The Ruse

A shrouded figure stood in the shadows, watching Ruby enter the seedy tavern. He crossed confident that she had found who she was looking for and would not suspect she had been followed. A few gold coins passed wordlessly to the tavern keeper who nodded, and Dante took a seat in the corner to wait.

After what seemed like hours of wait, Dante finally had the tavern keeper personally serve the cup of mulled wine to him, three fingers visible on the outside. Dante slipped upstairs, following the stranger who had entered minutes before. He crouched at the door of the third room on the landing. He stood listening to her emotional pleas. The male voice was commanding, chilling and powerful. Despite his profession, Dante was glad this assignment did not directly involve having to face this man. Having heard all he needed, his silent feet carried him off to a more reputable establishment.

“My Lord.” Dante bowed his head slightly at Marcus who slouched in a corner booth. Another thickset man sat in the shadows. Marcus’s stare penetrated Dante's usual icy demeanor. Another chill went down Dante's spine. Tonight had brought out the devils own. He crossed himself unconsciously and clutched at his crucifix before continuing.

“It is as you suspected,” Dante murmured. “She sails with him within the week to Corunna”

“Damned woman,” Marcus growled. “Get your best man to follow her and join the crew.”

“As you wish my Lord” Dante meekly replied, his eyes cast down. He had no wish to exchange looks with either of these gentlemen. “When would you like her dispatched?”

“Not yet. Just send me information via the usual networks. Oh and Dante. Refrain from using my title. Remember who I am.” Marcus replied and with a flick of his pure white hand a small pouch of gold appeared beside Dante, who was only too pleased to escape.

"Why didn’t you just take that silly girl as a mistress? After her poor parents so tragically passed away, you already owned their entire fortune. There was no reason to marry her,” the shadowed figure sneered.

“My dear Earl Fedele, just because your entire family lacks any moral fibre or decency, does not mean that others do not have that sensibility.” Marcus hissed. “May I remind you that it was your side of the family who just sold the Kings favoured into piracy”

“Don’t lecture me on decency, brother,” Fedele spat. “Just recall who gave you aid when you were forced to flee Rome after your …. indiscretions.”

“You flaunt our relationship easily when you wish to mock me. Our father never recognized me. I am now forced to live the life of an impoverished tailor,” Marcus venomously replied.

“Your cry poor - when you have a villa in Sorrento, your gentlemen’s outfitters in every fashionable city in Italy and your expansive home here not enough?” Fedele retorted. “Bide your time brother. Our rightful place in the kingdom will take place. Best not be distracted by this slip of a girl. Strip her and get her body dumped in the harbour. No-one will take any notice of another whores death. Focus on our goal, forget this foolish captain. He means nothing to the plan.”

Marcus’s eyes met Fedele's and softened. “You were always the wise one. Let us forget our childish quarrels. However, you have missed an important factor. The maps were embedded on my intaglio. Ruby stupidly believed that without them, my fashions would be stopped and for some reason I would be ruined. We need to get those patterns back – without them our plan is for nothing.”

Fedele's lithe, perfectly manicured fingernails rapped the thick wooden table. With a finger he summoned a neighbouring merchant. He lent over and whispered “You have heard all?” The intelligent eyes of a soldier squinted in agreement. “Ensure you have four of your best enlist with this captain. Find where Ruby has smuggled the intaglio and replace them with near copies. Marcus will have these ready for the swap tomorrow.”

A meeting in the inn

He was not surprised to find her in his room when he lit the candle beside the bed. The course set by his discussions with deLume was still tumbling through his head and her presence was an un-welcomed intrusion into his need for solitude. He felt trapped and ill at east in the clothing that Ruby had left him; the jacket too tight across the shoulders and wide across the belly - obviously meant for a man of less physique than himself.

“Why do you come here senora, the deal is done. You have the patterns, I the maps. It is dangerous for you to be seen with me. How do you know that you were not followed here?”

She remained with her back to him, the long dark cape making her seem more a sillouette, an apparition and less a real woman.

“The patterns I thank you for Captain.”
“Your gratitude is noted, now leave please. I have much to prepare.”

He thought of sitting on the bed, of removing the jacket, of feeling like he was in his own skin again - but he wanted to be alone first. She kept her place by the window, still with her back turned to him.

“I’m coming with you.”
“Like hell you are!”
“I didn’t take you as a fool who believed in superstitious nonsense Captain?”

He snorted and sat down on the end of the bed, hot and uncomfortable in the thick, lavish layers of clothing. Kicking off the ridiculous shoes that had been squashing his toes and he knew they had left their bloody mark on the back of his heel, that it would take days to heal, and remind him with each step he took of what the Marquis had offered him up from the plushness of his palace.

“If you do not take me with you, at least as far as the Port of Corunna, he will kill me. Do you want that on your conscience?”
“You flatter me with a conscience.”
“So you will leave me here to die?”
“Did you not choose yourself that course?”
“I always intended to come with you.”

She turned from the window and threw back the hood. Gone were her long ebony locks, replaced with uneven tufts of dark spikey hair. He stared uncompromisingly at her for as long as it took to catch himself. He had only once briefly caught sight of her face in the daylight, as she had turned to lose herself in the market, after their first meeting. She had pulled the hood of her cape back as she melted into the busy, chaotic throng. After that she was always shrouded in the dark hooded cape. Now she stood before him, in the mellow candlelight, more beautiful without her hair, and also more vulnerable.

“I do not travel as a woman and I do not seek your charity.”

From her pocket she withdrew a small purse and threw it at him, as he remained sitting on the bed, all irritating thoughts of his clothing suddenly gone.

“Twenty pieces of gold.”

He toyed with the purse, before he opened it and counted out the money. He then returned each piece to the purse, tied it securely and threw it back to her.

“I have no need of your money senora."
She caught the purse and moved quickly, dropping to her knees at the foot of the bed, prone at his feet as though she was in quiet worship.

“I know of your ruthlessness, but also of your fairness. Would you leave me to die at the hand of my husband?”

She kept her head bowed as she spoke. A moment later his hand reached out to touch what was left of her hair, stroking it gently. She smiled, knowing that she would win.

“Please Captain.”

She looked up with large imploring eyes, veiled by long thick lashes.

“I thought only to steal the patterns, out of rage with my husband. I didn’t think beyond that. He already holds me in contempt, searching for reasons to beat and humiliate me.”

He roughly grasped her about the arms and pulled her to her feet, stood looking down into her dark brown eyes. He could feel her trembling under his hands.

“And what am I to do with you Senora?”
“Pass me off as a cabin boy. I’ll work hard, I’ll be silent, invisible.”

He turned from her and paced the room. After minutes of this he stopped and stared straight at her, wondering just how far she would go to secure her escape with him. He removed the ridiculous coat and stood staring at her in his pants and undershirt.

“I have a cabin boy already Senora, and more gold that I could possibly spend in this life time and buy repentence for all I have done on my way to the next.”

She held his eyes and narrowed them slightly.A pause hung between them, like the space between the neck and the guillotine’s blade

“My body is not for sale Captain,” she said full of venom and pulled the hood back over her cropped head. “If you refuse to protect me, then let my death be on that conscious your bravado stops you from acknowledging Captain … and may all the gold in Spain still leave you in debt to your God.”

He caught her arm as she strode angrily past him, keeping her eyes fixed on the door.

“I will take you as far as Corunna but no further. And may God and my crew have mercy on my soul for taking you, senora, onto my ship.”

"Damned pirates!"

"My Lord DeLume, I swear that this is the social event of the season!" The Marquis DeLume smiled, and bowed slightly. The Dowager Duchess extended her hand, and DeLume took it gently, kissed it, then stood upright. "Too kind Duchess. Always too kind. You honour us with your patronage." The Dowager smiled serenely, and strode into the ballroom, her entourage scuttling behind her.

DeLume snapped his fingers, and his man, Tiago, emerged from the shadows and stood beside him. "My Lord?"

"Tiago, are the gates secure?" He nodded curtly. DeLume patted his shoulder and dismissed him. He glanced around the ballroom. The cream of society were assembled, dancing, laughing. Every one of them in that ridiculous new fashion popularised by the younger noblemen. The exquisitely slashed and tattered clothing made by that tailor, what was his name? Solis, that was it. DeLume had seen real swords carve real slashes into clothing. The result was bloody, not fashionable. The closest Solis had ever come to a sword would be his sewing needles.

DeLume shuddered watching the dancing. "Pirates." He muttered. "They all look like bloody pirates." It reminded him too much of his past. He picked up a glass of port and swallowed it down. Maybe he should check once again that the gates were secure.

"Presenting his Grace, the Duke Louis deSilva of Castille."

DeLume turned with a broad grin. Castillian nobility rarely travelled so far without reason, and deSilva was not known to him. Perhaps news from the Royal Court?

On catching site of the Duke, who was warmly greeted by all the minor nobles around him, DeLume's smile faded. Incredible. The gates were secured. The guests were vetted. All to no avail. He took a deep breath, and stepped forward, unsure of how the situation would play out.

"Your Grace." He bowed, sharply.

"My Lord DeLume." The Duke nodded. He waited for DeLume to rise, then smiled. "Might I have a word in private. On a matter of... honour."

DeLume closed his eyes for a moment. So, this is how it would end. He nodded, and led the Duke to a private anteroom. He entered first, and headed straight for a small cabinet in the wall, containing sherry and port. With shaking hands, he poured a large glass of amontillado, and gulped it down. He heard the door click shut, and the lock being turned.

"So you've returned?" DeLume turned round. "Louis deSilva? Castillian too." DeLume laughed without humour.

"You know why I'm here Diego."

DeLume sighed. "She's not here. She hasn't been here in almost a year. Not since that bastard stole her away."

There was a slight hiss as hard tempered Toledo steel was drawn across a hardened leather scabbard. The fine point glinted in the candlelight, poised to strike, pointing directly at DeLume's throat. He made no effort to draw his own sword.

"You aren't hiding them?"

"No, I'm not." The sword pointed down to the ground, and the Duke cautiously stepped forward. DeLume licked his lips. "You think I would shield that coward from the fate he deserves? After dishonouring my family?"

The Duke replaced his sword, and began pacing the room. He stopped, reached into his frock coat, and pulled out a scroll that he had taken from a stubborn tailor's shop. "I have his maps, Diego."

DeLume's eyes widened. "How did you... No, best I not know." The two men looked at each other for a moment, before DeLume spoke again. "Whatever fate is in store for that swine, or me, please, I beg of you. Spare my sister."

"Diego, I would never harm her! I still..." He cleared his throat, and continued. "After all we have been through together Diego, I never wanted to harm you. I thought you had helped them, I was led to believe that... that you consented to his request."

"No, I never consented. He took her by force Juan, then he spread rumours that I had given my lawful consent. That consent was only ever for you my brother. The Contessa was deceived by him. He betrayed us all."

"And he will pay, I swear on my honour."

"What do you need from me?"

The Duke disappeared, and the fire returned to the eyes of Captain Juan. "An excuse." He unfurled the map, and jabbed his finger on it. "Van Diemen's Land. That's where he is. But with the war, the King will never allow me to go after him. I need you to provide me with an excuse to leave."

DeLume stared at the map, and the image of his guests popped into his mind. "Pirates. Pirates Juan." He shook his head and smiled. "I have a contact at the English court, he has the ear of Buckingham, the King's chief strategist. We'll spread a rumour that La Gongoozler has been attacking merchant vessels as well as English war ships. The English won't stand for piracy, and once letters of marque and reprisal are issued against you there won't be a port that's safe for La Gongoozler in this hemisphere. The King will have to send you away for your own safety."

Juan considered the plan. "Agreed. It's perfect."

Diego placed his hand on Juan's shoulder. "You'll be an outlaw Juan. An accusation of piracy makes you an enemy of mankind, even our allies will be against you. It's a heavy price."

Juan smiled. "What is danger when my honour is at stake? Your family's honour Diego. And her. I would sail to hell and back for her."

Diego embraced him. "Thank you Juan. Godspeed to you. I pray for calm seas and a good wind. Bring her back safe. And as for him..."

Juan spat on the ground. "Intaglio will never trouble anyone again."

The key

She was late and that was going to be a problem. The clary sage had taken longer than she had anticipated, in drugging Marcus to sleep.

While the tavern was busy, full of half-drunk men and harried bar wenches, and she was unlikely to be seen and recognised, he would be drunk. And there he was, in the agreed upon place.

When on land he never drank with his crew, was never seen down at the rough taverns by the wharf. It was a though he was a different man away from the wilds of the sea and he shared that side of himself with no one. It was her bet that only she knew who really sat drinking in the corner.

While his reputation preceded him across the entire continent and probably beyond, the man that sat hunched over his tankard of mead resembled nothing of the adventurer, hero and scoundrel. Sitting there alone, he was just a pathetic drunk, the shell of the man of what he might have become. Yet still she was on guard ... he was still a dangerous man. He needed her and she deluded herself that alone would keep her safe.

Pulling her thick cape around her, she pushed through the drinkers and sat down across from him at the tiny table in the corner.

“I have the key.”

She placed the key on the table, covered it with her pale, slender hand and slid both across the coarse wooden table. When he reached across with an unsteady hand and she pulled both back to her side of the table.

“I need your word.”

He nodded in a way that made her fear his mattered head would fall from his broad, shabby shoulders. She lurched across the table and snatched his unshaven chin in her hand, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“Swear to me.”

For a moment she thought he would spit in her eye, but even that seemed to be beyond him. When nothing happened, she sunk her nails deeper into his skin.

“You’re no hero to me … just a means to an end. You get the maps, me the intaglio. There is a room in the name of Louis deSilva paid for in the village tavern closest to the Marquis DeLume’s estate. In the room are clothes befitting a Duke.”

His eyes focused and unfocused again, and she let go of his chin. He took a swig from his tankard that missed his mouth and soaked his front.

“Forget it,” and she stood abruptly. He grabbed her hand as she turned to leave, with a strength that betrayed his sobriety. She sat back down on the hard stool, her hand smarting.

“You swear that you saw them with the Marquis,” he growled, releasing her hand.

“I don’t come here and risk my life with flights of fancy. They were there, together last year, yes. I was there with Marcus assisting the Marquis and his court.”

“And you?”

“My reasons are my own. If you need to disembowel him in the process of breaking in, feel no remorse.”

It was then she saw a brief window into the man he may have been, might still be. She allowed their hands to touch for a moment as she passed the key to him. His fingers seemed to hesitate as they touched the cool smoothness of her fingers. Then he snatched it from her and pocketed the key to both their futures.

A Blueprint to Fashion

Marcus brushed the bolt of velvet down.

"This is filthy" he haughtily complained to the merchant. “Did you drag through the lower kingdom from?”

"Humph" Gruffly responded hunched figure. "Take it or leave it – it’s the last full bolt I have. With winter closing in we won’t be traveling until mid spring." The merchant shrewdly looked up at Marcus, squinting with his good eye. "I have other clients who’d be glad to take this from my hands."

With the new fashion influences of slashing from Germany and the Winter Balls looming, Marcus knew he would need as much broadcloth as the shop could store.

With a wave of his hand, Marcus agreed to the merchants exorbitant prices and signaled his clerk to draw up the invoice for payment. He strode through his Gentleman's Outfitters store past the sewing stools of the busy tailors, their nimble fingers quickly stitching the colourful cloth into beautiful creations. His creations were sought after by the richest in the land and he daily turned customers requests away. Marcus stood in front of one of the sewing mannequins, currently half dressed in a fine outer dresscoat. His fingers pulled on the hems and fluttered absentmindedly over the seams.

"Such a waste of good material" he tutted. "You hardly see most of it. This years Balls will have everyone looking like damned Pirates." Slashing, the newest fashion creation involved two layers of cloth being placed one over the other. The outer was then slashed to reveal the contrasting inner one. Marcus shook his head at the vulgarity of it. It had begun to be seen in all forms of fashions - not only in men's and women's gowns, but with their shoes, and caps.

"Signor Solis, there is a... gentleman asking after you." Quavered one of his clerks. "He wishes to have one of your new designed dress coats for Marquis DeLumes Ball."

The small man edged as close as he dared to Marcus and whined fearfully. "He said he'd cut my gizzards out if I didn’t come back with an appointment with one of our tailors." Marcus snorted. His creations were sought after by the richest in the land and he daily turned customers requests away.

"Tell the... gentleman that he might be better suited to enquire down at the Spanish quarter."

The clerk looked toward the small waiting room where a dark shadow formed beside the doorframe, the shape promising a well built and armed customer who would not take kindly to this advice.

Clearing his throat, the clerk whispered, "He said you'd say that and er... herm..." the clerk cleared his constricting throat, "you have lost your monopoly on fashion for this season."

A long cloak flicked around, the noise telling Marcus of its exquisite weight and cut. A cold breeze and the shop door slamming announced the visitors departure.

A cold dread griped Marcus. Clicking his wooden heels on the flagstone floors, he walked steadily to the back of the room and pulled the large set of keys from his waist strap, unlocking the door at the end. Here were stored the lifeblood of a tailors business; their 'Intaglio' – the unique patterns and designs individually manufactured for nobles and royalty. The room had no natural light for security reasons, so Marcus lit the fine beeswax candle lantern, careful to keep the flame low as he entered. His hand automatically went to the middle table with long hanging drawers and pulled it out. Fumbling along the patterns, his hand became frantic as he realized his prized piece was missing. Each tailor jealously guarded their Intaglio, going so far as having contracts with noble folk to ensure discarded garments are brought back to the originating shops, so as not to fall into the hands of other tailors and for cheap imitations to be manufactured.

Bringing the light as close as he dared to the flimsy patterns, he looked down; a bold shape on the floor demanded his attention. Marcus brought the grimy Spanish wine flagon up into the light, the body thick with dust only disturbed by his fingerprints and a lavish parchment attached to the neck. "Compliments, Captain Juan."

Intaglio

There's some that will tell you that the Captain is invincible. Invulnerable. Immortal. Fearless.

They're almost right. In all the years I sailed with the Captain, there wasn't a ship he couldn't outsail, a sea monster he couldn't defeat. There wasn't a duel to be won, a treasure to be found, a lady to be rescued or a wrong to be avenged that didn't see the Captain in the thick of it, and on top of it.

But sail with the Captain all your life, and you get to know the man. You get to know him as vulnerable. Mortal. The Captain is fearless, not through bravery, but because he has nothing left to lose. The Captain was wounded once, as a young man. A deep, harsh wound. There's some that say he died that day, and what walks now is a ghost. Others say that the wound is fatal, and so the Captain fears no man and fears no death, because he knows his fate.

All I know is that the Captain lost everything that mattered to him once. And in that loss he became free and fearless. He ran away to sea, travelling the world, and making his name.

We were sailing in the Southern Seas. It was during the war with the English, letters of mark and repisal had been issued against the Captain and La Gongoozler. So the King sent us off for safekeeping. South and East, to the Antipodes. Cap'n wasn't happy, I remember that. "I fear no English ships!" he cried, indignantly. "Let them come with their letters, I'll sign my name across their chests with my sabre!"

But no, the King sent us away. A big adventure. And El Capitán was never one to shy away from an adventure. But as we crossed the equator, he seemed subdued. Sombre. One night, when I was on watch, the Captain came and sat with me a while. Didn't say a word. Just looked out to the horizon. Then he got up, sighed, and left for his cabin. Never seen him like that before, or since.

As we approached Van Diemen's Land, we spotted the ship. It was anchored off the coast, as if it was expecting us. And the Captain was expecting it too. When we told him of the ship, he didn't say a word. He just nodded, fastened his sword to his waist, and came on deck.

La Gongoozler drew up to the other ship. It was in good condition, yet no crew. Except for one man. Stood at the bow. He saluted the Captain, nodded and spoke. "Juan, it has been too long. How have you been."

The Captain would laugh. The Captain would issue a challenge. But in a voice as quiet as a whisper, but resounding as thunder, the Captain responded. "Where is she?" His hand was on his sword, gripping the hilt tightly, knuckles white.

The other man raised an eyebrow. "She? Ooh, her. Do you still think about her Juan?"

The steel flashed in the sunlight, as the Captain pointed the sword straight at the stranger on the other ship. The blade did not waver, and nobody spoke what seemed to be forever. Finally, the Captain lowered his sword, and turned.

"Walking away again Juan? So much for the brave adventurer!"

"Captain? Who is that?"

"Intaglio." The Captain paused. "My brother."

Introducing the Captain...

"Yarrrr, there be a ship on the horizon Cap'n!"

Redbeard grinned, gold teeth glinting in the mid-day sun. He hobbled over to the mainmast on his two peg legs, and looked up to the crow's nest. His look-out "Blind" Billy leaned over the edge. "She be just to the East of us!"

Redbeard swung round. "Hoist the mainsail and bear down on her. We'll pluck her treasures and put the crew to the sword!" As the ship lurched with the wind, Redbeard teetered to the bridge. "Where is my looking glass? Jake, bring me my looking glass!" A young boy, no more than eleven, trotted over with a slightly battered telescope and handed it to Redbeard. The telescope slipped through the hook on his left hand and clattered on to the deck. "The other hand boy, the other hand!" Jake swiftly picked up the telescope, paused to check that the lens hadn't cracked again, and placed it sheepishly in Redbeard's good hand.

He extended the telescope with a flick of his wrist and brought it up to his eye. They were gaining on the ship, bearing down on it at a rate of knots. Fast. Too fast...

He blinked, and shook his head. No, it couldn't be. Peering through the looking glass again, there was no doubt. They weren't simply gaining on the other ship. It was heading towards them too.

"Billy, why isn't that ship running?" "Blind" Billy grabbed his telescope and had a look at the rapidly approaching ship. They were running the skull and crossbones, as well as Redbeard's own flag. Any ship that saw them should have turned tail and prayed for a good wind. This ship wasn't running. It had turned and was making a course straight for them. It was a Spanish frigate, fully armed and carrying the colours of the Spanish court and...

"Dammit Billy be careful!" The telescope narrowly missed Redbeard's head, shattering against the deck. "I've not got many original parts here ye scurvy knave." Redbeard snarled at the crow's nest, then paused when he noticed Billy wildly gesturing and babbling.

"Cap'n! Ship! Frigate! Cap'n! Spanish! Captain.... oh lord! The ship... oh lord the ship..."

"What are ye blabbering about man! What ship is it?"

"La Gongoozler....."

Redbeard crossed himself and swallowed hard. La Gongoozler. The scourge of the seven seas. Personally commanded by the hero of the Spanish Court, famed adventurer and explorer, Captain Juan Ferdinand Fernandos. And he was bearing down on his ship...

"Hoist the flag of surrender, turn us about! Retreat lads, retreat!"

Standing at the bow, sword drawn, the wind whipping about his clothing, Captain Juan threw his head back and laughed, a glint in his eye and immaculate white teeth gleaming. "Surrender in the name of His Majesty, or I shall be forced to fight you all!" A deft twirl of the sword, then Juan jumped from his ship, swinging across to the bridge of the pirate ship, before landing on deck, pistols drawn. The assembled pirates dropped their weapons and held their hands aloft. Juan twirled his moustache and laughed. Another victory for the Spanish Blade, El Capitán, counsel to kings and lover to queens, the finest sailor, shot and swordsman of the age, the fabulous, flamboyant, fantastic Captain Juan.