I
Her new "life" begun in a pitch-black and stormy night in the year of 2007 when modern pirates boarded the cruise-liner on which she was only because she had won a contest.
The cruise was an annoying thing because she was obliged to chit-chat with who knows who, which included the poor excuse of a modern captain, almost every day.
Captains-dinner…
She escaped with a simple lie: "Gentleman, ladies," she stood up, bowed, "my headache kills me. I'm in need of fresh air…"
There she stood at the bow, high above the dark sea and the storm wind played with her hair.
In the same second in which she closed her eyes the first shot out of nowhere hit her, brought her to fall.
And then the ship was taken…
And someone tried to take her.
The woman fell in to a burning rage, not knowing what she did and the last clear thing she could remember after getting shot a second time was a voice and her answer: "I sign to your ship, by my bloody soul I will!"
"…What a fool I am…"
She tried to roll on her right side.
"…to take a woman on board…"
She tried to open her eyes.
"…why in all hells name did she sign to the ship and not to me! I can't even kill her…"
She chuckled even in the dizzy blur of pain, caused by two gunshots.
"…if I'm lucky the shots are gonna kill her…"
To whoever ship she had signed, the captain didn't agree. But, in the end, he was captain enough to respect an age-old sailor's tradition.
She forced her eyes open by pure willpower and shot a glance to where she thought the captain would be.
The man seemed to be towering over her, halfway hidden in the shadows.
But what she could see was enough.
So she whispered hoarsely: "I thought this ship was only made of sailors-yarn, nowadays, stuff out of Hollywood movies and dreams…"
The captain shot her an awful, deadly glare and shook his head: "Na, we aren't!"
This was the moment she knew that she had to proof herself.
And she did. Did it by hauling up her sore body and saluting: "At your orders, Captain Jones! Your command is my wish and it's a true honor to serve on the Flying Dutchman!"
He stared. Stared with squinted eyes at her and growled: "You're of no use to us! Not to the Dutch nor to me self!"
He could just stare at her next move. It was out of question that she did what she did.
She had taken two gunshots not ten hours ago. So it was impossible that she even could leave the bed.
But there she stood: chin high and eyes locked to his.
And then she darted out of the cabin. Jones had no chance to hold her back, so he followed on her heels.
For a single moment she stood there in the plain sun and then she started with a tour de ship he would never forget.
When they passed at the cannon-deck she locked her pain-fogged gaze on a crewmen who worked on a cannon and stated: "And this, me boy, will take ya overboard with the first shot…" she squinted here eyes to two little slits, "No, me boy," the crewmen – two heads taller then her, more reef than human – started to growl, but she rambled on, unimpressed, "this will not even shoot. The powder must be first! May I," she shot a glance at the captain who stood nearby, "Captain?"
Jones just nodded with a slightly curious glance.
A woman of today who knows almost every part of an ancient galleon – from the topgallant to the bilge – and even knows how to load and strap a cannon correctly?
Not to mention that she did all this with two shots…
Captain Davy Jones came back to the now and then when the women saluted: "Ready to obey, ready to fire, Captain Jones!"
For one second he was really puzzled because she used another old-aged sailor's term. Then he looked the cannon over and with a nod of assent he stated: "This is – much to me dismay – the best job on the cannons I saw in fifty years," he paused, "Cannoneer!"
The woman just saluted, grinned and – passed out.