Ambrosia of the Sea
Chapter 10
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"Let me pass."
A strong arm stopped Elinor North as she stepped into the late afternoon sun. The light nearly blinded her before a tall shadow stepped between them.
"I can't let you do that, ma'am," Mr. Merret said, pulling out his pistol.
"Like hell you can't!" Elinor shouted, holding her own weapon to the man's side.
Dove Merret was a strong, solid man. He knew about the world and about life, even if he never completed his formal education. He was charming and savvy, commanding female ears and eyes with a soft smile and baby-faced looks. His age never stopped him; despite being the oldest member of Morrissey's crew, he was also the tallest, and still had a way with men and women alike.
His charm, however, was running low at the moment. He was tired and stressed. Things became complicated the minute Nigel's men set foot on the Pearl—no one had been expecting the captain's grand pursuit to be aboard.
God, how long had they been chasing her? It seemed like forever. Everyone thought it crazy, that Morissey was obsessed. He was chasing a bird that could not be caught. That was what Dove had said to the captain after his third try—the one where he gave her that scar.
Merret had a good view of it now as a piece of broken class nearly pierced the side of his uniform. Elinor's fiery eyes bore into his. Dove wanted to throw Nigel to the sharks. Why didn't he just lock her up with the rest of them?
"You wouldn't dare," he hissed at her. His accent was American, which surprised the woman. Odd to have an American in a British Naval Officer's position, she thought. She lost herself for a moment, gazing into his gray eyes towering above her. They held so much more depth and emotion than those of Barbossa or Morissey. Right now, however, they looked more agitated than anything else.
Elinor scowled and pressed the glass deeper. She heard it pierce his jacket and come in contact with his skin. Merret let out a groan and arched, his knees buckling slightly.
"That's enough," came a stern voice from behind the pair. North recognized it but did not let up on the pressure. "I said that's enough!" Nigel shouted as he pushed the woman to the side, so hard it sent her to the boards.
"I told you we should've locked her up," said Merret as his captain examined his injury—merely a scratch.
"Shut up, Dove. Or you'll be the one I send below." His tone was final. On the deck, Elinor scrambled to recover her weapon. Once found, she stowed it back in her dress. Spinning on her, Nigel threatened, "Don't make me follow his advice, Steelwater. Any more trouble and—"
"Fine," she snapped as she jumped up. The two stared at each other before Elinor pushed past him and headed for the stairs. She avoided the eyes of the other crewmembers that were attracted to the spectacle.
"Mr. Merret, I want you to accompany the lady below deck," Morissey commanded.
"What!?" exclaimed Dove and Elinor in unison. Nigel scowled and his cheeks reddened.
"I'm sorry, was I whispering?" he asked, moving in on his officer. Merret shook his head slowly, knowing he was in trouble. "GO WITH HER!" his captain shouted, pushing him toward the stairs. The officer stumbled before straightening his jacket and motioning for North to get a move on. "One hour, you two!" Nigel shouted to their retreating backs.
Neither seemed to notice.
The afternoon sun cast a ghostly haze over the stairs leading below deck. Elinor could barely make out the muffled voices and shuffling of the men in the cells.
This is why she wished to visit; she wanted to see her crew, the crew of the Fates. Closing her eyes to help them adjust to the sudden darkness, North stepped down into the prison.
Her heart immediately sank.
Seven cells lined the walls. Three were filled with those of Barbossa's crew—a fourth held the man himself. The captain lay on his side on a bench supposing to be a bed. His arms dangled lifeless off the edge, his hat lie on the ground beneath him. He didn't look up as Elinor and Dove entered the area.
North glanced at the crew; not a face belonged to her lot. She frowned at their worn and tired faces as she stepped further into the darkness. After bumping into a table, she winced slightly. The corner had dug into her thigh.
Looking down, her eyes fell upon the Holy Bible.
A million thoughts and images flashed across her closed lids as she shut her eyes in a lousy attempt to stop the flooding memories.
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"'And now these three remain: Faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.'" A tall, slender woman closed the Holy Bible, resting one hand on its black cover. With the other she stroked the hair of her daughter's head. "Remember the love, Ellie. Always keep it in your heart."
"I will, Mother." The woman bent to kiss Elinor's forehead. How she missed that affection.
After tucking her in, Beatrix North blew out the light and went to the door.
"I love you, Ellie. More than life itself."
"I love you too," was the response.
That was the very last time Mrs. North ever read to her daughter, the final turn of the sacred scripts. It used to be that every night she would read to Elinor, teaching her the ways of the Lord. The young girl listened intently, knowing that the stories and verses were important but not fully understanding why.
Love, her mother had insisted, was the single most important thing a person can possess. Love for oneself, for others, and for Jesus the Father.
"But I thought Papa was my father," Elinor inquired one night.
Samuel North was captain of the merchant ship Horizon, which sailed to India and East Asia. He was only home for three months out of the year, but when he was with them Elinor and her mother both took full advantage. Elinor loved to hear stories of his journeys while sitting in his lap, gazing up into his pale blue eyes. Even more so she adored her father's voice—a sensual blend of Irish and English. She loved placing her small hands into his dark rough palms and wrapping herself around his lean torso or broad shoulders. Her father was a loving man but a stern one as well. The sea hardened him. Elinor learned without being told when to quit; all it took was one furrow of those dark brows.
"Of course he is, Ellie," the woman laughed. "Jesus is your father too. He lives in here," she said, pointing to the girl's heart. Elinor looked into her mother's soft eyes, still not understanding. Beatrix sighed. "You'll learn one day, don't worry."
That one day never came. The time that passed between her father's visits grew unbearable. He remained faithful to his wife and child, but time spent with them usually consisted of him napping or running errands for the company. It was hard in those days not to let the sea get the best of you, but Sam reluctantly longed for the day he returned to the Horizon. Saltwater flowed in his veins by the time Elinor turned eleven.
Her mother had been growing steadily mad, neglecting her daughter and turning to other men. Elinor would lie awake at night with the covers over her ears, attempting to block the noises from the room next to hers. The sound of her mother's loneliness and guilt. Her mother became unstable, paranoid when her father came home. Never wanting him to touch her or be alone with her.
Samuel never understood that it had nothing to do with him; she felt herself unworthy.
A few weeks before his return and a few after Elinor's eleventh birthday, her mother came to her in the middle of the night. She tore open the door to her daughter's room, shaking her awake and telling her to grab her things. As Elinor rubbed her eyes, she saw another man in the doorway—a strange, large man with a rough black beard and beady eyes.
"Mama—" she yawned as her mother frantically stuffed Elinor's belongings in a shabby old bag. Beatrix quieted her, looking to the man in the doorway. He checked his pocket watch.
"Something has happened, Elinor. I must go to London to tend to your Aunt."
"Right now?"
"Yes, right now. It's urgent." Mrs. North pulled her daughter out of bed and through their home, the large man striding behind them.
"Who is that, Mother?" Elinor inquired as they stepped out into the street. The air was cool, sending chills down the young girl's spine.
"He is my ride into London, child," came the only answer. Beatrix held her daughter's hand tight as they made their way to the neighbor's home. Elinor saw under the light of the moon the glint in her mother's eye; she looked savage. They stopped at the door of Mrs. Weatherby—a withered old widow who refused to be known as such.
"Why can't I come too?" Elinor cried as she was placed in the hands of the old woman. Her mother told her not to worry, that her father would be home soon to take care of her. "What about you?" the girl asked with tears in her eyes.
"I will see you again, I promise." With a kiss on the forehead, Beatrix North thanked Mrs. Weatherby and walked out of her daughter's life forever.
When Samuel North returned home that year he found a note on his kitchen table, explaining the disappearance of the women in his life. His wife had run off with another man, not able to take the distance and time away any more. His daughter was only next door with the neighbor.
Surprisingly, he was not upset.
The sea does strange things to a man.
Or perhaps it didn't really matter as long as he had Elinor. She was so happy to see him. His heart sank a little when Elinor explained what her mother had told her.
"When will I see her again, Papa?" she asked after kissing his cheek and hugging him tight. Before Sam could think of an answer she shook her head and said, "Oh, it doesn't matter, as long as you're here!" They both laughed (Sam out of nervousness) and returned to their home.
A week later it was sold, along with most of their furniture and other various belongings. So in love with the sea was Sam that he was willing to take his daughter with him and live full-time on the Horizon. There was no need to ever come back to land to live more than a few days.
Elinor was thrilled beyond words.
And so it went. Eight years passed while the young girl grew to love the sea herself. She learned every possible thing she could and met so many people while traveling with her father to India, China, and the Americas. It was a dream come true.
When she turned nineteen, Samuel North had a talk with his daughter.
"My next assignment is in the Caribbean," he started, closing the door to his cabin. Elinor's eyes lit up. Sam did not look her in the eye. "I can't afford to take you with me." He cringed as Elinor shouted.
"What!? Why? Am I a bother? A nuisance? I think not. I do more work and know more than half the men on this ship—"
"Ellie, I can't afford risking your life. There are pirates in the Caribbean—vicious, savage, murdering pirates." He took her face in his hands. "I don't want to lose you."
"You won't, Papa," she assured, kissing his hands.
"That is why you will be joining your uncle in Penzance."
Elinor protested all the way to her uncle's orchard, but stayed put when her father left.
It was the last time they were to see each other.
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"Get on with it, North."
There came a rough shove from the side, and Elinor stumbled into the darkness of the brig. Dove Merret gave her a stern look. She didn't have the strength to give one back.
All those men, dead. My father among them.
North strode to Barbossa's cell, her father still on her mind. The captain lay on his side, arms hanging. Elinor knelt down on the opposite of the bars and looked into his glazed eyes.
"You look like hell," she said. His nostrils flared but his eyes remained fixed on hers. They sat in silence a moment, before Elinor extended her hand to him. "Come now, nolite te bastardes carborundorum."
Barbossa gave a weak smile and lifted his weary head. He turned toward Merret.
"Don't worry about him," Elinor soothed, still holding out her hand. He then turned to his crew, packed into three cells across from them. "Or them." When he finally lifted himself from the bench, North stood to welcome him. His kiss was half-hearted. "I promise I'll get you out of here," she whispered into his coat as they embraced. "We'll seek revenge together and restore our dignity." Barbossa pulled away. She could tell he was tired, and yet there was something else there. "What is it?"
"Strange feelings are stirring within me, lass. Nausea an' light-headedness, sure. But somethin' else as well…a feelin' of being here, yet not." He looked at his hands. "I feel numb, which is odd teh say cause I can' really feel anythin'." Barbossa gazed over her shoulder at his men. "The crew feels the same." She followed his eyes, noting how many of his crew looked…she couldn't find any other word than…dead.
"It's probably just this atmosphere," she assured, not convincingly. She had never seen Barbossa so distraught.
"You have to get me out of here," he said suddenly, clutching the iron bars. "We have to get the Pearl back."
"I'm working on it," she soothed, holding him. After kissing his forehead she walked back down the lane. Before reaching the pool of darkening sunlight at the bottom of the stairs a hand reached out and grabbed her ankle, pulling her to the floor. She gasped as she fell, only to be met face-to-face with Bootstrap Bill.
"Bill!" she exclaimed. He smiled at her, looking fairly healthy. "You look good, compared to the rest of this lot." He laughed.
"Crew's been moanin' all mornin'. They look sick and are actin' mighty scared."
"Of what?"
Bootstrap shook his head. "Don't know." There was silence as North adjusted herself on the floor, leaning against the bars as Bill did.
"Tell me about Jack Sparrow," she said. She could feel the tension as he shifted against her.
"Good man," he started. "Good pirate." North snorted. "Not yer typical pirate. He was merciful, Jack was."
"A merciful pirate? Bah!"
"Well not in a normal man's sense, but definitely a pirate's. He never shot an unarmed man. No women or children, neither. And he never, ever, shot a captain. Too much respect." Elinor couldn't believe the man even passed for a pirate. "It was horrible—what they did teh 'im…what Barbossa did. He didn' deserve it…the mutiny, the maroonin'…"
"So you knew him all along? Were with him from the beginning?" the woman's curiosity obviously troubled Bill. He cleared his throat, unable to hide the truth any longer.
"No. The Pearl and Jack attacked the merchant ship I was workin' on a few years back."
"Merchant ship?" Elinor's ears perked.
"Yeah, the captain was lookin' for some good men 'case we were attacked. I took the job thinkin' it'd be easy money." He chuckled. "I've worked on plenty a-ship before, but never in the harsh sun of the Caribbean."
"So what happened?" the woman asked, impatient with his minor tangent.
"Jack left few alive that day. Usually he takes whatever man power he chooses to keep alive, including the captain—"
"Because a captain has an obligation to his ship." Bootstrap stopped.
"Not just an obligation, lass." Elinor lowered her head. Of course not, she knew it was more.
"He said, though, that the ship weren't what he needed. Odd behavior, really. But no one could really blame or question him." He stopped again, not wanting to go on.
"Why?" she pushed.
"Because the captain had been shot." Elinor inhaled sharply.
"But Jack never killed—"
"It was Barbossa, his first mate." The woman looked at the captain down from where they sat. "Jack tore him up good after we got back aboard."
"You went with him?"
"Obviously. He offered me a post, said he could use a man like me. Besides, I had nowhere else teh go. Anyway, a few weeks after Barbossa and company mutinied. It was horrible. I protested all the way up teh the moment we left him on that isle." He sighed. "Haven't been on Barbossa's good side ever since." He finished abruptly. Elinor thought it odd.
Silence.
Her mind began to turn, putting the pieces of Bill's story together. A merchant ship in the Caribbean, attacked by pirates, the captain killed.
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It was raining the day that fateful knock came on her uncle's door. They had just finished supper when it came and Elinor went to answer.
"Thomas!" she exclaimed, embracing her father's very soaked first mate. He returned the notion, though with less effort. When she pulled away, she noticed he was alone.
"Where's—?"
"That's why I've come." Thomas sighed, stepping into the house and taking off his hat. "Your father…he…" The large man could hardly get the words out. He didn't need to. Elinor knew.
Ellie North died that day.
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"What was the name of the merchant ship you worked on?" she asked sternly.
More silence.
"Bill…" she turned to him, a strong man on the verge of tears.
"Damnit Elinor, I should have told you sooner." The woman froze. Bill placed a hand on hers. "I'm so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault. You didn't pull the trigger." Her unusual calm made him feel uneasy. He kept apologizing.
"Elinor," he said softly as she stood, "he doesn't know. He never asked for his name…I never told him." North turned to Barbossa, who sat on his bench now. His hat covered his eyes, his arms were crossed. He looked smugger than before she spoke with him. She fought hard to keep the tears back. But tears of what? Anger? Sadness? No, she had slept with the man who killed her father. There are no words for that.
"I'm going to get you out of here," she told Bill. He nodded, giving her a sympathetic look.
She walked toward the pool of light, now dimmed to a soft blue glow. Night had fallen. She advanced toward the exit, averting her eyes from the captain. He whistled at her as one would whistle to a whore; he did it in good fun, without knowing what she now knew.
"Let's go," she commanded Merret. He had watched her conversations closely, despite not hearing what they were about. She looked happy to be with the captain, relieved with the other of his crew.
But then something happened while talking to the second pirate, something he could see troubled her to the very core. He didn't question it.
"Tell me something, Mr. Merret…" North paused at the top of the stairs, looking up at the stars.
"Yes…?" Dove urged, slipping his hands in his pockets. Elinor blinked back tears before continuing.
"What would you do to the man who killed your father…if he was in your grasp?" Merret cleared his throat uneasily, not sure how to answer.
"I don't know…I never knew my father," he began, admitting something he never admitted with those he didn't know.
"Oh—"
"But, if I was in your position," he said quickly, "I would confront the bastard. If he showed no remorse…well, eye for an eye, I say."
"Yes, eye for an eye," North repeated softly, lost in thought.
By this time they had reached the captain's cabin. Elinor ran a hand over the wood, caressing her father's handiwork. Dove pushed the door open for her. Inside, Nigel Morissey sat at Elinor's father's desk, writing on official paper, stamped with the seal of the British Navy.
He was the last person she wanted to see that night.
Leaving the woman, the officer took his leave. Retiring to his chambers, he was to finally receive the rest he deserved.
But Dove Merret did not sleep well that night, troubled by what Elinor North had asked him…and how he had answered.
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nolite te bastardes carborundorum = Latin. Don't let the bastards grind you down.
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