The Tale of Coin # 571

By Jennifer Lynn Weston

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"Remind me again, Rag: why it is we're sitting here like a pair of limp-wristed lubbers 'stead of breaking in?"

Ragetti, leaning on a 'borrowed' walking stick at the bench's other end, was fidgeting. He didn't enjoy the feel of formal clothing any more than his uncle did. Ironic, considering that tailored garments were supposed to be more comfortable... though of course, these hadn't been tailored for them.

"Because there's a slew of magistrates patrolling up an' down this street. If we make any attempt at burglary, they'll be on us like gulls claiming a beached codfish. Bein' immortal don't give us any power to walk through jailhouse walls."

"So, we have to wait for the old git to come open 'is shop, after which we go in, all polite, and pay fer it like we was law-abiding toffs?"

The younger pirate shrugged in resignation. "Only safe way to extricate it from a civilized locale."

Pintel glared along the quiet tree-lined avenue, fiercely hoping not many of those thrice-cursed coins had wound up in such respectable circumstances. His scowl intersected with an elderly strolling couple- seeing their
disconcertment, Ragetti called, "Don't mind him! He's got a touch of the gout today."

Pintel redirected his glare to the still-closed shop. The gilt-lettered sign over the door identified it as 'Dickens' Fine Curiosities- Treasures, Oddities and Precious Objects From Every Part Of The Globe'. The display window was crowded with objects; box-mounted seashells and mineral specimens, small creatures preserved in alcohol jars, gaudily painted Asian ceramics, jewelry pieces of variant quality. There weren't any Aztec coins on view, of course; all the truly valuable items would be locked up inside. But there was no mistaking its Call.

The wig shop next door displayed its poofy wares at more widely-spaced intervals. Pintel ran a hand between his absurd plumed hat and scarce-haired scalp, thankful his nephew had managed to dissuade the captain from making him wear one of those repellent things...

"Thing is, Cap'in, even wigs aren't going to convince anyone me and Pint are highborn gentlemen. We just can't talk like 'em. It'll be more feasible if we pass ourselves off as manservants, shopping on the behalf of some noble
fop."

After some huffing, Barbossa had conceded. "Aye, mister Ragetti; that do seem more believable."

Pintel gave his nephew a fond glance. That lad could be aggravating, but there was no denying he had his useful moments.

"You are sure you know how a pouncy manservant would behave."

"Just being well-mannered ought to suffice, Pint. 'Doesn't hurt to know how to act civilized, when the situation requires." Ragetti's face twitched regretfully. "After all, it were uncivil impulses what landed us in this predicament to begin with."

That made no sense to Pintel- a shortage of information about Aztec curses seemed to be responsible. "How's that?"

"Recollect how Barbossa cited one particular ship's Article, to persuade certain of the crew to mutiny?"

"Aye- that passage forbidding congress with unwilling wenches. Of course that excited resentment! Taking what you want is the whole point of being a pirate!"

"Captain Jack always insisted such goings-on besmirched a ship, in every sense of the word- he'd not tolerate anybody degrading his Pearl that way." Ragetti ran a finger under the too-snug collar. "There might've been another reason, too. I once overheard him saying something pertaining to that headscarf he always favored..." *

"It's asking' a lot of a bloke. Sparrow never seemed to notice we don't all have wenches swooning over our good looks, like he used to." Pintel much preferred to contend that foolish young captain had brought the
rebellion on himself, with his wildly unreasonable demands. Such a scenario made certain recollections far easier to live with.

"Consider the consequences, though. We got rid of Sparrow- in part, to eliminate said restriction. As an indirect result, we're now cursed to derive no pleasure at all from any wench, willing or non."

"Like I need to be reminded." A pretty young woman in a lavender dress and parasol was flouncing down the walkway. Pintel ogled her under hooded lids, eyes burning with lust and frustration.

"'So it could be said, it were a case of poetic justice."

That didn't make sense either. "How can it be 'poetic' when it don't rhyme?"

"'Poetic' meaning 'characterized by romantic expression or imagination'."

Pintel rolled his eyes- not for the first time. "Whatever git sired you must've been so stuffed with book-learning it leaked out with his seed! 'Cause you sure didn't get that from Molly."

"Mum always did prefer to do business with the more gentile 'uns. At least, when she had the looks to appeal to 'em... before she got the cough." Ragetti appeared deeply mournful.

"No more talk about that- you're starting to get modeling," Pintel interjected. He swept another fierce glare up and down the walkway. "That rotter's sure taking 'is bleeding time!"

Several minutes later a skinny popinjay finally appeared, unlocked the shop door and went in. Ragetti and Pintel exchanged gleeful grins. The former fished a beribboned monocle from his coat pocket, squinting to affix it over his right eye.

"What's that thing for?"

"Won't do to advertise our seeming inability to afford a glass eye." Getting to his feet, Ragetti cleared his throat and rehearsed his spiel, duplicating the speech patterns of his Mum's preferred customers:

"Pardon us, good sir. We are two gentlemen's gentlemen, seeking out unusual coinage to purchase on behalf of our esteemed employer. Would you happen to have any such, in this fine establishment?"

Pintel's usual glower was mitigated with admiration. "I'd best stay in the background an' let you handle the transaction."

The two straightened their unaccustomed clothing and entered the shop. Minutes later, they re-emerged with far less silver but significantly more gold. Pintel promptly turned their course towards the harbor.

Ragetti let the monocle drop into one hand, as he flipped the skull-marked disk in the other. "That weren't so bad, were it, Pint?"

The older pirate was glowering again. "I'd liked to've shoved a dull blade through that sod's gullet, when he inquired whether I were aware that clothes brush I were tryin' out was fer use on dogs."

"You made a good explanation, though. Claimin' it was a fair test, since the Master's dog is one of them hairless breeds." Rag scowled himself as he added, "I did think that blighter's reply was uncalled for. 'It should
be equally suitable for use on you, then.'"

"Entirely uncalled for!"

"Would you fancy us coming back here tonight, to smash his windows?"

"Naw, I just want ta get shed of polite society as soon ez possible." The older pirate quickening his pace as the street got ever shabbier. "Let's hope the next coin's mired in the most squalid port in the West Indies!"

Finally they reached the odorous sanctity of the dock area. Ragetti gratefully ripped his collar wide open. "I just hope we can fetch it without another change of wardrobe."

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FINIS

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* "There might've been another reason, too. I once overheard him saying
something pertaining to that headscarf he always favored..."

The full explanation is included in Chapter 14 of my fic Jack To The Future.