Yeah, yeah, it's been a long time. I swear, I'm writing, i'm just forgetting to post---a first to me. Thanks for being patient!
**Disclaimer** Not mine, not mine, not mine.
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"Land ho!" Nero's throaty cry jerked Julie out of a fitful sleep. Her eyes snapped open, but she was facing west and the setting sun blinded her. The wound on her leg had begun to throb with an intense pain.
The day's heat was beginning to mellow into evening, and she could feel her skin pinking under her tan. She sat straight up, but again found herself unable to see anything because of the three men crowded at the prow.
"Hispaniola, I'll bet me shorts." Nero gestured with his flask. Red Jim flashed a sunburned smile at Julie, and she returned it heartily. They had been taking turns rowing all through the night and all day. Since Red Jim was the biggest, he insisted on taking the longest turn. He tried to hide it, but she could tell that his hands were beginning to shake.
"Here, let me row for a while, Jim. Have some rum." After a moment's hesitation, Jim took the bottle, and she took the oars. Her arms and chest complained at the first pull, but as she gently coaxed the soreness out of the muscles and the blood began to flow again, she began to feel more awake. Nero and the captain talked amongst themselves.
"There be ships docked, if I'm seein' roit. Can't see no British flag yet, though."
"You know, Nero..." Turner began. There was a loud gurgle as Jim drained the last of the rum. Turner waited for the sound to die away, then continued. "Even if there is a navy ship docked nearby, there's no garauntee that they'll be willing or able help us."
"We've got'a try, Cap'n."
"I agree. However, I think it would be wise to try more than one tack." Julie frowned slightly, making sure to keep her oarstrokes strong and even. Jim was leaning forward to listen.
"'Ere now, Cap'n, ye'd better stop yer daftness an' tell me what you mean."
"Well, I have a connection with someone who might be able to render a little more help." He seemed to be thinking hard. Nero was quiet for a moment.
"If'n yer meanin' who I think ye mean...well, isn't there another way? I mean, seems a little desperate tae me..."
"Not at all. He's quite trustworthy, if given the right incentive."
"Well..." Nero still sounded doubtful. Julie wouldn't be surprised if he were still trying to think of protests, although she was mystified as to what. She wondered whether the two men really knew each other that well, or if they just had the same kind of bats in their belfries. It was a fifty-fifty chance.
"Trust me, old timer. If Tortuga is in easy distance, I can probably find him there. If I can't, I'll find someone who knows him and track him down." Tortuga? There was nothing at Tortuga but rum and pirates...which could only mean that the person they were apparently going to enlist the help of would be equally...unsavory.
"Still think I oughta go with ye. Tortuga ain't no place to go alone," Nero said, drumming his fingers restlessly on the port oar ring. Julie found herself watching with morbid fascination to see if he would get one of his fingers caught. She could hear Turner shifting behind her.
"No. If the Brit navy does decide to help us, they'll need someone who can tell them where the ship went amiss."
"But Cap'n..."
"How's this...I'll take John with me. He can watch my back well enough, don't you think?" Julie nearly dropped the oars in the process of twisting around. Captain Turner was reclined in the prow of the boat, staring out over the water at the body of land that was quickly growing closer. Nero stared at him for a moment, then sighed.
"All roit, if ye insist on this bloody errand...may as well send the little scabber wi' ye. Eh, what're ye lookin' at? Row." Julie's eyes widened a bit more. Nero continued to glare at her with one eye. Finally, she gave a token shrug and turned back around to resume her work. Somehow, it seemed better not to ask questions. It was obvious that Nero had just been practically ordered to do something that he didn't want to do. More than likely it was a new experience for him.
Red Jim looked just as lost as she; indeed, he was probably even more so. He was peering into the rum flask with a desperate light in his eyes. The intent was clearly spoken without words; If I'm going to put up with this balmy loon by my lonesome, I'm going to need to be drunk.
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The dusky sunlight cast a strange pink tone on the coast of Hispaniola. The palm fronds that created a thick line of greenery along the beach shuffled as though they were trying to whisper above the sound of ships being loaded, unloaded, and repaired. The little rowboat wandered in and out of this forest of larger vessels before it finally made its way toward a low pavilion. Will received some last-minute instructions from Nero as Julie rowed up to dock.
"Tortuga's off the northeast shore of Hispaniola. We're on the northwest edge now. Follow th' shoreline goin' east an' you should be able to see it. Don' see fell wind bein' a problem, but watch yerself sharp." The boat was steered alongside the dock. Red Jim hauled himself onto the greening planks first, then turned and offered his hand to Nero. The old sailor ignored it and hauled his heavy frame upward. Once he gained his footing, he turned around and knelt so that he was no more than a foot away from Will's face. His eyes were piercing.
"You be careful 'round th' damn pirates, Cap'n. Not many of 'em wot wouldn't take yer 'ead off soon as lookin' at ye." Will clapped his hand on the old man's shoulder.
"I'm listening to you, old friend. Believe me, I know how to deal with Pirates--or if I don't by now, I ought to be shot."
Nero grunted, not seeming to think that was a very good thing to say. Then, he turned to Julie. She seemed aware of the gravity of his gaze, and pulled the oars into the boat so that she could give him her full attention. He nodded with satisfaction.
"Bloody John, you best watch 'is back, or I'll skin yers, that's wot."
"Yes sir," she replied soberly. With slow movements, Nero straightened himself up.
"God help ye, John Bloodworth. Ye're gonna need it, roit sure." Then he turned and, followed closely by Red Jim, trundled off the docks.
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Will pulled himself upright from his reclined position and wordlessly took the work of the oars from Julie. She moved to the back of the boat without protest, wiping away the sweat that dripped down her forehead.
It was obvious that Nero was unsettled. Quite frankly, there was good reason for it. But Will just couldn't find it in himself to feel glum. They were heading for familiar territory, something he had shrunk away from since...well, anyway. It would be good to see, hear, and...well, maybe he wouldn't be quite so glad to smell Captain Jack Sparrow.
But more than that still, he sensed adventure on the rise. It was doubtless that exploitations of some sort, more than likely the criminal variety, would occur. That kind of thing was hard to avoid when collaborating with a Pirate, especially one such as Jack Sparrow. Will only hoped that this time they could both avoid the hangman's noose.
"What are you smiling about?" Julie was looking at him incredulously, a half-grin playing on her lips. Will continued rowing with strong, regular strokes and gave her an innocent look.
"Can a person not smile without accusative inquisitions?"
"No. Tell me what's going on." She had her knees drawn up to her chest in that at-rest pose that seemed so habitual to her, trailing the fingers of one hand in the water. Her tone brooked no argument, but that knaveish half-grin was still there. Will chuckled.
"I was just reminiscing."
"I meant about where we're going, sir. Why Tortuga? I know that it's a Spanish Island. It's mainly known for the drinkable variety of spirits and the criminal variety of sailors. As you mentioned going there to find a person, and as Nero didn't seem to like the idea, I can only assume..."
"We are going there to find and enlist the aid of a pirate. Brilliant deduction, Miss Bloodworth. We are, in fact, going to find the one and only CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow." He put particular emphasis on the Captain. They weren't going to get anywhere with Sparrow unless he got into that habit. Julie raised one eyebrow, her grin fading away.
"Captain Jack Sparrow? How do you know him?"
"You've heard of him, then?"
"Yes. Thought he wasn't real."
"Oh. That's going to make him quite happy. As to how I know him, that's rather a long story." Julie reclined further in a gesture of comfort.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, sir, but it seems that we have a bit of time."
Will gave in to her request and began giving her a matter-of-fact account of the strange and gruesome circumstances that had led to his alliance with the illustrious Jack Sparrow. As he fell into the role of storyteller, he found that he could recall the story much better than he originally thought, and began giving some of the in-depth details and background. At one point, he found himself becoming so involved that he nearly leapt to his feet. Julie laughed at him for that, but her eyes were sparkling. His excitement was apparently contagious.
When he finished his account, she was quiet for a long time. Her eyes were fixed over the waves, looking into the starry night sky. Her expression was dreamy, and her fingers still touched the water absently.
It was then that he realized that perhaps his tale might be a little unbelievable. He himself didn't entirely understand the circumstances that surrounded the mysterious gold medallion and the cursed crew of the Black Pearl. A deadly curse and swashbuckling skeletons might be all well and good for a scary bedtime story. Even so, it occurred to him that perhaps she was at this very moment not so much caught up in his story as trying to decide how to explain to him that he was a lunatic.
"You don't think it really happened, do you?" Julie looked up. Her eyes still held that far-off look.
"No. I would doubt you, but I realize that you are neither creative nor cruel enough to fabricate such an account. Therefore, I must believe you." Her eyes suddenly began to sparkle again in the dim starlight, and her mischevious grin returned. "...Making me either very foolish or very wise."
Will chuckled. "I think I'll believe the latter, considering that you've managed, repetitively it seems, to convince an entire shipful of reasonably intelligent men that you are, in fact, a man." Julie shrugged innocently.
"That takes no wisdom, sir. It only requires enough dirt and sweat."
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After hours of rowing, staying just in sight of Hispaniola's shore, they were finally able to see the dim glow of Tortuga in the distance. Another two hours or so saw them creeping their way toward the scummy shoreline. Will rowed as far as he could, then leapt out to beach the boat. To his surprise, Julie didn't jump out to help, nor did she set foot out of the boat until they were on dry land. She said nothing as she shouldered their bundles of provisions, but Will got the feeling that something wasn't quite right.
"Let me carry some of that," he urged. She shook her head.
"Better if it looks like I'm your cabin boy, carrying your supplies."
The streets of Tortuga were quiet, as Tortuga went...not empty, but quiet. Will's best guess was that it was very late at night, meaning that the bodies passed out all along the buildings were those of the more racous people. Julie agreed with him that it wouldn't do much good to go searching for Jack Sparrow tonight. More than that, they were both exhausted and hungry. Therefore, it seemed logical to seek a place to sleep for the night.
To this end, they found their way into the "Bitten Apple" inn (though the name gave Will pause temporarily). The manager gave them a strange look at the late hour and the purchasing of a single room for the night, but the extra few gold coins Will slipped him dissolved all questions and ensured two meals to be brought up as soon as they could be procured.
The innkeeper led them up a dark, narrow flight of stairs that creaked almost as much as the proprietor's joints. The dim lamplight illuminated an old, slightly dusty hallway. He led them to a door on the end and coaxed it open.
The room was larger than Will expected, with an ample featherbed, a chair, and an old beaureau, all of which seemed to have seen better days. The accomodations were more than sufficient, however, and he thanked the innkeeper as he lit the candles.
"Ye want an extry featherbed fer yer workboy," he muttered in response, and puttered into the closet to produce a nearly flat, truly ancient pad that he flopped in the corner triumphantly. Julie smiled a polite thank-you to the man and saw him out the door. There was a pause as she said something to him in a low voice, then a loud creak as the door shut.
And Julie sank to the floor with her legs extended in front of her.
"Julie! What's wrong?" Will stepped closer, then stopped abruptly as she held up a hand.
"I'm fine. I'm all right," she asserted.
"Then I fail to see why you are on the floor."
"Well..." She began scooting toward the chair a few yards behind her. Will brought it closer to her, then helped her make her way into it. Once she was seated, she continued. "When I said I was largely uninjured before, I meant not including my leg. I believe that it got rather cut up. I managed to get a length of cloth tied around it, but every so often it starts bleeding again, and it needs to be cleaned badly."
With careful motions and an anticipatory grimace, she reached up her loose pant leg to a location about halfway up her calf. Will looked away chastely. After a moment of silence, she hissed in pain. Will looked up in time to see her draw down a length of some unidentifiable cloth, folded into several thicknesses. It was soaked with blood.
At that moment, there came a tap on the door and the voice of the innkeeper hailing them. Will opened the door.
"'Ere's that stuff yer lug monkey asked fer. Not sure what it's fer..." The man held a tray containing a bottle of rum, piles of cloth strips, a bowl of butter, and a bowl of salt. In his other hand he held a steaming bucket of water and two towels. On his face was a very bewildered expression.
"Of course," said Will, as though he knew exactly what the blazes was going on. He took the tray and set it aside on the bureau, then relieved the poor man of the bucket.
"Weren't no trouble." The man grunted. Will smiled and handed him a few more coins. Now it was the innkeeper's turn to grin.
"Yer food'll be done right sharpish, sir. Thankie." He turned to leave, and Will shut the door after him. Then he turned to face Julie, who was scooting her chair closer to the bureau. A small red dot was beginning to form on her pant leg.
"No offense, Captain Turner, but you might want to go outside. There's going to be nothing dignified about this," Julie warned him.
"I've seen worse," Will said steadfastly. "You may need my help. I'll stay here."
The room was quiet for a minute as Julie carefully arranged the rum, hot water, bowl, and clean rags in easy reach. The butter and salt bowls sat on the shelf beside her, ready to be used. With infinite care she rolled up her blood-soaked pant leg. What was underneath the fabric looked like something out of a butcher shop. Blood and serum still oozed out of a strip of skinned and cut flesh the size of her hand. Gingerly, she hiked the filthy fabric up until the folds were pinned securely between her knee and her stomach. Then, off came her soft leather boots and the understocking, both soaked with blood. Her foot rested on the towel.
Still silent as the grave, Julia dipped a cloth in the hot water and squeezed it mostly out. Moving like an automaton, she uncorked the rum with her teeth and took a deep swallow. Will didn't need to ask where she learned to drink so easliy.
Then she did something that perplexed him mightily. She upended the bottle onto the rag and let the rum trickle into the fabric. Once the cloth was soaked, Julie held it above the gruesome wound and squeezed.
The reaction wasn't immediate. Though Will's stomach turned slightly at the river of blood, rum, and water running down her leg and onto the towel, it seemed to take Julia herself a moment to actually register the sensation.
With a wet splatter, the cloth landed on the floor. Will saw her draw her lower lip between her teeth just before her hands sprang up to cover her face. A muffled cry oozed from between her fingers, and her fingernails dug through her hair and into her scalp. Every muscle in her body seemed to be clutched in the throes of a spasm. Will took a step closer. Whatever she was doing, he was sure he didn't like it.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she appeared to regain control. First her shoulders sagged, then her back relaxed. Finally, her hands dropped, revealing ghostly pale skin. Soft locks of her hair had pulled loose from her queue and drooped over her eyes. Will clenched his teeth.
"Julia, let me help you. Tell me what it is you're doing."
"I'm...trying...to clean...the wound." Her breath came fast. A sheen of sweat had gathered on her forehead. Will crouched down in front of her to get a better look at the area. He could clearly see the cuts, as though he were looking at a side of meat. A sword blade had come down just below her knee, taking some of her skin off. Then it had cut twice, sliding lengthwise, then raked the rest of the way down her calf to where the scraped flesh ended about two inches above her ankle. It may have just been his fevered imagination, but the wound did look cleaner. Of course, anything was better than the veritable bilgewater she had jumped into nearly two days ago. The angry, inflamed skin around the wound was enough to make him cringe.
"This had to be painful. Why did you not say anything?"
"Nothing we could have...done...about it." She had him there. Will shook his head and gently touched the reddened, inflamed area around the wound.
"Tell me what to do next."
"Pour more rum over it." She said quietly. Will glanced up at her.
"You've got to be joking me." Julie shook her head. She had drawn her lower lip between her teeth again. Will, likewise, chewed his lower lip and began rolling up his sleeves. "Drink some more," he ordered. She took another deep swallow of the rum. There was going to be enough left in the bottle for him to cleanse the wound two or three more times. He just hoped it wasn't necessary.
When she was done drinking, Will took the bottle from her and poured the amber liquid into the cloth. When it was soaked, he held it above the wound.
"Brace yourself." Then he squeezed, letting the spirits wash into the cuts. He heard another muffled cry and saw her leg twitch. He finished wringing the cloth dry, then looked up at her. She hadn't covered her face this time, but her lips were pressed together and her face was pale. She was sitting straight up, gripping the sides of the chair white-knuckled. Sweat beaded on her upper lip.
"All right...now...now soak another cloth in hot water and...and rinse the rum out." Will did as he was told. Her reaction this time was little more than a quick intake of breath. He was glad. He didn't think either one of them could have stood up to another round of the rum.
"Now mix the salt and the butter together and spread it on the wound." Will knew what this part was for from watching the ship's surgeon dress the wounds of his crew. The salt helped to keep the wound clean, and the butter kept it from getting hard, which would keep her from walking. Will made an ointment from the two ingredients, then looked up to see if she was ready for him to touch it again.
She still gripped the chair seat with one hand, and now her gaze had shifted toward the other side of the room. She was staring in quiet determination at the wall. One tear had managed to slip past her control, and now shone on the tips of her eyelashes. Will frowned gently.
"Can you stand for me to touch it, Julie?" She nodded, sending the tear splashing onto her cheek. She wiped it away with one fingertip, and for the first time Will noticed her nails. They were short and cracked, situated on red, weathered hands and marred with stains from dirt and tar. It never occurred to him that women's hands could suffer from work as men's did. He wasn't sure what he had thought---perhaps that if a woman were pretending to be a man, he would know because her hands always stayed white and smooth.
Will gently cradled her calf in one hand and extended her leg slightly. Julie turned to look at him. He glanced up at her, then proceeded to spread the butter and salt on her wound. She tensed, but made no sound as he gingerly spread the strange-looking stuff, making sure to overlap onto the reddened edges of her skin.
"Now you take the cloth and..."
"I know how to wrap a wound," he said softly. She nodded, and held her peace, though he could still feel her watching him. Will folded up a square or two of cloth, spread more of the ointment on the inner layer, and carefully pressed it to the raw surface. Then, he wound more strips of cloth from just below the curve of her calf to just below her knee and tied the whole dressing in place.
"How did you make it off the ship anyway?" He murmured, and began to clean up the dressing supplies.
"I jumped," she said quietly. Will stopped and looked at her, startled. He had thought Nero was exaggerating when he said she came over the railing and hit the water.
"You jumped? Why?"
"It seemed preferable to the messy death that the pirate with the pistol assured me was eminent."
"But blimey, woman...that's a fall of forty feet, if it's one."
"I know," she said simply, rolling down her pant leg. She didn't seem to want to discuss it further. He shook his head in disbelief and stood.
There came a knock on the door, and this time the innkeeper stood just behind it with two large trays of food.
"'Ere's yer bread'n'water, sir." Bread and water hell, Will thought. The trays were loaded with bread, cheese, potatoes, fish, and even a tomato or two. Apparently his tip had been worth more to the man than he thought. Will relieved him of the trays and thanked him profusely for his trouble.
"Iffen ye need onythin' else, sir, be 'appy tae 'elp ye out." He just bet he would, for another gold coin or two. Will nodded, thanked him again, and closed the door.
Julie was already standing, preparing one tray to eat. It was the one with the bigger portions, and she slid it across the surface of the bureau to him.
"Here you are." Then she stood and watched him, apparently waiting to see if there was something else he wanted. Will raised an eyebrow.
"Aren't you going to eat? You must be hungry."
"Oh, a little. I'll eat in a moment." She was still pale, and it occurred to Will that she must still be in a great deal of pain. She wouldn't even move her leg below the knee, from what he could gather. He moved a step closer.
"Are you sure you're all right?" He reached out and crooked a finger around her elbow.
"Don't touch me!" Julie snapped. She drew back forcefully and stared at him wide-eyed, as though he had suddenly turned into a snake. Will startled and backed away a step.
"I apologize, Miss Bloodworth," he began, then stopped as she held up a hand. Her shoulders sagged as she breathed out forcefully.
"No, I'm sorry. You just startled me. Habit, I suppose." She wouldn't meet his eyes. Will frowned.
"Do not be ashamed of a habit forced on you by circumstance, Miss Bloodworth." Without looking up, she began attending to her tray of food.
"Julie worked fine. It's much shorter." Expelling another long breath appeared to relax her. With sagging shoulders, she finally sat and began to eat. Will nodded with satisfaction, and lowered himself to the floor with his back against the featherbed mattress. He placed his tray neatly on his crossed legs and began to eat. The food was good, but it made him think of the food he had been served at the last inn he stayed at. Julie spoke up past the bread and cheese.
"It's all right, but Mr. York makes better bread." Will nodded and swallowed a mouthful.
"I was just thinking along those lines. Then again, it's hard to beat an inn called The Cavorting Mule."
**Disclaimer** Not mine, not mine, not mine.
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"Land ho!" Nero's throaty cry jerked Julie out of a fitful sleep. Her eyes snapped open, but she was facing west and the setting sun blinded her. The wound on her leg had begun to throb with an intense pain.
The day's heat was beginning to mellow into evening, and she could feel her skin pinking under her tan. She sat straight up, but again found herself unable to see anything because of the three men crowded at the prow.
"Hispaniola, I'll bet me shorts." Nero gestured with his flask. Red Jim flashed a sunburned smile at Julie, and she returned it heartily. They had been taking turns rowing all through the night and all day. Since Red Jim was the biggest, he insisted on taking the longest turn. He tried to hide it, but she could tell that his hands were beginning to shake.
"Here, let me row for a while, Jim. Have some rum." After a moment's hesitation, Jim took the bottle, and she took the oars. Her arms and chest complained at the first pull, but as she gently coaxed the soreness out of the muscles and the blood began to flow again, she began to feel more awake. Nero and the captain talked amongst themselves.
"There be ships docked, if I'm seein' roit. Can't see no British flag yet, though."
"You know, Nero..." Turner began. There was a loud gurgle as Jim drained the last of the rum. Turner waited for the sound to die away, then continued. "Even if there is a navy ship docked nearby, there's no garauntee that they'll be willing or able help us."
"We've got'a try, Cap'n."
"I agree. However, I think it would be wise to try more than one tack." Julie frowned slightly, making sure to keep her oarstrokes strong and even. Jim was leaning forward to listen.
"'Ere now, Cap'n, ye'd better stop yer daftness an' tell me what you mean."
"Well, I have a connection with someone who might be able to render a little more help." He seemed to be thinking hard. Nero was quiet for a moment.
"If'n yer meanin' who I think ye mean...well, isn't there another way? I mean, seems a little desperate tae me..."
"Not at all. He's quite trustworthy, if given the right incentive."
"Well..." Nero still sounded doubtful. Julie wouldn't be surprised if he were still trying to think of protests, although she was mystified as to what. She wondered whether the two men really knew each other that well, or if they just had the same kind of bats in their belfries. It was a fifty-fifty chance.
"Trust me, old timer. If Tortuga is in easy distance, I can probably find him there. If I can't, I'll find someone who knows him and track him down." Tortuga? There was nothing at Tortuga but rum and pirates...which could only mean that the person they were apparently going to enlist the help of would be equally...unsavory.
"Still think I oughta go with ye. Tortuga ain't no place to go alone," Nero said, drumming his fingers restlessly on the port oar ring. Julie found herself watching with morbid fascination to see if he would get one of his fingers caught. She could hear Turner shifting behind her.
"No. If the Brit navy does decide to help us, they'll need someone who can tell them where the ship went amiss."
"But Cap'n..."
"How's this...I'll take John with me. He can watch my back well enough, don't you think?" Julie nearly dropped the oars in the process of twisting around. Captain Turner was reclined in the prow of the boat, staring out over the water at the body of land that was quickly growing closer. Nero stared at him for a moment, then sighed.
"All roit, if ye insist on this bloody errand...may as well send the little scabber wi' ye. Eh, what're ye lookin' at? Row." Julie's eyes widened a bit more. Nero continued to glare at her with one eye. Finally, she gave a token shrug and turned back around to resume her work. Somehow, it seemed better not to ask questions. It was obvious that Nero had just been practically ordered to do something that he didn't want to do. More than likely it was a new experience for him.
Red Jim looked just as lost as she; indeed, he was probably even more so. He was peering into the rum flask with a desperate light in his eyes. The intent was clearly spoken without words; If I'm going to put up with this balmy loon by my lonesome, I'm going to need to be drunk.
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The dusky sunlight cast a strange pink tone on the coast of Hispaniola. The palm fronds that created a thick line of greenery along the beach shuffled as though they were trying to whisper above the sound of ships being loaded, unloaded, and repaired. The little rowboat wandered in and out of this forest of larger vessels before it finally made its way toward a low pavilion. Will received some last-minute instructions from Nero as Julie rowed up to dock.
"Tortuga's off the northeast shore of Hispaniola. We're on the northwest edge now. Follow th' shoreline goin' east an' you should be able to see it. Don' see fell wind bein' a problem, but watch yerself sharp." The boat was steered alongside the dock. Red Jim hauled himself onto the greening planks first, then turned and offered his hand to Nero. The old sailor ignored it and hauled his heavy frame upward. Once he gained his footing, he turned around and knelt so that he was no more than a foot away from Will's face. His eyes were piercing.
"You be careful 'round th' damn pirates, Cap'n. Not many of 'em wot wouldn't take yer 'ead off soon as lookin' at ye." Will clapped his hand on the old man's shoulder.
"I'm listening to you, old friend. Believe me, I know how to deal with Pirates--or if I don't by now, I ought to be shot."
Nero grunted, not seeming to think that was a very good thing to say. Then, he turned to Julie. She seemed aware of the gravity of his gaze, and pulled the oars into the boat so that she could give him her full attention. He nodded with satisfaction.
"Bloody John, you best watch 'is back, or I'll skin yers, that's wot."
"Yes sir," she replied soberly. With slow movements, Nero straightened himself up.
"God help ye, John Bloodworth. Ye're gonna need it, roit sure." Then he turned and, followed closely by Red Jim, trundled off the docks.
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Will pulled himself upright from his reclined position and wordlessly took the work of the oars from Julie. She moved to the back of the boat without protest, wiping away the sweat that dripped down her forehead.
It was obvious that Nero was unsettled. Quite frankly, there was good reason for it. But Will just couldn't find it in himself to feel glum. They were heading for familiar territory, something he had shrunk away from since...well, anyway. It would be good to see, hear, and...well, maybe he wouldn't be quite so glad to smell Captain Jack Sparrow.
But more than that still, he sensed adventure on the rise. It was doubtless that exploitations of some sort, more than likely the criminal variety, would occur. That kind of thing was hard to avoid when collaborating with a Pirate, especially one such as Jack Sparrow. Will only hoped that this time they could both avoid the hangman's noose.
"What are you smiling about?" Julie was looking at him incredulously, a half-grin playing on her lips. Will continued rowing with strong, regular strokes and gave her an innocent look.
"Can a person not smile without accusative inquisitions?"
"No. Tell me what's going on." She had her knees drawn up to her chest in that at-rest pose that seemed so habitual to her, trailing the fingers of one hand in the water. Her tone brooked no argument, but that knaveish half-grin was still there. Will chuckled.
"I was just reminiscing."
"I meant about where we're going, sir. Why Tortuga? I know that it's a Spanish Island. It's mainly known for the drinkable variety of spirits and the criminal variety of sailors. As you mentioned going there to find a person, and as Nero didn't seem to like the idea, I can only assume..."
"We are going there to find and enlist the aid of a pirate. Brilliant deduction, Miss Bloodworth. We are, in fact, going to find the one and only CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow." He put particular emphasis on the Captain. They weren't going to get anywhere with Sparrow unless he got into that habit. Julie raised one eyebrow, her grin fading away.
"Captain Jack Sparrow? How do you know him?"
"You've heard of him, then?"
"Yes. Thought he wasn't real."
"Oh. That's going to make him quite happy. As to how I know him, that's rather a long story." Julie reclined further in a gesture of comfort.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, sir, but it seems that we have a bit of time."
Will gave in to her request and began giving her a matter-of-fact account of the strange and gruesome circumstances that had led to his alliance with the illustrious Jack Sparrow. As he fell into the role of storyteller, he found that he could recall the story much better than he originally thought, and began giving some of the in-depth details and background. At one point, he found himself becoming so involved that he nearly leapt to his feet. Julie laughed at him for that, but her eyes were sparkling. His excitement was apparently contagious.
When he finished his account, she was quiet for a long time. Her eyes were fixed over the waves, looking into the starry night sky. Her expression was dreamy, and her fingers still touched the water absently.
It was then that he realized that perhaps his tale might be a little unbelievable. He himself didn't entirely understand the circumstances that surrounded the mysterious gold medallion and the cursed crew of the Black Pearl. A deadly curse and swashbuckling skeletons might be all well and good for a scary bedtime story. Even so, it occurred to him that perhaps she was at this very moment not so much caught up in his story as trying to decide how to explain to him that he was a lunatic.
"You don't think it really happened, do you?" Julie looked up. Her eyes still held that far-off look.
"No. I would doubt you, but I realize that you are neither creative nor cruel enough to fabricate such an account. Therefore, I must believe you." Her eyes suddenly began to sparkle again in the dim starlight, and her mischevious grin returned. "...Making me either very foolish or very wise."
Will chuckled. "I think I'll believe the latter, considering that you've managed, repetitively it seems, to convince an entire shipful of reasonably intelligent men that you are, in fact, a man." Julie shrugged innocently.
"That takes no wisdom, sir. It only requires enough dirt and sweat."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After hours of rowing, staying just in sight of Hispaniola's shore, they were finally able to see the dim glow of Tortuga in the distance. Another two hours or so saw them creeping their way toward the scummy shoreline. Will rowed as far as he could, then leapt out to beach the boat. To his surprise, Julie didn't jump out to help, nor did she set foot out of the boat until they were on dry land. She said nothing as she shouldered their bundles of provisions, but Will got the feeling that something wasn't quite right.
"Let me carry some of that," he urged. She shook her head.
"Better if it looks like I'm your cabin boy, carrying your supplies."
The streets of Tortuga were quiet, as Tortuga went...not empty, but quiet. Will's best guess was that it was very late at night, meaning that the bodies passed out all along the buildings were those of the more racous people. Julie agreed with him that it wouldn't do much good to go searching for Jack Sparrow tonight. More than that, they were both exhausted and hungry. Therefore, it seemed logical to seek a place to sleep for the night.
To this end, they found their way into the "Bitten Apple" inn (though the name gave Will pause temporarily). The manager gave them a strange look at the late hour and the purchasing of a single room for the night, but the extra few gold coins Will slipped him dissolved all questions and ensured two meals to be brought up as soon as they could be procured.
The innkeeper led them up a dark, narrow flight of stairs that creaked almost as much as the proprietor's joints. The dim lamplight illuminated an old, slightly dusty hallway. He led them to a door on the end and coaxed it open.
The room was larger than Will expected, with an ample featherbed, a chair, and an old beaureau, all of which seemed to have seen better days. The accomodations were more than sufficient, however, and he thanked the innkeeper as he lit the candles.
"Ye want an extry featherbed fer yer workboy," he muttered in response, and puttered into the closet to produce a nearly flat, truly ancient pad that he flopped in the corner triumphantly. Julie smiled a polite thank-you to the man and saw him out the door. There was a pause as she said something to him in a low voice, then a loud creak as the door shut.
And Julie sank to the floor with her legs extended in front of her.
"Julie! What's wrong?" Will stepped closer, then stopped abruptly as she held up a hand.
"I'm fine. I'm all right," she asserted.
"Then I fail to see why you are on the floor."
"Well..." She began scooting toward the chair a few yards behind her. Will brought it closer to her, then helped her make her way into it. Once she was seated, she continued. "When I said I was largely uninjured before, I meant not including my leg. I believe that it got rather cut up. I managed to get a length of cloth tied around it, but every so often it starts bleeding again, and it needs to be cleaned badly."
With careful motions and an anticipatory grimace, she reached up her loose pant leg to a location about halfway up her calf. Will looked away chastely. After a moment of silence, she hissed in pain. Will looked up in time to see her draw down a length of some unidentifiable cloth, folded into several thicknesses. It was soaked with blood.
At that moment, there came a tap on the door and the voice of the innkeeper hailing them. Will opened the door.
"'Ere's that stuff yer lug monkey asked fer. Not sure what it's fer..." The man held a tray containing a bottle of rum, piles of cloth strips, a bowl of butter, and a bowl of salt. In his other hand he held a steaming bucket of water and two towels. On his face was a very bewildered expression.
"Of course," said Will, as though he knew exactly what the blazes was going on. He took the tray and set it aside on the bureau, then relieved the poor man of the bucket.
"Weren't no trouble." The man grunted. Will smiled and handed him a few more coins. Now it was the innkeeper's turn to grin.
"Yer food'll be done right sharpish, sir. Thankie." He turned to leave, and Will shut the door after him. Then he turned to face Julie, who was scooting her chair closer to the bureau. A small red dot was beginning to form on her pant leg.
"No offense, Captain Turner, but you might want to go outside. There's going to be nothing dignified about this," Julie warned him.
"I've seen worse," Will said steadfastly. "You may need my help. I'll stay here."
The room was quiet for a minute as Julie carefully arranged the rum, hot water, bowl, and clean rags in easy reach. The butter and salt bowls sat on the shelf beside her, ready to be used. With infinite care she rolled up her blood-soaked pant leg. What was underneath the fabric looked like something out of a butcher shop. Blood and serum still oozed out of a strip of skinned and cut flesh the size of her hand. Gingerly, she hiked the filthy fabric up until the folds were pinned securely between her knee and her stomach. Then, off came her soft leather boots and the understocking, both soaked with blood. Her foot rested on the towel.
Still silent as the grave, Julia dipped a cloth in the hot water and squeezed it mostly out. Moving like an automaton, she uncorked the rum with her teeth and took a deep swallow. Will didn't need to ask where she learned to drink so easliy.
Then she did something that perplexed him mightily. She upended the bottle onto the rag and let the rum trickle into the fabric. Once the cloth was soaked, Julie held it above the gruesome wound and squeezed.
The reaction wasn't immediate. Though Will's stomach turned slightly at the river of blood, rum, and water running down her leg and onto the towel, it seemed to take Julia herself a moment to actually register the sensation.
With a wet splatter, the cloth landed on the floor. Will saw her draw her lower lip between her teeth just before her hands sprang up to cover her face. A muffled cry oozed from between her fingers, and her fingernails dug through her hair and into her scalp. Every muscle in her body seemed to be clutched in the throes of a spasm. Will took a step closer. Whatever she was doing, he was sure he didn't like it.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she appeared to regain control. First her shoulders sagged, then her back relaxed. Finally, her hands dropped, revealing ghostly pale skin. Soft locks of her hair had pulled loose from her queue and drooped over her eyes. Will clenched his teeth.
"Julia, let me help you. Tell me what it is you're doing."
"I'm...trying...to clean...the wound." Her breath came fast. A sheen of sweat had gathered on her forehead. Will crouched down in front of her to get a better look at the area. He could clearly see the cuts, as though he were looking at a side of meat. A sword blade had come down just below her knee, taking some of her skin off. Then it had cut twice, sliding lengthwise, then raked the rest of the way down her calf to where the scraped flesh ended about two inches above her ankle. It may have just been his fevered imagination, but the wound did look cleaner. Of course, anything was better than the veritable bilgewater she had jumped into nearly two days ago. The angry, inflamed skin around the wound was enough to make him cringe.
"This had to be painful. Why did you not say anything?"
"Nothing we could have...done...about it." She had him there. Will shook his head and gently touched the reddened, inflamed area around the wound.
"Tell me what to do next."
"Pour more rum over it." She said quietly. Will glanced up at her.
"You've got to be joking me." Julie shook her head. She had drawn her lower lip between her teeth again. Will, likewise, chewed his lower lip and began rolling up his sleeves. "Drink some more," he ordered. She took another deep swallow of the rum. There was going to be enough left in the bottle for him to cleanse the wound two or three more times. He just hoped it wasn't necessary.
When she was done drinking, Will took the bottle from her and poured the amber liquid into the cloth. When it was soaked, he held it above the wound.
"Brace yourself." Then he squeezed, letting the spirits wash into the cuts. He heard another muffled cry and saw her leg twitch. He finished wringing the cloth dry, then looked up at her. She hadn't covered her face this time, but her lips were pressed together and her face was pale. She was sitting straight up, gripping the sides of the chair white-knuckled. Sweat beaded on her upper lip.
"All right...now...now soak another cloth in hot water and...and rinse the rum out." Will did as he was told. Her reaction this time was little more than a quick intake of breath. He was glad. He didn't think either one of them could have stood up to another round of the rum.
"Now mix the salt and the butter together and spread it on the wound." Will knew what this part was for from watching the ship's surgeon dress the wounds of his crew. The salt helped to keep the wound clean, and the butter kept it from getting hard, which would keep her from walking. Will made an ointment from the two ingredients, then looked up to see if she was ready for him to touch it again.
She still gripped the chair seat with one hand, and now her gaze had shifted toward the other side of the room. She was staring in quiet determination at the wall. One tear had managed to slip past her control, and now shone on the tips of her eyelashes. Will frowned gently.
"Can you stand for me to touch it, Julie?" She nodded, sending the tear splashing onto her cheek. She wiped it away with one fingertip, and for the first time Will noticed her nails. They were short and cracked, situated on red, weathered hands and marred with stains from dirt and tar. It never occurred to him that women's hands could suffer from work as men's did. He wasn't sure what he had thought---perhaps that if a woman were pretending to be a man, he would know because her hands always stayed white and smooth.
Will gently cradled her calf in one hand and extended her leg slightly. Julie turned to look at him. He glanced up at her, then proceeded to spread the butter and salt on her wound. She tensed, but made no sound as he gingerly spread the strange-looking stuff, making sure to overlap onto the reddened edges of her skin.
"Now you take the cloth and..."
"I know how to wrap a wound," he said softly. She nodded, and held her peace, though he could still feel her watching him. Will folded up a square or two of cloth, spread more of the ointment on the inner layer, and carefully pressed it to the raw surface. Then, he wound more strips of cloth from just below the curve of her calf to just below her knee and tied the whole dressing in place.
"How did you make it off the ship anyway?" He murmured, and began to clean up the dressing supplies.
"I jumped," she said quietly. Will stopped and looked at her, startled. He had thought Nero was exaggerating when he said she came over the railing and hit the water.
"You jumped? Why?"
"It seemed preferable to the messy death that the pirate with the pistol assured me was eminent."
"But blimey, woman...that's a fall of forty feet, if it's one."
"I know," she said simply, rolling down her pant leg. She didn't seem to want to discuss it further. He shook his head in disbelief and stood.
There came a knock on the door, and this time the innkeeper stood just behind it with two large trays of food.
"'Ere's yer bread'n'water, sir." Bread and water hell, Will thought. The trays were loaded with bread, cheese, potatoes, fish, and even a tomato or two. Apparently his tip had been worth more to the man than he thought. Will relieved him of the trays and thanked him profusely for his trouble.
"Iffen ye need onythin' else, sir, be 'appy tae 'elp ye out." He just bet he would, for another gold coin or two. Will nodded, thanked him again, and closed the door.
Julie was already standing, preparing one tray to eat. It was the one with the bigger portions, and she slid it across the surface of the bureau to him.
"Here you are." Then she stood and watched him, apparently waiting to see if there was something else he wanted. Will raised an eyebrow.
"Aren't you going to eat? You must be hungry."
"Oh, a little. I'll eat in a moment." She was still pale, and it occurred to Will that she must still be in a great deal of pain. She wouldn't even move her leg below the knee, from what he could gather. He moved a step closer.
"Are you sure you're all right?" He reached out and crooked a finger around her elbow.
"Don't touch me!" Julie snapped. She drew back forcefully and stared at him wide-eyed, as though he had suddenly turned into a snake. Will startled and backed away a step.
"I apologize, Miss Bloodworth," he began, then stopped as she held up a hand. Her shoulders sagged as she breathed out forcefully.
"No, I'm sorry. You just startled me. Habit, I suppose." She wouldn't meet his eyes. Will frowned.
"Do not be ashamed of a habit forced on you by circumstance, Miss Bloodworth." Without looking up, she began attending to her tray of food.
"Julie worked fine. It's much shorter." Expelling another long breath appeared to relax her. With sagging shoulders, she finally sat and began to eat. Will nodded with satisfaction, and lowered himself to the floor with his back against the featherbed mattress. He placed his tray neatly on his crossed legs and began to eat. The food was good, but it made him think of the food he had been served at the last inn he stayed at. Julie spoke up past the bread and cheese.
"It's all right, but Mr. York makes better bread." Will nodded and swallowed a mouthful.
"I was just thinking along those lines. Then again, it's hard to beat an inn called The Cavorting Mule."
