Hey kids. How's it goin'? Good? Good. Actually, one would say "It is going well." Yeah, yeah, pedant. You know, 'yeah' isn't in the spell check? I accidentally typed 'yeha' and it wasn't there. What the hell?
Any ways, off with their heads.
Chapter XX–Hazing from Hell
Scarlette, once aboard the Dutchman, pulled out her sword and gave the crew on that ship a run for their money. She knew they couldn't really be hurt, and so she wasn't pulling any punches, so to speak. She managed to decapitate Hadras, who was not really bothered by this other than his body nearly falling overboard as he tried to direct it to his head, started shouting in Cantonese.
Scarlette was getting fancy, swinging from ropes and such. Many of the men from the Dutchman were still on the Pearl and so it was harder to curb her than it would have been.
Maccus and Palafico rushed at her and she met them in a flurry of sword movement. Her speed had increased probably due to the power boosts she'd had since last meeting them. Clanker joined the fight and Scarlette ran again, not wanting to have a limb broken from his chain shot.
She gave a loud, throaty cry, much like the one Xena used to do and jumped into the rigging on the side of the ship. She fought them off valiantly, shouting all the while. She dropped from the rigging as Clanker swung his chains and he became caught in the webbing where she had been suspended.
She saw a brilliant flash of light in her peripheral vision and was distracted for a moment. There was fire over on the Pearl. Jack was using the sword.
Luckily, the others had been equally distracted. She broke for it again, wondering if diving into the sea was a good idea or not. She noticed an odd movement under the waves. Something large was down there. She thought better of jumping.
She looked for a grap-hook to throw but this ship wasn't close enough to the Pearl to board. Jones had probably done that on purpose.
She shouted in frustration and the two men clambered up to where she had run. She had made it to the top deck and gripped the helm, which threw her back with a jolt of power. She was stunned for a moment, leaning against the back wall of the ship. It was enough time for Maccus to pull her to her feet and take her sword away. Palafico grabbed her right arm and she growled in anguish. "Don't touch me!" Palafico let go of her, stunned for a moment.
Maccus gave him a strange look and shoved him. "What's your problem, mate? Been a pirate too long? She's a prisoner and the rules what apply to normal women don't in her case. Let's get her down to the brig."
Scarlette took the moment of distraction to drive her boot into the instep of the shark man's foot. He howled and smacked her away. She tumbled down the stairs, her face stinging and her sword gone, but she wasn't in their grips anymore.
She slid against the mast and pulled herself to her feet quickly, looking about for a weapon. Clanker came at her with his chain shot again and Hadras, with his head under his arm and a pike in his hand. Scarlette gave a good kick to Hadras and his head went flying up to the top deck, hitting Palafico in the chest. The coral encrusted man looked down in confusion as Hadras' dismembered head who was now shouting at him in heavily accented English.
"Find Ainito! My body!"
"Damn, fool," Palafico growled in his bass voice.
"Get the girl!" Maccus roared, blinking his one good eye. Greenbeard and Jimmylegs had joined the chase now. Jimmylegs, the bos'un, had already pulled out the whip. Greenbeard was a little jealous, but it was the bos'un's call.
Scarlette wasn't sure what to do now. She had five and a half men after her. They couldn't be killed. What had she done every other time this situation had befallen her? She had run and locked herself in the captain's cabin, arming herself to the teeth. She considered it for a moment but knew that if she didn't want to be caught by these loons, she sure as hell didn't want to be caught by Jones himself.
"Flank!" Maccus shouted, the closest thing to a commanding officer. They attempted to close in. The roving body of Hadras was in line but Scarlette knew he'd be the weak point. The other five men jeered at her. She pointed skyward and shouted her own order.
"Look! A pelican!"
They just stared at her. She shrugged.
"Well, it worked before."
"We're not dolts, missy," Clanker grumbled.
"I'll try to remember that," she laughed nervously. Gripping a rope behind her, she carefully twisted it around her wrist. She gave them no time to think about jumping her. She pushed backwards, gripping the rope. She pushed off the foremast and swung wide into the side rigging again, climbing higher.
They began to pursue her, but Jones arrived on the deck with the remainder of the crew. "What are you men doing there?"
"The Sparrow has flown to the rigging, sir," Maccus called, jumping from the ropes with ease. His face seemed a little lopsided with his left eye having migrated to the side of his hammerhead.
Jones looked up in time to see a small shadow swing across from the foremast to the main and climb until it pulled itself into the crow's nest.
"She's chosen her post, it seems," Jones sneered. "Sparrow!"
She peeked over the edge of the wooden platform. She noticed Jack was not with him and had only hoped that Jones had not killed him. "What do you want?"
"Come down and meet the crew."
"I've met them well enough," she snapped. "I have no intention of being terrorized."
"Scarlette Sparrow, you made a deal and you will come down here and serve in this crew."
"Make me," she smarted, knowing it was a stupid idea to bait Jones, but she didn't much care anymore.
"I can, you know," Jones called up to her. "The deal you made allows my word to compel you, should I choose to use such a means."
Scarlette froze at that. "Fine. I'll come down." Her going at her own will was much better than being forced down. It would probably be less painful as well.
She stepped out of the nest and slid down a rope, not using her hands to grip, but her thighs. She slid until she could swing to the lattice rigging and climb the rest of the way down. She stood, armed only with a dagger and pistol, neither of which would be much use against these monsters. She was so much smaller than all of them she almost felt childish. Jones was easily the tallest on aboard and she stood before him, no fear showing on her delicate face.
"Where's Jack?" she asked, wanting to know for sure what her husband's fate had been.
"You'll be seein' him soon enough," Jones answered. "He bargained for time, but not much, and there's no imaginable way he'll manage my terms."
She relaxed a little, knowing Jack was going to try for the chest now. She looked up and Jones was scrutinizing her with his beady eyes.
"What?" she asked angrily. "It's not polite to stare."
"You are an odd energy, Sparrow," he spoke, limping forward a step. She didn't move back but held her breath. "There is an anomalous cocktail of power mingled in your shields. What have you been doing since last we met?"
"Nothing," she answered. She wasn't going to answer his questions if she could help it.
"Wrong answer," Maccus crooned. She was seized by him and Clanker, who guffawed in her face. Jimmylegs snapped his whip and she froze. She really didn't want to be torn to pieces at the end of a leather rattail. She tried in vain to reach the emerald. Knowing it was snug against her chest, she thought hard of the world she had come from.
She vanished and appeared in an apartment, catching vaguely that Elizabeth and Robin had both jumped up at the sight of her. Scarlette was distracted however, because she could still hear Jones and the crew bellowing about her sudden disappearance.
Elizabeth's mouth was moving, but Scarlette couldn't hear her words.
"No!" Scarlette cried out, reaching for her friends. She was wrenched back to the deck of the Dutchman, the girls gone like smoke.
She found herself on her back, looking up at a dozen nightmarish figures. Scarlette scrambled to her feet and prepared herself in a grappling stance.
"Grab her," Jones commanded. The men closed in and she was able to knock a few of them away, but she was royally outnumbered. They seized her and held her once again by the arms. The two men holding her pressed down on her feet as well, to keep her from kicking.
"A burst of power from around your neck," Jones spoke, coming towards her. "What was that?" He pushed her collar aside and spotted the emerald. Grasping it in his hand, he snapped the chain from her neck. She spat at him.
"Now, now," he growled. "This is important to you, I see." He pocketed it. "You'll get it back when you settle into the crew. No more vanishing, however. The wards on this ship will keep you here, understand? Unless I order you away, you cannot leave."
"Understood," she answered, wrenching her body in a violent sort of way, trying to escape the men holding her. Jones smirked.
"Remove her coat," he commanded. They grabbed it to shred it and she pushed them away.
"Hold on," she snapped. "I can do that, and it won't get destroyed." She slipped her coat off and stood, corset over a white billowed shirt.
Catcalls of course crowded the deck and she stood there. Jones laughed in his donkey bray. "You'd better remove any other clothing you wish not to get destroyed, Miss."
"I really don't like where this is goin," Scarlette muttered, loosening the waist corset and stepping out of it. She slipped the white shirt over her head and stood in her black tank top, pants, and boots. She looked like any woman in her mid twenties from the 21st century, except for the scars that patterned her body.
The one below her left collarbone and the few on her throat were from surgeries in her original time. There was however a bite mark on her throat left over from a vampire attack, via Barbossa. There was one on her left arm, high up near her shoulder, bullet wound. The scars on her stomach just showed under the hem of the shirt. They were a nasty collection, a bullet wound as well, and two swords had impaled her. Her right arm sported a knife scar and an odd almost star like one where her arm had broken. High on both arms, there were sword cuts from Barbossa's taunts in the cave. She was well scarred indeed.
Someone whistled and Jones was more interested in the scars than her punishment for being a pain in the ass. "Lift the hem."
"In your dreams," she snapped. Maccus went to cuff her and she blocked him, flipping him on his back. No one else moved and Jones laughed as Maccus got up, enraged. He faced her, ready for a fight. She was facing him in a cat stance and goading him. "Brink it, shark boy. Fuck with me at your own peril."
"I don't want to see your wares, girl," Jones called out. "Maccus, stand down. I'm only interested in the scars."
She didn't relax until Maccus had ceased his own fighting stance and stood with the other men. She turned back to the captain and shrugged, lifting the hem a few inches. The scars on her abdomen were extensive. In addition to the two sword wounds, there was a bullet wound high on her stomach that exited through her back, remnants of the grand London escape.
"Turn around," he ordered. She did so without argue and he saw that her lower back was in quite the same state. The claw marks from Angel, of course, were gone, but her new powers had not healed scars already made. There were a few whip scars, leftovers from her encounter with The Necromancer.
"These wounds should have killed you," He spoke. She turned around and pulled her shirt down until it covered everything. "How did you survive?"
"Trade secret," she answered, thinking back to Jack.
"Fine," he growled, nodding to his men. They closed in again, grabbing her arms. She kicked her clothes out of the way before they got to her, having some idea of what was going to happen. "If you survived that, I feel no qualms about roughing the skin of your back."
"How many, Captain?" Jimmylegs asked excitedly.
"Five to begin with," he answered. "Then take her to the brig."
Scarlette clenched her teeth and braced herself. The rain she had called was still running hard and blurring her vision.
She heard the leather coming for her before she felt it bite. It collided with a thousand raindrops before sliced across her back and the sound was wet. Her knees bent but the men kept her on her feet. The second blow struck her higher and hurt less but the impact still made her move.
The third took her mid back, right along her spine and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. It had hurt more than anything she'd felt in a while. The next two blows were high up again and she could deal with them, but that third one still hurt the most.
The men let her go and Jimmylegs swung his whip a sixth time. She turned without thinking and let it wrap around her arm, gripping the leather and jerking it out of his hand.
"What do you think you're doing?" the bos'un asked her with a face like an anglerfish.
"He said 'five'," she snapped.
"He said 'five to begin with'," Jimmylegs answered her smugly. She snapped the whip and gave him a menacing look. Someone shot a blow to her back and her knees bent as she fought the urge to scream.
Maccus grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her backwards. She skidded on the deck and her back felt as if it were on fire. She reached upwards and found his arm, pulling herself towards him. She used the momentum to kick with both feet at his kneecap. There was a loud snap sound and he screamed in pain, collapsing around his leg, holding it.
She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and picked up her clothing. The crew had moved in behind her but her eyes, snapping to them stopped their progress. Maccus' voice carried on the night as he cursed her existence, her mother, her creator, and her dog. She kicked him again none too gently but not in any particularly vulnerable spot. She doubted he still had kidneys.
Jones was not amused but he could understand why his crew was wary of her. He stepped toward her and she pointed the whip at him. "Don't push me, buddy."
"I am not going to hurt you, Sparrow," he answered, refusing to cease his advance. He took the whip from her hand and she allowed it. He tossed it back to his bos'un and motioned to the hatch.
"Like hell, you aren't," she answered. The men pulled open the hatch and Jones pointed.
"Walk or we'll make you walk."
She stepped carefully down to the ladder and slid down it, unable to raise her arms up very high due to the beating she'd just endured. She touched the deck below and moved out of the way, as the captain descended. They went down another level and Scarlette caught sight of Bootstrap and Will, both locked in the brig. She ran to them and was glad to see Will was conscious again.
Jones opened the door and shoved her in as gently as he could and still make his point. He shut the lattice door with a clang and a laugh.
"How long are you planning on keeping us down here?" she asked him before he reached the stairs.
He turned and sneered at her. "That depends entirely on how well behaved you are." He limped up the stairs, his peg leg making harsh sounds on the wood. Scarlette noticed oddly that there were little polyp and muscle type creatures growing on the underside of the stairs and the rafters.
She sat down cross-legged and placed her clothes in a corner. "Are you guys okay?"
"I'll live," Bootstrap grunted. "Where's Jack?"
"Somehow, he bargained for time," Scarlette answered, slipping off the black tank top. She still had her future undergarments and was wearing a pretty modest black bra. Will turned his eyes away but Bootstrap continued to speak to her. He'd been exposed to coarser women that took off everything.
Scarlette turned and asked them questions about her back. "How badly am I cut up? Do I need to worry about it?"
"There's one low on your back that probably needs stitches," Bootstrap answered. Will, at the mention of cuts, had turned to look at Scarlette's back as well. He hissed and moved forward, almost touching the raw bleeding whip marks.
"Why did they do this?" Will asked.
"Probably because they could," Bootstrap answered for her. She had picked up the black shirt and was looking about.
"How am I going to clean this?"
"You won't need to," Bootstrap answered. "We're hardly better off than those cursed ones now. We aren't going to become infected and die from our wounds so they can do whatever they want to us."
She dropped the shirt and sighed. "As for why they beat me … I was a big pain in the ass up there."
"They whipped the bloody hell out of me as well," Bootstrap admitted. "My back is still raw from it. Moving is difficult so every time they've come down here and asked questions, I've told them to go to hell so they won't think I'm 'behaving myself'."
"Because once they think you've lost your rebellious self, they'll press you into duties," Scarlette concluded. "Right?"
He nodded. He turned to William. "You'll be fine even if we go under. You can breathe as long as you're on this ship. The only thing you have to worry about is food and water. We don't need to eat but some still choose to do so, out of comfort I guess. That would probably explain why the man you sliced open dropped a bunch of fish out of his abdomen."
Scarlette blanched. "Boy, that sounds tasty." Her sarcasm was as thick as the seaweed growing from the corners.
Will sat dejectedly, looking pissed off and unable to express his anger. Scarlette sat in her bra, her dark hair hiding more than her tank top had and looked at him. "What's wrong Will? I mean, besides the fact that you're stuck on this ship and aren't supposed to be here?"
"Your husband betrayed me again," he seethed. "I woke before they brought me all the way down here and wasted no time in telling me that Jack Sparrow had traded my soul for his own."
"You can still get away," Bootstrap told him. "You haven't sworn any oath to this ship and you aren't trapped to Jones' orders."
"How do you know Jack's curse didn't just transfer?" Scarlette asked.
Bootstrap pulled out a small dagger and motioned her closer. He held out his arm and handed her the dagger. "Make a small cut. Not too deep, mind you."
"I don't want to cut you," she answered. He laughed at her.
"It won't hurt me too much. I'm just demonstrating something."
"Fine," she answered. "But don't blame me afterwards." She gripped his wrist and cut a thin line on his forearm.
He took the blade from her and handed it to Will. "Now you." Will made another cut next to hers.
"Now watch," Bootstrap told them. They both looked at his arm. Will's cut slowly vanished.
Scarlette blinked. "That's interesting." She sat in thought. "So, members of the crew … those wounds don't heal as fast. He's still what, mortal?"
"Something like that," Bootstrap answered. She looked thoughtful for a moment.
"If he were to cut over a wound that had been made by one of them … would it heal?"
Bootstrap shrugged. "Haven't tried that."
She pulled out her own short knife and cut her arm. She handed it to Will and he took it, more than a little annoyed. "I don't like being played with like the latest miracle cure," he answered, but he made the cut, directly over the first one. They waited but the cut did not heal right away.
"Well, guess that answers that question," she put her knife away. Will sighed angrily and sat against the railing. Water began to pour down from the hatch at an alarming rate.
All three of them clambered to their feet as seawater rose around them.
"Well, this is scary," Scarlette commented, putting a foot on her clothing so it wouldn't float away. "Are you sure we'll survive?"
"I've already been subjected to it," Bootstrap answered. "It's easier to ignore the fact that its water you're breathing in if you close your eyes."
The water was at their knees and rising fast. Scarlette got down on her knees and stuck her face in the rising water, to make sure, so maybe she'd have time to think of something of it didn't work. She forced herself to suck in a lungful of … water. Her body felt cold immediately as her lungs filled with the liquid. However, instead of choking, she shivered and her system took it in, finding the tiny oxygen bubbles. She took a few more breaths just to be sure and finally pulled upwards, finding that she had to stand all the way to clear the water level now.
Will had his face turned up, avoiding the water. Bootstrap was calm about it. Scarlette kept her foot on her clothes and kept her head above water, barely. "Will, it's all right. We can breathe underwater."
"You can," Will answered. "How do I know I'll be able to?"
"Try," she told him. He looked at her as if she was mad. "What? I tried it, didn't I?"
Will frowned and ducked his head under, doing as she'd said .He choked down the water and his body fought him as the water filled his lungs in an uncomfortable drowning sensation. However, after his system calmed and began to get used to the idea, he found he could breathe. When he straightened up, the water had filled the brig and all three of them were underwater.
"I don't know what you did to impress them," Bootstrap spoke, his voice slightly muffled under the water. "But they didn't whip you as hard or go under as quickly as they did with me."
"It's probably because I'm a girl," she answered glumly. Her hair was floating about her like a veil. She pulled her clothing back on, not too worried about staining her white shirt with all the water flowing around them. She looked like something out of myth, her dark hair floating around her.
Will had gripped part of the lattice cage and hung, still pissy. Scarlette looked at him and spoke, a little intolerant of him at the moment.
"Look, I understand that you're angry about Jack bein' an ass sometimes, but aren't you supposed to get the key anyways? How would you do that if you weren't on The Flying Dutchman?"
Will didn't get a chance to retort because a surprised and weathered voice spoke softly in the darkness. "The key?"
They all looked over to where the voice had come from. The man fused to the wall of the ship had blinked his ancient eyes open and looked at them through the gloomy water. He pulled forward from the wall, his neck and upwards all that moved. He was so encrusted with coral, his skull had fused with it as well, sticking in ribbons to the wall so his brain showed. It pulsed in a manner that made it hard to look away.
"You're alive?" Bootstrap asked in wonder. He'd noticed the man but hadn't realized he still had a mind within his encrusted shell.
"I am … Wyvern," he seemed to need time to think of his name, as if it had been so long since he'd spoken it he'd nearly forgotten. "You spoke of the key …."
"Yes," Scarlette answered, lacing her fingers through the bars. "We need to find it. Do you know where on this ship it is supposed to be stowed?"
"The key opens the chest …."
"Yes, we understand that much," Scarlette frowned. "But where is the key?"
"Stab the heart and the captain will be no more," Wyvern spoke. "The key is where the heart used to be."
Will made a face. "It's in his chest?"
"The heart is in the chest …."
"But where is the key? Is the key in the captain's chest?" Will asked somewhat frantically.
Wyvern closed his eyes and made a sort of gasp sound, reverting back to his silent state with a click.
The three prisoners were silent for a moment but Wyvern did not speak anymore.
"I wonder how long he's been here," Scarlette noted. "To have become one with the ship … how long before we start to … I don't know … change?"
"I didn't ask anyone," Bootstrap answered. "I have a feeling none of them would answer seriously."
….
As difficult as it was, the three of them managed to sleep. Since they had begun breathing water, they didn't float, at least not well. Scarlette and Will sank easily, not having much buoyancy without air. Bootstrap had a little more trouble for some reason so he tied his … bootstraps to the bars and one of his hands as well.
Scarlette was wedged in a corner, her feet tucked under the bars almost as if she were going to do some situps. She dreamt of nothing, but somewhere in the blackness, a voice spoke to her.
"Ryoko? Where are you? What's happened?"
"Who are you?" she asked the darkness of her mind. "How do you know my name? And why do you care where I happen to be?" She figured it was a dream. "You're not from the future, are you?"
"What? No. It's Angel."
"The wolf." She didn't marvel at the mind to mind communication. "I'm dreaming."
"That's interesting," he answered. "I'm asleep as well, but this isn't a dream. The bracelet I gave you serves as a link. I felt something really strange through it and after a few hours of grinding my teeth, I decided to try and find out what had happened. I take it you're not dead, since I'm talking to you."
"I'm not so sure," she answered, remembering what had happened. "I'm somewhere underwater, in a brig with two men."
"You're not about to drown?"
"No. Davy Jones made his grand appearance and three swords weren't enough. Well, the only one that was really of any use at the time was Kuroi-agohige. We were too far from land for yours to do anything and mine, well, Jones took it back. It practically flew back to his hand."
"Are you all right?"
"Not exactly," she answered. "I'm bound to this ship for the next hundred years unless Jack can find the chest and destroy the heart of Davy Jones." She smirked in her sleep, realizing this bargain had saved her from the other. "Guess this means you'll have to find someone else. Sorry, babe."
"Where is the heart?"
"In a chest somewhere, hidden from the world."
"You don't know where?"
"No."
"So I can't save you, eh?" he sounded sadder about that than he had about her initial news.
"I'll be fine," she answered. "I can't get infections, even though my back is torn to shreds."
"How did that happen?"
"I shook things up and they whipped me for it."
"When?"
"A few hours ago."
"It will be healed by morning," he reassured her. "And we can't get infections anyway." 'We', being shifters, of course. He sighed and she caught an image in the darkness of his burgundy hair. "I wish there was something I could do."
"Angel," she sighed. "I know you want to help me, but I don't think you can and you'll only cause yourself anguish trying to do the impossible. Maybe you would feel less of a need to help me if you found yourself a girlfriend or something."
"Wolves mate for life."
"Then find your mate."
"I have."
"Angel," Scarlette tried again. "I'm pretty much dead to you. My husband is still alive, I am dead, and you are left with a situation for which you were not prepared. Now you'd be much better off if you forgot about me instead of mourning my loss. Go find someone you can love."
She reached around in her mind for the connection, set on breaking it. Angel didn't fight her when she cut him out of her mind. Not long after she'd sunk back into the darkness, she heard voices and her body felt strangely heavy.
She woke to find the ship had breached and the water had drained out. Bootstrap untied himself and Will shook his head as he woke, sending water flying.
Davy Jones, along with Maccus, Koleniko, and Jimmylegs stood nearby, looking the three of them over. Scarlette remained seated and gave them a rather bored look. Will nervously looked at the ground and Bootstrap immediately started taunting them.
"Oh look," he chortled. "Fish face and company have come down for a visit."
"You'll remain down here until you show respect," Maccus hissed.
"Oh, I'm terrified," Bootstrap answered, faux shivering accompanying his heckling.
"You two, get up," Jones commanded to Will and Scarlette. They both complied without word. Scarlette standing up without pain surprised the men.
"Well, have you decided to take your places in the crew?" Davy Jones asked with a smile. It seemed he could be kind if he wished, or at least give the illusion of kindness.
"Yeah, we'll behave," Scarlette answered, stretching. "Or, I will, unless your goons overstep their bounds."
Her answer was apparently good enough for Jones, even if Maccus hissed in her direction. The comment had been made to him anyways.
"And you?" Jones asked of Will. Will didn't look the captain in the face. He didn't like the beady little eyes Jones used to bore holes into his soul.
"Aye," Will answered. "I won't be any trouble."
Bootstrap belched and didn't even wait for them to ask him. "Buzz off, bait shop."
Jones ignored him and twisted a brass key in the lock. Scarlette and Will's eyes went to the key for a moment but it was only single pronged. The door opened and Scarlette stepped out first, not bothering to walk wide around the crewmen. Maccus slapped her on her back in what would have been a sort of team like gesture if he hadn't meant to cause her pain. "Oh, sorry," he answered sarcastically, not noticing that she didn't flinch in agony.
"For what?" she asked, looking back.
"Didn't that hurt?" he asked.
"Not particularly," she answered, smirking. "In fact, if you moved to the left a bit and dug your knuckle in, you might dislodge the knot that's been stuck there for a while."
Maccus hissed and went to take a swing at her. She was about to block his arm and kick him where at least the human in him would hurt when Davy Jones instead caught his arm and tossed him back.
"Control your temper, Maccus," he growled. He turned his dark eyes to her in wonder but didn't speak.
He turned and walked up to the decks above, everyone following along. Scarlette allowed Maccus to go before her, so to not have him at her back. She'd rather not be stabbed, even if she would survive it.
….
Work on the Dutchman was like work on any other ship, only more so.
Scarlette had long stowed her coat, shirt, and waist corset elsewhere, back to wearing only the black tank top. She'd braided her hair to keep it out of the way and made sure her duties kept her and Will close to each other. They had discussed their plan the night before. They would somehow discern the location of the key, and when that happened, Will would escape on one of the dories stowed on the fore deck. Scarlette was positive she could perform a big enough diversion.
This morning, as they heard from the other crewmen, was strange. Usually the ship only breached to the surface at night, but perhaps Jones, having seen the sunset the day before, had thirsted for a dawn. It was common that the captain had strange desires. He had an old organ in his cabin, that is, a musical instrument, not an internal appendage. He would play sometimes when there was no lookout needed. He couldn't hear the men over his playing.
Currently, Will and Scarlette were scrubbing up the sand from the deck. The deck had been sanded the night before because Jones had anticipated that the Pearl was going to give battle and he hadn't wanted his men sliding about on the deck. A majority of the crew was on the floor, scrubbing away at the sand. Once all the sand was up, they'd re-caulk the deck, giving it a waterproof finish.
"This is ridiculous," Scarlette muttered. "This ship regularly goes underwater. It doesn't need to worry about sinking."
"Hell, I've been sayin' that fer twenty-five years," Clanker answered as he scrubbed beside her. "For all we know, it may be part of what allows it to submerge."
"You've been here for twenty-five years?" Will asked, leaning around Scarlette to get a look at who was talking.
"About that," he answered. "Palafico and I were on a ship called The Periwinkle Prize when a storm hit. The ship went down and long after we had drowned, we found ourselves on this ship, in a line, with the captain walking to and fro, asking questions. He offered us a place here on this ship for one hundred years, to delay the time of judgment. Of the ten sailors that made it to this deck, only the two of us accepted."
"He didn't give you any time?" Scarlette asked, a little concerned. Clanker laughed and kept scrubbing, though the two newbies had stopped to listen.
"There are two sorts of bargains made on this ship. One is between the living, that's what you made. The other, is between the dead or the dying. Those of us picked up in storms are accepted right into the crew."
"Get back ta work!" Maccus shouted at Will and Scarlette. They ducked their heads and started scrubbing again, moving along as the deck became cleaner.
"Maccus, now," Clanker smiled but his face was so far gone, it was hardly recognizable. "He's been here maybe forty years. He lost a bet with Jones. He called upon the captain to borrow the sword, Aoi-rozuka, which he had heard about in some bar or other. He was scheduled to duel with some chap. Jones told him if he won the duel, he could keep the sword and his soul. If he lost, he'd serve in Jones' crew for his hundred years."
"How did he lose with that sword?" Scarlette asked, remembering not to stop scrubbing.
Clanker shook his head. "That blade is real particular about who it works for. Maccus didn't understand either, that for the sword to work to the full extent of its power, it must be relatively near water. He lost his duel and went home to Italy to hide inland but Jones caught him, obviously. Flooded the Tiber to get at him, too."
"How do you know all this?" Will asked. "If he has been here forty years and you, only twenty-five?"
"We all share stories," Clanker answered. "You are new but it'll only be a matter of time before you're accepted. You'll have a harder time, being a woman," he said to Scarlette. "Best survival tactic, rise in rank as soon as you can. The captain respects specialized skills and rewards them. Maccus is good at yelling at insubordinate crew members. He's first mate. Jimmylegs and Greenbeard are good at whipping people, so they're the bos'un and the bos'un's mate. I'm the gunner, naturally." His chain shot was hung on a hook on his belt.
"Well, you guys don't exactly need a cook or a surgeon," Scarlette remarked. "What other positions are there that we'd have a chance of procuring at such an early stage?"
"Second mate is Koleniko," Clanker continued, thinking. "Quartermaster is Palafico, a position held by Wyvern upon our arrival."
"How long has … Wyvern been here?" Will asked. Not being surprised that they had already met Wyvern, Clanker answered them.
"Wyvern, Manibar, and Ulysses are three of the oldest members. All three have taken a stationary sort of recluse. Manibar and Ulysses are both stuck in the bilge and have been here for almost one hundred years. They don't even talk anymore. Wyvern is only about on his eighty-seventh year and still wakes up once in a while. He was Quartermaster until about fifteen years ago when he tried to murder the captain. Jones thought it was mildly funny but still, he ordered that Wyvern be bound in irons for two years to teach him better etiquette."
"Two years?" Will asked. "Isn't that excessive?"
"Not particularly," Clanker answered. They had reached the railing and took up their brushes and caulking, a sticky oil substance. They made their way backwards in a line. "We can't die, we don't eat … anyways, after the first year, Wyvern had grown into the wall. The iron shackles are still somewhere in that mess that used to be a man."
They painted the deck with the oil stuff and a few hours later, they were finished with that particular task and had a greater understanding of the men in the crew. Scarlette wiped her hands on her pants and leaned against the railing with Will as they found a small slice of quiet and somewhat secluded rest.
"What do you think?" she asked him, careful not to speak too loudly.
"I can't even begin," Will answered in frustration. "We can't just ask about the key or he'll know something is going on."
"Yeah," Scarlette stamped her foot. Maccus looked over at the noise and noticed them leaning. He marched over and started yelling.
"What do you two clearfacers think you're doing resting out here?" he hissed at them, the slits of his shark nose flaring in the wind.
"Clearfacers?" Will asked in confusion.
"Jealous, Jaws?" she asked, meeting his prominent eyes. She raised an arm and caressed it with her other hand. "My skin is still skin, and yours is now fishy flesh."
"We'll see how long you stay that way, Sparrow," he grinned his serrated smile at her. "We're takin' bets on what you'll pick up first. Since you were alive when you had your debt, you won't grow seaweed or coral. You'll have some fish parts, just like us."
"Gee," she smiled sweetly. "As long as I don't end up like you, I should be fine."
He was practicing curbing his own temper but it didn't stop him from making quips. "Are you sure you don't want any hammerhead in you? I could help you out in that department if you did."
Will gasped and had been about to reprimand the lewd man, when Scarlette leapt at Maccus. She gave a quick uppercut to his almost nonexistent chin and another shot to his abdomen. Sweeping his feet out from under him, she backed up and fell into stance, ready for his attack, should it come.
"I don't want any of your kind of help," she spat. Maccus surged to his feet and lunged at her, nearly taking her down. She rolled out of the way and just barely managed to kick out in time, connected with his side.
There was a lot of shouting going on as Palafico and Jimmylegs pushed their way through the men who had acclimated. Palafico shouted at Maccus. "I did not give you permission to hold a duel!"
"She lashed out at me!" Maccus complained.
"He deserved it," Scarlette snapped.
"Did he hit you?" Palafico asked eagerly for some reason.
Scarlette thought about the fight. "No. He's not fast enough to hit me, anyways."
If only she had thought harder about what she might've said instead.
"Seize her, boys," Jimmylegs crooned. Scarlette was grabbed again. She didn't even try to fight this time. Too many men had crowded around when she and Maccus had fought. There was no chance she'd be getting away.
"How many, Quartermaster?" Jimmylegs asked of Palafico.
"Ten," he answered. "For dueling without permission. Five more for smarting off to the first mate."
"Fifteen," Jimmylegs caressed his whip. "Delicious."
Jones appeared against the top deck's railing as the first lash rang out. He watched as Scarlette flinched through the first few lashes. Jimmylegs had found his mark then and the other blows were much harder. On the eighth, she shouted through clenched teeth and it only got worse from then on out.
Blood dripped on the deck and her knees bent without her permission. The last blow was extra devastating and she shouted aloud.
She was dropped to the ground, her shirt shredded in the back. She sat there for a while, huddling over her knees, parts of her spine and ribs showing through the deep gashes. Blood flowed freely down her sides. She wavered on the verge of passing out, but was afraid to, not knowing what would happen if she did.
She finally lost the battle with her consciousness, and slumped to the floor. Some of the men moved forward with eager noises.
"Stop there," Jones called out, intervening. He made his way down the stairs and limped up to the group. She looked so tiny, curled in a ball, bleeding on the deck. He looked about and his eyes fell on Will.
"You," he pointed. "Take her below and put her in a hammock. The rest of you, get back to work and don't leave your duties for other reasons or you'll be the next under the leather." The men dispersed and Jones went back to his post at the helm. Will knelt by Scarlette and tried to imagine a way of carrying her limp form without hurting her much more.
He finally slung her over his shoulder. She would get blood in her hair and her face, but it was better than pressing against her wounds and potentially injuring her further.
He found the area where the hammocks were hung and debated about whether she would be safe nearer to the door or farther away, were the others might not notice her right away. He decided the closer she was to escape, the better. He sat her in a hammock right next to the door, on her side. She pulled her knees up to her chest, as if in sleep, and laid there, a small little ball against the white fabric. Her blood had slowed, but not by much.
Will didn't want to leave her alone and thought back. Jones hadn't given him any express orders other than to bring her down here but Will figured that wouldn't be a good enough excuse if he were caught sitting beside her. He busied himself within the room, cleaning the floor until Koleniko came to fetch him to some other duty.
….
The ship bowed under the water later in the day and mercifully gave the sun blistered backs a break from the bright daylight. The men rarely saw daylight, but something about their new chemistry made them especially susceptible to it.
Will was once again forced to breathe underwater. The feeling was so strange to him and uncomfortable. He was used to his insides feeling warm, not chilled with seawater.
At some point, Will came to a problem. He was hungry. The other men didn't need to eat, but he was still human, still alive, still … whatever they weren't. He looked about the ship as it drifted through the water and tried to think of something to eat that wouldn't be too disgusting.
He was too squeamish to eat the fish that flitted about and didn't think he could catch one anyway. There was plenty of seaweed gathered at the bow. Some of it was even new. He knew the Asian cultures used seaweed in food and figured of they ate it he wouldn't die from it.
It didn't taste very great, but one thing was sure. It wasn't lacking any salt. The idea of salt brought Will to another problem. He would need fresh water soon or he would dehydrate and pass out. He did not want to know what the men would do to him if he fell unconscious. Jones might intervene on the part of Scarlette, but Will, he wouldn't even blink. Will already understood that Davy Jones, probably due to his past, held women in a certain higher view than men, perhaps not including himself. He had refused to trade any number of souls for Scarlette.
Thinking of Scarlette was painful, Will decided. Her back wounds were fresh in his mind, but that was only a small part of it. He missed Elizabeth so much he could hardly swallow sometimes and as different as the two women were, he was reminded constantly that Elizabeth was not there. He was glad for the seawater around him simply because he knew if he felt the need, no one would know if he cried for Elizabeth.
Of course, he was very much glad that she wasn't with him on that ship. These men were too brutal, crude, and incomparably rough. Scarlette, he knew, was used to having to fight her way tooth and claw through most things. Elizabeth could adapt to violence, but she grew tired of it quickly.
Will joined a line of men and helped haul one of the larboard cannons back to its place on the starboard side. Bootstrap had been dragged up to do some work as well and they found themselves next to each other.
"Where's Scarlette?" Bootstrap asked, general concern in his weathered voice.
Will ducked his head and looked around. No one seemed to have responded to the question and so he surmised it must be all right for him to answer it. "She and the first mate got into a brawl earlier today. The Quartermaster and bos'un called her out for dueling without permission. She was whipped again, and it was bad this time. Last night, all she had were those five slashes, and they weren't that deep. This time they gave her fifteen, and bone showed through in most of them."
Bootstrap looked horrified at the thought and Will shivered. Bootstrap hadn't even seen it and he looked sick.
"Where is she now?"
"In a hammock below," Will answered. "She passed out and the men closed in, but Jones stopped them from whatever they'd had in mind. He told me to take her below. I tried staying close to her but they dragged me back out here."
"She'll probably be fine," Bootstrap grunted, wrapping a rope around a peg and executing a fancy self-holding knot. "She doesn't much have to worry about her body. It's her mind she must work to keep intact. We cannot be killed for one hundred years, but that doesn't mean we won't go insane."
"Is that their goal, then?" Will asked. "To drive you insane?"
"I don't know if it's in Jones' planner," Bootstrap answered. "But I'll bet anything some of these others have it in their agendas."
"Why would they want to do that?" Will asked. "Aren't they all just misfortunate sailors who ran afoul of Jones? Why should they want to hurt each other?"
"I think they're more interested in hurting Scarlette than each other," Bootstrap answered. "And anyone else not completely loyal to Jones. You see, I've been listening. It's amazing how much you can hear in the brig. At one point in time, every man here wanted to murder his captain. They would have given anything to be rid of this ship and its implications. However, one by one, they lost their iron will, lost their rebellion. They all gave in to their curse because they could not change it."
"What does that have to do with Scarlette?"
"Not just Scarlette," Bootstrap answered. "Anyone who challenges Jones and the authority on this ship. With every rebellious act, every show of strength, they are reminded of what they once were, and they feel shame at not being able to keep it up. Therefore, they try their best to quell any uprisings, to prove that they did what they had to, not that they lacked the courage and endurance to persevere."
"Shame," Will looked about and tried to imagine these men in any emotion besides anger and joy. "These men are ashamed?"
Bootstrap looked at his son. "When you have years to perfect your mask of emotions, acting any particular way is automatic. These men all look to be about your age, do they not? They are, most of them, older than I am. Maccus may be a fool, but the majority of them are weathered tremendously. Petty problems mean nothing to them anymore."
There were a few raucous shouts as a group of men gathered around a small table, close to the ground, probably stolen off a ship from Japan. A few of them held nondescript cups in their hands.
"They are not above petty games, however," Bootstrap narrowed his eyes. He and Will walked over as Koleniko and Hadras engaged in a game of Perudo.
"You challenged me," Hadras commented. "Your stakes."
Koleniko laughed and the air flowed out of the side of his face as well. "I'll give you ten years if I lose, but if I win, from then on when your head gets knocked off, I want you to allow us to play around with it. You know, keep-away and stuff."
Hadras thought this was somewhat funny, not realizing that they'd probably be 'keeping-away' from his body. "Fair enough." They began to play.
Will and Bootstrap watched, easily picking up the rules. Players took turns guessing how many of a particular die face value were showing, not only under their own cup, but under the other player's cup as well. As the bids went around, the numbers were expected to climb. One could not drop in value, either in the die face or the number of whatever was present.
Hadras eventually lost by calling six threes. He had three himself, and when Koleniko had called four threes, Hadras had laughed. A somewhat successful tactic was to always call one more of any particular value that you had in your 'hand'. Koleniko had been lying, of course, but instead of calling liar, which would have won Hadras the game, he tried to one up his opponent.
Koleniko called liar and pulled up Hadras' cup, showing the three threes, a five, and a one. He laughed and pointed, showing his dice. There were two threes, a two, and two sixes.
Will was mildly interested in the game and he asked Clanker, a crewman who had proved to be somewhat friendly, what the rules were for challenging.
"You can challenge anyone in the crew, and be challenged by anyone. You don't need the Quartermaster's permission, either. You just need to be on free time."
"Does that mean we can challenge people of rank as well?" Will asked. "Say, we could challenge Maccus and not get into trouble?"
"You can do better," Clanker answered. "The captain himself accepts challenges. He doesn't get them much because Jones never, ever loses. In fact, I can't remember even one story about him losing. No one wants anything bad enough to challenge him and lose."
"What happens if you lose?" Bootstrap asked suddenly, interested in the direction the conversation was going.
"Depends on the stakes of the game," Clanker answered, pointing as Palafico, Maccus, and Wheelback joined in a game. "Challenger decides on the stakes and the one being challenged can add to them or not. Sometimes, more than two players go at it. In games such as that, there is always one winner and one loser. The third man can count himself lucky that he fell between. He doesn't get any of the winnings, but he doesn't lose anything."
"Why is everyone afraid of Jones," Will asked. "If they do nothing more than petty games like trading years of service and allowing others to kick their body parts around, why should they fear him in such a game?"
"Because the captain rarely plays for fun. It is always for keeps with him," Clanker smiled. "The last person to play against the captain was Wyvern. He lost."
"What were the stakes?" Will asked before Bootstrap could form the question.
"Wyvern had said if he won, he wanted freedom," Clanker answered. Wheelback cried out in anguish as Palafico, the master of the game on board, called liar and won the game. "He offered twenty years in case he lost. Jones had played that way for a while with him, never losing. Wyvern just kept coming back for more. Finally, after he'd racked up to two hundred years, Jones upped the stakes. An eternity, he'd told him. It was only fair that if Wyvern were to be free by winning, that if he lost, he should be damned. Wyvern lost."
"So that's what happened," a voice spoke sleepily from behind them. They turned to find Scarlette, rubbing her eyes. The blood had dissipated and her hair was free again, flowing along her back in the water.
"Well, not exactly," Clanker continued. "Not long after he lost his soul for good, he attempted at murdering the captain."
"Which brings us to where he's at now." Scarlette looked down at the board with its dice. "Perudo."
"You know it?" Will asked.
"Vaguely," she answered. "I used to play elimination Perudo with a bunch of tuba players. Unfortunately, in that particular game, the thing that got eliminated was one's clothing."
"You lost?" Bootstrap asked.
"Hell, no," she laughed. "I won, but I had to watch as a bunch of fat guys strip down to their skivvies."
"How is your back?" Will asked.
She shrugged, a gesture that was probably painful. "I'll live."
"You girl!" Maccus cried out, pointing at her as if he'd just noticed her. "I challenge you!"
She gave a sidelong glance at Bootstrap. "Anything I should know?"
"Well, you can't deny challenge," he shrugged. "You've played before, I haven't."
"Fine," she stepped up to the board and sat on the deck, cross legged. Greenbeard handed her a cup and she held it in her palm, putting her other hand over the opening. Maccus sat and sneered at her.
"Stakes, shark-tooth," she spoke curtly. He hissed but answered her.
"If I lose, I'll give you ten years," he laughed. "And if I win, you stop being a prude and do what women are supposed to do."
"And what might that be?" she asked sweetly, batting her eyes.
He laughed suggestively and looked around at the men. "Well, for starters … there are a lot of men on this ship … help them relive a little … tension."
"Right," she growled sarcastically. "I'll add to those stakes, 'cause ten years is not a big enough risk for you, buddy. Not if my side of it is so bad. My stakes are if you lose, every time I get whipped, you get whipped as well. Acceptable?" She asked that of Jimmylegs, who had wandered over to watch. The bos'un nodded. He wasn't sure which of them he wanted to win, now.
"I'll take it, girly," he grinned savagely. They locked eyes, rolled their dice around, and smacked the cups down on the board together in a competitive way.
"Challenger first," she nearly purred, her voice going deep with anger.
He cackled and peeked at his dice. Her eyes never wavered from his face. Covering his dice back up, he smirked. "One two."
"Liar."
There was a collective gasp from around the deck. No one ever called liar on the first bid, especially not when someone only bid one of anything. Maccus looked stricken, as if in shock.
Or in horror.
Scarlette reached out to overturn his cup but he smacked her hand away, standing in a rage. He stormed off.
"Baby," Scarlette muttered.
"Lift the cup," Jones commanded from the stairs. He had heard Maccus challenge Scarlette and been watching the entire time.
Scarlette reached over without ceremony and lifted Maccus' cup. Everyone leaned in to see the dice. There were two fours, a six, a three, and a five. Scarlette lifted her own cup in case anyone was interested. She had a six, a five, a four, and two threes. There were no twos anywhere, nor were there any ones, which were generally considered wild.
"How did you do that?" Will asked. "You didn't even look at your own hand." She shrugged.
"I just knew he was lying," she answered. "I should have looked at mine first, I admit. That was stupid."
"Why did you add your particular flavor to his wager?" someone asked. She laughed out loud.
"That's easy," she answered. "He's the one always picking fights. I figure if his skin is at risk as well, he'll leave me alone. If I had said he had to be 'nice' to me, or something like that, the word could be interpreted any way if someone is imaginative enough. This way, he'll at least think twice."
"While were on the subject," Jimmylegs allowed his voice to slither about like something alive. He looked straight at Scarlette and pointed to emphasize his meaning. "Why are you out and about?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, looking as innocent as she could, which was actually pretty damn guiltless, what with her tiny little body and her big green eyes.
"Don't play, miss," he bantered. "I whipped you maybe six hours ago and cleaved your flesh from your bones in most places. It's what I do best. No one I have laid my attentions on in such a manner has ever risen the same day. The last man to get up the next day is now grown into the ship below."
"Wyvern?" Scarlette asked. "Damn, he's starting to sound like a real badass."
"Why are you up?" Jimmylegs was persistent.
Scarlette shrugged. "I woke up. There was no one below, so I came to see what was going on rather than be found lying about and maybe get whipped again for showing lazy tendencies."
Jimmylegs snarled. "What I am saying, Miss, is that no one has been awake at all the same day of their beating."
Scarlette smiled and raised a finger. "Statistics say that women have nine times the pain threshold that men do, which means, theoretically, I can withstand nine times the pain."
Jones decided Scarlette would outmaneuver his men if he didn't step in. He was curious as well to why she was awake and moving about, even if no one else besides Jimmylegs was. He remembered Maccus slapping her back this morning with no effect. "Stand up, lass."
She stood and backed away from the board, hands on her hips.
"Turn around," he commanded.
"I'm going to get so tired of this shit," she muttered under her breath, turning to face Will. His face was concerned and she didn't try to reassure him with her eyes as Jones talked to Palafico.
"Move her hair aside."
Scarlette flipped her hair over her shoulder before the other could come close enough to touch her. It flowed in the water and stayed away from her back.
There weren't any gasps. The shirt was pretty torn up in the back, but it was so dark under water that the shading was probably too hard to see through.
"Lift the shirt," Jones commanded, as she knew he would. She felt silly lifting it, almost as if she were flashing Will in front of her. She instead just pulled it over her head and stood in her bra. Everything she cared about was covered and nothing was going to fall out, even if she jumped around.
There were gasps now, but not at her lack of clothing. Her back, from her shoulders down to where the old battle scars began was clean. There weren't any scabs, no blood, no evidence whatsoever to mark the fifteen lashes she'd taken that morning.
Bootstrap, beside her, hadn't seen the fright that had been there that morning but he was amazed as well. Will walked forward until he could see, hoping it wasn't worse than what he'd seen earlier. He stepped back when her unmarred flesh came into view and actually passed a hand over the flawless skin to see if his eyes were fooling him.
"How did you do this?" Davy Jones asked her as she slipped the shirt back on.
"Would you believe me if I told you I wasn't sure?" she answered, turning to face him.
He merely eyed her with slight contempt. "Back to work, all of you. Mrs. Sparrow, follow me."
The men dispersed, the Perudo board and cups vanishing to wherever they had come via the hands of whoever was nearest. Jones limped back up to the top deck. Scarlette carefully made her way up the narrow stairs and got her first good look at the ship as a whole. Jones had a good view of everything on the surface of his ship from up here.
He stood at the wheel, steering the ship around various undersea mountains and things that only he could see very well in the darkness. Scarlette waited for him to speak, feeling dwarfed next to the tall person.
"I can sense odd powers around you, Sparrow," he told her. "Yet I cannot sense what they are. There is something of the land, something connected with the earth, though I cannot tell any more than that. Were you a witch or an Indian?"
"No, well, my mother was Iroquois," Scarlette answered, shrugged, thinking that he was probably sensing the wolf energy, or perhaps the slight stain that Tekagi-fukku may have left on her for the brief times she carried it.
"Another force, just as strong as that one … it seems to be bright and painful but at the same time, dark and foreboding, tied with death and fire. I do not understand it."
"You and me both," she answered, thinking through it. Fire definitely sounded like Kuroi-agohige, which she'd had even less time than the earth sword, but the death was undoubtedly the necromancy. Come to think of it, she'd gained Barbossa's powers when she'd killed him … and he had been equipped with an anti-conflagration spell. Death and fire. She gave a smirk, thinking it was probably good that she'd used a water-based weapon on him, if he wouldn't burn.
"And the final mix I can … feel emanating off your small stature," he turned towards her now and gave a suspicious glance. "You seem to be of the sea, more than any of these other men who have been on this ship longer than you have been alive. You move about better in the water than they do and you've only been here one day. You say you are human? You must be human, else I would not have any claim to your soul, but I think you have much else in addition to that."
"Well, that sword of yours changes people," she pointed out. "I was all but possessed by it when I fought Barbossa. I don't even remember all of the fight and I destroyed an island by accident."
"Yes, these blades are meant for immortal beings, so their power overwhelms those not so equipped," he agreed. "However, the stain it leaves behind is nothing compared to what you show. Your friend does not have a fraction of power showing on him for the sword."
"He didn't use it," she answered. "So naturally the stain would be greater on me."
"He used the earth one more than you did, did he not?" asked Jones. "And yet your powers show that you are of the land as well. The only thing that shows he is of land is his reluctance to get his face wet."
Scarlette laughed but decided she'd had enough of the captain's company. "Look, I don't know what happened. I don't know why I have recuperative powers. I assumed upon getting up that all the crew healed as fast. The wounds from yesterday healed as well."
"None of them but I can heal as quickly as that," he answered. "Wounds made by the crew or myself heal normally, but wounds made by a mortal with a mortal weapon will heal within minutes or hours depending on the severity."
Scarlette turned to leave but halted at Jones' rather irritated tone. "I did not dismiss you."
"Sorry," she answered, not sorry at all. She turned back to face him but didn't go any closer.
"There is something about you that is not normal," he spoke. "I intend to find out exactly what it is."
"Great," she answered a little warily. "When you find out, let me know. May I go?"
He waved her off and she hurried down the steps, hoping he wouldn't look too closely. She didn't want to be any nearer to Jones than she was.
….
It's my birthday! Weee! Chapter completed on 5-9-07 3:12 am. Page count coming up to …. 549. Whoop, whoop. I'm going to go finish my rum now, cheers.