Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belong to Disney.
Rating: R
A/N: Any resemblance of characters described in this chapter to real persons is fully intentional. Sue me, losers.
... ekhm. Going back to nice!PeiPei mode: I thank all my dear reviewers and readers, especially ShadowsFalling (hugs, dear! I'm very grateful for your sweet reviews. I'm sorry I didn't e-mail you recently; I was really busy), Alteng (I will read your new Pintel and Ragetti chapter soon!) and Ani Sparrow (I'm glad you're reading this one!). And of course Mint Condition, to whom I dedicate this humble story.
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IV
The night sky is so smooth and silky, the air is so sweet. I feel more and more free with each step that carries me away from lady Rose's house. It's no place for me. Ah, it seems that I cannot stay in a decent place at all.
Squall is sniveling loudly by my side; he's a little bit scared by his own bravery, and he has to hearten himself up by jangling the gold coins in his pocket. We are walking from some time already, because La Rosa Sin Espina is placed on the town outskirts; but when we reach our goal, I see with dismay that it looks just like other white-stoned honourable houses, it's only bigger and louder.
I feel a sudden reluctance before we come in. I'd rather stay outside to my own surprise; it's my first night in the New World and I find it intoxicating enough. I don't need girls, I don't need alcohol, I'd like to lie down on the grass and look up at this endless vault of heaven. It's been a long time since I've spent my night outside, and sleeping under the calm dark sky has always a taste of safety and freedom alike. Why do I care for Captain Barbossa and his lady Rose? Let them be happy together in their narrowish little house.
But no, my head is still full of envy and regret. It's not so easy to forget their blissful smiles, and when I step into the friendly warm of my first Antigua brothel, I'm reminded anew that scorn and loneliness can taste even more bitter while you are among others. The high rooms are filled with light and music and laughter, and when we come into the main hall, we're greeted by two dark-haired girls that seem to be dressed only in flounces. They grab Squall and me unceremoniously and drag us into the middle of the drunken party, squeeing loudly over our youth.
I am among my pirate companions again, but even as much as I want to dissolve my feelings of hurt and longing in this house's eager embrace, I cannot stop noticing things that don't help me in the slightest.
Pete, Bleeding Hand, stupid Bucky with his leg still not fully healed, Paco and his brother and some other mateys are all drunk already; I can say they all were dancing with girls, but the closeness of women's rich bosoms and big thights began to disturb them, and now they are just sitting here and there, some of them with girls' legs around their waists; a few are still moving on the dance floor, but they forget about the distance and are groping their partners rather openly. The musicians under the walls are dozing sometimes, but nobody complains, and even when some of them awakens suddenly and tries to play with a new fervour, his colleagues calm him down.
The place must seem like a fairy palace for the poor gobs, with red draperies over the walls and windows, with huge mythological paintings that praise nymphs displaying breasts like sacks of flour and arses like heads of sugar, with mirrors and even something that looks like carpet on the dirty wooden floor. But the draperies are dusty and ragged at places, paintings are rather unskillful when it comes to other things than women's bodily charms, and if you look in the mirror, you see something that looks like a decaying corpse. If there is anything beautiful here, it's the girls.
But the pirates don't see their beauty, in fact. They see their breasts, calves, thights and that sweet corner between them, that's all. They don't care for those long cinnamonlike fingers, for dark velvety eyes, for graceful feet and heavy thick hair. There is not much in a woman that could interest them - only those boring features that ensure a male that he deals with a female, nothing more; the whole subtle grace of their ladies is lost to them. And I see Captain Barbossa sitting by his lady's side, with her golden head on his broad shoulder, both of them unmoving, both of them deliberately tasting each other's company in the soft light of sunset.
I look at Squall, who is already dead drunk - I couldn't even notice when and where he grabbed any rum. Ah, maybe his dark skinned beauty has been feeding him with it; now she's holding his dizzy head in the crook of her arm, calling him "my sweet baby" and kissing his blissfully smilling lips. Uh. I need a drink too... or maybe not. I feel foreign here. I cannot forget lady Rose's house. I want to be there and not in the cheap brothel. I'd better go back.
But I cannot go back now, because Squall is already in his girl's power; they are kissing and he gave her first coin. I must wait until he's sober. Maybe I should just wander around the place. Luckily, not many fellows from La Aranha are able to notice that Squall and me are here - only Smallpox-Pete waved his hand to me, but I doubt he'll remember it the next day.
I go out discreetly and find myself in the narrow corridor; if not for a door opened to the backyard, it would be hellishly dark here. But it seems that on the other side there's a dancing room similar to ours; and stairs lead to girls' bedrooms. It's strangely quiet here, looks like all the girls are with the pirates. Or am I mistaken? I can hear distant music on the other side of the corridor. So we are not the only guests tonight. Well, I'm not going to stay with pirates and girls, I can see what's going in there. I have nice clothes and a hat and money, I don't think anybody could forbid me entrance anywhere. And if he does, I have a pistol too.
I cross the corridor and half-open the door.
The room looks just like the one I've just left, only the paintings seem more artful and the draperies not so dirty. There are musicians in here too, but they are playing very quietly and they're not sleeping. Nobody is dancing; there is a small group of men surrounding two women in the middle.
One is in her early forties, tall, very skinny, with a serious, deeply carved face. She has an air of authority about her, and looking at her hands adorned with countless bracelets, rings and pendants, I assume that she may be a madame of the house.
She is leaning her talonlike hand on a little girl's shoulder. Or perhaps this girl is not so little, she just looks panic and intimidated at the same time. She is the youngest in the room, and although I've never seen a face like that - with a copper-red tint and eyes reminding me of watermelon seeds - I can see that she's my age or maybe younger. She's dressed in some light-blue garment like other girls of the house, but it's clear that she's never worn things like that; she is standing in it rather clumsily, rounding her arms, like she'd want to slid it down her shoulders.
The men standing around her are tall, well-built, well-fed and well-dressed. Red cheeks, broad arms and proud glances, ah, it must be the gathering of town's gilded youth. I know that it's a pretty common thing for young gentlemen of London to visit the dirtiest haunts of the city and fish for pearls in their muddy waters - it seems that the custom is alive in the New World as well. The girl they've found can hardly be compared to a pearl, she is too clumsy and too childish to be even called a woman, but she has something they'd like to take - her freshness, her virginity. I smile, thinking that it's funny how a place called brothel narrows men's views; the pirates see only those open wet corners between their women's legs, and these healthy young bulls see in this girl only a sealed entrance that they can break through.
I'm listening to their wholehearted laugh. They're talking and joking, not looking at the girl, who is watching them with eyes full of lurking hope. I don't like this look on her. It tells too much of her trusting, betrayed childhood, still so eager to offer its trust to the first person who shows even a trace of tenderness to her. No, stupid, look at them: they don't notice you. Nobody will show you any kindness here. You're a sealed vessel, ready to be broken and left scattered. You'd better hate them than seek their sympathy, the earlier the better, you hear me? Sadness and tears will leave you shivering, but hate and wrath can warm you up nicely in all those long nights to come.
And I start to wonder if I can snatch the girl from under these perked red noses. It wouldn't help her in the slightest, if she's been sold here, she will have to sleep with worse specimens than them anyway, but I can at least make her first time worth remembering, and maybe I can teach her a thing or two. I scratch my nose: is five dubloons enough to buy her virginity? I don't think so...
"Well," says a bulky fellow seated on the window sill, "you should be happy as a pig in the mud, Nichols, and I don't see any happiness on your face. If that's how you welcome your victory, damn, give me the girl."
...and moreover it seems that the transaction is already finished. Damn.
"No," says the man called Nichols, "I must console myself before I'll have what I want. And I will have it tomorrow, I swear."
He puts his arm around the girl's neck, leaning his big hand on her head, spreading his fingers out widely; and I can see the brief flicker of anger in the girl's lacquered black eyes. Good. She can feel anger - I can help her.
"Ah, you can swear on what you like, but you still have to content yourself with a whole-meal bread, and a cake is out of your reach."
"You're so damn bitter, Shally, because you were soooo close... and now YOU have to content yourself with some poxed Elsie who's dancing with sailors. And I have a nice, clean girl here." And Nichols grins widely at his friend.
I look at him from my post at the door. He's a tall, dark fellow and something tells me that he can be a soldier, or maybe all young men here are at His Majesty's service. They don't wear uniforms, because their ranks don't require it, but their loud voices and broad gestures are marking them as men accustomed to order others around. Nichols seems to be their leader, royally generous, letting others to joke at him, but watching them in case they cross the line.
"Ah, you're right," says Shally from the window-sill with a light sigh; and he adds with slight irony, "enjoy this fresh bread, then, before you grab the cake."
"I will, I will." Nichols' hold on the girl grows stronger. "But there's no doubt, that blond Irish harlot will be mine tomorrow. And then anybody can have this piece," he shakes girl's shoulders carelessly.
Wait, wait! What was it that he's just said? 'That blond Irish harlot'? I can't believe my own ears. I know of a golden-haired Irish woman in this town; and it happens to be lady Rose O'Mallory, my Captain's truelove. How is this possible that this military piece of meat is talking about her and calling her 'harlot'? How in hell is that possible that tomorrow she would be his?
It must be her that he's talking about. I doubt there is any other blond Irish woman in this English town. And I recall Betsy's words about many gentlemen who dream of becoming lady Rose's lovers. This one must be one of those spurned ones.
Sweet, faithful lady Rose, I think unexpectedly, feeling a sudden wave of pride. You are our Captain's loyal follower, just like me; no young stupid stallion can have his chance in your eyes. And although you won't know it, this one will pay for what he's said about having you, just because I'm here.
But what do his words mean? Why should she be his tomorrow, what kind of trap did he set for her? It may be that she's in danger. She is alone on the island, she is Irish and Catholic... wait, it can be something with religion. Anyway, I'll find out. And the girl...
Oh, the girl. I've forgotten about her. She's staying in Nichols' heavy embrace, with her black eyes flickering with powerless rage. Wait, wait. We'll have our glorious moment soon, you and lady Rose and me.
Then all of a sudden Nichols takes his arm off the girl and announces:
"Madame Marguerite, gentlemen - seeing that I'm the winner here, I'd like to retire with my lady here to her apartments, if you allow me."
His colleagues clap their hands and shout encouraging words, and madame says something with a pleasant and sharp smile. But Nichols continues:
"I believe in what our dear madame told us, but I'd like to check something nonetheless. What do you think, gentlemen? Should I feel here, with my own hand, before your eyes, if this little Sancha is really a chaste flower worth my sweet defloration money?"
He reaches for blue flounces of her dress and starts to lift its folds, so that the girl's feet are visible; then her ankles, then calves, and it dawns upon me that he wants to feel if her hymen is intact - here, before all his delighted chums.
I sigh with delight, for now I feel that this night will be my first too. Ah, joy, I will use my new pistol. My place at the door is perfect, I can see Nichols' dark head and his crooked nose, probably broken in a fight. I can take an aim at that nose. Good. It's better to practice as soon as possible and I don't care that he's unarmed. I'd like to see some blood tonight and it's not the girl's virgin blood.
"No, wait," says Shally, all blushed suddenly. "'Tis not necessary, take her to her room."
"But why?" asks Nichols, unsatisfied, and I hear displeased murmurs of some men. "It's a little gratification for you too, isn't it? Come on."
"No, mate, you will only arouse our disappointment," explains Shally innocently. "As far as I am concerned. Don't make us drool, Nichols. Have your fun somewhere else."
"Alright," says Nichols, maybe suddenly understanding a slight tone of disgust in his friend's voice. "See us upstairs at least, then."
"That may be," says Shally and gestures at the rest of their companions. "Let's go, gentlemen."
I bit my lip. Now it's me who's disappointed. I step aside into the darkness of the corridor, letting the lecherous procession pass by me and go upstairs. Nobody notices me. When the corridor becomes empty and all Nichol's chums are gone to the dancing hall on the opposite side - it doesn't surprise me either, it's just like London, where the highest often seek their delight in mingling with the lowest - I run upstairs, overwhelmed with sweet anticipation of violence and blood.
Fortunately I've noticed which room they went in, and now I knock on the door very, very politely.
"Who's that?" I hear Nichols' voice. I am silent; I just want him to approach the door.
"What the hell..." he says opening it at last, and in the next moment I push the door so that it hits him in the head, he lands violently in the chair, and when he rallies from an initial shock, he can see my pistol pointed directly between his eyes.
The girl by the name of Sancha is sitting motionlessly on the bed, huddling herself, still dressed in this flouncy blue dress. She needs a while to understand that something has just changed and that Nichols is not by her side anymore; she raises her head slowly to look at me. I smile at her briefly, just to put her out of this panic state, but she's very reluctant to react. I must find a way to calm her down.
"Good evening to you, Sancha," I say. "You see, I happen to dislike this little officer of yours. And I think that you don't like him either, so we're going to have a truly good evening here."
"Who are you?!" hisses Nichols. He's sobered, a little bit too quickly to my liking.
"I'm the one who's stuffing up your mother's hole, you idiot," I say, and then smack him on the head. I need him silent for a moment; and when he falls on the dirty floor, I check the corridor. It's empty. Good.
I go back to Sancha and I'm going to sit next to her, when I notice that she starts to shake more and more. Oh. I can't waste my time on her.
I take the chair, place it before the bed and sit.
"Look at me," I say sharply.
She takes a deep breath and I can hear a sob beneath it.
"No, no, no," I say. "Don't think! Look at me! I'm not touching you. We must talk. Look me in the eyes first. Easy."
She blinks and looks at me, frowning a little. I'm not moving, just sitting before her, and finally I see a flicker of surprise, mistrust and relief combined.
"Aha?..." I say. "Everything is alright. You're safe with me. Now look there," and I point at Nichols.
She looks at him and then at me.
"You see? He's lying there harmless as a baby, and it's me who's put him to sleep. But not for long. He's alive, and we don't need him dead this time. And before he wakes up, we must talk. You understand me?"
She nods. I sigh.
"Say something, be a brave girl. I'd bet you liked all that little scene, right?"
"Yes," she whispers looking at me as if I had four eyes.
"Ah, good. We've a similar taste, it seems. Listen to me, Sancha. You don't have to sleep with this mongrel, because I have a little business to do with him. He's going to harm some lady and I'm going to upset his apple-cart. Do you follow me?"
"Yes." And she straightens, narrows her eyes and prepares to listen to me. I smile at her eagerness; I was right about her. She can be of help, thank God.
"And I have an offer for you: you help me with this sack of shit and I'm taking you away from here."
"But... but where will you take me?" she whispers. "My mistress sold me here."
"What do you mean, your mistress? Are you a slave?"
"Yes," she says, looking down. "Ladies here sometimes send their slaves to brothels to raise money for them."
"Aha," I say scratching my nose. "Do all ladies do that?"
"No..."
"If you're going to help me, my lady..." I pause for a moment. Ah, never mind. "...my lady will hide you in her house and nobody will ever know."
She is looking at me rather suspiciously.
"And who is your lady?"
"Miss Rose O'Mallory," I say.
She jumps up on her bed.
"I know her!" she exclaims. "My mistress says she's a witch and she's a heretic. And..."
"Shhh," I say. "You see? If they hate each other, the better. But we don't have time. I must have a little talk with this idiot now. Listen to me..."
"No, no, you listen!" she whispers feverishly. "My mistress' family has a complaint against lady Rose, and they are going to arrest her."
I blink.
"They? Who?"
"The soldiers! Nichols... they have been talking about it. They have something that lets them arrest her... like a paper with letters on it. They are going to her house in the morning, and they couldn't drink, only a little... because they have to go to her house and take her with them to the fort..."
"What did you say? They have a paper? An arrest warrant?"
"I don't know..."
"Which one of them has it?"
She points at Nichols. I cannot believe my luck.
"Sancha, you're my treasure," I say rising from the chair.
"Why do you know my name?" she asks quietly.
"Because I was looking at you standing with them."
"And... and how am I to help you?"
"Look for something to tie him with. A flounce, a corset lace, anything. Yeah, you can tear a flounce from this stupid dress. You're not going to wear a dress outside anyway."
"I'll take a lace as well."
"Anything that pleases you," I say searching through Nichols' jacket. "If you need a knife, just tell me."
She rises from the bed shyly and asks me in a whisper:
"Will... will you really give me a knife?"
"Why not?" I ask impatiently. "But do try with your corset lace first, it's more trustful than a flounce."
She stands for awhile, then whispers again:
"And... and how am I to call you?"
"Ah, really..." I begin and then sigh. "My name's Ritchie Brown."
She doesn't say anything more and starts to unlace her dress. And I find the paper.
'There being complaint this day made by captn Joseph Nichols and captn Philip Somers and lievtenant John Eason of town of St. John's in Behalfe of theire Majesties for themselves and also for severall of their Neighbours against Rose O'Mallory the woman of unknown provenance of town of St. John's for high suspition of sundry acts of witchcraft done or committed by her upon the bodys of Edith Cole and John Cole and Emily Prescott daughter of the abovesaid complainants and John Prescott her husband of town of St. John's whereby great hurt and dammage hath been done to the bodys of persons above named therefore craved a swift justice. You are therefore in theire Majesties names hereby required to apprehend and bring before us Rose O'Mallory...'
I'm grinning slowly and sit on the bed with this paper in my hand. My Captain's lady is accused of witchcraft, and I have her arrest warrant. What a strange feeling. I may return it to Nichols and in the morning the unexpected guests will knock at her gate... I doubt if there will be many soldiers in the escort - maybe only two or three, Nichols included. They don't know that my Captain is visiting her, they are prepared to approach a helpless, unarmed woman. But if the Captain kills the Crown's servants, it may be difficult for us to flee Antigua. If we fight the English law openly, not many harbours on the Spanish Main would remain open to us; Captain Barbossa is already waging war with the Spanish, and if the English turn against him, there won't be much left - only French and Dutch. Lady Rose must be smuggled out of Antigua in secret.
Sancha gives me the lace without a word, and my eyes go again to the unconscious Nichols. Stupid git. Witchcraft, indeed - what a nice ruse to gain a reluctant woman's accord!
I kneel down by him and start to tie his hands. I can tie knots very skilfully, thanks to my recent practice on La Aranha. But it's been awhile and Nichols begins to move.
"He's come back," whispers Sancha, paralyzed with fear once more.
"So what?" I say. "He'll be tied up, and, say, gagged, if he doesn't behave. Easy. Hey, man, are you really awake or what?"
He shakes his head and opens his eyes wide.
"Who the hell are you?" he asks hoarsely. "What do you want? Money?"
Ah... I didn't think of it. Strange. I'm not myself today, definitely.
"It'll come in handy, thank you," I say standing up. "But it's not money that I'm after. I'd like to ask you about lady Rose O'Mallory."
"What?!" he blinks. "Who is she to you?"
"Um, mate, let's say that it's me who's asking questions. I'm not going to kill you, so calm down a little... but only a little, because I may hurt you anyway. And I'm quite likely to change my mind about killing, too."
He leans his head against the wall, watching me. I can tell that he has some cold courage; he's here at my mercy, and I'm pointing my gun at him, and I've just tied him up, yet he's not showing any fear. He's looking at me with narrowed eyes, and I know that he's learning my features now, to remember me and to hunt me down when he's free.
"Alright," he says. "What do you want, then?"
"I want you to tell me what kind of witchcraft is lady Rose accused of commiting."
"Lady Rose..." he snorts. "She's no lady. You must be a stranger here."
"Yes, I am," I say. "And as I don't know your local customs, I don't mind to break your leg or arm, because in the place I'm coming from it's the way we deal with those who don't answer questions."
"Oh, why not. She is said to put a curse on some people. Mainly Coles and Prescotts. Or at least Edith Cole is sure of it. Rose O'Mallory is an only Papist here. And women don't like her, it's that simple."
"But you do like her."
"I did. But she doesn't choose her men from among us." He snickers. "I don't care for her anymore."
He obviously thinks that I'm yet another of lady Rose's suitors, and that I'm jealous. So I smile sweetly and show him the arrest warrant.
"But you're not very eager to help her either, is that right? You're so noble, mate, you'd make me sick right now, but d'you know what? I think that I'll go with this little paper to her first. And you will never see her... nor Sancha."
"Curse you," he hisses. "Who are you? How dare you take an arrest warrant from an officer? You..."
"No time to chat, mate, sorry," I say taking my knife. His eyes widen. "No, don't be afraid. Sancha, some flounces... can I?"
She nods, unable to tear her gaze away from the humiliated and furious Nichols. I cut several flounces off her blue dress and grab Nichols' hair - and he's gagged in one moment. Ah, what a funny evening.
"Now, Sancha, listen to me," I say, "he won't shout or make any noise, but in case he would, I'll leave you my pistol, alright?"
"But I-I don't know... and where are you going?"
"Must bring my mate back with me, or my Capt... my master will kill me. I'll be back in a moment. Look here, you hold it like that -" I point the pistol at Nichols, "and if he tries to move, you cock it here, like that, and then let this little thing go."
She's blinking.
"I'll be back in no time," I say. "I promise he won't move if you point the pistol like that. Yes, here. Between his legs. Most men value this little head more than the big one. Nichols, mate, I hope you understand. The girl has you in her power, and she's no good in shooting, so the chance you'll become a eunuch is, say, fifty-fifty, the rest is you'll become a dead man."
"Wait," says Sancha, "what if somebody comes here?"
"Oh God," I say impatiently, "think a little. Say that somebody's robbed Nichols. Throw the pistol out of the window or hide it. Whatever. I'll be here in a moment."
I run downstairs, to the hall where I left Squall. I must find Sharpe or someone who'd be able to go with me to lady Rose's house. Damn, there's little hope I'll find anyone sober, I know.
The hall is almost empty, without the musicians, without the girls. Most of the guests are gone, probably to the rooms upstairs. Some men are sleeping on the chairs or directly on the floor. Ah, there's Squall - leaned over a table.
"Hey, Squall, mate, wake up! We must go back to lady Rose's house."
"Ummmm..."
"Wake up, idiot! Captain's going to kill us. Come on, I need you! Move!"
"Go t'hell..." he murmurs, as always. I sigh. He's of no use to me, I can see he cannot even stand. I must leave him here. But I'll at least have his pistol and his hat.
When I'm back upstairs, I knock on the door and say:
"It's me, Sancha, come here."
She opens the door, immensely relieved, and I see that she was suspecting that I'd never come back.
"Here's the hat for you," I say and then turn to Nichols. "Sorry, mate, but there's one more thing I must have of you. Sancha, untie him, I have him on my gunpoint."
She's not very pleased that I ask her to come close to Nichols, but does what I said. I take the flounce from his mouth.
"Strip," I say.
"What?!" his face reddens.
"You heard me. Strip or I'll shoot you. In the leg. Oh, it does hurt, mate, believe me. I'm counting to three. Your breeches and coat and boots is all I need, though."
He doesn't protest; he can see that I'm becoming impatient. I allow him to do it himself, because it's much more efficient than if I had to do it; and when he lays his clothes on the chair, I hit him once more so that he's on the floor again, happily unconscious. Sancha looks at it with a strangely sad, melancholic expression.
"Do you pity him or what?" I ask her.
"No, I don't," she says, "but I wonder what he'll do when he wakes up."
"He'll be trying to find us," I say unfastening my breeches.
"What are you doing?!"
"You can't be running through town in this dress," I say. "You'll take my clothes and I'll take his. Quickly. Put this cursed dress off."
She looks very nice in my breeches and coat, but I must adjust her hat - because her face almost disappears behind the broad brim. As for me, it's rather difficult to wear Nichols' breeches, for he's much bigger than me, but I manage to put them on and assure that they would hold on somehow. I take his money and the arrest warrant, and we slid out of the room.
And in the corridor we suddenly encounter Shally - he stops before our door and widens his eyes. It seems he was a little bit anxious about Nichols... or was it about Sancha?... and came here to look if all's well. Now he's utterly startled to see us two, Sancha rounding her shoulders in fear and me, in Nichols' coat and breeches and hat. But before he has a time to react, I shout at Sancha to run, we rush downstairs, outside, then...
"Ah, shit," I say. "I don't know where lady Rose's house is!"
"Don't worry, I know," she pants. "To the left, and straight!"
We're running like mad, without a word, without a sound. We haven't any time now, because Shally has found Nichols and they may appear in lady Rose's house in any moment. Well, they would still need the warrant, but it's probably only a matter of hours. I can see a faint strip of dawn in the sky. We must hurry, we must wake up the whole house. No sense to climb up the garden wall, it's better to bang at the gate.
It takes some time, however, before the gatekeeper opens a little window and shows his terrified face.
"Open the gate, father!" I yell. "It's me. I must see Captain Barbossa and lady Rose, now!"
"What are you doing here?" murmurs the old beard. "You are to be sleeping in the kitchen!"
"Oh, but I am not, you see? I bring bad news. You're all in danger. Let me in, I must speak to the Captain."
Finally he opens the gate and lets us in. Of course, everybody is awake already. Betsy is running around, lighting up the candles, and the Captain is staying on the top of the stairs, fastening his belt. Sancha immediately hids herself behind my back.
"Um, good morning, Captain," I say, paying attention not to come too close to him. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but..."
"No, ye don't need to be sorry, Ritchie," he says with his patient smile. I know this smile, it means that he's furious and is only trying to control himself. "Explain yerself, if ye please. I do believe ye have a good reason to make such a mess of our peaceful night."
I hand him over the arrest warrant without a word and step back quickly. He takes it, blinks and his face changes from the suppressed anger to unsuppressed fury; he reads it very carefully, takes a deep breath and raises his head to look at me. I return this dismayed look with my most innocent one.
"Where the hell did ye take it from?"
"Some stupid officer in... um... in La Rosa Sin Espina."
He shakes his head, half amused, half crossed.
"The brothel? An' what were ye doin' there?"
"I was going to be back before dawn," I say apologingly. "Please, do forgive me, Captain. It was my first night here..."
"Alright. Where's Squall?"
"Um, Captain... he's dead drunk. I couldn't wake him up, so I had to leave him..."
"He went with ye?! An' what's that costume?"
"It's the officer's," I explain. "I had to give my clothes to Sancha... she helped me to find the warrant, Captain."
I can see that he doesn't know if he should slap me or thank me. He's angry, because I went to the brothel and took Squall with me - and it's a grave insubordination; but he's grateful to me as well. And we don't have time. So when lady Rose in a beautiful white deshabilee, full of laces and ribbons, with a chandelier in her hand and slightly swollen red lips, appears on the stairs, he hands her over the warrant with the same gesture I handed it over to him.
She takes it, looks at it and it's delightful to see how her brow furrows, first in dismay, then in anger, how a heavy fire of wrath lights up in her deep black eyes, how her little ears redden.
"What is this, Captain?" she asks, her voice trembling with rage. "What poor stupid soul here is accusing me of witchcraft? Ah, I see! Coles and Prescotts, those pathetic hypocrites!..."
"And a certain officer Nichols was going to arrest you, m'lady," I say innocently.
She looks at me narrowing her eyes.
"How do you know it?"
"I was talking to him, before I smacked him on the head," I say. "He seems to be very disappointed, because you have despised him."
The Captain looks at her with his brows raised.
"Well, he's not first nor the last," she says laughing sweetly. "I can say that the whole male population of the town would be very pleased to see me arrested and on their mercy." She turns to the Captain. "You should be proud of me, Captain, because you are given what so many men were denied."
He lowers his head with a brief laughter and makes a little gesture as if he wants to touch her face, but then his look falls on me - I'm leaning on the handrail - and he yells:
"What are ye starin' at, ye loafer? Run to the docks an' tell Sharpe to prepare the ship!"
"Um, Captain, begging your pardon, I don't know the way," I say, utterly ashamed.
"Ahh, ye don't know the way. But ye found yer way to the brothel rather well."
"But it's because Squall was with me..."
"It's alright, Captain, I'll send the cook," says lady Rose softly. "We can trust him."
I roll my eyes; I'd NEVER trust this grim, taciturn man. They could send me and Sancha, she knows the town.
"No, Ritchie, yer to stay here," says the Captain, "an' yer helping lady Rose to pack her belongings. An' yer to shut up an' not to talk if not asked, or I'll shut ye up for good. Understood?"
"Aye, Captain," I say lowering my eyes.
The next few hours are surprisingly joyful, and even Betsy's sobbing and aimless running to and fro cannot spoil this bright, festive dawn. The sun fills softly high windows and mirrors, lays its warm little carpets on the floor, winks to us in gilt frames and chandeliers. The cook has run to the harbour with Captain's orders, but the rest of the servants are gathered around lady Rose. They are going with her, nobody can stay here, and I can see that they are very anxious about their mistress' fate. There's no complaint, no grievance over leaving Antigua, and all I can hear from them are muttered curses that should kill all the God-fearing town. They act like lady Rose's own faithful crew, packing her belongings instead of their own - and she in turn is stuffing their pockets with her valuables.
We pack lady Rose's dresses, hats and little shoes, mantles, kerchiefs and fans, we gather her gold, ivory, silver and jewels. She seems amused by all this mess, wardrobes and cupboards opened wide, chests giving away their riches, clean mirrors multiplying all this disarray and splendour. We cannot take much, there are only two mules in the whole household, so we must carry things by ourselves. So lady Rose looks through her clothes and orders Betsy and Sancha to wear two beautiful dresses - one of them belonged to my dona Ursula once - then she gives them almost new shoes, and then, laughing, she takes Sancha's hand and slids a heavy enamel bracelet on it. Sancha holds her breath in admiration, and from this moment she's following lady Rose's light steps as in a daze; pure love and devotion is shining in her black eyes.
Lady Rose comes to the Captain with a heavy purse, takes his hand and lets him feel its weight.
"There are over forty golden pieces in it, Captain," she says. "Please give it to all your men as a small apology for our unexpected leaving. I'm sure they will be very bitter about it."
"No, no, 'tis not necessary," he says frowning.
"Oh, but I beg of you, do give it to them. We will be entrusted to their hospitality for at least four days, won't we? And I need to be sure that my two girls will be safe."
"They will be safe well without it," the Captain says, not taking the purse.
"Captain Barbossa," she says laying her both hands on his shoulders, "I'd like to see well-disposed faces around me. I do not doubt that they will exercise your orders without a murmur, but please let me to gild your words with my meagre gold."
She is very firm and serious, looking straightly into his eyes. And as he narrows his green, merciless eyes and nods with a scant smile, I'd swear these eyes change its colour for a moment - from green to blue.
The sun's warmth becomes more and more persistent, but we are almost packed. Lady Rose stands in the middle of her parlour, in a satin red dress, with her hair ruffled and her cheeks flushed, and thinks for a moment; then her eyes flicker.
"Come on," she says, "let's go to the kitchen! You're allowed to take anything you want to eat. There's nothing to be left!"
They rush to the kitchen, eager to stuff all their remaining pockets with pastries, nuts and raisins - I suspect the grim cook of being unnecesarily strict about food rations - only Betsy murmurs something about salt and spices. I don't go with them. It's not my kitchen and not my house; I have no interest for it. I'm pretending to wrap a huge standing clock in a thick shawl, and Sancha is crouching in the corner, looking at the paintings of cats and birds.
"Don't you regret anything?" asks the Captain quietly, when lady Rose is wandering aimlessly around the room. "I cannot see any sadness in ye... not even anger. Yer leaving this place for good, my lady Rose, but ye seem to make a holiday of yer farewell."
She stops in front of a cold fireplace, looks in the mirror and starts to tidy her hair up, but suddenly gives up and stands motionlessly for awhile; then she laughs - a short, not very amused laugh.
"What do you see in this mirror, Captain?"
"I see a beautiful woman."
"Ah, thank you. But I know that I'm not eternal, and my beauty and my joy is not eternal, either. I will fade, Captain, we all will. And it is the only truth I can rely on... it's very reassuring. It tells me not to attach myself to things and places, and to feel lightness, and to laugh when there is no reason to laugh. Why should I feel anything for this little stinking town, pray tell me? Because we spent so many nice moments here together? But Captain, I take all my memories with me - this house is like an empty nutshell to me, I've eaten its sweet kernel. As for the town - I do not care for a place and people that do not want me. And the only thing that I hold dear... it is warm and safe inside my heart and nobody is going to take it away."
The servants come back from the kitchen, a little bit ashamed that the food was such a temptation to them. Lady Rose steps towards them.
"My dear friends," she says, "you do remember how many times I was visited by fat Protestant ladies that wanted me to donate money or jewels to their church?"
"Yes, we do, lady Rose!"
"You remember how many not-so-rich profligate young men wanted to marry me for my money?"
"We do!"
"You remember how many old men wanted to become my guardians - or should I say, guardians of my estate and fortune?"
"Yes, we do!"
"You remember all those people who were so profuse in praises of my paintings and sculptures and furniture and whatever they saw?"
"Yes, we do!"
"Good," she says. "Dear friends, we are leaving this place. Take what you can carry with you, and destroy everything else."
There is a sudden silence. They blink and look at each other; Sancha comes close to lady Rose. The Captain is chuckling quietly.
"Dear friends, this place is dead and we are dead to it. There is nothing here. We are free! If you were afraid to break anything here, if you were cautious not to touch things, because you thought them expensive and fragile, now is a beautiful moment to forget it. And do remember that anything we leave here untouched, goes to the greedy hands of people who turned us adrift."
She takes an iron poker from the fireplace and touches the clean surface of the mirror above almost tenderly.
"Look," she says, "it's a wonderful mirror. I loved it. But it's not mine anymore. Do imagine poor colourless lady Edith Cole standing here. She would love the mirror. But I somehow don't like this thought." She shakes her golden head. "Oh, my poor mirror, I do suffer with you. It pains me to think of lady Edith with you. It's impossible... oh no."
She steps lightly aside and hits the mirror with all her might: the cold tile cracks slowly, with a clean sharp sound. Sancha is the first to laugh, and the servants laugh with her.
"Come on," lady Rose invites us, holding firmly her poker. "I will break the mirrors. And you have the porcelain, faience, crystal and glass. And draperies, beddings, furniture - all that you love or hate. Search and destroy to your heart's content."
During the short mayhem - when potsherds and pieces of glass mix with feathers and splinters, and floor becomes difficult to walk on - the Captain is sitting in the big chair and doesn't take his loving eyes off lady Rose, who is wandering through the room, waving her poker gracefully, with inseparable Sancha by her side. I know what he's thinking - he's admiring her folly and the pirate spirit in her. I like this stare, although it burns me raw, and I'm unable to tear my eyes off his face.
When the cook - Maurice is his name - and Sharpe come to the house, lady Rose is greeting them with her rigid yet sweet dignity, holding the poker like a fashionable umbrella.
"Time to go, then," she says, and then stops suddenly. "Oh, Holy Virgin, forgive me! Tarry! Please, Betsy, be so kind and go fetch her!"
Finally we leave, with the mules burdened just the same as us, lady Rose carrying Tarry's basket and the lute. The streets are still empty and we pay attention not to make any unnecessary noise. When we approach the harbour, the Captain takes the lead, and then he holds lady Rose's hand, helping her to get aboard.
Now he is a host and a master here, finally. He orders Betsy and Sancha to be showed into a small provisionary cabin below; the rest of lady Rose's servants are to sleep next to the two women. Sharpe is yelling at the men loading water and supplies; some of them barely can walk. Sharpe and Squall... yes, it's him!... are ordered to carry lady Rose's possessions into the Captain's cabin. Well, it seems that I'll have to sleep with the crew. Good. I feel that it's better for me to get out of Captain's way...
I suddenly have somebody's heavy hand on my shoulder.
"Where's my pistol an' my hat, ye son of a bitch?!" It's Squall. "Ye bloody left me in that brothel, damn you!"
"Keep your mouth shut, idiot," I whisper. "Do you want Captain or Sharpe to hear you? This night's going to be forgotten, but not when you bray like a donkey!"
But he grabs my coat and throws me against the railing.
"Sharpe's going to kill me, ye rotter, when he finds out that I've lost me pistol!..."
I'm beginning to lose my patience. He's not worth anything; let him think he lost his precious pistol for awhile.
"Did I tell you to get sozzled like stupid? I've tried to wake you up, but you were dead drunk, remember? No, sure, you don't, for there's no place in that dumb head..."
He tries to hit me in the stomach, but I'm faster. Aha, a point for me!... But before I manage to slog him again, I get smacked in my ear so heavily that I have to grab the railing next to me.
"What are ye doin' here, ye dirty dogs, ye two!" roars Sharpe at us. "Why did ye hit Squall, ye cursed brat?!"
"Oh, because he's lost his little pistol and he's blaming me, it's why," I say holding my ear. Squall widens his round eyes.
"Ye. Lost. Yer. Pistol?!" yells Sharpe.
"Aye... no... but it's, I dunno... he took me with 'im, sir!... and..."
"Are we not ready yet?"
Sharpe turns around.
"No, not yet, Capt'n," he says. "The topsail is still not mended. Takes awhile. An' this little dog's just lost his pistol."
The Captain looks at us with a heavy look.
"Which one? Squall?..."
Poor Squall is trembling like a beggar's rag in the wind; he's unable to say anything.
"Aye, Squall, sir. An' he says that it's Ritchie's fault, an' they were fightin'. Me thinks we should leave one of 'em behind. The ship's not careened, the men are tired or drunk, we've enough work on our hands already."
I'm standing with my head lowered so that nobody would see that I'm laughing, in fact.
"Ah, Squall, Squall," the Captain sighs with laughter in his voice. "Calm down, lad, tell me, where did ye lost yer pistol? I didn't hear of it."
Squall drops on his knees, big tears glittering in his eyes.
"Capt'n, sir, please!" he wails. "'Tis true, I've been to the brothel... but I was sleepin', an' Ritchie woke me up, fer he wanted t'go to the brothel an' he didn't know the way!..."
"And why did you listen to me, you poor mongrel?" I interrupt. "Ain't got no brains to think by yourself or what?..."
I get slapped finally - across the face, casually and coldly.
"I'm talkin' with Squall now," says the Captain. "I told ye not to speak when yer not spoken to. Is it so difficult for ye to remember?... Alright. Go on, Squall."
"I... I went with 'im an' I don't know... Capt'n, I swear, I will work an'..."
"Shut up, lad, an' stand on yer feet. Ye will work out yer brothel night, be sure of it. Now ye can tell him, Ritchie, where his pistol is."
"Don't worry, Squall," I say quietly, "your pistol is safe here, along with your hat. I've borrowed them for a moment and given them to that girl... to Sancha."
Squall gapes at me.
"Why didn't ye tell me that?"
"Why, because you wouldn't listen, that's why. Try to think before you cry out, you sissy," I say touching my cheek. Ouch. It seems there won't be a day without beating for me, as long as lady Rose is aboard.
The Captain casts me a warning look.
"Let it be a lesson to ye, Squall, lad," he says. "Now be off to work. And yer to bring somethin' to eat for lady Rose an' me, Ritchie."
Ah, great, you want to show her my new bruise. How nice, I think now serving them both in the little cabin. Why the hell me?... Can't he order Betsy to pour the wine? Oh no, of course, she cannot go among those poor starving gobs.
The bright new day has finally come in all its glory, the harbour was of course awake long ago. I feel tired, and I can see that the Captain and his lady are not very refreshed either. Lady Rose is glumly playing with the wine leavings, the Captain is drawing circles on the table with his knife. The cabin is becoming more and more quiet, the harbour noises more and more audible.
And then Sharpe storms into the cabin.
"Capt'n," he says, panting, "all town is talkin' 'bout lady Rose's escape an' 'bout them soldiers comin' here!"
"Comin' here?" asks the Captain. "To La Aranha?"
"Aye. Somebody has seen a woman in a red dress comin' onboard yer ship, Captain. They're goin' to check if it's true."
The Captain swears loudly.
"Aren't we ready to sail off?"
"No, Capt'n, beggin' yer pardon... We would need a whor... a wench who'd testify that she's spent the night with ye on the ship."
"Alright. We must bring a wench here, then."
"There's no way we can pick up a clever an' sober one in this time o'day."
"Sure enough. An' they do know Becky... an' they know that little one that Ritchie brought with him..." the Captain's eyes go to me and he smiles suddenly.
"No worry," he says. "Go an' tell the men to haste. We have to be ready to sail off as soon as the soldiers leave the ship. An' I guarantee they will leave it quickly."
Sharpe looks at the Captain, then at me, and sudden understanding brings a cruel smile to his face.
"Aye, Capt'n," he says and goes out of the cabin.
Lady Rose stands up.
"What are you going to do, Captain?" she asks, and it's the first time I can see fear in her eyes.
"I can now satisfy yer previous curiosity," he says with a mocking bow. "Ye remember the little tale about a Spanish maid I've told ye, now I can show ye the illustration as well."
He turns to me and I screw up my lips. What else will I have to bear with this man? But I know there is no way out; I must pass for a whore in the soldiers' eyes. Alright, Captain, you know there is nothing I can refuse you.
"Oh, Captain," she says, "are you going to... to make..." and she blushes suddenly, trying not to look at me.
"Aye, I am goin' to make Ritchie play a lil' tavern girl." Ah, at least you're trying not to use the word. How nice of you, indeed.
"Are you going to use this?" she asks angrily, taking thick satin pleats of her skirt.
"No, no need for this. I've forgotten his dead lady's dress o'er there," he says gesturing towards the screen. "It's scarlet an' he can wear it. What are ye waitin' for?" he snaps at me. "Move on, for Christ's sake!"
I smile, thinking of this shameless liar, while I'm changing my clothes behind the screen. 'I've forgotten the dress', sure! What did you leave it for, Captain? I'd bet you are going to make me wear it and then to fuck me, some day when we're far away at sea. Well, as you wish... but there's no reason to be angry with me now just because you're thinking about not very proper plans of your own.
I loosen my hair and come from behind the screen just as I did several days before. Lady Rose looks me up and down; she has a very grave and hard expression.
"Oh, really," she says, "now I'm ready to believe that we may succeed. Let me see..."
She takes my hand and leads me to the window; I squint my eyes at the sudden light, and she whispers in dismay:
"Oh no, what did you do, Ritchie?"
"What the hell did he do this time?" asks the Captain, irritated again and ready to smack me on the head.
Lady Rose shields me from him quickly.
"He has bruises all over his face, Captain. This one I remember from yesterday, but this one is fresh. Sweet Virgin, there's no way he will pass for a girl with these! What happened?" she turns to me.
I shrug my shoulders. A whore with bruises, what a kickshaw indeed! The Captain is of the same mind, because he says grinning:
"'Tis a lil' matter of discipline, my lady Rose. A tavern wench may need a few slaps as well."
But she somehow doesn't seem to like the idea of it.
"What a nonsense, Captain," she says sharply. "I don't want anyone to think that you may have beaten a girl and I don't think you would. No, we won't have it. Wait."
The Captain rolls his eyes and I stand by the window watching my dirty hands, when lady Rose comes back with a little box.
"Sit here, Ritchie," she says.
Ah, a powder and a lipstick! I smile wickedly.
"No, don't move and don't smile! You'll be a pretty girl in no time."
She empties the box on the altar cape. The Captain looks at us with an inscrutable expression, with his arms crossed, while I half-close my eyes and give myself into lady Rose's delicate hands. She's covering my bruises cautiously, I feel her fingertips on my cheek and then on my lips. I hold my breath and I can hear that the Captain sighs ever so slightly. I cross my eyes to look at him - he watches us, unmoving yet dangerously attentive.
The door opens again and I hear Sharpe's voice:
"Capt'n, would ye come here for awhile?"
Lady Rose holds her hand still for a moment. I open my eyes.
"Yes," she says in a whisper, "I think you can go like this."
"I'll wait until the Captain calls me," I say.
She gathers her toilet things into the box, not looking at me. I know she wants to tell me something - to wish me luck? To ask me for help? But at the same time she knows it's not necessary, because we are bound anyway: the Captain, she and me. I must do my best and I will, she can be sure of it, because I'm not doing it for her, but for the Captain alone.
Sharpe opens the cabin.
"Aww, the hell," he says astonished, "yer a devil, Ritchie, or what? C'mon, come to us. Aha, the Captain says yer name is Paquita."
"Whatever," I say with a sigh and let Sharpe grab my hand rather unceremoniously. Ah, damn, I've forgotten how to walk in a dress again!
"She's still a lil' bit drunk, officer," says the Captain saving me from a fall and holding me in place, "not to mention that she's mighty tired too."
I hear a knowing laugh and I raise my eyes only to see Shally with five soldiers. Oh, joy. I feel dizzy.
"Now, now, do try and stand straight, jewel," says the Captain, closing his ironlike grip on my left arm.
"Please forgive me, Captain," I say with a soft voice - I can not only sing, I can do many things with it. "It's soooo bright outside, an' 'tis been a long time since I've seen such a bright sun. I am a creature of the... of the night, you see." And I look down modestly, trying to fight my laugh.
The soldiers start to chuckle looking at me, and my mateys are already dying with laughter, although for entirely different reasons. The Captain loosens his grip and gives me an amused, tender glance.
"Don't ye worry, sweet one," he says, "yer goin' back to bed soon. Officer Shally - was it so? - just wanted to make sure that you're not a lady in disguise."
"Oh, a lady? Me? You must be joking, good officer," I say looking at Shally pleadingly. "God only knows how much I'd like to be a pro... proper lady, anythin' that would please nice gentlemen like you, and the Captain!... but seein' that I cannot... but it doesn't really matter, b'cause such a fine man like the Captain fancies me anyway! So, um... seein' that he fancies me after all, I don't need to be no lady an' I'm s-so happy that I cannot even tell you, an' jus' have a look at me!... The Captain allows me to wear such a m-magnifi... cient dress... doesn't it make me a lady to you?..."
At last even serious Shally starts to smile; the Captain stands before him with a half-embarrassed, half-amused expression, and I'm wagging my tongue like a lunatic, feeling Captain's arm around me. Ah, it's the first time he embraced me, the first time when I'm wrapped in his warmth, not just scalded with his fire - and I find myself clinging desperatedly to him, pressing my whole body to him, leaning my head on his arm. It's the only chance for me to be so helplessly close to him, the only moment when I can be sure that he will not thrust me away. If I'm allowed to touch him only when I play a whore for him, so what, worse luck!... I'm not going to complain. I just want a little of this warmth in return. He has so much of it, lady Rose cannot exhaust it all. Oh, I will wait until she leaves La Aranha, I will wait as long as he wants me to...
"Alright, Captain, I apologize for disturbing you," says Shally with a sigh. "If you say that this little Paquita is the only woman that is present on the ship... I believe you."
"Thank you, officer," says the Captain and I stiffen. Is Shally already leaving? Because if he is, then... I try to step aside. But the Captain is not loosening his embrace, and I start to fear that he's going to lose his temper this time. What was I doing here? I've almost got into his breeches!
He finally lets me go when the soldiers vanish into the harbour crowd. I cast him a sly, anxious glance, only half-aware of the crew swarming around us and praising my acting skills.
"Get back to work!" the Captain yells at them. "We're sailing off soon! Sharpe," he turns to the second-in-command, "we should wait an' see if the soldiers aren't going to be back and check if everythin' is alright."
"Aye, Captain."
"Go to the cabin an' wait," he says not looking at me. "Don't put the dress off."
But the soldiers don't come back, and we can set sail in peace. Lady Rose helps me to wash off the grim, laughing and joking, but the Captain is silent and sullen, and when I'm again my previous self, he orders me to go away and sleep.
"What do you mean, to sleep, Captain?" I ask, dismayed completely.
"Ye don't understand the word or what? Go an' take some rest. Ye may come here in the evening. An' wash yer hands before ye touch the dishes, for God's sake."
"Aye, Captain," I say with a sigh and go away.
When I'm laying down on the thin blanket in the crew's quarters - I didn't realize how tired I've been! - somebody sits next to me. Squall.
"Hey, mate," he greets me briefly.
"Um, hey," I say surprised.
"Want somethin' to eat? I've got some bread from the galleys."
"No, thank you. I'll sleep for awhile."
"Ye looked good in that dress," he chuckles.
"I'm not going to thank you for it."
"Ah, I know. See, Bucky said yer a devil."
"Why?"
"'Cause ye don't look like a man or like a woman. Yer like, he says, both. Jus' like devils that can change their shape."
"Your Bucky is stupid, mate," I say feeling a heavy sleep overcoming me finally. "I wish I were a devil... I truly wish I were."
tbc
Rating: R
A/N: Any resemblance of characters described in this chapter to real persons is fully intentional. Sue me, losers.
... ekhm. Going back to nice!PeiPei mode: I thank all my dear reviewers and readers, especially ShadowsFalling (hugs, dear! I'm very grateful for your sweet reviews. I'm sorry I didn't e-mail you recently; I was really busy), Alteng (I will read your new Pintel and Ragetti chapter soon!) and Ani Sparrow (I'm glad you're reading this one!). And of course Mint Condition, to whom I dedicate this humble story.
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IV
The night sky is so smooth and silky, the air is so sweet. I feel more and more free with each step that carries me away from lady Rose's house. It's no place for me. Ah, it seems that I cannot stay in a decent place at all.
Squall is sniveling loudly by my side; he's a little bit scared by his own bravery, and he has to hearten himself up by jangling the gold coins in his pocket. We are walking from some time already, because La Rosa Sin Espina is placed on the town outskirts; but when we reach our goal, I see with dismay that it looks just like other white-stoned honourable houses, it's only bigger and louder.
I feel a sudden reluctance before we come in. I'd rather stay outside to my own surprise; it's my first night in the New World and I find it intoxicating enough. I don't need girls, I don't need alcohol, I'd like to lie down on the grass and look up at this endless vault of heaven. It's been a long time since I've spent my night outside, and sleeping under the calm dark sky has always a taste of safety and freedom alike. Why do I care for Captain Barbossa and his lady Rose? Let them be happy together in their narrowish little house.
But no, my head is still full of envy and regret. It's not so easy to forget their blissful smiles, and when I step into the friendly warm of my first Antigua brothel, I'm reminded anew that scorn and loneliness can taste even more bitter while you are among others. The high rooms are filled with light and music and laughter, and when we come into the main hall, we're greeted by two dark-haired girls that seem to be dressed only in flounces. They grab Squall and me unceremoniously and drag us into the middle of the drunken party, squeeing loudly over our youth.
I am among my pirate companions again, but even as much as I want to dissolve my feelings of hurt and longing in this house's eager embrace, I cannot stop noticing things that don't help me in the slightest.
Pete, Bleeding Hand, stupid Bucky with his leg still not fully healed, Paco and his brother and some other mateys are all drunk already; I can say they all were dancing with girls, but the closeness of women's rich bosoms and big thights began to disturb them, and now they are just sitting here and there, some of them with girls' legs around their waists; a few are still moving on the dance floor, but they forget about the distance and are groping their partners rather openly. The musicians under the walls are dozing sometimes, but nobody complains, and even when some of them awakens suddenly and tries to play with a new fervour, his colleagues calm him down.
The place must seem like a fairy palace for the poor gobs, with red draperies over the walls and windows, with huge mythological paintings that praise nymphs displaying breasts like sacks of flour and arses like heads of sugar, with mirrors and even something that looks like carpet on the dirty wooden floor. But the draperies are dusty and ragged at places, paintings are rather unskillful when it comes to other things than women's bodily charms, and if you look in the mirror, you see something that looks like a decaying corpse. If there is anything beautiful here, it's the girls.
But the pirates don't see their beauty, in fact. They see their breasts, calves, thights and that sweet corner between them, that's all. They don't care for those long cinnamonlike fingers, for dark velvety eyes, for graceful feet and heavy thick hair. There is not much in a woman that could interest them - only those boring features that ensure a male that he deals with a female, nothing more; the whole subtle grace of their ladies is lost to them. And I see Captain Barbossa sitting by his lady's side, with her golden head on his broad shoulder, both of them unmoving, both of them deliberately tasting each other's company in the soft light of sunset.
I look at Squall, who is already dead drunk - I couldn't even notice when and where he grabbed any rum. Ah, maybe his dark skinned beauty has been feeding him with it; now she's holding his dizzy head in the crook of her arm, calling him "my sweet baby" and kissing his blissfully smilling lips. Uh. I need a drink too... or maybe not. I feel foreign here. I cannot forget lady Rose's house. I want to be there and not in the cheap brothel. I'd better go back.
But I cannot go back now, because Squall is already in his girl's power; they are kissing and he gave her first coin. I must wait until he's sober. Maybe I should just wander around the place. Luckily, not many fellows from La Aranha are able to notice that Squall and me are here - only Smallpox-Pete waved his hand to me, but I doubt he'll remember it the next day.
I go out discreetly and find myself in the narrow corridor; if not for a door opened to the backyard, it would be hellishly dark here. But it seems that on the other side there's a dancing room similar to ours; and stairs lead to girls' bedrooms. It's strangely quiet here, looks like all the girls are with the pirates. Or am I mistaken? I can hear distant music on the other side of the corridor. So we are not the only guests tonight. Well, I'm not going to stay with pirates and girls, I can see what's going in there. I have nice clothes and a hat and money, I don't think anybody could forbid me entrance anywhere. And if he does, I have a pistol too.
I cross the corridor and half-open the door.
The room looks just like the one I've just left, only the paintings seem more artful and the draperies not so dirty. There are musicians in here too, but they are playing very quietly and they're not sleeping. Nobody is dancing; there is a small group of men surrounding two women in the middle.
One is in her early forties, tall, very skinny, with a serious, deeply carved face. She has an air of authority about her, and looking at her hands adorned with countless bracelets, rings and pendants, I assume that she may be a madame of the house.
She is leaning her talonlike hand on a little girl's shoulder. Or perhaps this girl is not so little, she just looks panic and intimidated at the same time. She is the youngest in the room, and although I've never seen a face like that - with a copper-red tint and eyes reminding me of watermelon seeds - I can see that she's my age or maybe younger. She's dressed in some light-blue garment like other girls of the house, but it's clear that she's never worn things like that; she is standing in it rather clumsily, rounding her arms, like she'd want to slid it down her shoulders.
The men standing around her are tall, well-built, well-fed and well-dressed. Red cheeks, broad arms and proud glances, ah, it must be the gathering of town's gilded youth. I know that it's a pretty common thing for young gentlemen of London to visit the dirtiest haunts of the city and fish for pearls in their muddy waters - it seems that the custom is alive in the New World as well. The girl they've found can hardly be compared to a pearl, she is too clumsy and too childish to be even called a woman, but she has something they'd like to take - her freshness, her virginity. I smile, thinking that it's funny how a place called brothel narrows men's views; the pirates see only those open wet corners between their women's legs, and these healthy young bulls see in this girl only a sealed entrance that they can break through.
I'm listening to their wholehearted laugh. They're talking and joking, not looking at the girl, who is watching them with eyes full of lurking hope. I don't like this look on her. It tells too much of her trusting, betrayed childhood, still so eager to offer its trust to the first person who shows even a trace of tenderness to her. No, stupid, look at them: they don't notice you. Nobody will show you any kindness here. You're a sealed vessel, ready to be broken and left scattered. You'd better hate them than seek their sympathy, the earlier the better, you hear me? Sadness and tears will leave you shivering, but hate and wrath can warm you up nicely in all those long nights to come.
And I start to wonder if I can snatch the girl from under these perked red noses. It wouldn't help her in the slightest, if she's been sold here, she will have to sleep with worse specimens than them anyway, but I can at least make her first time worth remembering, and maybe I can teach her a thing or two. I scratch my nose: is five dubloons enough to buy her virginity? I don't think so...
"Well," says a bulky fellow seated on the window sill, "you should be happy as a pig in the mud, Nichols, and I don't see any happiness on your face. If that's how you welcome your victory, damn, give me the girl."
...and moreover it seems that the transaction is already finished. Damn.
"No," says the man called Nichols, "I must console myself before I'll have what I want. And I will have it tomorrow, I swear."
He puts his arm around the girl's neck, leaning his big hand on her head, spreading his fingers out widely; and I can see the brief flicker of anger in the girl's lacquered black eyes. Good. She can feel anger - I can help her.
"Ah, you can swear on what you like, but you still have to content yourself with a whole-meal bread, and a cake is out of your reach."
"You're so damn bitter, Shally, because you were soooo close... and now YOU have to content yourself with some poxed Elsie who's dancing with sailors. And I have a nice, clean girl here." And Nichols grins widely at his friend.
I look at him from my post at the door. He's a tall, dark fellow and something tells me that he can be a soldier, or maybe all young men here are at His Majesty's service. They don't wear uniforms, because their ranks don't require it, but their loud voices and broad gestures are marking them as men accustomed to order others around. Nichols seems to be their leader, royally generous, letting others to joke at him, but watching them in case they cross the line.
"Ah, you're right," says Shally from the window-sill with a light sigh; and he adds with slight irony, "enjoy this fresh bread, then, before you grab the cake."
"I will, I will." Nichols' hold on the girl grows stronger. "But there's no doubt, that blond Irish harlot will be mine tomorrow. And then anybody can have this piece," he shakes girl's shoulders carelessly.
Wait, wait! What was it that he's just said? 'That blond Irish harlot'? I can't believe my own ears. I know of a golden-haired Irish woman in this town; and it happens to be lady Rose O'Mallory, my Captain's truelove. How is this possible that this military piece of meat is talking about her and calling her 'harlot'? How in hell is that possible that tomorrow she would be his?
It must be her that he's talking about. I doubt there is any other blond Irish woman in this English town. And I recall Betsy's words about many gentlemen who dream of becoming lady Rose's lovers. This one must be one of those spurned ones.
Sweet, faithful lady Rose, I think unexpectedly, feeling a sudden wave of pride. You are our Captain's loyal follower, just like me; no young stupid stallion can have his chance in your eyes. And although you won't know it, this one will pay for what he's said about having you, just because I'm here.
But what do his words mean? Why should she be his tomorrow, what kind of trap did he set for her? It may be that she's in danger. She is alone on the island, she is Irish and Catholic... wait, it can be something with religion. Anyway, I'll find out. And the girl...
Oh, the girl. I've forgotten about her. She's staying in Nichols' heavy embrace, with her black eyes flickering with powerless rage. Wait, wait. We'll have our glorious moment soon, you and lady Rose and me.
Then all of a sudden Nichols takes his arm off the girl and announces:
"Madame Marguerite, gentlemen - seeing that I'm the winner here, I'd like to retire with my lady here to her apartments, if you allow me."
His colleagues clap their hands and shout encouraging words, and madame says something with a pleasant and sharp smile. But Nichols continues:
"I believe in what our dear madame told us, but I'd like to check something nonetheless. What do you think, gentlemen? Should I feel here, with my own hand, before your eyes, if this little Sancha is really a chaste flower worth my sweet defloration money?"
He reaches for blue flounces of her dress and starts to lift its folds, so that the girl's feet are visible; then her ankles, then calves, and it dawns upon me that he wants to feel if her hymen is intact - here, before all his delighted chums.
I sigh with delight, for now I feel that this night will be my first too. Ah, joy, I will use my new pistol. My place at the door is perfect, I can see Nichols' dark head and his crooked nose, probably broken in a fight. I can take an aim at that nose. Good. It's better to practice as soon as possible and I don't care that he's unarmed. I'd like to see some blood tonight and it's not the girl's virgin blood.
"No, wait," says Shally, all blushed suddenly. "'Tis not necessary, take her to her room."
"But why?" asks Nichols, unsatisfied, and I hear displeased murmurs of some men. "It's a little gratification for you too, isn't it? Come on."
"No, mate, you will only arouse our disappointment," explains Shally innocently. "As far as I am concerned. Don't make us drool, Nichols. Have your fun somewhere else."
"Alright," says Nichols, maybe suddenly understanding a slight tone of disgust in his friend's voice. "See us upstairs at least, then."
"That may be," says Shally and gestures at the rest of their companions. "Let's go, gentlemen."
I bit my lip. Now it's me who's disappointed. I step aside into the darkness of the corridor, letting the lecherous procession pass by me and go upstairs. Nobody notices me. When the corridor becomes empty and all Nichol's chums are gone to the dancing hall on the opposite side - it doesn't surprise me either, it's just like London, where the highest often seek their delight in mingling with the lowest - I run upstairs, overwhelmed with sweet anticipation of violence and blood.
Fortunately I've noticed which room they went in, and now I knock on the door very, very politely.
"Who's that?" I hear Nichols' voice. I am silent; I just want him to approach the door.
"What the hell..." he says opening it at last, and in the next moment I push the door so that it hits him in the head, he lands violently in the chair, and when he rallies from an initial shock, he can see my pistol pointed directly between his eyes.
The girl by the name of Sancha is sitting motionlessly on the bed, huddling herself, still dressed in this flouncy blue dress. She needs a while to understand that something has just changed and that Nichols is not by her side anymore; she raises her head slowly to look at me. I smile at her briefly, just to put her out of this panic state, but she's very reluctant to react. I must find a way to calm her down.
"Good evening to you, Sancha," I say. "You see, I happen to dislike this little officer of yours. And I think that you don't like him either, so we're going to have a truly good evening here."
"Who are you?!" hisses Nichols. He's sobered, a little bit too quickly to my liking.
"I'm the one who's stuffing up your mother's hole, you idiot," I say, and then smack him on the head. I need him silent for a moment; and when he falls on the dirty floor, I check the corridor. It's empty. Good.
I go back to Sancha and I'm going to sit next to her, when I notice that she starts to shake more and more. Oh. I can't waste my time on her.
I take the chair, place it before the bed and sit.
"Look at me," I say sharply.
She takes a deep breath and I can hear a sob beneath it.
"No, no, no," I say. "Don't think! Look at me! I'm not touching you. We must talk. Look me in the eyes first. Easy."
She blinks and looks at me, frowning a little. I'm not moving, just sitting before her, and finally I see a flicker of surprise, mistrust and relief combined.
"Aha?..." I say. "Everything is alright. You're safe with me. Now look there," and I point at Nichols.
She looks at him and then at me.
"You see? He's lying there harmless as a baby, and it's me who's put him to sleep. But not for long. He's alive, and we don't need him dead this time. And before he wakes up, we must talk. You understand me?"
She nods. I sigh.
"Say something, be a brave girl. I'd bet you liked all that little scene, right?"
"Yes," she whispers looking at me as if I had four eyes.
"Ah, good. We've a similar taste, it seems. Listen to me, Sancha. You don't have to sleep with this mongrel, because I have a little business to do with him. He's going to harm some lady and I'm going to upset his apple-cart. Do you follow me?"
"Yes." And she straightens, narrows her eyes and prepares to listen to me. I smile at her eagerness; I was right about her. She can be of help, thank God.
"And I have an offer for you: you help me with this sack of shit and I'm taking you away from here."
"But... but where will you take me?" she whispers. "My mistress sold me here."
"What do you mean, your mistress? Are you a slave?"
"Yes," she says, looking down. "Ladies here sometimes send their slaves to brothels to raise money for them."
"Aha," I say scratching my nose. "Do all ladies do that?"
"No..."
"If you're going to help me, my lady..." I pause for a moment. Ah, never mind. "...my lady will hide you in her house and nobody will ever know."
She is looking at me rather suspiciously.
"And who is your lady?"
"Miss Rose O'Mallory," I say.
She jumps up on her bed.
"I know her!" she exclaims. "My mistress says she's a witch and she's a heretic. And..."
"Shhh," I say. "You see? If they hate each other, the better. But we don't have time. I must have a little talk with this idiot now. Listen to me..."
"No, no, you listen!" she whispers feverishly. "My mistress' family has a complaint against lady Rose, and they are going to arrest her."
I blink.
"They? Who?"
"The soldiers! Nichols... they have been talking about it. They have something that lets them arrest her... like a paper with letters on it. They are going to her house in the morning, and they couldn't drink, only a little... because they have to go to her house and take her with them to the fort..."
"What did you say? They have a paper? An arrest warrant?"
"I don't know..."
"Which one of them has it?"
She points at Nichols. I cannot believe my luck.
"Sancha, you're my treasure," I say rising from the chair.
"Why do you know my name?" she asks quietly.
"Because I was looking at you standing with them."
"And... and how am I to help you?"
"Look for something to tie him with. A flounce, a corset lace, anything. Yeah, you can tear a flounce from this stupid dress. You're not going to wear a dress outside anyway."
"I'll take a lace as well."
"Anything that pleases you," I say searching through Nichols' jacket. "If you need a knife, just tell me."
She rises from the bed shyly and asks me in a whisper:
"Will... will you really give me a knife?"
"Why not?" I ask impatiently. "But do try with your corset lace first, it's more trustful than a flounce."
She stands for awhile, then whispers again:
"And... and how am I to call you?"
"Ah, really..." I begin and then sigh. "My name's Ritchie Brown."
She doesn't say anything more and starts to unlace her dress. And I find the paper.
'There being complaint this day made by captn Joseph Nichols and captn Philip Somers and lievtenant John Eason of town of St. John's in Behalfe of theire Majesties for themselves and also for severall of their Neighbours against Rose O'Mallory the woman of unknown provenance of town of St. John's for high suspition of sundry acts of witchcraft done or committed by her upon the bodys of Edith Cole and John Cole and Emily Prescott daughter of the abovesaid complainants and John Prescott her husband of town of St. John's whereby great hurt and dammage hath been done to the bodys of persons above named therefore craved a swift justice. You are therefore in theire Majesties names hereby required to apprehend and bring before us Rose O'Mallory...'
I'm grinning slowly and sit on the bed with this paper in my hand. My Captain's lady is accused of witchcraft, and I have her arrest warrant. What a strange feeling. I may return it to Nichols and in the morning the unexpected guests will knock at her gate... I doubt if there will be many soldiers in the escort - maybe only two or three, Nichols included. They don't know that my Captain is visiting her, they are prepared to approach a helpless, unarmed woman. But if the Captain kills the Crown's servants, it may be difficult for us to flee Antigua. If we fight the English law openly, not many harbours on the Spanish Main would remain open to us; Captain Barbossa is already waging war with the Spanish, and if the English turn against him, there won't be much left - only French and Dutch. Lady Rose must be smuggled out of Antigua in secret.
Sancha gives me the lace without a word, and my eyes go again to the unconscious Nichols. Stupid git. Witchcraft, indeed - what a nice ruse to gain a reluctant woman's accord!
I kneel down by him and start to tie his hands. I can tie knots very skilfully, thanks to my recent practice on La Aranha. But it's been awhile and Nichols begins to move.
"He's come back," whispers Sancha, paralyzed with fear once more.
"So what?" I say. "He'll be tied up, and, say, gagged, if he doesn't behave. Easy. Hey, man, are you really awake or what?"
He shakes his head and opens his eyes wide.
"Who the hell are you?" he asks hoarsely. "What do you want? Money?"
Ah... I didn't think of it. Strange. I'm not myself today, definitely.
"It'll come in handy, thank you," I say standing up. "But it's not money that I'm after. I'd like to ask you about lady Rose O'Mallory."
"What?!" he blinks. "Who is she to you?"
"Um, mate, let's say that it's me who's asking questions. I'm not going to kill you, so calm down a little... but only a little, because I may hurt you anyway. And I'm quite likely to change my mind about killing, too."
He leans his head against the wall, watching me. I can tell that he has some cold courage; he's here at my mercy, and I'm pointing my gun at him, and I've just tied him up, yet he's not showing any fear. He's looking at me with narrowed eyes, and I know that he's learning my features now, to remember me and to hunt me down when he's free.
"Alright," he says. "What do you want, then?"
"I want you to tell me what kind of witchcraft is lady Rose accused of commiting."
"Lady Rose..." he snorts. "She's no lady. You must be a stranger here."
"Yes, I am," I say. "And as I don't know your local customs, I don't mind to break your leg or arm, because in the place I'm coming from it's the way we deal with those who don't answer questions."
"Oh, why not. She is said to put a curse on some people. Mainly Coles and Prescotts. Or at least Edith Cole is sure of it. Rose O'Mallory is an only Papist here. And women don't like her, it's that simple."
"But you do like her."
"I did. But she doesn't choose her men from among us." He snickers. "I don't care for her anymore."
He obviously thinks that I'm yet another of lady Rose's suitors, and that I'm jealous. So I smile sweetly and show him the arrest warrant.
"But you're not very eager to help her either, is that right? You're so noble, mate, you'd make me sick right now, but d'you know what? I think that I'll go with this little paper to her first. And you will never see her... nor Sancha."
"Curse you," he hisses. "Who are you? How dare you take an arrest warrant from an officer? You..."
"No time to chat, mate, sorry," I say taking my knife. His eyes widen. "No, don't be afraid. Sancha, some flounces... can I?"
She nods, unable to tear her gaze away from the humiliated and furious Nichols. I cut several flounces off her blue dress and grab Nichols' hair - and he's gagged in one moment. Ah, what a funny evening.
"Now, Sancha, listen to me," I say, "he won't shout or make any noise, but in case he would, I'll leave you my pistol, alright?"
"But I-I don't know... and where are you going?"
"Must bring my mate back with me, or my Capt... my master will kill me. I'll be back in a moment. Look here, you hold it like that -" I point the pistol at Nichols, "and if he tries to move, you cock it here, like that, and then let this little thing go."
She's blinking.
"I'll be back in no time," I say. "I promise he won't move if you point the pistol like that. Yes, here. Between his legs. Most men value this little head more than the big one. Nichols, mate, I hope you understand. The girl has you in her power, and she's no good in shooting, so the chance you'll become a eunuch is, say, fifty-fifty, the rest is you'll become a dead man."
"Wait," says Sancha, "what if somebody comes here?"
"Oh God," I say impatiently, "think a little. Say that somebody's robbed Nichols. Throw the pistol out of the window or hide it. Whatever. I'll be here in a moment."
I run downstairs, to the hall where I left Squall. I must find Sharpe or someone who'd be able to go with me to lady Rose's house. Damn, there's little hope I'll find anyone sober, I know.
The hall is almost empty, without the musicians, without the girls. Most of the guests are gone, probably to the rooms upstairs. Some men are sleeping on the chairs or directly on the floor. Ah, there's Squall - leaned over a table.
"Hey, Squall, mate, wake up! We must go back to lady Rose's house."
"Ummmm..."
"Wake up, idiot! Captain's going to kill us. Come on, I need you! Move!"
"Go t'hell..." he murmurs, as always. I sigh. He's of no use to me, I can see he cannot even stand. I must leave him here. But I'll at least have his pistol and his hat.
When I'm back upstairs, I knock on the door and say:
"It's me, Sancha, come here."
She opens the door, immensely relieved, and I see that she was suspecting that I'd never come back.
"Here's the hat for you," I say and then turn to Nichols. "Sorry, mate, but there's one more thing I must have of you. Sancha, untie him, I have him on my gunpoint."
She's not very pleased that I ask her to come close to Nichols, but does what I said. I take the flounce from his mouth.
"Strip," I say.
"What?!" his face reddens.
"You heard me. Strip or I'll shoot you. In the leg. Oh, it does hurt, mate, believe me. I'm counting to three. Your breeches and coat and boots is all I need, though."
He doesn't protest; he can see that I'm becoming impatient. I allow him to do it himself, because it's much more efficient than if I had to do it; and when he lays his clothes on the chair, I hit him once more so that he's on the floor again, happily unconscious. Sancha looks at it with a strangely sad, melancholic expression.
"Do you pity him or what?" I ask her.
"No, I don't," she says, "but I wonder what he'll do when he wakes up."
"He'll be trying to find us," I say unfastening my breeches.
"What are you doing?!"
"You can't be running through town in this dress," I say. "You'll take my clothes and I'll take his. Quickly. Put this cursed dress off."
She looks very nice in my breeches and coat, but I must adjust her hat - because her face almost disappears behind the broad brim. As for me, it's rather difficult to wear Nichols' breeches, for he's much bigger than me, but I manage to put them on and assure that they would hold on somehow. I take his money and the arrest warrant, and we slid out of the room.
And in the corridor we suddenly encounter Shally - he stops before our door and widens his eyes. It seems he was a little bit anxious about Nichols... or was it about Sancha?... and came here to look if all's well. Now he's utterly startled to see us two, Sancha rounding her shoulders in fear and me, in Nichols' coat and breeches and hat. But before he has a time to react, I shout at Sancha to run, we rush downstairs, outside, then...
"Ah, shit," I say. "I don't know where lady Rose's house is!"
"Don't worry, I know," she pants. "To the left, and straight!"
We're running like mad, without a word, without a sound. We haven't any time now, because Shally has found Nichols and they may appear in lady Rose's house in any moment. Well, they would still need the warrant, but it's probably only a matter of hours. I can see a faint strip of dawn in the sky. We must hurry, we must wake up the whole house. No sense to climb up the garden wall, it's better to bang at the gate.
It takes some time, however, before the gatekeeper opens a little window and shows his terrified face.
"Open the gate, father!" I yell. "It's me. I must see Captain Barbossa and lady Rose, now!"
"What are you doing here?" murmurs the old beard. "You are to be sleeping in the kitchen!"
"Oh, but I am not, you see? I bring bad news. You're all in danger. Let me in, I must speak to the Captain."
Finally he opens the gate and lets us in. Of course, everybody is awake already. Betsy is running around, lighting up the candles, and the Captain is staying on the top of the stairs, fastening his belt. Sancha immediately hids herself behind my back.
"Um, good morning, Captain," I say, paying attention not to come too close to him. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but..."
"No, ye don't need to be sorry, Ritchie," he says with his patient smile. I know this smile, it means that he's furious and is only trying to control himself. "Explain yerself, if ye please. I do believe ye have a good reason to make such a mess of our peaceful night."
I hand him over the arrest warrant without a word and step back quickly. He takes it, blinks and his face changes from the suppressed anger to unsuppressed fury; he reads it very carefully, takes a deep breath and raises his head to look at me. I return this dismayed look with my most innocent one.
"Where the hell did ye take it from?"
"Some stupid officer in... um... in La Rosa Sin Espina."
He shakes his head, half amused, half crossed.
"The brothel? An' what were ye doin' there?"
"I was going to be back before dawn," I say apologingly. "Please, do forgive me, Captain. It was my first night here..."
"Alright. Where's Squall?"
"Um, Captain... he's dead drunk. I couldn't wake him up, so I had to leave him..."
"He went with ye?! An' what's that costume?"
"It's the officer's," I explain. "I had to give my clothes to Sancha... she helped me to find the warrant, Captain."
I can see that he doesn't know if he should slap me or thank me. He's angry, because I went to the brothel and took Squall with me - and it's a grave insubordination; but he's grateful to me as well. And we don't have time. So when lady Rose in a beautiful white deshabilee, full of laces and ribbons, with a chandelier in her hand and slightly swollen red lips, appears on the stairs, he hands her over the warrant with the same gesture I handed it over to him.
She takes it, looks at it and it's delightful to see how her brow furrows, first in dismay, then in anger, how a heavy fire of wrath lights up in her deep black eyes, how her little ears redden.
"What is this, Captain?" she asks, her voice trembling with rage. "What poor stupid soul here is accusing me of witchcraft? Ah, I see! Coles and Prescotts, those pathetic hypocrites!..."
"And a certain officer Nichols was going to arrest you, m'lady," I say innocently.
She looks at me narrowing her eyes.
"How do you know it?"
"I was talking to him, before I smacked him on the head," I say. "He seems to be very disappointed, because you have despised him."
The Captain looks at her with his brows raised.
"Well, he's not first nor the last," she says laughing sweetly. "I can say that the whole male population of the town would be very pleased to see me arrested and on their mercy." She turns to the Captain. "You should be proud of me, Captain, because you are given what so many men were denied."
He lowers his head with a brief laughter and makes a little gesture as if he wants to touch her face, but then his look falls on me - I'm leaning on the handrail - and he yells:
"What are ye starin' at, ye loafer? Run to the docks an' tell Sharpe to prepare the ship!"
"Um, Captain, begging your pardon, I don't know the way," I say, utterly ashamed.
"Ahh, ye don't know the way. But ye found yer way to the brothel rather well."
"But it's because Squall was with me..."
"It's alright, Captain, I'll send the cook," says lady Rose softly. "We can trust him."
I roll my eyes; I'd NEVER trust this grim, taciturn man. They could send me and Sancha, she knows the town.
"No, Ritchie, yer to stay here," says the Captain, "an' yer helping lady Rose to pack her belongings. An' yer to shut up an' not to talk if not asked, or I'll shut ye up for good. Understood?"
"Aye, Captain," I say lowering my eyes.
The next few hours are surprisingly joyful, and even Betsy's sobbing and aimless running to and fro cannot spoil this bright, festive dawn. The sun fills softly high windows and mirrors, lays its warm little carpets on the floor, winks to us in gilt frames and chandeliers. The cook has run to the harbour with Captain's orders, but the rest of the servants are gathered around lady Rose. They are going with her, nobody can stay here, and I can see that they are very anxious about their mistress' fate. There's no complaint, no grievance over leaving Antigua, and all I can hear from them are muttered curses that should kill all the God-fearing town. They act like lady Rose's own faithful crew, packing her belongings instead of their own - and she in turn is stuffing their pockets with her valuables.
We pack lady Rose's dresses, hats and little shoes, mantles, kerchiefs and fans, we gather her gold, ivory, silver and jewels. She seems amused by all this mess, wardrobes and cupboards opened wide, chests giving away their riches, clean mirrors multiplying all this disarray and splendour. We cannot take much, there are only two mules in the whole household, so we must carry things by ourselves. So lady Rose looks through her clothes and orders Betsy and Sancha to wear two beautiful dresses - one of them belonged to my dona Ursula once - then she gives them almost new shoes, and then, laughing, she takes Sancha's hand and slids a heavy enamel bracelet on it. Sancha holds her breath in admiration, and from this moment she's following lady Rose's light steps as in a daze; pure love and devotion is shining in her black eyes.
Lady Rose comes to the Captain with a heavy purse, takes his hand and lets him feel its weight.
"There are over forty golden pieces in it, Captain," she says. "Please give it to all your men as a small apology for our unexpected leaving. I'm sure they will be very bitter about it."
"No, no, 'tis not necessary," he says frowning.
"Oh, but I beg of you, do give it to them. We will be entrusted to their hospitality for at least four days, won't we? And I need to be sure that my two girls will be safe."
"They will be safe well without it," the Captain says, not taking the purse.
"Captain Barbossa," she says laying her both hands on his shoulders, "I'd like to see well-disposed faces around me. I do not doubt that they will exercise your orders without a murmur, but please let me to gild your words with my meagre gold."
She is very firm and serious, looking straightly into his eyes. And as he narrows his green, merciless eyes and nods with a scant smile, I'd swear these eyes change its colour for a moment - from green to blue.
The sun's warmth becomes more and more persistent, but we are almost packed. Lady Rose stands in the middle of her parlour, in a satin red dress, with her hair ruffled and her cheeks flushed, and thinks for a moment; then her eyes flicker.
"Come on," she says, "let's go to the kitchen! You're allowed to take anything you want to eat. There's nothing to be left!"
They rush to the kitchen, eager to stuff all their remaining pockets with pastries, nuts and raisins - I suspect the grim cook of being unnecesarily strict about food rations - only Betsy murmurs something about salt and spices. I don't go with them. It's not my kitchen and not my house; I have no interest for it. I'm pretending to wrap a huge standing clock in a thick shawl, and Sancha is crouching in the corner, looking at the paintings of cats and birds.
"Don't you regret anything?" asks the Captain quietly, when lady Rose is wandering aimlessly around the room. "I cannot see any sadness in ye... not even anger. Yer leaving this place for good, my lady Rose, but ye seem to make a holiday of yer farewell."
She stops in front of a cold fireplace, looks in the mirror and starts to tidy her hair up, but suddenly gives up and stands motionlessly for awhile; then she laughs - a short, not very amused laugh.
"What do you see in this mirror, Captain?"
"I see a beautiful woman."
"Ah, thank you. But I know that I'm not eternal, and my beauty and my joy is not eternal, either. I will fade, Captain, we all will. And it is the only truth I can rely on... it's very reassuring. It tells me not to attach myself to things and places, and to feel lightness, and to laugh when there is no reason to laugh. Why should I feel anything for this little stinking town, pray tell me? Because we spent so many nice moments here together? But Captain, I take all my memories with me - this house is like an empty nutshell to me, I've eaten its sweet kernel. As for the town - I do not care for a place and people that do not want me. And the only thing that I hold dear... it is warm and safe inside my heart and nobody is going to take it away."
The servants come back from the kitchen, a little bit ashamed that the food was such a temptation to them. Lady Rose steps towards them.
"My dear friends," she says, "you do remember how many times I was visited by fat Protestant ladies that wanted me to donate money or jewels to their church?"
"Yes, we do, lady Rose!"
"You remember how many not-so-rich profligate young men wanted to marry me for my money?"
"We do!"
"You remember how many old men wanted to become my guardians - or should I say, guardians of my estate and fortune?"
"Yes, we do!"
"You remember all those people who were so profuse in praises of my paintings and sculptures and furniture and whatever they saw?"
"Yes, we do!"
"Good," she says. "Dear friends, we are leaving this place. Take what you can carry with you, and destroy everything else."
There is a sudden silence. They blink and look at each other; Sancha comes close to lady Rose. The Captain is chuckling quietly.
"Dear friends, this place is dead and we are dead to it. There is nothing here. We are free! If you were afraid to break anything here, if you were cautious not to touch things, because you thought them expensive and fragile, now is a beautiful moment to forget it. And do remember that anything we leave here untouched, goes to the greedy hands of people who turned us adrift."
She takes an iron poker from the fireplace and touches the clean surface of the mirror above almost tenderly.
"Look," she says, "it's a wonderful mirror. I loved it. But it's not mine anymore. Do imagine poor colourless lady Edith Cole standing here. She would love the mirror. But I somehow don't like this thought." She shakes her golden head. "Oh, my poor mirror, I do suffer with you. It pains me to think of lady Edith with you. It's impossible... oh no."
She steps lightly aside and hits the mirror with all her might: the cold tile cracks slowly, with a clean sharp sound. Sancha is the first to laugh, and the servants laugh with her.
"Come on," lady Rose invites us, holding firmly her poker. "I will break the mirrors. And you have the porcelain, faience, crystal and glass. And draperies, beddings, furniture - all that you love or hate. Search and destroy to your heart's content."
During the short mayhem - when potsherds and pieces of glass mix with feathers and splinters, and floor becomes difficult to walk on - the Captain is sitting in the big chair and doesn't take his loving eyes off lady Rose, who is wandering through the room, waving her poker gracefully, with inseparable Sancha by her side. I know what he's thinking - he's admiring her folly and the pirate spirit in her. I like this stare, although it burns me raw, and I'm unable to tear my eyes off his face.
When the cook - Maurice is his name - and Sharpe come to the house, lady Rose is greeting them with her rigid yet sweet dignity, holding the poker like a fashionable umbrella.
"Time to go, then," she says, and then stops suddenly. "Oh, Holy Virgin, forgive me! Tarry! Please, Betsy, be so kind and go fetch her!"
Finally we leave, with the mules burdened just the same as us, lady Rose carrying Tarry's basket and the lute. The streets are still empty and we pay attention not to make any unnecessary noise. When we approach the harbour, the Captain takes the lead, and then he holds lady Rose's hand, helping her to get aboard.
Now he is a host and a master here, finally. He orders Betsy and Sancha to be showed into a small provisionary cabin below; the rest of lady Rose's servants are to sleep next to the two women. Sharpe is yelling at the men loading water and supplies; some of them barely can walk. Sharpe and Squall... yes, it's him!... are ordered to carry lady Rose's possessions into the Captain's cabin. Well, it seems that I'll have to sleep with the crew. Good. I feel that it's better for me to get out of Captain's way...
I suddenly have somebody's heavy hand on my shoulder.
"Where's my pistol an' my hat, ye son of a bitch?!" It's Squall. "Ye bloody left me in that brothel, damn you!"
"Keep your mouth shut, idiot," I whisper. "Do you want Captain or Sharpe to hear you? This night's going to be forgotten, but not when you bray like a donkey!"
But he grabs my coat and throws me against the railing.
"Sharpe's going to kill me, ye rotter, when he finds out that I've lost me pistol!..."
I'm beginning to lose my patience. He's not worth anything; let him think he lost his precious pistol for awhile.
"Did I tell you to get sozzled like stupid? I've tried to wake you up, but you were dead drunk, remember? No, sure, you don't, for there's no place in that dumb head..."
He tries to hit me in the stomach, but I'm faster. Aha, a point for me!... But before I manage to slog him again, I get smacked in my ear so heavily that I have to grab the railing next to me.
"What are ye doin' here, ye dirty dogs, ye two!" roars Sharpe at us. "Why did ye hit Squall, ye cursed brat?!"
"Oh, because he's lost his little pistol and he's blaming me, it's why," I say holding my ear. Squall widens his round eyes.
"Ye. Lost. Yer. Pistol?!" yells Sharpe.
"Aye... no... but it's, I dunno... he took me with 'im, sir!... and..."
"Are we not ready yet?"
Sharpe turns around.
"No, not yet, Capt'n," he says. "The topsail is still not mended. Takes awhile. An' this little dog's just lost his pistol."
The Captain looks at us with a heavy look.
"Which one? Squall?..."
Poor Squall is trembling like a beggar's rag in the wind; he's unable to say anything.
"Aye, Squall, sir. An' he says that it's Ritchie's fault, an' they were fightin'. Me thinks we should leave one of 'em behind. The ship's not careened, the men are tired or drunk, we've enough work on our hands already."
I'm standing with my head lowered so that nobody would see that I'm laughing, in fact.
"Ah, Squall, Squall," the Captain sighs with laughter in his voice. "Calm down, lad, tell me, where did ye lost yer pistol? I didn't hear of it."
Squall drops on his knees, big tears glittering in his eyes.
"Capt'n, sir, please!" he wails. "'Tis true, I've been to the brothel... but I was sleepin', an' Ritchie woke me up, fer he wanted t'go to the brothel an' he didn't know the way!..."
"And why did you listen to me, you poor mongrel?" I interrupt. "Ain't got no brains to think by yourself or what?..."
I get slapped finally - across the face, casually and coldly.
"I'm talkin' with Squall now," says the Captain. "I told ye not to speak when yer not spoken to. Is it so difficult for ye to remember?... Alright. Go on, Squall."
"I... I went with 'im an' I don't know... Capt'n, I swear, I will work an'..."
"Shut up, lad, an' stand on yer feet. Ye will work out yer brothel night, be sure of it. Now ye can tell him, Ritchie, where his pistol is."
"Don't worry, Squall," I say quietly, "your pistol is safe here, along with your hat. I've borrowed them for a moment and given them to that girl... to Sancha."
Squall gapes at me.
"Why didn't ye tell me that?"
"Why, because you wouldn't listen, that's why. Try to think before you cry out, you sissy," I say touching my cheek. Ouch. It seems there won't be a day without beating for me, as long as lady Rose is aboard.
The Captain casts me a warning look.
"Let it be a lesson to ye, Squall, lad," he says. "Now be off to work. And yer to bring somethin' to eat for lady Rose an' me, Ritchie."
Ah, great, you want to show her my new bruise. How nice, I think now serving them both in the little cabin. Why the hell me?... Can't he order Betsy to pour the wine? Oh no, of course, she cannot go among those poor starving gobs.
The bright new day has finally come in all its glory, the harbour was of course awake long ago. I feel tired, and I can see that the Captain and his lady are not very refreshed either. Lady Rose is glumly playing with the wine leavings, the Captain is drawing circles on the table with his knife. The cabin is becoming more and more quiet, the harbour noises more and more audible.
And then Sharpe storms into the cabin.
"Capt'n," he says, panting, "all town is talkin' 'bout lady Rose's escape an' 'bout them soldiers comin' here!"
"Comin' here?" asks the Captain. "To La Aranha?"
"Aye. Somebody has seen a woman in a red dress comin' onboard yer ship, Captain. They're goin' to check if it's true."
The Captain swears loudly.
"Aren't we ready to sail off?"
"No, Capt'n, beggin' yer pardon... We would need a whor... a wench who'd testify that she's spent the night with ye on the ship."
"Alright. We must bring a wench here, then."
"There's no way we can pick up a clever an' sober one in this time o'day."
"Sure enough. An' they do know Becky... an' they know that little one that Ritchie brought with him..." the Captain's eyes go to me and he smiles suddenly.
"No worry," he says. "Go an' tell the men to haste. We have to be ready to sail off as soon as the soldiers leave the ship. An' I guarantee they will leave it quickly."
Sharpe looks at the Captain, then at me, and sudden understanding brings a cruel smile to his face.
"Aye, Capt'n," he says and goes out of the cabin.
Lady Rose stands up.
"What are you going to do, Captain?" she asks, and it's the first time I can see fear in her eyes.
"I can now satisfy yer previous curiosity," he says with a mocking bow. "Ye remember the little tale about a Spanish maid I've told ye, now I can show ye the illustration as well."
He turns to me and I screw up my lips. What else will I have to bear with this man? But I know there is no way out; I must pass for a whore in the soldiers' eyes. Alright, Captain, you know there is nothing I can refuse you.
"Oh, Captain," she says, "are you going to... to make..." and she blushes suddenly, trying not to look at me.
"Aye, I am goin' to make Ritchie play a lil' tavern girl." Ah, at least you're trying not to use the word. How nice of you, indeed.
"Are you going to use this?" she asks angrily, taking thick satin pleats of her skirt.
"No, no need for this. I've forgotten his dead lady's dress o'er there," he says gesturing towards the screen. "It's scarlet an' he can wear it. What are ye waitin' for?" he snaps at me. "Move on, for Christ's sake!"
I smile, thinking of this shameless liar, while I'm changing my clothes behind the screen. 'I've forgotten the dress', sure! What did you leave it for, Captain? I'd bet you are going to make me wear it and then to fuck me, some day when we're far away at sea. Well, as you wish... but there's no reason to be angry with me now just because you're thinking about not very proper plans of your own.
I loosen my hair and come from behind the screen just as I did several days before. Lady Rose looks me up and down; she has a very grave and hard expression.
"Oh, really," she says, "now I'm ready to believe that we may succeed. Let me see..."
She takes my hand and leads me to the window; I squint my eyes at the sudden light, and she whispers in dismay:
"Oh no, what did you do, Ritchie?"
"What the hell did he do this time?" asks the Captain, irritated again and ready to smack me on the head.
Lady Rose shields me from him quickly.
"He has bruises all over his face, Captain. This one I remember from yesterday, but this one is fresh. Sweet Virgin, there's no way he will pass for a girl with these! What happened?" she turns to me.
I shrug my shoulders. A whore with bruises, what a kickshaw indeed! The Captain is of the same mind, because he says grinning:
"'Tis a lil' matter of discipline, my lady Rose. A tavern wench may need a few slaps as well."
But she somehow doesn't seem to like the idea of it.
"What a nonsense, Captain," she says sharply. "I don't want anyone to think that you may have beaten a girl and I don't think you would. No, we won't have it. Wait."
The Captain rolls his eyes and I stand by the window watching my dirty hands, when lady Rose comes back with a little box.
"Sit here, Ritchie," she says.
Ah, a powder and a lipstick! I smile wickedly.
"No, don't move and don't smile! You'll be a pretty girl in no time."
She empties the box on the altar cape. The Captain looks at us with an inscrutable expression, with his arms crossed, while I half-close my eyes and give myself into lady Rose's delicate hands. She's covering my bruises cautiously, I feel her fingertips on my cheek and then on my lips. I hold my breath and I can hear that the Captain sighs ever so slightly. I cross my eyes to look at him - he watches us, unmoving yet dangerously attentive.
The door opens again and I hear Sharpe's voice:
"Capt'n, would ye come here for awhile?"
Lady Rose holds her hand still for a moment. I open my eyes.
"Yes," she says in a whisper, "I think you can go like this."
"I'll wait until the Captain calls me," I say.
She gathers her toilet things into the box, not looking at me. I know she wants to tell me something - to wish me luck? To ask me for help? But at the same time she knows it's not necessary, because we are bound anyway: the Captain, she and me. I must do my best and I will, she can be sure of it, because I'm not doing it for her, but for the Captain alone.
Sharpe opens the cabin.
"Aww, the hell," he says astonished, "yer a devil, Ritchie, or what? C'mon, come to us. Aha, the Captain says yer name is Paquita."
"Whatever," I say with a sigh and let Sharpe grab my hand rather unceremoniously. Ah, damn, I've forgotten how to walk in a dress again!
"She's still a lil' bit drunk, officer," says the Captain saving me from a fall and holding me in place, "not to mention that she's mighty tired too."
I hear a knowing laugh and I raise my eyes only to see Shally with five soldiers. Oh, joy. I feel dizzy.
"Now, now, do try and stand straight, jewel," says the Captain, closing his ironlike grip on my left arm.
"Please forgive me, Captain," I say with a soft voice - I can not only sing, I can do many things with it. "It's soooo bright outside, an' 'tis been a long time since I've seen such a bright sun. I am a creature of the... of the night, you see." And I look down modestly, trying to fight my laugh.
The soldiers start to chuckle looking at me, and my mateys are already dying with laughter, although for entirely different reasons. The Captain loosens his grip and gives me an amused, tender glance.
"Don't ye worry, sweet one," he says, "yer goin' back to bed soon. Officer Shally - was it so? - just wanted to make sure that you're not a lady in disguise."
"Oh, a lady? Me? You must be joking, good officer," I say looking at Shally pleadingly. "God only knows how much I'd like to be a pro... proper lady, anythin' that would please nice gentlemen like you, and the Captain!... but seein' that I cannot... but it doesn't really matter, b'cause such a fine man like the Captain fancies me anyway! So, um... seein' that he fancies me after all, I don't need to be no lady an' I'm s-so happy that I cannot even tell you, an' jus' have a look at me!... The Captain allows me to wear such a m-magnifi... cient dress... doesn't it make me a lady to you?..."
At last even serious Shally starts to smile; the Captain stands before him with a half-embarrassed, half-amused expression, and I'm wagging my tongue like a lunatic, feeling Captain's arm around me. Ah, it's the first time he embraced me, the first time when I'm wrapped in his warmth, not just scalded with his fire - and I find myself clinging desperatedly to him, pressing my whole body to him, leaning my head on his arm. It's the only chance for me to be so helplessly close to him, the only moment when I can be sure that he will not thrust me away. If I'm allowed to touch him only when I play a whore for him, so what, worse luck!... I'm not going to complain. I just want a little of this warmth in return. He has so much of it, lady Rose cannot exhaust it all. Oh, I will wait until she leaves La Aranha, I will wait as long as he wants me to...
"Alright, Captain, I apologize for disturbing you," says Shally with a sigh. "If you say that this little Paquita is the only woman that is present on the ship... I believe you."
"Thank you, officer," says the Captain and I stiffen. Is Shally already leaving? Because if he is, then... I try to step aside. But the Captain is not loosening his embrace, and I start to fear that he's going to lose his temper this time. What was I doing here? I've almost got into his breeches!
He finally lets me go when the soldiers vanish into the harbour crowd. I cast him a sly, anxious glance, only half-aware of the crew swarming around us and praising my acting skills.
"Get back to work!" the Captain yells at them. "We're sailing off soon! Sharpe," he turns to the second-in-command, "we should wait an' see if the soldiers aren't going to be back and check if everythin' is alright."
"Aye, Captain."
"Go to the cabin an' wait," he says not looking at me. "Don't put the dress off."
But the soldiers don't come back, and we can set sail in peace. Lady Rose helps me to wash off the grim, laughing and joking, but the Captain is silent and sullen, and when I'm again my previous self, he orders me to go away and sleep.
"What do you mean, to sleep, Captain?" I ask, dismayed completely.
"Ye don't understand the word or what? Go an' take some rest. Ye may come here in the evening. An' wash yer hands before ye touch the dishes, for God's sake."
"Aye, Captain," I say with a sigh and go away.
When I'm laying down on the thin blanket in the crew's quarters - I didn't realize how tired I've been! - somebody sits next to me. Squall.
"Hey, mate," he greets me briefly.
"Um, hey," I say surprised.
"Want somethin' to eat? I've got some bread from the galleys."
"No, thank you. I'll sleep for awhile."
"Ye looked good in that dress," he chuckles.
"I'm not going to thank you for it."
"Ah, I know. See, Bucky said yer a devil."
"Why?"
"'Cause ye don't look like a man or like a woman. Yer like, he says, both. Jus' like devils that can change their shape."
"Your Bucky is stupid, mate," I say feeling a heavy sleep overcoming me finally. "I wish I were a devil... I truly wish I were."
tbc