See, matey, the thing about death is, it isn't so bad if you're not expecting it.

I remember the impending dread of my father's death. Long days waiting at his bedside, watching the fever take him over. I even remember feeling a rush of relief when it was finally over.

Aye, mine came quick and painless, for which I am thankful.

I never knew for sure which masked man delivered the fatal blow. I never knew if anyone swooped in and tried to save me. But I do know, I died laughing. Not many can claim that, mate. At least I have this.

I remember the moment well. The laughing men around me, the ones screaming above. The undercurrent of metal-armored steps, a vibration of the next wave that the whole of us failed to hear.

I was still laughing when I realized the knife in my neck.

Oh, he threw it, he did, that clever bastard. That cunning murderer. That sly son of a scallywag.

It hurt, to be sure, but I was too surprised to notice. My face, you should have seen. My jaw fell like its hinges had broken, my eyes widened to saucers. Surely, not me, I thought to myself. Not I, Lord.

Well, had far too much concern for myself to worry for my fellow crewmen. I stumbled away, fingers clamped around the hilt of the knife. A light, airy thing it was. Nothing to embody the substance of death.

Ah, he loomed. The reaper's cloak hung down from his wispy gray body, tickling my back. I stumbled on, feeling him behind me. Catch me, I thought, but immediately took it back. Don't touch me.

Terror engulfed me like the waters of the sea, closing in around me as I sank down into its depths. Death, as a pirate, is a black flag, not a white one. It is an emblem of power that you wave if you possess it, that you hoist up beside your sails, warning others of this mysterious thing that you wield.

The flag had been flung over me, pinning my face to the water. I sputtered and choked, but the waves remained unrelenting.

Alas, I am not the only person in the world. Though to me, my plight was the only one left, in reality others continued to struggle.

Across the grounds Anya Ryder fed her geese. She had just finished spreading the grain, and had plans to walk to the moat to collect the birds' daily water. The noises of the battle had caused quite a stir among the workers at The Range, but no one knew exactly what to think of it.

She heard the Pig People chatter from several pens away about a grand battle, the end of days, Spanish conquistadors and many other outlandish theories.

Anya found Armageddon the most appealing of these possibilities. She would like to see the King and Queen sorted into their rightful places, their thrones stomped to dust beneath God's golden foot.

Chicken Boy appeared in front of the coop, his large hands clasped secretively together. Startled, Anya spilled the rest of the feed in a huge heap on the ground. A hoard of nearly thirty geese rushed away from their measly trails of scrap, lunging for the feast.

"My Lord!" Anya cried, scooping the grain away with her hand. She shoved handfuls back in the bag, swatting away the geese. "You startled me."

"Apologies," the boy said, squatting down beside the fence. "I only wanted to give you a gift."

Anya sighed, twisting the sack shut. Let the geese eat what they may. The foolish animals would go hungry tomorrow.

She glanced at Chicken, seeing a broad smile extended toward her. With effort, she returned it. She found few things to grin about these days. "Closer, Goose," he said.

First turning to look for guards, she took another step toward the fence. "What is it?"

He opened his meaty palms to reveal a single, perfect pearl trapped between them. It shone in the early morning light, a perfect sphere. Anya gasped, reaching one finger through the fence to touch it.

"I swear on my good health, Goose," the boy gushed. "It popped right out of Sally this morn'!"

Sally, Chicken's oldest and most beloved bird, had done strange things before. Blue eggs, a pure white baby chick that disappeared the next morning. These oddities Chicken had kept between he and Anya, figuring the chicken would be dragged off for testing and experimentation if news got around. But this new phenomena had to be the strangest yet.

"Why, it's perfect," Anya said. She rolled the sphere in Chicken's palm with her index finger, marveling at its buttery smoothness.

He grinned. "That it is! I have half a mind to sell it in the market tomorrow for my good two pounds."

Anya nodded earnestly. "For certain! Accept no less than that, Chicken. No, more! Charge them twenty, forty, one hundred pounds! For such a rare thing, I say you deserve the king's pay!"

His smile settled from bombastic to sweet and small. He gave her a shy glance, letting the pearl rest in the center of his palm. "Actually," he said, "I had another idea."

Just then, the ground shook violently, prompting the pearl to leap from the boy's hand.

"Oh!" Anya cried, diving to the ground to search for it.

"Goose!" Shouted Chicken. "No time for it, now! Look behind you."

The girl rolled to her side, screaming the moment she laid eyes on us. We must have been quite a sight: a great tidal wave of men, cutlasses slashing in our wake as we ran, leading the sea of silver that was The Queen's Guard.

By this time, I was thoroughly dead and following behind them in denial.

We tore through the pig pen, the more civil among us taking the long route around it. The true brutes stomped through the mud, sloshing about with the pigs. Dole brought up the rear, his clothes sodden with filth. He left the gate open, laughing at the squeals of the freed hogs.

The Pig People shouted after us, some outraged, others excited. The men and I employed our nimble forms, hopping over pigs and fences, while the great sea of armored men tripped about, trying to shove and chop the animals out of their ways.

But pigs are stubborn. Our lead increased.

Meanwhile, Anya and her friend watched in horror as the cloud of outlaws advanced, rooted to the spot in fear. They watched the Pig People join us or curse us, watched the Grain Girl be trampled under pirate feet. Their eyes met.

"The pearl!" Anya exclaimed, snapping back to reality. "We must find it."

"No!" He argued. "It's far too dangerous, Goose. Run with me!"

She ignored him, staying on the ground. Spilled grain and goose feces fell through her fingers as she sifted through the dirt of the precious commodity.

The geese began to squawk wildly, flapping their wings in panic as the thundercloud of pirates approached. Anya ignored the mad rush of birds around her, digging deeper into the ground though she knew the pearl was lost.

"We have to go," Chicken insisted. "Come on."

So they left. I, however, did not.