The Vile

Martin was bored that day. He gazed out onto the sea as the tide went in, and out, in, and out. He sharpened the knife on the metal pole he used as a sharpener, Shing, Shing. He looked at the knife blade. He gazed at his reflection. He thought about what his father said the other day, “You’re going to marry her, whether you like her or not!” he angrily threw the knife onto the pile of rocks that was the coast of Nice. He picked the knife up, and sheathed it. He thought of his bride-to-be, Monique Laginess. She was what he would call, une grase. She was fat repulsively hideous. He shivered at the very thought of her.

Martin noticed something wash up on the shore. It appeared to be a small glass tube, with a cork. Intrigued, Martin went over, and picked it up. He realized that it was a vile of some sort, with a message inside. He opened the cork, and noticed that, on the message, was a date:

He opened the letter, and saw that on it, was a bunch of nonsensical letters that he didn’t understand. It read:

            In the year of our lord, 1550, the virgin Bertrande de Galle was raped by the heartless bastard, Antoine de tours.  Vengence will be sought for this hanis crime by his son, Martin de Tours

Martin was confused. He had never seen anything like this before. He thought it was some sort of secret code. It would take a long time to break it, but Martin just shoved it into his pocket, and walked off the beach.

            “I have thrown the vile into the open sea, master.”

            “You’re sure you threw it in the right place?”

            “Of course.”

            “Good, Aaron. We must insure that he finds the code out.”

            “Why did you write the letter in code anyway?”

            “The letter is for his eyes and his eyes only!”

            “Yes, master”

            “You must go and fetch me Suzanne. Quick!”

            “Yes, master” the man did as he was told.

            “Here she is.” Said Aaron.

            “Monsieur, I am at your service.” Said Suzanne.

            “Suzanne. You must seek out Martin de Tours. He lives in a village in Nice. And take this with you.” He Handed Suzanne a small piece of paper, “Put this in his hand, and only in his hand. Do you understand?”

            “Yes, my lord. I will not disappoint you.” And she walked out.