Author's Note: Wow, thanks for the response everyone! And yes, it was real French that I used in the last chapter – at least as far as I can tell. I did my best; glad it was reasonably convincing. And now for a little announcement: I've started a mailing list to keep you guys informed of all my updates – in other words I'll send out a mass email when I've put up the next chapter. It's solely for your convenience, but it's very small right now, so if you want to be added just let me know. (That means putting your email address up with the reviews, so I can put you in the address book.) Okay, on with the next chapter – please RnR!
Chapter 4: The Night Storm
We stayed ashore for the night, spending the evening in a crowded bar drinking, dancing and making the most of our last sight of dry land for months to come. Anamaria told me about the boat she'd lost – or that Captain Sparrow had lost – and I had to admit afterwards it sounded wonderful. I asked her what it was like to captain her own ship, and if it was difficult to keep command of grown men who were no doubt stronger than she. She just smiled and said, "There en't no fist stronger than a woman's tongue, Abby. Remember that." And then she took a swig of mulled wine and joined the others in a pirate song. I couldn't understand most of the words because they were so jumbled by the effects of the alcohol, but it seemed both joyful and completely ridiculous. At the end Captain Sparrow raised his tankard with the others.
"Take what you can!" he shouted.
"And give nothing back!" the others answered, raising their drinks in unison.
It was the most wonderfully decadent night of my life; Mr. Gibbs even spun me around the dance floor a few times. It didn't occur to me to mention the knife the Captain had given me to the others, and truthfully I forgot all about it in the excitement of the evening. I can't even remember where I slept that night, but I do remember it being the most restful sleep I've ever had to this day.
We left at daybreak the following morning; the Captain seemed filled with an inexplicable eagerness to be on our way, and he cursed and berated the crew more harshly than usual. I was used to it by now – I knew he meant no harm – but something about his tone this time bothered me.
"What's going on?" I asked Mr. Gibbs, "He seems a good deal angrier than usual."
"Aye, that he does," he agreed, "There's no tellin' what's in his head just yet, though. I can' see the danger, if there is any. . . But he'll not let any of the crew come to harm, rest assured o' that."
So I left the matter alone, and after a few days back at sea Captain Sparrow seemed back to normal. We lowered the sails only at night, and only then when the Captain was sure that we could go no further until morning. One evening we encountered a raging thunderstorm, and for the fourth time in my short life I felt truly frightened. The winds howled against the sails, threatening to rip the ship apart at a moment's notice. The gunwales creaked under the strain of the crashing waves as the ship rocked back and forth on its keel. Rain and seawater flooded the deck; I nearly slipped overboard several times, and I wasn't the only one. I held fast to the main line, heaving all my weight against it as Mr. Gibbs and I struggled to keep the main sail aloft. Captain Sparrow kept a tight hold on the wheel, steering the ship blindly towards a destination only he could see. Anamaria finally clamoured up the steps to the bow and begged him to lower the anchor.
"You're mad, Jack!" she yelled, struggling to keep her voice above the wind, "We en't gettin' no further in this! Ye have to take down the sails!"
"She'll hold!" the Captain insisted, "The storm is letting up – keep her on keel!"
"The ship will hold!" said Anamaria, "But think of Abby! She'll never make it if ye keep her out in this!"
Just then another wave crashed over the hull, soaking me and Mr. Gibbs to the bone with freezing saltwater. I barely had time to feel grateful for Anamaria's concern for me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Captain Sparrow look in my direction, then he turned to Anamaria and told her to take the wheel. He staggered down the steps and gave the order to drop the anchor and lower the sails. I tried to help Mr. Gibbs drop the main sail, but my hands had frozen into hard claws; I couldn't let go. Suddenly the Captain grabbed hold of me and broke my grip, taking hold of the rope himself.
"Get in my cabin!" he yelled.
"What?" I asked.
"Go! Now!"
So I stumbled into his cabin at the bow of the ship and collapsed on the wet floor. The ship seemed to rock even more now that I was inside – something about not being able to see the waves as they came made them feel all the more turbulent. My hands were still stiff and ached from the cold, and I wondered absently if they could be frostbitten. A short time after that the ship seemed to still, if only a little, and the Captain burst into the cabin. He helped me to my feet, grabbed a brown bottle from the cupboard, and then half-dragged, half-carried me back to the deck.
"We're going below with the others," he told me when we reached the hatch, "Nothin' to do now but wait. It'll stop soon enough. Come on."
He led me down to one of the larger rooms below where some of the crew were in the midst of a game of cards. The winds were dying in earnest now, and the ship became steady, but the rain came in heavy torrents against the portholes and the deck so we still couldn't raise the sails. Captain Sparrow sat me down in a corner of the large room. Mr. Cotton soon appeared with a miraculously dry blanket for me to wrap up in.
"Thank you," I whispered through chattering teeth.
Mr. Cotton merely smiled and draped the blanket over my shoulders.
"Man overboard! Man overboard!" squawked the parrot.
I laughed; I could barely move, but I was starting to feel better. Captain Sparrow removed his rain-soaked coat and three-cornered hat, I assumed to allow himself more freedom of movement. He set the brown bottle on the floor next to me. I had rarely seen him without his hat before, and took a delirious interest in the bright red scarf he wore wrapped around his head. He knelt down in front of me, took both my hands in his and examined the stubborn claws closely.
"You don't think I could have frostbite, do you?" I asked nervously.
He gave a short laugh.
"It's hardly cold enough for that, love," he said simply.
I winced as he slowly uncurled my fingers for me; I honestly felt as if my bones were about to break.
"Easy," he said gently, continuing to straighten my fingers.
He started massaging my hands and soon I felt life in them again. That was the most painful part: the throbbing as my blood rushed back into my cold joints. I bit my lip against the pain as Captain Sparrow continued rubbing my hands. His slow, repetitive touch was soothing, almost hypnotic; I didn't want him to stop. The throbbing gradually subsided and I began feeling warmer. Suddenly he let go. I looked up at him.
"Can ye move 'em now?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," I said, stretching my fingers gingerly.
"Come now," he insisted, "Let's see ye make a fist."
I slowly balled my right hand into a fist, then my left, and unclenched them again. Everything seemed fine; even the throbbing had stopped completely.
"Good," said Captain Sparrow, and then he fetched an empty tankard from a shelf above my head.
He uncorked the brown bottle and poured half its contents into the tankard.
"What is that?" I asked, realizing he meant me to drink it.
"Brandy," he said, handing me the tankard, "That's for warmin' the rest of ye."
I took a deep swallow of the brandy, grimacing at the harsh taste of it but relishing the way it heated my throat on the way down. The warmth of the drink spread slowly through the rest of my cold body. I drank again, and when I lifted my gaze I saw that the Captain had gone to stand over the card-players, watching the game with great interest. Anamaria suddenly appeared beside me.
"All right, Abby?" she asked, helping me to my feet.
"Yes," I said, "But only just. I don't know why I stood out there so long – thanks."
"For what, lass?"
"I know it was you who convinced the Captain to take down the sails."
Anamaria smiled and steered me towards a seat at the card table.
"Only doin' me job. I can' bear watchin' another crew member fall."
She sat down next to me and picked up her hand of cards.
"What are you playing?" I asked curiously.
"Here, I'll teach ye," she said, and she gave me a brief summary of the rules as the game continued.
"Fancy a hand, Jack?" asked Mr. Gibbs as another round ended.
"Aye!" said the Captain, pulling up a chair, "Deal me in, mate."
I watched and talked with them, sipping at my brandy, and eventually joined in the game myself when I decided I had the rules fairly well in mind. I couldn't figure out why I kept losing until Mr. Gibbs enlightened me.
"Yer the on'y one not cheatin'," he said with a wink.
Everyone laughed heartily, and gradually my night transformed from a near-fatal brush with a winter thunderstorm into a strengthening of comradeship with my fellow shipmates. It was that night that it finally dawned on me that I was the only one aboard who always addressed the Captain as "Captain." All the others sometimes called him "Jack." Of course, it wasn't always "Captain" that I called him; sometimes it was "Captain Sparrow" or "Sir," but never just "Jack." I was always polite and respectful in the way I spoke to him, and the others usually were too, but not always. I wondered why no one had bothered to mention this discrepancy to me. I suppose it amused them having such a well-bred young lady aboard amongst their rouges and scoundrels. Still, the difference gave me moment's pause, but little more. I thought nothing of it afterwards for a long while.