Port Royal, Jamaica

['Bastian Devareaux]

Sabastian resisted the urge to question further, "Interesting, mon ami...Then to that, I shall bid you bonsoir and wish you well on return venture..."

Retreating step placed Dauphin back in shadow's shroud, "Do take care, for those who don a cloak of Crimson can be as rabid curs when inspired..."

Then Staw's proximity was empty, but for himself and parchment glow from lamp's generosity.

[Capt. Sterling]

"I shall do that Mr. Devaveraux! A very good night to you, Sir," Straw shouted back over shoulder as he crossed over to next street and then was gone.

['Bastian Devareaux]

Returning to courtyard nestled behind structure, Sabastian leaned to wall support while digesting what had just passed. Irritation knawed at the edges of mental clockwork as puzzle was turned over and over. Giving up wall post, he slipped back entrance with use of keys; easing locks back carefully.

Within backroom, some of the Faithfull had gathered, weathering the unpredictable Rouge tempest currently writhing. All eyes turned to lordling and silent gestures where made to conceal his being present from Elder aloft. Henri Stockton moved to the center, handing over paperment that recent companion had mentioned. It was scrutinized, but seal left intact for the momment.

Of those present, two were chosen for task at hand. Two that could be trusted implicitly; two that would handle what was wished with stealth and much needed speed. New parchment was withdrawn and quick words applied with ink branding. Instructions were relayed in hushed tones, and one of two bore message to be delivered to She that would be waiting near Kingston shores.

It was simple in render....

The Bearer of this shall see to all you require. Forgive me for not attending, it is a regret that I harbour fully. Hesitate not to ask if you are of further need...It shall be granted. You hold the key and Messenger is at your whim.

S.

Black wax was heated and blot fell heavily, sigil was applied with ring removal...

Raven took flight on paper skies.

[Capt. Sterling]

Straw hurried back the way he had come, stopping only once as red coated troop turned corner in opposite direction simultaneously with Straw. Soldiers came to the ready, halting in their tracks, avoiding head on collision.

"Well if it isn't my mates!" Straw bellowed, a large grin spreading quickly. "Sorry I am to see you on duty this here night. I will have to be drinking alone then is it?"

"Oi Peter," Sgt. nearly hollered in greeting. "Aye we be a sorry lot this evening for certain. Not a drop shall pass our lips for yet another hour."

"Such a shame! Such a shame! I were wanting to treat each and everyone of you to a drink to me dear, departed Captain. God rest his soul!"

"Tomorrow then," the sgt. declared. "And we shall buy the first glass in honour of your captain!"

"Fair enough lads," Straw said. With a nod of his head, he was off again until safely aboard the Archangel once more.

As gangplank was removed yet again, March cast controlled glance toward the ship’s Master.

“Ye done it then?” March asked as he walked over to hear Straw’s report.

Gone was happy-go-lucky nature as Straw bent closer to March and lowered voice. “Tis done. She be free of him now, the marriage is dissolved and the papers are in safe keeping with her own. Devareaux himself arrived just after I handed all over to the one they call Stockton.”

March closed eyes a moment, subtle shake of head barely noticeable. “He would not listen to reason?”

“No,” Straw replied. “He could not bare that she could not manage such a simple task for the sake of his daughter. He is certain that she does not love him and yet, he wishes her no ill will. This way she can honestly remarry when she chooses to. He believes he is doing what is best for her. I could not convince him to see otherwise. He‘s not well, Andrew, and after what Reiley just put him through, tis no surprise that he is not thinking clearly.”

“He shall hate himself for it in a few days time,” March said with long sigh.

“He already does.”

[Ransom]

As Ioan watched the hussle of guardsmen on along the dock, he wondered who had stirred eveyone up. He was even more curious when he saw the Rakehell slip, like a sneak-thief, out of the harbor. In one respect, he wished he were still on her. He hated to admit it, but, other than the little adventure with Jane, he was finding life on board the La Maligna boring.

Why was this ship hanging around Port Royal? They'd brought no cargo, the hurricane was long gone, and, so far as he could tell, they weren't short of provisions. So, what the hell were they waiting for?

With a sigh, he came away from the rail and went looking for the quartermaster. With no tasks to perform on board, maybe he'd ask permission to go ashore and enjoy the cozy comfort of the closest tavern for the rest of the evening.

[Dan Reid]

MacCraige and Dr. Reiley hurried back to the Three Crowns and quickly accended the stairs to Lilly's room.

"MacGregor, it be me" he called as they approached the door.

The door was quickly opened and the first mate stood aside as the doctor was ushered inside to where Ms Lilly lay asleep upon the bed. The little dog looked up and sencing the man was here to help he lay his head back down and watched the proceedings carefully. Doctor Reiley turned back to the first mate.

"Has she been awake?" he asked

"Aye sir, she has. She gave the name o' her attacker." MacGregor replied looking at MacCraige.

"What be th' evil bastard's name?" MacCraige asked, a dark look clouding his face.

"I believe she said 'is name was Hutchison." the mate replied.

MacCraige spun on his heel and headed for the door. "I'll be seein' ta him then." he stated as he left the doctor and his first mate to see to Lilly's wounds.

[Cheeky Actress]

Lilly’s eyes fluttered open briefly when she hear the sound of Jacob Reiley’s voice again; whispering to her as he pulled the blanket way to take a better look. “Reiley? It is you, ‘tis it not?” “Shh, keep still and quiet, Mistress. I have work to do.”

She closed her eyes again as she felt his hand press upon the wound. The little black dog gave way to a growl as Lilly let out a moan. “Hush Mate!” Said MacGregor as he helped the dog off the bed. “The wound is deep and she has lost much blood.” The doctor pressed his hand to his forehead. “I’ll need you to hold her down as I tend to her wound.” MacGregor lent in closer to the good doctor. “Is she long of this earth?” The doctor’s eyes shifted back to MacGregor. “Aye, she is and with a prayer to our Heavenly Father, she will make it. Your Captain did a right smart thing in collecting me when he did.” He quickly opened several bottles. “Keep her still.” He whispered as he mixed the items together with pestle and mortar.

As they slowly rolled her completely upon her stomach, Lilly turned towards the good doctor. “He’s dead…isn’t he?” Reiley’s face went pale at the question.

[Capt. Sterling]

As they slowly rolled her completely upon her stomach, Lilly turned towards the good doctor. “He’s dead…isn’t he?” Reiley’s face went pale at the question.

"There, there Mistress McKinney," Reiley soothed. "Let us concentrate on yourself and when you are feeling better we can have all the conversation you would like."

[Capt. Sterling]

Night slipped by slowly remaining deathly quiet save for movements of troops and calling of the watch. Occasional howl of dog cast out for the evening disturbed the silence but the common sounds of late night wanderers and whores could not be heard. Most of the port had settled in for the night. Taverns would do poorly as only the faithful would bother the harassment of troops determined to find someone who did not belong, in order to put away a few pints.

On board the Archangel, hidden beyond locked cabin door, Sterling could not stomach further meal. Port only was requested and look given, to emphasize want, forced Symms not to question captain’s choice. Much relieved was the old steward when only after two glasses, Sterling sent him away with demand that he extinguish candles prior to departing.

Sterling lay still, the last of candle glow disappearing as Symms closed and relocked the door behind him. He did not know how long he stared out stern windows at star filled skies but soon rolled himself onto side. Once again facing hull of ship, he listened to steady tread of heeled shoes on decking above and simple sounding of six bells of the first watch. Fingertips inched forward to come in contact with smooth wood. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

[Aurore Devareaux]

Last rise and fall, last bend was rounded, archway and heavy gate came to view. Small band had made destination after long progress from soon pronounced ashen halls to wilds solitude. Those keeping watch, studied solem parade and removed transitory portal barrier to allow entrance. The last of pilgrimage passed through without word and guards looked after questioningly. Winding trail gave way to clearing and only a few circled firepit, glancing up to those newly arrived.

[CrazyCholeBlack]

The heat had already begun to build, humid air rising off the crowded streets. The double doors to the workshop were open to the back alley, taking full advantage of the bright morning sun and slight ocean breeze. The middle aged joiner looked up as a shadow fell across his work. Shallow focus shifted to the stern man standing before him.

“May I help ye sir?” He asked quietly, bowing half way as he rose to his modest height. Dirty palms rubbed reflexively across the tattered and stained apron. He regarded the two looming shadows behind the newcomer, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

“Indeed, I should hope so. We wish to purchase a sizable portion of your glue. You do have some, yes?”

The joiner looked more critically as the other man spoke. His tone was smooth, the air of authority and breeding recognizable to any who listened. The formality of his words hid the slightest hint of an accent, one the workman couldn’t quite place. Stubby fingers scratched the balding patch near the back of the joiner’s head, his gray eyes narrowed slightly in thought. The downward wrinkling at the corners of his mouth made his already fat cheeks seem even rounder for a moment.

“Tis not a usual request ye understand sir.”

“We do understand the oddity of the request. However, we would be most generous in return, I can assure you.” A scared hand slipped quickly into a pocket. A soft chime was heard as a small leather pouch was removed. The joiner’s small eyes centered on the package, any misgivings about the stranger dissipated as his work calloused hands enclosed the coin heavy bundle.

“Aye, I have a bit, but, well, with tha storm I be needing most of it myself. Still, seeing as you gentlemen are in need as well, I’ll be seeing what I can do for ye.”

“Our thanks indeed sir. These gentlemen will return for the provisions come morning.” The darker man bowed slightly, before turning sharply on a heel, his two shadows doing the same. The round faced workman watched the three leave, fingers caressing the bundle in his palm before it disappeared into an exterior pocket and his attention returned to the planks before him.

“Mañana es el principio del fin para nuestro amigo danés” Capitan Ulises purred to himself as the joiner’s shop fell into the distance behind them. A devilish smile crossed his tanned face, thoughts of his long sought revenge filling him with morbid delight.

['Bastian Devareaux]

They had cautiously slipped the edge of the Port, thankful of the Rookery's proximity to wide expanses beyond "civilized" borders. Dauphin had been insistent that cargo be delt with utmost care...and even more speed. Kindred Shadow Dancers had been gathered from known sanctuary within dense flora and fauna passed the Mill. Now numbering ten, precession wove and navigated secluded venues; leaving roadway for those who saw them fit.

Time was of the essence, instructions clear, and the smallish flicker glow of rearmost settlement gave greeting and beacon thru palm piquet. Pace was slowed, Messenger unconsciously checking placement of parchment within linen pocket, then looking ahead to where Sea-Goer sat moored near the shallows. Companion dismounted, dropping reins to the ground and quietly approached designated haphazard structure.

The storm had not proven kind to tiny settlement and evidence of recovery lay about in various forms. Pause was given as domicile was rounded, clearer view of water's existence surveyed. Frown played William Sander's weathered features as proof to what had been suspected became reality. The spindly dock had vanished; another victim of Tropical temperaments.

Rough knuckles played soft cadence to wooden door that was immediately brought to open; its' emptiness filled with bullish frame. Nod of greeting was given, followed by words interwoven Dutch indications.

"Twas but a matter of time. We have been waiting for ye since that vessel appeared...."

William nodded again, his lack of wording not forced, but rather a state of being. Years before, punishment and price for the false accusations laid by another. The ability to speak was not something that he possessed, had not possessed for a very long time. London was not a local to the Affected, but rather a cursed memory and a word rarely announced in his presence.

Hushed tracings of footfall neared and two sets of eyes trained to origin as Messenger joined. Marcus Elliott came into the deminished glow of structure’s portal leak, manner subtle yet abrupt in portrayal. Information was given and taken; quid pro quo and the Machine began forward progression.

Now on the shoreline, Messenger awaited response from quiet craft. Shuttered lamp had done its' duty and lay at rest on ground below; mute as Human companion...

[CrazyCholeBlack]

The Capitan’s shadows fell behind as they neared the waters edge, the two men splitting off to attend to additional tasks. The men would rendezvous again once all provisions were gathered. It would only be a matter of timing now before their plan was set into action.

The alert Capitan noted the ranks of uniformed guards scattered around the worn dockside as he neared. An overheard mutter of conversation answered any unspoken questions. A sharp huff of mockery escaped Ulises normally stern expression. The hypocrisy of the English never ceased to amuse him. All this fuss for one injured woman and a few slaves; when they had done nothing for the two murders and subsequent attempt only weeks before?

Pushing the pointless incident out of his mind, attention returned to the task at hand. Once at the familiar docks, the Spanish captains eyes sought their floating target. He watched intently as La Maligna set just the slightest sail, the flecks of white billowing in the breeze high on her masts. Bright sun reflected on the clear blue waters, the vibrantly painted sides of the ship coloring the waves as they lapped at her sides. Slowly she curved, following the gentle arc of the land further into the bay. Ulises followed the galleon, his pace gauged to keep her within his site at all times.

“Donde está yendo Capitan? El mejor debe venir aún.”

[The Chapman]

Billy leaned on the rail, his pipe cradled in his hands. He was thinking, remembering.

Images flowed through his mind, washing over each other, fading, displacing, roiling.

He studied his hands, gauged their firm steadiness, not like so many of the men on ships, ruined by rum and white men’s habits.

He struck tinder, his last match flaring. It was fine to be on deck, smoking where he liked. It pleased him, a simple pleasure, but good none the less. The clay bowl warmed to the touch, and he puffed satisfied.

“Hoy, Billy”, the white man called Byrd said quietly, in passing, nodding his head slightly, “How goes”. He moved on, to his posting. Billy did not respond. He was busy with his pipe, and was thinking again, now remembering the man’s first memorable action. He knew that white man wasn’t like others. Byrd could pronounce ‘Billy’s’ name as it really was, and as far as he knew was the only other human in the world who knew it. The man was intelligent, true, but something about him was off. He wanted to say ‘cruel’, but that seemed not right, ‘specially in light of some of the others’ behaviors, himself no exception, and at the beginning…

The pyrates, or whatever they were or called themselves, had overtaken a lumbering slaver in a sloop, their sails trimmed to run so fast they couldn’t be beat; and had been Billy’s salvation. The hull of the merchantman was jammed with Africans, dying at a rapid rate. Three days earlier, in calm waters, the transporters had allowed the cargo on the deck for air, and ‘Billy’ had rushed the dividing fence, bent on taking one of the guards. He had lived through the attempt, astonishingly enough, and they had not thrown him overboard. But he was beaten severely and could best be described as half-alive; or half-dead. The pyrates looted for what they could find, and dragged their living spoils on deck for an inspection. They began throwing the sick over the side. When they got to Billy, he dragged himself to full height, the pain obvious, pointed to the nearest man’s belt knife, and to the slaver’s master. After a brief discussion, none of which he understood, they gave him the knife and let him go.

When confronted the master put on a bold face, contemptuous of his lesser, and steeled himself; but Billy had the dedication of a man making balances; and was more than equal to the challenge. He strung him up by one ankle and went to work. When finally the slaver passed mortal coil, he was screaming hideous, and no longer recognizable as a man. Billy did not find any sense of what the whites called ‘revenge’, really. He was simply creating an evening out. If the slaver beat him, he would come back with same. It was only fair. But the pyrates found his actions most amusing, and diverted from their spoils had gathered to watch, vastly entertained and cheering and shouting.

At the end, exhausted from his efforts (which had taken some time), when he had sat down to rest and ease his oozing back, the pyrates had unmindfully pounded him enthusiastically and dragged him off, splashing strong liquid down his throat and shouting in celebration.

He had become a pyrate.

Now he was on the ‘Samuel’, in Port Royal harbor, watching activities unfold, a Spanish hulk some distance before him, and at the moment without much to do but figure a time to go ashore and find entertainments of satisfactory kind.

He tapped the ash from his pipe and walked along the deck.

[CrazyCholeBlack]

A wave of nausea hit Jane, followed by the flash of fever on her pale brow as she sat upright. Her temples pounded in chorus with her still aching jaw. The normally soothing motion of the galleon instead turned her tender stomach. She threw her legs over the edge of the captain’s soft bed, bending over nearly double in hopes of quelling the rebellion.

She needed air, anything besides the stifling heat of the enclosed cabin. She faltered twice before getting successfully to her feet. One stocking slouched around her ankle as she staggered for the door, her worn gray coat and Monmouth cap discarded in her lingering inebriation. The sturdy frame was the only thing that kept Jane upright as she lunged across the room. She clung to it for a long moment before pushing the heavy door open. The flood of morning light was blinding compared to the dimly lit cabin interior. Green eyes squinted shut against the assault as Jane stepped onto the deck.

Opening her eyes slowly, Jane noticed the galleon’s maneuvering sails snapping against the light wind. She glanced past the rail to the curve of the shore, picking out what details she could of the distant ship yard. They would settle in for the needed repairs by the end of the afternoon she guessed. In a way Jane felt relieved. The responsibility of keeping the fine ship afloat was beyond her meager skills. In all honestly the decrepit merchantman had been more than she could handle. She had only taken the position out of sheer desperation, regardless of what she had told Joseph.

Suddenly, bitter acid filled her throat. She hurried to the side, grasping the waist high wood with both hands as the remains of alcohol in her stomach emptied into the ocean below. The sour residue was wiped unceremoniously on the back of her sleeve. She turned, leaning her back against the rail, sliding down until she sat in a heap on the salt worn deck, too dizzy and exhausted to bother returning to the captain quarters.

[Lady Violet Cunningham]

It had been a long, trying day for Lady Violet. As she had expected, the Governor had arrived with two dozen guards, and had, as predicted, stayed long enough toeat them out of house and home. The guards had searched the plantation, terrified the slaves, and made a general nuisance of themselves, which put Lady Violet in a fit of temper. As she stood on the verandah watching the coach and horsemen depart for Port Royal, she turned to her husband.

"Well, Bertie, are you satisfied with your little tempest in a teacup? The larder is empty, the slaves won't be fit to work for a week, and, other that reaffirming the knowledge that Mr. Doddle was an extremely odious man, what have you gained?"

"I have gained the satisfaction of knowing that some attempt at justice has been done, and that the slaves will not have rebellion on their minds."

"Posh," Lady Violet waved a hand. "They didn't have rebellion on their minds to begn with." She turned away from the crushed-shell drive. "I feel the need of a bracing whiskey. Will you join me, dear?"

"Certainly. Listening to your addled interpretation of the day's events would drive any man to drink."

"Really? And here Mr. Kennedy led me to believe you were in transports of joy at the thought of my company, and my opinions, back at Trade Winds again."

Lord Cunningham's bushy white brows rose. "Transports of joy!"

"His very words," Lady Violet repleid, as she strolled into the sitting room and ordered a servant to bring the decanter. "I see he was mistaken."

Her husband blustered, muttered under his breath, then approached her and took her hand. Giving it a polite kiss, he said, "Well, er, yes, I am glad you had a safe voyage, my dear, but I do wish you did not feel compelled to stick...er...offer your opinion on the running of the estate."

With a smile, Lady Violet downed her first glass of whiskey, then replied, "My dear Albert, did I not express my opinions about the running of this estate, it would have gone to ruin years ago."

Lord Cunningham took the decanter and poured himself a double.

[Capt. Sterling]

The same sound of heel striking above was the first sound to greet him come the rise of sun the next morning. Sterling rolled over onto his back, eyes still closed, stomach growling for the food that it had been denied the night before. He lay still again and listened, taking in the sounds of his ship. Normal, the gulls from the port adding their own song to the beginnings of a new day. Eyes slowly came open, struggling to focus on innards of cabin, before he sat up, pushing covers back and bringing legs over the side of newly made bunk.

Glance was thrown abaft at stern windows. The sun was already up and the heat of the port was already stiffling. Banyan continued to lay neglected as he left bedding and began to pace barefoot across the room. The idea of being confined to his own cabin, aboard his own ship, already eating at him. Memories of Algiers were quickly shook off before they were able to take too deep a hold and consume him. It would be a long day, with only paperwork ahead of him to distract him from the need to be out on deck in the open, some place he knew he could not go.

[Nimrod Pinon]

"Is that so, Mister Pinon?" The Constable said, leaning back in heavily carved chair. He eyed the man in black before him. He had arrived early in the morning before sunup to make a statement. A witness, Pinon had claimed he was, riding past Trade Winds to take in the scenery had instead, ridden upon the deadly scene played out between Overseer, slaves and outsiders.

"Yes that is so. I was able, at a safe distance, to see a captain John Sterling put a ball in the now deceased gentleman." Pinon hung his head with a weary sigh. "The poor fellow was just doing his job. Such a pity."

Constable leaned forward upon elbows against desk before him. "Then you shall be pleased to know that The Almighty has already intervened. Captain Sterling is dead."

Pinon's head snapped upward, eyes wide, unable to mask the disappointment on his face. "Dead?"

"Yes, died of an illness. He was brought back into the Port just last evening," the constable explained. Pinon finally sat, hard in the chair that had been offered him when he first arrived. Features fell into proper placement as he realized his prey had escaped him. Suddenly he looked up, eyes narrowed.

"They will bury him then shortly?" Pinon asked.

"No, as a matter of fact," the officer said, riffling through papers within reach. After a few seconds search, one docuement was withdrawn and then freed to float to edge of desk closest to where Pinon sat. "The first lieutenant of the Archangel has put in a formal request for permission to sail as soon as possible. They wish to return the body to his Lordship, Sir William Sterling, as quickly as they can. The captain is to be buried back in England."

"He is, is he?" Pinon muttered.

"Pardon?" the Constable said, leaning in closer.

Pinon stood quickly to his feet and bowed.

"I am sorry for having taken up your time," Pinon said.

The Constable stood also. "Not at all. Tis good to know that one murderer has come to justice."

Pinon glanced at the other man, eyes narrowing even further. "Yes, yes, of course. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall allow you to get back to searching for the other." He turned and rapidly made his way to the exit. He had a ship to watch.

[Dan Reid]

after a futile nights search for the illusive Mr Hutchison, MacCraige made his way to the constable's office to report the man's name to the watch. As he neared the watch office he once again noticed the man in black who had assisted Capt Sterling to his ship only nights before.

Hamish, being in no mood for pleasantries this morning, stormed by the man "Stand aside, you." he called as he entered the watch commander's office, scowling darkly at the man as he pushed past him.

After making his report to the constable concerning Ms Lilly's attacker, an angry and foot worn Laird MacCraige returned to the Three Crowns to check on the progress of his wounded friend.

"MacGregor, it be me," he called as he neared the door and entered. MacGregor replaced the pistol to his belt as his captain entered and looked down at the still sleeping Lilly McKinney.

Turning to Dr Reiley he asked, "How be she doin, doctor? Be she gonna make it?" the little dog looked up from the bed, gave a low bark of greeting and promply went back to sleep.

[Cheeky Actress]

Mister Hutchinson sat quietly in the small earth craved room. His servant made him a bed and placed his evening meal on the small table next to him.

"Enough, I am fine." He said picking up the glass of wine. "Why then are you hiding, Master?"

Their eyes met. The uncontrollable urge to strike his man servant was edging him on to the brink of hysteria. Yet, he soon unclenched his fit and pulled at the bottom of his waistcoat. “Mind your place!”

Mister Hutchinson suddenly looked down at his hands. He had washed them less than two hours before, yet he could still see Mistress McKinney’s blood upon them. An ill feeling quickly came over him. “I will see no one tonight. Is that understood?”

[Cheeky Actress]

Lilly’s eyes slowly opened. She could see the good doctor standing next to Hamish.

At first she wasn’t sure if she was still dreaming. She moved her head ever so gently to look at MacCraige.

“Dear Friend, ‘tis it you?” Her voice was barely a whisper as she tried to extend her hand to him. Slowly, a smile formed upon her lips. “Come, keep me company.”

She said again. This time the little black dog shifted his position and turned about in a circle until her finally rested at her side.

[Young Mr. Davis]

What had happen next, was nothing like young Davis had planned. And though headstrong and brave, he was far from experienced in these kind of actions.

For after staggering the guard with a blast from hidden pistol, Davis jumped from the wagon and rushed to the door. Then drawing the blade from his belt, Davis frantically raced into the kitchen. However as his eyes darted across the room in search of a sign of his dear Bess, they suddenly became transfixed on the hideous man who was standing before him.

The man who was now impaled upon young Davis's blade.

['Bastian Devareaux]

Boom sway and creak of hemp brought powder death from the depths of wooden tomb to the belly of smaller craft. As each gained full capacity, another would take position to gain its' filling...so moved the Miniatures to Larger's proximity then away to shoreline; belching glutted insides to those waiting. Wagon's stood as solemn priests percussion to communion offerings, then removing themselves to points unknown into the humid night. Communication relayed by signal and low whistle directed symphony of Owling Trade; a rhapsody of shadow and tallow.

Near Rakehell's larboard side, one craft wallowed independent to brethren's work and upon simple bow, Elliot kept watchful eye of the Machine's progress. Quick eyes darted to the decks above, pausing on lithe figure at the rail. Messenger had been delivered with professional cool and vessel's Commander had perused content under sheltered lamp, saying little to nothing.

But lapse of an hour's passing and a smattering of minutes had transpired since then; last of precious gain lowering into those that reached to stabilize from below. Fleeting survey was tossed to terra firma and where William held rule and last wagon was brought into proper placement below banyan limb. Shuttered lamp blinked then dissipated, answered in turn by steersman on Messenger's floating kingdom.

Again Marcus turned focus to decks above as lashings where released and wooden caboose pulled for shore. This night's work was nearing end, but until word was given, he would hold position and payment still hung heavy and concealed within adornment's keeping.....

[The Chapman]

Billy strolled the deck.

It was surprisingly quiet. He had been told the Port was always bustling with activity, and he wasn’t sure why it was so still. Even the Samuel’s crew - altho’ likely not to be a crew for long, each of them deciding their separate way as soon as cargo unloaded - was unhurried, almost silent.

A song echoed from below decks, faintly… a familiar tune, but someone else’s tune…

Billy hummed, tapping his fingertips together, his own song he remembered from home, a lifetime ago.

‘Ay see say yango,

Ay see say yango, eh…’

It was quiet enough that from some distance away he could hear the sound of a land walker losing their repast, and wondered how anyone could become ill while sitting in port.

[CrazyCholeBlack]

The rushed sailor took no notice of Jane’s outstretched legs until the last minute. By the time he attempted to avoid the obstacle it was too late. He landed heavily on the wooden deck. The bundle of ropes in his arms flung forward, landing several steps ahead in a tangled mass. The Dane scrambled to his feet, hollering at the girl in his guttural tongue, the meaning needing no translation.

Jane cringed at the sheer volume of the sailor’s attack. Every word sent shocks of pain through her head. Thin arms wrapped protectively over her ears trying to block the sound. Green eyes clamped shut, as she pulled her knees in close. She moaned softy cursing the horrid local drink. One minute it killed the constant pain in her jaw, the next it made her skull throb mercilessly.

When she uncovered her ears again it was only to hear Ioan’s low laughter. The Welshman grinned mockingly as he sauntered over to where she sat. He was obviously enjoying her hung-over state quite a bit. The sour taste in her mouth spread to her expression the longer he laughed. A hand reached out, gripping the wide railing in order to pull herself unsteadily to her feet. Swaying excessively with each rock of the ship Jane glowered at him.

“Ye always so genteel ta tha lady captain o yers? Tis no wonder she ‘ad ye whipped.”