Hey, thank you to everybody for reviewing! I feel so appreciated! *tear tear* *hugs everyone who reviewed* Well, here's the next chapter; sorry no Captain Sparrow in this one. L Don't worry! He'll be back! ^_^
Disclaimer: Still the same as last time only I forgot to mention my ownership of Captain Fellis. He plays a bigger part later… a much bigger part! *laughs evilly* Ha ha! I must leave you all in suspense! Anyway, enjoy this chappie!
Chapter Two: "Flight"
Lydia was finally ready for her wild getaway. She really had no idea what she was getting into, and had a bad feeling she was opening up quite a can of worms, but now that her mind was made up, there was no going back. She really had no belongings to speak of, so, after bandaging her injured hand with a strip of old fabric, all she had had to do to be ready was wait for the boss to drink himself to sleep, an event that happened most every night.
What is it about rum, anyway? she thought idly, watching her boss take another long draught of the liquid from behind the slightly cracked service entrance door of the tavern. She had once had only a small swallow of the stuff and was none too keen to try it again. She sighed quietly; wishing her boss would just pass out and be done with it. Never had she been more anxious to have him unconscious.
To occupy herself during her wait she thought back to the man whose ship she would soon be boarding (hopefully). He had left with his arm around some outlandish creature, never even giving her a second glance, nor a second thought, she was sure; no one else did. Let's hope it stays that way! she thought. She knew about the worst thing that could happen while on his ship would be to get caught. She wasn't too eager to know what pirates did with stowaways.
Again she checked on the man sitting behind the counter with a jug of rum. To her relief, the jug was on the ground, his grip on it limp, and his head was hanging back with his mouth wide open. A disgusting sound was emitting from it, along with odors she didn't wish to experience. As silently as she could manage she crept from behind the door; slowly, so slowly, she tip-toed her way to the entrance. She could not take the chance of waking him; the risk was too great. This was her only chance for emancipation.
One foot, two feet, three… Ever so delicately she closed the distance between herself and her portal to sovereignty. As she was beginning to think she was home free her foot pressed down on a creaky board. Lydia cringed as the plank let out a horrible groan, her heart nearly leaping into her mouth. She stopped breathing to listen to any sound of stirring behind her. Nothing. She turned her head ever so slightly to take a look over her shoulder. The great lug hadn't even twitched an eyelid! She sighed quietly and continued her stealthy journey to the door.
She was only a short distance from her gateway to liberty now. She only had a few more feet to go until her independence was sealed when out of nowhere the empty jug came plummeting through the air and crashed against the doorframe, shattering instantly inches from her head. She froze in terror. Holding her breath she turned reluctantly. She could hear him muttering slurred, incoherent sentences.
He began to get up and Lydia tensed herself to run, but then he simply slumped forward and began to snore. She stood there for what seemed like an eternity, letting out her breath little by little. When she finally no longer feared her employer waking up, she turned and swiftly scampered the last wee bit out the door.
As soon as she had crossed the threshold, she broke into a run. The docks were not far from the Sandy Crab, but she wanted to put as much distance between herself and that place as she could. Gradually she slowed, then stopped briefly, taking deep breaths of air. You know, the air does smell sweeter when you're free, she thought. She was within site of the harbor now, and began walking towards the infamous black sails of the most terrifying pirate vessel on the ocean.
Lydia crept stealthily towards the ominous ship, creaking in the moonlight. All the crew seemed to be on land. Surely the great pirate Sparrow would not leave his precious ship unguarded? she thought to herself as she peered at it from behind a lamppost. She was right; she could just make out the figure of a man under a dim, swaying lantern near the bow of the ship.
This might be tricky, she contemplated. She had had no misgivings that the ship would not be there; she knew that the 'pleasurable company' Tortuga had to offer should keep the ship docked until morning. Another reason she would be so glad to leave this place behind her.
Then an open porthole caught her attention. I f I could just get to that little hole, she reckoned, I believe that success in my passage out of here would be certain. Hunching over, blending into the shadows, thankful for the dark green hue of her dress, and the equally dark brown of her hair, she slipped over to the great ship.
Unfortunately, when she got there she found the porthole to be about twenty feet above her head.
"Oh, I'll never be able to get up there!" she cried out loud in frustration. Frantically she looked around her, hoping to find something, anything, of use. Amazingly, she spotted a lengthy coil of rope piled next to the neighboring ship. Grabbing it and swiftly returning to the porthole she set about to untangling the mass of line. Once that was accomplished she came once again to a stand still. Even if she did get that rope into the little bitty porthole, what exactly would be holding her weight up there as she climbed?
She needed something pointy, she decided, something that could latch itself onto the inside wall of the ship. She searched around her again, but this time she was not so lucky as to see anything of use at her direct disposal. Now she would really have to search. After quite awhile of fruitless scavenging she sat down dejectedly on the dock next to the unreachable porthole. She tossed the rope sullenly to the side; she had no use for it anymore. Then, quite suddenly, a particularly large wave came rolling towards shore, setting the Pearl to violent rolling.
As her eyes ventured to the ship she saw another porthole about two feet below the dock. She blinked. How did she miss that? Admonishing herself with disgust at her own stupidity she carefully lowered her feet off of the dock and onto the lower rim of the porthole, putting her weight on her toes. Then the ship tipped hard the other way and her foothold was suddenly gone! She fell and just barely managed to grasp onto the edge of the dock.
So there she was, dangling precariously from the wooden planks of the dock while the Black Pearl remained infuriatingly out of reach. Lydia began to attempt to swing herself towards the ship, hoping her feet would make contact and she would once again endeavor to board the pirate vessel.
Many graceless efforts later, she had now switched her position from dangling off of the dock to dangling from the porthole. At least I'm getting closer, she thought, slightly bitterly. Her arms were aching something fierce and she could no longer feel her fingers, so she really could not tell if she were slipping or not. She saw by the spots on the cloth that her hand had started bleeding again. Mustering all her resolve she braced herself, and with one great final maneuver she flung herself, panting, into the room on the other side of the porthole.
It seemed to be where the cannons were kept; she could see the faint outlines of squares cut into the wood of the ship where the cannons could be pushed out of to shoot. This seemed as good a place as any to hide, Lydia figured, and thanked her lucky stars for that. She slunk into a tight, concealed crevice in-between a cannon and the ship's wall, and hazily remembered hoping the pirates wouldn't need the cannons any time soon before becoming prey to a profound slumber.