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Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

*loosely based on 'Pirates of the Caribbean-At World's End', but story and chars are original to this author.*
Took place in Ancy's life 2 years ago . . .
*****

Was it day or was it night? He saw no sun, no moon, no stars - only a pale gray sky that roiled overhead like a stormy sea. The ground beneath his feet crested in shadowed waves with his every step, yet his ability to walk remained unhampered by the tempest. He didn't know where he was . . . or where he'd been. He felt no passage of air when he breathed, nor heartbeat in his chest. Silence surrounded him, an enshrouding confinement that set his nerves on edge.

"Welcome aboard, Cappy. We been waitin' fer ya, we 'ave."

Coming into his focus a ship's mast loomed above and a crew of men stood staring in his direciton, one of whom grinned toothlessly, extending a greeting hand. What was this strangeness? "Cappy? Pardon me? Welcome aboard?"

"Feelin' a bit displaced, ay're ya?" The sailor's laughter rang out over the sea sprayed deck. Concluding his new boss wasn't going to shake his hand, he slowly lowered it. "Nothin' ta worry 'bout, Sir. Death tends ta do that ta a man. Won't be long 'til everythin' settles inta place fer ya."

Death?! He was dead? What had killed him . . . or who? And when? And how? And . . . . ?

" 'An what shall we be callin' ya, sides Cap'n o'course? Cap'n what?"

A chill wind blew through him, eternal permanance left in its wake. Not only did he suddenly find himself no longer alive, but he had absolutely no memory of the life he had once lived. Here he stood on a ship somewhere unknown being told he was its captain and asked his name with no idea what to answer. "I haven't a clue," he whispered more to himself than to the toothless pirate standing before him.

"Aargh, c'mon now. The locker needs yer name, lad. Ya don't want them poor souls who's died not knowin' where they're bound fer, do ya? Or wonderin' who it is 'll be takin' 'em across?"

The fool was talking in circles, not a word making sense. Ancyous' patience wearing thin, he took the man by the arm and pulled him aside where they could speak in some semblance of privacy. "Would you mind explaining to me what is going on here?" he queried. "What is this ship and how am I suddenly its captain? What do you mean the locker needs a name? And taking whose dead souls where exactly?" Not wanting to sound harsh he kept his tone sedate, but he was anxious and confused, desperate for answers.

"Ya'r bein' serious, ain't ya? Don't know a damn thin' fer a fact. My apologies, Cappy!"

The gypsy rested against the railing looking up at the sails, or what there was of them. Shreds of canvas layered over the masts billowed in spectral display, lending him some insight as to their ghostly course. "Yes, I am quite serious. Tell me of this ship. Tell me of its purpose."

"Ac'tly, Sir, I jus' did. This ship be The Starfire Escort, what ferries the souls o' sailors who done passed at sea ta their final restin' place. The locker's where they wait fer us to come fer 'em and it always bears the name o' The Escort's cap'n which, by the way, I'm waitin' ta know."

" The Escort's captain will tell you his name as soon as he gets the answers to the rest of his questions," Ancyous pressured despite not having a name at that moment to give.

"The rest I cain't say fer certain, how ya got ta be Cap'n, that is. Don't e'en know what 'appened ta the last one 'cept'n e's gone. We was tol' gonna be a new one and 'ere ya are!"

Ancyous brought his hands to his face, leaning into them and closing his eyes. Well, wasn't that helpful, he sighed. Apparently he'd never learn anything about how this had happend or who he used to be.

Thoughts suddenly crept into his mind in a completely different language, but one which he knew well although how and why he didn't know at all. Lowering his hands he let his gaze wander over the crew then out toward the horizon. "El Corazon del la Muerte," he announced just loud enough to be heard over the solemnly stirring gales. "Call me Captain Death."

*** to be continued

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

The pained wails were so loud they could be heard from his quarters. Running up the stairs Muerte threw open the hatch and leapt out onto the deck. Pelted by sheets of rain, he dodged the wrath of an errant lightning bolt only to find himself instantly as heated. "Who gave orders for this?" he demanded grabbing hold of his botswain's arm, stopping him on the downstroke of his whip. The sight of his First Mate tied to the mast, the skin of his back torn and bleeding, disgusted more than angered him. How men found it in themselves to inflict torture the likes of this was something he would never understand.

Muerte's crushing grip forcing his hand to involuntary release, the whip fell from the botswain's grasp. "Never needed orders before, Sir," he replied in a surly tone of surprise.

"Well, you do now. Release him!" Muerte kicked the offending strap of leather sending it sailing into the sea. "No one takes the lash on my ship unless it's wielded by me. Is that understood? No one!" He wanted to throttle the botswain, send him plunging to the ocean's depths directly behind his whip, but he kept his demeanor calm, commanding respect rather than resentment.

"But, Captain, the bastard stole five pieces of eight from your very cabin not two hours ago. Caught him red-handed we did, slithering out your door silent as a snake all full of himself for pulling it off without waking you."

"Of what use is gold to a dead man? He can take it all as far as I'm concerned." Peering through the downpour at his botswain, Muerte watched him loose the ropes that he'd earlier taken such perverted pleasure in securing. "I trust I'll never catch you at this again," he warned, then turning to the First Mate he whispered, "My office as soon as you're able to get there!"

An hour later found the captain pacing the cabin to the aft of his quarters awaiting the Mate's arrival. The planked floor creaked beneath his every step, his shadow silhouetted eerily upon the walls by the glow of a single lantern that hung at a precarious angle from a brass hook near the door. Who were these men, this crew of his? What lives had they led that sent them to this ship upon their deaths? Could they tell him if he asked or, like himself, had their memories been wiped clear? The botswain, twice as round as he was tall, wore his whips with too much pride and took far too much liberty with wielding them. It wasn't such an issue should his victim be a threat, but hoisting the lash against a fellow member of the crew was unacceptable and soon be dealt with. His quartermaster, the toothless gent who'd greeted him aboard, seemed likable enough, however it was his job to maintain order among the men, a task he'd just proven himself incapable of. And what of The Escort's new captain? Who was he replacing? How had his predecessor run the ship? Whoever it may have been, it was fast becoming obvious that his crew had seriously lacked discipline. Cultivating it now was going to be difficult at best, after all he was a total stranger to them all . . . as well as to himself.

"Captain?" Well over six feet tall, the First mate had to lower his head to get through the door. He'd managed to slip on a clean shirt, but had not changed out of the blood-stained breeches. Dirty blonde hair fell over dark green eyes that refused to make contact when he spoke. "Reporting as ordered, Sir."

"Sit."

"Yes, Sir."

Walking over to the large mahogany table that served as his desk, Muerte shoved a stack of parchments out of his way, then sat down where they'd been. Now less than a foot from the pirate, he held out his hand. "Give me the key."

"What key, Sir?"

Muerte sighed, his hand still outstretched palm up. "The key . . . or your soul. One hundred years . . . or eternity. Make your choice." This wasn't something he wanted to do, but it had to be done. If he was going to captain this crew he had to secure control before the opportunity was lost to him. He didn't even know how to take a soul, but the Quartermaster told him he now possessed that ability so he decided to see if it held any sway, hoping he wouldn't be put to the test. The last thing he wanted to do was condemn a man to eternal servitude. He just needed to establish his authority. "I'm waiting."

Slowly reaching into his pocket, the First Mate reluctantly produced the key to Muerte's quarters and laid it across his captain's palm. "Anything else, Sir?" he asked, his voice quaking.

"Have your wounds seen to. Good night and . . . thank you." Muerte came to his feet with a deep sigh of relief, escorting the thief out and seeing him below.

The rain having come to an end he decided to check the helm before retiring. Tucking the key into a pouch at his belt he held his hand out in front of him, staring in dismay at bones that were all that remained of his right ring finger. What could possibly have happened to cause this, he wondered. A ghostly flutter of sails overhead returned as his only response. Apparently this, too would remain yet another unanswered question.

***to be continued . .

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

The Escort lurched with such tremendous force that I was literally thrown from my bunk landing several feet away against the port bulkhead. An uncomfortable pressure building in my ears, I gasped instinctively as the air in my quarters became liquid. It not having been explained to me that this 'locker' was located at the bottom of the sea, I had no way of knowing my vessel's obligation required her to spend more time beneath the waves than upon them.

I have to admit I was terrified. Pouring over the bow, the ocean's roar was deafening as we plowed through the swells in a downward arc. I grabbed onto the nearest thing I could find - a large oaken chest which, thankfully, was bolted to the deck. Almost instantaneously the ship was totally submerged and plummeting toward the seabed at unimaginable speed. An amazing silence followed us below, so soundless the heart of death could actually be heard pulsating throughout the seven seas in anticipation of our arrival.

Coming to a sudden halt, it seemed as though we'd slammed against the wall of a tsunami. Shearing forces ensnared the hull within a vise-like grip, bringing my ship to such an abrupt stop that she twisted a full 180 degrees hard about, the surrounding sea violently undulating over her deck. Suprisingly, the water suddenly vanished and everything was as though none of this had ever taken place. Looking through the porthole I saw bright sunshine smiling down upon us from a clear azure sky. Not only that, but my clothes, my hair . . . all around me . . . was completely dry!

After the dizziness passed and I was able to come to my feet, I made my way above where yet another shock awaited me. At least one hundred souls stood waiting on a seaweed laden pier, their lifeless eyes focusing upon me when I appeared within their view. The Escort came immediately alive, bustling with activity as the gangplank was lowered and my crew began accomodating its passengers. I watched in silent awe, learning my new role. Once we had them all aboard it came strangely natural to me as I gave the order to set sail for 'the other side'.

*** to be continued

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

His maiden voyage to the locker now behind him, Muerte stood at the wheel maneuvering his ship into port. Despite the skeptical looks given him by the quartermaster and first mate when he'd ordered them to step aside, taking the helm for the first time came as naturally to him as had the skill to captain his crew to The Farthest Gate. He could no more explain it than he could what happened to his finger, but he was fast proving himself a competent seaman. There was still the matter of establishing authority, however. The men were obeying his orders, yet an obvious cloud of resistance still hung in the air. He was hoping this shore leave might somehow increase their confidence by showing them he appreciated their recent performance of duty and didn't expect things to be all work.

He could have brought her to berth, but decided against it, instead ordering the anchor dropped half a league off shore. The Escort's ghoulish appearance could well be mistaken as threatening and he didn't want to create any more trouble than his crew were likely to create on their own. Tete Dure was a small cay that sat off the coast of Louisianais near the French settlement of Orleans. Voodoo was its prime religion and lusty pirates its main source of revenue. Having been told little more than this, Muerte had agreed to put in there, but not without some reluctance.

"Do not forget that each of you, without exception, are bound to this ship." One hand braced against the mainmast, the other resting over the hilt of his sword, he scanned the faces of the men gathered in front of him wondering how much of what he was saying was sinking in. He didn't care how drunk they got or how many wenches they bedded. What bothered him was knowing his obligation should anyone even so much as think about trying to leave. "Keep your wits and keep your souls." Lifting his sword high into the air he let loose a wicked grin. "Now get your arses off my ship and give this isle a good reason to fear death!"

It wasn't until he'd seen the last man off that he stepped into the longboat and went ashore himself. As soon as her captain was a safe distance away The Escort slipped silently beneath the surface to await his return.

He didn't quite know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. The stone paved streets abounded with topless women in brightly colored skirts that clung to their hips as skin tight as a mermaid's scales, their breasts swaying with tantalizing sensuality upon their every footfall. They bore adornments of silver, gold and fine jewels of every description, as well as living ones hanging on their arms - drunken lust in their eyes, their desire straining for release against the fabric of their trousers. The air reeked of sex and whiskey, the odors thickened by the extreme tropical humidity.

The lace on his cuffs and collar wilting, as was he, Muerte sought shelter from the heat in a flag shop. The Escort was in need of new colors - ones that reflected the presence of her new captain. He hadn't really given much thought to the design, but it was an opportunity to escape into the shade for a little while and surely the shopkeeper could help him decide on something appropriate.

The interior was small, its walls covered in banners and flags of all shapes and sizes. There were several tables stacked high with an assortment of cloth in every conceivable color. Muerte wandered about a bit gathering ideas and sifting through the various materials before approaching the shopkeeper who sat at a desk in the far corner counting the day's earnings, paying her customer no heed.

"Excuse me. I could use some assistance."

The woman didn't look up, keeping at her task as though she'd heard nothing.

Stepping closer, he gave it another try. "I realize you're busy, but I'll be increasing that pile of gold if you'd take a minute away from it to assist me."

Still ignored, he strongly considered simply stealing what he wanted and walking out the door. Instead he reached his hands into her coins. "If you prefer, I can diminish the amount rather than add to it."

A shrill scream pierced the air. Her gold was cursed, rising in the air of its own accord! Stricken with fear she fainted, falling from the chair.

"Oh, Dios," Muerte groaned rolling his eyes. He kneeled attempting to lift her, but rather than going around her shoulders his arms passed right through them. Losing his balance, he then also fell, landing on top of the woman. She may as well have not been there as his hands and knees hit the hardwood floor beneath her. Stunned, he leapt to his feet staring down at the unconscious female. Was she an illusion . . . or was he?!

He walked back out into the street, confused and weary of the constant mystery surrounding him.

"Well, I'll be damned!" If it isn't El Corazon himself." A gruff voice heavily accented in French brought Muerte to an abrupt halt.

"You can see me?"

"Until I send you to rot in that locker of yours, yes, I can see you. Why the hell are you asking? Think you've suddenly gone invisible . . . or just wishing it?" Unsheathing his cutlass,the pirate poised it over Muerte's chest. "Time to hand over the treasure, Captain!"

Muerte glanced down at the blade, then into his assailant's eyes. Who was this bilge rat and why was he able to see him when the shopkeeper could not? How was it he had substance now when only moments before he'd had none? And what was he talking about? Hand over the treasure? What treasure?

Votre coeur, Capitaine. It's your heart he wants. There are many who seek the heart of death.

Day became night as the priestess materialized in front of Muerte. Her Dominican accent slithering through the darkness, she took his hand, leading him to a place of temporary sanctuary while she spoke. "You must be careful, mon chere. The Pirate Lords all know your face and, aside from your crew who are as bound to their capitaine as they are to The Escort, they are the only ones who can see you and the only ones who can hear you speak. No one, not even your men, are able to come to your aide if you're not standing on the deck of your ship."

Muerte studied the woman with a troubled expression. Yet another stranger who professed to know more about him than he did, her charcoal eyes appeared to hold a thousand secrets. Her dress, while finely tailored, was simple in design and solid black, matching her hair which hung straight over slim shoulders to a tiny waist. She smelled of incense and there ws something about her presence that he couldn't quite discern yet found extremely unsettling. "If what you say is true, why am I visible to you? Who are you?" Where had she taken him? And how? There was only silence and darkness and the two of them. "Where are we?"

"Between here and there is where we are. You still have a blade at your chest if that's your question. As for who I am, my name is Loire Le'greau - Voodoo priestess of Dominica, which answers why I am able to see you. Now be quiet and listen to me. I can only keep you here a little while before that mongrel takes what he is after."

"Tell me then." Uncertain as to whether or not he should believe anything this strange woman said, he bid her continue.

"Not long ago a book was found by the Brethren Court. Bound in human flesh, its words were scribed in blood. No one knows where it came from or who wrote it. The first page announced the arrival of a new captain aboard The Starfire Escort, El Corazon del la Muerte. The next page had a drawing of his likeness, perfect right down to . . . She paused, glancing at his right hand. "The rest was about his heart - the heart of death - explaining that it contains a secret even he is unaware of. It went on to say that he must be prevented from discovering it for once he does there will be no stopping him. Only a Pirate Lord has the ability to take the heart from Muerte's chest. The one who succeeds will be rewarded with immortality and the power to rule the seven seas for all eternity."

Muerte frowned. So that was why his name had come to him as it had. And the reason this bastard could see him - he was one of the Pirate Lords. But who wrote this book and to what end? What was this secret and from what would there be no stopping him were he to learn of it?

"How do you know this?" he growled. "How is it we've crossed paths in this God-forsaken place?"

"Are you insinuating I cannot read, Capitaine?

Feeling the sting of the blade pressing into his flesh, Muerte realized Loire was gone and he stood once again facing whichever Lord this was. "I'm insinuating that I'm not in the mood for this." Deftly drawing his sword, he severed the pirate's hand from his wrist, the cutlass falling to the ground still locked in his now useless grasp.

Ignoring the curses and threats being thrown his way, Muerte turned toward the beach, The Escort rising to the surface to greet him.

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

"Heave to!"

Half past midnight and the crew was back aboard. A warm seabreeze held the moonless sky aloft as the captain stood on deck overseeing their departure. All had gone well. At least there'd been no brawls, no one left behind sitting in a cell.

Although he still couldnt remember anything prior to his arrival on The Escort five days ago, Muerte had learned much since then, not the least of which being the fact that he was as ethereal as his ship with no more substance than the air that now whispered through its sails. How Loire had gained her information puzzled him and that she had refused to say, disappearing before answering when he'd asked, led him to believe her voodoo magic had less to do with it than some involvement she'd neglected to reveal. Having had some time to think on it, he realized thee was so much more to what she'd said than her words implied. Not only did he possess the heart of death, but he apparently somehow ruled the seas as well. It was he who commanded the fate of each dead sailor's soul, he who was answered to in the end for that ultimate decision. He'd initially thought it odd when she'd said no one would be able to come to his aid unless he was on his ship and it wasn't until now that he'd fully understood. His men were clearly visible anywhere they stood, whether it be on the deck of The Escort or the sands of a beach. He, on the other hand, could not be seen by anyone, including his men, when he was anywhere other than his ship, the only exception to that being the Lords who obviously had no problem seeing him anywhere he stood. As to what secret his heart held, it was of little concern to him. If he was meant to find out what it was, then surely he would.

Once they were safely out to sea he bid his helmsman a good night. Leaving orders that he was not to be disturbed, he descended belowdecks.

A disturbing sound drew his attention as he approached his quarters. A woman? What the hell?"

Following the anguished cries led him aft to the botswain's cabin. He knocked, then without waiting for a response, kicked the door off its hinges and burst in. What he saw sickened him. A young girl lay on the bunk, her wrists and ankles bound with rope. Her bodice had been torn away revealing a dagger buried in her breast. Her chest and belly were covered with blood. Terror in her eyes, she stared helplessly up at the man standing over her.

"Captain! Thought you were takin' the wheel tonight!" The botswain stood aghast at Muerte's unexpected appearance, not quite knowing what to do or say. His greasy brown hair was tied in a knot at the back of his neck, sweat poured down his temples and covered his rotund body, pooling in creases of layers of exposed flesh.

"Did you now?" Muerte slowly advanced, his anger increasing with each step he took. "Sorry to disappoint you. I don't know what was allowed on this vessel before I took command, but I honestly couldn't care less. I warned you, did I not?"

"I'm real sorry, sir." Backing up against the bulkhead, the man grabbed for his trousers. "I swear it won't happen again."

"You're damn right, it won't." His fury tempered by ice cold control, Muerte unsheathed his dagger, driving it deep into the botswain's chest. "Don't wait for The Escort," he hissed. "You won't be seeing her on the other side!"

... to continue

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

Eight ships anchored in the cove. Eight Lords gathered round the table. The Brethren Court, governing body of the high seas since the dawn of civilization - minus one. Loyal to nothing and no one, doing as he willed when he wished without care, the missing Lord's affinity for death and destruction allowed little patience for meetings and even less time. The Pirate King had called them together to discuss the subject of a book that had recently come into their possession about a man no longer alive with the ability to rule the soul of anyone who died upon the Seven Seas, a man whose heart held a secret so valuable that only they had been entrusted with its taking.

The meeting room, a portioned off section of cave deep beneath the islands surface, smelled of sea salt and decay, the air thick with smoke from Cheng Sao's opium pipe. A large obsidian skull in the center of the table stood guard over the treasured volume that lay in front of it.

"The bastard took my damn hand!" Captain Jean LaFitte announced in a loud voice. Holding out his bandaged stump for all to see he demanded, "We must set to sea, find his ghost of a vessel and send him straight to hell. Nevermind his heart. Who needs it?!"

"Calm down you stupid fool! It's just a hand. Be thankful it wasn't your dick." Murat Rais, Lord of the Mediterranean coast, hadn't travelled half-way around the world to listen to the Frenchman's whining. "As far as searching for The Starfire Escort, we could sail the seas forever and never catch a single glimpse of that God-forsaken ship! She can't be seen unless her captain wants her to be."

"He doesn't know that yet, chere," Loire interrupted. "And what he doesn't know . . . can hurt him." She smiled as she stepped into the room. LaFitte's First Mate and mistress, she was ever at his side. "I told him just enough to scare him, keep him looking over his shoulder in the wrong direction."

"Scare him? Oh that's a good one, lass. There'll be no scarin' El Corazon, 'o that ye ken be sure." William Marsh, Captain of the Scottish brigantine The Vixen couldn't keep from laughing. "Any man what steers a wench ta The Farthest Gate isna' gonna be lookin' o'er 'is shoulder in any direction. No, lassie, 'e'll be lookin' straight a'ead with 'is blade at tha ready! And soon as 'e finds out ye lied to 'im ye may well be tha first ta meet tha' blade."

Slipping a dainty hand into her bodice, Loire produced a small ivory handled pistol. Aiming it across the table she hissed, "IF that happens my dear Marsh, I'll make certain you're the second!" She told the Lords she'd lied, but she hadn't except for telling Muerte she could see him which, of course, she couldn't. She didnt exactly hear what he'd said to her either, but her ties to the spirit world were strong and his words had come to her in silent rushes of breath. She couldnt quite put her finger on why she'd told him of the book, divulged to him some of the information it contained, but his situation had him at such a disadvantage, prey to nine capitaines, their ships and their crews, it seemed only right that he knew at least a little about himself and the danger he was facing. After all, whether of this world or the next, every pirate deserved a chance.

"BASTA!" Captain Rivero bellowed. Lord of the Spanish Main, he was also Keeper of the Code and newly elected Pirate King. "Enough! Stow the weapon puta or its my blade you'll be meeting long before El Corazon ever has the opportunity!"

Loire pouted, her dark eyes smoldering. "Why Manuel, I'd be pleased to accomodate your blade anytime, mon cher."

Grabbing her about the waist, Jean forced Loire onto his lap. "Dammit, woman!" After pulling the gun from her grasp and tossing to to the floor he turned to Rivero. "My blade handles her well enough, Capitaine. I suggest you keep yours sheathed and not force me to remind you. Now, if you have something you want to say about Muerte, we're listening."

It was a long moment before the king spoke again while he suppressed an overwhelming urge to slit LaFitte's throat. "Muerte. Si. El diablo de los Mars Siete. Every day that passes brings him closer to discovering the secret and distances us that much farther from preventing it. As long as he is on the ship he is invulnerable. He may not know that yet, but it's just a matter of time. The only way to get what we are after is to lure him away from her, but we have to find the pera first. If Loire is right, if he hasn't learned why the ship was named after the Starfire, then he can keep her hidden from us only by taking her under which he cannot do unless he's going to the locker and he cannot do that until one hundred souls are waiting for him there." He paused looking into the eyes of each Lord one at a time. "As of this hour The Brethren Court is commissioned to set sail for open waters - to hunt down The Starfire Escort and bring her capitan El Corazon del la Muerte here to Siren's Cove where it will then be decided who among us shall take the treasure from his chest!"

. . . to continue

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

Captain's Journal

I just had the strangest dream, but do dead men dream or was it something else? I was in my bed. Asleep. I heard a voice. A feminine voice. Soft, melodic, entrancing, it whispered in my ear. I couldn't understand the words and when I tried my body began to melt. Like wax being poured into a candle mold I felt myself merging with my The Escort's hull. Then I awoke.

What did it mean?

I need a new botswain and haven't the slightest idea how to obtain one. This afternoon I'll ask the quartermaster, whose name I've learned is Jamison. Next time I go ashore I shall have to take him with me. My last shopping venture didn't go quite as I'd planned and we're still in need of colors.

Oh, damn! He won't be able to see me either once we leave the ship. I suppose he can just be sent with a drawing.

Don't think I'll ever get used to this.

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

'CAPPY!" Jamison pounded on the door to Muerte's quarters. "WAKE UP! We be needin' ya straight away!"

Muerte looked up, closing his journal and laying aside the quill. "I'm not sleeping. What is it?" By the time he got to the door all he saw of his quartermaster was the man's feet scrambling back up through the hatch. "What the devil is going on?" he called after him. Jumping into a pair of trousers he took off running in the same direction.

A violent wind slapped him in the face as he emerged on deck, waves suddenly beginning to crest over the bow. His hair whipping wildly about his bare shoulders, what he saw stopped him in his tracks. Twenty feet off starboard sailed another ship. Keeping pace with The Escort its colors boasted a red shattered skull on a field of black. Pirate. And too damn close. One quarter roll and they'd be locked at the mast.

"Wanna use the Starfire, Cappy?" Jamison shouted.

Grabbing onto the railing to keep his footing, Muerte fought his way to the bridge, struggling not to slip in the water that sloshed beneath his every step. "Use the what, Jami? The starfire? What is that? Do you mean the ship?"

"No," Jamison began to explain. Doing his best to keep from being blown overboard by the raging gales, he kept an eye on the unwelcome visitor while he spoke. "Ya be the only one what kin get ta it. Makes so's ain't nobody kin see us. Nice 'n conven'nt it is, 'cept'n fer the price."

"The price?"

"CORAZON!" A deep voice bellowed from across the roaring swells. "Top 'o the wee hours 'o the mornin' ta ya. Captain William Marsh, Lord o' the British Seas, at your service."

Wonderful. Here he was wearing nothing but a pair of knee breeches, weaponless and caught in the cross hairs of yet another Pirate Lord. "We'll talk more about it later," Muerte whispered, referring to the starfire stone. "Bring us to a stop and man the guns."

"Aye, sir."

"And Jami?"

"Aye?"

"Can I get you to bring me some clothes and my gear?"

The quartermaster nodded as he closed his hand over the nearest rail and carefully climbed down the steps to the main deck. "Comin' right up, sir."

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Captain Marsh?" Muerte yelled back, attempting a stall until his orders could be carried out. "Is there something we can do for you?"

Did'na make a bloody bit o' difference 'ow invincible the friggin' spook was while standin' on 'is wench, 'ole Willie boly was 'bout ta 'ave 'im by 'is ghostie balls. The Scotsman smiled, moonlight glinting off two gold teeth in the front of his mouth. "Na fer me, thanks. Might be a thing or two you ken do for 'er though." Flinging the top off a large barrel that was sitting behind him he kicked it over and reached inside. Burying his hand in a tangled mass of thick auburn curls, he wrenched a slight female figure out from the wooden confines. The shackles binding her wrists and ankles bit into her delicate skin as he dragged her to her feet. Wrapping an arm firmly about her waist, he levelled a dagger at her throat, grinning at Muerte. "Parlay, Captain?"

"Hijo de una perra!" Muerte swore under his breath. What kind of sick game was this?

"Tell 'im ta go bugger 'imself!" Arriving back on the quarterdeck Jamison handed Muerte a shirt and boots along with his sword and belt. "Ya don't even know tha girl. Could be 'is sweet'art. Could even be 'is mama fer all ya kin see from 'ere! Let 'im do whatever the 'ell 'e wants with 'er. The guns are ready, Cappy. What say we jes' blow 'is arse outta our way and be on with it? We be 'eaded fer the locker with the sunrise."

An icy chill filtering down his spine, honour coursing through his veins, Muerte pulled his shirt over his head, stepped into his boots and fastened his belt about his waist, securing the buckle that anchored his sword. True, he didn't know her and yes, she could be the bastard's woman, but what if she wasn't? What if he really meant to kill an innocent girl should El Corazon refuse to cooperate? He was no coward and he certainly wouldnt be backed into a corner. "State your terms, hibrido!" he yelled back.

"Cappy, please don't be doin' this," Jamison pleaded. Locking his hand over his captain's shoulder he could feel the tension concentrated there. " 'e jes' wants yer 'eart and, besides, if ya leave The Escort you'll be pullin' a curse down on all 'o us."

Muerte frowned. What was Jamison talking about? Something else he'd not yet been made aware of? "There will be no curse."

"Damn'd if'n there won't!"

"Lower the plank, Jami."

"But Cappy!"

"No more arguing. Obey your captain!"

"A simple exchange will do, Corazon. I'll give ya me best cell too. No keg 'o wood fer ya, no sir." Laughing, Marsh kicked the barrel once again, this time sending it flying over the railing and into the wild sea.

"Agreed. Send your plank. Ours is on its way."

The wind suddenly stilled, the sea calmed, allowance made for the spirit's safe crossing. Squaring his shoulders, Muerte stepped out onto the narrow board, keeping his eyes steady upon the woman stumbling toward him. The irons making it all but impossible for her to walk, she tripped over the train of her skirt, losing her balance just as her path met with Muerte's. He immediately grabbed for her hand. Locking his grip over hers he pulled her into his arms. Knowing she couldn't see him he could only imagine what she must have been thinking as she kicked and screamed, trying to free herself from his grasp. Holding her close to his chest he turned, slowly walking back toward his ship. "As soon as my boots touch the deck," he ordered, "Pull the plank and fire the guns!"

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Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

You'll be payin' for this ye sorry dungbie!" Marsh cried as his ship fell victim to Muerte's volley.

"Let's haul away!" Giving the girl gently into Jamison's arms, Muerte raced to the quarterdeck. Taking the helm, he steered The Escort leeward, nearly turning her on her side speeding out of The Vixen's firing range.

His gamble had paid off. He'd had no way of knowing whether or not he could hold the girl, especially after the fiasco in Tete Dur. How much substance his ship gave him was anyone's guess. If it hadn't worked, well then he'd have walked into Marsh's cell, surrendered his heart to the Lords. As fate would have it, however, he'd been able to keep his feet planted on The Escort's plank when la senorita had taken that unexpected tumble rather than having to step over to The Vixen's, otherwise his hands would likely have gone right through her and she'd have fallen to her death.

Now he had a woman on board. A turn of bad luck. And worse, they'd have to make port before sunrise to let her off or he'd end up killing her himself. Unfortunately they were nowhere near land. There were no good options from which to choose.

. . . to continue

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

"She's all yours, Eli." Muerte stepped away from the wheel, returning the helm to his First Mate.

"Aye, sire. Will ya be takin' 'er back at sunrise, Cap'n? I've been tol' that ya be wantin' ta try yer 'and at bringin' 'er under."

"Where is Jamison?" Avoiding Eli's question Muerte's thoughts turned back to Marsh and the crucial decision the pirate's greed had forced upon him. He knew all too well what would happen if he took the ship to its committed destination, but nothing of what might happen if he didn't. What exactly was this curse Jami had spoken of? He'd been given command of this vessel, informed that it's purpose had nothing to do with the living. He should have let the woman fall! Either way she was doomed to the locker now.

" 'e went below with the girl last I saw, sir."

Muerte nodded. "Bring us the horizon, sailor. See you at dawn." His smile a mask of emotion, he left the quarterdeck to find Jamison and inform his passenger of her fate.

He heard their voices coming from what used to be the botswain's cabin. Entering, he saw her jump when the door appeared to open on its own. The fear in her eyes made him want to sweep her back into his arms and assure her she was safe, but in actuality she was far from being so. "Tell her I'm here."

"Now ain't this gonna be awk'rd," Jamison groaned looking first to his captain, then to the girl. "Neasa O'Flaherty," he paused, nervously clearing his throat, "allow me to introduce The Escort's commander, El Corazon."

Terrified, she flew from the chair but rather than fleeing from the ghost she ran right into him. Screaming when she couldn't get past his unseen form, she broke down in tears, sobbing hysterically. "First I'm taken hostage by pirates as bait to capture someone named Muerte and now I'm prisoner on a ship captained by a ghost!"

As if in a dream of his own, Muerte drew her close, allowing his attention to wander from the oval of her face down the slender column of her throat to the slight expanse of her shoulders above her decolletage. She glowed there in the dimly lit cabin, her pale skin luminous with life. A cascade of thick auburn locks draped over one shoulder to lie on her breast. Although now torn and stained, the gown she wore still spoke of elegance, its golden pattern catching the lantern's light in a dazzling shimmer, especially at the bodice which rose and fell with her panicked breaths. It was almost impossible for him to look away from the shading of her dark eyes, the sculpting of her high cheek bones, the perfect lines of her mouth.

His expression veiled, he suddenly released her and walked back out through the still open door. The Lords may continue chasing him across the seven seas, but he could have sworn he'd just lost his heart.

. . . to continue

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

"Steady as she goes , Cappy. We're sailin' close-hauled abeam. Keep a'watch on the bowsprit."

Muerte was trying to pay close attention to Jamison's directions as he prepared to take The Escort under for the first time. He was nervous and the fact that he'd be bringing Neasa down with the ship weighed heavily on his mind. If only things could have been different. If only she hadn't been so afraid of him. Perhaps if he'd have been able to explain.

He sighed. There was no time for if. One hundred souls awaited him.

"Whenever yer ready, sir."

Soon it would be one hundred and one.

One hand hard upon the wheel, Muerte closed his eyes taking hold of his resolve as he drove the ship beneath the waves. He could only hope he'd known love when he'd been alive for that opportunity with Neasa was now forever gone.

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Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

What was it he'd said? Keep the door locked and no matter what she thought she saw or heard not to leave this cabin for any reason? Neasa shifted uncomfortably, the straw mattress sinking beneath her slight weight, the faded wooden walls seeming to close in on her despair. The air smelled of death and were it not for the warm breeze wafting in through the partially open porthole the cold would have been unbearable.

Though her father ws a harbormaster she'd never set foot on a ship in her entire nineteen years. The sea had always frightened her, its mysterious depths dark with threat beneath deceiving beauty. Was she just in the wrong place at the wrong time or had she been the deliberate target of the pirate captain's attempt to coerce Muerte into giving himself up? If so, why? Who was this Muerte anyway? And who was Corazon? Was he really a ghost? He'd certainly felt real enough when he'd held her, his heartbeat a soft tangible rhythm she could almost reach out and touch.

A sudden loud thundering sound ripped her from her thoughts as water began pouring through the porthole, rushing into the cabin with savage force. The Escort's acceleration unbounded, its descent 90 degrees straight downward, Neasa screamed as her last conscious breath was swallowed by the sea.

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Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

The feeling of taking my ship to the very depths of the sea at such incredible speed filled me with an overwhelmingly sexual sense of power. It seemed as though The Escort took me into her embrace and held me there, an exchange of passion so arousing I completely forgot to look for Neasa when the plank was lowered at the locker. I'm sorry for her death, but feel little sense of loss. This is something I neither expected nor am able to explain.

I owe the crew their leave. Jamison has asked that we put to port in England, his former home. Because he has been such a great help to me I've decided to grant his request.

******************************************************************************************************

"Keep yer pretty self outta the way 'o pirate Lords an' vessels cap'n'd by a spirit what be 'eld ta consider 'imself married ta 'is ship."

Lowering Neasa's unconscious form to the rocks Jamison turned away, leaving her to awaken alone and without explanation of how she'd survived a journey through the realm of the dead. The Escort would soon have Muerte bound to her, but until she did she was obligated to protect the lives of anyone he brought aboard. Of course the Cappy didnt know this and perhaps he never would. Just as he didn't know his quartermaster had kept the girl knocked out and hidden from him. He'd seen the way Muerte had looked at her, but the ship would never let him love another. It was best that he believed she'd drowned . . . best for all concerned.

. . . to continue

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

The smells of liquor and stale sawdust reached out to Muerte where he'd taken refuge in the deepest corner. Dimly lit by candles ensconced along the rough stone walls, the tavern was filled to the brim with drunken sailors on the prowl, his phantom crew among them. Eyes fastened upon Jamison who was doing some sort of ridiculous dance, he burst into hysterical laughter as the man spun round right into the path of a rather large serving wench sending her sprawling to the floor, her tray clattering down beside her, the two mugs of ale she'd carried on it spilling over her assailant's new boots. He half expected Jami to cut the woman's throat, but was proven wrong when he instead pulled her up and pressed her backward toward the spot where Muerte was standing. Concealed by his intangibility, the captain stepped swiftly out of the way of his quartermaster's lust.

He wanted a drink and would like a bit of what Jami had taken it upon himself to enjoy just now. He was still a man after all - a man who couldn't remember the last time he'd had either of those things. But how was he to get them when his voice was silent and his hand didn't even exist here? Finding it impossible to close out the sounds and activities surrounding him he suddenly grew weary of the many unanswered question regarding how he came to be what he was. Angered by frustration he grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

**********

She smiled. Of all the men who'd served her none had ever been like this. Not only was he beautiful, he was incorruptible. His heart was pure and it had to stay that way. It belonged to her and her alone.

She lay beside him watching his muscled chest rise and fall with each soft breath. His hair silken waves the color of a midnight sky framed strong, perfect features as he slept unaware of her presence. Shifting her gaze she took note of his unanswered desire. Soon my Captain," she whispered into the darkness. Very, very soon!

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

Muerte looked at his timepiece. Only 9:30. If they were at sea he'd go up to the quarterdeck and steer for a while, let the cool winds ebb away his yearning. Perhaps he shouldn't go ashore anymore. So far each time he had things had become too unpleasant. It was strange, but while aboard The Escort he always felt in control, comfortable, content - as though it were meant that he should never leave her.

Tossing his jacket to the floor he slipped out of his clothes and lay down on the bed, the ship's gentle rocking lulling him to sleep . . . . .

She was familiar yet he didn't know her. A sea nymph of incomparable beauty with hair of spun sunlight tumbling over her naked curves. She lay down beside him, her touch an intimate invasion of passionate possession. A warning of dire consequence alarmed in his head but was instantly dispelled by pleasure so intense he would have given her anything she wanted to make it last forever.

. . . very, very soon.

. . . to continue