Here is another chapter! It's getting difficult to finish the third, and I wanted to start the fourth before posting this, but I might kill you if I didn't update :) But that's just me!
Hardtack really was the only food not eaten by maggots, although some men enjoyed that just as much. Said it added to the flavour all in all, but I only thought of it as repulsive. Not only did hardtack last for weeks on end, it was easy to make. Four parts flour, one part water or rum (depending on the supply of the former), and a titch of salt, when we could find it was mixed, kneaded, cut, and baked over a fire. Tedious, yes. Effective, without a doubt.
No man had any objections to my cooking ever. I had never been taught about recipes or measurements or any such homemaker-type skills. All I knew was how to start a fire and keep it going. This proved to be all you really needed to know in the case of hardtack, as it was so roughly made, and no man had opinions to too-dry or too-crumbly grains when it was all they had.
As the young men feasted on their breakfasts - the aforementioned wonder of a food, one lime or orange each, cheese, and rum to wash it down - I wiped my hands on a filthy rag and wandered to the helm.
Jack hadn't eaten at all, preferring to remain at the wheel, watching the current lap against the sides of the ship, almost looking as though he were frozen in that pose. He hadn't eaten when a bit of breakfast had been offered, hadn't moved in three hours. I wished he would. It startled me, seeing him so still. Even in sleep he shifted more frequently.
Something about his gaze was impossible to discern. The façade he pulled so easily over was composure, but I knew something was there behind it. Anger? (Why would he be angry?) Sadness? (What should sadden him?) Or was it nothing at all? Was I only imagining it all because so many weeks at sea was slowly beginning to get to me?
I intended to find out.
The moment I placed a hand on his shoulder, he turned his head and looked at it, still emotionless. His own rough calloused hand not holding the wheel rubbed circles across my palmer with his thumb. But there was no tenderness that I loved about him in the touch. It was only automatic.
"Jack," I whispered gently, coming closer. I wrapped my arms around his midsection and placed my chin on his shoulder where our hands had just been. He didn't reply in the slightest, with either words or actions. He remained stony.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I quipped back too fast, without harshness. Well, he wasn't angry at me. That was good.
"Please tell me," I pressed.
"Nothing, I swear it, love," he replied gently. At the word 'swear', I thought of a way that may or may not work. After all, he was a pirate, and pirates were known to lie. But, then again, I could easily be called a pirate, too.
"Swear by Calypso, goddess of the sea and my only family that nothing is wrong, and I'll leave the matter." He didn't move for several moments. He seemed to be contemplating his next move. This back and forth between us was like a game of roulette, and we kept drawing blank.
He turned slowly, leaning on the wheel a bit. He didn't have that familiar smug air about him that made whores tighten their corsets in hopes that their busts would spill out of their shirts. Modesty, honesty, anxiousness consumed him. I didn't enjoy this Jack. He worried me.
"I had a nightmare," he said, looking at the deck with slight embarrassment. I wasn't going to only take this, though. Nightmares were fairly common. But none had been so bad as to make him keep quiet for hours on end.
"And…" I pushed. He smirked a bit sadly.
"And you were there. And your…parents, I think." I shuddered. If my parents were there, it wouldn't be good. "And they were…taking you away. They were dragging you, hurting you, making you cry." He looked ready to choke back a sob. "And I couldn't help, because each time I touched you in the slightest, you would burn. You were tossed into the ocean, you drowned. And…Lord, Emberlynn, I can't continue on if you aren't there with me. I just can't."
The first tear I had ever seen come from my lover fell down his face, and I hurriedly wiped it in fear a crewman would see it and tarnish Jack's reputation. He didn't shed anymore.
"I hope you know that my parents are long gone," I soothed. "Dead. Have been forever. And I don't regret it. And what you saw last night, it was a dream. A bad one, but still, only something to gnaw away at you until you were nothing but a crying captain. I'm right here, love, and I'm not going anywhere."
He enveloped me quickly in a hug, which I returned easily and sniffed into his shirt. He smelt of rum, salt, and tears. Something about the mixture was alluring, but I hadn't the lack of heart to seduce him in such a vulnerable state.
"Breakfast, then?" I asked gently. He shook his head, instead grabbing a stout brown bottle half-filled with a liquid of the same color and shaking it. Rum, I thought obviously. Shaking my head at him with a grin, I went back down the stairs to move on.
Back to normal. Or as normal as our life could get.
"We're going where?" I asked incredulously for the fifth time. I still couldn't wrap my mind around his words. It didn't make any sense.
"Isla de Las Riquezas," he replied with a smug smirk for the fifth time. He still couldn't get over that I was so astonished. It made sense, I supposed, as he was a pirate. And pirates were known for their love of all things shiny. But he had told me once, late at night, a story of the Isla de Las Riquezas.
It had been a long day of pillaging and plundering, murdering the evil for once instead of the innocent. I hadn't been able to sleep. The guilt of knowing that my bullet had hit a man not involved in our quarrel whatsoever was eating me alive. He had wrapped his long arms around my quivering body and I had sniffed into his shirt.
"Want to hear a story, love? Shift the pain to me instead?" he had asked gently. I almost laughed at his words. The tears weren't stopping any time soon, but they were silent and wouldn't drown out his words.
"Isla de Las Riquezas," he began slowly. "Remember that name. Means Island of Riches. A place cut in two. One side is filled with richie-riches, the other far worse than Tortuga. A wall almost seven stories high and made of indestructible black stone. You can hit your bottle, your fist, your entire body with it, and it won't even quake. But that's not really important to my tale.
"Anyways, at seventeen, eighteen - I lost count of the years - I went there in hopes of making some money the old fashioned way: with a pistol and cutlass. Or maybe just by pick pocketing. Didn't matter. Either way, I docked there, let my few men roam for a while, and then headed in the direction of town.
"Whilst there, two things happened: firstly, I was seduced by some cheap whore. Lost me innocence, if you understand such a thing." I bitterly neglected the bit of jealousy within me that gently roared. "Secondly, I learned the meaning of evil. Some pirates may be bad, mean, spiteful, jealous, murderous, annoying sons of bitches, but most aren't evil. Not truly, at least."
I looked up at him through wet, tired eyes, wondering what was going to happen. He didn't return the gaze. It remained on something I couldn't see, something I was sure wasn't even there. He was lost in this story, which meant it must be serious.
"You see, this whore…she had a husband. A man who hated it when other men even looked at his wife. I'd bet almost anything that most of the shootings happening on this island were by him because someone gave the girl a sidelong glance. And she was something to look at. No comparison whatsoever to you, though, love." He ran a hand down my neck gently, lovingly. I leaned farther into him.
"Edward, she had called him. Edward Teach," he went on, shuddering at the name. "And she was Cher. He found me in bed with her. She purred at me, not caring that I was within an inch of dying even though he was only glaring. He chased me out of the house in my skivvies, and didn't catch me till we were alone on the beach. Nowhere to go, no one to call to. Just two bad men, one ready to kill the other. And that's how I got these."
He rolled over so his back was towards me, pulled his shirt off, and showed me his back. Along the shoulder blades were gunshots, numerous in quantity and low in depth. They were only scars now, but still looked painful. Deep cuts were all over his lower back, too. One in particular was to the left and hugely obvious. It read 'BB'.
"'BB'?" I asked. He nodded, covering his back again.
"Aye," he sighed. He faced me again, and now looked in my eyes. "And he enjoyed doing it, too. There was satisfaction plastered all over his face when he dug that dagger into my skin, when he pulled the trigger over and over. There was no remorse. When he was done with me, he dropped me to the sand and left me to, supposedly, die. I was found by some locals, though, before all my blood was gone."
I had shuddered at the thought of him dying on the beach, no help at all. He kissed my forehead and we fell asleep.
"Why?" I asked, back in the present day. The memory was horrible.
"Because we are in need of riches, that's why," he replied easily. "So, clearly, the Island of Riches would be where we would visit."
"Jack, you told me that you never wanted to step foot on that island ever again," I pushed. And it was true. Just after the story, before I went into dreamland, he had sworn never to go there again.
He nodded. "Aye, and I'd rather not. But it's our only way to find the Pearl." I rose an eyebrow.
"I thought we were after the Fountain," I angrily muttered. He nodded again.
"Aye, and we are. But we need money to bargain with, jewels for your pretty neck, and the fastest ship in the Caribbean," he countered.
"Why are you so sure Barbossa's headed to the Isla de Las Riquezas?" I inquired.
"I know him. He'll want wealth first, immortality second, sex third."
"When did sex get into this conversation?"
"There's always sex with me around, love." He winked. I felt my knees buckle and I was thankful I was leaning on his desk. It held me up well enough.
"Fair point," I went on, regaining my posture. "But why aren't we able to go to any richie-rich town and pick some pockets?"
"Because Barbossa doesn't want just any town full of money, he wants the town full of money. He'll bargain his gold, trade it, and somehow, he'll receive some idea of how to get to the Fountain. People on the Isla de Las Riquezas are smart. They've been around. They know things."
I groaned and dropped into a barrel that had been fixated into a chair, complete with black padding. It was my favorite by far.
This man was infuriating. He was hard and cruel one day, mushy and in love the next. Hot, then cold. It was so difficult to keep up with his constant mood swings. But I managed.
And today, he wanted to go Isla de Las Riquezas. Who was I to argue?
"It'll only be for a few days," he added gently. It sounded more to himself. So he wasn't lying about not wishing to go, but against his emotions, he was going. So he could find Barbossa and then…
Then what?
"What exactly are you planning on doing when you find said Barbossa?" I asked wearily. He smirked again.
"Lead him in the wrong direction. Maybe pay some weathered looking bloke to steer him right when he should go left. Anything and everything to keep him from finding the Fountain before you and I."
I sighed a final time and rose from my favorite chair to look him in the eye. "Fine. We'll go."
"I don't believe I was asking your consent on the whereabouts this ship shall sail," he replied anxiously. I knew that even thinking about the damned place was pushing him closer and closer to the edge. And one day, he'd fall.
"Well, now you have it anyways." And I left the cabin.
Alrighty, there you are. A place worse than Tortuga :P Also, I wonder who this Edward Teach fellow is... Understand it? New enemy in the next chappie!
Review! I will NOT update and finish chapter three until I get a few reviews! DO IT! - click down here V
