It's been a long time, and for that I apologize. Hope you remember most of the storyline. But an even greater hope is that you enjoy this chapter…
Ambrosia of the Sea
Chapter 12
"How's it feel, North?"
A voice crept from the shadows—a deep growl that curled around Elinor like a python around prey. Standing at the door to her cabin, the notes reached her ears, and she winced. This was not a voice of comfort or companionship. She sensed, for the very first time, the evil that now flowed freely through Barbossa, his crew…and presently, her ship.
Barbossa sat at the far end of the room, fingering an amber bottle of rum. Jack the monkey seemed fully recovered from his run-in with alcohol and now danced across the captain's shoulders. Barbossa did not look at the woman when he addressed her, instead focusing his gaze on the ambrosia he spun in his hands.
Elinor stood with her arms limp at her side, unblinking. Her ship. Her father's ship, really. The one he helped design and build himself, the one she had grown up on, and the one she eventually became captain, then captive, of. Oh how that ship had been corrupted through the years! Starting out as a mere merchant ship—simple tasks, voyages, helping to raise the economy.
Then falling into her hands. She had not had the patience for her father's line of work; she had wanted more. Adventure, yes, but revenge mostly. She had gathered the remaining members of her father's crew and obtained a few more rogues before returning to the sea. Yes, it had started out as revenge; she would find the man that murdered her father.
As they sailed toward the Caribbean, Elinor already knew how to find him—pose as a merchant ship, lure in the pirates, surprise and overtake them. Then search for him. The plan was based on chance, perhaps even sheer luck. After three, maybe four attacks, Elinor grew restless; she wanted results.
Thus began her life as a pirate. She left the grunt work to the other buccaneers and waited for them out on the sea. Her crew had warned that it would be harder to attack pirates than the unarmed wealthy, but they had underestimated themselves. They were strong while the others still recovered from their raids on towns and forts. North and her crew grew nearly invincible; every attack became easier than the previous, as if Fate was on their side.
It was when Elinor realized this that she renamed the ship. Not only had it hurt to look at the original name, but the vessel itself was no longer what it used to be. It was different, changed.
They had all changed.
And now, as she remembered her past and wondered about her future, she was reminded of the present as Barbossa repeated his question.
"Fer Chrissake, Elinor, what's in yer head?" he added, leaning forward in his chair—her chair…no, her father's chair, she quickly corrected in her mind. Barbossa dropped his feet from her father's desk, stood on her father's Indian rug, and came slowly toward her father's daughter. Jack slipped to the floor, following obediently. The rum was placed on top of whatever Morissey had last written.
Elinor fingered the keys hanging loosely from her hand. The keys which had triggered the realization of another change, an unwilling shift of possession of the Fates—from North to Morissey.
She shuddered at the thought of his name. The man who was so like her. Gripping the keys tight she thought no, they were nothing alike. She was a murderer…she was like Barbossa. Barbossa, who, with a look of concern (though would never admit to it) in those pale eyes, seemed ready to catch her should she pass out. Barbossa, who watched her keys with a growing discomfort.
Not her keys. They had changed the locks. They had changed everything—not physically, perhaps spiritually? The air was different, foreign. The aura surrounding the ship was corrupted, worn, defeated. Was it Morissey's fault? For bringing the law where it did not belong? Or was it Barbossa's doing? Who had brought evil upon the Fates?
Perhaps even Elinor herself, who brought the feeling of utmost loneliness. Who felt lost on the ship she had spent years with, on the sea she had loved for so long.
Angry tears formed at the corners of her eyes—her mother's deep brown eyes. Eyes that she had always hated because they came from a mother who had left her. Her and her father both. She blinked, inhaling sharply. Barbossa stopped. Digging the keys into her palm she stalked toward the object she had been subconsciously staring at.
Barbossa turned as she passed, but did not try to stop her. Whether because of the curiosity that had overtaken him or the determination that had blanketed her face, nothing was sure. Jack's curiosity pulled him to the desk, where he jumped to watch Elinor at work.
North slipped behind the desk and chair, bypassing the rum that called to her as Sirens do to sailors. Using one of the keys (she didn't know which one—did it matter?), she began tearing the Morissey family portrait from its frame. When she was finished (she had to use a chair to get at the top, not daring to ask Barbossa for help), she rolled the canvas tightly. Then, pulling a box of matches from one of the desk drawers and grabbing the rum, she walked over to the balcony.
A gloomy haze had crept over the sea, blocking most of the sun, blackening the water. Elinor stared down her murky reflection, distorted by the waves. Disconnected, a mess, wondering where to go to find the rest of itself.
Curiosity pushed Barbossa forward. Jack leapt to his shoulder as he passed the desk. Both watched as Elinor doused the portrait in the alcohol, then lit one end of it, throwing it quickly overboard. By this time they stood next to her, both leaning over the rail to get a last look at the flaming remains.
"Rest in peace," she murmured before turning around. She looked over the space, her eyes still far away, and took a long, slow drink from the remaining rum. Her throat burned as if she had never tried the liquid before. Finishing it off, she threw the bottle behind her to join the last of the portrait as it sizzled, popped, and faded into oblivion.
North then pried the plaque off its frame, placing it gently into her dress. As she returned to her desk, Barbossa cleared his throat. He flinched as she spun around on him, brows sunk deep across eyes that seemed to be on fire. She burned into him for a moment before the door behind him crashed open. Jack screamed, scurrying under the bed.
"Your affects, ma'—Cap'n," Ragetti corrected himself as he and Pintel dropped North's chest.
"Bloody idiots," Barbossa huffed at their handling of the trunk. Elinor's eyes lost their spark, but held their coals. She lifted one hand to silence the captain and used the other to wave his men away. As they closed the door behind them, Pintel muttered something about it being "just a bloody trunk."
Inside the cabin, Elinor took inventory of her belongings. Weapons and clothes were all there. She knew better than to look for any apples or rum, shuddering at the memory of how they had disappeared.
North picked out a shirt and breeches, with every intention of changing into them, but was stopped by the Pearl's captain.
"Not yet, lass," he said, that old lustful glint in his eye. He smiled at her wide eyes and raised brow.
"Oh no," she started, stuffing her clothes under her arm, "you're not getting anymore of this." Slamming the chest shut, she made for the bathroom. Barbossa cut her off, ready to play her game. He crouched as a tiger would before an attack. Elinor looked like the opposing cock, ready to put up quite the fight herself. Before either could make a move, however, the door crashed open once again. This time it was Bo'sun, who ignored whatever it was they had been doing (or about to do). He looked furious.
"Cap'n, Morissey's raisin' hell—" Sure enough, his voice was overtaken by the booming cries of the officer.
"STEELWATER! Get her out here! STEELWATER!" So, Elinor thought, he's gone back to calling her that—the name he used when he was chasing his family's murderer. Barbossa stuck out his arm, pointing toward the door.
"After you, Missy," he growled, obviously upset by the interruption. Elinor smirked as she exited the cabin, followed by the captain and Bo'sun. The sight she met erased her grin and brought upon her face a look of pity.
On the main deck stood four of Barbossa's men, each trying to sustain Morissey. He struggled right and left until he saw North. He jumped for her but his captors held strong. For this Elinor was grateful.
"What's this all about, Morissey?" she demanded, angry that he hadn't even been dragged down to the brig yet.
"He was goin' fine till we reached the steps," one of the men explained, who was missing a fairly large chunk of his nose. "Then he just started buckin', screaming fer—"
"I saw what you did, you heinous bitch!" yelled the officer, sticking his face in Elinor's. Funny-nose punched him in the gut once before North stopped him.
"What now?" she asked mockingly, crouching down to his bent frame, tempting him to try and insult her again.
"Filthy whore," he wheezed, not looking at her. She stood, nodding to the men, who proceeded to beat Morissey until he couldn't move and they no longer had to restrain him. "The portrait!" he spat after they were done kicking him. Blood trickled from his mouth as he withered on the wooden boards. "That was all I had left of them." He shut his eyes, on the verge of tears. "And you DESTROYED IT!" he screamed up into her face. Elinor lost her demeanor for a moment before realizing he must have seen the flames as they fell into the water.
"Aye, mate. I did. It's best not to live in the past, you know." She didn't believe a word of that; it was advice that she had never taken herself. Nigel tried to reach out and kick her, but the men were quicker. After a few more good kicks in the chest and back, North raised a hand to push them away.
"Might as well kill me too," came the soft, broken words. Elinor froze. The men around her had heard him and were nodding in agreement. Barbossa stood silent behind the captain, watching in amusement at her handling of the situation.
"Sounds good teh me," Bo'sun said as he dragged Nigel to his feet with one hand. Unmoving, Elinor avoided the officer's icy glare.
"I can't," she whispered.
"Why not!?" Morissey replied quicker than anyone else. "You killed the rest of my family, what more is there?" He paused, wiping blood from his chin. "Just me." Elinor stared at him before slowly shaking her head. Nigel started toward her but was pulled back by the large man behind him.
"Coward!" he shouted. "I have nothing to live for, NOTHING!" He continued his rant, blaming North for his lack of purpose, wanting her to take his life permanently.
When Barbossa could take no more of it, he stepped up to Elinor and placed his pistol in her hand. She looked helplessly at him, not wanting to be in her position. He glared back, annoyed at her hesitation.
"Yes, that's it, do it. Shoot me, Steelwater. Shoot me!" The man had gone insane, she thought, raising the gun to his eyes. He stood, nodding and grinning like a fool, waiting for her to pull the trigger. After a long minute with no shot, he let out a bellow that shook the entire crew.
"I knew it! You can't do it," he laughed, pointing at her. "You're no pirate. You're still just a woman."
Every man aboard turned his gaze to North, whose whole body had tensed—including her finger around the trigger. Nigel waited, eyes darting.
"Well? Wasn't that enough?" he asked, hoping that the insult would push her over the edge. "SHOOT ME!" he screamed. The crew was growing restless. They began shifting, rolling their eyes, waiting impatiently. Pintel muttered, "Do it already," to which many of the crew nodded in agreement.
Elinor licked her lips and tried to steady her trembling body. There was a ringing in her ears as she watched Morissey—dancing around, shouting like a madman, void of any of the decency and respect he once had as a naval officer. He was a sick animal now—a rabid dog that needed to be taken out to the shed and shot.
She had no idea what was stopping her. Normally she would have shot him as soon as the pistol was in her hand—sooner, if she had her own pistol at her side. Something was holding her back. A horrible prospect of being the first in line to enter Hell.
"I…I…"she stammered, the pistol shaking uncontrollably. Tears formed, knees shook—she looked about to collapse. It was then that Barbossa took matters into his own hands. He grabbed the weapon, pushed Elinor out of the way, and shot Morissey in the forehead.
Instantly he crumpled to the ground, where two of the crew picked him up. As they threw him overboard, Barbossa turned to the woman, whose tears were flowing freely.
"You bastard," she whispered, still shaking but with jaw tightly set.
"Only doin' what you bloody well should 'ave done ages ago," he answered, stuffing his pistol back into his coat.
"He was our best leverage!" she found herself shouting after the captain's retreating figure. Was that the reason she hadn't shot him?
Barbossa spun, brows furrowed. He seemed not to remember what she was referring to. After a moment he smiled.
"Ah yes, about that," he started. "Gents, the Fates be draggin'. Time teh lighten the load." The crew rejoiced before setting out to work.
"What? NO!" Elinor shouted as two strong arms grabbed her around the middle. She watched helplessly as each and every member of Morissey's crew was brought up on deck and made to walk the plank. Before the first man reached the end of the line, however, he was shot in the back. The crew laughed hideously as each man was brought up, some begging for their lives. Barbossa's wicked laugh filled Elinor's ears. She kicked and thrust, trying to free herself, but it was no use; the arms tightened with every struggle.
"Yeh didn' think I'd actually risk me neck by goin' into the lion's den, did yeh?" he asked as Elinor bucked. "Most of yer crew's probably dead by now anyway." He grinned as the realization hit her and she relaxed.
"Don't yeh think this has gone far enough, Barbossa?" asked a voice from next to the couple. Bootstrap Bill stood on the steps, arms crossed, watching the spectacle with fowl distaste.
"Questionin' me orders again, eh Bootstrap?" the captain asked, shifting himself and Elinor so that he could look at the lad. "What be yer problem these days, Bill? Yeh've been actin' so…noble." He spat out the word as if it were poison.
"No…never," Bill answered quietly, sarcasm dripping. Red crept into Barbossa's face as he pulled himself and Elinor closer to him.
"I have half a mind teh do the same teh you, lad," he hissed into his ear. Elinor could almost see the blood boiling inside Bill.
All those years he had dealt with Barbossa—first when he came onto the Pearl under Jack Sparrow. Jack took a liking to him almost instantly, which caused Barbossa to develop a jealous hatred for the man. The captain often wondered why he hadn't just marooned both of them on that God-forsaken island; at least that way they would have had each other.
When Sparrow was overthrown Bill had taken on a bitter demeanor. He always had something to say about the way Barbossa ran things. He seemed to have lost all respect for piracy—or at least what little he had. After all, he only became a pirate because there was nothing better to do. And even then he never truly thought of himself as one.
Now he was fed up.
"That's enough!" he shouted suddenly, before the first of the last three men were put to death. He threw out his arms, ran down the steps and pushed his way through the men, motioning for the soldier to come off the plank. Barbossa was right behind him, having thrown North to the side. The look on his face was murderous. He pulled his pistol and aimed it at Bill, who stopped in his tracks.
"We can't die, remember?" he reminded, thinking fast. He looked to Elinor, who now stood behind the captain, and hoped that what he said would work.
"Bloody hell," exhaled Barbossa, replacing the gun. Bill heaved a sigh of relief. The captain thought a moment as the men around him waited. Bootstrap had no plan; he just knew he had had enough.
But so had Barbossa.
"Lock him in the brig," he commanded before turning.
"Barbossa, you bastard!" Bill shouted as he was dragged below deck. Elinor watched helplessly as his head disappeared beneath the boards.
"My my, what a mess you've gotten yourself into now," she stated as she entered her cabin. Her renewed boldness startled her. Barbossa sat at the end of her bed, face in his hands. Quick as lightning he reached for her, grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto the bed. North struggled but was quickly pinned as the captain straddled her. As much as he had wanted her before, she seemed too much effort now. He was exhausted and needed to think of a deserving punishment for Bootstrap.
How do you kill a man who cannot be killed?
Elinor grunted as Barbossa rolled off of her. She longed to give him a few scars to match those he already had, but instead watched silently as he went to the window. Night seemed to fall fast—or perhaps it was merely the fog that seemed to grow thicker.
Barbossa looked back just in time to see North disappear into the bathroom, with clothes stuffed tightly under her arm.
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NOTE: Only one more chapter to go (I hope), then I'm going to start in on the sequel (which takes place during the movie). This means I get to write Jack and Will…woo hoo! Stick with me, people!