Usual disclaimers... don't you just hate them?
Last chapter today... but there should be more tomorrow... I promise!
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When Catherine came to she found herself locked in the hold of a ship. She knew she was afloat, long association with the sounds and smells of ships had taught her that. It was dark, pitch black and she felt around her cautiously. Although her hands were now untied, her left ankle was chained to a heavy eye in the floor. She found a chamber pot, thankfully unused but obviously intended for her – clearly she would be there for some time. Sighing, she reached up, running her hands through her...
"Bloody hell!" she cursed, gingerly touching her shorn tresses. Jack had loved her hair, and now they had reduced it to an inch of stubble. She could only guess what she looked like for she had seen convicts shipped before and from the tenderness of her face she assumed that the blows from Stephen had left bruising. Worriedly she checked the rest of her belongings, realising that her earrings and pendant were gone. At least they had not appeared to take her wedding ring... at least they were not that ungodly.
Her wedding ring... a sob caught in her throat as she remembered the page that Stephen had shown her. Jack! They had hanged Jack! She had not even been given the chance to say goodbye to him. Tears welled in her eyes and she crumpled to the floor, hugging her hand to her chest, rocking slowly as the tears streamed down her face. Jack... Jack was dead.
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Stephen sat in the Captain's cabin, supping brandy with the Captain. "As we agreed..." he murmured, sliding a bag of coins across the table. "Do what you will with her, but she is to be kept alive. I have had papers drawn up for her bondage when you reach the Americas – the buyers details are clearly shown! Give them the papers and the letter and our business is complete."
"Of course Mister Waike," the Captain replied, wondering exactly why this woman warranted such personal attention from such an important man as Stephen Waike and why she had not been sent on the usual prison transports. She had been brought aboard, hooded and manacled even though she had been unconscious. As soon as he set sail he intended to go and speak with her, suddenly wondering exactly what he had gotten himself in to. "But if you will excuse me, we must make ready to sail if we are not to miss the tide..."
"I understand," Stephen smiled graciously, rising from his chair. "Until you are next in London..."
Captain Matthew Ferneham nodded politely, escorting Stephen from the ship. As soon as his guest's feet touched the quayside he turned, shouting orders to his crew to make ready to sail. He wanted to be clear of London as quickly as he could.
###
He looked at his captive in the flickering light of his lantern. She was curled up asleep, her left hand clenched tightly against her body, clad in just her undershift. He thought her face could have been pretty underneath the bruises, wondering what her hair had been like before it had been shorn. "What was your crime..." he muttered to himself, startled to find hazel eyes staring back at him.
"Love," she whispered, starting to cry again, her lips forming the words "Dead, he's dead..." but no sound came out.
Matthew frowned, for a moment hardly catching the single word she uttered, shocked at the reaction his words had caused. He had been warned she was a pirate, not to trust her in the slightest, but he could tell genuine grief and he had no doubt of her tears.
"Who are you?" he asked quietly.
"I'm dead... just dead..." she replied between sobs. "Now or tomorrow, it matters little to me..."
He stared at her aghast. Her face gave credence to her words – never had he seen an expression so devoid of life. "Whilst there is life there is hope," he smiled reassuringly, unsure how to handle the situation.
She looked at him with dead, expressionless eyes. "I used to believe that... once," she whispered. "But now I have neither..."
Matthew coughed, realising he had no idea what to say or do. "I'll see that food and water are brought to you," he offered. "And once we are clear of land you may walk the decks... you are going into bondage Mistress, you won't die," he said, hoping to comfort her. "In seven years you will have your freedom..."
Catherine merely smiled knowingly at him for in her heart and mind she was already dead.
###
Jack swayed wildly as he staggered down the gangplank from the trader that he had crossed the English Channel on. People gave him a wide berth, fearing that he was sick, his body dripping with sweat from the shot that he feared was slowly killing him. He had to get to the Black Pearl – to Ned Cotton. He had managed to remove the shot, but somehow it had become infected either with something left inside or from the none-too-clean surroundings he had been forced to hide in. Riding non-stop from London had not helped his fever.
"Captain?" Oran's shocked voice brought him to a sudden halt. He swayed, peering closely at the Irishman. "Jesus Captain! What happened!" He looked around worriedly. "Where's Kitty?"
"Taken," Jack slurred, half-falling against his helmsman. "Need Cotton..."
Oran helped Jack back onto the Black Pearl shouting for Ned. Jean Claude and the crew clustered around worriedly. "Get us home," Jack ordered. "Senior crew meetin' once we've set sail!"
Jean Claude looked worriedly at Oran, but he simply nodded, helping Jack into the cabin. Ned Cotton came running, taking one look a Jack before running back to his own small cabin for his medical bag as the crew hurried to obey Jack's order. Isaac and Paul dashed down the gangplank to search for those crew members still ashore, knowing they would have barely an hour.
Ned returned to find Jack sagged in one of the chairs in his cabin, his head resting face down on the table. Worriedly he pushed Jack back upright, quickly finding the wound. He grimaced, realising that he would have to open the wound and allow the poison to clear before he could cauterise it. He gestured that he needed Jack to lie upon the table, Oran helping him to remove Jack's jacket and shirt. He looked closely at the holes, relieved to see that none of the fabric had been taken inside by the shot – at least that meant he would not have to dig in the already inflamed wound.
Sending Oran for a bucket of sea water he carefully probed the wound, cutting across it to allow the poison to escape. Using a clean cloth he eased as much as he could, rinsing it with the sea water before dabbing it again. When he had cleaned it as much as he could he reached for one of Jack's bottles of rum, pouring it across the opening.
"Bloody hell!" Jack cursed. "Are you trying t' kill me?" He glared at Ned, snaring the bottle from his grasp and taking a heavy swig. He looked up as Jean Claude entered the cabin.
"Fearnan and Hallam are just returning with those ashore," he said. "What course Captain?"
"Will's bay," he sighed heavily. "We can do nothing here..." He groaned as he eased himself upright, sliding his feet to the ground as he heard the anchor chain being raised. "We'll hold th' meeting at th' helm," he slurred, lurching to his feet. Oran reached to support him again, but he batted his hand away.
Jack staggered up the stairs to the quarter deck, slouching on an upturned barrel. Either the rum was not working or he had not drank enough. He took several further swigs, relieved to feel the pain deaden. He waited until Jean Claude, Oran, Ned and Isaac joined him before speaking quietly. "Some of yer know this, some of yer don't – but I trust it won't be going any further... savvy?" A chorus of 'aye' greeted his words. "I was born a Waike – th' man holding Kitty is m' half-brother Stephen..." He smiled bitterly, knowing he had their full attention. "Rose is m' mother – she left a note to m' real father hidden in her bible, but it appears that George knew about it all th' time..."
"That is what you came back for?" Oran gasped. "A note!"
"A note that could ruin th' honour of m' mother." He sighed. ""Kitty knew th' reasons an' accepted th' risks, but we hadn't been in London even one night." He looked up at Jean Claude, despair in his eyes. "How did he know?" he demanded, although he knew they did not know the answers. "I'd gone t' scout th' house an' get th' note if I could... I barely escaped, but Kitty was taken b'fore I could get back t' her..."
"Do you have any clue as to where she might be?" Jean Claude asked.
Jack shook his head. "It's worse than that," he muttered.
"What can be worse than what you've told us?" Oran puzzled.
"When I escaped I killed George," Jack admitted. "Stephen now runs th' business... and we all know that he likes t' beat women... worse than George did!"
"You said that George knew of your parentage," Jean Claude reasoned. "Does Stephen know?"
"I have no idea," Jack said heavily. "But half-brother or full-brother, he'll not treat Kitty gently..."
"Then surely we have to go to London?" Isaac protested.
Jack looked up at him. "I wish it were that simple," he said. "Stephen's business contacts span the Mediterranean, the Americas, Africa... he could send her anywhere. He is a thug, not stupid – I doubt he will keep her where we can look...an' they'll be expectin' us t' try. She probably isn't even in London anymore..."
"So what can we do?" Oran asked, his fear for Catherine clear on his face. "We can't just leave her!"
"We have t' return t' Will's bay an' then we will make sure we have Stephen's attention." He smiled darkly. "We are going t' hit every ship that has connections with the Waike name until he is ruined. Unless we strike lucky, we won't find her until he tell us where she is..."
Jean Claude nodded at the sense of this, his hand steady on the wheel as he guided the Black Pearl northwards through the North Sea, again avoiding the English Channel. It would not help Catherine if they were to get themselves caught or sunk
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Last chapter today... but there should be more tomorrow... I promise!
###
When Catherine came to she found herself locked in the hold of a ship. She knew she was afloat, long association with the sounds and smells of ships had taught her that. It was dark, pitch black and she felt around her cautiously. Although her hands were now untied, her left ankle was chained to a heavy eye in the floor. She found a chamber pot, thankfully unused but obviously intended for her – clearly she would be there for some time. Sighing, she reached up, running her hands through her...
"Bloody hell!" she cursed, gingerly touching her shorn tresses. Jack had loved her hair, and now they had reduced it to an inch of stubble. She could only guess what she looked like for she had seen convicts shipped before and from the tenderness of her face she assumed that the blows from Stephen had left bruising. Worriedly she checked the rest of her belongings, realising that her earrings and pendant were gone. At least they had not appeared to take her wedding ring... at least they were not that ungodly.
Her wedding ring... a sob caught in her throat as she remembered the page that Stephen had shown her. Jack! They had hanged Jack! She had not even been given the chance to say goodbye to him. Tears welled in her eyes and she crumpled to the floor, hugging her hand to her chest, rocking slowly as the tears streamed down her face. Jack... Jack was dead.
###
Stephen sat in the Captain's cabin, supping brandy with the Captain. "As we agreed..." he murmured, sliding a bag of coins across the table. "Do what you will with her, but she is to be kept alive. I have had papers drawn up for her bondage when you reach the Americas – the buyers details are clearly shown! Give them the papers and the letter and our business is complete."
"Of course Mister Waike," the Captain replied, wondering exactly why this woman warranted such personal attention from such an important man as Stephen Waike and why she had not been sent on the usual prison transports. She had been brought aboard, hooded and manacled even though she had been unconscious. As soon as he set sail he intended to go and speak with her, suddenly wondering exactly what he had gotten himself in to. "But if you will excuse me, we must make ready to sail if we are not to miss the tide..."
"I understand," Stephen smiled graciously, rising from his chair. "Until you are next in London..."
Captain Matthew Ferneham nodded politely, escorting Stephen from the ship. As soon as his guest's feet touched the quayside he turned, shouting orders to his crew to make ready to sail. He wanted to be clear of London as quickly as he could.
###
He looked at his captive in the flickering light of his lantern. She was curled up asleep, her left hand clenched tightly against her body, clad in just her undershift. He thought her face could have been pretty underneath the bruises, wondering what her hair had been like before it had been shorn. "What was your crime..." he muttered to himself, startled to find hazel eyes staring back at him.
"Love," she whispered, starting to cry again, her lips forming the words "Dead, he's dead..." but no sound came out.
Matthew frowned, for a moment hardly catching the single word she uttered, shocked at the reaction his words had caused. He had been warned she was a pirate, not to trust her in the slightest, but he could tell genuine grief and he had no doubt of her tears.
"Who are you?" he asked quietly.
"I'm dead... just dead..." she replied between sobs. "Now or tomorrow, it matters little to me..."
He stared at her aghast. Her face gave credence to her words – never had he seen an expression so devoid of life. "Whilst there is life there is hope," he smiled reassuringly, unsure how to handle the situation.
She looked at him with dead, expressionless eyes. "I used to believe that... once," she whispered. "But now I have neither..."
Matthew coughed, realising he had no idea what to say or do. "I'll see that food and water are brought to you," he offered. "And once we are clear of land you may walk the decks... you are going into bondage Mistress, you won't die," he said, hoping to comfort her. "In seven years you will have your freedom..."
Catherine merely smiled knowingly at him for in her heart and mind she was already dead.
###
Jack swayed wildly as he staggered down the gangplank from the trader that he had crossed the English Channel on. People gave him a wide berth, fearing that he was sick, his body dripping with sweat from the shot that he feared was slowly killing him. He had to get to the Black Pearl – to Ned Cotton. He had managed to remove the shot, but somehow it had become infected either with something left inside or from the none-too-clean surroundings he had been forced to hide in. Riding non-stop from London had not helped his fever.
"Captain?" Oran's shocked voice brought him to a sudden halt. He swayed, peering closely at the Irishman. "Jesus Captain! What happened!" He looked around worriedly. "Where's Kitty?"
"Taken," Jack slurred, half-falling against his helmsman. "Need Cotton..."
Oran helped Jack back onto the Black Pearl shouting for Ned. Jean Claude and the crew clustered around worriedly. "Get us home," Jack ordered. "Senior crew meetin' once we've set sail!"
Jean Claude looked worriedly at Oran, but he simply nodded, helping Jack into the cabin. Ned Cotton came running, taking one look a Jack before running back to his own small cabin for his medical bag as the crew hurried to obey Jack's order. Isaac and Paul dashed down the gangplank to search for those crew members still ashore, knowing they would have barely an hour.
Ned returned to find Jack sagged in one of the chairs in his cabin, his head resting face down on the table. Worriedly he pushed Jack back upright, quickly finding the wound. He grimaced, realising that he would have to open the wound and allow the poison to clear before he could cauterise it. He gestured that he needed Jack to lie upon the table, Oran helping him to remove Jack's jacket and shirt. He looked closely at the holes, relieved to see that none of the fabric had been taken inside by the shot – at least that meant he would not have to dig in the already inflamed wound.
Sending Oran for a bucket of sea water he carefully probed the wound, cutting across it to allow the poison to escape. Using a clean cloth he eased as much as he could, rinsing it with the sea water before dabbing it again. When he had cleaned it as much as he could he reached for one of Jack's bottles of rum, pouring it across the opening.
"Bloody hell!" Jack cursed. "Are you trying t' kill me?" He glared at Ned, snaring the bottle from his grasp and taking a heavy swig. He looked up as Jean Claude entered the cabin.
"Fearnan and Hallam are just returning with those ashore," he said. "What course Captain?"
"Will's bay," he sighed heavily. "We can do nothing here..." He groaned as he eased himself upright, sliding his feet to the ground as he heard the anchor chain being raised. "We'll hold th' meeting at th' helm," he slurred, lurching to his feet. Oran reached to support him again, but he batted his hand away.
Jack staggered up the stairs to the quarter deck, slouching on an upturned barrel. Either the rum was not working or he had not drank enough. He took several further swigs, relieved to feel the pain deaden. He waited until Jean Claude, Oran, Ned and Isaac joined him before speaking quietly. "Some of yer know this, some of yer don't – but I trust it won't be going any further... savvy?" A chorus of 'aye' greeted his words. "I was born a Waike – th' man holding Kitty is m' half-brother Stephen..." He smiled bitterly, knowing he had their full attention. "Rose is m' mother – she left a note to m' real father hidden in her bible, but it appears that George knew about it all th' time..."
"That is what you came back for?" Oran gasped. "A note!"
"A note that could ruin th' honour of m' mother." He sighed. ""Kitty knew th' reasons an' accepted th' risks, but we hadn't been in London even one night." He looked up at Jean Claude, despair in his eyes. "How did he know?" he demanded, although he knew they did not know the answers. "I'd gone t' scout th' house an' get th' note if I could... I barely escaped, but Kitty was taken b'fore I could get back t' her..."
"Do you have any clue as to where she might be?" Jean Claude asked.
Jack shook his head. "It's worse than that," he muttered.
"What can be worse than what you've told us?" Oran puzzled.
"When I escaped I killed George," Jack admitted. "Stephen now runs th' business... and we all know that he likes t' beat women... worse than George did!"
"You said that George knew of your parentage," Jean Claude reasoned. "Does Stephen know?"
"I have no idea," Jack said heavily. "But half-brother or full-brother, he'll not treat Kitty gently..."
"Then surely we have to go to London?" Isaac protested.
Jack looked up at him. "I wish it were that simple," he said. "Stephen's business contacts span the Mediterranean, the Americas, Africa... he could send her anywhere. He is a thug, not stupid – I doubt he will keep her where we can look...an' they'll be expectin' us t' try. She probably isn't even in London anymore..."
"So what can we do?" Oran asked, his fear for Catherine clear on his face. "We can't just leave her!"
"We have t' return t' Will's bay an' then we will make sure we have Stephen's attention." He smiled darkly. "We are going t' hit every ship that has connections with the Waike name until he is ruined. Unless we strike lucky, we won't find her until he tell us where she is..."
Jean Claude nodded at the sense of this, his hand steady on the wheel as he guided the Black Pearl northwards through the North Sea, again avoiding the English Channel. It would not help Catherine if they were to get themselves caught or sunk
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