Ransom

"Ah, no matter, for most men prefer the cooing of an Irish dove, t' the squawkin' of a French hen, anyway." "Ah, Mr. Tar, you sweet-tongued devil."

Recognising the tune, I sit up, suddenly feeling nausious. "Erp....Sorry Jacky, gotta go. This song always gives me the dry-heaves"

As Professor Trilby and I lingered over the Port, shadows crept across the patio, to finally engulf us in blessed shade. Noise increased from the street below, as the cooling temperature brought out those who had hidden indoors during the hottest part of the day. The smell of roasting meats drifted on the evening breeze. My host, on his third glass of the dark amber liquid, looked to be almost asleep. The silver goblet dangled precariously from one limp hand. I needed to get back the Rakehell, but I had one more question I wanted to ask the man. "Professor Trilby?" I shook his robe-draped knee. "Aye, wha..." He sat up suddenly, dropping the goblet onto the tiles, where it clanged like a church bell. "Oh, sorry. I musta dozed off a bit." I picked up the empty vessel and put it back on the table. "You asked earlier who had Killingsworth killed this time? You have proof he has killed before?" Trilby's bushy brows lowered in a scowl. "Nae, nothing but the conviction in mae own mind. He murdered a young charwoman who tended the fires in mae room at Oxford. Lovely little creature. Louisa was her name. Killingsworth visited me to turn in a late assignment and saw her. Three days later she came to mae, all in tears, begging that I should tell the man tae leave her alone. That he was making unwanted advances that she had done everything to discourage. I told her nae tae fret, and that I would speak tae the scoundrel. Which I did." Trilby paused, looking out over the city, his expression changing from anger to one of regret. Even though I knew what the ending of the tale would be, I asked, "What happened?" Trilby's eyes flared, the anger back twofold. "He killed her, that's what. Oh, nae that anyone could prove it. Her body was found behind a local tavern. Someone had...had abused her in the most personal way, stabbed her, and left her body in the snow. Well, I kenned right off who had done it. Confronted the bastard. At first he just laughed at me, but when I told him I'd go to the Don's of the school, that stopped him." I shrugged. "What could the school do? Killingsworth is minor nobility." "Aye, that's true enough, but were suspicion tae fall on him, the scandal would be enough tae force his family tae send him off tae the continent for a season or two." "Did they?" "Nae, the term was near up. It was Killingsworth's last year. I was only too glad tae be rid of him." I stretched, walked to the low wall and looked down on the street. I saw no guards, so apparently the search had been called off. I thought of Killingsworth's body slumped over the shoulder of the stranger. I thought of the bloody handerchief in my strongbox, and the jeweled snuff box in my pocket. I seemed to be picking up quite a few of Mr. Kilingsworth's belongings. If he lived through the night, which I doubted he would, I wondered if we should meet again, and under what circumstances. I turned to my host. "You've been most kind, but I must go." He rose from the chair. "Well, you're most welcome tae visit again. I've enjoyed our little talk, even if it did bring up troubling memories. And you...er, Ransom. Where might I find you, if I was in a mood tae share another bottle of Port?" I smiled. "At the docks. On board the Rakehell." His brows lifted in surprise. "The Rakehell?" I could almost see the wheels turning within his brain. Then the brows lowered and he glared at me. "And, just what the devil is your connection tae that ship?' Alarm bells went off in my head, and I readied myself for defence or escape. "This is the Rakehell's first visit to Port Royal. How do you know the ship, sir?" "Because a lady friend of mine had a nephew on board a ship called the Mariah. He arrived in Port Royal with six of his mates, all half starved and dying of thirst. They told how Mariah was boarded and then burned by the crew of a ship flying black colors and called the Rakehell. So, I ask you again, Lady, what is your connection tae that cursed ship?" I moved closer to the low wall, turned, gave him a theatric bow, an evil grin and replied, "I'm her captain." Then dropped over the wall, slid down an awning, grabbed a lantern bracket, and swung myself to the street.

I pull up a chair next to Jacky, then point to the two women on the bar. "This should be interesting—Siren vs Salsa."

"Ah, no mate. I only know enough French to unintentionally insult someone's mother.

Jacky shakes this one off, and thinks to himself, 'Why haven't any of these other pirates stepped up to the plate... Mad Jack, Captain Sterling, The Gunner?' He gets to his hands and knees, and see's a ladies hand extended to him. She says, "Need a hand up?". Jacky's vision is still blurred, "Ransom?" "Jacky, Jacky, Jacky, what have you gone and gotten yourself into this time? "Extends a hand and pulls the poor man to his feet. Yanks the stool, which is broken and upside down like a crown, off of Jacky's head. "I'm gone a few pages, and look what's happened to you." Shakes my head. "I think you need something a bit stronger than orange juice, lad, not to mention maybe a steak for that blackening eye." Signals to Ray. 'Something medicinal, if you please." Pushes Jacky into a chair. "Better lay low for awhile, don't you think?"

"So as ye explain it, that was not a kiss. It was a champagne toast, shared without glasses. That's good t' know. Because, if it had been a kiss, and laughter were the only result, I'd never be able to show my face in this pub again!" Jacky smiles and tenderly pushes her red hair from her face. "It were a pax, a kiss of peace, for which ye asked." Jacky kisses her on the cheek. "Thar, ye have my promise of peace. But, it doesn't mean I won't tease ye!" I accept the kiss on the cheek, and give Jacky an evil little grin. "Oh, I think we can do a bit better than that." I take his face in my hands and plant a nice juicy kiss on his lips. "Not a French one yet. Want to save a little something extra for next time you tease me." "Now, what can I buy you—to drink?"

Jacky looks surprised! "I never said ye was unattractive, quite t' the contrary I find ye very attractive. Check yer sources I never said anything about yer forecastle, bow, or stern." Jacky moves closer, and watches her sword hand. "If'n ye ask, ye'll find I've never danced wit' anyone else at the pub either! And here's another first, that won't bloody likely happen again, either..." Jacky pulls her away from the fop, and kisses her passionately without pretense. It would have been a bit more pasionate if I had not, in the moment before, taken a sip of the French bubbly. The fizz from mouth to mouth had us both laughing. I wiped my chin then held out the kerchief to Jacky. "Here, sir. I've heard tell of a French Kiss, but I doubt this is what they meant." With a grin, Jacky takes the offered kerchief. "Too bad you've already told the whole Pub you won't repeat the gesture." I give him a teasing wink. "T'were it not for the fizz, it was feeling pretty nice. And I admit, I'm a wee bit prickly about the boyish thing—what with always being mistaken for a "lad", as if I were some milk-sopped child." I cock an Irish blue eye. "I be woman enough for any man, but I do the chosing, not the other way around. So, I take back my insults to your person. Pax? "Ray, another round please." I direct my most charming smile at Jacky. "Come visit me in Port Royal, you cheeky devil!"

"Still dancin'. May I cut in?" Jacky knocks Killingsworth into a chair, at a table where a bunch of old toothless hags are having their morning repast. Jacky addresses Ransom, "A suitable hen house for his cockiness, wouldn't ye say?" And in hushed tones, "Ye need to be more selective about the company ye keep." Jacky walks Ransom back to her seat and thanks her for the dance. I brush Jacky's hand away and look daggars at him. "And you're a fine one to be telling me what to do! Insults is all I ever hear from your lips, sir! I made the mistake of telling you I had a boyish figure. I did not say I was boyish. I did NOT say I was unattractive." I return to Killingsworth, pull the man to his feet, and walk with him to the bar. "I'll have a glass of French bubbly with a shot of Tattoo." I give Jacky one last fiery look. "AND, I'll chose my own dancing partners, thank you very much. There is more than one reason to dance with a gent, and flirtation, in this case, in NOT the agenda! One more snide remark about my forecastle, and I'll turn you into a seive! Or a Eunich. Or both!!!"

Professor Trilby's house, of vaguely Spanish design, was a mad hash of Gypsy wagon, Apothecary's shop and museum of curiosities. Every available space was filled with dust-covered artifacts, book, bottles and disturbing statuary. As he led the way, I noticed planetary charts, anatomical studies, and African masks affixed to the walls. Underfoot were threadbare carpets of Persian design. Like an early morning mist, the sulfurous smoke hovered in the air to swirl and eddy as we passed. The cat sneezed. In one dim room he paused, rummaged in a cupboard, and withdrew a covered plate and a corked bottle. I hoped the bottle contained Port, and not something deadly. "Upstairs, I think. The air will be clearer." He turned abruptly to a narrow staircase with graceful iron railing. I was surprised and relieved to find us on a small rooftop patio. A striped cloth provided shade for a small iron table and a mixed assortment of benches and chairs. In a far corner was a very dead plant in a cracked ceramic pot. In the other corner a fountain splashed. I walked to the three foot wall that prevented patrons from falling from the roof, and looked out over Port Royal. "You've a rare view," I commented. "Oh yes, quite handy for keeping track of doings about the city." He put the plate and bottle down, then filled two ornate silver cups which had already been on the table. "Though I'm nae too interested in the petty squabbles going on below." He waved a grubby hand toward the town, then motioned toward a bench. "Come, sit, enjoy your cake." As I sat, my eyes were struck by the sight of a reconstructed skeleton of what I thought to be a dog. It stood by the doorway into the house, as if it had stood guard there until it perished. On its head was a freyed straw sun hat sporting a cock feather. I shook my head and turned my attention back to my strange host. "Thank you, sir." I held up my cup in salute, then took a swallow. The Port was very fine indeed. "So," he said, settling into a cushioned chair, "who are the guards looking for, eh?" "A man named Reginald Killingsworth." He sputtered Madeira crumbs. "Killingsworth, by God! What the devil is that venomous, lisping fop doing in Port Royal?' "You know him?" I was surprised, and curious. "Yes, more's the pity. An unhealthy conjunction of Mars and Venus and a waning faze of the moon put me teaching at Oxford at the same time that miserable creature was a student." "I smiled. "He was a poor student?" "Nae sae poor. In fact, he was too bright for his own good. But his character, now that's a different kettle of fish. Black-hearted as Bezelbub, with a cruel streak wide as the Thames. Who'd he kill this time?" "A bar maid and possibly a Captain Sterling. But I believe Mr. Killingsworth is about to get a taste of his own medicine. When last I saw him, he was slung like a sack of potaotes over the shulder of man who had just given him a nasty blow to the head. Mentioned something about an eye-for-an-eye. If that's true, then I fear Mr. Killingsworth is in for a vengeance of biblical proportions." Professor Angus Trilby grinned and held up his cup. "Now, that's the best news I've heard in months. A toast, then, to biblical revenge."

Come, Mr. Killingsworth, I let you buy me a drink. Let all animosities be set aside for a time. For a time, you mind! **Lifts a glass** To the dance macabre, eh?" and gives him a wink.

I shake my head, deciding that maybe I should take up French. Or, maybe Irish, or Spanish, or...? Winks at Killingsworth. "No good will come of it, I agree. A threesome never works out. Especially when one is an actress. Who knows when she's for real, or when she's acting? Are you listening, Captain Sterling?"

Gives Sterling a grin. "You're right, of course. Why tax the brain when you can be drinking instead? Tis nice to be able to relax, and not be watching your back all the time. Cheers." "Relax? Bloody hell, I haven't been able to get out of bed for more than a paragraph or two!! " We're going to have to start treating you for bed sores soon! And, Lilly dear, now why would you want to admit the Captain doesn't stay in your bed? Come to think of it, he doesn't stay in anyone's bed for too long. Naughty Captain, very naughty.

Surely, sir, by now you know what "assume" means. In this Pub, I wouldn't be assuming anything. Not healthy. How's your head, by the way?"

Gives Sterling a grin. "You're right, of course. Why tax the brain when you can be drinking instead? Tis nice to be able to relax, and not be watching your back all the time. Cheers."

The cross-threading is beginning to give Ransom a headach. She looks at Killingsworth, wondering how he can hop from comatose to drinking and back again. And Mistress McKinney, rather than breaking furniture in boredom, is snuggling next to Sterling—an interesting situation with Aurora snuggling on his other side. **Gives a shrug**Ah well, there is no accounting for the strange actions of the nobility. **Glances over at Jacky. "You've paid our lot a fine compliment, sir. Let me buy you a drink. That is, if the good Lady St. Claire doesn't mind." Gives Jacky a pat on the shoulder, friendly like. "You'd be welcome in Port Royal any time."

The caughing got closer, until with a final hack, a bizarre figure appeared in the doorway leading to the hall. He stood stout as a barrel, on legs too short for his width. Wild, faded-auburn hair sprouted from his chin and escaped the colorful Turkish-style head wrap that covered his head. Clothing his powerful form was a long, stained, tatty scholar's robe full of burn holes—one of which still smouldered. He glared at me with one fierce eye cocked. "Who the devil are you?" Wiping sulfurous tears from my eyes, I replied, "Not the mouse you were looking for. Who, sir, are you?" "Where is Souris? What have you done with the boy?" He stepped into the room, raising a fist in my direction. "If you've done any harm tae the boy, I'll strangle you with mae bare hands!" I held up my own hands, palms out. "Souris is safe, so far as I know. Unless your cat has eaten him." The man looked at the cat, still cowering under the table. "Cleopatra might'ave scratched him a few times, but she'd nae stoop so low as tae eat the devil." He turned his fiery gaze back to me. "Sae, who are you, and what are you doing in mae house?" I gave him a courtly bow. "My name is Ransom, sir, and I am in your house only so long as it takes the soldiers to look elsewhere for an assissin. Then I will be gone and you can continue your...experiment." I pointed to his shoulder. "You're still on fire, you know?" He pounded out the cinder, then grabbed a nearby candle iron. "I want nae killer in mae house. Get ye gone!" "I'm no killer, but soldiers have a sorry tendency to arrest first and ask questions later." He inspected me closer. "You're nae a lad, though you dress like an urchin. And what sort of a name is Ransom?" "It's the name I go by, for the time being. Now, as you know my name, I think it only polite that you tell me yours." He grinned, showing teeth large as harpsichord keys. "Professor Angus Trilby, late of Oxford University—very late, as it happens." "Ah, hence the robe." I gestured at the aged garment. "And the turban?" "Well, I might be a hairy devil from the nose down, but on mae head, other than a bit of fringe tae keep mae ears warm, I'm bald as a cannon ball. Keeps my pate from frying in this God-cursed heat." He gestured toward the interior of the house. "Might as well make yourself confortable. Soldiers ain't the smartest lot, so it'd be better to give thm a bit of time to sort things out. I've got a nice bottle of port and a Mediera cake I'd be pleased tae share with you." "I would be honoered, sir." I followed the walking barrel, shaking my head as his speech drifted between Oxford ton, and country Scott, while Cleopatra trotted ahead of us. Professor Trilby pointed at the feline. "Cleopatra just loves mae Madeira cake."

Ioan returned the horse to the Three Crowns. Port Royal was still in chaos over the shooting of Sterling. Soldiers continued to search the streets for the assassin, but apparently none had been found. Coming so close on the killing of the bar maid, gossip was running rampant over just what it all could mean. After a pint or two at the Three Crowns, he headed for the Rakehell. Going on board, he was surprised to learn Ransom was still in the city. Jimmy cox had relieved Africa's watch over the cannon, and the big black man cast a surly look in Ioan's direction. Ioan tried to ignore him, but had to admit the man made him uneasy. His loyalty to Ransom would be a problem when Ioan dcided to take the ship. There would be others who would rally against him, preferring a woman captain to one they didn't know. They would have to be dealt with as well. It only remained for Ioan to figure out how. Feeling Africa's eyes boring into his back, Ioan went about his usual ship duties, but knew he was running out of time. He needed the ship and what lay in her hold. The money each would bring would set him up nicely in the colonies. Set him up very nicely indeed. Ransom would either have to forteit her position—or die with the others. It made little difference to him.

I'll raise a glass on Sunday, thinking of you all. Be there in mind, if not in body!

I enter the Pub, surprised at the crowd. Sterling is siting with a young woman unknown to me, and there's that ner-do-well Jacky Tarr ***looks around to make sure there are no Aztecs*** Yet, like a rare jewel among sow's ears, stands a lady. Now, what, I wonder, could such a fine piece of work be doing among a bunch of lowly pirates? And why is Sterling looking at her as if she had snakes for hair? My curiosity peeked, I push back a red curl, and give her a cock of the head. "Welcome indeed, Lady. My name is Ransom, and though I may look the lad, do not be fooled." Looks at Ray. "Since the lady is buying, I'll have my usual—French bubbly with a shot of tattoo. Gramercy." Accepting my drink, I slip into a chair, carefull to step over the usual assortment of bodies on the floor. "Cheers."

I'm near crying with jealousy. It sounds like such a party. I'd love to meet you all in person..er...persona.

The hew and cry was up. Somewhere a bell sounded frantic alarm. I looked at the limp, bloody form as it was carried away by the stranger. I took delight in knowing Killingsworth would find waking more painful than his current state. However, it would not be long before the Governor's soldiers fought their way through the crowds, intent on finding the man. I did not want them to find me anywhere near this place. In looking quickly about me for an avenue of escape, a tiny spark of fire caught my eye. I knelt and rescued from the lane a jeweled snuff box. "Ah." I smiled, brushed dirt from its fine inlaid serface, and slipped it into my pocket. "How nice of Mr. Killingsworth to leave me a small token of remembrance." The sound of approaching booted feet warned me to tarry no longer. I darted to the nearest building, opened a rough wooden door, hinges screeching, and stepped into darkness. A sulferous smell assaulted my nostrils. Shapes, dim and strange, hovered among the rafters. In a shaft of gray light coming from a dust-covered window, a large calico cat glanced up at me with eyes the color of topaz. From a further room deep within the house, a voice rough as sand on cobbles, called out, "Hoy, is that you, Souris? Get your worthless carcass in here, and don't tell me you've come back empty-handed again." Before I could answer this interesting greeting, there was a blinding flash, a whoosh, followed by a gust of sulferous smoke which made my eyes water. The cat howled and darted under a nearby table. After much choking and caughing and a healthy spit, the voice erupted again, "God's Teeth, third time today. I should know better than to trust that bloody book. Souris, you skulking devil, get in here and clean up this mess!"

Christophe had noticed Old Tucker and unknown rider as the carriage had neared the Port's outer edge. Sending vehicle onward around dirt road bend, the Frenchman had drawn Bay to halt. The sound of following hoofbeat neared steadfast as blunderbuss was released from secure hibernation and brought to bear with practiced aim; the elegant cock drawn back. When he saw the outrider on the big bay turn and a blunderbuss pointed at him, Ioan pulled his own horse to a hault well out of range. The two mounted men stared at one another through a haze of dust and distance, the coach rolling on toward its destination. Ioan had no desire to be shot, but it did make him wonder just who owned the coach, and what possible connection they could have to Sterling. And, who was the lady within? As far as he could tell the vehicle was heading further into the country, where there were only shanty villages or sugar plantations. Was she the daughter of a wealthy land owner? His horse pawed impatiently at the ground. Ioan patted its sweated neck, and let it dance a small pirouette on the road to steady itelf. By the time he faced the way the coach had gone, the man on the bay had lowered his weapon, turned his own bay, and was cantering to catch up with the coach. Ioan watched them go, then turned his own animal's head back toward Port Royal.

I met the man's hard, cold, almost reptilian stare. His discust for the thing that lay at his feet was obvious. I uncocked my pistol and lowered it, giving the man a slight bow. If Killingsworth was truely dead, then I had no further need of the handerchief or the dead man's pistol. But, was he dead or merely knocked out? "You are sure he is feast for crows? I've known many a man to play dead, only to rise again, like a Pheonix." The man paused, his expression one of annoyance, as if I were a fly that buzzed around his face and he would happily swat. I pulled Killingsworth's pistol from my pocket. "If Killingsworth has gone to meet his maker, whomever that may be, then you might want a little souvineer of your handiwork." I tossed him the pistol. "I believe that belongs to the recumbant gentleman." Besides, I thought, I certainly don't want to be caught with it.

Well, don't all that make me jealous!! YES!!! Just too far for this poor pirate to travel. Post lots of pictures afterwards for those of us lusting to go but unable to.