A/N: What a chance. Through all that mess with today, I managed to upload another chapter. Good for you, because I will be leaving for my holidays tomorrow and there will no more new chapters for at least 11 days - do not forget me, I will surely be back with more candy :D

Chapter 19:

Purgation

Tortuga was the port of the free, the last resort of a world in the Caribbean, that seemed to retreat by the day, yet fought for its survival like a wild animal that had been dangerously hurt.

It was a predator, a city, that did not excuse any weaknesses or whims, that only respected what strength lay in one's gaze and demeanor, in one's hand and in one's mind.

Those, who permanently stayed here had adapted themselves to the constant presence of pirates and scoundrels, the brothels and taverns spreading out of the soil like weed, and the atmosphere of Tortuga brought about a kind of human being, that was at once ruthless and clever, knowing how to get, what it wanted and how to never, ever give in.

In short, Tortuga was a world of predators, dangerous and rough, the city itself only luring to swallow the unwary.

It was a city of dreams, Susannah idly thought when she walked through the streets of the town, her ever observant gaze wandering, a city of dreams of freedom, and a city, where these dreams shattered brutally, like delicate glass falling onto the rough surface of a rock. Dreams were not enough to win a war, and beneath the demeanor of glittering amusement, of laughter a bit to shrill and smiles a bit to cheery, there was a battle raging.

It was a city, where such as her were swallowed whole.

Escaping the crew of the "Mary of the seas" had been easier than she suspected, all of them getting lost in the delicious brawl that was Tortuga. She had even been given her part of the loot, some silver coins in her hand to make her day, before everyone seemed to rush off into different directions to enjoy whatever Tortuga had to offer.

The silver coins did not last for a long time. The first ones she spent for the week's rent of a small room, a dirty, shabby chamber with a rotting bed and not much else, disgusted at it and yet knowing fully well, that her money would not last for long.

She had made a poor choice in her lodgements however, and her manner of speech and her way of holding herself betrayed the civilized british manners right away, and, moreover, displayed painfully obviously that she had no idea whatsoever how to bear herself around the predator that was Tortuga.

And thus she awoke to her first dawn in Tortuga finding herself robbed.

She had vaguely been planning on trying to start her own, small business of tailoring here, without too much thinking about the hows and wheres, but this had become thoroughly difficult now, considering that she didn't own a needle.

But she had not given up on herself so soon. She had walked around the city in search for a tailor's shop, asking if they needed a helping hand. The seamstress, a fat woman significantly older than her mother had been, agreed grudgingly, and so Susannah found herself mending sailor's clothing and the pretty dresses of the Port Royal whores, sat amidst the stench of unwashed cloth and some other smells she did not particularly care to decipher.

Her mistress was rough, putting upon Susannah's shoulders as much work as she could, while she retreated bit by bit from the business, standing outside to call pleasantries – or what she thought they were – at bypassers, leaving Susannah to sit in the dim firelight, bent over her work with tired eyes.

When she left well after dusk on the third day without having finished her day's work, she apparently angered her mistress, being greeted with a resounding slap in her face for not fulfilling her duties the next morning. Her eyes burned, as well as her cheek, but she stayed silent for the lack of choices she had. She did not have any money left, and thus could not buy anything to eat, the meagre meal that her mistress had her cook at noon the only thing she ate during the day.

Her way home was torture, for even though she tried to stay in the shadow, her timid, careful step was soon found out by the more infamous inhabitants of Port Royal, and thus she had more than one narrow escape from a scoundrel or other, though she did not even want to think about what possible danger she had been in.

Susannah had never spent much thought on men or their view on her. It was not naturally in her character to be vain or flirtatious, and her work and care for her mother never seemed to bring a wedding into question. She had not considered it, but when, after escaping a tight fix in one of the back alleys that led to her tiny room, she thought about it, she had maybe already settled for becoming – no, indeed being – a spinster, that would spend her life sewing dresses for the nobility and commoners of Port Royal. Far as it now seemed, the prospect had never frightened her.

Her nights were troubled as she lay, listening to the sounds of the tavern below, the shouts and cheers from people in various stages of drunkenness, trying very hard not to think of the way that her life had suddenly changed, and trying even harder not to think of her mother, who now lay dead somewhere in their home in Port Royal, which would fall into decay, now, that there was no one to tend to it. And in a moment's revelation, Susannah understood, that there would be nobody to really miss her back home, that there was no one, who would notice her absence until she missed one appointment or other, and this thought filled her deeply with sadness and loneliness.

At the end of the first week, when her landlord impatiently asked for another week's pay, she found out, that the tailoress had never intended to give her cheap hand any money at all. Susannah, overwrought and angry, confronted her about it and was faced with the harsh strength of a woman, who all of her life had spent in Tortuga among the rough crew that were his inhabitants.

The tailoress drove her out of the shop, one slap in her face following the other, as she screamed at her, accusing her wildly of all the crimes she had never committed, and when she looked around to gain help from those, who had gathered to watch the scene, she only saw the hunger of those, who loved to see someone fall. The one or other strolled up to them, adding a kick to her side just because he could, pain wracking her body with every second. And thus she curled up in the middle of the streets as her former mistress attacked her, the strikes falling down on her like rain, and she cried, cried, until her cheeks were wet from the tears and smeared from the mud that filled the streets, and when she was finally left alone, everything hurt, and she was unable to move, unable to raise herself, because now, in this moment, she felt, that she had lost everything.

Susannah walked through the next week as if she were in a daze, later remembering very little of it. She stole what food she could get and wandered around the streets, curling up somewhere to sleep and hoping not to be bothered too much. Her eyes became large and her face haunted, the neat, schooled appearance she had so carefully harboured, falling into decay. The wounds she had gotten in her fight with the tailoress were not grave, but painful, and she took a long time to even remotely recover. She was, indeed, living rough, becoming one of the creatures of the underworld, that Tortuga was famous enough for. She was caught stealing food twice and beaten again, once feeling something snap painfully in her side. Breathing was difficult afterwards, and as she, in the evening again, found herself a place to stay, she for the first time considered the possibility that she might die here.

After the hurt came the fever, and later that day, she was not able to fight any more.

He was a sailor, a pirate maybe, and when later, she thought of him, not without a certain, maybe even sentimental, fondness, the only thing she really remembered about him were his eyes. He was someone driven beyond caring just like herself, but unlike Susannah, he had not become lamb, but wolf. He cornered her, attacking, and she was unable to stand a fight.

She tried to ward him off with her bare hands, meekly pushing against his chest, pain soaring through her side, but she was not able to, as he pressed her against the wall, and did not even find the strength within her to scream.

In a last resort, she tried to push her hands against his face, a desperate attempt, nothing more, but when she did so, a tremor shot through her, so that she first thought, she had lost the battle.

Her reaction, however, had a completely different reason.

Anthony Hollerby did not know, what had stopped him. He was barely conscious enough to understand what he was doing – rum soaring through his veins like a trumpet resounding, and there was not much between hurt, anger and bare need, that reached his mind. He had seen her, a certain untained prettiness about her, that triggered a memory he so wished to be gone, a memory of a face, beloved and dearly missed, dark eyes, dark curls, and an air of innocence that caught his breath.

He had been missing her for months, after courting her for so long, only to learn of her death during the harsh, English winter, and the ghost of what might have been held him in his grip strongly enough to bring himself beyond caring.

And yet, there was something peculiar in the eyes that stared at him, wide and in fear, as she tried to push him back, her icy cold hands touching his cheek, as she suddenly stopped in her efforts.

He halted as well, staring into her eyes, and over the rasping of his breath, heard her whisper, trembling, eerie, as tears were forming in her eyes.

"She is not dead…"

This threw him back, sobered him more effectively then any bucket of water would have.

"What?" he snapped, staring at her.

"She is in a house… green hills… she is crying." The peculiar eyes were hidden by long-lashed lids, tears welling out under them as if to mimick what she was saying. "She is missing you…"

He took her shoulders to shake her, his heart racing wildly at her careful words.

"What are you saying!"

With a cry, she opened her eyes again, pain etched into her features, and he realized two things at once. Her look was bewildered, wondering, and thoroughly not understanding, and she was evidently hurt.

She allowed him to lead her to a bunch of barrels, placing her atop one of them. She looked at him in wonder, unable to understand how they had gone from attack to care, but apparently she did not even dare to ask.

"You said she were not dead", he said softly. "How do you know?"

Susannah looked up at him, feeling oddly remembered of another man, saying the same words, but in a thoroughly different manner.

On the pier. Why did you say that? How could you know.

And thus, Susannah first learned of the extraordinary ability of hers to see beyond what met the eye.

"I do not know." Her voice trembled at the revelation, as she shook her head in shock. "I just know."

She looked at him, trying to remember what she did not, grasping for something so very elusive, like water slipping through her fingers. There was a remnant of sadness, of longing, so far away as if the memory….

She savoured the thought as it came, pieces finally falling into place

… belonged to somebody else…

"Tell me, where she is!"

There was so much pleading in his eyes, and she swallowed hard, as she shook her head. "I know nothing beyond what I told you", she answered, not even remembering, what she had said, and he closed his eyes at that, hurt flickering over his face.

"She was not unlike you", he then said, softly, as if confessing a great secret. "A noble woman, a daughter of the Lord. And how I loved her…" He placed his head upon his fist, fighting back tears, that came with the rum and the memory. "Her father did not agree, of course. But we fought for it, and finally he gave in…"

"What was her name?" Susannah asked, being caught by his story, still shaken by the sudden revelation of hers and thoroughly forgetting, how she had come to make the strange acquaintance of the man next to her.

"Elise", he whispered, as if the name were a prayer. "They told me she had died of a fever. I was not even able to…", he swallowed, hard, "to attend the burial, I was sent off to sea before that. I…" he broke of, his averted gaze seemingly told all the tale. Susannah had no trouble putting it together – the hurt, the loss of control, disgrace… Tortuga. The anatomy of a downfall.

"They lied to you", she said softly, putting her hand upon his arm. "And it is not to late."

He lifted her head, and it was plain to see, that he opened to something, that he had long since thought to be lost along the way.

Hope….

Susannah tried a smile and felt the wave consume her whole.