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I claim nothing. It's up to the ghost of Uncle Walt, the Disney machine, the writers of PotC, and Johnny Depp to fight it out.
Raphe1, Rennie1265, and Virgo79, thank you for sticking with me. Welcome Spec-chickie!
Thank you all for your reviews.
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Black Hearts and Silence -by BlackJackSilver
Chapter Two-
The Box
Old Leadgullet Mullet, no matter what his real name, is soft as a kitten now; but folks in St. Christopher still tell stories about him and whisper his secrets when they think he can't hear. If half the rumors are true, he was a fisherman, an explorer, a merchant, a spy, a murderer, a forger, a gambler, a war hero, a blackmailer, a smuggler, a courtier, and a pirate. None of their stories are true, of course. His youth was a lot more interesting, a lot less cut and dried.
The Cart and Wheel, or Catherine Wheel, if you prefer as he does, has been his dive for years now. It's down by the docks where a lad can have a drink, fall in love for the night, or meet up with the impresser's gang and come to a bad end serving bravely in the Navy. True, the gangs haven't been around as much, since that one gang got themselves caught, somehow.
Outarmed and outnumbered, they were, by a mob of sailors' women- wives, widows, mothers, sisters, daughters and doxies. A couple of the pretty ones lured them into the back room, where there's really only one way in or out, unless yer head's hard enough to make it through the wall. Well, not one man amongst them had a head that hard, not for lack of trying, either.
Likely them women would have beat them all to a bloody death, and never thought tupence about it. One of the lassies went into labor, though. The rest got caught up in helping her. They decided to let the gang drag themselves off as best they could, seeing as how they were underfoot, distracting everyone with their moaning and bleeding, and what have you. Wonderful people, women are, so much potential. Not a lot of men can be as warm or as cold.
There were only two women in his life now. Throughout most of it, there had been either two or many. Even when he had his mother, he had the sea, and whore though she be to other men, ever faithful she'd been to him. She'd given him everything he'd ever wanted and more. To him, the sea was as forgiving as she was generous. She'd never asked him to be faithful, no, quite the contrary. The only thing ever she wanted from him was the easiest thing for him to give her. She took his very soul.
Somehow, the sea had made him into the kind of man a wife could love. Then the sea had brought his wife to him. His wife, before she died, gave him the only woman he could love more than her, that woman's name is Cathie. She helps her father run the Cart and Wheel.
"'Ere you go Da, a presie fer ya!"
"Wha's this? Taint me birthday, ya wee witch."
"Not from me, is it? Make little enough and find better ways to spend it. Some salt brung it in here fer ya. Didn't leave his name, but he looked just the worthless gob who'd know ya, tha's fer sure. Watched him, case he tried making off with what's bolted down."
"Tha's me girl! Unlikely he'd be stealin', Cathie. If he took one look at ya, he wouldn't dare!"
"People dare plenty. Some bloody rascal stole the bones I put aside fer poor old Tom's dog. Stuff goin missin round here all the time. Happens mostly when yer on yer own I notice. I'd swear you was stealing from yer self. Problem is you let this lot prance around like they own the place. Makes em think they can git up ta all kinds a tricks. When they try them tricks 'round me, I make em regret it, I do."
"Aye lass, you'll make a man die of regret some day, I've no doubt."
"If he plays his cards right, I may do just that. 'Ere you, open that! I'm dead curious what's gonna jump out, and bite ya hard if I've been sayin me prayers right!"
"If you been sayin prayers at all, and I doubt it."
Cathie made a grab for the box but the old man was too quick.
"Damn yer curiosity! You know what happened to the cat, girl!"
"That sounds like a threat. Eww! I hope that was a threat! Haven't practiced my punch since the Press Gang was here!"
"Now I never laid hand on ya when you was little, so don't go busting me teeth now that I'm too old ta defend meself."
"Wouldn't really belt ya, Da! Even if ya do deserve it."
"What a man deserves has got nothin ta do with it. I'd be the King of England fer all the good turns I done ya, lass."
"Ya named me after a bloody pub!"
"No, I named ya both after a ship, ya silly girl."
"How was I ta know that? Must a been a real scallywag to be so quiet about yer past."
"Time only flows on, Cathie. No sense to be dredging. Sides, old men aren't the same men they were when they was young men."
"Yer not all that old, are ya, Da?"
"I am old, Cathie. Best not to expect that I've got too many more years left in me. Now don't go looking sad, girl. I've been lucky. With most folks, like yer ma, years don't have nothing ta do with it."
"I'm kind a hopin when yer time comes ye'll be too bloody stubborn ta go. Matter of fact, ya kin save up all yer stubborness fer that."
She eyes the box meaningfully. Her father throws his head back and laughs from his belly.
"Oh, but that was a fine try though! No, I think this is me private business, Cath. Could be it's not fer me at all. Wouldn't want ta go spoiling yer next birthday, now, would we?"
"If tha's fer me, I'll eat it, whatever tis. How dim d'ya think I am, Da?
"Always getcha something, girl."
"Aye, usually the day before, or the day after, even, if yer having a particularly fergetful fit. Nothing wrong with that! Jus don't try and get around me with those pathetic lies what only work on yer silly whores."
"Now don't go callin em my whores, my girl. Wouldn't touch a one of em with your hand."
"Not and see tomorrow, ya wouldn't."
"You watch the place. Going upstairs fer a while."
"Bites ya? I hope it bloody buggers ya, ya sneaky lyin old bastard!"
"Cathie, apple of me eye, who taught ya how ta swear like a sailor?"
"You did Da."
"Aye, and don't ferget it!"
Upstairs consists of two rooms. Cathie's room is nearly as small, but unquestionably nicer, with a real window and a proper cot. His own, has a hammock, a lantern, and a sea chest. He sits on the chest and stares for a moment at the parcel on his knee. Leadgullet can't explain it, but he has the queerest notion that he doesn't want to know the contents.
He looks at the knot, sure that a sailor had tied it. He shakes it a bit and listens as something heavy for its size thuds against the sides. He smells the paper. He can smell the sea, and something else, faint as it is, that gives him the shivers. It is a thoroughly unnatural smell. What ever is in the box had been the devil's own. Leadgullet was sure of that.
He takes a key from around his neck and opens the thick lock on his chest. He tries not to mind putting the box next to Cath's first pair of shoes. He locks the chest, knowing he can't keep it there for long. Last thing he wants, is to go and die, and leave it up to Cathie to open that box.
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(Chapter 3 coming soon)
A couple of quick notes-
St. Christopher has been called St. Kitts since the 18th century. It may well have been referred to as St. Kitts before that- who knows?- somebody here does, I know it! Any Kittians about?
Signs bearing Catherine Wheel and corruptions of that name once adorned many a pub. That fact, and not the band, was my inspiration here.
What happened to the press gang is based on numerous incidents throughout the history of impressment (a fascinating subject if someone is looking for one.) In some cases, the very sailors the gangs meant to kidnap took pity on them and saved them from female relatives.
Some of the more colorful punishments handed to press gangs by women include: bramble whippings, being tossed in with hungry dogs, being dragged naked through the streets, tar and feathers, and my personal favorite, beatings with stockings full of rocks.
Best to stay on the good side of sailors' women, mates.
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