Ransom

Wow, got mine today. I feel like such a slacker! You guys were awesome. Don't think mine came up to scratch this time. Thanks, Michael, for being the cat-wrangler on this round.

Lucid Absinthe. My first time with the Green Fairy. Liked the taste...not so much the smell. More experimentation is in order.

I shall be celebrating by drinking a few G&Ts with lime. So civilized.

The rank odor of sweaty clothes and unwashed body made Helena’s fragile stomach roil. Crusty paper plates littered a small metal table. A thermos, its top off, stood next to a grimy white coffee cup. Against the far wall was a cot, unmade, the sheets rumpled, a blanket trailing half on the floor. Next to the cot was a brown heap of soiled clothing. Beer bottles lay around the floor like fallen bowling pins. What had all three of them frozen in place and staring were the magazines. About a dozen of them, strewn over the bed, and spilling out of the black duffle Helena had seen Tibbits carry off the ferry. Magazines with lurid covers depicting naked men and women performing various sex acts. Some of the couples wore studded collars, others were elaborately bound and blindfolded. From every visible page, bodies writhed, tongues licked, sexual organs glistened. Helena covered her mouth with both hands, as bile rose in her throat. The thought of Tibbits, sequestered in this filthy room, pawing over pictures, drinking and fantasizing, then joining the crowd at the Bilge Rat made her skin crawl. That he had come from this room and then touched her, with these images coiling through his mind, made her tremble with revulsion. Next to her, Arthur sucked in a breath. “My God, the man was a pervert.” Alex let out an oath, then visibly collected himself and asked Helena, “Do you see it anywhere?” “No,” she whispered. “And I’m not touching anything in this room to try and find it.” “Find what?” Arthur asked, obviously confused and alarmed. Helena, forcing herself to look more closely at Tibbits’ living quarters, replied, “The satellite phone.” “Doesn’t Tibbits have it?” Arthur looked from Alex to Helena. “What’s going on? Why have we just broken in to his cabin?” Helena put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Tibbits is dead. The satellite phone is missing.” “Dead?” “Yes,” Alex said. “Up by the spring.” “How? Was there an accident?” Alex turned to the confused man, his voice gentle. “No, not an accident. He was stabbed.” “Stabbed?” Arthur’s pale blue eyes widened. “I don’t understand. The rules stated no one was allowed to carry sharp weapons, other than for eating or display. How could he have been stabbed?” “Obviously, someone isn’t playing by the rules,” Helena murmured, looking at Alex. Alex met her gaze, then turned his attention to the squalid room. “Come on, let’s see if we can find that damned phone.” He crossed to the cot, and with the blunted end of his rapier prodded the pile of clothes on the floor, then pulled back the blanket on the bed. There was nothing but the disgusting magazines. Helena picked her way among the beer bottles, letting her eyes wander around the room, while Arthur inspected the clothes duffle. He even opened a large ice chest, but it contained only prepackaged meals, more beer, and a half empty bottle of vodka. “Nothing,” Helena said when their search was completed. “Which means he must have had it on him when he was killed.” “Whoever killed him must have taken it,” Alex said, as he opened the cabin door. Arthur shook his head. “I can’t believe one of us would do such a thing. I mean, why? Yeah, Tibbits was an obnoxious ass, but you don’t murder people because of that.” The three stepped into the bright sunlight. Helena breathed deeply of the clean, fresh air. She only wished it could wipe away the images of what she’d seen in the last hour, as easily as it replaced the fetid smell of the cabin. She looked around the encampment and saw they were being watched. Though they stayed at a distance, it was clear the group wanted answers, and were resentful at being kept in the dark. As if he’d read her thoughts, Arthur asked, “What do we tell them?” “Nothing, for the moment,” Alex answered. “Not until Sandy and Bill have finished with Tibbits and moved the body.” Remembering Sandy’s comment about the effects of heat and humidity, Helena asked, “What will they do with him? There’s no place we can lay him that would stay cool enough to prevent ... well, you know.” Alex shook his head. “That will be up to Sandy. Personally, I don’t much care what happens to Tibbits. I’m more concerned with finding the satellite phone. Without it, we’re all stuck on this island with a murderer until the twenty-third.” The full implications of his statement flooded Helena’s brain, threatening to rip away her tenuous grip on her fears. Who among them was a killer? Bill and the others who had searched the island the previous day had reported seeing no one. Although they hadn’t searched La Perla, those with binoculars hadn’t seen anything there either. Which left someone within the PFC. She shivered, despite the tropical warmth, as the feeling of being trapped returned. Only this time it wasn’t just a feeling. Without the satellite phone, they were all trapped. “I’m going back to the spring. Maybe you two should go back to camp. There’s nothing you can do up there.” Alex looked pointedly at Helena. “I’ve already seen him,” she said. I’m not likely to lose my breakfast over it now. I’ll go with you.” Arthur took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “I’ll stay. I don’t mind admitting I have no desire to see a dead body. What do you need me to do while you’re taking care of things?” “Just keep everyone reassured, if that’s possible. Don’s up by the water tower, preventing people from climbing to the spring. You can keep him company, if you want.” “I think Christa’s with him as well,” Helena added. Arthur gave Alex a curt nod, then headed for the tower. Alex turned toward Helena. “You don’t have to go back with me. There’s no point in subjecting yourself to that again.” He gave her a guarded look. “If there was a way for me to get you off this island, I would.” “Why? I’m not a baby. I don’t need to be shuffled off home, like some helpless damsel in distress.” “Because you never wanted to come to San Cristobal in the first place. You said from the beginning it was an event ripe for disaster.” Anger boiled within her, mixing with the fear. “And if I recall, you were the one who wanted the real experience. Well, as most pirates were thieving, murdering villains, I guess you got your wish.” His eyes narrowed and she saw a muscle tighten in his jaw. “Maybe that fact will help make up for what you went through last night.” She stared into his hard, closed face, not believing he could be so cruel. “You think I take some kind of satisfaction in Tibbits’ death? That I’m glad someone within the PFC is a killer, just so I can gloat? If you truly think I’m capable of something so despicable, then you can just go to hell, Alex Hunter.” His expression never changed. “Funny, I feel like I’m already there.” He turned away and headed toward the spring.

Bill and Don rushed up. Alex turned to them. “Bill, come with me. Don, go to the water tower. Don’t let anyone take the path to the spring.” Alex faced Helena. “I stayed with Sandy last night. I was still there when Eamon came to get him. Right now I would rather you went back to our camp, but if you insist on coming with me, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “Warn me about what?” She ran after him, trying to keep up. He didn’t answer, just charged up the path. She could hear Bill hot on their heels. The path was steep, and it twisted between palms, shrubs and clumps of sawgrass. When the palms thinned out, the ground changed from sandy loam to volcanic rock, already shimmering in the heat. By the time Helena reached the artesian spring, her breath rasped from her lungs and her thin blouse clung to her sweat-soaked body. What she saw halted her in her tracks. Helena would always remember that split second in time by the sound of flies. Tibbits lay sprawled across the path. Thick black stains spread across his chest and down his side. Flies crawled on him, and swarmed in a dark cloud around him. Birds had been at his eyes. “Mother of God!” Bill said, as he stopped abruptly next to her. Sandy knelt over the grisly figure. Donning latex gloves, he carefully unbuttoned three buttons of Tibbits’ shirt and lifted the material so he could look at the skin beneath. Then he just as carefully buttoned them. He turned to Alex. “He’s been stabbed. At least twice, maybe three times.” Helena’s heart lurched. “Stabbed?” “Who found him?” Alex asked. “I did.” Eamon said. “I was just exploring a bit. Thought this place would be a fine spot to bring Christa for a nice private picnic. Then I saw—that.” He pointed to the body. Alex rubbed a hand over his face, then looked at Bill. “What do we need to do?” Bill’s face went blank. “Do?” Sandy stood and barked out, “Come on, Bill. You’re the lawyer. This is a crime scene. What the hell do we do to preserve any evidence? We can’t leave him out here, so it needs to be done fast. With this heat and humidity, in twenty-four hours he’ll be jelly.” Stifling a gag, Helena said, “Camera. Has anyone got a camera?” Bill came out of his daze. “Hell, I’m a corporate lawyer, not criminal. I don’t know anything about crime scenes. But I do have a camera. Back at camp.” Helena looked at Alex. “Then, no one touches anything until Bill gets back here with his camera and takes pictures.” Bill nodded, then bolted back down the path. Alex looked around. “Shit. We’ve probably already trashed any footprints.” Eamon, his face still pale, said, “Look at his belt.” “Oh no, oh no, no no.” Helena cried, panic griping her insides like a vice. “The satellite phone. Where is the satellite phone?” “His billy club is gone, as well as his shoes,” Sandy observed. “First Flash’s boots, now Tibbits’ shoes. What’s with this guy, he got a shoe fetish?” “We need to find that satellite phone,” Alex said. “If we’re lucky, Tibbits left it in the cabin. Sandy, you stay with the body. Eamon, stay with Sandy. Look around, see if whoever did this left any traces. If you find anything, mark the spot so Bill can take a photo.” Eamon nodded, then said, “You know what this means, don’t you?” Helena knew what he was going to say. She turned to Alex, saw his eyes go hard as flint. “Yeah, I know what it means. One of us is a murderer.” He turned and headed back down the path. Helena followed, her heart aching for him, wondering who in the group was capable of such brutality. By the time they reached Tibbits’ cabin, the whole camp was buzzing with rumors. Several frantic women asked Alex if it was true, that someone had died? Alex calmly told them not to worry, and that he would explain everything as soon as possible. That didn’t satisfy all of them. Many refused to leave until they were told what was going on. Alex, clearly losing what little patience he had left, snapped, “When I have time to tell you, I will. Now please, go back to your camps and don’t go up to the spring until I give the okay.” Reluctantly, they departed, but their expressions told Helena they were beginning to lose their trust in Alex. She wondered how they would feel when the truth finally came out. Approaching the front of the little cabin, Alex tried the door. It was locked. “What’s going on, Alex?” Arthur jogged up to them. “A minute ago, Bill tore out of camp like a maniac. People are saying someone’s been hurt.” Ignoring Arthur’s question, Alex ordered, “Let’s get this door open.” “Wait,” Helena stopped both men. “Before you break your shoulders, why not try the window?” Alex took a deep breath. “Right.” The window was locked. Alex removed his rapier and with a quick punch of the hilt, smashed one of the panes of glass. Knocking away the fragments, he reached in, flipped the catch, and opened the window. He crawled through, the broken glass crunching under his feet. Moments later the door opened, and Helena and Arthur stepped into the room.

Best wishes and good luck to you and your family, Bo. Hopefully, the rough times will ease up soon. And, as already suggested, use the library to check in once and a while, to let everyone know how you're doing. Fair winds.

Nice one!

No worries, Patrick. And I was thrilled to hear that you'll be joining us at NorCal this year. We all missed you last year. And you'll get to meet Quartermaster James, as he will be coming down as well. And I think Gunpowder Girty is coming also. New folks to meet!

Oh, Gawd, you'd think I'd have caught that. I listen to the dang CD once a week at least. LOL Musta had pirates on the brain, instead of pilots.

Just a reminder to all you airship pirates. You might want to get your hotel reservations in soon. Also, your Con reservations. Chain Shot and myself will be staying at the Marriott. The other hotel is the Hilton. Both have discounts for Nov 19-22. that's $109 + tax a night. That is a huge savings. We were going to go in a day early to play tourist again in Seattle, but to stay Thursday night would have cost us $175+tax for one night! So, guess we won't be playing tourist, other than on Friday afternoon. The theme this year is Wild, Wild, West, so there are lots of opportunities for costumes and creations! SteamCon

LOL Thanks, Eyes. Who's that? Yer new drinking buddy? See ya in June.

Okay, I have added two worked wire pieces to my Etsy shop. These are pendants, with long crystals, beads, and vintage chain. One of the crystals is a vintage amber-colored lamp crystal. Beautiful color, with green beads. They are simple, since I'm still on the worked-wire learning curve. It certainly takes patience, but is worth it, as I really like the look of the wire with the beads, etc. Anyhoo, take a look-see. Either one, or any of the pieces offered, would make a nice Mother's Day gift. Link is in my sig. FoundintheRuins Thanks, Mates.

Hope your birthday was grand, Mary.

Thank-you, everyone. This birthday was spend mostly doing manual labor in the yard/garden. But it was nice to get out and enjoy the sunny weather.

Yeah, it's easy for me to remember, too. Pyrate Pistol rum shots at NorCal to toast our mutual birthday.

I would like to put forward the name of Poison Quill. She is the creator of the pirate crewe Tales of the Seven Seas. She has been instrumental in getting the crewe participating in charity events, parades, along with the usual pirate events. She is always eager and willing to help newbies, and do whatever it takes to help them join into the fun of reenacting. She is a selfless, hardworking leader, and is currently fighting breast cancer, while still helping organize our crewe's participation in the upcoming NorCal pirate festival. She also created the Tales web site, which is why you don't see her on the Pub much. A most deserving nominee, IMHO.

I think William wins, even if it wasn't a contest!

Any ETA on these, Michael?

Thought a few of you might enjoy this site. It was passed on to me by Quartermaster James. I am just starting to explore the interesting world of Absinthe. The paraphernalia is fascinating. Wormwood Society

Well, besides tools, three drafting tables, a Rubbermaid pantry, and a bunch of boxed up stuff stacked to the rafters, because we thought we were going to move, there is a 1970 Dodge Challenger taking up most of the space. I've had it since 1972. Oh, and BTW, it's for sale, if anyone is interested.

As you all can see by this thread, there are a lot of us making many diverse things for your enjoyment. With Mother's Day coming up, think of your brethren for gift ideas. In the days ahead I will be adding new, and totally different jewelry to my Etsy site, as I explore the frustrating but satisfying task of working with wire, still incorporating vintage and recycled bits and bobs from old pieces. I have also lowered prices on many pieces, especially bracelets. Check it out. (See signature for link) So, come Mothers Day, give us all a look-see. I'm sure you'll find something special for that piratical Mom—or any mom, for that matter.

CHAPTER TWENTY September 20 Boca camp, San Cristobal Island Helena woke as she’d gone to bed, alone. A heavy-metal drummer beat a demented solo within her head, while purple and amber dots glittered painfully across her eyes. When she tried to sit up, the drumming escalated to pyrotechnics exploding like Fourth of July rockets. Her rum-embalmed stomach rolled and pitched. If I live, if anyone mentions the word pirate to me, I’ll kill them with my bare hands. She struggled to get out of the sleeping bag, only then realizing she’d gone to bed still wearing the green hussy dress. Its heavy skirts were twisted around her legs. The tight-laced bodice pressed against her ribs. All the panic she’d felt before returned. She struggled, she tore at the laces in the bodice, gasping for breath, fighting the urge to be sick. Half crawling, half pulling herself to the tent opening, she pushed the flap aside and flopped out onto the sand, gulping fresh air, dragging the weight of the skirts behind her. She rolled and lay face up, one arm over her eyes, willing her heart to stop pounding, her stomach to stop bucking. “Helena, are you okay?” Christa’s voice penetrated through the war being waged within Helena’s head. She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to talk or move. She wanted the world to go away or she wanted to die, whichever act stopped the pain knifing through her brain. “Give her some of this,” Arthur said. Someone helped Helena sit up. With eyes still shut tight, she smelled the coffee held under her nose. Her stomach recoiled and she suppressed a gag. “Put this in front of her, quick,” she heard Bill command. Something was set in her lap. Just in time, as most of the rum and coffee she’d drunk the previous night rushed violently back out. “I told Alex this would happen,” Bill said. “Now’s not the time,” Arthur commented. “Best get it all out, Helena. You’ll feel better.” Taking a heaving breath, Helena managed to snap, “Like I have much choice?” Then retched into the bowl again. “I’ll get a damp towel.” Christa rose from her place at Helena’s side. “Think you can get any of this down yet?” Arthur held out the cup of coffee again. With trembling fingers, Helena took it, then held it with both hands, feeling the comforting warmth seep into her palms. “Thank you.” “My pleasure. I’ve been there myself. You may wish you could die, but I promise, you’ll feel better soon. Especially now that most of the ... eh ... problem is out of your stomach.” Helena took a tentative sip of the coffee. Her teeth and tongue felt furry as a mohair sweater, but the coffee took away the taste of bile. She took another sip, and was relieved when both stayed down. Then she looked at the bowl in her lap. “Oh, God.” Five minutes later, the bowl gone, a fresh cup of coffee in her hands, and Christa wiping her face with a warm damp towel, Helena thought she might live. With revival, came remembrance of her outburst the previous night. She took another swallow of coffee then faced the three still sitting on the sand in front of her. “I’m sorry for what I said last night. I ... I won’t say I didn’t mean it at the time, but I’m sorry anyway.” “You were drunk. People say all sorts of things when they’re drunk.” Arthur smiled at her, his pale blue eyes holding no hint of lingering resentment. “Alex should never have let you drink so much. I told him this would happen,” Bill said. Helena offered him a weak smile. “I’m a big girl, I can make my own decisions. I can also take the blame. Alex didn’t force the rum down my throat.” “Well,” Bill frowned, “he could have at least warned you about the aftereffects.” “I think he did. I just didn’t listen.” Helena looked around the camp. Reading the question in her eyes, Christa said, “Alex isn’t here. He,” she looked suddenly sheepish, “he didn’t stay in camp last night.” Helena took in a slow breath, let it out, then asked, “Where did he go?” “I don’t know.” Bill said, “I don’t know where he is either, but before he left he told Arthur and me to keep an eye on you, in case Tibbits had any more nasty ideas.” “I suppose I should be grateful Alex bothered.” Helena attempted a smile. “I hope you two didn’t stay awake all night playing guard dogs.” “It wasn’t so bad. We took turns, and were glad to do it.” Arthur stood, brushing sand from his pants. He held out a hand to her. “Come on. Let me help you up.” Helena took the offered hand, let Arthur pull her gently to her feet. “Thanks. All of you.” “I’ve got some eggs ready to scramble.” Arthur said. “Why don’t you get changed, and I’ll have a bit of breakfast waiting for you. I’ll brew up more coffee.” He pointed to an old fashioned perk coffee pot set on the propane stove. Bill and Christa stood as well. Christa offered, “If you want, I’ll help you get out of that dress.” Helena nodded, and the two women returned to the tent. An hour later, wearing fresh clothes, and having eaten a few spoonfuls of scrambled egg, Helena felt almost human. Two more cups of coffee had helped. Don and Julia, also sipping coffee, sat at the folding table. Arthur was cleaning up the egg pan with hot water from a pot on the stove, and Bill and Christa had taken bags of trash to the large dumpster next to the pier. All obviously trying to avoid discussing the fact that Alex hadn’t returned and no one seemed to know where he’d gone. Helena was more concerned about where he’d slept. As Bill and Christa returned from the trash trip, someone started shouting from the other side of the encampment. All of the Boca group turned heads, wondering what the commotion was. Eamon came rushing into their camp. “Where’s Alex?” Eamon demanded, looking at Helena. Helena’s head started to throb again. “He wasn’t here last night. We haven’t seen him yet this morning. What’s going on?” Eamon's eyes were pools of darkness, his face pale. “We need to find him, fast.” Bill, his mouth set, asked, “What’s Tibbits done this time?” Eamon only shook his head. “Find Alex. This is major.” Helena’s fragile stomach rolled. “What’s happened?” “Eamon, tell us,” Christa stepped toward him, her voice tinged with fright. “What’s happened?” “I’m going to find Sandy. You guys find Alex. Tell him to meet us up at the spring.” He turned fierce eyes on Christa. “And you stay here. Don’t follow us.” “Eamon?” Christa cried. But he was already racing toward the first-aid cabana. “Oh, God. Someone must be badly hurt.” Helena met the frightened expressions of the others. “Where would Alex have gone last night?” Bill looked at the ground. “He was angry and he was drunk. Who knows?” “Drunk?” Helena asked. “I thought I was the only one drunk.” “You were, until...” Bill shrugged. “Until I yelled at him,” Helena said, the guilt creeping back. “Forget all that for now.” Julia interrupted. “Let’s get busy. Split up. Just find him. We can point fingers of blame later.” She pushed past them and jogged to the next encampment. “Right.” Helena, ignoring the headache pounding behind her eyes, ran toward the Bilge Rat. Christa, breaking Eamon’s order to stay in camp, followed her. When they reached the cabana, Eamon, with Alex and Sandy racing at his side, joined them. Alex’s bloodshot eyes and expression of cold fury made Helena shiver. Sandy had the first aid kit tucked under one arm, a medic’s aura of efficiency in place. Alex turned to Helena, his voice harsh. “Stay here. Keep Christa with you. Don’t let anyone up to the spring until I say so.” “Like hell, Alex,” she shot back. “Where were you? What’s happened? Who’s been hurt? Its not one of the children, is it?” Eamon and Sandy passed them, running up the path to the spring.

A grand Natal Day to you, my friend. See you in June, where this year you, too, will be able to symbolically moon the British Tars from aboard the Aldebaran. (We do it on our last pass of the shore battery, on the last day of the event.)

As most here already know, my virtual ship is the gaff-rigged schooner Rakehell. (see signature, and don't be fooled into thinking that's the Lynx) However, I was looking at the label of my absinthe bottle, which reads Le Tourment Vert. And I thought, wouldn't Le Tourment Noir be a kewl name for a pirate ship? Or Le Tourment Rouge? So, I take dibs on both for possible future use.

Back from Seattle late yesterday afternoon. What a grand time! Seattle is beautiful, and the concert was a blast... It took place in a refurbished warehouse, which was fairly small. The concert sold out. Abney Park did one set, then took a break while a man and woman did a fire-eating act, which was very impressive. Next was a lady doing a very gymnastic act with a large hoop hanging from a beam in the ceiling. There was also a carnival barker doing all the introductions, and also singing. Then Abney Park came back on, and really rocked the house. During their last song,two rappers came on stage, and were rapping AP songs, while AP kept going. The place was hoppin'! We were about three feet from the front of the stage, which was great, as we could see and hear the interaction between the band members between songs. It was pretty funny, as Captain Robert's steamy microphone stand slowly fell apart over the course of the last set. And lead guitarist/violinist, Nathanial, was killer that night. Most surprising moment? When the first blast of the bass hit the room...I expected the windows to shatter, and thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest. I actually held my hand over my chest, as if it would! Very bizzar feeling. Made me wonder if anyone ever had a heart attack during a concert. Seriously, with all that vibration going through your system, something has to happen! If I had any trace of kidney stones, they are long gone! LOL