Note: Thanks to all my reviewers. I appreciate each and every one of you.
This chapter is dedicated to Layla, who so patiently helped me along while I ripped out chunks of my hair and produced several welts on my head, attempting to create the name of my character and ship. Thanks, mate.
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Ambrosia of the Sea
Chapter 3
"Shh...there yeh are, love. Rest yer weary head."
The voice registered as gentle and sincere. The woman was slowly aware of the swimming of her head, the heightened pitch of the noises around her—the wringing out of a cloth, the screech of a gull...
She sprung from her position, knocking a dampened rag and hand out of her way. The dry hand grasped her shoulder as she sank her head between her knees—covered by blood red sheets—and groaned against the pounding in her temples. The low voice that had first spoken to her now laughed.
"Had quite a night, eh?" it asked, forcing her back onto her pillow. As she lay back, the memory of the previous night invaded her mind. She looked up into the man's face, looming over her, patting her forehead with the soaked cloth. Moaning once more, she closed her eyes.
When she awoke again, the sheets were tightly wrapped around her body; she hadn't had a peaceful sleep. As her vision focused, she noticed the captain of the Black Pearl himself sitting across from her at his desk, scribbling on a map. She turned over and stretched her aching body.
"Ah...'bout time yeh woke," came Barbossa's voice as he set down his quill. It was the same voice that had soothed her when she first woke. The woman's eyes widened a bit; this captain, this pirate, had helped her...had seemed concerned about her.
Slowly lifting herself from the mattress, she swung her legs over the side and watched the captain as he continued his work. Her lids felt heavy against her eyes, her head even heavier on her neck. God, she had gotten so drunk. It was only right that she had a hangover that was just as bad—perhaps even worse—to match.
The silence in the room was only broken by the scratching of a quill against parchment. The woman looked around the cabin as Barbossa worked. Her eyes stopped on a motionless primate lying in a heap of fabric in the corner of the room.
"What happened to him?" she asked. The scratching stopped as Barbossa raised his head. The woman heard the scrape of chair against wood as the captain stood up and walked toward her, his arms folded across his chest.
"That's what I'd like teh know," he said sternly. "Among other things." He walked passed the bed and over to his monkey, feeling his forehead. Then he went over to his dresser, taking hold of an empty bottle of rum and jiggling it at the woman. "Seems he 'ad a taste of the bubbly last night after you so clumsily sprawled yerself on me cabin floor." The woman looked down to the edge of the bed where she had fallen, then her hand flew to her head and the bump she had received after hitting it—the pain flowing back along with the memory.
"He tripped me," she said quietly. Barbossa snorted.
"I highly doubt that this here little thing manage teh stick his tiny leg out and cause yeh teh fall—"
"I tripped over him," the woman corrected. "The bottle fell out of my hands." She massaged her temples, attempting to rub the throbbing away. "I'm sorry if curiosity got the best of him. I would have stopped him, had I been conscious."
"Yes, well..." The captain threw the bottle out of the window and walked back toward the bed, stopping in front of her and placing his hands on the mattress next to her thighs. "No harm done, Miss...?" The woman's head snapped up to meet his blue eyes; her own darted back and forth in their sockets.
"West." Barbossa narrowed his gaze, attempting to pierce her mind to discover if she was telling the truth or not.
"Right, Miss West." He straightened up and walked back toward his desk. "Tis a good thing he's still alive," he said, "otherwise I wouldn' have been so kind as teh take yeh back from Davy Jones this mornin'."
"And I am eternally grateful for that," the woman quickly replied. Barbossa turned to her and crossed his arms.
"Though I wonder...how is it that a thing such as yerself find her way aboard a ship such as the Pearl?" He walked slowly toward her as he spoke. "And why?" Miss West avoided his penetrating gaze by looking down, ignoring the strands of dark brown hair that invaded her eyes.
"I was escaping," she began.
"Oh? From who?"
"A band of pirates, of course." She ignored the captain's grunt. "I can't remember the captain's name, or the name of the ship; I wasn't their prisoner for very long."
"How'd yeh end up at Tortuga?" he asked, moving ever closer to her.
"I stole a boat and found myself rowing toward the nearest port." She stopped as a finger lifted her chin. The captain looked into her turbid brown eyes.
"I remember you," he said quietly. "Yer that lass from the bar—the one that was talkin' teh Maria..." Miss West nodded.
"She was listening to my story...she offered to help me," she said quickly. "But then you and your men entered. I heard you talking about the Black Pearl being anchored out in the bay—"
"So yeh escaped one band of pirates teh take up with another one, did yeh?" the captain asked, scratching his chin. Miss West lowered her head; it didn't seem to make sense, did it? Slowly, ever so lethargically, she pulled herself from the bed and walked over to the window.
The sea was calm: the sun, warm and bright. The surface of the Caribbean glistened like a million jewels spread out across the water. Miss West sighed, hugging herself.
"I don't much care teh be lied to, Miss West," came the captain's voice from behind her. She turned to look at him. "Tis somethin' yeh be keepin' from me." Of course there was...everyone was always keeping something from everyone else, weren't they? The woman looked back out the window, leaning forward to get a sense of how far above the surface they were.
And then her eyes nearly fell out of their sockets.
She grabbed hold of the side of the window, her mind not believing what her eyes were showing her. Below the porthole, floating gracefully passed the Pearl...was her trunk.
"What the—?" the captain asked from behind her, come to see what the commotion was about. Miss West spun around, nearly knocking Barbossa off his feet. They stood nose-to-nose. The woman was out of breath—despite having not done a thing all morning: the man, unable to breath.
"My chest," she said, not moving. Barbossa raised a brow and looked down, then moved her to the side to look out for himself.
"Aye," he said, watching the box rub against the side of his ship. "Well, we best retrieve it then," he stated, pulling back and making for the door. The woman took one last look outside; half of her was very glad to see that trunk...but the other half dreaded the sight of it.
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"Gents, there be somethin' of the lady's down below," Barbossa said to his men on deck. Miss West followed behind him, ignoring the stares of the crew. She had handled their kind before—many times before.
As the case was lifted aboard, the woman pondered how it survived—especially with everything that it contained...unless someone found it before her and 'lightened the load'. She rushed to the box, but was stopped by Bo'sun, by order of the captain. The latter came up behind her and opened the case himself, not risking the chance of something being in there that may have helped the woman defend herself.
And indeed there was.
Inside laid an assortment of weapons—a pistol, dagger, cutlass, and two well-crafted swords. Beneath the layer of arms laid a dark, dirt brown jacket, and beneath that—as Barbossa found out when he removed everything—were several pairs of pants, shirts, a pair of boots, and an extravagant fedora-like hat, donning three long feathers.
Barbossa scanned the belongings of Miss West, his eyes narrowing to the point of closure. Quickly, he approached her and pulled her right sleeve up, looking for the branded 'P' that every pirate wore. When he didn't find it, Miss West quickly pulled her wrist away and crossed her arms.
"I don't understand," he muttered, looking back at the scattered items, "these be the belongins' of a pirate." He looked up into the tanned face of the stowaway, hinting for an answer.
"Indeed," she replied, moving toward the trunk. She began replacing everything as she spoke. "All this belongs to my father." She paused to gaze at the curious faces around her. "Captain North." The great gasps and sharp inhalations of the pirates around her almost made her laugh.
" 'Steel Water' North? Of the Three Fates?" someone asked from the crowd.
"Past, present, and future, mate," the woman said, picking up the last sword and holding it loosely in her hand.
"Three Fates?" replied Ragetti, "ain't that the fleet that steals from other pirates, 'stead of the wealthy?"
"Pirates are some of the wealthiest," answered the woman, looking curiously at the one-eyed man. "Fleet?" she questioned.
"Well, Three Fates. Ain't there three ships?" Barbossa rolled his eyes as Pintel hit him over the head. "It don't have teh be three ships to be called the Three Fates...yeh fool-born codpiece..." Barbossa stepped toward her, one hand under his chin.
"I thought yeh said yer name was 'West'...?" The woman seemed to ignore him, and instead focused on the imaginary sword fight she had landed herself in—hand moving gracefully, cutting the air with her hilted blade. When the captain cleared his throat, she stopped.
"I lied," she said simply, throwing the steel back into the trunk and shutting the lid. "I didn't know how you fared with my father, so I wasn't about to disclose my real name, for fear of my safety," she explained.
"Why should we be on bad terms with yer father?" Pintel asked from her right. "He's never come near the Black Pearl."
"Too afraid, I s'pose," Barbossa answered. Miss North swung around on him, clenching her fists.
"Do not make assumptions about my father, Captain," she said through gritted teeth. Barbossa shook his head, muttering "no, never" in a mocking tone and held up his hand in apology. Then he walked passed Miss North and to the trunk, kicking it, and then instructing two of his men to take the weapons.
"There's no need for that," the woman said, walking quickly toward them. The captain disagreed.
"I can't be lettin' a prisoner of mine keep a pistol an' cutlass nearby, can I?" The woman stopped in her tracks, paused to think, then walked straight to Barbossa, placing a hand on his chest.
"Come now, Captain," she soothed, "even if I did know how to use a sword, or fire a shot, I'm sure you and your men could take me down before I knew what hit me." The men around her laughed.
"Aye, Miss. That we could." He looked from her to the chest. "Take it up to me cabin, gents...where I can keep an eye on it." As two men lugged it up the stairs, Barbossa motioned Miss North to follow him back into his rooms.
Once the trunk was settled, and the two of them were left alone, Barbossa took off his hat and lowered himself into his chair.
"Now, Miss North...care to explain why yeh have a chest full of yer father's things?" The woman looked away from him and began to twiddle her thumbs.
"My father passed away."
"When? Yesterday?" He rose from his chair and came so close as to whisper in the young woman's ear. "For I heard of another ship he plundered jus' last night in the bar." Miss North shuddered.
"That ship was his last, I'm afraid," she answered. "Seems he tangled with the wrong pirates." Her head remained low as Barbossa circled her. "His funeral was just a few days ago. That's when I was kidnapped—vengeful pirates they were, see, and they wanted me as payment for my father's doings." She kicked the trunk at her feet. "This is all I have left of him." Barbossa stopped his circling.
"What's yer name?"
"I beg your pardon?" The captain rolled his eyes.
"Yer Christian name, lass!" The woman shifted uncomfortably where she stood.
"Oh...Elinor," she said hesitantly, not having voiced her first name in a very long time. The captain made a sound of approval in the back of his throat. "And yours?" she asked, bringing her head up to meet Barbossa's.
"Captain," he said after some time.
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Sources: SHaKeSPeaRe iNSuLTS