Chapter Ten

Looking around frantically, the boy with the straw colored hair rushed to the tree next to the burning household. Another scream rang through the air as he began to climb the large oak with surprising agility, panting heavily and coughing in the thick smoke that enveloped his face.

A large branch extended nearly to the side of the house. He cared not whether it was strong enough to support him (though it looked to him like it might); its end was only slightly more than arm's length from the second-story bedroom window. Resolutely, he dropped to his hands and knees onto the branch and crawled phrenetically to the window.

The boy heard something crack and flinched, but, after a moment, he decided that it was merely the demise of some doomed piece of furniture inside the doomed house. Out of the window leaned a beautiful girl, her round face dark with ash and soot; her long, dark hair was singed. The shadows of flames danced mockingly on her olive-colored skin, while smoke poured out from behind her. She reached toward him, her expression a strange mixture of fear and calm, as if she was perfectly aware that her life was in his hands, and accepted it. His arm seemed to move of its own accord, stretching toward her. Their fingers touched-

Suddenly, there was a sharp crack, and Delilah fell backwards into the flames.

* * * *

Ragetti woke. Or rather, he became aware of himself, but didn't acknowledge where he was, or who he was, or what time it was. Nor did he care. His head was throbbing unpleasantly, and, as he slowly returned to awareness, he found that he was quite wet. With a start, he realized that his hands were bound and his mouth gagged with a rough strip of cloth that tasted rather disgusting. He gave an involuntary gasp as he opened his eyes to see two sailors standing over him, one of them holding a blade to his neck.

"Well, well," the other murmured nastily, crossing his arms. He wore a plain cotton shirt and trousers, as opposed to the crisp uniform of the Royal Navy. "Lookie here, Winfield. He's only got one eye."

"Did yer sweet'eart cut it out?" Winfield asked, smirking as he glanced up towards the captain's cabin. Ragetti struggled against his bindings, earning a sharp kick in the side.

"None of that, now," the burly sailor said, unfolding his arms and wagging his finger tauntingly in front of the helpless pirate. Wincing at the pain, Ragetti looked around. He was leaning against the hull, next to one of the ship's cannons. Water sloshed in, soaking him to the skin. Well, at least it's not raining, he thought. The storm had finished two days after Elizabeth's battle with the former captain. Ragetti leaned back, closing his eyes in defeat. Why it had taken four days for the sailors to consider capturing him, he didn't know. A thought struck him, and he straightened up.

"Where's 'Lizabeth?" he demanded, his voice muffled. In answer, the burly sailor kicked Ragetti on the side of his head. Through the cloth, he cried out with pain; his wooden eye popped out and rolled across the floor. Winfield stooped to pick it up, and his sharp blade left a thin line of blood on the pirate's neck.

"Give it here," the other man said, and Winfield tossed it to him. Ragetti watched helplessly through a haze of pain as they tossed the wooden sphere back and forth, their throws constantly increasing in height and strength. Warm blood trickled down the pirate's neck. Then, to his horror, he watched as Winfield threw the eye over the other sailor's head. It never hit the ground.

Elizabeth Swann stood in the doorway, one hand clenched in midair where she had caught the source of their amusement. With her other hand, she was deliberately aiming a pistol at Winfield. "Untie him."

* * * *

Elizabeth staggered into her cabin, supporting Ragetti with one arm. Closing the heavy door behind her, she helped her friend to the unmade bed at the other side of the cabin. She hadn't had time to tidy up – Ragetti's yell had woken her and she had rushed to help as fast as she could pull her boots on. With a groan, her friend collapsed onto the bed.

"Thanks,"he grunted after a moment, his head in his hands. She didn't respond, but gently pressed a wet cloth to the side of his head. The left side of his face was swollen, and already it was beginning to turn purple.

"What did they do to your face?" she asked, appalled. Taking another strip of cloth from her desk, she wiped the blood off of his neck.

"Kicked me," he mumbled through his fingers. There were angry red welts on his wrists where the rope had been tied too tightly. Elizabeth stared sadly at him for a moment, then blinked.

"Here," she said abruptly, pulling something out of her pocket. Ragetti lowered his hands, and she gave him his wooden eye. She watched with some distaste as he replaced it with a sickening pop, though she managed to refrain from shuddering as she usually did.

"Really got me good, didn' 'e?" he commented lightly, gingerly feeling the side of his head. His tone had a bitter edge to it. Unsure of what to say, Elizabeth slumped down in the high-backed chair behind her. The distant, longing cry of seagulls rang through the air as Ragetti pulled a worn leather-bound book out of his jacket. On the cover was a small cut neatly into the cover. As she watched, he opened it and carefully inserted his fingers under the first page. He gently dislodged it from the consecutive page, and deliberately turned it. After repeating this process several times, he shivered somewhat and wiped his hair out of his face, where it stuck in odd angles to his forehead. Elizabeth realized with a jolt that he was quite wet, and, cursing herself for not noticing sooner, grabbed a wool blanket from the foot of her bed and draped it around his shoulders. He looked up.

"Dunno why I'm doin' this," he said sheepishly, placing the book in his lap and drawing the blanket around him. "This ol' thing ain't done me much good. But 'ey, I'm alive, ain't I? An' no' cursed...s'pose tha's a blessin' in itself." He was now staring out the window, and Elizabeth got the feeling that he wasn't quite talking to her anymore. "Thing is, 's all I've go'. I can' even read it, bu'...I dunno..." He glanced at her. "You'll think it's stupid."

"I will not," Elizabeth retorted indignantly. Her friend looked doubtful. "Really. I won't."

"Well...it jus' feels...nice. H-havin' somethin'...someone...t' b'lieve in. Y'know?" He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "I mean, I don' know anythin' 'bout this. Nothin'. Bu' 's jus'...nice..." As he trailed off, Elizabeth sat up quite suddenly.

"Seagulls!" she gasped, jumping up. Running to the window opposite her, she looked out and saw a large island. Many ships hovered around the dock she could see, swarming to port like bees to flowers. A town was barely visible behind the forest of masts and sails; a town full of pirates and honest men alike. She turned to the door as it burst open.

"Captain!"

"Oh- Mardling." she faltered, wincing as the boy snapped to attention. "You...you don't need to do that..." In the past four days, the boy had quickly made the transition from unlikely ally to enthusiastic supporter. To Elizabeth's delight, he had been able to help her relate to some of the crew, ensuring her two members besides himself.

"Right," he gasped, relaxing. "Captain, the navigator is going to the island. I can't stop him, he won't-"

"That's all right," she interrupted. "I promised we'd make port as soon as possible. Let him." The boy nodded and turned to leave, but paused.

"Captain, is...is that Tortuga?" he asked. Elizabeth glanced at the island once more.

"Yes," she replied. The motley array of ships ported at the dock was enough to make up her mind. Mardling stared at it for a moment, then hastily ducked out of the cabin. Elizabeth winced as he slammed the door behind him. Sighing, she turned to Ragetti, who was still staring glumly at the book in his lap.

"You know, all you have to do is ask," she stated frankly. He looked up.

"Wha'?"

"Here," she said, holding out her hand. He hesitantly gave her the small book. Balancing it in one hand, she delicately turned one of the pages that had already dried. The writing was small and somewhat blurred, but reasonably legible. She smiled at him, trying not to laugh at the bewildered look on his face.

"I'll teach you how to read," she said firmly. "And write, if you want. All you have to do is ask." As she watched, his look of confusion melted into a shy smile, and, blushing slightly, her friend replied,

"All righ'." A moment passed in which Elizabeth took a deep breath, trying to calm herself sufficiently enough that she would stop grinning like an idiot. Ragetti chuckled softly to himself.

"There's another blessin'," he sighed contentedly. "I've go' you."

End of Chapter Ten