Ransom

Right before we broke camp, Claire and I grabbed Eyes, the whole group stood around cheering as we pushed him on the ground, holding down his arms, while Weezer gave a short speech, and then baptized him by pouring water from a mug over his head. It was grand fun! Oh, and in my description of NorCal, I forgot to mention the...umm, amazing, and very..err, suggestive giant "Wanking Kraken" blow up kids ride. Fortunately, kids wouldn't "get" it, but for us adults, it was hilarious!

Ah, NorCal, what a blast—literally and figuratively. Firstly, we touched bases with Quartermaster James, Gunpowder Gertie, and Black Tess at the Best Western Hotel in Benicia on Thursday. It was great fun to be able to review the days events over breakfast each morning. And the four, late night, after event evenings, out of garb and relaxing with Quartermaster James in his hotel room, as we (myself, QMJ, and Chain Shot) sipped Absinthe and talked of Life, the Universe, and Everything. Such a sublime treat. Friday We spent Friday with QMJ exploring Chinatown, which included a lovely Dim Sum lunch at the Oriental Pearl restaurant. From there we walked through North Beach, and on to Pier 39 at Fisherman's Wharf, where we stopped for alcoholic refreshment at the Crab House. LOL We must have walked ten miles that day playing tourist. We had hoped to hook up with Eyes, Gertie, and Black Tess, who had gone off to find out if they could take the tour of Alcatraz. (We had all ridden over to SF on the ferry from Vallejo, then split up to go on our separate adventures). As it turned out, that wasn't happening, so we hopped back on the ferry and returned to Vallejo, the other three catching a later crossing. We enjoyed a lovely dinner on the waterfront, then headed back to the hotel. Saturday, and NorCal. It was so grand seeing all the Tales gang again, and also being able to introduce them in 3-D to QMJ, who fit in with the group as if he'd always been a member. Also, Patrick let me know that I would not get my ray gun until Sunday, when he would be in Airship Pirate garb, so the suspense was killing me!LOL First was gate duty from 10-11. QMJ had me rolling with his running commentary while handing out programs for the event. "Collect them all, valuable coupons inside!" or "Extra, extra, pyrates invade Vallejo, read all about it!" Then we strolled the event site, meeting people, checking out the many vendors, and listening to the music on the main stage, which was just across from the Tales encampment. Kate, from the Tales group, was singing with a group of women calling themselves Queen Ann's Revenge, and they were awesome! The crowd loved them. Then, at around 2 o"clock, Chain Shot and I headed for the yacht club, to meet up with a guy called Russ, who would ferry us out to the Aldebaran. This we did, but as we came up alongside the ship, I quickly noticed that the Aldebaran was not going to luff-up and slow down. Russ's boat kept going faster and closer to the ship. It was at this point that I realized this was going to be a "moving" transfer. Kewl! Russ's small boat, still jetting along, came alongside, tied on to the Aldebaran, and then we scrambled up on deck. Too fun! From then on, we got battle ready, and had a great time firing at those British landlubbers. Then, after the photographer had been off-loaded, we sailed around the area for about an hour. This was when Jill and I went below to toast our mutual birthdays. As we were below, and the ship was leaning at about 35-45 degrees, we leaned back against a top bunk, braced our feet against the bottom bunk on the other side, and sipped our rum quite happily. Then we went back up on deck to assist with the final salute of the day for the Guiness Book record. Chain shot and I helped as much as we could with taking down sail, putting out fendors, etc, to get the ship ready to dock. When all was secure, the toasting rum appeared! A VERY good time was had by all. Chain Shot and I returned to camp to collect QMJ so he could meet everyone on the Aldebaran, and that was very fun. Then, as we had already promised to meet some other members of the Tales gang at Pizza Pirate, we bid the Aldebaran goodbye until the morrow. Dinner at Pizza Pirate is always fun, as they love us there. After that, we returned to the hotel with QMJ. Sunday First off, Patrick Hand finally presented to me the Bombardier's Thunderbuss ray gun. It is just awesome! I am so lucky to have such a grand work of art, from a man I admire so much. Thank you Patrick, a million times! I was also allowed to wear Admiral Crab's white wig for a time, which itched. LOL I thought his crab leash looked more like his crabs were in bondage! More visiting with friends, talking to the public, answering questions, etc. Then at 2:00 back to the Aldebaran for the Sunday battle, taking Eyes and Rob Anybody with us as new recruits. Off we went, hoping the ship would not get hung up in the mud because of the low, low tide. That hazard overcome, we sailed out to meet the British again. The Aldebaran crew worked like clockwork, firing at least two and sometimes three rounds per pass. At one point I was holding two lintstocks, leaning over and using one to fire Wee Babbett, and one to hand to Bob Neese, as he was slower in getting his gun ready to fire. Very exciting! Chain Shot and Eyes worked together flawlessly, keeping the rail guns firing, while Iron Jack and Red-Handed Jill worked like lightning at swabbing and reloading the two cannons midships, for which Rob Anybody and I were in charge of firing. It was just an incredibly grand time! But all grand times must come to an end. The tender came out to pick us up, we did another moving transfer from the ship to the small boat. We all cheered our great time, then Eyes, Chain Shot, Rob Anybody and myself were taken back to the yacht club as the Aldebaran sailed home for Port Richmond. We got back to the event site just in time to catch the last gig by Pirate Charles. What a kick butt way to end the day. Despite the heat, me, Eyes, Bilgemunkey, D Man, Victoria, and Gertie rocked out to the music, then were joined by Weezer and Lady Jaxx. Just WAY too much fun. LOL I'm sure there will be many "interesting" photos of that showing up sooner or later! A rousing closing performance by Queen Ann's Revenge, along with many of the other entertainers closed the event, up to the final cannon blast which signaled the end of another outstanding Northern California Pirate Festival. After "baptizing" Oderlesseye into the company of Tales of the Seven Seas and taking a group picture, we broke camp, many hugs were exchanged, and it was over until next year. Monday A final breakfast with QMJ, and farewell to Gertie and Tess, and then for us, the long drive back to Oregon, with a whole shipload of grand memories. CAN WAIT UNTIL NEXT YEAR!!!!!!

NOW, THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!!!!! I am now the proud owner of the Bombardier's Thunderbuss! In a word...AWESOME! I showed it off to everyone I could think of, and maybe a few others. Everyone loved it. And yeah, I almost did wet myself! LOL It is just the kewlest ray gun, and will be the focal point of my costume for SteamCon in November. A zillion thank you's, Patrick, for making me such a grand work of art. I will take your excellent suggestion and make a picture-frame hanging mount to show it off when it is not on my belt. Hope you can use the goodies I gave you...oh, and the disco hamster stickers were a last-minute toss in, because I thought they were just too dang funny. And it was great to see you at NorCal again. Don't be such a stranger. We all miss you when you're not around.

Michael, I know that forum is really a mess, but as it stands right now, event postings get buried as soon as another post is made. Is there any way to set up a calendar, with links to the thread for each event...or at least the main ones? I'm just trying to figure out a way to give event postings more front page time, as opposed to "Gee, yesterday I posted something about .....event, and now it's buried already and no one will see it." This is just a suggestion, but...yeah, you know. Ta, R

Yikes, does this mean I should bring an extra pair of panties? Really, I am sooooo excited, I just might wet myself. LOL And I'm bringing some Thank-you goodies for you, but I don't think they are so exciting that you'd wet yourself. Least, I hope not! BTW, I am going to base my costume for SteamCon around your ray gun. Maybe, as I show it off, I can drum up some business for you, if you're interested. See you soon, Patrick. Also, you can post pictures anytime from Thursday afternoon on. We're leaving Thursday morning, and I will be off-line until we get back. I won't be able to peek. ;=}

Oh, shyte! Apologies, mate. I owes ye one. I blame the Absinthe. LOL

Pew, my cards will be heading your way tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO September 20 Artesian Spring, San Cristobal Island When Helena reached the spring for the second time, she was grateful to see someone had draped a shirt over Tibbits’ face. Unfortunately, the shirt wasn’t long enough to cover the dark, crusted blood on his clothes, or drive away the thousands of flies. Sandy stood to one side of the body watching Bill take a picture of something by the spring. A shirtless Eamon was stationed on the path, apparently to prevent anyone getting closer to the body if they managed to get past Don and Christa on guard at the water tower. Alex went directly to Sandy, whose expression was grim. “Did you happen to find the satellite phone? It’s not in Tibbits’ cabin. We looked.” Sandy nodded toward Bill, who was crouched down and still taking pictures. “Unfortunately, we did. Not that it’s going to do us much good.” Helena’s heart sank. “What do you mean?” Bill stood and gestured for them to join him. When they did, he pointed to the spring, its clear water gurgling cheerfully over and between the black volcanic stones of its bed. “Shit,” Alex said. “My sentiments exactly,” Bill replied, putting the camera back in its case. Helena closed her eyes, not wanting to believe what she’d seen. Wedged between two rocks, about a foot underwater, was the satellite phone. She opened her eyes and whispered, “Now what do we do?” Alex shot her a fierce glare. “There’s nothing we can do until the ferry gets here. We’re on our own for the next three days.” Then he looked at Bill. “Let’s pull the thing out of the water and test it, just to be sure.” Bill shrugged, pushed up his sleeve, then bent down and retrieved the dripping satellite phone, still in its waterlogged leather case. He punched a few buttons, but nothing happened. Helena sighed. “Well, it was worth a try.” “Is there a chance, once it dries out, that it might work?” Alex took the phone from Bill and looked at it. “I doubt it, but I’ll ask around, see if anyone is familiar with electronics.” Bill said. Alex handed the phone, still dripping water from its complicated innards, back to Bill. “The satellite phone isn’t all we found. Whoever killed Tibbits went through his pockets and took whatever loose change he might have had, but tossed away a wallet stuffed with credit cards, and two twenties.” Bill gestured toward a stick that had been pushed into the ground to mark the spot. “We found it over there. I got a picture of it, then Sandy wrapped it in one of his spare latex gloves.” Eamon approached, his bare chest tanned and lean with muscle. His physique reminded Helena of a gymnast rather than a body builder. His face had regained some of its color, but his eyes retained the spark of fear she’d seen in them earlier that morning. He looked to Alex. “We may not be alone, as we thought yesterday. I found tracks leading away from the spring and heading for La Perla. I also found where a boat may have been pulled up on shore. There’s no boat there now, but the tracks from La Perla are more than just one day’s worth. It looks as if someone has gone back and forth many times.” Helena and Alex turned toward the islet. It looked innocent, a tiny jewel of green palms and gleaming sand. Was it hiding drug runners after all? Had they stumbled onto some trysting place where drugs changed hands? Had Tibbits accidentally interrupted a transaction, and been killed for his stupidity? Better that, she thought, than to think one of the PFCers had killed him. Yet, as Alex had pointed out before, why would drug dealers steal food and clothing? Why would they remove their victim’s shoes? Was it their trademark warning, like serial killers who left notes or signature marks on their victims, as part of the ritual of the kill? Goose flesh rose on her arms, and she shivered. Alex turned back to Sandy. “Have you decided what to do with the body?” “Only thing we can do is find something to wrap him in and then bury him. Otherwise, he’ll be pretty messy by the time the ferry gets here.” Sandy looked at Tibbits, then back at Alex. “You realize, as soon as the ferry does get here, we’re going to have to call the police. They’re going to ask a lot of questions.” “They’ll think one of us killed him,” Helena said, the sick sensation returning to her stomach. “I hate to bring this up,” Bill said, “but everyone at the Bilge Rat heard both you and Alex threaten to kill him.” He held up his hands before either of them could protest. “I’m not for one minute implying I think you did kill him, I’m just pointing out what the police are going to hear, and warning you to be prepared.” “What about the tracks Eamon found?” Helena asked. “Don’t they prove we’re not alone here, that someone else killed him?” Bill shrugged. “The tracks could be anybody’s. Unless we catch someone, there’s no way to prove they aren’t Alex’s or yours.” Helena cursed silently, then said, “God, even dead, that man is still causing us trouble.” Alex looked at the body. “Then we better get busy trying to find out who really killed him.” He said to Sandy, “I’ll send someone with something to wrap him in. Then I’m going to assemble everyone at the pub and tell them what’s happened.” He glanced over to Eamon. “Can you organize a crew to dig a grave?” “It doesn’t have to be deep,” Sandy interjected, “just enough to cover him. And make sure it’s above the high tide mark.” “Right.” Eamon nodded. Before he could started down the path to the camp, Alex added, “Eamon, keep it quiet. Pick some guys from your Merry Death crew. I don’t want to start a panic.” Eamon nodded again, and left. Bill, the satellite phone tucked under his arm, said,“I’m through taking pictures. What do you need me to do?” Alex scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sandy needs help getting the body down the hill. Find Don and a few others and meet back here. Don’t recruit Arthur. He’s already made it plain he doesn’t want anything to do with a dead body.” “What about Eamon’s discovery? Should some of us search La Perla, see if anyone is still there?” Bill looked over at the islet, his expression unreadable. Alex shook his head. “We’ll take care of Tibbits first, then let the rest of the PFCers in on what’s happened. Then we’ll decide.” Bill nodded, and set off down the path. Sandy came up to Alex and put one hand on his shoulder. “Things might get pretty ugly. You’re going to have forty frightened, angry people on your hands, especially when they find out the satellite phone has been destroyed.” Alex gave him a sardonic smile. “Now I know how the captain of a sinking ship must feel.” Helena, her anger at Alex’s harsh accusations gone, took one of his hands. “Your ship isn’t sinking, its just run into some rough seas. You have friends who will do all they can to make sure she stays afloat.” “She’s right, Alex. This ship doesn’t go down without a fight. We’ve got three days to find the killer, assuming he’s still on the island. If we don’t find anyone, then the police will deal with the case. No matter what happens, you can’t blame yourself.” The word case struck Helena as sounding strange and out of place. How could an event that promised a week of fun on an idyllic tropical island turn out to be such a disaster? Amid palm trees and cerulean seas, inviting as any travel poster, they were suddenly involved in a murder case. It seemed impossible, yet not ten yards away from her was the body of Charlie Tibbits, covered in blood, as incontrovertible proof. Whatever arguments she and Alex might have had, they were meaningless when compared to murder. He needed her support, and she would give it with her whole heart. Alex seemed to feel the same. He smiled, gave her hand a little shake, then said, “Come on, H. H., let’s see what we can do to quiet the storm.” On their way back, just before they reached the water tower, they met Julia coming up. Her expression was one of concern. “Bill told me what’s happened. Anything I can do?” Alex shook his head. “No, Sandy is handling what’s left of Tibbits. What’s the mood in camp?” “Quiet. No one has told them anything, but because of that, they know it’s got to be something pretty bad.” Julia gave Alex a look. “By the way, where were you this morning? I spent twenty useless minutes searching for you, before Bill jetted into camp looking for his camera and told me what had happened.” “Sorry. I stayed with Sandy last night,” Alex replied. Julia glanced at Helena, but didn’t comment, merely fell in step with them and returned to camp. * * *

In the next flash of lightning, another ship's sails were sillowetted(?) against the dark sky and a warning shot was fired, so close that the spray hit Fletcher in the face.

Well to make absolootly sure everyone knows.... It will have ter be a "stand in" Heinie (Debbie Gibson's ).....So It won't really be Ransom's Heinie on alla th' cards...... So, Patrick, who is this Debbie Gibson whose heinie is standing in for mine? And Nigel, ck the beginning of this thread, and it will answer all of your questions.

Let's be leavin' me heinie out of this, shall we! LOL And as for the theme, it's either screwed, stewed, or tattooed. Pick your choice. But, really, no X-rated stuff.

I pirated this from Quartermaster James's FB site. So very decadent! Bacon Moonpies!

The man stepped from the shadows, "Let's just say I have a certain interest in the goings on of this ship, eh?" Coughing,Fletcher grunted, "And on whose side do those interests lay?"

Fletcher crumpled to the deck, there was an ugly ripple of laughter through the mob and they began to close in on the hapless officer. Fletcher frantically tried to stuff his kerchief into the bleeding shoulder wound, then looked to where the shot had come from, "Who the hell are you?"

Halward howled in pain and backhanded Thompson sending the smaller man sprawling to the deck. Fletcher, mindful of Bobstay and Halward still fumbling around on the deck, yanked Thompson to his feet, keeping his now loaded pistol on the other mutineers, "One twitch of an eyebrow, you dogs, and I put a ball between your eyes!"

Fletcher scrambled to quickly reload, as the goat jumped over Bobstay and ran to the foredeck, hopping over dead bodies, and slipping in blood as it went.

It might be awhile before I make it to PIP, but I'd like to be considered for membership, if that's okay? Ransom...Southern Oregon.

He fell forward straight into the arms of Fletcher now wrestling for control of one of the pistols. One pistol went flying, hit the deck, and skidded over the side.

Yikes!!!!! LOL Sorry, Patrick, the only one who gets to see my heinie is Chain Shot. Besides, if I posted a pic of it, it would cause the Pub to crash! BTW, I do have a tattoo on my ankle, but it's nuthin' piraty.

Fletcher merely shook his head, "Once again, you have it all wrong, for it's the ship's goat just behind you that caught my atten"—his words were cut off as the goat, angry at all the fighting, and crazed with the smell of blood, gave a running charge and butted Bobstay in the...butt.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE September 20 Summit, San Cristobal Island Sweat beaded his forehead and dripped from his nose as Gray Dog scrambled over the rough lava rocks of San Cristobal. He’d skirted the spring, avoiding the two men posted as guards over the body of the man he’d killed, and traversed the eastern shore of the island. From there he’d climbed to the rocky summit, his ears tuned to any sound that would alert him to danger. He’d spent the better part of the morning looking in fissures, pulling up rocks, investigating any formation that might lend itself to the hiding of gold. So far, all he’d accomplished for his efforts were bruised hands and bleeding fingers. His new shoes weren’t helping. The black leather was hot, and since they weren’t exactly his size, they had rubbed blisters on his heels and on both his greater and lesser toes. He would have taken them off long ago and gone barefoot, had the rocks not been so hot. The shoes lay on the path in front of him like two dead beetles, as he pulled off the short hose he’d stolen from the boy he’d hit with the syrup bottle, and let his pounding feet cool in the breeze. From his high promontory he could see crescent San Cristobal from horn to horn, the bay they embraced blue as a rare sapphire. The greens, blues, and tans of the odd tents clustered around the beach reminded Gray Dog of the barnacles and sea growths he’d scraped from many a careened ship. He wished he could get rid of these colonists in the same way—scrape them off the island and feed them to the gulls. He prodded a quarter doubloon-sized blister on his right heel and winced, then pulled his knife from his belt and punctured the swelling. He did the same to his other blistered heel. As he started to put the knife back in his belt, he stopped, and for the first time, really looked at it. Had Renaldo not tossed it into the boat, Gray Dog’s punishment would have been much worse. The knife had been his only companion since he’d used it on Crow Legs. It had saved him from having to share what little water Renaldo had given them. The previous night, it had protected him from the big man and his club. As Gray Dog turned it over, admiring the heavy hilt and gleaming blade, he decided it was his good luck piece, better than any religious medal. As long as he had his knife, was able to defend himself, he was safe. Gray Dog looked around. The sky was clear, with no cloud to mar its vastness. The sun, almost directly overhead, baked the dark rocks beneath his feet, and jeweled the froth of the incoming waves below in the bay. With a resigned sigh, he put his hose and the black shoes back on and carefully stood. No time to admire the view, he thought. Plenty of time for that after I’m a rich man, with nothing better to do. It was the dream that kept him going. The vision of sitting in a fine cushioned chair, a plump, sweet-smelling whore on his lap, and the most expensive rum filling his cup. The feeling of exhilaration he would get from strolling into his favorite tavern and buying drinks for all his friends, impressing them with his heavy purse and generosity. He’d have fine clothes, a soft bed and more food than he could eat in a lifetime. That’s what Renaldo’s gold would buy him, the life of a lord, and he meant to have that life or die. Once again he tried to remember Renaldo’s map. It had been a crude drawing, showing few landmarks other than the spring and the place where the treasure was hidden. There had also been a drawing of a ship in the bay so, presumably, that’s where Renaldo anchored the Vautour. If he came ashore on the beach, what path would he have taken to the summit? From where he stood, Gray Dog could see a half dozen paths leading from the beach. Most of them he’d already walked, at least as far as the palm grove. What was he missing? What would Renaldo have used to mark the place? He ran a rough hand over his face, wiping away the sweat that stung his eyes, then looked down at the colony. It was unusually quiet, with few people out wandering the island. He grinned. Put the fear of God in them, I ‘spect. Good. It will keep them out of my hair for awhile. Although, he did wish he could get his hands on one of those young boys. If there were clues to the whereabouts of Renaldo’s gold, he wanted to know what they were. He supposed, now the colonists knew they weren’t alone on the island, it wouldn’t make much difference if he snatched one of the lads and pricked the information out of him with his good luck piece. With another wince as the blisters on his heels tore, he set off down one of the narrow paths, his eyes scanning every rock and scrawny shrub, looking for a mark or some indication that men had been here before him, going about their secret business.

My pleasure. And, thank you for the invite.

Tension grew as Fletcher squinted in the dark looking for other weapons in the crew before him; it was to Bobstay's left where he saw what he was looking for. It was a small keg of gunpowder, brought on deck before the battle which left so many dead had started. INTERMISSION! LOL Gah, I'm losing track of how may people are on deck, and who is on whose side. We have Bobstay on the bad guy's side, and Fletcher on the good guy's side. Who are the rest? How many? Pew, name your original guy who discovered the body, or...was that Bobstay? I'm sooo confused!

William, had you thought of setting up a FaceBook site for the Mercury? You could still post all the info/pictures/maps you wanted, and the site would be free.