The Pirate Hunter's Smarter Brother!

[Black Nate]

Nate n' Phonse had made their way through the trees, but not without Phonse spendin more time pickin hisself up off of the ground than on his feet. It were as if the roots and branches actually reached out an grabbed at his feet and clothes. All Nate could do was hiss at him ta be silent quite often as they went. Nate even relieved Phonse of anything that might make noise when, not if, the spaniard fell again. Up and around a ways they went, and now Phonse was panting from the heat and so much exertion. Nate decided ta give the man a rest an found a good spot wit a large fallen timber ta sit upon. "C'mere an set a spell before ya fall down, agin." Phonse couldn't say much fer panting so much an just lumbered over ta th log an sat heavily on it, trying ta catch his breath. Nate rummaged in the satchel an pulled out a bottle o' water an tossed it lightly ta Phonse, who almost caught it. He fumbled it up into the air twice and dove to the ground, catching it just before it hit. Nate just mopped his face wit his hand and rolled his eyes ta heaven. Phonse remained on the ground to drink the bottle dry o water, panting even more. Nate pulled some rum from the satchel an was about to take a snort when a sound caught his attention. Instead he rammed the cork home and set the bottle an satchel by the log, motioned for Phonse to be quiet before sneaking towards the sounds with his musket at the ready. Easing some brush awya for a better view, Nate saw a group o men struggling with a large box or chest. Lucky fer Phonse they made more noise than he had, crashing through the foliage. Nate eased back when they came to a stop, leaving his musket pointed in their direction. "Not sure wot we got here, an I dun know where th others are. . . . Think ye can be ready wit yer musket witout pissin yerself? Or accidentally shootin afore ye need ta?" Phonse's checks flushed some, but he screwed up his mouth and shook his hear that he was able. Nate winked at him and nodded his head for him ta go get his weapons. Turning back ta the noisy men, he saw they were tryin ta get the chest movin again, but with no luck. Nate chuckled ta hisself. "looks like a bunch a monkeys tryin' ta fek a -" Nate didn't finish his thought as he heard Phonse crash to the ground in a heap behind him. Luckily, the men with the chest did not hear the noise as they were now arguing amongst themselves in another language, most likely about what to do with the chest.

[Tomas Guerrero]

On the other side of the island, deep in the jungle, Roberts moved his eyes slowly from the small group back to Tomas. The Spaniard hadn't breathed so much a whisper since the men appeared. Roberts moved his hand slowly towards his hip and over to his pistol. He knew Tomas would be watching him so he stopped his reach abruptly. Roberts eyes went back to Tomas and he nodded. He was to make a series of simple symbols and gestures to tell Tomas exactly what he needed to know.

Tomas surmised that there were five men; two of which had muskets, one, a visable brace of pistols who was calling out orders, and two others whom were busy rolling large casks, Tomas assumed to be filled with fresh water from the stream. While the spot where he and Roberts stood was quite concealed, he knew that the task of refilling the casks was onerous indeed. They had to find a way back out of the jungle or else be stuck there for some time. Tomas looked back down stream and pointed his head they way they came.

Roberts shook his head slowly, "no," he quietly mouthed.

o~~}-------->

Due east of Tomas and Roberts, Roberto readjusted the small leather satchel that held the spyglass. He looked at the meager weapons that he had attached to his belt. The dark skinned man realized that he had a pistol that had not been primed, but held onto a short sword that he took from the longboat. That gave him some comfort. Roberto looked up to see Red Cat had crouched behind a mangrove so he hurriedly made way through the tall grass to catch up to her. She continued ahead following tree to tree, always using the foliage for cover. They heard nothing save for a few Macaws and monkeys calling through the trees. Roberto glanced up through the light foliage to the sun. He wiped the sweat from his brow and now kept close behind Red Cat.

They eventually reached the small clearing atop the hill. Smoke could still be seen billowing from just north of them. Cat asked Roberto for the glass. She lay on her stomach and crawled to the edge of the hill to peer at the small encampment. Off to the northeast she could see a schooner anchored just offshore. Immediately she thought it was too large for their small group to put it to sea. Red Cat audibly huffed. She looked back to the beach and saw several men drinking around a fire. Closer to the shoreline Cat saw some sort of wild animal being skinned to which she could only guess to be then placed in the fire. She put the glass down and rested her chin on the back of her hand. She knew that the better part of fifty men were needed to sail that boat. To her count, she was at mayhaps fifteen or twenty. "Where are the rest?" she whispered softly. "Ma'am?" Cat had not noticed Roberto crawl up beside her. "Less jus' hope the boys be alright."

[Tomas Guerrero]

Tomas smiled and nodded slowly.

He withdrew the dagger hidden behind his belt in the small of his back. Tomas inhaled deeply.

"Down among the dead men, down among the dead men, Down, down, down, down; Down among the dead men let him lie!" sang out Tomas. He drunkenly staggered towards the men across the stream, slashing at the vines and undergrowth in the thick jungle. Two muskets immediately bore down on him. He continued down the streambed.

""Down among the dead men,down among the dead men . . " singing loudly, he stopped abruptly when he saw the weapons. "Hola, mi amigos!" He called out. With a flourishing bow, he bent downward and purposely tumbled into the stream. Those men filling the casks laughed softly.

The man now holding the brace of pistols was not smiling. "Oi! Wot ye doin' 'ere?"

As Tomas staged his grande show, Roberts backed slowly out of his hiding and made his way back to the beach.

[Ransom]

MacTavish scratched his bushy beard and glared into the distance. The encounter with the two ships had enraged him. Mainly because, not only had he lost the Spaniards, but he'd never found out what the two ships were looking for. It had to be something important, otherwise why linger in such a godforsaken part of the Caribbean?

His first mate approached, and in his usual whiny voice asked, "Um, Captain, the crew would like to know where we're going."

With a roar, MacTavish turned on his tormentor. "I'll tell the crewe where we're goin' when I'm good and ready. And nae a minute before!"

The man thus rebuked, knuckled his forehead and scurried away.

MacTavish turned to the horizon again, and that's when he saw the island, green as any emerald, sitting plunk in the middle of blue emptiness. "Hard tae starboard, helmsman," he shouted. And to himself he muttered, "I smell bloody Spaniards on the breeze."

[Colard Dysart]

Colard was worried. Ever since the strange, frightening disappearance of the Relentless, the captain of the Rakehell had changed. All the fire and fight he so loved about Ransom had gone out. She'd stood at the rail, staring out at the place where the other ship should have been, then had turned, gone to her cabin and not come out. That had been three days ago.

He'd checked on her once, knocking quietly on the door, and, when there was no answer, cautiously opened it and peered in. She'd been sitting at her small desk, toying with what looked to be an emerald the size of a walnut. When she looked up at him, he was embarrassed to see that her eyes were red and swollen, as if she'd been weeping. With only a nod, he'd closed the door and returned to the deck.

Jimmy Cox interrupted his thoughts, but apparently his mirrored Colard's own. "Do ye think the Relentless is comin' back?"

"No, I don't," a voice behind them rasped.

Both men turned to see Ransom standing in front of the hatch that led below decks. Her face was set in a grim expression, her eyes, Colard saw, still bloodshot and swollen.

"We're leaving the Caribbean," she said.

Colard cleared his throat. "Where to, then?"

"The colonies. Charles Town. I have some connections there."

Jimmy said, "The Rakehell needs repairs, Ma'am, and we never got any of that gold Captain Tar told us about. How we goin' to pay for stuff?"

Her expression hardened. "I have something we can sell that will more than pay for repairs to the ship, and whatever supplies we need." She turned to Colard. "Tell Africa to get the ship under sail. Now."

Colard knuckled his forehead and gladly turned away from her. Jimmy came with him. Neither felt comfortable around Ransom, for it was obvious that whatever door she had left open in her heart that accepted, loved, and let life in, had been slammed shut and locked.

Jimmy glanced back at her once, then whispered to Colard, "It's gonna be a long voyage to Charles Town."

"That it is, Lad, that it is."

Edited January 4, 2011 by Colard Dysart

[Tomas Guerrero]

Phonse sat with a pistol on his knees and tried pour a priming charge into the pan. Nate looked at him and quickly waved him over. Phonse nodded, but didn’t move. Nate peered over the log he had hidden behind and could see that the men were still preoccupied with the chest. Nate crawled out of sight over to Phonse. He tried to pull him down but stopped when he heard a yell from over his shoulder. Phonse froze. Nate slid behind a tall palm bush and held his breath.

The tallest of the men drew a musket at Phonse who promptly soiled himself, again. Nate, laying prone, being close to Phonse’s arse, was having trouble keeping down the meal he ate not so long ago. Even holding his breath, Nate could smell the mess in Phonse’s slops. Nate buried his face in the sand.

“You!” called the man, “stand!” He mumbled something to the other crew that Phonse and even Nate could not understand. They drew their weapons as well.

Phonse stood and stumbled forward a bit promptly dropping the pistol in the sand. A smaller bare-chested man dressed in torn breeches grabbed for it. He smelled the stench from behind Phonse and vomited on the sand. The other men laughed and pointed at the flies now beginning to appear. Phonse walked closer to the men and each pushed him away. Only the smaller man was forced to walked behind the portly Spaniard. The tall man threw his musket over his shoulder, turned and walked back up the shoreline. The crew picked up the chest and followed behind him.

[Professor Angus Trilby]

Port Royal, Jamaica.

Angus placed the last Da Vinci barometer into a packing crate and stood back to survey the mountinous pile of other crates, boxes and bags in his parlor. On the following day, some hired men would come and transport each one to the Sweet Temptation, and he would leave Port Royal for good.

For the last month his whiskers had been twitching, his joints aching, and he'd swear even his hair hurt, what was left of it. They were portents, he was sure of it, of some coming disaster. In the last year he'd survived fire and a hurricane, but before neither of these had he had any warning signs. This was different. This was something biblical, and he wasn't sticking around to find out what it was going to be.

"Souris, ye wee deevil, where are ye?" Angus looked around for the young Jamaican servant.

"Here, suh. I jus getting the cage fo Miss Cleopatra." He held up a cane cage that would be the cat's home throughout most of the voyage.

"Well, best not put her in there until tomorrow. Like as not she'll put up a hellish fuss, but I can't see leaving her behind to suffer through what's tae come. Are all your things packed?"

"Yes, suh."

Angus signed, scrubbed his balding head, then replaced the squashed-mushroom looking hat he always wore. "Tomorrow we head for the colonies, laddy. Bastion of puritanical idiocy, but the only place where I might find work. Teacher! Can ye imagine it? But I've nae money at the moment, and we will step on shore at Charles Town poor as church mice."

"Mus we really go, suh. I like Port Royal."

A zing of pain shot through Angus's shinbone. "Yes, lad, we must go. I dinnah ken what's coming, but if I were a religious man, I'd say God has had enough o' this sinful spit o' land, and plans tae wipe it clean."

[Tomas Guerrero]

Deserted island

After some time, Red Cat could not see any more movement in the small encampment below. She looked to Roberto who simply chewed on a short piece of grass. “Let’s get a closer look eh?” Roberto stopped chewing and coughed abruptly. Red Cat shook her head and tucked the spyglass back into the leather satchel. She slid backwards a bit and tapped Roberto on the leg. He stood up and Red Cat quickly hissed at him to stay low. “Dinnot know where t’ey may be Roberto.” He nodded and moved to the shade under a tall palm.

Red Cat threw the bag over her shoulder and arranged her pistols to the center of her belt. She and Roberto then slowly made there way down the hill side-stepping and stopping every few minutes to tuck themselves out of sight. They began to hear voices coming from the shore just north from where they stood. An oddly familiar voice sounded loudly above the din.

[Tomas Guerrero]

Deserted Island

Red Cat and Roberto tucked themselves under the heavy foliage. They could hear the men further up the trail singing loudly and crashing through the undergrowth. To Cat and Roberto's surprise, Tomas was leading the crew and appeared quite drunk. Red Cat looked to Roberto who simply shrugged. She frowned and watched as the small group continued to the small encampment below. They could see as Tomas was shown to whom they thought was the captain and he was welcomed to the crew.

As the sky began to darken, Red Cat and Roberto edged closer to the men. They could smell the fires roasting the various bottles the men had caught throughout the day. Some fish, some game, and even some fruits could be smelled on the fire as the smoke wafted away from the shore and into the hills.

Red Cat made her way around to the Northeast side of the camp. She told Roberto to stay put and watch for any signs of trouble , to which, Roberto was only so glad to do. She crept slowly around the treeline watching the shadows from the cooking fires dance on the palms and walls of the makeshift tents. Red Cat kept an eye out for Tomas trying to gauge whether he truly was drunk or if it was a ruse to get out of a tight spot. As she slowly made her way around the barrels and crates, she spied a man tied to a spit. Red Cat squinted and could only see his outline. His most outstanding characteristic was his size. Fat. Extremely fat. She laughed to herself as she figured how he could resemble a pig on a skewer, only if he had an apple stuffed into his mouth. She slid closer to see that it was actually Phonse who had been tied there. She quickly began to wonder why Tomas had not rescued his portly companion yet.

[Ransom]

The Pride of Flodden circled the strange island, staying just outside cannon range. The only thing visible besides palms trees and sand, was a thin column of smoke rising from someplace within the interior. MacTavish had seen only one small sloop anchored off shore, so presumed it was the Spaniards, who must have set up some kind of camp.

"Weel, I think we'd best see what we can help ourselves tae," he muttered, then turned to the helmsman. "Bring us alongside yon wee sloop. We'll send a crew over tae see what's what."

"Aye, Captn." The helmsman adjusted their course.

[Jacky Tar]

"Six times I've turned the crank on this box from hell," I cursed under my breath, "Who knew the blasted thing couldn't be cranked more than once a day!"

I turned t' Stones an remarked, "Ye know the definition fer insanity?" Stones nodded, an I muttered, "Doin' the same blasted thing over an over again, an expectin' different results," as I turned the crank a seventh time.

The sky fell dark an the sea began t' batter the ship. Above the roar an din, I shouted, "O' aye, this is different!" No floatin' mountains o' ice, this time. No crazy English captain wit' a crew o' armored warriors, wieldin' long swords, in sight. Nay, this time we'd been set down in the mother o' all storms.

The crew scrambled t' avoid bein' swept ov'r board, as a giant wave crashed on the deck o' the Relentless. Someone screamed, in the distance, "It means t' return t' the bottom o' the sea!"

I lurched towards the box an hoped I could send it back t' the bottom wit' out us.

Edited February 9, 2011 by Jacky Tar

[Ransom]

After giving the order to head for the Colonies, I returned to my cabin. A chart of that coast lay on my small desk. Pouring a glass of port, I sat and studied it, but my mind would not focus on the markings. Ever since the strange disappearance of the Relentless, my world had turned upside down. It was the last act in a play that had been plagued with mishap ever since the search for Jacky's magic healing waters had started. My situation was grim.

I had a damaged ship that badly needed repairs. I had an enraged Scott trolling the area looking for revenge, and whose larger ship and guns could blast us out of the water. Nate, Red Cat and Robert's had all gone off in the sloop, with the Spaniards. Any way you looked at it, the Rakehell was a sitting duck, with no Relentless at her back. Add to that the quickly diminishing supplies, and there was no other choice but to abandon the Caribbean and head for a decent, safe harbor.

Africa had been right. The place was cursed. It was time to leave.

[Tomas Guerrero]

Deserted Island

As twilight struck, a young boy came tearing down the trail. He was yelling and pointing over the rise. Tomas squinted as the ship's crew ran to the water's edge. They could still make out the outline of their ship and a similar sized shadow tacking in just behind it. The Captain called for all hands to man the longboats and strike out for their ship.

Red Cat remained hidden as she watched Tomas make his way for Phonse. Roberto also saw Tomas and ran towards him. In the commotion, Tomas grabbed a musket and a brace of pistols. Roberto almost tackled him as he passed the small tented tarps. He pushed Roberto toward Phonse and helped untie him. The three men scurried behind the tent and grabbed what supplies they could. Stuffing food and a few bottles of rum into a large sack, Phonse threw the sack over his shoulder, promptly shattering the bottles. Phonse smiled meekly and shrugged. Tomas smacked him squarely on the head. They refilled the sack and ran to the water's edge piling into one of the dinghies left onshore. Phonse and Roberto took up the oars and Tomas manned the tiller. They all stayed low in the craft and headed away from the ship toward the southeast now hugging the shore line.

Red Cat lost sight of the men in the rush. She smashed her fist into her palm and ran back through the jungle to find Nate. The Spaniard had gotten away . . .again.

Edited February 13, 2011 by Tomas Guerrero

[Smithe]

We'd furled the main sail an I was walkin' the footropes back t' the mast. When I glanced down an spied Mister Tar hunched ov'r that box, again.

"I best get down there," I signed t' Jimmy. A quick trip down a runnin' line was in order.

As soon as me feet hit the deck, I made me way t' Mister Tar an crouched next t' him an shouted, "Sire, we wouldn't want t' lose that box 'fore we knew fer certain where and when we are."

The where didn't seem t' bother 'em, but the 'when' gave 'em pause. "Aye, when indeed," he growled.

"Let me stow it below, sire. Lest it fall ov'r board." I says, as I motioned towards the box. He released his grip on the box which I took as me signal t' take it below.

[Ransom]

One of the lads aloft called out to the deck below, "Oi, looks like we'll have a welcomin' committee."

MacTavish growled, "Aye, I ken see that, ye ninny." He turned on the crew. "Weel, ye've all been bewailing and mewlin' that it was time we took a ship. So, I say, we take yon sloop. Nae much of a prize, but we could use the supplies and armaments, if she's got any. And may hap yon ruddy Spaniards'll be et by cannibals."

The crew, some scratching their heads, some picking their noses, others shuffling their feet and looking at the deck, made nary a sound.

MacTavish, hair and face the same color of flaming red, shouted, "Och, ye chicken-livered, mongrels. A defenseless sloop, sittin' there, with naught to stop us but a longboat full of crew flailin' away at the oars like flappin' seagulls. Take her, I say, or I swear, ye'll all be shark bait." And with that, he pulled out a brace of pistols and pointed them at his gutless shipmates.

The first mate knuckled his forehead, turned to the others, and in an attempt at authority, managed to squeak, "All right you lot, man the bloody guns!"

[Tomas Guerrero]

Southeast of the Island

Phonse and Roberto had pulled the three meager crew far enough out of the swells that they could ride atop the sea at a safe distance from the oncoming foray.

Tomas slumped in the stern and rested his shoulders against the transom. He was defeated, again. Tomas missed out on the gold to be recovered, lost his sloop, and was now adrift with a shit smelling fat man. He glared at his companions only to have the early evening conceal his demeanor.

"Capitán, el barco está en llamas!" Phonse pointed and yelled.

Tomas did not move. "WHY should I care that the ship is on fire? Is it my ship? NO. Does it contain mi oro? NO." Tomas slumped. He withdrew a bottle of non-descript liquor, pulled the cork and drank deeply.

"Señor, it is the man who tried to kill us before. The other ship bears his flag."

Tomas finished the bottle then slowly pulled the tiller toward him. He waved Roberto and Phonse to continue rowing only so he could get a better view. Tomas huffed and cocked his head to the side.

[Ransom]

I was back on deck, waiting for the report from Colard on the state of the hull repair. I needed to know how far we could get before the repair blew.

Colard and Ludovico came up, and their expressions said things didn't bode well. "All right, give me the bad news."

Colard scraped his big rough hands over his face, then replied, "She'll nae hold much longer. We canna make the Colonies."

Ludo muttered something in Italian, but I figured the gist was the same.

"How long have we got?"

"Can't say for certain. But I'd venture nae more than a week or so. And that would be pushing things." He gave me a sad look. "She's a tired old girl, is the Rakehell, Ma'am. She needs a rest."

I nodded. "Then we'll give her one. Let me look over the charts and see where's the nearest place we can make port."

About that time I heard the sound of guns. Big guns.

We all looked toward the east. A few minutes later, a column of smoke curled toward the sky.

Looking at Colard I said, "It's your Scottish friend. His is the only ship in the area with guns that big. Let's get the hell out of here." Then I turned toward the helm, where Africa stood by the wheel. "Make sail. Now! Head Northwest until we get away from this cursed place. I'll give you new bearings as soon as I can."

The big black man started barking orders, and the men came alive, making haste to get the ship out of danger.

[Tomas Guerrero]

Darkness had fallen. Tomas was slipping into unconsciousness as the rum wove its way into his skull. He now had a full view of the evening's activities. Slumping lower into the boat, the breeze shifted and Tomas caught full force of Phonse. He stuck his face over the side and hoped to gain some smell back. Even Roberto hacked and spit over the gunwale. Phonse merely shrugged and happily continued rowing.

A sudden thud, followed by an explosion and several more deep thuds brought the Spaniard out of his haze. He now sat up and saw more fires burning on the deck of the anchored ship. He squinted as a thought suddenly came to him.

Edited March 24, 2011 by Tomas Guerrero

[Ransom]

Africa stood at the helm of the Rakehell trying not to grin. It was hard, though, for he was indeed a happy man. He had disliked this whole adventure. Too many strange things had happened. Too many troubles and near escapes from danger. The frightening disappearance of the Relentless was, for Africa, the last straw. He hoped Dat Man had gone down to the devil, for the voyage had been cursed ever since Ransom had hooked up with him.

He wasn't sure what was in store for them. With supplies almost gone, and the ship needing major repairs, finding a safe port was the most important thing. But he didn't really care where they went, just so long as they left this place. He'd even settle for a return to Havana, rather than stay here and be dragged to whatever hell the Relentless had been pulled to — and good riddance to her!

Touching the little bag of corpse powder that always hung from his neck, he quietly hummed a folk song from his native land, and steered the Rakehell toward what he hoped would be safety.

[Tomas Guerrero]

Tomas thought to send the longboat towards the shore and wait until morning to salvage what remained of the flaming wreck.

He placed his chin in hand and tried to calculate the distance they were from the smal island. Looking about in the dark, it was difficult to find the where the reef broke. He could hear the waves crashing nearby and decided that a late night swim back to the same island where they were nearly marooned was not the best laid plan.

The ship was still aflame on the horizon as Tomas pushed the tiller to starboard. Phonse felt the boat pull to larboard and looked to Tomas.

"To the colonies mi amigos. Maybe our luck wil change."

[Colard Dysart]

After the ship had been put on course for the colonies, Colard took a quick break. Standing at the larboard rail, he gazed out over the vast blueness of the Caribbean, and thought of the strange turns his life had taken since being captured by the Spanish five years ago. He was very glad to be out of Havana, but wasn't sure he liked being on this ship any better. Oh, sure, they were all fine lads, and Ransom was no tyrant of a captain, but Colard longed for peace and quiet in his old age, and doubted he was going to find it crewing on the Rakehell.

Young Jimmy Cox came to stand next to him. "Makes ye feel a bit small, don't it?" he said, gesturing to the open ocean.

"Aye, it does at that."

"What do ye think is going to happen to us, once we make the colonies? I don't mind sayin' it makes me uneasy. They could just a soon arrest us all and hang us, as welcome us with open arms."

He turned and grinned at the young man. "Weel, if it's any consolation tae ye, I doot the ship will make it that far."

Jimmy snorted. "You old Scottish devil."

Colard let his gaze return to the horizon. "Ah, better the deevil ye ken, than the one ye don't."

Edited April 6, 2011 by Colard Dysart

[Tomas Guerrero]

A few days later . . . .

Tomas was at his last rope. He had watched the sun rise and fall twice and decided to end Phonse's life the same amount. Sitting there in the dark, thoughts raced through Tomas' mind about how to dispatch the portly Spaniard once and for all. Tomas squinted as Phonse's oar smacked the gunwale echoing the fat man's snoring.

Phonse had lost the small provisions the day prior. They went swiftly overboard during a brief rain spell when he tried to cover his head with the leather satchel. What provisions they had in that satchel promptly dropped into the sea, at night, on a swell, in the middle of the caribbean. Luckily for Phonse, Tomas decided to spare him only because he had retrieved the bottle of rum.

And now, dawn was beginning to break. Tomas finished the last sip in the bottle and tossed it over his shoulder. Something caught his attention. He turned his head slightly. The wind had changed direction and he could no longer smell Phonse.

Land was nearby.

[Ransom]

The taking of the sloop had been easy, but at least it let the men blow off steam, and the few items worth the taking, other than supplies, could be fought over for weeks. MacTavish was satisfied...for the moment.

However, the stores taken from the sloop weren't much, and MacTavish already had a hold full of goods stolen from another vessel, that needed to be sold. He decided they wouldn't linger in this Godforsaken part of the Caribbean any longer.

Turning to his helmsman, he shouted, "Turn her beak tae the South. We're heading back tae Port Royal."

This decision earned MacTavish a round of cheers from his crew.

[Tomas Guerrero]

As they neared land, small fishing boats began to dot the sea. The vessel received a gust of wind and propelled them further toward the coast. Eventually, wisps of smoke could be seen rising from behind the trees.

The spit of land grew larger until Tomas could finally make out what appeared to be a busy harbor. They passed through the narrow channel only to reveal a very large basin buffered by trees nearly all the way around. The southern most end of the large bay had a wide beach with several ships laid aside for careening. The largest of which, a frigate, had men climbing all about while a tall dark-skinned man called out orders through a speaking horn. Tomas told Roberto to drop sail as he pulled the tiller nearer to him and they drifted away from the activity onshore.

Vessels were constantly sailing in and out of the harbor. Tomas pointed them towards a small group of buildings nearest the docks. They picked their way through the maze of anchored boats until they bumped alongside the wharf. Phonse removed his oar and stood slowly while moving to the bow. Roberto did the same, but suddenly dropped the oar. The loom of the oar caught the gun'le and promptly landed in the water with a loud 'splash'. Phonse turned quickly to look. He was prepared to place his hand on the pier to steady himself, but with the commotion to his left, he simply misjudged the distance.

Phonse slipped, grabbed for the dock, but fell swiftly into the harbor.

He landed under the dock and bobbed for a moment before he grabbed for the side of the boat.

"A fine first impression," Tomas stated as he clapped quietly, "a fine one indeed."

[Ransom]

Ransom sat at the small desk in her cabin, slowly turning the large emerald within the grip of her thumb and forefinger. The stone was only real gift Jacky had ever given her, other than his trust—and that had been tenuous, and easily lost. She thought about all that had happened to them, from the first moment they had set out on this quest — the island with the amazon women, the storm, the loss of crewmen, the night in Havana, especially the one night in this very cabin, and the disaster in the Gulf where the Spanish had attacked them, the strange phantoms in the waters they had just left, and the mysterious disappearance of the Relentless. And all she had to show for it was this green crystal, which she needed to sell to pay for repairs to the ship. So, what had it all been for? What had she gained from this grand misadventure? Nothing but memories.

A knock on the cabin door interrupted her reverie. "Yes?"

Tunny poked his head in. "I'm to tell you, Ma'am, that we're coming up on an island. Looks to be a safe harbor. Busy too, by the looks of things. We might be able to make our repairs there."

"Any idea what island it is?"

"No, Ma'am, but...well, Collard says we don't have much choice."

"All right. Take her in. We'll take our chances."

With a nod, he closed the door.

Ransom took one last look at the stone, then put it away in a secret compartment. "God speed, Jacky. Wherever you are." Then she went up on deck to see what kind of situation she needed to deal with, for without the Rakehell, she was nothing.