The Doctor

Nah, mate. She's got that one down pat.

As the sun set behind the bay where El Lobo was anchored, Rhys, Briggs, and Dolan met with Chief William and four of his men. William drew a rough map in the sand of the route they would take through the jungle that skirted a makeshift road that ran near the water, and a crude representation of the town itself. Rio de la Hacha was typical of many well established Spanish colonies in that the town had originally been contained within the fortress walls, but thanks to success and population growth spilled outside of the stone walls. As Mendoza increased his power, he forced the general populace out of the fortress complex entirely, including the church, and converted any housing into barracks for the garrison. To quell the outcry of the citizenry over this move, Mendoza threw a considerable amount of gold into a new, ornate church, complete with an abbey. He put even more into additional fortifications guarding the town and his de facto castle. William promised that he and his men would camp on the shore near the ship, waiting to create a diversion when Rhys and company returned with Jack. His plan was for them to rush to the outskirts of the town and cause a commotion, with the intent of buying El Lobo time to get out of the bay unnoticed. If the sentries were busy combing the jungle for marauding natives, reasoned William, the less likely anyone would take note of a departing vessel. No one could argue with his logic. Still, there were misgivings. “I don't know if I trust this one,” said Briggs as they moved through the jungle. Broken moonlight served as their only illumination as they negotiated the dense foliage slowed their progress. “Seems like he's goin' to a lot of trouble just to see Mendoza get egg on his face.” “Don't worry yourself, Josiah,” answered Rhys. “I trust him, but only so far. He seems sincere enough. We know the Spanish have enslaved every Indian they can get their hands on. If we're successful, he'll probably go back to his people with a bloody great tale of how he led a coup against Mendoza. As long as we get Jack back and alive, let him have his story. Maybe he can use it to rally his people and really have a go against the bastard.” “I suppose,” grumbled Briggs. “As long as he's there to make a ruckus like he promised, that's all I care.” “If we're inventive enough, then it won't matter if he's there or not,” offered Dolan. Rhys chuckled. “You're the optimist tonight!” “I figure we'd snuck in and out of enough places in our time,” Dolan said, “this oughta be easy.” “Just how many Spanish fortresses have ye slipped in and out of, unseen and unheard?” asked Briggs. Dolan took his time answering. “Well... this'll be the first. But we're very good!” Briggs snorted. “I'm feelin' better about this already.” “We'll worry about getting into the town first, then Mendoza's keep,” said Rhys. “One step at a time.” Finally, they reached the first outlying houses. They were modest, built of stone and mud brick, with thatched roofs. No lights could be seen in any of the windows. It was late enough that everyone was asleep. Hopefully they would stay that way. William put his hand on Rhys' shoulder. “Here is where we part ways, for now,” he said quietly. We will see you again at your ship with your friend. May the spirits guide you and keep you safe.” “In four days, if not sooner,” replied Rhys. “Thank you again for your help.” William nodded, then motioned to his men. With barely a sound, they disappeared into the jungle. The three men moved quietly and carefully between the houses, trying not to disturb any of the chickens and other animals that either slept or stood in their pens. They spotted a lane just beyond the last house in their path. As they rounded the corner of the house, Rhys froze and held up his hand for the others to stop. “Company,” he whispered. All three hid in the shadows and waited. A man on horseback was slowly making his way up the lane in their direction. “Patrol?” whispered Dolan. Rhys motioned for his friend to stay quiet. The horse continued on the road until it was in front of the house where the three men were hiding. It paused, then stepped onto the narrow dirt path that led to the house. When horse and rider got to about twenty feet from the house, they stopped. The three men held their breath. But the rider, who they were certain suspected their presence, said nothing. After a short while, the horse shifted, as if fidgeting in boredom. The rider remained silent. Rhys nodded to Briggs and Dolan, and all three drew their pistols and stepped into the moonlight. They waited for the rider to respond, but nothing happened. Finally, Rhys made a few cautious steps forward. The horse looked at him, but the rider did not move. Dolan and Briggs joined Rhys, and they approached the rider. That's when they heard a strange noise. Snoring. The rider was fast asleep, probably after far too much to drink at the tavern. In a ritual that had no doubt played out many times before, the trusty animal had carried his slumbering master safely home. Quietly chuckling more in relief than anything else, the trio looked around for any other surprises, then set off down the worn road toward the centre of town. Rio de la Hacha was a run of the mill Spanish settlement in the Caribbean, save for the stone-walled fortress that loomed over it. Thirty-foot walls sprang up at the city's centre, with large, domed watchtowers at each of its four corners. A multitude of notches were built into the top rim of the walls, with a cannon barrel protruding from each one. Smaller swivelling guns, called patereros, were mounted on the parapets beside each cannon. Their use was more anti-personnel in nature, which undoubtedly sent a message to the general populace to accept whatever Mendoza decreed. The sight sent a chill through Rhys. They weren't dealing with just any vengeful man. Diego Mendoza was a full-fledged despot, with the arms and manpower to enforce his every whim. “Our informants fell short,” Rhys said quietly. “I hate bein' right,” Briggs grunted. Dolan was a bit more philosophical. “All right, it's a tad bigger'n what I expected. But there's a door, yeah? A door is a way in and out. We'll be fine. Have to get inventive, but we're fine.” “Optimistic bugger,” grumbled Briggs. “Look,” said Dolan. “I know you'll move Heaven and Earth, and Hell if need be, to save Jack. Same with Rhys. All we need is a way in. It's there, which means we'll find it. It's up to Jack to hold on 'til we get there.” “Where'd ye hire this one, Rhys?” Briggs asked. “He's crazy enough to be one of Jack's own crew.” Rhys gave a small laugh. “I guess Jack rubbed off on me more than I realised. Otherwise I never would have hired him.” Dolan grinned, but the grin faded as the jibes settled in. “Oi, wait a minute!” he said in mock protest.

Oops! Accidental double post. Please feel free to remove.

Reserved for when I get my copy!

Three days after Rhys arrived in St. Lawrence, he left again, this time aboard El Lobo del Mar. He had convinced Briggs to dismount the heavy culverines and replace them with regular guns. Their additional weight would have slowed their progress more than Rhys cared to imagine. Never mind that one ship was useless against a fortress, if there indeed was one. If Jack was going to be rescued, stealth was the key. Not a short-lived, futile artillery battle. Rhys had plotted a course that would take them to Rio de la Hacha, a town on the northern coast of South America just west of the centre of the Spanish Main, in just under a week if the winds stayed in their favour. He wished that if this rescue mission had to happen at all, that it had been launched from Port Royal. A fast sail almost due south, and no islands or coastline to skirt or heavily travelled shipping lanes to avoid. But fate demanded that they take a course that would bring them dangerously close to the Spanish ports of Caracas, Coro, Portobello, and Maricaibo, and the Dutch ports of Aruba and Curacao. Each one could be counted on for complete intolerance of a pirate vessel in their waters. As an added measure of security, Rhys had the distinctive wolf figurehead replaced with the original carving of Mercedes Mendoza herself. Briggs understood the reasoning, since the wolf was unique to El Lobo, but he wouldn't quit grumbling about how the change was "ruining Jack's ship" and that it was a "bad omen for sure" until her hair and dress had been painted appropriate shades of red. Rhys and Dolan had a good chuckle over how even Briggs' highly superstitious nature could be calmed by a pretty redhead, even in effigy. Dolan's talents as a master forger would serve them well should any patrol ships intercept them. Thanks to an impressive collection of official seals they had appropriated over the years, he was able to produce impressively faked official papers from the Dutch and Spanish governments that they hoped would satisfy even the most suspicious naval officer even if flying the proper flags didn't. What caught Rhys by surprise, almost as much as Jack's being taken, was Briggs' insistence that he not only lead the rescue, but take command of El Lobo herself. "What? Me?" stammered Rhys. "No, Josiah, I can't. You know this ship and her crew best. They trust you." "Aye, and I trust ye," said Briggs. "That's good enough for them." He took a ragged breath. "Rhys, it took me days to come up with a plan, and my best thinkin' would have got us blown out of the water without ever gettin' close enough to help Jack. I ain't got the head for this sort of thing. But ye most certainly do. If we're to save Jack Wolfe, you're the man what's gonna make it happen." Rhys leaned back against the heavy wooden table and looked at the floor. As he thought about what Briggs said, he wished his Uncle Henry were there to talk it out with. But he knew what the advice would be: "You're in the yoke already, lad. What's one more bit of burden? That's why God gave you those broad Morgan shoulders. Use 'em." "All right," he said quietly. "Ye'll do it, then?" "Yes, Josiah. I'll do it. The important thing is that we get Jack home and safe. If this will help that cause, I'll do it." Briggs breathed a sigh of relief. "I knew ye'd see it that way! Ye won't regret it, Rhys." "I already do." "Ye're talkin' about that lass back in Wales, ain't ye?" "Rhiannon. Yes. I promised her I'd be back in three months. Heaven only knows how long I'll be delayed now." "She'll still be waitin' for ye, if it's meant to be. Ye'll have her in yer arms again before ye know it." "I hope you're right, Josiah. But life didn't stand still here whilst I was gone. How can I expect it to there?" "The same reason I believe Jack is still alive. Faith. It's all we got. Let that sustain ye." Rhys was heartened at the crew's reaction to Briggs' announcement that he would be the acting captain of El Lobo for the rescue. The men seemed to go about their work with renewed vigour and purpose, eager to put to sea. They responded even better than the Neptune Rising's crew, much to his amazement. Either they respected Rhys that much, or they wanted their old captain back so badly they'd endure any master that would fulfil that end. Rhys was content to split the difference. He wanted this ordeal over and done with as soon as possible, preferably with Jack alive to resume command and let Rhys get on with his life. Much to everyone's relief, the voyage went swiftly, without incident. Their closest call was with a Spanish war galleon that fell in step with them as they passed the bay that let to Maricaibo and Portobello. The galleon raised the flag of Spain, and El Lobo raised theirs in kind. Things got tense when the galleon fired a salute, and the crew thought they were under attack. Fortunately, Rhys realised the flag they were flying was that of the Spanish royal court, of which Mendoza was a dubious member. He swiftly instructed the gun crews to fire a return salute of six guns, without shot, in rapid succession. Once the salute was returned, the war galleon broke off and allowed the pirate ship to continue on. They hugged the coast after that, finding themselves harassed only once by a group of Native war canoes, who attacked solely because of the Spanish flag they'd forgotten to take down. Briggs quickly ran up Jack's flag, a rampant wolf astride two crossed swords, and the Indians broke off, choosing to fall in beside the ship shouting cheers. Rhys had the ship slow at that point, and invited some of the natives aboard. They told him, in broken Spanish, that they were indeed on course to Rio de la Hacha, but that they had best not approach the city directly. Instead, there was a large bay just to the northeast where they could anchor and hide the ship among the huge mangroves that crowded the shoreline. From there, it would be a hike of roughly a mile to the town. In an incredibly generous gesture, they offered to serve as guides. "Why would you tell me this?" asked Rhys. "Because," said the chief, who called himself William. "You are the enemy of Chief Mendoza. He has brought much sorrow to my people. He makes us slaves. Mendoza makes everyone slaves, even his own kind. If rescuing your chief brings grief and anger to Mendoza, then my people will help any way we can. Anger makes him foolish. We will strike at that time, once you are away, to avenge my people." Rhys pushed bowls of meat and rum forward to William. "We accept your offer, and we promise to bring much grief to Chief Mendoza." William nibbled at the meat, and spat it out. Apparently the salt taste disagreed with him. But the rum was a far different story. Thanks to Jack's impressive collection of Caribbean rums, it wasn't long before the chief was pledging undying loyalty, if Rhys agreed to leave several barrels of the amber liquid behind after the rescue was complete. Rhys promised William eight barrels of rum as payment for his assistance, which William gladly accepted. "Y'know, Jack ain't gonna be much too pleased with ye emptyin' the rum stores to a bunch of Indians," Briggs commented the next morning as they watched a still drunken William and his men row out ahead of the ship. "I think Jack will understand why I did it," said Rhys. "We need every bit of help we can get at this point. Rum is the least of my worries." Briggs shook his head. "Ye don't know Jack and his rum. Tell me; how many time you reckon ye've seen Jack sober?" "I assumed almost always." "As Jack would say, to assume the obvious is to overlook the obvious. That man ain't drawn a sober breath in the past five years, at least." "Why on earth would he do that to himself?" "Why does he do anything he does? God only knows, and He ain't tellin'." "Then Mendoza can't torture Jack any more than he's tortured himself. I can't imagine what's driven him to... wait! What's William doing?" William was standing up in the lead war canoe, waving and pointing wildly toward the shoreline. As Rhys and Briggs watched, a bay opened up before them. The mouth of it wasn't very wide, but it was sufficient for El Lobo to pass without trouble. It was ringed by mangrove trees, which would provide excellent cover from passing vessels. "Think you can get us in there, Master Briggs?" asked Rhys. "Just you watch me!" grinned the quartermaster, who went immediately to the forward rail of the quarterdeck and began shouting orders to the crew. Within a few minutes, the sails were struck just enough to carry the ship gently into the mouth of the bay. The easy part was over. They'd made it to Rio de la Hacha. Now the real work began. Get into the city, find a way into where Jack was being held, and get him to safety. That is, if he was still alive.

Low grey clouds scudded across the Barbados sky as the Neptune Rising dropped anchor in St. Lawrence's harbour. The winds kicked up the waves just enough to make any attempt to dock too risky, so Rhys elected to wait out the weather and ride at anchor. He stood on the quarterdeck and surveyed the docks with a spyglass, ignoring the winds as they whipped his hair into his face. “Do you see her, Captain?” asked Dolan. “It'd be like Wolfe to have already headed back. We'll be chasing his crazy arse all over the Caribbean.” “Patience, my friend,” said Rhys as he continued to scan the docks. “Jack is unpredictable to his enemies, but as constant as the stars to his friends. If he's not here, then Bonita has seen prey he can't resist.” “You actually believe that witch woman has the sight?” “I haven't seen anything to make me think otherwise. And the fact you believe in second sight at all tells me you think she may be genuine enough. But if Jack said he'd be in St. Lawrence, then St. Lawrence is where he'll be... ah! There's El Lobo. And there's a lot of activity around her. They're taking on a lot of cargo. Looks like they are getting ready to sail. That's odd.” “Ha!” said Dolan. “I was right, they'll be headed back to Tortuga or Port Royal just as we arrive.” Rhys collapsed the spyglass and looked on at El Lobo with worried puzzlement. “Something's not right about this.” “A hunch, Captain?” “A hunch. Make ready the longboat. We're going ashore.” Briggs' face was a mask of grim determination as he oversaw the ship's preparation from the quarterdeck. Almost three weeks had passed since they found out who ordered the kidnapping of Jack Wolfe. After seemingly endless inquiries of personnel from every ship that came into St. Lawrence, Mendoza's stronghold was finally discovered. That was four days ago, and Briggs had worked ceaselessly to formulate a rescue plan. Worry and lack of sleep etched deep lines into his features. Cade was certain the quartermaster was growing old before his eyes, and he worried about the toll the burden of command was taking on Briggs. Josiah Briggs was superb at commanding a ship, but he was not a leader of men nor a military strategist. Briggs expression brightened a little when he saw Rhys and Dolan reach the top of the gangplank. “If ye ain't a sight for sore eyes, Rhys Morgan!” he cried. Briggs hurried down to the weather deck, and for a moment Rhys was certain he was about to be on the receiving end of a bear hug. Instead, Briggs shook the young man's hand hard enough to make the knuckles roll uncomfortably. “What's going on?” asked Rhys. “You look like you're laying in for an extended cruise. Where's Jack?” Briggs' face went stony. “Ye ain't heard?” “We just made port this morning. I saw all the activity and came straight here.” “Come with me, then,” sighed Briggs heavily. “All hell's broke loose whilst ye were gone. I'll get ye up to speed. You're gonna need a drink. I know I do.” The three men went below and aft to the great cabin. Rhys paused as he stepped through the door. It was a disaster area. Clothes strewn about, maps and other papers covering nearly every horizontal surface. In amidst the maps and rutters on the large table, there was a plate of partially eaten food. Rhys guessed the ship's cat had eaten more of it than Briggs. Briggs himself sat down. Collapsed was more like it. “What's the big mystery?” asked Rhys. “More'n a month ago, Jack went missin',” answered Briggs. “Vanished into thin air. It's taken us until now to find out who was behind it and where they took him.” “Jack's got his share of enemies,” said Dolan. “Aye, that's true enough of us all, if ye been on the account as long as we have,” replied Briggs. “Some enemies are more heinous than others.” “Mendoza,” said Rhys. Briggs nodded. Rhys' jaw clenched. Jack and Mendoza's feud was well known, everyone knew the wisest choice was to not get between the two headstrong men. A good many dirty tricks hd been played on both sides, but this was Mendoza's most audacious. “Where is he?” “Mendoza was made governor of Rio del la Hacha after leavin' Cuba.” Briggs turned one of the maps around and pointed to a spot on the northern coast of South America. “Word is he's got a right proper fortress there.” An uneasy feeling settled in Rhys' stomach. He knew the quartmaster's next move. Mount a rescue of his captain and friend. “What's the plan?” “We've signed on extra crew, and we've mounted four culverines, two a side, 22-pounders each. That oughta at least get their attention, I'm thinkin'...” “Now, wait a moment,” Rhys interrupted. “With one ship, you intend to lay siege to a fortress? How many guns do they have? Do you even know?” “There's a hell of a lot we don't know. Such as what we're up against, or if this'll even work,” said Briggs testily. “By I do know this: I'll be damned if I sit by whilst Jack gets tortured to death by that Spanish butcher!” Rhys took a deep breath. He knew Briggs was out of his depth, desperate to try anything. But charging in, guns blazing, engaging a fortress in an artillery battle with only one vessel, was a suicide mission. The ship would be picked apart in short order by gunners trained to defend the harbour, and a lot more men than Jack would end up dead when all was said and done. “Josiah, I understand you need to rescue Jack, but there's no way your plan can work. I'm sorry, but that is how I see it.” “I ain't givin' up. No way in hell will I do that.” Briggs uncorked a bottle and poured everyone a drink. He leaned back with his cup and looked Rhys in the eye. “Fine. I knew this plan didn't have much of a chance, but it's somethin'. You're a smart man, Rhys. Smarter than me, and right up there with Jack by my reckonin'. How would you do it? How would ye rescue Jack?” At that instant, Rhys didn't want to speak. He found himself wishing he had never followed Jack to Barbados. He knew that if he put forth a plan, he would be obligating himself to leading the rescue effort. How long would it take? Would it even be successful? How long would he be delayed in returning to Wales, and his beloved Rhiannon? And what if he never made it back? What would become of her, never knowing why he didn't return? But he knew in his heart that if Jack Wolfe stood a chance of being rescued, he would have to step forward and lead the mission. “All right,” Rhys began, dreading the words he was about to say. “Here's what we're going to do...” In his heart, Rhys prayed Rhiannon would understand why he was delayed. And that he would indeed hold her in his arms again.

Rebeca stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. She found herself in a chair with her hands bound behind her and tied fast the the chair. She could hear men's voices speaking softly. In anger and panic, she tried to scream for help. But her mouth was too well gagged. Her muffled cries would reach no one who could help. “Well, lookie who's awake!” said Briggs. “McGlynn, pull her gag. Mind yer fingers. She's a feisty one, if the way she was maulin' Cade is any clue.” McGlynn approached her cautiously, making sure to keep his fingers well away from her teeth. Instead of trying to bite him, she attempted to spit in his face. Her mouth was too dry from the cloth, but it got her point across. Briggs and Cade chuckled as McGlynn back-pedalled. “What do you want with me, you Inglés carajo?!” she spat. “Calm down there, missy,” said Briggs. “We got a few questions for ye, and yer cooperation would be kindly appreciated.” “¡Perro! I will not answer any of you until you untie me!” “See, that there ain't what I'd call bein' cooperative. Be stubborn all ye want. We got nowhere to be but right here, waitin' for you to talk.” “And if I refuse? You will beat me, am I right?” Briggs shook his head. “My mama taught me that's not a nice thing to do. Don't go pushin' yer luck, tough. Mama Briggs ain't here to stay my hand.” Rebeca stared daggers back at him. “Now, McGlynn here, his mama never taught him any different. He likes to get right to the point, as they say.” McGlynn never said a word, but smiled gleefully as he pulled from his pocket a whetstone and a long, menacing knife. Without taking his eyes from her, he began honing the knife's edge with long, deliberate strokes. “Now, Miss Rebeca,” Briggs continued, “There be one thing keepin' ye from getting' acquainted with McGlynn's special talents. The truth. We know ye were with Jack Wolfe the night he went missin'. We want to know who ye were workin' for, and where they took him.” Rebeca's body stiffened. “I do not know this Jack Wolfe.” “You're a poor liar,” said Cade. “We all saw how you reacted to his name earlier.” “You are imagining things,” she said defiantly. “I'm gonna ask you one more time,” said Briggs. “Who are you workin' for? Tell us what we need to know, and we'll let ye go free. You're only makin' it harder on yourself otherwise.” Rebeca kept her silence. “Damn it, woman! A man's life is probably hangin' in the balance! Don't ye understand that?” Cade shook his head in exasperation. “We're wasting our time trying to appeal to her better nature, Josiah. She probably doesn't have one.” “Aye, ye have a point. Speakin' of points, maybe we should appeal to her self interest.” Briggs turned to McGlynn and nodded in Rebeca's direction. McGlynn grinned and got up from his chair. As he walked toward Rebeca, he kept up the lopsided maniacal grin as he held the blade upright just in front of his face, swinging it back and forth like the pendulum of a metronome. Rebeca held her breath as the wild-eyed man approached. “Such a shame,” said Cade. “And it was a lovely face, too.” “Don't fret none,” Briggs said. “She'll find a job scrubbin' floors or muckin' stalls. Somewhere's they don't have to look at her.” McGlynn stopped in front of the girl and gave an odd little laugh before slowly walking around behind her. Her eyes grew wider with fear when she heard his footsteps stop directly behind her. “Once again,” said Cade. “Who were you working for? Who wanted to capture Jack Wolfe and used you as bait?” “I can't... oh dios mio!” she gasped as she felt the icy steel of McGlynn's blade against her neck. “I swore I would not tell! Do not kill me, por favor! I beg you!” Tears of desperation began to stream down her face. “The name,” pressed Briggs. “It'd be a right pity to make a mess o' your face,” hissed McGlynn menacingly. “Do be a love an' tell us the name.” Sobbing, Rebeca whispered the name. “Louder,” commanded Cade. “Or Mister McGlynn has his way with you.” “MENDOZA!” she shouted through her tears. “Colonel Mendoza! He is the one who hired me...” Her voice trailed off as she sobbed more. “Damn it! I should've known it was that bastard,” growled Briggs. “Where did they take Jack?” “I do not know! They never told me, only who was paying me!” “I dunno, Master Briggs,” said McGlynn, placing the blade against her cheek. “I could cheer her up with a really grand smile...” Rebeca wailed in terror, begging in Spanish and English. “Oh, God, please, no!! I do not know, I swear!!” she finally got out. “Stand down, McGlynn. That's an order. She doesn't know.” McGlynn let out a heavy sigh, and returned to her chair. Cade poured her a drink and went to her side. “I'm sorry we had to put you through that, Rebeca. But you're the only one who could help us find our friend. I hope you understand.” “If Mendoza finds out I told you, he will have me killed,” she said shakily. “We won't tell a soul how we found out if it comes to that. Here, have a sip of this.” She drank greedily, hoping to soothe her shattered nerves. “Please untie me.” “Not until you're calmer. Then I promise we'll let you go.” “I am feeling calmer, Cade. I promise not to tell anyone about you. It would mean my death if I did.” She paused for a moment and gave him a quizzical look. “My head feels strange. What did you do?” “One more thing for you to forgive, I'm afraid. You'll sleep for a long time.” “You... bast...” Rebeca slurred, before her head lolled over. Cade quickly untied her and carried her to the bed. “Sweet Jesus,” said McGlynn as he downed a cup of rum. “I'm surprised she didn't feel me bloody hand shakin', holdin' that knife to her. I was scared to death!” “She was more scared than you,” Briggs said. “You did good. Had me convinced ye were off yer nut.” “What do we do now?” asked Cade. “Well, we know Mendoza has Jack. He won't be near as kind as we were to Rebeca here,” said Briggs. “We need to find where that Spanish jackal is, and fast.” “Then what?” “Then we get Jack back. Or die tryin'.”

For and hour, maybe more, the two teased and flirted and drank. Cade was amazed at the amount of alcohol Rebeca was able to put away, but it was finally catching up to her. She had become loud very affectionate, and he tried his best to mirror her drunkeness. Cade was certainly feeling no pain, but this was nothing like the times he, Jack, and Briggs decided to paint the town red. On those occasions he could hardly stand, and Jack was still going strong. He hoped that Rebeca wasn't putting on an act as well. Finally, he got his answer. “Cade, I think you are trying to make me borracha!” she giggled. “Borracha? What's that? Something good, I hope!” “It means I'm drunk, you Englishman!” she said with feigned indignation. “You need to improve your vocabulary. And you need to be very, very careful.” “And why must I be careful.” “Because of what happens when me est borracha. Want to know what that is?” She was trying to act serious and flirtatious at the same time, but only succeeded in slurring her words whilst bobbing like a channel marker on a windy day. Cade leaned on the table and propped his chin with his hand. “I can't wait to hear this.” “Then I will tell you! When I am drunk, I really like to...” Rebeca leaned in and finished her sentence in Cade's ear. His eyes became the size of dinner plates. “So? Does that sound like fun to you, Cade Jennings?” “I'd be a fool if I said no to any of that.” He figured her proposition was a ruse, just like she had probably used a hundred times before. But he had to see how far she was willing to take things. Was she a serious player, or simply full of liquid courage? Cade needed to get her out of this noisy tavern room to some place where he could find out what, if anything, she knew about Jack. “I have a room upstairs. And I would love to indulge your whims. Every last one of them.” Rebeca smiled enthusiastically. “Show me the way!” Cade stood and helped Rebeca to her feet. As he turned to lead her upstairs to the room, he found himself face to face with the tavern wench who had been flirting with him earlier. She stood there, arms crossed, holding her tray to her chest, with an accusatory look on her face. Cade gave her a sheepish smile. She rolled her eyes and brushed past him. “Another of your women?” Rebeca asked. “No, and I doubt she ever will be now.” “She is jealous!” she laughed, hanging on his arm. “Wait until I spoil you for other women. Then she will have a reason to be jealous!” Cade turned and kissed her hand, never taking his eyes from hers. “I can hardly wait!” She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “I wonder... just who is seducing whom now?” “Does it matter any more?” he asked, his lips nearly brushing hers. Rebeca's expression had gone from that of a calculating seductress to one of willing abandon. She shook her head no. Cade lingered for a moment, then led her up the stairs. They paused at the door to Cade's room. He fumbled for the key, finally finding it and unlocking the door. “Cade?” He turned, just as Rebeca practically tackled him and began kissing him deeply. The couple stumbled through the door and landed on the bed, with her on top of him. She began tearing at his clothes, but stopped cold when they heard a man's cough and the sound of the door closing. She looked up, startled, to find the room lit with candles. Two men were there, looking bemused. The oldest man, a fellow with shaggy light brown hair and a beard, had been the one to close the door. He stood there with his back to the door, blocking it in case she tried to escape. “I hope we ain't interruptin' things, Mister Jennings,” Josiah Briggs said. “What this hell is this?!” Rebeca demanded. “This is not part of the deal, Cade,” she said angrily. “Your friends are not invited. Get rid of them!” “Oh, we wouldn't think of leavin',” said Briggs. “You're our guest for a little while.” She looked at Cade, and slammed her fist on his chest. “You bastard!” She scrambled to her feet and looked from man to man like some caged animal. “I will scream, I swear it!” “Go ahead,” said Cade. “The innkeeper knows we're here and what this is all about.” “You-- you what? Someone, tell me what is going on!” Briggs leaned nonchalantly against the door. “It's simple, missy. You're gonna park yer Spanish behind in that empty chair. And then you're gonna start answerin' some questions. Truthfully.” “Questions? About what?” “What happened the night Jack Wolfe went missing,” said Cade. Rebeca's eyes went wide. She mouthed as if she was going to cry out for help. Instead, she fainted dead away. Briggs looked at Cade and shrugged. “Looks like this'll take a little longer than we expected. Make yerself useful and get us some coffee.”

Cade Jennings sat more or less patiently in the public room of the Blue Gryphon tavern. He scanned the faces of the patrons gathered there and fought the urge to rub his eyes. For the past eight nights, he had gone from pub to pub trying to find the woman a few drunken souls had seen with Jack the night he disappeared. Petite, yet amply endowed, with raven-black hair she wore free about her shoulders and eyes like melted chocolate. Catnip to Jack Wolfe. One would think that such a strikingly beautiful Spanish woman would be easy to spot in a colony that strove to be the most English in all the Caribbean. But St. Lawrence was still an open port. Any and all ships were welcome save those of an invading armada. Finding a needle in a haystack was child's play in comparison. During the course of search only one person had put a possible name to her, though he couldn't be positive: Rebeca. The strategy was simple: keep a high profile by throwing just enough money around to lure in women with a taste for big spenders. A few members of the crew insinuated themselves into the crowd and let any unattached woman resembling the description of Jack's mystery girl that the strapping young man with sandy hair was looking for company. Cade would have to set aside his preference for blondes, no matter how comely and interested they were. That is, if they would let him. He finally gave in and rubbed his tired eyes. “Well, look at what the cat dragged in!” said a woman with a distinct Irish lilt. Cade looked up and blinked. There stood Brandy O'Dwyer. She wasn't his girlfriend in the traditional sense. More of a steady favourite. No strings attached, at least none they had ever talked about. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back from her face with a green ribbon, which helped to emphasise the anger in her eyes. “Brandy! I didn't expect--” “Aye, that's for damned sure, lookin' at your face! Didn't think I'd come lookin' for ye? St. Lawrence isn't that big, boyo!” “Brandy, darling, I can explain. Just not right now.” “Explain what? How ye acquired a taste for the señoritas all of a sudden, like all the tongues have been waggin' about?” she fumed. “It's not like that---” “I'll tell ye how it happened! That no good, rotten Jack Wolfe. That's what done it!” She drew herself up and glowered at him. “I never expected a ring out of ye, Cade Jennings. Not ever, and not that I'd ever ask. But I'll be damned if I'll have your boots under me bed again!” Cade, his mouth agape, watched as Brandy turned on her heel and marched off. He knew she was a passionate woman, but he'd never seen her this angry before. Apparently there were some strings he had overlooked. He hoped that one day he could make her understand what the charade was for. After she cooled down for a few days, of course. Maybe a week or so. Cade swallowed some of his drink and rubbed his eyes once more, trying to remember if he had anything stashed away that would serve as an adequate peace offering to Brandy. Suddenly he felt the warm caress of a woman's hand just behind his ear. “Woman problems, señor?” asked a sultry voice. Cade silently vowed never to close his eyes for more than two seconds in a tavern ever again as he looked up. And once again, his mouth fell open. A stunning Spanish woman, petite yet voluptuous, with cascading hair so black that any reflected light revealed hints of midnight blue and inviting eyes the colour of melted chocolate, slipped into the chair beside him. He didn't recall any of the chair being quite that close to him before he closed his eyes the second time, but at the moment he didn't particularly care. He stared as, without ever breaking eye contact, she picked up his tankard and polished it off. “Mmm, that was good. Is there more?” she asked. Cade blinked and swallowed hard. “Uh... what?” Yeah, that was ever so smooth, he thought. But he couldn't tear his eyes away. The mystery woman smiled and traced the back of his hand with her finger. He was amazed at the amount of heat her fingertip gave off. “The drink. Is there more? Your cup is empty.” “Oh! Of course!” He waved toward the bar, and a tavern girl came right over. She warmly at Cade, but her smile evaporated when she saw the Spanish girl. “What can I get for you?” she asked, her tone decidedly lukewarm compared to earlier that evening. “Rum, for me and the lady, please. Your best.” She cut her eyes to the mystery woman, then back to Cade, and made a derisive little snort. “Sure. Right away.” The tavern girl went to get the drinks, wishing he had ordered ale. She could have spit in the cups first and they would've never known. “You stare at me like a hungry man seeing food for the first time in days, Mister...” She trailed off and raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to fill in the blank. “Yes, I am,” he replied dreamily. “I mean-- what?” She smiled, trying not to laugh. “You have a name, no?” “No. I mean, yes! Cade. Cade Jennings.” The tavern girl returned and plunked the tankards down in front of them. “That'll be six,” she said matter-of-factly. Cade gave her a suspicious look. “The last one was two. Shouldn't it be four, then?” “It's six now.” He smiled to himself, knowing just what her game was. She had been attentive and flirtatious the entire evening, meaning to get him upstairs for something more than rum and ale. Now she was going to get that extra money out of him by other means. He pulled nine coins out of his purse and put them on her tray. “Will that do?” “It's a start,” she answered, finally giving him a smile. She pocketed five of the coins and turned her attention back to her other customers. Cade felt the mystery woman squeeze his arm just above the elbow, then linger on his biceps. He reminded himself that he had to stay on task and not get caught up in the moment. The life of his friend and mentor hung in the balance. If this was the woman that had lured Jack into a trap, Cade could easily see how he would have gone for the bait. “Are you always so very generous?” she purred? “That all depends,” he countered. “Perhaps if I get to know you better, I will be. You never did tell me your name.” She looked deep into his eyes and smiled disarmingly. “Is it so important?” It was time to see just how well Jack had taught him about the art of the chase. Cade lifted his tankard. “It's very important, if I wish to make a toast to an incredibly beautiful woman.” Her eyebrows went up and she smiled, obviously flattered. “You are a very persuasive man.” “I'm just getting started.” She lifted her tankard, giving her hair a little toss as she did so. “My name is Rebeca.” Cade smiled broadly. This might be the one they had been looking for! Now for the next phase. He put his tankard against hers and held it there. “A beautiful woman with a beautiful name. Could this night be more complete?” “How do you English put it? If you play your cards right? Is that it?” “That's it, exactly, love.” Little did Rebeca know the game she had gotten herself into.

A sharp pain in his right shoulder jostled Jack toward conciousness. How long had they kept him drugged this time? He felt dizzy and half sick. More than half. Involuntarily he leaned over and wretched, but there was nothing in his stomach. It took nearly every once of strength he had, so weak was he from lack of food and constant drugging with laudanum and God knew what. When his coughing subsided, he licked his parched lips and began to fall asleep again. Another sharp jab in the shoulder, rougher than before, forced him to open his eyes. Wherever he was this time, it was gloomy, with only sparse, flickering light. No motion, so he wasn't on a ship. He found himself sitting on a cold stone floor, his back against an equally cold stone wall. Black iron bars completed the enclosure of the space, and a dank, fetid stench hung heavy in the air. This wasn't a gaol. He'd been in a few of those over the years. This was a dungeon. Once again, something poked him hard in the shoulder. Jack looked over toward the bars closest to him to discover who it was that wanted his attention so badly. It was a man on the opposite side of the bars. He wasn't terribly tall, but he carried himself in a way that conveyed importance, even authority. His clothing was black with what seemed to be silver or gold woven into the material, except for a white shirt with lace at the cuffs and collar. The long walking stick he had been using to prod Jack was finely carved, probably mahogany, with a heavy ivory ball for a grip. A heavy gold chain, probably a chain of office, hung around his neck. He looked to be a few years older than Jack. Flecks of grey could be seen in his perfectly groomed goatee, but his cropped and coiffed hair was still jet black. But what stood out most to Jack about this obviously wealthy man was his eyes. Cold, cruel, and calculating, they peered out from under heavy brows. It was a face Jack had seen before, aboard the Spanish ship he had taken for himself years ago. The man he had cuckolded before that, and delighted in bedevilling ever since. Diego Hernando Mendoza Y Castille. Baron, colonel, and butcher. "Finally. You're awake." "Hello there, Diego," said Jack, mustering all the sarcasm he could. "I knew it was you behind this. Love what you've done with the place. How's the wife?" Mendoza rammed the walking stick ivory ball end first through the bars and into Jack's side. Jack couldn't be sure, but it felt like a rib cracked. "A taste of things to come, Wolfe," intoned Mendoza in a deep, richly accented voice. It was a voice that could have been charming if one couldn't see the cruelty etched in every line on his face. "You are a stubborn man, even in slumber. Do you know I have been waiting three days for you to wake up?" "You should have thought about that before you had your lackeys start pouring potions into me. I could have died en route and spoiled all your fun." "It was a necessary risk. Your reputation for finding your to freedom regardless of the cage demanded it. No matter. The timetable will have to be changed somewhat." "Yeah, a lousy character trait of mine, loving my freedom. Sorry to inconvenience you." "You have been an inconvenience to me from the moment I first heard about you. I expect no different from you now. But that will end soon enough." Diego's iciness was an unexpected change from the last time the two men came face to face. With all the problems and humiliation he had caused Mendoza, he expected the mercurial Spaniard to be in a rage, ranting and prone to mistakes that could be capitalised on. Instead, Mendoza was coolly in control, of himself and the circumstances. That control included Jack. The knot in Jack's stomach became less one of hunger and more one of the emotion he hated the most – fear. An angry man could be taken advantage of. Not so one who was this cold. If Jack was going to survive the impending ordeal, he had to abandon his usual ploy of treating life as a high-stakes card game. It had become chess. “Don't tell me you're in a hurry to kill me, Diego. I thought our relationship had grown beyond that.” The Spaniard chuckled. “Indeed is has, Wolfe. No, killing you quickly, while enjoyable, would not be as... satisfying. I have other plans for you.” “Huzzah for you getting your giggles.” “Do not be bitter, Wolfe! You have proven a most challenging prey over the years. You should be proud of yourself. It took much planning and a fair amount of luck. And of course, the perfect trap.” “I'm beginning to see how this works,” said Jack, feigning boredom. “You're going to gloat endlessly, and in the process talk me to death. Very clever.” Mendoza motioned over his shoulder, and a guard and two servants carrying trays stepped into view. “You will find me an hospitable man, Mister Wolfe. Here. Some food to end your hunger.” "Forget it, Diego. I'll not willingly swallow poison." Mendoza sighed, and picked up a piece of chicken from one of the trays. In full view, he tore off a bite and ate it, making a production of swallowing the morsel. He then poured some wine and washed it down. "A bit dry, for which I apologise. But as you can see, there is no poison." He nodded, and the guard unlocked the cell door and let the servants inside. They left the trays on the floor in front of Jack, and quickly retreated. "And if I refuse?" asked Jack. "Then you can sit there and starve as the rats eat it all. If you are lucky, they will wait a while before turning their appetites on you." Jack looked at the food arrayed before him, then back at his captor. "Not the most sparkling dinner conversation I've ever had, but you've made your case." "Excellent! Eat well, my friend. I will see you again in five days." "Five days? Why five days?" "Because I want you to regain your strength. Then, Mr. Wolfe..." Mendoza smiled in a way that straddled sardonic and sinister. "Then, we shall talk."

Gotta love Groucho...

Look out, everybody! Stynky found new toys!

"Let me go!" demanded Cade, though it sounded more like pleading. "School's in session, Junior!" said Jack. "You're not going anywhere." "I swear I won't hurt you if you just let me go!" "I suppose that's true. You couldn't hurt me before all this, so I can't image you doing any damage after." "You'll do it, then?" "Hell no! I'm only getting started with you. We're going to use this incident as a learning opportunity." "A what?" Jack exhaled in exasperation. "I'm going to teach you what you did wrong, sonny. You're listening skills are really rubbish!" "Why would you do that?" "Because I'm feeling charitable. Now shut it and pay attention. Let's start with this rusted bit of junk you call a sword. Want to know how I knew I could grab it?" Cade stayed tight lipped. "Fine. Suit yourself. When I wouldn't cooperate, you started waving it about. No light from the windows glinted off it. So I knew it was either rusty or made of wood. If you let it get rusty, then I knew you wouldn't bother keeping a proper edge on it." "You tricked me. So what?" the boy said petulantly. "That I did. And that was only part of it. You stepped in too close to make a good thrust with your blade. If you had managed to connect, you would have poked me, not killed me. And you know how I managed all that?" "You're gonna tell me whether I want to hear it or not." The lad's voice was heavy with dejection. "See? I knew you were clever. You blundered because I made you angry. Never let your emotions get out of control, boy. Your passions will be your undoing." Jack stepped back and released the boy. He held the sword in front of him in both hands like a headmaster's rod. Cade kept facing the wall. His shoulders were shaking. "Wait a minute," said Jack slowly. "Are you... you're crying?" "Just kill me and get it over with! You said it yourself. I'm a failure." "I'm not going to kill you. I never was." "But you said..." "I was trying to scare you. That's all. Now face me." Cade slowly turn around, his face downcast so Jack couldn't see his tears. "What's your name, son?" "C-Cade." He paused for a big sniff and wiped his nose with a threadbare sleeve. "Cade Jennings." "Why are you crying?" "You didn't tell me your name. That's not polite." Jack chuckled at the admonishment. "Right you are, Master Jennings. My name is Jack. Jack Wolfe." "Jack.. Wolfe?" "That's right. Have you heard of me?" "You've got the black ship with red around the gunports and the big wolf at the bow!" "Oh, so you have heard of me!" "Everybody has. You're famous!" "I'm not famous. I'm just a pirate..." "And I was going to try to kill you." Tears of regret began to flow down Cade's cheeks. Jack crouched down and set the rusty sword aside. "Hey! Hey, no, there's no reason for that! It was an honest mistake. Well, as honest as it gets when you set out to rob a man." "I'm so sorry! I didn't know it was you!" the boy sobbed as he slumped against the wall. "I never would have... You're right. I'm a failure." "Cade, I didn't mean it. I said it to make you mad. That's all." "But it's true! Everyone says it. Especially Tommy." "Who's Tommy? Your father? Or brother?" "No. Tommy is the boss of this neighbourhood. Five whole streets. They're all his." "So you did this to make a rank in his gang?" Cade nodded. "If I robbed a man, he'd let me stay on a while longer. If I killed someone, then I'd be part of the family forever." "Well, that's about what I thought," Jack sighed. "Let me guess. He's watching us now?" "Tommy's got eyes everywhere." "What happens now, since I've ruined your chances?" "I don't know," Cade said softly. The tears started again, this time from hopelessness. Jack's heart went out to the lad. He knew what it felt like to be on the outside, not knowing where he fit in, or if he did at all. Cade's chances here had been dashed because he picked the wrong man to confront. Or had he? Anyone else would have hurt the boy or killed him outright. There's no telling what this Tommy fellow would do to him. Maybe this was for the best that he had been the one Cade tried to rob. Jack felt an enormous amount of compassion for the lad. He was smart and bright, but lost. Maybe, with the right teacher... No, Jack thought. Rule number one, no strays. All right, he'd broken that rule with the ship's cat, but that was different. "Where do you live, Cade? I'll take you home to your parents." "I ran away about a year ago. Maybe more, I think." "Then I think after the night you've had, going back home might be the best place for you," Jack said gently. "I can't." More slow tears. The boy's despair was starting to make Jack's heart ache. "I'm sure they'll take you back in. They must be out of their minds with worry..." "They're back in England." "Oh! Um, yeah. That would be a problem. Why did you leave?" "My stepfather. I hated him. He beat me if I dropped a pea off my knife." Jack shook his head and looked at the boy. Starving, friendless, desperate, and so very alone. But clever. He'd stayed alive by his wits, and made it all the way from England to the Caribbean on his own. In spite of his policy of cynicism, his heart went out to the waif. Finally, Jack turned and started collecting the coins off the ground. "What are you doing?" asked Cade. "I need this money." "Oh. I understand." Jack looked back at him and smiled. "Why so glum? It takes money to buy you a hot meal." Cade looked at Jack as if he had just turned into a giant spider. "A... what did you say?" "A hot meal. For you. God, we'll have to work on those listening skills, too." The boy ran to Jack and threw his arms around him, nearly knocking Jack over. "Easy there, laddie!" laughed Jack. "If I drop these coins, we'll have to rob somebody. And you're not too lucky at that!" "You're serious? You'd do that for me?" "What, rob somebody? I like you, kid, but not that much!" "No, I mean buy me food! Who can't listen now?" "Yeah. I'll do that for you." Jack stood up and smiled at Cade. "You look like you could use a friend right about now. Come on. I know a place where the food it warm, and so are the tavern maids." "Why's it so important if the tavern girls are warm?" "Oh, you've got a lot to learn, Cade, my boy! A lot to learn." As he and Cade left the alley, Jack thought to himself, 'So much for rule number one...' Now the hopes of El Lobo's crew were pinned on Jack's protege. Briggs wasn't sure it would be enough, but Cade Jennings was Jack Wolfe's best bet for being found.

Josiah Briggs sat at the table of El Lobo's great cabin - Jack's personal quarters - with his head in his hands. He was staring at maps of Barbados and its two major towns, Bridgetown and St. Lawrence. Frustration and worry furrowed his brow. Jack had been missing for over a week, and there was still no sign of him. It was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. The only clue they had was that he had left the Elephant tavern with a beautiful young woman, a striking Spanish lass. No one thought it unusual for Jack Wolfe to take up with a woman he had just met, and Briggs waited the requisite three days before bothering to look for him. The quartermaster cursed himself for not following his gut and mounting a search much earlier. Jack had intended to sail in two days when he had gone missing, and even he was disciplined enough be back aboard his own ship on the appointed date to sail. Josiah had fully expected to see Jack that morning, sauntering up the dock with a smile on his face and not a penny in his pocket. But he never showed, and the usual tour of the taverns proved fruitless. Now Briggs had every available crewman dispersed across the island, tearing it apart in search of El Lobo's missing master. There was a soft knock at the door, followed by the creaking of its hinges. Briggs didn't bother to look up. "Aye, what have ye got?" His voice was weary from the nonstop stream of disheartening news. "Just 'eard from 'ornsby an' 'is men in Bridgetown, Cap'n," said the crewman. "No sign o' Cap'n Jack, an' nobody there's sayin' nuffin." Briggs looked up at the man with hooded eyes. "For starters, spread word that the next man what calls me 'captain' get to clean the bilges with his tongue. There be only one captain of this here ship, and it ain't me! Got it?" The man blinked at the quartermaster's vehemence. "Aye, cap-- I mean, Mister Briggs! I'll tell 'em all, like th' gospel trufe, I will!" Briggs sighed and rubbed his forehead. "This is getting' us nowhere fast. Either Jack's dead, God forbid, or he ain't on this blessed rock any more. Tell Hornsby and the rest to keep lookin' for Jack, even raise the reward money another hundred, but I want that girl found, too! I'm willin' to bet me Aunt Betsy's cat she's still in St. Lawrence." He sat back and tapped a metal rule on the desk. "Is Jennings still in St. Lawrence?" "Aye, he's searchin' warehouses an' such." "Send word I want him back here. The lad's got new duties." "Mind me askin' wha' ye have in mind for 'im? In case 'e asks?" Briggs smiled grimly. "Our young Master Jennings is gonna be the bait for a certain señorita." Cade Jenning was the youngest member of the crew, and for all intents and purposes Jack's protege. Cade had been a New Providence street urchin, barely 13 years old when he and Jack crossed paths one evening as Jack was walking back to the ship after a night on the town. Cade stepped out of an alleyway and confronted Jack with a sword. "H-hold there!" the scrawny lad ordered, his voice quaking. "Hand over your m-money, and you'll keep your life!" Jack stopped and looked behind himself, then back at Cade. "Me?" "Yes, y-you! I won't tell you again, give me your money!" The boy's voice was steadily creeping upward in pitch in step with his anxiety. "Oi! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? And shouldn't you be home in bed, instead of prowling the streets trying to get yourself killed?" "You're the one that needs to w-worry about getting killed!" the boy said haltingly as he waggled his sword in what he hoped was a menacing fashion. "Now! Give me your money!" Jack sighed and rolled his eyes. He dug in his pocket and found a few coins, which he threw at Cade's feet. Cade stared back at him and shook his head. "You pick those up. I'm not stupid!" Nervously, he kept readjusting his grip on the sword that was obviously a little to heavy for him. A smile curled Jack's lips. He had expected the obviously starving boy to grab for the coins. This lad might be out of his depth and terrified, but he had a brain. "No." "I'm w-warning you..." "Look at you," Jack interrupted. "A shaking, snot-nosed whelp who fancies himself a highwayman, about to get killed by a pirate. Your parents must be so proud. Where do they live, so I can tell the authorities where to send your body? Don't worry. I'll pay for your funeral. I'm a generous bloke at heart." Cade raised his sword and took a step closer. "Shut up! Just shut up!" he yelled, his voice jumping up an octave as it cracked. "I'm no whelp! I can take care of myself, and I don't need parents!" He stood there looking up at Jack, his body shaking as if it were the dead of winter in Scotland. "In fact, I intend to kill a pirate, or die by his hand! What do you think of that?" This lad had something to prove, probably to a gang leader, Jack thought. The rite of passage into manhood for street thugs - a first kill. He had to find a way to bring this to and end, preferably without doing anything drastic. "It explains your horrid manners," said Jack nonchalantly. "And I hate to tell you, you're doing a lousy job of trying to kill me, and I have no desire to kill you no matter how annoying I find you. Now, do us a favour and quit waving that sword around. You're liable to hurt yourself." "I said pick up that money!!" "And I said no. Why should I do your dirty work, little boy? You've already stated your intention to kill a pirate, and I'm a pirate! If you're going to do it, then do it! Or are you a whimpering, gutless little baby? That's what everyone thinks, isn't it? That you're weak, snivelling, and useless! Every moment you stand there shaking like a schoolgirl, you're only proving them right. That you are a FAILURE!" Humiliated to the point of rage, Cade drew back his blade run Jack through. When he thrust it forward, Jack deftly sidestepped and grabbed the sword, and jerked it out of Cade's hand. The boy, off balance, stumbled past his opponent. Before he could regain his footing, Jack had him pinned face first against the wall with his feet off the ground, using the sword like a bar to hold him there.

He lifted his head, pausing to wait out the ensuing wave of nausea. When the spinning sensation stopped, he opened his eyes again and looked around the room. Slowly, his surroundings came into focus. Jack was in a small cabin. Not the surgery as he suspected, but a regular cabin like what would belong to a quartermaster or first mate. He took some satisfaction that his incarceration was an inconvenience for someone, and that they valued him enough not to chain him in the bilges. There was a small table with a chair against the opposite wall from the bed. On the table were what looked like a couple of apothecary bottles and a wooden bowl. An oil lantern hung from the ceiling, swaying with the movements of the ship. He quickly looked away from the lantern as nausea threatened a thunderous return. There was a crucifix on the bulkhead above the desk, with a rosary hung like a swag underneath. That clinched it. A Spanish ship, belonging either to Spanish bounty hunters or Mendoza himself. Jack sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. To his relief, there were no restraints. Apparently they planned to keep him too drugged to be concerned with him mounting an escape. He steadied himself, then attempted to stand. Jack's knees buckled, but he caught himself on the side of the bed without making much noise. All right, no making a run for it, he thought. He slowly got back to his feet and made a few halting steps to the table where he was able to brace himself again. There was an almost clear liquid in the bowl beside the apothecary bottles. He picked it up and smelled it. His nose wrinkled at the sour smell of rancid water. Wherever his captors were from, they didn't waste time resupplying in St. Lawrence. He dipped a finger in the water and tasted it. No hint of anything but water from what he could tell. Despite the horrid taste, the water felt good in his mouth. He was parched dry and his tongue felt thick, no doubt from whatever drugs they used on him. Jack sighed as he held his nose and lifted the bowl to his lips. The water tasted terrible, but not the worst he'd ever been forced to drink. It eased the sandpaper feel of his throat and helped to clear his head a little. He set the bowl down quietly and turned his attention to the three apothecary bottles. Two of them had labels too badly smeared for his blurry vision to make out. One of the smudged ones looked like it might have been labelled heroína, a word he was unfamiliar with, but it was hard to tell. The third bottle was clear enough to read. It contained a dark liquid and was marked láudano, Spanish for laudanum. A preparation of opium, a powerful narcotic, and alcohol in the form of liquor. So that's what they'd been using to keep him unconscious and under control, along with whatever was in the other bottles. Obviously whoever made the tincture knew what they were doing, or Jack quite easily would be dead if they didn't. More evidence that these were Mendoza's men. Your average bounty hunter wouldn't be so careful. As Jack looked at the bottle, he felt himself growing angrier by the second. How dare Mendoza kidnap him and keep him in a drug induced stupor! If it's war Mendoza wanted, he had gotten his wish. Jack had been toying with him all this time. No more. “All right, cool down, Jack,” he muttered to himself. “Escape first, revenge later. Anger makes you sloppy.” He went to place the laudanum bottle back on the desk, once again trying to do so as quietly as possible without alerting anyone guarding the room that he was awake and moving about. As he did so, the ship pitched unexpectedly, and he knocked over one of the other bottles. Its glass plug popped free, skittered across the deck, and struck the bulkhead just to one side of the door with a bang. Jack left the laudanum on the table and tried to get back on the bed as quickly as possible before anyone discovered him awake. He had one hand on the bed when the cabin door opened. The guard's eyes went wide when he saw Jack looking back at him. The man was wearing a yellow and red tunic, black pants, and black boots. He was definitely Spanish, and definitely displeased. “Bollocks!” said Jack dejectedly. “¡Está despierto! ¡Ayuda venida!” the soldier called to his comrades as he charged. Jack grabbed the crucifix from the wall and drew back to swing it like a hammer, but the soldier was on him too quickly and slammed him against the wall. The crucifix went flying from Jack's hand. His only weapon was gone. The next thing he knew, he was pinned down on the bed. The drugs had left him too weak to effectively fight back, but he tried anyway. A second soldier entered the room, leaving another soldier outside. The two men spoke heatedly in Spanish as Jack continued to struggle. The second man picked up one of the bottles as they talked. “Hold him down!” he ordered. “I'm trying! Hurry up! I don't know how much long I can hold him!” snapped the first. The second uncorked the bottle in his hand. It was the laudanum again. “All right, I'm coming! Get his mouth open.” The first soldier pinned Jack's arms against the bed with his knees, and grabbed Jack's face to force open his mouth. Jack responded by drawing up his knees fast and hard into the soldier's kidneys. The man hollowed in pain, and repaid Jack with a hard right cross to the jaw. Jack tried to clench his jaws after the blow, but the second man grabbed Jack's face under the jaw and used his powerful fingers to force Jack's mouth to stay open. The man poured the dark liquid into Jack's mouth and forced it shut. Jack struggled, refusing to swallow. The soldier responded by grabbing Jack's nose and pinching it closed. “Quit squirming and swallow it, pendejo!” the first soldier growled. Finally, Jack's lungs began to burn for lack of air, and he involuntarily swallowed the drug. The second man released his nose, but wisely held on to keep Jack's mouth closed. Jack stared with hatred at the two men, who leered back at him in triumph. The urge to fight began to drain from him, and he could feel his muscles relax. He tried to will his body to fight off the narcotic, but it was no use. Everything before him started blur and fade. Even the laughter of the soldiers seemed to fall away into nothingness...

A familiar sound teased Jack's ears as he slowly regained consciousness. Familiar, but not right. Not as he remembered it should be. Creaking. The creaking of a ship's timbers as she moved through the waves. But the sound was all wrong. Unfamiliar. Now he noticed the rocking of the vessel. Definitely a good sized ship. But even that felt wrong. The pitch and roll weren't as he knew they should be. He paid attention to how much she rolled from side to side and how long it took. This ship sat higher in the water, and her hull was shorter in length but wider at the beam. He was aboard a ship at sea, but it wasn't his ship. Not his cherished El Lobo del Mar. Where was he, and where were they taking him? He slowly opened his eyes. It was dark, save for the feeble light of a single oil lamp. At least he assumed it was an oil lamp. Everything was blurry. His eyes refused to focus on his dimly lit surroundings. He gave up for the moment and closed his eyes again. Thoughts were moving in Jack's head like they were being dragged through molasses. He tried to focus, but concentration was terribly difficult. This wasn't a hangover. He'd had plenty of those in his life, and they never felt like this. Drugged. That had to be it, he reasoned. Jack's limbs felt like lead weights. Nothing wanted to respond, at least not as fast as he wanted them to. Best to keep still and save energy for now. Fractured bits of memories came slowly drifting back to Jack's mind. The tavern. The girl. The dark alley. Someone had attacked him. Why? All right, it's not like I don't have a few enemies and rivals, he thought. But who? Then he remembered the name the girl had spoken. Mendoza. The girl had called out to whoever had knocked Jack out and brought him aboard this ship. He'd heard rumours that Mendoza had put a price on his head, but nothing specific. So much money for his head, more for his dead body, and substantially more if he were alive. If that was the case, his captors were going for the full payoff. Jack remembered what Rhys Morgan had told him about Mendoza's preference for having captives brought before him for torture and eventual execution when they were no longer amusing. Between his little tryst with Diego's wife Mercedes and the myriad other ways Jack had found to embarrass or humiliate the Colonel, he knew he'd get the deluxe treatment. Diego Mendoza was a career sadist and murderer, and he had no intention of becoming the Spaniard's next plaything. Escape. There had to be a way out. There's always a way out, Jack reminded himself. Granted, the mantra hadn't helped much in that St. Lawrence alley, but this would be different. He was sure of it. Get out of whatever cabin he was in, find weapons, stay in the shadows, and steal a ship's boat. Try not to get captured or killed in the process. Simple enough. Even if he couldn't steal a boat, he could get off the ship and deny Mendoza his prize. Dead was dead, but Jack wanted it on his own terms if it came to that.

Geez! Sounds like it! Poor Syren. Mayhaps we should get Tia Dalma t' whip somethin' up for ye to remedy all those ills, hmm? ~Lady B Yeah, you'll keep your sight, but you'll lose your sense of smell. <_<

TLAPD will be this year's official pirate invasion of the Minnesota Renaissance Festival. Sure, it's their "Wine and Romance" weekend, but what says love more than a bunch of rowdy pirates?

“Saved him in the nick of time, I did!” proclaimed Jack, and he hopped down from his makeshift stage. He grabbed another ale from the tray of a passing barmaid and gave her a wink as he laid down too many coins in payment. She gave him a smile that fell somewhere between gratitude and amorous interest before going on her way. Jack sat back down and surveyed the tavern, smiling at his men as they continued their revels. He was on his own that night, which was unusual. Normally Briggs would be at his side, but the quartermaster had drunk far too much the night before and was in no mood or condition to be drinking again so soon. Jack took a long drink from his mug and stretched lazily. “God, it's good to be me!” he said aloud to no one in particular. He was rewarded with the sensation of a woman's slender hands on his shoulders. “I can think of so many ways it could be even better to be you,” she said in his ear huskily, with a heavy Spanish accent and a voice like velvet that made all the nerves down his spine tingle with electricity. Jack's eyes grew wide when the mystery woman slid into the seat beside him. He stared for a moment, unable to believe his eyes. “Mercedes? Is that you?” The raven-haired beauty gave an amused smile and shook her head. “No, señor. My name is Rebeca. But I could be Mercedes, if that's what you want. And who are you, besides a man who is very happy with life?” “Jack. Captain Jack Wolfe. No, Rebeca suits you just fine. It's that you're the spitting image of someone I knew a very long time ago.” Indeed, Rebeca looked remarkably like Mercedes Mendoza, the noble woman Jack had a one-night tryst with in Havana a few years before. The same jet black hair, the same dusky complexion, the same hauntingly lovely eyes. At least that's what the abundance of alcohol in Jack's belly had tried to convince him. He shook his head and laughed. Of course it wasn't Mercedes. Lighting doesn't strike twice. “This Mercedes, she was a lover of yours?” Rebeca asked as she toyed with her hair. “For a night. You might say she deepened my appreciation for Latin women.” She tilted her head and smiled knowingly. “Such romances are best, I think. Fewer complications, more variety.” “I like the way you think, Rebeca.” “I hope you are interested in more than my mind, Jack.” He found himself becoming lost in her smouldering eyes. “Oh, most certainly. I can see you're a woman with a lot to offer.” “And I'm guessing you are a man with a lot to give,” she said, running her finger up and down his forearm. “Shall we go upstairs to your and find out?” Rebeca shook her head. “I do not have a room here. But if you are willing, you may follow me back to my room at the Red Bulldog. It is only a couple streets over. And the bed is very large.” Jack smiled in anticipation and kissed her hand. “The night air will do me good. Please, lead the way!” Jack and Rebeca left the tavern together and began walking down the street. She held onto Jack's arm, partly to steady the very drunk man. The sounds of the tavern died as they turned the corner. Once they reached the middle of the next block, Rebeca began looking around them, as if searching for someone. “Who are you looking for?” Jack slurred. “There's nobody out but us! I think they're resting up for church tomorrow, that's what I think. Is today Saturday, or Wednesday?” “All this talk of church, and we have not even sinned yet!” she laughed. “Here, we can save time if we take this alley.” “Oh, I like the sound of that!” said Jack. “It's a good thing I'm with you. Alleys can be dangerous places, especially for beautiful women like yourself.” “I am very good at taking care of myself.” “I'm sure you are, darling. But I can't help but wonder how you'll take care of me?” he laughed. “You're about to find out, my friend,” she said, her voice unexpectedly grave. The alleys that ran between the buildings of St. Lawrence were like a second set of streets, allowing deliveries to be made behind each house and business. For convenience, there intersecting alleys that allowed carts to easily reach their destination without having to go to the end of a block or wait for another cart to move. Rebeca stopped at one of these intersections, their surrounding illuminated only by pale moonlight. Jack took a more couple drunken steps, then turned to look at her quizzically. “Why'd you stop?” he asked. “You're not lost, are you?” “I am sorry, Jack,” said Rebeca, her voice filled with regret. “I actually liked you.” She backed away from him and into the shadows. “¡Éste es el hombre que Mendoza quiere!” she said loudly before turning to run back down the way they came. Jack stood there for a moment, confused, trying to parse out what Rebeca had said. “Wait!” he called to her. “What do you mean, I'm the one Mendoza wants....?” His voice trailed off as the realisation set in. “Mendoza? Oh, no... no, no, NO! You set me up!!” Jack began looking around wildly, and it seemed as if the very shadows themselves were stirring to life and moving toward him. His heart pounded in his ears like the drums of war. He tried desperately to figure out just how many men there were and where they were coming from, and he began moving backwards away from the intersection. The heavy fog of alcohol made it hard for him to think. There had to be a way out. There was always a way out... Two large hands grabbed him by the shoulders from behind and spun him headlong into the wall. Jack's head rebounded off the bricks, and he saw stars for a moment. He grabbed for his pistol and drew it. If he could get off one shot, one lucky shot, maybe it could buy him enough time to get away, or at least stay alive a little while longer. Gritting his teeth, he spun around and raised his pistol. A heavy fist slammed into his jaw, and Jack Wolfe's world faded into sickening blackness.

St. Lawrence, Barbados – Early Winter, 1651 El Lobo del Mar was back in port after an incredibly successful ten day cruise. Seven prizes of various types and wealth taken, including an overripe French merchantman that had wandered off course en route to Martinique after a sudden squall disabled her rudder. Jack had ordered his crew to repair the French ship, and invited their captain, quartermaster, and other senior officers over to El Lobo for a celebration in their honour. In gratitude for their salvation, the Frenchmen brought several gifts, including bottles of absinthe, which Jack was all too happy to share with them. The party rolled well into the evening, the liquor flowing freely until the French contingent had passed out. The following morning, they found themselves prisoners of the infamous pirate, Mad Jack Wolfe. Once the French ship was repaired and “lightened of her burden, so as to speed her way homeward,” as Jack recorded in his journal, the prisoners were released to their ship and sent on their way unharmed. But the sweetest prize taken on this cruise, the one Jack was most proud of, carried no silks or luxuries. Not even that much wine to speak of. It carried gold. Box after box of Spanish gold coins. The military payroll for the garrisons under command of one Colonel Diego Mendoza y Castille. Half a year's salaries for 2,500 underpaid and unhappy men, already well overdue, had fallen into the eager hands of pirates. And it all happened as Bonita had foreseen. “Are you certain?” Jack asked the night of her revelation about the approaching Spanish vessel. “It's his? Not that I care one way or the other, but it would be so much sweeter!” Bonita looked at Jack as she scooped up the tools of her trade. “De bones not lie, but him know dis to be true.” “I know,” he said with a gratified smile. “You're never wrong. I simply cannot believe my luck at times.” “Some t'ings are luck. Ot'ers are somet'ing different.” “Different, as in...?” “Some t'ings are destiny.” Jack picked up the bottle of rum that sat at one end of the table and laughed. “There are a lot of things I believe in, Bonita.” He took a long drink from the bottle and handed it to her. “Destiny isn't one of them.” “De great Jack Wolfe, him make him own way in de world? Everyt'ing bend to him will?” “Not everything. Just the important bits,” he smiled. “Though I couldn't make it happen without you. To be able to peer into the inner machinations of the Universe and see how things move together... I am envious of you at times.” “Dere are t'ings dat even Bonita cannot see, Jack. An' some t'ings we should never see.” “Really? There are actually things even you can't see?” He folded his arms and leaned against the table with a look of insatiable curiosity. “Like what? Do tell!” Bonita took another healthy swig of rum and passed the bottle back. “Like Jack Wolfe himself.” “What?” he asked, dumbfounded. She shook her head. “Him stay always hidden from Bonita, just out of sight. Him, and dey who are closest to him.” Bonita caressed his face gently. “Which is why Bonita keep him close, all de time.” “I never knew. How come you've never told me this before?” “Him never ask,” she said with a smile that he was sure concealed more, but gave no hint as to what or how to ask for it. That was always Bonita's way. Now, every last real taken from the Spanish vessel was being spent like water in every tavern, brothel, and back alley in St. Lawrence by Jack and his crew. One tavern in particular, the Elephant, was the noisiest of them all. This was the favourite haunt of the El Lobo crew, and they had been partying almost nonstop for the past three days since returning to port. Suddenly, a pistol shot rang out, and every head in the tavern turned to see where it came from. When they saw who fired the shot, a raucous cheer went up almost immediately. There, standing on a table in the middle of the common room was Jack, the still smoking pistol held above his head. He was grinning, his eyes wild and full of drunkenly gleeful mischief. “How are we doin' tonight, gentlemen?” he asked loudly. Another loud cheer went up. “Still got plenty of money?” This time the cheer was nowhere as loud, and punctuated with laughter. “What are ya, pirates, or bankers?” he chided. “Spend it up, boys! There's more to be had out there, and we're gonna take it all!” The men cheered louder than ever, and the women showed renewed interest in them without hesitation. “Two days! Hold on, hold on!” Jack shouted over the din. “Two days, we set sail again. So don't go getting' yourselves killed, or worse, married!!” One cheeky tar in front of Jack's table comically took off his cap and went down on one knee before the doxy he'd been chatting up. Jack gave the display a mock look of disapproval, and poured his ale over the man's head. The whole tavern erupted in laughter.

Cruising Off Barbados -- Early Autumn, 1651 A sultry tropical wind carried El Lobo along that morning as they hunted the heavily travelled waters between Barbados and Tobago. Jack drank in the clear sea air as the sunlight warmed his face. He yawned and stretched, then sleepily climbed the steps to the "holy ground" of the quarterdeck. Briggs, ever the early riser, was conning the helm in his captain's stead whilst enjoying a cup of what he referred to as "fortified" coffee. "Good morning, Josiah," said Jack. "How's the coffee?" "Terrible as usual, 'til ye sets it to rights," the quartermaster replied, tapping the binnacle with the toe of his shoe. In addition to the ship's compass and various navigational instruments, it housed a rather large bottle of rum. Oddly enough, neither man could recall ever seeing it full, though they were the only two to partake of it. "One of these days we'll press a decent cook, I swear." Jack looked out over the main deck of his ship, when his eyes were drawn to the figure of a woman who was undeniably the most enigmatic member of his crew. No small feat in a world where keeping one's past a secret was the norm. He leaned against the railing as the willowy, dusky-skinned woman sat down on the deck near the ship's waist, facing the bow. The rest of the crew were used to her presence and early morning rituals, but they kept a respectable distance nonetheless. "I'd be a fool to venture a guess as to what she's up to today," Briggs muttered. "Here. Have some coffee whilst ye take in the show." He handed Jack a large cup which, to Jack's surprise, contained straight rum. "Just the way I like my morning cup; untainted by coffee. There's a good man," he said approvingly. "Now, let's have a closer look at dear Bonita's latest undertaking." Bonita le Mystère the last name was give her by the crew, since she had never revealed her real last name, if she had one was seated, her waist-length dreadlocks spilling onto the deck around her. She had encircled herself with a ring of salt, as those who were wont to magical ceremonies would tend to protect themselves. As Jack approached, he noticed a small canvas sack beside her, along with a formidable looking bronze knife. He started to speak, but his words evaporated when the sack seemed to move on it's own. "Careful where you step, Jack," she admonished in her thick Creole accent. "Do not break Bonita's circle wit' you clumsy feet. You wish for answers, den ask de questions, as always." Jack took a gulp of rum and cleared his throat, then slowly stepped around in front of her. Unlike Briggs, he wasn't distrustful or suspicious of Bonita and her Obeah religious practices. Far from it. In the two years they'd known one another, she had become his closest confidant and advisor. So close, in fact, that rumours persisted that she was much more than Jack's 'good luck charm'. But there were aspects of her abilities his rational mind couldn't explain, so he never failed to show what he hoped was appropriate respect. "The circle of salt, I understand," Jack said. "But I haven't quite sussed out the blade or that..." Something in the canvas sack jumped and squeaked. "... that wriggly bag of yours." Bonita laughed quietly as she loosened the string holding the sack shut. "A mystery revealed, just for you," she said, and thrust her hand into the mouth of the bag. After a few moments, she produced a small lizard about eight inches long from its snout to the tip of its tail. She quickly grabbed the bag's string with her teeth and pulled it snug. "A gecko!" said Jack. "I'd recognise those annoying little beasties anywhere. Always getting into and behind things they oughtn't. So, how does this aggrandized salamander fit in?" She looked up at him with her dark eyes and smiled. "A simple question deserve a simple answer," she said. With that, she pinned the gecko against the deck and lopped it's head off with the knife. The body wriggled for a few seconds, then fell still. She set the carcass aside and tossed the head overboard. Jack stared at Bonita for several seconds, completely astonished. "I suppose I should have seen that coming," he said. "De bodies Bonita use to make many t'ings. Medicines, tonics..." "Potions and talismans?" he mused. "And their wee heads don't count for much?" "Many t'ings," she repeated slowly. "De heads, dey only make silly noises." "Speaking of the heads that make silly noises," Jack said, "you're certain that Governor Culley will keep his end of the agreement?" "De meeting went jus' as Bonita said that it would, yes?" she asked. "Yes, nearly word for word," he said, dodging another airborne gecko head. Soon he found himself held by her gaze. "An' de gift? Culley found her pleasant company, yes?" "Enthusiastically so, according to Renee." "Him know de answer, yet dis bring Jack Wolfe no peace to him troubled mind," she sighed. Her blade flashed again in the sunlight. "Occupational hazard, darling. Worry is part of the job. All I'm asking is for you to read the cards for me again. Just to be sure, yeah?" Bonita quickly finished off the last lizard and stuffed their carcasses into the sack. She stood and swept away the salt circle with her bare feet, then turned back to face Jack. She stepped close to him, and whispered huskily in his ear. "Your quarters, after sunset." She looked at Jack with an odd tilt of her head, her piercing dark eyes searching his. After a few moments, she turned and went below. What he didn't tell her was that, despite her sight, despite her assurances, he couldn't shake the feeling that things wouldn't go as planned this time.

Barbados--Summer, 1651 Jack impatiently paced the long grand foyer of the governor's mansion. The stuffy butler had made it clear that the governor was 'unaccustomed to receiving visitors without a proper appointment.' But an exception to that rule was easily purchased with a few Spanish escudos. What they didn't buy, apparently, was expedience. The otherwise infuriating delay gave Jack a chance to learn a little more about the England's newest representative in the Caribbean beyond what he'd found out after a few rounds at the tavern the previous night. Symbols of the Commonwealth were strategically placed throughout the space, ensuring visitors were constantly reminded of the relatively new order of things. Governor Christopher Culley was determined to transform this far flung outpost into a right proper colony of England, starting with his own residence. If it weren't for the the steamy morning and scent of tropical flowers, one would think they were in London. Jack was becoming thoroughly tired of of having to look at the gaudy, inescapable seals of state. He had inherited a strong dislike of the Roundheads from his father, a talented shipwright and staunch Royalist. Normally, he couldn't be bothered with politics. Politicians were to be bought or gotten around, simple as that. Bored with pacing, Jack stopped in front of the seals and began picking at its gilding. Just as he thought. Nothing but worthless wood underneath. With any luck, Governor Culley would be equally lacking in substance. The sound of someone loudly clearing their throat caught his attention. He turned to find the stuffy butler standing just outside the doorway of the governor's office. "Governor Culley will see you now," the butler announced. Jack briskly traversed the length of the hall and brushed past the manservant. "About bloody time," he grumbled. Culley's chambers were opulent for those of an interim governor. This man clearly intended to stay in office, and thought himself sufficiently well connected to do so. Two large portraits, one of Culley and another of Oliver Cromwell, consumed one of the walls. Symbols of state and station were so garishly displayed that one might guess Culley was either wildly egotistical or putting on airs. Jack was betting on the latter. "Governor Culley! Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I'm Captain Jack Wolfe..." His voice trailed off when he realised the door hadn't been closed behind him. There stood the butler in the doorway, staring off into space. "Pssst! Oi! You there!" Jack said in a hushed voice. "I beg your pardon, sir. Is there something you require?" asked the butler. "Yes," replied Jack. "Privacy. Shoo! Go... buttle something." The butler gave him a sour look and closed the door. Jack turned his attention back to the governor. "Herndon has been with my family for over twenty-five years, Captain Wolfe. Do show him some respect," said Culley. "Twenty-five years, you say? And he still manages to get out of bed each morning and do it all again. Admirable. As I was saying, I'm captain of the ship El Lobo del Mar." "Welcome to Barbados, Captain. And what may this future colony of England do for you?" Jack smiled. "We'll get to that in a bit. What I'd like to talk about is what I can do for your colony." "Really?" Culley asked with surprise. "Are you offering the services of your ship and crew for the colony's protection?" "Oh, slow down there, mate," Jack laughed. "Nothing quite so honourable. You have a veritable flood of colonists coming in every month. That must put quite a strain on your warehouses, eh? And those new folk, they must be upset over the prices." "It's true, the supply ships are rarely in step with the colony vessels. That is an economic reality every colony faces. Exactly what is it you're getting at, Captain Wolfe?" "Right to the point. I like that," said Jack. "You have supply chain problems, and I have inventory that can be, one might say, difficult to move." "This port is not open pirates, Captain. We're done here," Culley declared. "Such a harsh word, 'pirate'. And we've only just met." "And what would you call yourself?" "'Visionary entrepreneur' has a nice sound to it." "Even so, I cannot condone illegal activities in my jurisdiction." "They're only illegal if you see them as such, Governor." "The answer is still no, sir. Please leave." Jack cocked an eyebrow. "Suit yourself, Governor. I'm sure your principles will keep you warm when they call you back to England because of all the colonist's complaints. Ta." He walked to the door and began to turn the handle. "Just a moment, Captain," Culley said quickly. Jack smiled to himself and turned back to face the governor. "Perhaps I was... rash, not to listen to your proposal." "A wise man knows when to consider previously unexplored options. Here's what I envision. I bring in goods to your markets for a fair price, and in payment for the courtesy, you'll receive ten percent of the proceeds, and the pick of the luxury items as they're available." Culley mulled Jack's words over for a bit. "You're asking me to take a bribe to allow you to sell stolen goods in my colony." "I'm offering to shore up your supply houses to supplement to your normal shipments. You'll receive a percentage as your fee for legally condemning our salvaged goods for sale. It's all perfectly legal, in that light." Governor Culley leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest. "You make a most compelling business offer, Captain Wolfe." "I was going for irresistible, but compelling works." "I like to know just who is using my port and why, so I had my people do some listening in the taverns. Your name kept popping up. I made a few inquiries. You have quite the reputation throughout the entire Caribbean." "And a dubious one, no doubt," Jack offered with a disarming smile. Culley chuckled, but held his air of authority. "You have a gift for understatement, Captain. If I were mad enough to consider this partnership, what assurances do I have that you'll honour any agreement we might make?" "As dubious as my reputation may be, Governor, I understand the need for discretion. We have no written contract, so there is little that might be traced back to either of us. This is a gamble for me as well, as your reputation has no doubt been sanitized by your Roundhead friends. That's what my sources have found, at any rate." Culley shifted uneasily in his seat. Indeed, he had been a miserable failure as a politician, but had gained critical alliances when he threw in with Cromwell's political machine. "Go on," said Culley. "I've arranged for a good faith gesture to arrive at your personal residence late this night. I promise that it will be done swiftly and unnoticed. If anything goes awry, you can deny any knowledge and we part company. Otherwise, I'll do what I do best, and you can polish your medals and sharpen your smile whilst you collect your percentage. Everyone benefits." "Don't you think that a bit presumptuous? What if I say no?" "Forgive me for getting ahead of myself, Governor. I am, above all, an optimist. I would be terribly disappointed if you were to decline, of course. But I am a good sport. If that is your choice, I'll leave your residence and go about my business, and never speak a word of our conversation. Though the merchants may sleep a little less easily over their shipments..." Jack extended his hand. "So I ask you, Governor Culley; deal, or no deal?" The governor weighed the options in his mind, including the thinly veiled threat against commerce in his waters. He stood and shook the pirate's hand. "We have a contract, Captain Wolfe. Your goods are welcome here at equitable prices, and your prompt payment of all 'fees' will ensure a long and happy business relationship, as well as your continued enjoyment of the protection of my garrison and patrols." Culley wasn't above making veiled threats, either. "A pleasure doing business with you, Governor," Jack beamed. He strolled out of the Governor's chamber and was met by Briggs at the foyer. "Well, how'd it go? Are we in?" Briggs asked enthusiastically and a little too loud. Jack grabbed him by the shirt collar and, without breaking smile nor stride, hustled the quartermaster past the stony-faced butler and out of the governor's residence. "Your subtlety could use a bit of work, Josiah." "Damn subtlety. What'd the stuffed shirt say?" Jack patted the front of his frock coat. "Guess what I have in my pocket, old friend?" "It ain't jinglin', so my guess would be a governor?" The two men laughed heartily. "Nice and snug in there, he is," chuckled Jack. "Just as Bonita predicted. But I need him to really enjoy being there. "What have ye got in mind? A few luxuries?" "No, just one." Jack began walking down the street. "We need to stop and visit Madame Renee." Briggs' eyes lit up. "I could use a bit of celebratin', after all this good news..." "Not for you!" Jack laughed. "We need to arrange for the good governor's gift." "Do ye think she'll go along with it?" "Of course she will. I'm a stakeholder in her business. In the minority, but I can bargain the difference. One of her girls in the governor's bed is the governor in her pocket, as well. Besides, if it wasn't for me, she'd still be wiping tables and scrubbing floors at that tavern in Falmouth." "Aye, she's come a long way since those days at the Dog and Doublet." "Better name, too. No one would give a second thought to a madame named Pip Woolston from Cornwall." "She's an exotic one, for such a plain name. And her new one, Madame Renee de Bertrand, it suits her. She even looks French..." said Briggs dreamily. "Steady, Josiah. Keep your blood in one place, eh? Tomorrow, I need to go ahead with the purchase of those three warehouses." Briggs snapped out of his reverie. "The ones on St. Michael Row? Consider it done, Jack." "Good. You know what? I'm beginning to like Barbados." "Just as long as ye don't become married to her." "You know, Bonita said something very similar..."

A Tavern on the Island of Tortuga-- Summer, 1651 First mate and quartermaster of El Lobo del Mar Josiah Briggs gave the tavern wench a wink as he took the two tankards from her tray. He looked around the crowded room with a somewhat perturbed exp​ression on his face as he worked his way back to his table, trying hard not to spill any ale while he jostled his way through the throng. He gave an exasperated sigh when he reached the table, and sat the mugs down before taking his seat. "I swear, Jack, I never seen times as bad as what's befallen us now," Josiah complained. "Nary a bit of prey in sight, and what we do take ain't worth the powder to blow it up with. How in the name of all what's holy did things dry up so fast? We had the run of the sea, takin' whatever ship we wanted, when we wanted it. Now, nothin'." Jack took a deep drink from his mug. "Just as Bonita foretold, my old friend." "Ye know damn well I don't believe in her spells and whatnot. All that witch woman does..." Briggs dropped his voice and looked around furtively before continuing in hushed tones. "All she manages to do is unnerve the hell out of me." "Why, Josiah! I never knew you found her so attractive," said Jack with a smirk. Briggs' face began to flush. "Ye know that ain't so! Besides, I prefer redheads." "Just pulling your leg, mate. Everyone knows your taste for ginger," Jack laughed. "I admit, Bonita's ways are a bit, well, unorthodox, but she hasn't been wrong yet." "Ye call it unorthodox, I call it scary." "Be that as it may, I trust her. A month ago, she predicted that the French would arrive en masse with privateers and completely disrupt shipping in this area. What happened? The French crowded in here and New Providence to prosecute their grudge against Spain, clogged the ports, and we can't hope to get the prices for prizes or goods we're used to. I swear, if one more French ship detains us to 'check our commission', I'll hand them over to the Spanish myself." "Why didn't ye say ye knew this was comin'? Though I should have known, the cavalier way ye've been takin' all this adversity." Jack shrugged. "You said you didn't believe in Bonita's abilities. Didn't want to bother you with a lot of trifling nonsense that just happened to be spot on yet again." Briggs rolled his eyes. "And ye intend to rub my face in it, don't ye?" "Every chance I get," grinned Jack. The truth was, Briggs did believe in Bonita's divination skills. She had provided Jack with flawless information on what targets to hit and when they would be most vulnerable. Her readings helped fuel Jack's meteoric rise in the ranks of pirates over the past two years. But the quartermaster couldn't help but wonder what might happen should Jack anger her. Rumours and speculation about the true extent of her powers circulated in whispers among the crew. How much danger would they all be in? "Well, like ye've always said, peace is bad for business. Especially ours. Hang Cromwell and his Roundheads for inflictin' these poppin' jays on us! Them and their damned treaties," fumed Briggs. "It's a good thing Rhys left for Wales when he did. I like him. He's a good lad, and a better businessman. Why did he go back, anyways?" "He has a smuggling run between here and Wales. Beaumaris, I think. You remember that port from our time on the Laura Anne, don't you?" "Yeah, vaguely. I remember it was chilly, but the company was warm." "That's right, I recall that redhead. Robbed you blind the next morning if memory serves..." "Anyway, we were talkin' about Rhys," interrupted Briggs. "Right," chuckled Jack. "He said something about a transaction he had to take care of personally. That's it." "Did he say when he expected to be back?" "No. But I'm guessing before the end of Fall. He'll up against the winter squalls if he waits any later." "He's avoided the indignity of bein' a pirate with no prey, I'll give him that," grumbled Briggs. It was Jack's turn to roll his eyes. "I hope you don't intend to cry in your ale all night." "Bein' a realist ain't what I call cryin'," Briggs retorted. "So, what's left for us to do? I can't see ye turnin' gentleman farmer after all these years on the account. I hear tell the Portuguese are offerin' commissions for little of nothin'. Are we to turn privateer, too?" Jack gave Briggs a sour look and offered his mug. "Here. Wash your mouth out with this. How long have we known each other, Josiah?" Briggs thought for a moment. "I reckon about twelve years, give or take. Why?" "Then I'm even more shocked that you were able to ask me that question with a straight face," chided Jack. "Absolutely not. Out of the question. I will never turn privateer. Everyone else can sell out, but not me." "I don't figure you as bein' much for starvin' either, Jack. You must have somethin' stirred up in that schemin' head of yours, or another prediction from yer pet witch. Otherwise we wouldn't be having this talk." "Should I tell Bonita you have a new nickname for her?" Briggs began to go pale. "All right, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said it." Jack motioned around them. "It's a full room, my friend. Lots of ears, and lots of lips to spread what they hear." He held a finger straight up in the air. "Bonita has a nasty temper. Unfortunate things can happen." Jack slowly curled his finger over until it was pointed at the table top, then waggled it. Briggs' eyes grew wide in horror. After a few seconds, Jack burst into laughter. "Just having some fun with you, Josiah! I know you don't like Bonita, and she feels the same about you. If you haven't had a problem yet, I'd say you're safe." The quartermaster nervously took a sip of ale. "You were sayin', about our plans?" "Sorry I rattled you so, Josiah," Jack chuckled. "All right, to the future. I hear tell that Barbados is relenting to pressure from England to become a colony. Most likely it will be official early next year. They've appointed an interim governor with strong ties, so he's almost guaranteed to stay on once Barbados is made England's latest jewel. Said governor will be under enormous pressure to succeed. What is the biggest problem facing any governor, provisional or not?" "Ah!" smiled Briggs. "Supplies! If there were to be a flood of goods for his people to buy on the cheap, the happier they'll be, and the better he'll look in England's eyes." "Precisely. And we are the altruistic and enterprising lot that can give them those goods at the right price." A sly grin spread across Jack's face. "Of course, we'll need the cooperation of one provisional governor." "Oh, of course. Of course!" chimed Briggs, taking on the air of a stuffy merchant. "We'll have to be sure to do this right. I'm in no mood to prop up a second governor a year from now. I want him squarely in my pocket and keep him there." "I take it Bonita's 'seen' this plan as workin'?" asked Briggs. "Put it this way, my friend. She has seen us commanding the entire stretch between Barbados and Trinidad." Briggs blinked. "I'm startin' to take a shine to her visions." "I don't think the good people of Barbados will mind that their goods were made in Spain or The Netherlands." "People ain't real picky when the price is right, I've seen. But that puts us right on the doorstep of the Spanish Main. What are the odds yer old friend Mendoza is hangin' about round there? Word was he's left Cuba for a better appointment, whatever that means." Jack had a bit more ale. "He's probably still the laughing stock of the Spanish Royal Court. I'm not worried about him and his crusade." "They did nearly strung him up over our raids. You know he'll never stop blamin' you for that bit of mischief". "Let him blame. He's of no consequence to us. I'm sure Mercedes is keeping him tied in knots, if she has a fresh hunting ground." Briggs raised his mug. "We're sailin' to Barbados, then?" Jack banged his mug against his friend's. "To Barbados, and new fortunes!"

More likely an affinity for rum.

Full Moon: Being born in the middle of the cycle means that your talents lie in bringing matters to fruition. You are adept at tempering logic with instinct and practicality with creativity. Moreover, this period acts like a bridge, linking you to the past, but also projecting your ideas into the future. The negative side is that you may suffer guilt and irrational fears, especially when it comes to personal relationships. Only when you learn to take control of your own feelings, rather than taking your emotional cue from your partner, will you find a way of sustaining a mutually rewarding intimate relationship. Your best efforts will find their flowering after middle age.