No Satisfaction

Musical Musings #13:

Story inspired by listening to

(Can't get no) Satisfaction

The Rolling Stones

For those following the weekly updates on Captain Juan, this will be added in within the next few weeks - with some editing.... I am exploring Dantes character and drive for what he is about to launch into and the Musical Musings seemed to fit perfectly..... for all others - please subscribe to a message in a bottle and join us in a ripping yarn about The Astonishing Adventures of Captain Juan - a story being co-written before your eyes by Paul , Jodi and myself.

Sweat and tears streaked the young mans face. Confused, terrified and pushed to his limit of pain, his once fine clothes were in tatters, sodden with urine and fear. His left arm was stretched out and tied to a solid wooden table; his body heavily bound to the wooden chair. His fingers delicately fanned out and secured by iron skewers, driven precisely into each knuckle and then firmly into the table top.

A canvas roll of iron and wooden oddments lay neatly to one side each piece carefully cleansed before being tucked away for future use. His eyes bulged as he could only imagine what pain the remaining implement might bring.

A tall muscled back faced him, the figure kneeling in prayer.

“Please, I’ll tell you everything. Whatever you need to know I’ll tell you’ Victor whined piteously.

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Replied the figure; the first time he had spoken in over twelve hours.

“Please who are you why are you doing this?” Sobbed Victor, his face etched in excruciating never ending pain. “ My father is a noble in the Royal Court. He will give you anything if you just let me go.”

Silence grew heavily, weighed down by the horror in the room.

The muscled back shone in the flickering torchlight like well oiled basalt. Unmoving, a low chant emitting raising and lowering with prayer.

Victor began to scream; the noise unnerving him, the pain was beyond anything he had every experienced; his terror and confusion blinding his consciousness.

The light was disturbed for a moment and a slight wooden scraping noise came from the side wall. Dante athletically flicked himself from kneeling to standing within a heartbeat. Noiselessly, he left the room; pushing the heavy iron lock sidewards to open wooden door. Victor had not noticed his exit and continued screaming hysterically.

Dantes’ head inclined slightly as he lowered his eyes momentarily. “My Lord?”

An obese sweaty noble patted his flushed face and wrung out the expensive silk cloth nervously.

“How long will this....” he gestured pathetically, “going to take?”

A humorless smile met Dantes lips,” My Lord, you requested little blood and maximum pain and terror. I can keep him at this point for weeks. I doubt his sanity will last more than a few hours though.”

Lord Toress hyperventilated “ I thought I wanted to watch it all, see him suffer every moment. Your methods are very.. ..exact.” He struggled to meet Dantes eyes as his hands nervously fluttered about.

“My Lord, why don’t you avail yourself to the kitchen finest offerings. I will order my manservant to fetch you some sweet wine. Once your stomach has settled then you might like to watch further developments.”

Toress’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Yes. Yes, a short break will strengthen my nerves. Ermmm… Carry on.”

Dante inclined his head slightly and spun on his heal, entering his sanctuary again.

He breathed deeply, seeking contact and approval from his God. He ceremoniously oiled his naked torso, chanting in prayer, cleansing his body from the momentary contact with the unclean outside.

His normally focused mind wandered, picturing the beautiful face of Ruby, her features striking as they contorted in the pain he had served her. A low guttural growl erupted from the depths of his body. Not since she had been stolen away from him thus ending his perfect reputation, had he experienced the thrill and exhilaration he normally experienced from his assignments. The beauty he found in his clients deaths was now meaningless. Despite acknowledging that he was still on his holy mission and cleansing the masses of wickedness; he now felt hollow and unfulfilled.

He drew a long metal skewer from his roll and inserted it into Victors wrist, just between the cartilage bones. Through a practiced touch, he kept thrusting it up into his arm to separate the ulna and radius, careful not to go too close to the artery. Victors screams hit a higher pitch as every pain receptor blew off the scale. The tiniest movement reset the throbbing with even his trembling pitching pain further through his body.

This used to be one of Dantes favoured moves, bringing him closer to God and to redemption, and now it brought him no satisfaction.

Growling again and cursing Ruby and that Captain of hers, he knelt swearing to God he would seek their painful long deaths to his last breath.

Etched Maps

For those following the weekly updates on Captain Juan, this may fill in a riddle for you...Its a back story - set some 20 years before the good Captains yarns begin....

For all others - please subscribe to a message in a bottle and join us in a ripping yarn about The Astonishing Adventures of Captain Juan - a story being co-written before your eyes by Paul , Jodi and myself.

Ignatius shifted uncomfortably in his binds. Unused to rough treatment, he was close to weeping. The Turkish captors spoke in low voices beyond them gesturing occasionally and pointing towards Jerico. A camel snorted and sneezed spraying gloop across Peters face. Dominic stoically stared out to the horizon, calculating his options, planning an escape, even if it mean alone. His thoughts surprised him as he had thought to die in the Holy Lands and to join his wife, away from the pain on earth. And now, in the face of danger, his thoughts were of his children, both recognized and those who had resulted outside the sanctioned marriage.

The evening before had been like any other along their pilgrimage to each of the holy sites. Some 200 pilgrims had set up camps around the waterhole and shared the fellowship of religion, recounting the wondrous sites they had visited and giving testimony to the closeness to God each were feeling . Despite having traveled with Ignatius and the five other pilgrims from Venice for several months, Dominic distanced himself, sheltering his pain and loss in his stony silence. He had hoped that God would release his suffering in this pilgrimage , but was yet to find peace.

“Great wealth… open lands.. trade on all raw materials…. We could be princes in our own rights there!”

Flicking back the thick fabric of his shared tent and stooping to enter, he was faced with four guilty faces as they huddled over several pieces of hide map in the dim lamplight. One of them tried to obscure the map by leaning over the top of it.

“No use in hiding it from me. I know you have been up to something for weeks.” He growled. “What is it that you have?”

“The Doge of Venice, Andrea Gritti, entrusted me with these maps and has asked me to deliver them to his holiness the Franciscan provincial, Angelo Ferrara. I have been trying to piece them together, but they seem muddled or parts missing.” Admitted Ignatius. “ We have a single day before they leave my hands. I had hoped to decode them.”

Without gaining permission, Dominic grabbed the doe hide maps and stared at them,frowning. He laid one down and gathered another placing it partially over the top. Scooping another and twisting it about he laid it in place as well. Grunting in satisfaction, he queried, “ Any of you worldly travelers know where this is?”

Silence met his ears. “ Hum thought so. How do you propose to find these lush lands and become princes then huh? Ignatius, you of all people have not a coin to rub together. Might I remind you of your doorstep lodgings before I found you in Venice? Is this the way you wish to repay the Doge for his kindness. I thought you were a scholar, not a thief.”

Shamefaced, Ignatius, bowed his head. Dominic sneered inwardly. Devout Christians were so easy to manipulate with guilt. “And what of these maps? What makes them so important to the Popes Emissary in the Holy Lands?”

One of the other pilgrims stepped forward. “I had been waiting for months to be granted permission to travel to the Holy Lands. In this time, I familiarized myself with the Doges Palace and staff.” Tizio allowed himself to flush. “I overheard several times, talk on the existence of these maps and of the journeys to a distant land, unpopulated and lush with wildlife and sweet fertile soils.”

Dominic laughed. “Fantasies and frippery. Tales with no substance”

Tizio urgently continued “ I thought so too, until a sea captain and his crew arrived very late one night and were admitted immediately into the Doges inner chambers. They were richly rewarded and sent home. Sadly each met a violent death. There seems to be a great deal of interest at the Doges ”

Dominic cocked an eyebrow. “You seem very resourceful for a common pilgrim”

A flash of a ring on Tizios left hand made Dominics breathe a little faster. “One of the Brothers? But what brings you so far out of Rome?”

The Brotherhood of the Protectors of the Faith are in more places than you can imagine. We see and hear all”Tizio calmly countered.

“It still doesn’t really answer why these maps are so important out here in the desert.” Dominic pointedly argued.

“And that is exactly what the Pope would like to know as well” agreed Tizio.

“So back to these maps. I agree with you Ignatius. We need more time to study them. They fit together like a jigsaw. Sadly we will only have these for another day and I doubt anyone here has writing equipment with them?” Dominic looked from face to face, each downcast envisaging their passage to riches slipping out of their fingers for the want of a fountain pen and a scroll. The pilgrims had been set upon a week prior and most of their luggage had been stolen by desert pagans.

“Too many damned thieves around these parts”. Grumbled Dominic. He whistled sharply outside his tent and grunted in satisfaction as he heard Yildiz call his answer, his bare feet pattering on the sand as he ran. A quick word to him and the lad nodded enthusiastically, racing into the darkness on the errand.

Dominic pulled his tunic open and on his left shoulder a blooded and scabbed etching in his flesh sat still weeping and red. He rinsed a cloth in cool water and whipped away the dried blood to reveal an intricately sketched cross. “Through the pain, I will find salvation” it read.

He ignored the horrified looks. “It will be my constant reminder that God is on my side.”

Yildiz entered the tent landing an elder man carrying a small satchel of tools and knives.

“Bashir is one of his tribes gifted skin artists. Only revered and holy symbols are etched into the skin within his tribe. Many pilgrims have taken this tradition on and have had crosses etched on their arms or chests.”

The puzzled looks from the others prompted Dominic to continue.” I suggest that each of us has a piece of the map etched into our person; until such time we reach civilization and can transfer it to a scroll. We can then decode this puzzle together and with my resources, set an expedition off to these wondrous lands.”

Bashir set the tools of his trade up and looked expectantly towards the group of men. Dominic grunted and sat down, exposing his chest and pointing at the largest map piece. Bashir nodded and set to work, deftly pricking the skin and colouring each part as he went.

Ignatius needed to be held with a leather strap clutched between his teeth, and Peter groaned and quietly wailed as Bashir worked on him. Tizio refused to be marked by Satans score, so Dominic had the final piece etched to his back.

Satisfied with his evenings work, Bashir, toothlessly grinned and accepted Dominics gifts as thanks. The men admired the work on each others bodies, but quickly pulled tunics on as thunderous hoofbeats echoed closer toward the sleeping camp. Shouts and screams followed as the unarmed pilgrims were attacked by an distrustful tribe. Everyone not already out of their tents were roughly woken and the meager possessions they held; taken, including the precious maps.

Groups of prisoners sat in the warming sands as the sun rose steadily and the Turkish tribe shouted at one another. The stench of fear and murmuring prayers kept Dominic from falling asleep. He would wait for the opportune moment and make good his escape. If he were able to free the others who held the maps upon their skin, he would assist them. If not, his keen mind had taken in the key points and he was certain he could reproduce them at will. Besides, the information they had on their bodies was very little, compared with the detail on his; which as he smiled to himself, he had orchestrated purposely.

Do we have an accord Captain?

Write about a failed proposal.......

For those following the weekly updates on Captain Juan, this is the next installment... for all others - please subscribe to a message in a bottle and join us in a ripping yarn about The Astonishing Adventures of Captain Juan - a story being co-written before your eyes by Paul , Jodi and myself.


Dante eyes glittered in reflection of the fires still burning in the warehouse along the docks. Thick acrid smoke still permeated the air, but seemed to part as Dante strode through it. His eyes darted into every corner searching for further clues.

He had easily found the foolish Genoese ‘merchants’ laying in pools of their own blood and gore at the church. Having realized that his prey had made their escape long ago, he chose to commune with his God for further guidance. Amidst the cannon fire and screams at the docks, he’d spent an hour prostrate at the alter gaining strength and regaining his inner calmness. A low guttural growl in his throat emerged as a prayer, a promise, a purpose as he rose, crossing himself before turning swiftly on his heel and leaving the inner sanctum of the church.

Standing on the dock overlooking the battered remains of the yet to be completed Castillo de San Antón, Dante suddenly clasped his hands together and bowed his head. “Lord” he prayed, “Unless you gift me the power of wings, I cannot follow him in these winds – the ship is the fastest in Spain and only Satan knows where he is headed. Grant me a path in which I may continue the purging of evil in this land and rid it of that Captain.”
A bowswains sharp whistle roused him from his appeal to his God. An English Ship had entered the harbour and appeared to be flying a treaty flag. Despite the chaos surrounding him, soldiers shouting, sailors swearing as they were dragged from docked ships and the morning chorus of howling dogs, Dante surrounded himself with peace and calmness and the absolute focus which made him the most feared and respected in his trade.
He watched at a longboat drew up and landed. With practiced ease he stepped into a doorway and watched as an athletic young man of signatory disembarked was lead away to a waiting carriage. The clouds parted for a spit second and the sun shone brightly , highlighting the blond hair of the departing captain.

Dante bowed his head slightly in recognition of his sign from God and followed the detachment to the Ambassadors residence. Dante decided there was little use in attempting to approach or follow him into the secure area so secured several hot loaves of bread from the markets and chewed on on a peice thoughtfully. Purchasing some cheese as well, he languidly made his way back to the docks to awaited for the emergence of the young Captain. Having subsisted on dry ration biscuit, the warm smell of fresh bread made the young cabin boys mouth water as he sat bored waiting at the longboat for the arrival of the Captain. He was more than happy to share his exciting adventure with the kind priest who appeared beside him. Matthews mother would have been proud of her son as he bowed his head and gave confession on the docks.
The clattering of hooves heralded the arrival of the English crew. The Blond nobleman alighted from his seat with a scrowl still etched on his face.
“Captain Blakeshaw, I believe we might be of service to each other.” Dante approached him bowing slightly.
The Captain sensed the danger and the hunter species within this dark tall figure. He recognized the bloodshed in his eyes and involuntarily shivered.

“What the devil are you talking about? Who are you?” He countered raising himself to his full height in front of Dante.

Dantes thick English accent, betrayed his Italian origin, but noted him of a man of learning. Blakeshaw hesitated, curious at this turn of events.

Dantes head inclined slightly “I am a simple God fearing loyal subject of the crown”. He continued smoothly “I am afraid that many of the inns have been damaged or looted in this madness, however, you would find a great benefit if we broke bread together and spoke of important matters. Please invite your men to join us at the nearby church. They can offer us a quiet place to speak. There are too many open ears in this public place.”

Blakeshaw signaled the carriage and they pulled themselves into the seats. Sharp silence sliced the air as they rode in the carriage together, each man staring the other in undisguised mistrust.

One gesture from Dante had the monks scurrying to tidy a prayer room when they arrived. Dante wasted no time as he handed the captain slices of bread and cheese. “You are hunting Juan. Both the public and private price on his head has increased considerably since you were in court. I also am committed to bringing justice to that pirate. I have at my disposal letters of mark from the church and from Royalty to allow me passage through any “unpleasantries”. You have a ship and I need to follow him - do we have an accord?

Blakeshaw stumbled. His logic told him that Dantes words rang true and that a powerful ally as he would get him into places that he would not ordinarily be able to go. He was astounded at the ease in which Dante had culminated events and secrets that even he had only been privy to recently. He was curious to who Dante was , or who he knew; but was very wary of the preditor.

Despite all doors closed, a cool rush flowed through the room, perfuming the area; as if a noblewoman had walked past. Dante growled and crossed himself, his eyes darting to each corner. That presence was back and had not been blocked by the sanctity of the grounds they stood upon.

Blackeshaw stood, unaware of any of this. “I am sorry Sir, your offer is very compelling. However we must press on with my Kings orders and am not allowed to carry passengers or foreigners upon our ship. I wish you well in your search.”

Dante gripped his arm and stared into his eyes. “Hes a marked man Captain. One of us will find him, He would do well to pray that it will be you and the hangmans noose and not me first. But the Lord is the only one who can judge his soul.”

Dante disappeared into the shadows of the church, leaving Blakeshaw and his men puzzled and speechless.

The Ruse

A shrouded figure stood in the shadows, watching Ruby enter the seedy tavern. He crossed confident that she had found who she was looking for and would not suspect she had been followed. A few gold coins passed wordlessly to the tavern keeper who nodded, and Dante took a seat in the corner to wait.

After what seemed like hours of wait, Dante finally had the tavern keeper personally serve the cup of mulled wine to him, three fingers visible on the outside. Dante slipped upstairs, following the stranger who had entered minutes before. He crouched at the door of the third room on the landing. He stood listening to her emotional pleas. The male voice was commanding, chilling and powerful. Despite his profession, Dante was glad this assignment did not directly involve having to face this man. Having heard all he needed, his silent feet carried him off to a more reputable establishment.

“My Lord.” Dante bowed his head slightly at Marcus who slouched in a corner booth. Another thickset man sat in the shadows. Marcus’s stare penetrated Dante's usual icy demeanor. Another chill went down Dante's spine. Tonight had brought out the devils own. He crossed himself unconsciously and clutched at his crucifix before continuing.

“It is as you suspected,” Dante murmured. “She sails with him within the week to Corunna”

“Damned woman,” Marcus growled. “Get your best man to follow her and join the crew.”

“As you wish my Lord” Dante meekly replied, his eyes cast down. He had no wish to exchange looks with either of these gentlemen. “When would you like her dispatched?”

“Not yet. Just send me information via the usual networks. Oh and Dante. Refrain from using my title. Remember who I am.” Marcus replied and with a flick of his pure white hand a small pouch of gold appeared beside Dante, who was only too pleased to escape.

"Why didn’t you just take that silly girl as a mistress? After her poor parents so tragically passed away, you already owned their entire fortune. There was no reason to marry her,” the shadowed figure sneered.

“My dear Earl Fedele, just because your entire family lacks any moral fibre or decency, does not mean that others do not have that sensibility.” Marcus hissed. “May I remind you that your dear cousin has just sold the Kings favoured into piracy”

“Don’t lecture me on decency, brother,” Fedele spat. “Just recall who gave you aid when you were forced to flee Rome after your …. indiscretions.”

“You flaunt our relationship easily when you wish to mock me. Our father never recognized me. I am now forced to live the life of an impoverished tailor,” Marcus venomously replied.

“Your cry poor - when you have a villa in Sorrento, your gentlemen’s outfitters in every fashionable city in Italy and your expansive home here not enough?” Fedele retorted. “Bide your time brother. Our rightful place in the kingdom will take place. Best not be distracted by this slip of a girl. Strip her and get her body dumped in the harbour. No-one will take any notice of another whores death. Focus on our goal, forget this foolish captain. He means nothing to the plan.”

Marcus’s eyes met Fedele's and softened. “You were always the wise one. Let us forget our childish quarrels. However, you have missed an important factor. The maps were embedded on my intaglio. Ruby stupidly believed that without them, my fashions would be stopped and for some reason I would be ruined. We need to get those patterns back – without them our plan is for nothing.”

Fedele's lithe, perfectly manicured fingernails rapped the thick wooden table. With a finger he summoned a neighbouring merchant. He lent over and whispered “You have heard all?” The intelligent eyes of a soldier squinted in agreement. “Ensure you have four of your best enlist with this captain. Find where Ruby has smuggled the intaglio and replace them with near copies. Marcus will have these ready for the swap tomorrow.”

This forms part of an ongoing series of Captains Juans adventures - first appearing on Pauls' blogs. However the good captain has travel lust and forged his way to mine then to Jodis' and thus earned his own website:

The Astonishing Adventures of Captain Juan

Intaglio

Without looking it up, use the word Intaglio in your Fiction Friday .

Marcus brushed the bolt of velvet down.

“This is filthy” he haughtily complained to the merchant. “did you drag all the way here through the lower kingdom?”

“Humph” Gruffly responded hunched figure. “Take it or leave it – it’s the last full bolt I have. With winter closing in we won’t be traveling until mid spring.” The merchant shrewdly looked up at Marcus, squinting with his good eye. “ I have other clients who’d be glad to take this from my hands.”

With the new fashion influences of slashing from Germany and the Winter Balls looming, Marcus knew he would need as much broadcloth as the shop could store.

With a wave of his hand , Marcus agreed to the merchants exorbitant prices and signaled his clerk to draw up the invoice for payment. He strode through his Gentleman’s Outfitters store past the sewing stools of the busy tailors, their nimble fingers quickly stitching the colourful cloth into beautiful creations. His creations were sought after by the richest in the land and he daily turned customers requests away. Marcus stood in front of one of the sewing mankins, currently half dressed in a fine outer dresscoat. His fingers pulled on the hems and fluttered absentmindedly over the seams.

“Such a waste of good material’ he tutted. “You hardly see most of it. This years Balls will have everyone looking like damned Pirates.” Slashing, the newest fashion creation involved two layers of cloth being placed one over the other. The outer was then slashed to reveal the contrasting inner one. Marcus shook his head at the vulgarity of it. It had begun to be seen in all forms of fashions- not only in men's and women's gowns, but with their shoes, and caps.

“Signor Solis, there is a .. gentleman asking after you.” Quavered one of his clerks. “ He wishes to have one of your new designed dress coats for Marquis DeLumes Ball.”

The small man edged as close as he dared to Marcus and whined fearfully. “He said he’d cut my gizzards out if I didn’t come back with an appointment with one of our tailors.” Marcus snorted. His creations were sought after by the richest in the land and he daily turned customers requests away.

“Tell the … gentleman that he might be better suited to enquire down at the Spanish quarter”

The clerk looked toward the small waiting room where a dark shadow formed beside the doorframe, the shape promising a well built and armed customer who would not take kindly to this advice.

Clearing his throat, the clerk whispered, “ He said you’d say that and er.. herm..” the clerk cleared his constricting throat, “you have lost your monopoly on fashion for this season.”

A long cloak flicked around ,the noise telling Marcus of its exquisite weight and cut. A cold breeze and the shop door slamming announced the visitors departure.

Clicking his wooden heels on the flagstone floors, Marcus walked steadily to the back of the room and pulled the large set of keys from his waist strap, unlocking the door at the end. Here were stored the lifeblood of a tailors business; their’ Intaglio’ – the unique patterns and designs individually manufactured for nobles and royalty. The room had no natural light for security reasons, so Marcus lit the fine beeswax candle lantern, careful to keep the flame low as he entered. His hand automatically went to the middle table with long hanging drawers and pulled it out. Fumbling along the patterns, his hand became frantic as he realized his prized piece was missing. Each tailor jealously guarded their Intaglio, going so far as having contracts with noble folk to ensure discarded garments are brought back to the originating shops, so as not to fall into the hands of other tailors and for cheap imitations to be manufactured.

Bringing the light as close as he dared to the flimsy patterns, he looked down; a bold shape on the floor demanded his attention. Marcus brought the grimy Spanish wine flagon up into the light, the body thick with dust only disturbed by his fingerprints and a lavish parchment attached to the neck. “Compliments Captain Juan”.

This forms part of an ongoing series of Captains Juans adventures - first appearing on Pauls' blogs. However the good captain has travel lust and forged his way to mine then to Jodis' and thus earned his own website:

The Astonishing Adventures of Captain Juan