The Commodore's Daughter
Chapter Sixteen
Anna froze as the cold accented voice spoke, her pulse beating wildly in her throat. Her eyes wide, she watched as Hendrikson slowly stood and slid the two rocks back into his pocket, and as Jack's hand uncurled from his sword hilt. No, she thought, inwardly writhing in guilt and fear. No, don't worry about me! Light the fuse!
"Good," said the voice of her French captor. "Good. Line up against ze wall." He shoved the pistol hard under Anna's chin, and she gasped inadvertently as the pistol muzzle forced her head roughly up.
Jack's face was the most conflicted she had ever seen it. "Do it," he muttered to the others. "Go, you lubbers! Line up!" Anna shook her head as desperately as she could – she could hear the shifting of men behind her, and hear the faint click of pistols. They had the pirates neatly obeying them – they would find it easy to kill them.
"You as well," ordered the one who held Anna. "Go."
Jack caught Anna's eye for an instant, and she stiffened – instead of being anguished, as she would have expected, his eyes were steady and urgent. He glanced once, swiftly, at her captor's waist, and then back at the Frenchman. "I don't think I will, thanks," he said smoothly, as though he were chatting with a drunk at some tavern in Tortuga.
The Frenchman's hands jerked with surprise on the pistol and Anna's mouth. "Vat?" he demanded.
Again Jack glared at Anna and looked more pointedly at her captor's waist before he repeated himself, even more calmly than before. Anna tried to look, but the Frenchman's arm effectively cut off her line of vision. So she cautiously inched her fingers, relatively free within the pinioning circle of the Frenchman's arm, toward his waist. Close to it, her fingers touched a curve of smooth wood – another pistol. She forced herself not to smile – the Frenchman would have felt her mouth move – and curled her fingers around the pistol, her heart pounding.
"You vill line up!" shouted the Frenchman. His fingers curled around the trigger of the pistol aimed at Anna's throat, and she stiffened, but she took advantage of his distraction to remove the pistol from his belt. She turned it by her side to aim between the Frenchman's planted feet, and fumbled with her thumb until she had it cocked.
Once more Jack caught her eyes. This time she nodded imperceptibly and glanced back at her captor. A smile that had all the certainty in the world spread across his face, and he turned it on the Frenchman. "Son," he said charmingly, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."
"I do not geef a damn who you are!" raged the Frenchman. "Ve are going to –"
Anna swallowed hard and pulled the trigger of the pistol.
It went off somewhat higher than she had planned, whizzing barely inches below the Frenchman's male assets. That alone would have made him jump – combined with the pistol's recoil, it was enough to make him loosen his hold. Anna wrenched free and, head ducked, raced over to the wall as Jack's pistol flew into his hand. The other pirates pulled out their own pistols and ran to join Jack. Anna stopped Zhao in his tracks. "Give me your pistol!" she demanded. "Quick!"
Zhao was not one to question orders. He instantly accepted the Frenchman's pistol in place of his own and pressed his pistol into Anna's hand. Anna hastily checked to see that it was loaded as she ducked to the fuse, still unlit. One shot, she thought, aiming with greater care than she ever had before in her life. One shot before they catch on and aim for me.
She cocked the pistol, checked her aim one last time, and fired at the fuse. It caught, and flame began racing up the thin cord.
"Jack!" Anna cried, struggling to control her elation. "Cotton, Zhao, Hendrikson! The fuse is lit! Get out of here, quick!" She dashed to the attic window, trying not to think about the furious Frenchmen aiming too late for her, and shoved at the window. It didn't budge, and she smashed Zhao's pistol into the glass. The windowpane shattered, and pieces of glass fell out onto the ground. Anna hit out the jagged remnants of the glass window, still using the pistol, and glanced at the fuse – it was almost halfway to the crates of gunpowder. "HURRY!" she screamed at the pirates.
Without looking down – she knew she would lose all her nerve if she did – Anna gripped the edges of the window and stepped onto the bottom edge, crouching in it. She took a breath, clenched her teeth –
And then indescribable pain smashed into her right arm. She screamed in agony as something tiny and fast and blazing hot buried itself into her upper arm. The arm went numb, and she lost her grip on the window edge and slipped out of the window like a stone into water, falling head over heels toward the glass-strewn ground with her arm on fire and a screaming, screaming voice crying out in pain echoing in her ears.
The collision with the ground jolted her out of the darkening haze she had been swimming helplessly in. Now both her right arm and her left side were hurting, and her head didn't feel too good either. Tears of pain welled in her eyes as the arm came back on fire, and Anna curled her body around it and shrieked in unbearable agony.
Then something else hit the ground, and a voice she thought she knew spouted surprisingly eloquent curses, mostly about the pain of impact. Anna cracked her teary eyes open and stared at a tan face with black hair and a red cloth around it. She knew that face... "Jack!" she gasped, gritting her teeth with the effort of speaking.
"Get up!" Jack told her. "Get up before the house explodes and takes us with it!"
"Where are – the others –" Three more impacts in quick succession answered her question, and two voices instantly began swearing, dwelling on the same topic as Jack in two different languages.
"Get up!" Jack's voice was harsh and strained with haste. "Oh, hold still," he said then, and his arms slid under Anna's neck and knees. He stood, carrying her against his chest, and she clung to his neck with her good arm and choked back the pain as his running bounced her right arm, although the fingers of her left hand clenched ever tighter around the collar of his shirt. Once the constant jolting was too much, and Anna buried her face in Jack's shoulder and screamed. His hand under her neck briefly stroked her sweat-soaked hair in comfort, but he did not stop running.
It seemed an eternity, but was only a minute or so, before Jack finally stopped running. Anna was gasping with pain in his arms as Hendrikson, Cotton, and Zhao came panting up to them. "Are we far enough?" Hendrikson demanded. Anna turned her head and looked at him and past him to the governor's house.
A ferocious sound tore the early morning air, and the governor's house exploded.
Anna let out her breath in a heaving gasp as the fine house blew into pieces that were hurled high in the air, as the site where the house had been turned to orange space filled with flying debris, wood, and shingles. Her fingers unclenched from Jack's shirt, and he carefully pulled her closer.
It was only when the flying debris had settled that the fiery pain in Anna's right arm returned. She gasped and choked back yet another scream. Jack quickly knelt down and laid her on the ground. "Anna," he said, his eyes wide with concern, "what happened, love?"
"She's shot," Hendrikson said expressionlessly – it was his way of hiding emotions. "She got shot just before she jumped – I saw." Anna nodded to confirm his words and glanced at her right arm.
"Keep to the code!" squawked Cotton's parrot, which had somehow managed to stay with them.
Jack shot a glance of pure outrage at it. "Not this time, mate!" he snapped, an undercurrent of fury in his voice. When he turned to Anna, though, he was calm and spoke gently, although she heard his voice shaking slightly. "You've a bullet in your arm, and it's got to come out." She whimpered in anticipated pain. "Would you rather I cut off the arm?" he asked, and Anna bit hard on her lip and shook her head. "Good girl," Jack said approvingly. "Hendrikson, give her your bag." Hendrikson reached into his pocket, removed the flint and steel from a leather bag, and inserted it between Anna's teeth. "Bite that when it hurts," Jack instructed. He pulled his belt knife from its sheath on his belt and cut off the sleeve of his shirt with it, tearing the shirt in four pieces and wiping the knife carefully on the cleanest piece. "Be brave," he whispered, carefully probing the bloody part of her upper arm to find the bullet – when she gave a muffled cry, he nodded and gritted his teeth.
Jack forced apart the cut in her flesh and inserted the knife.
Anna screamed through the leather, her left hand convulsively clenching and unclenching as the tip of the knife sought the bullet in her arm. Hendrikson gripped and held her feet, so she couldn't thrash around, and Cotton pinned her good arm. There was nothing she could do but scream and, when she felt her throat grow raw, bite so hard on the leather bag that she thought she would bite clean through it. Jack's knife was ceaselessly seeking the bullet within her arm, and the sight of bright red blood gushing out of her with every movement of the blade did not encourage her.
Then she saw the knife pry up a small black ball. It forced the bullet up out of her arm, and Jack plucked it free and hurled it away. He removed his knife and instantly grabbed one of the strips of his sleeve, wrapping it tightly around her profusely bleeding arm. The knot he tied was bitingly tight, and Anna gasped as he tightened it still further. He tied two more of the cloth strips around her arm, threw the last over his shoulder, and wiped his knife on the grass. Then he carefully lifted her back into his arms and cradled her gently with her face pressed against his shirt. Hendrikson removed the bag from between her teeth.
Tears forced themselves out of Anna's eyes despite her valiant efforts to stop them from coming. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against the throbbing pain in her arm and reached blindly with her good hand. "Jack," she whispered. Her hand brushed his shirt again, and she tangled her fingers in the cloth. Again she feverishly whispered his name.
"Hush," he whispered, his hands gently stroking her hair. "Hush. You're going to be all right."
"Jack," she breathed, fighting to keep the tears out of her voice. "It – hurts, so much..."
He stood up carefully and rearranged his arms to hold her closer. "I know, love. Go to sleep, you won't feel it."
"But it's morning –" she protested weakly.
"Aye, and you've been shot," he replied, a faint trace of impatience creeping into his otherwise gentle voice. "Now go to sleep, savvy?"
Anna smiled faintly. "Aye-aye, captain," she whispered. Her head drooped against his chest, and she welcomed the quiet black oblivion that softly engulfed her.
Chapter Sixteen
Anna froze as the cold accented voice spoke, her pulse beating wildly in her throat. Her eyes wide, she watched as Hendrikson slowly stood and slid the two rocks back into his pocket, and as Jack's hand uncurled from his sword hilt. No, she thought, inwardly writhing in guilt and fear. No, don't worry about me! Light the fuse!
"Good," said the voice of her French captor. "Good. Line up against ze wall." He shoved the pistol hard under Anna's chin, and she gasped inadvertently as the pistol muzzle forced her head roughly up.
Jack's face was the most conflicted she had ever seen it. "Do it," he muttered to the others. "Go, you lubbers! Line up!" Anna shook her head as desperately as she could – she could hear the shifting of men behind her, and hear the faint click of pistols. They had the pirates neatly obeying them – they would find it easy to kill them.
"You as well," ordered the one who held Anna. "Go."
Jack caught Anna's eye for an instant, and she stiffened – instead of being anguished, as she would have expected, his eyes were steady and urgent. He glanced once, swiftly, at her captor's waist, and then back at the Frenchman. "I don't think I will, thanks," he said smoothly, as though he were chatting with a drunk at some tavern in Tortuga.
The Frenchman's hands jerked with surprise on the pistol and Anna's mouth. "Vat?" he demanded.
Again Jack glared at Anna and looked more pointedly at her captor's waist before he repeated himself, even more calmly than before. Anna tried to look, but the Frenchman's arm effectively cut off her line of vision. So she cautiously inched her fingers, relatively free within the pinioning circle of the Frenchman's arm, toward his waist. Close to it, her fingers touched a curve of smooth wood – another pistol. She forced herself not to smile – the Frenchman would have felt her mouth move – and curled her fingers around the pistol, her heart pounding.
"You vill line up!" shouted the Frenchman. His fingers curled around the trigger of the pistol aimed at Anna's throat, and she stiffened, but she took advantage of his distraction to remove the pistol from his belt. She turned it by her side to aim between the Frenchman's planted feet, and fumbled with her thumb until she had it cocked.
Once more Jack caught her eyes. This time she nodded imperceptibly and glanced back at her captor. A smile that had all the certainty in the world spread across his face, and he turned it on the Frenchman. "Son," he said charmingly, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."
"I do not geef a damn who you are!" raged the Frenchman. "Ve are going to –"
Anna swallowed hard and pulled the trigger of the pistol.
It went off somewhat higher than she had planned, whizzing barely inches below the Frenchman's male assets. That alone would have made him jump – combined with the pistol's recoil, it was enough to make him loosen his hold. Anna wrenched free and, head ducked, raced over to the wall as Jack's pistol flew into his hand. The other pirates pulled out their own pistols and ran to join Jack. Anna stopped Zhao in his tracks. "Give me your pistol!" she demanded. "Quick!"
Zhao was not one to question orders. He instantly accepted the Frenchman's pistol in place of his own and pressed his pistol into Anna's hand. Anna hastily checked to see that it was loaded as she ducked to the fuse, still unlit. One shot, she thought, aiming with greater care than she ever had before in her life. One shot before they catch on and aim for me.
She cocked the pistol, checked her aim one last time, and fired at the fuse. It caught, and flame began racing up the thin cord.
"Jack!" Anna cried, struggling to control her elation. "Cotton, Zhao, Hendrikson! The fuse is lit! Get out of here, quick!" She dashed to the attic window, trying not to think about the furious Frenchmen aiming too late for her, and shoved at the window. It didn't budge, and she smashed Zhao's pistol into the glass. The windowpane shattered, and pieces of glass fell out onto the ground. Anna hit out the jagged remnants of the glass window, still using the pistol, and glanced at the fuse – it was almost halfway to the crates of gunpowder. "HURRY!" she screamed at the pirates.
Without looking down – she knew she would lose all her nerve if she did – Anna gripped the edges of the window and stepped onto the bottom edge, crouching in it. She took a breath, clenched her teeth –
And then indescribable pain smashed into her right arm. She screamed in agony as something tiny and fast and blazing hot buried itself into her upper arm. The arm went numb, and she lost her grip on the window edge and slipped out of the window like a stone into water, falling head over heels toward the glass-strewn ground with her arm on fire and a screaming, screaming voice crying out in pain echoing in her ears.
The collision with the ground jolted her out of the darkening haze she had been swimming helplessly in. Now both her right arm and her left side were hurting, and her head didn't feel too good either. Tears of pain welled in her eyes as the arm came back on fire, and Anna curled her body around it and shrieked in unbearable agony.
Then something else hit the ground, and a voice she thought she knew spouted surprisingly eloquent curses, mostly about the pain of impact. Anna cracked her teary eyes open and stared at a tan face with black hair and a red cloth around it. She knew that face... "Jack!" she gasped, gritting her teeth with the effort of speaking.
"Get up!" Jack told her. "Get up before the house explodes and takes us with it!"
"Where are – the others –" Three more impacts in quick succession answered her question, and two voices instantly began swearing, dwelling on the same topic as Jack in two different languages.
"Get up!" Jack's voice was harsh and strained with haste. "Oh, hold still," he said then, and his arms slid under Anna's neck and knees. He stood, carrying her against his chest, and she clung to his neck with her good arm and choked back the pain as his running bounced her right arm, although the fingers of her left hand clenched ever tighter around the collar of his shirt. Once the constant jolting was too much, and Anna buried her face in Jack's shoulder and screamed. His hand under her neck briefly stroked her sweat-soaked hair in comfort, but he did not stop running.
It seemed an eternity, but was only a minute or so, before Jack finally stopped running. Anna was gasping with pain in his arms as Hendrikson, Cotton, and Zhao came panting up to them. "Are we far enough?" Hendrikson demanded. Anna turned her head and looked at him and past him to the governor's house.
A ferocious sound tore the early morning air, and the governor's house exploded.
Anna let out her breath in a heaving gasp as the fine house blew into pieces that were hurled high in the air, as the site where the house had been turned to orange space filled with flying debris, wood, and shingles. Her fingers unclenched from Jack's shirt, and he carefully pulled her closer.
It was only when the flying debris had settled that the fiery pain in Anna's right arm returned. She gasped and choked back yet another scream. Jack quickly knelt down and laid her on the ground. "Anna," he said, his eyes wide with concern, "what happened, love?"
"She's shot," Hendrikson said expressionlessly – it was his way of hiding emotions. "She got shot just before she jumped – I saw." Anna nodded to confirm his words and glanced at her right arm.
"Keep to the code!" squawked Cotton's parrot, which had somehow managed to stay with them.
Jack shot a glance of pure outrage at it. "Not this time, mate!" he snapped, an undercurrent of fury in his voice. When he turned to Anna, though, he was calm and spoke gently, although she heard his voice shaking slightly. "You've a bullet in your arm, and it's got to come out." She whimpered in anticipated pain. "Would you rather I cut off the arm?" he asked, and Anna bit hard on her lip and shook her head. "Good girl," Jack said approvingly. "Hendrikson, give her your bag." Hendrikson reached into his pocket, removed the flint and steel from a leather bag, and inserted it between Anna's teeth. "Bite that when it hurts," Jack instructed. He pulled his belt knife from its sheath on his belt and cut off the sleeve of his shirt with it, tearing the shirt in four pieces and wiping the knife carefully on the cleanest piece. "Be brave," he whispered, carefully probing the bloody part of her upper arm to find the bullet – when she gave a muffled cry, he nodded and gritted his teeth.
Jack forced apart the cut in her flesh and inserted the knife.
Anna screamed through the leather, her left hand convulsively clenching and unclenching as the tip of the knife sought the bullet in her arm. Hendrikson gripped and held her feet, so she couldn't thrash around, and Cotton pinned her good arm. There was nothing she could do but scream and, when she felt her throat grow raw, bite so hard on the leather bag that she thought she would bite clean through it. Jack's knife was ceaselessly seeking the bullet within her arm, and the sight of bright red blood gushing out of her with every movement of the blade did not encourage her.
Then she saw the knife pry up a small black ball. It forced the bullet up out of her arm, and Jack plucked it free and hurled it away. He removed his knife and instantly grabbed one of the strips of his sleeve, wrapping it tightly around her profusely bleeding arm. The knot he tied was bitingly tight, and Anna gasped as he tightened it still further. He tied two more of the cloth strips around her arm, threw the last over his shoulder, and wiped his knife on the grass. Then he carefully lifted her back into his arms and cradled her gently with her face pressed against his shirt. Hendrikson removed the bag from between her teeth.
Tears forced themselves out of Anna's eyes despite her valiant efforts to stop them from coming. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against the throbbing pain in her arm and reached blindly with her good hand. "Jack," she whispered. Her hand brushed his shirt again, and she tangled her fingers in the cloth. Again she feverishly whispered his name.
"Hush," he whispered, his hands gently stroking her hair. "Hush. You're going to be all right."
"Jack," she breathed, fighting to keep the tears out of her voice. "It – hurts, so much..."
He stood up carefully and rearranged his arms to hold her closer. "I know, love. Go to sleep, you won't feel it."
"But it's morning –" she protested weakly.
"Aye, and you've been shot," he replied, a faint trace of impatience creeping into his otherwise gentle voice. "Now go to sleep, savvy?"
Anna smiled faintly. "Aye-aye, captain," she whispered. Her head drooped against his chest, and she welcomed the quiet black oblivion that softly engulfed her.