Ransom

"Pepe, Pepe, Pepe." Shakes head slowly, then looks pointedly at Pepe's crotch. "Don't think you'd do much for a cod-piece, either, Senor." Turns flashing blue eyes on Rosie. "And as for FLAT, well my dear, I can't suppose, after all those little Montoya's you're so proud of, you're quite as "pert" as you used to be, eh?" Gives a sly wink. "Better to be flat, than falling!" "So, your sheep is 50 fathoms down is it? Maybe ya better go and get yourselves some sheep dip, see if you can pull it up. Or, maybe a shephard's crook—a really long one...." Can't talk for laughing. Sucks in a deep breath, downs a healthy swallow of Tattoo, then turns to Ignigo. "Good luck, sheep herder—BTW, ever see the movie Brokeback Mtn?"

Thank you, sir, for the gracious compliment. We are all having great fun, and welcome anyone wishing to jump in and play! SirHenry, glad to hear you are well, and only that pesky thing called life has dragged you away for a bit. Did you know, I have a nice, shiny new cannon sitting in your courtyard, just waiting for a thank-you note! Come back to the game soon, Ransom

Know what works better then ANYTHING i've found?? Walking in sand. Just the act of walking in damp and, dry sand... it exfoliates your feet to a nice luster. IF your lucky enough to live by the sea it's the best (and cheapest!) way to pamper you pirate tootsies. I follow it up though with a lotion from Witching wash works... it's called Samhain and smells like spiced pumpkin. Very Earthy and Beachy all at the same time. (sigh).... Damn. Now I've talked m'self into wanting a walk and here I am stuck at work! Ah, that sounds a lovely, relaxing way to wear off the calluses. Sadly, at the nearest beaches to where I live, most of the time, rather than be relaxing, you'd end up with frost bite. The sand and water are COLD! The Witching Wash Works lotion sounds wonderful. Where do they sell it? Is it just a local shop?

"Short answer, Nope!" Jacky wakes to the sound of running water; which is odd because the pub doesn't have plumbing! "Ray, I need some rhum t' sober up, what did Rosie put in that drink?" Jacky surveys the pub and sees Siren asleep curled up behind the bar. He turns to Pepe. "How long have I been out?" Pepe says, "Jou been out along time boss, Falsie Ransomebody come thru and she tink she mees another party!" "Falsie?" Come now, boys, you've only to look at me boyish figure to know, there be no falsies here!" ***Opens coat to show a bodice with a sad lack of abundanza in the foredeck.*** "You see, flat as the proverbial plank. So, no more Falsie talk, comprende?"

Looks around the quiet Pub. Jacky has his head down and is covered with a blanket. The two arguing Spaniards are gone. Capt. Sterling has left to follow the Swedish Bikini team, Rumba is off celebrating her new diamond ring. Sigh. Guess I'll go back to my sheep ... er, ship. "See ya, Ray. It was fun while it lasted."

Huzzah, Rumba, and good fortune to you both. And, yes, a nice bit of bling is a good thing!

Revised post.

Revised post. Before I could settle myself in a chair, a loud screech came from the back room. A servng maid, her eyes wide a saucers, came pelting out to the common room, yelling, "Murder! Merciful God, Molly's been murdered!" I leapt from my seat as the barkeep grabbed the ranting woman and shook her. "What? What are you taking about?" Back there." She pointed. "The small storage room. Oh God, there's blood everywhere." At which point the woman fell to the floor in a dead faint. "Stupid creature," The barkeep snarled as he headed for the back room. "But I'd best see what she's on about. Probably no more than Molly drinking too much, passing out and hitting her head." I followed him through the main kitchen to a small back room. A crumpled form lay on the floor, the front of her dress soaked in blackening blood. "What the devil!" The barkeep stooped to inspect the dead woman. When he stood, his face was purple with fury. "Knifed, by God! One of her lovers, I'll wager." I didn't waste time speculating on who might have killed the woman. If she were like most bar maids, she probably had dozens of lovers. Any one of them could have gotten drunk and killed her. The barkeep stormed from the room, bellowing, "Call the watch! Call the guards! Black-hearted murder has been done at the Shipp." I deemed it time for me to escape and find another place to break my fast. I paused for a last look at the dead woman, whose frozen expression showed shock and fear. I let my gaze rake over the room. In the darkness at the bottom of the back stairs lay something white and lacy. I crossed the room and pickd up the item—a handerchief, stained with blood. On closer inspection, I saw that the fancy bit of linen had an ornate embroidered monogram in one corner. R K I glanced up the stairs, then back at the monogram. I put the stained bit of lace in my coat pocket and slipped out the back entrance that I had so recently used the previous night.

About two months ago, I bought "Pirates" at Cost Co, for half the bookstore price. I didn't see Piratology until just a few weeks ago, at WallMart. I think I like the Pirates book a little better, but I do have Dragonolgy, which I love. Bought that last Christmas, as a gift for ME.

hmmm depends on how deep the harbour and how many naked pearl divers we can round up... "Hummm...naked pearl divers? Well, we could tickle them with these feathers, make them drop their pearls. Pauses, and scratches head. "We are talking about co-ed pearl divers, right?"

Watches Rosie storm from the pub. Shakes head, trying to knock out residual feathers. "Did she just say something about a terminator? Eer, or was that Treasure Hunter?" Bangs hand against side of head. More feather drift to the floor. Stands unsteadily and calls to Ray. "One more tankard, if you please. And..." Stares dumbstruck at the concertina player as the words of the song finally penetrates the rum and feathers. "Gold? Gold? Could it be...no, no,...and yet? Could it be... ...The Golden Fleece?" I grin at Capt. Sterling. "What say we go have a look, eh?"

By the time I finished breakfast, the Shipp Tavern common room had been put nearly to rights, although half the tables and most of the chairs had been removed to a storage room, awaiting repair. As the barkeep had promised, the food was excellent, but I did not see the one person I had been hoping would return. The Fop. It was Mistress Mckinna's quick kiss and plea for help that had nagged at the back of my mind ever since the brawl. The more I thought about the stranger, the more sure I became that I'd seen him before. In London, no doubt, as one of his sort would hardly spend time in the country, kandkerchief to his nose, strolling among the yokels. I did not like the smug, arrogant look he'd cast over the room, as if he were a king and we his pitiable subjects. Also, a sense of danger hung about his person like a foul mist. I shook my head and finished my ale. Better to forget the fop, I decided. There was more pressing business that needed attending to, the first being the state of Ioan and my cannon. I flipped the barkeep some coin and left the Shipp, heading toward Admiralty Court.

Tis a bet then! Might want to take cover under this table, in case little Rosie starts throwing things—including her husband!

I wager five gold Guineas on the missus...Sterling sniggers... "Done, but if he turns tail and runs within two minutes, you buy me a tankard as well!" "Leetle conejo?"

These really are awesome. So, Rumba, which one did you finally decide on?

I wink at Capt. Sterling as the Spaniard meekly approaches his wife. "You know, this could be better than dancing Aztecs."

Ioan hated the heat. He hated Port Royal. It was worse than Charles Town—hot, buggy and disease ridden. He'd give anything to be back in the cool green hills of his native Wales. But the country was too poor for a man such as himself to make a living. He'd thought the colonies might offer him a better chance. He'd worked as a deck hand on an English merchant ship to pay for his passage. During the voyage to Boston he'd almost fallen from the rigging, been knocked out in a below-decks brawl, and nearly knifed in the ribs by a man who had lost a month's wages to Ioan in a card game. But he'd learned the ropes, both figuratively and physically, discovering he had a natural gift for sailing and survival. He'd also soon discovered that the same prejudices that existed in the old world had traveled to the new. Keeping just ahead of the law, he'd eked out a meager existence, but bore many grudges and a shipload of anger toward those who thought they were his betters. When the opportunity presented itself, he took ship again, heading south. Charles Town was no better than Boston, only hotter. He tried working for a dry-goods merchant, and that had gone well for a time. But the man's chubby, bored little wife developed a fancy for Ioan, and took few pains to hide the fact. If he went into the storeroom, she would follow, bending for something on a lower shelf, thus affording him a view of her ample bosom. When he came in, his body hot and sweaty from loading a wagon with flour, she would be at the door, offering him a cool drink, her pudgy face flushed with desire. He ignored her as best he could, but when she started brushing her body against his, resting her hand on his arm a beat longer than was proper, he knew something had to be done. In retrospect, he thought, his way of dealing with the problem was probably not the best. He gave her what she pined for. The next time he went into the storeroom and she followd, he whirled around, grabbed her and planted a rough, juicy kiss on her little pouty lips. For a moment she melted into it, then stiffened, pulled away, and screamed like a stuck pig. Her husband boltd into the storeroom, a shovel gripped in both hands. He took one look at his wife's face, at Ioan's grin of satisfaction, and with a bellow of rage, chased Ioan out into the street. And kept chasing him until they reached the docks. Which is how Ioan came to find refuge on the Rakehell, discovered that her captain was a young woman who seemed immune to his charms, and found himself standing in a sweltering courtyard, next to a wagon containing a cannon blinding-bright as a new-minted coin. He'd waited all day, sent Jimmy Cox back to the Rakehell with a flea in his ear, then taken a nap under tha wagon. Come dark, he'd unhitched the horse, ridden to the nearest tavern, eaten a hearty dinner, swived a black-eyed Welsh beauty, slept till dawn, swived the beauty again, broken his fast, and was now back at his post in the bloody courtyard, waiting for Sir Admiral, damn-his-arse, Morgan to show his face and accept the fancy artillery piece. Wiping his sweating forehead with his sleeve, he took the captain's letter out and inspected the seal—a hollow-eyed horse skull. It was the first time he'd really looked at it, and it stirred a memory, something from before he'd left England. He put the letter back, but was left wondering just who his Lady Captain really was, and determined it might be a good thing for him to find out.

On my way into town, I passed Goose returning to the ship. He pulled a forelock at me, then scooted past. I ignored the idiot. When I reached the Shipp Tavern, out of curiosity, I peeked in to see what damage had been done. The place was a shambles still, but three servants were in the process of cleaning up the debris. Yet, despite the mess, the smell of cooking food came from the back room, reminding me that I hadn't eaten in many hours. A half-dozen other patrons had braved the turmoil and sat enjoying a hearty breakfast. I entered and approached the harried barkeep. "Can I get a meal?" He gave me an exasperated glare, as if he had enough trouble to deal with without having to serve up food as well. "Yes, but good luck finding a table with four good legs to put your tray on." "Send out what you've got, and I'll deal witht the table," I remarked. "And a tankard of ale to wash down whatever swill I end up with." He bridled at that. "Par-don, my lady," he drawled, "but I don't serve no swill at the Shipp. It's good cheese, hot bread, and spicy pepper sausage you'll be getting. Will that suit?" "Admirably," I replied. He handed me a full tankard, and I retreatd to the back of the room, righted a table and chair, and made myself comfortable.

What has become of Sir Henry Morgan? Is he still in the game?

Loved the book, but haven't seen the movie. We haven't had TV for abut 12 years. Don't know if I want to rent the DVD, now I've heard your review. I hate it when the media takes a classic book and screws it up.

As I reined the carriage horse to a stop near the docks, I was met by Goose's sniveling whine. "Where've ya been, Captain? Crew been worried sick, what with no word these many hours. Thought ya mighta been caught up in that nasty business over to the Shipp Tavern. Place all busted up, we heard." As he paused to catch his breath, Goose cocked an eye at my mode of transportation. "Where'd ya get the nag?" I slid from the mount and tossed the long lines, which Goose caught with much fumbling. With a grin, I said, "I know all about the nasty business at the Shipp. I helped contribute to it. Had to lay low for awhile. Is Ioan back with Morgan's reply?" That question made Goose's already prune-like face pucker the more. "Eh, well, as it stands, no, he aint." "Why the devil not? He should have been back hours ago." Ioan's absence did not bode well. "Did any of you dolts think to go look for him? Has he been arrested, or slouched off to some brothel? Speak, man!" "No! No...I mean, yes, Jimmy Cox and Africa went lookin' fer him. Jimmy says Ioan be still waitin' at Admiralty Court, as he was told old Morgan be not at home." "Sittin on his arse in that wagon all day?" This would not do. Morgan could be anywhere, and I had no desire to go looking for him all over Port Royal. I couldn't help but believe that his cronies on the docks would have run to him with news of the cannon when we unloaded it. If he knew of it, and had done nothing, then something wasn't right. Obviously reading the rising tide of anger in my expression, Goose driveled on, "Well, Ioan told Jimmy as how he didn't feel right leavin' the cannon unguarded in the courtyard. Who's ta say what might befall it? So, he woudn't budge. Still sittin' there, sa far as I know." Heading for the Rakehell, I snapped, "Take that horse into town. Tie it to the rail of the first tavern you come to. Let it's owner find it. When you're done, get back to the ship." "Aye, Captain." Looking grateful at the chance to escape the eye of the hurricane, Goose started to trot off, leading the carriage horse. But he haulted, looked at my head and said with pity, "Shame about yer hat, Captain." "To blazes with my hat! Get on with you!" I yelled. Two pairs of eyes rolled and showed their whites, as Goose and horse jogged away. I marched on board, went below, slammed the door with an oath, and threw the ruined hat into a corner. I then removed the soiled frock coat and breeches, replacing them with plain breeches, an everyday bodice of green linen, and a short coat of dull brown. Instead of a hat, I tied my hair back with a green and gold scarf of East Indian silk. Back on deck, I signaled to Africa, a blackamoor former slave who had chosen to sail with me when I took possession of the Rakehell. I'm going back into town. If and when that Welsh bastard, Ioan, returns, tell him that I ORDER him to stay on board until I get back. Understand!" Africa nodded, then said in a voice soft for so large a man, "Bad doin's in town. Best be ware." "Well, if I catch up with that actress, her clumby friend, or a certain smug fop, the bad doin's are going to get worse. A lot worse!" Africa gave me a knowing smile then turned back to his duties.

The appearance of an aged, rusty sword, presented with such flourish, was the last straw. I burst out laughing. This whole escapade had reduced itself to low farce. I pulled the cork from the rum bottle and took a healthy swallow. "A toast to you master...whoever you are." I raised the bottle again. "And to you Mistress Lilly...yes, I do know who you are—more's the pity. I'll drink to your continued good health, and to mine. Then I must away. As I said at the outset, I have business to attend to at the docks" I pointed at the sad excuse for a weapon hanging from the man's belt. "Since it appears the last person to use that sword—it's not made of wood, is it—was someone's great grandfather, you might want to give it a polish before you attempt to gut anyone with it." Having finally had enough of the comedy, I set the bottle on the table, bowed elegantly to the startled assembly, and strolled out the door. Once the door was safely closed behind me, I jogged to the coach and unharnessed one of the horses. With a laugh, I lept to its back, kicked the sluggish animal into a gallop, and headed back to Port Royal and the safety of my ship.

Ugh! Sun in yer eyes.

As we entered the mill and were introduced to an elderly lady of obvious acquaintance with the bruised and bloodied gentleman, I allowed myself to relax. Yet, anger still boiled within me, directed both at my forced companions, and at myself for letting them involve me in a situation of which I was igonorant of the circumstances. I looked at my ruined hat, retrieved on my rush from the tavern. Its robin's-egg blue was sullied by the imprint of someon's dirty foot—the toes were quite distinct. I had also lost the silk ribbon that held back my hair, which tumbled in an unruly red cascade to my shoulders. That did not immediately betray my sex, as long hair, both real and wigged, were all the fashion. However, I had no desire to push my luck, considering I had used up a great deal of it to get out of the tavern before the soldiers rousted the place. Taking a deep breath to calm myself further, I gave the old woman a slight bow. "My name is Ransom, Marm. And I agree, a drink would be just the thing, under the circumstances. Then, with regret, I must leave you all. I have business at the docks that needs attending." I turned to the actress, my blue eyes flashing sparks. "As for you, madame, I fear I cannot be, nor do I wish to continue to be, of further service. I don't wish to know what calamitous scheme you are embroiled in, nor do I wish to find myself arrested." I felt the anger raise its dragonish head again. "As for the kiss, well, you and I both know that was a sham. Better you should plant your kisses on someone who can appriciate them." With that, I plopped myself into a chair, hung a leg over the arm, and waited for the gentleman to come up from the cellar—hopefully with something stronger than wine.

Soldiers! Bugger all! I did an about face and headed toward the back. Jumping over prostrate forms and broken furniture, I noticed the actress was being assisted in the same direction by her bloody-faced companion. "What the bloody hell is going on?" I yelled, as the three of us pelted out the door. "And, who is the fop and why does he put the fear of God into you?"