A/N: Pintel was a tad bite peturbed about not getting much of the spotlight in Chapter 8, so Ragetti lets him have most of this chapter! For a fellow, who has so few redeming qualities, Pintel is a fun fellow to write, mind you, and this chapter is based on an image I got at 3AM at work. My job is mindless!

My thanks to my wonderful readers and reviewers, especially you, Peipei. I greatly respect your work, and I am glad that you enjoy this bit.

Thanks to my anonymous reviewer, whom I will read your stuff as soon as you let me know a penname or let me know you've written something.

Thanks to you, Forgettable Face. I appreciate the review and your story as well. I tried to find your Fictionpress piece, but the search engine comes up with nothing for your penname or story title. Let me know some more info on it, and I will try to check it out!

So, without further ado . . .

Chapter 9: A Devil and an Angel

Pintel was to stay in bed for a full week. Normally, he would have been pleased to have an excuse to laze around on his butt and do nothing and be waited on hand and foot like a king, but he was not the type to be ordered around by a bloody woman, a sissy doctor, and it's best not to discuss the descriptive terms he had for Ragetti. This wasn't to say that he was so eager to get back to work. He, by his very nature, put laziness to new heights, but he did feel just a tad bit guilty about his companion doing all the work. Ragetti didn't complain about his lot. That wasn't his special purpose in life. Actually, within a few hours after the doctor had managed to wake him and force some medicine done his throat, Pintel was feeling quite his old grouchy ornery self again. His grumbling and creative cursing had started as soon as he opened his eyes, and things steadily went downhill from there. At this particular time, he was feeling a certain aching call of Mother Nature, and he'd be damned (which was a very strong possibility considering recent events and rather nasty curses he'd lived through) if he was going to have a woman help him with his business, and he was sure as hell wasn't going to call for Ragetti's help. Not only did the fellow have enough to do, but Pintel had his doubts about the younger man sometimes.

Anyway, at some point in time during the late afternoon pushing early evening, Pintel could hold it no longer. He was feeling fairly decent anyway. The fever had broke for a time, and the medicine that Marita had forced down his throat no more than a half an hour ago seemed to be working its magic. He grumbled some not so nice obscenities about her and her special medicine administrating methods. She had no pity on the sick. She certainly knew where to hit a man to make him open his mouth, and she was quick and accurate with her aim to get the medicine down him. Despite this entertaining little drama, he was still feeling more his usual nasty self, and he'd pretty much forgot about being sick. Besides, he was more than a little bored. He was in the servants quarters alone. Ragetti and Marita were busy keeping the bakery going. He couldn't read or write, not that there was anything in the room for such activities. He could sit and think, but he tried often to avoid such strenuous work. He couldn't properly relax because of his aching problem. He did sleep on and off, but even that got tiresome, especially since he kept dreaming of Ragetti in one of Marita's dresses and having strange moonlight dinners with him. He really tried not to think about it, because it caused other objectiveable material for his stomach.

So, with that last horror in his mind, he decided to get up. He threw his feet out of bed and stood up. That was easier than he thought it would be. Somehow, this morning, this simple task seemed a lot harder and downright impossible. He looked around the room for a means for escape.

Pintel might not be the brightest candle in the candelabra, but he knew going through the only door of the room was out of the question. It would have dumped him right back into the kitchen, and if Marita wasn't there, Ragetti was sure to be, and he would get issued back to square one. Ragetti could be such a fuss about these things, and Pintel didn't really want to explore Marita's possibilities. He looked around the brightly lit room. A single window was positioned at waist level in the Southern wall. It was opened, allowing the fresh Caribbean breeze to filter into the small room. The older pirate nodded. This would be his means of escape.

He hobbled over to the window and took in a deep breath. It was good to be alive again, have lungs again, and be able to do that again, but it doesn't go over too well when one's lungs are full of goop. Pintel's body was wrecked with a harsh coughing fit. Once it passed, he found himself wheezing and sitting on the floor with his back to the window. Through the involuntary tears streaming from his eyes and clutching his chest, he looked around the deserted room. Good, he thought, no one noticed. he made a mental note and resolved no more breathing. It was bad for his health. With a bit of a struggle, he crawled up and over the window sill. He flipped out of the window and landed flat on his back. After thirty years of piracy, most pirates would have gotten the breaking and entering bit down pat. Oh well, this wasn't exactly breaking and entering. the window was already opened, and he was leaving the house. Not to mention, this situation was different from his piracy in two distinct ways. First off, he was used to the front door approach, where he and several of his cohorts, not so subtly knocked down the front door, killed anyone that got in their way, and took everything that wasn't nailed down. Secondly, and most importantly, he was sick, and that excused everything. So, after nodding his head in approval of a fine job of escape, he got up and brushed off his backside and went in search of the lou.

As before mentioned, Pintel's sense of direction was nothing to write home about, and it was better not to leave any kind of navigation to him. So, after a good quarter of an hour of searching, the pirate decided that he would just discreetly do some fertilizing of the weeds. After a few minutes, he emerged from the greenery, feeling much relieved and a few pounds lighter. Tugging his night shirt down, he headed back to the bakery. This place he could find his way back to without tying a piece of yarn to the bed post, because it was a rather big building for him to keep in his sights and make his way back to.

Whistling a nice pirate tune, that strangely enough wasn't a dirty ditty, he lifted his bowed leg to climb back through the window, when he heard a low warning guttural growl, that didn't belong to his stomach. Despite the warm balmy conditions of the Jamaican port city, he felt the chilling claws of ice creeping up his spine at this unknown threatening sound. He slowly lowered his leg and swallowed a sizeable lump in his throat. He turned about in slow motion to see a giant of a black muscular dog with fine sharp teeth bared in that certain little way that said, "Hi there! You didn't really need that throat, now did you?"

A nervous grin crossed the older man's lips. He held up his hands defensively and took cautious steps back and away from the window. The dog slowly stepped forward and never let the prey leave his sight. Sensing the proper time, the man turned tail and ran with amazing speed and agility for one of his age and his condition. The dog gave out a victory howl and went in hot pursuit.

Meanwhile, Ragetti, having cleaned himself up (Combed his hair, shaved, and washed off his hands and face . . . it's amazing what a woman could get him to do . . .), was busy sweeping the dirt out of the kitchen back door. He had spent the morning doing a good many chores, and he was quite proud of his achievements. After all, he had gotten a few approving grunts from Marita. He paused in his work for a bit, and he allowed a trickle of laughter to escape his lips. So, not only did chaos come at him from his right side, but his mind was not exactly in the same reality as everyone else. So, within moments, he was knocked down, pounded on by a desperately fleeing man, who had conveniently lost the seat of his nightshirt, then thumped by a 150 pound dog with the torn piece of cloth in its mouth.

After several entertaining Pintel curses, that were unique even to pirate dialect, and a shrill demanding cry of "Lucy! Stop that this instance!", peace was restored to the bakery once again. Recovering from his traumatic experience and a chase of and recapture of that wooden orb, Ragetti entered the kitchen to find Marita holding back the big black and brown dog and shaking a finger at it. Pintel sat up with his legs sprawled out on the floor and coughing.

Noticing the confused man's entrance, Marita ordered him, "Get him up and back to bed."

The taller man nodded in obedience, but Pintel pushed off the attempts to be helped. "I ain't that 'elpless yet!" he wheezed, "And I won't be treated like a blood' babe!"

"If the diaper fits," she remarked, and the dog enforced the point with a deep throaty bark.

The older pirate made a rude gesture to the dog, as Ragetti pulled him to his feet. He pushed off his companion and stood on his own for a moment, then his body having had enough of this romp and foolishness, collapsed into Ragetti's arms.

A half an hour later, Pintel found himself back in the bed with the watchful big bloodshot brown eyes of that black and brown dog on him. Ragetti bustled into the room with a heavily laden tray with his own and his companion's meal on it. He gently put the tray down on his bed. He dug under his bed a moment and pulled out a dark bottle and picked up a bowl from the tray. He poured the dark liquid from the bottle onto the collaborate of food in the bowl, then he placed it before the dog. The tall man petted the dog on the head, and the animal gave him a good size slobbery kiss across the face. A cheerful grin crossed the man's lips.

"I wouldn't be wearin' that big grin if I were ye. 'E just got done cleanin' 'is privates," Pintel commented.

Ragetti only shrugged and took a mug from the tray. He poured some of the liquid from the bottle into the mug and stirred it up with a spoon. Marita had managed to teach him something about eating utensils. "Mrs. Marita says ye must take yer medicine."

"Hmpf!" the other remarked, as he turned away from the offering. "I ain't doin' nuttin' fer 'er!" He turned away from his pirate cohort with his arms crossed. He gave a brief glance to the happily lapping dog. "I don't know which one is the bigger bitch, the mistress of the 'ouse or that damn mutt!"

"Uh," Ragetti replied, as he eyed the merrily eating dog with his good eye. "Pintel, that ain't no bitch there."

The older pirate looked at him puzzled, then he replied, "What boob names a male devil dog Lucy?"

"Mrs. Marita says 'is proper name be Lucifer," the other answered.

"Quite on the extremes, ain't she? She names 'er blasted musket St. Peter, and then she turns 'round and names 'er blood' dog after the devil. Little bit of 'Eaven and 'Ell, don't ye think!"

The younger man put the mug on the nightstand and went to scratch the back of his neck, then he remembered Marita's scolding about scratching the blisters. He pulled his hand away guiltily. "She says it were 'er 'usband's dog, but it ain't 'is fault fer who bought 'im. So, she keeps 'im 'bouts to protect the place."

"Figures," the other grunted.

"She says 'e's a good dog when 'e ain't runnin' 'bouts town. She says 'e'll take good care of ye."

"I bet. Take me throat out in the middle of the night, 'e will!" Pintel grumped.

Ragetti shook his head and petted the dog on the head. "Lucy ain't like that. 'E just took a shine to ye is all."

"By the seat of me pants," the other mumbled.

"Ye were wearin' a nightshirt, Pintel, not pants," Ragetti pointed out, as he dragged a chair over to the older man's bedside.

"Oh, do shut up!" growled Pintel.

The younger pirate picked up the mug from the nightstand. He offered it to his bedridden companion again. "'Ere, take yer medicine," he offered.

"Pah! I need no blood' foul tastin' gunk in me stomach to solve me problems!"

"Oh, Pintel, I made it up special fer ye," Ragetti encouraged, giving him one of his big sad eyed look, that even was effective with the one wooden eye in place.

"I don't care! There ain't no way yer gonna get that foul ichor in me throat!" he pouted.

"But, 'Enry, I put some rum in it just fer ye," the other pointed out happily.

"And, pray, where did ye find any rum in this 'ell 'ole?" he questioned, as he grabbed the mug from his friend. He grimaced at the contents, then he downed it in one gulp. This caused another coughing fit, but this one was not due to the pneumonia.

Recognizing the symptoms of potent stuff, Ragetti didn't fret, and continued on with his answer to question asked. "In the cellar last night. There were a whole crate full in the corner. I kinda thought that not all was right by ye since ye didn't notice it first. Ye've always been so good with these things," he replied as he brought the tray of food to him. He pulled the partial bottle from the nightstand and filled the dog's bowl with it again, then he filled Pintel's mug again. He finally took a good hearty swig from the bottle, emptying it. He discarded the bottle into the corner, then he pulled out two more bottles from under his bed and held them up for the other's approval.

"It be good stuff, too," coughed Pintel, "Not that watered down stuff from town!"

"I managed to bring up a few bottles with the sugar last night," Ragetti added proudly, "We do need the proper things of life now!"

Uncorking a new bottle and taking a hearty swig from it, Pintel squinted his eye at his taller companion. "Ye be an angel indeed, me boy!"