Disclaimer: When no-one is innocent, who writes the disclaimer?
A/N: Some (possible) spoilers in this, but mostly all of my own invention. Mostly, though, this chapter is chokkas full of culture. And flavours from Singapore. :)
Sam raked a hand through his hair and yawned as he came downstairs. He fixed Squirrel with a bleary eye. "I don' suppose yeh could have waited another hour?"
Squirrel smiled at him. "In another hour, Sam, it would have been too hot outside. Besides, I want to see what's out there." She fastened the buttons of her embroidered shirt; the red leather belt that bristled with silver blades that lay across her chest was hidden as the shirt was buttoned up.
"So do I," Sam tightened the knot of the kerchief around his neck and rubbed an eye, "But not this bloody early." He looked back up the stairs. "Hurry up, you two! If I'm bein' tortured, yeh're comin' too!" Pintel and Ragetti shuffled down the stairs, looking more asleep than awake.
Squirrel smiled to herself. She'd woken early, intending to go out and explore Singapore during dawn's first light, while the evening's cool still lay on the land. However, Barbossa's rule about groups of two or four meant she couldn't go on her own. She'd intended to wake only Sam, but her method of waking him - by throwing rocks from the doorway at his sleeping form - had meant Sam woke with a yell, waking the other two pirates he shared the room with. She hadn't even hit him that hard, despite his complaints.
Sam looked sidelong at Squirrel, grinning. "The phrase 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed' 'as a whole new meanin' fer yeh, don't it, Megan?"
"You already guessed that name," Squirrel said, looking between the door and her friends impatiently. But even she couldn't help but smile at Sam's jibe.
"Hrm, so I did." Sam frowned, then smiled again. "Must be runnin' out of names."
"And still no sign of mine. Come on, let's go."
The crowd - even this early in the morning - was significant, and Squirrel and her friends had to push to get through many of the streets. Market stalls and shop-houses lined every street, with wares varying from fresh fish, vegetables and other produce, household items, clothes, rolls of silk, and good-luck charms all on display. Squirrel lingered at every stall and stared all around her, drinking in the culture. When the sun rose a little higher, the four ang moh headed away from the markets, to the outer areas of the town. Here, the trees were thicker, and the business and noise of the town centre a little less noticeable. Old men sat at teahouses with games between them. While Sam, Pintel and Ragetti sat down and moaned about their aching feet, Squirrel eavesdropped on the games, trying to figure out how it was played. She watched as the old men's nimble fingers leapt over the clattering tiles, making patterns and collecting groups of tiles marked with similar markings.
"Mah-jong," One of the old men grinned at her toothlessly. Squirrel smiled back, bobbing her head, and watched the game for a while longer. If there were rules to this game, she couldn't see them clearly. Something about the number of tiles, the value of the images on the tiles themselves? It was an interesting game to watch, and was probably even more interesting to play. There was a vendor on the other side of the square selling boxes of the tiles, and Squirrel made her first purchase for the day.
"Why," Sam asked, when Squirrel came up to them with the box in her arm, "On earth. Did yeh buy. That?"
Squirrel shrugged. "It'll be fun to learn how to play."
Sam rolled his eyes, and heaved himself to his feet. "Let's keep moving, shall we?" Pintel and Ragetti offered feeble groans and excuses about their fatigue. "Look," the Irishman said, barely batting an eyelid, "If we keep moving fast enough, Nicole here won't have time to buy anything else."
Squirrel smirked. "Is that a challenge, paddy?"
Sam took her by the arm and steered her onwards, and Pintel and Ragetti followed at their heels.
"Here, a stór, try this."
Squirrel sipped at the drink Sam had bought. "Mm," she shook her head, "It tastes a bit… green." It was the only word she could think of to describe it. The juice was green in colour, but it also tasted that same way. Fresh, and plant-like. They'd watched the sugarcane being crushed, the juice pressed out right before their eyes. The drink was sweet, for sure. But it wasn't to Squirrel's taste. "You can keep it, paddy."
"Oh, aye?" Sam swigged at the sugarcane juice and grinned. "Would taste a bit better fermented, yeh think?"
Squirrel punched him in the arm and pulled a face. "Off with yeh, Sam." She pulled another roasted chestnut from the paper bag and peeled it apart. "Where should we go next?" She popped the hot floury bundle into her mouth and savoured the taste. The chestnuts were just as good here as anywhere else; perhaps even more so. Roasted in a wok full of charcoal pieces, the nuts seemed to have a deeper flavour.
Sam shrugged, sipping at the juice. "Oop t' yeh, I s'pose. Just as long as we avoid those wet-markets. Can't stand the smell o' fish, I can't."
"You there! Wait a moment!"
Squirrel and Sam looked back over their shoulders, alarmed. A thick-set man, red from the heat, was running through the crowd towards them. Pintel and Ragetti wisely hung back, pretending to browse through the market stalls so they would not be involved. The red-faced man did not see them, however; either that, or he thought that Squirrel and Sam were better to speak to. When he reached them, the man took a moment to catch his breath.
"English?" He asked desperately, looking from Sam to Squirrel and back again.
Sam and Squirrel exchanged glances. "Irish," Sam said with raised eyebrow.
"Caribbean," Squirrel added for herself.
"No, no…" The man waved his hands, still panting. "You speak English?"
"O' course," Sam said. "Why?"
The red-faced man looked like he was going to cry in relief. Instead, he took Sam's hand and gripped it in a vigorous handshake. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear the mother-tongue again, sir! I've been here for over a month in this god-forsaken place!"
"God forsakes no-one," Sam said, gingerly freeing his hand. "Let alone a place. Who are yeh, anyways?"
The man introduced himself. His name was Robert Hamilton, and he and his crew had arrived in Singapore a month ago on a small clipper, as emissaries for the East India Trading Company.
The belt of daggers hidden under Squirrel's shirt twitched involuntarily. Had Beckett's net closed around them already?
"But, alas," the man said, wringing his hands, "Our ship was stolen, and we've been stranded here ever since! And none of us can speak the language of these yellow dogs…"
"Watch your tongue," Squirrel said curtly. "These 'yellow dogs' rule the land you stand on."
Robert looked at Squirrel, annoyed that a woman should be interfering in politics, let alone a conversation. "Yes, well, that wouldn't be the case, Miss, if our business with the so-called Queen of Singapore had come through as planned. With our ship vanished from off the face of the earth, we had no proof we were who we said we were, and no way to get home." The man looked hopefully at Sam. "I don't suppose, sir, that your vessel still waits in the harbour?"
As the man had been blustering and explaining himself, Squirrel had had time to read him. And she was certain that no man this incompetent was working for the East India Trading Company. While he was obviously a trader, seeking a monopoly on an island as yet untouched by the Company, he wasn't in the employ of Beckett. Hamilton had obviously a very mercenary mind: when the inevitable happened and the Company came in, they'd have to negotiate with the merchant-master of the island. And who else would that be but the man who stood before them, panting and puffing in the Singapore heat? Squirrel inwardly sighed and rolled her eyes. Power and money. Greed, and greedy men.
Sam continued to smile, but his eyes were guarded. He'd come to the same conclusion. "Well, Mister Hamilton…"
"Captain Hamilton, if you please."
"Mister Hamilton," Sam repeated, making the man frown, "Yeh might want t' talk to our captain about that. I'm sure we'll be more'n willing t' ferry you an' your crew out of Singapore… for the right price, and once our business here is concluded. Yeh'll find 'im in the Lantern, if yeh can deign to walk that way, sir." The Irishman smiled patronisingly; Squirrel smothered her own smile. So this was the behaviour that saw him off the Rugged Hermit, and all the other ships he'd served on: subtle antagonism, and mirroring the behaviour of men who were asses and fools.
Hamilton frowned a moment longer, then reminded himself of how dire his circumstances were. Beggars could not afford to be choosers. He smiled pleasantly. "Of course." He shook Sam's hand again. "Thankyou, my friend. You've been most helpful."
"What happened to your ship?" Squirrel asked.
Hamilton's frown looked to crack his face. "Stolen by a bastard of a…" He paused and glanced around him, at the crowd that surged past with placid faces, then continued, "That bastard, Sao Feng, and added to his collection. And with the ship's hold filled with trade goods we planned to barter to the Queen of Singapore in exchange for a base for the Company, too." He paused a moment, then added, "If I didn't know any better, I would say that it was a deliberate act designed to prevent such a thing."
"What a horrible thought that is," Sam said pleasantly.
Hunger had eventually caused the four pirates to cease their explorations and take refuge in a teahouse. Squirrel had ordered several meat-filled buns called pao to sate their hunger, seeing as it seemed the safest thing for the lads to eat. Squirrel watched other people curiously as she ate. The locals here ate rice and noodles and everything else with only two sticks! How deft and artful even children looked wielding these 'chopsticks' to eat their food! Watching a man nearby, Squirrel took careful note of how the implements were held and manipulated. It didn't seem to be too hard, once you thought about it.
The sound of birdsong filled the air close by, and Squirrel turned. Across the street, old men sat, drank tea, and played Chinese checkers under what seemed to be an awning made from cages. Chairs and tables were set up under a wooden frame - four upright poles and a few cross-beams for a roof - from which was hung a collection of lacquered-wood cages, each containing a songbird. Squirrel rose to her feet, curious and delighted.
"Where are you off to now?" Pintel asked, in no hurry to move.
"I'll just be across the street," Squirrel said, pointing. "I won't be long."
"I should come with yeh," Sam said, half-rising. "Yeh knoo what Barbossa said."
"You'll still be able to see me," she reassured him, leaving her mah-jong tiles with her friends. "You lads stay and rest. I'll be back in a minute." She pushed through the late-morning crowd, crossing to the bird-cage square.
The birds seemed so small, and so plain. But from every one of them came beautiful cries and calls. Some of the birds were brightly coloured, but it was the small dun ones which seemed to sing the sweetest. Squirrel smiled to herself, and stood on tip-toes to look into each of the cages. One of the old men saw Squirrel admiring the birds, and pointed to a stall nearby. Squirrel bowed slightly, then went to examine the birds for sale.
"Hello girl!" The man serving greeted her with a smile. "You buy bird? Good song!"
Squirrel shook her head and smiled. "No, thankyou. I'm just looking."
"Buy bird!" The man picked up one of the cages on display, and held it out to her. The bird inside the cage fluttered wildly in alarm. Squirrel put her hands up, feeling a strange pang of remembrance. The bird in the cage was too small, too brown, too familiar… The man nodded, setting the bird in its cage down, then picked up an empty cage to proffer at her. "For you? For you?"
"No, thankyou!" Squirrel shook her head. "I have no interest in cages."
"Spoken like a woman who knows what true captivity is."
The voice behind Squirrel was so cold, so calculated. The bird vendor looked alarmed, then smiled and started calling out to anyone else; if anyone had asked, he hadn't seen Squirrel, and he certainly hadn't see the man who had spoken to her. Something about the voice - or the man who had spoken - had frightened the bird-vendor. Squirrel closed her hand around her dagger, and half-turned.
"I'm sorry," she said slowly, carefully, "I don't think we've been introduced."
The man smirked at her; he pulled on the thin rope of beard that grew from his chin. "We don't need to be introduced, ang moh.1 We already know who you are." He was flanked by three other men, all shirtless, all leering and smirking. The crowd that passed by averted their eyes - they saw nothing, they knew nothing…
Squirrel didn't lift her eyes from the man before her, but she quietly judged the distance between where she stood and the teahouse across the street. Would she be able to duck past the men and make a break for her friends? Unlikely, in this crowd. Would Sam be able to make it to her? Again, unlikely. Squirrel had to stall, and hope the others would notice in time.
"My hair's not red," she told the man, taking in the intricate details of his clothes and his armour. Clearly, this man was very important, or rich enough that he could afford to wear silks with gold thread. "It's more of a brown, really." He carried two axes at his belt. They didn't look like the kind of axes that hewed wood. More like limbs… and they looked well-used. Squirrel did not betray her thoughts.
The man smiled to himself, lowering his hands to rest on the weapons at his side, an axe for each hand. "You are not welcome here, ang moh. You and your friends." His eyes sparkled dangerously under the brim of his helmet.
Squirrel tilted her head, wanting more time to read this man's motives before she passed judgement about what she could get away with. "Have we done something wrong?"
The Chinese man smirked. "You and the other guai lo2 are all fools. You have set foot in Singapore, knowing full-well that the Dragon Lady does not welcome intruders."
"And we are intruding, how?" Squirrel shrugged. "We're only here for a few days. Then we're leaving. We do not want any trouble between us."
"Xin Fu, what are you waiting for?" one of the flanking swordsmen muttered.
The man with the axes - Xin Fu - did not even deign to acknowledge his flunky. "You are here because you are thieves," he told Squirrel flatly, his eyes cold. "You seek to steal from the Dragon Lady. This, I cannot allow."
That was enough. Xin Fu was nothing more than a bully, and, therefore, a coward. He was threatening a woman, and had three other men at his back - safety in numbers - and was using the authority of another in order to bolster himself. He was nothing but talk. A bully and a coward. Bark loud enough, and show your teeth, and he'd back down.
"So, the Dragon Lady is not pleased by the fact that we are here?" Squirrel tilted her head, bluffing for all she was worth.
"Yes." The men behind Xin Fu slowly drew their weapons. "And when the Dragon Lady is not pleased… accidents happen."
Squirrel shook her head, amused. "Ni juede wo hen ben ma? 3" She laughed in his face. "I'm not afraid of you, Xin Fu. I was told I needed to fear Sao Feng… but I wasn't told anything about you." She smiled pleasantly. "You may think yourself a hero for threatening a woman, sha gua4, but let me tell you something about Caribbean pirates." She showed her teeth, not quite in a smile. "The women fight too."
Xin Fu's eyes narrowed, and his lip curled in a snarl. "I will teach you respect, huli jing5."
Squirrel lifted both hands lazily, as though in surrender… but her dagger was gripped tight in her left hand. "I have respect for the Dragon Lady," she said calmly, edging sideways slightly, getting ready to run, "I just don't have any for you."
Xin Fu said nothing, but pulled both axes from his belt and held them at the ready. His flunkies moved forward, weapons gripped and grinning. Squirrel closed her right hand around the hilt of her sword, and waited, tense, for the men opposite her to make the first move.
"We got a problem here, jennel-men?"
Xin Fu turned and looked over his shoulder. Sam smiled pleasantly, tapping the head of his cudgel in his open palm. Pintel and Ragetti grinned from behind him, both with their swords drawn. The odds were evened up now. No longer was it four men against a woman; four on four, and everyone a fighter. If there was a fight, it could go either way. Xin Fu hesitated. If there was no sure chance of him winning, he wasn't going to play.
"You alright, a stór?" Sam called in an exaggerated manner to Squirrel.
Squirrel smiled lazily back. If the Irishman showed no sign of fear, neither would she. "Course I am, paddy. Why wouldn't I be?"
Xin Fu slipped his axes back into his belt, and his men set their weapons back in their sheathes. The Chinese man glowered at Squirrel. "This was just a warning," he hissed. "Do not incur the Dragon Lady's wrath."
"I don't intend to," Squirrel replied. "But I really couldn't care how angry I make you."
Xin Fu glowered at her, then he and his men stepped back… and vanished into the throng. Squirrel searched the heads of the people in the crowd, but could see no sign of any of the men. It was as though they'd dispersed like smoke into the air. For all his posturing - let alone the plates of armour they wore - Xin Fu and his men were clearly very quick and agile. And not ones to be reckoned with.
"You bloody idiot," Sam said, his smile vanishing behind anger. "Yeh could'a been killed!"
Squirrel put her dagger back in its sheath. "Well, I have to thank you for your timely intervention." She smiled at the three men. Sam was the only one who didn't smile back.
The Irishman took Squirrel's mah-jong tiles from Ragetti and handed it back to her. "I think we'd all better head back, aye? Enough excitement for one deey?" Neither Pintel nor Ragetti needed to be told twice - they headed off down the road, ready to be out of the stifling, clinging humidity of Singapore. Sam watched them go, then looked back to Squirrel, his eyes burdened. "You bloody fool," he said again, this time with a much softer voice.
"I'm sorry." Squirrel sighed. "I didn't mean to…"
"No," Sam said wryly, "But yeh seem intent on makin' me promise 'ard t' keep, doncha?"
"Ah, but you love me," Squirrel teased.
Sam almost smiled back, wistfulness sparkling in his eyes. "More the fool me, then, aye?" He held out his arm like a gentleman, paused, then lowered it again. His smile came back quickly, before Squirrel could feel too much a pang, or even consider putting her arm through his. Words from past the Cape echoed in both their ears: No sense in makin' it more complicated than it already is.
Sam sighed. "Come on," he murmured, and they walked side by side through Singapore's streets, back to the tavern.
1 Ang moh: red hair. Chinese/Singapore slang for anyone white
2 White devil. Far less polite than ang moh
3 You think I'm an idiot?
4 Fool
5 Bitch/whore
A/N: Gasp! Mahjong and traders and Xin Fu, oh my! And… Sam?
Suggestions always welcome. Criticisms and questions also. Flames annoy me, but there'll prolly be a good reason behind them, right?
Just a warning: the chapters from here on in draw on the spoiler script. If I'm wrong, or if I neglect details, or if the movie is completely different, I will amend. Hopefully, all the characterisation I've done in chapters previous won't be too horribly wide of the mark.