Ransom

After watching Jane twitch after every word spoken to her, and as she still looked about to bolt if we so much as looked cross-eyed at her, I finally had to ask, "Jane, are you afraid of us? Be easy, we're not going to harm you." I point to her plate. "Might as well eat up. Never know where or when your next meal will be. Besides, you'll insult poor Spoons if you don't."

Wait, Wait. I love Bling. I'll help. My nearest neighbors are Mormon—no bling, no rum, no dancing. I like your neighbors better!

Trilby eyed Sabastian, irratated by the man's aloofness. But, he'd done the summoning, so could only continue with the meeting, and since Sebastian was always like this, he should be used to it by now. "There's someone I ken that would like a meeting. She has something for sale you and yours might be interested in. Sae far as I know, she's more interested in trading, than actually selling. But it will be for her tae give you the details." He saw the man's eyes narrow with suspicion. Trilby waved a hand. "Nae fret, yea can trust her, of that I'm sure. She has just as much need or more for caution, and I'm nae about to put myself in your bad graces." He filled two fine crystal glasses with Port from a decanter, then held one out to Sebastian. "Yea look tired and bedeviled, lad. This should help restore yea to a more pleasant frame of mind." Then he winked at the man. "And you've nae need tae worry there's anything more than fine liquor in that glass." And so saying, took a healthy swallow from his own glass to prove the point.

I woke with a start, wondering for a moment where I was. Then the familiar sounds and smells of the ship reassured me. Harbor lights reflected from the water danced in wavy patterns around the cabin. I'd left one window panel open and a moist breeze stirred the papers on my desk. Though wide awake, I did not leave the hammock. Having been on my own since the age of eighteen, I had learned to take care of myself in circumstances far more dangerous and bizarre than most women would ever face, even in their darkest dreams. The betrayal by my father being the worst, setting me on a course that I could never have predicted. In the ensuing eight years I had fiercely fought for my place and earned the right to the Rakehell and her crew. But if I were honest with myself, I had to admit, I was getting tired of the constant battle to keep my place. I was tired of running from port to port, always one step ahead of the law and the threat of hanging. I was tired of dealing with men like Ioan, who thought women only good for warming their beds. What I wanted was the Rakehell, free to sail where I pleased, without constantly having to look over my shoulder to see if we were being pursued. I wanted to sail into any port and not worry that someone would recognize me from the earlier years and have me arrested. As rain began to fall in fat drops into the dark waters of the bay, I hoped I could trust Trilby and these gypsies. Trilby and the town knew of the cannon, but that was not all that lay below waiting for the right buyer. I had been lucky so far, but with Ioan's desertion, I was running out of time. In retrospect, I decided I should have let Africa shoot him.

Trilby, up late reading from an archane volume on metalurgie, was not unduly alarmed when he heard the knock. He had an inkling of who his late-night visitor might be. Taking the silver candlestick in hand, he shuffled from his study to the street door, opened the peep-hole and looked into the visage of the middle Devareaux. With a snort, he closed the peep-hole, and opened the door. As Sebastian entered, Trilby said, "Sae, yon bookseller has given yea the word." Then closed the door and locked it. "I must confess, I'm a bit easier in mae mind that it's you and nae your brother." As Trilby led the way to a formal parlor, Cleopatra, returned from her midnight prowl of the rooftop, tarried in the darkness of the stairwell, and with wary gold eyes, watched the visitor pass.

Well, since I last posted on this thread, my husband and I found and bought a beautiful 28' 1978 Tollycraft, which is in showroom condition. AND, it has a bathroom!! Also a galley and master bunk in the bow. Wonderful boat, and we love it. Still no sails, but being on the water is what counts! We also need to change the name, as it is currently called the Sea Jay, after the former owners first initials C and J. Hopefuly, the new name will be something piratical sounding, and we'll hold a re-christening party. BTW, if any of you out there are looking for a nice 24' Bayliner, we now have one for sale.

"Turtle?" I look at Spoons with admiration. "Can you acutally cook one? If so, and judging by this coffee, I'd pay you to teach my cook...well, how to cook. Goose has a talent for mutilating almost anything. I dare not ask him to do more than fry bacon or crack an egg into a pan. Not long ago, he served me a roast chicken that looked like it had been burned at the stake." I hold out my mug for a refill. "I think I'll stick with coffee and pass on the ale, but breakfast sounds wonderful. I'm starving." Spoons, still shooting me appraising looks, refills my cup as Striker and Jane arrive at the galley. I smile at Striker. "Well, at least you still have your clothes on this morning. That's a good sign." Reluctantly I move away from the door and Jacky's close presence, allowing the new arrivals through.

I think you guys are a little too dangerous for a Captain to want to take on!! I mean, can you really take orders—other than from each other?

Ioan thought a moment, wondering why Killingsworth's body was so important. The man was dead, for God's sake. Whatever was left of him should be buried and forgotten. But, ten guineas was ten guineas. If a rotting corpse was what she wanted, he was sure he could find one. Depending on how badly rotted it was, she'd never know if it was Killingsworth, or some dead rummy. He smiled at her. "Done. But I need a night or two to let my back heal. Then I'll find this Killingsworth for you." He held out his hand. "Five guineas for a show of good faith, the other five when you're presented with the smelly remains."

My, you Sheppy blokes are friendly. Welcome to the Pub. I'll have my usual, French bubbly with a shot of Tattoo. Gramercy. I'm curious, what exactly are we not supposed to hold against you?

"The bunk was fine. I fear I slept like the dead." I gesture to the blanket draped around his shoulders. "Where did you sleep?" Spoons gives a huff, then goes back to stirring the pot of porridge. I accept the offered mug from Jacky, our fingers lightly touching. I take a tentative sip of the black-brown brew. It's hot and strong and courses through my body like Greek fire. "This is good. Do you make it, or does Spoons?"

Ioan's patience was as frayed as an old rope, and his back was a screaming mass of pain. He very much wanted to get drunk. If the Lady had nothing for him, then he'd find a place to lay low, heal up a bit, then he'd see what else this pit of a city had to offer. He'd been to Port Royal before. This arrogant woman was not the only game available. "That's entirely up to you, isn't it?"

and Cruzan is a good, sweet rum.....err....wench punch....... Sweet punch! Bleah, no thanks. I'm with Mad Jack. Give me the good stuff!

I wake with a start, at first not sure where I am. A soft, early dawn light filters through the thick glass of the cabin windows. It's not my cabin, and most of my clothes are in a heap on the floor. My rapier, the belt dangling, leans drunkenly against a sea chest. What the hell...? Then memory returns, and I am once again grateful I am not prone to hangovers. I slip from the hammock, put my clothes back on, retrieve my rapier, and cautiously open the cabin door. From the galley I smell the ambrosia of fresh coffee. When I find the source of the aroma, I also find Jacky, a wool blanket draped over his shoulders. He's leaning in the doorway, sipping from a pottery mug. He looks like he's spent an uncomfortable night. The man called Spoons glances up and gives me a quizzical look, darts a look at Jacky, then goes back to his work. Pushing my hair, which has gone rather wild, away from my face, I stand on the other side of the narrow doorway and give my host a wry smile. With barely a foot between us, I point at his steaming mug. "Any of that stuff left?"

I stand in Jacky's cabin a moment, thinking I should really be back on board the Rakehell. But, I'm tired, a little woozy from all that champagne and Port, and the cabin is neat and cozy. With a shrug, I strip down to just my shirt, climb into the hammock, and pull the blanket over my legs. I leave the lantern burning. If there's any trouble, I don't want to be stumbling around in the dark, in a unfamilier cabin. As I drift off, I can still hear Striker and Jane laughing together.

When the ships tack to starboard or larboard, you hear the sound of screeching brakes.

Oh, goodie, pictures!

I like a good guy, with a little bad around the edges.

"Aye, what be the Danish expression fer full moon? Fer that it were indeed, Captain Striker." Jacky chuckles softly and offers Ransom some more port. Accepts the Port, then says, "I don't know much Danish. I just learned about some kind of snorry bread. As for the full moon, well, that was most entertaining. By the way, Jacky, did you ever get your hat back?"

Watches Striker politely pull out a chair for Jane, then rush to fill her goblet with Port. I give Jacky a little smile. "Isn't this cozy?"

Well, as we haven't had TV in our house for...oh about ten years, I've never seen an episode of Lost, and...who are Sawyer and Jack?

Ah, Mr. Lasseter, I've notice you lurking around in Port Royal as well! You're free to join us, if you ever get time off from the Watch Dog. Maybe you could sail your crew on over for a visit?

Just an apron and pearls? Just pearls?

Professor Trilby woke with a start, and was somewhat dismayed to find himself on the rooftop alone, but for Cleopatra. The only other thing staring back at him were the blank, black eyes of the reconstructed dog skeleton, on guard by the door to the stairs. With a grunt, Trlby stood, dumping the cat to the floor. With tale twitching in protest, she trotted off into the darkness of the staircase. Before following her, Trilby glanced quickly at the chair so lately occupied by the interesting young woman. He very much wanted to know what her story was. How had she come to the life she now led? She was obviously well educated and came from a well-off family, so what crossroads in her life had caused her to choose the life of a wanted vagabond? It was a puzzlement, and Trilby very much liked solving puzzels. He walked to the stairwell, then paused, looking back over the city and its jumble of rooftops. Despite the sulty warmth of the evening he shivered, and wondered if it might have been a mistake to arrange a meeting with Andre'. Yes, he thought, now it was too late to halt the process, I wish I had not mentioned the eldest Devareaux to Ransom. I fear no good will come of it. Or...he had a more horrifing thought...they might get on thick as thieves. A yeowl from below interrupted his thoughts. "I'm coming, yea pagan queen," he mumbled, then took the lantern, its candle guttering, and decended the stairs.

What, not into aprons and pearls?