The Dwarf and the Giant Seahorse – The Crown That Refused to Be Found

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The Dwarf and the Giant Seahorse – The Crown That Refused to Be Found
Admiral Barnabas Brinebeard had commanded seven ships, survived thirteen sea battles, and once defeated a giant squid with a soup ladle and an offensive insult. None of this had prepared him for riding a seahorse. “Left, Barnacle! LEFT!” The enormous emerald creature turned right, narrowly missing a marble column that had stood for centuries. Barnabas clutched the reins and adjusted the glass helmet around his silver beard. “You are the most disobedient animal in the Seven Seas!” Barnacle blinked a golden eye and ate some seaweed. “That was not a compliment!” Beneath them lay Thalassoria, the lost kingdom of the Sea King. An ancient map claimed his golden crown was hidden in the Royal Treasury. Barnabas intended to recover it and prove to his cousin Reginald that he was not merely an elderly dwarf with an expensive fish. They passed stone mermaids and ruined towers. Sunbeams lit blue streets and broken temples. “Magnificent,” whispered Barnabas. Barnacle sneezed, knocking the admiral's hat sideways inside his helmet. “A little respect for history!” In a broad square stood a statue holding an empty cushion. An inscription beneath it read: HERE RESTED THE CROWN OF THE TIDES. ONLY THE ONE WHO ASKS THE RIGHT QUESTION MAY CLAIM IT. “Excellent,” Barnabas declared. “I have dozens of questions.” “Then you are going to be extremely annoying,” said a voice. A purple octopus sat in an open treasure chest, wearing a brass coin like a monocle. “An octopus!” exclaimed Barnabas. “A dwarf,” replied the octopus. “We are both observant.” Barnabas straightened his coat. “Admiral Barnabas Brinebeard, Royal Explorer of the Northern Reefs.” “Professor Octavius Inkblot, Keeper of the Treasury and collector of interesting spoons.” “Rather small for a guardian.” “Rather loud for someone wearing a fishbowl.” Barnabas ignored him. “I seek the crown.” “Everyone does.” “Where is it?” “No.” “I can offer a reward.” “I live in a treasure chest.” “A larger chest?” “Tempting. Still no.” “What do you want?” Octavius pointed toward the palace. “Repair the royal clock.” “You expect an admiral to repair a clock?” “I expect an admiral to do something useful.” Barnabas grumbled about unreasonable seafood but followed him through the palace gates. Barnacle trailed behind, eating ornamental plants. Inside stood a gigantic clock surrounded by twelve stone dolphins. Its hands had stopped at eleven minutes before midnight. Gears jutted from the walls. “It stopped when Thalassoria sank,” Octavius explained. “The king ordered it silenced.” “Why?” “An excellent question.” Barnabas opened a panel, removed a broken gear, and found a golden crab sleeping inside. “Sabotage!” The crab opened one eye. “I have waited nine hundred years for someone to say that.” “Another talking creature?” “Even the furniture talks here,” Octavius said. “Most of it is dull.” The crab introduced himself as Clatter, former Royal Timekeeper. “I was inspecting the gears when the king stopped the clock. It trapped me. Rather inconsiderate.” Barnabas lifted him free. Immediately, the gears turned. The clock's hands advanced, and a tremor shook the palace. Outside, broken towers briefly became whole, then crumbled again. “What have I repaired?” Barnabas demanded. Octavius looked uncomfortable. “The royal clock does not measure time.” “Then what?” “Promises.” Across the square, the empty cushion began to glow. “Nine hundred years ago, the Sea King promised to protect Thalassoria from a terrible darkness,” Octavius said. “His crown had enough magic to save either the city or its inhabitants.” “Not both?” “He chose his people. They escaped, and Thalassoria sank. But the crown refused to believe its work was finished. It stayed behind to complete the promise.” The clock struck once. A rumble rolled beneath the palace. “And you guarded it?” Barnabas asked. “I prevented idiots from finding it.” “A noble occupation.” “An exhausting one.” Beyond the towers, a black wave rose from the seabed. It moved underwater without disturbing the currents. Lights glimmered inside like trapped stars. “What in my grandfather's whiskers is THAT?” “The darkness,” Octavius whispered. “The unfinished promise has called it back.” Barnabas raised his trident. “Then find the crown!” “Ask the right question.” “Where is it?” “Wrong.” “Who has it?” “Wrong.” “Why is it hiding?” “Closer.” The clock struck again. The black wave swallowed a distant tower, leaving bare seabed behind. Barnacle squeaked. Barnabas rested a hand on his neck. “Steady, old friend.” For once, Barnacle obeyed. The admiral studied the empty cushion, the deserted streets, and the octopus who had guarded a promise for nine centuries. Then he understood. “What does the crown want?” The clock stopped. Octavius smiled. “At last.” Golden light shone inside the chest. Coins floated upward, revealing a small circlet cracked along one side, with a blue pearl at its centre. “That?”