Disclaimer: I have no claim to the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and plots are owned by me.
Chapter 7: The Traitor
~o~
Teague waited until he was certain she really was fast asleep, and then propped himself up on his elbow and began touching a damp lock of her black hair gently, timidly, not knowing how she would react if she were to wake. He touched her cheek, close to the tiny ear that curled in an intricate, mysterious way.
He was sailing into battle again, unarmed. What wounds he would receive this time, he was not sure would heal. He would have to be less than honest with her – with everyone.
His beliefs were always profound and clear, he spoke what he thought, and acted as he thought. It was simple, because he never had a choice. That was his character by nature. He had no choice what to say and what to do because veracity, responsibility and conscientiousness were mutually inseparable features of his talent – his human genius. He had no choice whether to intercede or not intercede – he always interceded.
What did the future hold? He often found himself considering.
Many months had passed since his summons to Shipwreck Cove. With a sinking feeling that bordered on desperation, he realized it wouldn't be much longer until the crew found out.
The call had come in the form of a small pup, adorned with an oversized, wrought iron key dangling from around his tiny neck. However, the letter paired with the small prize wasn't so endearing. In short, the Court petitioned him to assume a new responsibility – speak politics, when he never divided his thinking into political and non-political. He would have to uphold the Law, feel another men's pain beneath his own skin – a sharp talent that would never leave him indifferent. Involuntarily, without speaking, he would enter history, where the Brethren felt he had belonged, for a very long time.
There was a saying, "a righteous man in every village," but he was neither righteous nor willing enough to give up the sea.
The idea of running away never entered his mind, but the Court knew well enough that he couldn't live with himself if he deserted his crew in their hour of need. He would rather die than be called a coward. It was a matter of honor, of principle and he would be damned if a "summons" would scare him away from his duty.
He was a Pirate Lord, and by the Powers, he would die like a Pirate Lord, fighting for his life, for his men, and not locked away in the archive of a well-supplied fortress with two positively ancient geezers playing cards.
He shook his head at the thoughts running wild in his mind, a grim look coming into his deep, brown eyes. Fine words and thoughts, he told himself, but still the thought of drowning below the depths and never seeing Samhra again, made him tremble with rage and fear.
Samhra stirred, causing him to subdue the mounting fear as best he could.
He drew his fingers through her hair. In time, he would tell her everything about himself. She would understand.
Forcing himself to crawl away from her, Teague opened the flap of their tent and was greeted by a gust of cool air. Reynolds and Bloodbath were waiting for him outside, with Rogue at their feet.
"'Ow's she farin'?" Reynolds asked as he began untying a small bundle he had draped over his shoulder.
Teague peeled off his shirt and tossed it to his old friend. "She hates me." He sighed, shrugging. "Probably."
Bloodbath rolled his eyes; Teague was still so naïve at times. "Ya mean 'most likely'? I remember tha' young puppy love," he chuckled, biting his lip as he pointed a knowing finger at his captain. "I remember 'ow bloody awful it was, mate. I mean mine just up and left, know wot I mean?" He turned to Reynolds for a measure of compassion. "She left, and didn't e'en try to kill me. Didn't have the 'eart to stab me or cut me 'ead off. Is it too much to ask? Some little sign that she cared?"
Reynolds raised a suspicious, unsympathetic eyebrow. "I always thought you were outta yer mind … Now, I'm quite sure of it."
Teague couldn't hide his amusement as he busied himself with untying his trousers, slipping them off for his usual pair of dark grey. "I did quite like these," he said, holding the garment before him.
"Got 'em off a dead man in Tortuga," Reynolds replied matter-of-factly.
The pants dropped to the ground. "Guess I didn't like 'em so much after all." Rogue shot up and quickly buried his nose in the pile of black fabric, but snorted, evidently displeased with the smell.
Reynolds tossed Teague a white shirt from his bundle, which he pulled over his head in haste. "Anyway, I wasn't sure wha' exactly ya were expectin', Sir. Y've got 'er caged up like a bird." He fiddled around the bag to grab the next item: an intricately decorated red vest.
"Remember Singapore?" Teague asked with a dark undertone lacing his voice. He held out his hand to grab the vest.
Bloodbath scratched his head, looking up toward the sky. "Vaguely," he muttered, scrunching his nose.
Of course he wouldn't, Teague thought, hiding his grin. The breeze blew his dark hair across his face, momentarily distracting him. Frowning, he paused to pull a pale green length of cloth from his belt. Stretching it over his forehead, he tied at the back of his head, thinking he would eventually have to deal with the overgrown mop on his head.
Almost unconsciously, he reached for the cutlass that hung at his hip as he recalled their brief interlude in Singapore…
There were plenty of ships lying at anchor to be counted, Teague reminisced, but not nearly half so many as he knew Liang Dao had been hoping for.
"'Ow many?" Bloodbath hissed.
The harbor was maybe a third full, at best. "By my bloody count, only seventeen," Teague muttered, clearly dissatisfied. They'd hoped to see outlaw barkys, frigates, and brigantines, lying hull to hull.
"Not good enough. We need ten times that number afore we're done."
"Aye. Maybe ten times that. And more."
Liang Dao had invited every living outlaw and pirate for a big parley, but it looked like only a precious few had accepted his invitation. Teague had confided his plan to his crew, but no one aboard the Misty Lady had been told the reason for the parley. Teague kept such things to himself. But his First Mate was content. He'd know soon enough.
A full harbor by morning would make Bloodbath felicitous and that in turn, would have a good effect on his men. They were a sorry lot, for the most part; half of them escaped prisoners from raids, and the other half thieving murderers who had somehow evaded the law and were on the run. It was a far cry from the crew of Teague's last command.
Teague, who had already betrayed his native England for pirate's gold, had subsequently lost command of his first vessel, the 78-gun Aurora, in a bizarre engagement with a much smaller warship, a corsair barquentine called Merlin. His crew had mercilessly betrayed him in the midst of battle; and the Aurora was taken as a prize.
The two men scoured the West Indies, the Atlantic and the Caribbean for a suitable replacement of ship and crew; until earlier that spring, when they spied a large British warship, the HMS Monarch, lying at anchor one dark night in Nassau Town. Teague had planned a surprise predawn raid, and although greatly outnumbered, they seized the great English frigate in a brief but bloody battle. Teague had finally acquired a fine warship of 74 guns beneath his feet, and he christened her the Misty Lady.
And by a fortuitous circumstance, the corsairs found occasion for the Aurora, for there she was, number twelve in line. He smiled wickedly. Perhaps, he'd get the opportunity to exact his revenge after all.
Bloodbath, perhaps the only man on earth he could trust, happily dug his oars into the water and pulled mightily. There was a full moon that night, Teague ruminated, and the lights along the waterfront dives, brothels, and rum dens were all ablaze. This, after all, was the home port of the Brethren of that Coast - a pirate's private enclave that strangers entered at their own peril.
There was no doubt that Singapore was famous for sexual excess. Brothels abounded, filled with crews of vile strumpets and common prostitutes – a walking plague, against which neither cage, nor whip, nor ducking-stool would prevail. It was almost impossible to civilize those people. Bloodbath, after several months at sea, was eager to be ashore, with a belly full of strong Asian spirits and back in the arms of a sweet wench from one of Liang Dao's brothels he called "Sucre", and sweet as sugar she was.
But there was a grand purpose to it all. Liang Dao wouldn't summon the underbelly of the pirate realm for a night of rum and visits from old acquaintances. The Pirate Lord of Singapore called on those who willingly supported the new Law of the Sea – The Pirate's Code. Teague knew the man all too well. He was one of the many pirates who wanted to make waves; write his name in blood across the seas and into history. He meant to unite and build the greatest pirate armada of all time and claim the world's riches for himself. His plan was nothing less than to destroy his two sworn enemies, the French and the English, with a series of bold attacks, breathtaking in audacity and scope. Then he'd loot their undefended coastal towns at will.
The world would be his for the taking, if he succeeded.
"Lay alongside him," Teague told his companion as they neared the stern of the Empress. Bloodbath did as he was told and shipped his oars, his gunwale bumped up against the portside hull.
Teague stood in his captain's gig, a little unsteady on his pins, as if he'd had a few tots of rum himself, and shouted upward, "Ahoy! Is that dog Liang Dao aboard?"
A crewman standing at the port watch leaned over the rail. "Who wants to know?" Teague recalled the curt reply, though the man had been near impossible to understand.
Teague and Bloodbath drew their pistols. They didn't like the man's tone. And if he didn't mind his manners, they planned to put quite a few holes in his tiny brain. "Tell him it's Teague. Just made anchor. I'll meet him at his place of business in about an hour."
"Captain Edward Teague, is it?" There was a new respect in the crewman's voice, and rightly so. Teague was notorious as a cutthroat in that realm of the world. He once heard rumors that he was equated with a ghostly figure – the devil reincarnated. It was even rumored that he appeared in three or four places at the same time, shimmering in and out like some kind of banshee. Not a bad reputation, he supposed, so he let the speculations grow.
"My apologies, Captain. I'll pass along your invitation," the crewman said, obviously not taking any chances.
"I want to get there first," Teague affirmed, turning to regard his First Mate. "Make haste and I'll finance another jug o' poison and that jolly sugar whore for you."
The four story building wasn't much to look at, but it was strategically located at the center of the crescent-shaped harbor. From Liang Dao's top floor veranda, he could look far out to sea for approaching vessels and with spyglass in hand; he could watch every move a man could make aboard any ship in the harbor. Of course, the Black Crow brothel stank of rank sweat, stale beer and the sour smell of spilt rum. Furthermore, the sex was convenient, quick and cheap. And it was at this hour of the night, that intoxicated room was near pandemonium. Indeed, the riotous nature of this place Teague encountered before him was not one he had seen before.
The two pirates stepped from the street, inside the doorway of the Black Crow. At a nod from Teague, Bloodbath pushed and shoved his way through the tumultuous crowd of pirates, privateers, various scalawags and hangers-on with Teague following close behind. When they reached the center of the room, they encountered a tall Chinaman with shoulders as wide as four trees and the thickest, blackest eyebrows they'd ever seen. Two flintlock pistols from the bandoliers were strapped across his bare chest; he pulled them and fired toward the ceiling. Chunks of plaster fell all around him. It appeared that they were the last to arrive, after all.
"Silence, if you please," the giant man said. "My revered commander, famous throughout the world for his bravery and the size of his treasury has summoned you here tonight because he would like a word. His name is familiar, Captain Liang Dao!"
A drunken roar went up from the crowd at the sound of that name, for Dao was much esteemed in that part of the world. As their beloved captain made his way to the table where his henchman stood, the crowd parted magically, and many an old crewman stepped forward to pay their respects. A chant started with a single sailor screaming, "Dao! Dao Dao!" and soon every voice joined in the cacophony, three hundred dastardly pirates, shouting the pirate's name to the very rafters.
Finally, Liang Dao leaped up to the table, drew his sword from the scabbard and raised it high in the air, the silver skulls braided into his fine beard tinkling like tiny bells. He was everything a pirate should be: fierce, quick to anger, violent, conniving – the whole package.
"This is a historic night by any measure," Dao began; his voice was rich and deep. His chiseled face demanded and received their full attention as he turned so all could have a good look at him. "For when the history books of the future are scribbled down, they will tell of the greatest pirate armada ever assembled. And it will you men here tonight, you brave souls, that history itself will be telling about. And those words will be written in blood!"
He paused to let the thought sink in.
"My thanks to you all for being first of the brethren to heed the call. But this is just the beginning. By the time we're ready to strike at our enemies, our number will have increased a hundredfold! We will be an empire that rules the seas! An empire of blood!"
The chant of "Dao!" began again, and despite the henchman's efforts to silence them, it continued unabated. Dao nodded at the big ox, who raised both pistols again and fired once more into the ceiling.
"Captains!" Dao bellowed. The room fell silent again. "I address you now. I want you and your crews to sail on the morning tide. You are my messengers, and you will go forth and call all of our brethren to gather at Shipwreck Cove a fortnight hence. And tell them of the endless riches in store for those who sign on!
"For no ship, city or town will be spared our wrath as we wreak havoc and plunder the French, English and Dutch coasts, and any ship under any flag foolhardy enough to place themselves in our path! Hard, bloodthirsty work there will be, but it'll be well paid for!"
The resounding roar was deafening as Dao stepped down from his podium.
"Not a bad show, eh?" Teague looked closely at Bloodbath and let his First Mate catch just a trace of a smile on his full lips.
"Edward!" Dao strode forward, offering a low bow. "Thank you for honoring the call."
Teague offered a bow in return. "The honor is mine."
Liang Dao simply smiled as he adjusted his jacket of fine silk; he was the picture of luxury that evening. Unlike most scalawags, he wore neither hat nor bandana. His hair was the color of the darkest night, and it hung unfettered to his shoulder. A thin mustache topped lips that curled in amusement.
"Dao." Teague abruptly grew very serious. "You of all men should know this isn't right with the Code."His fellow Pirate Lord regarded him, widening his eyes in mocking innocence. "Ah, yes, Captain. I understand your concern. But you see, you don't know how complicated this …" he breathed, searching for the right word, "situation – actually is."
Teague shifted his weight, growing impatient. "Explain."
Dao rubbed his chin, his smile fading to subdued laughter. Teague got the feeling that he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
"I haven't come 'ere to entertain you." He seethed in irritation.
Dao frowned playfully. "No, gentleman, it seems you have not." Dao snapped his fingers at a younger man with a similar face – a sibling, he presumed. They spoke fleetingly in their native tongue, to which the lad immediately obliged him by bringing over two finely dressed prostitutes, garlanded with black, ornate masks over their faces. He formally bowed to Teague and Bloodbath and handed the women off for their enjoyment. "I am to entertain you."
Teague frowned and shook his head, disinterested; there was little time to deal with that sort of distraction. "Don't be foolish. Convene the Court." He stared at Dao in warning. Dao would fail wretchedly without the support of the other Lords, but before he could argue the point, the masked woman consigned to him began stroking his cheek.
"Let us not speak of business this evening," Dao insisted. "It is a time for celebration, my friends. Our battle for control of the Seven Seas has finally begun."
Out of the small measure of reverence he had remaining for his fellow Lord, he took the woman to her respective room upstairs, which she shared with three others. When the door closed behind them, he put his plan into motion. He handed them fifteen gold pieces and placed a finger on his lips. He had to be a bit more cautious. There was a price for everything and it didn't cost too much to keep those women's mouths shut.
The only possible exit was a window, high up on the wall facing the door. He got up, and looked at the wall, examining its surface for some possible boost. To his disadvantage, there was none, so he crouched down and jumped. His hand just grasped the edge, clung for a fraction of a second, and then scraped off. Undeterred, he knelt again, as close to the wall as he could possibly get, flexed himself and leaped up. This time, his palms grasped hold. He pressed his fingertips against the stone surface and chinned up enough to work his elbows over. He rested a moment, and then squeezed his stomach in and hung there on the ledge against the window, his legs dangling behind.
He had inched the window open noiselessly and, forgetting he was on the second floor, looked down into blackness. It was dark outside, but he could make out an alley. He stuck one foot through the open window and straddled the ledge, one foot in, one foot out. Shit, he thought to himself. He hadn't planned for that.
Suddenly, something grabbed hold of his boot. For a moment he was panic-stricken, but he looked down to find his masked woman, holding up two knotted bed sheets. Apparently, they'd had some experience with this endeavor. Her black eyes smiled up at him.
Without a moment's hesitation, he shoved the sheets through the window. With one hand on the sill, he tested it. It gave a lurch, then held. The Powers seemed to be in his favor, for any night where he could leave some rank hellhole without broken bones was one to be noted. With a great weight lifted from his shoulders, he returned through the window, and planted a kiss on the cheek of his savior's mask.
Turning to face the wall of the brothel, he let himself out. He twisted his legs around the sheet and swiftly slid down to the dark alley below.
When he finally reached the Aurora, Bloodbath was already present and waiting. A small flame flickered to life as the First Mate lit his lantern. Soon, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, registering the multitude of his crew in the background. Gleams of torches suddenly flared and the dock was beaming with light.
"Everyone 'ere?" he whispered, receiving a brief, purposeful nod from Bloodbath in return. "Righ', let's get to work."
It was a grand spectacle; the flames from the pyre assumed greater glory with each passing moment. He took a swig of rum in mourning as he listened to the roar of the mighty fire, the distant crackling of a ship he once loved. Between her boards, sharp, quivering tongues of flame shot out, and leapt up, curling – darting; higher until they licked the summit of her glorious mast and ate her shriveling sails.
They men sat in their rowboats, gazing from afar as smoke wrapped the sea. The bodies were consumed, and corsair ash choked the pile until the wind fell with night and there was a calm.
"Answer me this," Teague demanded between swigs. "'Ow'd you get to the dock before me?"
Bloodbath paused, and looked him up and down. "Wha'd ya mean? I used the front door," he replied chuckling; it was a rather absurd question in hindsight.
He couldn't help but laugh. Bloody hell, he thought, unable to control the laughter that rumbled in his belly.
Bloodbath shook his head; he must have reckoned him a madman, Teague wagered. But his First Mate simply turned away, regarding the scene before them with great indifference. "'Ow many ships do ya think she'll take wit' 'er?" As if it were a game.
Teague shrugged; it didn't matter anymore.
"Feel betta, now?" Bloodbath pressed on, almost sounding hopeful. "Satisfied?"
When the flames reached her powder magazine, she was blown to bits. With a shower of sparks, the Aurora fell, reddening the sea around, and all was dark again.
He took another drink before replying, "Never."
~o~
Samhra's mind was elsewhere, traveling other worlds. In the early morning light, she folded her arms on the edge of a rock, resting her chin on them, and watched the stars recede. She couldn't wait for first dawn – to watch the stars vanish like small children tiptoeing beyond the verge of sight – disappearing lanterns of heavenly sentries assigned to protect her through the night.
Something about the ocean fascinated her; she felt an affinity with it, drawn to it. Slowly, she rose and wet her feet in the tide. She felt a strange mix of fear and longing, wanting to catch a glimpse of her true self in the water.
Her mind began to recall some teachings of her religion; the notion that she was made of exactly what the ocean was made of. But the ocean was more than just salt. The ocean was filled with life. And that's what she wanted – to let go of her small self, her small identity and allow herself to become part of something greater, letting it flow naturally from the very act of looking within and trusting what she found. To be filled with a greater awareness of life once again.
Moving ever so cautiously, Samhra began to submerge her legs into the surf, wading until the cool water caressed her stomach.
More than anything, she wanted to discover who she was: her center intermingled, in some mysterious way, with the center of her God.
She pressed onward, waves then breaking against her chest. Edward's black garments began to float away from her slender form, relinquishing pockets of air to the surface. Her black hair fanned out around her.
In receptive solitude she would receive love. In solitude, she would grow to accept that she would be accepted.
In spite of her wishes to tap into such divine acceptance, instinct gripped her, instructing her to turn back toward the beach.
Lowering her head to the water, Samhra watched a dark figure approaching, carrying two brightly lit lanterns in hand. Holding her breath, she dipped her head beneath the breakers, fearing that the crew had uncovered her disappearance. She came up only as far as her eyes, and immediately recognized the sinister blond, Finnegan. She sincerely hoped that her Edward had not set him out to find her.
Despite her fear of him, she watched on inquisitively, noting that he seemed quite peculiar. He set out to climb one of the beach's largest rock formations and secured the lanterns on top.
Curious, she thought, as she watched him stand – almost as if he were waiting for something.
Finnegan then took off his coat, and covered the lanterns. Seconds later, he removed it just as quickly. He did this several times, looking over his shoulder each time he endeavored to remove it. His motions were purposeful, but his expression looked frightened.
In the water, Samhra followed his line of sight out into the distance; she spotted another singular light that flashed back at him. It was so slight that, if she weren't deliberately looking for it, she'd have never spotted it.
And then a startling realization came to her…
It was a signal!
