Tomas Guerrero

"Not time now mate!" Nate nodded two points off the bow. "The fog Toe-mas, be rolling thick and we're heading right inta 't!" Tomas looked just to starboard and saw the heavy cloud sitting low on the water and coming towards them. "We have to get off this boat," Tomas replied as if he saw nothing. "And where'r we ta go!?" Nate snapped back. "We're jus' off the Tortugas an' nothin' around fer miles!" He spun slowly with his arms outstretched. "Father, ol' Nate needs a bit o' help from ye now!" Nate stopped as he grabbed the taffrail and squinted. "The Scotsmans' returned." Tomas jumped to Nate's side. He saw the ship as well. "Roberto! Phonse! Ready the longboat!" Nate grabbed the Spaniard's forearm, "Tomas, this IS my ship!" Tomas clapped him on the shoulder and smiled, "And she'll be yours on the bottom mate." Tomas ran back to the waist and quickly began helping his men untie the longboat.

"Ah Tomas my friend." The deep voice called from the bow. "Come, come." A lantern suddenly appeared and was summarily placed atop a hogshead. Roaches, beetles and rats scampered back to the safety of the dark. A small tankard was set next to the lantern. Tomas did not remove the kerchief from his mouth, and in actuality vomited a bit in it. "You destroyed my ship Tomas." "Lo siento, Captain Norton. I had no choice, you see . . ." "You blew up my ship Tomas. You now owe me a ship." Tomas lunged for the tankard and swallowed it in one gulp. A taste of hot vinegar mixed with rotten sugar burned his gullet as it sped toward his stomach. "Gah," spat Tomas. "I'm sorry it is not of your liking," replied the Captain. An undercurrent of snickers and mocking laughter grumbled around him. It stopped as quickly as it began. "We will be taking this ship Tomas, it is not for discussion." "Momentito, por favor Captain." Tomas backed out of the hold and climbed the few steps to the main deck. Tomas called back to the tiller, "Capitan Nate, I need to talk to you."

Tomas turned quickly to Nate and reached for the pistol. "No es necessario," the Spaniard whispered, "they're already dead." Tomas turned again and clutched at his mouth. He quickly grabbed his kerchief as the smell hit him again, now mixed with the powder of Nate's shot. He nearly vomited as a shaded lantern met him at head height. "Ah, Mister Luther," coughed Tomas from behind his balled fist. "Wot 'n th' hell?" called Nate as he was now confused. "Captain Norton about?" asked Tomas. "Yes," merely replied the master. The bag of bones turned and headed toward the bow.

Tomas looked to Phonse and he shook his head slowly back and forth, almost as if to say, 'do not go there.' The Spaniard knew he was not trusted. Tomas didn't think the Irishman would save he and his meager crew from certain death on the spit only to kill him below deck on his own ship. "Of course Capitan, let us have a look," Tomas replied. He bowed slightly and headed to the short steps below. Nate looked to Roberts and then to Red Cat. She squinted and looked back to him; her appearance questioning if it was a good idea. Black Nate smiled. "Yes Fatha, she'll be along wit' me," he called aloud as he rested his hand on the worn grip of his pistol. "A'right Mister Gee-rare-o, Lessee wha' your man 's on about." Nate walked slowly towards Tomas who had already started down. The stench from below caused Tomas to clutch at his mouth. Nate did the same, but two steps behind Tomas. The Spaniard clutched for the nearest lantern. As the light spread across the decking, waves of movement could be seen scurrying away from the light. "Wha' th' bluidy 'ell?" Nate called aloud. "No es rata," Tomas whispered, "Lo peor no había llegado aún." Tomas repeated his last statement slower and more deliberately. "There is worse to come Capitan." Nate growled and drew his pistol, firing into the shadow. The shot echoed throughout the hold, rolled up the stair and across the deck. Red Cat tied off the tiller and ran to the waist cutlass drawn.

Tomas felt eyes over his back. He did not mind as many did not trust him, most for certain reason. They had no reason to distrust he and his eager crew, in fact, they had rescued them. Tomas smiled and kept about his business in the bow rigging the jib and and jib topsail with Roberto as Phonse cleaned up below. Tomas glanced about several times trying to gain his bearings while keeping an eye on the other two vessels rapidly fading into the horizon. Phonse appeared on deck in new(er) slops, at least those not smelling of excrement and urine. He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. The pudgy 'ayudante de campo' made his way to the bow and pulled Tomas to his side. He whispered for a moment and Tomas nodded. Tomas moved nearer the mast and called to Nate. "Capitan, Phonse reports the water has turned, and our supplies have become infested. To port, señor?"

¡Muy bien! ¿Y tú? Phonse is sleeping one off, and Roberto went into town for supplies.

Jenny never turned but shook her head. Tomas hustled Phonse off the deck and below to change. He waited above deck and leaned on the rail. A few moments later several articles of clothing came flying onto the deck with accompanying flies and stench. With a swipe of his foot, Tomas swiftly kicked the clothes overboard. All the while, Nate leaned on the tiller smiling at his two new crewmen. "Aye Father, he does much". Nate called to Tomas, "Might ye want t' check on yer mate, mate?" Jenny laughed aloud and even Roberts pricked up a slight smile. "The stench is his and his alone, Capitan," Tomas bowed slightly and smiled as well, "a keelhaul may be the only way necessary to remove it. Wot say you Capitan?"

Tomas sent Roberto to the bow to rig the jib topsail. Roberto had done this several times before, but each time was nearer still to falling overboard. Tomas was to head aloft to set the topsail when Phonse called to him. The portly sidekick whispered so as Tomas had to reach in closer. The smell from Phonse made him want to throw up what meager food he had eaten. "Lo siento Tomas, por necesito ropa interior," Phonse whispered. Tomas reassured him, "Just go without Phonse, we are all men here." Phonse shook his head slowly and kicked his head to the side towards Red Cat. "Ah, es mi culpa, Phonse. Momentito." Phonse tried to clutch at Tomas sleeve, but was too late. Tomas now stood amidship, hanging from the ratlines trailing atop the mainmast. "Disculpe, señorita," he called to Red Cat, louder than necessary. Tomas smiled as the woman turned, "Do you mind if Phonse does not wear underwear?"

Tomas perked up at the threat the irishman had lain. He reached into his waist and threw a dagger at the feet of the 'captain' imbedding the blade between his feet on the deck. Nate stepped back a bit and those aboard watched the scene unfold. Phonse wrung his hands and soiled himself a bit, again. The Spaniard stood nose to nose with the new captain. "YOU stole my boat," Tomas growled as he clutched the man's shirt collar. "Pero, mi amigo, you did remove us from our perilous situation upon that spit." Tomas released his grip and smoothed the man's collar, grabbing his shoulders as a brother might. "To that we owe you," he smiled. "Orders, Capitan?" Phonse and Roberto stood stunned as Tomas had relinquished command of his own ship.

Gracias, mi amiga.

Tomas had begun to tire; tire of the wait, tire of the indecision, and tire of his situation. He thought to go below and rummage through his things to find his pistols, no maybe a musket, yes, yes that will speed things along nicely. The Spaniard stood from the rail and walked down the few steps. There was a commotion in the water that drew the attention of those on deck away from the Esperanza. Tomas creeped to the hatchway hoping no one would notice.

By the time Tomas had climbed back down to his ship, the smell of Phonse had hung on the deck of the sloop like an acrid fog. He made Phonse stand well to leeward, in the bow, until the proper arrangements could be made to retrieve new slops from below. They were still hooked to the the chains and bobbed alongside the larger ship. A call to the other ship was made, but no answer was heard. The Spaniard was getting restless and he wished to be clear of this place. He walked slowly to the stern and leaned on the taffrail far enough from Phonse that the piss-stench would not overwhelm him. Roberto joined him, finally well enough to stand on his own. "Orders Capitan?" the former slave asked. "Appears that you may have to ask that man Roberto," stated Tomas as nodded towards the Irishman climbing into the sloop.

Tomas saw the men holding weapons against him regain their interest. The Spaniard tried to wave Phonse off from their plan. Phonse did not understand and tripped as he backed towards the Esperanza's bow. Landing on the chains, he created more noise than Tomas had wished. They came running to the side of the vessel Tomas now sat on. He merely rolled his eyes and wondered why he kept Phonse on his payroll. "You there," the closest man called to Phonse, "welcome aboard." Several weapons were leveled towards Phonse as he lightly soiled himself. Tomas smacked his forehead loudly with his palm.

Tomas rapped gently on the side of the hull until he could see Phonse look up. He swept his hand in a motion as if to unhook the sloop from the chains and shove off. The fat man nodded and moved slowly to the bow. The Spaniard shifted uneasily on the rail. While the pistol was still trained on him, the man behind the trigger had become somewhat lax and the barrel now drooped, aiming slightly lower than Tomas' chest. He gauged the time it would take him to slip over the side and far enough away so that the lead would not find it's mark, unless the mark was dead in the rail. Tomas now waited until Phonse had completed his task.

What about, we head to Port Royal to resupply and then head to Bermuda . . .

Tomas sat on the rail and folded his arms. It wasn't the first time he had had a pistol in his face nor would it be the last. He sighed loudly and began to tap his foot impatiently on the deck. Tomas looked back into the sloop. "¿Qué es Señor Guerrero?" asked Phonse. "You no se," huffed the Spaniard.

The Sloop: "La Esperanza", loosely translated as "Hope". She can carry as much as 10 cannon and 4 swivels. Right now, I'd only have 2 4lbr's near the bow, and 2 6lb's just aft (one set of gunports aft of the 4lbr's), amidships. Swivel guns on the bow and a set on the taffrail. Better yet: Looking for a few more crew, should the case arise. Bios: Tomas Guerrero: Caught stealing from the plate fleet leaving Potosi, Columbia, he was stripped of his command. He amassed quite a fortune in his years with Spain. Tomas now is a dark figure within the Caribbean. A mercenary. Hard to find, because he knows you are looking for him. He has many, many bookkeepers, soldiers, captains, pirates and privateers and spies within his payroll. 'The Spaniard' knows when each ship leaves the South American coast and what each has on board. Not settling for logwood traders from the Bay of Campeche, or local fisherman from the Yucatan, he takes from those wealthy enough to lose it: Statesman, Government officials, and the Crown. Currently operating out of the Dry Tortugas, he has a small crew working for him trying to find the wreck of "El Altanero", lost a fortnight ago... Phonse: Short, pudgy, portly. Not much going for the fellow. Jack of all trades, master of none. He has spent his time in the treasure galleons of Spain and the dregs of all bodegas upon the Caribbean. A cook, gunner's mate, and rigger for the fleet out of Santo Domingo. Tomas met Alphonse Ferdinand de Santiago planking the hull of the next ship to reef itself just off the Dry Tortugas. Roberto: Tall, thin, freed slave. Worthy of nothing, save a hard worker and loyal. Attempted fishing off Hispaniola, but had difficulty with navigation of a dugout. Tomas and Phonse saved him from nearly drowning just off the coast. Feels indebted to Tomas.

Phonse and Roberto had remained in Tomas' sloop. Tomas remained on the rail quite unsure of what to do. Decorum precluded that he should introduce himself, but the matter at hand seemed more pressing. He thought more than once to slide back down the side and hurry away in his boat, but knew he owed the irishman for removing he and his crew from that spit. He moved to adjust the pistols and cutlass at his side, but remembered they were gone. 'But there are more aboard', he thought to himself.

"Damn it," muttered Tomas as he pounded his fist into his palm.

Tomas had a foot in the scuppers and peered over the rail just to see his savior take a ball of hot steel in the chest. He wondered if Nate in fact, did not have influential friends and that they had boarded the wrong ship. "Señor, Señor . . ." Phonse called up to the Spaniard. Tomas waved his hand at his chubby man-at-arms as if to be quiet. He watched quietly as the crew grabbed the gunman and marched him below. Tomas straddled the rail and whispered down to Phonse, "I believe we may have our ship back."

Tomas looked to the warship, then to the woman behind him, then to the Irishman, then back to the warship. The Spaniard was certain they were on course to ram the brig. Quite unsure of what to do, he held his breath and put his hand where his cutlass should have been. He scowled and then reached for his pistol; it wasn't there either. Tomas could disarm the woman, but at what cost would the irishman put hot steel into Tomas' side. "Damn," he sighed and slumped back to the rail.

Tomas and the small crew were rapidly making their way towards one of the two vessels. The nearest of the two still had her guns run out and all hands on deck. "¿Tener amigos influyentes?," asked Tomas, "I hope you two have friends in high places." The Spaniard grinned, but Phonse looked apprehensive as they rapidly approached the warship.

Tomas felt uneasy as the sloop slid across the waves. "Are we headed aboard el buque de guerra?" he asked pointing towards the nearest ship with cannon run out. He wished to stay aboard his vessel as long as possible, even to possibly join this miniature fleet in travel. Looking back over his shoulder, Tomas would have to note the location of this small island to return for the lost treasure.

Tomas was too busy watching the macadam of dance steps to reply to his new shipmates. Each ship had turned about and Tomas pronounced a grave pose on each. Apparently, his immediate career was to get them away from The Flodden. While death was not in the Spaniard's dealt hand currently, his best motion was to appease his 'Captain' to scurry them along. 't was his ship after all. "Phonse, prepare to unleash all sail."

"We searching for..." Phonse began. Tomas glared at him. "...A faster way to Port Royal," Tomas quickly finished. He took a long drink from the bottle offered to him. "Gracias," Tomas muttered. The small amount of treasure they had found was now washed along the reef. Along with that also still at the wreck site, Tomas felt he would never retrieve it.