Water and wind swept over the sturdy craft. Salty was the storm in both taste and feeling. The rolled and bound sail soaked up water from its position on the deck, like a long crescent-shaped sponge. Ropes chased each other around the groaning mast. Mollusks clung to ship’s hull, unconcerned about the raging storm. All the crew went about their tasks with sturdy hands. Well, most of them anyway. There was one particular sailor who struggled to grasp his task, a wayward rope. His hands were shaking like an earthquake.
“Jimmy!” A deep voice tore through the storm’s screams. “Get that rope tied down. Do ye want to ruin me boat?”
“Aye, sir,” Jimmy grabbed the rope with both hands but the wind tore it from his grasp. Red sores thrived on his hands as the salty wind buffeted him. He fell to the deck, stuffed his hurting hands inside his sheepskin jacket, and groaned as the boom overhead snapped from the mast. It was sent into the ocean. Jack’s wayward task followed it in, still waiving playfully.
Jimmy’s shoulders still hurt from the last night’s adventure. The burns from the rope and callouses from the rough oar handles were only comforted by the cold glass in his hands. A jolly fire crackled nearby, coaxing away the shivering memories of the storm. A few old gentlemen sat nearby, they distributed their wisdom freely while puffing on their cork-n-wood pipes. Swarthy soldiers, fatigued farmers, and clever craftsmen sat at the bar, drinking their good Irish brew. It was friendly in that pub and everyone had their place in the world. In fact, that pub was everything Jack was not. They were all lucky too.
“You know, Jimmy, it wasn’t your fault.” The captain sat down, the bench groaned. “I hate to do this to ye, but I need to let you off the crew. Och, what will my sister say? But what will my men say if I keep a Jonah aboard? Ye are a good man, nephew; I wish ye good luck out there.”
“Luck doesn’t favor me, Uncle.” Jimmy spoke into his cup.
“Well, here’s ye pay for a month.” A few pounds were placed in Jack’s hand along with a rusty compass. “It was ye father’s.”
After his uncle left, Jimmy drained his glass. He donned his coat, pocketing the compass and headed out into the crisp October night. He knew he should go to All Saint’s Day mass at his church but did not really want to; He stood in the doorway pondering his options for a moment. A man emerged from the pub, drunk as a monk is sober, and fell to the ground. Jack knelt down, right in a mud puddle. “Curse my bad luck!”
“That can change, yep,” slurred the drunkard. “The leprechauns are near town.”
“Drunkard, that cannot be,” Jimmy stood and strolled away. The leprechauns! That may be just what I need, a good luck charm. He picked his way through the mud filled streets to his home. “Hello, Ma?”
“Jack, dear!” His mother came out and gave him a hearty hug. When she backed away she looked at her hands and then at his nice jacket. “Och, I’m sorry, I’ve gone and floured you!”
“It’s just my luck, ma.” He answered, hanging his head.
The next evening Jimmy wandered out into the fields surrounding his quaint village. While leaping over a rock wall he skinned his shin. A small voice spoke from nearby. Jack whirled around. “Who’s there?”
“Can you not see me, lad?”
“What did you say?” Jimmy placed his hand to his forehead and stared at the wall he had just leapt.
“I said, ‘can you not see me, lad?’ And before that I said, ‘that skinned shin looks bad.’ Brian on his throne! Are all you large folk so daft?”
“No, wait, are you a leprechaun?”
“You truly are a brilliant lad.” The little man answered from his perch on the wall. “Now, about your knee, I can fix that if you’d like.”
“No thanks, it is just my bad luck.” Jimmy was thinking of a way to catch the little man.
“I could fix your luck too, for a price.”
Jimmy leapt forward and caught the leprechaun. “Aye, you better do just that or I’ll squash you here and now!”
“Alright, alright,” the leprechaun’s squeaky voice cried out. “I have this glorious horse…gives his rider marvelous luck, he does.”
“Is that so?” Jimmy loosened his grip.
“Aye, it is. I can even make the horse run on water, I can.”
“Give me the horse and I’ll let you go.”
The leprechaun uttered a few words and a powerful horse rode toward Jimmy from over a hill. Jack dropped the little man who cursed; “Daft lad!”
Mounting the lucky, magical horse Jimmy rode into town. This was his chance for fame and perhaps some fortune. He dismounted in front of the town pub. Strolling in, his chest puffed out, Jack cried out his challenge. “Ten to one, my horse can walk on water. Come to the beach and watch!”
An hour later at the beach half the town’s money was bet on Jimmy’s horse not being able to walk on the water. This was the biggest thing to happen for, as the old men said, “a hundred years.”
Jimmy, garbed in fine clothing, rode his horse toward the water accompanied by the cheers and jeers of the town. The horse’s hooves touched the shallows; no water splashed up upon Jimmy’s ironed pants. The horse continued to run upon the water. This was his moment of glory, until he saw the leprechaun from the corner of his eye. The leprechaun winked and Jimmy moaned, “I guess it’s just my luck.”
Jimmy and his horse sunk into the water, never to be seen again. Maybe he found fame in the Merpeople realms? Not even the old men can say.