A Clinking Hoard

A brass key ring lay abandoned near a ceramic mug, catching the amber glow of the evening lamp. I circled the shiny leviathan twice, swaying just enough to test the timber of the table beneath me. With a flick of my plush hand, I wedged the tip of my cutlass beneath the split ring. It gave a magnificent, high-pitched clink and yielded a single, glittering brass paperclip that had been hooked beside the keys. A modest prize, perhaps, but a captain never refuses silver and gold when the tides offer it freely.