Chapter 1 - A Push and a Fall
I never quite liked the ocean and I never really saw it as a kid or noticed it in particular, but I would have paid more attention knowing that the mass of blues and greys would haunt me in my adult life. As a child, I would sometimes go to the beach with my family; I liked staring out at the vastness, the unknown, seeing the slow mechanical clock of the tides go in and out and increase and decrease all within a set rhythm. I never went into the ocean though, just sat there and stared. I would make my sand castle, braid my hair like a mermaid's, and read. I never went in and now I am surrounded by all sides, taunting and drawing me in, a drug of its own.
Fog and brisk air nip at my pale skins as I lean over the rail of the ferry. The Bay Area is truly magical, with rolls of fog climbing up hills and weaving in between tress and tall buildings. The one thing I hate about the area is that I occasionally had to take the ferry across it to get to another town and it took forever.
The ferry itself is disgusting as well. Fumes and gases always got into my mouth and clinged to my hairs and clothes; people were annoying and you were stuck there on the bulky boat with nothing to do for awhile. All I could do is stare at the water, periodically lapping against the side of the boat that parted the bay for its mass of passengers.
I pull my sweater on tighter and open up my wallet to see if I have any money on me to buy something to eat. All that greets me is my driver's license, which I never use. The eyes, a similar blue, dusty color of the water on this foggy day stares blankly back at me. My dirty blonde hair is wild and unrestricted, covering the sides of my face. My lips are curled into a secretive smile, like I knew when the unexpected was about to occur. Beside the picture my name is there: Cassandra Holbrook.
I lean against the railing peaking over the edge to look at the polluted water when I hear footsteps behind me. They are heavy, but lots of people are on the ferry. I can tell the steps had stopped behind me and my skin prickles, knowing that something is wrong. I tense, hearing breathing and before I can turn around to see if there even is a danger, hands shove against my back, pushing me over the railing. I open my mouth to scream but soon it's filled with ice cold water and my skin burns from the rest of the icy bay, engulfing my body and dragging me down.
I'm pulled from the icy water roughly, my arms being tugged harshly to get the rest of my body; comfort is not a priority but saving my life was. My mind is fuzzy and my body is on fire, screaming for oxygen. Once my head is above the surface of the swirling ocean, I begin to resume normality in thought and body after the initial gasp for air. I'm hauled up on a floor by someone, I can't tell, and I lay on my side coughing up water and concentrating on breathing and nothing else. I blink my eyes open and wipe away the water once my body recovered and look around me. I'm on a boat, but not the ferry anymore. It's wooden and old and looked right out of Master and Commander. Sadly, Paul Bettany is not looking over me and instead is the crew of the same movie, but more military, Revolutionary war, Georgian British style, wigs included for the fancier officers. I sit up as much as I can, depending on my shaky arms to support me with my body still shivering and wobbly from the adrenaline and lack of oxygen, and am greeted by light green eyes, a crisp blue uniform, and a white wig covered by a three cornered hat.
A man is kneeling down besides me, looking concerned and confused as I am, maybe even more so. "Miss," he says in a posh accent, "are you alright?" He lifts up a hand trying to calm me and signaling he meant no harm.
"I don't quite know yet," I say with a weak and small, soar voice from the water being pushed and pulled in my lungs and the adrenaline rush from the near death exerpeince. I cough up some more water and try to sit up more. Maybe I'm actually dead. That has to be a explanation. Old, wooden ships like this don't exist in the bay regardless of the fact there were no boats like this nearby the ferry when I fell, or I mean, was pushed in. I have to be dead or in a coma and my mind or the afterlife is compose of this 18th century naval charade. To be honest, being dead or indisposed will be better than living in the 1700s.
"Can you tell me your name?" he asks, placing his hand on the small of my back to help me sit up and gain some more composure.
"Cassandra Holbrook. And you?" I said, taking in the stock of the surrounding company. All dressed in what I presumed to be authentic uniforms. Not a single normal dressed person in sight, so the small possibility of this being a movie cast was ruled out. I couldn't help but notice the men gaping at me with curiosity, horror, and lust, the lust that occurred when being a straight male on a ship for months on end without a woman in sight and then being presented with one dressed in a revealing way and with her clothes soaked through to reveal even more curves. I pulled what consisted of my soaking sweater over my chest in some attempt of modesty. I was wearing a white T shirt, so no doubt it was showing my plain bra.
"I am Captain James Norrington of the HMS Dauntless headed to Port Royal." The man next to me said, coming closer to me. His eyes scanned me, but not like the way the other men did. He was checking me for injuries, going feet to head. It would make sense to go head to feet, but he clearly knew what that would signal to a scared and young girl. I looked into his eyes and the only showed concern, but curiosity was still there. I guess he was generous enough to put aside his own thoughts and think of only me, the strange girl from the water, and what made me comfortable in this bizarre and unexpected situation.
My hair was dripping and the coldness of the air was stinging me as I sat soaked to the bone. The shock of what he said couldn't compare to that icy feeling. "Port Royal?" I ask, "As in Jamaica?"
"Yes, we are a week away from there." He replied matter of factly.
"That's not possible. I-I was on the deck and-and I was-"
"Miss Holbrook, you must be in shock from whatever ordeal you endured and coldness in the Atlantic. The Caribbean can get extremely cold; we are still in the Atlantic and it is the colder months." he said gently. He offered me his hand and I took it. He lifted up up and onto my shaky feet, one hand on my back, the other holding my freezing hand, firmly lifting me up since I was just on the brink of collapse. I couldn't help but lean into the warmth of his touch.
"Gilette," he said, guiding me past the men and towards to what I presume in the captain's quarters. A shorter man but with a similar uniform and white wig came up to the two us and smiled in a compassionate way towards me. "Would you please find some suitable clothes for Miss Holbrook to change into and inform the look out to scan for any signs of nearby ships."
"Yes, sir," he nodded and turned. The captain had already walked me towards the door and up some stairs to his cabin and opened it, ordering some more men to make sure that the ship continued on its course in the appropriate time. I didn't pay attention as my legs were shaking and all I wanted to do was collapse by the some form of warmth.
He escorted me into the room and sat me down in a chair. He got a blanket from somewhere and placed it over my shoulders as I shivered in the fancier room. It was everything I could picture a captain's cabin to look like on a boat like this in a time like this.
Norrington pulled up a chair next to me and made intense eye contact, I assume looking to see my mental state since the damage to my physical self was just being cold and wet at the moment.
"Miss Holbrook," he said, "My first mate will bring some new garments for you. I encourage you to change; the cold could possibly kill you and that is not in anyone's interest. I can assure you of your safety on this vessel and will do whatever is in my power to help you get back home."
I huddled deeper inside of the blanket and pulling it to engulf my entire body. I broke the eye contact and looked at the ground. "I-I'm not sure if I can go back home. I was pushed off the boat. And it looks like I am very, very far away from where I was."
"Pushed?" he questioned.
"Yes, I don't know who. I-I was looking at the waves below and then someone walked behind me and before I could turn around I was falling and then the water was-" I couldn't help but let a few tears slip past.
"You are safe and warm now, Miss Holbrook." the captain said, "I will make it a personal, in addition to professional, goal of mine to ensure that you are taken care of."
I sniffled a thank you and leaned back in the chair, staring at the wall on the elaborate walls. "This must be the strangest thing to have ever happened to you, I'm sure." I mutter out.
"Not really, actually," he smiled. I returned it after finally making eye contact. "I will leave you here and my man, Gillette, will bring some clothes and towels so you may dry off as much as possible. If you would like, I would enjoy dining in here with you tonight. I will not pressure you, but I obviously have many questions for you."
"I would too," I say. He gets up to leave to the deck of the ship. "Thank you again," I squeak out.
"It's a pleasure to have you aboard." He smiles and exits.
I sat in the chair for awhile, trying to gain back the rest of my senses. Besides being cold and confused and totally scared, I was all right and myself. A knock on the door cause me to rise and walk over there, still shaky, and open the door. The same smiling man greeted me, holding what I presumed where the cleanest and most modest clothes not currently in use by any of the sailors on board.
"These are for you, miss" he said.
"Thank you, and please call me Cassandra." I say, grabbing the clothes awhile holding the blanket over my shoulders and body. "Why exactly are you sailing out here?"
"Are you a French spy?" he asks, eyes scrunching in a suspicious manner. I was shocked at the forwardness of the question, but I guess how it could seem that way.
"No, of course not. I'm English," I reply, recalling from the Master and Commander movie and the rest of my knowledge of history of how the two hated each other. "They drink way too much over there."
"I agree! But the real threat here is pirates of course. Norrington and I and the rest of the crew is sure putting a stop to those scoundrels." he said proudly, even buffing out his chest a little.
"Pirates?" I inquire. The only pirates in my mind were from Captain Philips and Peter Pan. I also knew I really had to stop using movies as a source material.
"Lots of them in these waters." I think then he realized his mistake. I can imagine my already place face growing even more transparent. "But they of course won't attack as grand a ship as this. And Captain Norrington is brilliant. He's going to get a promotion to become Commodore within the year."
"Most impressive," I lie, not knowing what that even means. "I must change now."
"Of course. Obviously." He says. He quickly says goodbye and leaves me in the cabin all alone again.
I got over to the bed and set down the clothes. There was no screen for privacy so I would just have to change carefully, hoping no one was peering in the windows of the door. I could see there was a loose white shirt for me and some brown trousers. Gillette kindly gave me a red jacket and some socks, but I was left with my own shoes and underwear and bra.
I put the blanket on the bed and began peeling my layers off of me. I was shivering but I knew how hypothermia worked. I dried myself as best as I could with the blanket and then pulled on the new clothes. It felt strange and rough against my red skin, but it was better than soaked through jeans and T. I placed my boots by my wet clothes and wander around the cabin. There was the large, fancy bed; nicer than my own parent's bed. There was a large, stately desk, the center piece of the room, with maps and tools that I better not mess with. I did walk over and glanced at it, inspecting anything I could find a clue to where I am.
On the majority of the desk was a large map. I moved a compass out of the way to see the date of the making of it. "1735" I mumble. This had to be a fake or an antique, but it did look pristine and new, but it was so abstract. All these places looked familiar, the continents and countries of the world, but the map maker was still unsure of some things that had not yet been fully discovered. These land masses were either to large or small and round and more of a general placement rather than a map with precise location and details. I saw a set of letters, I ruffled through them, hoping to see a more recent and specific date, but I knew rifling through what could be personal or even military letters would look very bad for me. After all, Gillette had reason to believe I was a nefarious French girl, even with an English last name.
Finding nothing without having to really investigate, I wandered over to a set of drawers with a mirror over it. Inspecting myself in the mirror was shocking. I was incredibly pale and did have a shocked and dazed glaze in my eyes. I couldn't tell if it was from the push into the ocean or the fact I ended up on a boat from centuries ago with people who either were very committed and private method actors or the actual Royal Navy in 1730s Caribbean. I sneezed that the insane possibility of being in this time and place was more likely since no boat like this was in the bay and no boat like mine was nearby. Glancing out the window to the ocean, I could tell there was a whole lot of nothing that went on for a very long time. Not like the very clustered and crowded bay. It was the ocean: untamable, seemingly infinite, uncaring, violent, and entrancing.
I turned back towards the mirror. It had gold leafing around the elaborate edges, perhaps compensating for the tarnish on the actual reflective surface. I looked alright pretty much, my remaining mascara smudged but there was an eretheral quality to the paleness and blackness surrounding and gunpowder blue iris. My hair though, was a simple disaster. I tried to comb through with my fingers but to no avail. My hair was still wet and I could smell the salt on it. I wish I would get the perfect beach waves, but I wasn't really that blonde for it to look good, so I doubted it would work that well. I find those careless looks actually take a lot of time to perfect.
I grabbed the blanket and tried to wring out the remaining ocean water from my hair but to no avail. I would have to let it fall it wet ringlets until it completely dried, sans hair dryer. How I missed electricity and modern appliances already. I leaned my back against the drawers an examined the rest of the room. Much like one would expect in a military base, it was without personal touch, though I could tell Captain Norrington took a lot of pride from his station and ship with everything having its little place and that place remaining clean and crisp. His bed side table was the most chaotic setting in the whole cabin with a book haphazardly laying across it open. I went over and picked it up, curious and eager for any entertainment. I had no idea when diner with the Captain would be and I need something to keep my mind on besides the fact I was on this time traveling ship.
I was thrilled to see something comforting. Hamlet. A play I loved in my English class this year and a book that exist in both our respective times. I actually preferred the Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, but there was no way anyone would get it here. I sat on the chair and began where the Captain left off.
"To be, or not to be, that is the question:/Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer/The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,/Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,/And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep/No more; and by a sleep, to say we end/the heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks/that Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation/devoutly to be wished." I read aloud for myself.
"To die, to sleep,/To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub,/for in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,/when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,/must give us pause." a voice says from the door to the deck. I didn't bother to turn around knowing it was the Captain.
"Impressive," I reply, watching the military man walk over to me reading his book.
"That's about all I can recite now."
"Not even "Alas, poor Yorick!" or "The fair Ophelia? Nymph in thy Orisons/Be all my sins remembered"?" I ask with a smirk playing on my lips.
"Well, obviously the first, and I could have said the second if the situation merited it," he smiles back. I took this as my cue to set the book down and stand up.
"I love Hamlet. It's actually quite comforting with everything that has happened today. But, "One is safe on a boat. For a time. Relatively." I smirk, keeping the origin of that quote to myself.
"What a curious insight, Miss Holbrook."
"I'm full of those. Is it diner already?" I ask.
"Yes, they should serve it in a half an hour. I just wanted to see you before to ask you a few questions." he said gently, sitting down in a chair near me.
I had two goals now. 1: to figure out if this really was the 1730s and this was really a British Navy ship headed to Jamaica. 2: if 1 applies, don't let him know that I am from the future. Being a mad woman would be the worst thing for me right now.
"Perfectly understandable, Captain." I reply. "I do have questions of my own too."
"Well you start. You are the victim here." he said.
I sighed. "First, I rather not be labelled a victim. While I am in need of your help and generosity, I do not need any pity of any kind. My tragedy is my own." I couldn't help but narrow my eyes at him a little.
He was taken aback from statement. He studied me for a moment and then chuckled. "Of course, my apologies."
"Possibly accepted," I reply, "Now, what is the exact date and where do you sail from?"
"March 13, 1737. We sailed from Barbados, but were detoured slightly in pursuit of a pirate ship, but you have no need to worry about that."
I stood up and started pacing. This seemed legitimate. I think an actor would have told me the more familiar year of my own, even a hardcore method actor. But doubt was clouding my mind. I couldn't have travelled time and space. Things like that didn't happen except to Marty McFly. Again with the movie references. "And what exactly is this ship?"
"The HMS Dauntless is a dreadnought in the service of the Royal Navy under the jurisdiction of Governor Swann of Port Royal with the duty to protect these waters."
Every statement form his mouth made this seem more like reality than a dream. Whether or not I was dead in the Bay or in a coma in a hospital, I was trapped in mind and soul in this time and place. A place where America is not yet a country, my home is barely discovered, where I, as a woman, am more seen as property, and danger lurks around every corner in the form of evil persons, disease, or poverty. Hardly ideal. "Impressive," I remark, "Now I will answer your questions."
"Where are you from?" he asks.
"I'm from the British colonies in Northern America. I was sailing down to the Caribbean on a passenger ship in look of a home." I say, thankful that I took US History in school.
"That would explain the accent. And your family?" he asked, testing the waters to see if there was tragedy where I would break down.
"Gone," I said; it was the truth in a way. "I was in look for a friend to take me in, but that's not an option any more. Then I took a ship to get somewhere else and I was literally and figuratively adrift. Then you found me."
The Captain studied me. I tried to look as sorry as an orphan as possible, but I had no idea how to master that look. My family and friends were gone though. I was trapped away form them, but at least they were safe and alive. I was the one they lost.
"My condolences Miss Holbrook. I'm sorry if this sounds crude, but I have to ask about your origins."
"Of course," I reply, "And please, its Cassandra. Some even call me Cass." I wandered back to the map on his desk, trying to think of what would be the most reasonable thing to say to him. "My father was a humble solicitor in the colonies, the son of English immigrants. My mother the daughter of a British woman and French man who came to the colonies. I lived in reasonable wealth. I had a good education and there is no one of ill repute in my association by familiarity or family. I never worked a manual job, but I was expected to use my mind as a way to make money if necessary. My family was not wealthy nor noble enough to live in luxury. I'm just a girl with a brain and no one to depend on and nothing to live one." I say, an actual genuine tear sliding down my face as I realize how completely alone I was now in this new and strange place. I added quickly, wiping away the tear, "I also got pushed off a boat into the ocean and almost died." I looked up at the Captain, who was now standing. I stood up straight as I noticed that he was walking toward me and the desk.
"I am very sorry for your circumstances, Miss Holbrook." he pauses. "Cassandra, I mean" he fixes with a smile. "I promise I will make sure you are taken care of aboard this ship and once we reach port."
I give a weak smile back to him, noticing there is only a few inches separating my red, loose jacket from his blue, uniform coat. "For reasons beyond me, I actually trust you and your word."
Captain Norrington was going to say something, but a knock on the door and a procession of food entered, interrupting his thought and action. He took a step back and whispered something to Gillette before pulling out a seat for me. I sat down without hesitance and admired all the food before me. I glanced up across the table and noticed the sincere smile of the Captain. I prayed that he would keep his word because against my logic, I did actually trust him.
"Gillette," Norrington called out to his first mate. He strolled with a straight back, hands clasped behind him, examining his ship with all the authority rightfully granted to him. The shorter British officer quickly walk over to his superior, awaiting his orders. he presumed it was about the girl. "What do you think of Miss Holbrook?"
"Harmless. Strange though. No ship was in sight for miles and she couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes in that water. The clothes we found her in were even stranger. Fine stichting, but a rough material of a worker and the fit and style of a very skinny man."
"Yet, she has the hands of a noble woman and the education and intellect of one as well. But she is obviously hiding something when I asked her about who she was."
"A spy?" Gillette asked.
"No," Norrington stated, he strolled down the stair and onto the deck, Gillette following him. "She has no malicious intent. She really is a girl lost and stranded and no where to go to. But she is hiding something." He set his hand on the rail of the deck.
"What shall we do?"
"Watch her for now. I will decide what to do with her once we reach port after a consultation with the Governor. He helped the Turner boy; I'm sure he will be so inclined, even more so, with our newest guest." He looked out at the sea, now black from the night sky. "I promised her she would be safe and happy after all."