Chapter Four: Olivia vs. the Militia Men of Antigua

For the first time in weeks, land could be seen off the starboard side of the ship. Olivia, who had finally overcome her occasional ship-related bouts of illness, surveyed the island in the distance.

"What's that island, there?" she asked Barbossa as he came up behind her.

"That be Antigua," he answered, sounding confident.

"Are we making port?" she wondered, looking over her shoulder at him.

"In a manner a speakin'," he said slyly. "That be the island where one o' the last medallions is hidden. I thought that ship you were on mighta been carryin' it, but I was mistaken. There's no doubt in my mind that it's on that island."

"How do yeh know where exactly they are? Yeh may have traded it there, but who's to say someone hasn't traded it for 1orning1g' else? Maybe it's not actually on the island anymore. Maybe it's on another merchant vessel," Olivia pointed out.

"Ah, I suppose I've left that part out," he said as he leaned against the railing beside her. "Whenever we get close to one of the cursed pieces of gold, it calls to us. We can feel it in our bones. They want to be found, y' see," he said in a mysterious voice.

"Intriguing," Olivia said flatly.

"Aye," he sighed as he gazed across the water at the island.

"Anything I can do to help?" she asked.

"You can keep your pretty feet solidly planted on the deck," he said decidedly. "Pirate raid's no place for a woman."

"I've been in one, yeh know," Olivia told him. "It doesn't scare me."

"It should," he said bluntly. "You'd be in considerably more danger than us, as we're undead and you're still warm and fleshy."

"Think I'm fragile, do yeh?" Olivia challenged with a smirk.

"Ya haven't a piratin' bone in yer tall, skinny body, lass," he said with a chuckle. "Besides, if anyone shoots you dead, it'll be me."

The Black Pearl lingered off shore at a substantial distance, waiting for the sun to disappear beyond the horizon. Barbossa felt that the crew was at its most fearsome when the moon was shining on them. Olivia couldn't argue with that. The sight of the men with their flesh rotting off their exposed skeletons still gave her the collywobbles.

As soon as the moon was high in the clear night sky, Barbossa, now frightening and skeletal, steered his ship towards their target: a large port town with a wharf protruding out into the water. Some small ships were tied to the dock, but they were nothing worth taking a second glance at. Olivia looked on as some of the men scurried down to the gun deck. Within moments, Barbossa ordered a barrage of cannon fire toward the port. The cannon balls penetrated the edifices of a few buildings, crumbling roofs and destroying walls. The rowboats were made ready to board just as the local militia assembled at the dock. Some held long rifles with bayonets attached to the end while others held pistols and cutlasses. After the Black Pearl ceased fire on the port, the men piled into the boats and lowered themselves into the water. Unlike the sacking of La Bonita, Barbossa climbed into the last boat to participate in the raid, leaving the Bo'sun behind to keep an eye on the ship. As the crew rowed toward the beach, the militia opened fire on them. Many of the bullets struck home, but as the men could not be injured or killed, the projectiles had no affect whatsoever. Olivia could see the courage of the militia men waning as the pirates came closer and closer despite their constant fire. Even though Olivia knew that the men were indestructible, seeing them get shot over and over again sparked the urge within her to help and protect. She remembered this feeling from the last pirate raid and she knew that to even entertain the idea of rushing into battle with no weapons was foolish. However, she had a difficult time quelling the need to swim after them and join the fray.

Olivia watched the Bo'sun carefully out of the corner of her eye: his gaze was fixed on the rest of the crew, who had now set foot on the beach and were tearing up the streets, terrorizing the town as they went. The majority of the militia that had assembled at the dock were now chasing after the crew, some of them had already been shot dead by the skeletal pirates. The few that remained nearest the dock had climbed aboard one of the smaller ships and began rowing toward thePearl. When they were in deep enough water, the sails were unfurled, sending them straight toward the ghostly ship faster than Olivia had anticipated. The Bo'sun did not look at all concerned for his safety, or for Olivia's. It had been made abundantly clear to her in the weeks that had gone by that this formidable man felt no remorse for any loss of life, man, woman or child. She could not hope that he would make an exception for her.

As the smaller ship prepared to broadside the Pearl, Olivia dashed into Barbossa's cabin. She had noticed on several occasions a pair of cutlasses mounted on the wall as decoration. Ornaments or not, they were still sharp and they could still do her some good if the militia men found a way onto the ship. She went straight for the more impressive of the two, whose gold handle was not as tarnished as the other and whose blade had not yet been chipped. Her first attempt to wrench the weapon off the wall was unsuccessful. However, after a few firm yanks, it tore away from its plaque, the sudden release knocking Olivia onto her hindquarters. Scrambling to her feet, the sword in hand, she ran back out onto the deck. She could hear the militia men jeering and firing shots at the Bo'sun, who seemed at the very least annoyed. It was only now that Olivia realized that she had traded in Barbossa's clothes for her own dress the day before; how idiotic she must look, halfheartedly wielding a sword in a dress. Her wardrobe decisions aside, she peered over the edge of the ship and looked down on the smaller vessel just in time to see the lot of them fling grappling hooks up onto the railings of the Black Pearl. She backed away just in time as one of the grapples nearly grazed the side of her face on its way down to the deck at her feet. In one of the most intimidating gestures she had ever witnessed, the Bo'sun drew his sword and grunted, his decaying lip curling menacingly.

The militia men climbed up the ropes that were attached to the grapples and hoisted themselves over the railing of the Pearl's deck. The Bo'sun made short work of most of them, running them through ruthlessly with his blade. One of the men noticed Olivia standing at the ready, sword in hand and a snarl on her face. He nudged one of his fellows and pointed at her and the two of them got a hearty laugh. Anger burned through her veins as she stormed toward them, preparing herself to stick them with her cutlass. The first gave another bark of a laugh and in one swift movement, he tripped Olivia, sending her sprawling onto the deck. The second one grinned, cocked a pistol and took aim.

"This'll teach ya, pirate wench," he said, firing. Olivia tried to move out of the way, but she felt the round bullet pierce the flesh in her shoulder. She cried out in pain and made an effort to scoot away from her antagonists, but her skirts were getting tangled in her legs. She tried to raise her sword, but as her hand closed over the handle, the wound in her shoulder seared with pain. The cutlass clattered to the wooden planks beneath her and as the two of them descended on her, the Bo'sun sliced a pair of deep cuts into the backs of their necks. They fell simultaneously at his feet. He looked at Olivia, whose shoulder was bleeding freely, and rolled his eyes at her before picking up the collapsed militia men and heaving them into the black, glassy water below. After he disposed of the other five bodies that littered the deck, he resumed his post at the wheel, not bothering to help Olivia. She managed to lean herself against the outer wall of Barbossa's cabin as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to slow down her panicked, ragged breaths. What would happen if she died, just sitting there on the deck? What would Barbossa do when he saw her lifeless body propped up in a pool of blood? Was her wound even severe enough to kill her? As these questions and more swam through her head, she began to feel dizzy and ill. The only thing to do was to wait until Barbossa got back.


It seemed like hours and the noises around her echoed and felt distant. Whenever she chose to open her eyes, everything around her was out of focus. She saw movement over the side of the ship as the rowboats were hoisted up far enough for the crew to board the ship. A familiar sound echoed in her ears a few times before she recognized it as her own name.

"Olivia!" the voice bellowed as Barbossa's face swam into view. His features were human as they were both in the shadow of the captain's quarters, but the rest of the onlookers were skeletal. Barbossa gripped Olivia by her lower jaw as he lifted her head towards him. She felt her lips quirk to life in a weak grin.

"Did yeh find it?" she asked vaguely.

"What?" he spat, looking at her wildly.

"The medallion. Did yeh find it?" The captain missed a beat as he looked at her with disbelief.

"We did," he said after a moment. He looked at the bloodstained sleeve of her dress before ripping it open at the seam.

"Hey…," Olivia protested. Barbossa inspected the wound before grunting impatiently. He rose to his feet and picked her up brusquely.

"What're ye starin' at, ye lowly sacks of chum! Make ready the sails! Run out the sweeps! Get to your positions ye flea-bitten pack of ingrates!" Barbossa shouted to his crew, sending them scurrying all over the deck in fright. While the rest of the crew was busy following orders, Barbossa kicked in his cabin door and set Olivia down so that she was propped against his bed. He shut the double doors roughly and stomped toward her looking furious. He took another appraising glance at the bullet wound in Olivia's now bare shoulder and made a snarling sound. Olivia struggled to stay conscious as Barbossa retrieved a bottle from one of his cabinets. He uncorked it and thrust it at her.

"Drink," he commanded.

"Not thirsty…," Olivia babbled, pushing the bottle away weakly.

"I didn't ask you if you were thirsty. Drink," he said again. This time he put the bottle to her lips and tipped some of the liquid into her mouth. She gagged and choked on it and tried to catch her breath.

"What is that?" she demanded.

"Rum. A pirate's best friend. This is the last time I'm going to tell ye: drink," he said. Once more he tipped the alcohol into her mouth and this time she swallowed. It tasted awful, but she felt a warm sensation deep in her chest as it went down. She downed a few more gulps before Barbossa took the bottle away. He dumped some into her wound, causing her to cry out in pain.

"What was that for?!" she cried angrily.

"Standard procedure in wound dressin', missy," he said. He ripped off the hem of her dress, wadded it up and held it in front of her mouth. "Bite down on this," he said.

"Why?" she asked warily.

"Because this is really going to hurt," he said as he extracted a small, crudely carved knife from his belt. Olivia's eyes widened as Barbossa stuffed the cloth into her mouth and dug the knife into her wound. Had her mouth not been completely full of fabric, the entire crew and probably the inhabitants of the surrounding islands might have heard her scream of agony as Barbossa methodically used his knife as a lever to pry out the bullet from the hole in her shoulder. Olivia's eyes watered and her fingers were clenched in such tight fists that her fingernails dug painfully into her palms. Sweat sprang from every pore in her skin as Barbossa doused the wound again with rum and ripped another length of fabric from her dress before fashioning it into a thick bandage. Olivia's chest heaved and she was dizzy with pain as Barbossa removed the cloth from her mouth. She groaned and tipped her head back so that she could breathe better.

"I hate you," she breathed. Barbossa chuckled as he cleaned off his knife on what was left of the hem of her skirt.

"Ye won't be saying that come morning' and yer still alive," he pointed out.

"That was…the worst pain…I've ever felt…ever," Olivia said weakly. She reached over with her good arm and took up the bottle of rum before taking a few great gulps of it.

"There's a good lass," Barbossa said. "Nothin' dulls pain better than a bottle of rum."

"I've never drank before in my life," she admitted. "I mean, I've been offered rum a few times, but I never drank any."

"Is that so," Barbossa said thoughtfully as he sat down beside her. "We'll have to get ya good and drunk one of these days. A hole like that in yer arm, you'll be beggin' to be drunk tomorrow."

"Think there'll be a scar?"

"Iknow there'll be a scar. Better a scar than bein' dead," he reminded her. After a moment's silence, Barbossa spoke again. "What did you think you were doin', anyway?"

"How do yeh mean?"

"I told you to stay out of it, and I come back and here you are, bleeding all over the deck of my ship with a sword at yer side. Explain to me exactly how you came to have a sword in your hand when I told ye to stay out of the way."

"I meant to stay out of it, but they came to us…wanted to protect myself, so I got a sword," she mumbled.

"You probably looked like a damn fool wielding a sword in a dress. D'ye think anyone could have taken ya seriously?" he asked incredulously.

"They didn't, they laughed at me," Olivia admitted.

"Of course they did. I would have too. There isn't a single thing about a woman what looks like you that could even come close to being intimidatin'. You have no business with a sword in your hand if you don't know how to use it, either."

"Can yeh spare me the lecture? I've only got a hole in my shoulder the size of a shilling, yeh know…," Olivia said, clearly irritated. Barbossa sighed and shook his head.

"Soon as that arm's healed, I'm going to teach you how to use a sword," he said with a note of determination in his voice. "And you'll be learnin' from the best. There's not a man on this ship that's not afraid of me guttin' 'em like a fish, because they know I could do it before they could blink."

"Impressive," Olivia muttered with a little scoff. Barbossa ignored her.

"I got more swag beneath this deck than you can possibly imagine and it's not all of the sparkly variety. Clothes of every size and gender be mixed in with the rest and we'll find ye something to wear that'll make people think twice about crossin' ye. Haven't you ever wondered why pirates dress like we do?"

"Because it…looks…piratey?" Olivia guessed, feeling groggy as she took another swig of rum. Barbossa's lips twitched, softening his stern expression a little.

"Aye, that be part of it, but mostly so's everyone else knows what they're dealin' with. People look at you and no matter what you're like under that dress, all they see is some stubborn woman with a sword that needs to be shot," he said.

"Betyou'd like to know what I'm like under this dress," Olivia giggled softly. The rum had already worked its way through her empty stomach and into her thin, light-weight frame. Barbossa looked amused. In this state, he knew that no matter what he said, she would never remember it come morning.

"Perhaps when the curse is lifted…," he said as he extracted a gold piece from his inner coat pocket, "you and I will finally be able to get to know each other a little better." He handed her the gold and she examined it with glazed over eyes.

"It's sort of pretty," she said softly as she ran her finger over the Aztec skull in the middle of the coin. She handed it back to him and only dimly noticed how close his face was to hers.

"Only thing pretty about this medallion is that it means there's only one left. And I know who has it."