Ambrosia of the Sea
Chapter 7
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"Would you care to explain why you addressed me as 'Captain' earlier?"
The response to this inquiry was the slyest smirk Elinor had ever seen.
"Yeh wouldn't answer teh anything else," William replied matter-of-factly. Then, in a hushed tone, "Come teh think of it, yeh probably won't answer teh anythin' else, and fer good reason, too—"
"And what's that!?" North hissed, jumping from her seat as if to challenge him. Ahead of the two, Captain Barbossa felt the rock of the vessel as the woman moved and turned.
"Be there somethin' yeh need, Elinor?" he asked in mock politeness.
"Nothing you can give me, Captain," she spat back. Around her the men in the boat were stunned in silence as Barbossa's nostrils began to flare like a rabid dog, or an enraged bull ready to strike the matador. He walked with an uncanny steadiness over to where she stood, swaying back and forth with the motion of the longboat. Grabbing her upper arm, he hissed into her ear.
"If that be the case, then yeh'd better sit yer fine ass down before yer lost teh Davy Jones." After throwing her down into her seat he stepped over to the front of the boat, straightening his coat and hat. Elinor watched him for a moment, unconsciously admiring his status as captain, before Bill shifted in his seat and brought her back.
"Rearranging his outer appearance won't help rectify his hideous inner self," she mumbled, looking out into the billowing fog that slowly crept up on them. The thick gray curtain shrouded the face that laughed at her remark. She looked to Bootstrap—or to where he should have been. The fog was so thick she could barely see in front of her. She put up a hand, attempting to pull back the curtain, as if re-directing tobacco smoke, or the remnants of canon or gunfire. A larger, rougher hand caught hers, vibrating with the deep laugh of Bootstrap Bill.
"I hate to disappoint yeh, but that's not going teh do it," he joked, dark eyes sparkling against the pale surroundings.
"I know that," she replied defensively, pulling her hand away. Stealing a glance at him, Elinor counted Bill as the second man she wished to throw overboard. He sat there with a lop-sided grin on his face, with his hands loosely placed in his lap; he was almost more antagonizing as she was.
It was rather annoying.
Registering her deep scowl, he shifted his gaze to the waters below. He dipped a finger into the liquid; it was icy to the touch, very unusual for Caribbean waters. As he noticed this he furrowed his brows in thought. A shiver ran down his spine, as if the finger of Death had grazed his skin, warning him.
Up ahead, somewhere lost in the fog, came the shouts of the crew. Barbossa leaned forward, ears attempting to hear what his eyes could not see.
"We'll all get our shares once she's aboard! Get yer hands off!"
"I'm takin' my share now, 'fore the Captain empties it all into his own pockets!"
"He wouldn't do that! He told us he'd be fair about it, didn' he?"
"He's a PIRATE! He led the mutiny against Captain Sparrow! What makes yeh think he wouldn'—"
The bickering men froze as the last longboat came into view. Barbossa stood at the front, his arms crossed, a calm expression overcoming his hard face. He breathed slowly, patiently, as his vessel pulled up next to the Pearl.
"He was tryin' teh take some of the treasure before yeh got here, Captain," explained one pirate as he pointed accusingly at the other. Barbossa looked at the other, balding man, who cradled a large amount of the gold coins in his shirt. He looked at the chest—with it's lid pushed open, the gold emitting a light not unlike the sun itself, or that of a brightly burning fire—then back at the thief.
"I…I…," he stammered, still clutching the coins. Barbossa sighed, drawing his pistol. He could hear the clink of metal against wood as the pirate let slip a few of the gold pieces.
"Put them back in the chest, you idiot!" hissed Elinor from behind the captain. The frightened man looked from her to Barbossa before dumping the contents of his shirt back into the chest. All the while the captain slowly readied his gun—cocking it and even shining it with his shirt.
"I p-put them back, I d-did what you said," he stuttered at Elinor as Barbossa raised his gun.
"Who made her Captain?" he asked as he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into the middle of the pirate's head. He fell back into the waters with a heavy splash. The man who had ratted on him now stood wiping blood of his shirt.
"Jesus, Barbossa, yeh didn' have to shoot him," William stated from behind North.
"SHUT UP, BOOTSTRAP!" the captain yelled, turning his gun on him, "or yeh'll be next!" Elinor stepped back in fear of the man that stood before her—his entire body shook, his eyes were plastered wide open, his lips pressed tightly together, and a vein pulsated against his temple. "I am the captain of the Pearl now, and yeh better address me as such," he said through clenched teeth.
Elinor shivered at the touch of Bill's sigh against the back of her neck.
"Very well, Captain. I apologize." Barbossa noticed his sarcasm, walking over to him and pushing the woman out of the way while doing so—she nearly falling into the ocean herself.
"Next time yeh won't get the chance teh apologize," he whispered. Elinor stood frozen; she was not fond of confrontations—avoiding them whenever she could—so this was a different and disturbing situation for her.
Bootstrap attempted to act as if the captain intimidated him, but North could still see that sparkle in his eyes. His superior, however, did not notice it as he turned and commanded the chest to be heaved aboard.
"Line up! Twenty gold pieces to all, grab 'em and move on," he shouted once everyone was on deck. The pirates stood in what Elinor assumed was supposed to be a line—each man stood aside to peer over the next lad's shoulder, just to make sure there would be enough gold left for them when their time came. They held out shirts, rags, cans, hats—anything that would hold their prize.
And indeed it was a prize; the fog could not deter the light that emitted from the coins—as if they were producing their own light, rather than a reflection. Barbossa surveyed the men as they gathered the gold, counting with them to make sure none took more than what was fair.
"18…19…20. That's it, mate. Get on with yeh. How many does that make, Bo'sun?" the captain asked as the next pirate stepped forward.
"540, sir," came the answer, as Bo'sun counted the dashes upon the paper he held.
"540 gold pieces," repeated the captain, pleased with himself. "There must be at least 300 more in this chest."
"Aye," assured his fellow seaman, nodding as he watched Elinor sneak away to the bow.
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"Why aren't you hoarding the treasure with the rest of those dogs?" North asked a dark figure leaning against the rail. He turned to her, his gaze far off, as if he'd been thinking, pondering, regretting.
"I don't believe in possessin' cursed treasure, Miss North."
"Ah, so it's back to 'Miss' now, eh?" she asked, lifting herself onto the railing. William instinctively put out a hand to make sure she didn't fall. Elinor took notice of this. "What happened to 'Captain'?" The man rotated around and placed his elbows on the rail to steady himself.
"You made it pretty clear yeh weren't a captain—"
"Which is entirely true," she interrupted. Bootstrap looked her in the eyes; it made her extremely nervous.
"Yeh seem mighty determined to set things straight," he observed.
"And why shouldn't I? I don't want lies going around about me," she said defensively, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. "Besides, if I were a pirate, I would have the mark of one, would I not?" There was a grunt of approval as Bootstrap looked out over the glass surface below them. The sun was just beginning to set beyond the fog; some of which had cleared out, but there was still a thick layer of smoke surrounding the hull of the Pearl, casting it in an eerie light. The colors of the horizon painted a brilliant landscape of fiery reds, rich purples, and vibrant yellows. Elinor stuck her wrist out in front of William's nose just to prove her point.
"And since I do not have said mark, I am not a pirate." Her smug attitude turned his face red. She wiggled her fingers at eye level; he could feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears. To calm the effect he grabbed her wrist and threw it back in her lap.
And then grabbed the opposite wrist, where a thick leather band covered the skin there.
Tearing it from her arm, he uncovered two very insightful marks.
One was a tattoo of a compass with an 'N' indicating the direction—and her name—north.
The other was a brand.
Of a capital 'P'.
"What were yeh saying?" inquired Bill, staring at her with cold eyes. Elinor's mouth was wide open but no words came out, as if she had just been caught stealing from her mother's pantry, or had just been shot by her best friend. "Hmm?" he asked, challenging her. She struggled to break free of his grasp, fearful of any other crewmembers—and especially Barbossa—finding out what the man had just discovered. As she wrapped her wrist, he looked calmly out over the railing, that haughty smirk playing across his lips. Still, his stiff posture hinted that he wasn't really expecting to find what he did—that it was more pure luck and circumstance than anything.
"Not all pirates choose teh get the brand—only if they're mighty dedicated to the cause. When an' if they do, it's embedded on the wrist they fight with," he explained, not looking at the woman staring back at him. "I didn't know yeh were a lefty," he said quietly after an awkward moment of silence.
"Now you know," she whispered, coming down from the railing to stand next to him.
"So everything yeh said about yer father—being captain of the Three Fates—"
"Mm hmm."
"Why would yeh lie? Why didn't yeh just say yeh were a pirate when the captain asked?" Elinor bent over and scuffed her feet, knocking a pebble and disrupting the smooth surface of the water.
"How would you react to not only a female pirate showing up on your vessel, but a drunk, captain-of-her-own-ship female pirate?" Will laughed beside her—a soft, comforting laugh.
"I wouldn't believe it."
"Exactly," she stated flatly. Will looked into her dark eyes…and saw a smarter woman than he once thought.
"Yer not one of those female pirate captains with a whole female crew that fishes fer unsuspecting pirate ships like ours—"
"And pretends we're a ship of whores ready for the taking—"
"Boards the ship, shows off yer…packages—" (Elinor snorted at this.)
"And then pulls out our swords and raids the vessel? No, that's not me and me crew." She laughed, shaking her head. "There's only one other female member of the Fates." She leaned in close to whisper. "And she's the cook." Bootstrap threw his head back and laughed; the sound seemed to echo against the fog.
"Telling jokes are we, Elinor?"
Spinning around unusually fast, both Will and the woman faced Captain Barbossa, who held two bags of gold in his hands.
"Just commenting on the lack of control your men have over their bladders," she said loudly, causing heads to turn and cutlasses to be drawn. Barbossa scowled, stepping slowly up to where she stood.
"Best not be making light the habits of a dead man," he warned in a deep voice. Elinor shivered, looking from his steel eyes to the bags hanging at his side. He followed her gaze before tossing the sacks—each to their respected owner.
"Yeh both fergot yer share," he growled. Will and Elinor looked at each other before throwing the parcels back. Barbossa was caught by surprise and missed them, both falling to the floorboards at his feet. He was too shocked to pick them up.
"We didn't forget, Captain," started Bootstrap.
"We don't want cursed loot," explained North. She leaned back as the color in Barbossa's face turned bright, his muscles tensing and his jaw clenching.
"Fine," he hissed, "more for me." With that he took a firm hold on each of the parcels and spun on his heels, marching away from where they stood. Will leaned back on the rail, twirling one of the gold coins over his knuckles.
"Where did that come from?"
"Hole in the bottom," he answered nonchalantly. Elinor looked to the receding back of the captain.
"I feel compelled to go after him and warn him of his actions." Bootstrap laughed.
"Go on then…though I don't see it doin' much good," he added as an afterthought, watching her as she ran to Barbossa.
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"You're behaving rather childish over all this," she said as she pulled on Barbossa's sleeve to slow him down. He immediately halted and proceeded to yell at her.
"I thought I were bein' FAIR about the whole business! Lord only knows what came over me—"
"Fair, eh?" she shouted back. "Being so's we all have a fair share in the curse, I say!" The captain pushed her out of the way and hurried to the steps leading up to his cabin. "Do you even know what it's supposed to do to you?" she asked his back.
"He who taketh from this chest shall suffer among the living as the undead," he quoted. Elinor stopped at the top step.
"Where?"
"Inscription on the chest," he explained, not looking back as he opened and shut the door of his cabin behind him.
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