"Cap'n! Cap'n! Land ho! Land ho!" shouted the porter. Captain Wolfram bent over the body of his first mate. The wet wool coat cut to get to his silent heart in his silent chest. Wolfram said a wordless farewell to his friend, and diverted all attention to the island. The coordinates were all off, but here it was. Even the mermaid lagoon coming out of Treasure Cave could be see through the bullets of rain and blinding gale. "We made it, my friend." A cigar clutching smile painted itself for a flash. Captain Wolframs eyes fired up like engines fueled by emeralds. They had beat the storm, the other pirates, and disbelief to boundless treasure. Just like legend foretold, the moment the ship passed within the island's reef the storm stopped and sun shone. There would be no burial at sea for the first mate. His dream was to find Wakimoa and grow fat and happy and die there. Wolfram intended to see his wish fulfilled. A pyre would be erected and there would be feasting by torchlight. Drums would beat the moon to dance all night and wake the sun. But first, to find the field of Magic Grass.