A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. With regards to the bet and her 'average span' being eighty odd years, I kinda couldn't be bothered to look up the average span for the 1600s etc and also believed that Jones might have a sort of extra sense for how long individual people might live. So she's gonna be a lucky one if she survives lol.
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The next morning's awakening was a lot more unpleasant than the first. My eyes snapped open to the sound of items in the hold being thrown aside; crates grumbling across the floor; something metal rolling.
I turned the wheel of my enclosure as slowly as I could but still made a hideous jarring noise. Through the opening I saw one of the more savage-looking crewmen, clearly in a foul mood. It heard the door open and snarled at me.
"On whose authority do you think you can steal our food and use our sundries?"
It raced towards me, teeth bared.
I squeaked and went to close myself back inside but he was too fast. He shoved the hatch-door aside and hauled me out of the room. Growling inches from my face, he shoved me across the hold so that I landed beside what I found to be the stove, upturned.
"Aren't shellfish good enough for a sophisticated harlot like you?" he said, advancing on me.
"B-Bootstrap s-said you all preferred raw food -," I managed.
"Bootstrap? We're on first name terms with old Turner now, are we?" the monster sneered. "There's something you should learn, wench. Turner ain't in charge on this ship!"
"Neither are you!" I blurted stupidly.
The scaly brute lashed out and struck me to the floor. I shielded my face as he rained wild blows on me. Driven crazed with fear, I kicked back, cuffing him in the jaw with my shoe.
He roared, more with rage than pain.
"You shouldn't be able to hurt me!" I yelled. "The deal! If I'm harmed, nothing will keep me here on this ship."
He leapt at me and pinned me to the boards, close to spitting as he snarled, "No one specified how much constitutes as harm. It happens that the Captain doesn't think someone's damaged 'less they lose bits or stop breathing."
I don't know what possessed me and I severely regretted it, but I bit him. Right on his grotesque, spiky wrist. It felt like trying to chomp a pinecone made of lead. It did what I intended, however. He screamed.
What followed was a pitiless fight, a blur of his clawed fingers tearing at me as I punched and kicked and bowled about to escape him. After what seemed like an hour but must have only been a matter of minutes, a familiar hoarse voice resounded across the hold.
"Leave her alone!"
The beast stopped tussling with me and looked up, scales bristling.
"Come to save your girl, Turner?" he hissed.
Bootstrap approached slowly but his expression was stern.
"Don't push me, Bo'sun. It only takes two words to get the Captain's attention. Don't make me call Jones."
The Boatswain, for that was who crouched above me, peeled his dragonish lips back snidely. He did not answer though. He gave a disgruntled snort before he released me and stalked off for the stairs.
I suppose I'd gotten off lightly. My skin was only broken in one place – a short stripe along my right shoulder beneath the torn sleeve. As for my dress, the skirts were frayed so badly that all the material below my knees were thin, ragged strips.
"I shouldn't have left you alone," Bootstrap said, but he was not angry with me. His tone was more scolding of himself. "Next time you can come up on deck with me. Weather might not be pretty, but at least I'll know where you are."
I nodded dumbly. Annoyingly, my lip was quivering. The shock of the attack was wreaking its tearful aftermath.
"Here now," old Turner hushed. "It's all right. Ye're okay."
He came around the pile of rubble I was crouching amongst and reached down to pat me fondly. He saw the state of my dress.
"We'll need to do something about your clothes," he said grimly. "For the younger and more foolish crewmen, it's bad enough you being the gender you are, which ain't the fault of yours."
I wiped my eyes guiltily.
"What do you suggest?" I asked.
Bootstrap sighed.
"Well, there be no extra clothes on board, let alone for a young woman. There's only one thing that can be done. I'll have to go plead with the Captain to draw near land so I can fetch you some."
If his skin weren't already sea green, I would swear it would have turned the same colour.
"You've done more than enough for me," I said. "I…I'll go."
His eyes widened, which was quite a feat when his eyelids seemed always drooped with exhaustion.
"No, I couldn't let y-," he started but I shook my head.
He didn't argue much more, but thanked me. Bootstrap allowed me a few moments to gather my wits. This was not all I gathered. I pulled forward the least damaged folds of my skirts and held them in front of me to hide as much of me as I could.
I insisted I was ready and Turner led me up the stairs to the deck of the Dutchman.
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I don't think even a week of consideration would have prepared me for the sight under the sky. The Dutchman's decks and sails were of such similar hues to the crew that the two were almost inseparable. The crew were a part of the ship and the ship was a monster like them.
Everywhere I looked, the fiends were swarming about, tending to the stay-ropes or needlessly adjusting the positions of barrels and crates. I would learn during my stay that a lot of unnecessary jobs occurred aboard the Dutchman. I suppose it kept them sane.
Bootstrap shielded me as we headed for the aft of the ship. I felt a lot like a child in the way he tended to treat me but it was oddly comforting and I think I would have preferred it to trying to fend for myself.
Forgive me, I have not yet given you the age I was at that time. I was nineteen, but my lack of worldly experience made me near infantile in my behaviour.
With the sneers and growls of the working crew behind us, we reached an area where three large steps led down to a closed, fortified set of double doors. Bootstrap stayed at the head of the stairs.
"I'll wait up here on deck for when you come out," he said then added, "Good luck."
I nodded and he wandered out of sight. I licked and bit my lip nervously, and then I turned one of the handles. Taking care to be quiet so as not to disturb what lay beyond, I slipped inside.
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The cabin was almost majestic, but for the lichen tint to every wall and possession. The room appeared to have slept on the ocean floor for centuries. There were antiquated tables and creaking candleholders, seafaring equipments and curled scrolls, but none of these drew my gaze like the spectacle of the great organ set in the back.
I'd only ever dreamt what they looked like, for few churches where I lived could afford such luxuries. I drew closer and saw that it was the likeness of a vast gaping mouth, with each row of keys a set of morbid teeth. On one of its flat ledges perched a once silver angel figure, standing over a heart-shaped box.
Unable to contain my curiosity, I reached towards the box. Before my fingers could close upon its lid, something bulled out of the recesses of the room and snatched my arm. The tough crab claw wrenched me about to look once more into the face of Davy Jones.
"Ai see yew have found your feet along with a nose to poke into other people's prrivacy," he growled.
When I didn't answer, he released me and took a step back. In my surprise I had ceased to hold the ragged ends of my dress. My dishevelled appearance did not go unnoticed.
"Yew, girl, are improperrly drressed," Jones hissed.
"That's why I came," I said, finding nerves at last. I took in a deep breath before blurting, "I wanted to ask if we could draw nearer land so I may better clothe myself."
He snorted.
"And hwho would ye have go ashore? I cannot tread land and yew lose the right to live once ye step off my ship."
"Bootstrap would go," I answered. I hoped not to place blame on him, but it seemed my only method of persuasion.
"Yew would upset the working balance of my crew for the matter of your own honour? I think yew underestimate the selfishness of your demands."
I flushed.
"Bootstrap, I mean, Mr Turner said that my being dressed like this would lead to distraction. He thinks it would be for the best…"
"Does he now? And I suppose he helped yew concoct this little scheme to have your way and your eventual escape?" His claw pinched my dress at the stomach, narrowly avoiding the skin. "To make yourself up dressed like a whore warrants treating like a whore."
He snarled and shoved me to the floor. My elbows stung as they grazed on wood, my sleeves poor cushions.
"I didn't do this!" I shrieked angrily as he stomped for the doors. "One of your foul crew attacked me!"
There was a dangerous pause in which Jones halted and turned slowly to look upon me.
"Did yew just dare to speak?"
I glared at him from the floor, my eyes wild, heart racing. He moved back toward me, the replacement of his right leg driving mercilessly into the boards. He leaned down so that we were face to face, his tentacles coiling with rage.
"Yew are a hair's breadth from being forced to work alongside my crew in your present state, with no orders to protect ye from what might befall."
Jones lifted me to my feet. Then he shot out and hooked his claw through the gap between my bodice and chest. He lingered long enough to tell me that one snip could reduce me to petticoats – or worse.
"Do ye doubt my generosity?"
"No," I gasped.
He dropped his hold, and I fled from the cabin.