Thanks (as always) to River, Scarlet Woman and Sleepy Lotus for your reviews. Your feedback is always appreciated.

Disney owns all the important characters and the world. I've started throwing in some OC's and filling in some details of shipwreck cove and making up some back stories for our favourite Disney characters.


Chp 11

Elizabeth grew up with the unusual luxury of not having to share her bed. It's not that she'd never shared a bed, but mostly she had her own room and her own bed, with no one else in it but her.

It was not always so. She remembered sharing a bed with her mother when her father was away at sea. After her mother died her favourite maid, Aileen, slept in the bed with her, but she was distraught at her mother's death and fearful of being in the house where she died.

For three nights she stayed with Aileen's family, a tiny one room cottage with both parents and eight siblings. Aileen's mother would turn everyone out of the house before bed so that the furniture could be rearranged and the whole family would sleep on the floor together side by each.

After that she was sent to her uncles farm where she had to share a bed with her cousin Mary, who was resentful because she'd never had to share a bed the way her brothers did. Mary would endeavour to hog the blankets and take up as much room as possible so that Elizabeth would be squished to one corner.

Even now at the Inn, most guests were bunking two or three or four to a bed, often with strangers. Elizabeth had the privilege of being granted not only her own bed but also her own room. So, despite her concern for propriety, Jack's offer of space in his bed to sleep for the night, was not meant to be an offer of anything other than just that.


She wasn't there in the morning. He had a vague memory of her soothing him when he woke coughing in the middle of the night. But he could have dreamed it.

He thought maybe she would leave a note. Girls did that, didn't they? Leave little notes that smelled like perfume. But there was no note. He frowned.

Maybe he dreamed the whole thing. No he didn't. There was her mug at his bedside.

He kissed her. Did he kiss her? That was probably a dream. Not the first he time he dreamed that dream. Though usually the dream involved her pushing him up against a mast or wall or pinning him to the deck and kissing him. He liked being at her mercy. No matter. It must not have happened. He was quite sure she would have left a note that smelled like perfume if he had kissed her.


One bolt of blue silk, with a small burn near edge that went through the first 5 layers of cloth. One bolt of cotton printed with red calico flowers, dirty from soaking in bilge water; would require washing and drying, but this dye was fantastically colour fast and didn't seem to run at all. One box of tea, undamaged. One folding pocket knife, good condition, would improve with oil and sharpening. One small purse of silver coins.

She laid out her first payment on her bed at the inn. All of the ships cargo had been sold and accounted for. There would be further payment once all the parts of the ship were sold.

Payment in instalments meant the crew couldn't blow all of their earnings on gambling, drinking and women. Their second payment would be made when they were about to set sail or perhaps when they arrived home. It was a bit paternalistic, but many of the men had little education in financial planning and holding back some of their pay was much appreciated by their waiting families.

It was a relief for Elizabeth to have some money of her own. There was something unsettling about living off the charity of others or feeling indebted to people. At least to people who weren't responsible for her. These were strangers really, for how well did Esmeralda or the brethren really know her? There was always a worry that their charity would dry up and she would be out on the street.

But now she had a new worry. She had money and no where safe to keep it. Worse, other people knew she had money and no where safe to keep it. Tai Huang had one of the crew walk her back to the inn, not only to help carry her things, but also for protection from possible mugging.

She poured out the coins and counted out half. She rolled up half the coins in one of the sleeve ends she'd torn off her Chinese armour. She hid this under her clothes in a drawer.

She took the cloth wadding out of the toes of her boots. Sometimes it was handy to have boots too big to fill. She put a few coins in the toe of each boot and adjusted the wadding accordingly. Put her boots on. They felt ok and didn't jingle when she walked.

The rest of the coins went back into the purse and were tucked into a sash that she wore inside the waist of her pants. She would need to reach into her pants to access her purse, but it wasn't as awkward as it sounded. She practiced a couple of times in front of the mirror.

She sat for a bit sharpening her new knife and contemplating whether it was better to leave her money in the drawer or if she should keep it all on her person. Other options: burying it on an island that she was not familiar with and was full of pirates? No. Hiding it under the mattress? Perhaps, if this was her own home, but it was a room of an inn, so... no. Locking it up in a safe or a chest? She had neither and if she did would worry about pirates making off with the whole thing. Putting it in a bank? There were no banks in Shipwreck City and if their were who would trust a bank run by pirates? Tie up its value in goods or services? She wasn't about to spend it all on drink and prostitutes. Jewelry? Some rings? Perhaps. There must be something else. She took the roll of coins from the drawer, put it in her pocket and went to find Esmeralda.

"I'd like to pay for my room a month in advance," she said.

Esmeralda looked at her with a frown, "The brethren were quite clear that they would cover your debts."

"I prefer to pay my own way," said Elizabeth. "In advance. A month, maybe two. However many days or weeks this will cover," she said, pulling out her roll of coins.

"Two months?" Esmeralda asked with a raised eyebrow. "Will you be staying that long?" She pulled out her ledger. "Usually our guest beg credit rather than advance payment."

"If I don't end up staying the full two months," said Elizabeth, "I trust that you can refund me if my plans or circumstances change?"

Esmeralda considered this for a moment. Elizabeth was banking her money at the Inn. "Yes, of course. I'll set up a tab for you," Esmeralda smiled. "A little different from what I'm used to, but this shouldn't be a problem."


Shipwreck city was made of several parts. It was famous for the buildings in the middle of the cove made from the wreckage of ships. Meetings of the brethren court were held there. Many of the stores were warehoused there; nonparishables, armoury, ship supplies like rope and sails and lumber. But it was too cut off for convenient everyday living.

The main village was located on the north side of to cove to maximize sunlight with the southern exposure at this latitude. A smaller fishing village was in an inlet to the west and a smattering of farms around the island, though the island was small enough that most farmers lived in town.

Higher up the hill was where the locals lived and shopped. It was quieter than the docks, which were both for pirates passing through town, looking for a good time during a short shore leave, as well as warehouses for trade and shops specializing in ship repairs. Past the town were farms and fields and forests enough to sustain the small population of permanent residents.

Elizabeth was feeling light as a feather and free as a bird. It was her first day away from the docks. No work this afternoon. After everyone was paid they were given the rest of the day off, so she was free to roam.


She used to love getting a new dress. The last dress she wore was the one Sao Feng dressed her in before he threatened to rape her. Before that was her wedding dress. This past year she'd mostly been living in men's clothes. Pants not skirts. No corsets nor stays. Mostly the same dirty clothes every day, day after day, until her body adapted to the filth and stopped itching.

Walking into a dress shop was overwhelming and seeing such beautiful things almost put her to tears. There was an elaborate gown displayed in the window. A testament to their fine tailoring. However, inside the shop were much simpler frocks that seemed to be popular with the local women. Simple gowns that didn't require reams and reams of fabric nor the complicated underpinnings of bustles and hoops. Shorten stays with little or no boning, provided support without constricting breathing or movement required for sailing. These dresses were more comfortable and practical than the heavy gowns she was used to.

Some of the gowns on display were something like a chemise, but fitted under the bust, trimmed and made from the bright printed cotton calico from the Empresses plunder. They had diaphanous Grecian gowns made from layers of translucent muslin. Light and colourful silk saris that she never learned how to wear, despite her time in India. Printed sarongs that could be tied into simple dresses.

Her father would treat her to the latest fashions from Europe. He would be scandalized by the amount of skin some of these dresses showed. Elizabeth had seen enough of the world to know the world had different ideas of women's modesty.

Much to her fathers dismay, she seemed just as comfortable running about Port Royal in nothing but a soaking wet chemise, propriety be damned. She'd had the privilege of never being harmed regardless of the state of her dress or undress. Even when she was stripped in Singapore. Even when she was alone with Jack on a deserted island. She's not sure what vexed her more on that island, that he could have done something or that he didn't do anything. She wondered sometimes if something was wrong with her that she had never roused a man to the point of taking her against her will. She shouldn't think like that, tempting fate could change her fortune.

"Can I help you with anything?" asked a beautiful dark skinned woman in a colourful calico dress, her hair wrapped in contrasting cloth piled so high on her head it rivalled the size and shape of the largest wigs of Parisian fashion. "Oh, Elizabeth, is it?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth remembering the woman from the docks. A hard woman to forget, statuesque and regal in her carriage, as if she'd been carved from ebony, her easy smile, the brightest ivory. She was one of the first people to see and buy their wares and drove a hard bargain. Dozens of bolts of silk and calico cotton were deliver to her store the next day. "Neema, so this is your shop," she said, as they embraced in greeting. As much as theirs was a professional relationship, it was nice to see a familiar face.

"Are you buying or selling today?" asked Neema, "we were really pleased with the new calico prints. Women have already been putting in their orders."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm just browsing today," she said. "I have some blue silk and red calico that I'd like to have tailored, but..."

Elizabeth remembered the feeling she would get walking down the streets of Port Royal in a new gown. She would feel... powerful. The way all heads would turn. All eyes would be on her. Since she'd been on the run, her dress was quite the opposite, dress to blend in - with men. Doing what she could to make herself invisible. Perhaps she wasn't ready to be seen. She felt guilty for wanting something as frivolous as a new silk gown. For what occasion would she wear it?

She shook her head again. "Lately, I feel like maybe I don't deserve to wear beautiful things."

Neema nodded, "you're still in mourning. It's understandable."

Elizabeth sighed. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps if Will was here she would find reason to dress up in a way that would tempt a man's desire. "It's sack cloth and ashes for me then," she mused with a half smile. She took the handkerchief being proffered to her and dabbed her eyes.

"Take some time," said Neema, "I know what it's like to lose a husband."

Elizabeth nodded. She shouldn't be surprised to hear that. She had a hand in widowing a number of women less than a fortnight ago. She composed herself, "perhaps I'll return when I'm feeling more ready," she said.

"Come back anytime," said Neema. "Even if it's just to talk. I may be busy with my sewing, but I always welcome the company."


"You read?" asked the old man behind the counter of a tiny bookshop.

"Yes," she said, "I read quite well in English and French, and a little Spanish and Portuguese, enough for charts and maps, though probably not enough to get through a book."

The store was really just a nook between two buildings. Someone had added a roof and a door to close off the space. The counter where the man sat, had paper and notebooks and pencils and ink. The front of the store displayed maps and charts and navigational tools. The back of the store is where she found two narrow bookcases full of new and used books.

"You're not looking for a bible are you?" he asked.

"No," she said, her head tilted to better read the spines.

"Women seem to like bibles," he said. "Not sure why. All their praying doesn't bring their men back."

"It did for me once," she mused distracted by the titles she was scanning.

"Eh?" he said, bringing her back to the present.

"Well, not the bible," she said, "but something like prayer. Or maybe prayer didn't make any difference at all. Maybe it was everything else. We did everything that could be done. Maybe praying too," she was talking herself in circles. "Regardless, he came back."

"Heh?" said the man not following her rambling. "What kind of book do you seek?"

"You wouldn't have anything about the Flying Dutchman, would you?" she asked, if there was a way to bring Jack back from the locker, perhaps there might be a way to bring Will back.

The old man shook his head, "no, but we have this new book of stories, recently translated, called Arabian Nights. There are a thousand and one stories in here to keep you entertained until whoever it is you're waiting for returns."

"Did I say I was waiting for someone?" she asked.

"The only women who come into my store are waiting for someone or looking for someone," he said. "But you're not looking at the charts, beside it's rare I'll see a woman sailor. I'm guessing you're waiting not looking. The ones who don't buy bibles, usually buy paper and pencils to write little notes that smell like perfume to their lovers. I can sell you paper and a pencil. You can buy perfume a few doors down at the apothecary."

"No, that's quite alright..." she said, continuing her scan of the bookshelf, "but I might be interested in this." Arabian Nights, she plucked it from the shelf. She was not familiar with Arab stories, though they did spend some time in Persia on their way to Singapore. On their way to worlds end. On the trip where she prayed for his return and her prayers were answered.

Could she do the same for Will? For her husband, William Turner? The man she professed to love. But he didn't have her heart. She felt sick to think it.

Arabian Nights. She thumbed absently through the pages, trying to distract herself from her own thoughts. She loved getting lost in a book. "I'll take this," she said.

"Are you sure you don't want some note paper?" the old man asked as she paid for her book.

"Quite sure," she smiled, "but I may be back for more books."

"Oh good," he said, as much to himself as to her, "not a lot of pirates interested in buying books. Most don't read at all. Bunch of illiterates."


His fever finally broke. He was hale enough to leave the bed and wander about the ship for the first time in days, though he found himself looking for a place to rest far too often. Even just walking across the deck had him leaning against the railing to catch his breath more than once.

It was good to be able to follow up on the state of repairs. With the ship that the Empress had towed in and now two other vessels commandeered with parts for sale, things seemed to be moving along swimmingly. There was still much work to do, but they might be ready to leave earlier than he anticipated.

He found himself thinking about her. She had him bewitched, damn siren. He couldn't get her out of his head. He could taste her on his lips. It wasn't enough to satisfy. He wondered if she would be back. He was hungry to see her again.


"Permission to come aboard, Captain," she said standing over him.

He'd fallen asleep on deck. She was nudging him with the toe of her boot, the sun creating a blazing halo around her head, as he squinted up at her. "Lizzie," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, "what brings you aboard my ship."

She sat down next to him. "I had the afternoon off," she said smiling, with the back of her hand on his forehead, "and thought I'd see how you were doing."

"How am I doing?" he said seriously. His dark eyes locked on hers until she looked away blushing. He smiled and caught her hand before she could pull it away. She froze as he kissed her fingertips. He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. Then the inside of her wrist. His touch slow and lingering. She held her breath the whole time.

She regained her senses and pulled her hand away, annoyed. "You seem better today," she said, ignoring the desire he stirred up inside her and pretending nothing had just happened.

He laughed at her reaction to his flirting. "Tell me about your day," he said lying back down on the deck. "I spent most of mine in bed," wondering if last night was more eventful than I remembered. "I did get up and walk around the deck," too see if I might catch a glimpse of you working. "I supposed that could be considered eventful, except that I fell asleep again. But here you are," and I couldn't have wish for better. He was having trouble keeping track of what he was thinking versus what was actually coming out of his mouth. Maybe he was still dreaming.

"We were paid today," she said. "I bought a book."

"Not a dress?" He was a little disappointed. "I figured that would be the first thing you would do. Something bright and flowy and clingy and..." he cleared his throat and closed his eyes imaging her in various states of undress.

She shook her head. "My heart wasn't in it," she said, how else could she explain if?

"Mmm..." he hummed, his eyes still closed. "Sorry," he said, "I assumed your heart would feel better wearing a new dress. Maybe something with a low neckline. Or a high slit to show off those long legs of yours..."

"Stop," she blushed and swatted at him. He was being ridiculous. But she couldn't help but smile.

"Well," he said, "if you're not going to entertain me with the sight of your legs. You can read to me from your book."

"You make a lot of demands," she said.

"I'm captain of this ship," he said, "it's my job to give orders. Besides I'm sick and not really good company and you're itching to get into that book, so read it to me."

She couldn't think of how to argue with that, except perhaps to leave him lying here alone in the deck. But she didn't have anywhere better to go, so she pulled out her book. She read out loud the story of two brothers, both kings who had beheaded their wives for adultery. For three years the elder king Shahriyár would take a virgin to his bed, but kill her at the end of the night before she could betray him.

Soon there were almost no more virgins of marrying age left in the land. The daughter of the king's Wazeer, Shahrazád, volunteered to marry the king, she had an idea of how she might survive. She would tell a tale every night and leave a cliffhanger so the king would need to delay her execution in order to find out how the story ended.

Elizabeth was not sure how long she read for, nor how awake Jack was for the reading. But a number of pirates found an excuse to work close enough and quiet enough to listen in on the story. It was getting to dusk by the time she finished the the first story.

She felt strangely conflicted reading about the beheading of adulterous women, whom this book declared could not be trusted with their vows as they were driven by desire. Would she too be guilty of following her desire and breaking her vow to Will? Would he forgive her or kill her in anger as did the kings in this story?

Some would say that she was king of her story. Perhaps it was Will who was straying from his vow? Perhaps she would find fault with him when they next met? What was the use of spinning these thoughts in her head?

She looked over at Jack whom she was quite certain was asleep by now. "Jack," she said, shaking him gently.

He woke with a start, sitting up so suddenly they almost bumped heads. "I'm awake," he cried.

She laughed, getting up, "come on, let's get you into bed." At least his cabin wasn't far. He took the hand she offered to help him up. He proceeded to drape an arm over her shoulders and stumble into his quarters.

He kicked off his boots and removed his shirt before asking, "if I leave my pants on will you stay the night?"

Elizabeth was ready to leave. She meant to turn and cross the small space between the bed and the door, but found herself transfixed at the sight of him half dressed and shocked at the implications of his proposition. "No," she managed to choke out.

"Fine," he said before dropping his pants. He turned to face her before climbing into bed, "you're still welcome to stay. Keep your clothes on if you like."

She thought she might faint or burst out laughing or throw something at him in outrage. When she managed to pick her jaw up off the floor she turned and wished him good night. The sight of his naked body seared into her brain.

"Come back tomorrow and read us another bedtime story," he said as he snuggled under the covers and watched her walk away.

"Good night, Jack," was all she said in reply as she hurried away, laughter lifting her feet as she floated back to the Inn.


Betcha weren't expecting that. Well, steamy scene between these two...? This is not it. I do have something planned, but it is yet too soon. I've got a couple ideas for where I might fit it in.

If anyone has any resources on how much things were worth back in the day that would be helpful. I've found websites that talk about the worth of things in pounds and shillings and pennies, but not in reales/pesos/pieces of eight. So I'm being really vague on how much money she actually has and how much things are worth.

And the Arabian nights, I picked that book before I read it (there's a free version on Gutenberg . Org) there was a French translation in the early 1700s. The English version apparently didn't come out until the early 1800s, so I'm playing with history, but mermaids, so whatever. Am also playing with fashion timelines a bit as well, I think Elizabeth looks lovely in clothes from the regency period and will find an excuse to put her in such a dress damn it. As if Disney has been true to period fashion.

I hope my OC's work out. I always get a little nervous with OCs.

Lastly, I write this story on the notepad of my phone. Often writing during my bus/subway commute to work, but the weathers getting better and I'm going to start biking again (except that they're calling for snow next week). Not sure if that's going to affect updates, but it may slow things down.

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