Ransom

"Damn and blast!" I snarled, tripping a sailor bent on attacking the man with the actress. This was definitely not what I had intended when I left the ship. Disaster and mayhem seemed to follow this woman wherever she went. As to her gentleman companion, he appeared to be in worse duress than she. So far as I was concerned, the pair dserved each other and could take care of themselves. As for her plea for help, there was little I could offer in the middle of a brawl. I hard-kicked a drunkard with a booted foot, sending him crashing into another assailant, currently in the process of spitting out some teeth, and being ridden like a hobbyhorse by the actress. The three of them fell to the filthy floor in a tangle of arms, legs, and beer. A quick glance around showed me that the only occupant of the tavern not currently either fighting with someone or throwing something, was a foppish-looking gentleman at the bar. His smug expression did nothing for my temper. Grabbing a bottle, I hurled it at the fop, pulled the actress from the floor and attempted to push her toward the door. "Pray, madame, let go of the ruffian's hair." "Come on, man!" I yelled at her companion. "Quit dawdling at the bar and get yourself out of here!" With another duck as someone's shoe bounced off the table, shattered a bottle of rum, and careened past my face, I made my last attempt at good samaritanism. With my nose inches from hers, I shouted at the actress, "I'm away. Follow or stay. Your choice!"

Being a member of the "Gee I wish I had a bit more of those" I was heartened to read where for POTC, Kiera Knightly spent two hours in make up just to have her cleavage air-brushed on. Flat as the proverbial board, is that girl. I even went to a Victoria's Secret years ago, and was informed that their wonder bra would give anyone a cleavage. Sigh....apparently, even the wonder bra needs material to work with.

The suddenness of the kiss took me aback completely. What the devil was the matter with the woman? Sputtering, I pulled back, just as the barmaid's tray went flying. It knocked off my good hat, and a splash of ale hit my cheek and ran down my collar. Seething at the despoil of my good lace, sick of hearing myself referred to as "lad", as if I were some milk-sopped child, and furious that the actress had embroiled me in one of her mad excapades of God knew what dubious legality, I shoved her aside, ducked as a pewter mug went flying over my head, and shouted at her companion, "Let's remove ourselves from here, before we all end up in goal!"

"They like us, they really like us!"

Rather than cause further scene, I gritted my teeth and ignored the "lady's" rude remark. I was sure it was meant to goad me into revealing to her that I was not, in fact, a man. Something I was sure she had already guessed. However, there was no need for the whole room to know it. I gave her a steely-eyed stare with eyes that had seen a great deal more murder and mayhem than I hoped she ever would, and turned to her distraught companion. With a degree of pity I watched the gentleman's efforts to return the "lady" to their table. When I saw him give a quick glance at this lack of weapon, I looked quickly around the room to see if there was need of one. Other than normal curiosity, I detected no immediate danger. With a wry grin, I pushed back the coin he had offered, and made a gesture at the rapier which hung from by belt. "Please, sir, if it would help you to persuade the lady to retire to your table, you may borrow this. If that does not convince her, may hap I could buy you both a drink and restore peace to our afternon."

The Shipp Tavern looked interesting. With time to kill, and a tolerable thirst, I entered and stood to the bar. After ordering a glass of Rhenish, I took a refreshing sip and looked around. I recognized no one, which I thought all to the good, until the actress entered with a man I didn't know. She looked much the same as when I had seen her in London. What, four years ago? She was in animated conversation, and since I was already aware of her search for the captain of the Archangel, I thought it might be interesting to cock an ear in her direction. But, when she loudly voiced her concern about fits, I rolled an eye and went back to my drink. To my horror, the lady left her seat and accosted me, drawing notice I did not want. Quickly I endeavored to fob her off. "Opinions" I don't recall voicing any opinions. To you or anyone else. You mistake me, madame. Please, rejoin your companion with no further fuss." I turned away from the distraught, and obviously deranged creature, and attempted to ignore her.

Due to the previous rain, the sultry stillness prevented me from standing the Rakehell out into the harbor, as I wished. Until Ioan returned with Morgan's reply, there was little for me to do on board. Other than the two men on watch, the rest of my crew of nine had gone ashore, and were in God knows what condition. Feeling frustrated and on edge, I decided to venture into town. I also wanted to find a ship bound for England, for I had another letter, written after the one to Morgan, that needed to be on its way to my brother. I thought of Rudd, and his impossibly hellish life at home. Our father was a tyrant, with only one blind spot—our oldest brother, Anthony, who would inherit the estate. Rudd, being the second son, was either ignored or treated with contempt. As to my older sisters, I could not imagine the life they now led, so foreign as it was to mine. If I could only persuade Rudd to leave England, to meet me in the colonies, or here, I know he would love a life at sea. I glanced toward the town and chuckled. Port Royal would horrify Rudd at first, it being so unlike anywhere he's ever been. I determined to investigate it a bit more myself. At least until I received Morgan's reply, which would determine what moves I must needs make next. But my present costume of soiled shirt, breeches and bare feet would not do for town. Not for a ship's captain, and especially not for a woman. I went below and washed. On reflection, I decided to make my venture into town dressed as a captain—a male captain. I wanted relaxation and information, not the pawing attention of drunkards. Arrayed in my finest—I especially liked the fine-cut frock coat and lace-trimmed shirt, so lately having adorned the person of a diminuative French quartermaster—I left the Rakehell, delivered Rudd's letter into the safekeeping of the captain of a merchantman due to leave on the next tide, then turned toward town and a much anticipated drink.

Instead of tar and feathering, we have paste and wooling. This I gotta see. :)

Having signed with a flourish the membership roster of the SSBC, I jump to the side as the Spaniard falls to the floor. When he holds up the noose, everyone cheers. Captain Sterling hold up his glass. I lift mine and salute as well. "Zounds, is that something you learned aboard the Betty Ford?" I look over at Jacky Tar. "Aztec cabanna boys? Hummm, that definately sounds like fun.

I stood on deck in the muggy sunlight as the cannon, by block and tackle, was slowly lifted from the hold. It hung in polished perfection, and I suspected that its original purpose was much the same as it was currently being put to use—a gift. An ornament used to gain the favor of some high-ranking government or military man. It was much too fine to sully by actual use. The shinning piece had drawn a crowd to the docks. Some noticed the embossed and gilded French lilies and laughed. A few crewmen from boats nearby stood at the rails, appraising the cannon as it was carefully loaded onto the waiting wagon. Two bags of powder followed. A longboat arrived at the docks, and a fine lady and gentleman climbed out. It took me a moment to realize the woman was Anna. I did not know the gentleman, but recognized one of the boatmen as one of the two whom Ioan had entertained last night. I smiled, and turned my attention back to the wagon. When all was secure, Ioan came back on board. I handed him the letter to Morgan. "Wait for a reply. When you get it, come straight back to the docks. I'll have the watch keep an eye out for you and send a boat. I'm going to stand the Rakehell off into the harbor a bit, just to be safe." Ioan glanced at the wagon. The cannon's snout pointd out the back end, aimed in mock defiance at Fort James. Ioan looked back at me. "You think there will be trouble?" I laughed. "Ioan, in our business, there is always trouble." I made a gesture at the town. "This city is a hotbed of trouble. Did we not hear shots fired earlier? Did not Goose come running from the tavern to tell us of the commotion, and that some "lady" is blundering all over town in a carriage, looking for the missing captain of the Archangel? No matter which quarter the danger comes from, one must constantly be prepared for it." "Then why offer the cannon, and the rest, in the first place?" he snapped, angry at the rebuff. "As I recall, that was your idea, was it not?" When he started to protest, I waved a hand. "No, no, don't waste my time with bluster. Deliver the cannon and my letter, and get back to the ship." For a moment his eyes flashed and I thought he would defy me. I put a hand to my rapier, which I preferred over the heavier cutlass. "Don't be a fool." Visibly reining himself back, he took the letter, gave me a terse salute, and left the ship. As the wagon rumbled away, I thought to myself, "My poor Ioan. Something needs to be done about you."

LongTom, I be thinkin' the pub be sorta like Dr. Who's Tardus (?)—small from the outside, infinate on the inside. Hey, Jacky Tar, ya might have somethin' goin' with that Selee Sunny Beaches Club. Would the mascot be a sheep, or an Aztec? ***Looks toward the Spaniard, searching among the feathers and prone bodies for a piece of rope*** Who's Betty Ford, then? That the name of a sheep?

Bombs away!

Sir Admiral Morgan Admiralty Court My dear Sir, I have recently arrived in your fine port, so have only just heard of the tragic loss of the Oxford, and your proposed noble retaliation against the Spanish. Although my ship is under-gunned for your grand scheme, and already under commission by the colonies, I do have something that may interest you, and help you in your cause. The gift accompanying this letter will give you a hint of what I offer for sale, although I have but the one 8 pounder which now rests, as it were, on your doorstep. If you are interested in purchasing what I have to offer, please send a note by my first mate, Ioan, who will see it safely delivered. I remain your obedient servant, Ransom Captain of the Rakehell I reread the letter and found it satisfactory, despite the lies contained within. But Morgan would think twice, I hoped, before commandeering a ship and cargo he thought already under commission. In any case, it would give me haggling time if he insisted on inspecting the cargo himself, during which the Rakehell could put to sea. Besides, I didn't give a tinker's damn about his grand adventure, other than what gold it might make me. If my plan became too perilous, I could still sail to the colonies, rid myself of this dangerous hoard, and hope the Resurrection's captain wouldn't think I had broken our articles if I showed up late for our rendezvous. I sanded, then sealed the letter, pressing my heavy onyx signet ring into the soft wax. The hollow-eyed stare of a horse's skull in waxen bas relief glared back at me.

Hummm, what would Col. Walker and Aztecs be havin' in common? But, at least Aztecs explains the feathers. That be a relief. ***signals to Ray*** I'll be havin' another while I wait for the next round of entertainment. There will be another round, won't there. I mean, how many times to ya get to see dancin' Aztecs in the pub?

I stood at the rail watching the woman and her boatmen row away. I enjoyed the smirk she gave me, and chuckled. This alliance should be interesting, I thought. "What was the smirk for?" Ioan asked. "I suspect for the rakish grin I gave her at parting, and the fact I locked up our articles of agreement." Ioan looked alarmed. "What agreement?" "Oh, merely a small venture that should prove profitable to both." I had no intention of telling him all until we had put to sea. If any of the crew so much as breathed of what we had in mind, Morgan would be on us like a tiger. Ioan looked at our rapidly disappearing guests. "Can you trust her?" I arched a brow. "The more apt question, Ioan, would be, can she trust me?" He grinned. "Can she?" "For as long as it suits. It appears she won't be leaving Port Royal for at least a week. That doesn't give us enough time to get to the colonies and back, then make our rendezvous with the Resurrection." "Why not just sell the cargo here in Port Royal? Admiral Morgan would pay dearly for it. Especially if he has a plan to attack the Spanish. Make him an offer." I thought about his proposal. True, Morgan would pay handsomely for our cargo, but not as handsomely as the colonies. It was not what I had originally intended, and could put my ship in danger if I were not careful, but I could not resist the chance to pinch coin from old Morgan's purse. I might dribble a little of our goods into his hands, if only for some ready cash. Once that was safely locked away, the Rakehell could put to sea, taking the rest of our cargo out of Morgan's reach. After all, I had a week before the Resurrection left harbor. I looked at Ioan, who stood watching me, waiting to see what answer I would give. "Find Goose. I have another letter to send." "If the letter is to Morgan, maybe you better intrust it to me. Goose would drop it on the first tavern floor he passed out on. And, if I might ask, how much of the cargo are we selling?" "I agree, you shall deliver the letter. And a gift will accompany it. As for the amont of cargo, mainly powder and a few cases of muskets." "Gift?" I smiled. "I think Sir Admiral Morgan would be suitably inpressed by that shiny bronze cannon we have stowed below. The one with the pretty lilies of France embossed on it. Don't you? And, maybe a hefty sack of powder to go with it. Just to show him our goodwill." "Aye, I think he would." Ioan's dark eyes sparkled. "I'll arrange for a wagon and horses." "Fine. In the meantime, I've a letter to write." I gave one last look across the bay toward the Resurrection, smiled, then went below.

While wondering if I should slap Siren on the back—without risking retailiation of a pointy metal kind—to free that cherry she's choking on, I look around at the rest of the crowd. Okay, I give up. Why does this place look like a tornado just ripped through a chicken yard?

I like number six!

I look at Siren, who's laughing so hard she nearly chokes on the cherry in her drink. "Sheep? There's been a party with sheep?" Now that, I says to meself, musta been some party. "But, where'd the feathers come from, I wonder?" Siren is still too busy laughing to answer.

I took the paper, read it, and signed it with a graceful hand. Then turned, unlocked a small chest behind me, put the paper within, and re-locked it. "For safekeeping," I said, offering a friendly smile. I decided it wouldn't hurt to have her think we were a bit worse off than we are. I had some coin, and if pressed, could send Ioan out with a bit of cargo to sell discretely—very discretely. Unfortunately, my letter to my brother, Rudd, telling him to forward money here to Port Royal, was already on its way to England. I would needs come back to Port Royal eventually, to see if he had done so. I wanted money waiting for me, not a noose. I poured the last of the rum into our cups. "You are right, of course, but the local muerchants require coin before they part with their goods. I can pay for enough to last a short time, a bit longer if we ration, but we'll need to take a ship soon. If that doesn't happen, then you and I can discuss your kind offer of a loan—and any intrest due, if there be such. Or, we can part ways until I re-provender and rendevous later. I'd be of no use to you with a starving crew." I pushed back a wayward red curl, and returned this cunning woman's hard stare with an innocent grin. "So, when would you care to depart?"

"Done." I hand her paper and pen. "But the sad fact is, I still need provisions before I can leave port. You arrived before me. Anything worth taking close to hand? I'm not adverse to a little land pilfering before we go, if it can be done with speed."

I get this image in my head of a cow pasture going off like a battle field. New duel = Cows at twenty paces.

I enter Ray's for me usual. The light breeze from the open door kicks up a swirl of feathers. A few beads roll across the floor. The air is redolent with...I'd swear it...Spanish aftershave and German bombast. "Wha' the hell happened here?" Bodies lay strewn about, some mumbling the strains of a strange, chanting song...machu pic...macuuuu... piccchuu......zzzzz. Those still upright and drinking have a glazed look to their eyes. Seems I've missed out on something. I look at Ray. "What's going on?" Ray shakes his head. "Don't ask. Will ya be havin' yer usual." I do another quick scan of the pub. It lookes like the day after Mardi Gros. "Better make it a double," I reply, flicking feathers off a chair and sitting down. Then, with a smile, I ask, "Are they coming back?" Ray just rolls his eyes.

Actually, I have a very fat octopus tentcle in my freezer. Keeping it company are two calimari steaks. We get them fresh from the Sea Hawk fish market in Charleston, just a step away from our little boat. BTW, I think Disney has a facination with the Kraaken. Not only did POTC 2 have it, but also Twenty Thousand Leagues Under/Beneath (can't remember) the Sea. There were quite a few movie references in POTC 2, so I'm wondering if that's why they included it.

Sign articles? I pondered the question as I poured more rum. I had been hoping for something a little less formal. I was not overly joyed at her plan to attack the Spanish before Morgan could, but she had a point. With Morgan going after the popish bastards, there would be little left for us. Unless he couldn't roust up enough ships to make the venture worth his time. And, should I get wind of him trying to commandeer vessels, the Rakehell would slip out of the harbor quick as a cat. However, my biggest worry was my cargo. I needed to get back to the colonies, where eager buyers would be waiting to pay top prices for what lay below. I certainly didn't want the Spanish to profit by it. I returned Ana's wicked grin with an enigmatic smile of my own. "I'd prefer to know just what those articles might include, before I set my name to them."

While Ioan detoured the boatmen away, I escorted Ana below to my cabin and poured us both a bumper of rum. I wasn't sure how I wanted this interview to go, but the bottom line was, I needed supplies, and I wasn't about to let my current cargo—small but valuable—be sold or exchanged for mere food. And the last thing I needed was for old Morgan to get wind of what lay hidden below. "A toast to you, Ana, and old times. I'll make this speech brief (and hopefully save some of my rum—I've seen this woman drink most men under the table). I need supplies and I've run a bit low on funds. My latest pickings weren't worth the cannon shot. The Rakehell is excellent for culling strays from a fleet, or quick cut-and-runs on single vessels, but with only six twenty pounders and four swivel guns, she's no match for a beastie like the Resurrection. Nor would she fare well in a large sea battle, if that be Moragn's plan. I also don't fancy him using her as a patrol vessel, sniper, or insulting her by making her a mere messenger service. So, this be my question. Can we put our feminie wiles together and brew up something profitable to both? Keeping in mind that Morgan is a wily old fox, and has the power to commandeer our ships if he so chooses. An eventuality I would sooner avoid." There, I thought, that sounds friendly enough. No need to tell her everything—yet.