The Astonishing Adventures of Captain Juan

Love Links

2009-10-18T15:00:00.002+01:00

This story continues a sub plot at the Spanish Royal Courts with the mysterious character from here.

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The tallow candle crackled as a tiny particle of moisture sizzled from the wick. A darkened hand drew the light closer to the parchment as his hand feverently scratched its way across, desperate to capture the thoughts before they disappeared with the light. Creamy delicate lace cuffs brushed over the still drying ink as the quill returned to the ink pot; the tiny tap of the tip touching the bottom a testament to the urgency of the message being inscribed. The deliberate scratching of the nib across fine linen parchment suddenly came to a halt.

Dark, hunters eyes flicked toward the wooden door. Without feeling for it, he sensed the thin blade pressed against his ankle; which in seconds could hurtle across the room with a deadly accuracy.

Whoever was at the doorway had hesitated and for reasons only known to themselves had withdrawn; perhaps intimidated by the menacing energy inside.

The thick brodicade curtains breathed shallowly as the evening breeze licked around the castle. The figure allowed a few moments to search the skys. The constant flurry of pigeons from the turrets had continued throughout the day; no doubt their gentle flutterings would be replaced in the morrow with the first of the official mourners and the over abundant retinue each required. Although never close to the Queen, he’d been saddened by her untimely death and her newly born and sickly babe was not expected to draw breath past the evening. He was disgusted at the callousness of the courtiers who had already begun to prepare potential brides for the king to pander over; and the queen still cooling in her bloodied bedchambers.

He looked over his notes and grunted with satisfaction; pressing the blotting pad neatly over his work, creasing it into an envelope and sealing it securely with a firm impression of his ring. The French Courts no doubt will be baying for blood after this obvious lack of medical care as she birthed; conveniently forgetting that the royal princess had been married off to dispose of her. It was his duty to ensure the fires were fueled appropriately.

His eyes darted again toward the doorway and in a fluid motion glided across the room, unlatching and flinging the heavy door open. Instead of a evesdropper crouching at the keyhole, a small leather bound box sat on the threshold. A furtive glace at the empty and somber hallway confirmed that the messenger had long gone.

Scooping it up, he brought it into his work desk and opened the latch, revealing a number of letters and pigeon messages. He recognized the one he had intercepted earlier last month and slowly sucked the cooling evening air inward. He’d never picked the Queen to be sentimental with her lovers and was shocked as he read some of the letters at the obvious depth this couple had felt for one another. Without the vital clue to the origin of the wayward pigeon last month; these letters might have been a fanciful and exotic souvenir. Several yellowed scraps of parchment lay at the bottom of the box. As he picked one up, a tiny lock of hair, held delicately with a blue ribbon fell out. His brow wrinkled as he read the script within. “Matthias, I fear this is as close you may ever get to your father or to your loving mother.” The other scraps bore scant records of a babys growth; written in an unfamiliar but educated feminine hand.

His urgent report sat forgotten on the desk; the tallow candle snapping and crackling as it sunk closer to the dish it stood in. As much as he would have loved to stay to watch the parading of eligible fillies within court; he felt this unanswered puzzle required the immediate attention of his superiors. Their careful records could confirm his suspicions of a secret royal child and open future opportunities in the downfall of the Spanish stronghold over his beloved France.

His lips pursed; confused at the identity of his messenger. No doubt it was someone close to the Queen, who was both privy to the contents of the box and to his identity and purpose.

Regardless to their intent, his position was now compromised and he would need to make his escape immediately. Pulling prepacked saddle bags from a concealed space. He threw on an extra cape and strode out the door, leaving behind five years accumulated wealth within the courts. Once back in the safety of his masters stronghold, appropriate social excuses could be made for his sudden departure and the piecing of clues to this royal intrigue could begin.

The Fishing Trip ....Part 3

2009-06-26T09:00:00.003+01:00

Bruno sat sullenly in the tiny boat, gripping one of the oars and threatened to crush it with the force of his resentment. Matthews sweat soaked shirt stuck to his back as he balanced inside the sway of the vassal and extended his hand up towards Ruby as she clambered down the slimy rope ladder. Her hand shook as she took his and gave a grim smile, her eyes flicking between the hostile glares of the other two crew members.

Bruno and Pietro began pulling long strokes with their huge shoulders as soon as the pair settled into place. Ruby had opted to hitch her skirt high and leave her shoes behind and sat uncertainly in the middle of the boat as the water sloshed about her.

“Pat the fish won’t you Bruno!”
“Make sure you name one after me!”
“Give one a kiss Pietro!”
The mocking cries of their shipmates followed them as they sped toward the small rocky outcrop; the only indication there was a coral reef lurking below.

Brunos dark face imploded with further anger as the jeers reached his ears. He expended his emotions on getting the small boat away from the ship as fast as he could; wishing with every stroke he was aboard lighting the fuses to the home-made bombs Calisto had spent all night preparing.

The teasing shouts soon turned to delighted whoops as the first one exploded. Peitro and Bruno exchanged a wistful look as they imagined the others collecting the floating fish and preparing them for drying and salting on deck.

Bruno grunted. “Saves us having fish guts in our fingernails.”
“Might have been an improvement on your smell”
Bruno put the oar down and launched a misaimed kick at Pietro, his mood darkening again.
“If you don’t mind, I am sure the Captain wants us back in one piece.”
Mathew glared at both rowers. Ruby clutched the sides of the boat as it rocked and fearfully looked at the water lapping about the edges.
“Not much further now signora.” Matthew patted her tense hand.

Although not perfectly flat, the tiny ripples on the surface only intensified the beauty of the wonders which began to rise up underneath them.

“Let us float about here, but not too close to the rocks over there Bruno.”

Bruno grunted again and kept the oar dipped in the water, waving it slightly to shuffle them about.

Matthew brushed his hand down Rubys arm and attempted to free the fingers still gripped to the side of the boat. “Lean over and watch the fish. You promised the Captain you’d write about it.”

Rubys ashen face peered hesitantly over the side, the sheen of fear begotten sweat beading with that of the heat.

She marveled at the spiky coral, waving tendrils of seaweeds, fish peeping in and out and began to relax with the rhythmic bobbing of the boat.

“Its beautiful. I would never have imagined.”

“You can swim can’t you Signora?”

“In streams and small ponds, but never anywhere as vast as this. I fear I will be swallowed up.”

“Never a truer word spoken Singora." Bruno Nodded, "Tis Godless to be swimming. We were never meant to.”

“In that case.” Matthew stripped off his shirt and slid into the clear waters, grinning at the shocked faces of Bruno and Pietro.

He lifted a dripping hand towards Rubys chalky face. “Come on in – you’ll see the fish and the coral much better from here.”

Ruby looked at the stormy face of Bruno and the incredulous look Peitro gave her and then down at her dress.

“Its not like I aint seen it before”. Bruno sniffed. “I’ll turn me head if you want to act all prissy. Once you’re in the water no-one can see anything anyway.” Bruno slapped Peitro and they both turned toward the ship.

Ruby looked down at Matthew; terrified and entranced.

“Jump! Come in and see the fish in their world. ….I won’t look either” as he turned about.

Ruby looked at the back of Brunos head towards the ship.

“I doubt the captain has his spy glass lookin at you if that’s what you’re thinking.” Hawking again Bruno spat as far as he could into the distance between them.

She flung her dress off , closed her eyes, took a deep breath and jumped. After the initial shock of the temperature of the water, she giggled with delight as she luxuriated with the freedom of the buoyant water about her naked body.

“Ruby, over here!” Matthew sprayed droplets of water as his arm raised out of the water gesturing wildly.

They watched a large school of fish thread their way around the coloured coral.

“Thank you Matthew, this is a truly a gift from the goddess herself.”

A deep boom reverberated inside their chests as it pulsed through the water.

“I’m glad I’m not in the water closer to the ship. Poor fish. They’ll have killed a lot with that one.”

Indiscriminate shouts rose from the ships direction.

Another boom shattered the scene.

A flurry of oars as Bruno kicked Pietro awake. “Get into the boat we have to get back to the ship, its under attack.”

Matthews tall, lean figure slid easily into the boat. Bruno plucked Ruby out of the water with one arm and set her unceremoniously into the boat. She shook with both fear and the cold as a slight wind wove lazily around her. “Attack? By what?”

Brunos face set into a grim line as he pulled the oars in quick succession.

“Pirates.”

The Fishing ....Trip Part 2

2009-06-21T00:01:00.002+01:00

Juan looked sternly at Ruby and Matthew. “I’m afraid I don’t like it. The danger of you being cast accidentally adrift, so far from the ship. Its lunacy.”

Ruby shook her head slightly, remembering at the last moment she no longer had long locks to flick about. Instead she tried a different tact. “Please Juan. I’ll write about it. I’ll write everything I see. Give me a chance to find something I can get excited about.”

Matthews low, soothing voice cut in over her pleading. “The ships been becalmed for days. Not so much as a whiff of breeze to shift her more than a foot. Its no more than a five min row out. With the sea as it is, we could hear you whisper across the water, much less if you shouted for us to return.”

Rubys small upturned face, populated with genuine interest warmed Juans heart. Perhaps she needed to find some sort of beauty or passion in order for her to continue with her learning.

“The sails aren’t even out and you’ve got the sea anchor setting us in place. What could go wrong?”

Juan winced inwardly at her words. Bad luck and ill winds seemed to attached themselves to him ever since they had crossed paths. He thought again of the old superstitions pertaining women and the sea.

“Beggin’ your pardon Cap’n. We are all set to go with the fishing.” Pete had slipped quietly into the small huddle.

The busy hum of activity had stopped. Ropes had been fed into coils awaiting their journey into the sea, nets spread evenly into easily thrown shapes, knives sharpened and honed. A quiet creak of La Gongozzler matched the slight sway of movement as it sat on the dead still sea.

Ruby straightened and drew herself to a stately carriage. “I’ll not beg. I’m asking you Captain Juan. As a marooned guest upon this ship, I wish to see the wondered of a coral reef and take full responsibility for my safety.”

Against his better judgment he nodded reluctantly and turned his head slightly toward Pete. “Prepare the davit”. Pete ducked his head, glanced up at Ruby and Matthew and scrambled back down the companionway.

“Take Peitro and Bruno with you. Even if a freak wind stirs up or an unlikely swell shifts us in the next hour, their strength will row you back in no time. Best go before Calisto unleashes his pots.”

The Fishing Trip ..Part 1

2009-06-18T14:04:00.004+01:00

Calisto absentmindedly fingered his frayed “lucky” fuse as his keen eyes cast their final look over the fishing bombs he’d been busy constructing all night. The squat pottery bottles stopped with bees wax sat forlornly awaiting their watery fate.

Nodding again with satisfaction, he closed the lid to his supply of Salt of Petra – a secret mixture which included naturally occurring potassium nitrate and the refined finishing from niter-beds. He double checked the secure fastenings of each box before closing the cupboard door and latching it against the rhythmic roll of the sea.

Bruno had granted him a small corner cupboard and constructed bench space away from where the rest of the men slept in their hammocks; mainly due to their nervousness toward the myriad of foul smelling ingredients he kept to produce the various explosives he created.

Pressing his upper lip onto his gaped yellowing teeth, he gave a sharp whistle. “Eh Boy. I’ m ready.”

Calvins eager face appeared moments afterward. The lad held his arms out to assist carrying the pottery jars onto deck and chattered incessantly about how careful he would be holding them.

The crew leant against balistrad and masts, picking either their teeth or fingernails with daggers. The heavy hot air was stifling and difficult to breathe after even the most minor physical exertion. Many of the crew had striped away their shirts and signs of sunburn were beginning to show on the whitened chests. Jagged scar wounds, puckered and fierce, marked each man as seasoned participants in the many scuffles the crew from La Gongozzler had experienced.

Juan stood squinting into the flat horizon, his arms behind him and hands tapping together agitatedly. His pure white linen shirt, loosely threaded to the throat, hung in dampened, but not dirty, folds around his muscled torso. His dark thick hair lay in its natural waves, if not shorter than currently popular; dampened too by the heat wave which becalmed the ship. His brow wrinkled slightly as he strained to see.

Pete handed him a spyglass. “I saw it too. But, wasn’t sure.”

Juan scanned the horizon again to where he had seen a shape or a shadow and shook his head. “Nothing. I think the heat and all this waiting around has driven us all mad.”

Bare feet shuffling uncomfortably behind him, caused Juan to reluctantly put the spy glass down.

“Beggin’ your pardon Captain. I’m ready”

Juan gracefully turned about slowly; as if in a dance and allowed the first smile he’d born for days to spread across his face.

“Thank you Calisto. We all look forward to the diversion.” He nodded at Pete who scrambled waving his arms about as he shouted orders.

“Look lively, you men with the hooks. We’ll need some nets over here as well. Garcia, get more pots from Pablo. Fielden is your group ready with those gutting knives?”

“Ey Pete.” Fielden flicked his knife into the air and caught it deftly, spinning it about his hands seemingly absentmindedly, but grinning at the jealous looks he received.

Ruby fluttered an ancient fan and frowned at Matthews questioning look.

“I’m trying to do as the Captain has asked and take on a more feminine role.”

She leant over the railings on the quaterdeck and peered down at the rest of the crew.

“What exactly are they planning to do? I’ve never seen fishing with pots before.”
His elbow touched hers as bent closer to her. “Its pretty crude, extremely noisy and involves no fishing tackle. Petes had the men throw burly around the ship now for hours to lure fish in. They’ll just throw in the explosives and up float the fish; half dead, stunned or partially cooked. Pete has teams ready to scoop up the fish and those who will gut and clean them ready to preserve and cook them.”

Matthew misunderstood Rubys shocked face as an unspoken further question. “The blast causes shockwaves underwater. Any fish nearby will have its innards explode or stun them. Some of them float , but most of them sink to the sea floor. We’ve used this in the past to clear coral reefs we have had near run ins both on the Mediterranean ………and when we sailed in another places.”

“Coral?”

“Sea gardens – under the water – truly a beautiful spectre to behold. Colours and shapes like you’ve never seen, fish darting about, all curious about you being in their space.”

I’ve never heard of coral before.

“As hard as stone and if you get cut with it as dangerous as a kiss from death. It’ll cut a ships keel like knives and sink you quicker than being in he grips of a sea monster. The Mediterranean is not a particularly deep sea. There are outcrops where islands used to be or simply put there by the god of the sea to wreck ships. See that splashing out beyond?”

She nodded

“That would be a reef for certain.”

“I’d love to see it. You’ve seen it.”

Matthews face wrinkled as he smiled and nodded..

She stopped fluttering her ineffectual fan and turned to him. “Take me out to the reef. I want to see it.”

Matthew watched the teams of men preparing for the fishing haul. “Well – the ships not going anywhere soon, we’ve laid a sea anchor. We’d have ask the Captain. It may not seem any distance, but once away from the ship there’s the danger of drifting, of being lost.”

Her eyes sparkled with an intensity he’d not seen for weeks. “What could possibly go wrong Matthew? Let go , now. Before they start I don’t think I could bear to see those poor fish flopping about helplessly.”

A Pact

2009-06-09T00:13:00.000+01:00

Later that evening as the full moon rise high in the cloudless sky Ruby sat with Matthew on the poop deck, having been granted consent because she was chaperoned. The fishing had been postponed and the men were more restless than days of unending becalm-ment warranted.

“Would you come with me if I choose to leave?”

The question hung in the air between them.

“I thought this was where you wanted to be?”
“We all signed on of our own accord and free will. We are able to leave under such.”
“I thought you would want to stay .... Where would you go?”
“There are many places I would go. But one in particular - to find someone lost to me.”

They sat letting the gentle lap of the ocean caress the side of the boat. A comfortable, liquid rhythm which lulled them both despite their yearning for terra firma.

Ruby turned to Matthew, the moonlight illuminating her cheeks and emphasising the hollows under her eyes. A beautiful and macabre portrait. Matthew saw not Ruby but Maria and rubbed at the sting in his eyes, as if a tiny gnat had flown thousands of miles to embed itself in his eye.

“If you would offer me my freedom – my sovereignty Matthew I would follow you to the end of the earth if you asked.”
“And perhaps that is where you may end up bella,” he said softly as he wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand left hand.

With his right he took hold of Ruby’s hand, gently running his finger over the place where her fingers had once been and they sat in peace and understanding, watching the moon dance high into the sky above them, and then having reached her zenith, begin her descent having witnessed the pact between the run away wife and deserting priest.

The Future

2009-06-07T00:12:00.000+01:00

“I did not realise it was time,” she said simply, pushing the stopper into the ink well.
“I came early so we could get in some practice before Callisto got busy with the fishing.”
“Fishing?” Ruby looked up with fascination. The first change to their routine in time immeasurable. She understood now the wisdom in carving a notch everyone morning when you woke.
“I think you will find it amusing Señora.”

He came over to the table to look at the exercises she had been doing with Matthew. Ruby snatched up the skin and held it to her chest.
“Best you not offend yourself with my childish script Captain.”
“I am intrigued to see your progress Señora.”
“Later then.” She took a step backwards, reaching across the table to hand the scroll as if Matthew was a trust accomplice. “If you can beat me this afternoon I will show you my work. Now you promised me the Toledo rapier today. Perhaps it is my lucky day.” She smiled with impish disregard for proprietary. “Let me change.”

Juan looked over to the renegade priest who sat staring out the huge bay window in the rear of the Grand Cabin, Ruby’s work in his hand.
“I’m not sure this will work Captain,” Matthew said, turning his attention back to the table. The disregarded quill, the barely stoppered ink well and the space where the skin scroll had sat. ‘She has not passion for learning. For writing or reading.”
“Infuse her with passion then.” He walked over to the window and stared out at the cloudless sky. The ever ending calm. Wishing for a breathe of wind. “It is of even greater importance now she is kept below.”
“Yet you parade her above in tight pants with a sword.” Matthew scrambled to his feet. His height dwarfing even the Captain. “Forgive me Juan. I forget my place.” He sat back. “I’m sorry Captain.”
“There must be something among your books which will interest her. And if you wish spend all the daylight hours down here imprisoned with her – you are welcome.”

“I am not some problem you can talk your way out of – either of you.” Ruby stood in the door in her favourite men’s shirt and pants. Her breasts bound close to her body with an old length of hemp cloth.
“No Señora – you are your own problem.”
“You asked me to act like a lady and I have. I can’t cope Juan.”
“The winds will pick up again and soon we will be Italy. You will have money and time to buy new dresses.”
“It is not new dresses I want.” It was barely contained – a scream threatening to tear from her furious lips. Matthew’s mother had called him little storm cloud as a child when he had flown into one of his childish rages and she had tried to cover his ruddy face in small butterfly kisses. Ruby reminded him of the storm cloud he had once been. “I want respect!.”
“Let me remind you Señora,” Juan straightened his jacket and took a step towards her. “You are on board a pirate ship. And you chose to be on this said pirate ship. Perhaps you might spend your quiet hours contemplating your future.”
“You don’t mean –“
“You may have your intaglio and disembark when we make landfall Señora.”
“You are leaving me behind.” It hung in the air like the acrid after smell of a snuffed candle.
“No. I am suggesting Señora you carefully consider what you want your future to be once we arrive in Italy.”

Ruby strode across the Grand Cabin and stood on tip toes to take the rapier from the hooks it had been placed in.
“You would say good-bye to me that easily Juan? Break out partnership.”

Matthew coughed reminding both of them he was bearing witness.
“Just something for you to think on Señora. Let us not make any hasty plans.”
“No let us not.”

Learning to Write

2009-06-05T12:43:00.003+01:00

“I can’t … I won’t.”

Ruby shoved the skin parchment away from her as though it was infected with the plague. Her neck and back ached from sitting for long hours hunched over the table, immobile on the stool. Her fingers cramped and numb – unused to holding the quill much less attempting to make it flow with the same ease and grace with which Matthew seemed to weild when he wrote. She rubbed the pain at the inner point of her eyebrows, smoothing then outwards with the thumb and forefinger of what she referred to now as her ‘good hand.’ The missing fingers on the left hand ached in sympathy.

“Yes you can … and you will.” Matthew smiled, empathy deep in his eyes as he pushed the skin back. “I have faith in your ability bella.”

“It is unnatural.”

“Because you are a woman and the Church forbids.”

Ruby turned her head and mimicked a spit – Juan would order a flogging if she actually defiled the oak floors of this cabin with her spite.

“I couldn’t care less what the Church says I can and can’t do. It is unnatural to have things put down like this. Some things are not meant to be – made permanent like this. Besides – when am I ever going to need to read or write. I have everything up here here. I have my intuition and it has done me well to this point.”

“Hurrah to your intuition for landing you in on a pirate ship becalmed in the middle of no where, an prison of choice below decks.”

Ruby pulled the skin back to her, setting her jaw against his words.

“I will write badly and then at the end of the day when I can barely move from pain in my entire body – you lend me your knife and I will scrape the words off ready to begin tomorrow. There is no point to this endless exercise other than to keep me occupied below deck where I will cause no harm.”

Reconsidering the skin she shoved it and the quill back across the table.

“I am stifling in here Matthew. This is killing me. I need to get out in the fresh air, to stretch my legs, to lie in the pasture and watch the clouds race over head. Lilith help me – to make daisy chains and pretend I am Queen. Anything but this.”

She got up from the stool and lent to stretch the tightness out of her back.

“The Captain will be back shortly bella to take you up on deck.”

“Tokenism. That is what it is. Put me through my paces with the rapier up on the poop deck and pretend he’s actually doing something for me. Like this writing.”

“The Captain is doing more for you than any other man on this planet would willing do for you.” Ruby thought she detected the slightest hint of jealousy in Matthew’s expression when he said it, though his tone remained even.

“I don’t want to be taught to write – like a man. I don’t want to be pandered to with empty promises in sword play. I want my freedom.”

“Have you ever considered the freedom which lies within books. What learning would do for you bella. You could escape to lands unimaginable, meet people you would never have dreamed of. Know things you have never thought possible. Reading will set you free. I would happily lend you any of my books. You have a fine mind Ruby.”

“I do not wish to know how to read your books Matthew. I have you do I not? I have you to tell me what is in the books.”

“But to be able to read for yourself. To know first hand and to be able to form your own ideas and opinions of them – from them. Do you no want to know first hand from the source – or rely on gossip.”

“I trust you Matthew to tell me the truth.”

“I am not to be trusted.”

Ruby watched his expression harden and a tiny nerve in the side of his eye twitch.

“But I trust you.” She reached out to touch his hand with the three fingers of her mutilated hand. “I trust you.”

“I’m sorry!” The voice came from behind and Ruby snatched her hand away from Matthew's and straightened her carriage. Running her hand down the front of the simple dress she had sewn from some hand soften canvass Calvin had procured for her.

“I wish I could get you beautiful threads and ribbons to decorate your dress like in Lisbon,” Calvin had said. And she had smiled into his eager grin. Unlike Matthew or Juan, he was easy to please. A moment of her time, a few words here and there.

Ruby pulled herself from her reverie. “I did not realise it was time.”

The Power of Recognition

2009-05-28T08:20:00.000+01:00

Marcus pulled at his white satin doublet uncomfortably. The red and white corded lacing felt as though it may slowly strangle him. Cautiously looking about the Doges palace, he felt a stab of jealousy at the opulence and obvious wealth accumulated. Although not as famous or powerful as the Doges of Genoa or Venice, Doge Raimondo of Pisa called upon favours from both church and old nobility with his economic saavy clearly demonstrated in the surroundings. Marcus adjusted the gold trimmed red cloak which slung fashionably over one shoulder. On a younger or more distinguished frame, it would look dashing, but coupled with the tall black hat festooned with a feather, Marcus looked overstuffed and pompous.

After traveling to Florence on the pretense of purchasing merchandise for his gentleman’s outfitters, he’d had word to undertake an important task in readiment for the week long memorial celebrations planned for his long lost, and assumed dead, father.

As his first semi official duty as an heir to the DeLume name, Marcus was not willing to present himself in anything but the height of fashion and courtly manners. He initially had doubted his half brothers true intentions but felt the rush of power that this token task had given him and was keen to prove his worth.

The guard suddenly grasped the door mechanism and effortlessly pulled the large wooden door open. The impoverished face of an acolyte nodded at the entrance and motioned Marcus to follow him into the chambers.

“Doge Raimondo” Marcus bowed grandly, “blessings from Spain and from my family.”

Upon the giant wooden chair, the richly be garbed figure motioned Marcus forward. “Welcome Brother Marcus, it pleases my heart to see the small incidents in Roma have been forgiven and you are united publicly with your family.”

“Not quite your Eminence. I no longer belong with the church. Though your sources are astute in their findings about my family, but nothing will be truly public until after the Ball.”

“Please accept my condolences on the loss of your father. A devout Christian and tireless politician. I suppose there is the time that one must accept he will not be returning from the New World. And of course for the shocking recent loss of your wife.”

“Thank you my Lord. Dreadful business on both accounts. She was a faithful and beautiful bride and I am still heartbroken at the manner of her death.”

Marcus managed to squeeze moisture from one eye and he dabbed it with his handkerchief.

“The authorities never managed to find the deranged culprit who desecrated her body like that?”

Marcus brought his lace handkerchief to his face and feigned grief, shaking his head and bewildered at the speed in which gossip and planted evidence was able to travel.

“She’s with the Lord now Marcus, she is at peace.” As he leant forward and patted Marcus on the hand.

Marcus stuffed his handkerchief inside his doublet and stared at the large chair, unable to pick the wood it was made from.

Noticing the interested look, the Doge replied, “Alder. A water loving tree and mostly used in Venice these days for their foundations and bridges.”

“An interesting choice of wood for your seat of power your Eminence.”

“It has certain qualities I find valuable. So you are here for official business as well I see?

Marcus nodded. “The Gypsies.”

“Rromani tribes. They gather here for our annual games and …… I believe you will be selecting some of the performances to entertain at your celebrations?”

“Yes your Eminence. My…brother Earl Fedele wishes me to handpick the best to travel to our estates and enchant our guests during the week long memorial for our.. father.”

“Your celebrations have caused quite an interest for many of the tribes, some traveling long distances to vie for the honour.”

“Gypsies have no honour, my pardon, your Eminence. They are heathens, thieves and liars.” Despite himself, Marcus spat the sour note from his mouth. He could see Rubys flashing godless eyes and almost smell the basket of barbarian herbs and potions she carried around.

“And they are welcome guests within my realm.”

“Of course your Eminence. Begging your forgiveness.”

“Time out, Marcus, Time Out”

“We can call that?”

“Right away. Whilst you are a guest here you will be civil and you will observe the laws of Time Out with regards to the Rromani. I would suggest you adopt these guidelines when you contract your performances for the De Lume Estates.”

Doge Raimondo motioned with his bejeweled left hand and a servant darted in from the side holding quill and parchment.

“These are the terms of agreement you must sign before you can engage any of the Rromani. You will notice that the letters of travel you supply must be dated for a year.”

Marcus sucked air in quickly. “That would appear a long time for rag tag band of jugglers to stumble less than 40 miles to La Spezia.” Granting letters of travel allowed the bearer to migrate freely within the country, answering only to the Lord who issued the papers. With the new residency laws established with Spain, many Rromani had been evicted due to their lack of ties to a province and were keen to gain some protection.

The Doge arched his eyebrow.

Marcus stumbled, “Your eminence, it seems a little excessive; going through this paperwork, just in order for me to view their performances. They are common gypsies, landless.”

Doge Raimondo retrieved the parchment and held it in the air. “You are of course welcome to find your entertainment elsewhere.”

An icy dagger stabbed Marcus as his body crept cold with dread. Earl Fedele had issued him a simple task as a public acknowledgement of his trust and acceptance of his half brother. Was he to fail in his first role?

“Aldo, Why are you doing this?”

The figure straightened in his chair, breathing in quickly and stared at Marcus for long moments. “I have my own reasons. Just as I am sure you and Fedele have your own for planning this week long façade. Eyes will be watching Marcus. Ensure you step lightly.”

Marcus dropped his eyes and meekly reached for the parchment understanding the thinly veiled threat.

“When you have been officially recognized within the family, come back to see me Marcus. You’ll need a suitable wife and introductions. I owe you this at least.”

Marcus bowed and kissed the ring on the Doges outstretched hand.

“Unless your tastes have changed, you will be warmly welcomed in your rooms when you return. The competitions and performances begin in two days. Until then, please make yourself at home.”

The sweeping arm signaled the large wooden doors to open and Marcus’s audience had been called to a close.

Puzzle Pieces

2009-05-15T14:34:00.003+01:00

Stinging sweat dripped mercilessly into Brunos eyes as he grunted and strained at the effort taken to screw the pipes together. His tiny cabin was normally stifling but the heat was nearly overwhelming with the extra bodies attempting to lounge in it . Each one of them expecting, praying for him to pull off a miracle.

“Damn it Feildon!” as he threw a piece to the floor, “ are you sure you picked up all the bits at Amos?’”

The short dagger stopped whittling as Feildon flicked his eyes up at the hunched figure; his sharp look answer enough. Feildons expensive chambray shirt hung open to the waist though the oppressive heat that forced sweat marks onto the other mens shirts his, as always, appeared freshly laundered.

Bruno growled and turned back to the piping, his thoughts screaming in his head. “Blast that smarmy bastard. Always ready to order the men around never working himself – whos in charge here anyway?.”

Brunos eyes swept the room. The partially constructed still crowded what little space he had. Tucked under his hammock with his gangly legs swinging back and forth, lay Calvin.

“Don’t you have something better to do lad?”

The roar startling even Feildons nonchalance.

Calvin’s dark eyes look up at the men in genuine surprise. His hand beginning to bleed having been caught by the cruel claws of the Black Cat in the middle of their boxing match.

“Leave the boy be and concentrate. Turn that pipe the other way and fit it.” Amos gestured at Bruno then pointed toward the box. The Black Cat suddenly spat and arched her back as Brunos beefy hand stretched out to reach for another piece.

“Someone tell this black wench that the box does not belong to her – or she’ll be handed over to Calisto for fishing bait.”

Calvin scooped the cat into his arms and brushed his face in her warm fur. "I’ll take her outside," glad for an excuse to escape Brunos wrath and the stench of unwashed bodies. The door was quickly closed behind him and Calvins lungs filled with fresh- if not still sea air. Everyone on the ship were extra tetchy and the cat seemed to be the only creature genuinely happy to see him. Even Signora Ruby kept to her cabin and had begun to ear skirts again. Calvin wrinkled his nose. He’d liked her better in her leggings. A hot blush rose unwillingly to his face and he buried it again into the cats fur.

Out on deck, the crew on duty aimlessly tightened ropes and moped the deck. The boat creaked her concern at the inactivity and lack of mobility. When the winds dropped sending La Gongozzler into the doldrums, the ship suddenly felt smaller.

The lack of rum and Pablos insistence that the barrels of port would be just the same sent the men aboard into a spiraling depressive state.

Calvin poked his tongue out at the thought of either beverage; though he had to admit the crew were better to be round when there were ample supplies of rum aboard.

He found a spot amongst the ropes and curled up with the cat stroking its fur and murmuring to it until the gentle rocking of the boat and the warm still air sent him to sleep.

The muddle of pipes and glass chambers still sat higgle piggle about Brunos cabin an hour later.

Calisto fiddled with a length of fuse absentmindly, a bead of sweat meandered down his back catching the thick hair lazily on its way past. Bruno remained crouching over the pipes unwilling to admit that rum might not be able to be made. Calisto longed to seize the offending piece of pipe from the huge hand and place it where it aught to go; but with the state of Brunos, temper even he had second thoughts.

Calisto closed his eyes and saw the pieces fitting into one another in turn. The way Bruno had it set up, the steam would never travel at the right speed or volume. Its all about angles, the most efficient propulsion, harnessing the power. Everything was.

He grinned and looked down at the fuse ad rubbed the wick for luck again. The captain had agreed to let him go fishing his way later on in the day. Perhaps after that he might offer to help Bruno set the still up properly.

You Will Act Like A Woman

2009-03-11T00:26:00.000Z

Pete shifted in his seat and stared hard at the map. Far above he could hear the foot fall of the changing of the watch – men coming and going about their business, shift to shift, watch to watch as they had always done. But now there was an undercurrent to it all. The presence of the girl and the Chinamen had corrupted the morale – made worse by the poisonous drop Pablo was passing off as better than rum, and for half the price. He growled and drained the glass, pulling a grimace as the weak alcohol, sickly sweet with a gentle warming, rather than bitter and rasping kiss of rum on the back of his throat. How any of them were to think straight without the assistance of strong drink ….

“I thought you had a soft spot for Ruby Pete. I’m surprised to here you of all people curse her as a witch. Getting superstitious in your old age?”

The old dog thumped the glass down onto the map table and looked the Captain in the eye.

“There’s rules for a reason Juan. You can’t lock all these hot blooded brutes up with one señora and expect there won’t be some sort of trouble. Where do you think the superstitions come from in the first place? Good solid wisdom on how to run a ship – that’s what I’m telling you.”

“But Lisbon – surely.”

“They got their share of drinking and whoring as they all do – but she’s here everyday, on deck with them, tempting and reminding them of her presence. And there’s no love lost between her and Bruno. He’d run her through with his dagger and give not a second thought to it. It is as though that woman is going out of her way to stir trouble with him. She’d do everyone a favour if she kept to her cabin – rather than trying to be one of the boys. Because frankly – she’s not and she wont ever be – hair or no hair.”

“Point taken.” He was disturbed to here of the antagonism that Ruby had spawned with Bruno. A brilliant and hard nosed bosun, he was also one to act and ask questions later.

He signed and picked up the Juan compass to begin counting out the distance between their current location and that of the port La Spezia. He heard Pete’s diatribe and registered the occasional nod, but his thoughts were elsewhere. At last they had a lead and better than that – Juan reached over to the parchment, they had legitimate entry to Dominic’s funeral festivities. And Domenica … and Intaglio.

“Are you even listening to me Juan?” He looked up to see Pete’s face animated and flushed. “If you really care for her safety Juan – you’ll do something about this today.”

“I shall deal with Señorita Mendes. If you will just stop whining like a woman Pete. I’ll have to ask the Señorita if you can borrow one of her dresses and see that doesn’t cause a stir on deck.”

Pete swung his chair back onto two legs and broke out into a belly laugh that bounced off the walls of the cabin and cleared the air.

“Go up on deck and order some sword practise … get the blood pumping in a different direction, their minds focused on something else. It’s time they sharpened up their fighting. I imagine even disguised as the Abbot of Lisbon there will be need for good men within the grounds if we’re to go to these celebrations.” Pete paused at the door waiting for the rest of his instructions. “And send the Señorita down here.”

Juan poured a liberal sized glass of the stuff they called Port, and like Pete wished for the searing, clarity that came with rum, even if it brought flash backs to his time in the crows nest. The quartermaster it seemed had considered his Amontillado a luxury that as privateers, cut from the Spanish purse strings, they could no longer afford. Juan needed clarity now. Ruby’s presence was like a flint spark that ignited the gunpowder. And he was never sure which way the explosion would swing.

The memory of the slap that tore through his sunburnt face from their last encounter and her obvious absence since then warned for caution. He assumed that she continued to believe that he had intended to leave her behind on the wharf in Lisbon – to steal the intaglio for himself. And the fury that he would be so, unthankful, given the time and effort she’d put in to keep him from Death’s cold embrace. But talking sense to her then was beyond her capacity to hear and he’d let her be.

He could still feel her cool finger tips on him, in stark contrast to the blaze that engulfed his whole body, and her voice soft and low muttering incarnation and singing as the boat rocked to and fro outside the heads of Lisbon. He was thankful for what she had done – but had no idea of how to express that. The woman had a way of turning his words to fit her purpose and not his own.

Emptying the glass, he poured two more, and sat waiting for her to appear at the table.

A quiet knock broke him out of his thoughts of what awaited him in La Spezia and he looked up. A bandana of sweaty canvass covered her head and the curls that were starting to form now her hair had grown. It was darker at the brow, drenched in sweat and her high cheek bones bore the kiss of the sun. The scar on her cheek looked paler, less vicious now her face had tanned. Beneath the rough shirt he could see the strip of cloth she’d used to bind the swell of her breasts flat against her chest. If not for the full, luscious lips and the chiselled cheek bones she could have been just another deck hand.

“You asked for me?” She hesitated at the door.
“Would you prefer to wash and change before we confer?” He rose from his chair and crossed to the door. Her brows collapsed into a V and her eyes narrowed at the corners.
“Do I offend you?”
“Of course now,” Juan offered her his hand. “I was just thinking of your comfort.”
“Something you consider of all your crew members I assume, Captain.”

He felt the sting in her words. When had she ever called him Captain? His hand hovered in the space between them, and she brushed past him to stand at the map table.
“This new act, or whatever it is,” his hands were suddenly animated in front of him, “this can’t go on Señorita.” She too felt the smart of the formal address. “From here on you are banned from working along side the other crew. You are to return to your cabin and behave in a way that is both befitting of a female and a paying passenger. And you are to treat my Bosun with the respect that comes with his position on board here.”

Ruby felt the scar on her cheek tighten and the rage gather in her stomach. She would not be treated like a woman. She would work side by side with the others – as was the deal struck back in his tavern room all those months ago. She was not here to play ladies. And she would not be civil to the Bosun – the bully and tyrant that he was.
“That was not the agreement in the beginning Captain. You took me on as crew and I have signed back on as crew. You were not interested then in the money I offered to be a paying guest aboard. Are you reneging on our deal?”

Juan spread his fingers out on the table and lent over, his face remaining impassive.
“You are a woman Ruby. You are on a boat full of men. As your Captain I consider your safety to be in danger if you continue to behave as you are.”

Ruby mimicked his pose, leaning in as far as her small torso would go, holding his eyes with her own. “I’m in danger because I act like a man. You are worried about my safety, yet you tell me to go and behave like a woman – to flaunt myself in front of the men in my finery. I’ll stick to the rough shirt and pants thanks.”

With speed that shocked her, Juan grabbed her arms and half dragged her across the table, her public bone hitting the side of table.
“You Senora will do as you are told. You will return these clothes to who ever it was that lent them to you and you will retire to your cabin until you are called for. You will dine with me each evening, as is befitting a paying guest and business associate and you will keep off the deck unless you are accompanied by myself or a chaperon appointed by me.”

“Like hell I will,” she spat.
“If not I will toss you to the first boatful of corsairs we meet and let you see how real pirates treat women.”

He shoved her back across the table and settled in the chair he’d been waiting in for her, taking a moment to scratch the fledgling beard on his chin.
“As I told you when we left Lisbon – I put my crew first. No one single individual is above the collective here. You will do as you are told, for your sake and the sake of the crew as a whole.”
“No single above the collective – that is unless you are the Captain of course,” and she stalked out of the cabin slamming the door behind her.

Juan chuckled and poured another Port. Maybe it was the taste of victory, so rare in his exchanges with Ruby, or maybe it was a sense of habituation. The port didn’t taste so bad this time.

*
Juan had the bell rung for supper and sent Calvin to collect Ruby. He’d ordered a bath prepared for her in the officers mess hall and goaded the galley into supplying something other than the ordinary salty tack and hard biscuits. The lamps were set low when she appeared, like an apparition at the door way, Calvin hovering behind her.

Ruby allowed him to press his lips to her cheek at the threshold and to lead her to the table, set with silver cutlery and fine china. The flickering light from the oil lamps on the wall caught the cut crystal goblets, casting tiny sporadic rainbows on the white linen table cloth.

They ate and drank in silence until the meal was finished. Juan poured each of them a glass of olorosa from his private stash and set the glasses on a tiny table between two chairs that Ruby couldn’t remember furnishing the cabin before. On the table, between the glasses, lay a parchment.

Ruby settled into the soft velvet chair, tucking one foot underneath her and rearranging the silk dress. With her good hand she reached for the parchment.
“This is what this is all about then.” She arched an eyebrow at Juan then unrolled the parchment. It took time for each word to form itself in her head. Reading did not come easily or naturally to her, but there was plenty of time and oil in the lamps. She refused to have him read it to her.

Juan sat watching her, sipping the rich aromatic sherry – revelling in the slow burn down his oesophagus, watching her forehead furrow and relax. If only there were more bottles of this to get him through to the next port.

“Dominic is not dead.” She rolled the parchment and retied the ribbon. “I saw and spoke with the man this time last year.”
“Unless he died in the year since you saw him. Matthew heard him declared dead in the Abbey at Lisbon.”
“But if he is dead….” Ruby didn’t dare to finish the sentence.
“From what Matthew told us – he’s been declared dead, lost in the New World. Speculation and tradition more than hard evidence that he actually died. It would seem that you are the only person other than your husband to have seen him in the last two years.”

A wry smile spread across Ruby’s face.
“My husband will be in on this. There is something they must want from the old man too. This is the sort of grand occasion the De Lumes love – but there is always a motive for the extravagance. You learn certain things when you pinning and tucking the garments of the rich and influential.”
Juan chuckled. “Dominic is the sort of man who would allow celebrations marking his passing to proceed just so that he could attend. I heard him once remark that he’d give his right arm to go to his own funeral just to see who came and what they said about him. Joked he’d be the first to offer a toast to the dearly departed.”

Ruby shifted in the chair and let the parchment rest in her lap, reaching for the crystal glass of expensive sherry.
“What do you want of me then?”
“I need you to stay safe and close to me Ruby.” He paused to savour another mouthful of the olorosa. “I need you to come into the villa with me in Italy. Unlike others in my crew, you have first hand experience with these people.”
“You want me to shave me head again?”
Juan laughed and placed the glass back on the table, reaching for the parchment. “Something like that maybe. I haven’t decided. Matthew only brought this to me this morning and I’m not sure yet that I am pious enough to embody the role of the good Abbot.”

He stood and reached for her hand.
“Until then I need you to stay safe on board. Cultivating the ire of men like Bruno will lead to scenarios that will do your health and well-being little good.” Ruby growled. “So give me your word that you will stay below decks? You are too important to me to lose.”

Unsure as to which meaning she wanted to take from his words, Ruby placed her good hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet, stretching her foot that was numb. Placing a hand on his forearm she said, “Shall we go out and gaze at the stars for a while. You have given me much to think on.”

He smiled and took her above to the poop deck, his hand resting on the small of her back as he pointed out the different constellations with his other. And wondered what she was thinking.

An Invitation to the Ball

2009-03-07T10:19:00.004Z

La Gongozzler felt alive with steady crescendo of the waves as they rolled underneath, the crackling songs of the creatures under the hull with the slight motion of a wave working the joints within the structure of the ship. Matthew gripped the side rail as he stared at the endless horizon and smiled at the contented gurgle of the water that says she'd hit cruising speed. The wind singing through the rigging. The ensign snapping. This was where he was meant to be; not on land preaching to an indoctrinated congregation. His brow darkened with the realization his mission had not yet finished; yet this path was far more favourable than that on land.

A school of fish, shooting around with their comet trails attempted to race the ship unsuccessfully. Matthew breathed in deep the pungent, sulphury smell that coincided with phosphorescence trails in the sea the evening before. Despite their liberal religious views, many of the men had resorted to crossing themselves as they hauled their nets in, dragging out the liquid light; the soft sea jellies crushed and torn, shining and clinging to the hemped knots. Perhaps his time as a conveyor of the words of God and comfort were not quite over.

Checking quickly that the scroll was still in place in his tunic, Matthew made his was towards the Captains cabin. A black cat wounds its way round his legs nearly causing him to fall, but before he could catch or scald it, it had vanished like a puff of smoke.

He could hear the low murmur of both the Captain and Pete inside and was hesitant to knock; his fist poised in mid air inches away from the wooden door.

“Come in, whoever lurks outside.” Juans sense of his environment and surroundings had never ceased to impress him.

The Captain stood tall, impeccably dressed in a snow white tunic, loosely closed at the neck by a criss cross of cord. His beard clipped short and smoothed and his dark stubbly hair glistened like diamonds with a fine sweat.

“Excuse me Captain, might I have a word?”

Juan extended his arm out to him. “Father Paulo, please come in.”

Matthew glanced at Petes consistent frown and stepped inside the cabin.

“Please, I am no longer Father Paulo – he was left behind in Lisbon. I am simply Matthew your head carpenter.”

Pete scratched his bead and grumbled, “Men changing their names, women still on board, Bruno smuggling God-only-knows-what on board. The Gongozzler is a shambles – beggin’ your pardon Captain.” Pete continued to scratch his beard, but flicked his eyes away from both men.

Juans tightly smiled and inclined his head. “No you are right Pete; as usual. I have not been myself these past months. Things have changed.”

“It all started with that woman, that witch.” Pete whispered almost to himself.

“Whom we not only need for these maps, but has proven to be resourceful and as good a hand on deck as any man we have here.”

Matthew cleared his throat.

“Please, Matthew – whats on your mind?”

“The week in Lisbon,Sir. I had a lot of thinking to do, wasn’t sure if I was going to sign on again.”

“There’s no shame in that – I gave everyone an option. I am glad you decided to join us again though.”

“I went straight to the monastery, I needed to think, away from the other men and from the ship. I won’t deny Captain that I have been involved in many things within the church and part of my decision to come back as simply Matthew has to do with my departure of faith in the direction our new Pope has taken the church.”

Juans brow wrinkled as he nodded trying to understand where Matthew was going with this.

“I had only been there a few days and during our midday mass the Abbot took the pulpit and asked for special prayers for the Marquis DeLume.”

“Diego is dead?” Stammered Juan

“No – The Marquis Senior – Dominic.”

“So he’s finally been announced as dead.” Pete observed.

Juan flinched involuntarily, “Its been over two years since anyone has seen or heard from him. The New World has little to explore which would take that long to return from. I suppose someone had to announce it.”

Matthew shifted his weight on his feet, but kept his hands clasped behind his back. “The monastery had prayers and ceremonies set out for a week to mark the Marquis passing. There were more pigeons and messangers arriving and departing during the next few days than I had seen before.”

“I hadn’t realized the old fox was so well connected within the church.” Pete had stopped scratching his beard and began to pull at strands thoughtfully.

“He was one of Romes greatest patrons, especially in the area of conversion and missionary work in the Holy Land and in the New World.” Replied Matthew

“Makes sense – he had his political fingers in every pie.” Juan surmised, “I had heard he was a different man before his first wife died. Apparently he purged his guilt by going on some sort of pilgrimage to the holy lands. Came back a changed man, in more ways than one.”

Matthew nodded. “Its well known he traveled with Ignatius of Loyola, who was a zealot - as most missionaries are. Spending time with him would change anyone.”

He then unrolled an ornate scroll he’d retrieved from inside his tunic and laid it out on Juans desk.

Juan and Pete crowded round to read, “Earl Fedele De Lume, together with Marquis Diego De Lume and La Contessa Dominica De Lume have announced a Masquerade Ball at the De Lume estates in La_Spezia, Liguria as a mark of respect of their fathers passing. A three day celebration including activities favoured by the late Marquis will be undertaken. Please present this invitation to the steward upon your arrival where rooms to your requirements await.”

Juan looked up in surprise. “Where or how did you get this?”

Matthew allowed himself a sly smile and a shrug. “I was curious. I went to the Abbots rooms and found this on his writing desk.”

“You broke into the Abbots private rooms?”

“I wasn’t always a man of the cloth.”

“Evidently”

“I’ve been on this ship long enough to know that most of the crew have a life on shore they are either running or hiding from.”

Juan nodded his head. “No truer word has been spoken. Now what to do with this.” He rolled the invitation up and tapped one end of it on his chin.

“If I may be excused Captain?” Matthew lowered his eyes slightly.

“Of course Father Pau..erm.. Mathew. And thank you.”

“If I might say sir, We may be damned as pirates, but pardon my bluntness, you need to say your farewells to Dominic. Captain Juan of the Gongozzler may not be welcome in port, but the Abbot of Lisbon with his invitation will be welcomed into the castle to pay his respects and offer comfort to the bereaved family. Again beg your pardon for my forthrightness Captain, as a priest, I consoled and guided families dealing with death all of the time. One thing I know is that if you don’t make the effort to say goodbye, you will carry that guilt around for many years.” He paused and looked at Juan broad back. “ I know Domonic was more a father to you than a mentor.”

Juans back remained still, the only sound in the cabin the gentle creaking of the boards in the ship. “I’ll take my leave Captain. I’ve overstepped my place and apologize.”

Without turning, Juan replied, “Matthew, there is no need to apologize. You have only spoken your truth and especially now I need honest men around me who are not afraid to speak their minds and hearts.”

Matthew spun on his heal and left the cabin.

Pete picked up the crystal decanter from the small side board and poured two measures into cut glass tumblers. Handing one to Juan he simply stated, “Port, Captain?”

Juan wrinkled his nose as he downed the shot and stared at the empty glass as the remaining cloying fluid dripped slowly down the sides. “How much of this stuff did Pablo buy again?”

“Too much, Captain. Another?”

Juan shook his head. “Well, we had planned to visit the De Lume Villa in La_Spezia . Fete, it seems, has dealt us a trump card, an open invitation.”

Juans mind began to calculate the tasks need to be undertaken before they arrived.

“We will need to change some of the rigging on La Gongozzler and rename her. There is no way we will be able to weigh anchor as we are.”

“Easy enough captain. We can do that without docking anywhere.”

“Lets back to the maps and plot our best course. As Matthew reminded me; we are pirates and will be unwelcome in most ports. Once at the ball, we can organize a sweep of Dominics private library, which will be out best starting point to find the key to our Intaglio. I feel certain we will find what we are looking for there.”

“And how will you hide from la Contessa? Your brother who will most certainly be there? With the reading of a will as large as The Marquis, even they will come out of hiding to claim what is there.”

Juan scratched his stubbly head and then laid his hand flat upon his prickly pate. “No-one looks at a man of faith too long; especially if I keep my head shaved.”

Pain can make a drunk man sober

2009-02-27T12:00:00.000Z

Career soldiers often wonder how they will die. They hope it will be peaceably, in bed, after a long and prosperous life, but for many it will be ingloriously, messily, on some god-forsaken battlefield, cut down by some opposing army, filled with men much like them.

Jose however always had a sneaking suspicion that his death would come about during a night of debauchery at Giamento's. He would drink too much, gamble too much, swear and argue too much, and after cheap and strong liquor, he would wind up in some tart's bedchamber, where death would steal upon him after he had satisfied his desires with a poor wretch selling her modesty for a few pennies.

In a lifetime of poor choices and bad luck, Jose had been remarkably prescient. Death was just about to steal upon him. Jose had hoped to be drunk at the moment of his passing, but pain has a way of making a man sober. And Jose had not expected Death to be enjoying it's triumph so much.

"If you had just held a civil tongue, none of this would be happening. Oh do stop snivelling - far better than you have coped with this with more grace." Dante twisted the small blade a fraction further, until something gave with a sickening pop. Jose screamed loudly, heaping curses and blasphemies upon Dante.

"Even your son shows more dignity in the face of adversity." Jose spat, a mix of blood and bile, and swore. "Little bastard ain't my son. I raised him, but he's not my blood. Belicia, she had him before we was married, said the father was killed."

Dante smirked. "No, that doesn't surprise me. The boy has poise, strength and cunning - his father must have been a great man. Clearly not you." He pulled the blade out, and wiped it on Jose's bloodied tunic.

Jose began to laugh, the mirthless laugh of the damned. "Great man..." He spat again. "A great man who ruined my life - that bastard's birth destroyed my Belicia. Won't let me touch her, says she can't. So here I am, with these filthy whores, just so I can have what's my right!"

Dante paused, and began to smile. More than the pain, more than the blade, the smile terrified Jose. And then what blood remained in his veins chilled as Dante took his turn to laugh.

"She... no, this is too good... she told you that... that she couldn't..." Dante sat down, his shoulders shaking as he laughed noiselessly. He shook his head, and for a moment considered that maybe there was a spark of decency in Jose, that he had been willing to respect that much of Belicia. But in a second it was gone, and Dante rose, walking over to where Jose was bound. He leaned in close, and whispered in Jose's ear. "She was lying to you. I can assure you that Belicia is quite whole, and very, very skilled..."

With one swift thrust, he plunged the blade into Jose's chest, stilling his heart.

Dante stepped back, and sighed deeply. That had been precisely what he needed. So, the boy had another father - no doubt the father's identity would be the reason that the Brotherhood had instructed him to take this mission. He pulled the blade out of the corpse, cleaned it, and prepared to leave. Belicia would be wondering where her husband was, and he now had some tragic news to impart. Given her cunning in keeping this oaf away from her, Dante doubted she would be in mourning for long.

A refined gentleman of learning...

2009-02-23T22:16:00.003Z

Tutor!

Is that all he was now? Tutor, scholar, instructor? A weak man of letters? Tutor! The way she said it, the poison she could lace it with... He paused in the shadows and permitted himself a smile. For all his talents, the effortless way that woman could cut so deeply...

He shook his head and leaned against the wall. Light streamed out of the windows of Giamento's, and debauched, raucus singing erupted from it. The least respectable establishment in the most disreputable and squalid corner of the city. For the second time Dante permitted himself a smile. Pain and death were as frequent as drunkenness and whoring in such areas.

He strode towards the open doorway of the tavern, rebuffing the advances of the girls haunting the entrance. In the past, a man such as he would have brought the tavern to silence by his mere presence. Now? Nobody so much as looked at him. Tutor! The stench of education must cling to his clothes. That was the only explanation.

He pushed his way to the bar, and signalled the tavern master. "Jose. Where is he." The tavern master raised an eyebrow. "Everyone is 'Jose' here." He spat on the floor and turned away. Dante dropped a coin on the bar. Despite the clamour, the tavern master spun round on hearing the coin clatter on the wooden surface. Dante smiled once more. Yes, still a good judge of character. Money would loosen this one's tongue faster than threats. "This particular Jose is an officer, just back from the campaigns."

The tavern master nodded. "Follow me señor. He's just been with one of the girls." They walked to the back of the tavern, through a door that led to the private rooms. At the first such room, the tavern master knocked. "Jose! Visitor."

A voice called back through the doorway. "Not my wife?"

"No - a refined gentleman of learning for you Jose."

The door cautiously swung open, and a haggard face appeared in the crack. "Don't know any gen'lmen - refined or anything. What you want?"

Dante turned to look at the tavern keeper. He didn't speak, but in quarter of a century of keeping order amongst drunks, you recognise the dangerous ones. The tavern keeper turned and walked away hurriedly. Dante smiled once more. This was becoming a habit.

"Sir, I am your son's tutor. Your wife has asked me to..."

"Little brat doesn't want for a tutor, he wants for a thrashing!" Jose spat on the ground. "Tutor! Learning! Look at you, gen'lman indeed. What can you teach that weakling! Pathetic, that's what your sort are, that brat and you, weak in body and in your heads. Go on back to my frigid wife and her bastard, tutor."

Dante's hand shot out and grabbed Jose by the throat. He glared at him, a growl beginning to build in his throat. He would take the insults from her, but not from this drunken wretch. Keeping firm grip of him, choking him, Danted pushed his way into the room. "You and I are going to have a little talk now about your son's future, sir. A future that does not, I am please to say, include you."

Dante smiled once more. He had a feeling that it was going to be a habit this evening.

Face Off

2009-02-09T01:00:00.001Z

Belicia turned her attention back to the boy. "Inside, now." Then turning to Dante, "Go and fetch water for us all tutor." It was the first time she'd even spoken to him like that. The way he should be spoken to. Her eyes were hard and bore into the tutor's.

"It would be a pleasure Señora." His smile made Belicia uncomfortable, the shadows of the twilight accentuating elements of his smile she'd never noticed before. "And can I assist with dressing Matthias."

"That would be appreciated."

She shoved Matthias in the back, propelling him through the door, as he faltered and considered going with Carlos, but dared not ask for fear of another slap. Dragging him up the stairs by the arm she pushed him through the door and told him to wait for the tutor's return.

Seating herself at the battered dresser Belicia looked into the partially ruined mirror. She breathed and waited for her composure to return. After a few minutes she dared to look closer - taking in each new line in her face. Her hair, as usual, was beautifully platted and woven into an intricate design too grand for a housewife. It was her only pleasure – the only thing that kept her with one foot in her old life. The neighbours gossiped that she had airs that no common señora deserved to parade. Little did they know who she really was.

The hands she looked down on were hard and calloused from hauling water to the house several times a day, the skin on her fingers cracked and wrinkled from scrubbing the floors like a common scullery maid or tending the copper, the nails no longer beautifully manicured and her arms muscular from kneading bread, when once they were soft and willowy.

She stood and smoothed the sides of her faded, shapeless dress over her hips. But she had kept her figure – her waist still slender and her breasts perk.

When Jose had taken her and the tiny baby into his home she had lied to him – told him that she was unable to have more children and the damage from childbirth was such that she would be unable to satisfy him as was expected as a wife. And he'd believed her... taking his manly solace in the whore houses. The dowry that she brought with her was triple what a nobleman would have expected and her husband set about drinking himself into an early grave with his windfall. Never mention of a new house, a better location, a holiday or something beautiful for her.

There was a knock at the door and Dante entered, pouring icy water into a chipped basin for her.

"I would have taken the time to warm if for you, but time must be of the essence."

Belicia nodded – she was used to washing in cold water now. Gone were the days of luxurious warm baths scented with rose petals. "There is also a gown downstairs," he continued. "It arrived as I was returning."

The excitement rose, but was replaced in the next instant by the crushing realisation that she'd placed in Anne Marie's hands, the choice of a dress. Anne Marie knew she hated yellow and orange – and her imagination momentarily ran away with phantom creations, each more hideous than the next. Belicia knew that Anne Marie was still able to humiliate her in ways she could not fight back.

As if reading her thoughts, Dante offered, "It is a beautiful blood red dress Señora. It will be well suited to your complexion."

"And what do you, tutor, know of high fashion?" She saw him wince each time she referred to him as ‘tutor' and enjoyed it.

"Nothing Señora." He bowed his head to hide his defiant eyes and the hard line of his mouth.

While she toiled without help in the kitchen, the laundry and around the house – they'd given the boy a tutor – someone to pander to him. What about her? She didn't care any longer for the rationalisations from the Palace - it was not safe to have anyone else there - best she take care of things alone. It would call attention to them – having help - such was the decrepit sector of the city they lived in. They were to blend in.

She was the Baronness of Nevers, she was a Clèves and she was not going to stand for being Elisabeth's scapegoat any longer. Belicia wanted the money that was owing to her, she wanted all that had been promised – and more. She was going to leave – hand the boy back, return to France and her family. Let Matthias be Elisabeth's problem for once. The last five years would be like a bad dream that she was waking from.

"Dress the boy in his best tunic and hose. Then get yourself organised – you'll be accompanying me to the Palace tonight."

Dante returned moments later with the gown and laid it on the bed, running a hand over the silk to flatten it. Belicia thought he looked wistfully at her and the bed – perhaps remembering the moment when the emptiness and the angry had been shoved down deep and she had hungrily sort physical gratification from him, feeling his hard body against hers and the need that seemed to be as desperate in him, as it was in her. Her cheeks flushed and she looked away.

"I shall not be tarrying at the mirror tutor. Don't keep me waiting."

Dante walked out of the room, closing the door louder than he should off, his knuckles white on the door knob. He found Matthias sobbing on his bed. Placing a large hand on the boy's shaking shoulder he gave it a quick squeeze. Matthias looked up through long, tear drenched lashes.

"Am I so horrible that she should want to hit me all the time? I do try ever so hard to please her. But nothing that I do ever pleases her."

Dante passed through the tunic and hose that he found in the tiny wardrobe. The boy became distressed again when the hose were too small and the tunic too short. It was obvious the boy had not worn the clothes in a long time.

"Wait here Matthias. I have an idea." He disappeared and returned with a small, sharp knife, cutting free the legs and binding them to the boy's thighs.

"There!" he said with a modicum of satisfaction. "No one will ever know." He sat down next to the boy on the side of the bed. "You will need to be on your best behaviour tonight Matthias. Because it will be you escorting your mother to the Palace."

"But..."

"There are other things that I must attend to this evening Matthias. Your father for one."

"He will be drunk in Giamento's. Do you have to bring him home? She's even worse when he's here."

Later downstairs, waiting for the carriage to arrive, Dante glared at Belicia. "Someone needs to tell Señor Jose where you have gone. What would he think if he came home and found his home empty – his wife and son gone."

Belicia's face was flushed scarlet – her anger naked. "You will accompany me tutor. This is not just my request, but that of The Queen. Do you hazard to deny the wishes of the Queen? This will all come back onto me and I will not have that. You will do as you are told."

Dante felt an uncomfortable mingling of fierce desire for her – a physical yearning sparked by the beauty in her torrid face and the overwhelming bloodlust, that would still his soul; anchor him in the work in which God had chosen him for.

He needed to pray, he needed peace, he need silence... and he needed to see someone else in pain. His mind spun away from inflicting that exquisite coupling on Belicia, focusing on a more immediate need.

Pulling his cloak about him, he ignored Belicia and left the house, heading for the Giamento's.

The Summoning

2009-02-06T13:05:00.002Z

The street lighters' melodic notes meandered their way into the courtyard where Matthias's brow was sodden with sweat.

"Matthias, it is time for you to prepare for dinner and get out of those filthy clothes."

Belicia's harsh voice resounded about the walls, her small thin figure casting a shadow across the tiny pebbles and sand in the activity yard.

His dark eyes pleaded up at her. "One more time Mother. I have nearly got it!"

Belicia shot a irritated look towards Dante's broad back.

"I'm not sure if I approve of this new style of education Carlos. It is your responsibility to ensure Matthias is properly dressed for dinner tonight. His father will be joining us and will be expecting reports from you afterwards."

"Dictum meum pactum – my word is my bond Señora," Dante replied without turning his back. The moon had not yet risen, but the soft glow of the promenade lanterns reflected over the tops of the walls within the garden.

A muffled cough from the doorman took Belicia's attention away from Matthias's activities. A hooded woman stood beside him. The women exchanged looks and Belicia strode off towards the library, motioning her dismissal of the doorman with a flick of her hand.

"To what do I honour such an unexpected visit, Anne Marie? Surely you are too busy catching the eye of the next young duke presented in court." Belicia's voice was sour as she spat the words.

"You chose this path." Anne Marie stood quietly in the centre of the room and slipped her hood from her head.

"I didn't choose social exclusion. I didn't choose a crusty old officer with one foot in the grave. I could have had any pick of the men in court. Even him."

"Don't flatter yourself. He never looked at anyone but the Queen."

Belicia fiddled with the letter opener on her desk. "You didn't come to my home to argue with me Anne Marie." Looking up and staring with venom in her in the eyes, "What is it? Come to check how low I have become? It's been five years. Five long, lonely years and not a word from the Palace. Not a visit from you. Not a letter. Girlhood friends. Phwar."

Ignoring her outburst, Anne Marie quietly countered. "I've come to see the boy. She's been asking after him."

"As you can see, he has his father's looks and spirit, but is tempered with the Queen's sweet nature. His maturity is beyond his years."

"She wants to know he is happy. That you are a good mother. That you will..."

"I gave my word to the Queen. I will take her secrets to the grave."

The pair looked at one another as the uncomfortable silence grew.

"Come out into the yard. You can see him for yourself; but put your hood on again. I don't want him asking questions." With a quick twist and rustle of heavy cloth, Belicia turned and strode out of the library.

From their verandah vantage point, Anne Marie murmured her appreciation of the boys athletic ability.

"She's close?" Belicia asked, ignoring any compliments about Matthias.

"The Queen has started to bleed, but has no pains. She doesn't want the midwife to be sent for just yet, it's still too early. There is something else. You are to come to the palace this evening to watch the new squires and pageboys being chosen and assigned their stations. You still hold a title in France and within this court, so it wouldn't be unusual for you to attend. Carlos can come as well. These days the streets aren't as safe as they were when we were young."

"Carlos, Matthias, attend to me" Belicia commanded.

Matthias ran in panting. "Mother, did you see me? I jumped over the pikes, did a cat roll and snatched up my dagger on the ground and then killed the baddy!"

Belicia wrinkled her brow looking over at the intricate set up in the courtyard – a set of sawn-off pikes set in the ground, and a straw-filled dummy with most of its guts now hanging loose from the cut in its stomach. She cocked a disapproving eyebrow at Dante.

"I got to do that because I learnt my Greek alphabet perfectly!"

"Superbia pro a cado – Pride before a fall Matthias, remember... humility." Dante gave a rare smile across the tangled hair at Belicia, who glared at him, flushing unexpectedly.

Matthias yawned loudly. "I'm tired Mother. Can I go up to bed now?"

Anne Marie cleared her throat. "Carlos, is it? The new tutor?"

Dante bowed slightly toward her. "Señora"

"Admittedly it was a few years ago that I attended a concert you were at, but you seem to have... grown into manhood. Much more than I seem to remember."

"I prayed a lot Señora. God gifted me with many talents and attributes since you saw me."

They stared at one another for a few more moments before Anne-Marie dropped her gaze.

"Carlos," Belicia interrupted. "We have a function to attend at the Palace. Matthias and you are to get ready as we leave immediately."

"What about Papa? Do I have to go? I'm tired." Matthias yawned again.

With a lightning fast hand she slapped Matthias across the face. "Go and get dressed and stop asking questions! No doubt your father is drunk in some officer's home. We will see him in the morning. He will be home for a few weeks. No doubt he is very keen to see your progress with ALL of your studies. Now hurry – dress in your best outfit."

"What are we doing at the Palace, Anne Marie?" Belicia asked as she watched the pair disappear up the staircase to get ready.

"She wants to see him, but it's too dangerous for them to ever be seen together. Just make sure you position Matthias in a conspicuous position. She just wants a glance. You can give her that much for all she has done for you."

"All she has done! Please Anne Marie, don't make me slap you as well. Any one of us could have been Queen. Instead I am stuck with a drunk old man, you are nothing more than a scullery maid and she is the Queen of Spain. I will come tonight, but I want some social engagements in court. I want new gowns.You make sure that happens." Belicia's bony finger bore into Anne Marie's chest.

"I'll see you at the Presentation Ceremony then." Anne Marie adjusted her hood and swept out of the courtyard and into the darkness in the street outside.

Non Story Post: Update

2009-01-13T00:08:00.004Z

Are you missing us? We're missing you!

While we'd love to report that we're kicking back somewhere having a lovely (and well deserved break!), sipping cocktails and generally being sloths, in reality we are all busy editing and redrafting short stories from 2008 for anthology collections.

Consequently we've had to put the crew and cast of Captain Juan on hiatus. I know - we're bummed too, but that's the way the creative cookie crumbles.

Regular Captain Juan posts will be back with a story-to-date post the week of the 26th January and weekly posts from the first week in February.

Until then, we hope that you all had a fantastic festive season and that 2009 is treating you kindly.

Annie, Paul & Jodi

The Story So Far - December 2008

2008-12-31T12:00:00.004Z

Previous story so far posts:
Story So Far - June to August 2008
Story So Far - September 2008
Story So Far - October 2008
Story So Far - November 2008

The English Destroy The Resplendent is preparing to leave Coruña to pursue La Gongoozler. Captain Blakeshaw of The Resplendent considers the lucky escape he had after his meeting with Dante, and is glad to have turned down his offer. His thoughts turn towards his fiancée back home in England, La Contessa Domininica. He is keen to finish his mission quickly so that he can return to her, but the mission still troubles him; the idea of Captain Juan as a pirate does not sit well with him.

At the English Court, Dominica awakes in the arms of her lover, Intaglio, who is posing as her brother. They discuss the latest scam that they are about to pull - extricating herself from her engagement to Captain Blakeshaw in order to pursue a young Duke at court. Intaglio playfully rues the loss of Blakeshaw, as he enjoyed his company, but declares that Blakeshaw will be no match for his brother, Juan. Despite Juan's talents, Intaglio says that he will never quite match him, prompting Dominica to question whether she is just a prize between the two of them.

Intaglio tells Dominica that rather than the Duke, she should concentrate on the Marquis of Dover, whom he is setting up to gain money and land from.

Dominica ushers him out of her room by a secret passage to keep up the pretence of being brother and sister. Dominica's maid arrives with a message, bearing the crest of the Spanish court. Dominica reads it, shocked by the content. The information in the note brings back memories of her father, her first love Juan - and from the message, she realises that her time in England was now limited...

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

2008-12-23T12:00:00.005Z

A very Merry Christmas to all the stowaways, enlisted sailors, and readers of The Astonishing Adventures, from the crew of La Gongoozler - Annie, Jodi and myself. Thank you for sticking with the story through myriad twists, turns, and the extended absence of one of the writers (not pointing any fingers at myself...). This will be the last post until the new year, so keep a fairweather eye on the horizon, keep checking your RSS feeds for messages in bottles, and prepare to set sail once more in 2009.

"An-an-an' then, then boys..." Pete brought the pewter tankard down hard onto the table, ale sloshing over the rim. His eyes closed over, and he broke into a broad smile. "I r'member it clear as he was sat 'ere now. He says to me, the Cap'n says... To hell with the powder Pete, I'll throw the cannonballs at them myself!"

Pete let out a roar of laughter, almost falling off the bench as he rocked backwards. The young men with him laughed out of politeness. Old Pete was a staple of The Admiral's Snug, spinning yarns about his time abroad, sailing with some foreign ship, the tales getting taller and wilder the more he drank. This time Pete had been crowing about that ship, what was it called, the Gonzo, the Gangler, or something like that, and how he and the ship's Captain had taken on over 100 pirate vessels in the Indies, sinking them all. The last pirate ship the Captain had sunk by hand. A ridiculous claim, but in comparison to some of the stories Pete told about the Captain, not wholly farfetched. At least this story didn't involve coconuts.

The drunkard was tolerated by the young sailors who crowded in each night, waiting for orders that they were due to set sail. He knew every ship that came in, he could read the next day's weather from the pattern of the clouds at sunset, and when he'd had a few, he could tell a tale that would set your head spinning.

Pete fell off his bench, still laughing. The sailors looked down at Pete, lying prostrate on the floor, then slowly got up and walked away, stepping over him. They dropped some coins by his head. "Merry Christmas Pete" they muttered as they stepped over him. Pete rolled to his side, and tried to stand. His legs had not received the orders from his head, and he slumped back down to the bare floor.

"Easy there old man." He felt strong hands underneath his arms, pulling him up. "Let's get you some fresh air." Pete staggered out of the tavern, leaning heavily on the samaritan who had pulled him to his feet. The cold air stung his cheeks, provoking a coughing fit. The sea breeze had begun to sober him up, and he slouched against the wall, breathing hard.

"Thank you m'lad." He wheezed, rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times. There was once a time when a few tankards of an evening would not have affected him like this, when he wouldn't have needed help to stand at the end of the night, and when his eyes would be clearly focused on the stranger who had helped him. But time did not respect him any more than these young whippersnappers, and three score and ten years were weighing heavily upon him.

"No thanks are necessary." The stranger bowed slightly, his cloak unfurling around him, and Pete caught a glimpse of a sword hilt tied to the waist. He squinted, trying to focus, and recall where he had seen the ornate hilt before. The stranger wrapped the cloak tight, and shook his head. "My apologies if I put you in a state of alarm. One cannot be too careful when one is abroad."

"Stranger here then are ye?" Pete looked him up and down. High collar turned up, obscuring the face, only a dark pair of eyes shining out. A wide brimmed hat pulled low, fine dark cloak closed over, old style pantaloons and tanned leather boots. "Aye, ye look it. Got the look of a continental sailor." He coughed again and spat. "Sailed with enough of ye to know," he muttered.

"You tell some interesting stories Pete." Wind swirled around them, bringing in some mist from off the seashore that spread out before them. The tavern commanded an impressive view of the shoreline, away from the bustle of the harbour, reminding the regulars of the beauty of the mistress they all courted. "But still just stories. None of them true."

Pete laughed. "Aye, there's a few will tell you that the rum has gone to me head, that old Pete here has lost his mind, with his nonsense about the Captain, and the Gongoozler, and the things we did." Another coughing fit, before he resumed. "Maybe I makes them more entertaining, and maybe they ain't quite as they happened, but they did happen. So don't tell me that none of them was true sir, cos I lived every one of these tales."

The stranger patted Pete on the shoulder and pointed out to the sea. The dark waters seemed to merge with the night sky, and only the gentle surge of the waves showed where the sky ended and the waters began. "Do you ever miss it?"

"Aye lad. Always. It gets into your blood see? To be out there, on a good ship, with a good Captain..." He sighed. "Endless possibilities."

From deep within the town, the feint peels of a bell drifted across to where they stood. The stranger glanced back at the town, then at Pete. "Midnight. And so my time here grows short. Feliz Navidad, Pete." A black-gloved hand extended from within the cloak, and grasped Pete's frail hand. "Aye, and Feliz... Feliz..." He looked into the eyes of the stranger, and fell back towards the wall, still holding the stranger's hand. "You... no. No, it can't be. You look so... And me an old man. I mean, even then I was, but no so old..."

He caught the flash of a smile, framed by a neat dark beard. "The lads all miss you Pete. She's fully provisioned, all tacking and rigging in place." He released Pete's hand, and motioned out towards the water. In the bay, shimmering in the moonlight, a Spanish galleon floated majestically, lights ablaze. "All she wants is a good first mate."

The figure slowly walked away, on the path towards the shorefront. Without breaking step, he called out. "When the time comes Pete I'll come calling. One last voyage old friend. One last adventure."

The wind picked up again, gathering in mist around the figure, obscuring him from Pete's view. Pete swallowed hard, and made the sign of the cross. "Aye Cap'n. One last voyage."

Spanish Siblings in Court

2008-12-13T14:47:00.003Z

Dominica rolled over and lay her head on her lover's chest. She traced her fingers downwards, through the thick dark curls and teased a strand, watching for a reaction on the sleeping face.

A wide lopsided grin spread across his face, though his eyes remained closed.

A low growl emitted deep from his chest as the teased hair grew taut from pulling. "I thought you were tired Señora."

She slapped him on the chest and sat up in bed. "We've been sleeping all day. It's time to get up, we have to prepare for the Court Ball."

Dominica then slipped out of bed and walked across the thickly carpeted floor. She picked up a tortoise shell brush and began to brush her long dark hair in even strokes, glancing at Intaglio in the mirror through her thick eyelashes. He lay on the bed with his upper body propped up with his elbow, scrutinizing her with undisguised lust. Finishing, she then opened a drawer and grabbed a delicate chain with a heavy gold locket and slipped it around her head, the bauble nestling between her perfect breasts.

A snort and an exaggerated sigh from the bed made her twist to face the noise.

"Who is the poor unfortunate fellow?" Intaglio rolled out of bed in an fluid action and lifted the locket up with his left hand. Cocking an eyebrow at her, he commented. "Isn't it a little soon after your last engagement? Correct me if I am wrong, but that still stands, unless you are privy to information from Spain that I do not know about?"

"Oh, poor Alexander. I have a dreadful premonition about his secret mission. I am certain it will end disastrously. Besides, I have never been one to waste time mourning lost causes."

Intaglio smiled. "I envy no man trying to hunt down my brother. All too soon they find the hunted becomes the hunter. I assume you've heard something?"

"Alexander ought to have intercepted him in Coruña; and who knows, God willing, he may be upon The Resplendent coming back to England now."

He reached over to the bedside table and lifted a glass of wine to his lips.

"I very much doubt that Señora, as do you and God. I shall miss Alexander, damned fine shot and huntsman."

Intaglio lifted the glass above his head. "Salute to my brother, gifted sailor and leader, a lost cause, but in the end will always be second to me. With women, gambling and talent, I always win the prize."

Dominica pouted melodramatically.

"What am I - just a prize between the two of you?"

Intaglio grabbed her round her slender waist, laughing. "You are no more a prize than I am your brother. Now get dressed you strumpet, we have the court waiting."

"And I have yet to weave my charms around the young Duke."

"Oh no, not Horatio. He is a fine gambler and we get on famously."

"You'll need to find someone else to play your cards with."

"Well then, sister, that I will. I have my sights on the Marquis of Dover. What do you know of him?"

Intaglio began buttoning up his crisp white shirt.

Dominica tapped her chin with her fan thoughtfully. "Not a lot I am afraid to say; but he has not yet met me." She smiled slyly. "What is your interest in him?"

"Power, land, his deep secrets, his gambling habits, as always dear sister."

"Secrets?"

"Unsubstantiated currently. However I believe he is soon to travel to the New World on a royal mission."

"Well then. The young Duke will have to wait. The Marquis it is. How much time do I have?"

"Less than a month."

"Enough time for an engagement to be announced then."

"More than enough. Though we still have your current engagement pending. What will the Blakeshaws say?"

Dominica gave him a winning smile. "Lord Blakeshaw and I are very close to coming to an understanding and will unfortunately be discovered by Lady Blakeshaw in a compromising position. Even if by a miracle Alexander is still alive, they will be more than happy to annul our engagement quietly whilst he is away and unaccounted for. The English are so prudish about things!"

"You've been busy."

"I don't waste my time playing cards if that's what you are saying. Come on, you need to slip back to your room and I need to order our carriage."

Dominica opened her wardrobe and parted her gowns. Intaglio slipped close to her and kissed her deeply.

"I'll see you in the hall, sister."

He felt around at the back of the cupboard and found the pins he was searching for and opened the secret door quietly.

A knock at the door jerked Dominica back into the room.

"Enter."

"Madam, a message has arrived from the Dovecot."

Dominica's maid bobbed and handed her a tiny rolled note.

"I have taken the liberty to order you a carriage to the ball tonight. Will you be taking a light supper before you leave?"

"No thank you Sarah. You have done well to anticipate my tardiness. I'll be down shortly. Oh and Sarah?"

"Yes Madam?"

"Is that lazy brother of mine out of bed yet? I heard he was out gambling all night last night."

"I'm not sure madam, Jeffers is waking him now."

"Not to matter, I'll see him downstairs shortly I am sure. Thank you, you may leave."

Dominica fluttered her hand in dismissal, itching to read the note.

She sat on the bed, her hand shaking slightly. The crest was from the Spanish Court and could only bear bad news.

Her eyes widened as she read the note.

"No. Impossible! When did he have time to do that?"

She sat for a while, thoughts running madly in her head. Their time at the English court was now limited, and they would need to rethink carefully their next actions, now she had this new information.

Tapping her fan on her chin Dominica mused. "Habibi, you constantly surprise me."

Her breath caught in her throat. Her childhood pet name had been a secret code between them, first one of brotherly affection and then more. Silly at the times she had to admit now. Dominica had not meant to voice her thoughts, much less the name her father used to call her. It brought tears to her eyes - not only mourning the loss of her dear father, but it forced her to recall the last time she had seen her first love swagger out of her life.

"Damn him!" Dominica threw her fan across the room, its delicate fingers shattering on impact.

No wonder he'd always been distracted when they were at court together and caught in a constant indecision about their future.

She picked up her stiff skirts and swept out of the room. At least now she was certain of her future.

Golden Promises

2008-12-07T15:17:00.002Z

Distractedly tapping the letter he had just written, Blakeshaw picked up the small golden locket and chain laying on his mahogany writing desk. He gazed at the miniature painting within and sighed. It hardly did her beauty justice. Neither the promise in her eyes nor her fiery spirit were adequately captured, but the artist had managed to illustrate the purposeful jut of her jaw and the contempt in her face to perfection. He sighed again, wishing he had more time with her before having to go out to sea. Their courting had been serene and perfect – he could still hear her tinkling laughter as they wandered the rose gardens at Richmond Palace, feel her soft hand on his and the sweet brush of her lips, very like silken honey, on his. She had been so upset when he had left – thrusting the gold locket in his hands and making him promise to come back unharmed. Her tears, wet against his uniform and the promise of those lips carried him through the long nights aboard. His love for her grew each time he opened the locket up.

Closing the locket he wondered again about their whirlwind romance and impending engagement - an engagement which sadly had to be postponed when the Queen had ordered him on his top secret mission. Dominica had arrived in London with her brother Intaglio a few scant months ago, but had settled comfortably into court life quickly. Their mother had been English and with the uncertainty of the war between major European countries, had pleaded for them to return to the 'home' country for their own safety. Although Blakeshaw had missed meeting her whilst in England, from all accounts, she was a stately woman of considerable influence. He was keen to complete his mission for the Queen and return to England in order to finalize the marriage arrangements. Intaglio had gripped his hand in farewell and promised to keep Dominica safe and under heavy chaperone against the wily charms of courtlife. He remembered grinning and assuring Intaglio it was not necessary as her sweet word was her oath upon her virginity .

"Fine fellow, Intaglio" Blakeshaw murmured, proud that his love's brother approved of their union and was someone he could look up to and respect.

A sharp rap at the door brought Blakeshaw from his daydreams. He rapidly replaced the locket in its velvet casing and called "Enter" to the figure outside.

"Sir, we are pulling anchor and leaving the harbour. Harris would like to know if you intend being on deck, Sir."

"I’ll be right out, Chambers" Blakeshaw replied, standing and straightening his uniform.

The sudden scent of jasmine, wafted through his cabin, making Blakeshaw stop. He turned, half expecting to see the maddened eyes of the giant Italian murderer behind him. The hairs on his arm rose thinking about Dante and Blakeshaw breathed a heavy sigh - relieved that he had declined attractive option of taking him on board. Something niggled him about that path and he was glad now he was rid of the ungodly man.

Blakeshaw stood at the cabin door and looked again around the tiny space. The whole business of Captain Juan as a pirate had not sat well with him. He was determined to find him before Dante, and put an end to the uneasiness he felt.

The Story So Far - November 2008

2008-11-30T12:00:00.002Z

Previous story so far posts:
Story So Far - June to August 2008
Story So Far - September 2008
Story So Far - October 2008

Having kidnapped Amos, Fielden directs his companions to buy up as many fruits and root vegetables as they can as a ingredients for the still, then get back to the ship with Amos, whilst he and Garcia create a "distraction".

On board La Gongoozler, Juan and the ship's purser Georgio are supervising the crew signing back on. They accept Bruno's mumbled excuse that Amos is just drunk, and had been on board ship for the last voyage. With an hour to go before the tide changes and the ship has to leave, Juan tells Bruno to get back on shore to round up the twenty missing crew members, a task Bruno is eager to get on with, as it gives him the opportunity to search for his missing talisman, a key on a leather thong that he has worn for years.

As the ship prepares to cast off, almost all the crew has returned, except for Father Paolo and Ruby. Fielden and Garcia pretend to ignore the smoke beginning to drift across the sky of Lisbon as they hurry on board. Before the Captain can question them, the Marquis' men appear at the dockside and open fire on the ship. The ship sets sail under fire, just as Paolo and Ruby appear. Juan realises that the crew would be at too great a risk if he delays to wait for them, and orders the ship under full sail. Ruby is distraught that Juan is not delaying to give them a chance, but Paolo urges her on.

They leap from the dockside, just making it on board. They are accompanied by Chee Hung, who sets off fireworks on the dockside, blinding and scattering the soldiers. Explosions rock the harbour area, and a fire begins to spread, as La Gongoozler sails away from an increasingly familiar scene...

Meanwhile, Dante has settled in to his role as tutor to the young noble Matthias, who is prospering under his tutelage. Also prospering are the feelings that Belicia, Matthias' mother, has towards Dante. Forced into a loveless marriage, Dante arouses passions within her, fueled by the fact that she knows that he is hiding deep secrets, and is not the tutor that she had hired.

Dante too appears to feel something for her, which he finds distracting and confusing. He needs an assignment to clear his head, to "obtain" information on behalf of a nobleman. Dante puts his obscene skills to use, but does not derive the satisfaction or clarity he was hoping for. The memory of his failure to deal with Ruby, and Juan's rescue of her still haunt him, and he longs for revenge, or he will never feel satisfaction when carrying out his holy mission.

An Assignment to Clear the Mind.

2008-11-30T03:03:00.001Z

Sweat and tears streaked the young man's face. Confused, terrified and pushed to his limit of pain, his once fine clothes were in tatters, sodden with urine and fear. His left arm was stretched out and tied to a heavy wooden table; his body heavily bound to the wooden chair. His fingers delicately fanned out and secured by iron skewers, driven precisely into each knuckle and then firmly into the table top.

A canvas roll of iron and wooden oddments lay neatly to one side, each piece carefully cleansed before being tucked away for future use. His eyes bulged as he could only imagine what pain the remaining implement might bring.

A tall muscled back faced him, the figure kneeling in prayer.

"Please, I'll tell you everything. Whatever you need to know I'll tell you" Victor whined piteously.

"Of that, I have no doubt," replied the figure; the first time he had spoken in over twelve hours.

"Please who are you why are you doing this?" sobbed Victor, his face etched in excruciating never ending pain. " My father is a noble in the Royal Court. He will give you anything if you just let me go."

Silence grew heavily, weighed down by the horror in the room.

The muscled back shone in the flickering torchlight like well-oiled basalt. Unmoving, a low chant raising and lowering with prayer.

Victor began to scream; the noise unnerving him, the pain was beyond anything he had every experienced; his terror and confusion blinding his consciousness.

The light was disturbed for a moment and a slight wooden scraping noise came from the side wall. Dante athletically flicked himself from kneeling to standing within a heartbeat. Noiselessly, he left the room, pushing the heavy iron lock sidewards to open wooden door. Victor had not noticed his exit and continued screaming hysterically.

Dante's head inclined slightly as he lowered his eyes momentarily. "My Lord?"

An obese sweaty noble patted his flushed face and wrung out the expensive silk cloth nervously.

"How long is this" he gestured pathetically, "going to take?"

A humorless smile met Dante's lips." My Lord, you requested little blood and maximum pain and terror. I can keep him at this point for weeks. I doubt his sanity will last more than a few hours though."

Lord Rialdo hyperventilated. "I thought I wanted to watch it all, see him suffer every moment. Your methods are very... exact." He struggled to meet Dante's eyes as his hands nervously fluttered about.

"My Lord, why don't you avail yourself of the Abbey kitchen's finest offerings. I will order my manservant to fetch you some sweet wine. Once your stomach has settled then you might like to watch further developments."

Rialdo's shoulders sagged with relief. "Yes. Yes, a short break will strengthen my nerves. Ermmm... Carry on."

Dante inclined his head slightly and spun on his heel, entering his sanctuary again.

He breathed deeply, seeking contact and approval from his God. He ceremoniously oiled his naked torso, chanting in prayer, cleansing his body from the momentary contact with the unclean outside.

His normally focused mind wandered, picturing the beautiful face of Ruby, her features striking as they contorted in the pain he had served her. A low guttural growl erupted from the depths of his body. Not since she had been stolen away from him, thus ending his perfect reputation, had he experienced the thrill and exhilaration he normally experienced from his assignments. The beauty he found in his client's deaths was now meaningless. Despite acknowledging that he was still on his holy mission and cleansing the masses of wickedness, he now felt hollow and unfulfilled.

He drew a long metal skewer from his roll and inserted it into Victor's wrist, just between the cartilage bones. Through a practiced touch, he kept thrusting it up into the arm to separate the ulna and radius, careful not to go too close to the artery. Victors screams hit a higher pitch as every pain receptor blew off the scale. The tiniest movement reset the throbbing with even his trembling pitching pain further through his body.

This used to be one of Dante's favoured moves, bringing him closer to God and to redemption, and now it brought him no satisfaction.

Growling again and cursing Ruby and that Captain of hers, he knelt swearing to God he would seek their painful long deaths to his last breath.

Unmapped Territory

2008-11-24T03:08:00.002Z

Belicia's eyes followed the fluid movements of the tall figure as he guided Matthias through the intricacies of a flying cat roll. His muscular frame belied its flexibility and speed as he demonstrated the move.

"Ab initio – from the beginning." Dante encouraged the young boy.

She doubted 'Carlos' was the same man she had letters of recommendation for. His lack of enthusiasm towards musical education or literary discussion were glaring omissions in the character report she held in her hands. However, she kept her tongue, preferring this version than the less than favorable references she had received from Carlos's previous employer.

"Bella gerant alii – let others wage war Matthias, remember that. Always in court, amicus omnibus, amicus nemini – a friend to all is a friend to none – keep your own counsel," wafted Dante's advice to Matthias as they sat in the courtyard.

Carlos, an enigma with the strength and cruelty of a leopard, but spoke Latin fluently, and a devout Catholic, praying every night and spending entire Sundays at the Cathedral. He was a wild thing, untamed and she wondered for the hundredth time how... why he had chosen to come to their household.

Matthias would learn better skills with this new 'Carlos' and be better equipped for his life than if she had the mild mannered Minstrel she had originally hired unseen through the suggestion of Anne Marie - who knew nothing of these things.

With a flushed face full of excitement Matthias ran in skidding to a halt in front of Belicia. "Mother! Guess what – tomorrow is Latin Day where I can't speak anything but Latin!"

Bemused, she replied, "Oh and what will happen if you achieve this feat?"

Matthias began jumping up and down, "Carlos will take me hunting."

"For what?" Belicia asked.

With a solemn face the boy replied in a hushed voice. "It's a surprise."

"Hmm" his mother mused, "We will have to see about that."

"Dictum meum pactum – my word is my bond Señora," Dante stated, daring her to override his decision.

Her eyes met Carlos's - the dark depths hypnotically pulling her in, she gave a small snort of defeat.

In a uncharacteristic girlish gesture, she blushed and quickly turned away. She'd never experienced the flush of first love, never had her heart racing with the thought of any man, or guiltily enjoyed the warmth and glow seeping through her body as she looked at Carlos now. Her own marriage had been arranged, one of political convenience and of the Queen's insistence.

"Come, Matthias, we need to prepare for bed and leave your mother alone with her thoughts. By your leave Señora," Dante replied, slightly inclining his head.

Without turning, her face flushed scarlet, Belicia fluttered her arm in dismissal.

"Wild thing, you make my heart..." She could not bring herself to even think what her heart was feeling towards him.

As their footfalls sounded in the distance, she allowed herself to turn and watch them leave. The tall brooding mass a direct contrast to the sparkle of life flittering around him excitedly. Even at the tender age of five, Matthias had the confident swagger of his father. Belicia breathed deeply thinking of her time in the Royal Court as one of the Queen's handpicked Ladies in Waiting. She remembered the first time Matthias's father presented himself to the Queen, his roving eye sparkling with promise to every female present. Belicia had seen numerous Ladies in Waiting fall at his feet to their eventual social disgrace. She smiled wryly. Matthias was testament the ultimate social downfall. The Queen had quickly arranged a marriage with one of the royal lieutenants and the whole incident smoothed over, lose ends tied up and forgotten; as was the way within the twisted political foray of the Royal Court.

She had given in to her path of servitude and loyalty for the Queen, sacrificing any though of personal happiness. Until Carlos had arrived, she had not thought that her life would deviate from the loveless, lackluster union she had with her mostly absent husband.

"Wild thing, I think I..." Could she even think the word love? Belicia pondered. A noise behind her made her involuntarily shriek.

"Forgive me Señora, I startled you." Dante's quiet manner and movement always surprised her. She looked up into his face, breathing in the hot masculine muskiness of his body. His mismatched eyes had been cause for many of the servants to avoid looking directly at him, but now she felt compelled to stare deeply into them. She realized for the first time that one of his pupils was misshapen, the outline like a keyhole. Belicia wondered how a mildly mannered tutor might have received the cruel scar she saw across his left eyebrow and onto his cheek, being so faint, she had not noticed it before.

Her breathing rapidly grew shorter as she realized how close he now was to her. "I.. oh!" Belicia began but staggered as her head muddled with dizziness. Dante quickly caught her and lowered her gently to the nearby couch.

She flushed again, angry that his proximity had turned her usual icy demeanor into a simpering, star-struck maiden.

"Señora, you have a fever. I'll call the steward to fetch a healer." Dante's eyes were filled with genuine concern.

"No, please. It's nothing," she replied weakly.

He stood to leave. "Matthias is already in his room preparing for sleep. I thought I would go to night mass, and came to let you know."

"Perhaps I will come with you. An outing away from the villa might do me well."

"As you wish, Señora." His benign smile irritated her suddenly as he stood offering his hand to assist her in standing.

"Carlos." She began

"Yes my lady?" his curt reply.

"You never talk about your life outside of your work. You must have family, loved ones." Belicia started, stammering at the end.

With a twinge of sadness in his eyes, Dante shook his head. "No Señora. I gave my life to the Lord when my family were all murdered by a madman. I prefer to keep my affairs between myself and God."

With a brazen brashness she had never held in the past, Belicia stood before him, putting her hand on his chest. She could feel the tight muscles through the linen shirt and her breathing increased.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to intrude."

They stood for long moments looking at one another, her hand still on his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat rhythmically beating.

"Mass begins shortly Señora," he evenly stated.

Belicias bravado waned. "Yes, yes of course. Off you go. I may send for a tincture for my fever."

She sat on the couch deflated, and watched him leave the room. Was she imagining the possibilities in front of her? Did he have any feelings for her? Belicia wished for the tenth time today that she still held the Queen's ear for advice. More than ever she needed guidance in this unmapped territory of love and her heart.

Dante stopped outside the gates of the villa and melted into the shadows. His breath evened as he awaited any sign of being followed or observed. He had an assignment to attend to, and was glad Belicia had decided to stay behind. She was already complicating matters as it was. Dante shook his head, trying to clear it of the unfamiliar clouding he experienced when close to her. He straightened himself. A solid and lengthy assignment would be exactly what he needed to refocus.

The Key

2008-11-17T10:52:00.001Z

Alice tried to remember who had given her the key. It had been a long day and she had seen many clients come and go. She sighed, thinking of the extensive night ahead, and how exhausted she already was.

"Therese! Get your damned snake out of my room." Her call was shriller than she had meant it to be, and wished she had the gumption to kick it. The serpent's tongue flickered, and it seemed to take special interest in her movements.

"Therese, your snake is looking at me again."

A scantly clad buxom lass sashayed her way into the tiny room.

"Oh keep your corset on. Of course he's not." Therese reached down and pulled the snake up from the floor and placed it round her shoulders. She moved her cheek across its silken body and purred.

"He wouldn't hurt a fly."

"You and that snake are plain creepy. Why can't you just be normal and do your business like the rest of us?"

Therese sniffed and jingled some coins in a pouch she had retrieved from her flimsy blouse.

"Huh, normal. How much did you make today then? Let me tell you Miss High and Mighty, normal don't bring in this sort of money."

"You're just a tart with a snake. And all he does is hide your fat arse."

"Right – that's it." Therese's lightening-fast fist landed squarely in her stomach. "The next punch messes your pretty face up."

Alice crumpled and whimpered. The key she had been holding fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Who did you steal that from?"

Struggling the breath, Alice clambered onto her bed. "I dunno, one of my clients must have given to me."

Therese picked it up and studied it. It was a fine silver key with tiny inscriptions. "I can't read and neither can you, but I reckon the name of the owner is written on it."

Alice lunged and grabbed a hold of it. "Well, I like it. I'll wear it till the owner comes back."

Therese laughed. "Like any of your clients ever come back."

Alice pouted.

"Oh go on. You know I'm kidding. You are the prettiest girl here. Who'd you have today?"

Alice thought for a moment. "None of my regulars. I was busy with all those sailors who were waiting for your next show."

Therese slapped Alice on the back good-heartedly. "Well you can keep the key. The owner will be long sailed by now. It's just a pretty thing to hang round your neck."

Finding a piece of ribbon, she threaded the delicate key round her neck so it hung between her breasts.

"Humm very fetching."

Before Alice had time to reply an enormous explosion sent tremors through the building.

"Lawds, what was that?" they both exclaimed and clambered to the tiny window to see into the street.

"Its Amos's place. Was he making a special brew?"

"That blast was bigger than that."

The new sea breeze wafted its salty way into the stuffy room.

"Well there goes the tide and whatever ship is following it."

"Can you smell something burning?"

They both attempted to push their heads out the tiny window. The sound of the church bells set off a cacophony of stray dogs howling.

"Huh, hope all this doesn't stop our business tonight."

Still - we have Lisbon (part 6)

2008-11-17T02:00:00.003Z

Peitro and Calisto came back to the ship grinning, their shoulders full of bags of oranges and pumpkins. They took a few to Jose who was delighted with their interest in his cooking and dumped the rest in Bruno's cabin. Peitro ensured that the unconscious Amos was still secure and that his gag was on tightly before they left the room. The black cat had shaken free from her ungracious transportation and sat curled on Amos's chest, spitting at Peitro as he neared.

"All hands on deck. Prepare for cast off. The tide's about to change!" shouted Pete.

A general scurrying of feet and bodies as men who had been drinking heavily for the past week, commanded their bodies back into action.

Feilden and Garcia sprinted down the docks and raced on board panting and laughing, but immediately straightened up and saluted the Captain's pain-racked visage. Juan looked Fielden up and down but decided not to comment on the fine jacket or handcrafted leather boots.

"Take your places men. We set sail shortly."

A thin, acrid wisp of smoke wound its way skyward from beyond the warehouses. The Captain quizzically looked at Garcia, but he had purposely turned his back in disinterest on what was happening on land.

"Is that all?" Juan asked the Georgio.

"Bruno was able to ferret out everyone we were waiting on. Ruby isn't here, and neither is Father Paulo if that's what you're asking. Apart from them we have a full crew manifesto."

Pete reported, "We are ready to cast off Captain."

Juan scanned the empty dock.

As the sails began to unfurl, the Marquis' men and their recruits emerged from the shadows, brandishing their weapons. Many began to run along the dock attempting to jump aboard before the gap became too great.

"Repel enemy!" shouted Juan

Immediately, fifteen of his tavern-seasoned skirmishers dropped their ropes and rushed to the side with short wooden truncheons, bludgeoning all who attempted to board on the head or over the knuckles.

Cries of anguish and screams of the unsuccessful boarders resounded as they splashed into the cold harbour water.

Pete had his telescope out and focused on three small figures running from the edge of the docks toward La Gongoozler. "Its Ruby and Father Paulo" he cried.

Juan groaned. The moments it might take to wait for them. The undetermined numbers of the Marquis' men could board and injure those on deck. He needed to think of the ship and his duty to his men, and not of individuals.

"Cast off – lets get underway immediately!" he ordered, his heart sick at the thought of leaving any loyal crew member, much less Ruby.

Ruby cried out aloud on seeing the sail unfurl fully and hearing the crack of canvas as the wind began to billow its expanses.

"He's not waiting for me," she choked, stopping dead in her track.

"Run faster lass. We will get there!" Father Paulo encouraged her as the three clung to each other, running as fast as they could. Most of the Marquis' men were struggling in the water, clambering to get on dry land, but still posed a danger to them if they remained on the dock.

Chee Hung turned to her and grinned – "Missy – you go on first. I follow."

"Jump, Ruby, Jump" came the shout. With no hesitation she leapt in faith across the widening expanse and into Pete's arms.

"Fashionably late again Senora?"

She smiled and smoothed her dress as she stood. "Is there any other way?"

Chee Hung bent down and emptied the rucksack he had carried, lighting the cylinders as he went. He pointed them towards the struggling soldiers and mercenaries as they attempted to regroup on the wooden dock.

A rope had been thrown for Father Paulo who was admirably shimmying up it onto deck.

Blinding colours exploded as the first of the fireworks set off. The men who had been pushing the boat away from the sidings stood in awe, a moment long enough for Chee Hung to leap onto and grab a hold of the thick wooden pole and clamber aboard, still grinning.

As if by prior agreement, the remaining fireworks exploded at the same time as a huge explosion reverberated across the docklands. Everyone covered their ears, the sound so painful it made their eyes water. The Marquis' men had scattered.

As they pulled further out into the calmer waters of the harbour, the warehouses in the dock slowly caught fire and the booms and explosions continued. Church bells began to toll their alarm and the stray dogs set up a howling pitch.

"Ahhh the sounds of another town fondly farewelling us," Garcia sighed leaning on the railing. "Music to my ears."

Rael frowned at him but said nothing, watching the coloured sparks light the dimming sky.

Fielden smiled and turned to Bruno. "Just who is Torish?"

Bruno looked up at him with a serious note, "You of all people ought to know not to ask inconvenient questions." Attempting to change the subject onto friendlier terms, Rael called, "Hey, Bruno – did you get to see that lady with snake?"

Bruno's face turned a shade of crimson as he cleared his throat. "She's a performance artist. And yes I did. Dunno what all the fuss was about. It was just a naked lady with a big snake." He ended trying to sound worldly and nonchalant and glaring at Calvin, daring him to comment.

Hobbes chuckled. "Well, you should have gone and seen the lady with the donkey instead."

"Oh" asked Bruno in surprise, "Is she another performance artist?"

"No." he said slowly. "She's a lady with a donkey" Hobbes replied tapping his nose and grinning.

Calvin wistfully replied, "I visited her twice. I want to grow up and be that donkey."
'
From below deck a shout interrupted their jovial repartee. "Bruno! Report immediately to the Captain's Cabin!"