Disclaimer: I do not own "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl." That excellent movie belongs to Disney. I am merely borrowing a few characters for a little adventure. I've asked the characters and they do not mind. I only own Irene Montague/Iron Magdalena Jericho and the Bloodless Band of Pirates. Oh, and the plot. I own the plot.
Author's Note: Irene is my original character; she is NOT a Mary Sue, which will be made quite obvious in this chapter. Her name is pronounced EYE (as in your eye)-RE (as in rewrite)-KNEE (self-explanatory). Okay, my flame policy is the same, leave your email address so in case I want to correct you or something I can. If you do not like what I write, then please tell me what you didn't like. But please do not make it a pure flame. I infinitely prefer constructive criticism to flames, so please make your 'angry' review constructive and I'll try to improve what you do not agree with.
Second Chances
This is not a story centered around cursed pirates or bloodlust or even love. This is a story centered around the greatest pirate hunter and the greatest she-pirate in the Spanish Main. I should know, as I am the latter of the two. Many a man cower in fear when they hear my name. I, the destroyer of manhood, the Sea Witch herself, Iron Maggie Jericho of the Caribbean. I am the she-pirate Iron Maggie Jericho and I live for adventure and plunder. I single-handedly brought the Bloodless Band of Pirates to their knees when I was just eighteen years old with nothing but my cutlass. I fired the cannon that sunk the H.M.S. Queen Anne. I battled with Captain Barbossa of the Black Pearl when that ship attacked my captain's ship. I put fear into the hearts of Royal Navy officers who have the misfortune to come across my path. I lead the raids on Nassau that would go down as the most lucrative pirate plunders in history and I am in serious trouble.
I've spent many a night in prisons from Cuba to the Bahamas, but never before have I been incarcerated by the pirate hunter Commodore Norrington in Fort Charles. If this were any other fort and the Commodore any other man, I could escape. I know the flaws of iron barred cells and I know the secrets of lock picking and the dimwitted guards watching me would be no challenge to the great Iron Maggie to over power. But, I also know that my chances of escape are better at the gallows then here in the quiet deep of the Fort Charles prison.
Why come to Port Royale you ask? My answer is most interesting, I assure you. Port Royale was not my intended destination, but one cannot change a sea storm's direction. Tortuga is my home and anchorage. The ship I serve on, the Rose of Tortuga, makes berth in that criminal haven for outlaws, whores, and pirates. But what most people do not realize is that the most brilliant nautical brains reside in Tortuga. And one such brain belongs to our dear onboard doctor, Mr. Brown, who has an identical brother in Port Royale in the blacksmith trade. Mr. Brown is somewhat of a radical in that he is absolutely obsessed with flying. He is also at his best when drunk, where he usually converses in Spanish, French, and Latin and gets most of his revolutionary ideas for his flying contraptions. Well, I was in a more respectable pub one evening with Mr. Brown and he was showing me his latest idea.
It was sheer brilliance, a rectangular sail with four ropes tied at the corners connecting to a small square of wood. It was what he called a "personal sail." His sail was meant to support one person as they sailed through the air, propelled by the winds. Or at least that is what I understood, as I do not speak French well. I was mesmerized by his idea and I found myself believing that such a contraption could actually work. It turns out that he had built a prototype and was just waiting for volunteer to test it. Of course I fell for his charm and agreed to 'fly' his contraption around the harbor when the winds were right.
As fate would have it, our captain had us set sail for an island just south of Port Royale that evening. Mr. Brown stowed his invention in the hold below deck, still determined to see me fly. As we were making our way back to Tortuga a sudden storm came upon us out of nowhere. It wasn't the worst storm I'd weathered, but it was strong and mighty angry. So as we were coming in sight of Port Royale Mr. Brown came on deck dragging his huge contraption with a strange smile on his face. He told me to take the contraption and climb to the top of the Crow's Nest and spread it out and then jump off into the winds of the storm. Now, normally I would have objected to this madness and say something to the effect that I was not suicidal, but I loved that old man and could not deny him his wish. So I drug that heavy sail, ropes, and wood up the rigging to the Crow's Nest where I sorted it out as best I could in the rain and wind.
There is something you need to know about Mr. Brown's contraptions that is very important. Every single one has worked wonderfully well except for one minor mistake. That mistake being that Mr. Brown invents and builds while in a drunken state. He always forgets something that doesn't appear obvious until the contraption is already in use and then it becomes crystal clear as to what he forgot.
I stood there, on top of the Crow's Nest, and stared out at the storm. I was having serious regrets right then. If this didn't work, I would die, but if I didn't leave the ship, I still might die as it became very evident to me that the ship was indeed breaking up. I cast my doubts into the storm and jumped off of the Nest into a strong gust of wind. The sail spread out behind me and then drifted on top of me. I was tied to the piece of wood that was a hard seat. The wind jerked the sail which in turn jerked me here and there. About a minute or two into this I noticed what Mr. Brown neglected to add. I had no way of navigating this "personal sail."
I was scared now more than ever before. The stormy winds were carrying me toward land with incredible force. I was also getting closer to the huge waves of the ocean in the harbor, so in an act of desperation I pulled hard on the back ropes to bring the back end of the sail down. The effect was not as smooth as I had hoped, but it did work. I moved upward away from the ocean. I was relaxing a little as I neared land, but then I realized that I had no idea of how to land myself when suddenly a strong gust hit me in the back. I grabbed all four ropes and pulled them down hard. But it was already too late. The sudden gust of wind had hurled me toward land too fast. The tree line was coming closer with every second as I pulled on the ropes to steady myself. I remember hitting a palm tree really hard and seeing my sail caught in a neighboring palm.
The bright Caribbean sun and the annoying caws of seagulls woke me the next morning. I was surprised to see that I was still tangled in the palm tree. I was able to wiggle free of my tree, but my sail was still caught the taller tree to my right. In all of my wiggling I fell from my tree and swung wildly to the tall palm on my right. I threw my legs out in front of me in hopes of blocking the tree trunk from damaging me too severely. It worked, sort of. I bounced from the trunk and began to swing again, hitting that blasted trunk every time. I openly cursed every tree I saw and kicked the tree that held my sail every opportunity that I got. I never want to be on such intimate terms with a tree again!
You can imagine that all of my cursing and kicking wasn't exactly helping my predicament. I tried to calm myself by telling myself that I had survived the storm, the flight (yes! I had flown into Port Royale), and the landing. But then I would answer my reassurances with the fact that I was stuck in a palm tree that would not relinquish its grip on me!
After an hour of bickering with myself, I noticed that I still had my trusty dagger on me. I always kept the dagger I rightfully stole from my father's possessions strapped to my lower leg, concealed by my right boot. I could feel the scabbard and the hilt of my dagger against my skin. I scolded myself (rather loudly) for not thinking to cut myself free from the palm. I unsheathed the dagger and began to cut the ropes that imprisoned me. It didn't take me long to see the error of my thinking. I was caught in a high tree and the fall was going to be hard. I didn't really care, I just wanted to be free from my green captor. So I sliced the remaining ropes, sheathed my dagger and cringed as I fell to the sandy ground with a soft bang.
I keeled over onto my side as the pain of everything hit me head on. My legs ached, my back hurt, my arms were sore, and my bum just down right throbbed! I then laid down on the sand and spread myself out. I stretched my tired and achy muscles and some of the pain receded, but most of the pain remained.
The real disappointment came to me when I searched the horizon and didn't see my ship. It was gone! I swore out loud again and kicked some sand up with my foot, which of course got into my eyes causing me to swear again and again. I was just on the other side of Port Royale, maybe half a day's walk. I swore again when I figured out where I was and how far I had to walk!
I would have enjoyed the walk to Port Royale if I hadn't been in so much pain. And I would have made it into Port faster if I didn't stop and rest at every large rock or fallen tree.
I also would have made better time if I hadn't attempted to bathe in small creek that I stumbled onto. But if you had been there, you would have deemed it necessary. I needed to bathe. I was dirty, salty, had sand positively everywhere, and I wreaked! I smelled worse than decaying flesh under a hot sun. I could not stand my stench, it made pigs smell like fresh flowers.
Pirates aren't exactly a clean lot. We vary rarely bathe, practically never. And when we do bathe, it consists of having a lad tie a rope around your waist and tossing you over the side of the ship and dunking you repeatedly into the ocean while you causally scrub yourself. This isn't effective when one wants to be really clean. But the good thing about pirates is that everyone smells bad. After a month or two, the smell is barely noticeable. If you are a woman this pungent aroma is very effective at masking other undesirable odors that occur every month.
My bath attempt was really futile, as it did not get rid of my body odor. So, I decided it might be best if I entered Port Royale through one of the poorer sides. And that is just what I did. The beggars and pickpockets all smell like rotting flesh, so I did not stand out too much.
I found a small Inn with a rough-looking old hag managing it. The Inn was not exactly welcoming, but I wasn't looking for a welcome. I inquired after the cost of one room for a night and the hag merely gazed at me. So I moved ever-so-closer to her, hoping she might get a whiff of me which she must of, as she said "four shillings and for a shilling extra you can take a warm bath." I gave the old gray hag my coin purse of six shillings and she showed me to my room where I could take a warm bath.
I have yet to take such an uncomfortable bath. It turns out that the hag was the owner and maid of this small Inn, so she had to assist me with my bath. The water was tolerably warm and every few minutes she would come in with a bucket of hot water. The hag was determined that I smell good when I left the bathtub, so she would add different herbs, oils, and perfumes to my bath water. I came out smelling like an apothecary's shop, but that smell was decidedly better than my previous smell. I detested the fact that the hag had to see me naked. She made little comments about my body when she thought I could not hear. She said that my complexion was odd (which it is as I am naturally pale, but after the years of continual sunburns, I've achieved a dark tan), my hair lacked luster (what can I say, life at sea takes a lot out of you), I wasn't thin enough (I'm healthy!), and that my facial features weren't remarkable (well, I would hate to have men love me for my physical features instead of my intellect).
It turns out that I was similar in shape to one of her former maids; I got the impression there had been several. She burnt my clothes while I was distracted with my bath, and placed the maid's clothing on my bed. I loathe dresses with the fabric of my being! And here she expected me to be pleased with three simple dresses she'd provided me. I thanked her for her generosity as she left me in my small room. The room was the size of a closet with a small bed in the center of it. I had a niggling feeling that this room had once belonged to one of her former maids.
Aside from providing me with clean clothes, the hag also provided me with food. My apparent hunger had not been so apparent while I was tramping through the jungle. The food wasn't much and it didn't taste good, but it was nourishment and I took it greedily. After being clothed and fed I retreated to my room for what the hag thought was for some much needed rest. I had something else in mind.
I waited patiently beside my closed door listening for the hag to go to bed. I could hear her footsteps and then a door open and close. She was in her room, now I just had to wait awhile longer to make sure she was sound asleep. It didn't take as long as I remember thinking it was going to take. Ten or so minutes later, a definite loud snoring erupted from somewhere towards her room. She was deep asleep. This was the time I had been waiting for.
I quietly opened my door and slowly crept down the hall to the main room where I had first seen the hag. I made my way to the fireplace on the opposite wall and looked into the burning embers. There were still pieces of what had once been my clothes, but nothing else. I looked beside the fireplace and saw what remained of my personal effects: my boots, sword belt, and sheathed dagger. I gathered my effects into my arms and made my way back to my room as quietly as I could. But I did not stay in my room, I came back to that main room to look for a bag of some kind. I did not have anything that I could carry my effects in, as I did not want to draw any unwanted attention to myself while in Port. I found what I was looking for on a coat rack beside the main door. I removed the brown leather drawstring bag from its hook and returned to my room. I placed my boots and sword belt into the bag and strapped my dagger around my right leg, where it belonged.
I did not sleep that night. I had too many thoughts circling around in my head. Where was the Rose? Why hadn't I encountered any crewmembers from the ship? Had I just imagined that the Rose had been breaking up amongst the rocks? I left my room some time before daybreak so that the hag would not catch me with the leather bag. I was going to take back my shillings, but decided not to because of the hag's uncharacteristically kind generosity to me.
So, I, Iron Maggie left the safety of the Inn and began to wander around lost through the streets of Port Royale.