Port Royal, Jamaica

[Aurore Devareaux]

Sean Roberts watched after Devon's departure of the room, waiting for the latch to click into place before continuing. "So wha' is it that is up for grabs?"

Sabastian leaned back and streached, " He did not say and it is a woman that wishes to bargin."

The other chuckled, " A lass?...Prob'ly stolen "family" jewels."

"He did not say, trying to play semi-evasive. But, we shall see what is to be seen with sunset."

"Mabee the lass is a fine bit o' it....might make up fer the offering o' silver spoons an'na like." Roberts punctuated his self amusement with a deep roll of laughter.

"That might very well be the case...Perhaps the view will make up for what ever small thing is on the block, non?"

Sabastian smiled mischievously then refocused on ledger content.

[Ransom]

I walked casually along the streets of Port Royal, my final destination the Rakehell. But my mind was clouded by the forthcoming meeting with the mysterious Devareax's. All my instincts told me to avoid the meeting. Instincts I had learned to trust. Not that I hadn't conducted shady business dealings before—it was how I made a living, more or less. None, however, had involved seemingly nefarius booksellers who had violin cases chucked through their window, secretive Gypsies, and sunset meeting in old churches. It was all too melodramatic, as if the set up was meant to intimidate before any meeting took place.

But I needed to unload my cargo before word of what it was leaked out. It was too perilous to attempt a voyage to the Colonies now. Word of my "aqusition" had probably already reached Boston, its intended destination, and my contact in that city would undoubtedly refuse to deal.

Inwardly, I cursed the day I'd overtaken that French brig, wondering why she'd dropped her colors so fast. When I discovered her hold was full of gunpowder, I understood her Captain's fear of being fired on. Now most of that cargo of powder, arms, and shot lay sleeping quietly in the hold of the Rakehell. It did nothing to ease my mind that, until I could safely unload, my ship was a floating bomb.

As I passed the Three Crowns I saw The Actress step down from a coach and enter the inn. I studiously avoided that side of the street. I had been embroiled in enough of her adventures, and the lace handerchief in my strong box was no longer of any value, other than to wipe my brow in style.

[CrazyCholeBlack]

"Mistress !" he murmured

Jane had only closed her eyes for a moment it seemed before the voice jerked her awake. She sat up suddenly, toppling gracelessly from her uncomfortable perch. Her head swam with the remains of the night. Once properly on her feet she found Strikers side quickly.

“Captain?” She questioned noting his pain-furrowed brow, “Careful now. Tis not pretty back there.”

Her slender hand slipped behind his shoulder, the light touch helping him sit slightly on the soft bedding. She winced as his face shifted, jaw set against the still throbbing wound. He let out a stiff breath as the motion was completed. Jane bit her own lip in concern. She had tended a few injuries on the Anna Rae when hands were short but this felt different somehow. Her mind wandered to the last sick bed she sat beside, the ashen face of her lover Joseph as the life faded from him. The memory brought the sting of tears to her jade eyes.

Jane turned from Striker’s side, not wanting him to see the emotion. She raised a full pitcher from the nearby table, the flow of watered wine filling two sturdy mugs. The drink was handed to the captain with a delicate gesture. He drank carefully, piercing blue eyes following her every move. Jane could feel herself blush under his watchful stare. Even in his injured state the spark behind his eyes was evident. She sipped at the other mug, the weak alcohol soothing her dry throat.

“Um, tha other gentleman?” Jane’s question faltered. A hand absently rubbed the back of her stiff neck. She wasn’t sure what to think of the other man. She sent a fleeting glance to over her shoulder to where Ioan stood stiffly in the dancing shadows of the cabin. If it had not been for his invaluable assistance, she doubted they would have made it back to La Maligna. He had even offered to stay by the door, should more help be necessary. Yet, Jane couldn’t shake the feeling that Ioan wasn’t someone to be trusted. Perhaps she was being overly cautious but given the recent altercation it felt like the proper response. She turned back to Striker, the concern evident in her face.

[Captain Striker]

"I wish to thank ye , sir. Can I have the name of our savior ? " Striker said while looking at the man half hidden by the shaddows.

The man came closer towards the bed where Striker was sitting with some difficulties.

"you can call me Ioan " the man uttered.

Striker noticed that the man's shirt was coloured by dried blood so he said "Sir , if you want a clean shirt you will find one in the closet " . "Aye that would be great " as the man turned around stripes made out dried blood were visible on his back. They became even more appearent when Ioan took off his shirt to change into one of Striker's. No doubt the weals were made by a ninetailed cat.

[Capt. Sterling]

Sterling rose to his feet. He knew nothing of the man he was about to meet and his cryptic message for "his ears alone" often made him wonder if this was either some poor practicle joke or if he were making his way, headlong into some form of trap.

As his habit, he began to pace back and forth across the room. He needed no quarter deck for such actions, he had developed the knack long before... and infuriated his father with it. He felt awkward, not wishing to look about the room for concern of being caught and thought to be prying. He wished Aurore would hurry back and yet, now she was amongst her own, and he did not want to draw her away from friends, if she desired to spend time with them. His pacing increased until he finally admitted to himself he was nervous about the upcoming meeting and wished it was over and done with. He reached to the band of his hat and untucked a small clay pipe, packed the bowl and looked about for a taper... then thought it best to take his smoke outside despite the weather. He made his way into the shop again to explain himself to Aurore.

[Aurore Devareaux]

Aurore paused in conversation with Burke and Stockton as the backroom door opened. Calico placed mid morning bathing practices on hold to watch Sterling emerge and cross over to where trio were standing. She smiled warmly at his approach, veiling her observation of his movement to assure that he was not in as much pain as before.

Taking his arm as he neared, Aurore inclined her chin to indicate second floor, "Monsieur Roberts, the gentleman that brought your youngman to the cottage, is going to ride to the harbour with your request, Amour."

[Capt. Sterling]

"Aye is that right then? Thank ye for your assistance Mistress," Sterling replied in front of the others. "I thought I might take a walk down by the docks and have a pipe. I could do with a smoke. I would ask ye to join me but I fear the weather is still a bit too harsh for such as yourself. I shall return in a bit and then irregardless, we shall make our way to meet with Captain Striker."

[Ransom]

Ioan winced as the dried blood on his back stuck to the fabric of his shirt as he removed it. The fresh shirt soon covered the mess, and Ioan faced the couple. The woman's eyes watched him with distrust, and he couldn't blame her. The evening had been a strange one.

He nodded to the Captain. "Your lady friend here did a good job on your Spanish souvineer. A few days rest and you should be up and about, with nothing more than a nice new scar to add to your collection."

Ioan took another goblet from the tray and poured himself some wine, since no one had offered. He drank down half, and smiled. Even watered, it was good. Then he turned back to the bedridden man. "My name is Ioan. I am recently of the Rakehell, but her Captain and I had a falling out, so I am...taking a bit of shore leave." He raised the goblet to his host, and downed the rest of the wine, and winked. "I might be wrong, but it appears the former owners of your vessel want it back."

[Aurore Devareaux]

Burke stiffled a laugh in regard to Aurore's fragility, he had been with Le Cour for three years and knew well otherwise. Stockton's face was a portrait of unreadable measures; Calico had returned to bathing.

Her eyes never left Sterling's as she addressed Devon, "Monsieur Burke...Would you be so kind as to ask Monsuier Childermass to accompany Capitaine Sterling."

"Aye, Mistress." The Irishman turned sharply to gain the stairwell and floor above.

[Capt. Sterling]

Sterling looked down at Aurore.

"Surely Mr. March will do well enough, do ye not agree?"

[Aurore Devareaux]

"If that is what you wish..." Aurore turned and called up to the second floor, causing pause to Burke's traverse. He returned to lower stair, where she quietly belayed request and apologised for troubling him.

[Capt. Sterling]

Next time, stand to my blind side, Sterling thought to himself eyeing Burke's strangled chortle.

He then watched Aurore, she was being far too obliging… mayhaps he thought these rogues appealed to her more than he? And when he heard Christophe’s laughter trip down the stairs, he believed he knew all too well why she had not insisted on joining him or ask that he just remain in the shop and smoke as the others did.

“My apologies as well,” he remarked. “Mr. March if you please.” He bent over one of the lamps and drew in on his pipe until a thick gray cloud moved ghostlike about his head. He straightened, the wisps caressing him, making his pale face specter like in appearance. Content that the tobacco had taken a good start, he bowed and left the shop, his first lieutenant finally falling in step alongside his old friend.

[Andrew March]

Andrew March pulled the neck of his coat up closer about him. The rain had already soaked through his high collar and cravat.

“Ah, beggin yer pardon, Captain, but… could ye not be tendin to this another time, perhaps?” March asked even though the thought of a Spanish cigar seemed appetizing at the moment. Sterling continued to move ahead, his first lieutenant keeping pace but none too eager to do so. “I mean, we will be wet enough, if this keeps up, when we are off to see Captain Striker. Twas nice having a bit of a rest at the book shop, sir.”

And still there was no reply.

Finally, March halted, grabbing Sterling by the arm and forcing him to stop. Sterling looked down at March’s hand upon his sleeve, his eyes narrowing a bit before he glanced across into his first lieutenant’s face.

“Damn it John, something is troubling you and do not be telling me no… that I am imagining things.”

[Aurore Devareaux]

Aurore watched their departure, slightly confused by Sterling's mood change. She glanced briefly to Henri, Devon and Monsieur Hazzards then excused herself.

At mid-point of stair's percarious incline, the pungent scent of patchouli harkened to Aurore's sense of smell. From beyond wooden portal, the muffled sound of laughter and male voices drifted back to tickle her hearing. Soft rap was laid upon oaken surface as courtasy, then she stepped through into the dim lighting that never wavered in character whether day or night.

Her eyes adjusted to the low glow dispersed throught as navigational beacons to the near blind. Sabastian stood and gave playful bow to sibling's arrival then poured from crystal decanter and offered its' bounty as she neared.

[Capt. Sterling]

Sterling's first desire was to berate his officer... how dare he question him? How dare he even touch him! Instead he followed his second course, drew on his pipe and shrugged his shoulders, something he instantly regretted.

Allowing the pain to settle before he continued he looked at the man next time... no longer a crew member... now his dearest and oldest friend.

"I do not know," he sighed.

[Aurore Devareaux]

Beggar Prince scrutinzed Aurore's expression momentarily, then asked that the others in proxy excuse them briefly. As door closed with latch falling into proper placement Sabastian brought her to him, enfolding kindred in protective embrace that had been given willingly throughout the years.

[Andrew March]

“Sure ye do… tisn’t Striker. I know ye too well fer that. If need be, ye’d play with the likes of him, like a cat torments a mouse before she finally has the decency to kill it. Tis that girl ye’ve had on yer arm since ye fell ill after the memorial service fer the Oxford. And now ye bloody well plan to make her yer wife? Yer serious about that, I know ye too well fer in that regard too. Do ye not think yer pace is too quick?”

March asked.

Sterling looked down, the pipe smoldering lightly. “Judge me not Andrew… and just how many days did ye actually spend courting Skittles before ye married her? Look at the two of ye. I have never seen man and wife as happy and content as ye both.”

“This girl is from a different world John,” March persisted, waving his arm back toward the direction of the book shop.

“And once again, are ye and Mistress March any more different than Mistress Devareaux and myself?” Sterling countered.

“Aye Skittles and I started out speaking different languages, but, Good God, John, this girl’s people are not from yer world at all!”

Sterling stiffened then. Hoping to knock the spent ash from his pipe, he slammed the bowl against the palm of his hand. With a crack the end of the pipe flew off. The captain glared across at March. “And what world would that be?” he asked, chucking the broken stem out into the street.

[Aurore Devareaux]

"You look very tierd, Petit." Sabastian whispered. Aurore began to protest otherwise, but was cut off by tsk. "Non, Petit...You are very clever in how you hide such things, but you have never been able to fool me overmuch in anything."

Releasing her slowly, he took one of Aurore's hands in his own and lead her to lone sofa hidden in the shadows. Sitting down at the far end, he gave a small tug of still captive hand.

"Lay down, Renard...Allow me to watch over while you rest, as I used to do in Navarre..."

[Capt. Sterling]

March watched as Sterling turned and began walking once more. He jogged several steps to catch up.

"Leave me be!" Sterling growled, holding his good hand aloft.

"No, ye know I cannot do that," March replied. Sterling halted and turned on his heel to face March.

"I said leave me be, or so help me, I will do something thou will regret far longer than I shall!"

March took a step backward. "John listen to yerself," Andrew said.

"I am! Mayhaps thou should do so as well," Sterling interjected. He turned again and stormed off... "DO NOT FOLLOW ME!" he shouted and then turned the corner.

[Aurore Devareaux]

Aurore laid her head in brother's keeping, nimble fingers loosened the tongs that bound russet mane, soft sooth of low voice playing to her hearing.

"Remember the first time we made Paris, Petit? What a sight we must have been. The clamour and the throng of humanity that choked the very air out of the narrow byways? Remember how even the scant air that seemed to exist was heavy with the scent of fresh bread above the oaffal...."

Her eyelids grew heavy as Sabastian recounted memories, then finally gave in to full closure.

[Capt. Sterling]

Sterling continued to careen his way through the streets and alleys until he realized he was completely lost. He only stopped then and paused to listen for the sounds of the harbour. Such sounds were distinct, a language all its own, only those like him knew, understood and appreciated. It did not take him long to center in on its all too familiar music. He quickly redirected his steps, turned the corner and barreled into another man. He gasped, then staggered, trying to keep himself upright was a struggle but somehow he managed.

“My apologies,” he stammered through clenched teeth, his right hand pressed hard against the exit wound Reiley had so carefully craved beneath his arm.

“Fool!” The other man uttered under his breath.

“I beg yer pardon?” Sterling said, still breathing heavy from the pain.

“What is that?” the man asked.

“I said I begged yer pardon,” Sterling repeated.

“My pardon, Sir? Surely you are mistaken , Sir? Tis you who should be…”

“I already apologized,” Sterling interrupted. He rolled his eyes and decided it best to ignore any further debate. “Good day to ye then,” he muttered and made his way past the other man but stopped as he heard the distinct sound of a small sword being drawn from it sheath.

“If indeed an apology was extended I did not hear it. I demand, Sir, that you do so again… or are you a coward as well?”

It was all it took to set Sterling off. With a groan he shook the sling off his left arm, then turned, his own sword ready to engage.

[Aurore Devareaux]

Childermass had watched the two men leave Bookstore way station and followed at a distance out of curiosity. After the exchange of words and parting of ways, Seth continued to shadow Sterling. The wake he followed in seemed to have no true destination, a rag tag bearing of no logical makings.

The Captain rounded corner up ahead, soon followed the words of aggitated nature. Seth hung back, glancing around structure edge and just out of view. Verbose was direct, body language even more so and without further debate, scarred war horse moved into the square calling to the aggitator.

"Now, now...Are ye not a fine man of honour to lay challenge to another in weakened state."

"Move on!" aggresor ordered with authoritive airs."

"Well ye see...tis not to me liking to do such. Not in me better interest...Ye might say."

Aggressor turned on heel, brandishing exposed steel with threat. Childermass chuckled wryly, "So that's how ye be wantin' it...So be it ye jacknape son o' a whore."

It was a disturbing look of cool calm that lay over Childermass' scarred features as pretender charged. No movement was made until last second, the blade was ducked with quick sidestep. Attacker careened into near structure wall then turned to charge blindly again.

Two words were uttered with contempt as aggersor near proximity and Seth dogded again, but this time grabbing the other's head with a quick twisting motion....

"Poor choice..."

As assailant's body hit lane surface, Childermass glanced to Sterling momentarily before turning to retrace his steps.

"Mayhaps ye should be followin' me back to the Bookseller's...."

[Capt. Sterling]

"Poor choice..."

As assailant's body hit lane surface, Childermass glanced to Sterling momentarily before turning to retrace his steps.

Sterling stared at the body at Childermass's feet until the other man turned and spoke.

"Mayhaps ye should be followin' me back to the Bookseller's..."

"Damnation!" Sterling muttered, then thought it best to hold his tongue. Did everyone in Port Royal think him a helpless child or worse a complete fool?

He sheathed his weapon then rubbed his eyes with his good hand.

"Are ye all right?" Childermass called back at him.

Sterling shook his head as he fell into step several paces behind his rescuer. "No," he answered.

"What tis it then?" Childermass asked, not even bothering to look behind him.

"I do not know," Sterling said.

For a second Childermass thought perhaps he should turn back and see what could possibly be amiss. The man's wounds were certainly healing well enough and yet were still in a very dangerous state... had he not himself, prescribed rest? It was clearly evident he had been ignored by both when he had given instruction. So, instead he chose to wait and continued walking. He had a hunch... and sure enough...

"Tell me about Aurore," he heard Sterling call after him. "Please..."

Childermass turned then and looked the captain once over. Throughly soaked to the bone from dripping hat feathers to muddied buckled shoes, Childermass never thought to see again, someone who looked as lost as he surely felt.

[Andrew March]

Matthew Hazzards’ eyes widened a bit as the first officer reentered the book seller‘s. Closing a copy of The Seaman’s Secrets, he carefully replaced it in the empty spot amongst the other books. He waited, with just a brief glance over his shoulder at the others in the shop, before he leaned into March and whispered.

“Where is the Captain?”

March bristled slightly. “God only knows!”

Hazzards leaned back and rocked forward onto his toes before settling back, this time both eyebrows arched upward in surprise. Twas not the answer he had expected.

“Oh,” he replied. Then rocked forward and back again.

“Gunner Beach?”

“Is hopefully still following… and them …” March said with a nod of his head at the members of Le Cour. “As well.”

“Did ye have a word with him?” Hazzards asked next.

“I tried,” March replied with a shrug.

“He plans to go through with it then?”

“Aye,” March answered. “I believe he will.”

“Thought as much. Head over heels for this lass then?”

“Aye.”

“Glad of it I am,” Mr. Hazzards said, rocking forward once more. “Good for the Captain. He shall get his bearings with this lass soon enough. Until then…”

“… God help the rest of us,” replied Mr. March.

[Captain Striker]

He raised the goblet to his host, and downed the rest of the wine, and winked. "I might be wrong, but it appears the former owners of your vessel want it back."

Striker did not like the arrogant way Ioan was behaving .

"There are no former owners left to claim anything . And Sir, I might warn you it could be a hazard to speak ones mind in company of people one don't ..

Striker was abrupt disturbted by a knock on the door and by it opening.

It was Hr. Lauritzsen his 1st lieutenant . " Goddag Hr. Kaptajn der bud til dig fra Kaptajn Sterling , en Hr Roberts" he said . Striker answered him " Send ham ind" .

In came a young man that gave the Captain a nod. He then looked at Ioan and Jane.

Striker looked at Ioan and told him " If you please excuse us , sir. We have some urgent business to attend " . Ioan looked at Striker and then at Roberts " Very well " he said and took a sip from the goblet before going out of the cabin.

"The lady is to be trusted" Striker said to Roberts while waiting for his message from Sterling.