Pirates:
Welcome to Tortuga
(A Short Pirates of the Caribbean Story)
By: Lady Sparrow
Tortuga by day and Tortuga by night were two sides of the same coin. While the small port was without a doubt filthy, bedraggled and soaked in debauchery no matter what the hour, one had to admit that daylight gave the town a certain kind of beauty. Naturally, the most popular time to be out and enjoying the pleasures it had to offer was anytime after dark. That was when the taverns and brothels would be at the height of providing the kind of entertainment only possible in such a town. However, the daylight hours could also be quite desirable if one had acquired the particular taste needed to appreciate the port's simple charms and graces. The air held a relaxed quality that was unknown to its evening patrons rather than the sharp anxiety of nightlife. Daytime living in Tortuga could almost be compared to going on holiday in a lazy English country village. Almost, that is, if the stench of rotting food and bodily fluids weren't taken into account. Tortuga by day was certainly a sight to behold.
It was noon by the time Emera convinced herself to get out of bed. While she was reluctant to leave the comfort of an actual mattress, a welcome relief compared to the hammock which served as her accommodations aboard ship, the gentle beckoning of the port just outside her window was too enticing to ignore. Shore leave only lasted so long, after all, and it would be a shame to sleep it all away. The young sailor pushed herself up, resolved to start her day, and stretched. Her back clicked and popped into alignment with the motions. Lord, how she would miss this itchy, straw filled, mattress once she returned to sea. Her back hadn't felt so good in ages. And a room to herself was nothing to sniff at. On board The Rose, the young sailor shared a cabin with the other officers. She relished in the privacy of dressing without an audience, pulling on the clothes she had abandoned on the floor the previous night on over her underthings. A quick session of finger-combing her short cut, coppery, hair later and she was ready to venture outside.
The Inn's flight of rickety steps creaked under Emera's boots as she quickly descended their length. Stepping past the front door, she was happily greeted by the full brilliance of Caribbean sunlight.
"And just where do you think yer going there, Master Flint?" A voice she knew all too well sounded behind her.
Her father was leaning in the doorway she had just come through. For one terrible moment Emera was certain he would go back on the promise he had made the night before. His tone had been semi-accusatory, after all. However, looking at him, she could see that his mouth was pulled into a wide grin and there was humor present in his eyes as he stood looking at her with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Oh, just out." She said with a shrug, relieved.
He laughed, a deep hearty sound, that caused the lines in his face to deepen. Captain 'Bloody' John Flint took up most of the doorway in which he was stationed. At his impressive height of six foot four, he towered over his daughter and most of his crew. His broad shoulders and solid frame took up most of the available space within the door. If Emera hadn't known him, she was certain that his image would strike fear into her heart the way it did countless other people. Just looking at him was enough to know that he was a man used to giving orders people followed without question or hesitation. But despite all that, his features were surprisingly handsome for a man that had spent most of his life at sea. And there was an amusement present in his dark blue eyes that revealed his good nature.
"Right. Well," Flint rubbed a hand over the rough growth of beard that coated his chin and jawline, "I'm hurt you wouldn't say goodbye to yer ol' Dad before you left."
"I'm not a child." Emera rolled her eyes as she closed the distance between them.
"No, I suppose yer not. What are you now? I've never been good at keeping track of yer age, bess you." He ruffled her hair, making her previous effort to sort it out superfluous.
She shoved his hand away, but grinned, "Nearly twenty years, at least."
"Blimey, I hope not." He swatted after her playfully as she ducked out reach, "I'm not old enough to be the father of a Lass of marrying age. There's too much work in that. Perhaps, yer not actually mine and not truly my responsibility, eh?"
Emera laughed and scrunched up her face, "No marriages, thanks. Just admit it, yer getting old. Before ya know it I'll be the Captain of The Rose."
"In yer dreams." He smirked and caught her, pulling her into a hug so he could mess up her hair again before shoving her away gently, "Now then, are ya certain you want to go off on yer own? It's nothing to send someone with you. In fact -"
"Dad." Emera fought to keep the exasperation out of her voice, "We talked about this, remember?"
"Aye, we did." He sighed and nodded slowly, "Off with ya, then, before I change my mind. Be back before sundown, though, or there be Hell to pay."
"I will." She agreed, "See you tonight."
Emera rose a hand in goodbye as she started down the street she knew would take her to the center of town. She tried to ignore the look of reluctance that had washed over her father's face as he set her loose. It wasn't her problem. They had talked, at length, about allowing her to go off on her own this time. No chaperone, no babysitter, no tag-a-longs. At eighteen, Emera was more than old enough to take care of herself. And she'd been very clear on that point during the two hour discussion with her father the previous night. It was humiliating to have someone traipsing around after her all the time. If her father was having reservations, he would just have to deal with them. She had earned this small scrap of freedom and she wasn't about to let it slip through her fingers.
It had been ages since Emera was last on shore leave (their previous bout at sea consisting of five long months) and the young sailor openly welcomed the chance to stretch without elbowing a fellow crewman. Every portion of available space on board her father's ship was promptly filled with people and cargo. When she was younger, Emera had made a habit of seeking out solitude in the ship's dark hold. There, crammed in with the crates and barrels, she could at least hear herself think. However, manoeuvring through the tight spaces had became increasingly difficult as she grew until finally becoming more trouble than it was worth. Lately, in her free time, she sought sanctuary in the galley. Emmet Hold, or 'Cookie' as he was affectionately known by the crew, was always glad for a second pair of hands to make the evening meal or sort out produce. She enjoyed the rich scent of hearty food and the countless stories the old sailor was partial to telling. Emera had spent many an evening perched on a counter, peeling potatoes while Cookie regaled her with accounts of himself and her father when they had been young men together.
Emera wandered aimlessly about the center of town for a few hours, happy to go where she pleased without having to take another person into consideration. She lost herself in the sights and sounds of the place. Men along the docks argued and bantered with one another while others worked or drank along the streets. Women went about their days, chatting enthusiastically with one another as they walked down the road or else completing chores outside their homes and shops. Although the people of the town spoke a wide variety of languages (only parts of which Emera could understand) the tongue was unmistakably that of those who lived in partnership with the sea. It was the slang Emera had grown up around since the age of thirteen when she first signed on to her father's ship. As she passed a house of ill repute she heard a pair of young ladies bickering with a man.
"Now be off! You'll be dancing with Jack Ketch if ya come 'round here again!" The redheaded strumpet hollered.
Her companion, a dark haired lass, made a rather rude gesture as the man waved them off and stalked away. Emera had to stifle a giggle as she passed by. 'Jack Ketch,' she knew, was an expression for the hangman's noose. It was a good threat. She would have to remember that one in the future. The young sailor left the brothel behind her, uninterested in what it might have on offer, and followed the poorly cobbled street until it lead her into an alley.
The buildings on either side of the narrow path blocked out the daylight, casting the four foot gap between them in cool shadow. The sounds from the street faded as Emera made her way down the unpaved path. The sound of her boots against the dirt filled the silence as she walked. It was peaceful in a way. For the first time in ages, she was truly by herself. It was a rare thing for Emera to be alone in her own company. A weight lifted from her shoulders as she relaxed into her solitude. She had needed this. A chance to walk alone for a while, to clear her head and not worry about anyone else, would do her good. But, as all good things, it quickly came to a startling end.
The alley exploded into a storm of sound. Emera stopped dead in her tracks. A man appear, fifteen paces ahead of her, from around a corner she hadn't realized was there. Wreckage from what might have been a destroyed barrel (no doubt the source of the sound) followed him into the alley. Emera watched as his momentum carried him straight into the wall opposite the corner. He seemed to almost ricochet off of the smooth plaster surface, catching himself and pushing off the wall to assist in his mad sprint down the alley. He was coming right for her. As the man rapidly closed the distance between them, a pair of angry pursuers stumbled over the remains of the could-be-barrel as they both tore around the corner and into the alley. The first man shot them a glance over his shoulder. An odd sound of distress emanated from him as he picked up his pace. Emera had never seen someone run in such a strange fashion before. There was a voice somewhere in the back of her head telling her that if she didn't move she would be trampled. But Emera found she couldn't move a single muscle. She couldn't look away from his ridiculous, flailing, run that consisted of far too much arm and not nearly enough leg.
A look of pure confusion crossed the man's face as he finally registered that Emera was standing, dumbfounded, in the center of his path. And when his dark eyes met hers the grip holding her in place finally released. The young sailor shoved herself up against the cool wall just as the man would have collided with her. Without stopping, his hand locked firmly around Emera's wrist and the order of 'run!' sounded from his lips. She did just that. There wasn't time to stop and think about it. Her legs worked automatically, propelling her back the way she had come. She recognized the gap she had entered the alleyway through (in the brief moment she had to register it) as they charged passed.
"Get that!" The man pointed to a stack of wooden planks propped up against the wall on her side of the alley.
Emera reacted without question. Her hand shot out, catching the planks, and sent them clattering into the space behind her. She didn't dare look back. It was enough just hearing how close the other two men were. Ahead, the alley was no longer a perfect straightaway. It curved and bowed, forcing Emera and the man to dance around the walls. She very nearly kissed a portion of exposed masonry as they were forced to suddenly cut to the right.
"Watch it!" She snapped, her forearm slamming against the stone in place of her mouth.
"Sorry!" He called back, "In here!"
The man threw himself through a gap that couldn't have been more than two and a half feet in width. Emera flung herself after him and was instantly swallowed up by the cramped nook. The sudden darkness was blinding. And even with her back pressed into the cold, rough, surface of the wall, there was no space between herself and the man. His body against hers, she could feel his breath on her cheek and the warmth of his skin through his shirt. He smelt of stale alcohol, sea salt and sweat.
"Who- ?" Emera started.
"Shh." He cut her off and his hand closed over her mouth.
Emera struggled for a moment, trying to twist out of the grip, before the sound of hurried footfalls made her stop. The two men chasing them were moving steadily closer. Emera shrunk away from the opening and further into the man. Whether she was trying to put him between her and the others or else simply trying to disappear into him all together, she wasn't sure. Slowly, his fingers released from around her wrist. They brushed against her hand lightly before moving to her waist. His arm snaked between her back and the wall, holding her tightly to him, as he shifted his position. His face brushed against hers, his other hand still over her mouth, as his lips found her ear.
"Stop. Moving." His voice was barely more than a whisper.
She forced herself to freeze. Their pursuers, having slowed to a jog, finally wandered next to the opening of the nook and stopped. They were much bigger than they had seemed during the chase. Emera's breath caught in her throat as she watched them through the narrow gap.
"They couldn't have gotten far." One said.
"What about here?" The other pointed directly into the nook.
Emera shut her eyes. This was it. They'd been found. All she had wanted was some time to herself and now she was going to die at the hands of two strangers for some unknown thing a third stranger had done. The longest moment in the history of all humankind passed as the two men in the alley stood in silence.
Then the other finally spoke, "No... they wouldn't fit through there. Come on, let's keep looking."
If she hadn't been pinned between the man and the wall, Emera would have collapsed from relief. The two men in the alley hurried away, their footsteps echoing as they went. The young sailor released the breath she had been holding and tried to pull her face out from under the man's hand again. He wouldn't have it. Emera's eyes had adjusted enough to allow her to at least make him out a little. He shook his head slowly, his eyes giving her a silent warning. Every inch of her body went ridged. Her father had always warned her about men that would take women whether they were willing or not. She had been so concerned with the men chasing the man that she hadn't even stopped to consider the man himself.
Emera slowly counted to ten in order to put as much distance between her and the other two men as possible. Then, opening her mouth under the man's hand, she brought her teeth down hard against his palm. His grip came away instantly with a sharp yelp of pain. The young sailor squeezed out of his grip and scrambled into the alley. The man followed right behind her. Once free of the dark confine she tried to dart back the way they'd come, but he made a grab at her and caught her by the back of her belt. Emera brought her boot down hard on his foot and he yelped again, letting her go. Whirling around to face him, her fist made contact with his jaw in a sharp punch. He stumbled back. Emera made to run again but he snatched her upper arm in a tight grip and held her despite her struggling.
"I save your ruddy life and that's the thanks I get!" He snapped, "Those men would have killed you if not for me, Son! And what's more, I don't rightly appreciate you sinking your pearly whites into me."
"What?" She stopped struggling.
"What?" He echoed, brow furrowed.
"I…" She shook her head, struggling with the fact that he'd called her 'son', "I would have been fine without ya dragging me into this mess! And I don't rightly appreciate you trying yer luck with me back there!"
"Wha- ? 'Trying my luck!' I-" He spluttered, "Firstly, you were the one keen on getting cozy with me back there, not the other way 'round. And secondly, Lad, were I to try my luck with you, I'd have the courtesy of informing you first."
Emera let this sink in as she took in his appearance. He stood only an inch taller than she did and was built solidly. Judging by his richly tanned skin and his clothes he was a man of the sea. They were well made but dirty and tattered. Like Emera, he wore a waistcoat over his dingy shirt and a belt about his middle. The frock coat he sported was a stormy grey and fell to his knees. His dark hair hung nearly to his shoulders and was kept out of his eyes by the faded red bandana across his brow. Thin braids adorned with a few beads hung over his right temple, catching Emera's eye. Souvenirs, perhaps, from his travels. A slight beard covered his chin while dark roughage lined his jaw and upper lip. His eyes were dark too. They were lined in smudgy kohl, like Emera's, to protect against being blinded by sunlight reflected off the ocean's surface while at sea. He was remarkably handsome, considering the life he appeared to lead. It was rare that a seasoned sailor would have an unscathed face. Most of the men Emera knew were either battle worn or marred by the elements or both. This man's features, however, were all still intact and arranged in a pleasing sort of way. But then again, he didn't look like he could be more than ten years older than she was.
"Who are you?" Emera crossed her arms.
He looked scandalized that she would even ask. A series of incoherent sounds followed by a high-pitched whine in the back of his throat issued from the man as he gestured wildly with his arms in place of actual words.
"Who am- ? I'm- ! How- ?" He spluttered, clearly flabbergasted by the question, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow! That's who I am!"
"I don't know what that means." Emera said flatly.
"Have you not heard of me?" He raised his eyebrows until they disappeared under his bandana.
"Should I have?" She asked with a shrug.
"I- !" He cut himself off, shutting his mouth tight for a moment while he took a deep breath, "To repay me for saving your life and as recompense for your ignorance and for punching me in the face, you will now aid me in a very crucial matter."
"Like Hell, I will!" She snapped.
"Son, let's not make this harder than it ought to be." He tilted his head to one side and took a few steps towards her, "Something has brought us together, call it fate... destiny…"
"Two men ya pissed off." She offered.
Jack ignored her, "What have you. The point is, we were brought together for a reason. I'm in need of a service what can only be provided by an attractive young man."
This time Emera raised her eyebrows, "Is this you informing me that you're about t' try yer luck?"
Son, lad, attractive young man. There was no doubt in Emera's mind that whoever this Jack Sparrow person was, he had mistaken her for a boy.
"I mean," She continued, "it takes all sorts. I won't deny that. But if male companionship is what yer looking for I don't think- "
He blinked at her a few times, "Not for me, Son. I need you to woo a girl."
"Something you can't do on your own?" She smirked a little.
"I'll have you know I am perfectly capable of courting a woman, should I so desire. This case is unique." He was getting defensive now.
"I'll say it is." Emera agreed, "Ya nearly get me killed then expect me t' help you?"
"I saved your life!" Jack pointed a finger at her, taking another step forward.
"You didn't do anything I couldn't have done myself, you fop!" She retorted.
"Of all the ungrateful, childish- !"
"Over assuming! Intitled!"
"You look like a girl!"
"That's 'cause I am one!" She returned.
His brow furrowed in deep confusion and he glanced at her chest, "Are you positive about that?"
Emera planted a hand against his shoulder and shoved him away, "Very."
"That does put a damper on my plan." He admitted, "Still…"
Jack looked her up and down before walking around her in a slow circle. He studied her carefully, the wheels of his mind visibly turning. He was trying to work something out. And Emera didn't like it.
"I'm rather intuitive when it comes to the female creature." He continued, "And if I couldn't tell that you identify as such, than I rather doubt anyone else could. This girl I mentioned, is a friend. Well, sort of. All I want is for you to have a bit of a chat with her."
"No." Emera crossed her arms again.
"Stubborn." He frowned a little, then straightened up and smiled, "In that case, at least allow me to buy you a drink to make up for all this. Now that I understand your position, I can see why you reacted the way you did just now. The punching, I mean. After all, how could you know the intentions of a strange man in a dark place. Better safe than sorry, I always say. Do allow me to make it up to you, Miss...?"
She sighed, "Emera Flint."
"Miss Flint." He smiled at her and offered her his arm, "I know a wonderful tavern not far from here."
Emera studied him for a moment. She didn't trust this man as far as she could spit. He had trouble written all over him. But there was something compelling about him too. The way he held himself with such confidence, the tilt of his head... his smile. She took a step away from him.
"One drink." He coaxed, "I'll even walk you home after."
"I don't know you." She shook her head.
He shrugged, "Some say this is how you get to know someone."
She took a deep breath. He had a point. Emera could almost hear her father screaming at her to go home as she took Jack's arm. He grinned down at her and any reservations she had were swept away.
'It's just one drink.' She told herself as he lead her down the street, 'Then I'll make my excuses and go back to the Inn.'
"Tell me, Miss Flint," Jack started cheerily, "what do you know of sea turtles?"
