Note: My geography of the Caribbean is horrid. The travel distances between
the places named in this story probably would be much longer, but for the
sake of my little ficlet (and limited knowledge) I'll just keep it the way
it is.
****
"What is this place?" Meg called up the rigging, holding onto the side of the ship with her left hand while shading her eyes with the other, squinting at the sunwashed figure of Ana Maria.
Ana Maria came down to deck faster than Meg would have believed possible, shouldering aside dark, damp hair and nodded towards yet another approaching island. Actually, this one was so far off it resembled nothing so much as a cloudbank. However, Meg had learned how to interpret cloudbanks during her time onboard the Black Pearl.
"That? Oh, well, it's the isle of Martinique. Not a patch on Tortuga, the men say, but it doesn't stop them from going there every time we come this way."
Meg almost groaned. So this was what it was like to be onboard a pirate ship, and a female! Watching the crew caper off into the rowdy parts of town every time they docked, oh what great fun it would be. Meg watched Ana Maria shrewdly and realized that she must be used to it by now. But then she remembered that last time the entire crew had left the ship - so that meant that Ana Maria did go with them sometimes.
She made a shriveled face. As if she would ever go to one of those madhouses!
Meg looked up, earning a quick slap in the face from her own flying braid. Rubbing her cheek, she realized that she was alone now, seeing as Ana Maria had just shot up the rigging again. Frowning, she watched as the Spanish woman, after a quick look at the sky, began to work at the ropes that held the sails.
She immediately flicked her gaze upwards to look at the sky. It was an overcast evening, with low, dark clouds streaking the skies and giving a very ominous appearance to them; even the water, normally turquoise in color had suddenly turned a nasty marble grey.
Meg was startled out of her thoughts by a sudden roar of "All hands on deck!" She was even more startled when she felt someone shove her from behind. She spun around wildly to face the man Nicholson.
"Sorry lass," he apologized quickly, blue eyes flicking from the sky to the sea and back again. Only then did they focus on her. "Lass, this is no place for you - go down below. To the captain's cabin - he would want you there - bolt the doors - and do not come out, whatever you do."
"But -"
"No times for words, lass, just go!" Nicholson shoved her again, this time a bit more strongly. She found her legs quickly, and dashed down the winding lower decks. She could hardly remember flying in through the door of the cabin and locking and bolting it; but somehow Meg found herself wrapped in all of her blankets, huddled underneath the wooden bedside table. As soon as she got used to the rather scrunched position, she returned to thought, only to be startled out of it with sudden lurches of the ship.
What had Nicholson meant with saying the captain would want her here? What did she matter to the captain if she was to be a perpetual prisoner of the Black Pearl? She was quite sure that if she fell overboard and drowned, it would be rather a good thing for Jack. He wouldn't have to worry about her trying to escape - but would she? There were sharks in the ocean, and she had never been a good swimmer.
Meg steered herself away from such morbid thoughts. Maybe Jacques would know! she thought hopefully; after all, Nicholson was his uncle.
This returned her to a previous train of thought. Last time she'd visited Jacques she'd gotten the evil eye; before he had induced rather squeamish and uncomfortable thoughts into her unwilling mind. Meg was not at all enthusiastic to get it again, but the sandy-haired, vague boy was her main source of information on the ship. She winced. Once you thought about it, that in itself was pretty pathetic.
Further careening of the ship and shouts of orders and profanities from above interrupted her little therapy session, and she irritably wondered what on earth could be going on up there! Oh sure, it looked like a storm, but a little rain never did any harm.
Startled, she suddenly remembered some of the reports that she'd heard from her father's men while eavesdropping: "Sir, we had an awful storm out there with the Dawn Cruiser, almost lost half the cargo for the soldiers here." "Commodore Kentsworth, sir! While chasing those wretched pirates we encountered a most viciously tempered storm and lost them, sir! We will resume the search as soon as we can muster our crew, sir!"
Meg stifled a laugh at the memory of the second man; he had been rather fat and dumpy, with a mess of red hair and a wizened face and pompous manner. Still, his words -or rather, the memory of them- had the undesired effect of bringing her back to herself with a jolt.
Storms at sea must be much more dangerous and wild than storms on land, she reasoned, because. because if the surface one was on -in this case, water- was not solid -obviously water is not solid- then it would be churned and stirred up by the winds and rain of the storm.
Any seaman -or woman- would have scorned how long it took her to make this discovery, but Meg was solemnly silent as she contemplated, then a sudden thought struck her. Where was Jack? He would ultimately be up on deck, which wasn't very reassuring - but what if he or one of the crew was to fall over the side and drown?
And back to Jacques, Jack and Nicholson - what did it all mean? Was Jacques trying to confuse her and what did Nicholson mean about Jack and Jack. well, Jack was just himself, which was..
She drifted off to sleep in a maelstrom of thoughts, a cacophony of rain, wind and words that relentlessly played on, a ragged symphony inside her sculpted skull.
****
"What is this place?" Meg called up the rigging, holding onto the side of the ship with her left hand while shading her eyes with the other, squinting at the sunwashed figure of Ana Maria.
Ana Maria came down to deck faster than Meg would have believed possible, shouldering aside dark, damp hair and nodded towards yet another approaching island. Actually, this one was so far off it resembled nothing so much as a cloudbank. However, Meg had learned how to interpret cloudbanks during her time onboard the Black Pearl.
"That? Oh, well, it's the isle of Martinique. Not a patch on Tortuga, the men say, but it doesn't stop them from going there every time we come this way."
Meg almost groaned. So this was what it was like to be onboard a pirate ship, and a female! Watching the crew caper off into the rowdy parts of town every time they docked, oh what great fun it would be. Meg watched Ana Maria shrewdly and realized that she must be used to it by now. But then she remembered that last time the entire crew had left the ship - so that meant that Ana Maria did go with them sometimes.
She made a shriveled face. As if she would ever go to one of those madhouses!
Meg looked up, earning a quick slap in the face from her own flying braid. Rubbing her cheek, she realized that she was alone now, seeing as Ana Maria had just shot up the rigging again. Frowning, she watched as the Spanish woman, after a quick look at the sky, began to work at the ropes that held the sails.
She immediately flicked her gaze upwards to look at the sky. It was an overcast evening, with low, dark clouds streaking the skies and giving a very ominous appearance to them; even the water, normally turquoise in color had suddenly turned a nasty marble grey.
Meg was startled out of her thoughts by a sudden roar of "All hands on deck!" She was even more startled when she felt someone shove her from behind. She spun around wildly to face the man Nicholson.
"Sorry lass," he apologized quickly, blue eyes flicking from the sky to the sea and back again. Only then did they focus on her. "Lass, this is no place for you - go down below. To the captain's cabin - he would want you there - bolt the doors - and do not come out, whatever you do."
"But -"
"No times for words, lass, just go!" Nicholson shoved her again, this time a bit more strongly. She found her legs quickly, and dashed down the winding lower decks. She could hardly remember flying in through the door of the cabin and locking and bolting it; but somehow Meg found herself wrapped in all of her blankets, huddled underneath the wooden bedside table. As soon as she got used to the rather scrunched position, she returned to thought, only to be startled out of it with sudden lurches of the ship.
What had Nicholson meant with saying the captain would want her here? What did she matter to the captain if she was to be a perpetual prisoner of the Black Pearl? She was quite sure that if she fell overboard and drowned, it would be rather a good thing for Jack. He wouldn't have to worry about her trying to escape - but would she? There were sharks in the ocean, and she had never been a good swimmer.
Meg steered herself away from such morbid thoughts. Maybe Jacques would know! she thought hopefully; after all, Nicholson was his uncle.
This returned her to a previous train of thought. Last time she'd visited Jacques she'd gotten the evil eye; before he had induced rather squeamish and uncomfortable thoughts into her unwilling mind. Meg was not at all enthusiastic to get it again, but the sandy-haired, vague boy was her main source of information on the ship. She winced. Once you thought about it, that in itself was pretty pathetic.
Further careening of the ship and shouts of orders and profanities from above interrupted her little therapy session, and she irritably wondered what on earth could be going on up there! Oh sure, it looked like a storm, but a little rain never did any harm.
Startled, she suddenly remembered some of the reports that she'd heard from her father's men while eavesdropping: "Sir, we had an awful storm out there with the Dawn Cruiser, almost lost half the cargo for the soldiers here." "Commodore Kentsworth, sir! While chasing those wretched pirates we encountered a most viciously tempered storm and lost them, sir! We will resume the search as soon as we can muster our crew, sir!"
Meg stifled a laugh at the memory of the second man; he had been rather fat and dumpy, with a mess of red hair and a wizened face and pompous manner. Still, his words -or rather, the memory of them- had the undesired effect of bringing her back to herself with a jolt.
Storms at sea must be much more dangerous and wild than storms on land, she reasoned, because. because if the surface one was on -in this case, water- was not solid -obviously water is not solid- then it would be churned and stirred up by the winds and rain of the storm.
Any seaman -or woman- would have scorned how long it took her to make this discovery, but Meg was solemnly silent as she contemplated, then a sudden thought struck her. Where was Jack? He would ultimately be up on deck, which wasn't very reassuring - but what if he or one of the crew was to fall over the side and drown?
And back to Jacques, Jack and Nicholson - what did it all mean? Was Jacques trying to confuse her and what did Nicholson mean about Jack and Jack. well, Jack was just himself, which was..
She drifted off to sleep in a maelstrom of thoughts, a cacophony of rain, wind and words that relentlessly played on, a ragged symphony inside her sculpted skull.