A young man, he looked not a day over sixteen, stood staring as the trio boarded the ship. Grace noticed immediately that his lower lip was bloodied and red, his left eye was puffy and fading slowly from black, and his clothes were dirty and tattered—even for a pirate. He grasped the wooden handle of a mop with both hands, gazing—more than a little awestruck—at Jack. A quick glance around the ship told her that the rest of the crew was in much better condition and she found herself wondering why this lad would be any different. She didn't wonder for long, however. The gentle rocking of the ship proved to be quite a distraction—Grace hadn't quite gotten her sea legs yet. She fought, not only to keep her balance, but to look as though she'd spent every day of her life on a ship. Somewhere deep inside she knew it was foolish—"Grey" hadn't spent much time on the ocean, after all—but she couldn't help wanting to impress these people for some reason. Or to, at least, not look the fool in front of them. She made a silent pact with herself—she was a pirate now (for the time being, anyhow), so she would not cry, scream, complain, or do anything terribly stupid (as she suddenly seemed quite prone to). She was so preoccupied with keeping her steps steady that she almost didn't hear the steps coming their way. She looked up just in time to something that startled her almost enough to make her fall. The woman standing before them had chocolate skin and dark, shining hair that hung loose under a broad hat. Her pants were nearly black, as were her boots. Both contrasted with the white shirt that was billowing softly in the breeze. She wore a bright red sash under a well-kept black belt that held a sword. No…That's not a sword. It's too short, Grace thought, peering at it.
"Welcome back, Cap'n. We're nearly ready to make way," the woman's voice seemed thick to Grace's ears, but easy to listen to. "What 'ave we 'ere?" the woman was giving her a curious look and Grace felt herself pale a little. She was only just beginning to realize how much she wanted these people to like her. Maybe if they liked her, she could stay on after Tortuga—this woman was a pirate, after all, why couldn't she be one? She clamped down on such foolish thoughts immediately. She doubted that Jack would be very keen on that idea (especially if she had to cook anything—she'd been lying about the good cook bit).
"This lad has bartered passage to Tortuga. I was thinking he'd make a good cabin boy for so long, but it seems that job's been filled," though she couldn't see Jack's face, she thought she heard a touch of warning in his voice as he nodded to the rag-tag boy.
"'E jus' washed up on the beach this mornin', Jack. 'Alf-drowned and terrible scared. Seems 'is pa was beatin' 'im. 'E begged to stay on—especially after he figured out this was the Pearl. Thinks ye're an 'ero, that one, Jack," she said, eyes cool and voice hushed. Jack let out a long sigh.
"Well, Tortuga's not far. I s'pose we can always use the help. Besides, Grey's supposed to be a good cook," he replied, clapping Grace on the shoulder. She felt her face get paler, but nodded enthusiastically. "Ah, I forget my manners. Grey, this be Anamaria," he gestured to the pirate woman. "Anamaria, this little scamp is Grey, a thief who needed to leave town." The woman gave her a careful once-over before nodding.
"Cap'n," it was Gibbs, who had parted ways with them upon boarding. "We're ready ta' sail."
"Then, by all means, let's haul anchor. Before Norrington gets wind that we're 'ere," Jack said turning to survey the crew with his now-familiar cockeyed grin. There was a sudden burst of activity, during which Grace found herself following Jack down the length of the ship and up a short flight of stairs.
"Now," Jack spoke quietly. "You jus' keep out of the way for a bit. When we hit open water ye'll either help the cook or help that boy swab, aye?" he ran a caressing hand over the great wooden wheel before glancing back at her. She stood at his right-hand, keeping one eye on the sailors and the other on the wheel.
"Aye, Cap'n," she replied, bowing her head. The gold-flecked grin widened in amusement.
"That's the spirit," he said, turning his gaze to what was going on below them. Grace was rather pleased with herself—she was starting to get the hang of moving with the ship (though she was a bit afraid of her walk turning out similar to Jack's on land) and she'd made the captain grin. Why, exactly, should I be concerned with whether or not he's grinning? asked a sensible voice within her. She was given a reprieve from having to answer herself by footsteps making their way up the stairs. It was the rag-tag boy from earlier. He paused at the top of the stairs, looking wide-eyed at Jack, who sent a cool glace back at him.
"What's yer name, boy?" he asked.
"Me name's Michael Bailey, sir," he said after a moment. "But mos' people jus' call me Bail or Bailey."
"Well, Bailey, what makes ye think ye've got the salt to be a pirate?" Grace could see the boy biting his already-swollen lip.
"Me ma' always said I was a good worker. An' I'll do anythin', sir. Please," the boy's eyes were pleading, but Jack's gaze lingered on the men raising the anchor.
"Can ye swim?" he asked after a moment.
"Aye. A little," the boy replied, seeming a bit more confident.
"An' ye' can swab a deck and follow orders?" Jack continued.
"Aye, sir!" the boy was nodding empathically now.
"Well stay out of the way until we're in open water, then ye can go back to swabbin', savvy?"
"Aye, sir!" Bailey seemed overjoyed as he stepped closer to take a place beside Grace. Another glance to the side told her that he didn't have any weapons. She also saw that he wasn't steady on the boat, either. She pondered just what had brought him to the Pearl as she watched Anamaria give orders to the men below.
Elizabeth had worked herself into a bit of a state. She, Will and Coop had spent quite some time talking in the smithy before the ageing man had gone to find Grace's maid. Now it was just Will and herself—Will bending a piece of steel to his will, Elizabeth pacing up and down the shop.
"I just can't figure out what that man has in his head," she said loudly, so her beloved could hear her over the din of the bellows.
"I'm sure he's got something in mind," Will replied.
"I know!" she said, giving a grimace. "I would just feel much better if I knew what he was up to. That's all."
"We'll probably find out soon enough," he told her before the hiss of hot steel in water cut off the opportunity for conversation. Elizabeth heaved a sigh. She was already missing Grace. Not to mention worrying about her. The girl was aboard the Black Pearl with none other than Jack Sparrow. Jack, she knew, didn't usually do things out of the kindness of his heart. He didn't put a hand into anything unless he came out with gold in the palm—and for the life of her, she couldn't figure out where the gold was coming from in this case. A loud pounding on the shop's door drew her attention away from the puzzle. Before either she or Will could get to the door, it was open and Brody Fenton was standing within the shade of the entrance. Inwardly she shuddered. Now there was a scoundrel. Silly as it would seem to most, she trusted Jack with her friend far more than she trusted Brody with the girl.
"Good to see you Master Fenton," Will had stopped what he was doing to turn and greet the man. He wiped several beads of sweat from his brow before stepping forward to stand beside Elizabeth.
"Yes, yes," he said a bit dismissively. "Have you seen dear Grace? Her father and I have reason to believe she's in a great bit of trouble."
"I'm afraid not," Elizabeth spoke first. "What kind of trouble? Do you think she's all right?" she scrunched up her brows in a look of concern.
"Her father received a letter not long ago. It claims that she's been captured by pirates—they're holding her for ransom," the man strolled further into the shop. Elizabeth was surprised to see that he looked genuinely concerned—whether it was for his fiancée or his money, she couldn't be sure.
"Pirates?!" Will's voice was raised in alarm. "What manner of filthy scum would dare to kidnap her?"
"The note is signed by a 'Captain Grant', I'm not sure who he could be, but he's threatened to kill Grace if he doesn't receive the ransom. Frankly, I'm at a loss. What is one to do at such a time?" he looked imploring from Will to Elizabeth.
"Perhaps Commodore Norrington would be better suited to help?" she suggested. After a few moments of hesitation the large man nodded with resignation.
"I suppose you're quite right," he said, turning his back to them and walking slowly to the door. "If you see her," he glanced back. "Please send her home." Then the door was shut and the pair was alone once more. They stood motionless for a minute or two, then looked at each other. Elizabeth felt herself shaking with silent laughter. At least she now had some idea of what that scalawag was up to.
Jack breathed deeply, glad to be back at the helm of the Pearl. The salty sea air filled his lungs, a refreshing sensation that he'd been deprived of in the tavern of the previous night. Before him was the deck and beyond that the bright rolling blue of the sea stretched out to the horizon. This, he was sure, was the only way to live. And the Caribbean seemed to be the best place to do it. He'd been all around the world—or most of the way around it, at any rate. Of all the waters he'd sailed, this sea, with its vibrant cerulean waves, was his favorite. His eyes dipped back to the deck to take in the crew. Those that were above decks were either working or staring out at the ocean. High above, he knew one of them would be keeping watch from the crow's nest. This would probably be a relaxed voyage. Then they'd sail back to Port Royale, he'd take the gold Grace's dear old da left for her ransom and leave that blue dress he'd gotten from her. He'd given the thing to Gibbs to take down to cookie, who'd do his best to spill come chicken blood on it. It all worked out. Grace would be rid of that Fenton character, he'd get a few pieces of eight for his trouble, and—best of all—he wouldn't have to listen to any more chickens for quite some time.
He let his gaze come to rest on the girl, who was scrubbing the deck on her hands and knees. She seemed to be a good lass, even if she was a bit hasty in her actions. He was almost sorry to leave her in such a port as Tortuga. Almost. Whatever happened to her after they dropped anchor was her problem—even if Elizabeth did scream at him for setting her loose in such a place. He found himself wondering how she'd ever make it and stopped before he could get very far down that path. She was only temporarily part of his crew, he needn't wonder about such things. With that, he considered the other new addition. The boy was scrappy and he had some spirit in him. Other than that he was skin and bones covered in a few worn rags. The boy's hair was long, matted and the color of sand. It might take a while to get some muscle and meat on his bones and find him some new clothes, but Jack thought he'd probably make a halfway decent pirate.
"Decidin' what kind o' boat yer goin' tae buy me?" came Anamaria's voice from behind him.
"I already replaced your boat, Ana," he said, not taking his eyes from the two cabin boys.
"And then it sank," she pointed out.
"Well, I wasn't in command when it sank," he retorted.
"No, but it was yer ship that sank it," she leaned on the railing beside the wheel. He couldn't tell if she was teasing him or not—she might have actually been halfway serious. She took a long look downward. "What are we to do with 'em?" she asked, nodding toward Grace and Bailey.
"We'll drop the one off in Tortuga, the other can stay," he said quietly.
"What's the idea, sir? Why ye' haulin' 'im to Tortuga?"
"It will be well worth it, Anamaria," he said, sending a lopsided grin her way. "Very well worth it." She was about to reply when a cry from above stopped her train of thought.
"Sails!" came the yells of Moises. Jack glanced up to see that he was pointing to starboard. Anamaria grabbed the wheel as he reached for he glass. He peered through, trying to find the ship. When he did, he glanced skyward with a rueful look.
"What is it, sir?" came Anamaria's voice from the wheel. He turned, a slightly pained look on his face.
"It's the bloody Dauntless."
This chapter's a bit on the shortish side—I apologize. It's been a crazy week. Hopefully, I'll be able to get the next chapter out tomorrow or Monday (and I'll double-check this one for any more errors). Chapter the sixth will be a bit longer, I think—probably twice this length.^_^ Interesting happenings on the horizon for it. I have a feeling this story might get a bit long in the tooth before I'm ready to call it finished. There might be some slow updates in September—I need to finish and polish a writing contest entry. Other than that, it's clear sailing (we're almost done with the remodeling and everything!).^_^
*huggles reviewers* I'll enjoy writing this piece as long as there's people who enjoy reading it (that's what the fun of writing really is).^_^
Thanks for reading!