Pew

"Aye Dorian," Preston agreed, "something 's not a bed o' roses." The ship's master smiled wryly. He looked side-to-side and lowered his volume to nearly a whisper. "Why would a simple merchant ship seek th' consort o' two well armed vessels on a simple voyage t' Trinidad?" Preston paused a minute, "But wha' if she does 'ave a cargo o' gold?" The eyebrow struck a familiar pose. "Come t' think o' 't," Preston added, "Th' capt'n dinnot 'ave much t' say when I took th' boys o'er for a bit o' sup on th' Navarra. Tight-lipped they were, aye." Dorian looked Preston in the eye. He knew the man never to mince words. Something had rubbed his friend the wrong way and now Dorian began to scratch the same itch. The ship's captain leaned on the rail with his first officer mimicking his posture. Dorian merely squinted in line of sight of the Navarra and repeated his last observation, "Mister Whitten'ferd, something is not right aboard that ship."

I concur. Look out Bill Gates.

The Lucy Charlie grabbed one of the men by the shirtsleeves while Preston took the other. The sea of men had parted as the ship's officers headed back to Dorian. Once on deck again, Preston saw the 'Dog fall off and adjust her course. Things appeared normal save for the look on Captain Lasseter's face. "Cap'n," Charlie interrupted, "these two may know som'thin. Got real quiet all of a sudden." Preston agreed but remained without speaking. Dorian had something to say. The ship's master raised a single eyebrow and waited.

The Lucy Preston turned and called for Maurice, and waved Charlie over. Preston quickly discussed their call to action and the three men went below with decided urgency. The heavy musty smell had drained from below since they had been underway. Humidity and concern hung like a cloak as Preston and Charlie made their way aft. The noticeable din had quieted since word had been passed that shots had been heard either aboard the 'Dog or the Navarra. The Lucy's men still lounged about in hammocks or went about their day with menial tasks, but the Spaniards began to huddle in small groups. They felt the Lucy slow as the canvas began to flap. Charlie remained larboard as Preston made his aft around the starboard stores. Maurice continued to the bow, but found few of the men ahead of the mainmast. Most had gathered at the view points to see astern. Mutters, murmurs and mumbles continue to grow among the Spanish. Not one stood out throughout the passengers, save for three men. As Charlie approached, they fell silent much to the chagrin of their crewmates. Charlie Goddon rested his hand on the timbers above him, "Anything th' Captain should know mates?" ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ Navigation Log of the Lucy: Direction: WSW, running before the wind Speed: slowing to 5 knots, small wavelets, some crests breaking Wind: Gentle breeze remains, from the NE

Ron Salerno's Gran Reserva 23. Hands down, best rum I've ever tasted, (well, along with Ron Matusalem's Gran Reserva 15)... BTW, here's a good discussion along the same lines, (if you're into rum o' course): The Pub's Rum reviews

Preston could feel the subject was tense with Dorian. He drained his cup, nodded, and rose slowly. "Aye sah, faith 'n providence." Preston drew from what drops he could that remained in the glass. "See y' on deck Cap'n." He placed the glass carefully on the table and closed the ward room door behind. Preston squinted in the bright sunlight and made his way forward to begin his rounds.

"Aye," Preston simply replied. He wanted to add 'and she's a fine ship,' or 'best o' crews under the sun 'ere', but only managed another "Aye" before he reached for the bottle and refilled their cups. Preston leaned back in his chair and thought of the previous evening spent with young Saal. Quiet for a moment, Preston took on a more serious tone. "'Ave ye 'eard from yer family lately Dorian?"

Aboard the Lucy, the Wardroom "Wine 's fine," Preston snickered at his own rhyme. "Rum 'ould be..." Preston thought and struggled to find something to rhyme again. Dorian laughed. "Not 's goode 's whiskey?" Preston furrowed his brow, but broke into a wide smile. "Goode t' 'ave ye back Cap'n"

Preston stands from his spot at the bar. Grasping the pint glass gingerly, he turns slowly. "Room fer an'oer Dorian?"

Excellent!

Happy Cinco de Mayo!!

An excellent time of year for you brewerianas. The springbocks can still be found on the shelves and the summer wheats are arriving daily. Shiner's Hefeweizen found its way home with me. For me, this is the best hefe around.... Now with new label:

They should be mailed out by tomorrow, or the weekend at the latest....

4/21/2009, 6am EST update: BLACK= Book is confirmed in artist's possession RED= Where the books should be PEW: Lady Seahawke, and Callenish V Matusalem: Kate_Souris V withoutaname: pyrateleather, Ransom V Callenish Gunner: Patrick Hand V Lady Seahawke: V Kate_Souris: Red-Handed Jill, Capt Sophia Eisley V pyrateleather: V Ransom: V Patrick Hand: Pew V Red-Handed Jill: Matusalem V Cpt Sophia M Eisley: withoutaname

Aboard the Lucy, the wardroom Preston drank heartily from his glass and asked to have it refilled. "Dorian, what are our plans?" Preston knew their immediate destination was Trinidad, but was there a purpose other than to deliver the merchantman following them? The ship's master cleared his throat to speak again but found it was caught up with the same iron taste that had plagued him lately. He took a sip from his glass and smirked heavily to wash the two down. Dorian noticed, but smiled. "Not of yer vintage Preston?" "Hardly. 'Tis wet and warming, vintage be damned." Preston chuckled, "So now Captain, wot now of Trinidad, Captain Brand 'ave 's in business there?"

I painted my jeep.

Welcome. I'd like a tankard of small beer, a tankard of large beer, and a tankard of heavy rum.

You do realize what it will end up right?

Damn the piratical democracy!!

Did we ever decide SASE or couple of bucks thrown in?

4/14/2009, 7am EST update: BLACK= Book is confirmed in artist's possession RED= Where the books should be PEW: Lady Seahawke, and Callenish V Matusalem: Kate_Souris V withoutaname: pyrateleather, Ransom V Callenish Gunner: Patrick Hand V Lady Seahawke: V Kate_Souris: Red-Handed Jill, Capt Sophia Eisley V pyrateleather: V Ransom: V Patrick Hand: Pew V Red-Handed Jill: Matusalem V Cpt Sophia M Eisley: withoutaname

Aboard the Lucy "Feels goode Captain," Preston inhaled deeply. Preston stood with Dorian for a moment before fetching the ship's log from the ward room. He slapped the Captain lightly on the back and excused himself from the rail. In passing, he asked Young Mister Wayne to fetch the log line. Nigel was steady at the tiller and smiled at the young boy as he scampered about. The whole of the crew was in good spirits, regardless of the surprise addition to the ship. Most on duty were involved in trimming of the sails upon each call from Mister Brisbane. Several stayed at the larboard rail watching the isle gradually disappear behind them. Geoffrey had retrieved the log line and handed it to Preston. He tucked the small ledger under his arm and unwound several lengths of the line. Geoffrey held flat the log, which was weighted at the bottom edge to enable it to float upright in the water. To the log was attached a long rope that Preston had coiled several lengths on deck. "The line 's wound on a spool so tha' th' log could be reeled out after 't was thrown inna th' water jus' aft." Geoffrey looked confused. "Like th' bowers sah?" "Aye lad, sommat like 't." Preston continued to explain how dragging the log in the water held the small board in place as the ship sailed away from it. Preston leaned down and felt each of the knots on the rope. "On th' line lad we tied knots 't every 7 fathoms, one fathom bein' equal to 6 feet." Preston stood an looked about for one of the crew who were nearly that size. He pointed to Mister Brisbane standing close by. "A wee bit tall'r 'n Mister Brisbane there." Nigel Brisbane smiled. "Jus' a wee bit Mister Pew." Preston had also placed the ledger on the deck now. He was using his hands to explain how as the ship sailed away from the log, the crew would count the number of knots that passed over the rail in a period of half-a-minute. That gave the Lucy her approximate speed in knots. "Can ya count the knots lad?" Geoffrey smiled, "O' course sah." Patrick Godfrey had been watching. He saw Geoffrey smile and came alongside. "I did that with Captain Brand once," Patrick teased. "So," Geoffrey replied quickly, "I'm doin' 't now." Patrick crossed his arms like the forgotten stepchild. Preston thrust the spool into Patrick's hands and handed the coil and log to Geoffrey. "Right off off you go. Tell me when t' turn th' glass." With all the excitement of Christmas morning, the two boys carried delicately the log line to the rail. Geoffrey looked back at Nigel then Preston. They both nodded slightly and Geoffrey slowly lowered the board into water. Patrick kicked Geofrey ever so slightly and whispered "tell 'im!" "Okay Mister Pew, turn the glass," Geoffrey kicked Patrick back in the shin. "Dinnot forget t' count now boys," reminded Nigel gently. The boys nodded as the log hit the increasing wake of the Lucy. The boys called out in unison each knot even as Geoffrey complained that it was his job; loud enough that even the Spaniards aboard smiled at the two bickering. "Mark!" Called Preston to the boys. "Seven sah!" The pair called out. "Well done lads," remarked Preston. The crew on deck had stopped to watch the pair at the stern. As the log was brought back aboard, those on watch called out and cheered for the two boys. Dorian Lasseter watched the proceedings and merely remarked, "...a good sail indeed…” ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ Navigation Log of the Lucy: Direction: WSW, running before the wind Speed: 7 knots, large wavelets, crests breaking Wind: Gentle breeze, from the NE

Aboard the Lucy, the Wardroom The ship's master rapt gently on the door before he made entrance to the Ward Room. He never waited for permission to enter, a fleeting thought as he stepped into the small cabin. "Spaniard's eh Dorian?" Preston inquired as he stood with his arms crossed.

No shit. Thanks for the update.