Port Royal, Jamaica

[Jack Roberts]

“LAND HO!!” shouts crewman.

The whole crew runs up from the decks and checks the sighting. The capt’n crawls out of his cabin and looks to Ritter.

“Boatswain, I believe you know what need to happen.”

“Aye Captain.” Answers Ritter

As we closed in on the port we were hailed by one the harbor master’s men. We convince him that all is well aboard and come bearing fine clothes and linens to trade and sell.

The eve is coming and we are about a rush trying to get the ship docked. The task seems so more strenuous then it should. I guess with little more than half the crew we’re used to, that is to be expected.

All is well and the sun is setting, the sky is ablaze with fiery crimsons and reds, time for me to explore, I haven’t been on this island since for some time.

“I wonder if Fox and Bull is still here” I thinks to meself.

Well I’m off to find a nice meal and a good ale.

Walking down the streets of this town a flood of memories come back. I spent most of my childhood, well what childhood I did have, in Port Royal. Scraping by, trying to just survive. Until that fateful day, “Thank god, for Ritter.” I mumbled to myself. If it wasn’t for him I would have probably died in these very streets.

Just up ahead the Fox and Bull is there, by the looks of it doesn’t seem to busy. I push open the door and just a few people here and there. I walk up to barkeep and ask,

“You have any rooms available?”

“Aye, I might. For the right price.”

“Will this get me there for a week?” I said as I tossed a passed a few silver bulls over the bar.

“Aye, I think this will and more. What be your pleasure tonight?”

“Right now, a good hot meal and one of your nappiest ales.”

“Right away.” Answered the barkeep as he ran to the kitchen.

I find a table to prop up my feet, lower my hat over my brow, and eagerly await my vittles.

[Ransom]

Ioan stormed through the clogged streets of Port Royal, shoving away those unlucky enough to block his way. His anger boiled like hot tar. The whore, he raged, how dare she treat him so? He felt the stinging wound in his neck as if it were a brand. Had it been anyone else, he would have killed them on the spot. He might kill her still, when the time was ripe. But not until he was in a better position to take the Rakehell for himself. However, he would not forget this day. She would pay for the mark she'd left on his neck. Oh yes, by God, she would pay.

It was only then that he remembered the letter to Morgan, still in his pocket.

[Capt. Sterling]

Lilly shutters with disgust. “Squirrels! She mutters in a harsh tone. “Horrid little beasts. I hate them; with their little twitchy noses and their big fluffy tails!”

Sterling, Symms and even the good doctor watched in amazement, Lilly's current rant, then looked at each other. Sterling could only shrug his shoulders. The discussion of black coat was quickly forgotten as he shed his brown one and then waistcoat for something less warm.

"Mayhaps, Mistress we should lock thee up now?" Sterling chuckled as he took a light linen waistcoat from Symms and placed his arms into the sleeves. "I think a meal would suffice for now. Mr. Symms if you would be so kind as to send word along to Master and Mistress March, I would like for them to join us."

"Aye Captain," Symms said both head and form bowing in acknowledgment. "Mr. March he will be right glad to have ye back, sir. With the killing of some poor lass over at The Shipp, the watch wasn't nary so keen as to be lookin out fer ye. Tis glad we all be that the Dr. and .... " he gave a reluctant toss of his head toward the actress. "and her... found ye. The watch have their hands full now lookin fer a murderer."

"Aye I would think they would. We shall join in the chase presently as well. I am acquainted with the man who was her lover. I would like to help him if I might. And," Sterling said pointing to his red coat. "If tis indeed Master Killingsworth to blame, then the sooner we have his head on a plate, the sooner Mistress McKinney can be free to wander about the Port."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Tropical breeze stirred the weight of velvet window coverings, lufting mommentarily then regaining stregnth. Humidity had raised its' ugly head and fought to force claim against zepher's meager attempt at cooling. The chamber remained as it had with his departure, Megan had appeared at doorway's gape with intention of clearing the once heavily ladden table. But, seeing Aurore still within and seemingly occupied with inner thinkings, the young girl slipped back the way she had come; a shadow blending with shadow's in dim hallway.

Aurore had regained the comfort of before occupied chair, her thoughts wandering with daydream coursings. The sound of footfall approach was lost to her senses as Sabastian paused at chamber stoop. He waited patiently a space of minutes to no avail, finally applying light rap on portal frame.

Younger sibling roused from musings with smallish start, eyes darting like disturbed sparrow to suddenly gain bearing and clarity. She looked upon his vissage and felt such pull of heartstrings to the change overtaken his usual being. Wolfish features so familliar with the dance of mischievous carriage were mantled with lackluster mask and seemed to have aged ten years. Sabastian reached a hand invitingly to her and with her obey of silent wish, brother encircled her with loving embrace.

"I know that look.." he whispered to near ear. "I approve of your choice and hope to no ends that my instincts do not play me for fool. Just be careful, Renard...A heart for all of its' stregnth is truly a very fragile thing."

They remained intertwined in silent understanding for some time, before he gently let her go and moved back a pace, "I must leave for now. Christophe will remain here to oversee and assure that you are looked after."

Aurore moved to embrace him tightly once more, speaking sooth and warning, " Do not do anything rash..."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The reverberation of shod hoof disrupted the harmonious lull of water flow travelling under wooden suspension. The old mill lay near yet far, an embodiment of peaceful solitude raising from muddied banks. Sabastian reined in, as movement caught his eye just to the left of weathered structure. The Matron of Millstone was bent to task over an object that was unclear from his view. But as if sixth sense of another presence stirred her, Abbi stood straight her meager heigth; turning to focus on the bridge and traverser.

Sabastian knew her aged eyes would be squinched in effort to bring clarity to rider, and he eased the Noir forward to cut some of the distance. A smile of recognition lit her features, like sun breaking cloud cover and she raised a hand in hail. Standing in stirrup support, Beggar Prince removed chapeau with elegant sweep, "Bonjour, Mademoiselle."

He could see her smile spread further to his titling; they both knew that she was far beyond such youthful address.

"You are a scamp, Mister Devareaux." Her tone was prodding in a endearing way.

Sabastian regained his seating, "Oui, Mademoiselle...So you are fond of telling me."

A silence fell betwixt Youth and Mother briefly then she called out again,

"I am so sorry."

Sabastian digested the verbose and its' sincerity, giving a nod to their existance before replying, "Merci...As am I."

The Noir was given nudge to girth with nothing more said, finishing the trek of plank path then increasing pace to follow dirt track beyond. He cast a look over shoulder to Abbi as bend was rounded; contemplating her situation. There was no doubt of her independence, but there was always a ghost of concern that played his mind in her regard. Years ago, when Sabastian and siblings had arrived on Jamaica's offer of terra firma, Abagail Crane had offered unselfish aid to their plight. She had never judged; never shown cruelty or given harsh wordings; only kindness without tithe. Perhaps the time had come to repay her actions. Perhaps a companion to share the hours and daily tasks; to drive away solitude and monotony...

Up ahead the path of one became two. Bearing left lit by bright glare of Jamaican Soliel; to the right, cool foliage invitation and way to The Port. Sabastian reigned in once more, regarding the copse and what he knew lay possibly concealed in shadowed greenery. Concern for well being never stirred his thought process, but he considered an offering to footpad spirits whoes presence may linger.

The Noir was spurred to burst of speed, and as the immediate area traded bright to dark, to bright again; the ring of coin splay landing on packed dirt fell upon hidden ears in his wake.

[Rateye]

With a deafening roar, another volley of cannon fire rocked the ship.

“Hold him steady, damn you!” cursed Reiley, as the young seaman continued to wreath in pain. It was obvious the ball had shattered the lad’s left forearm. But with so many men already dead, every able-bodied man was desperately needed and there was no time for a proper suture to be made.

Slamming the leather-covered bite stick into the lad’s mouth, and then pushing the boy down onto the table with his left elbow, Reiley brought the red-hot cautery down into the lad’s open wound. The unmistakable smell of burning flesh filled the air as the young man screamed in pain.

Quickly wrapping the smoldering wound, Reiley forced a mixture of opium and rum down the young man’s throat.

“Look at me!” demanded Reiley, as he grabbed the boy by his chin. “Which hand do you favor?” But the young man was obviously disoriented.

Shaking the sense into the lad, the boy gestured toward Reiley, he favored his right hand.

“Listen to me Boy! Barked Reiley, as he helped the lad to his feet. “You’re going to be fine, by God! It hurts worse than it is! Now you need to get topside and join the fight! Do you hear me boy! Get back into the fight!”

Watching the young man grab his rifle and start up the stairs, Reiley turned to start work on the next wounded crewman.

After a quick assessment, it was obvious the man was dead. Then quickly moving from casualty to casualty it was painfully obvious that all of them were already lost.

“All these men are dead, by God!” Screamed Riley, as he began to foam at the mouth. “Why the hell do you bringing me men that are already dead!”

Suddenly with a crash, it felt as if the ship came to a halt.

“All hands! All hands!” Screamed someone from the quarterdeck. “We’re being boarded!”

Diving underneath his bench, Reiley stood and tossed his young assistant a pistol. Then quickly securing his sword, Reiley grabbed the blunderbuss from out of his footlocker.

“Time to earn you pay lad! You only get one shot, so make it count!” Nodded Reiley, as he hurried the young assistant toward the sound of the fighting.

“You’ll also be needing this!” Reiley insisted, as he pulled a blade from a dead seaman’s grip. “Keep moving boy-o!”

But as the sound of hurried feet echoed down the hall, Reiley began to feel as if his world was beginning to slow down. His steps were suddenly labored and the sounds of battle were unheard.

As three armed men reached the bottom of the stairs in front of him, Reiley quickly brought the blunderbuss to his shoulder and fired. As the recoil of the weapon dug into his shoulder, Reiley watched the men collapse. Then turning to check the welfare of his assistant, Reiley watched as the young man screamed an unheard warning.

“Behind you!” Were the young lad’s slow and unmistakable words, as Reiley turned to find a pistol barrel pointed directly into his midsection.

As the fatal weapon went off and he began to fall backwards, all Reiley could think about was the inevitable fate of which his unknown assistant would face.

Waking with a start, Reiley found he had fallen into a much-needed sleep in the room that was made available for him before dinner. However the pounding on the door was enough to ensure his immediate reply.

"I'm awake!" Responded Reiley, as he sat up from the daybed.

"You'll want to be up! The meal will be ready soon." warned the old stewart, as he walked away.

He could almost still smell the burning flesh and gunpowder. He had been a while since he had such vibrant dreams. However, what was more disturbing was he had never been in any such engagement, nor tended to the number of wounded he had dreamed about....

Perhaps?

[Robert B. Darnly]

In the late hour of evening as he sat in his study writing letters to several of his associates. His hands ached with each pen stroke. The cold air of autumn was creeping in and White Hall soon would be a cold and lonely place once again. He looked up at the clock the across the way on the mantel, then at the window that looked out on Old London Towne. To him, London itself was not empty...but lonely. It offered nothing for him now. His courtesan had run off and the Empress knew nothing of her whereabouts. He thought only of Lilly’s smile and mischievous nature that he grew so fond of. As he reached for the ink, he accidentally knocked over the bottle. Started by his foolishness, he quickly grabbed the blotter and called for his maid servant. A gentle wrapping was heard at the door. As the door opened the young maid-servant to announce and escort his long awaited guest into the room.

In the shadows of the study the elegant figure stood in front of Squire Darnly’s desk and waited for his acknowledgement. “The hour is late. I just assumed you were not coming.” His tone was not a happy one. She looked down at ink stained desk as the maid servant quickly made good of it. “I promised I would. I am here. What would you have me do?” He quickly looked up at this mysterious creature. “That’s enough…go now. Bring us back some sherry.” He muttered at the servant girl as he motioned her to leave the mess. “Do you know of me?” The elegant figure nodded slowly. “Good. Then you know what I am capable of. I am on a mission of sorts. I’ve sent a man by the name of Killingsworth to Port Royal some months back to obtain a ‘lost item of great value’. Mistress Lilly McKinney has been in hiding for some time, well…until I received word from Reginald Killingsworth that she was in the company of one, John H. Sterling.

“Captain John Sterling?” Said the elegant figure looking surprised at Darnly. “The Captain of the Archangel? Is he still alive?” Looking some what surprised.

“Oi, yes, still alive…but not much of a man left, I gather. His title stripped from him, I hear he’s poor as a church mouse!” He smiled at the thought. “Oh, but where was I? Yes, Killingsworth is a worthy employee and some would say advisory, but he, like most of his kind have a flaw or two. His is that he can become a pompous ass. He lets his emotions rule him. Thus, in doing so, he looses sight of the true purpose…a weakness I cannot afford. He cannot be trusted…fully. That is why I made inquires about …you.” Robert Darnly rested himself against the side of his desk and placed his hands together, almost in prayer, extending the two index fingers to his lips. “I’ve heard many things about you and your work. Tell me, are they true?”

The elegant figure smiled slyly. “If you’ve heard such things from the living…they are all lies.” Robert Darnly chuckled to himself. Perhaps this creature would be the one who would be able to claim what was his and bring her back. “Name your price.” He said as he collected the contract from a leather binder, tucked under a wooded box. “Squire Darnly, it is bad luck to talk of such things.” Again Darnly chuckled. “You are so superstitious...you and your kind!” She took several steps closer as he turned the paperwork about to her. “Here…make your mark. I shall see to it that a carriage will take you to the Harbor first thing tomorrow morning.” As she took the pen in her hand here deep blue eyes cast their way up to his. “I am happy to be doing business with you, Squire Darnly. And it will be a pleasure to see Captain Sterling again.” She lent over the parchment on in her most elegant of hand, she signed her name….Tess.

[Ransom]

My cabin aboard the Rakehell was stuffy and hot, yet I stayed below, pondering what to do with my bit of evidence. I held it in my hand, staring at the monogram, trying to remember where I'd seen the fop before.

I thought back to my two seasons in London, my mother dragging me around to all the right parties and theaters, praying I would lure and catch a husband. I attracted several, who nibbled the bait, but none of them took the hook. They had problems with bait that bit back. I was vastly relieved when my mother, in a fit of despair, left the city and returned to Thornbures. Next season I was shipped off to my Aunt in Italy, where it had been hoped a rich foreigner would overlook my venomous nature. Yet, I was sure, at either one of those mindless London parties or plays... Plays!

I fingered the fine lace of the handkerchief and smiled. R K—Reginald Killingsworth. Last seen at the theater, sitting in grand estate next to the aging countess who had funded his latest play. Sipping wine, eating sweetmeats, and dabbing at his mouth, no doubt with this very handkerchief.

I unlocked my strongbox and added the bit of bloodied lace to its contents, then re-locked it. If Mistress McKinna was in such fear of the man, then the contents of my strongbox might be of use to her. And if it was of use to her, might it not mean a bit of the shiny for me?

It shouldn't be hard to find the woman. Mayhem seemed to follow her wherever she went. Gossip in Port Royal, I suspected, was better than the English Royal Post. I'd find her, and then we would discuss business. Hopefully to our mutual satisfaction.

[Capt. Sterling]

Dinner had gone well. Introductions were made regarding the Archangel’s new surgeon, Dr. Reiley. Symms, and the Marches were all equally thankful to see Sterling back amongst them none too worse for wear. As Lilly and Skittles settled into quiet conversation amongst themselves, Reiley and Symms went to the bar for ales and the Captain and first officer fell into reporting the current condition of the ‘Angel and to her repairs. With the meal past, and most in attendance weary from worry and lack of sleep, the brief burst of excitement of having found lost captain, only lasted for so long.

It did not take the usual time before Sterling and March were both well into their cups and Skittles, the ever present voice of reason, declared it time to retire. Reiley, still in need of lodgings, made his way home, assisting Mistress March with the steering of her husband whilst Mr. Symms supported an equally unsteady master. Lilly did her best to assist as well but was rewarded with finding Mr. Jones, gunner’s mate, awaiting her removal to her new rooms for safe keeping , his watch being the first. Symms was all to happy to see her locked in her rooms, her evil look reserved for the old steward actually made for him, the perfect end to a perfect day.

Sterling, exhausted and drunk, was allowed to fall into bed, Symms seeing to his comfort as best he could. On the morrow, Sterling would be ill again, although this time due to drink not mosquitoes….

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Sabastian sat on the corner of well used bed, watching quietly as Soiled Dove flitted from one area of the small room to another. In the late afternoon's dying light, one would have never guessed her to be the age she truly was; which climbed easily ten years above his own.

Isabella paused her movements to cast a bitter sweet smile Sabastian's direction before moving to secured armoir crowding rear wall. A small key was produced and locks withdrawn. From within, an eloborate legnth of delicate silk, lace and petit pearls were brought forth for view. He gained his feet as the dress was taken to the bed and laid with reverance upon old quilt surface.

The Venician dame moved without comment closer to where he now stood. Sabastian's dark eyes, so much like younger kindred, roved over delicate adornment. They remained that way, side by side for some time; the only change disturbing the surround was a single tear that traced wolfish features to sharp jawline. Isabella wrapped one comforting arm around his waist, resting mocha tinctured cheek against near shoulder.

"It was to be a gift overshadowing all before..."

She nodded silent agreement, for it seemed not the momment to do anything more. Gently, the dress was gathered and prepared for its' short journey. As Isabella finished with treasure's protective shrouding, she voiced quiet query, "You think it was intentional?"

Sabastian's expression lost any softness that grief had rendered an instant before; his tone interwoven with assuredness and condemnation, "Yes..."

Again, the silent nod as she handed him the bundle. Isabelle considered briefly, "Perhaps you should speak to the Gov...."

His response was rapid and finalizing in judgement, "Non. This I shall handle personally."

Beggar Prince placed a kiss on Isabelle's forehead, saying nothing more as he departed for the company of waiting mount below.

[Cheeky Actress]

Lilly heard the door lock behind her as she stood in the middle of the room. With a melancholy sigh, she investigated her surroundings. The room was too small for her liking and was furnished sparingly too. All the creature comforts that she had become a custom to were greatly lacking here. There were no fine sheets, no sweet wash-water to bath in, and the room itself lacked a woman’s touch. She sighed again and walked to the window. Pulling back the curtain she looked down at the street below. Strange that she had traveled thousands of miles and still she was a prisoner. She watched the sun set over the western ocean and soon took to striking a candle for light. She searched to room for a book, but there were none to be found. “You there!” She shouted from the other side of the locked door. The guard turned his eye to the door. “Aye? What do you want?” His tone was less than happy. “There is nothing in here for me to read. Do see if the Captain has something for me. Perhaps one of the books upon his desk? I shall die of boredom in here if I have nothing to entertain myself!” There was no reply from the other side. “Here, do you here me?” “I hear you just fine…as does the rest of the Inn. My orders were to keep you where you are and the Captain said nothing about entertaining you!” She felt her temper flair. “Listen to me you silly little…I am to be kept here for my safety and I am not to be treated as some..some prisoner!” All she could hear was laughter on the other side….and all the guard could hear were the sounds of Lilly trashing the room. Everything that wasn’t nailed down was being thrown against the door. In a panic, the guard opened the door, only to receive a blow by a pillow. “Now listen to me! I will not be treated poorly!” She yelled at the guard. “Now…find me something to read…preferably a comedy!” With that the guard gathered his composer and existed the room, once again locking the door behind him.

[Reginald Killingsworth]

Killingsworth made great efforts to hide after the death of the bar maid. He knew that the authorities would make they’re way to the inn and start asking everyone who lodged there questions. And these were questions that he did not wish to answer. “Why?” He muttered to himself as he sipped on his bottle of port outside one of the seedy tankard bars near the harbor. The bar maid had pushed him too far and his temper got the best of him. He closed his eyes again. The image of the bar maid now was replaced by the smiling face of Lilly McKinney. She was a rare creature he thought to himself. Robert Darnly had surely invested wisely in this one. She captured London’s heart as well as those who courted her. He remembered his first meeting with her. She was elegant, charming, and somewhat condescending when he made the mistake of trying to speak too quickly. The moment skipped over and over in his mind. It was a sour image. Lilly’s face now reeled back in mocking laughter. “Fool!” She shouted at him and the laughter continued. His eyes flashed open and in a bout of heated anger he threw the bottle of port to the ground. The small crowd which gathered in the bar just looked at him briefly with curious eyes, then continued with their own affairs.

Killingsworth was not worried that he would be recognized, at least, not a right away. Left behind in his room at the inn were his frock coat, best wig, and his walking stick. He was now dressed as a misguided middlin. No coat, just a short coat from a second hand shop down the street from the inn. He wore no wig, his hair grown about 2 inches since he had his hair shaved and his clean face now covered in two days worth of stubble. He had hit bottom. He knew that he had to start looking for Mistress Lilly but where? It was then a young man approached him with another bottle of wine. “Here’s another if you wish it. But be so kind as to not brake them…we can always reuse them, mate!” The young boy placed the bottle on the table. Killingsworth looked up and smiled. “Thank you.” Was all he could mutter. In the low mulling of the crowd Killingsworth heard several men in conversation. “And it looks like we are stuck here until Captain Sterling says otherwise…” Killingsworth’s head wrenched about towards the men at the other side of the bar. “Pray you…do tell…” said Killingsworth. “Did you ssss-ssay Captain Ss-ss-sterling?” The men looked at each other for a moment. “Yes, of course. We be part of his crew, aboard the Archangel. We await his command after our ship be fitted.” Killingsworth could feel his heart pound with excitement. “Where can I find the good Captain?”

[Capt. Sterling]

She was well into her fifth month of her second pregnancy. She sat in the garden with their first child, other relations beaming about both mother and child. He watched her through the window of a small house he had been able to purchase just outside of Lewes. He had taken her there, finally uprooting her from her hiding in Jamaica, and after she had consented to marry him. She, indeed, seemed happy with her choice. He could not even begin to put his happiness into words. He had watched enough and exited the house to join her. As always her smile brightened when he came to be by her side. Gathering up the small fair haired toddler, Godfather carried giggling child inside for lunch as mother rose to greet her husband. Sterling thought he would burst with pride as he leaned down to kiss her then gently took her up in his arms, she protesting and giggling as uncontrollably as the young one. He turned and began carrying her into lunch as well, finally rewarded for his efforts with a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered as they crossed the threshold of their home. He waited for her to reply in kind and when she didn’t he looked down at a face suddenly filled with pain. “Put me down,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Something is wrong!”

He did as she asked, fear seizing him like the cold on winter’s morn when one climbs from bed to tend a dying fire. “What is it?” he asked but she could only grasp at her belly. She screamed as she fell to her knees.

Sterling sat up from his disturbed sleep and instantly regretted it. The pain that slammed through his head made him gasp as he realized it was Symms at his side trying to lower him back down in the bed.

“Ye be dreamin sir. Tis nothing…” the old man whispered. He placed a wet rag upon the captain’s brow. “Lay easy sir, too much celebrating with Mr. March last night. Don’t know why I be ever leaving ye two alone with the drink.”

“A dream?” Sterling groaned.

“Aye sir. How’s yer head?” the old man asked.

Sterling could only groan again in response.

“Thought as much. Yer a terror to yerself when yer on land sir,” the steward added with a disapproving frown. “But at least yer awake. Tis a question Mr. Jones has fer ye sir. The actress wishes a book to read. Been ripping her lodgings apart out of boredom she be. Been makin a ruckus for over three hours now. Tis a miracle even ye could sleep through it. A right witch she be, ifin ye ask me.”

Sterling raised the corner of the rag covering his good eye. “No one has, ye old goat. And ye best not be using such a ‘title’ regarding even Lilly. God only knows what sort of authorities there be in this port. I do not want her being hauled off for witchcraft and ye best remind her that a scold’s bridle may be tucked in the watch man’s pocket if she continues to make a fuss! Bloody hell, there be a copy of The Seamans Secrets in my trunk… tell her to read that! For, by all tis…” he bit his tongue and winced as his voice rose to loudly. “If I must get off my back and tend to her noise, she’ll be sorry indeed!”

[Ransom]

It took a mere half an hour to find out where the actress was holed up. I heard of her return, along with that of Captain Sterling. After a few more questions, I learned she was under vertual lock and key, and creating a bedlam of noise. With a smile I approached her place of lodging.

I took the stairs two at a time, but when I reached her door I discovered it to be guarded. A man stood in my path, his brow lowered, a pistol pointed at my chest. Yet I could tell he was distracted by shouting and the sound of breaking crockery coming from the room behind him.

I made a face in the door's direction, as if in sympathy with the poor man's delema. "Bored is she? Well, I may be able to help you."

He cocked the pistol.

"No. No need for that. You needn't glare at me as if I were the devil incarnate. I'm not here to kidnap, run-through, or shoot Mistress McKinna, although I think, at this point, someone ought to strangle her. And as even a wretch like yourself can see I'm a woman, I don't think you need worry about assault of an indelicate nature. I wish merely to talk to the lady."

When the guard still seemed reluctant to let me pass, I shouted at the door, "Miss McKinna, it's Ransom. You'll remember me from that little fracas at the Shipp Tavern last night. At that time, in your own unique way, you requested my help. I think I may now be of some service to you in that regard. What say we talk a little? I'm bound to say, it will be much more advantageous to you than smashing what little furniture remains.

I gave the puzzled guard a wink, and waited.

[Ransom]

Ioan was still too angry to stay on board the Rakehell once he had sent Africa off to guard the cannon. What he wanted was drink. A lot of drink. Enough to put out the fire that stil raged within him after the Captain's ill treatment.

Without paying too much attention, he stormed into the first tavern he came to, paid for a bottle of rum, and threw himself into a chair. After two swallows of the raw, cheap liquor, Ioan looked around.

He was in a dockside dive, full of drunk sailors and one obvious stranger with a closely shaved head. When a few of the sailors let it be known they were from the Archangel, the stranger became quite interested. It amused Ioan to hear the man's lisping question. But it also angered him. It was clear the man was no dockside worker or common sailor. He might not be wearing silks and velvets, but his voice and mannerisms gave him away for the rich nob he most assuredly was. Slumming it with the lower classes, Ioan thought with contempt. As if a change of clothes could make him one of us.

Ioan drank more rum and watched the imposter, his own suspicious nature wodering just what or from whom the man was trying to hide.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Franklin approached the rear area of Common room with cautious step; senses reaching outward to test area as if sounding near unseen reefhead. Never would he admit to any of Le Cour's company, that the request handed to him made for uncomfortable stir within the reaches of his soul. This establishment was known for the patronage it kept; so much so, that even local authorities prefered turn blind eye to its' existance than to madden denizines to waspish frenzies. Here in cess pool of Port Royal underworld was the man Sabastian had sent him to seek. A ragged old tom cat whose scarred vissage could tell tales in itself without voicing, not that any cared to prod for where said character marks were procured or how.

A tattered and overused woman of indeterminable age cursed lone thief for standing in the way of her current directional travel. Rough verbose a reflection of Common's content and she made no qualms about pushing aggressively past with baleful glare. He moved onward to the splintered legnth of planking that served as Barkeep's land and holdings. Man on the job intentionally ignored Franklin's presence, it mattered not to him what the large man's designs or desires were.

A glint of coin appeared on stained surface, but only for a fraction of second. The Barman persisted in ignoring current company, far more interested in what now lay in grubby palm. Pocketing the offering, two beady eyes stared with contempt upon Franklin's being and realizing that the intruder did not seem to be leaving quickly enough, proffered prodding encouragement, "Bugger off, ye blag..."

The final word was snuffed with tight grip about its' means of passage. With lightning speed, the barman's throat was grasped tightly in large paw, emanciated form dragged over makeshift surface and beady eyes thrown wide as possible to meet with Franklin's own. Crude arrogance departed tiny sights to be replaced with something kindred to fear.

Franklin smiled good naturedly as the other gasped for breath. Reaching into shirt's concealment, medallion was withdrawn to spin on heavy chain support. The barman watched talisman pirouette as it slowed to halt; gaunt features loosing what color was left at sigil recognition. Franklin allowed reality to set in fully before releasing his grip with violent shove.

Crashing contact of meager body wieght striking flimsy shelving behind barely brought notice of those in the Common's care. Onion bottles dropped with disruption, plummeting downward to strike flooring; offering their contents to thirsty dirt consumption. The Barman stayed where he landed, ignoring the loss of watered down elixrs that ebbed out in immediate proxy; small rodent eyes intent on the Other.

The good natured smile widened upon Franklin's features, "Seems be tha' you could use a lesson in manners..."

The Barman flinched.

"Tis a good t'ing tha' I have more impor'ant matters to be tendin' to. Now if ye were a bit wiser than ye look....An' tha' may be askin' too much....Ye would inform Mister Childermass tha' I have come callin'."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

With the sun's departure and moon's cresting, the pyre gained nightly rule. Mood was of more subdued flavorings in light of morning's news. Reels and jig were played now and then, but the overall progress of dark hours passing was orchastrated by more somber tune. Voicings that flitted the proximity were kept to reverant low, the usual bawdiness placed in check.

Aurore lay comfortably in weathered hammock embrace, one leg trailing over giving edge. Smallish wafts of breeze stirred palm fonds above, barely decernable as they froliced so far above fire's red orange hues. Her mind was a hive of activity, an epitome of emotional tides all pulling for their day in court. She contemplated matters of buisness that lay unattended, Sabastian giving instruction on departure that she was to stay put unless he sent word otherwise.

She tried to convince herself that the restlessness harrying normally fine tuned senses were all due to recent upheavals concerning Molly; the invasion of tresspassers; duties not tended to and concern for her siblings...But no, that was not it at all and on some level very unfamilliar to her, Aurore knew what the real cause was.

Shifting to more comfortable position, her thoughts drifted back to the true foundation of current manner. A smile tickled the corners of Aurore's mouth as she recalled the morning now long passed. How fast time fleeted then and how sluggish it had become since. Angels and demons once again whispered to inner hearing, and once again were ignored. Dark eyes focused on moon above and she mused privately if he perchance looked upon its' pale face at the same moment. There lie an emptiness within her that was not recognized as having been felt before and its existance did well to stoke already aggitated being.

On the far side of fire's border, Christophe sat down near Delaney and began carefully tuning an aged lute. Long fingers caressed delicate strings, rousing the old instrument from hibernation. Intricate pattern of Provencial ballad disturbed the near stillness of evening's reign; bringing silent nods of approval from gathered company. From opposit side of elemental ring, the soft trill of fife joined in accompniment; furthering the richness and depth.

Aurore sat up, recalling the unsung words that made song whole; words that spoke of pure love and moonlit trysts. She gazed across fire's lick and for a brief momment Christophe's eyes met her own, then quickly moved away. Bare feet found dirt surface and the hammock's encompasment was deserted as she looked about the Faithful until finding who was sought.

Jason looked up from whispered conversation as Aurore came near.

"Are you going into the Port with morning's light?"

"Aye, mistress."

"I will have a small package and a comunique' that need be delivered to The Three Crownes when you depart."

The youngster's features gave no betrayal to what his private thoughts might be; he only smiled with a slight bob of head, " Aye."

She thanked him while turning away, leaving company's keep for stone walls in the near distance. From cupboard's hold, various ingredients were procured and bundled, Aurore moved on to private chamber above. Atop writting desk, two sheets of parchment were laid. On one, careful instructions were given to the usage of what lay in bundle's grasp, the combination of herbs used to staunch fever and allow rest...On the second, just one simple line of sentiment.

Vous me manquez....A.

[Capt. Sterling]

I wish merely to talk to the lady."

When the guard still seemed reluctant to let me pass, I shouted at the door, "Miss McKinna, it's Ransom. You'll remember me from that little fracas at the Shipp Tavern last night. At that time, in your own unique way, you requested my help. I think I may now be of some service to you in that regard. What say we talk a little? I'm bound to say, it will be much more advantageous to you than smashing what little furniture remains.

I gave the puzzled guard a wink, and waited.

Awake, his head already pounding, Sterling tried to fall back to sleep, but Symms' constant fussing and the noise from down the hall only added more agravation to an already loathsome condition. Sterling sat up and tossed back the covers, cringing at his efforts and cursing himself for not being more thoughtful in regard to his discomfort.

"What tis it sir?" Symms asked hurrying to be of assistance.

"I am going out, " Sterling replied wanting some fresh air and a chance to think now that sleep was just a wishful ideal. He bowed over as he stood, heels of his palms pressed to his eyes. "Give me my clothes and a drink."

"But..." Symms quickly bit his tongue as one good green eye fixed on him, a warning flashing silently, to tread carefully at the moment. "Aye sir. Do be careful though."

When he had finished dressing, revolver in pocket and glass of port downed to dull the pain, Sterling made his way, gingerly, out into the hall. He cast a glance toward Lilly's new abode and saw Jones and a young person in conversation.

"Oi, Mr. Jones, tis all well?" Sterling asked, slowly making his way down the hall.

Jones straightened a bit, relaxing with cocked pistol. "This person," he explained, eyeing the young woman in man's garb, "wishes to see Mistress McKinney."

"Does .... she... now?" Sterling asked, also looking over the person as he came closer. "And what would ye like with Mistress McKinney then?"

[Cheeky Actress]

I gave the puzzled guard a wink, and waited.

With several calls of Lilly’s name, the crashing came to a halt. The sound of footsteps then could be heard approaching the door. “Ransom?” The tone was one of surprise. “You would be the last person I expect at my chamber door. Come now, open this door at once!” From the other side she could hear the jiggling of keys then the latch of the door striking against metal. The door slowly opened to a warning from the guard. “Make no mistake Mistress. If you try and dash, so help me God I shall make you…” Lilly stood back from the door in protest. “Fool! Why should I run? What good would it do? I wouldn’t risk the good Captain’s wrath?!" She said as she quickly realized that the Captain stood there in the shadows. "And besides…” She said looking Ransom up and down. “This kind…soul, came all this way and went through all this trouble to meet with me. Be a good boy and fetch us something to drink?” Lilly pulled away with the door and extended her hand to Ransom. “Come sit…I do not bite.” Ransom gave her a concerned look then looked over at the Captain. “A joke…and a poor one at that…sorry.” The Captain replied. As Lilly showed her the only chair in the room, Lilly took a seat upon the bed. “Now, do tell me why you risked coming back and visiting me?”

[Capt. Sterling]

Sterling continued to hang back in the hallway a bit as the actress's door was finally unlocked. As Lilly asked her keeper to fetch her and her guest something to drink, Sterling interceded.

"Belay that Mr. Jones. Until yer watch is over, stay in yer place ye will and Mr. Symms will do all the fetch and carrying that be needed. Do I make myself understood?" Sterling asked, although this last question he put forth looking not to the gunner but to the actress. He then took his hat and bowed. "Ladies," he said quietly. "I shall take my leave, but Mr. Jones shall not, under any circumstances. I shall inform Mr. Symms that ye have need of him." He looked to the gunner. "No matter what she tells ye, do NOT leave yer post. I know I can trust ye Mr. Jones. Do not, I tell ye, do not trust Mistress McKinney. I hope to be back in an hour or two. Keep the door open a crack Mr. Jones," Sterling added, once more fixing his gaze upon the actress, hoping to make himself all too clear.

[Cheeky Actress]

Lilly looked towards the door at the Captain and Mr. Jones. Her hurtful glance did little to move him. She had managed to put herself and those she loved in danger. With a deep sigh, she replied. "God's Speed, Captain. Perhaps when you return I may have a much needed conversation with you?" She waited for his reply, but he said nothing and made a low bow to the two women in the small room.

[Ransom]

Jones straightened a bit, relaxing with cocked pistol.  "This person," he explained, eyeing the young woman in man's garb, "wishes to see Mistress McKinney."

"Does .... she... now?" Sterling asked, also looking over the person as he came closer.  "And what would ye like with Mistress McKinney then?"

I watched Sterling approach, just as the door to the room opened. I gave the obviously hung-over captain a polite bow.

"I would have a word with your guest, sir. I mean no harm to her person."

He appeared distracted in his mind, and barely nodded in my direction.

Mistress McKinney motioned toward a chair as Sterling gave orders to the guard to remain on duty. I was surprised at his departure, and could tell Mistress Mckinney was saddened that he had not remained. There was no mistaking there was some bond between the two. How it would affect the outcome of our discussion, I wasn't sure.

I picked my way through the broken furniture, and sat on the chair she offered. The lady made herself comfortable on the bed.

"Mistress, the other night you made it clear you were in some kind of peril from the fop lanquishing at the Shipp. I know the man to be a Mr. Killingworth, a playwrite of dubious character. If you could bring yourself to confide in me, tell me the nature of your peril, I might have a way for you to escape from under his perfumed thumb. " I gave the actress a conspiratorial smile. "Of course, I would want some compensation, but I assure you, I possess an item of priceless value. An item that would make Mr. Killingsworth think twice before he accosts you in any way again, or ever. Are you interested?"

[Capt. Sterling]

" Keep the door open a crack Mr. Jones," Sterling added, once more fixing his gaze upon the actress, hoping to make himself all too clear.

Sterling made his way down the stairs and quickly out the front door. He breathed a bit easier once outside and began making his way down the street. The night in Jamaica was nearly as warm as the day, the slight difference in temperature hardly noticable, the only saving grace, an occasional breeze of sea air.

For a short span of time he wondered about the young woman who had come to call upon Lilly. From her choice of clothing he assumed that perchance she was another actress intent on meeting someone of fame from the London stage. Obviously she had made her way in a hurry to see the famous actress. Well, he thought, if she kept Lilly quiet, calm and entertained, then all the better. He continued on his walk, the noise of a tavern further on ahead becoming louder with each forward step. He decided another drink was necessary, his head still pounding ... something was needed to dull the pain further until he either could forget it or pass out and not deal with it until the morning. As he closed on the establishment, now crowded with patrons that actually spilled out into the street, some older woman crashed into him. He could only laugh to himself as she apologized profusely for her carelessness. He knew she had lifted his wallet when she had collided with him, empty and worn, the leather itself not worth the pickpocket's effort. Well the joke was on her, Sterling thought as he entered the tavern, pushing his way to the bar.

[Rateye]

After helping return the drunkin Master and the good Mistress March , Reiley was cautiously making his way back to the home of the good surgeon, Noah Easterly. He had not forgotten the generous offer, nor the continual barrage of discussion which flowed from the gent's open tankard. However, after the frenzied adventure and the physical strain and difficulties experienced, perhaps some medical attention would be well recieved.

"Where have you been, my boy?" Wondered Easterly, as he helped Reiley into the house.

Easterly was clad in a very ornate nightshirt with an equally hideous nightcap.

"Tis a long story my friend." groaned Reiley, "Perhaps you would allow me the potium for a moment..."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Sabastian had finally come to roost within the simple structure occupied by the Shea clan. It was a tennant house, like so many others, and nothing much over the vissage of utilitarian. Never the less, the few personal belongings that occupied space within sparse dwelling, gave a trace of hominess and the Shea's nature of warmth made it more so. To say it was an improvement over domocile of first arrival to the island would have been an understatement of grand proportions.

The Shea's had numbered five when leaving shores of the Auld Sod, but the journey over had delt them unkind hand in a series of events. Foul weather had plagued brig transport after two days of blue water sail. Promises made of proper accommodations proved untrue and the Sheas were herded below decks to hold section surround along with others of their kind. Unclean, cramped and constantly damp area became a breeding ground for sickness and death. Rodent residents became a sought after delicacy when proposed meal rations proved to be falsehood, as well.

And so the trials of hellish manner had gone on. Molly's mother had been the first to succumb to the hold's pestilence. She had managed two months into the passage before passing one storm ridden night into the peace she had never known in life. Molly's brother Colm, a strapping lad of nine and ten years age at journey's onset, had made taunting remarks of protest with mother's loss. As that week's time moved forward, the lad's Irish nature and poignant statements fell on wrong ears and a belaying pin ceased any further disturbances. Then they were three and now it seemed, that Fate had not seen the Shea sacrifices to be tithe paid in full. Once again dispatching Dark Rider and Pale Horse into their company to take sweet Rose from the vine too soon.

Sabastian kept silent vigil near the carefully laid out body once radiating such fire and devotion. A chorus of candle lumination gently stroked pale still features, playing the opalecent surfaces of small pearl interuptions on delicate silk shroud. The Wake had proceeded as tradition dictated, this was the first phase.

Mourners had paid their dues, the haunting sounds of keening and crying had long since ceased in these hours of the night. It was well after Midnight, some where bordering the the darkest and the beginings of grey approach. The rich scents of snuff, tobbacco and brandy still hung heavy in air's grasp; ghosts of earlier events.

Soon enough, Morning would make her presence known and with that, tradition would take center stage again in full force. Sabastian leaned stiffly forward on nondecript bench, dark eyes traveling over the form that had given him triumphant joy and now had traded posts for that of even greater sorrow. So tied up within private thoughts, that the soft pad of footstep never roused his normally fine honed senses. Never gave warning to the near standing of youngest remaining Shea.

A small hand lit on right shoulder; subtle echo of Molly's features and form waited without announcement for his acknowledgment. Sabastian's words were just above whisper, his center never wavering from heart's loss.

"You should be sleeping, moineau delicat..."

"An' I coul' be sayin' the same o' yerself," Niamh returned, equally as soft.

"Someone has to stay with her..."

"Aye, den we will be attendin' together." Her tone showing steadfast resolve.

Sabastian gave no further argument, just moved over to allow a place for her to rest. Gaining some form of comfortable seating on hard plank surface, Niahm rested smallish milk tinctured hand over his larger, darker one.