valarltd | That time in September, when Sea-dogs remember that grown-ups still know how to play

It be "Talk like a Pirate Day," me buckos. So here be your morning announcements:

Wife-Swap be running a piratey episode ~~tonight. We'll not be wantin' to miss that.~~ Arrr, twere LAST night!

The De'il himself be on the "Law and Order: Criminal Intent" season opener. Step sharp, lads, or he'll be callin' the tune and you'll be dancing his hornpipe instead o' your own.

Your captain, Bloody Marie, she be going for physicking on the Forenoon watch, at two bells. I just be hopin' all me blood be stayin' in me body. Worse'n leeches, these surgeons.

For your readin' pleasure, what of ye that can be reading, here there be pirates. They be gay, but there be no bouncin' o the bunk in this works-safe snippet. (bunk-bouncin requests be fine, and met later) But avast, were ye readin pirate porn on my watch, ye'd need be worryin' about the cat!

“Master Captain, is this safe?” Adlai set the hated hat upon his head and looked to the boat being lowered for the trip to the island.

“Nothing’s safe, entirely. But we’re more likely to walk away alive than not,” Collins said. “I’m weary of sausage and biscuit. Real meat will be a nice change.” They had dropped anchor well out in the Bay of Tortuga, called the Buccaneer Island, on the far side from the riotous cities and ports. Collins had explained they were just here to do some trading.

Stephan rolled up a barrel of powder from the magazine. Collins handed Adlai a heavy bag and took two for himself. “Can you manage that belt?” he asked, jerking his head at a strip of leather with eight long hunting knives on it.

Adlai set down the bag, slung the belt across his chest and picked the bag back up. It felt full of tiny pebbles. He peeked in to see pounds of small lead balls. It took him a moment to realize he was carrying shot. Climbing down to the boat with it in his hand was a challenge, but he did not slip on the rope ladder.

Deering rowed them to shore and they walked to the largest of the sideless smoking huts. As they drew closer, Adlai saw and smelled the meat that was curing in the smoke. A large, filthy man, gory to the elbows, was sitting before the hut, gutting a great sea turtle.

Adlai whispered, “You are not reassuring, Master Captain.” He shifted the brace of knives and took a better grip on the bag. He could not use any of the blades, but, if needed, he was sure he could club someone with the heavy bag.

The man looked up at their approach, then stood and wiped his bloody hands on his unspeakable trousers. “Collins, ya old dog. What trading this time?”

“Powder, shot, a brace of good knives, real Spanish steel. I need meat and information, Juan.”

“Ah, the first, easy. Very fresh turtle, plenty of smoked boar and cattle. Information... I tell you secrets if you tell me, no?”

Collins nodded for Adlai and Steven to set their goods down. Adlai was glad to be rid of the twenty pounds of shot. He unslung the knives and set them atop the cask of gunpowder.

“You trade a slave too?” the boucan-tender asked Collins, eying Adlai. “Your Stephan’s free, I know, yes.”

Collins scowled. “I don’t see any slave here. Adlai is my ship’s scribe. Just the shot, knives and powder. What can you give me?”

The man looked over the offerings, muttering in Spanish. “For fifty pound shot, fifty powder, eight knives, hmmm, I give you two barrels pig, one of cow and two pickled turtles.”

“And you’ll tell me of Captain Thomas Harrison and the Kestrel,” Collins added, wanting to be sure the deal was understood.

“Captain Harrison was here three months ago. Traded, sailed around, anchored and caroused away all his money. What else does a pirate do?” Juan shrugged and nibbled on the end of his mustache. “He gave bad powder too, all wet.”

“Aye, indeed. That would be Thomas. Never trades fairly when he can cheat.”

“A pretty boy, long hair and big dark eyes, with him, and the usual crew. Said he was hunting off Hispaniola for a while.”

Collins took out a couple of doubloons, gold in the afternoon sun, and held them barely out of the boucanier’s reach, seeming to consider. “And that piece of information is exactly what I wanted to hear. Thank you.” He pressed the doubloons on Juan.

The trader beamed and gestured to several barrels. “Those are pig.” He gestured to the ones beside a more distant hut. “Those cattle. Take two and one.” He vanished into the brush for a moment and returned with a pair of small casks. “Turtles.”

Stephan was already selecting the tightest and heaviest of the shoddily-made barrels. Adlai joined him in his work. They rolled the barrels to the beach where Deering helped them load them into the longboat.

Collins joined them in a moment, carrying the casks of turtle, moving rapidly, but not quite running. “Shove off and quickly. Juan will do us no harm, but there are other eyes watching us this day, and some have seen I have coin as well as weapons.”

Deering and Stephan got them launched and pulled hard at the oars. Adlai looked up to see several more the filthy men emerging from the jungle near the beach. They argued with Juan and Adlai watched in horror as Juan shot one out of hand. Another one ran his long knife casually into Juan’s stomach, with no more thought than sheathing it.

Most of them set to stealing his goods, the recently traded-for shot and doubloons. But one, laughing, stripped Juan and began skinning him.

“Must have spent time with the Caribs,” Collins said. “I expect he’ll smoke poor Juan in his own boucan, thinking it a grand joke. The Caribs have that sort of sense of humor and a taste for man.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then told Adlai, “Remember his face. We won’t be trading with him. There will be no guarantee his pig had four feet. And unlike some captains, I am fussy about that nicety.”

Adlai stared. “Master Captain!” He was revolted but did not vomit over the side as he desired to do. “You speak of heathen cannibalism so plainly, as if it is nothing.” He did not stop watching. The other men fell on the turtles and continued where Juan had left off. The Carib-influenced sailor had disemboweled Juan and was setting his organs carefully on a piece of sailcloth.

Collins laid a hand on his shoulder and said, leaning in until his breath stroked Adlai’s ear, “It is nothing. Life is nothing, except to the man who is living it or the ones who care about him. This life changes men. Some become decent, some become savages. And worst of all, are the savages who look decent.”

Also, the scurvy dog