The three men half-dragged, half-pushed her down to the docks, taking so many back alleys and winding side roads that even Jen hardly recognized it when they arrived. They were a ways from the more populated area, and here only a single ship floated, small but sturdy-looking, its sails already unfurled. A few more men, crew members presumably, stood mute on the docks looking down at them.
Jen had to try one last time. She could see a few figures in the distance, and she thought she could even discern the red coats of the Royal Navy. She filled her lungs and yelled as loud as she could.
"Help!! Please, someone—!" At once Buchanan had crammed his huge hands over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air supply, another had grabbed her hands, and the third had delivered a sharp blow to her stomach, forcing all remaining air out of her system. All four of them looked over to where the people stood, but not one of them had even turned their head. Buchanan turned back around at Jen, who was now struggling for breath.
"You do that again, and it'll be the last sound you make. You understand?"
Jen nodded frantically, needing air.
"You sure?"
The world was taking on a reddish tint and her head was reeling. Still he didn't take his hand away.
"I'm going to let you breathe now. Remember: I am the one letting you breathe. From now on, your life depends on me. So you had better please me. Understand?"
She managed to nod again, the red fading into soft black at the edges of her vision. At last the hand was removed from her face, and she drew a long, shuddering, gasping breath. She did not yell again. He took her by the shoulders and they went up the steps to the ship.
Once on board, Buchanan called to a crew member for rope. When it was brought to him, he did not release her shoulders, but jerked his head at his friend, not the proprietor, shorter and fairer with thick fingers and eyebrows that stuck out about an inch from his face. He took the rope and bound her hands securely behind her back. Then Buchanan escorted her unceremoniously down some steps and locked her in the brig. Even though it was broad daylight outside, the brig was in semi-darkness, and the damp bit into her skin. She refused to think about a night alone in the thick pitch- blackness.
As Buchanan's footsteps retreated, she heard the man who had tied her hands meet him and walk with him up the stairs. Straining her ears, she heard the following exchange:
"You're keeping her here?"
"Yes."
"I thought we were going to..."
"We are. Later. She won't be so damned energetic after starving a few days."
"You don't want to break her yourself?"
"Who said I wasn't going—"
The door slammed. Jennifer shuddered and sank down with her back against the cold bars. She examined her bonds; they were well-tied, but Ralph back at the orphanage had taught her how to get out of almost anything. He'd been a pickpocket, always getting into trouble with the police, managing to end up back at the orphanage since he was so small and people thought he was younger than he was. But he was good with his hands, and he'd taught her well. In a few hours, she'd have them off.
Biting her lip, she worked the ropes slowly, first one way, then another, ignoring how they chafed her wrists almost bloody. As she worked, she thought. From what she'd heard, she had a couple of days to get out of here and off this ship before they came for her again. Of course, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't come see her just because they were starving her. In fact, she was fairly sure they'd come back just to jeer.
So this was the reality: she needed to escape, and she had no idea how much time she had.
She worked at the ropes.
Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of the Black Pearl, weathered hands the color of maple butter resting lightly on the softly shining black wood. He only half-listened to the bustle of sailors behind him, each doing their job, perfectly in sync with each other and with the rollings of the ship. His dark kohl-lined eyes were fixed on the outermost edge of the horizon, just beginning to be tinted with pink as the sun drew closer to it by degrees. The cool sea breeze wafted through his dark hair, setting his captain's hat at a rakish angle. He didn't bother to adjust it. He allowed a soft smile to play around his mouth. He was free.
It hadn't been a week since he had been standing at the gallows, a noose of thick, coarsely braided rope around his neck, gazing half-dreaming into the crowd and wondering if God would really have mercy on his soul. Despite their words, the people of Port Royal certainly weren't going to help him with their prayers.
Now he found himself here, losing himself in the pitchings of the ocean, the light glancing off the tips of the waves, the rich smell of sun and sand and miles of open sky. The Black Pearl was his at last, and the horizon with it. And all the treasure that that entailed, of course.
At that very moment a furl of white like a seagull's wing caught his attention about 75 degrees starboard. On closer examination he realized it was a sail, and the ship it belonged to could well be laden with treasure. His smile widened into a lazy grin, showing a flash of gold in his teeth.
"Anamaria!" he barked, and in a few seconds his First Mate was by his side.
"Aye, Cap'n?" They had known each other more than long enough and well enough that he would allow her to call him Jack, but she kept calling him Captain because she knew how he loved to hear it.
"Feast your eyes on that!" He indicated the sails, slightly larger now, with a lot of magnificent gesturing.
She turned and looked, then looked back at him, his contagious smile beginning to spread to her own face.
"Are we to take her?"
"What say you, Anamaria," he said in a low voice, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the wheel while managing to continue to steer at the same time. "Think she's worth the trouble?"
"With a crew like ours, a ship like ours?" she looked out toward the sails, growing slowly but steadily nearer, her eyebrows raised disparagingly. "I hardly think it will be trouble at all. Not for Captain Jack and the crew of his Black Pearl."
Jack tilted his head and savored the sound of the words "his Black Pearl," rolling it on his tongue like a swallow of rum.
"Well then," he said, almost lazily, grinning at her sidelong.
And with a change of manner so sudden it startled even her, he began rapping out orders at the top of his voice. Sailors working at every part of the ship snapped to attention at the sound of his voice and put their whole being into intercepting the other boat's course, their blood rushing with the excitement of their first raid with their new captain.
Jen had to try one last time. She could see a few figures in the distance, and she thought she could even discern the red coats of the Royal Navy. She filled her lungs and yelled as loud as she could.
"Help!! Please, someone—!" At once Buchanan had crammed his huge hands over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air supply, another had grabbed her hands, and the third had delivered a sharp blow to her stomach, forcing all remaining air out of her system. All four of them looked over to where the people stood, but not one of them had even turned their head. Buchanan turned back around at Jen, who was now struggling for breath.
"You do that again, and it'll be the last sound you make. You understand?"
Jen nodded frantically, needing air.
"You sure?"
The world was taking on a reddish tint and her head was reeling. Still he didn't take his hand away.
"I'm going to let you breathe now. Remember: I am the one letting you breathe. From now on, your life depends on me. So you had better please me. Understand?"
She managed to nod again, the red fading into soft black at the edges of her vision. At last the hand was removed from her face, and she drew a long, shuddering, gasping breath. She did not yell again. He took her by the shoulders and they went up the steps to the ship.
Once on board, Buchanan called to a crew member for rope. When it was brought to him, he did not release her shoulders, but jerked his head at his friend, not the proprietor, shorter and fairer with thick fingers and eyebrows that stuck out about an inch from his face. He took the rope and bound her hands securely behind her back. Then Buchanan escorted her unceremoniously down some steps and locked her in the brig. Even though it was broad daylight outside, the brig was in semi-darkness, and the damp bit into her skin. She refused to think about a night alone in the thick pitch- blackness.
As Buchanan's footsteps retreated, she heard the man who had tied her hands meet him and walk with him up the stairs. Straining her ears, she heard the following exchange:
"You're keeping her here?"
"Yes."
"I thought we were going to..."
"We are. Later. She won't be so damned energetic after starving a few days."
"You don't want to break her yourself?"
"Who said I wasn't going—"
The door slammed. Jennifer shuddered and sank down with her back against the cold bars. She examined her bonds; they were well-tied, but Ralph back at the orphanage had taught her how to get out of almost anything. He'd been a pickpocket, always getting into trouble with the police, managing to end up back at the orphanage since he was so small and people thought he was younger than he was. But he was good with his hands, and he'd taught her well. In a few hours, she'd have them off.
Biting her lip, she worked the ropes slowly, first one way, then another, ignoring how they chafed her wrists almost bloody. As she worked, she thought. From what she'd heard, she had a couple of days to get out of here and off this ship before they came for her again. Of course, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't come see her just because they were starving her. In fact, she was fairly sure they'd come back just to jeer.
So this was the reality: she needed to escape, and she had no idea how much time she had.
She worked at the ropes.
Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of the Black Pearl, weathered hands the color of maple butter resting lightly on the softly shining black wood. He only half-listened to the bustle of sailors behind him, each doing their job, perfectly in sync with each other and with the rollings of the ship. His dark kohl-lined eyes were fixed on the outermost edge of the horizon, just beginning to be tinted with pink as the sun drew closer to it by degrees. The cool sea breeze wafted through his dark hair, setting his captain's hat at a rakish angle. He didn't bother to adjust it. He allowed a soft smile to play around his mouth. He was free.
It hadn't been a week since he had been standing at the gallows, a noose of thick, coarsely braided rope around his neck, gazing half-dreaming into the crowd and wondering if God would really have mercy on his soul. Despite their words, the people of Port Royal certainly weren't going to help him with their prayers.
Now he found himself here, losing himself in the pitchings of the ocean, the light glancing off the tips of the waves, the rich smell of sun and sand and miles of open sky. The Black Pearl was his at last, and the horizon with it. And all the treasure that that entailed, of course.
At that very moment a furl of white like a seagull's wing caught his attention about 75 degrees starboard. On closer examination he realized it was a sail, and the ship it belonged to could well be laden with treasure. His smile widened into a lazy grin, showing a flash of gold in his teeth.
"Anamaria!" he barked, and in a few seconds his First Mate was by his side.
"Aye, Cap'n?" They had known each other more than long enough and well enough that he would allow her to call him Jack, but she kept calling him Captain because she knew how he loved to hear it.
"Feast your eyes on that!" He indicated the sails, slightly larger now, with a lot of magnificent gesturing.
She turned and looked, then looked back at him, his contagious smile beginning to spread to her own face.
"Are we to take her?"
"What say you, Anamaria," he said in a low voice, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the wheel while managing to continue to steer at the same time. "Think she's worth the trouble?"
"With a crew like ours, a ship like ours?" she looked out toward the sails, growing slowly but steadily nearer, her eyebrows raised disparagingly. "I hardly think it will be trouble at all. Not for Captain Jack and the crew of his Black Pearl."
Jack tilted his head and savored the sound of the words "his Black Pearl," rolling it on his tongue like a swallow of rum.
"Well then," he said, almost lazily, grinning at her sidelong.
And with a change of manner so sudden it startled even her, he began rapping out orders at the top of his voice. Sailors working at every part of the ship snapped to attention at the sound of his voice and put their whole being into intercepting the other boat's course, their blood rushing with the excitement of their first raid with their new captain.