Pirates Return IC

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Ricardo tensed. “I came to inform you of the state of your ship, Captain. We’ve lost half over half the crew, and our stores are… far from adequate for the repairs.”

His nostrils flared when he recognized the vaguely sweet scent in the air; the liquid Alexa had poured over the captain’s back was… familiar to him. Far weaker than the substance he had known a long time ago, but still enough to bring back unpleasant memories.

“Captain, I suggest we set sail to the nearest port immediately… otherwise, there will be no telling what will happen.”

 

Damn to it! He'd only just recruited a new crew. "Over half our men dead..." he whispered. He sat up, waving away Alexa. Only then did he notice the wound on the surgeon's side. "Are you alright?" he asked "Here, sit down." he said indicating the edge of the bed "I'm going to see what those bastards did to my ship." He pushed himself up, testing his bad leg. It was less painful than before - but it still felt like the fires of hell were being laid upon his leg.

He stood on his good leg, levering himself up off the bed. "Come on, Mister Santiago. Show me the damage."

Three Swords stepped outside to see men throwing dead Red Hands over the side. He watched them work - noting they lined their own dead and covered them with their hammocks.

His eyes moved on looking at the cannon. One had been completely disabled, it's iron barrel cracked and broken, half of it lying on the deck. He cursed as he limped over to it, inspecting where the cannon had hit.

Behind him he heard a rise in the voices of the men. He turned to see them gathering around something, "Go see what their up to, Master Santiago." he said, looking over the side.

 

The Spaniard nodded curtly, and headed towards the commotion. Several members of the crew were gathered around something – or someone - and one of them was crouched down.

”Bloody ‘ell, mateys, the cur’s still breathin’,” one of them exclaimed, drawing a knife from his belt “Not fo’ long, says I!

“Hold it, Mr Smith,” Ricardo called out, as he stpeed closer. The crew parted, some of them muttering angrily but the coold flash of Ricardo’s eyes silenced them.

The man lying on the deck was bloody and nearly still; it was no wonder he’d nbeen mistaken for dead. There was a large cut on his scalp and his face was bruised, but otherwisre the Hander seemed to be uninjured. There was something metallic hanging around the man’s neck…


Ricardo crouched down, a dagger sliding into his hand as he reached for the object that caught his eye. His eyes narrowed when he saw it was a Bo ‘sun’s whistle.

He stood, yanking the whistle from the man’s neck. “Captain,” He called out. “Looks like we have a captive.”

He held out the whistle. “LeBihan’s Bo’ Sun, if I’m not mistaken.”

 

Three Swords didn't take his eyes off of where he was looking. "Throw him in the brig, Master Santiago." He turned "And make sure no-one kills the bugger!" he bellowed before staring back to stare hard into the sea.

He was looking at a part of the hull, where water seemed to be coming towards it, instead of being pushed away as wake. His eye went wide as he realised the water was being sucked toward the ship. "Fetch a hammock! Quickly, we have a leak!"

 

“You heard the captain, Mr Smith;” Ricardo told the sailor. “Get him up.”

The sailor muttered, “Aye, sah,” and with a grunt, heaved the unconscious Hander on his shoulder.

When the captain called out, the Spaniard cursed. “The rest, go to the Captain! He snapped. “Mr Smith, you will follow me to the brig.”

Making his way towards the brig, he briefly touched his pocket to make sure that he still had the keys he’d been given. They were safe, wand without much ado the captive was soon behind the bars.

”Stand guard, Mr. Smith,” Ricardo told the sailor. “You heard the captain. Keep the man alive. If something happens to him, I will personally make sure that you will live to regret it.”

Smith looked like he was about to protest, but the coldness of the Quartermaster’s eyes made him stay silent, just nod frantically.

”Good.” Ricardo spun on his heel and headed back to the deck.

 

Three Swords was handed a hammock by one of the crewman. Swiftly, he stripped to the waist, and prepared to jump in the water. "Abbot!" A voice said, "If you jump in the water and those stitches come out, I refuse to do them again." he turned to see Alexa at the doorway of his cabin, fire glowing in her eyes.

"You'll stitch them again if I bloody well tell you to, woman!" he said. Abbot swore, he'd be thrice damned if he allowed someone else to do the stitches. "Bison. You'd better be able to swim because you're going in there." He paused to throw him the hammock, "Just place it over the hole, the water out to plug it tight but hold the top of it as well so the whole lot doesn't suck into the hole."

Bisone nodded, "Bison ready."

"Good. Now get in the water." Three Swords said. Bison leapt over the side, hitting the water at a dive and causing a large splash. He went deep and the crew could barely make his dark figure out in the water.

Beneath the water, Bison's eyes stung horribly with the salty water, but he forced them open as he pulled the Hammock tight over the hole. The audible sound of the Hammock being sucked over the hole and plugging it tight was obvious to all.

Bison swam to the surface to find a length of rope for him to climb. "Good job, Bison." Three Swords said as he stepped back. "A close call." He whispered under his breath. He had sent Bison down, because if the Hammock did not plug the hole, the big man's body would have been enough to shut it...

"Bring that prisoner to the surgery in your own time, Master Santiago."

 

Even though the commotion meant that his practice time was at an end, Matty took the time to carefully wrap and hide the dizi before returning to the deck. In the passage, he bumped into Alistair who seemed to either not know or not care that someting was going on. "Aye, Sar, I thankee fer the use o' yer pistol. 'Elped me out o' quite a jam, it did."

 

Alistair looked at Matty and it took him a few seconds to remember who it was, and what he was talking about.
"Oh, that, think nothing of it." he said, through a cigar. "And keep it, you kids need something to defend yourself with. What's a young boy like yourself doing on a pirate ship anyway? And, in fact, do you even know how to reload that gun?"

 

"I been sailin' as long as I ken, Sar. I ain't never needed a gun afore. Pirates like their music, an' they'll do a lot t' proteck a piper wha' keeps 'em 'appy." He looked at the other man sharply. "Cap'n Abbot don' allow smokin' below decks, it be in th'Articles. He also don' usually allow anyone who ain't signed th'Articles aboord. So what be ye doin' wi' us?"

 

"Ah. Sharp one...first of all. My name's Alistair Morrison, pleased to meet you." he extended a hand. Matty shook it, slowly. "Now, it's a good question you have there. Truthfully I have very little business to be on your fine ship here, but you see, the Captain's been too busy to speak with me and I needed to leave Freetown anyway. And I'm a bounty hunter. I've been meaning to speak to your captain about a preposition involving him helping me in hunting a pirate and sharing the rather large bounty and whatnot, but as it is, seems like he's a busy man. Maybe he'll speak with me now that I've saved his musician."

Alistair sighed, and, remembering something, took the cigar out of his mouth and crushed it under his boot. "Now. Does that answer your question?"

 

"Aye Sar, it be worth a try. Now, I got t' git above, sounds like the men be needin' a bit o' stimulatin' aboot their work."

 

"Fair enough. I was going too, they say they've got a leak or something. Don't want the ship to sink this early on..."

 

Ricardo smirked coldly at the Captain’s words. “Yes, Captain,” he acknowledged, and headed to the brig. The expression on his face made those he passed shy away, cold shivers going through the spine of anyone who dared to look him in the eye.

Down in the brig, he sent Smith to fetch a bucket of water. He knew he needed to make sure that the Bo’ Sun was not one of those who had sailed with leBihan fifteen years ago; there were things he was not going to let anyone know.

He yanked the unconscious captive’s head up by the blonde hair; it was impossible to tell from beneath the bruises, but it looked like the man had not been with leBihan at that time. After all, Ricardo mused, the Frenchman had not been with the Red Hands during their… acquaintance.

Smith soon came with the water, and the captive was summarily doused.

The man spluttered to consciousness. The first thing he saw was the Spaniard, a wicked smirk gracing his handsome face. For a moment, the man believed he was dead and in Hell, seeing the Devil himself, but when he was hauled on his feet and told to walk, he realized that he was very much alive. But how long, he did not know.

[ August 07, 2005, 17:19: Message edited by: Arabwel ]

 

"Stop squirming! How do you expect me to get your stitches straight when you keep moving your arm?" Daniel asked the man. With two more stitches, he was finally finished. All of the wounded who had gotten themselves to the surgery had their wounds washed, and either bound up for good or for later stitching by mom if they were deep wounds, stitched up now if they weren't too deep, or had a tourniquet on them.

Daniel made the rounds of those with tourniquets, loosening them a little to let some blood flow into the limbs, then tightening them back up. He discovered that eight of the men with tourniquets had died since the last loosening. Hopefully mom would be back soon and they could start operating on the serious cases. If she wasn't, probably more would die. Maybe he should just go ahead and see if he could take an arm off all by himself. He had watched mom do it often enough.

"Water, water," a wounded man called, and Daniel brought the bucket and ladle over to him and gave him a drink. Then six others piped up with thirst, then it was time to loosen the tourniquets again, and Daniel almost forgot about his idea to try an operation on his own.

 

When Matty came on deck, the first thing he noticed was the lack of chaos. What men could move were doing so, if slowly, and those as couldn't were at least being quiet about their moaning. Spotting Daniel busily tending some of the injured who couldn't make it below, he wandered that way.

"I see ye came up from th' 'old," he commented. In the light of day Daniel looked much younger than he had before, about the same age as Matty himself or maybe a bit younger. Handsome lad, with an interesting combination of features. Something about him seemed familiar, in a way that didn't speak of his mother, but Matty wasn't sure what it was.

"Aye, I figured that battle be as good a chance as any for sneaking into the crew unnoticed. Too bad Mom..." his voice trailed off. "I'd best get back to tending these men, until she's free."

Without a word Matty helped carry the water pail to the injured while Daniel tended the bandages. He almost dropped the dipper when the other boy spoke.

"Here now, the back of your shirt is bloody. Take it off and let me see what's happened." Matty stared at him in shock, trying to think of how he could refuse. There was no way he was going to strip down anywhere but back in his little cubbyhole below.

"Nae, it...it be nothin', I'm sure. Musta... musta got sprayed when... uh, when one o' those sorry lot lost 'is 'ead or summat." Matty hastily traded the dipper and pail for his pipes. "Time fer me to get on wi' playin'. See yer roun' Daniel."

Daniel watched him go. He was sure those stains were going from the inside out, but he had no chance to ponder further as a fresh round of moaning broke out.

 

Three Swords walked into his cabin noticing the torn and bloody overcoat on the floor. He looked down at himself, cursing as he noted the many blood stains that coated his body. He sighed as he stripped off - watching with fascination as he poured the blood from his boots - and moved to a basin of cold water he had not yet empty from the morning. Swiftly, he took a towel and soaked it, rubbing it harshly at the blood on his body. He regretted it instantly, pain flaring up through his bruised body. Gently, he brushed away the last of the blood and dipped his head into the red water to wash the last of the blood from his hair.

With that done, he walked to the cupboard and opened the doors, taking out his only other set of clothes. He pulled on the white shirt and brown trousers and slipped the black waistcoat through his arms. With quickness that spoke of much practice, he trhew around him a long, cream sash, wrapped it twice and tied it off at his hip before buckling his sword belt tightly over it.

Finally, he put on the dark red over coat - a little more gauche than his green one considering the red one head dull gold trimming. He had taken out his braid to wash his hair and he had no time to put it back in, so he tied a black bandana over his head, tying it at the back and tucking in the part that covered the top of his head, to keep the hair from his eyes.

He moved over to his boots before remembering they were still stained inside and out with wet blood. He moved back to the cupboard and lifted out a set of well worn boots. They were designed for horseback rather than seafaring but they'd do.

He pulled them on before stepping outside. He noted a crewman doing nothing but smoking a pipe whilst looking out over the ocean. "Clean the mess in there, sailor." Three Swords said "And have Bison see to the cabin doors - I've been walking bollock naked in front of the whole crew." he walked passed him spotting the Bounty Hunter Alistair sparking up a cigar to casually blow a smoke ring.

He remembered their conversation when he had first come on board. Alistair had sauntered into his cabin, cockier than any man Abbot had seen. He'd thrown himself into a chair, leisurely placed his legs on Three Swords desk and light a cigar. The man had taken three draws from the tobacco smoke before he had spoken.

"I have a proposition for you, Captain Abbot." he said blowing out a lungful of smoke.

"Take your feet off my desk, before I cut it off." Abbot had said, staring down the bold Alistair. Alistair had stopped mid smoke to lift an eyebrow at Three Swords before he took his feet from the desk. "And the proposition?"

Alistair smiled, "Here it is - you let me on board ship without signing the articles and we hunt down this man." from his pocket, Alistair produced a sheet of stained paper and slided it across the desk. Abbot glanced at the paper, noting the picture of the man drawn upon it, "His name is Colin Baird - a pirate," Abbot noticed Alistair tried hard not to spit the word out. He almost managed it.

"Where is he?" Abbot asked,

"That's the problem, you see... I don't know." Alistair replied,

"Not mine." Abbot said, making to throw Alistair out.

"But I do know a man who knows." Alistair added hurriedly. Abbot settled himself behind his desk again, "Port Royal... I have a contact there. He'll know."

Abbot was suspicious - but they were heading to Port Royal in any case. "Alright. When we find this... Colin Baird. We split it sixty - forty... in my favour."

"Wait a minute - I don't think so -" Alistair said, before he was interrupted,

"I do think so - we're taking my ship, my crew, my resources to get to this place. Sixty - forty. Now tell me how much this man is worth."

"the bounty on his head is... eight hundred." Alistair said. Three Swords looked at him, trying to see if he was holding back something.

"Alright... find yourself a hammock."

Three Swords was brought back to the present by a shout from Ricardo, "Captain, I have the prisoner here." Abbot looked at the half conscious Red Hand.

"I want him t be able to feel the pain we inflict Master Santiago... wake him up with a red hot poker, if you will. Then find Alexa - I'm sure a surgeon will at least know in theory, the best way to torture our subject for answers."

 

Alexa shook her head in exasperation. She suspected that the sailors she had managed to get stitched up would tear their stitches and would come back to get their wounds re-stitched.

Walking into the surgery, the familiar tang of blood and alcohol assaulted her. She examined some of the sailors that Daniel had stitched up, noticing that he had done a passable job. Walking to a worktable, she picked up a flask filled with rum, a needle and some thread, and got to work, stitching up the cremen that Daniel had left for her to look at.

Absorbed in her work, she didn't notice anyone walking into the surgery.

 

Coming back down to the surgery with two men that hadn't been able to get there on their own, Daniel helped them lay down on the floor in line for an operation. Mom was engrossed in hooking a man's thigh muscle back in place, and didn't even notice when he handed her a forceps. They finished up the man's leg, then moved to another man.

It was like during the dysentery epidemic last year, when they'd gotten so used to treating patients that they didn't need to say anything. Daniel provided the tool or extra pair of hands that mom needed, and mom worked and worked and worked.

Maybe she wouldn't say anything at all to him about him being on board.

 

The stitches tightened once more and Zheng left his waistcoat in his hammock along the air to breath over his naked torso. His back still bore three large scars from the battle and his side was heavily bandaged. He knelt on the deck, hands on knees allowing the wind to blow his hair from his eyes. He closed his eyes and waited for something he knew would never come.

After about half and hour he rose and felt as refreshed as he was before the battle. He made his way to the captain's cabin and waited at the door. It was already full. The quartermaster was accompanying one of the Red Hand prisoner. Zheng stood in view of Abbot outside the door clutcing his side as it throbbed again.

 

Seeing the redhead absorbed in her work, Ricardo took a moment to observe her.

She was bent over a groaning sailor, her deft hands stitching a deep wound that was oozing blood. She kept swiping her hair back, the red strands sticking to her skin, in extreme disarray. She was soaked in sweat and other fluids, moving more slowly than Ricardo had seen her move before… most likely due to the wounds she had suffered in the battle.

There was a certain… ruthlessness to the manner she worked; the Spaniard smiled as he spotted d a bloody saw lying nearby, knowing that she did not hesitate to do what was necessary to keep the men alive.

“Señora”, he called out after a long moment. “The Captain requires your presence.”

She started a little and turned to face him, her hazel eyes narrowing when she saw it was him.

“The prisoner needs to be interrogated, Señora”, Ricardo continued with a small smile, “And the Captain believes you are suited for the task.”