Author's note: apologies for the delay in posting this chapter; thanks for the comments!
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Chapter 9
On the outskirts of Portsmouth Anamaria and Jack Sparrow jumped down from the cart in which they had ridden for the morning, and paused to examine each other. Sparrow reached out and tucked a tendril of hair back underneath Anamaria's hat, before straightening his shirt.
"What do you reckon?" he asked.
"Not like Jack Sparrow," she said, surveying him.
"Good. Now, I ain't going to talk like Jack Sparrow either, and I suggest you leave me to do all the chattering. Right?"
She nodded.
He gave her a grin. "Cheer up, love. You've got a face as long as nine ells o' rope."
They set off into the city, Sparrow's feet finding their way unerringly on roads that were once familiar. Through the narrow streets smelling of fish they headed to the harbour, where hundreds of vessels were moored. From small fishing boats to great galleons, the ships offered Anamaria and her companion plenty of choice.
Wandering along the quayside, they examined the options. There were several large ships which were clearly merchant vessels, riding high and empty in the water. Three of them were being loaded with provisions in preparation for a voyage, and the two pirates slowed their pace and eyed up the barrels and crates being taken on board to determine where the ships might be going.
A three-masted square-rigger with an elaborate figurehead of a buxom woman looked particularly likely. Sparrow peered up at her stern. "Rosemary," he read. "Pretty dull name for a ship." He glanced over his shoulder at Anamaria. "How 'bout it?"
She shrugged. The ship looked likely enough to her, seaworthy and well-maintained.
Standing at the bottom of the gangplank, Jack Sparrow hailed the vessel.
"Ahoy there!" he cried. "Permission to come aboard?"
A sailor came to the rail, peering over. "On what business?" he asked.
"Looking for a berth," Sparrow called back.
"Better come up, then," said the sailor.
Sparrow trotted quickly up the gangplank, closely followed by Anamaria, and the sailor directed them both to the captain in his cabin.
"Couple o' new hands, cap'n," the sailor said, as he pushed open the door.
"Excellent!" the captain replied, standing up from a table covered in paper and crossing to greet the newcomers. "I needed more people. Have a seat, have a seat."
They pulled up chairs and sat down, the captain back behind his charts.
"So," said the captain, "looking for work?"
"That we are," said Sparrow, speaking with an accent, not his own, that tugged at Anamaria's memory somehow. "Depends on where you might be going."
"We're setting a course for Barbados, to take on sugar."
Anamaria looked at Sparrow, who nodded. "We'd take that," he said.
"I assume you've sailed before?" asked the captain. "It would be odd if you hadn't, of course, but one never knows."
"Old hands before the mast, both of us," Sparrow agreed.
The captain clapped his hands together, apparently delighted. "Wonderful. Well, you both seem likely enough. I'd be happy to take you on. You'd be from Yorkshire, I think, Mr …"
"Swift," said Sparrow. "James Swift. Aye, that's right. Whitby."
"Good sailing town," the captain approved. "I'd imagine your friend is going home." He beamed at Anamaria, who assented with a nod.
"My name is André," she said. "I'm from Haïti."
"And I am Hugh Harvey," said the captain. He stood up, rummaging in a drawer for something, and patted the bulkhead. "This is Rosemary. She's a good vessel." He brought a salt-stained book back to the table, opening it on a half-filled page, and wrote for a short while. "Please sign here - you'll be agreeing to the usual terms, and two shillings a week plus rations for our voyage."
Sparrow and Anamaria both signed. Anamaria noticed that Sparrow had discarded his usual signature-with-a-flourish for something neat and precise. She herself wrote her pseudonym down carefully; it was one of the few things she knew how to write, and she paid attention to forming the letters whenever she had to sign it.
Captain Harvey shook sand on the ink to dry it, blew it off, and closed the articles.
"Welcome aboard!" he said. "Now, before I let you go to collect your things - you'll need the usual, of course - can either of you use a sword, or fire a cannon? We may, you know, encounter pirates en route to Barbados."
"I can fight a little," said Sparrow.
"I too," added Anamaria.
Harvey made a note of the fact. "Good. I see our luck was in when you two walked by. We sail on the morrow, but we must finish loading today. Be back shortly after noon."
"Aye, sir!" said Sparrow, smartly.
Back on land, Jack Sparrow seemed to have brightened up somewhat. He was in a cheerful mood as they went to buy spare clothes, rough canvas bags to keep them in, a hat for Sparrow and blankets for both of them. Anamaria found herself responding to his chatter with smiles and even the occasional burst of laughter. This was a little more the old Sparrow - except for that puzzling accent.
"Why are you speaking like that?" she asked, eventually, as they made their way back to the Rosemary with their purchases.
"Remember old Thornton?" Sparrow said. "First mate aboard the Pearl when you joined her?"
She thought back, her brow creasing.
"A beard," she said. "A man who was very honourable."
"Good man," Sparrow agreed. "Anyhow, he came from Whitby, up north in Yorkshire. I'm borrowing his voice for a while. I reckon Norrington'll be lookin' for the old Sparrow, every bit of him." He stopped walking, and turned to her. "D'you see him, love?"
Anamaria shook her head. "Non." She looked him up and down - the drab clothes, short hair, lack of Sparrow-jaunt - and repeated herself. "No."
"Good." He grinned, shouldered his bag, and set off at a stride towards the harbour. "C'mon, we've a ship to catch."
After an afternoon spent hefting crates and barrels and ensuring the hold was properly packed, Anamaria found herself exhausted and she collapsed into her hammock gratefully. Sparrow's bed was strung up close by her, and as she fell asleep she heard him snoring gently.
In the morning the entire crew assembled on deck. Captain Harvey, dressed in a smart jacket and hat, stood on the quarterdeck and beamed down at them all. Beside him was the ship's bo'sun, a grizzled old sailor with very blue eyes.
"Once we're out of the harbour," Harvey said, "the starboard watch will take us down Channel. Port watch on at four bells. Now, all hands to your posts - and next port call will be La Rochelle."
He and the bo'sun began relaying orders. Swinging herself out over the side of the ship, Anamaria began climbing the ratlines towards her post halfway up the foremast, where the great sails were to be unfurled. Once she was hanging over the boom, she glanced around and saw Sparrow at the top of the mainmast, perched on the line like the bird he was named for. But there was no time to reflect on the sight of her friend back on board a ship, for the commands were coming up from below and there was work to do.
Slowly the Rosemary moved out into the Solent, and thence into the wide, dark waters of the English Channel. Blue ocean beckoned, and then, freedom.