She wondered at the fact that it was her. That she, of all those scoundrels, should be the one to witness his final hours and wait like a beggar at church.
She wondered why they were alone.
She wondered at the clean silence, fresh and confident like the air at the beginning of the world. At blood spatters on the walls.
"Came all in a rush," said the man lying by her knees. "No time to even draw a sword."
She nodded. "I see."
She did not see. Not even a little bit.
If she was a beggar, did that make this tavern a church? Did that make her his priest? He had been theirs once. This would return the favour.
Her eyes blazed as she stared at the overturned tables and smashed stair railings. Vacant eyes and corpses, littered around the floor, mocked the quiver of her cheek. They had sought sanctuary from the law and the law had mowed them down.
Prongs dug into her knees. She realized the man's ribs were expanding in a futile struggle for breath.
Still he smiled. She mirrored it when he winked.
"Always the last one standing, aren't I?" he asked.
"So it seems." Something in her mouth twitched but she firmed it.
She wondered at what a poor bedside companion she made in these last minutes. Shame welled in her chest.
"Come now. Enough of that." He sniffed. "A man witnesses the world better from this angle. I see why you young lovers lie on your back and star gaze."
She laughed but it was a sound shoved up her throat.
"Speakin' of which…" His frown imbibed the air from her lungs. "Where is your dashing captain? Why are you here?"
He doesn't remember, she thought. He doesn't remember the battle all those months ago or the consequences of it.
"I do wish I had died at sea, though."
"Why?" she asked.
"So you could get a glimpse a' that rogue of yours, ferrying souls."
Her breath caught.
His eyes travelled over her masculine clothing. Loose bronze waves tumbled out of her tight cap, over a stiff collar and vest.
She, in turn, worked hard not to stare at the lotus blossom of red on his hip. The blade's path had raked through his stomach. The smell alone made her eyes sting.
"I've come on a separate mission," she said. "I work as an undercover for the king. A deck hand on a merchant ship."
"Ha!" He rolled his eyes. "Hot-headed youth, same as always. You think you're invincible!"
"Is that the pot calling the kettle black, I hear?"
He waved her off. "I was very responsible in my time."
She sobered. "Are. You are very responsible."
He shook his head. "Wherever this new ship is sailing, I'm bound for it. I'm going to board soon."
"Are you scared?" she whispered.
His eyes shifted into something glassy. "Course not. I escaped death once. Time I paid my dues."
She thought of moonlight upon a skeletal hand.
"We've all got to board some time. A beautiful lady, however, to see me off at the dock. What more could I ask for?"
She set a fond hand upon his damp chest. Her fingers splayed as they made contact and his bearded chin puckered into a grin. He shuddered.
"I'm afraid," she began, "I'm not the best…I mean I wish I had more to…"
"Elizabeth?"
"Yes?"
"Hush." His eyes closed, and then snapped back open. "You're an angel as far as I'm concerned."
Elizabeth bowed her head. "What about you?" Her tongue unstuck from the roof of her mouth with a wet sound. "Where is your lover?"
His grin fell. The glassy look returned. He remained silent so long that she began to panic.
"Ca…Captain? Are you—"
"I suppose she's like your husband," came the man's soft voice. She slumped in relief. "Sailing the seas alone. But her sails stopped being the skirt I chase a very long time ago."
It took Elizabeth several moments to decode this statement. When she did, her brows rose in realization.
"But…that ship is your life!"
Something caved around his eyes. He suddenly looked very young in body and ancient in spirit.
"Gems are cold," he coughed. "But one human lady to roost one's heart in. Aye. That is very warm. Wish I'd chased that more."
It seemed that as he spoke he grew wise and as he grew wise he grew quiet, started to fade.
Elizabeth bent over him in frustration. The spirit in his eyes became white with the condensed heat of his life. His body went cold, a geyser of icy water.
"Elizabeth!" He gripped her arm. "My hat!"
She stumbled to her feet. Shuffling around the marble limbs and bloody tankards, she wound through the bar stools. A flap of black leather and velvet hung over a cupboard knob. She snatched the hat along with his sword, discarded by a barrel.
"Here!" She raced to kneel at his side.
He clutched the sword over his heart. "No respecting wag dies without a weapon in hand."
"You want the hat in the other hand?"
He winked again. "Course not! It's for you."
And he flapped the broad hat, massive feather and all, over Elizabeth's ears.
"There." He panted from the effort but looked smug. "Every angel needs a halo. May it bring you fair winds. There's magic in albatross feathers, so they say."
Being dim already, the wide brim shaded Elizabeth's face to the point that even her eyes were near-black. Indistinguishable from the murk of her high cheekbones. Hidden like the droplets that fell to her collar.
"Barbossa?"
"Mmm?" The breathless hum traveled up her hand where she clutched his lapel.
"I hope you'll never be lonely there. Maybe you'll even find a real lady."
He held the slack mouth-mouthed expression for a moment. His teeth glittered. Then he snorted through his nose.
"I'm afraid this lubber figured it all out a bit too late." He chuffed without humour. "I said my prayers, repented, but maybe that's why you're here instead…instead of…"
"No." She snatched the frigid folds of his hand, the one not around the hilt. "No. You're not too late. Those sails will come for you."
But his eyes already burned, filled with the light of something she couldn't see.
"Thank you," said Elizabeth.
The captain sucked a breath. "For what?"
"For being. For catching this last ship."
"You won't leave? Til I set off?"
She tipped the hat. "Never."
His head sagged to the floor boards. "Safe travels."
"You too."
Before the words left her lips, he was gone. She swept off the hat to hide her face in it.
"Are you here? Answer us!"
Elizabeth's neck ached when she raised her head. Night had fallen. Her crew ran across the courtyard, eyes blown wide. They stuttered at the tavern's threshold. She glanced down at her crimson clothes.
Everything felt cold.
"Come on, Elijah!" One man yanked on her arm. "We took you for dead when your scout boat floated back and you didn't!"
The captain stepped through last, eyes gluttoned with sorrow. "Let's keel haul before the officials come back. There's been enough bloodshed this day."
The ship's band bungled over Tortuga's docks. Elizabeth stood, and instead of seeing a bloody massacre, her eyes went absent with the lurch in her chest. Through the open door, a ghostly ship hovered in a mist near their own.
His ship. She felt it like ice against her skin.
"I see," said the captain and Elizabeth tore her eyes from the Dutchman to frown. When she stole a glance at the water, the ghost ship was gone. Not before she'd seen a muscular, bare chest at the helm.
The captain eyed tangled ends of hair that had slipped from her up do. With the ghost of a nod and a smile, he marched out the door. She relaxed.
Elizabeth wanted to protest, to insist on digging plots for them, all of the bodies. But she knew in her heart that they couldn't linger. Nightfall brought scavengers.
Still, crossing over that tavern stoop proved torture.
As the last rays of sun sliced past the entrance, her breath caught: they created a snowy fan over the dead man's face, now smiling.
Elizabeth sommersaulted the hat onto her head. Her hand trailed over the feather.
"Fair winds…Hector."
Written in 2015.