On The Apparition:

Abberline *wakes with a sudden start, he must have fallen asleep while waiting for Donnie and Hanson.  The last thing he remembers was Ava walking past his door with someone, he heard their voices when they laughed over Portsmith ... But he isn't at the Office anymore.  This is a cabin, a ship cabin.  Why is he here and who brought him over? To what purpose? He shudders feeling the ship rock gently on the waves.  If there is something he intensely is afraid of it is the sea and deep waters.  He can't say what ship this is.  Cabins look all the same.  It must be Kat ... But if it were Kat rescuing him from Portsmith, how come he is still handcuffed?  It doesn't make any sense.  Manouche?  She wouldn't treat him like this.  He knows that the cuffs hold, but he still has to try to get free, and the only result is that his wrist starts to hurt again.  It's the wound he got at Marchand's ... For a moment anger flares through his mind.  Like father, like daughter.  He's feeling helpless and confused, something he hates too, and he is in desperate need of a cigarette.  Finally he decides that this is enough*  Kat?  Are you there?  KAT!!?

Kidd *On deck hears a commotion from below deck.  It sounds like ... no that's not possible.  He's jailed in Deppville.  Turning to the nearest deck hand*  What's that?

Larry:  It's that Inspector, we had to lock him in the brig.  He wasn't keen on the idea so we had to lock him away.  Your orders were to get him by hook or crook.

Kidd *Sputters*  Be ye daft, I gave no such order!!

Larry *Puzzled*  But that's what you said.  My brothers heard as well.  Tell her Moe.

Moe:  Are you feeling alright captain you don't look so good.

Kidd *Breathing hard. Hears Abby's voice again.*Shudders*  Blast ye Kat!!  *Descends below deck. Finds Abby’s cell.*  So it's true yer 'ere.  The next port you'll be put aboard anther ship back te Deppville.  *A pained expression crosses her face and Kat fights forward.  Stares at Abby unlocking the brig she steps inside.*  Kidd was for deserting ye but I couldna let her.  *Spots the hand cuffs. Searches her pocket finds the key and frees his hands.  Draws a gun and hands it to him*  Go to my quarters, lock yourself in.  I canna control Kidd for long.  If she threatens ye with 'arm.  *Pauses miserably*  Shoot her.  Go now.  'urry!!

Abberline *trying to understand what's happened, staring at Kidd in disbelief, but when Kat emerges he takes in her desperate look, nods briefly understanding that this is not a place for arguing nor asking questions, he takes the gun, then he quickly grabs her hand*  I won't let her take you away from me, love.  And you know that I could not shoot her.  Not while I know that you are there ... Take care!  *still a little dizzy, he gets out of the brig, looks around for a while, but he has fetched Kat from the ship many times enough and has no problems of locating the quarters.  He slips in, locks the door and leans on it*

Ichy *some moments later follows Kidd below deck*  Is there some sort of disorder here?  This crew you managed to scrape up, they don't look very trustworthy to me, Kidd.

Kidd *Turns to face him with a puzzled expression.  Wonders where Abby vanished to.  Frowning, she decides it's best not to mention anything about it to Ichy.  She'd deal with him later.*  They be misbegotten whores gets!!  But they'll 'ave te do at least as far as Tortuga.  We'll find a proper crew there.  Then we'll toss these wretched dogs o'erboard!!

Ichy *mutters*  I hope we will get to Tortuga with these miscreants.  They did not even clean up my cabin properly.  I found dust and sand on the floor and the door handle is still dirty.  *then his face brightens*  But I found your Rosy Pink Bubble Bath and a stash of fragrant soaps.  That's excellent!

Kidd *Baffled*  I got no Rosy Pink bubble bath. It be Rain Forest bath oil beads or it be nothin' at all ..... *Gasps*  Ichy, bloody 'ell ye must of found the jar I keep Jones’ kidneys soaking in.  It bubbles up pink.  *Steps back from him*  Ye didna bathe in it did ye????

Ichy:  What!  No!  I just looked at it!  *feeling a sudden bout of nausea he quickly turns and runs out, and soon Kidd can hear pirates laughing on the deck.  When Ichy emerges back, he is very pale, or rather greenish*  That's disgusting, Kidd.  Why do you have to keep that kind of stuff in your closet.  *Offended*  Your men laughed at me.  Now they have no respect for me.  Couldn't you toss someone overboard as a warning to the others?

Kidd:  Apologies luv but we need all 'ands.  'ow 'bout ye pick one out and I'll just cut 'is tongue out and ye can wear it round yer neck as reminder te the others, eh??

Ichy *swallows*  Yes, right .. I'll go and pick one ... *and he staggers out feeling very faint*

Abberline *listening for voices at the door, but they all seem to be on deck.  Maybe Kidd has already joined her crew.  After a while he can hear an uproar of laughter.  He looks around himself.  How could Kat prefer this miserable untidy cabin to his house?  The spare furniture is rough to his eyes.  On the floor he finds a bundle of laundry stuffed under the berth and a half-empty rum bottle.  He picks up the bottle and notes approvingly that the rum is of good quality.  In a drawer he finds an Oriental dagger, a bandanna proclaiming 'Pirates do it for booty' and a book.  He looks at the very intriguing cover with an almost nude pirate smiling both lecherously and invitingly.  The title says that 'Cassie does the crew'.  He reads a few chapters, raises appraisingly his eyebrows, grins, and puts the book back.  He opens the closet and inspects the clothing hanging there, a selection of pirate gear and accessories.  He takes a billowy shirt with some suspicious-looking dark-red stains, frowns, puts it back, but then he picks it again.  He can't stay hidden here for an indefinite time.  Sooner or later, he has to find something else than rum.  But all the wear is ladies wear ... *

Latitude, longitude unknown:

Ivan *slowly coming to, groaning at the severe pain in his head, dimly aware of a swaying motion.  He cautiously opens his eyes, as if he’s afraid the very act will cause further pain.  He sees that it’s night, and that he’s in a small dinghy, his wrists handcuffed before him and chained to a part of the boat.  He painfully sits up, sees that the boat isn’t in the water, it’s suspended from the side of a ship, poised to be lowered into the water.  He looks over and is amazed to see Ackerman in the boat with him, still unconscious, also handcuffed and chained to the dinghy.  Ivan stretches a leg out, nudges Ackerman hard with his foot, snarls*  Ackerman, you fool!  Wake up!

Ackerman *stirs, mumbles a bit, curses under his breath*  What the hell … *he opens his eyes, slowly becomes aware of their situation, stares at Ivan*  What’s all this??

Ivan:  Y’ got me.  I … *his voice trails off as he looks over at the ship from which the dinghy is suspended, and he sees Manouche gazing at them, leaning on the railing of The Libertine Trailer, smoking a cigarette*  You!!  *turns, glares at Ackerman*

Ackerman:  I – I told you she was still alive.

Manouche *nods*  Oh aye, I’m in th’ pink, as it were, gentlemen.  *smiles warmly*  An’ it does me heart good t’ be able to ‘ave ye both ‘ere as me guests, in this remote lil’ part o’ th’ sea, far from pryin’ eyes.  *glances up at the sky*  Blimey, it’s a dark night, innit?  No moon, not many stars visible … per’aps I should move closer so ye can ‘ave a better look at me.  *frowns*  But that ain’t necessary.  Th’ pair o’ ye bloody well know what I look like, don’t ye?  ‘Specially our photography expert ‘ere … *looks at Ackerman, smirks*  Eh, Paparazzo?

Ackerman *startled*  N-now, look, Manouche—

Manouche *scowls*  CAPTAIN …

Ackerman *swallows*  Captain Manouche, of course … that was just a job to me.  Nothing personal, understand?

Manouche *looks at him, nods*  Nothin’ personal, y’ say.  Well, I don’t reckon it was to you, mate, but it were highly personal t’ meself, an’ to a few others who are most near an’ dear t’ me.  Ye’ve upset me mate Kat, ye nigh ruined Inspector Abberline personally an’ professionally … *her face dark* … an’ ye messed with me Mr. Blake.

Ivan *pipes up*  See here, Roussel, that business with the photos of you and Abberline, I had nothin’ to do with that!

Manouche *turns to him*  Aye, I’m aware o’ that.  An’ don’t that jus’ make ye th’ soul o’ discretion!  *she takes out her pistol, examines it casually, continues*  Unfortunately, luvvie, ye did ‘ave everythin’ to do with th’ pictures of Inspector Abberline on th’ bloody take, which we all know is complete an’ utter bollocks.  *arches a brow at him*  But it don’t matter no more who did what.  I ‘ave all I need, in a convenient lil’ confession from Mr. Ackerman ‘ere.  Sufficient evidence against both o’ ye, no matter what fortune – or misfortune – may befall ye.  *smiles*

Ivan *frowns*  Whatcha mean misfortune?  An’ whatcha mean confession?  *looks sharply at Ackerman, who squirms uncomfortably*

Manouche *returns to examining her pistol*  We ‘ad a private party, Mr. Ackerman an’ me.  Turns out th’ bloke may be a genius when it comes t’ doctorin’ photographs, but he’s got no constitution fer th’ drink.  *looks at Ackerman sympathetically*  Per’aps yer anemic, mate, I’d look into that if I were you.  *pauses, looks at Ivan again*  As I were sayin’ … I found Mr. Ackerman t’ be a most gregarious drinker, an’ prone to loose talk under the influence, as it were.  ‘Course, he didn’t know who I was.  I ‘ave a talent fer disguises, though I don’t always indulge it.  But in this particular instance, I ‘ad to be most thorough, didn’t I?  *looks at Ackerman, smile fades*  After all, ye’d been studyin’ me right careful as of late, hadn’t ye, mate?  Didn’t want t’ miss any important details o’ me anatomy, did ye?  An’ yet, with all that care an’ plannin’, ye did manage t’ miss somethin’.  Me tattoo.  Remarkable work, save that minor detail.  I ‘ave to give credit where it’s due.

Ackerman *pleadingly*  Captain—

Manouche *frowns, swiftly brings pistol up, aims at him*  Shut up.  *turns to Ivan*  So like I was sayin’, there we was, Mr. Ackerman an’ me at one o’ them joints in From Hell Court, can’t say I recall which one, per’aps th’ Shark’s Tooth.  There we was, gettin’ along famously, an’ by th’ powers, he were chatty!  Oh aye, bragged about more feats o’ slander an’ libel than ye could shake a stick at.  What a pity he didn’t realize who he were talkin’ to … or that he were bein’ recorded th’ entire time.  *reaches in her pocket, pulls out a digital camera, holds it up*  Ain’t this th’ most amazin’ contraption?  Look how small … an’ it stores a remarkable number o’ photos … an’ lil’ movies, as well.  *she continues to stare at both of them as she presses a button, activates the unit; she turns up the volume, and Ackerman’s voice comes through loud and clear, slurred with drink, boasting about his work creating the incriminating photos, even mentioning Portsmith’s involvement.  She lets the recording play, watching the emotions heighten in the two men’s faces as they listen – Ackerman growing more miserable by the second, Ivan more furious.  After a time, she switches it off with a click*  Very thorough, weren’t it?  I’d say that’s a bona fide confession that th’ Security force would be most keen on watchin’ an’ hearin’, from start t’ finish.  *glances at Ackerman as he groans miserably*

Ivan:  Blast you, damn you to hell!  *stares at her incredulously*  How’d you manage to capture us both, bring us here?  I don’t remember a thing.

Manouche *shrugs*  Pirate.  *returns her camera to the pocket, holds up the pistol, examining it again*

Ivan *curses, rattles the length of chain*  Right, so you’ve got us over a barrel, that much is clear.  What do you intend to do with us?  Why have you brought us clear out here when you could simply turn us in, or kill us?

Manouche *eyes widen*  Ah!  Now there’s the very word to which I object.  ‘Simply.’  I don’t want any of this to be handled ‘simply’, savvy?  There were nothin’ simple about th’ plot against Abberline.  There were nothin’ simple about mixin’ me up in it, an’ me Mr. Blake as well.  I see no reason why th’ perpetrators should be dealt with ‘simply.’  However, I ain’t a savage.  I’m willin’ to give ye both a bit of a break, which is certainly more’n ye’d do fer me.  I’m goin’ to lower this boat, an’ ye can do yer best t’ reach that island.  *she points out into the darkness; they strain their eyes and can barely make out a small island on the horizon*  It ain’t close, an’ once ye get to it, there ain’t much there.  But it’s possible t’ sustain yerselves.  Ye won’t perish for want of any necessities.  Th’ drawback is, ye’ll both be alone there th’ rest o’ yer days.  It’s highly unlikely ye’ll find a way off, there’s nothin’ out ‘ere fer miles, nothin’ to bring other ships into th’ waters.  *nods toward the dinghy*  Ye also won’t be equipped with a vessel that’ll bring ye anywhere near a more substantial port.  An’ if ye even so much as think about returnin’ to Deppville – should th’ opportunity present itself, unlikely though it is – ye won’t last long, I guarantee ye.  I’ll know if ye return, an’ I’ll hunt ye down like bloody bilge rats.

Ackerman *rattling his chain*  And just how are we supposed to manage, the way you’ve got us tied up here?

Manouche:  Once I lower ye into th’ water, I’ll toss ye th’ keys to them cuffs.  Ye can free yerselves, an’ then ye’ll be able to row t’ th’ island.  Savvy?

Ivan *darkly*  You’re making a big mistake.  I’m Portsmith’s top earner.  She’s gonna go crazy when she finds I’m gone.  An’ if I ever get the chance, you can bet I’ll tell her everything.

Manouche:  If th’ good Commander wishes t’ take anythin’ up with me, she’s more’n welcome.  *pats the pocket with the camera*  I reckon th’ news media … not t’ mention Vice Mayor Lisa … would be very interested in hearin’ an’ viewin’ my side o’ th’ story.  *smiles*  Well, gents, do we ‘ave an accord?  Shall I lower away?  Otherwise, if yer of th’ belief that there are worse things than dyin’, I can offer another option.  *holds up the pistol, cocks it with a loud click*

Ivan *leans toward Ackerman, they whisper a few words to each other; Ivan looks at Manouche*  You win.  We have an accord.  Lower away.  *Ackerman nods in agreement*

Manouche:  Right.  *puts the pistol away, moves over to her left a few feet and pulls at a couple of levers from a large switch box mounted on the deck.  The cables and braces creak as the dinghy is slowly lowered into the water below.  Once the little boat rests stably on the surface, she calls out*  Yer both allowed sufficient movement to disengage them lines, if yer of a mind.

Ivan *scowls up at her*  We’re all for severin’ any ties with the likes of you.  *he nods at Ackerman, they both grumble as they reach over to the sides of the dinghy as far as their chains will allow and detach the cables, which Manouche then reels back up*

Ackerman *calling up to her*  Now what?

Manouche:  Now?  Now yer free t’ go, mate.  With no more limitations than them what was mentioned previous.  Ye ‘ave oars at th’ ready … *she takes a set of keys from a pocket* … an’ here’s th’ keys to yer shackles, as I promised.  *she tosses them down*  Think fast!

Ivan *yells, lunges, just barely catches the keys by leaning far over the side of the dinghy*  Damn Gypsy, I nearly missed ‘em.  You did that on purpose.

Manouche *gazes down at him*  ‘Ave a care with that foul mouth, luv.  *nods out toward the island*  Yonder is yer new home.  I suggest ye make for it while th’ tide appears t’ be in yer favor.

Ivan *takes the keys, finds the right one to unlock Ackerman; gives the keys to Ackerman, who unlocks him in turn.  They both take a moment to rub their wrists, then Ackerman glances up at Manouche ruefully, picks up one of the oars.  Ivan picks up the other oar, calls up to Manouche, raising his voice as the dinghy starts to drift away from her ship*  You’re a filthy Gypsy bitch, an’ all your fancy friends an’ money don’t change that!  If you think it ends here, you’re sadly mistaken!

Ackerman *grabs the other oar from him, hisses*  Ivan, shut it.  *he turns to lock the oars in place to prepare to start rowing*

Ivan *glares at him*  An’ YOU!  T’was your mouth almighty that got us into this!  *Ackerman says nothing, continues to secure the rowlocks.  Ivan looks up at Manouche again, his bravado increasing with the distance between their vessels; he calls out louder as they drift still farther*  We will meet again, trash.  An’ when we do, you’ll be sorry you ever crossed me.  An’ that goes for your friends, an’ that hack poet you managed to trick into marryin’ you!!

Manouche *raises her eyebrows*  Well now.  I see.  I’m sorry ye feel that way, but I can’t say I’m particularly surprised.  *pauses, pulls the pistol back out again*  Believe it or not, I sympathize with ye somewhat, Ivan Robinov.  Carryin’ all that rage inside o’ ye constantly, must be bloody exhaustin’.  I’ve heard tell that vigorous physical exercise is a brilliant way t’ expel ineffectual anger, did ye know that?  Now rowin’ is a fine exercise, t’ be sure … but swimmin’ is a better one.  *she positions her left arm, brings up the pistol with her right hand and balances the barrel on her arm; narrows her eyes, aims carefully and fires.  The shot hits a small explosive she had planted on the dinghy earlier; it detonates, blasting a hole in the craft*

Ackerman *shrieks with pain as a random thick splinter of wood from the explosion slices into his leg*  Ahhhh!!!!  *he screams back at Manouche*  Why’re you doing this to me?  *he motions to Ivan, who’s yelling and trying in vain to stop the sea water from gushing through the leak*  I was cooperating!  I’m not like him!!

Manouche *blows into the barrel of the pistol*  Th’ pictures, darlin’.  That’s fer concentratin’ too much on me bad side.  *puts the pistol away, smiles charmingly*  Enjoy yer swim, ladies.  *she turns without another glance, walks away, ignoring their curses, their shouts of protests and pleas for help.  She reaches the helm, approaches Perhan at the wheel*  It’s done, mate.  Let’s head back.

Perhan *watching the water, nods*  Did you happen to notice the sharks off portside?

Manouche:  Sharks, ye say?  Hmm.  It’s a pity our two guests seem to ‘ave lost their vessel right out from under ‘em.  An’ from th’ sound of it, Mr. Ackerman sustained an injury.  Not a good idea, dippin’ into shark-infested waters with an open wound.  Sharks ‘ave an amazin’ sense o’ smell, Perhan, did ye know that?  ‘Specially fer blood.  *listens as the faraway shrieking from Ivan and Ackerman becomes more frantic*  Ah!  Sounds like they’ve also spotted yer sharks.  *she finds cigarettes and matches, lights two cigarettes, hands one to Perhan*

Perhan:  Y’know, if it were anyone else, I’d say we should go back and save ‘em.

Manouche:  A guilty conscience is a costly commodity in th’ world o’ piracy, luv.  Take what ye can, give nothin’ back.  Those two bastards are reapin’ what they sowed.  *pauses, blows a smoke-ring*  Besides, per’aps it ain’t as bad as we think.  *grins*  Per’aps it weren’t sharks ye seen … per’aps it were merely Corso’s mythical man-eatin’ dolphins.  *Perhan laughs, sets the course back to Deppville; Manouche gazes out at the horizon, smoking pensively*

At Chateau Blanchefort:

Wilson *looks at Netta’s eager face*  Yes, it is your daddy's.  You are a smart one.  *Love?  He frowns when he thinks of Auntie Portsmith.  It seems she is not able to feel nor understand emotions like love or friendship.  She can love her castle and her position, and all the material luxury she gathers around her.  Lust, greed, anger, that's more her.  He shudders trying to imagine the Commander in love with anybody.*  Netta, I doubt your father would be able to settle down in any place for long, but I am sure he will sooner or later make a visit, and you will meet him.  *he closes her fingers around the trinket*  Keep the treasure and hide it.

Netta *looks a little disappointed that Wilson doesn’t believe her father could settle; but she brightens at the thought of him coming back.  She squeezes her hand around the trinket, stuffs it in a pocket*  Are you sure I can keep it?  *glances around, as if she’s afraid they’re being watched; stands up on tiptoe, lowers her voice*  What about the Commander?  What if she finds it’s missin’, what’ll you tell her.  I don’t wanna get you in trouble.  *she feels a ferret nibbling at her shoe; she giggles and picks it up in her arms*

Wilson:  Don't forget that you are a pirate.  You don't ask for permission for such kind of things, especially if it is important for you.  I'll tell her that the ferrets took and hid it somewhere.  *he sighs*  They do that kind of thing all the time.  Oh, and if she starts to be troublesome, just remember the magic word. Bitterfeld.  So, she asked me to show you the uniforms as today's lesson.  She claims that a uniform gives authority and power.  Though it seems that nowadays her uniforms tend to get smaller and smaller.  She never wore uniforms like that, with skirts and heels, before your father paid a visit to the castle last Christmas.  If someone else puts on something like that, she'll be totally horrified about such indecency and immodesty ... That's the way she is, Netta.  *they walk towards the uniform room.  Portsmith has besides her own uniforms that she loves to design, a collection of old uniforms and weapons, starting from a Medieval knight's armor with a helmet looking like a boar*  They were the armored tanks of their time, and virtually unstoppable.  And though the armor was for shielding, it was also made to dishearten the enemy.  Like this one.  This belonged to a knight of the Blanchefort family.  They wore their crests on the shields.  Do you recognize that coat of arms?