Isle de Mureta's premiere marketplace was unlike anything Tabitha had ever seen or heard about. Packed with every shoddy character you could cram on a desolate island, all yelling and drinking and grabbing for whatever they could get. No one dealt in treasure or plunder, no. This was not the place, their clientele was much too savvy to be swindled into such frivolous trinkets. Each merchant, or ranting lunatic with a keen bartering sense, was dealing in something mildly practical.
First to catch her eye was practically square in the middle of the alley street, right in the front so you had to practically sidestep around it to get any further. Not to mention get a very good look at the raised platform crowded with a line of women. Shoulder to shoulder they stood, grinning sincerely and gesturing toward the gawkers in the crowd and passers by. 'FOR THE LONG TRIP', a banner announced above their heads. At the beginning of the line were young girls not a day older than she, each wearing an outrageous outfit blooming with feathers. There was a little blonde one with a yellow feathered dress that was slit high up on her thigh, and she jumped up and down like a child. Next to her was a bright redhead in stunning ostrich plumes, with fuller breasts that were concealed ever-so-slightly by a neckline cut near to the waist. Further down the line the women got older, fatter, and uglier until the last woman on the very end, a shriveled old woman with hardly any hair left on her head, beckoning with her long, gnarled hands. A plump, sturdy-looking woman stood in front of the crowd, urging them whole-heartedly, growing ever-redder in the face.
"Th' sea grows e'er colder an' love e'er farther, but fer a mere 500 pounds ye can be th' pride o' yer crew an' take Letitia back wit' ye fer a night!" The yellow canary girl whipped an oriental fan out from behind her back, and began furiously beating it in the air while shaking her chest for the applaused delight of the crowd.
"How much t' keep 'er below decks fer a full voyage?" An inquiry shot up from the crowd.
"Ten thousand pounds!" Letitia boasted proudly. "An' a full new wardrobe, plus a dinner break 't six."
Laughs and cheering rose up from the crowd as Jack urged her along with a nudge. "Gatherin' trade advice?"
"I find it fascinating," she remarked, adhering close to Jack's side through the main street. Cures for scurvy, wind charming sails, explosives upon guns upon cannons up for grabs on all sides. "They seem so enthusiastic about their work."
"Aye, but fer a Mureta wench like that, 's not work's much 's a hobby." He stopped in front of one of the only solid, standing structures erected in the town. A packed tavern, of course. He removed a gold coin from his pocket and slipped it into Tabitha's hand, saying "ye'd be best not t' keep company in this sort o' place, dearest Miss McGovern. I'll find ye... why don't ye make yerself busy an' get a new dress like ye wanted?"
"Alone?!" She cried, clutching the money in her palm. Under normal circumstances she'd object to such charity, but he was likely counting on multiplying it tenfold once they recovered the book and arrived at Eden. "But Jack, they're-"
"You'll be absolutely fine." He gave her a strong pat on the back, much less affection than she would have liked. "No one's gonna think of touchin' the presumed wench of Captain Jack Sparrow."
***
Ah, how he'd missed a good, true pirate bar! The Black Pearl hadn't stopped at Tortuga and months, and the squeaky-clean establishments in Daemon's Pointe and Port Royal were boring at best. Here, all the sweaty, drunken, loveable kin gathered to tell incoherant stories, pick up pleasurable company, and make arrangements for the next adventure. It wasn't just the alcohol that lifted the spirits. It was the energy, enthusiasm, and harsh understanding from the lot of scallowags around you. In a pirate's heart, it was home.
"Captain Jack!" A familiar-sounding voice shot through the crowd, creating a clear path as men and their women scooted back to make way for an honored guest. The bartender, welcoming with open arms holding a pitcher and soiled rag, smiled happily through a growing beard and widening frame.
"Gibbs!" He shot back with equal shock and excitement. They smacked each other upside the back in the age-old fashion, and without hesistation he filled an enormous stein of rum as Jack seated himself at the counter. "I wondered whatever became of ye after ye abandoned the Pearl."
"Moved on t' more fittin' endeavors, as 't were." The light in his face dimmed as the acquantance took a strong gulp, his faulty memory kicking back into gear. "What brings ye t' Muerta anyhow?"
"New matter of leverage. She's not here," he quickly added as Gibbs' eyes darted around the room.
"She?"
"Aye."
"So Thoreau was right," he realized in a hushed whisper, much to the bewhilderment of Jack as he quickly set down the drink. "Ye do have th' Heiress."
"Thoreau?" He repeated, running his hands along the thin plaited tails of beard. "Since when has Thoreau been welcome in Muerta?"
"Since he's been commandin' a pirate ship, that's when."
"What ship?"
"Th' Lucifer," he said in a low, raspy voice with his signature flare for over-dramatics.
"Ne'er heard of it."
"Aye, few have. It's been wrapped up in its own pursuits." He glanced around, ensuring that everyone within earshot was much too enthralled with their own debauchery to mind the conspiring of two veteran pirates. "Thoreau spent years with the British Navy, flyin' under their flag while treasure huntin' sure 's any o' the commonest buccaneers on this isle. He was a notable failure after he finally landed 'n Eden twenty years ago. But he jus' didn't give up. He knew there was mus' be some way t' get to th' treasure. In any legend o' that calibur, there always is. So he kept his ears open. Always listenin'. Guess 't wasn't too hard, no hair t' muffle them ears o' his. An' the story began t' change. Supposedly th' last o' th' women made 'er nest at Daemon's Pointe, died, an' left an incantation t' open th' wall to 'er daughter. Then 't all began t' come together. He'd ne'er realized that McGovern'd actually married th' woman. They'd all but slipped 'is mind after leavin' the Navy an' slowly puttin' together a ransack crew o' his own. They went through an' destroyed Daemon's Pointe, an', ruthless novice 'e is, he sent his crew out t' do all th' dirty work for 'em while he took a shore leave in Tortuga. 'Find th' most beautiful girl at th' dance, and bring 'er 'ere alive,' he commanded. Well naturally th' greenhorns snatched up some prissy whore export from England, not th' exotic offspring o' ancient Egyptian royalty. It seemed a li'l odd t' Thoreau, but she was the spittin' image o' McGovern an' th' book of th' incantation was on 'er, e'en so. But when they took 'er to Eden's Rock an' she read th' words, nothin' happened. Not a bloody thing. Right 'fore they slashed 'er throat she described the real Heiress, who was last spotted bein' dragged off by a dreadlocked, swaggerin' pirate t' a ship th' color o' midnight with black sails t' boot."
"So they HAD heard of me!"
"They were 'ere jus' last night, tearin' up through 'ere, inches short o' spillin' blood. Demandin' t' know where Jack Sparrow an' th' Black Pearl were. Everyone told 'em the god-honest truth... haven't seen 'em fer months. But he's gonna be after ye, Jack, an' yer lit'l prize, too."
"Well there's no way they could catch up to the Black Pearl," he shrugged, resuming his remaining rum.
"Ye know as well 's I pride can sink a ship soon's a cannon."
***
"Loot fer a Lady," Tabitha read on the poorly-scribbled sign that was tacked above a shack-like shop across the street. The entrance was veiled in tapestries and silk sheets, with a tarty looking dress adorning a manequen next to the door. Ah, the resting ground of all the good lady's looted dresses, she smiled as she timidly stepped inside.
The door slammed shut behind her, shoving her into an incredibly dark room with only a few slits high in the wall to let sparse sunlight in. Dresses did not hang up nicely or fold neatly, but rather were strewn about in piles among hats, parasols, and undergarments- some clearly that hadn't been worn for half a century. A wiry man sat upon a stool, running a small knife up and down a coarse rock. He did not look up, even as she began rummaging through the heaps searching desperately for something that would somehow make do. An ivory flowered print that folded out to fit someone twice her size, a host of low-cut gauzy things that were in no shape or form 'Loot fer a Lady'.
"Excuse me," she inquired, looking to the uninvolved shopkeeper. "Would you happen to have any recent arrivals from, oh, Daemon's Pointe?"
He lifted his head to stare at her, a creepy smile curling across his lips. Unlike Jack he hadn't bothered to spring for gold teeth, and the few that remained hung off his gums like gnarled bits of food. "Don't get too many ladies shoppin' 'ere. Travelin' alone?"
"That's really none of your concern," she fumed bluntly, her fingers turning to fists at her sides. "If you don't have anything suitable, I'll take my business elsewhere."
"Yer not goin' else nowhere." Like a monkey he swiftly and agily leaped onto the counter, balancing on his skinny ankles and poising the sharpened knife above his head. With a shreik she whirled around to run, only to feel the larger body land like lead atop her back. Ensnaring her arms in one hand he held the knife against her throat with the other, so close that heavy breathing would draw blood. "That's a good lass," his voice hissed into her ear as her muscles loosened, giving in to surrender. He let her hands fall out of his grip, and still holding the slicing metal to her flesh, snaked his hand up the side of her hip to rest below her left breast. She could feel a faint shudder from him as he let out an aching breath, inching up to slip his fingertips below the neckline.
Without sparing a second to think Tabitha tore at his right arm, enough surprise granting her the opportunity to pry the knife from his hand. Growling he lunged toward her, and shooting her fist forward the blade sunk brutally into his stomach. She gasped as he moaned, sinking to his knees and slumping onto the floor. Streams of scarlet began to form rivers along the boards, staining the soles of her shoes. 'I've killed,' she realized simply, as if now she were the member of a new elite that could sink no further. Surely no one would miss the rat, or so much as bat an eyelash against her word, but the fact that another human being's life had ended at her will was terrifying. A fluttery feeling danced in her stomach, not unlike the effect of the rum.
Hastily she gathered an armful of clothes untouched by the mounting blood, and nearly fell out the door to see Jack, slightly less nervy after his trip to the tavern. "Ye sure do know how to make a franc stretch," he remarked, examining the dwarfing mountain of articles.
"I killed him," she whispered, a cackling giggle rising from the depths of her throat. She didn't know whether to let it spill laughter or tears. "The shopkeeper," she explained, addressing the confounded expression that turned Jack's kohl-lined eyes to slits. "I killed him!"
"I'm sure ye had yer reasons," he shrugged, continuing nonchalantly past the street to the dock.
"Every woman in the Spanish Main isn't just some whore these men have at their disposal," she fumed, hoisting the loot over the edge of the boat as she tumbled inside. He turned back to her, and his face changed. Almost a panic, and it was frightening. She'd expected him to be in too deep a stupor to register much, and even when mildly alert he never seemed off-poise enough to appear...
"Did he..."
"No," she blushed, her eyes falling to the deck. "I killed him."
"But he tried."
"...Yes."
He exhaled heavily, shoulders slumped as his hat fell over his expressive eyes. "I don't normally underestimate," he admitted as the crew began to hoist down the sails. "In fact, I never do anything stupid. I can't understand why now, all 'f a sudden, things 're changing. I should've been much more careful with ye, Miss McGovern. 'T won't happen again, I can promise y' that."
They both stood there in absolute quiet for what seemed an eternity, holding back as the Black Pearl yearned to sail freely into the horizon. Jack apologizing...sorry...regretful... what decorum was called for in this? "T...Tabitha," she finally let ring. "Miss is silly, really... and I always forget Captain anyhow..."
His face lifted and he beamed over at her, and in that moment of golden teeth and unspoken peace, she felt a comfort only achieved when one let go of stuffy manners and governed with the heart. "Well," at last he said, turning to take his place at the wheel, "was there a lot o' blood?"
"Oh yes! A plethora."
"Interesting."
First to catch her eye was practically square in the middle of the alley street, right in the front so you had to practically sidestep around it to get any further. Not to mention get a very good look at the raised platform crowded with a line of women. Shoulder to shoulder they stood, grinning sincerely and gesturing toward the gawkers in the crowd and passers by. 'FOR THE LONG TRIP', a banner announced above their heads. At the beginning of the line were young girls not a day older than she, each wearing an outrageous outfit blooming with feathers. There was a little blonde one with a yellow feathered dress that was slit high up on her thigh, and she jumped up and down like a child. Next to her was a bright redhead in stunning ostrich plumes, with fuller breasts that were concealed ever-so-slightly by a neckline cut near to the waist. Further down the line the women got older, fatter, and uglier until the last woman on the very end, a shriveled old woman with hardly any hair left on her head, beckoning with her long, gnarled hands. A plump, sturdy-looking woman stood in front of the crowd, urging them whole-heartedly, growing ever-redder in the face.
"Th' sea grows e'er colder an' love e'er farther, but fer a mere 500 pounds ye can be th' pride o' yer crew an' take Letitia back wit' ye fer a night!" The yellow canary girl whipped an oriental fan out from behind her back, and began furiously beating it in the air while shaking her chest for the applaused delight of the crowd.
"How much t' keep 'er below decks fer a full voyage?" An inquiry shot up from the crowd.
"Ten thousand pounds!" Letitia boasted proudly. "An' a full new wardrobe, plus a dinner break 't six."
Laughs and cheering rose up from the crowd as Jack urged her along with a nudge. "Gatherin' trade advice?"
"I find it fascinating," she remarked, adhering close to Jack's side through the main street. Cures for scurvy, wind charming sails, explosives upon guns upon cannons up for grabs on all sides. "They seem so enthusiastic about their work."
"Aye, but fer a Mureta wench like that, 's not work's much 's a hobby." He stopped in front of one of the only solid, standing structures erected in the town. A packed tavern, of course. He removed a gold coin from his pocket and slipped it into Tabitha's hand, saying "ye'd be best not t' keep company in this sort o' place, dearest Miss McGovern. I'll find ye... why don't ye make yerself busy an' get a new dress like ye wanted?"
"Alone?!" She cried, clutching the money in her palm. Under normal circumstances she'd object to such charity, but he was likely counting on multiplying it tenfold once they recovered the book and arrived at Eden. "But Jack, they're-"
"You'll be absolutely fine." He gave her a strong pat on the back, much less affection than she would have liked. "No one's gonna think of touchin' the presumed wench of Captain Jack Sparrow."
***
Ah, how he'd missed a good, true pirate bar! The Black Pearl hadn't stopped at Tortuga and months, and the squeaky-clean establishments in Daemon's Pointe and Port Royal were boring at best. Here, all the sweaty, drunken, loveable kin gathered to tell incoherant stories, pick up pleasurable company, and make arrangements for the next adventure. It wasn't just the alcohol that lifted the spirits. It was the energy, enthusiasm, and harsh understanding from the lot of scallowags around you. In a pirate's heart, it was home.
"Captain Jack!" A familiar-sounding voice shot through the crowd, creating a clear path as men and their women scooted back to make way for an honored guest. The bartender, welcoming with open arms holding a pitcher and soiled rag, smiled happily through a growing beard and widening frame.
"Gibbs!" He shot back with equal shock and excitement. They smacked each other upside the back in the age-old fashion, and without hesistation he filled an enormous stein of rum as Jack seated himself at the counter. "I wondered whatever became of ye after ye abandoned the Pearl."
"Moved on t' more fittin' endeavors, as 't were." The light in his face dimmed as the acquantance took a strong gulp, his faulty memory kicking back into gear. "What brings ye t' Muerta anyhow?"
"New matter of leverage. She's not here," he quickly added as Gibbs' eyes darted around the room.
"She?"
"Aye."
"So Thoreau was right," he realized in a hushed whisper, much to the bewhilderment of Jack as he quickly set down the drink. "Ye do have th' Heiress."
"Thoreau?" He repeated, running his hands along the thin plaited tails of beard. "Since when has Thoreau been welcome in Muerta?"
"Since he's been commandin' a pirate ship, that's when."
"What ship?"
"Th' Lucifer," he said in a low, raspy voice with his signature flare for over-dramatics.
"Ne'er heard of it."
"Aye, few have. It's been wrapped up in its own pursuits." He glanced around, ensuring that everyone within earshot was much too enthralled with their own debauchery to mind the conspiring of two veteran pirates. "Thoreau spent years with the British Navy, flyin' under their flag while treasure huntin' sure 's any o' the commonest buccaneers on this isle. He was a notable failure after he finally landed 'n Eden twenty years ago. But he jus' didn't give up. He knew there was mus' be some way t' get to th' treasure. In any legend o' that calibur, there always is. So he kept his ears open. Always listenin'. Guess 't wasn't too hard, no hair t' muffle them ears o' his. An' the story began t' change. Supposedly th' last o' th' women made 'er nest at Daemon's Pointe, died, an' left an incantation t' open th' wall to 'er daughter. Then 't all began t' come together. He'd ne'er realized that McGovern'd actually married th' woman. They'd all but slipped 'is mind after leavin' the Navy an' slowly puttin' together a ransack crew o' his own. They went through an' destroyed Daemon's Pointe, an', ruthless novice 'e is, he sent his crew out t' do all th' dirty work for 'em while he took a shore leave in Tortuga. 'Find th' most beautiful girl at th' dance, and bring 'er 'ere alive,' he commanded. Well naturally th' greenhorns snatched up some prissy whore export from England, not th' exotic offspring o' ancient Egyptian royalty. It seemed a li'l odd t' Thoreau, but she was the spittin' image o' McGovern an' th' book of th' incantation was on 'er, e'en so. But when they took 'er to Eden's Rock an' she read th' words, nothin' happened. Not a bloody thing. Right 'fore they slashed 'er throat she described the real Heiress, who was last spotted bein' dragged off by a dreadlocked, swaggerin' pirate t' a ship th' color o' midnight with black sails t' boot."
"So they HAD heard of me!"
"They were 'ere jus' last night, tearin' up through 'ere, inches short o' spillin' blood. Demandin' t' know where Jack Sparrow an' th' Black Pearl were. Everyone told 'em the god-honest truth... haven't seen 'em fer months. But he's gonna be after ye, Jack, an' yer lit'l prize, too."
"Well there's no way they could catch up to the Black Pearl," he shrugged, resuming his remaining rum.
"Ye know as well 's I pride can sink a ship soon's a cannon."
***
"Loot fer a Lady," Tabitha read on the poorly-scribbled sign that was tacked above a shack-like shop across the street. The entrance was veiled in tapestries and silk sheets, with a tarty looking dress adorning a manequen next to the door. Ah, the resting ground of all the good lady's looted dresses, she smiled as she timidly stepped inside.
The door slammed shut behind her, shoving her into an incredibly dark room with only a few slits high in the wall to let sparse sunlight in. Dresses did not hang up nicely or fold neatly, but rather were strewn about in piles among hats, parasols, and undergarments- some clearly that hadn't been worn for half a century. A wiry man sat upon a stool, running a small knife up and down a coarse rock. He did not look up, even as she began rummaging through the heaps searching desperately for something that would somehow make do. An ivory flowered print that folded out to fit someone twice her size, a host of low-cut gauzy things that were in no shape or form 'Loot fer a Lady'.
"Excuse me," she inquired, looking to the uninvolved shopkeeper. "Would you happen to have any recent arrivals from, oh, Daemon's Pointe?"
He lifted his head to stare at her, a creepy smile curling across his lips. Unlike Jack he hadn't bothered to spring for gold teeth, and the few that remained hung off his gums like gnarled bits of food. "Don't get too many ladies shoppin' 'ere. Travelin' alone?"
"That's really none of your concern," she fumed bluntly, her fingers turning to fists at her sides. "If you don't have anything suitable, I'll take my business elsewhere."
"Yer not goin' else nowhere." Like a monkey he swiftly and agily leaped onto the counter, balancing on his skinny ankles and poising the sharpened knife above his head. With a shreik she whirled around to run, only to feel the larger body land like lead atop her back. Ensnaring her arms in one hand he held the knife against her throat with the other, so close that heavy breathing would draw blood. "That's a good lass," his voice hissed into her ear as her muscles loosened, giving in to surrender. He let her hands fall out of his grip, and still holding the slicing metal to her flesh, snaked his hand up the side of her hip to rest below her left breast. She could feel a faint shudder from him as he let out an aching breath, inching up to slip his fingertips below the neckline.
Without sparing a second to think Tabitha tore at his right arm, enough surprise granting her the opportunity to pry the knife from his hand. Growling he lunged toward her, and shooting her fist forward the blade sunk brutally into his stomach. She gasped as he moaned, sinking to his knees and slumping onto the floor. Streams of scarlet began to form rivers along the boards, staining the soles of her shoes. 'I've killed,' she realized simply, as if now she were the member of a new elite that could sink no further. Surely no one would miss the rat, or so much as bat an eyelash against her word, but the fact that another human being's life had ended at her will was terrifying. A fluttery feeling danced in her stomach, not unlike the effect of the rum.
Hastily she gathered an armful of clothes untouched by the mounting blood, and nearly fell out the door to see Jack, slightly less nervy after his trip to the tavern. "Ye sure do know how to make a franc stretch," he remarked, examining the dwarfing mountain of articles.
"I killed him," she whispered, a cackling giggle rising from the depths of her throat. She didn't know whether to let it spill laughter or tears. "The shopkeeper," she explained, addressing the confounded expression that turned Jack's kohl-lined eyes to slits. "I killed him!"
"I'm sure ye had yer reasons," he shrugged, continuing nonchalantly past the street to the dock.
"Every woman in the Spanish Main isn't just some whore these men have at their disposal," she fumed, hoisting the loot over the edge of the boat as she tumbled inside. He turned back to her, and his face changed. Almost a panic, and it was frightening. She'd expected him to be in too deep a stupor to register much, and even when mildly alert he never seemed off-poise enough to appear...
"Did he..."
"No," she blushed, her eyes falling to the deck. "I killed him."
"But he tried."
"...Yes."
He exhaled heavily, shoulders slumped as his hat fell over his expressive eyes. "I don't normally underestimate," he admitted as the crew began to hoist down the sails. "In fact, I never do anything stupid. I can't understand why now, all 'f a sudden, things 're changing. I should've been much more careful with ye, Miss McGovern. 'T won't happen again, I can promise y' that."
They both stood there in absolute quiet for what seemed an eternity, holding back as the Black Pearl yearned to sail freely into the horizon. Jack apologizing...sorry...regretful... what decorum was called for in this? "T...Tabitha," she finally let ring. "Miss is silly, really... and I always forget Captain anyhow..."
His face lifted and he beamed over at her, and in that moment of golden teeth and unspoken peace, she felt a comfort only achieved when one let go of stuffy manners and governed with the heart. "Well," at last he said, turning to take his place at the wheel, "was there a lot o' blood?"
"Oh yes! A plethora."
"Interesting."