Port Royal, Jamaica

['Bastian Devareaux]

Hoof chorus broke the calm of early evening reverence to dusk requiem. One Rider keeping a furlong ahead of associates numbering two. Lather slid from heated flanks as if muscle were Glazier's making to be captured by torrid pace generated wind; cast forgotten to the Nocturnal Tropical Gods.

Bend was rounded at break neck pacing and divots offered to alter, in kind...spurs were applied again. A lazy rise meandered ahead, and at its' pinnacle, lumbering silhouette came into view. Knees tightened to the heave of mount's exertion and one hand caressed wooden stock just within reach then regained leather strap capture.

Bearing was changed a degree to Port, and as each neared on opposite coursings, first rider drew in, checking speed as something tickled the edges of instinct.

Wagon was circled...

Two of Three joined...

And the men at vehicle helm were regarded closely.

[Capt. Sterling]

"Good evening to you!" Reiley called in none too cheerful voice. "You will be so kind as to let us pass and be on our way. We are about a grim task that needs completing as quickly as possible."

['Bastian Devareaux]

Beggar Prince loosened the teathers of percariously moored hat, allowing it to slid down to shoulder support. Burke was last to join, eyeing the two on wooden plank,

"Now ain' this a bit o' it....Sailors havin' themselves a wee pleasure ride on fine eve like this...Tis a hair out o' yer normals I'd be one to say, fer true."

Devon shot a amused look to Leader, and mirth dissipated from his expression rapidly. Clearing throat, he adjusted seating and shot a sidelong glance to Dubois. Frenchman did not return favor.

[Capt. Sterling]

"Bite yer tongue lad," March snapped, then dipped his head, acknowledging gesture was cast toward brother in law. “Forgive me Mr. Devareaux, I do not mean to be short with yers, but I’ve no mind nor spirit for a foolish tongue at this present time."

['Bastian Devareaux]

Mount was brought closer to wagon's perch, fleeting look was given to wagon cargo enigma then back to addressor, "De rien, Monsieur...."

Gesture was made and comrades drew off a short distance, waiting. Dark eyes regarded helmsmen closely, " This is quite curious to me...You realize it is not overly safe to travel abroad in the deepening hours of shadow and light without escort. You are strangers in a strange land..."

Attention drifted to wagon's containment....

"There are Thieves about...."

[Capt. Sterling]

"Thank ye fer yer concern, Sir," March said. "But only ghouls would wish to run off with our goods, though none finer there be than what we carry. I do not wish to be the one to break such news to ye Sir, but, tis only sad tidings that I have to share with ye.”

March twisted in seat and repeated climb down to wagon bed. “Sorry I am to tell ye in such a fashion, but Captain Sterling has passed on this afternoon,” he whispered as covering was drawn back. “His wife has deserted him and left him to our keeping. She and yers have left the house, to go where, I know not. Now I will not delay ye any further, Sir. We shall make our ship well enough though none too well.” March replaced sheet, nodded again and returned to place beside Doctor, awaiting his dismissal.

['Bastian Devareaux]

Beggar Prince moved not a muscle, but for the tracking of Marsh's movement with visual pools. Things did not bode correctly in regard to the scene afore him, and what the Lieutenant offered as explination had sour taste to hearing's digestion. Pallid form was view then covered, but mount gave no indication norm to nature, that death lay in the wings. Equine was satisfied to follow the other's movement in idle curiosity, ears perking forward then swiviling.

The Lieutenant's claim of sibling's actions drew further suspicion; and bench companion was undoubtable uncomfortable. There was a guarded undertone to Sabastian's reply...

"It is a most unfortunate loss and I offer my most profound condolences.

I again caution that traveling abroad is a most risky proposition...."

Gesture was made, beckoning to those that hung in the near distance.

"I insist that you progress onward to The Port with aid..."

Tone gained hard edge of non-negotiation.

"It is the very least I can do...And no is not an acceptable answer..."

[Capt. Sterling]

"As ye like," March said with a slight shrug. "Tis a far better offer than his widow made."

['Bastian Devareaux]

A hue of bristling stiffened Dauphin's posture, and companions traded glances; one understanding the words, the other given evidence of body language.

"I dare to make contradiction to your claim, Monsieur....Your companion apears nervous as a caged cat and there must be raison for such. And I doubt quite highly, that my sister would choose action of said rash directives...Unless something gave her cause."

[Capt. Sterling]

"Of course Dr. Reiley is nervous, Sir. Ye would be too if ye were witness to a murder and could perchance be considered accomplice,” March shifted comfortably in his place, tone neither raising nor falling. “Captain Sterling had managed to shoot one of the neighboring overseers prior to his illness overtaking him. Dr. Reiley was with him at the time and has been, indeed, as nervous as a caged cat, since his managing to get the captain home to sick bed. He has been, as well, awake tending to the captain’s illness for several days now and has past the point of exhaustion. So, Mister Devareaux, Sir, we need to be getting on, so if ye would be so kind as to be telling yer mates to fall in with us, I would be most grateful. If we be sitting here much longer the captain will indeed begin to stink and then mayhaps yer horse would give ye the sign ye be looking for.” March shook his head. “Aye, I have been around my fair share of the creatures as a lad to know that not all them think or act alike to make them such reliable judges.”

['Bastian Devareaux]

Dauphin said nothing for a beat of time, then slowly standing in stirrup supports, doffed chapeau in lead-on gesture. He was not convinced, there lay much doubt that whispered to inner ear and years of carefully watching those in proximity had become honed second nature.

[Capt. Sterling]

Reiley clucked to Chestnut and once again, wagon moved on at a slow and steady pace. Gait was not needed to give way to increase as doctor and March once again fell into conversation. This time centered around Sterling's past exploits. With image of covered form still haunting best friend's thoughts, Andrew March did not have to pretend his feelings of loss.

[Capt. Sterling]

Ride continued onward without further delays. It was hours before boundary of town was crossed and, as if it had be previously arranged and agreed upon, entire Port town's normal chaos of wee hours had ceased all together. Replacing usual disturbances was an uncanny silence, blanketing the full area like a thick fog on a marshy coast. Even Le Cour’s duo cast questioning glances about as only sound of Chestnut’s iron shod feet echoed eerily from cobblestoned streets. Instead of breaking off as instructed and returning straight way to cottage, Dubois and Burke allowed horses to follow even closer to tail end of cart. Most of Port Royal suddenly found itself abed, hidden behind shuttered windows and locked doors.

“What the bloody …” Burke mumbled and in answer to unfinished question a shout rose up in challenge.

“Stand firm in the name of the King! Identify yourselves!”

Chestnut was reined in as armed soldiers from nearby Fort James, approached March who had taken his turn at long drive in.

“My name is Andrew March. I be First Lieutenant of the Archangel out of London. This here besides me is Doctor Jacob Reiley our ship’s surgeon. Them that ride behind are locals known as Burke and Dubois,” March replied as soldiers quickly milled about the cart. “Our captain John Sterling died this day and we be bringing him back to port to take him home to his father, Lord William Sterling, in England.”

“Died? How so?” a corporal asked. “There already has been foul deeds enough this day. A woman has been brutally attacked and an overseer has been killed and property gone missing,” he explained as sheet was rudely pulled back from Sterling’s body.

“Captain Sterling died from illness,” March said. Immediately, save for already suspicious corporal, soldiers fell back away from wagon and possible contamination.

“Has he now?” the corporal asked. “You will allow me to be the judge of that.”

“Are you a doctor then as well?” Reiley anxiously snapped.

“I know well enough a body that’s been done to death as already happened this day,” corporal announced, and yet, he himself did not handle Sterling’s form. Instead others of less fortunate rank were ordered to strip and inspect corpse.

“Surely this can be done aboard ship?” Reiley protested. “By the port’s Searchers.”

“I have my orders and can not leave my post,” the corporal replied. “You are more than welcome to invite them to second your opinion in the morning if you like.”

“Then, since you insist on accomplishing such a task in such an ungodly place, may I suggest a handkerchief?” doctor added as precaution. Again threat of disease caused hesitation and search became careless and hasty. Thankfully when no sign of deadly wound could be discovered, body was once again covered and name of ship recorded.

“And we shall be able, if necessary to locate you both there as well as…”head was nodded in direction of corpse. “Captain Sterling?”

“We plan to sail with first light,” March said.

“Highly unlikely,” the corporal stated and, saving March the need to ask as to why, he added, “The harbor is closed until further notice. No ships will be allowed to leave without clearance from the Colonel and the harbor master.”

[Dan Reid]

The Scotsman and the young lad entered the Three Crowns a short while later. Both men were dressed in the colors of Clan MacCraige and both wore claymores and dirks from the belts around there chests. The older of the two carried a large seabag across his shoulder.

"Where be Cap'n MacCraige," the older man asked the serving girl. The men were directed to the room were their captain sat with the deathly injured woman. The little dog gave a short bark as the men entered the room.

MacCraige looked up with a frown, "A bad piece o' work this Ewan. Ye be better at the healin' than I, see what ye ken do fer her." MacCraige stood and took the seabag from his first mate. "Thomas, I 'ave sent fer the doctor but he 'as yet ta get here. Find 'im and bring 'im straight away if ye please."

"Aye, aye cap'n" the lad said as he turned to leave.

"An Thomas, keep a wary eye out and a hand ta yer blade." he quickly described the man he deemed responsible for this crime to the lad and sent him on his way.

MacCraige opened the bag and took from it a tartan kilt, a black wig, and a large feathered bonnet. He quickly set about putting on the formalities of his rank. He eyed himself in the looking glass and saw staring back at him not the sunburned sea captain but the noble Scottish Laird of Clan MacCraige. He replaced the claymore on his waist and a long scottish dirk joined it there. He pulled from the bag two sterling plated flintlocks which he quickly loaded and slid under his belt. He then hung his powder and shot from his shoulder. Taking one final look in the mirror he turned back to his first mate and his injured friend.

"Well Ewan, ken ye 'elp her?" he asked his first mate.

"The wound be deep but clean Hamish, I believe ye found 'er in the nick o' time." he looked his captain up and down. "So it will be like this will it? Callin' out the clan ta help the injured and down trodden? Ye 'ave a soft heart Hamish, but I be glad ta serve ye."

"Aye Ewan, it will be like that. She be a good friend an' I will see her attacker brought ta justice either at the govners hand or me own. The lads, they all be ready?"

"Aye cap'n. The lads will be 'ere when ye call em. Tis lucky you are that ye crew yer ships with men o' yer own clan. The pistols be primed and the blades are sharp. Clan MacCraige will serve ye well, Laird MacCraige." the mate said with a sly smile.

"Mind yer manners and see ta the woman," MacCraige replied with the first smile he had in the last several hours.

[Cheeky Actress]

A gentle stir came from a once lifeless form. The pain engulfed her body entirely. The suddenly sensation of feeling cold took her by surprise. There was no memory of how she came to being there nor if it was day or night.

The light tone of whispering gathered in the corners of the dark shadows. Was she dead? Was she in hell? She tried to move but found that she could only stir lightly, hand and fingers only. When she tried to speak she found no voice, only the low sound of a moan.

Her breath now escaped her. It was too painful to draw a deep breath. Once again, the low whispers continued to float back and forth in the room.

[Lady Violet Cunningham]

...Lady Violet remained where she was and shut the door. "Why, Bertie, dear," she always called him Bertie when she wished to get his attention, for he loathed the nickname, "whatever has put you in so foul a temper, and why is that poor man cowering in the corner like a whipped dog?"

"I am not in a foul temper. I am incredulous. I am dumbfounded. I am enraged. I am—"

"Yes, yes, Albert, I can see that you are a trifle out of temper." Lady Violet walked to a side table and reached for a decanter. "Here, let me pour you some whiskey."

"I don't require any blasted whiskey. What I require are answers, and this pathetic excuse for a foreman," Albert gestured to the man still cowering in the corner, "has none to give me."

"What is the question, dear?" Lady Violet handed her husband a whiskey, then poured one for herself.

"What is the wha...?" He took the glass and drained it. "The qestions are, what happened to a family of slaves, and who killed the overseer, Mr. Doddle."

Lady Violet wrinkled her nose. "I never did like Mr. Doddle. He was a beastly man, so I can't say that I am sorry to hear of his demise."

Lord Cunningham sputtered. "Not sorry! My dear Violet, if the slaves killed him and then fled, what sort of thoughts do you think that will put into the minds of the rest of the cane workers? Neither one of us would be safe putting a foot out of doors."

"You are overreacting, Albert. We treat our slaves with the utmost civility. They do not starve, and if they are sick, we care for them. What possible reason could they have for killing us? No, I suspect Mr. Doddle did something odious, and paid the price for it." Lady Violet poured her husband another glass of whiskey. "The one you should be talking to is Mr. Kennedy. He hired Mr. Doddle, did he not?"

"And what of the family?" Lord Cunningham ranted on. "Two healthy adults and two girl childs. My property! Either stolen or run off." He downed the second whiskey. "Wouldn't surprise me if those blasted Devareauxs were hiding them. Land owners they might be, but they're still gypsies, when it comes down to it. Nefarious lot, you mark my words."

"Oh, Bertie, do shut up." Lady Violet drank down the last of her whiskey and with a clunk, set the heavy glass on the table. "The Devareauxs have no interest in our slaves, and have been quite cordial on the rare occations we have met. You are being rediculous."

"Well, rediculous or not, I have notified the authorities in town. No one damages or steals my property and gets away with it, Madame. No one!"

Lady Violet gave up trying to reason with her husband. She turned to the man in the corner. "Stop whimpering, sir, and tell me what you know."

[Dan Reid]

The little dog gave a start as he felt the hand twitch under him. MacCraige leaned over the prone form of Ms Lilly and heard a soft moan escape from her lips.

"Well that be a right good piece o' news. At least she still be with us." he said to his first mate.

"Ive done all I ken fer her, Hamish." the mate replied "tis now in God alone's hand. I don' be seein' how the doctor can do more for her til she be come around. Best we let her rest. I 'ave tended worse wounds an' seen them recover."

"Tis nothin more we ken do?" Hamish asked

"There be no froth from her back nor do I be hearin' no bubblin' sounds so the lung be not hit. We could seal th' wound wit' a hot poker, like we did in olden times. Only I 'ave seen that cause th' wound ta fester. Best we leave it alone fer now. When young Thomas returns I will send 'im for medicine if that blasted doctor 'as not been here."

Hamish could not stand the thought of branding the woman's flesh, she had suffered enough pain. "Do what ye ken fer her, Ewan. But leave off wit' the poker. I will be visitin' wit' the authorities ta see wha' they mean ta do abou' this. I be leavin' the dog, she took a fancy to 'im an' he might bring 'er some comfort. No one be enterin' this room 'cept for me and Thomas. See ta that, an' while Thomas be out gatherin' yer needs 'ave him send fer two o' the lads. 'Ave em leave their muskets fer now. We don' want no trouble wit' the garrison unless we 'ave to. Post one o them in the hallway an' the other in the common room.

"Aye, cap'n, I be doin' as ye ask. Watch yerself out there. We don' be knowin' what kinda hornet's nest ye have gotten us inta." the mate smiled.

"Watch over her, Ewan, she be a good lass. Mate, stay here" he said to the dog. The little dog lay back down with his head on Ms Lilly's chest as Laird Hamish MacCraige, a title he thought never to use again, strode from the room to find justice for his injured friend. :angry:

[Capt. Sterling]

More soldiers were passed en route to Archangel, who remained still moored to far end of wharf. Docks were patrolled as well and as wagon came to halt within walking distance to ship another interrogation commenced. March was patient as more questions were thrown at him but Dubois, already concerned for riding the extra distance gave lingering glance to Le Cour companion. But grim curiosity had gained upper hand where Irishman was concerned, and Devon Burke continued to stare at covered remains within wagon bed.

“What is it ami?” Dubois asked as last question was fired at ship’s officer.

Burke accomplished double take in partner’s direction. “What?” he whispered. But his attention was quickly returned and riveted to the scene that now played out before him. As soldiers finally departed, March climbed down from wagon’s perch. As the officer made his way to ship’s entry way, small snottie, recognized as one responsible for destroying bookstore’s window, slowly made his way across the gangplank. Burke could tell the young boy had been crying and now, even in dim light of lanterns burning, the lad looked pale and forlorn as he greeted his superior. Child’s eyes darted from March to bundle in back of wagon and back to face that towered over him. Only nod could be mustered in response to new orders and then the lad hurriedly made his way back to the brigantine. In a moment he returned followed by five seamen and Matthew Hazzards, sober in visage, appeared above at ship’s railing. Already black weepers were affixed to second lieutenant’s hat. A numbing silence fell over the great ship, as men on duty belayed their actions, tasks coming quietly to a halt, as five plus closest friend, claimed body from the cart and solemnly carried it home. Bosun’s mate brought whistle to lips as all crewmen watched, and all, save three, believed in their hearts that their captain was being piped aboard for the last time.

Doctor Reiley waited until a sixth man came to relieve him of horse and cart. Then bidding Dubois and Burke farewell, followed slowly after the others.

“Let us go,” Dubois said. “There is nothing left for us to see here.” He turned his own mount about and trotted off. Burke looked to companion, then cast one last glance at mournful ship, and others that had roamed the docks now to stand in respectful poses. Mind filled with thoughts of times he had made fun of Englishman, behind his back as well as to his face. Short hairs on far side of neck bristled, shiver along spine causing goose bumps to alight on fair Irish skin as Devon Burke hastily turned to follow after his own. He dared not ride back to Cottage in the dark, alone.

[Ransom]

I hadn't been in my cabin very long, before Africa was calling me up on deck again. "What now?"

He pointed to the docks. Ranks of soldiers trotted among the usual crowds. They inspected carts, wagons, and talked to people—who mostly shrugged their shoulders or shook their heads. So far it did not look like the ships at anchor were being boarded, but that could change. What, I wondered, had gotten the governor so riled up, he'd send out soldiers?

"Holy bloody hell," I muttered, thinking of our illicit cargo of powder and arms. I turned to Africa. "Call the other men. Nothing loud, but make it quick. Get this ship ready to sail, but act as if it's business as usual."

"The wind be not much. We not goin' anywhere in a hurry."

"I don't care, just get the Rakehell out of this damned harbor," I hissed. "Unless you fancy being hanged."

Within fifteen minutes, the Rakehell was slowly, ever so slowly, leaving the docks.

['Bastian Devareaux]

He had broken off from wagon and assigned escort, turning away from main road lay for the more wild terra further in. Thoughts nagged his conscience, insistant and unwilling to bend at bidding of ceasation. Mount was turned from cottage bearings to follow out of sight and parrallel to small party recently left.

When the Port was entered, senses rang waves of warning. Nothing was as it should be, nor as it had been upon departure a smattering of hours before. Mount was reined in and surround was inspected closely before forward progression was further taken. The silence was unsettling, not even the meanderings of local stray curs disrupted the heavy air. Mount was directed cautiously and reined in again as small party was brought to halt ahead.

Slash of crimson disturbed low lighting from local drinking establishment and Sabastian looked to where members of Le Cour sat in limbo while soldiers plyed duty's call. Nudge was given and course changed to byway, from behind, the sound of regiment passed and echo of boot echoed to his hearing.

Another left brought him the beginnings of quay and more movement drew his focus intently. Hastened step in multi render clattered cobbled lane, direction dictated to vessel in near distance. Sabastian focused intently, caressing the seagoer's form and realization struck.

Spurs dug deeply and mount bolted foward on path of interception....

Sternlanterns flickered and danced, yellowed fingers laying subtle touch to goldgilt wrought....

Rakehell

[Ransom]

It was the last rank of soldiers who turned to watch us go. Since we had made no scuttle and scury at our job, I did not think they would be interested enough to fire on us. As the gap between dock and ship widened, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then I saw the rider cross paths with the soldiers. I knew him instantly, and felt my heart sink to my feet. With sudden fear, I prayed he would ride past the men. We were safe away, there was nothing more he could do. If I called out, it would only draw more attention to us.

Pounding my fist on the rail, I whispered, "Ride on, Chere, ride on."

['Bastian Devareaux]

Regiment neared, ship drew away with cumbersome sway and mount's pace was slowed to trot. Beggar Prince surveyed the situation at hand, rounding the beginning of percession and drew up to halt. Veiled glance was shot to Rakehell's lumbering before Lieutenant in charge was addressed. Careful ear was lent to relay of information and slight of hand produced coin for officer's keeping.

Reginment moved onward and Rider waited for their passing. Mount was turned and glance was fleeted to blink of sternlamp glow. Near the sternpost, he thought he saw her watching in the dim and resisted acknowledging.

As adrenalin slowed to calmer pacing, mount was urged into motion again; ship's form kept in peripheral until structures clouded clear view...

[Capt. Sterling]

“Back to work lads,” March said addressing the knot of crewmen that had assembled outside the captain’s quarters. “There still be much to do before we can bring the Captain back home to his daughter. Certain I am that we will be receiving permission to sail as soon as the Harbourmaster knows we have a sad journey ahead of us and not a thing to hide. And know now that the captain has made arrangements to keep the Angel afloat and in working order, so ye no be needing to be afraid fer yer livelihoods.” March stood his ground and answered yet more questions from loyal crew until shout went up from larboard. He joined fellow sailor at railing, watching the Rakehell try and make a break for open sea.

“Foolish,” he grumbled under his breath as he looked at closest fort. A blaze with beacon’s fires, Fort James was already on guard and ready to strike. If indeed Rakehell could make it past without wind to aid her, Fort Charles was next in line to fight. Until the time was right and clearance to sail was granted, the Archangel would sit and wait. Just to keep captain under wraps until then.

Sterling had been carried to rest within quarters. Due to captain’s illness, ship’s carpenter and his small crew had constructed new bunk to ease any discomforts at March‘s orders. Body now stretched out upon finished product, brandy cask nearby in case ruse needed to progress to most desperate of measures. Reiley and old steward were also locked within as doctor began to bring patient back to the living.

[Ransom]

With relief, I saw Sebastian rein in, speak to one of the guards, then turn his horse away.

I spoke to Africa,"Keep her steady, but moving at a crawl. I don't want it to look like we're running from anyone. Loiter her a bit in the bay, as if we've no care in the world, but keep her crawling toward Kingston. And keep an eye on the forts. One hit from them, and we're all going to meet our maker. Hopefully, it will take awhile before someone realizes we're not authorized to leave, but if they fire a shot over our bow, we've no choice but to heave to."

It was just something such as this that had worried me all along. Had it not been for the blasted hurricane, this damnable cargo would be long gone. Not for the first time, I cursed the day I'd seen that French ship. I hoped whatever influence Sebastian's clan seemed to have would hold good a little longer. One more night, that's all we needed. Just one more night.

[Capt. Sterling]

March continued vigilant gaze along docks. Soldiers had been posted at wharf’s end and city band had joined in wandering the streets. Most trusted of men were placed on Archangel’s watch and gangplank was withdrawn so only contact from ship to town remained solely with mooring lines. First officer did not care to find out more information regarding the woman who had been assaulted…knowing all too well the cause of the overseer’s demise worried him enough that he might ask the wrong person. No one would set foot ashore again, except when necessary for making sail to England and surely anything regarding that could easily wait for the approaching morn.

Poor wife had finally cried herself to sleep and March did not wish to disturb her until he could do so with better news. So he had chosen instead to linger on watch for the rest of the evening.

As ghostly silence continued to hang over Archangel, he felt it time to finally relax and breathed the night air deeply. Pipe was freed from hat band and packed with sweet smelling Scottish blend. As he began to enjoy his smoke, Reiley exited from captain’s cabin.

Doctor made bee line for first officer and joined him at ship’s railing. March nodded his hello then rested upon elbows, pipe gripped between teeth as smoke continued subtle upward drift.

“And?” March said softly.

“Awake,” Reiley answered. “Not feeling well. I would like to try and keep him from the laudanum for a few days… it won’t be easy I fear.”

“Tell him did ye?” March asked, relieved to hear doctor’s news.

“Aye. He does not remember anything especially about the ride to the house. For a moment he seemed almost amused by my little ploy,” Reiley added, allowing himself a small grin. “But he is none too pleased by what he has done.”

“And how did he react to what she has done?” March continued.

“She?” Reiley asked, the word sticking in his throat.

“Ye told him did ye not?” March said, gaining full height.

“I thought you said you would see to that?” Reiley said, reminding first officer of earlier discussion.

March drew as deeply on pipe as he had only minutes ago on sea air. “All right then. Best he hears it from a friend any way.”