AN: Thanks for all the continued reviews – I greatly appreciate them.
Special thanks to Nimue for her input and to Nevoreiel for her historical help. Much obliged, ladies.
Stokely: My apologies, for I believe it's Chapter 5 you're waiting so anxiously for, but fear not, I've already begun writing it.
***NOTE: Be advised, this chapter could be considered a strong R.
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Who says the earth is crumbling
And no sky is falling through
Sometimes, I just.. can't.. die
~Alice Cooper, "Still No Air"
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When, at last, Aveline reached the deck, she crawled behind a cluster of barrels to catch her breath and examine her splintered, rope-burned hands. Digging with her fingernails, she attempted to remove a few of the larger splinters from her tender flesh. Physical pain was a new sensation for Aveline, who was fully accustomed to a cushioned existence. But this was her pain - her doing - hers to deal with.
In a way, it was almost nice.
The thumping of heavy bootheels against the deck sent her whirling around to find a handsome young sailor eying her suspiciously over the tops of the barrels.
"Well, well. What a pretty young stowaway."
Blast. Caught already.
Aveline gazed up at him with wide, glassy green eyes. Her beautifully styled hair had been ravaged by the stormy ocean; a messy, sopping mop of curls now crowned her head and clung to her neck. Her dress was ruined, and no doubt transparent from being soaked through. She imagined she must be a rather pathetic sight.
"How'd ye board, lass?"
Speechless, she raised her brutalized hands for him to see, as though they would convey her tale to him. He seemed to understand.
"I see." He moved a few of the barrels aside so that nothing stood between them. "Ye know I have to take ye back to sure, don't ye?"
"NO!" She leapt forth, clutching the fabric of his trousers with desperate hands, ignoring the soreness it caused them. "You mustn't, my life depends on it! I'll give you anything, I have money, just take me as far as Tortuga and I swear, I swear you'll never see nor hear from me again!"
"No, lass, I couldn't, I–"
"For God's sake, I'm on my knees! Good sir, if you've a touch of kindness in your heart, please, carry me as far as Tortuga. No one will ever know! Hide me in the hull, away from the crew, the captain will never know!"
His thin lips formed a bitter smile. "Lass... I am the captain."
A crackle of thunder punctuated his statement as the gravity of Aveline's situation registered in her eyes.
"I am damned," she whispered, barely loud enough from the captain to hear.
"What happens to such a pretty thing to make her think such sordid thoughts?"
How to respond? Aveline shook her head in exasperation. She was tired of lying, pretending to be sweet and demure and untormented. She hadn't the energy to present another charade of angelic malaise...
"Sir," she began, her voice taut and trembling. "I will be straight with you. My life has been hell; I can think of no word more suitable to describe it. I was taken from my mother at a very young age and since then, I have been pampered and spoiled, given everything my heart could desire, though in truth I desired none of it. All I desire, all I have ever desired, is control of my own life, to make my own decisions, and not to be used as someone else's... currency." The final word passed her clover lips with an agonized strain. She hesitated a moment, surprised by the tension in her own voice, before continuing with increased emphasis, "This life is torturous, it suffocated me! I will not live another day of it, so help me God!"
He stared at her in shock, concern clouding his fair features. "Well, I..." He cleared his throat, extending a hand to help her to her feet. "Welcome aboard the Mary Alice, Miss..."
She relaxed, sitting back on her haunches, not yet taking his hand. "Hartwell."
"Miss Hartwell. I'm Captain Traven, Traveler to my men. You may call me Peter if you wish."
Aveline smiled, accepting his hand and rising. "Thank you, Captain Traven. How can I repay you?"
In her elation, she was blind to Traveler's traveling eyes, which combed her thoroughly from head to toe, taking in the soft curve of her shoulders, the delicate swell of her breasts, the slightness of her waist, and the fullness of her hips, all displayed to him by the thin muslin of her saturated dress. He stifled an impish grin, instead offering Aveline his arm.
"We'll discuss that matter later, Miss Hartwell. Let me show ye to your cabin."
A cabin! She'd been convinced she would make her voyage to Tortuga crouched and cramped in a damp corner somewhere in the dark heart of the ship.
"Thank you ever so much for your display of kindness, Captain Traven. You have no idea how much it means to me."
"Well, thank ye for your display of... character. One honest man appreciates another. But you aren't a man, are ye?"
Her cheeks flushed. "Well, no, of course not." She pondered the statement a moment, but quickly dismissed it. "I spend so much time lying, pretending to be something I'm not. It feels so good to be honest for a change."
Traveler smiled darkly. "I know the feeling."
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The Pearl's crew was hard at work, loading her with replenished provisions: food, gunpowder, and of course, liquor. Duncan worked diligently, mending one of the ebony sails, while Mr. Cotton repaired a small hole in the ship's quarter deck.
Jack and Gibbs emerged from the load tavern, heavily soused and laughing despite the continued downpour.
"So, tell me, Jack. What'd the old woman tell ye?"
Jack stepped back, sauntering about in his typically loose-jointed fashion. "Joshamee, mate, you are looking at a soon-to-be immortal man."
Gibbs' expression twisted into one of utter disbelief. "She couldn't have said such a thing!"
"Ahhh... but she did say it."
"Did she mean it in a, a hypothetical sense?"
Jack pursed his lips. "Of that, I'm not entirely sure. She said I would soon be given the key to immortality, if I kept along my merry way. Interesting, ain't it, mate?"
"Aye, it is, Captain Jack." Gibbs scratched his whiskers. "I can't help but wonder her meaning. Ye didn't think t' ask?"
"Well... I didn't want to push my luck, seeing as she'd offered up such an admirable fortune. I figure, however she meant it, it can't be bad."
Gibbs shrugged. "Then I suppose we 'aven't anything to worry about, eh?"
"I'd reckon not. And I'd like to keep it so, as it were."
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"Norrington!"
The frantic pounding on his office door brought the commodore hurrying to answer it. Before him stood the detestable Lord Faulkner, his sunken face creased with frenzy, a weeping maid at his side.
Good God.
"She's gone!" the debt-ridden earl blubbered as he blew past Norrington and into his office.
"Who is gone?" the commodore asked, irritated by the pathetic display.
Faulkner pressed a dry handkerchief to his dry nose, produced a horrible honking sound, and refolded, notwithstanding, the dry handkerchief. "My darling little Aveline! Snatched from her bedroom by that blackguard..."
Norrington eyed the earl with military keenness. The man's pale blue eyes were calculating beneath his worried brow, and the clever officer deduced that Faulkner was exaggerating his distress. The maid, however, seemed legitimately upset. "And which blackguard might that be, hmm?"
"Jack Sparrow!"
The commodore's green eyes darkened considerably, his lips pinching to form a line as thin as his patience. "Are you quite sure?"
Faulkner gestured wildly with one arm. "Show him the note, Roberta."
With shaking hands, Roberta reached into the front pocket of her apron, retrieving a folded piece of paper, which she then handed to the commodore. He read it, twice, quite carefully.
"Catch me if you can," he repeated disdainfully, before crumpling up the note. "How could Jack Sparrow have infiltrated Port Royal without my knowing about it?"
"Assemble your best men, Commodore!" Faulkner exclaimed, one useless finger pointed archly at the ceiling. "I need her back at once!"
"Yes," Norrington drawled. "And could you tell me when last you saw the girl?"
"This morning. She went for a walk near the harbour. Neither her handmaiden nor myself saw her return, though her room was obviously the site of her abduction, as it is in ruins, as well as where we found the note."
The commodore raised a prudent eyebrow. "She went alone?"
A fiery red blush of embarrassment crept into the earl's concave cheeks. "Well... she's a most rebellious girl, it's rather difficult to persuade her against her inclinations."
"Even in preserving her reputation? Well, you can trust that spending any amount of time unaccompanied aboard a pirate vessel is sure to destroy what's left of it."
Roberta's soft weeping exploded into a heavy barrage of uncontrollable tears.
"Find her!" Faulkner bellowed, his complexion as scarlet as the velvet lining King Georges' throne.
Commodore Norrington intended to find her all right; rather, he intended to find Jack Sparrow. "Lord Faulkner, you have my solemn word that I will find and return the young lady in question, and that you and all of Port Royal will see Sparrow hang for his crimes."
"See that you do." With that, Lord Faulkner exited the commodore's office, with Roberta in tow.
Alone at last, Commodore Norrington considered his impending success. "The last real pirate threat in the Caribbean," he murmured darkly to himself. "Threat indeed."
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In her tiny cabin below the decks of the Mary Alice, Aveline had quickly drifted to sleep, her physical battle with the stormy ocean having taken quite a bit out of the small woman. She didn't rest, however, for as usual, nightmares inundated her slumber.
Callous hands held her wrists pinned at the small of her back, rearing her backward while pushing her forth. The pirate led her through a small maze of cabin corridors, toward the rear of the ship where resided Captain Savage. They reached the door to his quarters, and the pirate struck the sole of his shoe against it several times rather than releasing her to knock. The door opened, seemingly of its own accord, and she was ushered inside, her usher kicking the door closed behind them.
"Welcome, lass," Captain Savage's jagged voice greeted her, and her heart leapt into her throat at the sound. "Ye ready for yer blessin'?"
"Blessing?" she repeated meekly, her eyes shifting from the captain to the boatswain at his side.
"Aye, lass," the bearded man responded with a gravelly chuckle, nodding to the boatswain in silent command as he did. She watched the second man cross the cabin to a dark corner, bend down, and hoist a dark-skinned man, bound and gagged, from the floor. She trembled at the very sight of him. He looked barbaric, primitive, the ivory teeth of some savage animal dangling from a hemp cord worn around his neck. His half-clothed body was covered with strange markings, red and white lines and circles against his brown skin, and various needles and rings penetrated the flesh of his face, neck, and ears. In all her life, she had never seen a man so frightening.
The boatswain untied the man and removed his gag while Savage held his pistol aimed at the dark man's head. He handed the pistol to the boatswain and gestured to the man restraining her. "Lay 'er out on the table."
White horror blinded her as she was lifted and deposited atop a map on the captain's navigation table. The rope that had been used to bind the dark man was then tied to each of her wrists and knotted beneath the table, effectively preventing her from movement of her arms. Her legs were held in place by the pirate, and Captain Savage held a large, cold, filthy hand over her mouth.
"Awright, mate," Captain Savage instructed the dark man. "Bless the girl."
She panted franticly against the sea captain's hand, her eyes wide as the dark man with the markings began reciting a series of foreign chants. His eyes were angry, although they did not seem sympathetic, and she feared she should be equally as afraid of him as she was Savage. Reaching into a small leather pouch at his side, the dark man sprinkled some sort of herb or spice over her brow, then over her throat. Reaching into the pouch again, he removed a vial containing a red liquid, which he smeared on each of her cheeks before grabbing the hem of her skirt.
She shrieked against the captain's palm as the dark man's fingers grazed the bare flesh of her mound, that area which she herself had never dared licentiously touch in her nine years on earth. She tasted bile at the back of her throat as he continued applying the red liquid to the shelter of her virginity, and struggled not to vomit into the pirate captain's hand as he clapped it harder over her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut to avoid the lewd gazes of the pirates surrounding the table and tensely endured the remainder of her 'blessing,' daring not even to breathe a sigh of relief when the dark man returned the hem to her ankles.
"Are ye done?" Savage asked at last, and when the native had nodded his affirmation, the captain removed his hand from her mouth. Able to at last, she opened her mouth and released a bloodcurdling cry...
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