Capt. Sterling

He frowned, finding the back door locked as well and he without a key. His shoulder was quickly put to use and he threw himself against the back entrance… resulting only in good eye seeing more stars than the Jamaican sky actually contained. Current wound proved to be still unforgiving. After regaining his breath, he applied foot instead, upon second attempt, close to lock, which proved the door’s undoing. Flying inward, slamming to a halt against interior wall, cracked plaster toppling to the floor, he decide it was no longer necessary to muffle the damn bells. As he entered the dark house, he tried to tell himself that he was not surprised when no one came to investigate the noise, and yet deep inside he felt himself crumbling, suddenly growing all too weary again. As spirits fell low once more, dull ache was noticed gnawing at inside. He made his way into the drawing room, carefully depositing Devareaux's gear upon the sofa. Once free of burden, one hand strayed absent mindedly to press against side. Turning he was startled to find the child, standing in the door way, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "My word, Meagan, ye nearly scared the life out of me," Sterling whispered as he went to collect her. "I heard a noise," she whispered as he lifted her. "At least someone did," he replied, his tone giving himself away. "You are sad? Oui?" Meagan whispered, a tiny hand turning his cheek so that she looked him in the eyes. "Non, petite maîtresse. Je suis seulement fatigué," he answered and instantly hated himself for lying to her.

Welcome home... I mean back...

As horse continued onward, what was once thought to possibly be ride from hell, turned to pleasant jaunt across the countryside and then came to its end as home was neared. With gentle pat of thanksgiving, the dark horse was allowed to walk on loose rein until cool, then spoiled with a treat and turned out with the others, taking chestnut‘s place in the herd. Friendly whinnies erupted in greeting familiars and the captain stood briefly, shushing the horses but to no avail. Sterling carried Devareaux’s tack back to the house for safe guarding against any sudden turns in the weather, smothering best he could the damn bells that trimmed the bridle. The thought of carefully removing them still played in Sterling’s mind, after what had just happened, mayhaps he would actually be saving his cocky brother-in-law’s life with such a gesture. “Peacock,” he chuckled to himself as he struggled with the front door. Finding it locked, he made his way round back. Maybe she had noticed him gone after all.

“Damn the bells!” Sterling grumbled as the horse galloped onward. He wished he could lean forward enough to remove the excess frippery from the animal’s brow band. Even if he could manage a place to conceal both he and mount, the bells would easily give him away. “Come on!” he whispered and Noir once again gave his best. In time the wearied bay quickly fell behind.

Oh I can leave the wallet with anyone. By the time I raid the wine department down here to bring there, it will be empty!

Lilly smiling delightly.... Must we choose, Dear One? Or is it your mischievous plan to get all the women scriffy and play silly games at the bar?! My word Lill! You know I don't play silly games... even a family outing at the pirate putt-putt golf becomes major competition between me and the spouse... the kids hate playing with us!!!!!!!!!!!

Rider and mount’s pace was rapid, once stirrup leathers, far too short for Sterling’s lanky legs, were crossed over pommel to keep them from flopping about, rider continued onward without them. Suddenly the heavy air shattered as a shot went off. Noir shied sideways but Sterling’s seat was far too sure. “Sweet Jesus, Lill,” he nearly laughed a loud as he encouraged the horse forward again. “Ye were right about the hour!” He leaned forward, hugging low against the dark horse’s neck. Noir knew only too well the journey back to the house and new burst of speed was gently coaxed from horse all too happy to take himself and rider else where.

To hell with Mid western vintners! Virginian has the best selection in stock! Now do we want one $200 bottle of port or 4 $50 dollar ones?? Not to mention the Rainwater & Malmsey!!! or would ye be happy with a nice sack posset?

Shite, need to find investors for my share of the boat... whew at least champagne is out...not period correct...

Yeah, scary ain't it?

Good ghad, Lill, when was the last time you had to pay for yer drink?!! Mine yes, but then I'm a cheap bastard...

Sterling had been accosted by the innkeeper on his way out. After a few minutes of searching through nearly empty pockets enough coin had been produced in order to pay his tab. “Are ye certain I drank all that? And a meal as well?” he mumbled as owner stood with large hand outstretched in the captain’s direction. With a sigh, all Sterling had left was passed over to rightful owner before the rather large man cleared the path to the nearest exit. As he closed the door behind him, the muggy late night air rose up before him like a brick wall, nearly driving him to his knees in his present condition. He swore, then removed his coat, draping it over his bad arm. He swore again, realizing he no longer had enough cash to rent the Chestnut for his trip home. He grumbled angrily to himself as he shoved off, at a walk, on his own two feet. He had not gone far when he heard a soft nicker from ahead of him. He looked up and spotted his brother-in-law’s horse tied in the shadows outside the Royal Grace Inn. For a moment, despite the heat, his blood chilled in his veins and he quickly looked about him to see if any of the night shadows had been following him. He knew none of Aurore’s people would even try to believe him when he tried to explain that nothing had truly happened and that he had done all he could to dissuade Lilly’s intentions. He had indeed walked away from the temptation, only having been stupid enough to drink himself under the table. He needed to get home and quickly. Again, his spirits sank dangerously low. The dark creature called softly once more and Sterling made his way over to it. He ran his hand over the animal’s powerful neck as it nuzzled him, sniffing at pocket level. “Aye ye know me well enough for a short acquaintance,” Sterling whispered. “At least ye would believe me wouldn’t ye?” He gave the horse one more pat then turned to continue his walk. He felt like a man condemned and tried to cheer himself up with the notion that as long as Lilly kept her tongue still, no one would be the wiser. For a moment, he thought of making his way to the ‘Angel, and have them prepare all the faster to sail, the sooner Lilly was safely tucked away in the colonies, the better off he was. Instead he continued on his walk home. He feared Aurore might be concerned, if, indeed, she had even noticed him missing. And then he turned suddenly, throwing himself back into his coat, he quickly untethered Sabastian’s horse and mounted it. “There’s a good lad,” he whispered, stroking the sleek neck again. Damn the bells he thought to himself. He would explain … somehow, tomorrow. For now, he set the horse into a gallop, he needed to get home.

Sterling brought his hand about to gently take her by the wrist. Still, she did not abstain from her actions so he increased the pressure of his grip. “Lilly… please. I am not my father and I have no desire to act as he does.” “All right John, … for now,” she said, then withdrew her hand. She made her way back to the warmth of her bed. “Promise me you will take care on your senseless attempt to ride home.” She climbed back beneath the bed linens and watched him as he hesitated in the doorway. “What is it John?” He looked at her a moment, an old ache growing stronger within him as he did. “I was planning to sail … to England in a few days. I thought,” he stopped. She watched him as he began to fidget, turning the large gray beaver in his hands by the brim. “Yes, John,” Lilly said prompting him to continue. “I thought I would bring ye home. Darnely has our son, so St. Clair informs me. I shall get him back for ye…” he whispered. He glanced at her briefly, looking down once more at his hat as Lilly began to cry. “Then I shall take ye to Virginia and find ye and the boy some place safe.” “John do not raise my hopes with such hollow talk,” Lilly said. “Ye have my word Lill,” he said. “Be ready to sail no later than Monday.” For a moment their eyes locked. He bowed and then he was gone.

Sterling finished dressing in silence. Lilly’s words irked him. It had indeed not gone well between he and his wife the last few days, earlier on had been far from what he had expected or ever hoped for. The subtle seeds the actress had sown, instantly began to gnaw at his thoughts, sobering him quickly, and yet, his hands fumbled with the buckle of his waist carriage until Lilly climbed from the bed to come to his assistance. “Put something on,” he whispered, his eyes averted. But he allowed her to help him all the same.

He stood there a moment longer before he stooped to retrieve his fallen property. Unable to stand and place his foot squarely in the stocking he held he finally took his place on the floor. "Tis not fair, Lill, your assessment of Aurore," he muttered as he slowly drew on one stocking. "Ye would not have me travel about at such an hour and yet ye expect my wife to do so."

...Or so she had wished. Instead, by the time she had gotten herself back to The Three Crownes, acted convincingly enough to insure that the owner would recieve payment within the week, when she knew not whince the coin would come, changed into something clean and smelling less of her illness, and made her way back down to the common room, she had finally spied him besotted, fumbling about in the far corner and just about ready to smother himself in plate full of Dutch pudding. With a roll of her eyes, she made her way through the other tables, pushing off gropping hands and came to halt beside him. She waited as his spoon missed the meal and stabbed into the table top where his feet had been minutes before being served. "Charming," she muttered under her breath, then sternly, loud enough for his ears only she called his name. "John. ..... JOHNNY!" He glanced up at her. In his current condition he would not have recognized her even without a mask. "Are you seriously going to manage that?" she asked him. "Huh?" came his dazed reply. "Oh come on," she said, grabbing him by the back of his collar. "To bed with you. You can sleep it off here. I've a room upstairs," she said. She lead him several paces before he was able to straighten himself out. "Oh I can't," he barely managed to slur. "I'm married now, ye see." Lilly gave him a shove forward again. "Aye, the story of my life," she grumbled. "Always married you are and to somebody else. Like you'd be able to function in such a state any way," she added with a sigh. "Come on upstairs with you before you're sick. God, John, you know you and rum do not mix!"

weep

Although The Three Crownes was open for business, truly what tavern could ever remain closed for an extended period of time, not one face appeared familiar to him. Exhausted from battling the hurricane, his crew and officers had most likely remained on board. Sterling frowned and thought about shoving off to search through a different pub. Instead he reckoned himself poor company at best, paid for a bottle of rum and a pipe and hid himself in the back corner of the common room. His head already much cleared from the ride in, he ordered something to eat as well as he took his seat. He filled the tankard that had accompanied the bottle and drank half before he leaned back, resting both feet upon the table top. Lighting the pipe quickly followed suit and he drew deeply once the tobacco had begun its slow burn. Already the tavern area was filling with folks who were both relieved to find themselves free once more to roam about safely, at least as far as the weather was concerned, and excited to launch into their own renditions regarding their experiences with the passing storm. As tales proceeded, exaggerations increased as one bloke tried to out talk his companions. Sterling felt like a good laugh at the expense of those he eavesdropped upon, but thought better of it, as the first tankard, now completely drained, allowed the cloud to circumnavigate his faculties once again.

An hour later, he hated feeling as he did. He poured himself another glass of port, holding the bottle upside down as he waited for every last drop to slowly make its way down the sleek curves of the bottle’s interior. With one last shake, he finally settled the empty container down upon the bedside table. He would have to make his way downstairs for another, a task he did not relish. He brought the glass to his lips, his nose wrinkling up at the smell of it. Honestly he had, had enough but he quickly polished off the glass and closed his eyes. He could not remember the last time he had actually sipped something to enjoy it. Briefly his thoughts fixed on the warmth of the drink, and how it added to his weariness, the liquid haze clouding over his brain. Soon enough he would not hate the way he felt, he would not even care. With a sigh, he opened his eyes. It took him a moment longer to focus, his damaged vision all the worse thanks to the wine. His thoughts lingered dangerously on his condition. Damnation but he still felt the anger boil up inside him for what the Turks had done to him. And yet the one person he could never forgive for allowing it all to happen was himself. He had been caught where his ship did not belong. He had misjudged his enemy and his crew had been murdered because of it. By God his crew had been made up of good men and he had let them all down. Surely the Turks were not truly to blame, only himself. He was the one that should have been killed, not just maimed and left to constantly remember what a fool he had been and still was... He stood to his feet, left the room, sword in tow, fetching his shoes from where they had landed and made his way downstairs. He entered the dining room, only one more bottle of port was to be found. This he took with him as he made his way down the hall to the front door. As he past the drawing room, now on his blind side, he announced that he was going out and, as he had half expected, received no reply. For a second he felt tempted to turn his head to look and see if Aurore was indeed still seated upon the sofa, conversing with Dubois. He fought down the temptation, snatched up his hat and coat and wandered back out to the lower field. It would not take him long to retack the Chestnut. Perhaps one of his officers would be out at one of the taverns and in need of some hard liquor as well. He decided to try his luck at The Three Crownes, then cursed himself, knowing all too well that he did not believe in luck of any kind.

Having heart failure at tossing anything that may even remotely be considered useful for the hobby....

He was careful to shut the front door with ease, resulting in a lack of noise to announce his return. Coat and hat were ungraciously deposited on the hall table before he made his way past the drawing room and on to the dining room. He was grateful that his blind side did not prohibit his viewing Aurore still in discussion with Sterling’s newest acquaintance from le Cour’s troupe. He did not say a word, but found himself gnawing on the inside of his lower lip as he continued onward, moving about the table to where the port remained, undisturbed, since their flight before the storm. He snatched up the bottle and a glass then headed for the stairs. Gaining second floor, he first kicked off one shoe than the next as he walked along the hallway. He knew well enough that the large room at the end was where they had spent their first night together and he decided to allow his wife to keep it as her own… after all, twas the largest of all the rooms above, with a proper sitting area, and would suit Aurore well enough when conducting court with her minions. He opened the first door to his right, peeked in and found Meagan sound asleep. Obviously this would not do. Quietly he reclosed the door and moved on to the next room. It was small but still spacious. Anything was spacious compared to his quarters aboard the ‘Angel he thought to himself. It would do him well enough. He entered and closed the door behind him, threw open the two windows, removed his waistcoat and small sword, then poured himself the first of many glasses of Port for the night.

The ride back to the new house was quiet … at least for Sterling. Aurore remained engaged in conversation with Debois, soft tones, the man often glancing back ward over his shoulder. Sterling attempted to ignore him in return, making faces at Meagan until the child began to tire with the journey. When they arrived home, protective boarding was hastily removed after quick glance told there was no major damage to the main building, only a few broken panes of glass and a missing pair of shutters. Meagan was carried inside and put to bed as Aurore followed along to oversee the tucking in of their young charge. Sterling turned the Chestnut about, deciding to ride the fence line of the lower paddock, the stables in shambles from a fallen tree. The animals would have to be turned out, until he could afford to replace the structure. The sun was high in the clear sky before he was content with repairs and once the Chestnut had been watered, he, along with the others were turned out to graze for the evening. Sterling watched awhile as the new addition made introductions with the rest of the horses, delicate ears pitched forward as curious breaths snorted in anxious greeting. He stripped off his coat, already the heat of land compared to the cool breezes of the ocean, was becoming overwhelming. It would be nigh impossible to sleep that night, but then, he knew all too well the remedy for such situations. Fanning himself with his broad brimmed hat, he finally made his way toward the house, intent on finding the port wine and his own bedroom.

sore throat

A number of SCA type folks had been asked to attend last year, in order to try and get them interested in coming... Mike seemed to pass the test, so this year there may be quite a number of folks in not perfectly period kit, but who want to learn and improve, and buy better stuff... they just ask that science fiction or pure fantasy not show up as that is not what the event is about.

Oi question about maps and charts of the period... there are quite a number of these on ebay, which are extremely easy to turn into a transparancy, throw up on the wall and set onto paper... question is, okay the questions are : what size paper? What was the average size?? What kind of paper? would they be rolled or stored flat? were map chests around already? or would they have stored them in some kind of tube?? I'm thinking, loss or serious damage to charts, maps, and letters of marque could have caused dire consequences ... one reads of plenty of times about the LoMs being locked up, what about charts and maps???