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Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

Rivero glanced about the room his gaze settling upon Marsh who sat at the opposite end of the table, a jagged line of stitches holding the right side of his head together, both arms and one leg wrapped in bandages. Having narrowly escaped a failed attempt at capturing El Corazon, the Scot had returned to Sirens Cove demanding another meeting of the Brethren Court.

"I want the bloody bastard dead!" Marsh proclaimed, his voice still hoarse from the smoke he'd inhaled while futilely fighting the flames that had consumed his ship. The Escort's guns destroyed The Vixen and half his crew had gone down with her. "I won't rest unt'l 'is ship joins mine at the bottom o' the sea!"

"He's already dead, William." Elizabeth Shurland, known as 'Cutlass Liz' for her skill with that particular weapon as well as her penchant for using it to slit the throats of anyone who refused her advances, stretched her long legs out in front of her. Lifting one to the table, she brought it to rest at just the right angle to allow a glimpse up her red brocade skirt. Her dark brown eyes smoldering with lust, she ran her tongue over her lips with a wicked grin. "And his ship can sail circles round yours right where it lies."

"Wouldn't mind letting my ship sail a few circles of its own." Sitting next to her, Black Caesar nudged the fabric of her skirt out of his way as he traced a large hand up Liz's calf only to have it quickly slapped away. Scowling, he shoved her to the floor. "Don't invite what you can't handle woman!"

"And don't make me laugh!"

Seeing Liz beginning to reach for her blade, Rivero jumped from his chair rushing between her and the Haitian Lord. "Save it, Liz," he warned harshly as he reached out to help her back into her seat.

"For who, Manuel? You?"

"For Muerte!" Returning to the head of the table he remained standing, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. If the 9th Lord were here there would be none of this infantile behavior. He was a man feared by all. Perhaps one day soon he'd be back among them. It was quite impossible to predict that one's intentions.

"For Muerte!" she laughed, her voice laced with sarcasm. "And who's going to bring him to me? Capitan Rivero? What makes you think you can do what Jean and William could not? Despite what you dream you are no better than any of us!"

"Maybe not, querida, but I know his ship better than he does and that is my advantage. Believe me, Elizabeth, I will bring him to you . . . to all of you . . . and when I do I'll allow you each in turn to spend some time with him. Whoever can best handle El Corazon shall win the right to own his heart."

Francois L'Ollonais, nicknamed The Flail of the Spaniards because of his deep hatred for all things Spain, infamous for his cruelty and torturous treatment of those taken captive by him, sat back in his chair crossing his arms over his chest. "In that case," he boasted confidently, "the winner is already decided!"

. . . to continue.

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

A curtain of shadows descended upon Sirens Cove, impenetrable fog enshrouding the harbor in a thick blanket of darkness. Sails as black as the coals that fueled the fires of hell struck through the sudden night, billowing above a ship captained by evil in its most vile form.

Steering The Fugue to its berth, the 9th Lord of The Brethren Court prepared to bide his time. Rivero was going after Muerte and without doubt would catch his prey. Smart, shrewd, deadly, Manuel knew his way around and through the seven seas and every vessel that sailed them. Though he had the potential to one day become a Lord himself, Muerte was still learning. The Escort provided her captain with protection but it was limited and without full knowledge of those limitations, he remained as vulnerable to attack as any living man.

He wondered what the Lords would do with Muerte when they had him in their grasp. While he usually didn't give a damn how those fools conducted themselves, the situation was different this time. Circumstances were such that he was unable to take the ghost's heart himself and so he'd had to arrange for its removal by other means. Once this was accomplished, however, he could then bring his quarry aboard The Fugue for eternal service with his damned. Until that time the pureness of Muerte's heart prevented him such luxury. Aside from the loss of his ring, Muerte's death had been painless and long since forgotten. The Lords would hardly show him the same courtesy, but there was always the possibility that he might manage to elude them.

Whatever the outcome, he would be here awaiting it.

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

"Hola, Muerte! Como sobre nosotros intercambiamos un poco fuego, eh mi amigo?" (Hello, Muerte! How about we exchange a little fire, eh my friend?)

Rivero's expertise had led him to The Escort in less than two days' time. Now but a league apart, he could almost hear the heart of death beating hard with fear.

MAN THE GUNS! FULL SPEED UPWIND! TARGET DEAD AHEAD!

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

"Galleon off tha port bow, Cappy!"

Running, Muerte quickly joined his quartermaster at the rail. "Whose colors does she fly?" His pulse raced as he watched the ship cutting through the waves in their direction with unholy speed.

"That be tha flag 'o Manuel Rivero. The Ravager we call 'im. 'E wreaks 'avoc like ya never seen. Ain't a bone 'a mercy in 'is body. Will kill a babe what's suckin' on its mama's teet fer no reason 'cept'n fun. I done witnessed it meself, I 'ave."

Muerte frowned in disgust. "Lord?"

"Aye. More 'en Lord - King! King 'o tha lot 'o 'em."

There was no time to ready the guns. "How do I use the stone? Where is it?"

"In yer 'and . . . but, Cappy ya don't know ev'rthin' 'bou . . . "

"Theres NOTHNG in my hand, Jamison!" Muerte's deafening impatience silenced his quartermaster's protest.

"Dammit, sir, jes' 'old it out! She'll know ya be wantin' it."

"She'll?" Muerte shook his head in urgent frustation. "Nevermind!" Lifting his hand out in front of him a small faceted crystal appeared in his upturned palm, its soft green glow warm against his skin.

" 'long as ya keep it on yer person now, we be outta sight."

. . . to continue

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

"Perfecto, Corazon! Perfecto!" Seeing The Escort disappear in a flash of green, Rivero couldn't have been more pleased. While hidden by the starfire stone the ship travelled at a constant three league speed due north. He would simply follow. When Muerte became tired of his useless run and released the stone he would realize it was his own strength that had been used to maintain the ship's invisibility. It would not be returned to him for seven days . . . for seven days El Corazon would be weak and vulnerable. On the first of those seven days he would be in irons!

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

Muerte paused a moment to notice the weight and texture of the stone as it lay against his palm. Rough and jagged, its sharp edges tore into his flesh in the same manner as the pirate Lord's relentless pursuit was beginning to tear into his composure. Just how long did the bastard intend to follow him? Five days had passed since he'd empowered the stone and still Rivero's ship kept at The Escort's wake despite the fact that it couldn't be seen. Apparently he knew her speed exactly, as well as her direction. Such being true, it may have been equally possible that he was aware of what her captain himself had only just been told, waiting for his chance to take advantage of the toll that would be wreaked upon him.

Well then, what point was there in prolonging the inevitable? "Your wait is over, perra!" Swearing softly, he released the stone, watching it vanish as it fell from his grasp. "Let's both find out just how high a price I'm paying."

His legs suddenly rubber beneath him, Muerte grabbed onto the ladder to keep from falling, but the effort proved costly as his arm slid down the wooden shaft, barely able to support his weight. "Jami!" Afraid he wouldn't be heard through his weakness, he cried out for his quartermaster's aid. "Jamison! Open the hatch! PRONTO!"

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

"Ah, recepcion detras! (Welcome back!) It's nice to see you again." Rivero's eyes narrowed, his concentration focused on The Escort as it came back into view. "How are you feeling, mijo, a bit . . . spent?" The Lord's laughter rolling out across the sea, he drew his cutlass and ran his fingers along its deadly edge. "Not to worry, Capitan Rivero has a little room with lots of bars you can hold on to. Allow me just a moment and I will escort you to it personally."

"Broadside the wench!", he yelled initiating his attack. "Then put us to her starboard and we'll introduce ourselves to this ghost, Corazon."

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

The volley hit before Jamison could get to Muerte, knocking both men off their feet. Shards of timber and grapeshot flew through the lower decks. His head down, Muerte crawled out of the path of the deadly projectiles hiding behind a tall brass cabinet. He smelled smoke and heard the crackle of flames. Enraged, he fought the waves of darkness that threatened to consume him.

The cries of his men echoed throughout the hold, viscious curses mixed with pleas for quarter. Had they been boarded? So quickly? NO! Desperate to defend his ship, he forced himself to find what strength he could and clawed his way back to the ladder. Pulling hand over hand, he struggled his way to the hatch finding it half blown off its hinges, providing open passage.

"Buena tarde!" Pressing the heel of his hand hard against Muerte's shoulder, Rivero sent the newly arrived Captain sprawling backward upon the deck with ease. He grinned victoriously, sword angled above the fallen ghost's chest. "Tu corazon para tu nave y equipo?" (Your heart for your ship and crew?)

"The Cappy's 'eart be stayin' right where it's at!" Jamison stepped up from behind Rivero, brandishing an ivory handled dagger. "'is ship an' crew kin take care o' theirselves!"

Raising a brow, Rivero glanced over his shoulder to see who was speaking to him, his eyes drawn to the weapon pointed in his direction. Before Jamison had the slightest chance to react the Lord took possession of the dagger with his free hand and, kneeling down beside Muerte, swiftly drove it deep between the captain's ribs, close enough to his heart to make it appear that was where he'd buried it. "Muy bien. Entonces aqui permanece!" (Fine. Then here it stays!)

Muerte winced as the blade entered his chest, refusing to give voice to the cry of pain that sat in his throat like a cannon begging to be discharged. He felt his heart still beating strong, unaffected by the penetration. Either Rivero's aim was off its mark or the miss had been deliberate. Blood flowing from the wound, he wondered how it was a dead man bled and how it might affect him, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment. His ship was damaged, his crew at the mercy of a merciless pinchazo. Reaching up, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt and pulled the weapon free, a soft moan escaping through clenched teeth as he handed the blade back to Rivero. "Take what you came for!" he hissed.

"Como deseas mi corazon." (As you wish my heart) "Gladly!" Helping Muerte to his feet, Rivero motioned for his botswain, ordering he be given "restraints por nuestro preso." (our prisoner)

The heavy irons encumbered Muerte's step as he was led onto Rivero's longboard. His entire crew watching from the railings, he smiled sadly up at them. "Sometimes a man must set sail without knowing his heading, arm himself with the courage to explore uncharted waters. The destination may not always be his final one." Bowing his head, he fell into silence as the longboat pulled away.

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! Where are you going? Where are they taking you? Please! You CANNOT leave me!

They LET this happen! They didn't protect you!

DAMN THEM! DAMN THEM ALL . . . FOREVER!!

"Muerte was meant to be mine, Jamison Previtt! You were charged with seeing to his care until I was able to claim him!"

"You'da never done it no way any'ow. 'e ain't like the rest what ya chewed up and spit out. A might bit inexpr'nced mebbe, makin' mistakes right 'n left, but good as they come - brave an' strong as 'ell. Ya seen fer yerself 'ow 'e jes' up an' walked right with Rivero 'tho 'e was wearin' shackles and worn from the starfire. No 'esitation, nuthin' but pure guts."

"What I saw was your weapon taken from your hand as easily as though you'd given it away, then put through Muerte's chest while you just stood there with your mouth open not doing a damn thing! What I saw was you watching your captain placed in irons and led away from me without once trying to put a stop to it!"

"Considerin' 'e usta be steerin' ya, ya should know better'n any 'o us there wasn't nuthin' we coulda done 'gainst The Ravager. Don't ya be blamin' me fer yer 'avin' lost that scurvy piranha, 'er Muerte neither! Seems ya cain't 'old onto no man, it does."

"Is that so, Jamison? Well, don't be blaming ME for what you've just wrought . . .

As the sun rises with tomorrow's dawn your soul and that of the entire crew will belong to me; your forms will become skeletal and grotesque. If any of you attempt to leave, to set foot on land again, you will instantly turn to ashes. How is that for holding on?

I'll give you quarter however, pirate wastral, make it easy to save yourselves . . .

Just bring my captain back to me - - -

and willing to be bound!"

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

Death's soundless promise curling its ancient claws upon the night, The Mire remained a spectral presence wrapped within an everlasting shroud of fog. His long silver hair draped over the embroidered black waistcoat he wore, the ninth Lord stood at his ship's bow watching Rivero's galleon pulling in to dock. Less than two weeks. Impressive, but then The Escort's new captain was still green behind the gills when it came to evasion and combat. His inexperience had just cost him his freedom. Whether it would cost him something far more precious depended upon his stamina and ability to outwit his captors.

Caught by a slivered moonbeam, Rivero's drawn sword pierced the darkness as he stepped onto the pier. His botswain and first mate followed close behind, a man in chains between them but invisible to their eyes.

As though he sensed the ninth Lord's attention focused upon him Muerte paused, looking to his right with a cold, impassionate glare. A thick mist swirled over the water obscuring his view yet the feeling that someone was watching him lingered.

"Que el diablo tu esta mirando?" (What the devil are you looking at?) No longer hearing his footfalls, Rivero turned, drawing his pistol and slamming its butt hard against the side of his prisoner's head. "There's not a damn thing over there. El caminar de la subsistencia!" (Keep walking!)

Oh, but there was something damned over there. And yes, someone watching the captain . . . wondering if he had the strength to survive, the endruance required and to what lengths he would be willing to go to keep what was his!

"Puta!" Muerte closed his eyes, doing his best to shut out the pain exploding in his head. He'd had enough. It was impossible to know how many days he'd spent locked in the galleon's brig. Without so much as a candle to light the darkness time had passed as an endless array of more and more questions for which he was given no answers. Where were they going? Why had Rivero not yet tried to take his heart? Would someone else be attempting it? If so, who? And why? He'd felt a change come over him when Rivero locked him in irons - a strong yearning to survive, to return to his ship and his crew . . . and to send every single solitary one of the Lords to hell's maelstrom.

Raising his arms he threw the chains that connected the shackles on his wrists over Rivero's head using their weight to pull the man forward until they were only a breath apart. "Nunca poseeras mi corazon, Capitan, pero un dia pronto prometo que poseere el tuyo!" (You will never own my heart, Captain, but one day soon I promise I will own yours!)

The unexpected attack drew Rivero off balance. He stumbled, the pistol falling from his grasp. Before he had a chance to retrieve the weapon Muerte kicked it into the water below.

"I don't know where you're taking me or what you intend once we get there, but . . . " Shocked into silence he stared with disbelief as Rivero's botswain reached behind his captain's head, taking the chains in hand and helping to free him from them.

"But what?" Rivero growled, concealing his own surprise. Had the ghost somehow suddenly become visible? "Te dire pero que!" (I'll tell you what!) He nodded to the botswain then turned away. Proceeding down the pier he heard Muerte moan as he was knocked unconscious and sent crashing to the planks beneath his boots. "You shouldn't make promises you cannot keep, Corazon," he chuckled.

The ninth Lord was amused by what he'd just witnessed. Muerte was becoming angry. If he continued on that path he would lose more than his invisibility, but then, of course, he would get to keep his heart. Wicked laughter echoing over Siren's Cove, he watched as El Corazon was carried off the pier and thrown into the back of a carriage beside Rivero. "Let your anger consume you, Muerte. Take it into your heart and hold it there. The Mire awaits its new helmsman and the sooner the better."

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

"It jes' wouldn't be right. Ever since the man come 'es 'ad nuthin' but bad luck. It's been 'ard 'nuff on 'im and who knows but what it ain't already too late." Jamison leaned back in the chair gauging Eli's response, although it wasn't easy to read any expression in the skeletal form he'd been changed to.

The entire crew wanted to find Muerte, to bring him back aboard and appease The Escort into lifting the curse she'd laid upon them, but it would be the captain's freedom for theirs and the idea didn't sit well with the ship's quartermaster.

"She'll take 'im anyway, Jami," Eli protested. "If'n 'e does make it back, that is. Better ta try ta save 'im from what the Lords got planned fer 'im . . . if'n, like you said, we ain't already too late."

"Even if we was ta try it, 'ow in 'ell ay're we gonna go lookin'? 'ave ya done fergot ain't none 'o us kin leave the ship without crumblin'?"

Eli frowned. "I don't knew fer sure. Guess we jes' sail 'roun' till mebbe we find Rivero's wench. Best we can do, I figger."

Jamison stood, stroking his beard as he walked over to look out the porthole. The waters were calm, the afternoon sun bright. "An' what if 'e ain't on the bastard's boat? They coulda done took 'is 'eart and throwed 'im o'er or they coulda done took 'im ta Siren's, in which case, like I already done said, we cain't get ta 'im no way. Mebbe we should jes' leave ev'rthin' like it is and go on."

"Sure, Jami," Eli scowled. "If'n ya be wantin' a dayum mut'ny on yer 'ands, we'll jes' leave thin's as they be."

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

PG - 13

His muscles were stiff, his shoulders ached with a vicious and steady throb and he was aware of the accumulated fatigue brought on by days spent locked in a small space. Standing at the back of a dimly lit, overcrowded room that appeared to be somewhere in a cave deep underground, Muerte searched his memory to no avail. He could find no answer as to how he'd ended up here, his wrists shackled behind him, Rivero's thugs on either side holding his arms immobile.

"Get your damn hands off me!" he swore, his strength no match for theirs as he struggled to pull himself free of their grasps. "I'm not your puta!"

"No, gorgeous, of course you're not." Her sultry voice cutting through the pungent haze, Elizabeth left her chair, walking over to Muerte with a deliberately accentuated sway of her hips. She leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his chest and touching her lips to his as she whispered, "You're my puta." Fiery possession smoldering in her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder to Rivero who sat at the head of the table watching her closely. Gliding a hand over Muerte's chest, the expensive fabric of his shirt bunched in her fingers as she brought them to rest over his heart, her gaze locked with that of the Pirate King's. "Manuel, I do believe your exact words were I will bring him to you, Elizabeth, if I'm not mistaken."

"Prometiste mi corazon a este hag horrible del mar?" Muerte growled. (You promised my heart to this hideous sea hag?)

Choking on laughter, rum spewed out Rivero's mouth and through his nose. "Afortunado para ti la unica palabra que ella sabe en espanol es puta, otra tu pin chazo estaria en el piso ahora! (Lucky for you the only word she knows in Spanish is wench, else your dick would be on the floor right now!) Slamming his mug down in front of him, a large portion of its contents sloshing out over his hand, he glared across the table at Elizabeth, his tone harsh with reprimand. "I said I'd bring him to you and to everyone else seated here! Now back off before I give you to him instead!"

"As if you could!" Spitting, she reluctantly lowered her hand and stepped away.

"I think we've all had enough of this Spaniard, no?" L'Ollonais waited for Elizabeth to return to her chair before tossing his prejudice into the mix. "Stop wasting our time, Rivero! This stinking piece of Castillian dung is hardly worth the effort you're requiring of us, but seeing as how we don't have much choice in the matter, I say you put him in a cell already and let's get on with it!"

Cheng Sao looked up, coyly tilting her head in the Frenchman's direction. "Aww, Francois, he's so beautiful. I'd really like to see a little more of him before you mutilate the view."

Rivero shook his head, amused by Sao and Shurland's attraction to The Escort's Captain. "Alright, Flail," he conceded. "Ladies first, however. The sooner they get some satisfaction the sooner we'll have some peace."

"Lock him up!" Rivero ordered suddenly returning his attention to his botswain. "Free his wrists when you get him behind bars. Nothing to eat, but give him all the rum he wants. He's sure as hell going to need it."

Manuel's shrill laughter turned Loire's stomach. Passing right in front of her as he was led from the room, she reached out her hand, lightly brushing Muerte's cheek and briefly catching his notice. The look in his eyes was so distant, so veiled, yet he couldn't hide the anguish crying out from behind them - not from her. She agreed with Cheng Sao - he was beautiful. He was everything she knew she could never have, but that didn't stop her from dreaming. If Jean ever found out he would kill her, but . . . that couldn't stop her either.

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

PG - 13 ~

Muerte stared gloomily out through the bars. His hands free for the first time in countless days, he found himself unable to stop their trembling. He wasn't afraid. He was angry. The how and why of his death no longer mattered - it was the who that disturbed him now, and the book given to the Lords. What was the reason behind it? Was it authored by his killer? In whose blood had it been written? Of his many unanswered questions the answer to that one seemed suddenly obvious. Whatever secret treasure was held in his heart, why had it not been taken at his death? Why this cat and mouse game? Was it some kind of test . . . a deliberate attempt to enrage him? Perhaps that was why he had become visible - increasing anger decreased his defenses. Each passing thought served to further his believe that he truly was being watched. "Bring
every last one of your bastards to me whoever you are!" I won't be defeated and when I leave this place you'd be wise to pray that our paths never cross!"

His words echoed throughout the surrounding cavern, a firm declaration of defiance heard by the approaching guard. "I'm bringin' 'em ta ya, alright, 'cept tha first one's a wench not a bastard and if'n I was you I'd be tha one what was prayin', Cap'n. She wants ya wearin' this when she gets 'ere. I suggest ya be quick 'bout puttin' it on too cuz she's on 'er way."

Taking the clothes the guard shoved at him, Muerte was surprised to discover they were his own, the very same he'd been wearing the day he'd first appeared on the decks of The Escort. Impossible!

* * * * *

"Nice to see you've done as you were told." Elizabeth slipped her hand through the bars, unable to take her eyes off of Muerte as she gave the guard back his keys. This was no ordinary man, no thief or beggar desperate to escape to sea. Muerte was magnificent, regal in bearing with a body to match. His chest, half exposed by the deep V cut of his shirt, displayed a challenge that dared her invasion. "Obedience looks good on you." She walked over to him taking his face in her hands and captured his mouth with hers, roughly parting his lips with her tongue, forcing acceptance of entry.

Disgusted by the stench of her unwashed body, it was all he could do not to heave up the half bottle of rum he'd downed while awaiting the wench's arrival. Just as he was about to shove her away, however, he was startled by the whisper of a familiar voice. "Give me your vow to be bound when we are reunited, swear to love and to serve me forever, never to leave me again, and you will become the starfire."

"Who the hell are you?" he growled in response as he pulled out of the kiss not realizing he'd spoken aloud. "What is it you want of me?"

"Surely you've heard of Cutlass Liz?"

Elizabeth's wry smile was met with foul irritation. "I wasn't taking to you, perra!"

"Hearing voices then, are ya?" she asked, mocking him. "Manuel failed to tell us you are demented."

"I am the purpose of your existence, the warm embrace of your desire. You are my captain, but as the starfire you shall be so much more. Give me your vow, Muerte. Wherever you are I will find you. I will help you. I will free you."

Comprehension crept over him like a cold fog slithering over the sea, memories awakening his understanding. The dream of melting into his ship's hull wasn't a dream. The orgasmic sensations he'd experienced when taking his vessel to the locker for the first time, the beauty who came to his bed . . . all illusions created by The Escort. Though dead his spirit remained free, his honour the only thing holding him to the ship. "My soul!" he hissed to the voice in his head. "You want my soul!"

"No beautiful boy, what I want is right here!" Tiring of what she perceived as an attempt to put her off, Elizabeth closed her hand around him.

It was then he took notice of her leather glove with razor sharp spikes at each finger's end. Doubling over in pain, agony obscured The Escort's reply.

Planting the toe of her boot on his knee, Elizabeth pressed Muerte down in front of her. "If you want release, you'll have to beg," she cooed venomously, "with your tongue!"

Muerte felt his chest tighten, his pulse pounding at his temples. Fighting the excrutiating pain of Elizabeth's grasp, he tried not to retch. It would be easy to throw her to the floor, crush her small frame beneath him and choke her to her last breath. It would be far less easy to withstand whatever the Lords may have planned for him, to find inner strength, to survive! "Hear your captain's vow, sea wench," he yielded silently. "Only should I fall here shall my soul be yours, for never shall my heart be theirs!" Caressing Liz's shoulder, he lowered his head, brushing his lips softly over her skin. Eyes closed he sought escape setting his mind adrift upon a tranquil sea, sailing toward a blissful horizon.

* * * * *

Red and white hot, his blood and pain pooled as one where he lay on the floor of the cell, the cool stones soothing to the many gashes that had been carved into his arms and chest. While he'd been on his knees in front of her Elizabeth had drawn her cutlass, holding it to his throat warning that he would be missing more than his heart should he fail to satisfy her. Then she'd pushed him back against the wall and, blade clenched tightly in her hold, she'd sliced her way to ecstacy. He'd never flinched, never made a sound, refusing to acknowledge the torment of her weapon repeatedly ripping through his flesh with every wave of pleasure that washed over her. But he was alone now and in great pain, trying to make sense of something that simply made no sense at all. How could a heart hold a secret? What had Loire said was written in the book . . . His heart must be taken before he discovered what the secret was or he would become unstoppable; the one who succeeded in taking his heart would be rewarded with immortality and the power to rule the seven seas.

He urged himself to a sitting position and, reaching for his clothes, began to put them back on. Could it be that the 'reward' wasn't exactly what the Lords anticipated? Wasn't he immortal? And didn't he possess the power to rule the souls of those who died upon the sea? If he no longer captained The Escort wouldn't someone else have to? It seemed the Lords were being used, too blinded by their greed to notice. If that were true, then the secret was something altogether unanticipated as well. What that might be, however, he still had no clue.

"Looks like you could use a bath, El Corazon del la Muerte."

Hearing keys being turned in the lock, he looked up to see an overweight middle aged oriental woman standing outside the cell, her kohl shaded eyes focused on him from her painted face. "I am Cheng Sao and I shall now bathe you."

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

PG - 13

Muerte felt Cheng Sao's eyes devouring him through the bars, a predatory anticipation of gluttony that angered him beyond reason. Pressing a hand to the stones he came to his feet, confronting her with a glare of contempt. "Yo estoy apenas en un posicion a rechazar, ahora soy perra" (I'm hardly in a position to refuse you now, am I b***h?)

"I don't know what the 'ell ya jes' said, but don't make me no diff'rnce."

Muerte turned, watching the guard open the door and strut in beside him. Feeling suddenly nauseous, he wasnt sure whether it was the foul floral scent of the Lord's perfume or the uncertainty of her intent that sickened him more.

"Get yer arse out there and follow tha lady like a good little ghost. No fussin' er fightin' else I'll slap ya back in irons, und'rstand?" The man laughed as he grabbed the prisoner's arm. "Or do I need ta fetch the king to translate fer ya?"

"Translate this hibrido!" Pulling out of the guard's grasp, Muerte landed a swift fist to the guard's jaw sending him crashing to the floor. "Good little ghost?!" He was losing control, letting his anger get the best of him, but he didn't understand the reason behind any of this and he was tired, hungry, increasingly frustrated. Feeling sorry for himself would gain him nothing, however.

Stepping over the guard he walked out through the door, stopping within inches of Cheng Sao. "Lead on, madame." He stared into her eyes, his own dark and challenging. "You mentioned something about a bath?"

Two massive warriors grinned at each other upon Muerte's approach. Sharing their amusement, Cheng Sao smiled as she entered the cavern, shoving Muerte toward them. "You know what to do," she barked.

Retrieving a large beam of wood from the ground, they proceeded to lay it across Muerte's shoulders, securing it in place with heavy rope around his wrists. They then led him to a large tub situated in the center of the cavern, positioning themselves on either side of their captain's prisoner, waiting.

The burdensome restraint concerned Muerte less than the acrid steam rising from the dark blue liquid bubbling in front of him. His throat burned, every breath a searing flame raging through his lungs, his eyes tearing so badly it was almost impossible to keep them open. He stiffened, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Submersion would have no effect on him but what was this?

"Open your hand my captain. Summon the stone. Let me help you."

The ship sensed his tension yet claimed she couldn't find him until he fulfilled his vow. It was a lie. She was manipulating him, playing upon his convictions. "No," he whispered between clenched teeth.

"What's wrong?" Unaware he'd been responding to The Escort rather than speaking to her, Cheng Sao walked over to Muerte, taunting him. "Afraid of a little . . . water?" The man covered his anxiety well, surrounding himself with an aura of confidence. He was hardly fooling her, but she was certainly about to make a fool of him! There really was little more than colored water in the tub, a bit of sodium bicarbonate added to make it 'boil'. A pot of Chinese herbs simmered just out of sight creating the caustic air. Nothing was what it appeared to be, but the fear it instilled in the heart of death was very, very real.

"I'm not afraid of a little water and I'm definitely not afraid of a slant-eyed wench."

"Is that right?" She scratched a sharp claw-like fingernail across his brow, drawing blood. "Then why are you sweating? It's not hot in here." Pausing, her eyes wandered over his stalwart frame kindling a fevered yearning to see more of him. "Maybe you're just wearing too much clothing."

Muerte watched as Cheng pulled a knife from the fold of her sleeve, slicing through his shirt while using her free hand to tear the fabric free of his body. He gave her a cold look then lowered his head, charging at her like a wild boar. The unexpected attack took her by surprise, her body tumbling backward over the top of the tub and into the water.

He barely had a chance to recover his footing before her two thugs came at him, one holding an axe over his head, the other swinging a broadsword close to his chest.

"Corazon, la mujer es todo mojada!" (Corazon, the lady is all wet!) Rivero emerged from the shadows chuckling at Cheng. "Te pareces tener ese efecto en mujeres, no?" (You seem to have that effect on women, don't you?)

"Ir al infierno" (Go to hell!)

"He estado ya alli, mi amigo. Ahora es tu vuelta." (I've already been there, my friend. Now it's your turn.)

Glancing briefly over his shoulder, Rivero shook his head at the comical sight of Cheng Sao standing in the middle of the tub drenched from head to toe, her face now blue instead of white. "Release the ghost and go help your captain," he ordered momentarily focusing his attention upon the guards.

As the beam was lifted away from Muerte's shoulders Rivero handed him a clean shirt. "Permitir que te escolte de nuevo a tu celula. Tienes una huesped de Francia que aguarda tu vuelta." (Allow me to escort you back to your cell. You have a guest from France awaiting your return.)

Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

Francois rushed at Muerte the minute he entered the cell. Seizing a handful of hair, he wove his fingers through the thick black strands and hauled him backward to the wall. "What's the matter, Spaniard?" the French Lord scorned, surprised by how little effort his action had required. "Only two women and already you're limp?" Allowing no time for reply, he slammed Muerte against the jagged stone. The sudden flow of blood warm over his fingers, he saw the large gash in the back of the ghost's head as he fell unconscious to the floor.

Turning away, Loire covered her mouth with her hand to silence her horror. Francois had no way of knowing that she'd agreed to assist him solely for the purpose of helping Muerte to escape. She realized the price she would pay in exchange, but it didn't bother her nearly as much as the thought of this beautiful spirit losing his heart to a butcher. If Rivero honestly believed The Flail would pass up any opportunity to destroy a Spaniard, let alone one who bore a hidden treasure, he was far more ignorant that she ever imagined. And if she honestly believed she hadn't fallen in love with The Escort's captain . . . ! If only that meant as much to him as it did to her. Manuel once captained The Escort. He'd told her all about it one night while Jean was away in Barataria. The ship had tried to make him her lover through illusions that gave him ecstacy beyond his wildest imagining. He'd actually begun to think it was real and swore he would have no other woman. She was probably doing the same for Muerte. If only . . . . She shook her head. It made no difference anymore, for by tomorrow Loire Le'greau would be dead.

Sensing himself restrained yet again, Muerte opened his eyes to discover he was right. He stood with his wrists tied to two stout ropes, one on either side in front of him. The shirt given him by Rivero was torn down the back seam and fell over his shoulders in a cascade of white linen. His head hurt badly, distracting his focus.

"Temps a mourir, ecume Espagnole" (Time to die, Spanish scum!)

Sudden fire raged across his back, an unexpected searing explosion of pain that stole his breath and sent his heart racing in his chest. He tried not to scream as L'Ollonais' whip tore into his flesh over and over and over again, the agony increasing with each savage strike.

It was obvious the Frenchman intended to kill him, but he was already dead. If his heart were to be taken would he then simply cease to exist? His choices were clear - either fall to the Lord or . . .

Slowly opening his hand he felt the warmth of another one, much smaller, closing over his fingers to stop him. The ropes slipped from his wrists as a familiar voice whispered softly in his ear. "No, Muerte, don't. It's finished , cher. You are free!"

"Loire!" he exclaimed in total surprise. "You can't do this. He'll . . . "

"Shhh!" Placing two fingers over his lips, Loire bid Muerte to silence. "I already have, but as before, I can't keep you here forever even though I so much wish I could." Lowering away her hand, she fought the threatening tears. "Now go. Quickly!"

He attempted to walk, but managed only a few steps before his strength gave out, landing him face down upon the stones once more. A volley of cannons shot through his head, kraken tentacles tearing at his back. The sea washed over him in waves of relentless fury, the horizon growing dark and beyond his reach.

"RUN"

"My captain! Sweet, my love! Let me lift you up!"

"Please, cher, please!"

Willing himself past the delerium and pain, Muerte struggled to his feet, fighting to make sense of the situation as he looked to the voodoo priestess. "How do I get out of here? Where in hell am I supposed to run?"

"Steer by your instincts, Captaine." Her hold on the spell fast slipping away, Loire took Muerte's hand back into hers looking deeply into his eyes for what she knew would be the last time. "I left some of Jean's clothes for you outside."

"But you won't be needing them where I'm sending you!" L'Ollonais sneered, drawing his pistol. "Your heart is mine!"

Gently squeezing Loire's hand in gratitude and farewell, Muerte turned and ran. Behind him the sound of gunfire and a woman's cry of death resonated throughout the passageways.