Title: Swimming Above The Sharks

Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing these two characters. Technically, they're Disney's property…which sucks. But because they're sub-canon characters, Disney wont notice if I steal them for a while…Mwa ha ha ha…!

ANY OTHER CHARACTER IS MINE!

Summary: Mallot and Grapple discover themselves stranded, accidentally marooned, and with a hell of a lot of gold. That and Mallot intelligently points out they're not cursed any more.

Notes:  Well...Another chapter has cometh! I hope the previous chapters haven't been to short or to long. I also hope I'm not focusing on one character and not the other. I'm attempting to evenly spread them out. Really, I am!

Chapter Eleven: Captain Dubow, Son of Dubow and Dubow's Daughter

The ship came within another three hours and some odd minutes. The sun was set, the stars were shinning, and the fire was out, yet the ship kept coming. It had spotted the flame and smoke earlier, and was heading to the island, dedicated to its course.

Captain Edward Skye Cassiel Richard Alexander Dubow the fourth was an imposing man to captain said ship.

He stood at six feet and four inches. He weighed over a hundred and thirty pounds. He was an experienced privateer, forty years old. He wore a deep green velvet jacket with large sleeves and golden brochette. Black breeches that were tucked into polished black boots clad his legs, a belt with two pistols and a cutlass went around his waist, and two cutlass belts went over his chest, shoulders and back, six pistols on each one. He had a long black moustache and no beard, yet a black felt tri-corn hat with four coloured feathers sticking out of it made up for lack of style.

He was the captain of the privateer vessel, Son of Dubow, a Dutch Flute ship rumoured to have double-crossed her nation, Britain, and collect the letter of Marquee from Britain, France, and Spain. The Dutch Flute gave a lurch backwards and a few crewmen were pitched back slightly, caught off-guard.  Captain Dubow had one admitted weakness, however. His twenty-three year old daughter, Zafira Mary Dubow. He had tried to send her to live with her aunt after her mother, Mary Dora Angelina Riggs (Riggs being her maiden name) passed away, yet the girl had been raised on the sea for to long. He had been a foolish man he often scorned himself, for letting his family accompany him on his ship like many other seamen from different nations did. Yet regardless of her upbringing around seamen and violence, Zafira was witty and polite.

As far as he knew.

Zafira had a sly look about her. Her thin lips often curved into a sneaky grin, and (as much as her father refused to believe) her legs were always parted and welcome to…company.

Captain Dubow gazed out over the Caribbean waters, sweating profoundly in his velvet jacket. He detested the Caribbean heat, yet the routes of the ships he could capture were most prominent and flourishing in the region. He stroked his moustache with an elegant right index finger, before tapping his chin. The fire his spotter had seen over three hours before had gone out, yet he remembered exactly where it was.



The small island was growing bigger by the second. He wandered towards the helm, ordering the helmsman to take head of reefs and sandbars. Standing by the side of the man, Dubow twitched his nose, causing his moustache to twitch ridiculously with it. The island was close enough now, to anchor Son of Dubow and send a boat to the island to investigate the flame. Perhaps some unfortunate soul had been washed away in the storm a night ago, and would gladly join up with the crew…
Indeed. That was what was to happen! Fate would not make up the minds of the stranded. They'd be so grateful, the sailor would throw himself into the crew in gratitude, and he'd serve Captain Dubow well…



"Sir! Two!" the man in the crow's nest called down and Dubow bristled. Fate had, once again, gone behind his back. Ah, well, two additions to the crew were fine. Yet, he wondered if, instead, they had been marooned and not washed overboard, as the first rowboat was dropped into the water with six men in it. He watched as they began to row towards shore, where the figures of two humans by a destroyed fire were sitting.

On shore, Grapple shook his brother awake from his half-asleep state, pointing to the Dutch Flute so near to the island. His brother took off his repaired hat, waved it half-heartedly in the air, gave a quiet, "Hurray!" and slammed his hat back on before trying to go back to sleep. Grapple rolled his eyes and walked towards the shore, looking cautiously at the silver mist that had re-settled over Mallot and was no longer visible. His brother had informed him that, at numerous points in their time at on the beach, a very sparse silvery mist had lifted from him yet returned. Jacoby had returned with coconuts filled with fresh water, which the living pirates drank greedily. Yet since then, they hadn't seen a stream of smoke from the bearded pirate.

"Ahoy!" a man from the rowboat shouted, and the boat's bow scrapped up against the sand. The men, six in total Grapple noted, leapt out and dragged it further onto shore so it wouldn't flow out with the tide. The lantern on the front of the boat swayed dangerously.

"Ahoy," Grapple answered back, tensing as the men came forth. He cradled his burnt arm against his chest protectively, taking an automatic step back as one of the men reached into his jacket.

"S'all right, we ain't gunna 'urt you!" the man said, drawing out a pistol and holding it in the air. A stream of gunpowder fell from the barrel reassuringly.


As the men got closer, they got a good look at Grapple. They muttered quietly to each other, gesturing with a hand or nudging their head in his direction.

"Jesus, lookit 'is arm!"

"Look at both his arms! Nuttin' but muscle!"

"Bad burn…"

"Not from the'h Navy, thar's f'er sure…"
"Lookit the weapon 'e's got!"

"Nasty wound…"
"Mebbe 'e's fr'em a merchant ship?"

"Tchah! Pirate, if'n y'ah ask me…"

"Looks loik 'ee culd knock a man out wit' a single blow!"

"Oy! I am very sick of people whispering things as though I weren't there!" Mallot suddenly said loudly, emerging from his 'hiding' spot behind the boat wreckage, where he had been hidden from view. He limped in the sand, yet managed to carry himself with a certain pride. Plus, his confidence rose when the men noted the horrible looking mallet swinging from his right arm, the metal bars along it's edges glinting in the moonlight, and the rusted nail protruding from one end causing a few nervous glances.


"We're crew under Captain Dubow of the Son of Dubow! We're 'ear to, uh…"

"Rescue us…?" Grapple suggested with a smile, his crikey accent and slightly deep yet gruff voice only influencing the first impression of him.

"Yeah…Rescue…you…"

"I," the leader of the group, who had called the greeting to them stepped forward, "Am First Mate Chancey. We are to escort you gentlemen to the privateer vessel Son of Dubow immediately, where you will serve under our captain. Misters…uh…?" Chancey paused in his introduction, giving the two pirates uncertain looks.


Mallot sneered nastily, and swung his mallet over his shoulder almost effortlessly, yet a wince crossed his face from the weakness of dehydration and the jolt of the weapon landing.
"Mallot."

They looked to Grapple next, who 'absently' pulled his grapple out and inspected it. Looking up, he answered casually, "Grapple."

Chancey nodded and gestured behind him to the boat. "Please, accompany me."
"I doubt we 'ave a choice," Mallot said lightly, limping past Chancey and hopping into the boat ahead of everybody else. Grapple chuckled, almost darkly, grinning as he consciously made the rescue party nervous.

A half hour of rowing (to which Mallot entertained himself by making the crew uneasy and nervous) later and the boat was pulled up. Unloading themselves, the crew stood to attention as Captain Dubow stalked forward in his entire moustache, velvet and straight posture glory.

The brothers were not impressed by his prim and proper look.
Dubow smiled at them, showing his yellow and silver teeth, looked them over, and nodded once to congratulate himself on an excellent find. The two men looked strong, dangerous, and frankly their weapons alone looked intimidating. However, he noticed a single flaw about them.
They looked half dead.
The taller, yet slouching, stronger looking of the two with the goatee and (heaven be thanked!) slightly sloppy moustache had his left arm curled against him, and the flesh looked burnt, scabbed, and was trickling with yellow puss. The one wearing the sad tri-corn hat and scruffy, longer beard and with incredibly straight posture, was wheezing as he breathed, and looked pale as though he hadn't had a drink or slept in ages.


"I, gentlemen, am Captain Edward Skye Cassiel Richard Alexander Dubow the fourth. I am allocating you to enlist as contributors to my abundant assemblage."

The two men blinked at him, and the one with the mallet laying over his shoulders swung it down, the head landing with a loud thud on the deck.
"Can you say that in English, mister Dubow?" he inquired, sticking his neck out slightly and asking innocently yet arrogantly. Dubow's nose twitched indignantly, as did his moustache.
"You are now apart of my crew! Misters…uh…?"

"Mallot."

"Grapple."

"Not your weapons, your names!"

"Mallot."

"Grapple."
"NAMES, gentlemen!"

The two pirates looked at each other before replying.

"Grapple?"

"Mallot?"

"Names, men!"

The pirates pointed at each other and themselves when they answered again.
"Mallot."
"Grapple."

"AUG!"

"Sir, those are they're names…" Chancey said, grinning ever so slightly.

"Oh, well then. Mister Mallot, Mister Grapple, you will collect your duties from Mister Chancey after you visit the ship's doctor. His name is Mister Robin, and you will find him in the mess hall.

"Cook," Mallot grumbled. "He's the cook…"
Grapple groaned in disappointment, looking bleakly at his burned arm.

~*~

Whew! I updated.