Thanks for the reviews, mates. I'm trying to get these chapters out pretty quick, and they'll keep coming as long as I get feedback. Hope you like it!
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Ambrosia of the Sea
Chapter 2
"I will not sit back doin' nothing, knowing that those damned redcoats have everything o' mine!"
The crisp sea breeze carried the young woman's voice far out across the dark waters of the Caribbean. With bottle of rum at her feet, she rowed out to The Black Pearl, ebony sails floating lightly against the blue light of the moon. She stood proud and strong, with all the everlasting intimidation that a pirate ship carries. The girl's breath caught in her throat, resulting in a pitiful sob.
"Come off it!" she screamed into the night, not caring if anyone heard her. The Pearl was but fifty yards out; she figured that Barbossa left a few of his men on board—just in case some idiot tried to commandeer her—and just as she expected, two dark spheres jutted out from below deck, peering into the darkness, attempting to locate the source of the noise they had heard. She could barely make out their voices, arguing about which direction the cry came from. Quickly changing direction, she headed for the stern of the ship, arms aching from the weight of water against oars. Her eyes didn't leave the figures until they pulled their heads back, defeated and probably not caring if they didn't find the intruder...just yet.
As she came up on the Pearl, she pulled the oars into her tiny boat, grabbed the rum, and stood (or rather stumbled) up. Taking another swig, she looked over the beauty before her.
"As fine a ship I ever saw," she whispered, reaching out as if to touch the wood. After reaching too far and nearly toppling over into the sea, she threw the bottle into the bottom of her vessel and rolled up her sleeves. "Now, how the hell am I..." The Pearl stretched far above the surface of the water, her rudder being impossible to climb. "Damn," the woman cursed, falling back onto the bench and grabbing the rum. She brought it to her lips but stopped before drinking.
The moonlight lit up the line that held the starboard anchor near her. Slowly lowering the bottle, she let a devious smirk curl her lips. After securing the bottle between her belt and pants, she flung herself into the cool waters of the Atlantic. She thanked the higher powers for the moon that night; it lit up the bay and provided her with a decent path to the anchor. She cursed herself, however, for getting so drunk.
"Goddamnit!" she slurred as she burst through the surface, blood flowing from her calf after striking it against the sharp fix. "Curse me and my damned cursing," she sneered as she fell back into the water, disappearing from view of the two men who had been searching for her before. They took a good look around, squinting their eyes, searching the black waters. When she assumed they were gone, she resurfaced, gasping for air. Reminding herself why she was putting herself through this type of hell, she began climbing, ignoring the pain surging through her entire body—the sting of her cut, the throbbing of her muscles, and the strain on her heart and lungs.
She reached the railing just in time to see the two men retire back below deck. Pulling herself lethargically over the side, she landed ungracefully on her backside against the wooden boards. She cursed (as was custom) and moaned, heaving herself from the timber. As she stood, swaying slightly from lack of a focused vision, she took stock of what lay before her.
"A magnificent ship, indeed," she said as she reached for her bottle. She had to bite her tongue to keep from swearing as loud as she could; the bottle wasn't there. Running back to the railing, she could barely make out the sparkle of glass as her rum floated out to see. She pounded the barrier hard, ignoring another addition to her pain.
"What the bloody hell is goin' on?" she heard from behind her. "I'm tellin' yeh, there's someone aboard The Pearl...and it ain't just us!" She saw the men emerge just as she climbed the stairs to the nearest cabin door. The man who had spoke was short and balding, but proved his strength by slugging the other, taller, man over the head, who had rolled his eyes—one made out of wood—at his suspicions. The woman threw open the door and ducked inside, watching them closely through the window.
"I told you there was nothin' aboard," the taller man sneered. The man next to him clenched his jaw and drew his sword.
"Are you callin' me a liar?" he growled. The other man threw up his arms and drew out his own cutlass.
"Not a liar," he said, clashing blades, "just a jumpy bastard!"
The woman smiled, lowering herself to the ground, not caring about the outcome of their battle. She dropped her head between her knees to calm the effects the alcohol had upon her head. Deciding (stupidly) that the only way to stop the hangover was to continue the drinking, she got up and searched the cabin.
"Ah ha! There yeh are, love," she cooed when she found the stock. She poured the aged drink into her welcoming mouth, surveying the cabin she stood in. "Not bad, Barbossa," she said to herself, assuming—with the extravagantly dressed bed and assortment of other goods only a captain would own—that the space did indeed belong to the man in charge. She ran her hand over the silk bed hangings, the hand-carved wardrobe, the mahogany dining table—all the while downing the bottle of rum. She stopped at a bowl full of bananas that occupied the center of the table. Picking one up, she scowled.
"What I wouldn' give for a damned apple..." she sighed, throwing the fruit back into its basket. Behind her came an animal-like screech, and as she turned, her gaze fell upon a small monkey. It scurried around her feet; she tried to kick it away, but ended up tripping over it instead. She fell hard into the end of the bed, hitting her head and falling unconscious to the ground.
The bottle of rum fell out of her hands, spilling onto the floor, inviting a thirsty monkey to try a sip.
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"Captain!" Barbossa squinted against the harsh sunlight of late morning, eyeing one of his crew; a tall black man with decorations Barbossa himself didn't even know the name to walked slowly toward him...carrying a woman in his arms.
A filthy, injured young woman, unconscious due to drink.
Barbossa had had a lovely night with Maria, and he didn't want it to be ruined by some headstrong stowaway.
"What the hell is it?" he called, throwing on his hat to shield his pale eyes from the sun.
"It's a woman, sir," came the answer. Barbossa rolled his eyes.
"I know that, you idiot! What is she doin' here?" The large colored man—by the name Bo'sun—reached his captain and readjusted the limp body in his arms. He closed his eyes and answered through clenched teeth,
"I don't know, sir." Barbossa eyed him askance, then looked down to the young woman.
"She's been hurt," he observed. Certainly the welt on her forehead had grown increasingly large and colorful during the night, almost averting the attention away from the dried blood cloaking her leg. He sighed—the last thing he needed was a filthy beggar aboard his ship, asking to be swept away on an adventure or some other crackpot fantasy. "Throw her overboard," he sneered, limping up the stairs to his cabin; he needed a drink. He stopped when his door opened, a sniggering thin man emerging from the room, his eye rolling frantically in its socket.
"What is it, Ragetti?" he demanded.
"It's Jack, Cap'n." Barbossa's eyes widened. He turned to Bo'sun, who was holding the woman out over the sea, ready to drop her.
"HOLD IT!" he screamed. The colored man and a good portion of his crew looked disappointed as the woman was brought back against Bo'sun's chest. "What do yeh mean, 'it's Jack'?" he said, voice shaking slightly. Ragetti pulled out from behind him a limp monkey.
"He was found next to a puddle a rum, sir." Barbossa took the unconscious animal into his hands. "He's not dead, just...drunk." The tall man clasped his mouth shut to keep from bursting out in laughter. The captain looked up to him—eyes on fire—and shoved him backwards before turning and running down the steps over to Bo'sun.
"Wake her up," he demanded. Bo'sun stood still. "Wake 'er up, Goddamnit!" he screamed, shaking the woman frantically with his free hand. She remained silent. "Ah Christ," he sighed. "Never mind. Jus' get her outta my sight!" He stepped away as Bo'sun leaned over the rail. Cradling Jack in his arms, he watched as his crewmember adjusted himself to get a firm grip on the deck before letting go.
Then he took a step forward, with mouth slightly open, as he registered a moan coming from the woman.
"Sir?" Bo'sun asked, as the groans continued. "Captain?" Barbossa shook his head and straightened himself.
"Do it," he said quietly.
The instant Bo'sun let go the woman opened her eyes. Her drunkenness didn't slow her reflexes—she managed to grab hold of the nearest rope before plummeting into the ocean. Barbossa's entire crew took a step forward, watching the woman as she struggled to fling herself back on board. Once she managed the feat, she fell to the boards, turning on her back. A shadow soon fell over her, and she sprang to her feet, backing away from the encircling pirates.
Everything was a blur to her—shapes and colors invaded her eyes, distorting her senses. Where was she? What was going on?
Barbossa watched from behind his men, his hand lovingly stroking his pet monkey. He watched the woman stumble aboard the deck of his ship, watched her pull a dagger from her uninjured calf, and watched as she lunged at the nearest crewmember, only to be pushed back into play.
He also watched as she stumbled backward, over the railing, and into Davy Jones' Locker.
The first row of onlookers rushed to the starboard side, witness to the splash below. Barbossa snorted.
"Bring 'er up, gents," he said with a sudden cheerfulness in his voice. His crew turned to stare curiously at him. Bo'sun rolled his eyes and walked slowly toward him.
"Isn't that what you were after, Captain?" he asked quietly as several of the crew threw off their affects and clothing and jumped in after the drowning woman.
"Yes, originally," Barbossa answered, still stroking Jack, "but she was feisty, wouldn' yeh say?" Bo'sun grunted. "Come man, look at 'em," he said, motioning toward the onslaught of willing rescuers dotting the waters below them. "They certainly wouldn't object teh havin' a woman aboard." He laughed.
"Havin' a woman aboard is bad luck, Captain," Bo'sun argued. The Captain's smiled faded and he whirled around.
"Are yeh questioning me orders, mate?" he asked menacingly, his free hand reaching for his pistol.
"No, sir," the colored man quickly replied.
"Good." Barbossa's smile returned as three of his men climbed back onto The Black Pearl, a drenched, intriguing woman in their arms.
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