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Dead Man's Chest -- Spooky Pirate Fun -- COMPLETE! Nov 3/06
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<blockquote data-quote="barsoomcore" data-source="post: 1482651" data-attributes="member: 812"><p><strong>Any Port In A Storm -- Part One</strong></p><p></p><p><em>My Dear Wife:</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>The ship continues to make good time. Some adjustments to the placement of supplies has improved her handling a degree or two, and we are proceeding towards the Caribbean in excellent speed. Quin, one of the steadier hands, took a cast of the log yesterday and recorded eleven knots! I was very pleased.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>With the Queen's letter of marque in hand, we expect to find plenty of prizes among the Caribbean islands, French and Spanish both. Privateers have made great fortunes in this business, the unfortunate Captain Kidd aside.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>I am less pleased with the crew. Lieutenant Davis is a busybody without any respect for my position, and Lieutenant Fulcher is nothing but a scoundrel. The men are for the most part good, stout lads, but there are troublemakers among them that I must keep my eye on. Recruiting for a privateer venture always means accepting what hands turn out, but I fear more than a few of our crew are pirates passing themselves off as honest sailors. There are some strange characters indeed -- the West Indian cannibal, Ah Balaam, and the African mountain of intimidation, Horse (with his ever-present monkey, Bobo). The master-at-arms is a drunkard who carouses with the seamen and I suspect them all of plots and intrigues.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>The passengers are worse. Mister Rupert Black, no doubt a spy for the investors, pretends to a depth of sea-faring knowledge he does not possess and is forever in danger of questioning my judgement. The other is a woman, Ana, a West Indian trollop who dresses like an English lady and is forever suspicious of Swope, the excellent surgeon we've been lucky enough to acquire.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>We should reach our destination in another four weeks, God willing.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>I have deliberated over writing this next section, for fear I should make you worry. But it is not in my nature to suppress truths, as you know, and I would have you know everything that I am experiencing.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Strange voices seem to speak to me at night.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Looking at those words on the page, it seems ridiculous. But I assure, when I lie half-awake in my cot, the ship tilting around me over the Atlantic swells, it is all too real. High-pitched and interrupting itself with giggles, but the voice is real, my dear.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>How can I write this? What will you think? The things it says, darling. The things it tells me. The things it tells me to do.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>We will reach Monsterrat in four weeks. If I fear for my health then, I will put in and take some rest. Do not fear, darling. I must go now -- something is scratching at the door. Something small.</em></p><p></p><p>*****</p><p></p><p>Star-flecked waves swept by beneath where Ana leaned over the rail, passing the stern of the Ascot Marine and lining up all the way off to the night-time horizon. Overhead, the maintopmast creaked as the complex array of ropes and sways and braces that held with massive machine together adjusted themselves to the Atlantic wind.</p><p></p><p>Ahead, somewhere, her people waited. Perhaps Priestess Hena was this moment preparing a morning sacrifice, piling fruit in a polished turtleshell.</p><p></p><p>"Sorry, what was that?"</p><p></p><p>She smiled at the mulatto boy Dras who was clinging to the shrouds above her, swaying with the motion of the ship.</p><p></p><p>"I said, that Ah Balaam gives me the creeps."</p><p></p><p>Dras swung down to the deck beside Ana. Dras was a slender youth with a quick grin that Ana had found the easiest person to talk to aboard the Ascot Marine. </p><p></p><p>And Ah Balaam. The creepy mainlander, one of those fearsome Yucatans, with teeth he'd filed down to narrow points, stood opposite she and Dras, along the larboard rail, staring up into the night sky. Ana watched him reach out with his right hand and suppressed a gasp as a seagull swooped down and landed on his wrist.</p><p></p><p>Dras and Ana stared.</p><p></p><p>They weren't the only ones. Lurking under the jib stays, leaning against one of the nine-pounders lashed to the deck, the broad-shouldered Englishman known as Red glowered at the fierce-looking savage. Nearly invisible in the shadows, Red had already built a reputation on the ship as a savage, brutal bully, who inspired terror among the crew not only through his willingness to resort to any amount of violence in order to make his influence felt, but also because of his friendship with the most frightening man aboard the ship. Horse.</p><p></p><p>Quinn, trying to get some sleep in a cable round near the bowsprit, kept an uneasy eye on the heavy form of Red. And his other eye peering around for any sign of Red's terrifying counterpart. Nobody wanted to be near anywhere Horse was likely to be. Trouble followed the gigantic African, and those who failed to get out of his way seemed to meet up with nasty accidents.</p><p></p><p>Quinn had sailed his way around most of the ports of the Atlantic. He'd served on Dutch merchantmen and Norwegian whaling vessels, transatlantic packets and even on a couple not-exactly-legal "no questions asked" cargo runs along the Virginia coast. He knew pirates when he saw them, and Red and Horse and their cronies were definitely pirates. And pirates serving aboard the Ascot Marine meant nothing good, he was sure.</p><p></p><p>Further down the length of the ship he could see the subject of Red's current ire, the spooky West Indian topman Ah Balaam. Directly across from the pointy-toothed grin of that ugly son-of-a-dog Quin saw the dark, simple dress of the island girl, Ana. With her was the cook's mate, the boy Dras, obviously a half-breed, but a good chap nonetheless. They were also staring at Ah Balaam.</p><p></p><p>Quinn pushed his lanky frame a little more upright. Something was happening. To his surprise, he saw a seagull flutter in Ah Balaam's hand.</p><p></p><p>And then that crazy Indian bit the bird in half. With those pointy teeth of his.</p><p></p><p>And that's when Red charged down the deck, shrieking.</p><p></p><p>Not until the large chap with the bright red hair started hollering did Rupert Black look up from where he sat on the quarterdeck, recording his sightings in a leather-bound journal. There seemed to be some sort of commotion going on amidships.</p><p></p><p>"What's all this then? Come lads, behave yourselves."</p><p></p><p>Black picked his way down the steps to the main deck, where a circle had suddenly formed around the two struggling men.</p><p></p><p>Red had gotten in the first blow, but it was his face that streamed with blood when Black arrived, pushing through the building crowd to confront the two men.</p><p></p><p>"What's all this then?"</p><p></p><p>Just then Lieutenant Davis arrived, to the relief of Black. Davis grabbed Red and ripped him away from Ah Balaam, spinning him backwards into the strong arms of the bo'sun. He then grabbed Ah Balaam by the hair and yanked hard.</p><p></p><p>"That's enough, you two. No fighting."</p><p></p><p>Red pointed and hissed.</p><p></p><p>"He's a sorcerer, the black bastard. He's bewitching us all."</p><p></p><p>Dras and Ana shared a concerned look. Whatever Ah Balaam had been doing, it hadn't looked very wholesome.</p><p></p><p>Davis slapped Red.</p><p></p><p>"I don't care if he's Jack Darkly. He's one of our best topmen and you, Red, I don't want another word out of you."</p><p></p><p>Dras looked around at the gathering crowd, and jumped suddenly to discover Horse standing directly behind. The mulatto looked up past a broad expanse of muscled chest to a huge black face studded with ritual scars in dense patterns. On one cliff-edge of a shoulder squatted Bobo, the monkey's little face drawn up in an angry squint. Dras edged aside fearfully, tugging Ana along out of harm's way.</p><p></p><p>Black frowned as Davis spun, studying the surly faces around him in sudden concern. Horse. Red. Morrison, the master-at-arms. All of them pals, all of them with their heads together for the past three weeks. Black caught a whiff of Davis' fear. He swore to himself.</p><p></p><p>And then nearly swore out loud as Captain Hancock and Lieutenant Fulcher came bustling up the deck. Black wasn't the most experienced sea hand, but he knew trouble when he saw it. And Captain Hancock's blustering, fearful, arrogant manner spelled nothing but trouble for the crew of the Ascot Marine.</p><p></p><p>"You there, Mister Black! What's your business here?"</p><p></p><p>Black looked up as Hancock pointed at him, shouting. The captain's face was red with restrained fury.</p><p></p><p>"Nothing, sir. I heard a disturbance and came to see if I could help."</p><p></p><p>"Your help, Mister Black, is not required. Nor is your interference in the smooth operation of this ship welcome, do you hear?"</p><p></p><p>"I hear, sir. Excuse me."</p><p></p><p>Black moved away from the circle of sailors, noticing the young ordinary seaman Quinn doing the same. They converged and Quin spoke quietly.</p><p></p><p>"Captain's got everything in hand, as usual."</p><p></p><p>Black nodded as the Indian woman, Ana, approached them, along with the cook's mate, the mulatto boy Dras.</p><p></p><p>All four winced at each other as Captain Hancock's voice rose in a thin scream of fury.</p><p></p><p>"What's the explanation for this outrage, Mister Davis? Explain yourself at once!"</p><p></p><p>They looked down at the deck as Davis' answer was cut off.</p><p></p><p>"You are a fool, Mister Davis, and a suspicious busybody. These men were just engaging in healthy rough-housing. Good, stout lads, all of them. Enough of this. Back to your post, Mister Davis. At once."</p><p></p><p>Dras ventured a question.</p><p></p><p>"Did everyone see Ah Balaam bite that... bird?"</p><p></p><p>Black coughed.</p><p></p><p>"I did not. He bit a bird?"</p><p></p><p>"Yeah. A gull landed on his hand and he, uh, bit it."</p><p></p><p>Ana drew a breath and asked the question she'd been dying to ask.</p><p></p><p>"Mister Black, what do you think about the Captain's --"</p><p></p><p>Black cut her off.</p><p></p><p>"As you value your life, my dear, do not ask that question. Understand that there is nothing more important than the sanctity of the Captain's rank. If we question it, everyone will question it, and this ship will become a slaughterhouse. Keep your questions to yourself, Mistress, and pray we reach the Carribean alive."</p><p></p><p>Dras shuddered to hear such a bald statement of their position. And then stiffened. Looking back at the crowd, Dras could just make out the little capuchin squatting on Horse's shoulder. The damned monkey was staring right at them.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="barsoomcore, post: 1482651, member: 812"] [b]Any Port In A Storm -- Part One[/b] [i]My Dear Wife: The ship continues to make good time. Some adjustments to the placement of supplies has improved her handling a degree or two, and we are proceeding towards the Caribbean in excellent speed. Quin, one of the steadier hands, took a cast of the log yesterday and recorded eleven knots! I was very pleased. With the Queen's letter of marque in hand, we expect to find plenty of prizes among the Caribbean islands, French and Spanish both. Privateers have made great fortunes in this business, the unfortunate Captain Kidd aside. I am less pleased with the crew. Lieutenant Davis is a busybody without any respect for my position, and Lieutenant Fulcher is nothing but a scoundrel. The men are for the most part good, stout lads, but there are troublemakers among them that I must keep my eye on. Recruiting for a privateer venture always means accepting what hands turn out, but I fear more than a few of our crew are pirates passing themselves off as honest sailors. There are some strange characters indeed -- the West Indian cannibal, Ah Balaam, and the African mountain of intimidation, Horse (with his ever-present monkey, Bobo). The master-at-arms is a drunkard who carouses with the seamen and I suspect them all of plots and intrigues. The passengers are worse. Mister Rupert Black, no doubt a spy for the investors, pretends to a depth of sea-faring knowledge he does not possess and is forever in danger of questioning my judgement. The other is a woman, Ana, a West Indian trollop who dresses like an English lady and is forever suspicious of Swope, the excellent surgeon we've been lucky enough to acquire. We should reach our destination in another four weeks, God willing. I have deliberated over writing this next section, for fear I should make you worry. But it is not in my nature to suppress truths, as you know, and I would have you know everything that I am experiencing. Strange voices seem to speak to me at night. Looking at those words on the page, it seems ridiculous. But I assure, when I lie half-awake in my cot, the ship tilting around me over the Atlantic swells, it is all too real. High-pitched and interrupting itself with giggles, but the voice is real, my dear. How can I write this? What will you think? The things it says, darling. The things it tells me. The things it tells me to do. We will reach Monsterrat in four weeks. If I fear for my health then, I will put in and take some rest. Do not fear, darling. I must go now -- something is scratching at the door. Something small.[/i] ***** Star-flecked waves swept by beneath where Ana leaned over the rail, passing the stern of the Ascot Marine and lining up all the way off to the night-time horizon. Overhead, the maintopmast creaked as the complex array of ropes and sways and braces that held with massive machine together adjusted themselves to the Atlantic wind. Ahead, somewhere, her people waited. Perhaps Priestess Hena was this moment preparing a morning sacrifice, piling fruit in a polished turtleshell. "Sorry, what was that?" She smiled at the mulatto boy Dras who was clinging to the shrouds above her, swaying with the motion of the ship. "I said, that Ah Balaam gives me the creeps." Dras swung down to the deck beside Ana. Dras was a slender youth with a quick grin that Ana had found the easiest person to talk to aboard the Ascot Marine. And Ah Balaam. The creepy mainlander, one of those fearsome Yucatans, with teeth he'd filed down to narrow points, stood opposite she and Dras, along the larboard rail, staring up into the night sky. Ana watched him reach out with his right hand and suppressed a gasp as a seagull swooped down and landed on his wrist. Dras and Ana stared. They weren't the only ones. Lurking under the jib stays, leaning against one of the nine-pounders lashed to the deck, the broad-shouldered Englishman known as Red glowered at the fierce-looking savage. Nearly invisible in the shadows, Red had already built a reputation on the ship as a savage, brutal bully, who inspired terror among the crew not only through his willingness to resort to any amount of violence in order to make his influence felt, but also because of his friendship with the most frightening man aboard the ship. Horse. Quinn, trying to get some sleep in a cable round near the bowsprit, kept an uneasy eye on the heavy form of Red. And his other eye peering around for any sign of Red's terrifying counterpart. Nobody wanted to be near anywhere Horse was likely to be. Trouble followed the gigantic African, and those who failed to get out of his way seemed to meet up with nasty accidents. Quinn had sailed his way around most of the ports of the Atlantic. He'd served on Dutch merchantmen and Norwegian whaling vessels, transatlantic packets and even on a couple not-exactly-legal "no questions asked" cargo runs along the Virginia coast. He knew pirates when he saw them, and Red and Horse and their cronies were definitely pirates. And pirates serving aboard the Ascot Marine meant nothing good, he was sure. Further down the length of the ship he could see the subject of Red's current ire, the spooky West Indian topman Ah Balaam. Directly across from the pointy-toothed grin of that ugly son-of-a-dog Quin saw the dark, simple dress of the island girl, Ana. With her was the cook's mate, the boy Dras, obviously a half-breed, but a good chap nonetheless. They were also staring at Ah Balaam. Quinn pushed his lanky frame a little more upright. Something was happening. To his surprise, he saw a seagull flutter in Ah Balaam's hand. And then that crazy Indian bit the bird in half. With those pointy teeth of his. And that's when Red charged down the deck, shrieking. Not until the large chap with the bright red hair started hollering did Rupert Black look up from where he sat on the quarterdeck, recording his sightings in a leather-bound journal. There seemed to be some sort of commotion going on amidships. "What's all this then? Come lads, behave yourselves." Black picked his way down the steps to the main deck, where a circle had suddenly formed around the two struggling men. Red had gotten in the first blow, but it was his face that streamed with blood when Black arrived, pushing through the building crowd to confront the two men. "What's all this then?" Just then Lieutenant Davis arrived, to the relief of Black. Davis grabbed Red and ripped him away from Ah Balaam, spinning him backwards into the strong arms of the bo'sun. He then grabbed Ah Balaam by the hair and yanked hard. "That's enough, you two. No fighting." Red pointed and hissed. "He's a sorcerer, the black bastard. He's bewitching us all." Dras and Ana shared a concerned look. Whatever Ah Balaam had been doing, it hadn't looked very wholesome. Davis slapped Red. "I don't care if he's Jack Darkly. He's one of our best topmen and you, Red, I don't want another word out of you." Dras looked around at the gathering crowd, and jumped suddenly to discover Horse standing directly behind. The mulatto looked up past a broad expanse of muscled chest to a huge black face studded with ritual scars in dense patterns. On one cliff-edge of a shoulder squatted Bobo, the monkey's little face drawn up in an angry squint. Dras edged aside fearfully, tugging Ana along out of harm's way. Black frowned as Davis spun, studying the surly faces around him in sudden concern. Horse. Red. Morrison, the master-at-arms. All of them pals, all of them with their heads together for the past three weeks. Black caught a whiff of Davis' fear. He swore to himself. And then nearly swore out loud as Captain Hancock and Lieutenant Fulcher came bustling up the deck. Black wasn't the most experienced sea hand, but he knew trouble when he saw it. And Captain Hancock's blustering, fearful, arrogant manner spelled nothing but trouble for the crew of the Ascot Marine. "You there, Mister Black! What's your business here?" Black looked up as Hancock pointed at him, shouting. The captain's face was red with restrained fury. "Nothing, sir. I heard a disturbance and came to see if I could help." "Your help, Mister Black, is not required. Nor is your interference in the smooth operation of this ship welcome, do you hear?" "I hear, sir. Excuse me." Black moved away from the circle of sailors, noticing the young ordinary seaman Quinn doing the same. They converged and Quin spoke quietly. "Captain's got everything in hand, as usual." Black nodded as the Indian woman, Ana, approached them, along with the cook's mate, the mulatto boy Dras. All four winced at each other as Captain Hancock's voice rose in a thin scream of fury. "What's the explanation for this outrage, Mister Davis? Explain yourself at once!" They looked down at the deck as Davis' answer was cut off. "You are a fool, Mister Davis, and a suspicious busybody. These men were just engaging in healthy rough-housing. Good, stout lads, all of them. Enough of this. Back to your post, Mister Davis. At once." Dras ventured a question. "Did everyone see Ah Balaam bite that... bird?" Black coughed. "I did not. He bit a bird?" "Yeah. A gull landed on his hand and he, uh, bit it." Ana drew a breath and asked the question she'd been dying to ask. "Mister Black, what do you think about the Captain's --" Black cut her off. "As you value your life, my dear, do not ask that question. Understand that there is nothing more important than the sanctity of the Captain's rank. If we question it, everyone will question it, and this ship will become a slaughterhouse. Keep your questions to yourself, Mistress, and pray we reach the Carribean alive." Dras shuddered to hear such a bald statement of their position. And then stiffened. Looking back at the crowd, Dras could just make out the little capuchin squatting on Horse's shoulder. The damned monkey was staring right at them. [/QUOTE]
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