Port Royal, Jamaica

[D.Patrick Burke]

Life had finally settled down to Angus's satisfaction. He puttered with his alembics, read antique Arabic tomes on mathematics and astronomy, shattered two beakers of bubbling tincture of saffron, stepped on Cleopatra's tail—her wild shriek of protest taking ten years off his life, and received by special delivery through his connections at the book store, a lovely but slightly dessicated specimen of Crotophaga ani.

No soldiers pounding on his door, no frantic actresses begging for dangerous drugs, no giant Blackamoors hovering about, no drunken peacocks sleeping it off in his study, and no red-headed she-devil to give him apoplexy.

And he found, to his utter disbelief, that he was bored.

He had stayed with the Fishing Folk for the passing of night into day, and day once again into night. The ryme and reason which circled and intertwined those of said occupation always did well to re-center his place in the world...And recent events had harried Devon Burke's semi-even keel to near tipping. So solace was sought and comfort was gained, nurtured by the unsaid and said; by the seen and not so. With a full belly, and the warmth conjured by native poteen, four legged companion was found, farewells said, and haven left.

Byways were navigated though the Port; the stillness of night rarely ever so. Pause was given near the old church, sight drifting over moon caressed stones in the yard bordering. It was a thoughtful break of time that passed before nudge was given to mount and forward progress set into motion. Intersection of side street gave harken to sudden inspiration and direction was altered. Desired abode was found, dismount following and equine comrade tied off in secretive spot.

Slipping through the back gate, careful footing was chosen around the nesting places left by creative mind. Alcove was entered and knock placed on heavy wooden barrier. Sniff was given to near surrounds, the ghostly presence of some concoction lingering from not so distant past or seapaged of something current. Again, casual knock was administered this time followed by vocalization...

"T'underin' Jays, man!...Have ye fergotten' yer manners o' welcome when folk be travlin' t'ru?"

A glint of mischief played Cork Native's eye in reflection of the smile that graced youthful features.

"C'mon now, cara...We migh' as well be kindred by blood an' tis no' to the propers leavin' yer kin on the doorstep while yer own self be enjoyin' comfert o' heart' an' home...."

Leaning close to the door, Devon repressed a laugh imagining what the Academic was more than likely thinking within.

"Tis a sin...A right sin no' to be sharin' a bumper o' tha' fine brandy ye have stashed up in'na kitchen..."

[Professor Angus Trilby]

The delicate glass tube of pale amber liquid was poised over the small pot, its contents simmering gently. With his finger caped over one end of the tube, ready to release just enough pressure to allow a single drop of the expensive tisane to fall into the pot below it, Professor Trilby held his breath and prepared to move his finger a fraction—

BANG, BANG, BANG.

The loud pounding on his door caused him to jerk, his finger to remove itself from the end of the tube, and thus allowing the entire contents of the tube to fall into the mixture in the pot. Instead of a slight thickening, which would have been the end result of two days worth of mixing and testing, he got a pot full of slime the color of mashed sea urchin.

"Hounds of the deevil!" Angus railed, throwing the glass tube to the floor, where it shattered into a thousand tiny shards.

Cleopatra, who had been reclining on the settee, jumped—fur bristled—then scooted under the settee for safety.

When the intruder called out, and Angus recognized the voice and cause of his latest ruination, he stormed from his study, marched to the front door, flung it open, and faced the grinning Irishman standing on this threshold,

"Devin Burke, if I was any kin of yours me muther would hae thrown mae Da inta the Clyde. Nor can I ken why ye be standing on mae doorstep, makin' a racket like a banshee. And I'll thank ye tae take that silly grin off your face. Ye've cost me two days work, my last glass measuring tube, and five shillings worth of tisane of mandrake. Sae, what the deevil do ye want?"

[D.Patrick Burke]

The grin widened, " Aye if ye ain' a cranky bit o' it this fine day..." Devon's eyes narrowed a slight, his expression evolving into one of thoughtfull summations. " Ye needs get ou' more..." A sniff was given to the air and unconscious wave of hand followed soon after. " I'm t'inkin' a rollin' around wit' some willin' colleen an' a ankor o' the craither would be fixin' wha' ails ye...." Chuckle was given, in its wake a knowing wink and a shrug. " Always puts me ownself to the rights, fer true..."

Leaning back against alcove's arch, arms crossed over chest, nasal passages honed in on noxious scent wafting from domocile interior. Chin was scratched in thought, bringing forth a crinkling of nose. Innocently, Cork's Native Son searched Elder's poise, ignoring the obvious seeth that wrapped itself like tailored coat, and inquired quietly as though there were others near to overhear...

"Tell me, cara....." Irish eyes flashed to the hallway beyond door's gape.

"What died?"

[Professor Angus Trilby]

A red veil descended over Angus's eyes as the fury took him. "A colleen and craither! Why ye Irish heathen, I nae need a woman nor the whiskey tae liven up mae life. And I'm sure there's many a poor daughter in Port Royal whose mither wished ye'd go back to Ireland, and stop infesting this island with bairns born on the wrong side of the blanket. You're the deevil's own imp, Devon Burke....and as for what died, it'll be your own self if ye don't take yourself off mae doorstep this instant.

Angus made to slam the door in the Irishman's face, but unfortunately, Devon had put the toe of his boot in the doorway, and just kept grinning.

[D.Patrick Burke]

"There be the way o' it, then....Yer goen to drop o'er from apoplexy. Jays man..." Door was pushed gently agape while hand dissapeared into hidden woolen region. Reappearence bore circular glimmer pinched betwixt thumb and forefinger. Guinea glinted cheerfully in morning's glow as bearer rolled eyes heavenward and with deft flip, coin went aloft, gently arching before downward spiral in Academic's direction, " I'm t'inkin' tha' if tha' bit o' glimmer doen cover yer troubles than ain' a damned t'in' tha' will..."

Devon shook his head briefly to some secret thought; grin fading slightly though mischievous glint of Irish eye never gave to waver.

[Cheeky Actress]

Strong hands seized the long craft and pushed her into the surf and the order to give way was silently given.

At first, Lilly could only manage a slight cry from her lips. She could not believe that her beloved captain managed to pull himself from his sick bed in order to save himself.

The craft became smaller and smaller with each wave it broke. In a panic she began to wave her lantern back and forth hoping for those on board the boat would take notice.

She waited for a moment, but there was no change in their direction. The boat continued to make its way towards the Archangel.

Soon frustration lead to tears and with tears came a cry from her lips that would have woke Dave Jones from his watery lair.

[Professor Angus Trilby]

"There be the way o' it, then....Yer goen to drop o'er from apoplexy. Jays man..." Door was pushed gently agape while hand dissapeared into hidden woolen region. Reappearence bore circular glimmer pinched betwixt thumb and forefinger. Guinea glinted cheerfully in morning's glow as bearer rolled eyes heavenward and with deft flip, coin went aloft, gently arching before downward spiral in Academic's direction, " I'm t'inkin' tha' if tha' bit o' glimmer doen cover yer troubles than ain' a damned t'in' tha' will..."

Devon shook his head briefly to some secret thought; grin fading slightly though mischievous glint of Irish eye never gave to waver.

Trilby caught the tumbling coin, and held it a moment. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed too frustrating, and...were he honest with himself, too funny, to carry on a temper any further. Besides, truth be told, he rather liked Devon Burke.

"Oh, all right, ye Irish fiend. Come up tae the roof top, and we'll share a tot. And here, take back your shiny, as I'm nae a tavern where ye canna have a drink without showing your metal first."

He opened the door wide, then turned and headed for the stairs.

[D.Patrick Burke]

He hovered thresh-hold long enough to instinctively glance the surround then ducked into the dim. Time was allowed his eyes to adjust as door was secured and battered hat removed. The pungent scent lingering interior byways did well to hurry Irishman's passage onto the stairwell and the bright promise of fresher air above. Pause was given in the maw of rooftop access as feline shadow brushed past booted feet and was scooped into cradled capture. Cleopatra issued forth royal glare to such insolence and showed displeasure to peon's audacity by wiggling and bracing sleek body with freedom's want. Struggle continued, but flailing started to loose urgency as pleasure spot was found soon rendering limp hang but for cranial lean into finger's rub. Conquest secured, Irish Son stepped into the open and took deeply into lungs parfume's of Tropical alchemy.

"A fella could do worse than the Port, but tis true as fine as a morn can be here 'bouts, it doen compare to a Spring morn on'na banks o' the Lee..." Devon commented offhanded as Academic obtained to glasses.

[Professor Angus Trilby]

Angus tossed his ratty turban onto the dog skeleton's skull, and scratched his balding pate. "Aye, tis true, this can be a bonny place, if ye've a mind for bugs, thugs, and low life of every description. I dinna come here for the sights, I came here for a bit o' freedom. It seems most of mae fellow academics dinna hae such an open mind as mae own, when it comes tae certain studies, and it's easier tae aquire the supplies I need—with your lot's help."

He poured port into two fine glasses, then winked at his guest. "But I fear these old bones would nae fair sae well in the damp o' Scotland. Besides, the puritans hae stifled the country worse than the English or the Pope ever did."

He flopped down in a cushioned chair, took a sip of the port, then rested the glass on his knee. "Sae, ye Irish deevil, what brings ye tae mae door this fine day?"

[D.Patrick Burke]

Devon sampled porter with appreciative relish, feline companion seeing fit to use one thiegh as stage in portrayal of jaguar upon a limb. Rub was administered to near ear conjuring low rasp rumble with half closed eyes as another draught was taken. Sidelong glance was given to Elder as statements were considered; smallish sneer fleeted in response to what he knew was true regarding the Scottish Covenant and the long lines of conflict following the wake of English, Protestant and Puritan doings.

"Tis trut' tha' Charlie dinna do a damned bit o' good fer the likes o' me own an' tha' bastard Cromwell did even worse...Bloody fekkin' Butcher..." His words trailed off as features pinched in deep loathing. But as sun disapears only to reappear once again, expression softened and porter was called to service once more followed by good natured hint of smile.

"Twas in the neighborhood stealing horseshoes, true as true is..." Smile widened and wink readily came behind. Reclining deeper into the hold of weather worn cusions, Irish Son gazed steadily at North-Eastern cousin; small screak of protest emitting from ragdoll cat. "Actually...Twas on me way back from where me dispaced roots linger an' t'ought to stop off fer the sakes o' sakes...Me Ma always said to keep tabs wit' those o' yer own. An' since I din'na have any t'in' needin' me attentions, I landed me ownself here fer a spell."

Draught was taken conjuring frown as glass was drawn away, its inner emptiness inspected; deepening facial contortion, " Tis broken, cara...I'll be damned trice. The shame o' it..."

[Professor Angus Trilby]

"What do ye mean, broken?" Angus peered at the fine glass. A crack ran from lip to bowl. "Well, that's a fine thing. I'd only four left." He leaned back in his chair, and sighed. "Ah weel, it's just one more blight added tae mae blighted day. Smash the pretty thing, if ye wish tae break the bad luck of it. Seems I'll be spending the coin I received from ol' Croaker on some new crystal, for I'll be demmed if I'll drink fine port out o' shell, wood, or pottery. 'Twould be a sacrilege."

He took another glass, inspected it, then refilled it and handed it to Burke. "Sae, what's the gossip, Lad, as I know you and your lot hae your noses tae the ground most times. Is it just meself, or does it appear tae you that Port Royal has been a wee bit chaotic o' late? Weel, at least, more chaotic than usual."

[Lady Violet Cunningham]

Lady Violet stood in the middle of her empty parlor. Albert leaned against the fireplace mantle, a glass of brandy cradled in his hand. The quiet after the storm was deafening. Yet Lady Violet's mind still raged. She was not used to losing a battle, and there could be no doubt that she had lost this one.

"Have a whiskey, Violet, and forget the chit. You did your best." Albert poured her a glass and held it out.

She took it, and downed the contents in one gulp. "It's rediculous, Albert. She has no intention of becoming Devareaux's wife. As soon as she's well, she be back with that revolting rabble of a crew, and gone. The whole idea is a travesty. It is not the life for a woman of her quality."

Albert, who tended to be more pragmatic than his volatile wife, replied, "Let it go, Violet. Let her go. She has chosen her own destruction, and there is nothing you can do to stop her. Besides, considering what her life has been these past ten years, she is no longer a woman of quality, and no decent man would have her. Write to her brother and tell him the truth of things."

Violet poured herself another whiskey. "Oh, I'll write to her brother. But rather than forsake her to a life of further ruin, I will not give up." She turned to her husband, and her voice softened. "If I can not save her, she will die. Either by shot, blade, brutal hand, or hung by the neck, she will die. Do I abandon her to that?"

Albert put an arm about his wife's shoulders. "She is already beyond saving, Violet."

She shrugged his arm off. "I refuse to believe that. I refuse to allow her to end up in an unmarked grave, or her body tossed into the ocean." Her chin came up, and fire danced in her eyes. "Do you understand? I refuse."

[Capt. Sterling]

She waited for a moment, but there was no change in their direction. The boat continued to make its way towards the Archangel.

Soon frustration lead to tears and with tears came a cry from her lips that would have woke Dave Jones from his watery lair.

In spite of rough waves and heavy winds against them, Mr. de Dogge and Sterling heard the sudden wail from the beach. The Marine Captain's brow raised as he looked down at his captain huddled in the bottom of the boat.

Ordinarily Sterling would have shaken his head no, but the discomfort now proved too much. He raised himself slightly to peer toward the shore but in the night he was as good as completely blind. Still there was no mistaking the voice.

"Take me to the ship. Do not stop," he shouted above the wind. "Someone on that island wants me dead and for the life of me I do not know why...but I will put good money in a wager that Mistress McKinney is at the bottom of it all. I need to lay me down... and make ready to get us away from this blasted place. Tomorrow, a few of you can slip back to the beach then fetch her. I know where she can be found."

De Dogge nodded in reply and the craft continued onward toward the Angel.

Sterling shifted trying to bring himself a little ease but found none. The only thing to do was to wait until he was back in his own bunk away from the troubles the land always seemed to bring with it. That and the women that lived there.

He closed his eyes, it was time to rethink his entire life... who truly needed a woman such as Nelly Greene, no better than the actress when it came to affairs of money or of the heart... no, they were cut of the same cloth, never to be trusted, as faithfulness was not part of their vocabulary... and as to Aurore... well no man wished to be around a wife that did not know they even existed. He sighed, hands coming up to cradle his head. It was time to start a fresh, find out the truth behind his so called crimes and concentrate solely on his ship and crew. A fresh start in every sense of the word.

[D.Patrick Burke]

"What do ye mean, broken?" Angus peered at the fine glass. A crack ran from lip to bowl. "Well, that's a fine thing. I'd only four left." He leaned back in his chair, and sighed. "Ah weel, it's just one more blight added tae mae blighted day. Smash the pretty thing, if ye wish tae break the bad luck of it. Seems I'll be spending the coin I received from ol' Croaker on some new crystal, for I'll be demmed if I'll drink fine port out o' shell, wood, or pottery. 'Twould be a sacrilege."

He took another glass, inspected it, then refilled it and handed it to Burke. "Sae, what's the gossip, Lad, as I know you and your lot hae your noses tae the ground most times. Is it just meself, or does it appear tae you that Port Royal has been a wee bit chaotic o' late? Weel, at least, more chaotic than usual."

Devon watched the Academic's inspection of hair line fracture with barely concealed amusement. In truth, the crack had gone completly un-noticed until mention was made upon it. The vessel's emptiness was what had brought forth comment of broken state; a state of existance that had been quickly resolved by host and gave gratuitous contentment to guest. The spuring of agitation stirred by crystal capture readily stoked the flow of mirth from Irish Son; grin kindred to feline's of Cheshire origins spread near ear to ear in response.

Receiving injured soldier back into safe keeping, deep draw was taken in and appreciative nod delivered in kind. Absent mindedly, four-legged Queen of the Nile was stroked as Devon considered what could be said and what could not in relation to query poised. Another draught was taken to buy time and position shifted slightly in worn cushion support.

"To the trues, I doen t'ink anyt'in' I know o' would be somt'n to suprise yerself...Ye've done yer own time in England propers an' the same ilk be here on this spit o' land." Grin pause word flow momentarily, " Ye go' yer same aristo's an' climbers playin' at the same aul games. The same secrets o' imorale doin's...An' to t'ink they call me own savages." He chuckled warmly. "Tis to me own t'inkin's, the ways o' the Port are to the likes o' the tide, itself....ebb an' flow. O' late the flow has been a bit to the heavies, bu' it shall pass. Always seems the way o' it."

Pausing to wax thoughtful, Devon glanced towards the water in near distance while finishing crystal content. Dropping his voice conspiritively, a knowing wink was offered, " Ye know tha' aul fella tha' runs tha' mercantile down near the quays? Seems be tha' his priddy young bride has been playin' a wee bit o' slap an' tickle wit' a certain officer o' the Guard...."

Glass condition was inspected half-heartedly, " I'll be damned if it isno' broke, as well..."

[Professor Angus Trilby]

"Be demmed it is. You're a brazen liar, Devon Burke. And don't be blaiming your skill at emptying a glass on my good crystal." Angus laughed. "But ye may have the right o' it, as far as Port Royal. However, there's been naught but chaos in mae house o' late, and by nae want o' mae own. As for the owner o' the mercantile, phsh, his bride has been playing the paddy fingers with that guardsman before she wed. Which nae man can blame her, for her husband has been playing on the wrong side o' the sheets himself. Sae nae tell me news that half the town already kens. 'Tis that fine peacock Sebastian, and the red-haired she-devil I'm interested in. I ne're though those two would strike a spark. She doesnna seem his type. Ye must hae an opinion, since she nearly shot ye in mae kitchen."

Angus grinned at his guest and gave him a wink.

[D.Patrick Burke]

The query gave minute halt to feline pleasuring and Devon suddenly seemed overtly aware of crystal's lacking quality. What could be said? What should not...Lower lip was caught in eye tooth grip briefly as his eyes wandered back to water's lay.

"Welllll....." Crystal was suddenly thrust forward as an evasive tactic to subject pinning and porter warmed brainworks struggled with the quandry at hand. "Tis no' really me own place to be sayin' much on'na t'in'..." Mental gears slogged forward begrudgingly, "Mayhaps tis a way to distract away from his own self losin' sweet Molly...A fine gerl she was."

Standing to full stature, Devon gently set companion down on former seating and streached lazily. " Tis no' as though Himself has gone braggin' on the matter round the likes o' meself. I doen know wha' the trut's be. Bu' mayhaps it be tha' o' wha' I seen o' the gerl, she's in her possession o' a firey spirit...An' Himself has a sof' spot fer wild ones; Jus' like tha' black beast he worships so dear...."

He glanced to where Academic remained seated, "Mayhaps...."

[Professor Angus Trilby]

"Molly were a fine lass, that be true. And her death a grizzly bit o' business. I hae mae own thoughts on the one who did her. But he's paid the price for it, so good riddance."

Angus refilled the glasses. Had he not been feeling the effects of the port, he might not have blurted out the next bit of information, but he needed something to lighten the dark mood that came over him every time he thought of Killingsworth. So, he threw caution to the wind...or in this case, to an all too receptive ear.

"Fiery? Aye, and with a fine sense of humor. Why, ye should hae seen her the day she caught Sebastian standing in mae study, naked as the day his mither gave him birth. And what does she do, but burst out laughing. And there was the peacock, without a stitch o' plumage, trying tae pretend it was o' nae concern at all."

Angus chortled at the memory, then attuned himself to his guest's last word. "Mayhaps what?"

[D.Patrick Burke]

Cheshire poise regained facial arena as telling was imparted, but it was the spearheading of lingered word that stiffened laxidasical stance. A more serious nature crept into laughing eyes which one might view as an discomforting guise that lay thrawt to easy nature. Cork native stepped closer to where Academic and ex-canine held placement leaning forward just enough to capture Other's soul windows with his own.

"Mayhaps there be certain wants o' differin' locals o' no' so tropic natures..."

[Professor Angus Trilby]

"Now, what the deevil is that supposed tae mean?"

[Capt. Sterling]

The long boat pitched in angry waves as she pulled alongside the ex-slaver. Carefully, Sterling was hauled upward but he insisted on walking once his feet touched the deck.

"My God, John what have they done to ye?" March asked as he greeted his friend.

Sterling waved him off. Any aid would not be seemly in front of the others.

"Tis just a scratch," he mumbled as he made his way toward his cabin on unsteady feet.

"Bloody hell it is!" March countered then sighed. "Ye always say that. I'll send Reiley to have a look at ye. Make sail then shall we?"

"Not yet," Sterling replied and disappeared inside his quarters.

Reiley, now serving as bosun, a job he was more accustomed to, took his time checking up on what Croaker had done.

"Nice work, " he admitted when he was done redressing the head wounds. "Keep these clean and ye'll be up and about in no time."

"I shall be up and about in the morning," Sterling said but for the moment he was content to be back in his own bunk.

"Not on my watch," the bosun stated, rolling down his shirt sleeves. "Ye need to rest, pure and simple. Ye won't be doing yerself nor any of us any favors ifn ye don't."

Sterling lay quietly, contemplating the other man's orders, then cautious nod of agreement was given. "As ye wish."

"Right he is," March interjected. "Just tell me what course ye wish to follow and I shall see to it. We have the wind, we might as well let it take us where she will."

"No," Sterling said. He looked across at his first lieutenant. "Tomorrow night ye must send back the long boat and find Mistress McKinney and fetch her here."

Symm's "humph!" was out weighed by March throwing his arms up in the air. The lieutenant turned sharply on his heel and walked away several paces before turning back.

"Why?! Should be yer wife we be fetching back not that actress. What on earth are ye thinkin now John?" March asked.

"I can only think that my troubles all this time in the port, have been because of her...."

"All the more reason to leave her behind," March interrupted.

"All the more reason to take her with us," Sterling replied. He shifted slightly. "She may be in danger. I owe her that much... to see that what ever games Darnely is about, that he will not harm her as well." Weary eyes closed, as fingers of one hand played relentlessly with worn coverlet.

"I cannot be certain, but tis the only thing that makes sense to me right now. This Pinon, the man has no reason to be such a burden to me. "

March let out another sigh of exasperation, but Sterling only seemed to wilt...the fight had gone out of him.

"John are ye certain?"

Another careful nod was given.

"Fetch her and we shall make sail to the American colonies. She should be out of harm's way there. Then we shall find a way to clear my name as best we can... I shall not be branded and hanged as a pirate by my own countrymen. But a man is dead and I'll take what ever punishment is offered. I will speak to the governor myself. I am certain my father's name, God forbid that I need use it, has some merit even down here.

I just cannot for the life of me remember if I have done what they say I have done. If I can manage to live through out all this... I will then fetch my wife. Make me a home ... Virginia perhaps... and do what is right by her as best I can, if she will still have me after all this. And if she does not... well then perhaps tis for the best. " He fell silent for a long time before he turned onto his side, a way from the others. "I am weary of unfaithful lovers and uncaring wives. To hell with the lot of em."

[Capt. Sterling]

But by noon day's light, when Sterling finally decided to awake and was ordered back to bed, bruised feelings, along with wounded ego, were some what adjusted with the sleep he had managed.

Doctor's orders were obeyed for roughly three-quarters of an hour before he was dressed in trousers, shirt and banyan and up upon the quarter deck. He knew what watch it was and knew precisely the number of times the bell had been struck but he continued to glance at the watch in his pocket.

It would be hours before nightfall and there was naught that he could do until then but choose to pace for the duration or toss and turn in his bunk. The later was finally accepted but not by free will as Bosun Reiley planted himself in his captain's path and threatened to carry him back to his quarters and lash him to the bed. For a brief second, Sterling's temper flared, already kindled with the thought, some how Lilly McKinney was to blame for all he had gone through recently and if she had just married him in the first place, none of this would be happening, But his outburst directed at his bosun was soon quenched by the sharp pain in his head.

"I told ye to remain put, but ye never listen, do ye?" Rats commented with a wry smile.

Sterling only sighed, frustrated exhalation of breath predicted by them that knew him best. He turned and made his way down to his cabin, but not before grumbling low before Rats as he passed, "Ye feking bastard."

De Dogge, who had been standing at a distance speaking with Gunner Beach spun abruptly about on his heel. Dark brows knitted as the marine's eyes narrowed. "Wot? Wot did I do now?"

Rats' smile widened as he made way to follow the captain. Slapping De Dogge on the back as he passed, the marine captain still shrugging his shoulders and muttering "wot??"

[Ransom]

The late afternoon sun baked the docks, and the smell of dead fish, boat tar, and rotting fruit soaked the air. Ioan stood looking at the brig Sweet Temptation, trying to figure out how he could sneak on board. He knew the man from the Rakehell was watching him, but Ioan didn't care. He'd kill the little Italian bastard if he had to...anything, whatever it took, to get off this cursed island.

He decided to try the easiest route, so took a step closer, and hailed a nearby crewman. "Oi, mate, you taking on any more crewmen this voyage?"

The man shrugged, and kept to his task, but replied, "Have to talk to the quartermaster, ye would. But like as not, if ye got any skill, he'd take ye on." He pointed to a stern-faced man all dressed in black, sweat dripping from his chin, wilting the frills on his shirtfront. "That's him there. Mr. Preston."

"I thank ye," Ioan moved down the dock, closer to the stern of the ship, where Mr. Preston was inspecting a sheet of paper. "Mr. Preston, sir," Ioan called out. "Do ye need another hand aboard?"

The man looked up, obviously annoyed at being interrupted. "I've no shortage at the moment, but it doesn't hurt to have a few extra bodies. What skills have you?"

"I was first mate on my last vessel, sir. Been on the sea for some six years or more."

Mr. Preston gave Ioan a good lookover. "Why are you not still first mate?"

"Me and the Captain had a bit of a falling out. Besides, it's wrong for a man to have to work for a woman."

The man looked surprised. "Your captain was a woman? How extroidinary. Never heard the like. What was your bone of contention with her, besides her sex?"

Ioan prevaricated. "We just didn't hit it off, sir. So, I could really use the job, if you can take me on."

Mr. Preston mopped his brow with a limp handkerchief. "What is your name, sir?"

From behind Ioan, a deep voice answered Mr. Preston before Ioan could reply. "He be Ioan Dyffed, traitor and liar. You don want him on dat ship. He stab you in the dark, and try and take dis boat. Dat what he try on the Rakehell, den he knife her captain in da back. Dat why he and de captain don hit it off."

Despite the heat, a cold chill ran up Ioan's spine, as he turned to find Africa looming over him like a huge, black demon. The quartermaster of the Rakehell grinned at Ioan and said softly, " I tol you, I goin' to make corpse powder of your bones. You already a walking dead man."

[D.Patrick Burke]

"Now, what the deevil is that supposed tae mean?"

Devon started to make further comment of enigmatic characteristics when the soft sound of melodic humming drew first his focus, then person to roof's edge. Leaning forward with hands resting mini parapet's surface, he gazed upwards lane progression. Easy smile rolled his expression as eyes caught origin of sound wrapped in olive skirt and matching shawl. Sharp whistle followed by hail paused young woman's intent and she shaded her sight with delicate hand to better see.

"Katie, gerl! Are ye no' a fine sight to me ownself this grand day! An' where would ye be headed stirrin' hearts where e'er ye pass?"

"An' why would ye be wantin' to know, Devon Burke?" The smile that graced her features did nothing less than enhance what she had been blessed with in pale beauty.

Standing to full stature, Irish Son gave smallish shrug, "It seems be a shame, fer true, tha' a colleen such as yerself should be goin' anywheres unescorted. Why, a fella would near sell his soul to be seen with yerself on his own arm..." Crossing himself, he then held one palm up and out as if taking an oath.

Soft peal of feminine laughter rose to his hearing in response as young woman shook her head in amusement, "Yer a devilment, Devon Burke. A wee bit o' mischief set loose to the world. A tad early fer ye to be up an'na 'bouts to me tinkin'."

"Nay, gerl....Tis the trut' tha' I had a feelin' ye would be down this way so I t'ought I would be one to be waitin' here to watch fer ye to cross. Aye ye set me heart to racin', Katie."

She crossed her arms over chest, amusement still laying caress to poise, "Saint Peter will ne'er let ye up, bigh..."

"Such a tin' to say. Aye, I doen t'ink me ownself will recover from yer sayin's..." Devon leaned forward, again. " Come here to me, gerl an' let me prove to ye tha' I am a fine fella o' proper beings."

She waved him off, " I doen have time fer yer shannanies, now. Some o' us have to be to the Job so we can make sure there's food on'na table."

"Say tis no' so, lass." Smallish pout displaced smile briefly followed by exagerated sigh. "Well then, I follow where ye go...To the ends o' the Eart', if needs be....Bu' in this case, tis only to the pub....Such a journey, fer true, bu' fer yerself, I tink I can do it."

She said not another word in departure, only glanced over shoulder once as she continued forth and the echo of chime-like laughter played to Devon's hearing. Turning abruptly, he set all attention to Academic with mischievous intent surrounding youthful being.

"Tis a fact tha' tis a fine place yerself has...Bu' I know a place where the sights are as a bit o' heaven come to rest here on Eart'...." A knowing wink punctuated statement. "Come on wit' ye...I be tinkin' ye could use a change o' surrounds, Cara."

[Professor Angus Trilby]

Trilby listened to the exchange with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, and a heavy sigh. When Devon turned back to him, Trilby, at first, ignored the question, and said, "Ah, so ye hae turned mae patio into a courting field, hae ye? And which poor bonny lass are ye tormenting?"

Trilby peered over the half-wall, then called down to the retreating figure. "Ye hae mae pardon, Miss, for the oer-blandishments of this Irish imp. Take nae offense, for he kens nae better." All Trilby got in reply was the girls parting back and her laughter.

However, the offer of a trip to the tavern fell on very receptive ears. He smiled back at the young man who stood before him, a twinkle in his eyes. "But I must say, I hae seen precious little o' heaven in Port Royal, and I havena been to a tavern in many a month. So, since ye seem tae hae enough coin tae go a-courting, ye can buy me mae first tankard. Tis only fair, since ye been making mae fine port disappear quick enough, 'cracked' glasses or no."

So saying, Trilby retrieved his battered turban from the dog skeleton, shoved it on his head, and led the way downstairs. Devon, chuckling, followed behind him.

Cleopatra reclaimed the vacated cushioned seat nicely warmed by the guest's backside, curled herself within its patterned softness, and enjoyed the peace, quiet, and solitude with regal contentment.

[D.Patrick Burke]

It was not an overlong trek to make destination's placement just down from the loom of prison existance. Equine companion was entrusted into the keeping of nearby stable by way of youth loitering near pub door; coin pressed into eagerly accepting palm. Rough wooden porch conquered, Irish Son paused hand resting on iron latch; glance sidelong from beneath battered brim to Academic. From within, the sound of horsehair taunt to strings numbering four, called with mirthful invite; soon challenged by the higher shrill of Piper's retort.

Latch gave way, and as door swung inward, the pregnant loom of tobacco tickled the air without; pungent scent interwoven in varying shades of identifiable and not. Standing to one side of entrance, Devon made quick tally of all in attendance; waiting for Academic to enter the womb of Old Sod's displacement. Hailings danced back and forth with familliar warmth in greeting as dim interior was navigated and favored table procured near now sleeping hearth.

Clay pipe appeared from hidden sanctuary, soon joined by pouch of desired filling. Bowl was conjured to life and rings produced drifted slugishly to the realm of beams above. Musicians changed cadence to rolic of reel and local lovely paused in passage to whisper secrets in Younger's ear before passing on. Easy smile broadened as Irish eyes followed retreat, then turned to companion.

"Welcome to Valhalla, Cara. Name yer want..."