Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belong to Disney. "Cold and Raw" song is taken from John Playford's "Dancing Master", the Tyburn tree version of "Greensleeves" from "The Beggar's Opera" by John Gay and John Christopher Pepusch, and the serpent and spider allegory from the novel "Guzman de Alfarache" by Mateo Aleman.
Rating: R (for further chapters)
Beta: Ewa - you're my treasure, luv. And K. - I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass.
A/N: 1) This story stands on its own, but it has a prequel, "A Look On Helen's Face". 2) "The Beggar's Opera" was produced as late as 1728, so it's an anachronism to put it in, but I just couldn't resist. 3) Wapping is a place in London where pirates were executed.
I'd like to thank all my reviewers for their kindness and support. Special hugs for Melanie and Bren Eldrid Bera.
------------------------------
The Serpent and the Spider
I
I hate losers.
I'm watching the cockfight, with my arm around pretty Fanny's neck. Her fair head rests on my shoulder, she smells of orange peel (was rubbing it behind her ears, I saw it last night), of woman's sweat and of roasted fowl that we ate together. She probably smells of wine, too, but I can't feel it, for I'm drunk as well.
The subtle scent has just woken me up - the unmistakable scent of blood. One of the gamecocks is injured, spreading its wings helplessly, the right a bit lower to the ground. It's suddenly forgetting the fight, turning around in the circle decorated with blood and feathers, crooking its head with little painful moves. Its owner is encouraging it, shouting madly, reaching to touch it - the spectators have to restrain him. His rival, the owner of the winner cock, is laughing from the bottom of his heart, and his friends share his happiness, praising his brave bird and its razor-sharp gaff, still ready to fight.
The dying gamecock barely stands in the cockpit, falling heavily on the wounded wing's side, unmoving, waiting for merciful death. But death is slow and mercy is absent. The bird's owner is trembling with his ugly despair at his loss, and I can see his face getting distorted with fury. The fight is over, but not the fighter's potential to suffer. The owner takes the gamecock into his hands and sobbing, trembling, with tears running down his red cheeks, starts tearing out the feathers. He's doing it methodically, trying to calm down, nipping the pallid skin of the bird he was once loving more than his own child. Then he grabs the injured right wing and brokes it further, then the left one; then he takes the head in his almost tender fingers and squeezes these two shallow, yellow eyes out. And then there is not much he still can do, so he breaks the cock's neck, throws the carcass to the ground and leaves into the night.
It's why I hate losers - there's no mercy, no pity, no forgiveness in them, just a cold cruelty let loose. Not that I've always been a winner, but I haven't been dwelling on my losses anyway... until now.
I am looking for a man who killed my mentor and friend, Captain Barbossa. I'm looking for a man who's name is Jack Sparrow - not Captain Jack Sparrow, I can't bring myself to call him that. He's no Captain to me. And I don't know what I should do to him when I find him, because I'm in debt of another man, Commodore James Norrington, who saved my life, and who wants Sparrow safe and sound.
The Commodore doesn't know that I promised myself to bring Sparrow to him. He probably thinks I'm just an ungrateful piece of scum. He bought me a meal when I was ill and hungry, and he didn't arrest me even though he knew I'm branded. And me, in turn - I tried to seduce him, accused him of fancing Sparrow, and then stole his pistol. I told him my name, now he knows I was once among Captain Barbossa's crew. Should I show myself in Port Royal, he'll have me hanged, and I can't blame him for that.
Yet I can't abandon my promise. I want to help the Commodore, who fancies Sparrow, but is still a man of duty. Which one will prevail - duty or fancy? It's always so interesting to see these two battle; and I have not much admiration for men who put their duty above all else. Should the sense of duty win in Norrington's heart, I'll be free from that ridiculous little pain that I'm feeling when I'm thinking about him. And moreover, should his sense of duty win, I'll see Sparrow hang - alongside me, maybe, but it's worth trying; I'll be a loser and a winner at the same time.
Commodore's pistol is bringing me luck, nobody refuses me a little help when I'm holding them at the gunpoint. It got me medicine, good clothes, a cutlass, then money. My hair is shorter and shiny now, I'm wearing a fine Holland shirt under a neat velvet jacket, I have new soft boots with silver bucklets, I have a hat, I've even found a love here - petite Fanny, sweet and clear, with delicate white breasts and red lips she doesn't even need to paint.
She is new to the trade, she told me that she was a servant in a wealthy London family. They came to Leeward Islands two years ago, after a year she found herself having an affair with her master, got pregnant, then expelled. An ordinary little story, dozens of them are piled on every town's backyards. Luckily, the baby was stillborn. Luckily, Fanny is not a kind of girl that takes things too seriously - she's catching what each day offers her, with no concern for tomorrow or fear for the end.
The crew of El Segador - a small sloop I've managed to board in order to get here - was drinking with girls, and Fanny was the prettiest of them. Everybody wanted her, but we tried to be polite; it was our first night on La Onza de Gracia, and we wanted it to be a good one, so El Segador's captain, tall and skinny Pau Segre, asked Fanny to choose. She smiled and said:
"Let's make it a game, Captain. I'll sing and the first to know the song and sing it with me will be a winner."
"Fairly good," said Pau, who is a Catalan, "but you're English and not ev'rybody of my crew is, so would you be sweet to us an' try not only English songs?"
"I can sing Spanish and French ones too," she said and took the mandoline, and she already won my heart, because for me music is truly a spice of love.
But it's been long time since I was earning my daily bread in the Spanish Main; I'd just come back after ten years of wandering elsewhere and didn't know the songs that Fanny was singing. The first one was French, but none of us recognized it, as it sounded too polished; the second one was Spanish, but it was in a dialect so strange that we started scratching our heads, and Fanny told us it was from La Plata - no wonder we haven't heard it; the third one was English, she took first accords and my heart started to beat wildly, for the melody was familiar for me.
"It's 'Greensleeves', right?" I exclaimed, and Pau and all the crew looked at me with murder in their eyes.
She started to laugh.
"No," she said. "Listen."
It WAS "Greensleeves", but the words were so odd I just opened my eyes wide.
"Since laws were made for ev'ry degree,
To curb vice in others, as well as me,
I wonder we han't better company
Upon Tyburn tree!
But gold from law can take out the sting,
And if rich men, like us, were to swing,
'Twould thin the land..."
"Now what did ye do to poor old 'Greensleeves', miss?", asked Sid Moore, Pau's quartermaster, who was born in York. "I've ne'er heard of Lady Greensleves standin' under Tyburn tree!"
"What's that Tyburn tree?" asked Pau.
"It's the gallows, Captain," I said. "The gallows in the Tyburn prison."
"You've never heard of 'The Beggar's Opera', it seems," said Fanny, looking a bit offended. "It's very fashionable and all the elegant society in London loves it. They don't like Italian opera anymore, just songs about cutthroats and beggars and unfortunates, and they're all delighted to hear how prisons and galleys look like."
"That's excellent," I said, "if they love to hear about gallows, they're going to love us gallows' birds even more, for if not us, who'd bring them joy and delight of these songs?"
"It's because the government in London is so vile," said Fanny, "that people believe the unfortunates are more honourable and true to their codes of behaviour than the Upper Ten."
"If it's so," said Sid, "then decent folks in London should like us pirates, for we have our code too."
"Who knows," I said, "let some years pass and then we'll discover there are tales about pirates to amuse children, not to frighten them, and to make them believe we're good men, honourable not only to ourselves, but to others as well."
"Sure," said Pau, "but I'd bet on Saint Virgin's lovely little fingers, Ritchie, that you'll swing from that Tyburn tree before anyway."
"It's not Tyburn for me, it's Wapping, Captain. But at least not before pretty Fanny sings another song."
"All right," she said with a sly look at me, "I'll sing some more."
And she started with "Cold and raw the North did blow...", and I bit my lip, for I knew the song and all I needed was to recall the words; Sid exclaimed: "Damn!", and took a deep breath, and poor Pau spilled his drink, but couldn't do anything, and I thought of love... there was price for love in the song... then raised my hand and sang with Fanny:
"Twenty more shall buy delight,
Thy person I love so dearly,
If thou wouldst stay with me all night,
And go home in the morning early.
If twenty pounds can buy the globe,
Quoth she..."
Then Fanny laughed and said:
"It's 'this I'd not do, sir', but I'd do it. You won."
"It's you who won me, my queen," I said taking her hand with little rosy fingers reddened from playing.
Three days passed from that night and we are hardly moving from Fanny's bed, going downstairs only to eat and to listen to quarrels. The Grey Inn is the biggest tavern in the island, and despite the name not grim at all; there are cockfights and manfights, dances and music, the bargains are being made and dues are being paid. And since Tortuga is no longer a safe place for the likes of me, La Onza de Gracia is flourishing; every pirate vessel of the Caribbean can land here untroubled, and I hope that Jack Sparrow will appear here some day, if only to prove the island's name right.
Now I'm living a pretty dull life; the blood scent, however, has woken me up. There's not only love in this world, there's my Lady Death too, and she's just let me know she's here. Time to bow to her. New ships are arriving every day to La Novia, the island's harbor. What if my foe is here already, and I'm not prepared, with my awareness lost between Fanny's milky legs?
I'm looking over at the slowly emptying place where the cockfight was being held. The winner has just collected his share and is coming here to sit and drink, boosted with pride and self-importance. Ah, you poor mongrel, but it's not you who won, it's the bird that's now dying from loss of blood and from thirst. Are you coming up here? There's no place for you, at least not here, and I don't care if the chair by Fanny's side is the only one you can sit in. But I see you're aiming for it - well, does it mean you're sent here by your own Lady Death, so that I have something to practice with?
He's coming to us with his cronies, all warmed up by their victory, sure that nobody would cross them in this happy hour, and I can see Fanny's eyes sparkling with sudden interest. Well, I don't like winners either, in fact. And when he takes the chair unceremonially, ready to land his big butt, I kick the chair swiftly to the side and lay my legs on it.
"Wait, friend," I say, "you forgot to ask if it's free for you to take."
He looks down on me.
"And who are you that I've to ask you for a chair?"
"I'm the one of us two who knows what politeness means, mate. You don't sit in my lady's company, unless she allows you. Or unless I do."
He folds his hands and unfolds them, for he sees from my light tone that I'm deliberately picking a fight. His mateys look at him and at each other; they don't understand why he's not smacked me down already. But he's not that dumb, he knows that I'd like to kill, and that I've chosen him.
"Oh, your lady," he says with a bow. "Yeah, should have to ask her. If she's as clever as she's pretty, she should know that to be lucky is to be on the winner's side tonight. How's that? Let's say, this is up to the princess to decide who's worth to sit along with her."
Fanny is uncertain what she should do. The winner is a tall, solid-built fellow with a pleasant broad face. He's breeding the gamecocks, therefore he's living here and can be counted on. I'm picking quarrels, and will leave La Onza de Gracia sooner or later. She begins to look at the winner longingly, and her hand on my arm becomes lighter.
"Is that what you want, love?" I ask her softly. "You prefer a man with two cocks? Well, I understand you, but see - the one he's carrying with him is not the one that won the fight; and that one that won is already vanishing, so that he'll be a one-cock man in the morning anyway."
He starts to lose his patience, as his cronies do as well.
"He's looking for trouble, Philip," one of them says. "And he's alone, what the hell?"
"You'd better watch your tongue, mate," he says, "I just wanted to sit here, that's all."
"Well, I'm sorry, mate," I say, "there's no place for you, let alone your whole court. It's only one chair, you see."
"I can see that, but is there anyone you're holding that chair for?" He's trying to be civil.
"Aye, to be honest..." I hesitate, deciding to play with him a little more. And then I see a tall black woman, who's coming up here with a bunch of new customers, and is looking for a place to sit. I haven't seen her before, she isn't one of Gray Inn's girls, and she is dressed very plainly, in a white shirt, and... are there trousers? If she's wearing trousers, then she's no tavern wench. She must have come here on some pirate ship - it means that new ships have just arrived to La Novia.
"To be honest, I've been holding the place for that lady over here," I say. "Move away, cock-breeders, don't let her stand. Hey, lady, there's a nice place just for you."
She frowns at me, and the winner Philip's face reddens.
"You're sparing that chair for a Negro woman? A black will sit when a white's standing, you bastard?"
"All's natural," I say. "She's black, you're stupid, God's almighty. You call me a bastard?"
"I do, and I'll prove you are one," he says taking a knife he had at his belt.
"Drop it, matey," I say, "or you'll find yourself without either cock even before the morning comes." And I aim my pistol - Commodore's pistol - between his legs. I don't want to kill him now. I want to know who came to La Novia tonight.
"Now, now, if ye excuse me," says somebody making his way through Philip's cronies, "there's no need for a fight, trust me. Me crew's well accustomed to takin' care of themselves. Just apologize, friend, an' be free an' well."
The group that the black woman entered here with, is now rounding up Philip's little circle of supporters. They are armed and though they remain calm, it's clear that the cockfighters are no match for them. And the black woman is holding a pistol against Philip's back - he's now between two pistols aiming at him. Oh, nice.
The captain is waiting patiently, raising his dark brows, and finally Philip says:
"Sorry. Didn't mean to offend, really." He casts me a glance full of heartful death wish, I tuck my pistol back, the black woman takes hers away, too. There's not much to say. Philip's party leaves, and I find myself sitting alone at the table. Not only my Fanny is gone - and I don't know what angered her more, my sudden defence of the black pirate, or Philip's sudden defeat - but all other customers who were sitting around cleared up as well. Yes, firearms are that scary, especially in a crowded tavern.
"You're lucky, mateys," I say to my new company. "It was hard to breathe here just a moment before, and now - you see. I owe you a drink."
"No, it's me who owes you," says the black woman sitting down with a wide smile. "It looked as if you were only happy to shoot the fella, though."
"Didn't like him from the beginning," I grin back. "Tried to talk my girl away."
"Bad news fer ye, then. It seems she's run with 'im."
"Be it for good. I'm not going to stay here anyway. I was looking for a good ship to board."
"Are ye goin' anywhere?"
"Depends on the pay - can be elsewhere. I'm not very demanding and don't have special requests, and I've been going on account for pretty long."
"Lookin' for a ship to stay, then."
The gray-bearded guy and the captain were listening, and now there is silence. The black woman looks at them. The captain pushes a drink to me.
"I can say yer no coward," he says, "an' I already like the way yer treatin' people of value. I'd like to thank ye for defendin' Anamaria. They took her at surprise, an' that's a rare thing, I must say."
"'Twas my pleasure."
"How long are ye here?"
"Just a few days."
"You came with somebody."
"Aye, with Pau Segre."
"Aah, the 'I-prefer-to-rob-Spaniards' Catalan? Lil' El Segador's captain?"
"Aye, that's the man," I say with a laugh.
"Good man, good pirate. Nice to hear he's alright. Well," he says, "ne'er too many gifted men aboard. We're headin' for Cancun, if ye want to go with us. What's yer name?"
"My name's Ritchie Brown."
"I am Captain Jack Sparrow, an' my ship is the Black Pearl."
tbc
Rating: R (for further chapters)
Beta: Ewa - you're my treasure, luv. And K. - I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass.
A/N: 1) This story stands on its own, but it has a prequel, "A Look On Helen's Face". 2) "The Beggar's Opera" was produced as late as 1728, so it's an anachronism to put it in, but I just couldn't resist. 3) Wapping is a place in London where pirates were executed.
I'd like to thank all my reviewers for their kindness and support. Special hugs for Melanie and Bren Eldrid Bera.
------------------------------
The Serpent and the Spider
I
I hate losers.
I'm watching the cockfight, with my arm around pretty Fanny's neck. Her fair head rests on my shoulder, she smells of orange peel (was rubbing it behind her ears, I saw it last night), of woman's sweat and of roasted fowl that we ate together. She probably smells of wine, too, but I can't feel it, for I'm drunk as well.
The subtle scent has just woken me up - the unmistakable scent of blood. One of the gamecocks is injured, spreading its wings helplessly, the right a bit lower to the ground. It's suddenly forgetting the fight, turning around in the circle decorated with blood and feathers, crooking its head with little painful moves. Its owner is encouraging it, shouting madly, reaching to touch it - the spectators have to restrain him. His rival, the owner of the winner cock, is laughing from the bottom of his heart, and his friends share his happiness, praising his brave bird and its razor-sharp gaff, still ready to fight.
The dying gamecock barely stands in the cockpit, falling heavily on the wounded wing's side, unmoving, waiting for merciful death. But death is slow and mercy is absent. The bird's owner is trembling with his ugly despair at his loss, and I can see his face getting distorted with fury. The fight is over, but not the fighter's potential to suffer. The owner takes the gamecock into his hands and sobbing, trembling, with tears running down his red cheeks, starts tearing out the feathers. He's doing it methodically, trying to calm down, nipping the pallid skin of the bird he was once loving more than his own child. Then he grabs the injured right wing and brokes it further, then the left one; then he takes the head in his almost tender fingers and squeezes these two shallow, yellow eyes out. And then there is not much he still can do, so he breaks the cock's neck, throws the carcass to the ground and leaves into the night.
It's why I hate losers - there's no mercy, no pity, no forgiveness in them, just a cold cruelty let loose. Not that I've always been a winner, but I haven't been dwelling on my losses anyway... until now.
I am looking for a man who killed my mentor and friend, Captain Barbossa. I'm looking for a man who's name is Jack Sparrow - not Captain Jack Sparrow, I can't bring myself to call him that. He's no Captain to me. And I don't know what I should do to him when I find him, because I'm in debt of another man, Commodore James Norrington, who saved my life, and who wants Sparrow safe and sound.
The Commodore doesn't know that I promised myself to bring Sparrow to him. He probably thinks I'm just an ungrateful piece of scum. He bought me a meal when I was ill and hungry, and he didn't arrest me even though he knew I'm branded. And me, in turn - I tried to seduce him, accused him of fancing Sparrow, and then stole his pistol. I told him my name, now he knows I was once among Captain Barbossa's crew. Should I show myself in Port Royal, he'll have me hanged, and I can't blame him for that.
Yet I can't abandon my promise. I want to help the Commodore, who fancies Sparrow, but is still a man of duty. Which one will prevail - duty or fancy? It's always so interesting to see these two battle; and I have not much admiration for men who put their duty above all else. Should the sense of duty win in Norrington's heart, I'll be free from that ridiculous little pain that I'm feeling when I'm thinking about him. And moreover, should his sense of duty win, I'll see Sparrow hang - alongside me, maybe, but it's worth trying; I'll be a loser and a winner at the same time.
Commodore's pistol is bringing me luck, nobody refuses me a little help when I'm holding them at the gunpoint. It got me medicine, good clothes, a cutlass, then money. My hair is shorter and shiny now, I'm wearing a fine Holland shirt under a neat velvet jacket, I have new soft boots with silver bucklets, I have a hat, I've even found a love here - petite Fanny, sweet and clear, with delicate white breasts and red lips she doesn't even need to paint.
She is new to the trade, she told me that she was a servant in a wealthy London family. They came to Leeward Islands two years ago, after a year she found herself having an affair with her master, got pregnant, then expelled. An ordinary little story, dozens of them are piled on every town's backyards. Luckily, the baby was stillborn. Luckily, Fanny is not a kind of girl that takes things too seriously - she's catching what each day offers her, with no concern for tomorrow or fear for the end.
The crew of El Segador - a small sloop I've managed to board in order to get here - was drinking with girls, and Fanny was the prettiest of them. Everybody wanted her, but we tried to be polite; it was our first night on La Onza de Gracia, and we wanted it to be a good one, so El Segador's captain, tall and skinny Pau Segre, asked Fanny to choose. She smiled and said:
"Let's make it a game, Captain. I'll sing and the first to know the song and sing it with me will be a winner."
"Fairly good," said Pau, who is a Catalan, "but you're English and not ev'rybody of my crew is, so would you be sweet to us an' try not only English songs?"
"I can sing Spanish and French ones too," she said and took the mandoline, and she already won my heart, because for me music is truly a spice of love.
But it's been long time since I was earning my daily bread in the Spanish Main; I'd just come back after ten years of wandering elsewhere and didn't know the songs that Fanny was singing. The first one was French, but none of us recognized it, as it sounded too polished; the second one was Spanish, but it was in a dialect so strange that we started scratching our heads, and Fanny told us it was from La Plata - no wonder we haven't heard it; the third one was English, she took first accords and my heart started to beat wildly, for the melody was familiar for me.
"It's 'Greensleeves', right?" I exclaimed, and Pau and all the crew looked at me with murder in their eyes.
She started to laugh.
"No," she said. "Listen."
It WAS "Greensleeves", but the words were so odd I just opened my eyes wide.
"Since laws were made for ev'ry degree,
To curb vice in others, as well as me,
I wonder we han't better company
Upon Tyburn tree!
But gold from law can take out the sting,
And if rich men, like us, were to swing,
'Twould thin the land..."
"Now what did ye do to poor old 'Greensleeves', miss?", asked Sid Moore, Pau's quartermaster, who was born in York. "I've ne'er heard of Lady Greensleves standin' under Tyburn tree!"
"What's that Tyburn tree?" asked Pau.
"It's the gallows, Captain," I said. "The gallows in the Tyburn prison."
"You've never heard of 'The Beggar's Opera', it seems," said Fanny, looking a bit offended. "It's very fashionable and all the elegant society in London loves it. They don't like Italian opera anymore, just songs about cutthroats and beggars and unfortunates, and they're all delighted to hear how prisons and galleys look like."
"That's excellent," I said, "if they love to hear about gallows, they're going to love us gallows' birds even more, for if not us, who'd bring them joy and delight of these songs?"
"It's because the government in London is so vile," said Fanny, "that people believe the unfortunates are more honourable and true to their codes of behaviour than the Upper Ten."
"If it's so," said Sid, "then decent folks in London should like us pirates, for we have our code too."
"Who knows," I said, "let some years pass and then we'll discover there are tales about pirates to amuse children, not to frighten them, and to make them believe we're good men, honourable not only to ourselves, but to others as well."
"Sure," said Pau, "but I'd bet on Saint Virgin's lovely little fingers, Ritchie, that you'll swing from that Tyburn tree before anyway."
"It's not Tyburn for me, it's Wapping, Captain. But at least not before pretty Fanny sings another song."
"All right," she said with a sly look at me, "I'll sing some more."
And she started with "Cold and raw the North did blow...", and I bit my lip, for I knew the song and all I needed was to recall the words; Sid exclaimed: "Damn!", and took a deep breath, and poor Pau spilled his drink, but couldn't do anything, and I thought of love... there was price for love in the song... then raised my hand and sang with Fanny:
"Twenty more shall buy delight,
Thy person I love so dearly,
If thou wouldst stay with me all night,
And go home in the morning early.
If twenty pounds can buy the globe,
Quoth she..."
Then Fanny laughed and said:
"It's 'this I'd not do, sir', but I'd do it. You won."
"It's you who won me, my queen," I said taking her hand with little rosy fingers reddened from playing.
Three days passed from that night and we are hardly moving from Fanny's bed, going downstairs only to eat and to listen to quarrels. The Grey Inn is the biggest tavern in the island, and despite the name not grim at all; there are cockfights and manfights, dances and music, the bargains are being made and dues are being paid. And since Tortuga is no longer a safe place for the likes of me, La Onza de Gracia is flourishing; every pirate vessel of the Caribbean can land here untroubled, and I hope that Jack Sparrow will appear here some day, if only to prove the island's name right.
Now I'm living a pretty dull life; the blood scent, however, has woken me up. There's not only love in this world, there's my Lady Death too, and she's just let me know she's here. Time to bow to her. New ships are arriving every day to La Novia, the island's harbor. What if my foe is here already, and I'm not prepared, with my awareness lost between Fanny's milky legs?
I'm looking over at the slowly emptying place where the cockfight was being held. The winner has just collected his share and is coming here to sit and drink, boosted with pride and self-importance. Ah, you poor mongrel, but it's not you who won, it's the bird that's now dying from loss of blood and from thirst. Are you coming up here? There's no place for you, at least not here, and I don't care if the chair by Fanny's side is the only one you can sit in. But I see you're aiming for it - well, does it mean you're sent here by your own Lady Death, so that I have something to practice with?
He's coming to us with his cronies, all warmed up by their victory, sure that nobody would cross them in this happy hour, and I can see Fanny's eyes sparkling with sudden interest. Well, I don't like winners either, in fact. And when he takes the chair unceremonially, ready to land his big butt, I kick the chair swiftly to the side and lay my legs on it.
"Wait, friend," I say, "you forgot to ask if it's free for you to take."
He looks down on me.
"And who are you that I've to ask you for a chair?"
"I'm the one of us two who knows what politeness means, mate. You don't sit in my lady's company, unless she allows you. Or unless I do."
He folds his hands and unfolds them, for he sees from my light tone that I'm deliberately picking a fight. His mateys look at him and at each other; they don't understand why he's not smacked me down already. But he's not that dumb, he knows that I'd like to kill, and that I've chosen him.
"Oh, your lady," he says with a bow. "Yeah, should have to ask her. If she's as clever as she's pretty, she should know that to be lucky is to be on the winner's side tonight. How's that? Let's say, this is up to the princess to decide who's worth to sit along with her."
Fanny is uncertain what she should do. The winner is a tall, solid-built fellow with a pleasant broad face. He's breeding the gamecocks, therefore he's living here and can be counted on. I'm picking quarrels, and will leave La Onza de Gracia sooner or later. She begins to look at the winner longingly, and her hand on my arm becomes lighter.
"Is that what you want, love?" I ask her softly. "You prefer a man with two cocks? Well, I understand you, but see - the one he's carrying with him is not the one that won the fight; and that one that won is already vanishing, so that he'll be a one-cock man in the morning anyway."
He starts to lose his patience, as his cronies do as well.
"He's looking for trouble, Philip," one of them says. "And he's alone, what the hell?"
"You'd better watch your tongue, mate," he says, "I just wanted to sit here, that's all."
"Well, I'm sorry, mate," I say, "there's no place for you, let alone your whole court. It's only one chair, you see."
"I can see that, but is there anyone you're holding that chair for?" He's trying to be civil.
"Aye, to be honest..." I hesitate, deciding to play with him a little more. And then I see a tall black woman, who's coming up here with a bunch of new customers, and is looking for a place to sit. I haven't seen her before, she isn't one of Gray Inn's girls, and she is dressed very plainly, in a white shirt, and... are there trousers? If she's wearing trousers, then she's no tavern wench. She must have come here on some pirate ship - it means that new ships have just arrived to La Novia.
"To be honest, I've been holding the place for that lady over here," I say. "Move away, cock-breeders, don't let her stand. Hey, lady, there's a nice place just for you."
She frowns at me, and the winner Philip's face reddens.
"You're sparing that chair for a Negro woman? A black will sit when a white's standing, you bastard?"
"All's natural," I say. "She's black, you're stupid, God's almighty. You call me a bastard?"
"I do, and I'll prove you are one," he says taking a knife he had at his belt.
"Drop it, matey," I say, "or you'll find yourself without either cock even before the morning comes." And I aim my pistol - Commodore's pistol - between his legs. I don't want to kill him now. I want to know who came to La Novia tonight.
"Now, now, if ye excuse me," says somebody making his way through Philip's cronies, "there's no need for a fight, trust me. Me crew's well accustomed to takin' care of themselves. Just apologize, friend, an' be free an' well."
The group that the black woman entered here with, is now rounding up Philip's little circle of supporters. They are armed and though they remain calm, it's clear that the cockfighters are no match for them. And the black woman is holding a pistol against Philip's back - he's now between two pistols aiming at him. Oh, nice.
The captain is waiting patiently, raising his dark brows, and finally Philip says:
"Sorry. Didn't mean to offend, really." He casts me a glance full of heartful death wish, I tuck my pistol back, the black woman takes hers away, too. There's not much to say. Philip's party leaves, and I find myself sitting alone at the table. Not only my Fanny is gone - and I don't know what angered her more, my sudden defence of the black pirate, or Philip's sudden defeat - but all other customers who were sitting around cleared up as well. Yes, firearms are that scary, especially in a crowded tavern.
"You're lucky, mateys," I say to my new company. "It was hard to breathe here just a moment before, and now - you see. I owe you a drink."
"No, it's me who owes you," says the black woman sitting down with a wide smile. "It looked as if you were only happy to shoot the fella, though."
"Didn't like him from the beginning," I grin back. "Tried to talk my girl away."
"Bad news fer ye, then. It seems she's run with 'im."
"Be it for good. I'm not going to stay here anyway. I was looking for a good ship to board."
"Are ye goin' anywhere?"
"Depends on the pay - can be elsewhere. I'm not very demanding and don't have special requests, and I've been going on account for pretty long."
"Lookin' for a ship to stay, then."
The gray-bearded guy and the captain were listening, and now there is silence. The black woman looks at them. The captain pushes a drink to me.
"I can say yer no coward," he says, "an' I already like the way yer treatin' people of value. I'd like to thank ye for defendin' Anamaria. They took her at surprise, an' that's a rare thing, I must say."
"'Twas my pleasure."
"How long are ye here?"
"Just a few days."
"You came with somebody."
"Aye, with Pau Segre."
"Aah, the 'I-prefer-to-rob-Spaniards' Catalan? Lil' El Segador's captain?"
"Aye, that's the man," I say with a laugh.
"Good man, good pirate. Nice to hear he's alright. Well," he says, "ne'er too many gifted men aboard. We're headin' for Cancun, if ye want to go with us. What's yer name?"
"My name's Ritchie Brown."
"I am Captain Jack Sparrow, an' my ship is the Black Pearl."
tbc