"Well, ye certainly be a fine-boned, boy," Maye chuckled, lidded gaze taking in the doctor's apprentice. Christian shrugged as she buzzed about the room, preparing to check the progress of her patient's broken leg. The pirate was still weakened from blood loss from her accident. Her movement had been genuinely slow and groggy for the week she'd been aboard. "Still playing silent, love?" Maye muttered.
"I do have a name," Christian retorted, glancing over her shoulder as she mashed together a poultice at Gillette's writing desk. Maye was still too injured to move from his now-guarded quarters.
"Well, you never use mine," Maye trilled, "So why I start usin' yours, eh?"
"I don't know your name," Christian sniffed with an unnecessarily haughty expression.
"Ye never asked, boy," the pirate hoarsely chuckled before gritting her teeth in pain. Hearing her indrawn breathe and speedily making her way to her side, Christian wiped down the gaping wound on her shin where the bone had broken through during the initial injury. Swabbing it with a bit of alcohol for cleanliness, it irritated a nerve in Maye's leg, causing the pirate to grimace. But at least there was less the chance of infection settling in. "It's 'Maye' by the way…Jesus BLOODY CHRIST!" she screeched, gripping at the sheets of the bed.
"Forgive me," Christian blanched as she immediately stopped re-stitching the wound. "I expect the laudanum has yet take affect," she tersely replied, swallowing down the bile rising in her throat as her patient began to bleed out yet again. The absence of the bone punctured through the skin allowed the red liquid to spill forth anew. Blood began trailing down her leg in rivulets, forcing Christian to wipe it again. Maye's fingernails dug into the mattress as Christian softly tapped on the newly set bone.
It'd been just over a week since they'd captured the Scarlett Twins. As a result of resetting the broken bone, Christian was changing Maye's stitches to ensure the wound wouldn't fester. Nodding with satisfaction that the swelling had significantly lessened, she quickly rewashed it with soap-soaked rag. Outside of her continued discomfort for bodily fluids, Henry trusted her enough to handle this patient. The Doctor's lessons being the only diversion, she took to her surgeon's task with surprising enthusiasm. "It should heal straight," she continued, "And you shouldn't have a limp if you stay off of it as much as possible over the next two to three months."
"Oh, I'll think the noose will have me 'afore then," Maye snorted with lopsided grin. Despite her cavalier response, her forehead was beaded with sweat, her face red and cheeks puffed as she tried to take deep breaths. Christian did not reply, though she fed another small spoonful of Laudanum to the pirate.
"To put you out a bit more when I begin stitching you up again," she replied to Maye's arched brow.
"More like to kill me-"
"My stitching is highly precise, leaving little in the way of a scar," Christian flatly retorted, surprised at how much offense she took. After all, her stitches were uncannily similar to her embroidery in her previous life. "Therefore, it takes a lot longer than usual to complete the task," she continued, "Believe me, Miss Maye, if the Commodore wanted you dead, he wouldn't have bothered to fish you from the sea-"
"Wouldn't want to rob him of my long drop and short stop, now would we?" Maye bitterly cut her off, though her words were beginning to slur.
"From what I understand, you shall receive a trial. That should be satisfaction."
"Bloody hell, you're a naïve little blighter, ain't ye?" Maye spat with rising disgust. "Eh, it might be a trial, but it ain't gonna be a fair one. None of it is since the bluecoats be behind them all."
"Bluecoats?"
"Yeah," Maye mocked, "Bluecoats," she spat, "What our type be callin' your navy type."
"I am not part of the navy, as I am a surgeon's apprentice," Christian uncomfortably countered.
"Guilty by association and whatnot. At least that's they way you bloody bluecoats judge us!" Maye snapped, causing Christian to start and loose her place as she began threading her stitching needle again.
"You'll be a bit dulled in about ten minutes," she quietly replied after a long while. Shoving down the uncomfortable feeling of hypocrisy beginning to creep over her at the pirate's definition of how his Majesty designated pirates, she threaded the needle. Maye eyed her for a bit, watching her actions closely. Inexplicably, Christian blushed, stomach beginning to churn as the pirate's eyes narrowed in examination.
"Ye do be a rather fine-boned boy," the pirate drawled. Without warning, her hand snaked out and clasped Christian's. She froze, forcing her expression to remain impassive as Maye's mouth curled into a lazy smile.
"I see the laudanum has begun to take its affect," she steadily declared, vainly trying to wretch herself out of Maye's surprisingly strong grasp.
"Oh, don't be blaming it on that devil's concoction," Maye slurred. "Tell me, boy, how much do ye be makin' aboard this grand ship?" Christian pointedly ignored her as she yanked herself from her hand and went back to threading the needle. "I betcha it's a lot less than the worth of one of my hairsticks, yeah?" Maye continued, fingers fumbling through her twisted, fiery hair. Removing an intricately carved golden chopstick, the top of which was inlaid with a rather impressive ruby, she shoved it into Christian's hands. "Surely, 'tis the right price for a longboat and a bit 'o supplies?" she grinned, icy blue eyes sparkling in the dim light. "I'm sure this ring," she flexed her fingers, showing her golden ring that was also inlaid with a small ruby, "Could buy the key to the brig s'well?"
Christian eyed the ring upon Maye's left index finger as she held the chopstick in her other hand. Surely, it is plenty to buy passage and supplies when you land in the next port, she mused with a heavy sigh. Who knew how soon they'd catch up to this Sparrow character? They were in the middle of Atlantic and thousands of miles away from the American colonies. Which was where she needed to be in order to track down her cousin, Major-General Edward Vernon, the true heir of Beldrake Castle. Only God could divine how long it would take to venture back on course. She'd been onboard this bloody ship for the better part of two months. And away from Beldrake for roughly seven months.
Lord almighty, she missed home.
Sneaking both pirates off the ship wouldn't be too difficult when they made the next landfall in Cape Verde. She knew the schedules of the various guards outside the room. Usually, there was a good 20 minutes between their watches. More often than not in the middle of night when she would come to check on her patient, they were fast asleep in front of the door. Which was why she wore the key to the quarters around her neck. Not to mention the key to brig always hung outside the door that led below decks. A longboat would hardly be missed. She could always claim the pirate overpowered her. It would most likely never be questioned; everyone assumed she was but a relatively mild-mannered boy with no combat experience. Mostly that was true, outside of her almost nightly lessons with the Commodore-
Norrington.
"Heck, I'll even take ya along with me, mate," Maye sleepily chuckled, interrupting her thoughts, "We ain't got a surgeon onboard and we get torn up plenty 'nough to need one. The smuggling turns a tidy little profit. You'll make more in a bit 'o months than ye would in two years aboard this hulk 'o ship."
"The Dauntless is a first rated ship of the line," Christian heard herself tersely reply, "It's the fastest one of the Caribbean fleet."
"Eh, that's why you've all captured Sparrow, innit?" Maye innocently replied. Christian flinched. She knew enough about the illustrious Captain Jack Sparrow from the dinners she attended with Gillette, Groves, Henry and the Commodore to know that he proved exceedingly wily. If anything, they'd all underestimated him. Which was why they were still on the chase.
I can't disappoint them…especially James…the Commodore.
She was too alarmed of her own feelings to delve deeper into why his potential disappointment mattered so bloody much to her end game. Why should he matter?! It's imperative you find your cousin in the colonies…
"I believe you dropped this, Miss Maye," she sharply said, placing the chopstick next to the pirate's hand. "Be sure not to do it again," she commanded, icy blue gaze boring into her patient's. Maye only shook her head and chuckled, though she quickly shoved the chopstick back into her mass of twisted curls.
"Ah, you navy types," she grinned, even as she rolled her eyes, "Ain't no sunrises among none of ya." Christian would've given a reply, but within a few moments, Maye was asleep from the effects of the laudanum. After quickly and precisely stitching up her leg, Christian quickly turned on her heel and left, her earlier temptations uncomfortably shoved to the back of her mind.
"You're in a rather frightful mood, Mr. Granner," Norrington declared later that night. He arched his sword high only to swiftly thrust downward. But Christian quickly sidestepped him, spinning on her heel and zigzagging backward. "Very good," he intoned with a hint of sarcasm at her silence, "You're finally getting faster. And it's only taken approximately six weeks to see any sort of improvement. Well done, boy." Arching a brow as she grunted in response, he barely escaped her follow-up blow. Feigning left only to charge to the right, she effectively parried him. Knowing his comment was only a method to distract her, she withdrew and waited for him to strike.
They were undertaking their usual sparring, as they had for last six weeks or so. Near the stern of the ship, they were isolated and away from the other crew or any watchful eyes. Not that there were many people about. The bells had just rung, signaling the 9th hour of the night. Outside of the watch, most everyone else had turned in.
"Fine," Norrington retorted as she said nothing, "Remain mute, Mr. Granner. It's not as though the supposed problems of a sullen apprentice are any of my concern." Giving a satisfied huff as her eyes widened in hurt, he used the opening to strike hard and fast. Matching her glare, he gave her little mercy and forced her backward until she almost fell backwards into high pile of crates. She was effectively boxed in. However, she zipped to the side as he raised his arm for proverbial death blow. Using her shorter stature and speed to dart to the right, her footwork was rapid and usually graceful. Almost as though undertaking the complicated steps of a quadrille rather than defending her position. It worked though, and he immediately found his sword hit nothing but the air.
"Hmph. It looks as though you've improved a bit," he breathed with genuine surprise. "You may not be as strong as a full-grown man, boy. But you've certainly adapted in using your speed to your advantage."
Chest rising and falling with exertion, she still didn't say a word. Ignoring the sweat dripping into her eyes, she speedily shrugged. Gaze darting back and forth and looking for an opening, she thought she found one.
But she was mistaken.
Within two minutes, he had her by the forearm. Her back crashing against mizzen mast and sending a shock up pain racing up her spine, she immediately found his sword under her throat. "And with that, I win," he briefly declared, "Again."
"Not so much, sir," she flatly retorted. Her eyes darting downwards, Norrington followed her gaze, only to let out a hiss of retort. For at his stomach was her dagger. Like her sword, it was also inherited from one of the deceased midshipmen with no family to send his possessions to. They'd began practicing with it a month into her sessions. Soon, she found she quickly appreciated its flair for underhanded results. She also speedily learned that it allowed the Commodore to constantly get the drop on her, even more so than when he only operated with his sword. For despite being right-handed, he proved highly proficient with his left hand as well.
Well, outside of her rare success this time.
"So we've killed each other," Norrington declared with fleeting humor. "Good show, Granner. You have apparently taken quite a liking to the dagger," he nodded, withdrawing and saluting her with is sword. "Now, what's wrong with you?"
"Pardon me?"
"You've been staring proverbial daggers at me all night, no pun intended," he sniffed, watching as she sheathed her dagger and sword. Gesturing for her to sit beside him on some stacked crates just below the mizzen, he continued, "Not to mention, I've been sparring with a mute for the last hour or so. Out with it already."
"I'd rather not," she muttered, glancing away and looking up at the sky to study the stars. Thankfully, the clouds were scattered and silvery, the night relatively clear. However, the moon was only a third full. She was glad it was so dark out. It cast him in half shadow and she didn't wish to be distracted by his questioning gaze. There was also the rather disturbing fact that his eyes were so mesmerizingly green, as she'd been noticing more and more often. Shrugging, she didn't continue, save worrying her lip a bit.
"I have all night, Mr. Granner," he airily retorted. Crossing his arms, he leaned back in his seat a bit and relaxed against the mast.
"How can you work without sleep?" she groused.
"I've been in the navy for close to 20 years, boy. Needless to say, I've had much in the way of practice. Now sit," he gestured at the crate next to him. She did as told, though she angled her body away from him. Silence fell between them until he arched a brow. Tiny noises of sniffling suddenly punctuated the air. Clearing his throat, he looked away from his charge, though his handkerchief appeared in front of her reddened eyes. She silently took it, dabbing at her nose a bit.
"Do you ever miss home?" she all but squeaked.
"Ah, homesickness," he sighed, "And now we have an explanation to your sudden change in demeanor," he knowingly grinned for a moment. "As for that distant ache in your heart, well, I don't think on it," he steadily replied. "As I said, Mr. Granner, the navy has had me for near 20 years, since I was eleven. Such is the fate of a third son without much in the way of an inheritance." Doing some quick mental calculations, she determined he had to be around 30 or so as he continued. "If one knows nothing else of home outside of a vague memory of an estate somewhere in Gloucestershire, the lack of it doesn't sting. I write my brothers and sisters constantly, as they do me," he breathed. Swiftly collecting himself, he shrugged, "Outside of that, I do not need too much else."
"I see," she slowly said, "But what if one has no one with which to correspond?"
"You are alone in the world?" Her silence and yearning expression gave him his answer. "Such is the way of fate, unfortunately," he slowly began, "Yet, I can see where others need more reassurance. Which is why many men use the camaraderie of those onboard to substitute for family. Learn to make friends in the navy, Mr. Granner, and they shall be yours for life." She nodded as she passed him back his handkerchief. They sat in silence for a while longer, until she rose from her seat.
The corner of his mouth turning upwards in a faint grin, he stood and saluted her with his sword. "So shall we begin, Mr. Granner?"
"I am yours to command, Commodore," she declared, expression brighter. Saluting only jump back as he lunged into an attack, she effectively parried his stroke.
And so they sparred into the night.
Praia was the largest, most affluent city in Cape Verde. A main stop on the trade routes linking Africa, Europe and the New World, its citizens saw no reason to leave its confines. As a result, Boa Vista Island, just north of Praia, was virtually deserted. All the better for Sparrow and what he was about to undertake.
As the Black Pearldropped anchor just off the coast of Boa Vista, only two figures climbed down into the longboat. "I'll be back in 'bouts an hour!" Anamaria called out while Gibbs began rowing them to shore. Giving her a grim nod, Jack watched as they docked at the beach and made their way inland, past the thick brush on the shore. Though he knew they wouldn't venture far, he remained at the rails as they disappeared into the undergrowth. Rubbing his chin a bit and scratching along his neck in the usual nervous habit, he finally ventured below deck to his cabin.
Anamaria needed to remain close to the ocean in order to call on her former mistress. Soon, she and Gibbs found a small clearing about a quarter-mile inland from the beach.
"Alrighty, lass, no one's about," Gibbs said as he finished setting up. "Do…whatever it is you…do," he muttered as he made multiple, rapid signs of cross.
Used to his superstitions, Anamaria shrugged as he clutched his sword and pistol at the ready. Ensuring his back was to her, he kept steady watch for any intruders as she begin stripping off her clothes. Placing them tidily on a tree stump, she was nude as she sat down on a worn blanket in the middle of the upside down star she'd drawn into the dirt of the clearing. At each point was a different colored candle representing the four elements, as well as a black candle for herself at the head of the star. Silver divining bowl sitting in between her crossed legs and half full with seawater and a satchel of various spices, she cast her gaze to the sky.
Beginning to chant, she lit the water with a torch, causing the spices floating upon its surface to flare up. Immediately, the flames atop of the water began to inexplicably burn higher. Melding from orange to bright blue, the center of it blended into emerald green as its core flamed ever-upwards. Despite the bright sunlight of the late afternoon, the scattered white clouds in the sky began swirling about, grey and misty. They darkened with each passing moment, the wind whistling within their churning maw. Within a few moments, Anamaria's melodic voice rose and fell in time with the flicker of the flames upon the water in the bowl.
From where he stood outside of the star, Gibbs shivered as the wind stirred around them. Whipping up grains of sand and bits of leaves, it spun faster and faster, in time with the flame. However, despite the dark quickly descending upon the clearing, he remained on alert. Especially as Anamaria began muttering in her "Devil's Tongue," as the old sailor called it. It was all gibberish to him. But while Gibbs feared its power whenever she undertook her witchery, he knew she was oblivious to all else during her trance. So as such, it was his current duty to protect her while she was in such a state of…distraction.
All at once, Anamaria went stock still. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she shielded herself from the warm wind that blew anew through the clearing. Her chanting became louder and louder, voice ebbing and flowing as black mist rose from the divining bowl to join the misty gray sky. Suddenly, her mouth snapped shut and she fell silent. The flames in front of her now burned to faded blue and green, their flickering uncannily like the waves of the ocean. Black hair fluttering around her, her eyes snapped open. Rather than their usual dark brown, they reflected shade and shadow, as black as the sky above them.
She saw nothing, save the faint outline of Tia Dalma in her home, thousands of miles across the Atlantic in the Caribbean.
"I see I taught me apprentice well," Tia Dalma's voice whispered across Anamaria's thoughts. Its smoky sound caressed her skin, much like the warm wind gusting about her. However, Anamaria shivered, the power of the elements dancing through her very bones and blood. Projecting oneself halfway around the world required a depth of knowledge she'd only recently tapped into. It took all of her resolve ensure she didn't destroy herself in the complex undertaking.
"Jack bids you well, mistress," she sighed, bowing her head with respect.
"I see" Tia Dalma sniffed, though her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "And how do you be, 'Lil One?" Staring at the shimmering outline of Anamaria that now appeared in her kitchen, Tia Dalma reached forward. Though her hand fell through the ghostly shade of her former apprentice, Anamaria could feel the comforting touch of the witch's hand upon her brow. Immediately she relaxed a bit. For now the power of Tia Dalma flowed through her as well, making her endeavor that much more easy.
"The same as ever," Anamaria replied with a distant grin, "Though I be better when Sparrow give me my ship he be owin' me."
"Same 'ole Jack," Tia Dalma cackled. "So what do ye Devil 'o the Seas be wantin' now, eh?"
"A storm, m'lady. Biggest one you may be whippin' up with out killin' us. For escape-"
"From Jaime?"
"Who?" Anamaria frowned.
"That marble-nosed Commodore that be on yer asses!" Tia Dalma cackled. Abruptly shifting moods, her expression became stern. Rising from what Anamaria knew was a chair in her kitchen, she nodded in dismay. "'Tis impossible to do, love."
Gritting her teeth, Anamaria bowed her head in respect again. A signal that Tia Dalma's denial was not the thing that vexed her. "What if Jack be havin' somethin' to trade for it?" she breathed.
"And what could he possibly offer me?" Tia Dalma sniffed, "That compass I gave him long ago ain't got nothing more valuable than it."
Drawing herself so that she sat as tall as possible, Anamaria closed her eyes. "He knows where the heart be."
"The heart?"
"Aye," Anamaria swallowed, "The heart. The one belongin' to da one ye once lov-"
"Enough!" Tia Dalma ordered, eyes wild and expression peaked as she raised a hand of disbelief. Taking a few deep breaths and scratching at her palms, her shoulders shook a bit before she stilled. "'Lil One," she sighed, though her expression remained hard and unconvinced, "Ya know I always be lovin' ya as me own."
"I be truly blessed by ye regard," Anamaria quietly replied with a grateful dip of her head.
"But even ye cannot escape my wrath if you be tellin' me falsehoods!"
Nodding with emphatic agreement, Anamaria placed her hands upon her knees, palms upward in a sign of surrender. "I swear upon me life that I only relay what Jack be relayin' to me. I don not seek to mislead ya, Madame. But I admit I cannot say the same for Jack. He say that outside of the original owner, he alone knows the location of the chest. However, he do not have da means to unlock it, though he will find that soon enough."
Rolling her eyes, Tia Dalma didn't bother to hold back a low cackle of doubt. "He must in some desperate means to be callin' upon me so soon again. Haven't I already helped him 'nough?!" she retorted with a dismissive wave, "What can he do for me, aye?"
"It be almost 10 years since the Pearl be raised from the depths," Anamaria flatly said, "He knows the clock be tickin'-"
"His soul be next," Tia Dalma muttered, arching a brow as she took in this new bit of information. Crossing her arms, she leaned back in her chair, staring at Anamaria's shade. Squaring her shoulders, Anamaria continued to sit as still as she could manage. Though it seemed to last for hours, Tia Dalma's silence was only for a few moments.
"Tell Jack that I agree to his terms," Tia Dalma slowly began, "He be gettin' his storm. In exchange, he has a season to bring me the heart. However…it must be in the chest with the accompanying key. And if he fails," she leaned forward, face twisting with a wicked, slow smile, "Well." Without warning, she pressed her hand to into the center of Anamaria's shade. As Tia Dalma's fingers tightened their grip, the pirate gasped at the abrupt, paralyzing shock tearing through her.
It seemed as though her heart was cleaved in two. Clenching her eyes shut, her chest rose and fell, tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. Blood churning faster and hotter, it rushed through her. Roaring in her ears and causing her limbs to tingle, her skin became drenched with sweat. Eyes snapping open and as black as Death, they saw nothing, save flashes of light undulating in time with the wretched pain. It stretched over her every pore as her mouth fell open. Convulsing, she struggled to hold a back a scream.
Just as quickly, Tia Dalma unhanded her. Slumping over and body still shaking, Anamaria gasped for breath. Hand flying to her chest, she flinched and immediately dropped it, for her skin burned like a sword put to fire. However, Tia Dalma reached out again, her fingers pressing upon her brow. Almost instantly, the pirate was comforted again. But every sense of what had just passed was now firmly imprinted upon her memory.
"I know I be hurtin' ye somethin' fierce, 'Lil One," Tia Dalma murmured as she withdrew, "But it serves its purpose. Now, you must touch Jack upon your return to him. He shall feel the same, and what passed between me and you will move unto him, though only for a moment. It shall be my warnin'; for if he plays me false, he shall suffer what I have done unto you. Though it will be a hundred fold. And within The Locker!"
Anamaria silently nodded. Clasping her palms together, she bowed her head. "It shall be done."
"And so shall his storm." Grinning, Tia Dalma furiously flared her hands. At that that, she quickly faded from Anamaria's sight. "I will be watchin' ye," she whispered.
Taking a deep breath, Anamaria stumbled to her feet. Spinning about three times, she dumped the divining bowl out over her left shoulder. After quickly dressing, she let out a bird call whistle, immediately grateful to see Gibbs quickly appear out of the brush.
"Ye be in good humor, lass?" Gibbs worriedly replied, brow furrowed as she all but collapsed into his side. "Shouldn't be messin' with the divine," he muttered, though he slung a helpful arm about her shoulders and pulled her up next to him. "I hope it be worth it," he said more loudly as she fixed him with a blank stare.
"Aye," she steadily replied, "We gotta get a move on. Important news. For Jack." With that, they slowly made their way back to the beach and into the longboat. Rowing back, they were soon aboard the Black Pearl.
"Bloody be-Jesus, I know what'en that look means," Jack shook his head with dismay as Anamaria tersely motioned for him to follow her.
"Ya ain't be knowin' the half of it," she sneered at they made their down to his cabin. "Tia Dalma will grant yer request and you will be havin' ye storm," she darkly uttered. Watching as he clapped his hands with glee and did a jig about the cabin for a moment, she let out of hiss of retort. As his celebration continued, she slid down into the chair on the other side of his cluttered desk. Taking a long sip of rum from a bottle sitting on a stack of maps in front of her, she snatched it away from his outreached hand. "She ain't lettin' ya off free, Jack. If ye fail to give her the chest in a season, you shall pay."
"Come again, love?" he snickered as she drew up her tattered sleeve.
"Gimme yer hand!"
Soon, Jack was well aware of the consequences of any future attempted deception of the Goddess.