a few years,” Barnacle concluded, “but I hadn’t planned on staying in Clydesport forever; tellin’ tales can only keep ye fed for so long if ye stay in one place. However, the prospect of moving on became rather more difficult when I had that water tank and Cabbage’s own effects to consider.”
“Which is where I came in,” Trixie said with a slight bow, “and speaking of Cabbage Patch, I believe it’s up to you to close us out.” She and everyone else turned to look where the small green pony had been sitting, but she was gone!
“Cabbage?” Barnacle called out, worried.
“She was right here!” Harlequin exclaimed, indicating the space next to him. A quick, frantic look around uncovered no clues to Cabbage’s location.
“Spread out and search,” Luna commanded, springing to her hooves and dropping her Stella Moon guise.