-Chapter 9: The Gamble-
"We extort and we pilfer, we filch and and ignite, drink up, me hearties, yo-ho! We ransack and bootleg, embezzle, and- and- what else do we do, Lizzybef?"
"We stop pretending we can sing."
"Oh come now, darling," the Captain prompted persuasively, while fiddling with the black and red dice strung in his ratty dreadlocks, "one must do something ta keep the slavering hounds of boredom away."
"That is a bizarre analogy."
"Boredom breeds bizarrity."
"Bizarreness you mean," Miss Swann corrected briskly, "bizzarity is not a word."
"Right you are. An' since I admitted you are right, can you give us the lyrics, kindly?"
"That is not a fitting shanty for the ears of children," Miss Swann retorted primly. "I told you already. I also told you to call me Miss Swann, as you've also failed to recall."
"You sung it," the Captain countered cheekily. "I heard you, when ya were shimmying up in trees gathering coconuts, when ya thought no one was listenin'."
"Obviously you weren't listening terribly well. And I am not a child."
"Says you."
"Indeed," Miss Swann snapped, shifting her feet to the other side of her knees, and staring off away from Jack, towards the briny waves.
"Right, so if I might ask, what are you that these here other tender youths aren't, that makes the singin' of piratical ditties just fine and peachy for you?" the Captain goaded. "So much more mature, are you?"
"Only compared to some."
Lucy rolled her eyes, and hugged her arms a little tighter around her stockinged legs, letting her chin sink onto her knees. Being stuck between Captain Jack Sparrow and Miss Elizabeth Swann, on a small raft in the middle of the Caribbean, was getting less fun by the minute.
Of course, seating options were pretty limited. On the front end of the ragtag raft, the intrepid voyagers had rigged up the palm-frond sail Lucy had woven with the other girls' help. On the back of the raft (the 'stern' as Captain Sparrow called it), they'd roped on several crates of coconuts, which would have to double as both food and drink on the voyage, since there was no fresh water on rumrunner's island. Nor rum, for that matter, now that the Pevensies had dumped it all into the sand to free up the bottles for use as buoys.
That left a roughly eight by eight foot square space in the center of the raft. No one could sit in the dead center though, since that made the raft cave in; so to balance it out, one person had to sit on each corner, and one on each edge. Since there were eight people, this worked out quite neatly. Going clockwise from the front, Lucy sat right behind the sail, Elizabeth sat next to her on the right front corner, then Grassroot on the right edge, Locust on the back right corner, Caspian at the back, Su next to Caspian at the left rear corner, Edmund next to Su on the left side, and finally, Jack next to Lucy, on the left front corner. It had taken an annoyingly long time to sort out this arrangement, since Locust had refused to sit next to Ed, and Su had refused to sit next to Locust, and Captain Sparrow had refused to sit next to Grassroot.
They'd been drifting across the waves for two days now. It was excruciatingly tight quarters. No one could stand up or stretch out without unbalancing the raft, and the only spot for privacy (or toilet breaks) was the small bit of crate-wood beyond the large sail in front.
"So, what should we call our raft?" Edmund asked finally, breaking the tense silence that had been gathering.
"The Flimsy?" Susan suggested cynically, shifting a little closer to Caspian, under the shade of the large palm frond he was holding. Maybe Su just didn't want to get sunburn... but Lucy guessed she had other motives.
"The... Coconut Trees?" said Grassroot, after swallowing the mouthful of white, leathery coconut meat he'd been chewing.
"That might be a bit too literal, Grassroot," said Ed, as he untangled his yo-yo string from where it had knotted around his fingers. "I was thinking of calling it something with a little more zing, like, oh, I don't know- what about the Electric Torch?"
"You just can't stop thinking about that torch, can you?" Su sighed critically. Her dark hair was curling even more than usual in all this tropical humidity.
"Why not... the Improvisation?" Caspian suggested.
"Or the Mayfly," Locust crooned dourly, glancing up from his cross-legged meditation pose, "since that insect's life span is but a single day, which is how long I reckon this paltry excuse for a raft shall stay afloat ere we all drown." The young Tisroc's face was slightly green, nearly matching the green stripes in his tunic. He'd been seasick he'd woken up- and he had to have a headache too, considering how hard Caspian whacked him with that gauntlet. But complaining was beneath Locust's dignity. He didn't mind cursing though, which he did frequently. "May the holy punishments of Tash plague your bloodlines forever..." he hissed, wrapping his arms around his stomach, and scrunching up his face in agony.
"I still say we should shove the turbaned one overboard," Captain Sparrow muttered under his breath. That had been the Captain's plan from the start. Well no, his first plan was to just leave the out-cold Calormene stranded on the island, but Miss Swann had insisted that maybe Locust would mend his ways; and besides, they needed all the help they could get to rescue Will Turner from the pirates.
Locust had only actually regained consciousness about a half hour ago, and hadn't been too thrilled to learn that he was stuck, weaponless, on an 8' by 8' foot raft with seven people he considered his enemies. His fancy jeweled scimitar was tucked snugly beside Sparrow's sword in Sparrow's sword-belt. Locust kept eying the curved blade greedily, like a cat eying a mousehole. He had stopped flying into a rage and attacking people anyway, but only after the Captain had said,
"I wonder which would happen first if we cut his hands off and shoved him overboard- that he'd drown from not being able ta swim, or that the sharks would take a fancy to all that blood?"
Since then, Locust had simply been furiously sulking, glaring, and cursing. Oh yes, and vomiting every now and then, whenever the waves got too turbulent.
"For good luck, we should name it something long-lived..." Caspian speculated.
"Well..." said Miss Swann, "tortoises live a hundred years..."
"Oh, yes," Captain Sparrow scoffed, "the Tortoise, now that sounds like it'll be rescuing Will from certain death in a very timely fashion."
"Hummingbirds are fast..." Grassroot put in hesitantly.
"Something fast and tough-" Ed added. He'd untangled the yo-yo by now, and was lazily bobbing it up and down.
"The Dragon?" Lucy suggested.
"And inconspicuous, remember," the Captain drawled, "this is a sneak attack. Rescue, I mean, did I say attack? Slip of the tongue."
"I do hope you're not meaning to let your little vengeance issue with Barbossa jeopardize our plan," Miss Swann chided suspiciously.
"No, my little vengeance issue and I can wait," the Captain answered vaguely, with a nasty little smirk.
"The Invisible Dragon, maybe?" Lucy suggested, dragging the subject back to raft-naming.
"The Chameleon?" Ed tried.
"Fast, Edmund," Su muttered.
Ed snapped his fingers suddenly- which tangled the yo-yo string again. "Hey, I know!" he exclaimed. "The Naiad! You know, like that one you toppled, Su, when you fell off the dragon-"
"-yes, I remember, Ed."
"Naiads are fast, and they can turn into water, so what better camouflage could you ask for?"
"But Naiad's aren't terribly strong, are they?" Su countered.
"Oh, c'mon Su, you can't expect anything to stay standing after having you hurtled at it from 50 feet up."
Su pursed her lips into a small, vicious scowl, and narrowed her eyes at Edmund.
"Oh, alright, alright, never mind, fine;" sighed Ed, "not the Naiad. How about, the Armored Naiad?"
"The Cheetah?" said Miss Swann.
"The Wishful Thinking?" Captain Sparrow retorted cynically. "Honestly, this isn't the Black Pearl, luv."
"Well what would you call it, Jack?" the governor's daughter asked crossly.
The Captain twirled the corner of his mustache thoughtfully before responding. "Since you inquired," he said, "the way I see it, those waves are going to toss us like dice, and it's all a gamble whether we live or perish, so how's about-"
"The Die?" Miss Swann cut in sarcastically, "Oh yes, that's optimistic. "
"-No, the Gamble," the Captain corrected frustratedly. "That's what we're calling it. I hereby christen this floating shambles of roped palms and wasted rum, the Gamble."
"Just like, that, no vote on the matter?" Miss Swann asked in disbelief.
"Just, as you say, like that. It's the Gamble."
"If that's the way it's going to be," Miss Swann muttered darkly, "why don't we just call it the Captain Always Gets His Way?"
"Hmm," said Sparrow. "Catchy."
There was a groan from the raft's right rear corner. "May all your bones turn black and crumble to dust forthwith..." Locust moaned.
"The Gamble's all right," Ed agreed, ignoring the seasick Calormene entirely. "Let's stick with that."
"Course, we can't christen it proper wivout a bottle of rum ta smash over it," the Captain pointed out glibly.
"Why would we do that, Captain Sparrow?" Grassroot asked.
The Captain refused to acknowledge that Grassroot was talking. Lucy guessed that Captain Sparrow thought that if he pretended hard enough that the faun didn't exist, the faun wouldn't exist.
"Why would we do that?" she repeated.
"I don' know, that's jus' what folk do when they christen ships," Captain Sparrow. "Not that this bit of flotsam is a proper ship."
"No, it isn't, not really," Lucy agreed wistfully. "Not much like the old times, is it, Ed?" she added. "Remember our grand, royal, Narnian voyages in the Splendor Hyaline? That was such a charming ship- do you remember the griffin's wings carved in the woodwork?"
"They were swan's wings," Su corrected.
Lucy hid a small smile. Maybe Su hadn't forgotten Narnia as well as she liked to think she had. But Lucy's happy, hopeful moment was interrupted by the noise of someone puking.
"May searing coals be rained down upon you all..." Locust muttered blackly, as he shifted away from the side of the boat he'd been bent over, and wiped his mouth on his fluted, gold-buttoned sleeve.
"Nonsense," Captain Sparrow scoffed, craning his neck upwards, "there's nary a cloud in the sky." Untying his compass-string from his belt, Sparrow shifted toward the sail, so that his back was turned to everyone else, and began fiddling with his compass. First he rotated it around in his palm, then he banged it lightly on the palm trunks underfoot to shake some water out, then he squinted at the arrow like he was nearsighted.
Lucy inched up behind him, trying to see past the flapping folds of his scarlet bandanna. The Captain's compass was neat and old-fashioned, with a brass sundial in the middle, a spinning metal arrow, and lots of fancy blue and red arrow designs, letters, and numbers. "Why doesn't your compass point North?" Lucy asked finally.
"Why are your chicory-blue eyes over my shoulder?" the Captain retorted, clapping the boxy compass shut.
"Just curious."
"Want ta know a secret about curiosity?" Sparrow whispered conspiratorially. "It kill thrice as many kittens as cats, even the chicory-blue eyed ones."
"You're odd," Lucy replied, inching back to her designated spot on the raft. "You're not at all like the pirates in Peter Pan- in Neverland. Well, maybe a bit. But not much."
"I should hope not," said the Captain, "What sorta' nettle-head would name a place Neverland, anyhow?"
Lucy shrugged, deciding that it was an easier answer than trying to explain J.M. Barrie's famous fairy story.
Shrugging himself when he realized she wasn't going to answer, Sparrow muttered sourly, "I still say someone ought ta be left behind."
"Are you volunteering, Mr. Sparrow?" Miss Swann asked ironically.
"Who among us knows the workings of this compass, deary?" the Captain asked sharply, dangling his compass aloft by his sooty fingertips. "Who's got the only pistol?"
Miss Swann glared at him, but before she could growl back the witty comeback that was obviously on the tip of her tongue, Ed cut in with,
"Did... anyone here know that yo-yos originated as hunting weapons in the Phillipines?"
"Fascinating, Ed," Su said flatly.
Locust glared at Ed, and Ed's spinning yo-yo.
Lucy had a hunch that if things got any more wound up, they'd all be killing each other before sunset.
"Well, perhaps we'd best sing a song after all," Elizabeth sighed, probably coming to the same conclusion.
"Why don't we sing a Narnian shanty?" Lucy suggested excitably. "Some of those are heart-breakingly enchanting, and I think I can remember the lyrics if I try..." and if I look hard at Grassroot, and think of fauns and panpipes, she added in her head.
"Hush up Lu," said Ed, "I for one should like to hear an authentic pirate shanty!"
"Well," said Miss Swann, "I make no promise about pirates, but perhaps this tune will do." She cleared her throat, and then started singing a rollicking, playful tune:
"Come all you young sailormen, listen to me
I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea,
and it's...
Windy weather boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow
Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes.
Up jumps the eel with his slippery tail,
Climbs up aloft and reefs the topsail,
and it's...
Windy weather boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow
Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes.
Then up jumps the shark with his nine rows of teeth
Saying, 'You eat the..."
A shockingly white flash interrupted her song, followed quickly by a thunderclap.
"Oh, good job luv, you jinxed us!" Captain Sparrow snapped, peering off at the gathering black clouds. "Sang up a storm, ya did, you siren!"
"You're blaming me?" Miss Swann gasped incredulously.
"I'm a sailor," he retorted. "Sailors are superstitious. And the basis of all superstitions is, it's always something's fault." He cupped his hand over his eyes, and peered off toward the horizon a little harder. "Those are gale-force winds, those are..." he muttered, "But where'n infernal hell did they spring from?"
"Jack, not in front of the children!" Miss Swann scolded.
"Well, about that," Lucy began, "we weren't always children..."
"Yes, I imagine you were puling babies once too," countered the Captain sarcastically.
"That's not quite what I meant..." she mumbled.
"Oh, never, never mind, Lu," said Su, "he wouldn't understand."
The wind started really sprinting now. Out at sea, there was nothing to stand in its way, no trees or buildings, no hills or crevices- and absolutely no escape. The sky darkened as the clouds clawed swiftly across the sky, until they were right overhead.
"Everybody down!" Captain Sparrow snarled over the furiously roaring thunder. "Sail down! Batten the scurvy sail! Lock hands, keep down, try to hold her together!"
Miss Swann's slender fingers grabbed Lucy's hand, Lucy grabbed Captain Sparrow's wrist, and Sparrow grabbed onto the raft.
Suddenly, an awful scraping sound vibrated up from below Lucy's knees and elbows.
"What was that?" Su asked warily.
"Reefs," the Captain answered darkly.
Without any further warning, splinters flew and ropes snapped, as the frail raft was sheared in two on the reef, leaving just the Captain, Miss Swann, and Lucy on the front half.
"Lu, take my hand!" Ed yelled, but Lucy couldn't see where his hand was even, since it had started to rain, hard.
The lightning crackled and hissed like frying oil, and the waves seemed to boil. An especially large wave crashed over Ed's half of the raft, sweeping someone- Lucy couldn't tell who- away from the wreckage.
"Caspian!" Su yelped. Squinting hard, Lucy could just make out Su's peachy party dress, as Su dove into the water.
"Su, are you daft?" Ed called out.
"He can't- can't- swim with that gaunt- let, on, now can he?" Su retorted, through choking mouthfuls of wave.
There was another splash, as Ed jumped in after Su, and as another wave pummeled that half of the raft, Grassroot's hooves were swept out from under him, leaving those palm trunks empty. Lucy couldn't see Locust anywhere.
Luckily, Grassroot managed to paddle over to Miss Swann, and he managed to clutch onto her ankle, just as the front half of the raft surged far away from the reef.
Lucy held onto Miss Swann's and Sparrow's hands fearfully, breathing raggedly. She felt Jack's rough fingers curl around her wrist, and she was amazed at how steady his pulse was. Hers was positively racing.
Another wave crashed over the four castaways, and Lucy shut her eyes tight, as the lightning and thunder continued their drumming dance.
