Again, I'm sorry this is late. RL has been a little insane lately, what with my sister getting married in little more than a week (I swear, come my turn, I'm eloping!). Anyway, thank you all for being so patient, and thanks to my reviewers for...reviewing. :)
Black Knight 03, wow, thank you so much—I'm honored you think so! :D pixievix, no Gordo yet but I hope the journey to Gordo is at least a little consolation! This is a little late to serve as a graduation present, swim6516, but thanks and congratulations...and I hope you kicked serious econ arse! I3itterSweet, yeah, Liz's a bit dense, eh? Let's hope she behaves herself now that she knows. :) I'm so glad you found this again, MP! I'm not the Sun Goddess (lol), but I have to admit physics/philosophy and fairy tales/folklore are two of my favorite things as well. Not that I know nearly as much about them as I'd like! Caz, I'm so glad you're enjoying this...and thank you for however many reviews you choose to leave—I love 'em all! Thank you, Purplerks, I hope you're still enjoying this by the time you get to this chapter. ;) MU, I certainly hope you can look forward to more of this in the next months...assuming RL permits. :? With such reviews, though, I definitely have incentive!
Chapter 15: Eliston
When the world came together again, Lizzie could do little more than stand, legs wobbling in tiny tremors beneath her, and breathe, which took a ridiculous amount of concentration for something she'd done all her life. Gah. She felt rather as though every particle in her body had been stirred up and shifted around before being yanked, with most unpleasant force, back into place again. Still more pleasant than the journey into the mother of the Sun's palace, granted, but as a mode of transportation, it could use a little tweaking.
Too bad the mother of the Sun wasn't around to hear Lizzie's thoughts on the matter, but Lizzie, eyes only just beginning to find shape and shadow out of blindness, knew without seeing that the goddess was gone.
Now, where had she left Lizzie?
She still couldn't see much, but her other senses had begun to rapidly piece themselves together again. So rapidly, in fact, that her next breath came as a blow, smells heavy and noxious curling in her nose, coiling on her tongue to draw a choking gag from her throat. Acrid smoke smeared into saltwater, the peppery stench of sweat spicing a rank stir of livestock and sewage. There were faint hints of yeasty bread or cinnamon, but amid the other scents they were rendered just another awful addition.
Wherever she was, it reeked.
Breathing through her mouth now, she decided it was probably a much better idea to rely on her other senses. Fortunately, her vision had mostly returned. Squinting around her, Lizzie realized she stood in a sort of alley, Tudor-style buildings on both sides, their overhanging second stories nearly meeting above her. Only a sliver of blue sky showed between them, and Lizzie turned gingerly toward the mouth of the alleyway to blink in the bright flood of sunlight there.
Stepping forward to stand just inside the shadows, Lizzie found herself looking out on a street. Not paved in cobblestones as she'd expected, the road was a mix of dry earth and gravel, grey dust billowing under feet and hooves and wheels alike. And there were a great many of those, all making a great deal of noise. Amid the roaring, teeming street was the creak of wagons, wooden, spoked wheels rumbling low beneath crunching hooves and jangling harness. Chatter burbled around sharp, shrieking ululations and the piercing shouts of vendors. And above all, somewhere high in the clear sky, came the demanding, plaintive cries of sea birds.
Eliston. It had to be. And Lizzie could do little more than gape at it.
How long had she been in this bubble universe, now? Probably not quite as long as she felt she'd been here, but long enough that she had started to feel almost comfortable with its oddities. And then, to come here, to this town, only to find herself amazed all over again. She looked up and down the street, at the steady march of building after building, all the same dark beam and white plaster. And the people swarming the roadway, most dressed like she and Gordo in variations of tunics and trousers or long, heavy skirts and aprons. But to actually see them all, a dizzying mixture of orange and rust and cream, lemon and indigo and grey, plum and olive and black, all so natural in their everyday wear, all going about their everyday business. So real. And yet, surreal. She almost expected it all to shimmer and fade, mirage-like, in the next moment.
But it didn't, not even as she put a toe in the stream of traffic, not even as she paused along its edge, wondering which way to the harbor.
A shift in the breeze brought a pungent mess of fish and salt that answered her question. Turning her face into it, she found herself staring down the street. That way, then. Fist tight around her little bag of pearls, Lizzie took a breath and jumped fully into the bustling current of the street.
Eliston turned out to be a rather hilly little town, the street striking along steep inclines, then winding in long, lazy curves around some knoll or other. Always, though, the sea breeze blew in Lizzie's face, and she was more than content to drift along in the flow of the crowd, wide eyes skimming from one detail to another.
There were so many thatched roofs, and the windows—nearly all of them unshuttered this fine day—were open to the air. Occasionally, Lizzie saw a window covered in what looked like yellow, greasy parchment, but not one had glass panes. And then there were the signs hanging over some of the doors—shingles, if she remembered. A few were easy to guess the purpose of: a needle for a tailor or a seamstress, a horseshoe for a blacksmith or even a stable, a mug for a tavern. But others she couldn't even attempt to understand. A feather—maybe for a scribe? An odd squiggly line—mapmakers? A perfect red square—Geometry Lovers Anonymous?
She was so absorbed in the living, breathing town around her that when at last the harbor swung into view, Lizzie nearly stopped dead in the middle of the road.
A fishing village, Eliston most definitely was not.
The harbor was huge. Or rather, the bay the harbor perched inside was huge. And busy. In addition to the boats moored peacefully along the docks, there were several more—sailboats, rowboats, long, many-oared boats—zipping across the water. And then, still sheltered within the curving, crescent arms of land enclosing the bay, were the ships.
It wasn't the first time she'd seen something like them, of course—not when she'd watched all the Pirates of the Caribbean movies a million times—but somehow seeing them in person, real, was completely different. They were beautiful. Sleek and majestic, complex, power coiled in the rigging, waiting to be unfurled with the sails. They just about stole her breath. And they succeeded in stopping her feet.
"Ah, there's a sweet bit o' poetry, there," said a gruff voice, a hand at her elbow propelling her with careful efficiency out of the street. "Find it hard not to stare myself when I see 'em. But y'd be best not to do so in the middle of the road."
Blinking, Lizzie turned to see an older man grinning at her through a bushy grey beard, dark brown eyes twinkling beneath the brim of a faded blue cap. With an uneasy smile, Lizzie stammered, "T-thanks."
"Ah, 'tis no trouble, little miss," the man shook his head. "I'm not a sailing man, myself, but y'can't live in Eliston long without gaining a little understanding of the sailor's love f'r it."
Swallowing a little of her apprehension, Lizzie managed to ask, "So you live here?"
"Aye. Have done for almost all m'life. Sometimes I think I can feel the pulse of the place as m'own lifeblood."
Which meant he might know if the...uh, the Amana...was in port. "Do you know the names of the ships out there?" she asked.
The man squinted a little at her. "Would y'be looking for one in particular?"
Lizzie blinked. "Uh, yeah." So much for the subtle approach. "The, uh, the Amana."
"Ah, yes," he nodded. "The Amana's here, just on the tail end of her few weeks' leave. Cap'n Zev's just stocking his cargo. Provisions'll come next and then she'll be sailing on the tide, likely a day from now, if not sooner."
"I-I'm supposed to seek passage," she explained, not entirely sure why she was doing so.
Bristly brows drew together over his nose. "Amana doesn't take passengers. Zev's a good cap'n, but he only deals in precious cargo. Has a crew specially trained f'r it. Don't know as y'd be able to convince him to take y'on as well."
Great. "Unfortunately, I don't have much of a choice." Again, why on earth was she telling him this? "How can I speak to the captain?"
Still frowning, the man scrubbed pensively at his beard, then said, "Far as I know, he's on board ship. Y'might hire a dory to take y'out there to speak with him."
"A dory?"
"Aye." He pointed to a handful of small, sailed craft at the end of one dock. "A dory's one of those."
Okay. But how would she hire one? All she had for currency were the pearls the mother of the Sun had given her. She knew the captain of the Amana would take them—otherwise, the goddess never would have given them to her—but would the...driver?...of the dory?
"If y'll pardon my saying so, little miss," the man spoke up suddenly, "y'look—that is, with your fine clothes and how clean they are and all—y'look every bit the rich lady. If y'go to hire a dory with your bearing so, the man y'talk to might read you as a worthy fare...even if y'tell him y'won't pay 'til y've spoken with Cap'n Zev."
If so, that would be.... "I do have money, of a sort," Lizzie hastened to explain. She wouldn't cheat the dory driver, if that was what the man was implying.
"As I figured," he smiled. "But best to see what the cap'n of the Amana requires before y'give too much to the dory man. 'Sides," he confided with a wink, "Cap'n Zev'll have a more...just...sense of payment than the dory man."
Lizzie couldn't help smiling. If dory drivers were nothing more than meter-less water-taxi drivers, she wasn't surprised. "Then, I suppose I'll go down and hire my dory." Frowning a little, she realized she didn't have anything to pay the man with. And for all his help, he certainly deserved it. "Um, I don't know how to thank you," she started hesitantly, only for him to wave a hand in the air.
"Just tell Cap'n Zev that Seth had a feeling about you...if anything comes of it, he'll pay me himself. But don't tell him 'til y're underway. Zev's a man as likes a little backbone. If y'mention me, he'd read it as cheating. So, g'on now, little miss. And good luck!" And with that, Seth stepped away, lost amid the crowded street in moments. With a deep breath, Lizzie gathered herself and followed.
She was an actress. Sometimes. How hard could it be to pretend to be an impatient, overbearing lady with nothing more to do than count her money and terrify little dory drivers?
Right.
So all I have to do is channel Kate.
###########
"Now, watch y'r head there, m'lady," simpered the dory driver, oily smile plainly audible in his voice. Seated in the back of the boat—what had the driver called it...something that started with an 's'?—not a foot away from the smelly little man, Lizzie kept her eyes firmly on the water.
"Sail's comin' over, m'lady," the driver explained, and Lizzie caught his unctuous little head bob out of the corner of one eye. On the pretense of ducking beneath the swinging sail, she tried to arrange herself a few inches further away.
Gah. With such a man, it was beyond easy to play the haughty lady. Especially considering that her very real disgust wasn't that far different from feigned contempt.
"So, y've a meetin' with Cap'n Zev, eh?" asked the driver for perhaps the sixth time.
"Yes." Ooh. There were icicles forming on the end of that one. Not bad, McGuire.
"About anythin' in p'rticular?"
Lizzie swallowed her sigh and gave the same answer she had the three times before. "Nothing more than anyone else might, I suppose."
With an obviously nervous clearing of his throat, the driver continued, "Y'a patron of the cap'n?"
Well. That was a new one. And Lizzie had a feeling that the character she played would not welcome the intrusion into her business. With a cutting glance, she sniffed and bit out, "I hardly see as that is any of your affair, Master Dory Driver."
Another groveling head bob, this one accompanied by a pained biting of his chapped lips. She could almost hear him thinking It's Mister Dolfy, m'lady. He'd already told her so something like fifteen times, but apparently didn't think it wise to follow an intrusive question with an impertinent correction. Which was just as well, really, since Lizzie had no intention of calling the fellow anything but Master Dory Driver.
Despite how utterly yucky the driver was, this was almost a little fun.
"Ehm," coughed Dolfy, "comin' up on the Amana now, m'lady. She's the smallest, there, in scarlet and black."
For a moment, Lizzie wasn't sure what he meant. Then, as they sailed a little further, the ships ahead of them began to separate into two, then three, then five distinct shapes. And there, between two of the larger vessels, was the smallest, her hull scarlet with a wide black band. Lizzie counted three masts, each with three furled sails, then noticed that the long pointy thing at the front had two sails of its own, also furled. Everywhere, on the deck, among the webs of rigging, sailors swarmed.
"She's a beauty," sighed the driver, "and y'can see the cap'n's colors there." Lizzie followed his arm to the top of the center mast, where a flag rippled scarlet and gold. "Not as there's any doubt 'tis his ship, of course," he went on. "Y'can see the Faceless Lady, there, 'neath the bowsprit." This time the driver's arm pointed to the carved figurehead beneath the pointy mast-like thing: the bowsprit, she guessed. "Only the Amana has the Lady. But his colors say he's on board to any as want to know." Which Lizzie was more than happy to hear.
Dolfy's next words, however, she could definitely do without. Tuning the driver out as he droned on about how honored he was to serve her, blah, blah, blah, Lizzie instead turned her attention to the ship's figurehead as they passed it. She wasn't at the right distance, or the right angle, to see it perfectly, but she managed to make out strong, delicate arms, gleaming drapes and folds of wood, and hair sculpted in long, windblown waves. Every part was perfect except for the face, which was nothing more than a blank, smooth oval. Had to wonder whose idea that was.
"Ho, there!" A strong shout from aboard the Amana cut Lizzie mid-thought...and the driver mid-word. "Watch where y're pointing that speck of sawdust!" Try as she might, Lizzie couldn't isolate who, exactly, was speaking.
Dolfy didn't seem to have that problem. Standing slightly to sweep a bow to the ship, he fixed his eyes near the bowsprit and called back, "My pardon, sir, my pardon. I've come with a passenger as wants to see Cap'n Zev."
A laugh drifted over the water, and this time Lizzie managed to pinpoint its source. A stout, round-faced man with sandy hair and a scarlet kerchief on his head was shaking with laughter, teeth flashing in a grin. "Oh, to see the cap'n, eh? Cap'n's not to be disturbed, Master Dory Driver. Y'should know that."
Fighting a grin of her own at the sailor's address, Lizzie straightened her back, drew a deep breath and answered before Dolfy could. "Perhaps he should, sir, but it was I who hired him and I who wish to see your captain. I've come about—" Uh, bloody hell, what had she come about? "—about a private matter." There. She didn't think her voice had wobbled too noticeably.
Another laugh. "Oh, 's that right, miss? Funny I don't know anything about that. And seein' as I'm the cap'n's first mate, I think he'd 've told me, were he expecting you."
O-kay. "He's not expecting me," she said simply, mind racing for her next words. Too bad the mother of the Sun couldn't do her ventriloquist thing now. "But, seeing as you're the first mate, I can tell you that I've come on a matter of business. An offer I think the captain will want to hear." Throwing caution, and a sizeable chunk of her good sense, overboard, she added boldly, "I'd heard the captain was looking for cargo this trip. Did I hear incorrectly?"
For a moment there was nothing but the vague shouts of the men on the ships around them, the luf-luf of the dory's sail, and the gurgle of water sliding by on either side as the boat drifted slowly beside the Amana. Then, the first mate's booming shout, "Pull that patch of sawdust alongside, Master Dory Driver. M'lady'll be coming aboard."
"Such success, such success!" gushed Dolfy as he happily set about the ropes and sail. Oh, yeah, Lizzie agreed, even allowing an inward cackle of the driver's refrain—such success, such success!—as she nodded to the first mate and glowered frostily at the man beside her.
Within a few moments, the dory had drawn up to the middle of the ship. There, Dolfy jumped up and seized a rope ladder hanging from the Amana's deck, his other hand reaching to Lizzie. "If I might, m'lady," he said, "it's not quite what y're used to, but it'll get y'aboard." Eyeing the wood slats of the ladder, Lizzie had to resist the urge to snort. Compared to every other rope ladder she'd climbed, this ought to be a piece o' cake.
With the driver's hand clasped in hers, she stepped to the other side of the dory, her confidence taking a sickening dive as the boat tilted ominously under her weight. Swallowing hard, she turned deliberately from the gap of dark water between the two craft and fixed her eyes on the ladder right in front of her. Piece o' cake, she reminded herself firmly, one hand reaching for rope and the other lifting her skirts so she could step onto the lowest wood slat.
"There you are, m'lady," Dolfy encouraged, "natural as breath. And I'll just stay here 'til y'finish y'r business with the cap'n." Banishing the wide-eyed fright she was sure lingered on her face, Lizzie gave the driver a curt nod and then turned all her attention to the rope ladder.
Climbing the ladder wasn't much different from climbing that tree in the forest clearing. Once she remembered the rhythm of hands to rope and skirt, it was easy. When at last she reached the top, where the first mate waited to offer a hand up, she wasn't even breathing hard.
"Welcome aboard, m'lady," he said when she'd gained her feet. "Mr. Jeshin at y'r service." Lizzie returned his shallow bow with a nod of her head. "Y'wish to see Cap'n Zev, m'lady?"
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Jeshin," she replied.
"This way, then, m'lady." With another bow, he turned and led the way toward the back of the ship, weaving deftly through a group of sailors hard at work there before stopping in front of a door—one of two, Lizzie noted, set beneath a higher deck at the very back of the ship. Mr. Jeshin gave two sharp knocks on the door and then promptly threw it open, gesturing for her to enter. Drawing a slow breath, she did, the door closing firmly behind her.
The room inside smelled heavily of sulfur and vinegar, but otherwise seemed much like any room anywhere. Sun slanted through a pair of small, diamond-paned windows on the left, glowing amber on the dark wood paneling of the walls. A door stood at the back of the room, a cabinet bolted into the wall to Lizzie's right. And in the center of the room stood a large desk, the surface covered with charts, some rolled and peeking out of their leather sleeves, some unrolled, their ends weighted down by what looked like a compass, a sextant, several ink bottles, and an unlit oil lamp.
"Ah, m'lady, welcome to the Amana," a voice said, and Lizzie's eyes flew to the man standing behind the desk. Dressed in black trousers, a white shirt beneath a crimson waistcoat, and a long black coat with heavy gold buttons, he was still recognizable as Jon Dukov. Barely so, Lizzie conceded, taking in the shoulder-length brown curls, the blunderbuss and long dagger worn easily at his waist, the faint smirk on a decidedly unshaven face. But there was no mistaking the apple-green eyes meeting her own from beneath a black tri-cornered hat. Those eyes were Jon's.
Sweeping Jon, who must be Captain Zev, a small curtsy, Lizzie scrambled to get her thoughts together. "Thank you," she said, straightening into the regal, commanding lady Dolfy and Mr. Jeshin had encountered. "I am Lady Elizabeth. Am I to assume you are captain of this vessel?"
"Captain Zev at your service, m'lady," he confirmed with a flourishing bow. His smirk broadened almost imperceptibly, the mockery twinkling in his eyes nearly turning Lizzie's knees to water. Backbone, she reminded herself. He's a captain. He intimidates people all day long. Some backbone, McGuire!
Lifting her chin, she said in her coolest tone, "I have come with a business proposition."
One eyebrow rose. "Indeed, Lady Elizabeth."
If only there was somewhere to sit down. She felt like she was on stage...and she didn't know any of her lines. Why wasn't she better at improv? "Yes," she managed to say, mouth dry. And now what? Geez, what had Seth said? No passengers, crew specially trained, only deals in precious cargo.... Of course!
With a faint smirk of her own, Lizzie turned to stroll nonchalantly to the windows. "I understand you deal only in precious cargo," she said, examining the yellow and red striped hull of the ship outside as though it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.
"I do," came the captain's answer, a flicker of interest in his voice.
"I have a very precious cargo that I need to get to Jagur. Aderet, to be precise." Turning from the window, she pursed her lips and said, "It needs to get there as soon as possible."
There was definitely more interest than skepticism in the captain's eyes now. "The Amana is one of the fastest ships in these waters, m'lady."
Lizzie allowed the slightest curve to her mouth. "So I had heard. But there is, of course, the question of your own routes. Are you intending to travel to Aderet this journey?"
Zev's smirk was back. "I go where my patrons need me, Lady Elizabeth."
"I see." Mirroring his smirk, "So shall we discuss payment?"
"It seems only prudent," the captain agreed with a dip of his head.
Lizzie pulled the silk bag out of her bodice, where she'd stowed it before meeting with Dolfy, and tossed it to Zev. As he struggled with the strings holding it closed, she meandered over to the desk, watching as a waterfall of glossy black pearls cascaded into his hand. Transparent amazement shone in his eyes before he managed to wrestle his expression blank again.
"All that," Lizzie told him quietly, "for one-way passage to Aderet. I need only to pay the dory driver, but the rest is yours."
Zev's eyes flicked to hers before being drawn irresistibly back to the fortune sitting in his palm. "All this, save the dory driver's fare and the fee to transport your cargo to the ship, you mean."
"Of course." Lizzie waited a breath, then asked, "A deal, Captain Zev?"
"A deal." Prying his gaze from the pearls, he said, "When is this cargo to arrive? I had planned to leave tomorrow with the tide."
Smiling fully this time, "The cargo is already here."
"Here?" Zev echoed, frowning as he restored the pearls to their bag. "Mr. Jeshin did not mention any cargo."
"Oh," Lizzie shrugged, "well, he didn't know at the time. I am the cargo. I assume you have quarters for me."
For a long moment, the captain merely stared at her, silent, face unreadable. Lizzie fought against the nervous tremor of her hands and prayed Seth had been right when he'd said Zev appreciated a little backbone. Because at the merest indication otherwise, she planned to be down on her knees, pouring out the whole story and begging passage on the bloody ship.
And then, the corner of the captain's mouth twitched. And twitched again. And then he was grinning—the crooked, roguish grin that never failed to surprise Lizzie when she saw it on shy, solemn Jon. But here, on the captain's face, it had to be a good thing. Lizzie released the tight breath she'd been holding. And sucked it right back in again as Zev stalked purposely around the desk. Blinking in surprise, she watched as he flung open the door leading out on deck.
"Mr. Jeshin!" he shouted, and Lizzie squeaked as he suddenly lunged toward her, one strong hand grasping her elbow as he pushed her outside in front of him. Great. Now he's gonna have the first mate throw me overboard. Probably without the pearls, too. Bloody hell.
Mr. Jeshin appeared before them. "Aye, cap'n?"
A large gold coin flickered through the air to land in the first mate's surprised hand. "Send the dory on its way, Mr. Jeshin, while I show Lady Elizabeth to the guest quarters."
Oh, thank God, Lizzie thought, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, it was to see Mr. Jeshin, and several of the sailors nearby, goggling at Zev, their mouths hanging open. "T-the guest quarters, cap'n?" stammered the first mate.
"As I said, Mr. Jeshin." Lizzie looked from one man to the other. Grief and compassion met between them, so curiously joined that she couldn't tell which emotion came from which man. "M'lady will disembark at Aderet, in Jagur, in two days," the captain explained, voice softening slightly.
After a long moment, Mr. Jeshin gave a nod. "Aye, sir." Turning to Lizzie, he bowed and said, "Pleasure to have y'aboard, m'lady."
But Lizzie, nonplused by the uneasy stirring of the sailors and several of their concerned glances, found herself struggling for a response. "T-thank you, Mr. Jeshin," she managed finally, hoping the bewilderment she heard in her voice was not quite so apparent to everyone else.
"To your quarters, then, m'lady?" Zev asked, the faint pressure on her elbow—still in his grip—distracting her at last from the odd tableau around them.
Regaining a firm hold on her haughty character, she gave a slight nod and a chilly, "Certainly, captain." And then Zev was sweeping her toward the second door she'd noticed earlier, opening it and ushering her inside. They were halfway down a steep, narrow staircase before the door closed again, plunging them into darkness. Dimly, Lizzie was aware of the first mate roaring, "As you were!" and then all was breath and scuff of shoes on creaking wood as she made her blind way the last few steps.
"I shall guide you," came the captain's voice at her ear, unnaturally loud in the dark but with a tone so calm and confident, it could almost be Jon speaking to her.
A handful of staggering paces in the dark and then a door flung open before her, flooding her eyes with sunlight. She stumbled through, nearly as blind as she'd been in the dark, and then stopped, blinking furiously. The first thing she saw were three windows in the far wall, small and diamond-paned like the ones in Captain Zev's office. The walls, she noted, were also paneled in the same dark wood. Other than that, though, the two rooms were completely different. On the right side of the room was a narrow four-poster bed, lush red velvet drapes drawn closed. On the left, below the windows and clustered about a low table, were a pair of heavy armchairs upholstered in a forest-scene tapestry.
With quarters like these, Lizzie had to wonder why the Amana didn't take passengers. Looking up into the captain's face and seeing the hard line of his mouth, the bright, brittle flicker in his apple-green eyes, she decided now was probably not the best time to ask.
"Your quarters, Lady Elizabeth," Zev announced unnecessarily. "I trust Mr. Jeshin will be down shortly with your belongings."
"I have none," Lizzie said, turning aside to hide her sheepish wince.
"In that case, m'lady, I am sure you are tired from your journey. I shall leave you to settle in. You will dine with me come supper." It was not a question; Lizzie nodded. "By such time, I expect you will have quit this proud, unpleasant mask and can join me as the amiable lady you are." And with a bow, he was gone, leaving Lizzie staring after him, wide-eyed.
Well. Damn. I guess some things don't change.
Alternate universe or no, Jon Dukov was one observant fellow. At least Zev hadn't felt inclined to ask if she wanted some Midol....
####
end of chapter 15
Chapter Notes:
Don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, though I really, really wish I did.
("She's safe, just like I promised. She's
all set to marry Norrington, just like she promised. And you get to die for
her, just like you promised. So we're all men of our word really…except for
Elizabeth, who is, in fact, a woman.")
And a groveling thank you to my brilliant, wonderful, longsuffering
Father-Dearest, who took the time to painstakingly explain the bits of sailing
that I couldn't understand (which was just about all of it, I'm ashamed to
admit). That I have even a rudimentary knowledge now is all thanks to him. And
any mistakes in this or future chapters should be duly laid at my door.