The Rest of My Life
The last few tendays since I made the deal with the Gloom Crone have been the happiest I've ever known. 'Enough gold to last the rest of your life', she promised, and every day I've hefted those heavy, clinking bags and been satisfied with my lot. But I didn't want to just feel it, I wanted to see it, so last night I opened the sacks and discovered the Crone's trick - six actual gold pieces, while the rest of the coins, thousands of them, were nothing but worthless dross. I chucked them over the side in the dark, but then I suddenly felt ill. Well, who wouldn't? But something is scratching and making noise in my baggage, something bigger than a rat. And I'm afraid to see what it is.