Ransom

Why? The first one was more than enough. If they want to rip off Indiana Jones (who ripped off the old serials) they ought to make another Dirk Pitt movie instead. I liked Sahara much better than National Treasure. Couldn't agree more! And Bess, a black day for the Black Pearl, indeed.

I give Jacky an enigmatic smile. "Yes, Striker does have feelings to work out, as, I think, does Jane. Pesky things, feelings. Don't you agree? Poping up where you least expect them."

He was gone so quickly that I hardly had time for breath, but the touch of our fingers, brief though they were, sent a warmth through me that I could not ignore. "Take care, Ransom," I whispered to myself. "This could prove more dangerous than you at first feared. As his shadowy figure melded with the darkness, I called out softely, "I will be there."

Sabastian paused as he neared the arched entrance to corridor beyond. The mischievous smirk played over his features with challenge as he extended a hand at arm's length in her direction. I stared at the hand offered, hesitating, wondering. Was it merely business, or something more? The smirk was another challenge, but the outstretched hand was something else. Common sense told me to rebuff the offer, keep everything as simple and detached as possible. But the glitter of dark eyes sent other thoughts racing through my mind, and they had nothing to do with cargo, or business arrangements. Hesitantly, I stepped forward, "I am at your mercy, sir," and held out my hand in return.

I grinned at his dramatic exit. "No, Sir. I imply nothing. I have already placed myself at your mercy by revealing what I have to offer. Should I walk away, you could still do me damage. It is you, sir, who have the upper hand. Let us be good business partners, and see what we shall see?"

I'm confused. Is a bread box now rated X?

I gave him a wicked grin in return. "And how should I trust you? You could report me to said authorities, collect a fine reward, and leave me to my fate. All I can say is, I am the Captain of the Rakehell. If I say you will be safe, then you will be. Can you promise the same? Can you guarentee that you or your people will not garrot me in the nearest ally and take what is not yours?" I gave him in return the mock bow he had offered me at the outset. "Do not underestimate me, Mr. Devareaux. It would be a mistake. Let us be honest, if nothing else. Trust is something we must both earn. I offer you safe passage to my ship. What can you offer me?"

It was obvious that I had passed some test, for his demeanor changed. The mocking look was gone. Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, the cargo has made me apprehensive. I do not like the fact that my ship is a floating bomb." I stood looking down at him, enjoying, despite my reserve, the graceful set of shoulder and leg. "And, I would not expect you to merely take my word that the cargo is what I claim. At this time, for security purposes you can well understand, the Rakehell is anchored out in the harbor. If you wish an inspection, you can return to the wharves with me, and my men will row us to the ship. If this evening is not to your liking, we can arrange another time. But it must be soon, or the opportunity may be lost. My crew is small. If anyone in authority attempts to commandeer the Rakehell, then I will take her to sea to avoid such, and pitch that damnable cargo over the side."

I felt the touch and stiffened, even as the sensation ran through my system like lightning. I would not be toyed with, like some mouse. I turned to face him. He watched me, gageing the effect his caress had made. Its effect was anger. "I came here to make a business arrangement, not have a flirtation. I am not some damsel come to barter her mother's pearls to pay off a foolish gambling debt. I have a shipload of arms and powder taken from a French brig a month ago. I need provisions. If you want the one and can provide the other, then we can continue this meeting. If not, well then, we have nothing more to discuss."

The hazy, incense-laden air, the pain-wracked expression of the crucified Christ which hung above us, and the underlying threat of danger, made this encounter all the more macabre. I gave a low laugh. "Oh, sir, you are very good. Such enuendos would serve you well at any court. I should know, I've had them played out for me before. It is Miss, for I observe that most husbands are useless creatures. As far as what service...I have something to sell or trade, whichever you prefer." I cocked an eye. "And it does not involve my person."

The flourished bow with plumed hat was mocklingly grand, but the glitter in his dark eyes was all mischief. It was a challenge, albeit a polite one. My smile changed. I liked a good challenge. With saphire eyes narrowed, I replied, "I'd drop you a curtsey, but I'm not dressed for the role, nor is it my nature. My name is Ransom. Professor Angus Trilby thinks you can be of service to me."

As my gaze lingered on the mable Madonna, a tingling in my palms told me I was no longer alone in the formerly deserted church. At the sound a low masculine voice, I turned and faced the alter. In the wavering shadows cast by the candles, it was impossible for me to see him clearly, yet something about his languid, aloof posture struck me as familier. I stepped into the sacntuary and approached the man. It was then that I recognised him as one of the two riders I had seen earlier in the afternoon. The one that had sent my mind wandering into dangerous territory. Yes, I thought, this will be an interesting game indeed. I gave him an appraising smile. "Yes, I desire something. The first thing I desire, is to know which devil I'm dealing with, Sebastian or Andre'?"

Was ever a poor man better named? I think we've "killed" Killingsworth a dozen times over by now! Not to mention served him up buffet style.

Ioan pulled his old shirt from the floor where he'd left it. "Go ahead, rip it up. Its already got blood on it, a little more won't make a difference." He tossed the shirt to Jane. "I'll try and get what you want. The eggs shouldn't be a prolem, but I don't know how I can ask for rose oil, when I don't speak Danish." At her pleading look, he left the cabin in search of the items she required.

Yes, I do. A two compartment one. Can ya guess what I keep in it?

I stood in the shadows of the buildings across from the Old Church. The sun, like a flaming torch, burned low in the horizon, the few clouds overhead in a deep indigo sky, were tinted blood red. The church appeared deserted, but that could be deceiving. Apparently there were no devout late-evening worshipers to intrude on the forthcoming meeting. Taking a deep breath, I crossed the street and entered the sanctuary. I was greeted by the smell of beeswax and insence. I did not touch my forehead with holy water, lest it scald, nor did I tempt fate by approaching the alter, but kept to the naeve. Fat candles with guttering flames sent wisps of smoke into the darkness. And I waited, hoping that Trilby had not betrayed me.

With Jimmy at the oars and Africa at the tiller, I was transported from the Rakehell to the wharf. Before leaving, I instructed Africa once again, "Don't let anyone on the ship. I don't care if they tell you they're the King of England or the Emperor of China, no one, I say, no one, gets on board. Understand." Africa nodded then said, "I still don like dis meeting. Sumthin not right bout it." "Well, right or wrong, I've got to keep it. Don't wait for me. Take the boat back to the Rakehell. I'll signal you when I've returned. If I don't..." "I know, Captain," Africa replied. "I take da ship away from dis place." I lingered at the wharf for a bit, to make sure my orders not to wait were carried out, then I turned and headed for the Old Church.

As the ship rocked gently at its new mooring, I stared at my reflection in an ornate mirror—pillaged from the French brig along with the arms and powder hidden below—and wondered how I should present myself this evening. Should I dress demurely, and give an impression of false weakness? Should I dress more masculine, hiding every sign of my femininity? Hard to make a decision, when I didn't know who I would be dealing with—maybe for my very life. I cursed my hesitation. Why be any different than I always was, a haphazzard mix of the two? "God's teeth, Ransom," I voiced to my relection. "You've held your own for six long years against all that's been thrown against you. This will be no different!" With a shrug and a low laugh, I exchanged my worn ship's clothing, for men's breeches, brocade bodice—with its secret sheath holding a throwing knife between my breasts, lace-trimmed shirt, and plain frock coat. I pulled back my hair and tied it with black ribbon, then adjusted the tri-corn Goose had rejuvenated after the bar brawl so many days ago. Into my belt, from which hung my rapier, I tucked a pistol. Lastly, I added my favorite bits of purloined jewelry, which included a very fine necklace with a pendant emerald set in rose-gold. "Well, that should confuse them." With one last adjustment of my hat, I went up on deck. All hands stopped their work to stare. I glared. "Keep your jaws dropped like that, and you'll end up swallowing every bug in Port Royal." I turned to Jimmy Cox. "Get a boat in the water. I have a meeting to attend."

Where's Hannible Lector when you need him?

attraction

Kinda makes you want to become a vegetarian

I think, under the circumstances, Potted Killingsworth, might be more apt. Or pickled? We never really knew what was in the barrel before he was dumped into it. Actually, by this time, he's more like Jellied Killingsworth.

Chat

We gots sumthin' in store fer 'im. ***Shivers*** "Ooo, don't tell me. I don't think I want to know!"

As Captain Striker started to collapse, Ioan caught and eased him back into a chair. The man's face was white, and beads of sweat stood out on his brow. "Barkeep!" Ioan shouted. "Bring a bottle over here." The curious man rushed over with an open bottle of rum. Ioan grabbed it from his hand, tipped Strikers head back, pulled his chin down, and dribbled the liquid down his mouth. With a sputter, the Captain opened his eyes, but they were pinched with pain. Ioan looked at Jane. "Come on, lass. Let's get the good Captain back to his ship. Then you better check that wound again."