A/N: As mentioned in my two hobbit fics, I'll be taking a short hiatus to try and replenish my chapter buffers for my various fics~ For now, though, enjoy the proper introduction to Arabella Smith, aka Bell!
'There is definitely nothing natural about this storm,' I thought, my nose scrunching up as I looked up at the sky. Turning my back to the wind, I could see a pair of human silhouettes ahead of me; the shorter one had the taller pinned against the wall, a scolding finger pointed up at them. 'Seems Jack's getting himself a tongue lashing…' I started to walk towards them.
"That was Captain Torrents, ye idiot!" the barmaid was practically shouting when I approached. Whether she was yelling because of her anger or so she could be heard above the gale was hard to tell. "The most notorious pirate this side of Hispaniola!"
"The name's not ringin' any bells, love," Jack told her, his hands raised in defense. A large grin spread across his face when he saw me approaching. "Ah! Drystan, there you are!" he chirped. "I was hopin' you'd get out of there alive an' well!" He then paused and, reaching over, pulled a piece of glass from my shoulder. "You're going t' want t' comb your hair later, mate. You're covered in glass."
"I hadn't noticed," I replied, my voice much dryer than anything around us.
The barmaid then shook her head. "I can't believe yer friends with this little crook," she said, her hands on her hips.
"I am not a crook!" Jack argued. "That man stole my sack—I merely stole it back. I'll show you." Pursing his lips, he hopped up onto a barrel and, opening the sack, shoved his arm in. "For instance, this here is my—" His brows furrowed as he pulled out a candle. "…Candle? I don't remember packin' a candle…" Shaking his head, he dropped the candle on the ground and shoved his hand back in.
"Surprise, surprise," the barmaid replied, her voice just as dry as mine had been. The three of us cringed when the next thing Jack pulled out looked to be old underwear (I really hoped they were recently washed, but it was hard to tell thanks to the dingy color of the fabric). The third item he pulled out was most definitely an old, desiccated rat. Both the underwear and the rat he dropped to the ground, horror and disgust on his face.
"No, no, no! This is all wrong!" he groaned, continuing to go through 'his' sack. I could tell he was getting frustrated; everything he pulled out that wasn't his quickly ended up in the mud.
Shaking her head, the barmaid looked up at me. "Arabella, by the way," she told me. "Arabella Smith." She held her hand out, intending shake mine in return.
Instead of shaking her hand, I gave her a polite bow and kissed the back of her hand. Admittedly, I had to bite back a grin when her cheeks turned as red as beets. "I'm Emil Drystan," I said upon standing upright. "And he's Jack Sparrow. I apologize on his behalf. Someone truly did steal his seabag and we were both certain it had been that Captain—Torrents, you said his name was?"
Arabella cleared her throat as she nodded. "Yes, Captain Torrents. I'm sure ye could see just why he's the most notorious pirate this side of Hispaniola." She shook her head, sighing as she crossed her arms. "And I'm sorry for going wild on yer friend. It's just—my dad's temper is bad enough as it is and, now that there's a massive barfight going on, he's going t' be in a frightful state now." She sighed again, pushing a stray lock of wet hair behind her ear. "He's going to have to spend at least a week repairing the place."
I winced slightly at this information; the place had been in a state of disrepair already, so knowing that it was, more than likely, getting even more destroyed made me feel a touch guilty. Just as I was about to apologize to her, however, Jack interrupted.
"My knife, my box, my stash of coins…it's all gone!" he cried. Turning the bag over, he gave it a harsh shake, emptying it of the rest of its contents—which, truthfully, wasn't very much. I couldn't tell if it was pebbles, seeds, or lint that came falling out, but as he gave the sack another shake, something large and heavy sounding fell down into the mud with a 'splat'. "What the…?" He hopped down from the barrel and picked up whatever the item was.
"A scabbard?" I questioned, my brow rising. And one without a sword in it, either. Why would Torrents have a swordless scabbard in his bag…?
When Jack realized that it was empty, he threw it back on the ground. "Blasted pirates!"
"Says the pirate," I quietly retorted.
Arabella stooped down and plucked the scabbard up off the ground, my comment having gone unheard by her. As she looked the thing over, I peeked over her shoulder at it; though it was covered in mud and bore many scratches, I could see glints of gold and silver worked into the leather. "No…it couldn't be…" she murmured. "One of ye—get me some light," she ordered.
Something about her tone made Jack and I hop to it. He retrieved the candle from the mud and cleaned it off while I untied my sack and reached my hand down into it. Pulling out my tinderbox, I retrieved the flint and steel from it before lighting the candle—which took some work thanks to its wet wick. Once we got it going, though, we huddled together to keep the wind from blowing the little flame out and Jack shielded it from the rain with his hand.
Using her apron to wipe the mud away, Arabella brought the scabbard closer to the weak light. We were just barely able to see words engraved into the leather as well as the reddish gold image of a feathered serpent. My brows furrowed as I saw this image; its midsection matched the tattoo I had seen on Torrents' chest.
"This says 'Belonging to Hernan'," Arabella said, pointing out the words to me and Jack. Her eyes then widened as she registered the meaning of the words. "This is the cursed sword that gave Cortes the power to conquer the Aztec empire!" She looked up at the two of us, excitement in her eyes. My own eyes were wide as well; I had heard tales of the Sword of Cortes when I was younger, but I always thought it had been just that—tales. "Legend has it that the sword made him unstoppable in battle and gave him strange powers—like being able to convincing the Aztecs that he was a god—"
"To be fair, love, anyone with enough wit and charm could convince someone they're a god," I said.
She ignored me. "The Aztecs believed the god, Quetzalcoatl, would come back to them someday and this sword is how Cortes convinced them that that's who he was." She brushed another lock of wet hair from her face. "The legends also say that, without the scabbard, the sword's power is greatly limited. It played a part in Cortes's downfall. 'The loss o' the scabbard will cause kingdoms to scab over', the saying goes." She carefully turned the thing over in her hands, letting the meager candlelight illuminate the jewels and worn leather along its back. A shudder coursed through her body. "It's supposedly made from the guts of Aztec sacrifices."
I leaned away, making a sound of disgust.
Jack carefully picked the scabbard up with his thumb and forefinger. "Delightful," he muttered, his nose scrunched up. "But how did it get in Captain Seven-Foot-Beastie's possession?"
"I overheard some men talking earlier—talking about the sword. A pirate named Stone-Eyed Sam was the one who had it last," she told us.
Recognition came to Jack's face. "What, the pirate captain? The scourge o' Panama?" he questioned, brows furrowing.
"Clearly, I need a primer on famous pirates," I muttered under my breath. I hadn't heard of Torrents or Stone-Eyed Sam before now.
"Years ago, Stone-Eyed Sam took the sword and sheath to an isolated island, where he made himself king. No one knows what happened to him or to his loyal subjects," Arabella explained. "I'm fairly certain this has something to do with his downfall, given that the sheath is here and the sword is not."
Jack and I exchanged glances—glances that told us we were both thinking the same thing: That we needed to get that sword. It would be dangerous of course; The Sword of Cortez was one of the greatest treasures in the whole of the Caribbean. I could now understand why Torrents was ready to kill Jack when others would have simply smacked him upside the head or punched him in the gut as punishment.
The thing was, we couldn't exactly put it back—Torrents would kill us both and it'd be too dangerous to send Arabella back in there with it.
Arabella must have been on a similar track of thought, as she said, "You're both in big trouble. Stealing somethin' like this from a pirate like Torrents? Ye two need to leave Tortuga immediately—or ye'll be dead men." Shaking her head, she turned to head inside.
To my great surprise, Jack reached out and grabbed her arm. "Wait. Come with us," he told her, taking her by surprise as well. "You obviously know far more about this sort o' legendary stuff than we do—"
"As well as the pirates local to these waters," I added.
He nodded. "And if anyone saw you helping me back there, you're a dead man, too." He paused. "Well, woman." He paused again. "Well, girl." He cleared his throat. "Not t' mention, think o' the freedom that would be ours if we had that sword. Freedom an' power."
Arabella was quiet for some minutes, though Jack and I could tell that she was more than a little happy to have such an offer made to her. "Well…I don't really have any other plans," she at last answered. "Besides working at the Bride for the rest of my life or until I'm married." A heavy sigh left her mouth. "Or until dad dies from the drink," she muttered, her tone turning a bit angry. "I've had little—really nothing—here since a nasty pirate sacked the Bride last year. The git took my mum with him." She shook her head. "A big, fierce, ugly one, too. I do miss her, though…me mum. Dad and I are sure she's…" Her voice trailed off and her gaze fell to the ground for a moment.
Then, shaking her head again, she looked up at me and Jack. "All right. I'm coming with ye. But we play by my rules, hear? No stealing from anyone—pirates or otherwise—along the way."
Jack and I pursed our lips a bit at this, but we both nodded. So much for learning the art of piracy…
She ignored our pouts. "I know the perfect boat to use, too: An old, abandoned one in Salty Cove."
We looked at each other before shrugging. "Sorry, lass. We're new here, remember? Neither of us has any idea where that is," I said. "And I don't think it'd be the safest of ideas for either of us to go in there and ask one of those 'lovely' blokes."
She thought for a moment before pulling a wooden hairpin from her hair. My brow rose as we watched her then tear a bit of cloth from her apron. Next, she held the hairpin in the flame of the candle—which Jack was still holding—until it started to burn, at which point she blew out the flame. Holding the cloth against the wall, she used the now-charcoal end of the hairpin to draw a rudimentary map for us.
"That was quite resourceful of you," I chuckled, "though if you had asked, I have a writing kit in my bag."
Jack dismissively waved his hand at me. "Shush, Drystan. We should count ourselves lucky t' have such a resourceful mate on board with us." As he spoke, he leaned towards Arabella slightly, a grin on his lips.
Her brow rose and I rolled my eyes. "Call me resourceful, but I'm not either of ye's 'mate'. We're business partners." She added a finishing touch to the map: A small X where our destination was. She then handed the rudimentary map to me; I folded it up and tucked it away inside my vest. "Here. Ye two lay low for three days," she instructed. "I'll gather supplies—drinking water and food. Meet me at the boat towards dusk in three nights' time."
His grin broadening, Jack gave her a small bow. "Thank you, my lady,"
This time, Arabella rolled her eyes and I lifted my brow. "We have our boat," she sighed, looking a bit lost, "but…what's our destination?"
"Wherever the sword is, of course," I replied with a small snort. I thought it had been obvious that that was our intended destination, what with all the talk about the sword.
"Aye, we're as good as dead anyway," Jack agreed, putting his hands on his hips. "How much deader would we be if Cortes's missin' blade and the powers o' a god-king fell into the hands of Captain Torn Pants?"
"Torrents," we corrected him. I was beginning to wonder if he was purposefully messing up the man's name out of spite.
Looking down at Arabella, I let out a quiet sigh. "You should get back in there, lass. It sounds like things have died down."
"I just hope that's the only thing that's died," she said, pushing some wet hair out of her face. "Remember: Three days from now at the cove, at dusk." Before waiting for either of us to nod, she hurried towards the back door of the tavern and disappeared back inside.
"Well, that was most interesting," Jack chirped. "Let's see that map, eh? I want to go inspect my—er, our—ship."
My brow rose. "Aren't you forgetting about something?"
His grin faded slightly. "…I don't know. Am I?"
"Your seabag? We haven't exactly gotten any closer to finding it."
His lips pursed in somewhat of a pout and a thoughtful expression replaced his joyful one. "How about this: I look for my bag while you go to the ship, hm?"
"That would be fine and dandy, except I'm the one with the map and you are not. How're you supposed to find the ship?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "Not to mention, Torrents is going to be looking all over this island for you."
He dismissively waved his hand at me—coincidentally, it happened to be the hand holding the candle, which was promptly extinguished. "I'm quite stealthy, remember? Also, I happen t' know you've got that journal o' yours along with some ink in your bag. You can copy the map into that, give me the one Miss Bossy Skirts made, an' we can meet up later."
My brow remained raised as I looked down at him. "What if something were to happen to you and I'm not around? You're unarmed."
"Ah, ah, ah—I've got a scabbard. A magical scabbard, at that." He wiggled brows.
"A lot of good that'll do you if that you get yourself into a scuffle. Unless its magic makes it indestructible—which I doubt, given all its scratches—it'll last only a few hits before breaking." A heavy sigh left my mouth; I knew that, despite my words, he was going to stick to his plan. "Here…" Leaning over, I tugged up the cuff of my trouser leg and unbuckled the dagger from my calf before tossing it over to him. "It's not very big, but it's something at least."
Catching the dagger, he looked it over. "I didn't know you had this on you…"
"That's the point of keeping it in tucked away in my boot." I sighed and shook my head. "Come on. Let's go find somewhere dry so I can copy this map."