Pirate Captured! Part II: The Negotiations

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The Negotiations, written by Lot Ramirez
It was a cold night in the port town. The wind blew in a steady stream off the ocean, over rooftops, and in through the cracks and holes in the walls of the tiny shack wherein sat a huddled mass of theives, bandits, and assassins. Pirates now, one and all, they had taken thier talents to seas to rob and plunder across the Seven Oceans. But, tonight they sat in an abandoned storeroom, wrapped in their black cloaks, blowing on numb fingers with frosting breath...and sweated. They kept their voices low, nervously fingering dagger hilts and pistol triggers, jumping everytime someone cracked a knuckle.
"So, that's the plan," said the man in the center, the one caller Wolver, "I'll be needin' a volunteer." Dead silence fell over the crew as every pirate looked to his neighbor, hoping someone else would step forward. Silently, each cursed himself for his cowardice, but with such a task tonight, none could muster the strength. Finally, the silence was broken by a soft voice with a thick Scottish accent.
"Aye, I'll do it, Lad." A communal sigh of reilef passed through the crew as they turned to regard thier Weapons Master.
"Thanks, Campbell," replied Wolver.
"Bah, my job anyway. 'sides I ne'er shoulda let the captain go out drinkin' alone," Campbell stated as he started loading his pistol. He loked up at Wolver and said, "If he draws steel on me, I'm a dead man." As Wolver nodded gravely, the man next to him reached out and patted Campbell on the shoulder with a dark hand.
"Be Quick. Be Silent," he said.
"Be Deadly," rumbled the large man at Campbell's side. The black scar above the man's left eye gave Campbell the impression he was winking. But, there was no joking in his words, no mirth in his tone. They all knew how dangerous this encounter could be, not just for Campbell, but for all of them. The rumors of their target's prowess with a sword were widespread, but even more so, his reputation for cleverness. Many a pirate, it was said, had fallen to an easy trap laid out for them by Capt. Lot Ramirez and his crew, but tonight, the Phoenix would be ready. Wolver knew. They had to be. Their own captain's life depended on it.
"Hee ees coming," hissed a voice from above. Wolver looked up at the Frenchman silohetted against the sky through a hole in the roof.
"Is he alone?"
"Oui," came the reply. He gave Campbell a quick pat on the shoulder, then pushed him towards the back door that led to an alley. The man with the scar, Stitch he was called, loosened the door jamb as they all took their positions. "Please, let this go alright," prayed Wolver as he eyed the door and gripped his guns.
Lot barely gave any resistance as Campbell stepped out from the alley, quickly shoving his gun into Lot's belly and bustling him through the door to the shack. With his black cloak, should anyone have been there to see, it merely appeared as if Lot was swallowed by the darkness, leaving an empty, cold and silent street.
Inside the storeroom was a flurry of activity, as the door burst open. Pirates lept out from all corners and hiding spots as Lot was thrown down to the ground. His back hitting hard against a barrel, he was suddenly surrounded by more guns and swords than he could count in that short span of time. He looked up to stare directly down the barrel of the Scotsman's flintlock pistol.
"Don't even think about it. Yer our captive," said the Scotsman. "We're here to negotiate the release of our captain."
Lot sat, staring at the Scotsman as he spoke, and without the bat of an eye replied, "Excellent, 'cause you're just the men I was looking for." Calmly, he stood up, brushed off his sleeveless coat of grey and blue, removed his three-cornered hat and ran a hand across his closely cropped hair.
"Relax," he said to the pirates, "I'm unarmed." This did little to calm thier nerves who fidgeted with their guns and followed him with their sword points. "Look, we all know that I hold your Captain, Nafar, in the brig of the White Star, killing me would do little to help you get him back." Scanning the crowd of nervous pirates, Lot picked out Wolver and staring directly at him continued, "Besides, I have a proposition for you." Wolver didn't flinch as the infamous Privateer made his way though the crowd, which parted for Lot as if they might die just by touching him. He continued on, seemingly oblivious to the reactions of the pirates or the quiet whispering, or even the large, imposing Scotsman following him with a gun.
Lot went on, "There is a captain, and a crew, of a certain ship of the line, a royal navy vessel, who have dealt a grave insult to my honor and reputation. I am in need of a well-trained band of theives and assassins to teach them a lesson, and well, I accept no less than the best. So, if you do this for me, according to my directions, I offer you this, not only will your captain be freed, but I will see that you all are well paid from my own personal stocks. The most important thing is that no one must know that I am behind this. Are we clear? If word leaks out about this plot, then you will not be paid, and I promise to unleash all my powers of revenge against you! So, what say you, Wolver Grimley, first mate of the Phoenix? Will you do it? For yourself, for your crew, and for your captain?" The whipsers in the crowd had turned into excited mutterings. Wolver could not help but smile.
"Excellent," said Lot, "the King's army is amassing for war down at Potrero. The fleet is being called into Freeport nearby to await orders. I will provide you with details when you meet me there."
Blindingly fast, Lot's hand shot out, snaked the gun from Campbell's hand and had it pointing back towards him. Backing towards the door, he said, "Well it's been a pleasure talking to you all, but now I must take my leave."
His shot rang out, passing over Campbell's head, but a cry of pain followed the Frenchman as he fell through the ceiling's hole. When the confusion departed, so had the privateer.
"Wh-where'd he go?" stammered Campbell as he stared at the door.
"Saucier?!" screamed Wolver, "where is he?"
"Eh, I can see notheeng from eenside these crate!" cried the frenchman, "oooh, me poor leg! 'e shoot mee een zee leg!" David Campbell bent down and picked up the empty gun at his feet.
"I don't think that was the way it was supposed to happen," he muttered quietly as he stared at the open door swaying on its hinges.