There be the chest. Inside be the gold and we took ‘it all. We traded ’em and spent ’em and frittered ’em away on pleasurable company and drink and food. The more we gave ’em away, we came to realize. The drink would not satisfy our thirst, food turned to ash in our mouths, and all the pleasurable company in the world could not slake our lust.
We are cursed men, Miss Turner. Compelled by greed, we were, but now we are consumed by it. There is but one way we can end our curse. All the scattered pieces of the Aztec gold must be restored and the blood repaid. Thanks to ye, we have the final piece.
