PRELUDE TO EL LOBO DEL MAR

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

A familiar sound teased Jack's ears as he slowly regained consciousness.  Familiar, but not right.  Not as he remembered it should be.

Creaking.

The creaking of a ship's timbers as she moved through the waves.  But the sound was all wrong.  Unfamiliar.  Now he noticed the rocking of the vessel.  Definitely a good sized ship.  But even that felt wrong.  The pitch and roll weren't as he knew they should be.  He paid attention to how much she rolled from side to side and how long it took.  This ship sat higher in the water, and her hull was shorter in length but wider at the beam.  He was aboard a ship at sea, but it wasn't his ship.  Not his cherished El Lobo del Mar.  Where was he, and where were they taking him?  He slowly opened his eyes.  It was dark, save for the feeble light of a single oil lamp.  At least he assumed it was an oil lamp.  Everything was blurry.  His eyes refused to focus on his dimly lit surroundings.  He gave up for the moment and closed his eyes again.  

Thoughts were moving in Jack's head like they were being dragged through molasses.  He tried to focus, but concentration was terribly difficult.  This wasn't a hangover.  He'd had plenty of those in his life, and they never felt like this.
Drugged.  That had to be it, he reasoned.  Jack's limbs felt like lead weights.  Nothing wanted to respond, at least not as fast as he wanted them to.  Best to keep still and save energy for now.

Fractured bits of memories came slowly drifting back to Jack's mind.  The tavern.  The girl.  The dark alley.  Someone had attacked him.  
Why?
All right, it's not like I don't have a few enemies and rivals, he thought.  But who?
Then he remembered the name the girl had spoken.

Mendoza.

The girl had called out to whoever had knocked Jack out and brought him aboard this ship.  He'd heard rumours that Mendoza had put a price on his head, but nothing specific.  So much money for his head, more for his dead body, and substantially more if he were alive.  If that was the case, his captors were going for the full payoff.  Jack remembered what Rhys Morgan had told him about Mendoza's preference for having captives brought before him for torture and eventual execution when they were no longer amusing.  Between his little tryst with Diego's wife Mercedes and the myriad other ways Jack had found to embarrass or humiliate the Colonel, he knew he'd get the deluxe treatment.  Diego Mendoza was a career sadist and murderer, and he had no intention of becoming the Spaniard's next plaything.

Escape.
There had to be a way out.  There's always a way out, Jack reminded himself.  Granted, the mantra hadn't helped much in that St. Lawrence alley, but this would be different.  He was sure of it.
Get out of whatever cabin he was in, find weapons, stay in the shadows, and steal a ship's boat.  Try not to get captured or killed in the process.  Simple enough.  Even if he couldn't steal a boat, he could get off the ship and deny Mendoza his prize.  Dead was dead, but Jack wanted it on his own terms if it came to that.

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

He lifted his head, pausing to wait out the ensuing wave of nausea.  When the spinning sensation stopped, he opened his eyes again and looked around the room.  Slowly, his surroundings came into focus.  Jack was in a small cabin.  Not the surgery as he suspected, but a regular cabin like what would belong to a quartermaster or first mate.  He took some satisfaction that his incarceration was an inconvenience for someone, and that they valued him enough not to chain him in the bilges.  There was a small table with a chair against the opposite wall from the bed.  On the table were what looked like a couple of apothecary bottles and a wooden bowl.  An oil lantern hung from the ceiling, swaying with the movements of the ship.  He quickly looked away from the lantern as nausea threatened a thunderous return.  There was a crucifix on the bulkhead above the desk, with a rosary hung like a swag underneath.  That clinched it.  A Spanish ship, belonging either to Spanish bounty hunters or Mendoza himself.

Jack sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  To his relief, there were no restraints.  Apparently they planned to keep him too drugged to be concerned with him mounting an escape.  He steadied himself, then attempted to stand.  Jack's knees buckled, but he caught himself on the side of the bed without making much noise.  All right, no making a run for it, he thought.  He slowly got back to his feet and made a few halting steps to the table where he was able to brace himself again.  There was an almost clear liquid in the bowl beside the apothecary bottles.  He picked it up and smelled it.  His nose wrinkled at the sour smell of rancid water.  Wherever his captors were from, they didn't waste time resupplying in St. Lawrence.  He dipped a finger in the water and tasted it.  No hint of anything but water from what he could tell.  Despite the horrid taste, the water felt good in his mouth.  He was parched dry and his tongue felt thick, no doubt from whatever drugs they used on him.  Jack sighed as he held his nose and lifted the bowl to his lips.  The water tasted terrible, but not the worst he'd ever been forced to drink.  It eased the sandpaper feel of his throat and helped to clear his head a little.

He set the bowl down quietly and turned his attention to the three apothecary bottles.  Two of them had labels too badly smeared for his blurry vision to make out.  One of the smudged ones looked like it might have been labelled heroína, a word he was unfamiliar with, but it was hard to tell.  The third bottle was clear enough to read.  It contained a dark liquid and was marked láudano, Spanish for laudanum.  A preparation of opium, a powerful narcotic, and alcohol in the form of liquor.  So that's what they'd been using to keep him unconscious and under control, along with whatever was in the other bottles.  Obviously whoever made the tincture knew what they were doing, or Jack quite easily would be dead if they didn't.  More evidence that these were Mendoza's men.  Your average bounty hunter wouldn't be so careful.

As Jack looked at the bottle, he felt himself growing angrier by the second.  How dare Mendoza kidnap him and keep him in a drug induced stupor!  If it's war Mendoza wanted, he had gotten his wish.  Jack had been toying with him all this time.  No more.
"All right, cool down, Jack," he muttered to himself.  "Escape first, revenge later.  Anger makes you sloppy."
He went to place the laudanum bottle back on the desk, once again trying to do so as quietly as possible without alerting anyone guarding the room that he was awake and moving about.  As he did so, the ship pitched unexpectedly, and he knocked over one of the other bottles.  Its glass plug popped free, skittered across the deck, and struck the bulkhead just to one side of the door with a bang.  Jack left the laudanum on the table and tried to get back on the bed as quickly as possible before anyone discovered him awake.  He had one hand on the bed when the cabin door opened.  The guard's eyes went wide when he saw Jack looking back at him.  The man was wearing a yellow and red tunic, black pants, and black boots.  He was definitely Spanish, and definitely displeased.
"Bollocks!" said Jack dejectedly.

"¡Está despierto! ¡Ayuda venida!" the soldier called to his comrades as he charged. 
Jack grabbed the crucifix from the wall and drew back to swing it like a hammer, but the soldier was on him too quickly and slammed him against the wall.  The crucifix went flying from Jack's hand.  His only weapon was gone.  The next thing he knew, he was pinned down on the bed.  The drugs had left him too weak to effectively fight back, but he tried anyway.  A second soldier entered the room, leaving another soldier outside.  The two men spoke heatedly in Spanish as Jack continued to struggle.  The second man picked up one of the bottles as they talked.
"Hold him down!" he ordered.
"I'm trying!  Hurry up!  I don't know how much long I can hold him!" snapped the first.
The second uncorked the bottle in his hand.  It was the laudanum again.  "All right, I'm coming!  Get his mouth open."
The first soldier pinned Jack's arms against the bed with his knees, and grabbed Jack's face to force open his mouth.  Jack responded by drawing up his knees fast and hard into the soldier's kidneys.  The man hollowed in pain, and repaid Jack with a hard right cross to the jaw.  Jack tried to clench his jaws after the blow, but the second man grabbed Jack's face under the jaw and used his powerful fingers to force Jack's mouth to stay open.  The man poured the dark liquid into Jack's mouth and forced it shut.  Jack struggled, refusing to swallow.  The soldier responded by grabbing Jack's nose and pinching it closed.
"Quit squirming and swallow it, pendejo!" the first soldier growled.

Finally, Jack's lungs began to burn for lack of air, and he involuntarily swallowed the drug.  The second man released his nose, but wisely held on to keep Jack's mouth closed. Jack stared with hatred at the two men, who leered back at him in triumph.  The urge to fight began to drain from him, and he could feel his muscles relax.  He tried to will his body to fight off the narcotic, but it was no use.  Everything before him started blur and fade. 

Even the laughter of the soldiers seemed to fall away into nothingness...

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

Josiah Briggs sat at the table of El Lobo's great cabin - Jack's personal quarters - with his head in his hands.  He was staring at maps of Barbados and its two major towns, Bridgetown and St. Lawrence.  Frustration and worry furrowed his brow.  Jack had been missing for over a week, and there was still no sign of him.  It was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth.  The only clue they had was that he had left the Elephant tavern with a beautiful young woman, a striking Spanish lass.  No one thought it unusual for Jack Wolfe to take up with a woman he had just met, and Briggs waited the requisite three days before bothering to look for him.  The quartermaster cursed himself for not following his gut and mounting a search much earlier.  

Jack had intended to sail in two days when he had gone missing, and even he was disciplined enough be back aboard his own ship on the appointed date to sail.  Josiah had fully expected to see Jack that morning, sauntering up the dock with a smile on his face and not a penny in his pocket.  But he never showed, and the usual tour of the taverns proved fruitless.  Now Briggs had every available crewman dispersed across the island, tearing it apart in search of El Lobo's missing master.

There was a soft knock at the door, followed by the creaking of its hinges.  Briggs didn't bother to look up.
"Aye, what have ye got?" His voice was weary from the nonstop stream of disheartening news.
"Just 'eard from 'ornsby an' 'is men in Bridgetown, Cap'n," said the crewman.  "No sign o' Cap'n Jack, an' nobody there's sayin' nuffin."
Briggs looked up at the man with hooded eyes.  "For starters, spread word that the next man what calls me 'captain' get to clean the bilges with his tongue.  There be only one captain of this here ship, and it ain't me!  Got it?"
The man blinked at the quartermaster's vehemence.  "Aye, cap--  I mean, Mister Briggs!  I'll tell 'em all, like th' gospel trufe, I will!"
Briggs sighed and rubbed his forehead.  "This is getting' us nowhere fast.  Either Jack's dead, God forbid, or he ain't on this blessed rock any more.  Tell Hornsby and the rest to keep lookin' for Jack, even raise the reward money another hundred, but I want that girl found, too!  I'm willin' to bet me Aunt Betsy's cat she's still in St. Lawrence."  He sat back and tapped a metal rule on the desk.  "Is Jennings still in St. Lawrence?"
"Aye, he's searchin' warehouses an' such."
"Send word I want him back here.  The lad's got new duties."
"Mind me askin' wha' ye have in mind for 'im?  In case 'e asks?"
Briggs smiled grimly.  "Our young Master Jennings is gonna be the bait for a certain señorita."

Cade Jenning was the youngest member of the crew, and for all intents and purposes Jack's protege.  Cade had been a New Providence street urchin, barely 13 years old when he and Jack crossed paths one evening as Jack was walking back to the ship after a night on the town.  Cade stepped out of an alleyway and confronted Jack with a sword.

"H-hold there!" the scrawny lad ordered, his voice quaking.  "Hand over your m-money, and you'll keep your life!"
Jack stopped and looked behind himself, then back at Cade.  "Me?"
"Yes, y-you!  I won't tell you again, give me your money!"  The boy's voice was steadily creeping upward in pitch in step with his anxiety.  
"Oi!  Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?  And shouldn't you be home in bed, instead of prowling the streets trying to get yourself killed?"
"You're the one that needs to w-worry about getting killed!" the boy said haltingly as he waggled his sword in what he hoped was a menacing fashion.  "Now!  Give me your money!"
Jack sighed and rolled his eyes.  He dug in his pocket and found a few coins, which he threw at Cade's feet.
Cade stared back at him and shook his head.  "You pick those up.  I'm not stupid!"  Nervously, he kept readjusting his grip on the sword that was obviously a little to heavy for him.
A smile curled Jack's lips.  He had expected the obviously starving boy to grab for the coins.  This lad might be out of his depth and terrified, but he had a brain.
"No."
"I'm w-warning you..."
"Look at you," Jack interrupted.  "A shaking, snot-nosed whelp who fancies himself a highwayman, about to get killed by a pirate.  Your parents must be so proud.  Where do they live, so I can tell the authorities where to send your body?  Don't worry.  I'll pay for your funeral.  I'm a generous bloke at heart."
Cade raised his sword and took a step closer.  "Shut up!  Just shut up!" he yelled, his voice jumping up an octave as it cracked.  "I'm no whelp!  I can take care of myself, and I don't need parents!"  He stood there looking up at Jack, his body shaking as if it were the dead of winter in Scotland.  "In fact, I intend to kill a pirate, or die by his hand!  What do you think of that?"
This lad had something to prove, probably to a gang leader, Jack thought.  The rite of passage into manhood for street thugs - a first kill.  He had to find a way to bring this to and end, preferably without doing anything drastic.
"It explains your horrid manners," said Jack nonchalantly.   "And I hate to tell you, you're doing a lousy job of trying to kill me, and I have no desire to kill you no matter how annoying I find you.  Now, do us a favour and quit waving that sword around.  You're liable to hurt yourself."
"I said pick up that money!!"
"And I said no.  Why should I do your dirty work, little boy?  You've already stated your intention to kill a pirate, and I'm a pirate!  If you're going to do it, then do it!  Or are you a whimpering, gutless little baby?  That's what everyone thinks, isn't it?  That you're weak, snivelling, and useless!  Every moment you stand there shaking like a schoolgirl, you're only proving them right.  That you are a FAILURE!"
Humiliated to the point of rage, Cade drew back his blade run Jack through.  When he thrust it forward, Jack deftly sidestepped and grabbed the sword, and jerked it out of Cade's hand.  The boy, off balance, stumbled past his opponent.  Before he could regain his footing, Jack had him pinned face first against the wall with his feet off the ground, using the sword like a bar to hold him there.

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

"Let me go!" demanded Cade, though it sounded more like pleading.
"School's in session, Junior!" said Jack.  "You're not going anywhere."
"I swear I won't hurt you if you just let me go!"
"I suppose that's true.  You couldn't hurt me before all this, so I can't image you doing any damage after."
"You'll do it, then?"
"Hell no!  I'm only getting started with you.  We're going to use this incident as a learning opportunity."
"A what?"
Jack exhaled in exasperation.  "I'm going to teach you what you did wrong, sonny.  You're listening skills are really rubbish!"
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I'm feeling charitable.  Now shut it and pay attention.  Let's start with this rusted bit of junk you call a sword.  Want to know how I knew I could grab it?"
Cade stayed tight lipped.
"Fine.  Suit yourself.  When I wouldn't cooperate, you started waving it about.  No light from the windows glinted off it.  So I knew it was either rusty or made of wood.  If you let it get rusty, then I knew you wouldn't bother keeping a proper edge on it."
"You tricked me.  So what?" the boy said petulantly.
"That I did.  And that was only part of it.  You stepped in too close to make a good thrust with your blade.  If you had managed to connect, you would have poked me, not killed me.  And you know how I managed all that?"
"You're gonna tell me whether I want to hear it or not."  The lad's voice was heavy with dejection.
"See?  I knew you were clever.  You blundered because I made you angry.  Never let your emotions get out of control, boy.  Your passions will be your undoing."

Jack stepped back and released the boy.  He held the sword in front of him in both hands like a headmaster's rod.
Cade kept facing the wall.  His shoulders were shaking.
"Wait a minute," said Jack slowly.  "Are you... you're crying?"
"Just kill me and get it over with!  You said it yourself.  I'm a failure."
"I'm not going to kill you.  I never was."
"But you said..."
"I was trying to scare you.  That's all.  Now face me."
Cade slowly turn around, his face downcast so Jack couldn't see his tears.
"What's your name, son?"
"C-Cade."  He paused for a big sniff and wiped his nose with a threadbare sleeve.  "Cade Jennings."
"Why are you crying?"
"You didn't tell me your name.  That's not polite."
Jack chuckled at the admonishment.  "Right you are, Master Jennings.  My name is Jack.  Jack Wolfe."
"Jack.. Wolfe?"
"That's right.  Have you heard of me?"
"You've got the black ship with red around the gunports and the big wolf at the bow!"
"Oh, so you have heard of me!"
"Everybody has.  You're famous!"
"I'm not famous.  I'm just a pirate..."
"And I was going to try to kill you."  Tears of regret began to flow down Cade's cheeks.
Jack crouched down and set the rusty sword aside.  "Hey!  Hey, no, there's no reason for that!  It was an honest mistake.  Well, as honest as it gets when you set out to rob a man."
"I'm so sorry!  I didn't know it was you!" the boy sobbed as he slumped against the wall.  "I never would have...  You're right.  I'm a failure."
"Cade, I didn't mean it.  I said it to make you mad.  That's all."
"But it's true!  Everyone says it.  Especially Tommy."
"Who's Tommy?  Your father?  Or brother?"
"No.  Tommy is the boss of this neighbourhood.  Five whole streets.  They're all his."
"So you did this to make a rank in his gang?"
Cade nodded.  "If I robbed a man, he'd let me stay on a while longer.  If I killed someone, then I'd be part of the family forever."
"Well, that's about what I thought," Jack sighed.  "Let me guess.  He's watching us now?"
"Tommy's got eyes everywhere."
"What happens now, since I've ruined your chances?"
"I don't know," Cade said softly.  The tears started again, this time from hopelessness.

Jack's heart went out to the lad.  He knew what it felt like to be on the outside, not knowing where he fit in, or if he did at all.  Cade's chances here had been dashed because he picked the wrong man to confront.  Or had he?  Anyone else would have hurt the boy or killed him outright.  There's no telling what this Tommy fellow would do to him.  Maybe this was for the best that he had been the one Cade tried to rob.  Jack felt an enormous amount of compassion for the lad.  He was smart and bright, but lost.  Maybe, with the right teacher...
No, Jack thought.  Rule number one, no strays.  All right, he'd broken that rule with the ship's cat, but that was different.
"Where do you live, Cade?  I'll take you home to your parents."
"I ran away about a year ago.  Maybe more, I think."
"Then I think after the night you've had, going back home might be the best place for you," Jack said gently.
"I can't."  More slow tears.  The boy's despair was starting to make Jack's heart ache.
"I'm sure they'll take you back in.  They must be out of their minds with worry..."
"They're back in England."
"Oh!  Um, yeah.  That would be a problem.  Why did you leave?"
"My stepfather.  I hated him.  He beat me if I dropped a pea off my knife."
Jack shook his head and looked at the boy.  Starving, friendless, desperate, and so very alone.  But clever.  He'd stayed alive by his wits, and made it all the way from England to the Caribbean on his own.  In spite of his policy of cynicism, his heart went out to the waif.

Finally, Jack turned and started collecting the coins off the ground.
"What are you doing?" asked Cade.
"I need this money."
"Oh.  I understand."
Jack looked back at him and smiled.  "Why so glum?  It takes money to buy you a hot meal."
Cade looked at Jack as if he had just turned into a giant spider.  "A... what did you say?"
"A hot meal.  For you.  God, we'll have to work on those listening skills, too."
The boy ran to Jack and threw his arms around him, nearly knocking Jack over.
"Easy there, laddie!" laughed Jack.  "If I drop these coins, we'll have to rob somebody.   And you're not too lucky at that!"
"You're serious?  You'd do that for me?"
"What, rob somebody?  I like you, kid, but not that much!"
"No, I mean buy me food!  Who can't listen now?"
"Yeah.  I'll do that for you."  Jack stood up and smiled at Cade.  "You look like you could use a friend right about now.  Come on.  I know a place where the food it warm, and so are the tavern maids."
"Why's it so important if the tavern girls are warm?"
"Oh, you've got a lot to learn, Cade, my boy!  A lot to learn."
As he and Cade left the alley, Jack thought to himself, 'So much for rule number one...'

Now the hopes of El Lobo's crew were pinned on Jack's protege.  Briggs wasn't sure it would be enough, but Cade Jennings was Jack Wolfe's best bet for being found.

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

A sharp pain in his right shoulder jostled Jack toward conciousness.  How long had they kept him drugged this time?  He felt dizzy and half sick.  More than half.  Involuntarily he leaned over and wretched, but there was nothing in his stomach.  It took nearly every once of strength he had, so weak was he from lack of food and constant drugging with laudanum and God knew what.  When his coughing subsided, he licked his parched lips and began to fall asleep again.  Another sharp jab in the shoulder, rougher than before, forced him to open his eyes.

Wherever he was this time, it was gloomy, with only sparse, flickering light.  No motion, so he wasn't on a ship.  He found himself sitting on a cold stone floor, his back against an equally cold stone wall.  Black iron bars completed the enclosure of the space, and a dank, fetid stench hung heavy in the air.  This wasn't a gaol.  He'd been in a few of those over the years.  This was a dungeon.  

Once again, something poked him hard in the shoulder.  Jack looked over toward the bars closest to him to discover who it was that wanted his attention so badly.  It was a man on the opposite side of the bars.  He wasn't terribly tall, but he carried himself in a way that conveyed importance, even authority.  His clothing was black with what seemed to be silver or gold woven into the material, except for a white shirt with lace at the cuffs and collar.  The long walking stick he had been using to prod Jack was finely carved, probably mahogany, with a heavy ivory ball for a grip.  A heavy gold chain, probably a chain of office, hung around his neck.  He looked to be a few years older than Jack.  Flecks of grey could be seen in his perfectly groomed goatee, but his cropped and coiffed hair was still jet black.  But what stood out most to Jack about this obviously wealthy man was his eyes.  Cold, cruel, and calculating, they peered out from under heavy brows.  It was a face Jack had seen before, aboard the Spanish ship he had taken for himself years ago.  The man he had cuckolded before that, and delighted in bedevilling ever since.

Diego Hernando Mendoza Y Castille.  Baron, colonel, and butcher.

"Finally.  You're awake."
"Hello there, Diego," said Jack, mustering all the sarcasm he could.  "I knew it was you behind this.  Love what you've done with the place.  How's the wife?"
Mendoza rammed the walking stick ivory ball end first through the bars and into Jack's side.  Jack couldn't be sure, but it felt like a rib cracked.
"A taste of things to come, Wolfe," intoned Mendoza in a deep, richly accented voice.  It was a voice that could have been charming if one couldn't see the cruelty etched in every line on his face.  "You are a stubborn man, even in slumber.  Do you know I have been waiting three days for you to wake up?"
"You should have thought about that before you had your lackeys start pouring potions into me.  I could have died en route and spoiled all your fun."
"It was a necessary risk.  Your reputation for finding your to freedom regardless of the cage demanded it.  No matter.  The timetable will have to be changed somewhat."
"Yeah, a lousy character trait of mine, loving my freedom.  Sorry to inconvenience you."
"You have been an inconvenience to me from the moment I first heard about you.  I expect no different from you now.  But that will end soon enough."

Diego's iciness was an unexpected change from the last time the two men came face to face.  With all the problems and humiliation he had caused Mendoza, he expected the mercurial Spaniard to be in a rage, ranting and prone to mistakes that could be capitalised on.  Instead, Mendoza was coolly in control, of himself and the circumstances.  That control included Jack.  The knot in Jack's stomach became less one of hunger and more one of the emotion he hated the most – fear.  An angry man could be taken advantage of.  Not so one who was this cold.  If Jack was going to survive the impending ordeal, he had to abandon his usual ploy of treating life as a high-stakes card game.  It had become chess.

"Don't tell me you're in a hurry to kill me, Diego.  I thought our relationship had grown beyond that."
The Spaniard chuckled.  "Indeed is has, Wolfe.  No, killing you quickly, while enjoyable, would not be as... satisfying.  I have other plans for you."
"Huzzah for you getting your giggles."
"Do not be bitter, Wolfe!  You have proven a most challenging prey over the years.  You should be proud of yourself.  It took much planning and a fair amount of luck.  And of course, the perfect trap."
"I'm beginning to see how this works," said Jack, feigning boredom.  "You're going to gloat endlessly, and in the process talk me to death.  Very clever."
Mendoza motioned over his shoulder, and a guard and two servants carrying trays stepped into view.  "You will find me an hospitable man, Mister Wolfe.  Here.  Some food to end your hunger."
"Forget it, Diego.  I'll not willingly swallow poison."
Mendoza sighed, and picked up a piece of chicken from one of the trays.  In full view, he tore off a bite and ate it, making a production of swallowing the morsel.  He then poured some wine and washed it down.
"A bit dry, for which I apologise.  But as you can see, there is no poison."  He nodded, and the guard unlocked the cell door and let the servants inside.  They left the trays on the floor in front of Jack, and quickly retreated.
"And if I refuse?" asked Jack.
"Then you can sit there and starve as the rats eat it all.  If you are lucky, they will wait a while before turning their appetites on you."
Jack looked at the food arrayed before him, then back at his captor.  "Not the most sparkling dinner conversation I've ever had, but you've made your case."
"Excellent!  Eat well, my friend.  I will see you again in five days."
"Five days?  Why five days?"
"Because I want you to regain your strength.  Then, Mr. Wolfe..."  Mendoza smiled in a way that straddled sardonic and sinister.  "Then, we shall talk."

[Welsh Wench]

Rhys stood at the gunwale looking out over the whitecaps under the starlit sky. The air was warm despite it being winter in the Caribbean. He breathed deeply, knowing this may  be the last time he looked upon a tropical night.

His quartermaster and best friend came up behind him.
"Feeling a bit melacholy, Rhys?"
Rhys sighed. "Nothing like a night like this under the skies of the Caribbean, eh, Dolan?"
Dolan chuckled. "Not too late to change your mind, you know."
Rhys shook his head. "No. Much as I love the sea and the islands, my heart belongs in Wales."
His uncle's words came back to haunt him.

'Some little lass will creep into your mind and get under your skin and then it is good-bye, briny deep and hello, hearth and home....She's out there, my lad. She's out there. And then you can say good-bye to your heart..'

Dolan leaned against the gunwale and took out a black cigar.
"You aren't looking forward to telling him, are you?"
Rhys shrugged. "He'll understand."
Dolan laughed. "Understand? Jack Wolfe will say you are crazy. 'Taken in by a tart' he would say."
Rhys's jaw clenched. Dolan was quick to add, "Of course, Rhiannon Conaway is no tart. We both know that. But Jack Wolfe, he has never been roped in. Never tied down."
"It's a shame. But Jack swore he would never be tamed by a woman. Maybe if he had found someone like Rhiannon, it would change him."
Dolan asked, "Any last minute regrets, Rhys?"
"No. The deal between you and me is complete. The sale of the Neptune Rising and the smuggling operation will be turned over to you at the agreed upon percentage. Jack likes you. Maybe not as much as he likes me, but he trusts you enough to deal with."

Dolan flicked his ashes into the sea.
"That's good enough for me. Think Jack will try to talk you out of it?"
"Probably. But my mind is made up, Dolan. She's young but she's smart. And she is the one I have been waiting for all my life."
"What about Molly? How will she take the news?"
Rhys shrugged. "She won't be happy."
"Not happy? That is an understatement. I heard tell that Molly was last shopping for a wedding gown last you were in port. She all but had that ring on her finger."
"Then she can stop looking. I never was serious about Molly. She was a good time. But my heart wasn't with her. It is with a young lass in Wales."
"From a convent. If that doesn't beat all, Rhys. A nun."
He laughed. "I made that mistake once when she was ten. Asked her if she was a nun. Never saw a little girl draw herself up so regally.
'NEVER!' She was very emphatic about it too. I made the mistake of calling her a nun in training. I thought she was going to throw a book at me. 'I thought I made it clear that day that I was NOT a nun. I would never be a nun.'
He shook his head. "Lord, what a spitfire!"

"What of the smuggling operation up in those caves on Castlemaine's property?" Dolan asked.
"I'll help you clear the goods out. You can take it back with you or sell it in Scotland. Give me my fifteen percent and you and Jack can split the rest of the profit. I just want out."
"To go back to Cambridge and become an astronomy cartographer?"
Rhys laughed. "Among other things. You fail to remember, Dolan, that the Morgans are landed gentry. If I come back, settled and with a wife and a lucrative career, my father will overlook my--how did he put it?--shortcomings. My mother will just be overjoyed to have her boy back home!"
"What of Castlemaine?"
"That bastard? I clear things out of the caves and he gets nothing. He can't prove that his caves were used. And he certainly can't complain to any authority that he never got his 'cut', can he?"

Rhys inhaled the salt air. "Only one thing that can make me give this up, Dolan. It's her. I think she is my saving grace."
"You sure Jack Wolfe is gonna be in Tortuga?"
"If not, he will leave a message at The Red Bull where he was making port next. He always alternates another port with Tortuga. My guess is if he isn't there, then he is probably in Bridgetown or St Lawrence."

Dolan clapped his friend on the shoulder.
"I wish you and the little lass the best, Rhys. You know that. But I have a bad feeling in my bones."
"How so?"
Dolan looked up at the sky. "Last night, when I had the watch? I saw a comet."
"So?"
"So you know what they say about them."
"You honestly believe that stuff, Dolan?"
He shrugged. "The passing of a comet is an omen that often coincides with the fall of a great ruler. Several Aztec myths also point to the coexistence of a comet with the coming of the Spanish conquistadores."
"And what does that have to do with us? We are not great rulers, nor are we Aztecs and the last time I looked, you weren't Spanish."
"Yeah, but still...."
"Dolan, you Irish are a superstitious lot.  Any more Irish and I will be calling you by your real last name--'O'Dobhailein'.  As an astronomer, comets are nothing but dirty snowballs of rock and dirty snow."
Dolan just gazed at the sky.
"But what if the portent isn't about us?"
"What do you mean?"
"Look at it this way. Great ruler......great captain. Spanish conquistadores..those who took gold by force. Don't you see?"
"See what?"
Dolan sighed. "I feel trouble. And it all points to one man."
Rhys looked questioningly at Dolan.
He threw his cigar into the whitecaps and said, "Jack Wolfe. The portent is about Jack Wolfe. There is trouble, Rhys. Mark my words. Big time trouble."

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

Cade Jennings sat more or less patiently in the public room of the Blue Gryphon tavern.  He scanned the faces of the patrons gathered there and fought the urge to rub his eyes.  For the past eight nights, he had gone from pub to pub trying to find the woman a few drunken souls had seen with Jack the night he disappeared.  Petite, yet amply endowed, with raven-black hair she wore free about her shoulders and eyes like melted chocolate.  Catnip to Jack Wolfe.  One would think that such a strikingly beautiful Spanish woman would be easy to spot in a colony that strove to be the most English in all the Caribbean.  But St. Lawrence was still an open port.  Any and all ships were welcome save those of an invading armada.  Finding a needle in a haystack was child's play in comparison.  During the course of search only one person had put a possible name to her, though he couldn't be positive: Rebeca.

The strategy was simple: keep a high profile by throwing just enough money around to lure in women with a taste for big spenders.  A few members of the crew insinuated themselves into the crowd and let any unattached woman resembling the description of  Jack's mystery girl that the strapping young man with sandy hair was looking for company.  Cade would have to set aside his preference for blondes, no matter how comely and interested they were.  That is, if they would let him.  He finally gave in and rubbed his tired eyes.

"Well, look at what the cat dragged in!" said a woman with a distinct Irish lilt.
Cade looked up and blinked.  There stood Brandy O'Dwyer.  She wasn't his girlfriend in the traditional sense.  More of a steady favourite.  No strings attached, at least none they had ever talked about.  Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back from her face with a green ribbon, which helped to emphasise the anger in her eyes. 
"Brandy!  I didn't expect--"
"Aye, that's for damned sure, lookin' at your face!  Didn't think I'd come lookin' for ye?  St. Lawrence isn't that big, boyo!"
"Brandy, darling, I can explain.  Just not right now."
"Explain what?  How ye acquired a taste for the señoritas all of a sudden, like all the tongues have been waggin' about?" she fumed.
"It's not like that---"
"I'll tell ye how it happened!  That no good, rotten Jack Wolfe.  That's what done it!"  She drew herself up and glowered at him.  "I never expected a ring out of ye, Cade Jennings.  Not ever, and not that I'd ever ask.  But I'll be damned if I'll have your boots under me bed again!"

Cade, his mouth agape, watched as Brandy turned on her heel and marched off.  He knew she was a passionate woman, but he'd never seen her this angry before.  Apparently there were some strings he had overlooked.  He hoped that one day he could make her understand what the charade was for.  After she cooled down for a few days, of course.  Maybe a week or so.  Cade swallowed some of his drink and rubbed his eyes once more, trying to remember if he had anything stashed away that would serve as an adequate peace offering to Brandy.  Suddenly he felt the warm caress of a woman's hand just behind his ear.

"Woman problems, señor?" asked a sultry voice.

Cade silently vowed never to close his eyes for more than two seconds in a tavern ever again as he looked up.  And once again, his mouth fell open.
A stunning Spanish woman, petite yet voluptuous, with cascading hair so black that any reflected light revealed hints of midnight blue and inviting eyes the colour of melted chocolate, slipped into the chair beside him.  He didn't recall any of the chair being quite that close to him before he closed his eyes the second time, but at the moment he didn't particularly care.  He stared as, without ever breaking eye contact, she picked up his tankard and polished it off.
"Mmm, that was good.  Is there more?" she asked.
Cade blinked and swallowed hard.  "Uh... what?"
Yeah, that was ever so smooth, he thought.  But he couldn't tear his eyes away.
The mystery woman smiled and traced the back of his hand with her finger.  He was amazed at the amount of heat her fingertip gave off.  "The drink.  Is there more?  Your cup is empty."
"Oh!  Of course!"  He waved toward the bar, and a tavern girl came right over.  She warmly at Cade, but her smile evaporated when she saw the Spanish girl.
"What can I get for you?" she asked, her tone decidedly lukewarm compared to earlier that evening.
"Rum, for me and the lady, please.  Your best."
She cut her eyes to the mystery woman, then back to Cade, and made a derisive little snort.  "Sure.  Right away."  The tavern girl went to get the drinks, wishing he had ordered ale.  She could have spit in the cups first and they would've never known.

"You stare at me like a hungry man seeing food for the first time in days, Mister..."  She trailed off and raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to fill in the blank.
"Yes, I am," he replied dreamily.  "I mean-- what?"
She smiled, trying not to laugh.  "You have a name, no?"
"No.  I mean, yes!  Cade.  Cade Jennings."
The tavern girl returned and plunked the tankards down in front of them.
"That'll be six," she said matter-of-factly.
Cade gave her a suspicious look.  "The last one was two.  Shouldn't it be four, then?"
"It's six now."
He smiled to himself, knowing just what her game was.  She had been attentive and flirtatious the entire evening, meaning to get him upstairs for something more than rum and ale.  Now she was going to get that extra money out of him by other means.  He pulled nine coins out of his purse and put them on her tray.
"Will that do?"
"It's a start," she answered, finally giving him a smile.  She pocketed five of the coins and turned her attention back to her other customers.
Cade felt the mystery woman squeeze his arm just above the elbow, then linger on his biceps.  He reminded himself that he had to stay on task and not get caught up in the moment.  The life of his friend and mentor hung in the balance.  If this was the woman that had lured Jack into a trap, Cade could easily see how he would have gone for the bait.
"Are you always so very generous?" she purred?
"That all depends," he countered.  "Perhaps if I get to know you better, I will be.  You never did tell me your name."
She looked deep into his eyes and smiled disarmingly.  "Is it so important?"
It was time to see just how well Jack had taught him about the art of the chase.  Cade lifted his tankard.  "It's very important, if I wish to make a toast to an incredibly beautiful woman."
Her eyebrows went up and she smiled, obviously flattered.  "You are a very persuasive man."
"I'm just getting started."
She lifted her tankard, giving her hair a little toss as she did so.  "My name is Rebeca."
Cade smiled broadly.  This might be the one they had been looking for!  Now for the next phase.  He put his tankard against hers and held it there.
"A beautiful woman with a beautiful name.  Could this night be more complete?"
"How do you English put it?  If you play your cards right?  Is that it?"
"That's it, exactly, love."
Little did Rebeca know the game she had gotten herself into.

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

For and hour, maybe more, the two teased and flirted and drank.  Cade was amazed at the amount of alcohol Rebeca was able to put away, but it was finally catching up to her.  She had become loud very affectionate, and he tried his best to mirror her drunkeness.  Cade was certainly feeling no pain, but this was nothing like the times he, Jack, and Briggs decided to paint the town red.  On those occasions he could hardly stand, and Jack was still going strong.  He hoped that Rebeca wasn't putting on an act as well.  Finally, he got his answer.
"Cade, I think you are trying to make me borracha!" she giggled.
"Borracha?  What's that?  Something good, I hope!"
"It means I'm drunk, you Englishman!" she said with feigned indignation.  "You need to improve your vocabulary.  And you need to be very, very careful."
"And why must I be careful."
"Because of what happens when me est borracha.  Want to know what that is?"  She was trying to act serious and flirtatious at the same time, but only succeeded in slurring her words whilst bobbing like a channel marker on a windy day.
Cade leaned on the table and propped his chin with his hand.  "I can't wait to hear this."
"Then I will tell you!  When I am drunk, I really like to..." Rebeca leaned in and finished her sentence in Cade's ear.  His eyes became the size of dinner plates.
"So?  Does that sound like fun to you, Cade Jennings?"
"I'd be a fool if I said no to any of that."  He figured her proposition was a ruse, just like she had probably used a hundred times before.  But he had to see how far she was willing to take things.  Was she a serious player, or simply full of liquid courage?  Cade needed to get her out of this noisy tavern room to some place where he could find out what, if anything, she knew about Jack.  "I have a room upstairs.  And I would love to indulge your whims.  Every last one of them."
Rebeca smiled enthusiastically.  "Show me the way!"

Cade stood and helped Rebeca to her feet.  As he turned to lead her upstairs to the room, he found himself face to face with the tavern wench who had been flirting with him earlier.  She stood there, arms crossed, holding her tray to her chest, with an accusatory look on her face.  Cade gave her a sheepish smile.  She rolled her eyes and brushed past him.
"Another of your women?" Rebeca asked.
"No, and I doubt she ever will be now."
"She is jealous!" she laughed, hanging on his arm.  "Wait until I spoil you for other women.  Then she will have a reason to be jealous!"
Cade turned and kissed her hand, never taking his eyes from hers.  "I can hardly wait!"
She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close.  "I wonder... just who is seducing whom now?"
"Does it matter any more?" he asked, his lips nearly brushing hers.
Rebeca's expression had gone from that of a calculating seductress to one of willing abandon.  She shook her head no.  Cade lingered for a moment, then led her up the stairs.

They paused at the door to Cade's room.  He fumbled for the key, finally finding it and unlocking the door.
"Cade?"
He turned, just as Rebeca practically tackled him and began kissing him deeply.  The couple stumbled through the door and landed on the bed, with her on top of him.  She began tearing at his clothes, but stopped cold when they heard a man's cough and the sound of the door closing.  She looked up, startled, to find the room lit with candles.  Two men were there, looking bemused.  The oldest man, a fellow with shaggy light brown hair and a beard, had been the one to close the door.  He stood there with his back to the door, blocking it in case she tried to escape.
"I hope we ain't interruptin' things, Mister Jennings," Josiah Briggs said.
"What this hell is this?!" Rebeca demanded.  "This is not part of the deal, Cade," she said angrily.  "Your friends are not invited.  Get rid of them!"
"Oh, we wouldn't think of leavin'," said Briggs.  "You're our guest for a little while."
She looked at Cade, and slammed her fist on his chest.  "You bastard!"  She scrambled to her feet and looked from man to man like some caged animal.  "I will scream, I swear it!"
"Go ahead," said Cade.  "The innkeeper knows we're here and what this is all about."
"You-- you what?  Someone, tell me what is going on!"
Briggs leaned nonchalantly against the door.  "It's simple, missy.  You're gonna park yer Spanish behind in that empty chair.  And then you're gonna start answerin' some questions.  Truthfully."
"Questions?  About what?"
"What happened the night Jack Wolfe went missing," said Cade.
Rebeca's eyes went wide.  She mouthed as if she was going to cry out for help.  Instead, she fainted dead away.
Briggs looked at Cade and shrugged.  "Looks like this'll take a little longer than we expected.  Make yerself useful and get us some coffee."

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

Rebeca stirred, and her eyes fluttered open.  She found herself in a chair with her hands bound behind her and tied fast the the chair.  She could hear men's voices speaking softly.  In anger and panic, she tried to scream for help.  But her mouth was too well gagged.  Her muffled cries would reach no one who could help.
"Well, lookie who's awake!" said Briggs.  "McGlynn, pull her gag.  Mind yer fingers.  She's a feisty one, if the way she was maulin' Cade is any clue."
McGlynn approached her cautiously, making sure to keep his fingers well away from her teeth.  Instead of trying to bite him, she attempted to spit in his face.  Her mouth was too dry from the cloth, but it got her point across.  Briggs and Cade chuckled as McGlynn back-pedalled.
"What do you want with me, you Inglés carajo?!" she spat.
"Calm down there, missy," said Briggs.  "We got a few questions for ye, and yer cooperation would be kindly appreciated."
"¡Perro!  I will not answer any of you until you untie me!"
"See, that there ain't what I'd call bein' cooperative.  Be stubborn all ye want.  We got nowhere to be but right here, waitin' for you to talk."
"And if I refuse?  You will beat me, am I right?"
Briggs shook his head.  "My mama taught me that's not a nice thing to do.  Don't go pushin' yer luck, tough.  Mama Briggs ain't here to stay my hand."
Rebeca stared daggers back at him.
"Now, McGlynn here, his mama never taught him any different.  He likes to get right to the point, as they say."
McGlynn never said a word, but smiled gleefully as he pulled from his pocket a whetstone and a long, menacing knife.  Without taking his eyes from her, he began honing the knife's edge with long, deliberate strokes.
"Now, Miss Rebeca," Briggs continued, "There be one thing keepin' ye from getting' acquainted with McGlynn's special talents.  The truth.  We know ye were with Jack Wolfe the night he went missin'.  We want to know who ye were workin' for, and where they took him."
Rebeca's body stiffened.  "I do not know this Jack Wolfe."
"You're a poor liar," said Cade.  "We all saw how you reacted to his name earlier."
"You are imagining things," she said defiantly.
"I'm gonna ask you one more time," said Briggs.  "Who are you workin' for?  Tell us what we need to know, and we'll let ye go free.  You're only makin' it harder on yourself otherwise."
Rebeca kept her silence.
"Damn it, woman!  A man's life is probably hangin' in the balance!  Don't ye understand that?"
Cade shook his head in exasperation.  "We're wasting our time trying to appeal to her better nature, Josiah.  She probably doesn't have one."
"Aye, ye have a point.  Speakin' of points, maybe we should appeal to her self interest."

Briggs turned to McGlynn and nodded in Rebeca's direction.  McGlynn grinned and got up from his chair.  As he walked toward Rebeca, he kept up the lopsided maniacal grin as he held the blade upright just in front of his face, swinging it back and forth like the pendulum of a metronome.  Rebeca held her breath as the wild-eyed man approached.
"Such a shame," said Cade.  "And it was a lovely face, too."
"Don't fret none," Briggs said.  "She'll find a job scrubbin' floors or muckin' stalls.  Somewhere's they don't have to look at her."
McGlynn stopped in front of the girl and gave an odd little laugh before slowly walking around behind her.  Her eyes grew wider with fear when she heard his footsteps stop directly behind her.
"Once again," said Cade.  "Who were you working for?  Who wanted to capture Jack Wolfe and used you as bait?"
"I can't... oh dios mio!" she gasped as she felt the icy steel of McGlynn's blade against her neck.  "I swore I would not tell!  Do not kill me, por favor!  I beg you!"  Tears of desperation began to stream down her face.
"The name," pressed Briggs.
"It'd be a right pity to make a mess o' your face," hissed McGlynn menacingly.  "Do be a love an' tell us the name."
Sobbing, Rebeca whispered the name.
"Louder," commanded Cade.  "Or Mister McGlynn has his way with you."
"MENDOZA!" she shouted through her tears.  "Colonel Mendoza!  He is the one who hired me..."  Her voice trailed off as she sobbed more.
"Damn it!  I should've known it was that bastard," growled Briggs.  "Where did they take Jack?"
"I do not know!  They never told me, only who was paying me!"
"I dunno, Master Briggs," said McGlynn, placing the blade against her cheek.  "I could cheer her up with a really grand smile..."
Rebeca wailed in terror, begging in Spanish and English.  "Oh, God, please, no!!  I do not know, I swear!!" she finally got out.
"Stand down, McGlynn.  That's an order.  She doesn't know."
McGlynn let out a heavy sigh, and returned to her chair.  Cade poured her a drink and went to her side.
"I'm sorry we had to put you through that, Rebeca.  But you're the only one who could help us find our friend.  I hope you understand."
"If Mendoza finds out I told you, he will have me killed," she said shakily.
"We won't tell a soul how we found out if it comes to that.  Here, have a sip of this."
She drank greedily, hoping to soothe her shattered nerves.  "Please untie me."
"Not until you're calmer.  Then I promise we'll let you go."
"I am feeling calmer, Cade.  I promise not to tell anyone about you.  It would mean my death if I did."  She paused for a moment and gave him a quizzical look.  "My head feels strange.  What did you do?"
"One more thing for you to forgive, I'm afraid.  You'll sleep for a long time."
"You... bast..." Rebeca slurred, before her head lolled over.
Cade quickly untied her and carried her to the bed.

"Sweet Jesus," said McGlynn as he downed a cup of rum.  "I'm surprised she didn't feel me bloody hand shakin', holdin' that knife to her.  I was scared to death!"
"She was more scared than you," Briggs said.  "You did good.  Had me convinced ye were off yer nut."
"What do we do now?" asked Cade.
"Well, we know Mendoza has Jack.  He won't be near as kind as we were to Rebeca here," said Briggs.  "We need to find where that Spanish jackal is, and fast."
"Then what?"
"Then we get Jack back.  Or die tryin'."

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

Low grey clouds scudded across the Barbados sky as the Neptune Rising dropped anchor in St. Lawrence's harbour.  The winds kicked up the waves just enough to make any attempt to dock too risky, so Rhys elected to wait out the weather and ride at anchor.  He stood on the quarterdeck and surveyed the docks with a spyglass, ignoring the winds as they whipped his hair into his face.

"Do you see her, Captain?" asked Dolan.  "It'd be like Wolfe to have already headed back.  We'll be chasing his crazy arse all over the Caribbean."
"Patience, my friend," said Rhys as he continued to scan the docks.  "Jack is unpredictable to his enemies, but as constant as the stars to his friends.  If he's not here, then Bonita has seen prey he can't resist."
"You actually believe that witch woman has the sight?"
"I haven't seen anything to make me think otherwise.  And the fact you believe in second sight at all tells me you think she may be genuine enough.  But if Jack said he'd be in St. Lawrence, then St. Lawrence is where he'll be...  ah!  There's El Lobo.  And there's a lot of activity around her.  They're taking on a lot of cargo.  Looks like they are getting ready to sail.  That's odd."
"Ha!" said Dolan.  "I was right, they'll be headed back to Tortuga or Port Royal just as we arrive."
Rhys collapsed the spyglass and looked on at El Lobo with worried puzzlement.  "Something's not right about this."
"A hunch, Captain?"
"A hunch.  Make ready the longboat.  We're going ashore."

Briggs' face was a mask of grim determination as he oversaw the ship's preparation from the quarterdeck.  Almost three weeks had passed since they found out who ordered the kidnapping of Jack Wolfe.  After seemingly endless inquiries of personnel from every ship that came into St. Lawrence, Mendoza's stronghold was finally discovered.  That was four days ago, and Briggs had worked ceaselessly to formulate a rescue plan.  Worry and lack of sleep etched deep lines into his features.  Cade was certain the quartermaster was growing old before his eyes, and he worried about the toll the burden of command was taking on Briggs.  Josiah Briggs was superb at commanding a ship, but he was not a leader of men nor a military strategist.
Briggs expression brightened a little when he saw Rhys and Dolan reach the top of the gangplank.  "If ye ain't a sight for sore eyes, Rhys Morgan!" he cried.  Briggs hurried down to the weather deck, and for a moment Rhys was certain he was about to be on the receiving end of a bear hug.  Instead, Briggs shook the young man's hand hard enough to make the knuckles roll uncomfortably.
"What's going on?" asked Rhys.  "You look like you're laying in for an extended cruise.  Where's Jack?"
Briggs' face went stony.  "Ye ain't heard?"
"We just made port this morning.  I saw all the activity and came straight here."
"Come with me, then," sighed Briggs heavily.  "All hell's broke loose whilst ye were gone.  I'll get ye up to speed.  You're gonna need a drink.  I know I do."

The three men went below and aft to the great cabin.  Rhys paused as he stepped through the door.  It was a disaster area.  Clothes strewn about, maps and other papers covering nearly every horizontal surface.  In amidst the maps and rutters on the large table, there was a plate of partially eaten food.  Rhys guessed the ship's cat had eaten more of it than Briggs.  Briggs himself sat down.  Collapsed was more like it.
"What's the big mystery?" asked Rhys.
"More'n a month ago, Jack went missin'," answered Briggs.  "Vanished into thin air.  It's taken us until now to find out who was behind it and where they took him."
"Jack's got his share of enemies," said Dolan.
"Aye, that's true enough of us all, if ye been on the account as long as we have," replied Briggs.  "Some enemies are more heinous than others."
"Mendoza," said Rhys.
Briggs nodded.
Rhys' jaw clenched.  Jack and Mendoza's feud was well known, everyone knew the wisest choice was to not get between the two headstrong men.  A good many dirty tricks hd been played on both sides, but this was Mendoza's most audacious.  "Where is he?"
"Mendoza was made governor of Rio del la Hacha after leavin' Cuba."  Briggs turned one of the maps around and pointed to a spot on the northern coast of South America.  "Word is he's got a right proper fortress there."

An uneasy feeling settled in Rhys' stomach.  He knew the quartmaster's next move.  Mount a rescue of his captain and friend.  "What's the plan?"
"We've signed on extra crew, and we've mounted four culverines, two a side, 22-pounders each.  That oughta at least get their attention, I'm thinkin'..."
"Now, wait a moment," Rhys interrupted.  "With one ship, you intend to lay siege to a fortress?  How many guns do they have?  Do you even know?"
"There's a hell of a lot we don't know.  Such as what we're up against, or if this'll even work," said Briggs testily.  "By I do know this: I'll be damned if I sit by whilst Jack gets tortured to death by that Spanish butcher!"
Rhys took a deep breath.  He knew Briggs was out of his depth, desperate to try anything.  But charging in, guns blazing, engaging a fortress in an artillery battle with only one vessel, was a suicide mission.  The ship would be picked apart in short order by gunners trained to defend the harbour, and a lot more men than Jack would end up dead when all was said and done. 
"Josiah, I understand you need to rescue Jack, but there's no way your plan can work.  I'm sorry, but that is how I see it."
"I ain't givin' up.  No way in hell will I do that."  Briggs uncorked a bottle and poured everyone a drink.  He leaned back with his cup and looked Rhys in the eye.   "Fine.  I knew this plan didn't have much of a chance, but it's somethin'.  You're a smart man, Rhys.  Smarter than me, and right up there with Jack by my reckonin'.  How would you do it?  How would ye rescue Jack?"

At that instant, Rhys didn't want to speak.  He found himself wishing he had never followed Jack to Barbados.  He knew that if he put forth a plan, he would be obligating himself to leading the rescue effort.  How long would it take?  Would it even be successful?  How long would he be delayed in returning to Wales, and his beloved Rhiannon?  And what if he never made it back?  What would become of her, never knowing why he didn't return?
But he knew in his heart that if Jack Wolfe stood a chance of being rescued, he would have to step forward and lead the mission.
"All right," Rhys began, dreading the words he was about to say.  "Here's what we're going to do..."

In his heart, Rhys prayed Rhiannon would understand why he was delayed.  And that he would indeed hold her in his arms again.

[Welsh Wench]

"I'm here to see my sister."
Mother Superior looked up to see a stylish woman in her early twenties standing before her. She had luxurious honey-blonde curls and sparkling hazel eyes. And an air to the manor born.
"I'm sorry, Lady Llewellyn. Your sister is not able to receive visitors."
Lady Llewellyn took her gloves off carefully.
"And why is she 'not able to receive visitors'?"
"I'm afraid that is abbey business. She is a ward of the convent. And as such, she is under my care."
"And ownership? You seem to deny access to her on a regular basis, Mother Superior."
"I have been entrusted with her education and upbringing and----"
Lady Llewellyn leaned over the desk, her hands gripping the sides of it. She went nose to nose with the nun and said in measured tones, "I am well aware that you personally do not care for my sister. But she is a Conaway and I shall see her at once."
The nun and Lady Llewellyn locked eyes.
The younger woman continued, "Please don't make me go to the bishop with my suspicions that you tend to imbibe in the sacrificial wine."
"I NEVER!"
Lady Llewellyn stood up again. "True or not, it will result in an investigation and I am sure you would not like having to answer questions. Now I would suggest you get your fat arse up and lead me to Rhiannon."
The Mother Superior pursed her lips, her face turning crimson red. However, this was the daughter of her benefactor and any disturbance into the arrangement and the nun knew she could end up nursing lepers in Malta.
"Very well. Follow me."
"I knew you would see reason."

Mother Superior led the way down a hall to a small room. She knocked on the door and then opened it.
Stiffly, she said, "You have a visitor, Miss Conaway."
"Megan!"
Rhiannon leaped off the bed and hugged her sister fiercely.
Megan turned to the Mother and said, "You can go now. And close the door."
Without a word, Mother Superior turned on her heel and left.
Megan took Rhiannon's face in her hands and looked at her carefully. "Are you allright?"
Rhiannon nodded. "Yes, now that you are here."
"She's been up to the same shine?"
"Not since Muir finally bit her hand. She threatened to have him poisoned. And I told her if she laid a hand on him, I would personally throw her out the belltower."
"Why did Muir bite her? I mean, he must have had a good reason."
"She took a switch to me once too often."
Megan hugged her sister. "You will be eighteen in another year, darling. And then you will no longer be a ward of this convent. Daffyd and I will see that you make a smart match."
Rhiannon held her finger up and whispered, "I'm taken care of."

Megan stared at her sister for a few moments. She blurted out, "Oh, PLEASE don't tell me you have decided to take the veil! I'll yank you out of here so fast!"
Rhiannon burst out laughing.
"Perish the thought! Me? A NUN?"
Megan put her hand over her heart and stated, relieved, "Thank God! I can't see you as a 'bride of Christ!'"
Rhiannon said smugly, "Oh, I'll be a bride alright. Megan, the most wonderful thing has happened. I'm in love!"
Muir looked at Rhiannon with a look that almost said, 'Go on! Go on! Tell her who it is! Please! Please! Please!'
Megan stood there expectantly, her hands on her hips.
"Well? Out with it? It certainly can't be Lord Buckley's son Percival."
Rhiannon shook her head.
"Not one of Sir Neville's sons!"
"No, not one of the Neville brothers."
"I heard Lord Madoc Castlemaine is 'in the market'."
"Oh, please! He's as old as Father!"
Megan tapped her foot and gestured with an 'out with it' gesture.
Rhiannon let out a pent-up breath. "Do you ever hear of Lord Owain Morgan?"
Megan nodded slowly. "Yes. Very powerful and influential family to the south of us. From Monmouthshire."
"I'm going to marry Lord Morgan's son."
Megan looked at her sister and then burst out laughing. "Rhiannon, you have such a wild imagination!"
Rhiannon looked hurt at her sister.
"It's true!"
Megan shook her head. "Sir Cadfael is engaged to Lady Gwyneth Evans."
Then a long pause. "Wait...Rhiannon you don't mean...the other one?"
Rhiannon looked down and said, "By the other one, if you mean Rhys Morgan, then yes."
She looked up. "I am going to marry Rhys Morgan!" Her eyes were shining, her face full of hope.
Megan looked at her sister and said, mostly to herself, "I should have known. He's a---a pirate!"
Then she burst out laughing. "A pirate! Rhiannon, leave it to you to give Father the coronary he is certainly going to have!"
Rhiannon and Megan sat on her bed. Rhiannon told her how she met Rhys again and the plans they made.
"And we are going to live in Monmouthshire. As soon as he comes back."
"And where has he gone?"
"To the Caribbean. He is meeting a Captain Ferret--or maybe it is Coyote, I am not sure--but he is wrapping up his pirate business and then he will be back by the end of December to take me to Monmouthshire. I am sure Father will be glad that I will be Lady Morgan."
"And what will Captain Morgan do with his life now?"
She said proudly, "He will be an astronomy cartographer. He is going back to Cambridge to finish his studies. We have it all planned out."
"And what are these plans?"
"As soon as Rhys is in port, Athena will get word to me. And look!"

She reached under her bed and pulled out a few boxes of things.
"I have already begun to pack. Muir and I can be out of here in fifteen minutes."
Megan started to laugh.
"Oh, Rhiannon! This is priceless! I would love to see Father's face when he finds out."
"So will I. But alas, I shall be far away."

The sisters spent the next hour catching up on the shire gossip. Megan described every little thing her little son Dylan had done.
As Megan rose to go, Rhiannon hugged her tightly, the tears starting to spill over.
"I can't tell you how much your visits mean to me, Megan. I--I miss you and Dilys and Gwyneth so much!"
"Gwyneth will try to get here next week. She has a few essentials she thinks you need and Dilys always makes sure some sweetmeats are tucked away for you."
Rhiannon hugged her sister all the more tighter.
"I will send word with Athena when I am safely gone."

Megan held her sister at arm's length and said seriously, "If there is anything you need, you come straight to me. Understand?"
Rhiannon nodded.
"I don't care what time of day or night it is. You come home. Daffyd loves you like a sister.
Promise me? Promise me you will come right to me?"
Rhiannon nodded. "I shall. If I am ever in trouble, Megan, I know that you and Daffyd will take me in and take care of me."
Megan clasped her sister and whispered, "Promise me."
"I shall. No matter what happens in my life, I shall always come home to you, Megan."
Megan kissed the top of her sister's head and whispered, "God be with you, little sister!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Megan walked by the Mother Superior. The nun sat there pretending to be busy writing.  All of a sudden, her wrist was caught in a gloved grip.
Megan leaned across the desk and said in a solemn voice, "You ever lay a hand or take a switch to my sister again, the Conaways will make sure this abbey is torn down. Stone by stone, brick by brick. And I'll personally make sure you are assigned to pick up any missing or detached body parts on a leper colony so far out of this realm, even God himself won't be able to find you."
With that Megan slammed the abbey door behind her.

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

Three days after Rhys arrived in St. Lawrence, he left again, this time aboard El Lobo del Mar.  He had convinced Briggs to dismount the heavy culverines and replace them with regular guns.  Their additional weight would have slowed their progress more than Rhys cared to imagine.  Never mind that one ship was useless against a fortress, if there indeed was one.  If Jack was going to be rescued, stealth was the key.  Not a short-lived, futile artillery battle.

Rhys had plotted a course that would take them to Rio de la Hacha, a town on the northern coast of South America just west of the centre of the Spanish Main, in just under a week if the winds stayed in their favour.  He wished that if this rescue mission had to happen at all, that it had been launched from Port Royal.  A fast sail almost due south, and no islands or coastline to skirt or heavily travelled shipping lanes to avoid.  But fate demanded that they take a course that would bring them dangerously close to the Spanish ports of Caracas, Coro, Portobello, and Maricaibo, and the Dutch ports of Aruba and Curacao.  Each one could be counted on for complete intolerance of a pirate vessel in their waters.  As an added measure of security, Rhys had the distinctive wolf figurehead replaced with the original carving of Mercedes Mendoza herself.  Briggs understood the reasoning, since the wolf was unique to El Lobo, but he wouldn't quit grumbling about how the change was "ruining Jack's ship" and that it was a "bad omen for sure" until her hair and dress had been painted appropriate shades of red.  Rhys and Dolan had a good chuckle over how even Briggs' highly superstitious nature could be calmed by a pretty redhead, even in effigy.

Dolan's talents as a master forger would serve them well should any patrol ships intercept them.  Thanks to an impressive collection of official seals they had appropriated over the years, he was able to produce impressively faked official papers from the Dutch and Spanish governments that they hoped would satisfy even the most suspicious naval officer even if flying the proper flags didn't.

What caught Rhys by surprise, almost as much as Jack's being taken, was Briggs' insistence that he not only lead the rescue, but take command of El Lobo herself.
"What?  Me?" stammered Rhys.  "No, Josiah, I can't.  You know this ship and her crew best.  They trust you."
"Aye, and I trust ye," said Briggs.  "That's good enough for them."  He took a ragged breath.  "Rhys, it took me days to come up with a plan, and my best thinkin' would have got us blown out of the water without ever gettin' close enough to help Jack.  I ain't got the head for this sort of thing.  But ye most certainly do.  If we're to save Jack Wolfe, you're the man what's gonna make it happen."
Rhys leaned back against the heavy wooden table and looked at the floor.  As he thought about what Briggs said, he wished his Uncle Henry were there to talk it out with.  But he knew what the advice would be: "You're in the yoke already, lad.  What's one more bit of burden?  That's why God gave you those broad Morgan shoulders.  Use 'em."
"All right," he said quietly.
"Ye'll do it, then?"
"Yes, Josiah.  I'll do it.  The important thing is that we get Jack home and safe.  If this will help that cause, I'll do it."
Briggs breathed a sigh of relief.  "I knew ye'd see it that way!  Ye won't regret it, Rhys."
"I already do."
"Ye're talkin' about that lass back in Wales, ain't ye?"
"Rhiannon.  Yes.  I promised her I'd be back in three months.  Heaven only knows how long I'll be delayed now."
"She'll still be waitin' for ye, if it's meant to be.  Ye'll have her in yer arms again before ye know it."
"I hope you're right, Josiah.  But life didn't stand still here whilst I was gone.  How can I expect it to there?"
"The same reason I believe Jack is still alive.  Faith.  It's all we got.  Let that sustain ye."

Rhys was heartened at the crew's reaction to Briggs' announcement that he would be the acting captain of El Lobo for the rescue.  The men seemed to go about their work with renewed vigour and purpose, eager to put to sea.  They responded even better than the Neptune Rising's crew, much to his amazement.  Either they respected Rhys that much, or they wanted their old captain back so badly they'd endure any master that would fulfil that end.  Rhys was content to split the difference.  He wanted this ordeal over and done with as soon as possible, preferably with Jack alive to resume command and let Rhys get on with his life.

Much to everyone's relief, the voyage went swiftly, without incident.  Their closest call was with a Spanish war galleon that fell in step with them as they passed the bay that let to Maricaibo and Portobello.  The galleon raised the flag of Spain, and El Lobo raised theirs in kind.  Things got tense when the galleon fired a salute, and the crew thought they were under attack.  Fortunately, Rhys realised the flag they were flying was that of the Spanish royal court, of which Mendoza was a dubious member.  He swiftly instructed the gun crews to fire a return salute of six guns, without shot, in rapid succession.  Once the salute was returned, the war galleon broke off and allowed the pirate ship to continue on.

They hugged the coast after that, finding themselves harassed only once by a group of Native war canoes, who attacked solely because of the Spanish flag they'd forgotten to take down.  Briggs quickly ran up Jack's flag, a rampant wolf astride two crossed swords, and the Indians broke off, choosing to fall in beside the ship shouting cheers.  Rhys had the ship slow at that point, and invited some of the natives aboard.  They told him, in broken Spanish, that they were indeed on course to Rio de la Hacha, but that they had best not approach the city directly.  Instead, there was a large bay just to the northeast where they could anchor and hide the ship among the huge mangroves that crowded the shoreline.  From there, it would be a hike of roughly a mile to the town.  In an incredibly generous gesture, they offered to serve as guides.

"Why would you tell me this?" asked Rhys.
"Because," said the chief, who called himself William.  "You are the enemy of Chief Mendoza.  He has brought much sorrow to my people.  He makes us slaves.  Mendoza makes everyone slaves, even his own kind.  If rescuing your chief brings grief and anger to Mendoza, then my people will help any way we can.  Anger makes him foolish.  We will strike at that time, once you are away, to avenge my people."
Rhys pushed bowls of meat and rum forward to William.
"We accept your offer, and we promise to bring much grief to Chief Mendoza."
William nibbled at the meat, and spat it out.  Apparently the salt taste disagreed with him.  But the rum was a far different story.  Thanks to Jack's impressive collection of Caribbean rums, it wasn't long before the chief was pledging undying loyalty, if Rhys agreed to leave several barrels of the amber liquid behind after the rescue was complete.  Rhys promised William eight barrels of rum as payment for his assistance, which William gladly accepted.

"Y'know, Jack ain't gonna be much too pleased with ye emptyin' the rum stores to a bunch of Indians," Briggs commented the next morning as they watched a still drunken William and his men row out ahead of the ship.
"I think Jack will understand why I did it," said Rhys.  "We need every bit of help we can get at this point.  Rum is the least of my worries."
Briggs shook his head.  "Ye don't know Jack and his rum.  Tell me; how many time you reckon ye've seen Jack sober?"
"I assumed almost always."
"As Jack would say, to assume the obvious is to overlook the obvious.  That man ain't drawn a sober breath in the past five years, at least."
"Why on earth would he do that to himself?"
"Why does he do anything he does?  God only knows, and He ain't tellin'."
"Then Mendoza can't torture Jack any more than he's tortured himself.  I can't imagine what's driven him to... wait!  What's William doing?"
William was standing up in the lead war canoe, waving and pointing wildly toward the shoreline.  As Rhys and Briggs watched, a bay opened up before them.  The mouth of it wasn't very wide, but it was sufficient for El Lobo to pass without trouble.  It was ringed by mangrove trees, which would provide excellent cover from passing vessels.
"Think you can get us in there, Master Briggs?" asked Rhys.
"Just you watch me!" grinned the quartermaster, who went immediately to the forward rail of the quarterdeck and began shouting orders to the crew.  Within a few minutes, the sails were struck just enough to carry the ship gently into the mouth of the bay.
The easy part was over.  They'd made it to Rio de la Hacha.  Now the real work began.  Get into the city, find a way into where Jack was being held, and get him to safety.
That is, if he was still alive.

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

As the sun set behind the bay where El Lobo was anchored, Rhys, Briggs, and Dolan met with Chief William and four of his men.  William drew a rough map in the sand of the route they would take through the jungle that skirted a makeshift road that ran near the water, and a crude representation of the town itself.  Rio de la Hacha was typical of many well established Spanish colonies in that the town had originally been contained within the fortress walls, but thanks to success and population growth spilled outside of the stone walls.  As Mendoza increased his power, he forced the general populace out of the fortress complex entirely, including the church, and converted any housing into barracks for the garrison.  To quell the outcry of the citizenry over this move, Mendoza threw a considerable amount of gold into a new, ornate church, complete with an abbey.  He put even more into additional fortifications guarding the town and his de facto castle.

William promised that he and his men would camp on the shore near the ship, waiting to create a diversion when Rhys and company returned with Jack.  His plan was for them to rush to the outskirts of the town and cause a commotion, with the intent of buying El Lobo time to get out of the bay unnoticed.  If the sentries were busy combing the jungle for marauding natives, reasoned William, the less likely anyone would take note of a departing vessel.  No one could argue with his logic.

Still, there were misgivings.

"I don't know if I trust this one," said Briggs as they moved through the jungle.  Broken moonlight served as their only illumination as they negotiated the dense foliage slowed their progress.  "Seems like he's goin' to a lot of trouble just to see Mendoza get egg on his face."
"Don't worry yourself, Josiah," answered Rhys.  "I trust him, but only so far.  He seems sincere enough.  We know the Spanish have enslaved every Indian they can get their hands on.  If we're successful, he'll probably go back to his people with a bloody great tale of how he led a coup against Mendoza.  As long as we get Jack back and alive, let him have his story.  Maybe he can use it to rally his people and really have a go against the bastard."
"I suppose," grumbled Briggs.  "As long as he's there to make a ruckus like he promised, that's all I care."
"If we're inventive enough, then it won't matter if he's there or not," offered Dolan.
Rhys chuckled.  "You're the optimist tonight!"
"I figure we'd snuck in and out of enough places in our time," Dolan said, "this oughta be easy."
"Just how many Spanish fortresses have ye slipped in and out of, unseen and unheard?" asked Briggs.
Dolan took his time answering.  "Well... this'll be the first.  But we're very good!"
Briggs snorted.  "I'm feelin' better about this already."
"We'll worry about getting into the town first, then Mendoza's keep," said Rhys.  "One step at a time."

Finally, they reached the first outlying houses.  They were modest, built of stone and mud brick, with thatched roofs.  No lights could be seen in any of the windows.  It was late enough that everyone was asleep.  Hopefully they would stay that way.
William put his hand on Rhys' shoulder.  "Here is where we part ways, for now," he said quietly.  We will see you again at your ship with your friend.  May the spirits guide you and keep you safe."
"In four days, if not sooner," replied Rhys.  "Thank you again for your help."
William nodded, then motioned to his men.  With barely a sound, they disappeared into the jungle.

The three men moved quietly and carefully between the houses, trying not to disturb any of the chickens and other animals that either slept or stood in their pens.  They spotted a lane just beyond the last house in their path.  As they rounded the corner of the house, Rhys froze and held up his hand for the others to stop.
"Company," he whispered.
All three hid in the shadows and waited.  A man on horseback was slowly making his way up the lane in their direction.
"Patrol?" whispered Dolan.  Rhys motioned for his friend to stay quiet.
The horse continued on the road until it was in front of the house where the three men were hiding.  It paused, then stepped onto the narrow dirt path that led to the house.  When horse and rider got to about twenty feet from the house, they stopped.

The three men held their breath.  But the rider, who they were certain suspected their presence, said nothing.  After a short while, the horse shifted, as if fidgeting in boredom.  The rider remained silent.  Rhys nodded to Briggs and Dolan, and all three drew their pistols and stepped into the moonlight.  They waited for the rider to respond, but nothing happened.
Finally, Rhys made a few cautious steps forward.  The horse looked at him, but the rider did not move.  Dolan and Briggs joined Rhys, and they approached the rider.  That's when they heard a strange noise.
Snoring.
The rider was fast asleep, probably after far too much to drink at the tavern.  In a ritual that had no doubt played out many times before, the trusty animal had carried his slumbering master safely home.

Quietly chuckling more in relief than anything else, the trio looked around for any other surprises, then set off down the worn road toward the centre of town.

Rio de la Hacha was a run of the mill Spanish settlement in the Caribbean, save for the stone-walled fortress that loomed over it.  Thirty-foot walls sprang up at the city's centre, with  large, domed watchtowers at each of its four corners.  A multitude of notches were built into the top rim of the walls, with a cannon barrel protruding from each one.  Smaller swivelling guns, called patereros, were mounted on the parapets beside each cannon.  Their use was more anti-personnel in nature, which undoubtedly sent a message to the general populace to accept whatever Mendoza decreed.

The sight sent a chill through Rhys.  They weren't dealing with just any vengeful man.  Diego Mendoza was a full-fledged despot, with the arms and manpower to enforce his every whim.
"Our informants fell short," Rhys said quietly.
"I hate bein' right," Briggs grunted.
Dolan was a bit more philosophical.  "All right, it's a tad bigger'n what I expected.  But there's a door, yeah?  A door is a way in and out.  We'll be fine.  Have to get inventive, but we're fine."
"Optimistic bugger," grumbled Briggs.
"Look," said Dolan.  "I know you'll move Heaven and Earth, and Hell if need be, to save Jack.  Same with Rhys.  All we need is a way in.  It's there, which means we'll find it.  It's up to Jack to hold on 'til we get there."
"Where'd ye hire this one, Rhys?" Briggs asked.  "He's crazy enough to be one of Jack's own crew."
Rhys gave a small laugh.  "I guess Jack rubbed off on me more than I realised.  Otherwise I never would have hired him."
Dolan grinned, but the grin faded as the jibes settled in.  "Oi, wait a minute!" he said in mock protest.

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

"What we need to do is get our silly arses off the street before a patrol comes round," said Briggs warily. 
They could hear the muted sounds of a busy tavern just around the corner.  Above its door was a sign that read "Le Feliz Bol."
"'The Happy Bull'," read Rhys.  "Sounds lively enough.  Shall we?  Tongues should be wagging freely enough, perhaps we'll learn a few things about this fair town."
Tavern was like any other in a port town.  The patrons were primarily sailors from other lands, but a few hard-partying locals were still there enjoying themselves, and the tavern girls were enjoying everyone's money.  The trio nonchalantly took up a table with a clear view of the door and window.  It wasn't long before a tavern wench was there to take their orders.
"What can I get you boys?" she asked in surprisingly good English.  Beaming with pride at their reaction, she added, "Consuela speaks fine English, no?"
"Yes, ye do!" said Briggs.  "But how'd ye know we be English?"
"I have been in taverns since I was a little girl.  Seen lots of men from everywhere.  You are not haughty like the French," she turned her nose up and brushed the underside of it with her forefinger, "and you are not Dutch.  They are too fat."  Consuela smiled coquettishly at Briggs.  "And Englishmen are so handsome."
Dolan and Rhys exchanged bemused looks, and Briggs began to blush.  "Um, I think we'll all be havin' ale, if ye please," the quartermaster said sheepishly.
Consuela smiled and went off to fetch their drinks.  Briggs looked back at his comrades who were still smiling at him.
"What the hell are ye grinnin' at?"
"I think Consuela likes you, Josiah!" Dolan said.
"Like?" said Rhys.  "Painting the nursery is more like it."
"All right, have ye had yer fun?" Briggs groused.
Dolan chuckled.  "Not even close!"
Rhys was quick to interject.  "Josiah, this may be a valuable turn for us.  She doesn't miss much.  If you can get her talking, maybe she knows something that will help."
Briggs sighed heavily.  "Well, she ain't much to look at..."
"When did you get particular?" asked Dolan.  Briggs shot him a look and started to open his mouth.
"It's not like we're asking you to sleep with her," interrupted Rhys.  "Fine, she's not a redhead, and she's seen better days.  Just make her feel appreciated, chat her up a bit, use your charm..."
Dolan snorted.
"... and see if she has anything to say that can help us find Jack," Rhys finished.
"Aye, for Jack," Briggs agreed.

Consuela returned with mugs filled to the rim with ale.  She deftly placed a mug in front of each man, smiling proudly when she finished.
"Look!" she announced, holding up her tray.  "Not a drop spilled!"
The men gave her a brief round of applause, and Briggs slipped a few coins into her hand for payment.  Her eyes grew wide when she say how much he'd given her.  She quickly stuffed the money into a pocket in her apron, then leaned close to Briggs and whispered something in his ear.
He smiled back, and said, "Aye, I'd like that!"
Consuela went back to her rounds with an obvious spring in her step.  Briggs sat there, looking pleased with himself.
"Well?" asked Dolan.  "What did she say?"
"That she's done workin' in a little while, and wanted to know if I'd be interested in some food and talk."  He straightened the lapels of his waistcoat.  "She thinks I'm right handsome."
"Warms the heart, them employing the blind such," Dolan said to Rhys.
"Ignore him, Josiah," said Rhys quickly.  "His mouth gets smarter than the rest of his head sometimes.  But this is perfect!  Hopefully she'll know something to set us in the right direction."
Briggs stared into his ale.  "Or let us know we're too late."

Less than half an hour later, Briggs and Consuela were off in a quieter corner of the tavern talking away over a hot meal, Consuela doing most of the talking.    Rhys and Dolan had something to eat as well, and Dolan secured a room at the tavern for them to stay in for the next few days.  When Dolan came back to the table, he found Briggs and Consuela were still talking.
"Is the poor blighter getting a word in edgewise?" he asked Rhys.
Rhys studied the bottom of his nearly empty mug.  "I've seen him nod at least half a dozen times, if that counts."
"I wish they'd hurry up!  Either she knows something, or she doesn't."
"She knows plenty," announced Briggs as he took his seat at their table.
"Thank God," said Rhys.  "We were afraid you were busy making wedding plans and forgot all about Jack."
Briggs gave him a sour look.  "She's already married, not that she was gonna let such get in the way.  But there ain't much goes on around here she don't know about.  First off, she said a bunch of Mendoza's men were throwin' a lot of coin about less than two weeks after Jack went missin'.  Said that Mendoza rewarded 'em for 'removin' a piratical thorn from his side'.  They wouldn't give a name, but Consuela said once a couple of 'em got good and liquored up, damned if they didn't start howlin' like wolves, with the others tryin' to shut 'em up."
"So that confirms it.  He's got Jack, just as we thought," said Dolan.  "Too bad she doesn't know if he's alive."
"From what she says, Mendoza likes makin' a big display of his enemies he's beaten.  Displays their heads on tall stakes outside the entrance to the fort that faces the main street here in town.  There ain't been a fresh one in over six months.  I take it to mean Jack's still alive."
"That's enough to keep my hopes up," said Rhys.
Dolan nodded.  "For me, too.  Now to find a way in there.  I doubt Mendoza would be willing to let Jack have visitors."
"The only livin' souls any of the prisoners get to see other than Mendoza and his men are the monks from the abbey."  Briggs leaned in toward the middle of the table.  "Consuela says the abbot, a Brother Rodrigo, put the screws to Mendoza a while back for not allowin' prisoners care for their bodies and their souls.  It took him a long time and a lot of playin' off that black-hearted devil's Catholic guilt, but he won.  So once a week, the abbot and his boys are let in to try and patch up the ones they can, give last rites to them they can't, and preach the gospel to the rest.  And they make sure the ones that butcher is through with get a proper Christian burial."
Rhys began to smile.  "I take it Brother Rodrigo and Mendoza aren't exactly on the best of terms, then?"
"Mendoza would get rid of the monk if he could, but everybody in town loves him.  And Rodrigo seems to enjoy bein' a pain in that pompous Spaniard's arse."
Now Dolan began to smile.  "I think I've got a sudden urge to give confession, Rhys.  How about you?"
Rhys grinned and lifted his mug.  "I don't know about confession, but I do feel like making a friend with strong ties to the Church!"

[Captain Jack Wolfe]

A quiet knock came on the door, breaking Brother Rodrigo's concentration from the holy tracts he was studying.  He looked up to see Brother Alejandro standing in the doorway with a worried look on his face.  Rodrigo thought nothing of if it, as Alejandro was usually worried about something.  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment.
"Yes, Alejandro?" he asked, trying not to sound too impatient.  The day had brought almost continual interruptions, and it was still morning.
"Your pardon, Brother Rodrigo.  I'm sorry to take you from your studies.  But there are three very unusual men here."
"Surely you or another of the Order can assist them.  What do they want?"
"You, Brother."
Rodrigo blinked.  "Me?  Whatever for?"
"The will not say, except that you are the only one that can help them  They say it is urgent."  Alejandro paused.  "They are Englishmen.  Sailors, by the way they dress."
Rodrigo took a deep breath.  "Where did you leave them?"
"They are in the courtyard, out of sight from the street.  Should I send them away?"

Three English sailors, at the door of an abbey in the heart of a Spanish stronghold, seeking out a solitary monk.  Could it be?
"No, there is no need.  I'll see them."  Rodrigo marked his place in his bible and rose.  "You did well by keeping them from prying eyes.    But I must ask something of you before we talk to them."
"What is that?"
"That you speak of it with no one, inside or outside of these walls, save me.  The Colonel would use their very presence here against us, regardless of their purpose here."
Alejandro nodded.  "You have my solemn word."
The two monks left the cell and walked down the long hallway to the main areas of the abbey.  As they passed the cloister, where the monks came for meditation and reflection, they were stopped by another of their Order.
"Peace to you, Brother Rodrigo,  Brother Alejandro," he said with a nod.
"And peace to you, Brother Esteban," said Rodrigo.
"You seem to be headed somewhere with a purpose," Esteban commented.
"The Lord's work is always an urgent purpose, wouldn't you agree?" countered Rodrigo.
Esteban smiled at the gentle rebuke.  "Yes, of course.  Then I shan't detain you further.  Peace, my brothers."
He stepped aside to let the two pass.  As they continued on to their way, Esteban's face clouded with suspicion.  He waited until they rounded the corner, then began to follow them at a discrete distance.

"Perhaps I worry too much," said Alejandro quietly, "But I find myself unable to fully trust Brother Esteban."
Rodrigo clenched his jaw.  "Our Brother Esteban is better suited to political pursuits than spiritual ones.  If he devoted only a fraction of the effort he spends minding everyone else's business to the Holy scriptures, he'd make a fine monk."  He paused and smiled.  "Forgive me.  As you can tell, I don't trust him either."
"I feel better knowing my misgivings are real."
"Not to worry.  He's meddlesome, but not bold.  When he becomes that, then it's time to be concerned.  Did these men give their names?"
"Only one did.  Morgan, I'm sure he said."
Rodrigo looked sidelong at the other monk.  "Morgan, you say?"
"Yes.  Is that important?"
He quickened their pace.  "Perhaps, Alejandro.  It may mean nothing.  Or everything."

They entered the small courtyard area to find the three men waiting more or less patiently.  Just as Alejandro had said, they appeared to be sailors, rough-hewn and rugged, their clothes well worn though not shabby.  There was a grim intensity to them that was almost palpable.  One of them stepped forward, a young man with grey-green eyes that belonged to a man far older.  Despite his age, he had the bearing of a leader.
"Brother Rodrigo?" he asked.
"I am.  And you are Mister Morgan?"
Rhys smiled with relief.  "Yes.  Please, call me Rhys."
Rodrigo's eyebrows went up at the name. 
"... And these are my friends, Josiah Briggs and Johnny Dolan."
"Please forgive my forwardness," said Rodrigo, "but I am curious why three men, strangers to this place, would seek out a lowly monk as myself?"
"We learned about you from some of the people in town," said Rhys.  "We're hoping you can help us.  It's very urgent..."
"A friend of ours is in bad trouble," interrupted Briggs.  "Can ye help, or not?"
Rodrigo took a deep breath and looked at the three men.  He could see the desperation in their eyes.  He knew what he had to do.
"Brother Alejandro, please tend to the gardens," he said quickly.
The monk looked at him in confusion.  "Brother, the gardens are--"
"In need of tending, brother.  Please."
Alejandro looked at the other men, then back to Rodrigo.  "Of course, brother."  He quickly left the courtyard, leaving the four men alone.
"Please, follow me," said the abbot.  "There is a place where we can talk privately."