The rickety little boat struck something, a rock perhaps, that made a
hideous scraping sound as it sent the crew lurching forward. It was so
dark in the cavern, even with the flickering torches they pressed ahead to
shed some sort of forsight along the unfamiliar path.
"Get out," the captain commanded, hoisting a foot onto the sharp landscape. "An' bring 'er 'ere."
Rough hands yanked much harder than necessary at the ropes binding her hands, dragging her body against the scraping rocks without the luxury of footing. Her frizzed hair had long ago fallen away from its confines of pins and poufed wildly around her head. The fine blue silk was soaked to the bone in dirty seawater and fell in tatters amongst her shivering figure. Halting in a semi-circle her keeper raised her at his arm's length, so that her bare toes barely met the ground.
"Is this it?" A voice behind her asked, and the fires all drew onto the gaping stone wall before them. Expecting nothing of this hell, she let out a soft gasp as her eyes adjusted to see a primal-looking portrait of a woman etched deep into the rock. Ancient, rotting, yet hauntingly beautiful. Her eyes were peacefully closed, her mouth open sweetly as if sighing. Locks of hair drew out around her, curling up and framing her perfectly.
"Eden," the captain breathed, stepping closer to the engraving, completely enchanted. His callused hand ran the length of her eyelids, her angled nose, the crevaces of her lips. It was the only thing she'd seen him handle without complete contempt.
As suddenly as he'd slipped away he snapped back, tearing out the damned little book he'd discovered nestled between her breasts. He held it not an inch from her eyes, opened to the first page. The torchlight accentuated his hideousness- skin whiter than snow, despite facing the sun's glare head on each and every day. Not one eyelash, nor brow, nor hair on his head remained, or maybe never existed. The only feature that stood out were eyes so dark, they seemed to swallow everything around him. No emotion stirred in their depths, not even hatred or cruelty. She shuddered knowing they were upon her, his bluish lips rasping sour breath that made her nose curl in disgust. "Read it," he demanded.
"Here I finally find myself, forsaken to the sea. The richest treasure known to man is yielded now to thee."
The entire congregation drew in their breath, all waiting, yearning in restless anticipation. The captain's frightening eyes closed, turning away to observe the carving. Was it to spring to life? Turn to gold? Destroy them all?
A few moments, an hour- all concept of time evaporated as she dangled at the will of her captors. Finally, a timid voice broke through the silence. "Why di'in't it werk?"
They lulled into feverish hushed debate, the arctic breeze of panic wrapping around them. In that crushing chill some grip of reason inside Devonny snapped, and she wriggled furiously. "I told you, I said I had no idea what that bloody book is! It doesn't even belong to me!"
The captain whirled around, his eyes ever wider and locked directly into her. "What?"
"I stole it, you rash fool," she grinned, fighting a tickle of laughter rising in her throat. "From my sister, who you burned alive with the lot of them. She's dead!" Her cackle exploded, wrenching her neck back and forth. "And now all you can do with that stupid book is wipe your ass with it!"
The crew erupted in desperation and dismay, but the captain still stared squarely into her without any shift in expression. "We di'in't kill th' lot of 'em." The noise screeched to a halt, and a large pirate with long, wavy black hair hobbled forward. "There was one oth'r girl, got hauled off."
"Hauled off?" Exclaimed the captain brutally. "How could anyone've escaped?"
"The pirate cap'n, th' oth'r one," he went on. "I saw 'im when we were at th' tavern. Long, stringy hair wit' beads an' the like. An' the strangest sorta moves he made, bobbin' around- but th' ship 'e had docked in th' harbor- beautiful thing, black 's the night wi'out a moon."
"Jack Sparrow." He lingered on the name, breaking his disciplined frost to bring unabashed contempt into his words. He seemed lost for an instant in some private realm before concentrating once more on Devonny. "You will describe this girl for us," he demanded, producing a thin dagger from the confines of his jacket. "In ev'ry detail until we are completely satisfied."
"Ugly little thing," she spat. "Black hair that fell long down her back, light, lifeless skin... green eyes. Strange, big green eyes."
"That's th' one!" The man cried, jumping up and down with excitement as if solving a great riddle. "He carried 'er off inta th' night outta th' party. Stopped 'im I did, but 'e jus' wanted a fresh wench."
He stiffened, and hastily shoved the book back into his pocket as he swiftly strode back toward the boat. "Set a course for Isle de Mureta for supplies. I want a lookout on each corner of th' ship, day through night, keepin' an eye out for th' Black Pearl."
The crew began to file back into the boat, with a small cluster lingering with the captor. "An' what about the girl, cap'n?"
"Kill her."
***
Waking up without a hangover was like Christmas. True, it would be better if you could pull off drinking all night and then wake up with blessed renewal, but the world just wasn't perfect like that. Stretching his arms above his head he let out a gigantic yawn, then swung his legs over the side of the bed to rest on the cold floor.
"Well 'ello there." Beautiful woman curled at his feet. That was a Christmas coupled with a Birthday and a victory. Tabitha slept soundly, surely not as lucky as he was when she finally awoke. Her flaxen hair spread out across the boards below her in rays of darkness, soft and shiny like only a woman's hair can be. He leaned over so that his face hovered above her own, taking in the melancholy scent of lavendar that radiated from her perfect skin. Her cardinal lips were drawn into an upturned "O" that gently drew in and out with each heavy breath. They were so full and lush, overtaken by those emerald orbs in consiousness, now veiled in thick ebony lashes. To simply touch them, taste them... The idiots. The legendary beauty of Daemon's Pointe was right under their noses, and they hauled off a painted whore.
Jack had never held anything truly exquisite. Exquisite and breathing, anyhow. There were pretty girls, acceptable ones, tolerable ones, ones that acquired one of these traits after a few rounds. He left and forgot not out of cruelty, but simply because he was not compelled to do anything else.
Tabitha compelled him. Stirred a feeling of desire that he had never known, one that did not lie on the surface of lust and wantonness. Rather he wanted to strip away the grace and pride that held her out at arm's length. To possess her.
With a start she lurched to attention, the eyelids flying open to greet him. A high-pitched screech sent him jumping back, raising his hands into the air in earnest innocence. "Just makin' sure you were still breathin', love. Frightful cases o' spontaneous death poppin' up."
She cradled her head in her hands, much too overtaken with the pain to question him. "I'm...I'm going to vomit," she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut once more.
"No vomitin' on m'ship," he said sternly, lifting her up and lying her unprotesting body along the bed. She sunk into the feather matress, looking all the better for it. "Over th' railings, always over th' rail." Throwing on his clothes he turned to leave misery be, but she yelped out in protest.
"Wait, Jack! You have to tell me the story now!"
He curved back, glanced out the window and sighed. They could last a few more minutes without him. "No time like th' comatose." He pulled a dining chair over toward the foot of the bed and sat, facing her. She seemed still very sleepy, but struggled to stay awake, like a child waiting to be tucked in for the night. "All right. Well, I'm not great at tellin' stories... but, accordin' to th' legend, there was a band o' women who dwelled along th' Nile in Egypt. They were said to be so enchantin'ly beautiful that t' look upon them was t' condemn yerself to a life o' worship. Daughters o' th' Queen Nefertiti some heard, no one really knows for sure.
"Whatever th' case may be, they lived in riches. Swam in riches. Were up to their necks in 'em. Could've been gifts, could've been loot... no one's real sure. Well, anyhow. As Europe started t' grow an' spread, they began t' get worried. What if the French or th' Spaniards decided to waltz into th' desert that day an' destroy everything? So, after much deliberation, th' women decided t' pack up for th' 'mericas. They left on a long ship, loaded with all th' goods, solid gold. They sailed all th' way down th' Nile, around Africa, and through th' ocean to land in Eden's Isle in th' Caribbean. It was a paradise, until th' word got out. One mornin' they woke up an' saw a ship fast approachin' on th' horizon. They gathered up what they could, an' sealed th' isle with an enchantment t' protect th' treasure. Th' British Navy docked an' swamped 'em inside th' cavern, claimin' th' aisle in th' name of England an' demandin' the treasure. As they refused, they began th' massacre. However, there was one on board who felt an achin' empathy for 'em. Knew that plunderin' for riches was s'posed to fly under another flag. Was able to save but one. A breathtakin' young maid with glitterin' emerald eyes an' midnight hair. He took 'er back home to Daemon's Pointe, started a family... but she caught somethin' or other, died. However, it was said that the incantation t' open Eden's Isle to th' treasure was with 'er, and she passed it on after she died. Legend had it that there was a beautiful maid of Daemon's Pointe, The Heiress, who held th' words an' the key. When th' words were spoken at the gates of Eden's Point from 'er lips, th' spell would be lifted an' the greatest treasure received."
She was gaping at him, letting the poorly relayed tale sink in and settle into her heart. She remained silent as he got up and left, letting the doors close snugly behind him.
"Get out," the captain commanded, hoisting a foot onto the sharp landscape. "An' bring 'er 'ere."
Rough hands yanked much harder than necessary at the ropes binding her hands, dragging her body against the scraping rocks without the luxury of footing. Her frizzed hair had long ago fallen away from its confines of pins and poufed wildly around her head. The fine blue silk was soaked to the bone in dirty seawater and fell in tatters amongst her shivering figure. Halting in a semi-circle her keeper raised her at his arm's length, so that her bare toes barely met the ground.
"Is this it?" A voice behind her asked, and the fires all drew onto the gaping stone wall before them. Expecting nothing of this hell, she let out a soft gasp as her eyes adjusted to see a primal-looking portrait of a woman etched deep into the rock. Ancient, rotting, yet hauntingly beautiful. Her eyes were peacefully closed, her mouth open sweetly as if sighing. Locks of hair drew out around her, curling up and framing her perfectly.
"Eden," the captain breathed, stepping closer to the engraving, completely enchanted. His callused hand ran the length of her eyelids, her angled nose, the crevaces of her lips. It was the only thing she'd seen him handle without complete contempt.
As suddenly as he'd slipped away he snapped back, tearing out the damned little book he'd discovered nestled between her breasts. He held it not an inch from her eyes, opened to the first page. The torchlight accentuated his hideousness- skin whiter than snow, despite facing the sun's glare head on each and every day. Not one eyelash, nor brow, nor hair on his head remained, or maybe never existed. The only feature that stood out were eyes so dark, they seemed to swallow everything around him. No emotion stirred in their depths, not even hatred or cruelty. She shuddered knowing they were upon her, his bluish lips rasping sour breath that made her nose curl in disgust. "Read it," he demanded.
"Here I finally find myself, forsaken to the sea. The richest treasure known to man is yielded now to thee."
The entire congregation drew in their breath, all waiting, yearning in restless anticipation. The captain's frightening eyes closed, turning away to observe the carving. Was it to spring to life? Turn to gold? Destroy them all?
A few moments, an hour- all concept of time evaporated as she dangled at the will of her captors. Finally, a timid voice broke through the silence. "Why di'in't it werk?"
They lulled into feverish hushed debate, the arctic breeze of panic wrapping around them. In that crushing chill some grip of reason inside Devonny snapped, and she wriggled furiously. "I told you, I said I had no idea what that bloody book is! It doesn't even belong to me!"
The captain whirled around, his eyes ever wider and locked directly into her. "What?"
"I stole it, you rash fool," she grinned, fighting a tickle of laughter rising in her throat. "From my sister, who you burned alive with the lot of them. She's dead!" Her cackle exploded, wrenching her neck back and forth. "And now all you can do with that stupid book is wipe your ass with it!"
The crew erupted in desperation and dismay, but the captain still stared squarely into her without any shift in expression. "We di'in't kill th' lot of 'em." The noise screeched to a halt, and a large pirate with long, wavy black hair hobbled forward. "There was one oth'r girl, got hauled off."
"Hauled off?" Exclaimed the captain brutally. "How could anyone've escaped?"
"The pirate cap'n, th' oth'r one," he went on. "I saw 'im when we were at th' tavern. Long, stringy hair wit' beads an' the like. An' the strangest sorta moves he made, bobbin' around- but th' ship 'e had docked in th' harbor- beautiful thing, black 's the night wi'out a moon."
"Jack Sparrow." He lingered on the name, breaking his disciplined frost to bring unabashed contempt into his words. He seemed lost for an instant in some private realm before concentrating once more on Devonny. "You will describe this girl for us," he demanded, producing a thin dagger from the confines of his jacket. "In ev'ry detail until we are completely satisfied."
"Ugly little thing," she spat. "Black hair that fell long down her back, light, lifeless skin... green eyes. Strange, big green eyes."
"That's th' one!" The man cried, jumping up and down with excitement as if solving a great riddle. "He carried 'er off inta th' night outta th' party. Stopped 'im I did, but 'e jus' wanted a fresh wench."
He stiffened, and hastily shoved the book back into his pocket as he swiftly strode back toward the boat. "Set a course for Isle de Mureta for supplies. I want a lookout on each corner of th' ship, day through night, keepin' an eye out for th' Black Pearl."
The crew began to file back into the boat, with a small cluster lingering with the captor. "An' what about the girl, cap'n?"
"Kill her."
***
Waking up without a hangover was like Christmas. True, it would be better if you could pull off drinking all night and then wake up with blessed renewal, but the world just wasn't perfect like that. Stretching his arms above his head he let out a gigantic yawn, then swung his legs over the side of the bed to rest on the cold floor.
"Well 'ello there." Beautiful woman curled at his feet. That was a Christmas coupled with a Birthday and a victory. Tabitha slept soundly, surely not as lucky as he was when she finally awoke. Her flaxen hair spread out across the boards below her in rays of darkness, soft and shiny like only a woman's hair can be. He leaned over so that his face hovered above her own, taking in the melancholy scent of lavendar that radiated from her perfect skin. Her cardinal lips were drawn into an upturned "O" that gently drew in and out with each heavy breath. They were so full and lush, overtaken by those emerald orbs in consiousness, now veiled in thick ebony lashes. To simply touch them, taste them... The idiots. The legendary beauty of Daemon's Pointe was right under their noses, and they hauled off a painted whore.
Jack had never held anything truly exquisite. Exquisite and breathing, anyhow. There were pretty girls, acceptable ones, tolerable ones, ones that acquired one of these traits after a few rounds. He left and forgot not out of cruelty, but simply because he was not compelled to do anything else.
Tabitha compelled him. Stirred a feeling of desire that he had never known, one that did not lie on the surface of lust and wantonness. Rather he wanted to strip away the grace and pride that held her out at arm's length. To possess her.
With a start she lurched to attention, the eyelids flying open to greet him. A high-pitched screech sent him jumping back, raising his hands into the air in earnest innocence. "Just makin' sure you were still breathin', love. Frightful cases o' spontaneous death poppin' up."
She cradled her head in her hands, much too overtaken with the pain to question him. "I'm...I'm going to vomit," she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut once more.
"No vomitin' on m'ship," he said sternly, lifting her up and lying her unprotesting body along the bed. She sunk into the feather matress, looking all the better for it. "Over th' railings, always over th' rail." Throwing on his clothes he turned to leave misery be, but she yelped out in protest.
"Wait, Jack! You have to tell me the story now!"
He curved back, glanced out the window and sighed. They could last a few more minutes without him. "No time like th' comatose." He pulled a dining chair over toward the foot of the bed and sat, facing her. She seemed still very sleepy, but struggled to stay awake, like a child waiting to be tucked in for the night. "All right. Well, I'm not great at tellin' stories... but, accordin' to th' legend, there was a band o' women who dwelled along th' Nile in Egypt. They were said to be so enchantin'ly beautiful that t' look upon them was t' condemn yerself to a life o' worship. Daughters o' th' Queen Nefertiti some heard, no one really knows for sure.
"Whatever th' case may be, they lived in riches. Swam in riches. Were up to their necks in 'em. Could've been gifts, could've been loot... no one's real sure. Well, anyhow. As Europe started t' grow an' spread, they began t' get worried. What if the French or th' Spaniards decided to waltz into th' desert that day an' destroy everything? So, after much deliberation, th' women decided t' pack up for th' 'mericas. They left on a long ship, loaded with all th' goods, solid gold. They sailed all th' way down th' Nile, around Africa, and through th' ocean to land in Eden's Isle in th' Caribbean. It was a paradise, until th' word got out. One mornin' they woke up an' saw a ship fast approachin' on th' horizon. They gathered up what they could, an' sealed th' isle with an enchantment t' protect th' treasure. Th' British Navy docked an' swamped 'em inside th' cavern, claimin' th' aisle in th' name of England an' demandin' the treasure. As they refused, they began th' massacre. However, there was one on board who felt an achin' empathy for 'em. Knew that plunderin' for riches was s'posed to fly under another flag. Was able to save but one. A breathtakin' young maid with glitterin' emerald eyes an' midnight hair. He took 'er back home to Daemon's Pointe, started a family... but she caught somethin' or other, died. However, it was said that the incantation t' open Eden's Isle to th' treasure was with 'er, and she passed it on after she died. Legend had it that there was a beautiful maid of Daemon's Pointe, The Heiress, who held th' words an' the key. When th' words were spoken at the gates of Eden's Point from 'er lips, th' spell would be lifted an' the greatest treasure received."
She was gaping at him, letting the poorly relayed tale sink in and settle into her heart. She remained silent as he got up and left, letting the doors close snugly behind him.