 
Horology Of Babbling

Horology of Babbling

Kiss the Bridle

**T** he Universe is as stable as a a barn door and the galaxy is a galloping Unicorn.

Copyright ©2013 CASHMERE RUSSELL

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Horology of Babbling

Kiss the Bridle

Horology: noun, the study of time or art of making timepieces.

Table of Contents



Sphinx Riddle

Skeleton Key

Part 1: Hourglass

Chapter 1- Cutlass

Chapter 2- A vast!

Chapter 3- Jack-Ass

Chapter 4- Scarlett Lass

Chapter 5- Aghast

Chapter 6- Dark Task

Chapter 7- Curse's Grasp

Part 2: Fiddle

Chapter 1- Le Veritable

Chapter 2- Deal with the Devil

Chapter 3- Straight to Hell

Chapter 4- Invisible

Part 3: Go Fast

Chapter 1- Outclassed

Chapter 2- Acting Rash

Chapter 3- Unsurpassed

Chapter 4- Rehash

Chapter 5- Good Laugh

Chapter 6- Greener Grass

Part 4: Trivial

Chapter 1- Still Little
Chapter 2- New Arrival
Chapter 3- Unmerciful

Chapter 4- Monkey in the Middle

Chapter 5- Like Finding a Needle

Part 5: Blasphemous



Sphinx Riddle

If you were out in the desert where you saw a mirage of a sphinx,

and then told someone; would you be Lion or it?

Belfegore invented everything a long time ago. He is a giant sloth and one of the seven devils who rules as a prince of Hell. His minions are in a league called Divine Intervention and each one represents a single tool once thought of by Belfegore himself. TripWire is one of his most prized souls as she is the woman of mystery represented in Revelations, the Whore of Babylon. She has been on Earth for some time now living as a regular human, but something inside her still remembers her past lives. If you asked her who the beast was she might smirk a little and giggle at your question. She ponders this regularly and has now come to the conclusion that it is a sphinx being best described. If cats have nine lives then how many does TripWire get? At twenty three TripWire started hearing a paranormal set of voices in her head that explained she is reincarnated and was once known as a woman named Scarborough. She was said to have been identical to her present self and has even caught the voices giving her information that was accurate with no other source than her own imagination. If this is true than someone must have seen her along the way and remember as well. But the question as to who that someone is remains a riddle guarded by a sphinx. If there ever was a witness, perhaps it would be the lionfish, who was also there the whole time and is the narrator for this story.

Skeleton Key

Nyx I've known

Will mark gravestones

With all the words I say

Come hear this eulogy

And bow your head to pray

Weary travelers be wary

Of Cemetery Way

If my reputation proceeds

Me then follow the procession

I'm now here to tell you that

This funeral is in session

I foreshadow a tooth for nail

Fight the Devil will fail

Attempting to hemmer down

The lid of my own coffin

Doomed to eternally entomb

My infernal skeleton

Where as in my closet dangles

The noose of a hanged man

Which left me handing

Hymn a sinister bone

To pick and instead I'll throw you one

My favorite flavored game

To play is pick your poison

Rotting organs tend to compose

A very haunting melody

That's might will raise the dead

Like an evil zombie

While a dead man walking

Is always knocking

A fated hand on that

Distressed door

Heavens gates will open

If you are a whore

From the grim embrace

I'm determined to escape

And with every leap of faith

I foolishly walk through the valley

Of the shadow of death

Way to late...

Part 1: Hourglass

"Ugly is ignorance worn with pride"

Chapter 1 - Cutlass

Spring 1694

(La Couruna, Spain)

I've got a whale of a tale to tell you lads, a whale of a tale or two:

It was his wife, Scarborough, who first suggested mutiny saying, "Darling, why are you wasting your time working twice as hard for the captain when you could be the captain?"

"Hmmm?" said Benjamin, "What do you have in mind, my dear?"

"Mutiny," said Scarborough, "You already have the trust of the crew, and they see you more on their level then on that of the admiral or captain. I have heard them talking among themselves and they are ready for new leadership, they just need an extra push" Scarborough elaborated by gesturing a pushing motion with her hands as if an invisible crew stood before her.

"What a marvelous idea, my sweet, your level of deception and brilliance always surprises me, but now I realize I married a very devious woman whose lust for power is only matched by my own lust for that body." Benjamin kissed her hard on the lips and petted the top of her head in approval.

Scarborough Black was a female pirate, and like any good pirate she had a treasure. Fearsome pirate Long Ben had given it to her and explained how every pirate must start with a treasure and she was his. But for her to be a pirate as well she needed her own, and that was the beautiful ring on her left ring finger she wore as a symbol of her love for Long Ben. The ring was unusual in it was a red ruby carved into an elegant rose, mounted on a solid gold ring of thorny branches. There was also an emerald leaf that felt its way up to her knuckle which completed the picture. She called the ring her "Suffering" because it reminded her of the chains that her man had on her for joining him on the sea. Now he was suggesting selling such a treasure in order to gain money to sail home, and Scarborough was contesting.

It had been eight whole months and the men had seen no pay for their labors aboard the forty-six gun privateer, Charles II, captained by Charles Gibson. This ship was the flagship of four employed privately by Spanish Expedition Shipping which was the business venture of several London based investors and headed by a wealthy merchant, Sir James Houblon, who never stopped lining his pockets by the labor of seamen. Spain's Treaty of Madrid having been what allowed the fleet to trade and recover treasure, had given the ship its name, in honor of King Charles II. But all that would soon change when a new leader emerged as a voice of the people. They had been anchored off the Spanish port city of La Coruna and the crew had literally been imprisoned for the period of time they waited for the approval of the voyage.

Benjamin Bridgeman had been working as first mate since the early part of the year 1694, and he had still not seen a penny for his efforts. It was now May and the men had grown restless with the action of Admiral O'Byrne who had not seriously considered the disgruntled crews pleas as any concern for action on his part. Perhaps the commander knew that once many of his men received their dues they would be able to leave the employment of the ship completely, leaving Admiral O'Byrne with four crewless ships. This is when many members of the crew approached first mate Bridgeman and suggested mutiny.

They could not leave without wages to pay for a trip back home nor could they find any other ships willing to hire any more members to their crew, so they had no means of escape. Most of the men were upset with the inability to support their families by sending money back home, and this is what upset Benjamin Bridgeman most about the situation. His wife had joined him on board the ship as a cabin maid and had seen no luxuries that a first mate's salary could typically provide. He had promised her his level of employment and years of dedication had given him the kind of position that should be exempt from such injustices as non-payment, but alas he and she were trapped by the wages indebted to them and were determined to receive compensation for themselves and the crew.

First mate Benjamin investigated the rumor presented by Scarborough that the crew was not happy, and as predicted many of the men had serious fear that they had been sold into a new form of slavery under the Spanish King and many believed the act of mutiny was not only necessary but also patriotic. More than twenty-five men joined the first mate in his plan to overtake Charles II and they only had to wait for an opportunity to present itself.

It was about a week later when the night for action was finally upon the rebellious crew. Having given a final demand to be paid and still being rejected, they restlessly waited for just the right moment to strike. Scarborough, being involved in many kitchen activities, had purposefully given the Captain Gibson soup that had been coughed into by a few of the sickest men in the infirmary. This made the captain very ill and he soon became bedridden due to his weakened condition. A few days later while the captain grew more and more sick, Admiral O'Byrne was scheduled to sleep ashore, meaning no one in higher rank than Benjamin aboard the Charles II was strong enough to stop him. At about nine at night the twenty five men lead by Benjamin stormed the Charles II taking it by siege. As the word had spread to the other ship in the fleet, the James, many men from it pulled up in a longboat and asked the spy on the Charles II, "Is the drunken boatswain onboard?," which was the password to join the mutiny.

"My men are deserting me!" called Captain Humphreys off the ship the James to first mate Bridgeman, of the Charles II, who laughed and replied, "I know that perfectly well!"

Captain Humphreys then told the few men who remained loyal to the James to fire on the Charles II, and with a ka-boom the cannon exploded giving the Spanish Night Watch its first alert to the current situation. Benjamin Bridgeman then called to his rebel soldiers "Ready the sails! We need to reach the open sea!" As he took hold of the wheel and turned it violently. The men worked speedily, faster than they had ever before known possible and were able to swiftly vanish into the night and off into safety.

Once they had traveled far enough out into the ocean Benjamin Bridgeman, as he was known to the crew, called all those who had not participated in the mutiny to the top of the deck where they were hurriedly surrounded by the newly ordained and somewhat hostile crew of the Charles II. "What should we do Benjamin? Kill 'em all right?" said one of the rebels. Benjamin startled by the mention of him as leader replied, "No, anyone who does not wish to join us can go ashore in a row boat. We don't need to spill the blood of the same men we once slaved next too." First mate Bridgeman then asked about the whereabouts of Captain Gibson who was soon dragged from his bed, tied and bound with rope, to be presented in front the mutinous crowd.

"What say you Captain Gibson? Will you join us in our cause? I offer you a reasonable rank of, oh say ye, second mate if you decide to stay aboard my, I mean, our new ship!" And the entire crew chuckled at the embarrassing reduction in rank offered to the imprisoned Gibson.

Former Captain Gibson began hacking loudly; expelling a cough that rattled his lungs violently, and then he spit, directly at first mate Benjamin Bridgeman, giving his answer of "No!" in a crude but well understood fashion. With that the new crew of the Charles II readied a boat for all those who did not wish to join the now pirates on their adventure. All but one man was tied and he became the designated rower. Stripped of all weapons and knives there was little chance that the rower would be able to untie any or all of the men in time to get back to the ship and cause trouble. He was ordered at gunpoint to row in the direction toward shore and told not to return with any reinforcements. He was not to stop rowing until he reached shore as they would watch his actions through a telescopic lens and had cannons ready to be fired if he should decide to take any other action. It was not long before the boat and the ship had put enough distance between them that the crew could relax a little and chart a course for their next destination.

Benjamin Bridgeman called a meeting at the top of the deck and as he steered the vessel into the winds, he called down to his crew as the newest pirate captain to be in charge of his own ship. "Aye, mates, there are a few matters of business to discuss. " He growled over the breeze that blew subtly past his face blowing his scarf behind him, trailing out like the tail of a kite. "First of all, the Charles here needs a new name, and I happen to have one in mind for now, the Fancy, for she is a very fancy ship and will be even fancier when I get done with her." The crew all called with various guttural sounds somewhat resembling Argh, or Aye, and all nodded their heads in approval. "The second order of business is where we are going, to a land of pirates so fierce that they cannot be trusted by even their mothers, so we must stay strong and stick together in order to roam among those who are the most miserable scoundrels on the seven seas. " Again the crew muttered and nodded in reply to the new pirate captain's orders.

"Thirdly", said Benjamin, "I would like you all so start calling me by my other name, Henry Every. Long Ben gone are the days of Long Ben your first mate, I now officiously want to be called by what my mother originally dubbed me, as she would be so proud at this moment."

Chapter 2 – A vast!

Summer 1694

(Cote d'Iviore-Ghana, Africa)

An eerie glow of bright blue waves illuminated the tar black ship floating along the clouds of the misty night. As any good seaman should, Benjamin Bridgeman had many aliases' all which represented a different mood or situation. The feeling of doom always angered the fierce pirate Every, which only stood for, "Every man for himself!" His name spelling varied sometimes, he never learned to spell as a younger man so Avery was also used in place of his name, for a very fierce man, that is! He was the new captain of a ruthless and relentless vessel, the Fancy, which still remained true to her vow and held onto her name for her crew to call and cry until the day she died! She, meaning the ship, being a Fancy vessel herself, was very special, but the name was what would die if Captain Every didn't move out of the fairy glimmer surrounding him. And now she crossed silently as tried to vanish among the mists where shadows flickered. Its water-gate remained closed now, usually this only occurred during the twilight hours for swifter, stealthier travel, but alas, she now crawled along slowly trying not to disturb the tiny red sea devils that glowed bright blue with the slightest disturbance in the water. Infesting the eyes with their magic splendor drawing men to see the natural majesty of the waters, such as blue whales glowing like angels, or fish darting back and forth chased by cerulean demon sharks, and sometimes playful dolphins following the bow exciting these delicate sprites, they were usually a good omen marked by a blood red daylight tide. Most sailors enjoyed the reverie of nights where the ocean became as alive as the stars outshining them into the dawn, but not everyman.

Captain Every had once possessed boyish good looks, but his days as a pirate had long since vanished any claims to beauty he might have had. The grey clouds reflected in his hazel eyes was the only pools of light that reflected through his mangled appearances. They shimmered and danced in the firelight which did not clearly reflect all the scars left on his grizzled features. He bore many lines where knives or swords had barely missed their mark. But with each new tattoo from the enemy his reputation for fierceness grew. He hadn't lost any teeth and once in a while one could get lucky and flash a charming smile. If it wasn't interrupted by the elongated slash that cut across the left side of his mouth, he could have always produced a nice smile, not that Every enjoyed smiling. More than likely his face was puckered in a scowl that demonstrated his mood most of the time.

Every's physique was admirable but his body was littered with nicks and marks, that the harsh open sunlight displayed viciously when exposed. His tanned form was roped with muscles and his shoulder length hair was a shining crown atop his head. The coal black strands stood out as only rebellious ropes that enforced Every's entire ferocious vision.

This entirely black ship's Everyman, as the crew was called, grew to hate the omen of the red tide, because every man on Every's ship, knew the captain detested nature outsmarting him even in the slightest way. Captain Every wanted to own the sea in every way, and so he now felt disgruntled and angry that her fairies of the night had come to taunt him. The Fancy was taken hostage by Henry Every and she was immediately his every wish for a now pirate captain. He seized the ship and navigated it to a port only the deadliest of pirates even dared call sanctuary, and in twelve weeks he began spreading the word of a ghost ship, whispering the name "Waterlogged" among conversations with other men's crews, scaring them into the idea of an invisible ship. If his plan worked though, any crew attacked by his Everyman would never chance to whisper the name, also meaning, it speaks for itself, except as a gurgle from a slit man's throat.

The Fancy was first painted the most pitch blackened midnight, it resembled tar, but the beating rays of the sun prevented this from being the easy solution to night time invisibility, for every dusk has it's dawn, and the ship was so hot during the daylight it scorched the decks and boiled the cabins below. To all surprise, a solution was always provided and Every specially designed a method of cooling to remedy and combat the spite Apollo seemed to beat into everyman's skin as the love of the ocean beat in everyman's heart. This water-gate device was two pipes drilled into the front which lead to two large tanks which acted as reservoirs and were installed with manual valves which lead into a complicated water pipe way that could be opened during the hottest summer days and could pour water over the deck to cool the ships outside hull. When the ships keel broke through the waves, this system gathered foaming ocean currents into the pipe system, and the pressure against the bow forced in water to these long channels and pushed it into a cascading waterfall that toppled from the top deck. These pipes, also contained clever gadgetry and had well placed water wheels that when pushed by the current it turned large fans below the deck for further cooling of the ships everyman.

Of course this system only could be employed effectively when ship was moving, but there was always a time and place for rowing, as Every laughed in his thoughts and sarcastically at the idea of himself needing to employ such a skill, which would be insisted upon in an emergency. An especially necessary job should the wind go completely dead, and if the sun was traveling high in the sky at the time. There was a bright side though; you never needed to wash the decks!

As the Fancy traveled, tonight it longed to vanish completely into the night sky, where no ship could spot her as she snuggled in among the inky blackness of a starless canopy. The Fancy made Captain Henry Every, also known as Long Ben, the most feared pirate captain among the seven seas and he shared an almost romantic amorous relationship with the ship, referring to her as a female regularly and stating that "When he first saw that girl he knew there was a reason he had taken a fancy to her and that's why it was her name!" The entire crew of the ship, or Everyman including the captain, took a vow to never rechristen The Fancy until they heard her whisper of death, "Waterlogged," bellowed across the waves, an insistent cry that the ship had finally been spotted in the act of attack. The crew had yet to run into this problem for once a ship had been raided by these pirates, the name "Waterlogged" became synonymous with any bloody ship left wrecked and abandoned by Captain Every Man For Himself.

Henry Every's inventiveness only sparked a further romance with his ship and its own cleverness and as he was the creator of this unique system, and so he fell in love with another one of his very own ideas, a vision for his ideal crew. His newest plan for attack was to design an entirely black crew that would match his ship, creating an illusion of death for any that he approached in plunder.

The entirely black ship was hindered tonight and Every was muddled with the thought's and worries that Fancy may finally fall to the cursed name "Waterlogged" if spotted. The tiny blue ripples below him only agitated a further desire to disappear farther into the fog. His agitation grew to excitement when he turned the crimson tide in his favor and spotted a tiny blue sparkling fleck against the dark horizon. The Royal Navy ship that he spotted had to be having a good time with the florescence and rum because it was weaving back and forth sometimes even against the wind.

Recently he had stalked this British Royal navy ship who was entrusted with a wedding present for the Portuguese King and his new bride to be, but they had yet to intercede and the crimson tides blue light made it all the more worthwhile. Every having a short moment of prayer, for he knew this next move meant the death of the Fancy and the birth of "Waterlogged!" He took a small moment and breathed in a lung full of air only to expel it shouting "EVERYMAN ON DECK!"

Scarborough's appearance was quite remarkable when compared to the looks that typically accompanied sailors. She had a beautiful smile and was also missing no teeth from her grin which she wore constantly. Having a man like Every around her constantly, made certain that she never had to encounter anything that would mar her loveliness or her mood. Even during her fencing lessons with the Captain, he was always very careful only to softly touch his wife with the end of the sword, never leaving even a bruise.

Scarborough's hair was long and luxurious, reaching down to the small of her back. The rich chocolate locks held just a slight amount of wave and wafted softly over her shoulders. Her skin was slightly sun kissed and she carried freckles from the long days outside. She also had honey hazel green eyes that reflected the golden light of the sun perfectly, but also could turn grey with the first cloudy day.

Her beauty was unparalleled in many a court as she had traveled far and wide, and among the people she had met few who would match her divine looks. Scarborough had learned to use it to her advantage in many cases where men were especially susceptible. But even a lady who admired the fairer sex was not above Scarborough's charms and wiles. She learned long ago that flashing a smile and perhaps more, would lead to greater fortunes. And any good pirate understood the value of greater fortunes.

Part of Scarborough's pirate fortune was the exquisite ring Every had given her to accentuate their love. Found among a pile of loot, was the ruby rose ring that had been carved from a single stone. The rose portion posed atop a green emerald leaf and was bound by golden tendrils of tiny branches with thorns on all sides. Though slightly uncomfortable at first she had come to admire her jewelry she dubbed "The suffering" which continued to nag her daily about the affection she must continually bestow to the pirate and his crew. Some wondered if she loved the ring more than the man, for she was seen kissing the small red flower daily.

Scarborough slept quietly under the turning fan in her room, another treasure Captain Henry Avery had granted himself, a maiden of distinctive beauty and represented the power a man in his position who could command all that was around him. As she dozed, tendrils of hair, mocha in color, played around her mouth in the breeze. All those that admired her had been destroyed as she painfully dreamed of the last man that had crossed the line with her.

They had all gathered above deck that day, in the afternoon sun, feeling the cool ocean pour over their feet. At a large wooden table Scarborough's eyes reflected the gold color of the sun perfectly as she chanted,

"I stole the captain's biggest hook,

The one they say that overtook,

The Saint Marie,

The swiftest ship in the sea,

Now it's hooked into me,

And into you and all of thee.

Come ye gather round,

And get ye to the ground,

Will they be beautiful or ugly?

Spin the hook and we will see,

Whose next kiss with me,

Could be anybody."

She pulled the large grappling hook from behind her back and placed it upright on the table. All the crew present, cabin boys and wenches, formed a circle around the table, curious to see who Scarborough would spin to kiss. She flattened her palms on either side of the top bar, just below the eye hole where a rope would normally be threaded, and spun the hook like a top. It stayed upright for thirty seconds before it fell and continued to spin wobbly on the table, till it finally pointed to the unworthy victim. The salty sea dog that the man was, excitedly puckered up for his kiss, and Scarborough obliged. As their lips met it was Captain Henry Avery's eyes that fell on the unfortunate man.

No one had seen him coming, much like his ship, and he immediately seized the man's collar. Within an hour, the crew was reduced to tears and the blubbering as the sailor walked the plank on Captain Avery's insistence. Scarborough received no punishment that day, but the dream now haunted her in her deepest nightmares.

Scarborough gasped and sat up as a bottle rolled off the table due to the ships sudden rocking, and crashed to the floor shattering the glass along with peaceful silence surrounding the bed. Now sitting up straight she yawned and wondered why the sails had been raised. Minutes later she gazed at the dual visions of Captain Henry Avery, one a mirrored reflection, and the other a grotesque representation of the real man she admired in spirit but not in handsomeness. He was actually a rather scary figure, scarred and torn from battle. He has survived, but his image, which may have once been younger, but never a boy, had suffered from years of abuse. The punishing that he bestowed on any navy was only matched by the torture she had found being a decided prize to him. If Captain Henry Avery wanted something, he only asked when necessary, the rest of the time, he took.

Scarborough yawned and relaxed as she realized the scene that had flashed in her mind was now only a dream faded in vision. "Yes, my Lord," she pleaded at him with her eyes that said he was not to bother her further, "how may I serve you," hoping for something other than the obvious request.

"I just wanted you to be aware we will be attacking soon," his gruff voice forced out the words, as Captain Avery traced a finger around one of the etchings in the mirror.

"Oh," Scarborough yawned, "why even wake me then?"

"The seas are rough, we might be looking at a storm." he smiled for once, "I thought you should secure any precious cargo," he grimaced at the shattered glass seeing his reflection in one of the shards.

Scarborough glowered at him when he included the idea of her losing touch with reality, "I suppose" and she stretched her arms above her. "I am certain in assuming with the rain around us will never be able to escape the water...." trailing off into a moan of discontent.

"Just clean up in here," Every ordered and left the room in a spin and a stomp, almost slamming the door behind him.

All of Every's crew busied themselves pulling sails, swinging ropes, and levying the wind to their favor, The Fancy etched it's outline along the watery depths in bright azure as the tiny particles of light danced along each newly formed ripple. "Open the water-gate" cried Every, and everyman behind him echoed the cries loudly as a grinding of metal clunked beneath the waves and foamy chop began to fill the pipe system with bright turquoise seas. As the water began pouring over the deck, some of the men startled and tapped their toes at the sight of the blue demons gathered around their feet. Within minute's the entire ship poured waves of bright blue neon light and created the illusion of an almighty sea monster.

The royal navy had little reason to relax that night but unfortunately their watchman had chosen to drink more rum than usual and assumed his eyes were deceiving him when he first spotted the bright blue form approaching the ship coming quickly, what was at least ten knots. As the raging waters of crimson tide fully engulfed the Fancy and rose up over the decks of the ship, the only non-submerged areas was the large dragon head carved at the front of the ship which contained a gaping mouth of fire that couldn't be explained.

Avery cackled at the wheel, realizing his illusion was working perfectly. The all black sails disguised among the mists perfectly, so perfectly they were invisible. The dragon ornament at the head of the bow even contained large kerosene lamps for the added effect of fire-breathing. His "Fancy" may have been losing the battle to keep her name but the '"Waterlogged" was winning the war!

"Fire up the dragon's breath" ordered Avery, and the crew used a torch to light the bright blaze inside the dragon's mouth at the bow of the ship. This gave the completed effect that the entire ship had morphed into a monster.

In ten minutes the Royal Navy ship's siege was over, as many of the men plunged overboard at the sight of the sea monster, but one fated cry bellowed above the rest as the man in the crow's nest cried in recognition, "WATERLOGGED!" and Long Ben the pirate grimaced in disgust.

Thirty men lost their lives to the sharks as the Everyman crew swarmed the decks, with their swords drawn they swung aboard the navy vessel. Terror stricken with heads heavily laden with rum and food, the Royal Navy that ran the decks had no hope of escape. Only five men were taken prisoner, three of which were women, the other two being the captain and his first mate.

"Where is it!" screamed Avery as a horrific yowl erupted from the five survivors now tied to the mast helpless to the pirates will. "Where is the King and Queen's royal wedding present? I know it is aboard this ship! None other has escaped me!" rumbled the words Avery spoke to the two men who had been previously in charge of the ship.

Finally, a small nod from the first mate betrayed the captain and the pirates glared, now grinning with ideas of what such a royal couple could be receiving that was worth three ships protection. "It's in my quarters," stammered the first mate, now with a knife pressed to his throat for added persuasion. With one swoop all of the captives flinched as Avery brought down his knife only to cleanly cut the ropes binding the first mate.

Free from his imprisonment from the mast, the first mate rose and stumbled forward, eyes bleary with sweat; he headed toward the lamp that lead to the lower cabins. "Everyman," Avery belted, "Watch those four while I lead the sniveling rat to his cage," and sword drawn, he pointed it toward the back of his prisoner, pressing him on quickly toward the booty. Staggering forward, the man felt Avery's sword prick him in the back and knew that this was one pirate who meant business. With none of his crew left, the sailor could only feel completely defeated already in handing over the treasure he had worked so hard to protect.

As the two drew closer to the cabin containing the cargo, it became obvious what was to be a royal wedding present was not a huge item, but only about three feet tall and completely cylindrical, as Avery could see it, but it was sitting covered with a black velvet cloth that obscured the exact nature of the object. Avery's eyes were widening with each step as he grew nearer to the treasure, and he ordered his escort back above deck. The first mate was all too willing to comply and scattered up the stairs out of site.

Licking his lips, Avery reached out a hand and slowly grasped the cloth, pulling it away from the precious thing it protected. As the velvet parted from the table it began revealing the glistening marvel underneath. It was so phenomenal, that when it fully fell away from the crafted beauty, Avery was forced to give a small gasp.

A three foot tall hourglass now explained the outline that had previously been wondered over, and it was a delicate masterpiece of innovation and craftsmanship, containing more precious gems than ever before gathered in such a fashion. It was no surprise that this hourglass was well worth the guardianship it required, for only a fine mastery of many crafts had so perfectly aligned this timepiece.

Consisting of a ruby colored glass or cranberry glass, the main portion of the hourglass only started to explain how much detail was put into a treasure worthy of royalty. Embedded in both the top and bottom rotating on each end of the hourglass was a perfect twelve inch round silver mirror, one polished to display a natural reflection, while the other was magnified to some degree. Each was set in silver that adorned the outside of each circle, to seal it to the ruby red glass. In the center, where the hourglass reached its narrowest point, it was surrounded by rubies, perfectly meshed and also set in silver, to create a perfect ring of gems where the time-sand was destined to pass with each turn. The top and bottom were made of finely polished cherry wood that contained an infinity symbol on each side that was highlighted again with smaller, more subtle rubies, outlining the endless nature of time.

The other side of the hourglass, which was not imprinted with mirror, had silver adornments that told how much time had passed. Made out of ivory and shooting out of one end of the hourglass were narwhale heads and tails with a compass that created a sundial affect. On the handles of the hourglass they went from foaming waves and turned into either a great white shark on one end or a barracuda on the other. These formed into an astrolabe that would tell the time by the stars and where they were navigating too.

The top and bottom of the hourglass each contained an inscription, and Captain Avery leaned in close to read what was said across the top, which had a simple logo stating the objects name, "Marooned Maritimer", but as he leaned in to read the bottom, he noticed a sight that made him swoop up the hourglass and reexamine it even more closely. Inside the glass, the time sand, which he assumed was just sand, was really made of small black pearls, all gathered together to operate as the most in one collection ever seen. The gorgeous touch created by this affect almost made him forget completely about reading the quote below which stated, "Time and Tide stand for no man!"

"Humph!" snorted Avery at the conclusion made by the words he had just scanned, and he continued to dwell in the possibility of what wealth this single object could manifest in pearls alone. As a man of the sea, he shed a small tear at the spectacle of nature that had to assemble in order to create this wonderful treasure. Recovering it in the black velvet cloth, he made sure to carefully tuck it beneath his arm before walking toward the stairs where he could allow the men to ransack the ship for further riches.

Hours later, they disembarked from the ship much richer and happier men, leaving the five survivors to man the entirety of the vessel to themselves, a job typical of twenty or more men at a time. They had solemn eyes as the ship now named "Waterlogged" pulled away in the cobalt tide, leaving behind only the essence of the night, wonder and magic. There was very little hope the ship would find enough supplies to care for the five, more than a few days, and they would drift as skeletons eventually, unless they chose to go for the sharks. There was little remorse on Avery's face though, as he kissed the "Marooned Maritimer" and shook it in the air in triumph!

Chapter 3 – Jack Ass

(Sekondi-Takoradi, Ghana)

When Scarborough had first been asked into the life of a cabin maiden it was to escape a life of a forced marriage from her family. She had been betrothed once, but had run away to the docks where once noticed by Henry Avery, her fear of life in prison was realized, as she soon was made to share his companionship. No better, no worse, and even the romance he provided gazing at sea side sunsets, did little to cure her organs of the scars that a poisonous heart without love had created, although he continued to show utter dedication to her considering her important to his family.

Scarborough appeared up on the top deck as the first splatters of rain began to hit the deck. It pitter pattered on the tarred deck and brought a shiny reflection of the stars above. She glanced briefly at the blurred image of her expression on the floor and scowled at the emerging puddles. "It does seem that I really can't escape the water, even as we approach land," Scarborough mused. She stepped around the puddles and maneuvered carefully across the deck.

Captain Henry Avery commanded the wheel ahead of her and she watched in admiration as he steered through the choppy waters off the Gold Coast of Africa heading toward the shores of the region of Ghana. His arms strained with bulges as he piloted the "Fancy" closer to the destination, a port town known as Sekondi-Takoradi. He could be equally commanding in their midnight trysts and Scarborough smirked as she thought of her nickname, nightmare, which referenced the black horse responsible for galloping up and delivering terror filled dreams. The power she felt underneath him each night left her howling like a woman screaming from a horrific dream, not a soft secret love of passion, but an intermingling of murderous cries that filled each night. The earsplitting love they made each night was the only evidence the crew had of any romance between them, because Avery icily ignored Scarborough on any occasion he felt necessary.

Henry Avery had started as a very young man on the open sea by signing up for the Royal Navy in 1669, at ten years of age. By twelve he was a ferocious terror of the seas, proving his valor in Algiers raids of 1671 and had already gained a reputation as a force of fear and dread. While he continued with the Royal Navy until he was thirty, under Captain John Wheeler on the ship Rupert, he had a short lived employment before he moved into working the African Slave trade. He became notorious for striking bargains among the slave traders and then, surprisingly, also taking prisoner the traders themselves, chaining them among their former captives as punishment.

Avery finally reached the level of legacy when he was the leader of a mutiny a few months before, in May, by taking control of the Charles II and renaming it The Fancy. This had been after months of Scarborough receiving no money from her husband, an act she had never before witnessed. Scarborough now saw the profits her husband could provide through bombarding unsuspecting ships first hand when they had raided three English merchant vessels off the Cape Verde islands. From then on it was one buccaneering adventure after the next, from capturing a Portuguese governor as hostage, to taxing passing ships for their insolence in crossing waters owned by Captain Avery.

She stepped on to the gang plank with careful precision so as not to lose her balance on the wet slippery ground. Each step was measured and taken with care so she could secure every footfall in front of her. The lights from the lanterns hanging blearily from the mast and adjoining ropes dimly lit the scene while the rain poured around them.

Captain Henry Avery guided her toward the local tavern so they could partake in drinking and gambling with cards tonight. A dim light cast a shadow on the sign that said "Takoradi Tavern" and the welcome relief from the pouring rain cause Scarborough to quicken her step slightly as her husband matched rhythm and synced his walking beat with hers. Henry's attention to detail when he choose to dedicate his time with Scarborough, was what drove her most insane. If only he could choose to enslave another woman, it was almost worse being loved one minute and not the next than not being loved at all.

Avery's years working with Captain Wheeler had made him not only a profitable, experienced sailor, but also a heavy drinker, and in the tavern he proceeded to drink rum until the sun rose. Scarborough amused herself in the room with hot tea and an unknown additive she produced from a flask. She sipped silently until a foggy demeanor took her over and didn't even care when Captain Avery stumbled in drunkenly, pants already falling down, ready to molest her every curve and muscle.

Scarborough awoke in the morning and immediately drank the last of the cold tea by her bedside and sent notice for another steaming kettle. It was almost Henry's birthday, the summer solstice, otherwise Scarborough would have never have agreed to journey with him on his endeavor to Axim for the annual Kundum festival. Here all manner of chieftain and dignitary would be present for the mass harvest of fish available. Captain Avery had chosen to dock south of this city in order to avoid observance of the Waterlogged, and to not be spotted as the now infamous pirate. Once in Axim he hoped to secure a small crew of perhaps Yendi tribe's men, the fiercest pirates among the African people. These men preyed upon the islands in Lake Chad, using spears of deadly force in order to overtake their victims, seizing any prize and woman in sight.

The travel was by horse, and the beloved rose grey beast Scarborough insisted on riding managed to stop every other minute to gather grass and nibble at trees. Spoiled to pieces since she was a foal, the mare Sterling Rose, had learned to act rambunctiously in order to gain Scarborough's attention and affection. It pawed whenever they were forced to rest and when they broke for lunch Scarborough returned to a freshly rolled horse that had managed to use the tall grasses for a pleasant rest and left stains marking her body. She scowled as she remounted Sterling Rose and they continued on with a wafting stench that smelled of jungle wild flowers. Only after a day of travel did they pass a deep enough river to thoroughly wash the mare of its own perfume. They approached the city of Axim by twilight and she was relieved to part with her saddle even though she still adored her stubborn equine acquaintance.

Immediately after dismounting his own donkey, Captain Avery took shelter in another nearby tavern and joined at the closest table to the bar where men sat round playing cards. Scarborough fancied playing hearts herself and had a reputation for shooting the moon, She had always said "Even with all the hearts in the world, you still had to shoot the moon with the queen of spades," often dubbing herself the black queen in disguise.

She passed the table that Avery had joined to gamble his most recent bounty and proceeded to the stairs to a room they had rented. After a long bath the smell of the mare still wafted off the skin of her thighs. She covered this with the strongest smelling perfume she had packed and undid the pin in her hair that held it above her shoulders and it fell around her neck in slight waves the color of coal lightened only slightly by flaxen highlights. Then she proceeded to dress admirably for a woman who had recently been seated on a saddled creature, such as she had been stuck riding for two days. Wearing some of the jewelry Avery had accosted from one the taxation efforts; she left the room still clasping the bracelet around her delicate wrist, and closed the door behind her.

While descending the stairs she surveyed the room and noticed a party of well-dressed men completely decorated in gold and jewels. Walking to the bar she asked the barman for any proper sailors drink specialty, plain rum, in a tall glass. When he returned with the drink she downed it quickly and got the courage to specifically ask about the men sitting in the corner of the room. "That my dear, is a Asantehene from another region, here for the Kundum festival," replied the barman in a bored manner, "would you like another, miss?" He pointed to the glass and Scarborough caught the reflection of her gold eyes in the glass shiny exterior.

"Yes," she finally replied, the delay an obvious sign of her drifting mind which had thoughts of the black royalty across the room, and the fortune he may and probably did possess. With the second glass of rum in her hand she sipped more cautiously and slowly waltzed over to the table with the gathering of rich Africans. "Hello my darlings," she opened with as she first crossed the distance between her and the table. "Well now," the Asantehene, and obvious leader of the group spoke up, "it seems as though a dove has wandered in among a murder of crows." Chuckling under his breath he continued, "you better return to your own kind, we all at this gathering prefer dark meat."

Startled by his reaction Scarborough blushed and turned away defeated; she was considered a gorgeous beauty among her crew and rarely saw anything less than total flattery. Steering herself away from the gathering of now laughing gentlemen she approached Avery's table where he sat distracted by a distinctly bad poker hand. Luckily she noticed the pirate next to him had a decidedly worse hand and when she bent down to kiss him she whispered, "it's a bluff," which goaded Henry into anteing up a larger sum than any were willing to bet on. He grabbed her after his victory and guided her to the bar where he bought her, himself and the first mate all a drink on him.

He grabbed the ale's and walked past those to take a seat at a nearby booth where he then ordered whatever the night's dinner happened to be. It was a meat and vegetable stew poured over rice and they all three dug into the meal with velocity unmatched by any other patrons. Scarborough sometimes forgot her manners among the pirates and ate without abandon as well, burping slightly as she scrapped the last bits from her bowl.

"Long Ben," called the men from the back of the room that had so recently ashamed Scarborough away, and Captain Avery responded to his nickname with a wave, "Good to see you Osei Tutu!" The man, Osei Tutu, bellowed across the room in reply, "I already met your lady friend, she so politely introduced herself to our fellows over here." Henry, also known as Long Ben, smiled at this, "It's always good to see Scarborough has an eye out for gold," as he kissed her loud and wetly on the lips, "even if it's black gold." Avery laughed at his own joke, like he so often did, which annoyed Scarborough immensely.

He unseated Scarborough from his lap and gently set her on the bench beside him, so he could go talk business among the men. She stared at the bottom of her glass, still containing a few sips of ale, and downed it in the next instant. How cross she was at the men's insulting nature that she vowed to make the great Asantehene, Osei Tutu, pay for ever deciding against courting her. How on earth could she get him to be attracted to her though, let alone take romantic interest? It was an impossible feat and it was almost met with too much challenge, but Scarborough's head began to reel with thoughts of deception as she lifted herself from the booth and sashayed up the stairs to her room, far too drunk to deal with the problem of a spoiled Asantehene. How unfortunate, probably too blessed with money to even spend it all in one lifetime.

Around town the next day Scarborough debated over the dilemma of the Asantehene's rude behavior the night before. Only as she steamed did any solution bubble up out of the boiling grey matter that was encased in her skull, and she realized the one solution that would have any affect was to officially become what he desired, a black woman. As gossip around the town proceeded, she made shallow conversations with the folks, concerning herself in a way, about the town's shaman or witch doctor, an old woman known as Aunt Nanzy. Strange name, thought Scarborough, smirking as a local man gave her directions to the hut, "She knows how to throw bones," he said in a thick African accent, "and can even kill a man; my brudder had a man kilt for stealing his cattle one time, quick death that Aunt Nanzy give him, real quick."

She thanked the man and opened her purse to give him a token of appreciation, but his gracious acceptance of the money made him feel obliged to lead her directly to the hut, where they entered together. "Aunt Nanzy," the man called, "Aunt Nanzy," he called again disappearing among the many artifacts inside the makeshift house. Scarborough turned around as something jerked behind her and screamed when she came face to face with a large smiling ghoulish mask with ancient African symbols and designs that sat straight in front of her. A large tongue wagged underneath and spoke languages unfamiliar to Scarborough.

A rattle above her head made Scarborough jump again but this time she resisted screaming only to release a tiny eek of noise as the strange ceremony continued. "Aunt Nanzy, there you are, man me been lookin for you everywhere...." Lifting the mask as old woman peered out and said, "What is it you ask for, my child," and she proceeded to dash about some smoke from a burning plant now present in her left hand. Aunt Nanzy grabbed the right hand of Scarborough in her own and held it up to her face, using her thumb to lift the curled fingers and expose the palm for further examination.

"Well, um," Scarborough stumbled, "it's really rather a secret, I would rather not say with anyone around," she paused and felt awkwardness creeping over her body; she had no idea if this old woman could even do what she wanted. "I see," said Aunt Nanzy, "you must leave then, sir, you have done quite enough bringing this young lady to me."

"Yes Mam, I will see you around I hope soon," he pointed to Scarborough but she gave him no indication of a reply. Scarborough looked back at the short withered woman in front of her and imagined that no woman who appeared this feeble could bring death on anyone but herself. She sagged around her eyes and the skin seemed to practically fall away from the bony structure responsible for suspending it upright.

"Now you said you had a secret, but I must warn you, I charge you two secrets for one of mine," Aunt Nancy giggled at her sentence, "and my answers are always a secret."

"Oh,' said Scarborough, "well I don't know any other secrets." Dismayed she furrowed her brow and thought, "Well, I do know one; it's an old pirate's code, the eight deadly fates. There are only eight ways to truly die, you know, and in knowing this you understand where the sin falls."

"Go on then, my dear; tell Aunt Nanzy the eight ways a soul can pass."

Scarborough paused as inhaled, and then began in a sing-song manner to recite the Pirates Code of Deaths:

"In the crypt we are lying,

Death is dying,

Now you know we aren't trying.

"Of ways to die there are eight,

Not all of these lead to heavens gates

But if I may say the first,

It's only that my lungs would burst.

Waterlogged is drowning you,

And gasp for air at number two.

Hanged Man is on his rope,

Something else that makes you choke.

"In the crypt we are lying,

Death is dying,

Now you know we aren't trying.

"But now onto number three!

Another death would have to be,

A blood curdling piercing cry,

Is only one more way to die.

Understand that this would mean,

That a person has been bled clean.

"In the crypt we are lying,

Death is dying,

Now you know we aren't trying.

"The next death is a perfect hex,

Something that you don't expect

A fiery inferno that gives surprise

This is when your burned alive.

The next is something easy to see,

We'll just call it suicide maybe.

"In the crypt we are lying

Death is dying,

Now you know we aren't trying

"But after that it's no fault of yours

Extermination is this one of course.

Up now the seventh death

And this one you can't pass a test

Dropped completely out of the sky

Is a horrible way to die

IF there was another try

What if you were buried alive?

In the crypt we are lying

Death is dying,

Now you know we aren't trying"

"Ahhhhhh," said Aunt Nanzy, "I'm impressed, and this is secret pirate code, very interesting indeed. Now tell me your question dear and I will give you an answer"

"Um, well, strange as it may seem," Scarborough struggled to find the right wording, "I wanted to know... if you could change me into a darker version, well sort of like a black woman, only temporarily though." She cried that last part out slightly, as if changing back were more important than changing into one in the first place.

Chapter 4 – Scarlett Lass

(Axim, Ghana)

Aunt Nanzy glowered and grabbed her wrist wringing it in a combination of disgust and intrigue, "so you wish to be dark, like us? That is a large request and will require a large sum, are you sure you are equipped?" She squinted at Scarborough and looked closely for any signs communicating the answer she expected, which was no, but sighed when Scarborough reached into her cloak presumably at a coin purse.

Scarborough's clothing jingled as she rustled beneath the layers for the purse filled with gold doubloons and even a few precious gems. Her hands shook slightly from anticipation, for what seemed like a large sum that was being delivered; she could not tell if Aunt Nanzy would approve of this transaction. Stuffed to the brim and tied off with a navy cord, she handed over the leather purse for inspection.

Aunt Nanzy first sniffed the purse, strangely, and then opened it with her fingers, which Scarborough noticed were both exaggeratedly long and nimble, expressly for a lady of her age, which had to be at least fifty.

"Is that.... enough?" stammered Scarborough, confused by the old ladies reaction to the payment. Aunt Nanzy narrowed her eyes and peered into the open bag with complete interest only on its contents, as if Scarborough were no longer in the room. "Not quite," she finally broke the silence with, "there will be other requirements, but this is a good start," said Aunt Nanzy, more cawing like a crow than speaking.

Aunt Nanzy eyed the ring on Scarborough Black's finger and pointed to it, "I bet you could fetch quite the price for that pretty item on your hand."

Scarborough rolled the ring around on her finger and hesitated. "On one condition, you must sell it to the king that is here for the festival, he is the only one who will pay enough for its value." Secretly though, Scarborough hoped that the king would buy it only to turn around and give it to her as an engagement ring. Only if all went according to plan though. She removed the "Suffering" from her finger and coldly handed it over to Aunt Nanzy.

"I need something to affix the incantations too, firstly, and secondly I need another question answered, why would anyone as fair as you be curious as to how to change into an African?" Scarborough blushed and realized the preposterous nature of her idea but the more the woman talked the more realistic it seemed that she could change her into a black woman. "Hmmm, well I am really trying to gain the affections of an admirer who only prefers 'dark meat', as he put it, and well, I thought perhaps you could help me with this problem."

Aunt Nanzy thought momentarily and became transfixed on the scarlet cloth Scarborough wore around her head in a tight wrap, under her cloak. "That!" she exclaimed, pointing at her headdress, "will be perfect for what I need."

"This?" said Scarborough, beginning to fumble with the tail of the cloth that draped over her shoulder, "it's very special, and I don't allow anyone to touch it." It reminded Scarborough of her beloved mare which was tied safely outside waiting for her, the same mare that had carried her from her last marriage to a terrible king and into a life of piracy.

"I tell everyone a prince of Persia gave it to me after paying a large sum to a merchant who had wished the turban away from a genie who wore it. It is very precious; I will not part with it." Scarborough pleaded.

"So you received it as a gift from a Prince?" Aunt Nanzy questioned.

"No, I wished it away from the genie! But I just tell everyone that, and once again, I refuse to let it go."

Aunt Nanzy twirled a finger around the crimson end and the enchanted cloth unraveled from the top of Scarborough's head who squealed in objection. "I only need it temporarily," soothing the cries of the squeamish Scarborough.

Unfurling a curtain, the old woman revealed a large shelf filled with things that made an already unsteady Scarborough's stomach churn further. Among the many fetish contents of the shelf there were large jars containing things like organs, heart, liver, eyeballs, and other more rare disgusts like dead lizards and even a few live spiders, who seemed quite satisfactory nestled among the eclectic objects. There were also things like roots and flowers hanging to dry from the shelf itself and a few pieces of various hides of different animals.

Aunt Nanzy turned again and lit a fire underneath a large cauldron and poured water from a bucket into it in order to bring it to a boil. She then began adding various ingredients so quickly that Scarborough lost count of how many and what was added. "Blood of an Ox," said Aunt Nanzy, as she added a red liquid to the mixture and stirred it repeatedly.

"Now what is it you wish for specifically?" asked Aunt Nanzy.

"Well I think I deserve three wishes," replied Scarborough, "just like a genie."

"That will cost you," Aunt Nanzy said, in a slightly outraged voice, "should you gain the affections of the man you desire, I demand one of the wedding presents!"

"Alright," said Scarborough, smiling smugly, "for anyone who wears it right?" referring to the crimson cloth. Aunt Nanzy nodded in reply, "yessss!" she also hissed.

"I wish for a beautiful hourglass figure that's love at first sight. I wish to turn dark like the night, but still keep my light. And I wish to never have to lose a fight, even if I bite!" satisfied with herself for making three wishes more like six, Scarborough grinned broadly, like a hyena ready to laugh at the kill.

The fire reflected Aunt Nanzy's chocolate eyes as the old woman used her shaman's staff to lower the cloth into the boiling contents of various jungle parts. Scarborough cringed hoping the cloth would retain its beautiful ruby color.

Mumbling incoherently, Aunt Nanzy spent many moments giving life to the enchantment

Scarborough had asked for. Most of the words were completely without translation in English but that didn't bother Scarborough, it just made the magic stronger.

An hour went by and Scarborough had almost dozed off among a pile of zebra hides, when Aunt Nanzy awoke her with a cry! "There! It is done!" She lifted her large staff and dipped it into the pot in order to scoop out the contents of what was Scarborough's most beloved decoration, and she cringed at the thought of ruining the cloth over such a silly idea as changing the color of her skin. Remarkably the crimson cloth emerged unscathed and steaming from its bath among the rich nutrients the jungle surroundings provided. As steam lifted off the cloth Aunt Nanzy raised an eyebrow toward the stunned Scarborough, "I thought you might like to know, I blessed your ventures as best I could, but you still owe me a larger sum more than just this gold. I wish to take my pick of your wedding presents, and be an honored guest as well, and should anything happen to your husband to be..." Aunt Nanzy trailed off to see if Scarborough had paid any attention to what she had just been saying.

"Hmmm? My husband to be, oh yes, him, what of anything happening to him?" Scarborough chuckled slightly, thinking about how little she really cared for the prince's wellbeing.

"I just thought it would be important for you to know, that should anything tragic befall your husband to be, you will be stuck in your darkest form forever, as a symbol of mourning. I only thought it fitting for a widow such as you to fully embrace his death and all the unfortunate consequence." Aunt Nanzy grinned at her cleverness, and Scarborough scowled before grabbing the overly hot cloth, tossing it from hand to hand then putting it safely in her bag, turning to leave in a flurry.

She untied the reins of her mare outside the building and mounted quickly. Turning on her haunches the mare pivoted around to face the opposite direction and took off at a brisk trot down the street. Scarborough would have edged her on into a canter but the foot traffic prevented her from doing

This safely on the little rose gray horse. Soon the clopping of hooves soothed the pair into a rhythm they both found comfortable and relaxing into each stride they headed back into the more crowded areas of the town.

It was near dusk when the stable finally loomed ahead and the steel gray coat of the mare was flecked with white foam sweat from the long arduous journey through town. Scarborough took careful attendance of Sterling Rose, before leaving her warm and cozy in a stall filled with fresh straw, good hay, and a bucket of water. Should anything befall that horse, Scarborough would be torn in half over whether life was worth continuing without her beloved partner. Bringing this horse was one of the few arrangement's she had been sure to secure before stepping foot on a single ship of Avery's.

Once inside the tavern she spotted Captain Avery and his every-men at the booth farthest from the door. She picked her way across the bar scene cautiously stepping over the occasional sailor passed out drunk on the ground and the few still awake enough took notice and whistled at her. Avery's head shot up at the cry of the raunchy sailors and he quickly called, "Scarborough, my dear, come over here!" She followed the sound of his voice to the table where a rather vivacious discussion was occurring about the group.

"I swear she was a mermaid!" said one young sailor, looking pitifully into his drink, tears almost welling up in his eyes. "She promised me the ocean if I promised to marry her, she said her father could change me into a merman and I could go away forever to Neptune's depths!"

"Arrrrr! Sir, that sounds like a fine fate! Why are you still here among us with legs then?" inquired another sailor, as curious as anyone about the existence of a mermaid.

"She said her father was mistaken when casting the spell, and well instead of me having fins, she got legs!" exclaimed the forlorn young pirate, "And the worst is I still have to marry her! Horrible sea witch!"

"Aye," said another pirate, "tricked by a mermaiden eh?"

"A mermaid," replied the lad solemnly, downing some of his drink.

"No, round here we call that a MERMAIDEN!" the older pirate raised his glass trying to incite the crowd around him. "Cowardly women that they are with no fins at all, promising us men our greatest joy of all a fine life in the ocean. Then tricking us into marriage with such common wenches! Don't be fooled by the mermaiden again, boys!" continued the pirate, "Now I saw a real mermaid once too...."

"You did!" the crowd of young pirates applauded in unison.

"So have you," the older pirate laughed, "I married her! See, it happens to the best of us!" The entire table roared with laughter and even Scarborough stifled a giggle before excusing herself upstairs, kissing Avery's cheek as she left him sitting, nursing his drink.

Once upstairs, Scarborough locked the door to their room and pulled out the crimson cloth in front of a large free standing mirror. It was cool to the touch now, but still slightly moist, and she laid it out on the bedside table to examine it. The crimson cloth, which really was beautiful, shone with all the might of a million red candles, still as strongly as before it was enchanted by Aunt Nanzy. Shaking, Scarborough undressed, removing every piece of clothing, exposing every inch of her skin to the cool night air. The small hairs on her back and neck rose in goose bumps at the nervousness she had, it was anybody's guess as to whether the magic would even take affect or not, but she bit her lower lip in anticipation while wrapping the cool damp cloth around her body.

Instantly it took effect, and Scarborough gasped at the sight of herself now in the mirror, there replacing her was a stunning raven skinned woman whose beauty in figure and form was unmatched by anyone she had seen up to that date in Africa. Smiling, she revealed her white teeth which were the only sign of recognition that she had been another, moments before. She removed the cloth slowly and her familiar form returned to it again, the same boring body she had been blessed with on the day she was born. Even she could see the hourglass figure that was love at first sight, was making her regular self seem a bit bland in comparison.

She spent the rest of the night and a good portion of the early morning hours changing back and forth from her new form to her old. It wasn't until she heard a knock on the door signaling Avery's return that caused her to stuff the cloth inconspicuously among a pile of clothing. When she was forced to answer the door immediately after hiding the cloth she had no choice but to present herself at the door without a shred of clothing on.

Avery's drunkenness took this as an appropriate sign to have his way with the woman while she was so easily accessed. He charged her naked body and quickly parted with all of his own clothing as well. They ended up in a confused tousle where Scarborough tried to remain dignified about the situation before realizing there was no hope except in surrender, which she did only to be further attacked by Avery's unquenched libido.

Chapter 5- Aghast

(Axim, Ghana)

The next morning Avery was gone when Scarborough awoke. She had stayed dozing much later into the morning than usual, waiting for him to give up and decide to venture forward into the dawn earlier than she for once. He grunted around the room as she lay curled among the sheets, before finally leaving, slamming the door behind him, loud enough to surely wake her from any slumber she might have been enjoying. Avery was obviously upset his woman had not taken proper course in preparing him that morning and had showed her no mercy when it came to the loud feet stomping outside the door into the hall itself as well. He rarely fended for himself in the early hours and Scarborough only smirked in disgust at how much he could be helpless about certain situations, especially for a pirate king such as him!

She rose quickly once his feet trailed off into the distance and faded from her hearing. The crimson cloth still lay bundled among her clothes from yesterday and she quickly took it and flattened it on the bed. Using a few decorated pins she began affixing the cloth into a wrapped dress that she could wear out in public as if it was a regular fashion. When finished, she marveled at how well she and the cloth suited each other in their new shades of beauty. Her ebony skin glistened in the sun as tiny drops of sweat formed in the early morning heat. She pinned up her now jet black hair as well and added a red rose to the side for an affect. If love were going to be at first sight, she had better make sure only the Asantehene was to see her at all.

As she descended the staircase her entrance certainly made exactly the impression she had hoped for. Below her, at a large table, sat Osei Tutu, along with ten of his buddies all gathered round in a morning celebration of feast and drink. The crowd gathered round him was loud and rowdy; at least until they spotted her, then a silence fell among them as she approached in her new ruby ensemble.

When Scarborough headed straight for the table that Asantehene Osei Tutu sat at, all the men scrambled to their feet offering a pathway for the beautiful new ebony princess to follow until an open chair sat waiting for her by the king of kings. She sat down daintily by his side and started to introduce herself, "Hello kind sirs, my name is Scar-" she chocked on her words and fumbled out a cough to cover herself, the kind gentlemen next to her spoke, "Who did you say you are?"

Thinking quickly she managed to realize her outfit already named her exactly what she needed to explain herself as, "My name is Scarlett, and no, thank you, I am quite alright, now that I have stumbled upon you lovely fellows!" All of the men around her reseated themselves to join her at the table she now had total command over.

"Where did you say you were from, my dear Scarlett. And may I do say that is an extremely fitting and lovely name for you." The Asantehene took the floor in the gentle booming of his voice, as he asked while a shy smile took place across Osei Tutu's face.

"I actually was traveling here with my family," replied the now Scarlett, "when we were overtaken by bandits among the jungles!"

"That's awful," exclaimed one, "How terrifying" said another, and the crowd of men all gasped in unison.

"Yes, I was the only escapee, I am still in mourning over my lost loved ones," and Scarlett feinted a tear in order to demonstrate her overwhelming grief. "I cannot say wandering among the jungle alone wasn't worse than the hostage situation!" claimed Scarborough, suddenly remembering some of the pirate circumstances she had witnessed so therefore deciding to embellish her story.

"How did you ever manage?" queried one of the men who sat directly across from her, "Were you hurt?"

"No, I don't remember that well, I believe I have amnesia, I don't even think I can recall how to get home from here." Scarlett scratched her head, careful not to disturb the rose, and did her best impression of not having the slightest clue in the world.

"My dear," finally Asantehene Osei Tutu spoke again in soft, sweetened, tones, "How best may we handle this situation? Perhaps it is only right for me to make sure your visit here in Axum is not without my company. I cannot have you getting lost and wandering without an escort, so allow me the benefit of such a task."

Perfect, thought Scarlett, love at first sight, and she purred delicately into Osei Tutu's ear, "My, that would be simply marvelous!"

Spending the rest of the day being entertained by Osei Tutu was more enjoyable than Scarlett would have imagined initially. The whole history of the city of Axim opened up to her through his recollections.

The added benefit of her hourglass figure that only drew eyes of admiration the whole time was also noticed by the king of kings, which is what Scarlett learned Asantehene translated into. Only too many people stopped Osei and asked about the gorgeous young lady he was so lucky to have in companionship. "Why thank you," he would always reply quickly to add, "But please do thank Ms. Scarlett for having such a wonderful gift of beauty to grace us with."

By night fall she had grown accustomed to her dark form and had even passed Avery twice, without him being any the wiser as to whom she might be. After dancing and dinner with Osei that night, only sheer exhaustion caused her to part with the Asantehene's company for the evening and she decided to retire to her bed chambers. She went back to her room and promptly collapsed naked on the bed after tearing away the crimson cloth and rematerializing as a white woman. Hours later Avery stumbled in drunk to join her and he soon snored soundly next to her, none the wiser.

In the morning, Scarborough questioned Avery on where he was going to that day, secretly hoping for a certain answer. "I am going to negotiate with Osei Tutu about the slaves I am purchasing." Scarborough's eyes brightened and Avery took notice, "You can come if you like, Scar," he shortened her name lovingly and made her feel guilt over the wonderful time she had spent with Asantehene Osei just yesterday.

"Yes," she answered, "I would like that."

"Then best be gettin' dressed now, ya hear?" said Long Ben in his best pirates voice, and Scarborough strutted out of bed naked toward the wardrobe. She peaked in on the crimson cloth, and to make sure she wouldn't be missing it, she folded and tucked it into her purse. Then she proceeded to gather together an outfit suitable for both travel and appropriate for seeing Osei Tutu in.

Within a few moments she emerged fresher and more ideally dressed for a luncheon with Osei Tutu, even if he would not find her as attractive as she had been yesterday. This made Scarborough giggle slightly and Avery only just caught the tail end of her mischievous smirk enough to ask her, "What's gotten into you?"

"Oh, nothing," she replied, rather dully, wishing secretly to join in on the exciting activities that royalty partake in, rather than those of a cabin maiden, or worse still, a pirate's wife.

Grasping her arm in his, the dreaded pirate captain tenderly held his woman in a lovers embrace as they strolled down away from the tavern, towards the crowded marketplace ahead. They both enjoyed the heavy scents coating the air, a mixture of spices and meat roasting wafted above the sea of dark heads, and only the complimenting seasonal jungle fruit broke color into the unnaturally beige brown atmosphere.

Stopping at a vendors stall, Scarborough bought a banana which she shared with her husband in a rare moment of generosity. He, refused however, and chooses to purchase a large skewer of uniquely African game, which dribbled its juices down his beard with each bite, in a not so decadent display of pirate charm. It was then they continued to wind almost aimlessly down the endless corridors of tents and blankets present at the open air market.

Soon it became apparent that the merchants were thinning out and the neighborhood was becoming only more dark and foreboding. This was where transactions took place that were less than shined upon, such as large quantities of strong liquor, black market babies and children, kill contracts, or as Avery was expecting to find, slaves. There was a small abandoned shack at one end of the street and Scarborough could only just make out the handsome profile of the shadowed man standing inside.

Asantehene Osei Tutu had no reason to show himself to the public as a slave trader and wished for the knowledge to remain under wraps, though he had no guilt in selling his brothers in order to support his wealthy kingdom.

Stepping inside, both Scarborough and Avery noticed a different demeanor on the man which whom promised an entire crew of black pirates for Avery to command. Ruthless as the jungles of Africa were, the sea is no fairer a rival to any man caught with limited supplies and resources. It was the captain's desire to have the fittest, most suitable men accompany him on adventure that promised treasure abound.

A small table was placed in the center of the otherwise empty room, and a few stools were gathered around the table, but the layers of dust on the furniture explained just how often this place was used. Avery did his best to clean Scarborough's chair and even used a slight spit shine when polishing the table with his kerchief. Slight disgust appeared on his wife's face though, and when he offered her the newly brushed off stool as she inspected the display with a disdainful eye.

"I have taken about a hundred men prisoner, like you asked," reported Osei Tutu without thought to a greeting first, "they are located at Fort St. Anthony, where adequate lodging's for slave trade can be accommodated in the dungeon area."

Avery nodded in agreement, "I have significant gold, how much a head?" Pleasantries seemed the one thing missing from the discussion, but at least the point was being established quickly, thoughts Scarborough.

"Actually," said the Asantehene raising his eyebrows in a quizzical manner, "I was hoping to exchange for something a little rarer in value..." trailing off, Osei Tutu seemed tentative to continue his proposal. But venturing forward at Avery's nodding insistence, he continued, "I heard you managed to plunder the royal wedding gift straight from under the noses of the royal navy."

"Yes," said the captain, slightly astonished at how quickly the news had spread, "But what reason would you have for that trinket? It is valuable, but merely decoration, I can't imagine why you would fascinate yourself with something such as this."

"I have reason to perhaps have needed for a wedding present myself soon," said Osei Tutu, who caused Scarborough to catch her breath in anticipation. "I believe I have met the most delightful and enchanting woman I could have ever dreamed of, and was hoping to ask her to marry me, but alas I would need a valuable that is fit for royalty, to convince this damsel of no other suitors!"

"I see," chuckled Avery, as Scarborough let out the hesitant breath that she had held in during the Asantehene's announcement. "I hope then it will satisfy you more than it has my wife, she can't get her hands off of it!" Scarborough blushed at the charge, reminding herself of all the recent pampering and pruning she had done in the "Marooned Maritimer" mirrors and thinking about how Osei Tutu only wished to secure the precious item into her possession.

Still in a daydream about the "Marooned Maritimer", Scarborough was startled awake by the sudden movement of the stools and men around her. She jumped slightly and then rose to join the two men as they chuckled and laughed at each other's fish stories. "I was once overpowered by fifteen men, each armed with a pistol and cutlass..." was the swashbuckling start to Every's most recently exaggerated encounter in the high seas!

Scarborough followed as they began walking toward the center of Axim, right on the border between the lower and upper areas, where Fort St. Anthony awaited. As the coastline emerged the edge of the cliffs began appearing as clouds of mist gathered around them. The fort could now be made out at the edge of a sheer rock wall, where it rose up like a castle and loomed over the ocean waves that crashed below. Only as they neared Fort St. Anthony could the strange guests that guarded the entrance be made out, as they showed their leathery faces and beat their large black wings against the sky.

The vultures had learned to gather near the Fort after many bloody instances of human death taught them that a meal would eventually be provided by the occasional execution or falling of a weakened slave. Bones littered the ground occasionally and every so often the large wingspan of a vulture could be seen flapping as it sat perched on one of the many stone walls. The evil chill that grabbed onto Scarborough could not be shaken even when the party ventured inside to the dungeons out of site of the hideous scavengers.

As the three began to descend down a large stone staircase, the darkness began engulfing them slowly until only shadows were thrown by torches lighting the path ahead. Scarborough became more chilled at the lowering temperatures inside the castle and grabbed her arms for warmth rubbing them vigorously. Unfortunately the chill remained and caused her to shiver slightly from both fear and reaction to the cold around her.

The bottom of the stairs approached with each click of the party's feet on the hard stone steps and it was only too soon before slight moans and wails could be heard among the halls. Scarborough became even more terrified at spooky surroundings and fell behind both Every and the Asantehene. They made it to the end of the hall and what was not actually a spirit howling, to Scarborough's relief, but was the low cries of the imprisoned slaves inside.

Osei Tutu produced a bronze key and slid it inside the keyhole lock below the doorknob of a large wooden door. He turned the key and with a click it unfastened and cracked the door open slightly. The men inside, now wise to the approaching guests began screaming and hooting in rebellion to their surroundings. As the door opened, many must have recognized their captor enter because an eerie silence fell and hushed the men quiet.

A few whimpers could be heard among the group whenever the Asantehene passed by their cells, but the rambunctious energy had been totally evaporated from the cool dark dungeon. Eighty or ninety men all crowded against the bars to see the two new strangers, and for the first time Scarborough looked at the captain, and felt outnumbered by the dark skinned crowd.

"How are we ever going to turn them into a trust worthy crew?' hissed Scarborough quietly into Every's ear.

"Trust me," whispered back Henry, "all in good faith and good time," giving his usual brush off response when he wasn't really facing the problem straight on.

Breaking into the private conversations of the couple, Osei walked up and asked, "So then we have a deal? These men in exchange for the wedding present meant for the Spanish King?" Anxiously he looked into Every scowling glare awaiting a sign or answer.

Long Ben starred back hard, and then glanced over at the poor men locked in so tight there was no room to comfortably sit, and so he nodded, scowled, said, "Yes," and then presented his hand to shake on the bargain.

Leaving the room and the pitiful slaves, Scarborough would never have imagined welcoming the sight of the vultures any more than she did when they broke again into the daylight. The chill finally began leaving her as the warm rays of the sun touched her flesh. By the time they had walked back to the tavern, Scarborough was rosier colored and damp with sweat.

As the two men parted pathways, Every thought to ask one last question of Asantehene Osei Tutu, "By the way, Osei, your bride to be, what her name is anyway?"

Osei grinned at the thought of the luscious woman being his bride and replied through a broad smile, "As a matter of fact, it's Scarlett." Then the two men nodded at each other and left for their separate destinations.

Chapter 6 – Dark Task

It was once the couple had returned to their room, after many rounds at the bar with the Everyman crew, that Scarborough began feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt about the love triangle she had just formed. Her thoughts betrayed her and the idea of confession seemed more and more reasonable notion than before. She realized that as much as she could love being an African Princess, bestowed with wealth and adoration beyond imagination, her heart still belonged to the sea and that was why she needed Henry beyond all others.

"Henry," she called softly, as a slight welling of tears appeared in her eyes, "I must tell you something. " Pausing, Scarborough sighed and appeared uncomfortable sitting on the bed which she patted signaling Every to have a seat next to her.

"But first you must make me a promise," she continued, and Every stared at her solemnly and nodded slightly in her direction, unwilling to approach the hollow space that now separated them. He loved his wife and couldn't explain why they would have any such discord in their union.

"You must promise," she pleaded, her face revealing emotions that made her want to burst into sobs, "please promise me, with all your heart," stopping again she read his face which was concentrated on her. "Promise me that you will love me no matter what!"

Without a clue as to what the secret that was harbored in Scarborough's heart, a sense of dread washed over the pirate unlike any he felt when encroached by the many dangers of being a dreaded man of the ocean. He eventually nodded again and lifted his right hand, asking her to speak about terrible problem trapped inside her mind.

Finally, when she wouldn't speak for many moments, Every joined her on the bed and said in a mollifying tone, "Yes, I promise," hoping that the truth wouldn't cause him to break the pact he just agreed too. He took in a large breath and stared deeply into Scarborough's eyes, which sparked gold due to the sunlight cast through the window. Hoping her revelation wouldn't be devastatingly heartbreaking, he prepared for the worst.

Scarborough stood and walked to her bag where the crimson cloth lay folded inside along with the secret she was about to expose. As she removed the cloth itself, Every's face turned into a twisted expression of confusion and relief. He was familiar with the cloth, it was one of Scarborough's favorite accouterments and he could not fathom as to why she would be distressed over it. When Scarborough began undressing, Henry Every' heart lifted and assuming it was all a joking matter he laughed.

Scarborough quickly shot him a glance that informed him the matter was still serious, so he stopped his outburst and returned to his previous state. Fully nude, Scarborough shook slightly with fear, and then began to prudently wrap the fabric around her body.

"Oh my God!" gasped Every when the sight of Scarborough changed into the form of an African woman.

"Dear lord, what just happened?" he interrogated the woman, standing suddenly and grasping his sword. "How in the devil's name did you manage this Scarborough?"

"I'm Scarlett actually," she lowered her gaze in shame, "But I have a plan!" pleaded Scarlett, hoping Every wouldn't do something regretful, like draw his sword and chop off her head, something she had witnessed him do to others in the past.

Luckily, Every had never attacked a woman and was not about too, no matter how strange the dilemma ahead. "How did this happen?" He sat down again and took in the image of the very different Scarlett who now stood in front of him.

Scarlett un-tucked the cloth from around her a returned to her original pale complexion, allowing Every to exhale a sigh of relief. "I had it enchanted actually, by a witch doctor, she said I can use this too attract the Asantehene, but should I let anything happen to him I will be cursed to my dark form forever. "

"So you decided to woo Osei behind my back!" Every was yelling now, his cheeks flush with anger, and he raised his arms in dissatisfaction. "How could you, why would you do this?"

"Originally I just wanted to prove to him that I can demand anyone's attention," she remarked, "but now I am thinking we can gain from all this, as long as..."

"As long as?" Every raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

"Well you promised to love me no matter what, so far so good," she stated, "but I was thinking I could kill Osei Tutu right after the wedding and we could make off with all his riches and the 'Marooned Maritimer' as well!"

"Yes," said her husband, "I see, but what about this curse you mentioned?"

"Well that's the thing," Scarborough lowered her gaze and rewrapped herself in the red textile, "I would be stuck in this identity from then on, could you still love me?"

Every grinned, the one thing he loved more than Scarborough was booty, and the idea of her being dark skinned did not offend him so long as she promised lots of riches along with it. How bad could it be, he mused, even now she had a strange allure that made him want to fall in love with her all over again.

Grasping firmly around her waist, he kissed her softly on the lips which gave him a sense of familiarity to her that he could not find in looking at Scarlett. Pulling her onto the bed, his choice was obvious and they spent the rest of the night making love, sometimes as Scarborough, sometimes as Scarlett, but both still felt the same to Every and he realized he felt the same love for her no matter what.

In the morning they awoke embracing each other draped in the red fabric that had caused all the problems they now had solutions for. Never feeling more connected to her husband, Scarborough gazed at him while he slept softly beside her. She kissed him on the forehead and he stirred, muttering something along the lines of "steadies the anchors men." She giggled at his land locked self still living on board his ship in his dreams.

Scarborough rose up out of the bed and walked to the mariner's trunk at the end of the bed. She pulled out the key that was hidden among Every things and unlocked the chest itself. Inside was the velvet shape that alluded to her favorite treasure and removed the three foot "Ourglass" from underneath its cover. Taking it out of the chest she examined it in the light more closely. Its beauty was remarkable and the craftsman who had created such a wonder should be commended for his skill and was probably rewarded generously.

Now holding an item such as this Scarborough felt a sense of power and she read the quote inscribed along the bottom, "Time and tide stand for no man." Thinking of the power, she embraced it, and with a turning over of the "Marooned Maritimer" she continued the quote stating, "Except by my hand!" Feeling the control she had over starting the timing of an hour, Scarborough felt the need to seize the moment and woke Every to discuss a plan that would allow them both a safe escape with the mountains of wealth expected to be had.

When the hour had fully passed, the last of the tiny black pearls tinkled on the glass as they fell through the funnel, and signaled the need to flip the "Marooned Maritimer" and restart the process. They had talked the entirety of the hour and felt they had enough of an idea as to what should take place in order for Scarlett to approach Osei Tutu again.

Dressing in the crimson cloth, she covered herself in a fashionable kente that covered most of her body and disguised the red fabric underneath it. The traditional garb of Ghana felt odd on her, she had only worn cabin maid's dresses since she had joined the life of piracy, and now she felt more like the African Princess she was going to be treated as.

The Kente cloth she had purchased from the market was reserved only for royalty, and the merchant had hesitated at selling it to her until she informed him that it was for the woman that Asantehene Osei so dearly admired. The man explained to her that the legend behind the special Kente cloth was that the people of Ghana learned to weave it by observing the spiders creating their webs. She selected a rich pattern that combined all the symbols of the Ivory Coast in the colors of green, red and gold. He explained further what the colors represented, green signifying the fertile lands of Africa, gold for wealth, and red to represent the bloodshed that often haunted the people of Africa.

She now felt more appropriate than ever and hoped that Osei Tutu would also find her equally attractive. At this point Every left her alone in the room to request a separate lodging from the owner and barkeeper downstairs. They had decided it was best not to be seen staying in the same room together and so he had gone to make arrangements for another bedroom. He returned minutes later with a key to another door just down the hall.

Scarlett grabbed the key out of his hand and kissed him on the lips, hoping she would soon see the previous love in his eyes he now did not reflect as easily. She could tell this change had affected him greatly and that the treasure might be the only thing that would restore the devotion he had to his new, darker wife, which had suddenly intruded and replaced the pale one.

Going across the hall, she opened the doorway to her new room and carefully placed a few of her own items inside. It was now Every's job to find Osei and tell him of how he had spotted Scarlett and new she was staying in a room at the tavern. An hour or so passed before anything happened, but then there was some noise down the hall and Scarlett braced for the next step in the plan.

Kokooko sounded off as a knock on her door and she startled slightly. Putting on her best surprised expression, Scarlett opened the door expecting to find Osei standing there. Instead there was the Asantehene and about ten or so of his friends all at her door gathered round grinning like cats who caught a mouse.

"My darling," said the Ashanti royalty, "I realize that this may be a daring move, but considering that you have no family to speak of anymore, I thought I would bring some of mine to witness the traditional knock!"

"Traditional knock," puzzled Scarlett, "what kind of a knock?"

"I see your amnesia has caused you to forget some of our greatest traditions in Ghana," the smile on his face told Scarlett that it could only be good news.

Scarlett was flabbergasted at the sheer amount of people surrounding the Asantehene; all of his royal companions were gathered behind him, grinning like a pack of hyenas ready to pounce.

"Knowing that your family was tragically lost to the jungle natives, I could not make the proper arrangements, so I hope having some of my family will make up the difference." The Asantehene took a small bow and escorted himself into the room Scarlett was standing in.

"Difference....?" queried Scarlett, not having any clue as to the real customs of the African people, "how many people do we need here?"

"Ahhhh," exhaled Osei, "I see your amnesia will never allow your memories to return but I was hoping that you could create new ones by joining my family." Osei reached into a bag and pulled out a fine red Kente cloth and gave it to Scarlett.

"In case you are slightly more traditional I also have this," and Osei presented the "Suffering" the same ring Scarborough had used to pay for the Crimson Cloth's enchantment.

"Oh," gasped Scarlett, surprised at how easily her plan had worked, "And look, it fits!" she said trying to act surprised at the situation. Scarlett's eyes widened as she realized this was the proposal she had been expecting, smiling she accepted the cloth, her old ring, and the Ashanti leaders proposal of marriage.

Osei smiled as he turned to leave the room, "I just can't wait," he said with a grin, "till I can see you in that marvelous Kente, my dear Scarlett." He kissed her cheek and left the room with all his guests following and congratulating him on his way out.

Chapter 7 – Curse's Grasp

The wedding was planned in a flourish and Scarlett wore her crimson cloth brightly woven into the Kente that was traditional for Ghana marriages. Her hair was still being done as she waited for servants to carefully place a hundred roses in a giant bouquet atop her head. These carefully place roses, all very short stemmed, were touching each other creating an illusion of a living garden as a headdress.

The whole process had taken over an hour and Scarlett was growing impatient with the servant girls as the wedding hour approached. She snapped at them barking for the jewels that still had to adorn her as well. Scarlett liked having servants all too well and had quickly learned to treat them as less than worthy subjects.

The jewels a neighboring country had sent as the wedding present were stunning and quickly the diamonds gleamed on her like sparkling stars. Scarlett glanced at her reflection in the mirror and for once was truly satisfied with the sharp image that starred back at her. Who could have guessed such a beautiful woman would be a cold blooded killer by the nights end. The wedding chamber was filled with tapestries and the alter they approached burned with incense. Candles lead the way down the aisle, with a long red carpet laid out. An old tribes man stood by ready to recite the vows that would bond them until death do they part.

Scarlett trembled as she approached the Ashanti, who would soon to be her husband. They whispered the vows to each other, first in English, and then in Osei's native tongue as well. When they kissed, Osei's mouth was warm and inviting, almost tempting, but some part of her resisted him to a degree. He smiled at her as he released her mouth from his grip and sweetly said, "I love you, Scarlett."

Scarlett's eyes darted to the ground and she almost felt remorse for what was to come next, in fact a small center inside of her pitied the king and his failings. She barely whispered beneath her breath, "I love you too," not wishing to add lying to her list of crimes.

Ashante Osei led her to the royal chamber that had been prepared for the newlywed couple. It was filled with tapestries and fine fabrics hung from the bed posts. The sheets and covers were silk, Scarlett noticed when she was forced to sit on them as Osei immediately began attacking her clothing wishing to release months of pent up energy and enthusiasm for his new wife.

Scarlett pushed at him gently but firmly, insisting that they delay themselves slightly longer, so that they could toast to their new arrangements. Scarlett walked over to a bottle of wine that had been placed there on her instructions, and popped the cork. "To us!" she exclaimed, and poured them each a glass turning her back on the king.

From under her brassier she pulled a small folded piece of paper and tore a tiny corner from it. She opened it like a small pouch and tapped the contents into one of the wine glasses. The fine white powder disappeared into the swirling liquid completely undetected. Handing the tainted glass to the king she smiled and proposed a toast to their future, "Here is to what lies ahead!" Clicking their glasses together they then commenced drinking the very fine wine donated for their wedding day.

Osei began choking instantly, his breath gurgled and foam poured from his mouth, then as he gasped for air, suddenly the whole entire room went the color of blood, red. Blinded by this vivid color, Scarlett was startled by the sudden change in environment.

"Help!" screamed the startled Scarlett, and she looked around her for any sign of rescue. "Help! Please! Help!" she bellowed and began to cry. Where was she and why did the whole room shimmer the color of her bloody cloth?

A rustling in the distance alerted her to assistance and she scrambled forward with a new found dexterity. She shrieked upon the arrival of what she thought of as a friendly savior but what appeared in front of her as a gigantic spider. Not just any spider, but a large hairy tarantula now hovered, colossal, overhead. Spinning on her legs, she turned to run but then the spider called out in a familiar voice, "Where are you going my dear?"

Scarlett realized who it was and froze still; it could only be the voice of Aunt Nanzy, the witch doctor that had warned her not to kill the king in the first place. Scarlett turned and looked down at herself, she looked at her legs and was horrified to discover that they were now long spindly and black. She too, was a spider.

"Ahhhh..." she shrieked again, recoiling from the giant tarantula in front of her. "Why have you done this to me?" she pointed an accusing leg at Aunt Nanzy, "What have I done to deserve this?"

"You killed him," giggled the tarantula, "what did you expect?" Aunt Nanzy continued to giggle as Scarborough realized her now true form was totally alternative to what she imagined.

Examining herself closely Scarborough realized she was all black, and instead of wearing anything, there was a large red hourglass on her abdomen. Wailing and crying she threw herself to the ground begging for mercy from Aunt Nanzy.

"What did you think?" replied Aunt Nanzy, "Your darkest form would be human? Ha, ha, course not, that wouldn't be fair!" Aunt Nanzy then smiled in the way only a spider could, "That spot is there to remind you of what you love the most, and that is yourself. This makes you loathe others who cannot be forced to love you as deeply as you cherished who you were and now you will be forced to live with it as a reminder of how you once appeared. But your inside was the epitome of ugliness and that what you truly represent now. I must say though, people will often stop to admire that beautiful hourglass figure." Scarborough continued to sob on into the night over the injustice of the situation.

At three in the morning the door creaked open and the familiar footsteps of Every entering the room startled Scarborough awake. He looked down at the crimson cloth undisturbed next to the dead body of the Ashante. He grabbed the cloth and tucked it inside his bag, "Scarborough," he called softly, not wanting to alert any guards.

He went to the hourglass next where it stood wrapped in silvery thread courtesy of Scarlett. Attached at every angle, was a beautiful intricate spider web and on it sat a beautiful tiny black spider with a large red hourglass.

"Scarborough," Every said as his eyes widened in shock, "Is that you?" The spider moved in reply, reaching out with a tiny front leg as to answer the question. Every removed the hourglass from its attachment to the web, destroying her hours of work in only a second, sending Scarborough tumbling to the ground.

Gently unscrewing the top of the hourglass, Every opened its chamber and cupped the tiny spider inside the hourglass itself. Stuffing his bag with the "Marooned Maritimer" he swiftly turned at left the room. Now that the coast was clear he could alert his men to reclaim the treasures within the royal chamber.

As Every turned to leave what he didn't notice was the larger and more dangerous spider had also placed itself inside one of the trunks, ready to take to the seas with Scarborough and Every. Neither did the Everyman notice, when they closed the lid on the trunk and began carrying out the three chests full of treasure to be loaded onto the ship. This was only the beginning of the voyages yet to come.

Once inside his chamber, Captain Henry Every placed the hourglass on top his desk again, reassuming its rightful role as his time piece. The tiny spider inside immediately went to work rebuilding a web for her nights to come catching flies. It was only too fortunate that Every had even recognized Scarborough at all.

"Well Scarborough, quite the mess you're in now. I told you not to fool around with that black magic!" And in the next room you could hear the thudding of the trunks being placed in cargo. Then it was silence as Waterlogged parted with the dock and began to move away leaving nothing but a tiny wake as a memory of its ever being there.

So let that be a lesson to all, beware and be careful what you wish for because, my friends, that is how the black widow got her hourglass....

This story took place in 1694 and is a legend about the black widow obtaining her hourglass...

The black widow with her signature red hourglass figure was first discovered and described by Johan Christian Fabricius in 1775.

_He named her_ Latrodectus mactans, _which literally translates to "murderous biting robber."_

This prompts me to ask only one question:

Which came first, the black widow or her hourglass?

Part 2: Fiddle

"And Nero fiddled while Rome burned"

### Chapter 1 – Le Veritable

The all African crew crowed around their new captain in awe and with confusion. This was to be there first day enslaved to a white man such as Captain Every. Every hushed the crowd with a grin and the shaking of a bag that clinked of gold coins.

"My men, you have been slaves for too long in your land," commanded Avery, "And now you stand on my land, the OCEAN! I am here to tell you that you are now free men, as Pirates! On this ship you will each be promised treasure beyond your wildest imagination, women of the most exotic type, and food and rum for every ported night!"

The men gazed up at Every as if they had seen a ghost, they could not imagine the luck they had at stepping aboard the Waterlogged. "My men," began Every again, "To each of you a gold doubloon as a price for your freedom on my ship. This is the first start of your treasure and I ask you to value it greatly."

"As for each of you, you can spend this doubloon, but I must say I shall ask for it first, in exchange for your freedom to leave this ship. It is a worthy price for the pirate that chooses to bury his treasure and stay on board this ship for he will be rewarded with valuables far beyond this doubloon."

The men began cheering and some even cried as the Captain passed out gold to each and every newly recruited man on the ship. "And now," said Every, as the bag emptied itself of coins, "WE DRINK!"

A large barrel of rum was tipped over and everyone rushed to get a glass so they could celebrate their new freedom as pirates! Hours later the celebration continued but Every snuck down to his cabin where he left his lovely wife in her hourglass.

It was Scarborough who first noticed through her eight eyes imprisoned in the Hourglass, Captain Every acting strange. He busily locked his door nightly and poured over a tiny slip of paper.

"Scarborough," he spoke to the spider as if he knew she could understand, and sometimes she would move or wiggle in response. "This dear," knowing the spider could no longer regurgitate his secrets, "Is a piece of a treasure map!" Every now choose Scarborough as his closest confidant. "A Eight Deaths Treasure Chest in fact, and let me tell you how they come to be like this. Eight castaways of a crew were shipwrecked with all their gold. These eight men hid their booty on the island so no one could find it without the map. The map was divided into eight pieces, two being the compass and the legend, the rest being notes of the island and where to go looking."

Scarborough fidgeted with her web, which she always did now, and Every took that as credit she was listening. Every continued, "This is a Eight Deaths Treasure Chest as I said, as all seven of these men died eigjht different ways, but not before putting out the seven separate pieces of the map in a bottle and sending them out to sea."

"Starvation and agony awaited those men so the first one used a bullet to get out. I know this because this was the last piece and there is a note on the back about how each man died." Every continued, "I know of another person who has a piece, that is how it got out that all eight must have been found. But by who!"

"I found this bottle afloat ten years ago, and have been searching for the island ever since." Every sighed with discontent. "Alas, I have finally arranged an exchange for two other pieces of the map, Thanks in part to your wedding treasure Scarborough." And he laughed cruelly at her predicament. "Don't worry; you can keep your hourglass, for now! We have plenty of booty to go around."

Just then Aunt Nanzy in full tarantula form decided to make an appearance. Choosing that moment she transfigured into her old woman self and said, "If its treasure you be after than I am on the right ship, but not without the help of magic will you ever find it!"

"Who are you!" screamed Every, surprised at the sudden appearance of the old woman.

"I am Aunt Nanzy," said the woman, "I am the one responsible for your wife's predicament, or should I say the Asantehene's wife. Still in mourning are you my lovely Scarlett? By the way, what a lovely ship you have here, would be a shame for someone to expose its inner workings." She then popped back into her tarantula self and scurried into a hole with no hope of anyone but Scarborough following into.

Every turned to Scarborough and glowered, "A friend of yours eh?"

"I know how we can find this treasure," called Aunt Nanzy from her hole, "but it will require my some books from my library." Aunt Nanzy scuttled out and went over to one of the trunks that were particularly heavy and presumably filled with vast quantities of treasure, but when she exposed its contents, it was filled with books. Dangerous books, books on subjects no one dared discuss out loud, books on black magic. She pulled several leather bound titles from the collection before she finally got to the Grimoire she was looking for, The Lesser Keys of Solomon or the Ars Goetia, a valuable book in summoning treasure finding evil spirits such as demons.

Aunt Nanzy's magic must have been effective as ever because within a year the ship's cargo bays swelled with treasure as she had taken more than she could hold in gold, silver and jewels from her capture of the prized, Ganj-i-sawai, a flag-ship so treasure laden that it rose several inches above the water line once Avery relieved it of its bounty. Her escort, the Fath Mahmamadi, was no match for the several other pirate vessels that had joined forces with the unforgiving captain and his crew swiftly took over the entire operation. The hardest job was splitting the loot fairly among the men as settling squabbles were more unsettling than the actual seizing of the treasure itself. By the time the sun had set on the third day, Avery and his crew set sail for their final destination, the Caribbean.

The hourglass had become legendary in that amount of time as a timepiece and as an oracle for good or bad news. Whether a ship was going to sink or not was all dependent on the tell-tale sign of my red belly in the hourglass. For I was the actual magic inside the miracle and my idea of the whether or not we could weather a storm seemed to depend on whichever way I pointed. If my head faced the sky it meant clear skies ahead and to hoist the flag, which now proudly was dedicated to my hourglass. It seemed my web making ability and spider instincts gave me paranormal powers over predicting stormy weather better than any barometer because nine times out of ten I was right about the degree of the climate change and what it would take to get through the storm. So right in fact, that I was on three different row boats, mostly false alarms, in different evacuations, as superstitious as the old pirates were about making sure I survived the storms I predicted so well.

In 1696, Avery vanished, at least from all record books. He was a very rich man, that Henry Avery, and time with the crew was running short. He decided to count his blessings and retire early so that was when he decided to trade the life at sea for another, a life on land, as a very rich man. He traded our ship for a large sum and bought a nice house in one of the colonies. The only one to stay on as friend and servant was Aunt Nanzy, who knew no other life than caring for Every and conjuring the necessary juju needed for daily tasks. And of course I stayed with them, at home in my hourglass.

It had been twenty-five years since that day, when Aunt Nanzy and Avery had met, it was now 1721 and our assembly was coming to a close head hung low, it meant I don't know and what lay ahead may or may not be survivable.

Aunt Nanzy and Avery soon became my best friends and only link to the outside world. They both began a life of plundering that was only fair to those involved in a share of the booty. They always swore I would get my share of the booty as well, if I wasn't a spider that is, but to keep the hourglass, as my most expensive home, and consider my hard work as levy paid on my precious home. This I liked to a certain degree, always swearing that I would one day regain my form anyway, and then I would still insist on keeping the "Marooned Maritimer" as a token of my appreciation.

Avery and Aunt Nanzy plundered the deep blue seas dry it seemed, with their mischief and glory it seemed that Scarborough and her predicament were all but lost on Avery and Aunt Nanzy except for the occasional mention of Avery that "he promised to still love Scarborough, even in her darkest form forever," usually after he came home from a night ashore smelling of rum and perfume from some other lady.

Though it is a mystery to some, Captain Avery could read. It seems the scars on his face never deterred him from the idea that his mind was intact and he used every opportunity to read without abandon. This was one of the reasons he was Captain after all, he could read charts and orders fairly easily. And read he did, he digested material. And not slowly, like a famished man with an unquenchable thirst. He had even taught Scarborough before they had gotten themselves into this predicament.

In his main cabin sat huge stacks of books, books on every subject matter. Within this library of know how he had pulled three or four books quite regularly. One of them was open and lying on the table now, it was the old captain's log that detailed the sailor's daily comings and goings. But other books had been pulled more recently as well including Grimoire of Honorious, Grimoire of Verum, Ars Goetia, Lemegeton Clavicular Solomon and now Scarborough sat with interest inside the hourglass, reading through the magnified mirror in another language. This current book was rather large and old, leather bound and though it made little sense to her, she liked examining the words on the paper when there was nothing better to do. All she knew was the title to the book, "Le VeritableDragon Rouge," or "The True Red Dragon, but from what little she could make out, the book had little if nothing to do with dragons, one of her favorite creatures.

She thought to herself at how they were mythical. Assuming that just because she had never seen one, didn't necessarily mean that they did not exist, mythical just meant that they were very rare, and perhaps one day she would be lucky enough to partake in a sighting of a dragon or even unicorn. Many rare creatures were being proven more real by the day. Just recently there was a sighting of a kraken that no one could debate off the bow of a navy vessel, a very good source of information.

"Scarborough," said Avery, breaking her concentration, "It's been quite a few years and a whole lot of pirating, and well I must say I have been fairly lucky." Scarborough wriggled back and forth in agreement, over the years of Scarborough being a spider, Avery and she had formed a coded communication, no longer relying on Aunt Nanzy for discussion. "But I miss being a pirate and you miss being a human, and seeing that play the other night gave me an idea as to how we could both fix our predicament."

He was of course referring to The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, a play they had both witnessed the other night from an opera box at a theater in town. Avery had taken to wearing Scarborough in her spider form in a talisman around his neck so she could go everywhere with him, including plays and poker games. She was still his good luck charm and even though they no longer terrorized the sea together, they still did everything else together.

"I so much enjoyed the musical entertainment," continued the enthusiastic Avery, "especially the fiddles. You know the Devil plays a fiddle, mighty well they say."

Scarborough wriggled impatiently inside the "Marooned Maritimer," and Avery laughed, "Why yes, that's exactly what I mean, my Lady," followed Avery "the part where he promises to change Faust into any shape he chooses! If the Devil can change Faust into any shape or form he chooses, perhaps he can change you back into a human," Avery paused momentarily not wanting to say what came next, "of course you will have to exchange your everlasting soul."

"But before you protest!" seeing Scarborough's reaction Avery quickly spat out the next sentence, "I have a plan, I want the Harbinger Fiddle and you want your form back, so I think we might have to kill him to obtain what we both want! Now we both know you never have to lose a fight, even if you bite, so what have we got to lose? Your poison should be more than enough to knock him out!"

Scarborough held one arm to her chin in contemplation and began to think about the problem then after a long while jutted out another in a mock hand to finger shake signaling that she and Avery had a deal. Her poisonous bite had been the death of more than one man that had crossed Avery at sea, what was one more, especially the Devil? Hopefully it would all go well and Avery could just switch his own fiddle in place of the Devil's and have him be none wiser to the situation.

"I've been doing some research since the other night," smirked Avery pointing to the open book on the table, Le Veritable Dragon Rouge, "and it contains a spell called 'Lucifuge Rofocale' that will summon the Devil himself to make a pact with him. I've studied it and there are a few preparations that are necessary, such as a rod of hazel that is cut by a new knife at the horizon as the sun sets."

"Yes, Scarborough," sighed Every, "I will consult Aunt Nanzy, and no I don't think we will get in over our heads, nothing like what happened to Faust will happen to us!"

### Chapter 2- Deal with the Devil

Finding a virgin black kid was trickier than it looked because the question was slightly more embarrassing too Every than you might think. Eventually the task fell on Aunt Nanzy as well, who within the hour brought home a small black female goat no more than three months old.

"Now don't you go fouling her up! Hard enough to find one not bred at this season, without you making a fool of yourself and ruining her purity!" huffed and grumbled a disgruntled Aunt Nanzy who returned from the market with the bleating kid under one arm.

Then there were four nails from a child's coffin, which again was easier to locate than to acquire, This took long hours in the cemetery in the middle of the moon lit night to ensure and procure such items of rarity. Once obtained they vibrated with a sadness and grief that only those who know the depth of depression can withdraw too and were wrapped in linen and reserved for the fourth-coming ritual.

Finally the knife made by the virgin, which there being only one knife –maker, and his children far too old to be considered virginal, proved to be an undertaking more adventurous than the others still. Then Aunt Nanzy decided to hold a class on knife making that she offered free to all the little children still in bible study at the local church. After a few lessons the children could fashion suitable sturdy knives for the occasion so Aunt Nanzy finally broke down and said, "Now children, please let me borrow your knives for my garden club! I want to show them what we have been working so hard on! "

Of course the young children were more than eager to oblige Then it was black candles, a switch of hazel scouted at sunset and cut at sunrise, a bloodstone, and a few more odds and ends before all the necessary requirements had been arranged or gathered.

In one swipe Avery had cut the throat of the bleating goat the night before, and in one slit had skinned it and left its insides roasting on the fire as an offering to Lucifer, the Devil. He used the skin to stretch and dry and make a roll of parchment for Scarborough to enter into a Part with the Devil on. In the end the three of them gathered inside the sacred triangle outlined by strips of dried goat skin nailed in place by the four nails from the child's coffin. Inside the triangle they crouched on either side were candles and an altar, dedicated to the dark lords summoning.

Avery trembled but Aunt Nanzy gathered the courage to yank the blasting rod out from his hand and took charge of the situation as the kabbalistic karcist:

"Emperor Lucifer, prince and commander of all rebel spirits, I implore you to abandon your dwelling, in whatever part of the world you should be, to come and speak to me. I command and entreat you by the great and living God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit to come noiselessly and without giving off any offensive scents, to respond in a clear and intelligible voice, point by point, to all that I ask you failing which, thou shalt be most surely compelled to obedience by the power of the divine ADONAY, ELOHIM, ARIEL, JEHOVA, TAGLA, MATHON, and by the whole hierarchy of superior spirits who shall constrain you against your will."

A slow quiet melody took place over the crackling of the fire and they all turned around to see what the noise had stemmed from. To everyone's surprise a silhouette sat in the tall leather chair where Every typically took his pipe by the fireplace. There, sitting in a relaxed manner, a young handsomely dressed man was playing a fiddle, a beautiful mastery of craftsmanship that with each stroke sent out sweet notes like none other ever before tempted on their ears.

Cutting into the night the melody rose and fell as it was the Devil's tuning that held its strings in their chords. He was playing something unrecognizable for the times, but sweet and hypnotizing nonetheless. So mesmerizing was the song that Every almost forgot himself and began to sway back and forth to the music almost losing himself and his balance and leaving the protective center of the triangle. Aunt Nanzy caught him swiftly and steadied him before he could leave, "Not so fast, that's what he wants from you, as soon as you out of this circle, you in trouble."

"And how may I be of service to you?" spoke a voice so smooth it seemed to carry on a harmony of its own that sang like a robin.

"How did the Devil know to bring his fiddle?" said a suspicious Scarborough, crossing her front most pair of legs in subtle distrust.

"That my dear, is a secret," responded the Devil, "And please call me Lucifer, or Lou, for short!"

"You can hear me?" said the spider, shocked at the handsome face as well as his ability to understand her in spider form, "Then realize you are here for me, not anyone else."

Lucifer swiveled round in his chair revealing all of his handsome face and the rest of the masterpiece that was his fiddle. It was a hardanger fiddle, no less, and fancy decorated as expected. The neck of the fiddle was made of solid gold and extended down into the body where it widened out into three prongs of a gold pitch fork. The two outside prongs were smooth and pointed with an opal in each end and ceased by blending smoothly in to the hips of the fiddles body.

The middle prong was flared in an arrow shape and where the strings met the base there were four tiny opals to hold them in place. The solid gold pitchfork inlaid in the fiddle wasn't the only accent marker on the body of the instrument; it also had gold inlaid pentagrams on either side of the fingerboard, with three opals on each side ingrained into the rounded lip above symbols. On the bottom of the musical apparatus there was nothing but the gold prongs which must have meant it got rather uncomfortable after long playing. Finally, above the peg-box, where the golden neck ended, it twisted into a large dragon's head, which roared ferociously, while the tuning pegs were each of the dragons four legs and all clasped smooth rounded harlequin opals in their clutches which glittered in the firelight. .

"I'd sell my soul for that fiddle," commented Avery, his mouth a gape with surprise.

"Your soul is too filthy for one of my most prized possession," said Lucifer to Every, "But I will play you a song if you will dance for me, my lady." He pointed at Scarborough and as suddenly as he started so did she. Eight legs wiggled in dance inside the protective circle proving that there was little that could be kept from the prince of darkness even with a blasting rod and certain symbols to keep him at bay.

After ten minutes or so of being under his spell and forced to dance, Scarborough almost collapsed of exhaustion. "That's an unusual bow," said Aunt Nanzy, partially out of interest and partially to stop Lucifer from playing anymore for an already tired Scarborough. "What's it made of?"

The Devil stopped and examined his bow for a second, "Unicorn horn actually, one of the last."

"Ha," chuckled Avery, "I won't fall for that! I know where you got that, those sea devils live up north, pardon my language."

"Yes, "said Lou, "They do now, but not always, would you like me to tell you the story?"

"Certainly," said Scarborough, "Please go on."

The Devil began with his narration:

Long ago there was a man named Noah and he was instructed to gather a pair of one male and one female of each animal that was ever present under Heaven and on the Earth such as all those named in the Garden of Eden. For God was speaking to Noah and told him he there would be a great flood and that all the wickedness of the world would be washed away and he, his family and the animals would begin the world anew. Noah was told to build a great and mighty ark to hold him and all the different kinds of animals so that they would survive the flood even though he had no evidence other than his faith in the glory of God.

Noah found this task to be formidable but still was able to build the ark without question even though the people around him gave no help except for his family. He also was able to gather all the different kinds of animals each one by one. Trapping lions and leopards, giraffes and gazelles, he was able to secure one mated pair of each with every coming day, for God had given him much warning. Sure enough, soon he had collected all the different animals that were in existence, one by one, except for one.

The unicorns were so elusive that Noah could not manage to track them very well. On the rare occasion that he did spot one, he would do his best but they always evaded capture. Sometimes they would see him coming and simply would turn and run, other times, they would use their magical horns to cast spells to confuse him. However they chose to escape, poor Noah always came back empty handed.

Soon it started to frustrate Noah and he almost gave up, but then he remembered the task God had given him and it raised his spirits to dedicate himself again to the job. Finally, God must have decided enough was enough, because for while Noah was again off chasing the elusive unicorn, a few drops of rain began to fall.

"Thank the very Lord Almighty!" yelled Noah his faith fully restored in God! He then realized that the day had come to an end for the flood was upon the world and he quickly rushed back to the Ark. Now the day had come where there was no more time for preparation and only those who had gathered on Noah's Ark would survive.

Thundering and storming Noah and his family settled in with all the animals on the Ark, all the animals but one, the unicorn. He began to weep over his failure and the thought of losing such a noble and fine animal. His wife and children tried to comfort him but he was too saddened by the loss of innocence.

Soon the waters began to rise and Noah's Ark began to float along the waves. With a heavy heart Noah gazed out his window only to witness the unicorns again, one last time. With the forest flooded, the unicorns had no choice but to swim in the turbulent sea, which grew ever wilder with the raging storm. The whole family including Noah sobbed even harder until one of his children cried out "Look!"

One by one, the unicorns used all the magic in their horns and transformed themselves into something that could survive the weather. Whether or not the weather ever got better didn't matter they were stuck like that forever. ("Kind of like me!" thought Scarborough) Miraculously they all became a creature so well adapted to the water it was as if they were supposed to be formed that way in the first place and the only thing still blessing them from their previous form was their unicorn horns. The unicorn was saved! It was just doomed to haunt the seas from now on.

With joy and excitement Noah's family cheered with excitement, they no longer had to feel sorrow and shame in not completing their task. Celebrating by waving goodbye to the newly transformed herd of unicorns now a completely new creature in and of themselves, they smiled and sailed off into a stormy next few weeks.

As any good sailor knows these creatures settled up north, in the arctic waters and the unicorn still exists today, though their horns aren't magical enough anymore to transform themselves back.

Hardly" said Avery interrupting the story's conclusion, "They just discovered another form of paradise! They don't want to leave! Place better than Fiddler's Greens that ocean is!"

"Really?!" inquired the Devil, "How so?"

"Ahhhh," said Every, "To start, they say you can fly in heaven, and what is more like flying than swimming in the ocean? And they say you got music in heaven! Well what is more peaceful than a whale's song? Arrrr, matey, nothing like the ocean as a taste of heaven, it's supposed to be cool in heaven as well right?"

"Yes," said Lucifer, "It is rather," he paused and shivered, "chilly."

"Not to stop you two," proposed Scarborough, "But how about you play us another song on that fiddle of yours?"

:"Only if you can answer me a riddle? Which one makes the music the fiddle or the stick?" asked Lucifer with a sly grin on his face that made Scarborough realize immediately without a doubt she was in no way going to answer the riddle.

"The stick!" yelled Every.

"The fiddle!" pronounced Aunt Nanzy.

"Neither," said the Devil, "The man in the middle. But enough of that you wanted a song!" Lucifer pointed his bow at Scarborough, and she once again commenced dancing!

"The poor thing," said Aunt Nanzy, "about to lose her mortal soul!"

### Chapter 3- Straight to Hell

Scarborough reached for each victim one by one, the mummies of houseflies or whatever other scavenging's she had mustered up in that web of hers. Each providing her with an infinitesimal amount of blood she used her front tarsus claws to absorb ink and then scrawled tiny spider writing across the manuscript. The goat's skin still retained a furred side and was stretched taunt and dried as to create the virgin parchment on which she wrote:

Emperor Lucifer,

I command thee, giveth mine, and mine own shape and form without flaw or detail as it was a human as I was originally born and in thy return I grant thee servitude of my human soul. For if ye come forth in thirty five years from whence, I shall giveth thee my human soul or its equivalent in gold!

Forever in thy Honor

Scarborough

It was tiny and impeccable, well pronounced were the loops and lines that decorated the exquisite calligraphy. The script used for her signature was what most marvelously maintained the sense of dignity and nobility. She had even had a pronounced red hourglass running through the decorated S where the top and bottom sides blended in perfectly with the falling time-sand of the hourglass. She couldn't help but overhear them fight for space as they couldn't all see through the magnifying glass.

Even the Devil pulled out his very own spectacle to examine the tiny spider writing, "My, my" he said, "How blessed are we this evening, such craftsmanship and dedication!" He cooed and purred over "what labor" and must have "exceeded all expectations" because he pulled out his own plume and synchronized the contract with his own seal of affirmation. The dark crimson ink that ran from his quill could have only been one unmistakable fluid. Terror ran through all eight of Scarborough's legs at once, about what she was going to do next.

As the Devil went to sign his name on the pact Scarborough jumped aboard his hand and waited, poised and ready for action. When he finished his signature on the contract, Scarborough bit down hard, injecting all of her venom into his veins causing him to immediately collapse and faint.

"Oh damn," cursed Scarborough, "now I'm still a spider and the Devil is dead."

"Never mind that," said Aunt Nanzy, "we gotta get him outta here!"

Avery took the Harbinger Fiddle with no remorse and began to play a solemn tune, one that was newly invented and fit the situation perfectly, Fiddler's Green.

"Halfway down the trail to Hell,  
In a shady meadow green  
Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped,  
Near a good old-time canteen.  
And this eternal resting place  
Is known as Fiddlers' Green."

"Marching past, straight through to Hell  
The Infantry are seen.  
Accompanied by the Engineers,  
Artillery and Marines,  
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen  
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green."

"Though some go curving down the trail  
To seek a warmer scene.  
No trooper ever gets to Hell  
Ere he's emptied his canteen.  
And so rides back to drink again  
With friends at Fiddlers' Green."

"And so when man and horse go down  
Beneath a saber keen,  
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee  
You stop a bullet clean,  
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,  
Just empty your canteen,  
And go to Fiddlers' Green."

When he had finished they all had shed a tear, even though it was Lucifer they were mourning. Then they took him to the nearby graveyard and began digging in the same spot where they had unearthed the coffin of the dead child. The freshly tilled soil was easy to work and they were done before the sun rose, which was good for the suspicion of the town folk.

"What is that place, Fiddler's Greens?" asked Aunt Nanzy while they were digging.

"Ah," said Every, who paused to stop digging and light his pipe, "It's a relatively new kind of pirate paradise, where all the animals go when they die. There we pirates go if we behave ourselves as well. In Fiddler's Greens your pipe never runs out of tobacco, your whiskey never runs dry, and there is a fiddle always playing a melody to dance too,"

"Oh," said Aunt Nanzy, "Well I'm pirate enough to get there, right boss?"

"Course," retorted Every, "And definitely animal enough to go as well."

They continued digging in silence for several hours until the task was completed by Every and Aunt Nanzy. "I leave you in peace and I will permit you to retire to wherever you please to return immediately with my invocation. In the name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost. Amen." Aunt Nanzy dismissed the spirit of Lucifer officially from their services.

Scarborough awoke the next morning beside Avery, but saw things in a different light. No longer did eight altered views gather in her mind to form a clear picture. Now, she saw through just two eyes, like a human, and everything around her was rather small compared to yesterday. She looked down and realized her hands were once again pink and five fingers replaced the tiny claws that had once worked the silk coming from her underside. She wriggled each finger with excitement, much like she had once controlled all eight legs,.

"Avery," she screamed in enthusiasm. "I'm human again!"

Then she shook him violently until he grunted awake and moaned, "what in the Devil?"

"I'm human again!" proclaimed Scarborough loudly, "I can't believe it, but the spell is finally broken!" With sheer joy, Scarborough let to her feet and began to dance. "Here" she said, tossing him the Harbinger Fiddle, "Play me something."

Avery began a dramatic interpretation of Blow the Man Down and Scarborough danced joyously, then she got a far off look in her eye and inquired, "Avery, play me something I really like please?" She sighed, "That tune you used to play when you first met me, don't you know the one?"

Every couldn't help but slow his fiddle down to the even plucking of notes to the tune of Scarborough Fair, "Are you going to Scarborough Fair?," he sang sweetly with love in his voice.

She took the crimson cloth that had lain beside her, and twirled it around her body, astonished to see it still worked! "This could come in handy," thought the elated Scarborough. It sparkled in the sunlight as the magma red color oozed over her dark to light flesh.

Aunt Nanzy came stumbling in next, "What's all the commotion about?" she gasped seeing the vision of Scarlett once again strewn across the bed.

Scarlett quickly tossed aside the cloth and became a very nude Scarborough resumed dancing to the tune of her favorite song while Avery continued to solo on the fiddle once owned by Lucifer. You could see a slight look of dismay or disappointment cross Aunt Nanzy's face at the fact that her magic spell had finally been lifted, some twenty-five years later.

"The Devil did it Aunt Nanzy! I'm human again!" screeched an over enthusiastic Scarborough.

"Is that so?" said Aunt Nanzy, "I always watch out for that Devil stuff myself."

The celebration continued well into the night where Scarborough partook in all of life's gluttonies and desires of the human heart, especially those missed by one who had been trapped out of their body for so long. No longer forced to drink the blood of insects, she drank wine instead, and ate meat with vegetables.

There were things she was going to miss about being a spider though, such as being able to dangle from silken threads and practically fly about the room. She was also going to miss spying on the others, most people had no clue when Scarborough was listening. But all that was in the past now, the only hourglass she needed to poses had ruby-red glass, silver mirrors, and black pearl time sand.

She grew drunk and tired, then remembering one more thing for which she craved because of her long drought without her human form. A lust in her grew for Avery that seemed unmatchable and unlike any other. But even in his aging face, you could see a tenderness that allowed him to engulf her with his passion and reason to want her back. She hadn't aged one bit, being trapped as a spider, her form was flawless as it once was, and it now reminded Every why he had so prized her in the first place.

Avery could see on her face the idea that was crossing her mind, and he was glad to comply, for now a lust stirred in both of them that needed to be quenched. He had missed his wife in all the decades she was a spider, genuinely, and now here she was before him again as if time had not touched her in all these years. With a renewed sense of love and faithfulness they grappled at each-others bodies, while outside it started to rain and the pitter patter of fat wet drops hitting the roof soon drowned out their lovemaking.

### Chapter 4 – Invisible

With a flash of lightening across the window Every awoke with a start. "I saw him," he cried, "I saw him with mine own two eyes!"

"Your just having a nightmare," pleaded Scarborough, "Go back to sleep." She groaned and flipped sides so she no longer faced him on the bed.

"No, he's after his fiddle!" screeched Avery, "He wants my head for what I've done, and I gotta hide!"

"Well, he's already got my soul," said Scarborough sitting up resting on her elbows, "I wonder whose fabulous idea it was to give him that! Oh maybe the same man who decided to steal his fiddle? For me, so far it's been the best decision I've ever made," professed a tired Scarborough.

It had been the same thing ever night, poor Every was having nightmares about the Devil wanting his fiddle back. It had been months since they had gotten away with their then caper and Every's night terrors seemed to get worse and worse with each days new found guilt.

"Tonight he told me it would be off with my head if I played that damn fiddle again!" sobbed Every into Scarborough's comforting bosom.

Scarborough laughed jovially and reached for the hardanger instrument, "Here," she replied, "Play on!"

Avery went to raise the unicorn's horn bow and strum a few chords, but lowered it again, not having the heart. "I can't Scarborough, 'E'll have my head!" warned Every.

"Now, now, I know what we will do," chirped the woman who once could only communicate through the hourglass on her abdomen now revealed her complicated master plan.

The next night they busied themselves once again exhuming the grave of the poor child where they had buried the Devil. The soil was hard now and packed down, and the going rough, so it took twice as long to do the job even with three people. When they finally reached the point where the Devil's body should have lain, scarcely a bone or rotting piece of flesh could be found.

"See, Scarborough!" exclaimed Every, "I told you so, he's alive!"

Scarborough could no longer argue and a Faustian replay began to send a chill down her backside as she remembered the Devil's resurrection in the play. "But...I don't know...how?" was all she managed to mutter. Now with her mortal soul still on the line and Avery still in possession of that damn fiddle, the could have only one thing, made Lucifer very angry.

"Aunt Nanzy might know what to do," finally spoke Avery, and they agreed to proceed no further without consulting her.

"Lots of Holy Water," replied Aunt Nanzy, when they informed her of their situation, "Until I think of a more permanent solution."

Avery and Scarborough went to the local priest and asked for bottles of the stuff. "It's for our dear Aunt," pleaded Scarlett, "she is rather touched, if you gather my statement?" and the priest nodded in a knowing manner having witnessed the strange comings and goings of the household for years.

"I hear she has a collection of shrunken heads," asked the young Father, "and was once a shaman in Africa," he continued to describe the exorcising process while pouring bottle after bottle of blessed holy water. Finally, with a smile on his face, he explained that there might be some difficulty converting her originally, "But don't worry, she will see the light of our Heavenly Lord and Christianity."

A nun chose that moment to enter from the back room but began to shake uncontrollably and pointed at Scarlett. "As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou are with me..." she quoted repeatedly shaking a pointed finger at the dark female figure.

"Ignore Sister Rosemary," said the Priest, "She's one of our more special of God's chosen people."

They left hurriedly with about a gallon of Holy Water tucked under each arm carrying it home like precious cargo. Once home they crossed themselves with it, took baths in it, drank it, washed their hair and faces in it.

By nightfall, they both settled in for what they had hoped would be an uneventful night's sleep. By two in the morning this was to be proven otherwise because now instead of waking up screaming, Avery just tossed and turned viciously but stayed asleep. Scarborough shook him but he refused to wake up, as if hypnotized by his dreams. Finally a hearty slap from a dark hand brought him round.

"Oh no, what's the use!" whimpered Avery;

"What now?" questioned Scarborough.

""Every time I play that damn fiddle, the Devil can hear its sweet music, and what good is the fiddle if you can't play it?" scowled Avery.

"Is that what he told you this time?" asked Scarborough quizzically.

"Aye," replied Avery, "That, and my soul is as condemned as yours was, whatever that may mean."

"Like mine?" inquired Scarborough, "Well then you have plenty of time, thirty-five years to be exact. Or at least I do."

The next morning they consulted Aunt Nanzy again, wondering if she had any solution to their problem. "Well, even if that damn Devil can hear da fiddle playing das dat mean he can see you? See, I've been studying opals, and it seems they have the ability to turn their possessor invisible, so if I can harness the magic in the large opal, than I can turn you invisible."

"That's it!" hollered Every, "That's how I'll hide!"

"It's not so easy," snickered Aunt Nanzy, "As always, I can enchant the fiddle, but heaven help you, you will be stuck with that fiddle on your head if anything should come to happen to it while you are playing it!"

"Yes, yes, Aunt Nanzy," chided Every, "Any curse of yours is a friend of mine compared to having Lucifer after me! So I will be invisible will I?"

"Yes," instructed Aunt Nanzy, "But only while playing the fiddle! Not while at rest."

"That should do," responded the excited once sea captain, ready to thwart the Devil again. He handed over the precious fiddle for Aunt Nanzy to enchant and the great color changing opal trapped in the dragon's claw sparkled. The golden neck also gleaned a shiny gloss that one could see their reflection in, and Avery was almost sad to see his depart from the fiddle itself. He felt a sort of kinship for the Devil in knowing what it was like to be parted from such a valuable precious work of art. He couldn't imagine the lengths he would go if the treasure was stolen from him, to get it back.

That night Avery dreamed, but instead of a nightmare, he taunted Lucifer, saying he would never be able to find him now! That his fiddle was as good as gone so he had better leave off and find someone new to torment. This angered Lucifer but Every just laughed and fiercely replied with an "Avast ye! In a dead man's eye you'll get your damn fiddle back! I've got a damn riddle for you, which finger play the fiddle best and send a message too!"

A knock on the door came the next morning and it startled the lovers awake, it was Aunt Nanzy with the fiddle. No enchanted to turn whoever played it invisible, Aunt Nanzy demonstrated by stroking the strings with the bow and immediately vanishing before their eyes. Avery called Scarborough into the room that all but knocked over Aunt Nanzy when she walked into the invisible person in the middle of the room. Confused and frightened, Scarborough cried out in alarm, "What is going on here!"

Aunt Nanzy ceased playing the magic notes that stemmed from seemingly nowhere and reappeared in the center of the room, no less worse for wear. "Opal works real well, for invisibility magic."

Scarborough nodded in agreement, "yes, I could hear you quite clearly but I couldn't see anyone around playing the music, it was the strangest thing. Do you suppose that will be enough to hide Avery from now on?"

"Quite certainly," said Avery grasping the fiddles neck and commencing to play at a rapid flirtatious rate. "That should keep the Devil from finding me!"

"But remember what I said," warned Aunt Nanzy forebodingly, "anything happens to that fiddle while you are playing it, and it's on your head!"

Blending in with the surroundings like a sort of chameleon, Every grew more comfortable playing the hardanger fiddle and as the music grew louder and the dancers more in number, no one noticed when a tall handsome fellow slipped into the crowd.

"I can still hear you, you know," said the same liquid smooth smoky voice that echoed of its previous visitation, all those months before. "You thought you could outwit me did you?"

Avery had done his best but the power of invisibility only worked while he played the fiddle, so if he ever stopped, he clearly would be seen by everyone. Avery slowly began to move for the door allowing the echoing of the hall to reverberate and disguise his exact location, or so he hoped. By the time he had bolted out the door the Devil was onto him because half the halls dancers were following the music down the street as if it were a new sort of parade. "Damn," swore Every, as he played on.

Everywhere Every went the music played on and the people followed along with the Devil, but slowly and surely the dancers dwindled and soon all that was left in sight was Lucifer, chasing an invisible music box it seemed. He ironically began playing "Pop goes the weasel" as if to taunt the Devil into a further rage, but Every was still one hundred percent invisible. so he eluded capture.

Finally, day blended into night, and then into morning again, and Every grew weary and the pointed end of the fiddle in his shoulder made it ache. His playing became less zealous, and more frazzled, when suddenly, "POP!" everything became an immeasurable greatness. Now everything was giant, the Devil, his Fiddle with its broken string, the stump he had been standing on, and was he no long invisible? No one seemed to see him anyway, so how could this be?

Lucifer didn't seem to notice him as he picked up his prized possession for the first time in months, he brushed it off and examined the broken string. The whole scenario seemed rather odd to him, it was as if the fiddle and bow had been playing themselves this entire time and had just manifested out of thin air. "Where had that stubborn sea captain gone?" thought Lucifer "I suppose I'll have to fix this string, no thanks to him, but otherwise I am so glad to have my musical apparatus back." With that he clutched the neck of the fiddle and the bow together and carried them off, with one broken string twisting in the wind.

"Avery my man, I warned you," chuckled Aunt Nanzy, "Now you one too! You'll be playing those strings forever as a spider. Always be fiddling around now!"

Avery examined himself in a nearby dew drop that he used as a mirror, getting the idea that he was now a small brown spider, "I'm as filthy as the Devil said my soul was," commented Avery, "And it appears that damn fiddle does rest on my head!" There was a distinguishable marking or figure on the spider's head that looked identical to the fiddle shaped object he had stolen from the Devil.

"And if I were you," said Aunt Nanzy, "I'd keep hiding, because if that Devil ever recognizes you with that fiddle shape on your head, you're in trouble!"

**So one more lesson to ye all, is careful what you wish for once again, my friends, because that is how the brown recluse got his fiddle....**

This story takes place in 1719 where as the brown recluse isn't classified until much later by Willis J. Gertsch in 1940 so that could only lead me to ask my readers once again:

Which came first, the brown recluse or his fiddle?

### Part 3: Go Fast

### "Don't lock the barn door after the horse has bolted"

### Chapter 1 – Outclassed

Long ago there was no reason to have horses for pleasure. They were for work and that was what they knew and that was what they did. Except sometimes they were for racing and under unusual circumstances they were used for both. Here is where I found flaw in most horses, those that were used for pleasure weren't normally a terrible pleasure to associate with and those used for work weren't a typical safe bet. But all that changed it seemed, when three horses were braided together for all of history to appreciate. Right now there is a ghost of a horse following me, the first one I met actually, On my journey to wherever it was I was headed. Please be reckoned, all ye who enter here, in this story dead men do tell tales, and so do their steeds.

The year on the clock was November of 1721 and our ship had been so over taken by those in charge of capturing us that we had to go to our horses to get away, This is the story of how Scarborough was caught with her crew of pirates including Anne Bonny and Calico Jack, and how she still managed to get away. It didn't go down like the history books said, no it didn't go like that at all. In fact the way it went is such a story that perhaps no one will understand the way it really went, but either way it makes good story telling so please, I leave off for we are in the middle of a chase here and my horse isn't fresh nor is it tired yet but there are a few things left to come that can't be undone because history is about to be made and that is the way it really should go.

Our horses drove off through the muddy waters scrambling for footing on the banks of Spanish Town, Jamaica, as we spurred them onward away from our attackers. They chugged the water slowly waiting to feel the slippery sand beneath them, I holding mane not giving direction yet because I didn't want to stir up my animal into a frenzy hoping to preserve energy and keep my horses mind in tuned with my own. I remained in the thrill of a fox hunt where I had so suddenly become the fox and the huntsman was now after me. His red coat no longer distinguished him among the others and I needed to hide, quickly, for my own hide was at stake. Trudging along they found purchase along the banks and we swung back toward the main road the only one sufficient to accommodate all our horses and the swiftness of the chase took hold. No longer was the noose around our necks but a mere lasso being invented in the minds of the wild west cowboy because none of these men had ever met such a horse man as me and my mare..

Until I saw that man coming at me like a bat out of hell! There between them was such a horse so swift that I could not shake him no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I asked of my horse, no matter what the maneuver I gave of my mare. Behind myself and my horse all I could hear was bah-blac, bah-blac, as it's galloping hooves drove on, And as I looked back all I could do was see the colors and hear to sound as they blended together creating this image of a ghost horse. He blended with the light and his master creating such an image of invisibility that I could not tell where his representation ended except for the fiery glow within his eyes. They were the only burning ambers that let you know he still brilliantly followed.

I lowered myself, holding back, hoping to give some detour to the pack, giving my mare every cue to play lame. Lameness was a sign of limping and that my horse was pulling up al y from the rally but it was a mere ploy I had used many times to get the leaders to take account on me and let the others go. My horse feigned injury over and over again only to be overtaken and then regain control of the chase, being that she was by and far the fastest one among the herd of horses that we had come to commit to. Now I finally made my bid and veered to the left leaving the group behind and gaining ground as the path diverged between me and my friends. But instead of pulling off just the leader as I was supposed to I pulled off the whole gang of patrol men and the leader went on to continue following my pack of recruitments instead of me. Instead of one on one as I had planned it turned to one on six and six on one, not in the arranged fashion I wanted at all.

Kicking my mare into high gear I realized that I was now the major priority to these men and the fox was not about to escape their hounding no matter what the circumstance unless I thought quickly, which I did. Reaching for my cutlass I grasped its hilt and brandished it, but not too wildly as to not alert my mare, for I did not want to spook her. She shied anyways and I missed my mark, trying to take out the lights, for I knew she would which was why I had tried to take it easy. As fast as she was she was a bit of a panicked animal and that was why I was one of the only people who could ride her. She only really reasoned well with me and most had given up on her long ago. I cursed the day I bought her in the thirty second gap that I missed my lantern and I remembered the entire moment of five hours in five seconds.

It had been a spring day and there had been no others around. She was obviously fast but no one had any dealing s with her in about a century. Why, because she had broken the legs of two stallions and a bull in the time it took her to take action, or maybe that was the girl looking at her. Or maybe that was the girl looking at her, either way they were in the market for each other. Neither her owner wanted "'er nor 'er stock, because that's what you'll get from the lotta them, crazy." But the girl knew, she was just misunderstood, poorly broken, beaten into service, and never asked if she wanted to be ridden by someone for the rest of her life and told where to go and when all for gourmet food and accommodations at the hand of some master who will determine what is right and wrong. So the girl got herself the reasoning in her mind to lunge the beauty on four legs and realized she could move. And boy could she ever.

Movement wasn't what it was to the mare, but lightening as she streaked across in a bolt of pent up energy that had longed to release by a fiery solstice of burning furnace. "Typical chestnut mare," thought Scarborough , as she examined the horse's gaits, three easy liquid measures burning themselves into her gaze. In the stockyard, Scarborough had examined her legs and had found no complications that would prove her unsound, but if her mind wasn't sound then there was no point in venturing forward with any transaction. The mare lowered her neck and dipped her head as if in tuned to Scarborough's thoughts and then slowed to a trot. Quieting herself she tonged at the corners of her mouth, almost yawning then relaxing her jaw into a gentle chomping motion. "Well," thought Scarborough, "Licking and chewing means digesting a thought, I'll take that as a sign." And Scarborough signed the papers making her the official owner of a less than perfect, "typical chestnut mare" which was very quick but not very quiet and was now being put to the test once again in the chase of her life against the ghost horse and his crew.

"Typical chestnut mare," thought Scarborough as she snapped out of the transfixation of remembering the day she bought Firewater from the stockyards. Scarborough's cutlass struck the top row of lanterns hanging above causing the calamity of all the lights to come crashing down for the next mile but her horse shied from allowing her to snatch one before it fell only to end up scorching herself instead on the burning flame the lasted just long enough to illuminate the curse words that were emitted from her mouth. Silence came after the lights went out, at least the silence of hoof beats and all she could see was nothing to that's when she pulled her second move.

In the complete darkness I slowed and pulled my horse up until I stopped. I heard the rest ride by and I didn't have much of a clue as to what to do so I decided my horse had better night vision than I and that I should trust it to tell me where to go rather than try and steer it myself. So I allowed my horse to do all the direction taking and walked on. The party in front had come to a halt somewhere in the distance and I could hear them yelling, looking for me.

"Which way did she go?" asked one.

"I don't know" said another.

"Don't worry, we'll get 'err" replied a third.

Slowly but surely I realized the voices were approaching me but I couldn't see well enough to tell how far or how close so I simply had to keep riding. My horses, hooves were then joined by the friendly clip clop clip clop of more horses hooves and I realized that I had ridden in among the whole gang of them but with the lights out there was no way they could tell that I had joined them so I was still safe, at least for a matter of time. The fox was now among the hounds and had to escape, before they caught my scent, and how true this would be.

Now riding among the group I could barely gauge where I was so I made a bid for it, the front, and then I saw it, the gloom. I got scared, there in the distance was the presence of the lights coming back on, where everyone would be able to see me again and I would strike no chance at getting away. So I did the best I could and what anyone would, and stopped, and would you know what that nag, Firewater did was? She brought someone with her. Yes! As if she could do no more to embarrass me that night than to shy and spook when I needed a lantern and get me into this mess in the first place but now someone's stallion was enraptured with her. "Typical chestnut mare," I thought to myself.

The man did his best to kick his horse on but there was no going, apparently, under the moonlight, they had made a pact and there was no breaking it, there was love in the air that night. I grumbled, in my best male voice which was well practiced. "We could let 'em goes over the other side there and ya know?"

"Funny," replied the man, "I don't remember anyone riding any mares from my lot tonight, so that must mean..."

I turned and high tailed it before he could get any more words out but it was too late, that ghost of a horse was after me again. My mares hooves scrambled for footing as the ground between were overtaken by that stallion. Firewater, as bad as she wanted it, did not want my cutlass in her ass, and replied with the giddy up and go of a "Get ye the holy hell on!" that a pointed weapon in her butt would only mean. That gave us a moment of reprieve from the hellish demon thing that followed us down every road but soon enough he was after us and his horse barely taking a whisper of a breath.

It was all too little too late, his horse had caught the scent of mine and there was something beastly about the entire situation. His stallion wanted my mare with an entirety of his being that no man or woman can understand. Overtaking her was just the game he played to get to the game itself. When he finally overpowered us and came up on us neck and neck we were and he grabbed at our reins, with that fine head and sinewy neck that arched like a quality stonemason's craftsmanship. I looked at that fire in his eyes and realized that he knew he had won, but I didn't know how. He knew it was over but why? I grabbed the reins and clutched them to my palms and his mouth frothed with foam from chewing his bit and I said to my mare the last thing I knew to say, "GO!" and with that last words he pushed it into high gear and something in him recognized. I realized at that minute my mistake, I had just uttered something really bad, and I was going to pay for it. I spurred onward but again, it was all for not, within an hour the dawn sun was rising and I could no longer hide in the shadows of the moonlight nor from my pursuer.

My mare's scent was on the breeze of the cool night air and that stallion could smell her a mile away it seemed. Now that the hound had my smell it seemed there would be no hope in ever deterring him from his undying pursuit of my blood. Her blood was what he wanted though and there was no letting go of her at this point. Even she had very little idea as to who to comply with, me her beloved master and owner, the first person who had ever taken the time to build trust with her and make a bond with her as to no longer abuse her servitude, or the sexual ball of steaming energy that now hellishly chased us like a phantom. I knew I should have bred her this season, it had been something I had meant to do, if only to settle the last of her nerves, but there was no business packing a foal along on a pirate ship and I couldn't bear to part with her for a season so I had forgone my decision to get her in foal which had served me well in all my other endeavors as this was the closest we had come to being caught ever.

Then the light began to creep in. At first it came slowly, like a thief in the night, fingering everything for what it could touch it could perhaps keep, and then own. It started with a pale outline of my horses flaxen mane which began to grow gold with the morning sunshine. The white sweat began frothing and showing wherever saddle or tack touched her body and her golden mane and tail streaked out behind her due to the sheer last minute speed she delivered me. Ever stiller did the hoof beats drone on, bah-blac bah-blac, behind me and the fiery eyes of the specter-like horse burned onward with a savage pleasure. Soon too, the phantasm began to take shape and his outline burned such an image of perfection that I will never forget him, even to this day.

His head as I had mentioned was chiseled perfection, with a tiny teacup nose and massive jaw with a large wide soft eye that indicated intelligence yet kindness to his master, but perhaps only to his master. His large wide forehead carried no markings and his thick forelock was blown back by the oncoming wind blowing as he ran onward. His large muscular chest was all I could grapple at but how it powered out the strides was beyond my imagination, taking each one with ever easier a gliding step than before. His massive, thick frame was offset by four thin but sturdy and very straight legs that all moved in a fluid machine like motion that simulate a perfect harmony of gear works. The only daintiness bestowed upon the midnight horse fit for royalty was the tiny white sock on his hind leg, reminding all that even the darkest of creatures has a touch of light. The oil black bay showed signs of obvious care, he was young too, and undefeated, you could tell. His spirit had never been broken and it wasn't about to be now, it was unfathomable .

I was taken in fifteen minutes after the first light where I cried to the laboring lungs of my horse that they please pity her and take her to a good home and give her fresh hay and good water, hoping in the back of my mind to one day regain her. "And perhaps," I screamed at the last minute, "You could always breed her to that nice stallion she's so in love with! Fucking typical chestnut mare!" I spit on the ground hard as I walked off in chains and I was officially under arrest.

When I got to the cell where Anne Bonny and Calico Jack were I found out the news that Anne had already pleaded her belly to the court stating that she was with child and could she please be looked upon as an innocent soon to mother and nothing less and nothing more. I decided to use the same tactic only to convince them of the same ploy, but how was I supposed to escape the ruse of the fact that I was not actually pregnant and never going to actually deliver a baby. That's when I decided I was going to have to die, or at the very least get very ill and almost die.

### Chapter 2 – Acting Rash

"I've got it," I hissed at the guardsman, "I swear I've got the whyyyyyy fever."

"You've got the what?" said the guard, steadying himself from falling over after waking from his nap.

"I've got the whyyyyyy fever," I repeated this time in a more hushed tone forcing the guard to approach in order to hear me better.

"Whatever do you mean, what's that?" he asked curious and callously, "Hopefully it's deadly. Is it deadly?"

"I don't know, it's kind of like rabies!" I replied

"RABIES!" he yowled, "We can't have rabies in the infirmary!"

I began coughing and sputtering furiously, "Yes, the infirmary, I must go to the infirmary! Call the doctor!": I rolled around on the floor violently and feigned epileptic movements, moaning and wailing "Why oh why!"

"No, I can't call the doctor," said a now very upset guardsman, "Well..."

"Wait," I said, "No never mind," and I began with my fit again this time acting slightly less offended by my illness.

"Never mind what?" cried the now very scared guard, who obviously had little idea about illness.

"Well, doctors you know," I continued informatively, "They work with sick people all the time and are covered with diseases you know, I would probably be better off without one. But either way, you might as well sign all our death certificates with this white fever, because it's very contagious, I might as well go straight to the morgue."

"What do you mean! It's contagious!" the guard paled in complexion and then almost fainted and that's when I went in for my scheme.

"Why don't we do this," I slipped out the plan with a silver tongue, "the infirmary is on the way to the morgue, why don't you escort me most of the way to the morgue, since I am dead anyway, and you can get yourself off to the doctor right away so you don't have to wait till morning. Or you could always leave me here to infect the captain when he comes in the morning and see how that goes. I'm assuming if we do it my way all things will be handled and you will be practically commended for your actions by this time tomorrow."

"But you said doctors are covered with diseases!" wailed the guard as he began to subconsciously finger for his keys.

"Yes," said I, "Not first thing in the morning though, not when they haven't seen anyone though and they haven't gotten any diseases on them yet. You'll be his first and only patient and at that point he'll be clean as a whistle."

With that the very frightened guard scrambled for his keys and began unlocking the prison door with furious gusto. Handing me a dark woolen cloak I draped myself in it and tied it off at the neck thinking about how I just might have saved mine. He rushed me through the empty streets and we couldn't arrive at the doctors fast enough. Sure enough we were the first and only ones there and no one answered his desperate cries with enough immediacy to come to the door and save him. I was instructed to go straight to the morgue and promptly die as I had assured him I was only good for this world for a few more hours at the most. I was also informed to keep myself completely quarantined and if possible to lie in my coffin until death had officially taken me. I assured him that in my last hours I would do all these things as I had a spiritual awakening in my last hours and my soul wanted to repent for all my piracy so I had turned over a new leaf in order to reach heavens gates and would honor my promise.

I turned three blocks before I began to sprint then I hit a run. I felt my lungs burn like they hadn't in years before I felt far enough away to slow to a jog but I still had ground to cover and I needed to cover it more quickly. Then suddenly I saw the solution to my problems, so unexpectedly did it appear that I halted dead in my tracks and gasped. I stood there jaw dropped, mouth opened and gaping at the entire unfathomability of all the places in all the worlds that this could be my lucky day. What I needed was to cover more ground, which I would typically solve by owning, or borrowing a horse from someone of some sort, but not just any horse would do. No, not just any horse at all.

There in front of my was a stable of luxury and obvious care but it was within the stable that caught my attention, in the outline of the lamplight was that same chiseled head of perfection that had chased me down just the other night. A whinny from Firewater is what broke the silence as she recognized me from her new accommodations in a stall just across from the stallion. Slowly I began to creep toward the barn with every intention of snagging my old nag back.

Having been lucky to have escaped that night I thought of the risk of horse thievery on my soul and how it would affect things, but there was no chance of a clean get away without a horse so there was no other option. I peaked in on the barn and saw the dim back lighting of the few lanterns burning oil at that late hour of the moonlit night. My mare, upon seeing me, began pawing and stirring up the other horses, so I quickly quieted her with a gentling of my hand.

"Shhh, quiet girl," I said tossing her some hay which made her immediately forget about me and dig into the delicious food in front of her.

Firewater was now tattooed across the front of her stall and I smirked, having forgotten they had asked me the horses name and had never really wondered why. Such nice care they were giving her, this man must really appreciate his horses, or maybe just the ones that are particularly fast. Admiring my mare again, the stallion caught the corner of my eye and began to paw rambunctiously and tossing his head and mane in the twilight. I turned to him and looked him in those deep ember eyes that burned with impartiality of two people who knew each other from somewhere but couldn't recognize where yet.

I walked over to his stall and realized how small in stature the horse really was for how powerful his stride had been in overtaking my horse. I looked down at his stall and almost laughed out loud when I realized his name, it was so simple, so obvious, of course. There his stall stated in two letters his title and the reason he had won before the race had started, his insignia was Go.

"Go, eh?" I whispered to him quietly, and his eyes flashed quietly in recognition and he lowered his head in submission. I petted the stallion and his liquid oil coat glossed underneath my hand and felt as shiny as it looked. That's when I got to thinking about that night. How Go had been a ghost and how he had been able to run me down so quickly and how I couldn't risk that happening again. And how much I did love my beautiful chestnut mare Firewater, but I couldn't lose with a stallion like him running for me. "Well Go, how'd you like to, uh, go for a ride?" I asked politely and the stallion replied by wrinkling his nose and grinding his teeth, and I thought to myself "Lick and chewing means digesting a thought, I'll take that as a sign."

Prying the lock from the tack room I worked quickly and found most of the horse's things labeled and y for action. I reminded myself to thank that town's sheriff for being so organized with his horses, I mean we were just trading horses at this point, it practically wasn't even theft. With that thought a heaviness filled my heart at the realization that I was leaving behind my favorite horse Firewater behind in exchange for Go, but I knew that she couldn't out run him so if I was chased I would perhaps be able to still elude capture.

I tacked the horse and we prepared to enter the misty air as apparitions of the twilight moonbeams only appearing in and out of shadows as if summoned by darkness itself. Clouds drifted over and across the lunar skyline giving and taking from what little light there was to play with as if they were playful sprites lighting the pathway to what was the beginning of a legend that runs very deep.

Scarborough steadied Go with her hand and grabbed the reins quietly. She sighed and looked back at the red flaxen mare inside the barn that she was leaving behind and whispered a horses prayer, begging that God watch over her and keep her safe, not that a pirate much mattered to God, but maybe a typical chestnut mare did, especially one who had turned over such a new leaf as Firewater had. She grimaced and turned to her new mount and steered him toward her where she placed her foot in the stirrup and swung herself on board.

His body was stout and round beneath her and quite comfortable. He was very muscular and his build would just glide between her legs as if made from the same oil his coat seemed to glean of. She clucked him off at a trot and the distance toward Kingston just seemed to gather up between them. There was only a matter of time before they had reached their destination, and Scarborough pulled out the treasure map looking at it again, thinking to her how the others were so unfortunate for not being able to join her in the bounty, and genuinely missing Anne and Jack to some degree.

"Aright" thought Scarborough, "a pirate's life for me."

I found the shores where the booty was hidden with little to no need for the map it was still so fresh in my mind where we had buried it. So certain was I that I was the first one there to unbury the treasure that I couldn't wait to start digging with my shovel, but I waited till nightfall and when a good moon rose that very first night I knew I was in luck. And wouldn't you know as soon as I unlocked the chest I realized there it was, all there, every last piece of gold that we had stolen. So certain was I that it was all there that I didn't even bother counting it, there wasn't enough time.

Scarborough removed from the treasure chest the most important of the items that was present among the collection, a three foot tall jeweled hourglass. This item had once been home to her and somehow the presumable start to all her problems. Now it's black pearl time sad shook against its sides as the polished silver mirrors reflected the moonlight. She grabbed another item of importance from the trunk, a shimmery, red cloth, and casually wrapped the hourglass inside of it. The she started to count her true pirates cut from the gold doubloons and pieces of eight. The first two items didn't count, they were already hers, she thought, but the rest she had earned. How much though? This was not as important as making sure she had enough, she needed to escape and fast.

"Never mind that!" I thought "Rules are rules, first one to find to pot gets top cut!" and so I took a captains share and left the rest for whoever would be next to escape the gallows, secretly hoping it would be Anne Bonney. Now, fully restored in wealth and horse I needed to escape the island myself in order to fully preserve my own life, so I hoped back Go, gave him a pat and lickety-split we were on the docks of Kingston Harbor, Jamaica making some rather unusual travel arrangements, for myself and my horses.

The first ship leaving port traveling far enough away for me to feel safe was departing for Arabia in the next hour so I had to work fast. I paid for my own lodgings, but my horses were a bit trickier because I didn't want anyone where I was going to have any suspicions that my horse was stolen. Now that I possessed such a fine animal I was certain to want to hold on to him for a time and if I was going to pay to ship him all the way across the sea with me, I had to make sure he looked like he was a local when he got there at the very least. Since I was trying to lose my pirates identity maybe I could start over with a nice career as a stallion owner, you never know how these things work out in the future you could know.

With Go's hooves stepping onto the gangplanks to be lead up to the top of the ship the Captain started asking me some questions, ones that I didn't like very much. So much so I just grunted and ignored most of them with small, one word answers, until he came to this line of questioning.

":Why are you storing your horse above deck like this?" he asked

"No reason:" I said

"There has to be a reason," he responded.

"I'll pay you extra not to ask me for a reason," I said.

"Ok" replied the captain

So that ended that discussion. As soon as we set sail there was a pod of dolphins in the distance which surprised Go who looked out and arched his beautiful crested neck to whinny at them. Sure enough they came over where they then began following our ship. The captain looked up from his wheel and gave me a nod while shouting, "All you had to do was tell me that was the reason you wanted him above deck."

Then the quartermaster came over and said to me, "Hey neat trick, how did you teach him that?"

I replied, "Uh," not exactly certain if the horse had been taught anything or if he had just done it out of sheer will to call the dolphins, "Well, see it wasn't easy." And I started explaining such a complicated mechanized routine of apples and buckets of salt water that made no sense whatsoever and went on for so long that the man finally got bored and interrupted me by saying. "Well that's nice. What's 'is name anyways?"

"Uh, Dolphin, actually," I said not wanting to give away his real name because that was the way you got your horse snatched and again after getting acquainted with Go, and knowing the ins and outs of horse thievery, I didn't want to part with him too quickly.

So sure enough every time dolphins would appear, it was as if Go and the dolphins would cover for me because he would always whinny to them and they would always most definitely approach. Why they never grew tired of that game I don't know but Go always gave them only one whinny, one shout before they turned to him.

I got a letter many years later from the captain of the ship explaining to me that he always took the dolphins as a good sign, superstitious as he was. He even tried using other horses to lure them over but was never satisfied because it only certified that Go had been a special case in scenario. It seemed none of the other horses had Go's ability to call the wild dolphins and he was indeed a marvelous specimen and will always be a "Champion of the Waves" according to the Captain of our vessel.

Having Go on board was not always the luck it might seem, for one day I was observing the deck hand making an attempt at cleaning Go's stall with a pitchfork in one hand and barrel in the other he was trying his best to ask Go to please move away from where he was cleaning.

"Now go on then, move over," said the young cabin boy, not older than sixteen, to my horse who was now excited at hearing his real name and responded by assuming treats were soon in order. Go was much more quizzical than necessary for such a routine task as the boy soon became frustrated and screamed, "Go away, and damn you!"

The young stallion became extremely excited and got that same look in his eye that he always did of recognition, now knowing the boy was not mistaking him in calling his war cry. Go charged him ears pinned and head down, mouth open, as if to say, "You have the nerve to enter here, call me over, and not feed me something for recognizing my name? How dare you!" It seems there was no need for violence because with a swish of Go's tail and an arch of his neck the point was made as the deckhand toppled into a pile of road-apples. "There, perhaps if you brought me a real apple, you wouldn't be sitting in the kind that I produce out of my back end!" seemed to imply the horse as he stomped off leaving the deck hand too frightened to continue stall work.

"That horse is possessed," said the deckhand to myself later, "doesn't know the meaning of the word go! He's going to see the better end of a pitchfork if I have anything to do with it again!" I pleaded with the deckhand to rethink his decision, not wanting to explain the situation, but finally the only system that we could work out was where I cleaned Dolphin's stall daily or revealed his name. So I became slightly closer to Go still, and spent an extra hour each day cleaning his stall. The captain was impressed when Dolphin behaved perfectly for me and not others. But of course I always said things like, "move," or "over" instead of "go" but no one ever noticed, and my horse Go became ever the more singularly mine.

Those dolphins had been a good omen to most people on that voyage because we made wonderful time arriving roughly nine days early and no sooner had Go gotten off the dark brown vessel than did he disappear into the earthen-tone beige tan background. Almost too quickly and I had to search to not lose track of him because his once midnight oil coat was now sun-bleached to the color a camel's back. Despite its hideous appearance, the trick worked like a charm, when stood up against all the other Arab horses at the tie post, he no more stood out than a turban would.

I could have taken the same approach and gotten a tan while at sea, but my tongue would have given me away instantaneously as I could no more speak the language than a monkey. But Go had no need to translate so no one was the wiser to whether I had gotten him from Arabia or not and our new lives had begun, me and my new Arabian. Out next stop was a small flea market where I outfitted him with all new used tack so he fit in perfectly with an average everyday dromedary, and that is where I recognized my first words of English spoken through Arabic, horse race.

### Chapter 3 – Unsurpassed

Go and I had left Jamaica in a hurry. Express shipping for a lady and her horse was expensive, especially when you had to pay to keep people's mouths shut when traveling last minute. By the end of the trip though, Scarborough had schemed a completely new identity for herself and her equine companion. Being that she was a pirate and very wanted and that Go was quite stolen, it was best to excuse people from such murky details as those.

After staring at Go for some time she decided he was rather handsome and regal in a sense., in fact he gave off royal airs not to be overshadowed by his gentlemanly demeanor. She wanted a name that called to his roots and still needed no introduction, so she settled on Kingston, or King for short. Constantly changing his name might have confused him if this is what she called him, which she did, in public, but in private she still called him Go.

In private she would whisper his name to him in his ear, Go, and sometimes Doll, out of affection, or both of them together. Go Doll, oh Doll, Go Doll, she would sing to him while cleaning his stall, a habit she still maintained from the days at sea. Now he was the fabulous Kingston and she was the eccentric and flamboyant, Lady GoDolphin, a name she had cooked up from Go's two names combined. She was this magnificent stallion's owner and rider and was not to be challenged on such matters. Her father had been a rich wild game hunter and she had grown up riding un-tame zebras in Borneo. Which was partially true to a certain extent but the details were too unclear for sunlight to pass so they were unimportant.

So when it came to a simple horse race, Lady GoDolphin and her noble steed Kingston would be just fine. That story got her the second laugh of the day at the entry booth for the Scorpion's Cup Twenty Five Mile Classic Arabian Meet, her first laugh had occurred when she handed the man behind the tent her entry.

"Why are you laughing at my entry form," said the dismayed Lady GoDolphin, whose jaw now gaped in unabashed disgruntlement. "I can't ever believe there would be anything so funny on it," she laid on her accent thick. Scarborough was now a rich Lady of class and magnitude, and even though she had a sneaking suspicion as to why he was so choked up, she must not break character. "Dear Sir, I do believe you are not taking me seriously!"

"You are a woman and you want to ride in the Scorpion's Cup? I'm sorry, I don't speak English!" and the man with the long beard who was wearing a turban began to take the person in line behind her. Lady GoDolphin pleaded with him to reconsider her and explained how she had been raised riding in much more dangerous conditions than the ones implied in the Scorpion's Cup. He laughed again at the idea of Lady GoDolphin riding the horse Kingston across the desert as Kingston's jockey, keeping all of the prize money to herself if she won, "But she would be lucky if she survived" he thought.

"You mean to tell me you grew up riding zebras?" said the man inside the entry booth tent.

"Yes as bizarre as that can be when one is making that statement standing inside of a bazaar," said Lady GoDolphin

"They are not the same thing," said the man in the turban.

"Zebra's and horses," continued Lady GoDolphin. "no, gracious goodness, they are not. Zebras are little buckers, they can really pack a mean one," I allowed the man to tender my money and tried not to give away my lack of knowledge as to how much change I should be receiving. I only hoped he was honest. "Now where does it start?"

"Race starts tomorrow at sundown, its twenty five miles, no water, and so pack for yourself and your poor, suffering animal. Gets hot as hell out there on that God forsaken land, some people say you can meet the Devil himself out there."

"Too late," piped in Lady GoDolphin, and if we start at sundown, then why is it so hot? That's an unusual time to start a race, nightfall that is?"

"oh,' said the man slapping his forehead, "did I say sundown, I meant sun-up..."

"Yeah, I bet," said Lady GoDolphin, deciding not to trust to many more details from the fellow taking her entry.

That was the first time she got friction being a female rider and a non-native in this strange land, but it wouldn't be the last. Lady GoDolphin would have to wise up quickly, it was time to sink or swim. Their ship hadn't sailed yet though, Go was still fresh from his trip at sea and anxious to stretch his legs. His trip through town and the bazaar had just warmed him up for what was to come.

Before dawn the next morning she saddled him. She had feed him hours ago not wanting to upset his stomach with a heavy hay belly and cause colic in the hot summer heat. Having been up for hours, Lady GoDolphin took her third inventory of supplies, wondering still if they were carrying enough water for the trip. Too much water meant they had enough to drink but were carrying extra weight causing possible time delays, too little meant over-heating and possible death.

When she put the bridle on, Go took it willingly and chomped eagerly at the bit, ears plucked forward. Mounting the little beast was tricky as he pranced in anticipation and excitement, but once on, they marched forward into the morning mist that only occurred near an oasis. She forced Go to trot, preserving her horses energy, to the starting line, where fifty or so other horses packed into the tiny space designating the starting line. Many of them crowded for a spot in the front to achieve the shortest take off point to start the race. The caused some upset among the animals and some of them kicked or reared. Still others bucked, reached out and bit, or shied away at the commotion. The eccentric, but perhaps horse wise, Lady GoDolphin decided that a few feet wasn't going to make or break a twenty-five mile event, and assumed a position away from the fray. At the distant back, Go stayed calmly charged, prepared like a jackrabbit to spring into action. Here, another man came over to make his acquaintance with her.

"You're pretty smart for someone so dumb as to be a female riding in this race. Don't you know it's full of dangerous dessert things, like sand traps, wild animals, and no water? Well your first good guess was staying away from the trouble at the front there," said the handsome well groomed bearded man on the sleek and muscular Arabian horse.

"I'm Lady GoDolphin," said Scarborough, nodding, "And thank you, I will take that as a compliment."

"Perhaps I will see you at the finish line," he replied, "Or perhaps I won't, hopefully I do though." That's when he kicked his horse and rode off in a cloud of dust.

With a bang, a pistol rang out the start of the race, and Lady GoDolphin scolded herself for not paying attention. She had been transfixed by the handsome man and his very handsome horse. Go was prepared and jumped into the herd without a moment's notice, charging horses, maintaining a steady rhythm.

One thing Scarborough had always been able to do and even more so since being a spider was read animals thoughts. As she read Go's thoughts the story of the race unfolded. As Go stared up at the first of many daunting sand dunes, the thought to quit didn't even cross his mind. Instead he remembered Jamaica and especially 'dem Blue Mountains. As Go ascended the blistering pyramid of sand, he found it quite pleasant compared to the Jamaican Blue Mountains. Here in Arabia you footing sometimes slid you back and your foot slipped but it was much worse in Jamaica. In Jamaica there was brush and millions of tiny branches that constantly broke teaching you to be fleet of foot.

Also, going up the dunes sides there were no trees growing to maneuver around or vines and branches holding him back. Go was free to just climb the side of the points. Go found a good clip at the canter for making himself motor up those giant piles of sand. Once over and beginning his decline down the side he downshifted into the lower gear of the trot. Here, where there were no raised roots to trip him or rocks to stab his frogs, Go was able to widen his step into a beautiful open jog. The balance on Go was superior to any horse Scarborough had ever ridden, and he was quiet and light on the bit. But who would have known all his training in Jamaica would have prepared him for a horse race in Arabia.

But what about the high desert heat, how did Go manage to thwart that? Well, to Go, heat without choking humidity was a welcome relief, and without trees trapping in moisture and temperature and eliminating the breeze, Go couldn't have found the desert a more pleasant vacation than anywhere on Earth. Here the deserts winds came in and blew away your sweat cooling your body to a degree, instead of allowing the stickiness to swelter on you like 'dem Blue Mountains.

Air had also been thinner on top of 'dem Blue Mountains, giving Go twice the lung capacity of any horse in the race, when now being challenged at the easy margin of sea level. Go's time on 'dem Blue Mountains of Jamaica had conditioned him perfectly for a life in the desert of Arabia, strange as it may seem.

Two and half to three hours later Go and Scarborough could see the finish line. Having only taken two breaks, each at ten miles as planned, they had made incredible time. Finally at the end, they could see no one around. She rose up into full forward jockey position and opened Go up into a full gallop. With a small whip of the crop and a little jab of the spur she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Go Doll, Go!"

His liquid oil muscles still stayed greased even without the seal bay color glistening on top of them, and like a well-oiled machine he flew into a charge ears pinned, mouth foaming, eyes, raging. We crossed the finish line to an enthusiastically cheering crowd. It took a moment to realize they were cheering Go's name, Kingston! "That must mean we won!" cried Lady GoDolphin and she pumped her fist in the air wildly. "Kingston! Kingston! Kingston!" roared the crowd.

Soon enough they brought over a garland of jasmine flowers and placed it around Go's neck, which he promptly took a bite out of. When awarded a silver trophy cup with two golden scorpions on it. The arachnids were clinging to the stem of the cup with their tiny claws and legs, while their tails doubled back over to their spines and served as handles. As finishing touches, to exemplify which kind of scorpion they were, tiny sapphires made up the stingers verifying they were death-stalkers. and the prize money, Lady GoDolphin knew she had quite the start of an operation with herself and Go from now on.

Soon enough Lady GoDolphin and Kingston became synonymous with race wins everywhere. Many cups had been taken by them as a pair but soon the historical race called, 1001 Arabian Nightmares. It was one thousand and one miles of the most gruesome desert ever run by horses, with a six hundred an sixty six mile stretch called "The Beast" and anyone who passes through the finish line first wins a separate cup called "The Beast's Grail" which was supposedly carried by the Whore of Babylon who rode the seven headed beast of revelations.

"The Beast's Grail" was a golden goblet encrusted with many fine jewels on it but what was most unique about it was what it was mounted on. The stem of the chalice consisted of four taxidermy limbs that were bound together by a beautiful jewel bracelet that lead into the main portion of the cup. The four arms represented each of the four beasts that carried God's throne which were respectively a lion's paw, a calf's hoof, an eagle's claw, and a man's hand. They all were evenly situated to lay flat at the bottom make a stable base of support for the heavy metal cup. Inside the cup in was lacquered with a red enamel, staining the water or any liquid poured into it a deep crimson. This was what Lady GoDolphin was after, it would make a fine addition to her collection.

For most it was a three week journey through hell, if they were lucky as quick. The first stretch, "diabolocos" was the hardest to get through and cost the most lives. You were lucky to complete it in a very unlucky thirteen days. There was no way that anyone could travel more than a slow fifty mile a day pace because of the lack of open desert in certain places and hazardous climbing in others, you did your best to make up time with calculated routes and short cuts. To start you needed a good map and an accurate compass, of which I had neither or perhaps both, depending on how you looked at it.

By now I had learned who the handsome man and his even handsomer horse was the Sultan himself and he of course was here. He has packed various new and fancy tools to measure distance and survey the desert. But what he was gaining in strategy, he was paying for in water and would have to make extra stops or risk pushing and maybe losing his horse.

I on the other hand had exchanged a few pieces of eight for a map that had shown a short cut through diabolocos and so I felt assured of my luck. The old man had told me it was good and well here is what happened, every detail, as I swear it did.

Go and I made exceptional time on the first hundred miles until we got to diabolocos where we started to follow the map. Six hundred and sixty six miles of the roughest terrain you've ever seen. For the first time I saw Go take a look at the scenery and remember 'dem Blue Mountains, and have his heart sink, even they hadn't prepared him for this. It was a miracle if you passed through those witches peaks in thirteen days, and I turned and looked at the last hint of civilization I would be seeing until I reached the other side. People cheered me on as I entered to rocky craggy terrain and went through the first natural landmark, "The Gates of Hell" a brick red stone archway that signified the starting point of diabolocos. There was a sign, "Beware ye all who enter here: Those who die or do not return do not go to heaven, but remain here in eternal damnation!"

The first thing I remember is spotting the skeleton's spine, where we had to climb, or leap rather from platform of stone to platform in order to cross to the other side of the canyon. Go was nimble but each time the rocks sprayed over the edge I was reminded of how hard we could fall and my heart leapt with every jump he took.

Once were reached the opposite side of the cliffs we began our descent down a narrow pathway carved into the side of the rock. Soon we had wound down to an area where the light grew dimmer and dimmer. Before we reached an area of pitch blackness I used the last of the light to check my map one last time to read the warning about the shortcut we were about to take. The cave we were entering was called Blind Man's Bluff and was very dark but also filled with a noxious gas that was highly flammable. This meant that navigation would have to continue without the aid of a lamp and the light from outside was about to fail completely. It was ok, the map assured me, as long as I ran my right hand along the wall for the entirety of the trip, we should reach the exit in a matter of a few hours of gentle walking. This seemed easy enough, but whatever I was to do, I was not to light a match or lantern once I was in the cave for I would be burned alive!

Soon I was traveling completely blind and it took all of Go's trust for him to continue on the trip walking through the cave in the pitch black. It was quiet, except for the clip-clop of Go's hooves and the scattering noise of sand and rock against the ground. We had gone quite some way and I wasn't certain if we were going in circles when a small amount of light began to penetrate the darkness. Thinking I had reached the end I celebrated slightly inside and go excited to be outside again soon, but then I heard a whooshing and the sound of flapping coming from behind. I looked behind us and there illuminated was a giant cloud of bats. With a roar, light swirled into the room and fire began chasing us down the corridors toward us at a lightening pace.

Go leapt into action, with some of his tail hairs sizzling, and began galloping away from the backdraft toward the now lighted hall. Someone behind us must have gotten impatient and lit a match, I realized, and now we were in trouble as well. Dashing full speed ahead, Go wouldn't surrender to the enormous heat of the inferno behind us and soon ahead we could see real sunlight pouring in from outside. Out of the hole we sprang like rabbits along with hundreds of bats flying into the sky all trying to escape the blazing fire. With a poof the cave belched out its final passionate burning kiss and a hiss of smoke rose from the cavity's mouth.

Next came the "devil's staircase," this was a winding cracked trail of steps that was cut into the cliff's side that meandered for miles. With the suns reflection coming from both the canyon wall and the sky she didn't know what made her more miserable, the idea of being on the canyon wall, or the idea of jumping off it. At certain points the wall was so steep, Lady GoDolphin had to get off and lead Go along the trail.

After the "devil's staircase," there was "quicksand island" a giant whirlpool of quicksand right in the middle of the route leading home. The first time there was open desert to cross and they were still limited, they had to go east or west around the lake of quicksand in the middle of where they were headed. But going too far east or west meant adding precious time onto her journey, but cutting to close to the middle meant falling into a hole you will never get out of. It reminded her of the time she had spent in the hourglass and how the pearls would fall out from underneath her when she was a spider like quicksand. She never liked it when Avery flipped the Marooned Maritimer on her, and sometimes it even sucked her through, though she's always managed to survive. Scarborough decided better safe than sorry and took a reasonably long route around the "quicksand island."

Finally came the "Witches Windy Winding Caverns" named aptly because of two peaks that looked like witches tall pointed hats that marked the exit of the maze of caverns that wound through the cliffs. These cliffs also trapped the wind causing great gusts to come along and blow men off their horses if they weren't careful. This is when you most need your map and this is where people start to doubt the details of how I made it through those caverns that day. It was my twelfth day and I was just passing the quicksand entering the winding caverns. I pulled out my map to check for a short cut through the twists and turns that are negotiated by the maze. I had paid extra for a detailed version of the "Witches Windy Winding Caverns" and with the two spires of the peaks called the "Witches Hats" in sight, I marched on.

There lay the end of my journey through diabolocos, between those two broomhilda's heads. As I pulled out my map I studied the short cut when suddenly a great gust of wind came and blew it straight out of my hand. Turning Go on his haunches I laid into him with my spurs and screamed, "Go, on boy!"

He tore off like a bat out of hell and we chased that map for a good mile before I lost sight of it down a canyon and then it was a matter of whether we could continue without our lives more than the map so we decided to make a go without the map. The trip had heavy weight on Go's heart and now mine sank as we watched the twirling map fall and swirl down into a deep crevice to dark to follow. Dusk was upon us and soon night would fall and there would be no way to navigate except by the twilight and stars. By evening we had all but given up hope and with only a compass, a horse and those two witches peaks illuminated by the light of the moon, to guide us, we were almost ready to give up.

Suddenly out of nowhere, the largest, meanest, most gruesome, snarling, menacing, jackal like creature came howling out of the shadows. It snapped and growled, raising its upper lip exposing a row of razor sharp teeth. It was just after midnight on the start of day thirteen and the hunt was on. The beast howled at the full moon and the hair along his spine prickled.

Go and I ran without a second thought, a renewed sense of energy and life overwhelmed us in an effort to shake the mighty force of the hound behind us. After what seemed like miles a small distance had been put between Go and the beast, when precipitously ahead the final approach beckoned. There lay dead man's curve, where if taken too quickly, while racing for the finish, one takes the risk of completely losing their balance and falling off the steep ledge to their inevitable death. A full gallop was the last thing you wanted to be maintaining when hitting dead man's curve, in fact, it wouldn't be wise to do anything more than walk, but beyond that turn lay the witches peaks and if in a head to head with another person in the race one might not have a choice in what pace they take the turn.

Rapidly the clouds rolled in and covered the full moon in shadow, leaving everything dark, and I decided there was no more room for chances on our lives with this race. As if Go knew what was coming he responded before I even finished the statement. All I got out was. "Go-st," before my horse slid to a complete stand still, with both front hooves planted down parallel to each other, as if he had seen one. Nothing went from fast to frozen quicker than Go, and I thought to myself, I would have to remember that.

Then, as silently as they had rolled in, the clouds shifted and moved out, exposing the light and how close we were to the cliffs edge, within feet. Around us was no beast anymore, his tracks continued straight off the edge, thankfully. Go and I counted our blessings, turned toward the finish, and walked between the two witches peaks, the unbeknownst to us, the winners of the Beast Cup.

### Chapter 4 – Rehash

Scarborough Black had never lost a race and she was fairly certain that no one could beat Go in anything. In fact she began to boast about it so much that she came up with a challenge all on her own. The "How long the Hourglass Lasts" race, where all the people in the race went for as long as they could possibly go at the speed of a horses run. It started at the line where everyone immediately left at the canter and wasn't to break gate, which meant no trotting, or they were out of the race. It was a last man standing type of race and Scarborough put up a hefty pot stating that her horse would go the longest.

There were many challengers, and they all flew across the starting line with gusto. The hard part wasn't getting your horse to run, though, but to keep it going once it began to tire, for one step down from the open stride of a cantering horse, and you were out. But even if your horse was going to run for many miles, it would eventually slow, and maintaining an even pace, tempo and rhythm was crucial.

As people began to drop out of the race, it was no longer important who was in the first place position, but who had gaged how much horse they had to cover the long desert miles. More and more people trotted and left the race leaving only a few contenders still running the show. Cheers came from the crowd gathered as it came down to the final people still riding.

When Scarborough got back from winning, the Hourglass Lasts race, 1001 Arabian Nightmares and the Beast Cup both with an ease and grace unknown to any other horse and rider team she was more than surprised to find a challenge decreed on a large flyer that was tacked to every palm tree within city limits:

A contest to Lady GoDolphin and her mighty stallion Kingston! It is well established that the "King" can go the distance, but the Sultan desires to understand if he can sprint! The gauntlet has been thrown down and there will be a short race of one mile against ten of his fastest Arabian horses. To the tune of 100,000 rupee's would the lovely Lady GoDolphin be willing to wager her precious "Marooned Maritimer" to enter in the race? Is she certain that Kingston will lick the competition? Come one come all see the defeat of the marvelous Kingston! If he dare show at all!

Scarborough grabbed the nearest poster and tore it off the tree which it was pasted. In a huff she stormed off to her quarters more upset with the idea that she had to risk her precious "Marooned Maritimer" than the fact that poor Kingston had to yet again race. She was almost absurdly certain he would win, how could he not, he was the fastest horse she had ever sat on, but what now, she couldn't just put up the money? No, people always wanted her hourglass, how her hubris had gotten her in trouble, telling the Sultan all about her personal treasures. Now it seems her success had upset everyone.

She walked to Go's stall which was proudly labeled Kingston, "Can you do it Go?" she asked him, "I mean it's not a long one, Doll," she inquired. His deep soft black eye seemed to plead with her to make this one of the last ones. They had been in Arabia for some time now, and he couldn't keep up this pace of endless miles forever. "You're the fastest horse I ever had Go," said Scarborough. She petted him on the ears and forelock, his liquid eyes seemed to spark alive at the compliment, "You gotta get us outta more than one bind, what's a mile between friends?"

The day of the race Go was primed and ready, but so were the Sultan's stallions, all blowing and prancing, "ten of them lined up ready to salute Go's ass at the finish line," thought Scarborough. Unfortunately this wouldn't prove so easy, some of these horses were fresh, having not been raced this season, while others, were young and nubile. Go tossed his head, he was little too, compared with the competition, but that didn't unsettle him one iota.

The audience gathered on the finish line stretch and Scarborough could see her hourglass on the presentation table along with a goblet filled with rupees, presumably one hundred thousand. As the people gathered in mass, Scarborough started to realize what kind of a big deal this race might be to public who wanted to see the great "Kingston" win or lose today. Scarborough petted Go's neck under his mane and reassured him that he was always her winner, but he really needed to win right now in order to make things right for everyone.

They lined up at the starting line and the gun went off with a bang! Go shot out to the front of the pack but that position wasn't going to last and he quickly faded to the middle. He stayed in this place where the other stallions surrounded him with fire coming out of their nostrils and fear for the first time swept over Scarborough. They rounded the first corner and Go was making good but not great time, and Scarborough's hands began to sweat.

As they rounded the second turn they started to come down the finish line stretch and all ten stallions spread out to challenge Go on the straight away. Kicking it into gear I felt Go begin to really lock onto the head to head of the situation but I still wasn't sure he could pull off one last win. That's when the audience began cheering, "GO! GO! GO!" Go got that same look in his eye he always does, and I swear I got whiplash because he found a speed so fast my head went flying back from the velocity of it all. Go beat every stallion there by many lengths, proving that he truly was the fastest horse in Arabia.

Once outside of the winners circle, I, Lady GoDolphin, was informed that Go and I were invited to a small celebration in the Sultans tent, and to please bring the lovely animal. Go had always been a gentleman, almost too much so, to the point where I questioned his ability to make children. In fact I had more than one inquiry as to whether or not Go would ever make more stallions like himself, but until this time, I had no success. It seems, except for the very first night I had met him, he had no interest in mares. If that incidence hadn't happened in fact, I might have thought the horse was a bit strange.

Inside the tent, however, the Sultan and I, had no problem discussing the finer details of romance, and it seems as if we were hitting things off to a wonderful start when he asked me to partake in something that is a not so rare pirate delicacy. The hashish we smoked was quite potent and as I got surly I thought to share with everyone around me, including Go.

Go, seemed to recognize the situation and responded by lifting his lip playfully in response to me blowing the smoke up his nose. Surprisingly my gentleman of a horse surreptitiously remembered his baser instincts and began to display himself in front of everyone. As I am chatting and giggling with the Sultan quite charmingly, I turn to find Go is romancing a nearby camel. Now my horse of distinguished taste seems to have lost all of it. Embarrassed by the entire circumstance, I look onward at the entire demonstration with an idiotic grin that doesn't subside until I realize the anger on the Sultan's face.

"Ahhhh, excuse me, but love is blind" said Lady GoDolphin, "Am I insulting the sultan?" She giggled at the stupidity of the joke, the situation, and intoxication.

"What is the meaning of this!" exclaimed the Sultan, "Only stallion's specially trained by my horsemen know to breed when given hashish! That is an old palace trick to keep people from stealing our stallion's lineage!"

"I see," giggled Lady GoDolphin, "Smart thinking, but what are you saying?"

"What I am saying," yelled the Sultan, "Is this horse must be stolen!"

"Stolen," cried Lady GoDolphin, "

"Yes," screamed an outraged Sultan, "I'll have you stoned!"

"Now, now, wait a minute, let's not be hasty." I thought quickly and knowing only one asset I used the lovely Lady GoDolphin herself and flirted with the Sultan by batting my eyelashes and puckering my lips softly, which worked like a charm. Soon the Sultan and Lady GoDolphin were enjoying each other in much closer company in the private bedroom chamber of the Sultan's palace.

As the sultan slumbered Scarborough made a quick break for it. Outside his chambers the servants were none the wiser to the situation so she ordered Go to be saddled and packed with her personal items, it was time for her to bid Arabia goodbye. She made sure she packed her "Marooned Maritimer," all the money she had won, and quite a bit of hashish. It was time for horse and rider to have one last race across the desert , this time for their lives.

It just so happens that there was a shipment of horses traveling to France en route to see King Louis XV and Go and I were able to blend in with them in accordance to our traveling arrangements. Go had returned to his gentlemanly self and was reasonable on the trip, hardly making a peep as to rouse suspicion that we were not exactly a part of the original caravan.

### Chapter 5 – Good Laugh

"I wouldn't use him as a cart horse!" Scarborough's stinging words brought about the reaction from the audience she was looking for because they all sat now astonished, mouths agape. "He's far too little, and with that huge crest you'll never fit a yoke around him!"

King Louis XV looked on, his face unchanged, giving no indication of his thoughts on the matter. He was intrigued as to why such an incredible amount of gall was being introduced over the matter of one horse. He had never seen a woman act so offended by a manner such as what a horse could be used for, and he was surprised to be addressed so plainly in front of an audience.

"Silence" announced the King, "I see what you are saying, my dear, and it has been noted," the King sighed, sitting back in his throne, and drank from his goblet. "Send him to the stable yards, and see that he doesn't insult anyone else's judgment."

Scarborough began leading Go out to the stable yard, feeling that she had officially devalued him enough from the shipment of horses so that he wouldn't be missed should he be further apprehended. Now a cart horse, in the eyes of Louis XV, he would hardly be noticed at all, and should he go missing, and there was very little chance they would send someone to recover the stolen animal.

Once hooked up to a cart, poor Go gave off the impression of being completely embarrassed, feeling himself much too fancy to be qualified to pull such a contraption. The humbled stallion clipped off at a brisk trot and with reins in hands, Scarborough steered him right out of the stable yard. We trotted through the streets of Paris with a renewed sense of freedom. Almost ten years in the desert had certainly hardened both our bodies and souls and this new environment was refreshing as well as enticing, but that was not the end to our problems.

See, both King Louis XV and the Sultan that I had just run from, both felt entitled to call them the owners of my horse, neither of which was true. Now I had to run from France in a less than dignified fashion as well. This required some heavy planning and as we rounded the next corner, I thought to contact the one person from my home country who might have some ability to rescue myself and my animal.

What better goes along with a hashish loving horse than some Coke? This was how Scarborough closed the letter she had written to the dignified Edward Coke, pleading with him to save her from her predicament. Part of the problem of not aging all those twenty five years she had been a spider was that everyone else had, so therefore what was once a child to her, was now a peer as an adult. But in this case, it hopefully would work to her favor, now that the once boy was a man almost the same age as she. Her family had kept close with the Cokes and with any luck there would be a remedy to her situation. Until then, she and Go were reduced to street vagrants, pulling along a heavy burden of lawless adventure.

Once safely imported out of France, and with luckily with the blessing of Louis XV, there was one less chase on the stolen horse. But that left Scarborough explaining her whole situation to Coke, who sat transfixed at the stories she recounted, wondering if so much escapade were permissible in one lifetime.

"I'll tell you a tale that is so long, where'd it go? The fin, it's gone!" began Scarborough as she recited the story of how she had come to be in her particular situation at that moment. When she was finished she saw the look of disbelief in Cokes eyes.

"And ye were trapped as a spider with a red hourglass on your belly for twenty-five years?" recounted Coke, "And ye sold your soul to the Devil himself to get your human form back, is that so?" he continued half mockingly half in shock at her outlandish statements.

It was the year 1730 now and they were safely in Coke's library, next to the fireplace, sharing coffee and cigars, or sometimes a puff of the finest hashish that she had brought back from Arabia. Even with all her treasure to prove some of the journey's truth, Coke was still skeptical. She brandished the hourglass, and waved it in front of him, prompting him to peer closely into one of the two mirrors.

"You lived inside of that very hourglass?" said Coke, "Amazing really!"

When Scarborough had gotten to the parts about the races, she showed him the Beast Cup proudly, proof of her victory. He looked at the stuffed limbs that were used to make the base of the goblet and grimaced in disgust. "Those used to alive," Coke said, pointing at the appendages that were the taxidermy craftsmanship of whoever created the cup.

Finally, fed up with Cokes cynicism, Scarborough produced the crimson cloth, and without any shame, she undressed herself fully and to the pleasure of an enchanted Coke. When she wrapped herself in it and emerged as Scarlett, the once revered and terrible bride of an African King, Coke no longer gave any argument of disbelief. In fact it seems that the beautiful hourglass figure that was love at first sight, was still working its magic.

After all the tales of triumph and tragedy, Scarborough started to miss the comforts she had once known in having a husband. She looked at Coke longingly and the unspoken message was clearly transmitted. She sat down next to him, placing her hands in her lap, and batted her eyelashes in a come-hither fashion. The next moment they were kissing by the fire, fully engulfed in the others smell and touch, as they groped lustily at the one another's bodies.

As the sun began to beat down through a tiny crack in the curtain, a robin's singing announced that yet another day had come forth and presented itself. Now the fabulous Kingston would no longer have to run, and neither would Scarborough. She was fully prepared with a large supply of hashish to allow the stallion of notoriety and fame to be bred for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, she could not disclose of all his wonderful accomplishments because this might alert the Sultan as to her whereabouts.

Unfortunately, breeding to a former cart horse of Louis XV was less than satisfactory at producing an interested audience, and Kingston needed his racing record to boost his career as a stallion. As the years passed on, Scarborough began to wonder if the Sultan even cared anymore, about his stallion or herself. He had no proof she had stolen him, and it had been so long since they had first met in Jamaica.

After three poor breeding seasons, Scarborough had enough of people not taking her wonderful horse's line as seriously as she thought it should be. She and Coke talked for days about the dilemma, and after careful consideration they decided that they had to release her old name, in order to rouse the interest of horse racing enthusiasts into breeding to her stallion.

That was when she and Coke met the second fastest horse they ever knew. Within hours it seemed, since Coke had faked his death and the announcement that Lady Godolphin and her fabulous Godolphin Arabian were going to be standing stud in Gogmagog, did another horse show up at their door. This horse was not there for breeding, he had traveled clear across the desert in record time carrying a very angry Sultan who still insisted that a horse had been stolen from him.

"Excuse me," growled the Sultan, as he dismounted his little spitfire of a stallion, "I do believe you are in the possession of my horse."

Lady Godolphin was astonished not only at the tenacity of the scenario but also the speed at which the little horse must have carried the man across the land, here was horse who could rival even Go! "I don't know what you mean, or why you have bothered to come!" She sneered at him, unable to deter him from the stable yard, she argued further, "It's been years you know, and all those races I was riding him by the way, not anyone else!"

"You see," continued the Sultan, "I have one other way of proving that horse is mine to begin with, all of our horses," he motioned at Go's stall and entered without permission or asking, "have a special mark given to them at birth distinguishing them from any other herd." He grabbed Go's lip and lifted it to show where the mark was present, "and I'm certain you will have to concede when you see..." he trailed off bemused and confused because there was no marking present that anyone judge. "Well now," back-peddled the Sultan, "I see I must be mistaken."

"I see that you are!" screamed Scarborough who went from very timidly nervous to positively enrage at that point. "I told you the horse wasn't stolen from your palace!" Scarborough cackled loudly in delight knowing that she would not be losing Go or her life for horse thievery was a very serious crime and being caught with the Sultans horse was worse yet. "Now if you don't mind, you have intruded where you are very unwelcome!"

"I am so sorry," pleaded the Sultan, "May I donate some rupee's in order to fix this situation, say one thousand?"

"A thousand rupee's won't be quite what I need," grinned Scarborough, not wanting his money, "But how about you leave that little spit-fire you rode in on behind?"

"Surely that horse is worth more than a thousand rupees!" argued the Sultan.

"That's no matter to me," and Scarborough shook her head knowing exactly what the horse was, his fastest. She knew full well once the Sultan had gotten wind of her name the first thing he had yelled was to saddle his fastest horse, and the little spit-fire he rode in on was obviously it.

"But what will I leave with? I have nothing else to ride." The Sultan begged one last time not to be parted with his fast little devil of a horse, but nothing was changing Scarborough's mind.

"I have a mule," she stated plainly, and the next thing you knew, the mule was saddled and ready for the Sultan to ride off back to Arabia on. Insulting the Sultan was rare indeed and once he was out of sight and earshot, Scarborough and Coke broke out into fits of laughter. Coke was relieved to keep Go, and Scarborough was delighted to have another racehorse, but now she needed for him to be as successful as a stallion as Go was. For that to happen there was only one thing he had to do, that little spit-fire had to beat Go in a race.

The race had to be fixed, because even in his advanced age, nothing could touch Go once he heard his name coming down the straightaway at the track, but how? Scarborough thought back to the time she had won the Beast Cup and how he had stopped like he had seen a ghost when she had barely started to say Go stop, or basically, go-st. So if Go would stop if he heard the word, so how did she convince everyone to yell something like ghost?

That was when it dawned on me, the only other thing people yell besides Go at the backstretch was the horses name so my new horses name was Ghost, hopefully enough people would yell it so Go would hear it. I knew I couldn't ride either horse, or else the public would accuse me of fixing the race, which I was only going to do with names, not the riders. Hopefully, the undefeated Godolphin Arabian Kingston would lose to the newest haunt in town, Arabia's scariest phantom of a horse, Ghost Op. A head to head was all it would take for the people to chant one name over the other, but all that was up to the jockeys.

On the day of the race, people gathered from miles around to see the remarkable Kingston come out of retirement to face his newest challenger, a desert dweller himself, Ghost Op, whose mission was to defeat Kingston. "Short for Ghost Operation," Lady Godolphin explained to guests at a tea service she was hosting, "which means a mission where you're staying completely invisible to the enemy while behind enemy lines or your dead, thusly, Ghost Operation."

"Why that's dreadful" piped up one of the guests, a large woman of middle age, still drinking her tea.

"Yes, apparently he went on quite a few of those mission's and lived," bragged Scarborough, "that's why I named him Lucky for short!" She added the last part to give her story extra believability.

"Well I still think Kingston will win!" announced Coke excitedly, "He's never been defeated you know!"

"It will break my heart to see him lose," sniffled Scarborough, and she got a saddened look on her face as she realized what she was about to do to her beloved Go. "But all's fair in love and horse racing!" She tipped a flask into her tea while no one was looking and took an extra sip out of it for good measure to take the edge off.

The day of the race arrived all too soon, and Scarborough wished she could go over the instructions she had given the jockeys some more. She had given them each the same set of instructions, heels down head up basically and stay out of each of the horse's ways, they knew their business. Since she was not permitted to see them directly before the race for fear of sabotage, and the jockeys were drawing horses directly before the start of the race to prevent anyone from interfering at all, it seemed like everything was fair.

"Whatever ye do," Scarborough said, having second thoughts at the last minute, "don't let them get into a head to head!" She had told both jockeys that, hoping they would listen and the whole situation would be avoided, hoping that Go might win as usual, and who cared if her other stallion ever made a reputation as a breeding champion.

The sound of a BANG! shattered the clear air and the horses were off, with a better part of a furlong underneath them, neither was giving up the lead to the other and the head to head was already started. "Oh no," groaned Scarborough, "Go Kingston ! Go!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, but it was too late.

Coming round the turn to the back stretch people began yelling, "Ghost Op! Ghost Op!" hoping to see the defeat of the mighty race horse, Kingston, on that day. You could see the look of confusion on Go's noble face as he paused, and a look of recognition came over him. Then what happened next was so comedic, that Lucky may have won the race but Go won everyone's hearts. Go planted both front feet and slammed the breaks so hard without his jockey expecting it, that the man flew off clear over his ears and past the finish line even before Ghost Op had crossed! Technically Kingston's jockey was the first thing across the finish, Ghost Op and his jockey were second, and Kingston, stood stock still on the back stretch refusing to move in front of a crowd now laughing rather than chanting.

The judges deliberated for hours over whether or not the jockey had won the race or Ghost Op had. In the end, it was decided that it was a horse race, not a people race, and even though the jockey was first across the line, he was not qualified because he was without his mount. The plan had worked, Kingston had been defeated, narrowly, but still had a loss on his record. Ghost Op was now the hot new commodity at the farm, while Kingston would still remain ever popular.

Coke and I of course rode out together often on the both of them and I often wondered if Go would have beat Lucky that day had it been fair and square the way it should have been. Wonder not for long, I did, for there was narrow a gap between us that I couldn't close with just a mere whisper of "Go doll, Go," in my horses ear. Even a little spitfire from Arabia couldn't beat my darling Go when it really came down to the fastest horse I had ever known. I swore that horse could outrun death, and he did, for a very long time.

### Chapter 6 – Greener Grass

"Why do we need a marriage license?" pleaded Scarborough.

"Do we have to go through this again?" replied Coke, "So the stork knows our address."

"But why does he need our address in the first place?" asked Scarborough genuinely curious.

"So he can deliver our wedding present!" said a frustrated Coke, "You know the baby!"

"Yes," smiled Scarborough, "But how does he carry it?"

"In his bill I presume," stated Coke matter of factly.

"Is it a big bill?" queried Scarborough.

"Yes, I suppose. Why?" inquired Coke.

"Won't that be expensive?" requested Scarborough

"Jesus, Scarborough! Not that kind of bill, the kind you find on a bird!" exclaimed Coke.

"Well how will we know when it gets here?" probed Scarborough.

"Well he'll knock of course," spoke Coke.

"With his bill? Wouldn't that make him a woodpecker?" implied Scarborough.

"Now speaking of woodpeckers, let me tell you about the birds and the bees one more time..." Coke was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door and Scarborough turned to answer it. As she opened the door a gasp escaped her lips, when she recognized the familiar figure behind the entryway.

"Hello my darling," out poured that same smooth as glass voice that had once graced her ears so many years before, it was the Devil.

"You're early," stated Scarborough, "And I didn't know you came out on this particular holiday." It was almost Christmas and it had been thirty four years since she had seen Lucifer about exchanging her soul for her human form back.

"I'm not here for you," said Lucifer, "I'm here for your horse," and he chuckled and proceeded round to the stable yard where an aging Go lived.

Scarborough gasped and burst into tears, this was a fate worse than her own death, her beloved horse was being asked for by death himself and now there was nothing she could do about it. She knew there was something supernatural about the animal, only a horse as spectacular as Go would the Devil come and collect personally. "Please," Scarborough said between sobs, "please, may I have a moment?"

The Devil nodded and stepped back from his stall. Scarborough stepped in and knew just by looking at Go that he was tired of running, so tired of running. "Go doll, are you tired? Really tired? Are you ready to be retired?" She petted his aging face and he began to lie down in his stall, growing weaker with each passing moment, his energy fading. Not knowing a more appropriate set of words for an old horse, she thought of horse heaven, fiddler's greens, and began to recite him the song she had written:

"He went waterlogged,

Like any good pirate

My memory of him being jogged,

It seems to me or twist of fate

Surrenders to the waters

Felt like being robbed

Of a good sailor

"I know that black ocean

Wasn't big enough for his devotion

Couldn't sink but couldn't swim

His last goodbye when

We say Amen

"The Lord's prayer wasn't good enough

For something so reckless and tough

As gentle seas grew rough

I couldn't contain my love

Seeing your watery grave

Gave me one last chance to save

That part ripped and taken

Leaving you breathless, me shaken

"I know that black ocean

Want big enough for his devotion

Couldn't sink but couldn't swim

"His last goodbye when

We say Amen

"Man overboard

On his last tour

Of the seven deadly seas

May God let his soul rest in Peace

On endless miles of blackened waves

The last of his close shaves

Remember me as your knave

Your ever loving heroin

Please stay on haunting

"No more tears, Just Endless Ocean

Can't stop to witness the emotion

No more tears, just vast seas

Please rest in peace"

Between tears she finished and by the time she was down he was resting with his head in her lap lying in his stall. His breath grew shallow as she recited the last few lines and he drew in one final lungful of air and blew out a large gust of wind reminding her of the lungs that had so faithfully carried him and her through the desert and to where they were today. She cried and cried, pulling at his mane, lifting and lowering his head in her arms, praying for his everlasting soul. It was over an hour before she looked up and realized the Devil was still there, "What is it you want? Me now? Fine take me! You've taken my beloved horse!"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," said the Devil quite calmly, "It seems your horse has done you a favor."

"What do you mean?" puzzled Scarborough, "He did me every favor!"

"Well," said the Devil, and with a poof he produced the contract that Scarborough had signed over her soul on, "It says here that in thirty-five years you owe your everlasting soul or its value in gold, and I think this little horse made you just enough gold to buy back your soul."

"What?" gasped Scarborough, "your saying that I don't have to give up my Hourglass or anything but the gold I won on Go and I get to keep my soul and maybe join him at Fiddlers Green one day?"

"I'm saying that exactly!" stated Lucifer, picking at his teeth with a hay stick, "Now let's shake on it shall we?"

Scarborough couldn't believe her eyes when the Devil produced his hand for her to shake, but she supposed a deal was a deal. Once she surrendered the majority of her gold stash she felt a sudden weight lift from her shoulders as if an anchor was off her. How many others were so lucky as to have been blessed with a great horse to make them rich and famous and get them out of a deal with the Devil, she didn't know, but she was going to count her blessings from then on.

They buried Go, and there he remains, to this day. Where I am, is harder to determine. I had a lot of buried treasure with me, so I chose to leave my grave a little less marked. I promise those who wonder, if this story is true, I promise it is. The reason you don't find my hourglass in a museum to this day is because I chose to be buried with my treasure, like any good pirate would. This story is all that I have left of myself in this world that lives on, please keep mine a Go's spirit a galloping by reading these pages set out before ye. That ghost of a horse galloping after me was the best thing that ever happened and now his ghost and mine live together in a place where the fiddle never stops playing. It's that same fiddle Avery was after by the way, they say they missed it for a while, but I had quite the tale to tell when I got there about where it was. The hourglass is all I miss, but that you'll have to pull from my cold dead hands, and I promise I buried myself the way any good sailor would, at sea.

Part 4: Trivial

"What is; greater than God, more evil than the Devil,

The poor have it, the rich want it, and if you eat it, you will die?"

Chapter 1- Still Little

Avery was afraid for the first time in his life. He was troubled with the fact that he was never going to be a human again. He knew his soul was too filthy for the devil so he couldn't go Scarborough's route in reclaiming his body. This made him fret over the situation as he gazed at the grey skies outlined ahead. Almost a full century had passed before he had the stroke of genius that made him relent to finding a solution for his problem. He prayed to God for a remedy to his situation.

Suddenly the clouds above him broke clear and a ray of sunshine filled the area where he has perched in his tiny spider form. Then a snowy white dove flew down and landed next to him on the tree. Normally he was wary of birds because even if he would be their last meal, he still didn't want to sacrifice himself in the process, but this time something told him not to be scared.

Then, as if it were an angel, the dove spoke to him, "I am a messenger of God, and your prayers have been heard."

"Oh, gracious mother of mercy!" cried Avery, for this was the first communications he'd had in about a hundred years. "How can this be!"

"Yes Avery," said the dove of peace, "it is true, your prayers have been heard, but not yet answered," cooed the dove, "first you must commit to a task from the heavens above."

"Anything," cried Avery growing more excited, "Anything at all!"

"Well," said the dove, "Your holy task, if you feel you can accomplish it, is to find a person worse than yourself," the dove paused as Avery gasped at the sheer volume of the task, "And you must kill that person!"

"My, my," stuttered Avery, "That won't be as easy as it may seem, but anything to remove myself from this cursed form."

"Anything," spoke the dove, "then I assume your pathway is set, I wish you the best." With that he spread his pure white wings and took off toward the sky.

Avery cried after the dove left, big wet tears of joy and anguish. He was overwhelmed at his luck that God had heard his prayers and was giving him the opportunity to find a new pathway to his original form. But he still had a long route ahead, for finding a person more wretched than he was not going to be easy, no not in the slightest.

Avery slept that night and dreamed he was a man again, in fact he dreamed of all the horrible things he had done in his life, as if God wanted to remind him of just who he had once been. In between fitful nightmares the hope inside him grew and he knew that he would one day return to regular society. But now he needed to remember just how rotten he had once been and then he could start his search for an even worse person to be his victim of justice.

He started the next day at the prison, a very obvious place to look, but seeing the mournful souls being punished for their crimes brought him no relief. He had to find just the right victim, for he couldn't risk murdering another soul and tainting his already dirty reputation. Unfortunately at the prison he found little relief for his problem because it seemed that even though many of the sentenced had committed many atrocities, it seemed they were already serving their time in jail and therefore justice had been served.

After listening to every story from each individual jailed, none of them added up to what would be necessary to atone for Avery's sins. Society had already done its job by demanding the criminal's freedom. None of the dastardly deeds he heard were as atrocious as the many he had done. It meant the task was only going to take more effort than expected and Avery pushed on.

Avery did however receive a tip on where to continue his search, and he proceeded to Thieves' Alley, where many wrong doers choose to find their accomplices. Once he reached the alley though, he found that getting a straight story wasn't the hard part. Many of the frequenters of the underground were more or less pushed into their life of criminal activity. Most of the them were victims of poverty and were almost forced into the acts that caused them such awful reputations.

This would never do, none of the scoundrels were worth Avery's lethal touch either, and it was up to him to think harder about someone who did. It was then that one person stood out in his mind as being worthy of his murderous bite. Avery now knew what he must do and his mind finally set upon the person awful enough to fulfill the requirements God's task had given him/

It was dark early and by night fall, Avery realized that no moon had or was going to rise. Only the stars hung in the sky to guide him on his mission. The calm spring air clung softly to his chilly spider form as he ventured on the Island of St. Helena. The middle aged man lay resting in his bedchamber, a mere shadow of his former self. Once a, feared and loathsome man, Napoleon now looked weak compared to what his name once stood for.

With his mouth open, the man that Napoleon had become now snored in his bed, covers up to his chin. Avery worked quickly, scurrying across the floor to where Napoleon's hand had fallen to the floor, beside his bed. Henry bit deeply, delivering a massive dose of poison. Napoleon woke and screamed, tossing the spider from his hand, and several servants rushed in to attend to him. Gasping for air in anguish, the old gentleman began violently trembling from the poison.

Avery jumped from the side of the bed and away he ran from the commotion, as the attendants hurried to Napoleons rescue, but they were too late. The last Avery knew of the sweating, shaking, Napoleon, was an anguished scream as he collapsed in his bed, now very close to death. Napoleons hand fell with a thump, back to its original position, on the floor, and now the dictator who once terrorized the world, was dead.

With the struggle for life over, and death proclaimed the winner, Avery couldn't help but be released that such an evil man was no longer alive and would soon be in Hell where they probably both belonged. Hoping that his task was complete, he escaped out the window before anyone would notice him and possibly even blame him for his actions.

He didn't have to wait long, because as the morning approached and the first rays of sunlight daggered the sky, the same dove that had once spoke to Avery appeared on the horizon. It started as a mere speck in the sky but soon grew to original proportions the bird had taken when it had met Avery.

"Congratulations," said the dove as it landed on the perch next to Avery's web. "God has heard of your recent actions and approves of your selection."

Avery sighed in relief and then inquired hastily, "Really, you mean I can be a human again?"

"Yes," replied the dove, "soon you shall have your human form back and your soul will be purer than ever. No more sin shall rest on you, it will all be washed away!"

:"Hallelujah!" cried out Avery in excitement, and no sooner had he finished the word that he was restored to his human form. "Thank you Lord!" was the first statement of a newly human Avery and he climbed down from the tree in nudity practically forgetting that a hundred years had passed with him as a spider and he now knew no one alive.

Once he acquired a new set of clothes off a drying line of laundry as newly as his washed soul, he realized there might be one person who he still knew that he could contact. This person might even take interest in him now that his soul was much more pure than before.

After a hundred years imprisoned as a spider he still remembered the ritual as if it happened yesterday. After waiting a moment with baited breath, Avery heard that same, unmistakable trill played by the Harbinger Fiddle. How he had forgotten the beauty of its ability to play a note and he craved it in his hand all the more.

Lucifer sang a tune that followed the rhythm of his playing style:

"Halfway down the trail to Hell,

In a shady meadow green

Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped,

Near a good old-time canteen.

And this eternal resting place

Is known as Fiddlers' Green."

"Marching past, straight through to Hell

The Infantry are seen.

Accompanied by the Engineers,

Artillery and Marines,

For none but the shades of Cavalrymen

Dismount at Fiddlers' Green."

"Though some go curving down the trail

To seek a warmer scene.

No trooper ever gets to Hell

Ere he's emptied his canteen.

And so rides back to drink again

With friends at Fiddlers' Green."

"And so when man and horse go down

Beneath a saber keen,

Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee

You stop a bullet clean,

And the hostiles come to get your scalp,

Just empty your canteen,

And go to Fiddlers' Green."

Chapter 2- New Arrival

Ambling down a little ways on the trail to Hell, stumbled a newly dead and very confused Napoleon who was only slightly superstitious to the idea that his character in life might not have afforded him a more than inviting place to retire his soul. His ability to see the burning inferno ahead was what worried him most, but as a noble patron of destiny he marched on in a valorous effort not to show his anxiety. It was when the billowing towers and fiery erupting spires came into focus that Napoleon then began to sweat in fear.

"Pssst!" said a voice from off to the side, "Over here." It chimed in just as the entrance to the infernal damnation came into sight as Hell's minions started the collection process of newly acquired souls. "Hurry, before they notice you!" came the voice again, this time louder and more clearly it called from down a divergent pathway loosely associated with the road he was now traveling.

He began rerouting himself immediately and ducked down the small escape route hoping for better circumstances soon to follow. As he wandered the ground beneath him became wet and marshy, and the air grew saltier. Around him the sound of shallow waves relaxed against a cove where a foggy coastline appeared. Quiet curlew calls scattered the nearby gulls hollering for the local patrons to toss them some of the days catch.

Outside in a dim light sat an old wooden dock with a dinghy tied to it, rocking back and forth with the tide. The splintered oars and fishing nets piled inside the hull of the small row boat which was covered in barnacles, sat awaiting a seaman or few sailors, ready for voyage. Off to the side of the cove was a rocky outcropping where an old shack sat glumly in the hazy moonlight where a small lantern offered some reassurance that humans inhabited the area more or less regularly.

"Ahoy Matey," cried a woman's voice from away outside the wooden shanty, and up popped a small dark head out from behind where a small dark horse was tied. The horse spun its head and pinned its ears in an aggressive display at Napoleon, pawing at the ground with its front hoof in spite of being tied. "There you go, you naughty bastard," said the lady to the horse as she handed him a lump of sugar, "Ornery little horse, he is." She spoke softly and petted his head with love and affection still, not minding his fiery eyes or loathsome expression.

"Goodness, graciousness, my dear, are you alright next to that, um, devilish beast? And who might you be, and where exactly am I?" said Napoleon in a semi-dignified tone that would have been more suited to a ballroom than a wetlands, "In fact, let me be polite and introduce myself," he spoke in a gentleman's tone. "I would happen to be Napoleon Bonaparte! I am quite certain you would have heard my name before, now who would I be so addressing?"

"Oh, don't mind the infamous, GoDolphin Arabian there. He's nothing more than a pussy cat compared to the real beast they got down in hell." stated the raven haired sailor woman, whose loving eyes now flickered an equal expression of discerning mistrust and a slight deviousness surrounded her nature. "My name is Scarborough Black," and as she held out one hand to shake she pulled out a pipe with the other.

After their hands officially greeted each other in a solemn vow that they were no longer meant to be strangers, she opened up a breast pocket and pulled out a match, Striking it quickly the flame incinerated the head of it and she brought it to the pipe, the other end in her mouth. Pulling on it slowly, drags of smoke entered her mouth and she exhaled large clouds of the acrid smelling vapors.

"Let me show you around here,' said Scarborough, "We don't get many new people here, but every once in a while it's nice to see a gentleman on his way up from going down."

"Where exactly is here?" questioned Napoleon about his surroundings. "I don't see that there is very much to this wetlands, aside from you and your horse, and that old shanty shack off in the distance there." He narrowed his eyes off into the cold fog where the sea birds all gathered in cawing flocks.

"Gullible is a low flying mammal," said Scarborough, "where it starts with see and ends in I believe..."

"No it's not," interrupted Napoleon, "It's a bird."

"Far from it," Scarborough chuckled, "It's typically defined in the dictionary as a word meaning you'll take anything seriously. But come now, you knew that!"

Leaving the horse where he was tied to a hitching post she and the newly recruited Napoleon went on a stroll through fiddler's greens surrounding areas. Pointing out the finer frontier of the swampy wetlands surrounding the one shanty shack near the dock, the idea came quickly to Napoleon that there wasn't much to the territories surrounding areas.

Back at the larger equine's side, the dark haired woman prepared to mount by winging one leg over her horses wither, where she righted herself and settled in on the black stallion. "Whoa, Go, steady Go," she whispered to him, then turning him away from Napoleon and off into the direction of the structure, she cried, "Come this way sailor, I'll buy you a drink and show you how this place got its name, Fiddler's Greens." With a small click of her heels she squeezed the horse into a walk and assumed a gentle pace over the marshy ground.

Once at the tavern, Jolly Roger's, she dismounted and a huffing and wheezing Napoleon was soon to follow. "Here is the one place to stuff your pipe or wet your pallet, and the tap never runs dry. We even have a wonderful fiddle that constantly plays, sunup to sundown." Scarborough was astonished to be met with silence. To her dismay, no music sounded from its typical direction from inside the pub..

"And here is the highlight of Fiddlers Green," reiterated Scarborough, "Jolly Roger's! A great place to get a drop of the finest hard liquor known this side of Hell and we have a lovely fiddle that never stops playing too!" Swinging open the door she listened expectantly for the sound of music coming from inside the bar, but alas, nothing, not even a note, rose to meet her ear. As the silence grew Scarborough, felt frustration inside her rise and burst inside with stomping feet demanding to know where the fiddle had gotten too.

"Eh, Roger," queried Scarborough, "where's the damned fiddle?" Blushing and looking ashamed for seeming to be a liar she shrugged her shoulders at Napoleon as if to apologize. "I swear the music was playing when I got up this morning, sorry Napoleon, usually the fiddles what brings in the passer byers."

Roger turned around from behind the bar and finally opened his mouth to answer Scarborough's question, "Devil came by dis morning," he grumbled, "Said he needed it for someone somewhere else. Didn't bother to ask him any questions about where and when he'd be back."

"What?" shouted an angry Scarborough Black.

"The devil came in and took it whilst you were out riding you horse, madam, he was quite pleased to find someone who was willing to make a certain trade for it," said Roger, the barman who stood behind the counter looking bored and unamused.

"An eternity without music!" whined Scarborough, "I can't bear the thought of that." She turned to Napoleon and looked at him solemnly, "I guess it's just you and me," said Scarborough Black, whose eye's already displayed the thought of a plan. "I know exactly who must want that Harbinger Fiddle. It could only be Captain Avery!"

"That Avery damn it!" shouted Scarborough, "Only he would make such a request, I can't believe him! But how?" she sat down at a nearby table and drummed her fingers, wondering how Avery could even summon the Devil, last she had seen him, he was still in his spider form. He must have gotten his body back somehow, she thought.

"Whose Captain Avery?" asked Napoleon in confusion, "And why does he have the fiddle?" Napoleon looked concerned at Scarborough's obvious discomfort due to the lack of entertainment. "Are you alright missing?" he asked sympathetically, "It's just a fiddle, I'm sure you can live without the music for a little while."

"What!" she yelled angrily, "How dare you say that, look around you! What else is there to do in this damnable place but listen to that fiddle play? It is called Fiddler's Greens you know." She sighed and blew up at a tuft of hair that had fallen into her face

"No time for an explanation now," hissed Scarborough, "You, me and the horse must all go back to the land of the living and track down that fiddle. I'll tell you about it on the way there."

The two of them and the horse, gathered outside the tavern, and she unhitched Go, from the tie bar. Remounting she swung Napoleon onto the horse behind her. There, they set off at a brisk trot riding double on the little black steed. Go's ears plucked he awaited his mistresses commands to start their next adventure together.
Chapter 3- Unmerciful

Avery had the fiddle now, but what to do for money was a question that still plagued him. That was until he passed a sign on the corner shop stating that there would be a Symphonic Music Concert Contest open to the people where anyone could enter. The winner would be granted at large first prize award of cash. Relieved for the first time in a while that food might be on the table that night, Avery went inside and listed himself as a contestant. With the Harbinger Fiddle, there was no way Avery couldn't be a winner.

Only crickets could be heard as the last person cleared the stage before Avery's performance was due. The audience had proved to be a tough crowd that night and no one had received much applause. Nervously, Avery clutched the fiddle to his chest awaiting his turn to go on stage. A few coughs rang out in the auditorium, but otherwise there was only silence that could penetrate even the bravest man's heart.

Stepping on stage, Avery lifted the fiddle to his shoulder and began to play, first cautiously, then with more and more attitude. The reaction of the crowd was an interesting one of mixed emotions. They seemed to be enjoying his music, but restless about something. Nothing in particular seemed that out of the ordinary to Avery, so he played on.

When finished, the crowd erupted with laughter and applause, even a few gave a standing ovation. That's when Avery turned and left the stage, only to be informed that everyone was still wondering who played the last round of the contest. "Well, I did," confessed Captain Avery, "You all saw me right?"

"No buddy," said the announcer, "Not a soul saw you onstage the whole time the music was playing, so I uh, guess that means your disqualified/"

"Infernal Damnation!" yelled a very angry Avery, "How can this be? You all must have seen..." After trailing off his last few words, Captain Avery realized how no one had witnessed his perfect recital, and that meant no winnings for the night."

"Ha, ha, ha," came a laugh from behind him, "Good to see you tonight," said a man Captain Avery recognized from his soothing voice and forked tongue. The Devil chuckled one more time, and relaxed his demeanor. :"I had a feeling I would see you here Avery," he consoled, "And I knew you wouldn't have thought it through. Don't you remember the Harbinger Fiddle is enchanted to make one invisible while you play it. It was your distinct addition in the first place,"

"Curses!" shouted Avery in front of the Devil, "Go back to the hell where you came from Lucifer!" Avery looked up red with anger, a boiling sensation of tension was seething behind his eyes. "I don't need any more shit from you!"

"Shall I take the fiddle then," asked Lucifer, "since it is practically useless?"

"No actually," thought a more introspective Avery, "I have a different idea."

The next week a new contest was announced for all the musicians in the area, and this time Avery entered with an advantage. He and the Devil agreed that if Avery pretended to play a regular fiddle for the stage, while Lucifer played the Harbinger Fiddle in the background, so no one would be the wiser and they would both split the pot. This agreement worked like a charm and they were both seen singing drunkenly at the bar at the night's end. "For he's a Jolly Roger fellow! For he's a Jolly Roger fellow! For he's a Jolly Roger fellow! That nobody can deny!"

They rang in the morning the same way they ended the night, with more rounds on the two of them at the bar. By the bleary eyed dawn, they were both stumbling back to a room rented by Avery. "Not bad," said the Devil, "For an amateur."

"Same again next week?" replied Avery with a knowing smile. "Split the pot even again?"

"Sure thing," answered his counterpart in the red suit.

This display of bravado went on for many weeks without incidence expect the occasional proud bar fight with some of the less sportsmanlike patrons of the bar. Each week the tune became more haunting, as the Devil played so well, none could even compare. The song that won them trophy after trophy was eventually dubbed "The Devil's Trill."

Working together was good for a while, but with each new prize the pair grew more aggravated with the situation and the idea of the prize money being split. One night, after winning another large sum of money they began to bicker about who was really doing the most work.

Of course the Devil complained of his ache in his shoulder from where the sharpened end of the fiddle poked him while he played. This did nothing to dismay the old sea captain who argued that it was him who really had to take all responsibility for the act, and when the fiddles notes weren't quite as extraordinary as necessary it was he who took all the taunts from the people seated below.

After a while they both had reached such an enraged point they were yelling and screaming full out in the street. That's when Avery shouted "ENOUGH!" and grabbing the fiddle he stormed off in a huff, never planning to use the Devil for anything.

The very next week, at another recital, Avery stood ready, with a new patsy, a peasant convinced of Avery's plan to enter and win the competition. The young man knew what his job was and if all should go according to plan, they would both be richer by the end of the contest. Avery walked onstage with an ordinary fiddle and lifted it to his chin to mock play another round. In the background the farm boy played the Harbinger Fiddle just as he was supposed to

Suddenly a loud shriek came from off stage and the fiddle music stopped playing all together. Avery stood there stuck, wondering what to do next. With no plan of action, he humbled himself and embarrassed he retreated off the platform. Blushing red with both anger and vengeance on his mind, he screamed out for the farmer playing his fiddle but he was nowhere to be found.

"This is just great! How could my life get any worse!" hissed Avery, unable to explain the man's sudden disappearance. His blood boiling with rage, soon was turned to an icy chill as he witnessed a faint shimmering shadow appear before him and he yelled at the top of his lungs! "Ahhhhh! GHOST! Oh Jesus, have mercy on me!" Cowering he fell to the floor and began reciting the Lord's Prayer, "Our Father, who art though in heaven, hallow be thy name..."

The phantom mounted on the great black horse spoke with a haunting moan, "Ohhh Avery, it's been ages since we last saw each other, don't you recognize me?" Pulling back her hood the woman revealed herself as a stunning apparition of what was once someone Avery had known very well.

"Scarborough," exclaimed a shocked Avery, "Can it really be you?"

She nodded slightly and began to explain why she and Napoleon had returned from death.

### Chapter 4- Monkey in the Middle

"One year from death ago," started Napoleon into another one of his long speeches about the reaction of his people to his leadership, "And whence forth they forever and a day followed me till doom's dawn," he stated without pause, "so if I may have some conviction from everyone present...."

Scarborough yawned bored with the situation and exclaimed, "Hallelujah!" when as they wandered in the direction they had last seen the man run, and so she heard a faint fiddling noise off in the distance. There she saw a cart and horse pulling away and the man who had been running from them was off in the shadowy beyond.

"My lady, how is it that you came to see the fiddle in the player's hands?" stammered a more relieved Avery, "for as we both know it makes the player of its notes invisible before all others."

"Yes," Scarborough reacted, "Perhaps it's due to the fact that I'm a ghost, and maybe phantoms are invisible and therefore can see invisible things."

"That's true," said Avery, "I can barely even see you in the night on your beautiful black stallion, your very faint and frightening, no wonder he ran away."

"I'm going to ride forward and see if I can't catch up with him," she glared at the moon, whose rays revealed her shimmering form in its light. "I'll head him off and chase him back this way."

Napoleon and Avery nodded with the assumption the farmer had stowed the fiddle somewhere nearby. Scarborough kicked Go into a fast canter and allowed his rhythm to move beneath her covering the ground in easy liquid strides that felt like riding on a cloud. Only if that cloud had been a deep thundering black stormy cloud that is. He whinnied at the approach as Scarborough whispered in his ear, "Go doll, Go!" and stretched out over his haunches to tear into the soft dirt below his hooves.

Coming round the bend to head off the old man who was walking on the pathway between her and the hillside, she clutched the reins pulling Go into a halt and rearing onto his hind legs he pitched forward his cannons into a capriole. The goat leap did the trick and the man screamed into terror at the sight of the fantastical apparition before him. Turing lighter than the pale horse of the Apocalypse, he spun and ran in the direction of Avery and Napoleon.

Seeing them as a comforting signal of safety, he shivered in fear, obviously chilled to the bone at the horrific sight he had just witnessed. "The black horseman," he stammered, his teeth chattering upon arriving at Avery's side, shaking and mumbling he couldn't be calmed by the men for several hours. Once he finally was assured that no one was going to harm him by Avery, the man finally was willing to talk about the fiddle.

"That thing is haunted," stuttered the man, "It brought ghosts to me tonight," as the predawn light began to finger its way across the sky fragmenting the darkness surrounding them. "I took it to an old gypsy man who said it was cursed," cried the farmer. "So I let him keep it."

"You did what now!" exclaimed an exasperated Avery, "How could you do that? First the contest, now this! I'll have your head!" Pulling at his cutlass from his side, he unsheathed his sword preparing to strike, when the man shrieked in dismay and fainted from all the night's trauma.

"Bastard!' said Napoleon, "You can't kill a man when he's that pathetic, might as well just leave him here." Propping him against a nearby barrel, he and Napoleon left to investigate where Scarborough was. No longer thinking this was a minor concern, the all met together to discuss the long mission they were now tied into.

The long road ahead was rocky and unpredictable in areas that they crossed infrequently and it was mid-afternoon before they reached the next town over and heard again the faint noise of the fiddle playing in the background.

Entering through the main gates, the scene opened up into a huge renaissance faire and its participants were laughing and dancing gaily about the park. Music rose above the crowd's noise in all directions. No one knew where to start looking first. "Might as well split up," sighed Napoleon and they each went in separate direction's looking for the fiddle.

Hours later, Avery stood above the gypsy man and his wagon shook with the roar of Avery's yelling. His anger boomed out his voice as he yelled, "YOU DID WHAT WITH MY FIDDLE!" And he prepared his fist for a punch my hitting his other palm with it. Suddenly, Napoleon appeared having overheard the yelling and approached the situation. Seeing a phantom self of the infamous General in the early twilight of the first evening stars, the man hissed, "Ack! Its Napoleon.... He's back from the dead!" and the gypsy fortune teller fainted as well.

"Well now, may I say," said Napoleon, "Seems as if this one is also a pity. Now haven't we discussed picking on the insignificance of poor men in slumber?" Stopping Avery from taking out his aggression on the man, Napoleon asked if he knew the whereabouts of the Harbinger fiddle.

"He said he sold it," relayed the Captain, "Couldn't remember who exactly, and fainted before I could get anything more out of him."

With a gasp of relief Go's hooves sounded in a clatter behind them as Scarborough approached yelling, "There it is! The fiddles over this way!"

Hearing the noise of someone screeching together notes poorly from the vibrating strings of some sad dying animal, they all realized even when played poorly, the fiddle still made its user invisible. The sound of the wreckage music was coming from over in the cemetery where they all approached to investigate.

Unfortunately once Scarborough, Go and Napoleon all stepped foot on the sacred grounds, there was a flash of light brighter than those of the northern variety, and suddenly the ground opened up and swallowed the three of them. Once sucked below the surface, they looked around to acclimate to their surroundings. That is when they realized they were back in Fiddler's Greens.

### Chapter 5- Like Finding a Needle

Avery stood in the cemetery, now alone and his ears growing more annoyed by the animalistic noise coming from the direction of the tombs. Cautiously he walked, tip toeing around, and calling softly, "Hello, anyone? Where are you?" He continued walking as if on egg shells in the dim light of the graveyard until a gust of wind picked up and a tree branch snapped behind him. Wheeling around there was a monumental tomb which now had a small boy sitting atop it holding the fiddle and bow in one hand.

"'Ello there," giggled the young boy, "Care to hear me play?" Screeching back and forth the sound pollution permeated the air again. Charging in the direction of the now invisible boy, Avery cried, "Stop playing with my damn Harbinger fiddle!"

"Oh," said the boy who had managed to dance invisibly in another direction. "You want to play a game of tag do you?" Laughing joyously the boy spun and twirled stopping to play the fiddle just as Avery got closest to him.

Thump! A loud crash came out from the distance and that is when Avery heads the young boy start to cry. Still invisible to Avery's naked eye, he was infuriated because he could only hear the boys weeping, not bad fiddling any more. "Where in blasted did you go now! Come out here, you're not even playing the fiddle! How can you be still impossible to see?"

Looking for him in the direction of the boy's cries, Avery saw the example of what had happened. At the bottom of an unburied grave was a hole six feet deep. While playing tag the boy had fallen inside and couldn't escape. There on the ground next to him was the fiddle.

"Aha!" cheered Avery, "Found you at last, now hand over the fiddle right now!"

"Alright," moaned the boy, "But only if you get me out of here, please mister."

Unable to resist the tears of the young boy, Avery helped him climb out in exchange for the fiddle. As the night wore on, Avery felt weary and troubled still about his situation. At the entry way to the cemetery, where two stone gargoyles sat guarding the souls of the afterlife, leaned the form of the notorious devil Lucifer.

When Avery sighted the devil he knew what was about to happen next. He sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. "Time to go Avery," said Lucifer, and he gave him solemn expression suggesting this was hurting him more than it hurt Avery. "And bring the fiddle with you!" he called out into the night.

"But isn't there another way?" said Avery with pleading in his eyes, "There has to be a different solution to this mess."

"Well..." said the Devil, looking at the sadness of Avery's eyes he was clearly a minute away from blubbering. "Maybe, but don't tell anyone I let you off this easy."

Placing one hand over the old sea Captains heart, he called Avery's mortal soul from his body and directly placed him where he belonged.

"Halfway down the trail to Hell, in a shady meadow green..

Scarborough and Napoleon danced to the fiddles music as Avery played joyously over and over again the classic sailors tunes. Finishing round after round they smoked and drank till their hearts content. Never caring again about their worries as to whether it was a Pirate's Life for them!
Part 5: Blasphemous

"...And I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast which

was full of names of blasphemy, ..."

Many years later when Scarborough was out in the Garden of Eden she went to the tree of Knowledge and picked an apple from it just to feed to her horse, Go. She knew he would especially like one from the top of the tree. So she climbed up its branches and grabbed the freshest, ripest, fruit available and brought it down to the black stallion. He nickered and came forward accepting it from her hand gently taking a bite.

Suddenly, a great and mighty serpent appeared and exclaimed, "Oh my, what have we here? You haven't eaten the forbidden fruit have you?"

"YIKES!" screamed both Scarborough and Go at the same time. And she dashed for his backside where she alighted and he immediately turned and galloped off. Once outside the garden, they both paused for breath and Go started the conversation saying, "Scarborough, that was close, he was big and scary!"

"I know Go," said Scarborough, "Hey wait a second, when did you learn to talk?"

"I could always talk," stated Go matter of factually, "You just seem to be able to listen now, but yes that is very strange."

"Wow Go," expressed Scarborough, "That's neat, I wonder what did it?"

"Maybe it was that apple," he nickered again, "It was so delicious, yummy."

In the City of the fallen Angels, or Los Angeles there was a ship by the sea. Here lived a confused specimen that could use her tongue to speak to the horses, but was very unwise to the ways of man. She could no longer remember her days as a pirate but always taking action toward the unlawful side of imbibing.

'Where in the bible is it written that smoking and drinking are such a sin? Doesn't Jesus turn water into wine for Christ's sake!" She often stated this to her wisest of cohorts, the voices in her head.

When approached you noticed a simple elegance in God's plan for her. What was to be a revelation to the world over spirituality and the philosophy of wisdom, could always be a destiny better suited to another. But she accepted the task graciously, and with her own mighty valor, she became a knight in armor.

With a youth immersed in horses, her equestrian skills were far superior than most peoples, and an old rickety boat that was cast aside by her father became the scene for her housing arrangements, it began a told tale so long, where'd it go? The fin! It's gone. She could never prove she was reincarnated, except to the constantly chattering voices in her head, only that horology worked.

But where science and logic got mixed up with hocus pocus, there is no reason to accept an easy answer for this question. What she often found herself wondering was which came first, the black widow or her hourglass? She smiled smugly remembering that she had started this journey on a mission to face her worst fear, spiders. The one that had revealed itself still on her mind.

What evidence did she have that she was anything more than a babbling idiot who talks to herself about one of her favorite subjects, time travel. One of the biggest questions she had was about whether or not time was God, or just a dimension. Also she liked to pretend she had invented a correct shape for time. A snake making the pattern of a serpentine was her best description at this point.

This is what made her a horologist. When she pictured time it slithered by smoothly counting seconds on the clock making its effort to strike the hour it rang in so diligently. But realizing hor she had come to first love the idea of time travel, what truly inspired her was mans separation from dinosaur, aka the dragon. She wanted to bridge the gap between man and beast in a desperate manner.

She craved one in such a way that she had made an effort to devise a plan to traverse the eons that separated them. Was this the beginning of the end of time as we know it? She often mused these words herself, realizing mankind's new understanding of times place in everyone's lives was what we really needed to know.

Black Pearl Wisdom~ Black holes carry the passage way that takes you to previous points in time allowing for time travel then.

She could hardly remember the Garden of Eden or the apple she fed to Go that she talked to once upon a time. Her gnostic ways had lead TripWire to a small case of the know-it-all syndrome. Her favorite self quote was:

"Holding on tightened heightened cutlery's opinion of chivalry

Though divided it ignited stabs of darkest hours honor thus It dawned on me

If placed the set on a chopping block would the sharpest knife in the drawer be irony

While at which point witches scavenger hunting race to cut to the chase

Hounding entrapment schemes schisms knight's using swords on cutting boards

Who will slice finer finish lines while an Occam's Razor widens wounds who beg us to hedge

Our bets for either the slightly sharpened lead pencil or whittle knowledge of knives edge."

She realized thereafter a cutting tongue could slice a man's heart in moments, but what of her own poisoned one? TripWire could not realize at this time and place how important it is to set a trap. The well laid out plan was to help her catch the serpent of old, the one she just missed in the afterlife. But what the devil is all this time travel about then? And why is the shape of time a serpent as well? But the only way she could see what she loved was in old, fossilized bones. Bones that were sixty-five million years old, or maybe sixty-six?

Well divided by night and day those 31 years she had elapsed had brought her to this very quest. She was a pretty girl, one really might find her very attractive in a certain light, this horologist of babbling. She would ramble on about a simple time travel experiment she had self designed. Combined with the love of the dragon, and a theory that time travels in the shape of a snake, she made little guess as to who she was really working for.

Black holes were several million light years away but even still it all just took a matter of patience. How about sending a radio frequency signal directly at a black hole blasting this scripture about the irony of horology. Even if it took twenty five million light-years to finally get to the black hole, it could be sent backward over a billion. If the signal was predated and picked up, this could potentially be Earth's first contact. Hopefully, when the extraterrestrials land on Earth, there will be dinosaurs available still.

After collecting several different types in order to preserve the species, the message could be then passed forward throughout the millennia and prophecy could occur. Much like that in the book of Revelations, presented in the bible. There you see a woman who wears scarlet, much like a pirate heroine I know, who rides upon a large dragon.

TripWire was sure that if all she asked for was a dragon from the black hole, it couldn't possibly refuse. But why all the coincidences that seemed to surround her everyday life. They all seemed to occur naturally as if nothing was amiss. Was this to be mankind's revelation,, the art of time traveling prophecy to one's self? Was she the famed Whore of Babylon which was one half the beast in the bible. And what of the red dragon foretold? Was that her future?

But all she knew now was that she was the spider. With the World Wide Web her oyster it mean there was always plenty of black pearls to find, and with that came their wisdom. This engrossed her further and further into the depths of the bottomless Abyss, while she chatted aimlessly into the night with her phantom friends.

What she did understand was that her trippy-wired world was constant and dangerously real at times. The Marooned Maritimer on her mind, she thought about how suitable an object it was for time travels purpose. She collected her thoughts and began to question herself, how many lives had she lived? How far back in time did this manuscript reach? Which came first the Black Widow or her hourglass:?

Will time always be this sacrilegious?

Inside TripWire's bible she had written some notes about the Horology of Babbling:

7 Heavenly Philosophes

  1. Timing is everything.

  2. History is doomed to repeat.

  3. You can only travel forward in time at the speed of a moment.

  4. Time travel to earlier points in history is possible using black holes.

  5. Inorganic material messages are the best way to display knowledge into a black hole.

  6. Knowledge is power! We are mere vessels temporarily storing that power till it passes. The energy of knowledge can be stored, shared and shaped, but it must always be focused.

  7. Information about future events can be witnessed in the past and pushed forward through message passing and knowledge banking. Survivability depends on the essential nature of the message.

Simple Time Travel Experiment

Send a digital energy signal about yourself or your message into a black hole. Even if it takes millions of light-years to reach its destination, it may eventually go back in time billions of years previous to its origination. There it can be received by our early ancestors if proven to have enough technology to gather up the signal. If you are at a loss as to what should be sent back in time first, I suggest Horology of Babbling, for it all starts with an hourglass.

Godspeed Gravity Differential

In questioning the laws of gravity, due to the fact that time and speed are interrelated on a possible tangible level, then could it also be assumed that speed and gravity are related. Considering that time is measured by a gravitational device such as an hourglass, it could then possibly be assumed that they are related. Given the transverse property, gravity may then be related to speed, which causes one to wonder: What if the speed a planet is traveling was more related to its current gravitational field than the planets mass?

But always keep in mind that every word of this is true and fact not fiction. Why is that? Because of this reason:

DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES!

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Famous Last Words: Black Holes are the windows of the soul...

